The following is a work of fiction, and all of the people, places, vehicles and clothing contained within are also totally fictitious. Mostly.
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Lisa walked out into her spacious bedroom and began removing clothes from her closet, laying them out carefully on the bed. She took stockings, underwear, and accessories and laid them out on the corresponding outfits. Settling on the dark Armani suit, she returned everything else to their proper places.
Lisa went into the bathroom and carefully shaved her legs and underarms, then delicately shaved her pussy smooth. She walked into her salon and posed in front of the mirror, turning this way and that to make sure everything looked good. Her pedicured toes were painted dark red, matching her manicured nails. She had lovely, shapely legs without a ripple of cellulite and just enough muscle to give them better shape and definition.
Her hips were full, 35 inches, and turning, she had to smile to herself at the perfect shape of her ass — not a bit of droop or sag. Turning again, she ran her hands over her flat stomach, up to her ribs, then over the roundness of her full breasts. She had been a perfect 36C ever since her surgery over a year before, and the constant dieting and body sculpting since then had also rewarded her with her goal of a 23-inch waist. She brought her hands to rest on each side of her long, slender neck, and looked closely at her face.
It was naturally heart-shaped, her lips were full and pouty — also natural. Her nose was thin and straight, with a perfect little button at the tip (her nose had cost $10,000). Her eyes were the purest ice blue, large and almond-shaped, with full thick lashes. Her face showed no lines or creases, and her complexion — and that of her entire body for that matter — was flawless and smooth. Lisa looked like a girl of 20, a full seven years younger than she actually was.
Lisa went back to the bedroom and put her arms through the straps of her black lace bra, pulling it taught and fastening it in the front. She then sat on the bed, and slipped her feet and legs into her sheer, black stockings. She fastened the matching black lace garter belt, then stood and put on her panties, black lace with ties on the sides, with which she made delicate little bows. She stepped into her dark skirt and pulled it up to her waist, zipped and buttoned it. She slipped her arms into the white blouse and buttoned it up the front. Next came the matching suit jacket, which she left unbuttoned for the time being.
Back in the salon, Lisa sat and applied her makeup, a little dark red lipstick and liner, delicate blue eye shadow, slight rouge for her cheeks. Then, after putting on her black framed eyeglasses, Lisa put the finishing touches on her hair, slipped on her Prada sling-backs with the 3" stiletto heels, picked up her briefcase and headed out.
Lisa closed the door of her Alfa Romeo and set the alarm. She walked through the parking level, crowded with other expensive cars, heading for the elevators to the offices above. She shared the elevator with four people, two men and two women, dressed similarly to her, but maybe not quite so nicely.
Her long black hair was pulled up in the perfectly prim and proper way that declared she was a serious business woman. Her black stockings and Prada shoes, along with her briefcase, were the perfect accessories for her image.
When the doors opened on the 14th floor, Lisa nodded at her companions, pushed her eyeglasses up on her nose, and stepped out into the hallway. There was only one door, decorated with large gold letters. “Wilson, Wilson, Kudrow, and Klein”
She opened the door and stepped inside. A pretty blond receptionist looked up at her with a large, and entirely fake, smile.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked through her perfect teeth. Keeping her face severe, Lisa strode up to the desk with her briefcase before her.
“I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Handlow,” she said, clipping each word precisely.
“Please, have a seat,” the receptionist said, warming visibly. She dialed and extension and spoke quietly as Lisa took a seat in one of the large, overstuffed leather chairs. She stretched her legs out then crossed them at the knee, setting her briefcase across her lap.
“Yes, Sir,” she heard the receptionist say into her telephone, then she called out to Lisa. “Mrs. Elliott? May I get you a cup of coffee? Tea perhaps?”
Lisa displayed her perfect teeth in a truly warm and grateful smile. “Tea would be lovely, thank you. Cream, one lump, if you please.”
The receptionist hurried off and returned quickly with Lisa’s tea. It was delightful, and Lisa said so. She had finished half of the cup when the telephone buzzed, and after a brief message, the receptionist rose and walked to a large oak door.
“Mrs. Elliott? If you’ll follow me, please, Mr. Handlow will see you.” Lisa followed her down the hallway, barely noticing the offices she passed because she was watching the way the receptionist’s hips swayed with each step. Lisa could appreciate the work of a professional. Perhaps she would contact this one someday to see if she wanted to earn some real money. She was probably already doing the job for at least one of her bosses, so why not get the pay raise?