I hired her solely on her looks, I'm not even going to begin to pretend there was any other real reason.
She was midwest-innocence, sex-on-a-stick, dumb as a brick, yet sweet as a farmer's daughter, all wrapped in one.
Nikki Lacy was her name. I couldn't make it up if I scanned the strip club advertisements in the newspaper and looked for the stage name of tonight's featured pole dancer. It doesn't get any better for the plot, truth being stranger than fiction, and Nikki certainly could have more-than-qualified for the stripper's role, too, if she chose to do so.
My so-called professional forte was to turn around the financial performance of struggling regional shopping malls. It was challenging in a way, as much due to the fact that I was usually relocating to another state every year or so. At the same time, having come out of a divorce three years prior, it also provided me with a fresh supply of pussy with the knowledge that I wasn't going to be tied down in one geographic area. And, to be modest, I took full advantage of that particular perk of the job.
This current assignment was in Central Ohio, just east of Columbus, which in the late 1990's was the equivalent of the cultural dark side of the moon, at least from my perspective, a born-and-raised city boy from the mean streets of Philly. But, to this day, and much to my everlasting and pleasant surprise, I have not resided in an area with as many beautiful women with a, shall we say, rather enthusiastic spirit of carnal exploration. GO Bucks GO!
I inherited a workforce that was about as motivated as Santa's elves the day after Christmas. Not to sound age-biased, but they were also each about as old as civil war muskets. My secretary, or excuse me, my administrative assistant as she insisted she be referred to, was about a surly as a scorpion caught in a Buckeye winter, not just to me, her new boss, but to customers and tenants alike.
It was only a matter of time and circumstance before I could go through the HR bullshit of developing a ' incident file' against her to get rid of her. I knew it wouldn't take long, especially when I started to fuck the VP of Human Resources several weeks later. That helps to expedite personnel favors.
The mall was undergoing an expansion and aesthetic facelift, and it was made subtly known to me by the owners that the new staff makeup should coincide with the new image they were determined to project: fresh, friendly, upbeat.
By a fortuitous twist of fate, Nikki worked for the construction company tasked with renovating the Mall, and I saw her for the first time after I was in Ohio for about a month. They had a trailer out in the parking lot, and their copier was on the fritz, so Nikki came in to use ours in the outer office. I didn't even know who she was or what she was doing, but I walked out of my own office and saw this young REDHEAD (yum!) in painted-on jeans, with legs as long as the summer solstice, leaning over the tray with a mid-riff top on, exposing an alabaster tummy that was flatter than Licking County's terrain. I knew instantly that I'd found my new secr..er, administrative assistant.
(Yep, the mall was located in Licking County, how could I forget that? There was a neighboring high school called Big Walnut, again true, and my all-time favorite headline in the Columbus Dispatch was when the home team's girls' high school basketball team had a victory, memorialized thusly by the Dispatch's headline: Licking Valley Girls Beat Big Walnut. Look it up.)
Nikki and I talked more over the next few weeks, as I noticed she came into the office frequently, most of the time for no apparent reason, much to the fuming chagrin of my sec...well, you know who. Nikki made it known that she'd be searching for a full-time gig once the construction company's job was completed, and I told her to give me a copy of her resume, although I already had all the background data I needed to finalize my choice.
Twenty-six-years-old. Five-feet-ten; maybe one-hundred-and-twenty-five pounds; big, watery sky-blue eyes; flaming curly bright red hair, shoulder-length; the cutest freckles scattered liberally on her entire body, including her pert tits; and an ass as tight as the cover on a snare drum. Her resume contained more typos than a text message from a dyslexic fifth-grader, but hey, spelling is sooooo overrated for a secre...um, it's just overrated in general. She had the most important attributes, and as you can see, I can do my own typing, thank you.
So, that's the background. I'll spare you the gory details of hirings and firings and just fast-forward to the day a year later when it was time for me to be transferred once again, another successful transformation in the books. An upgraded, popular, vibrant mall.
Yet even more important: four hot store managers, a regional manager, two customers, a waitress in Garfields, and the aforementioned corporate vice-president of HR were among the women I had bedded, ranging in age from twenty to fifty, a potpourri of Licking, Muskingum, Franklin and Fairfield County's hottest pussy.
Best yet, I somehow had managed to keep my hands off of my sweet assistant Nikki, figuring the less I paid attention to her, the more intrigued she would become. And, humbly, it wasn't like I had a lot of nights free. The local women somehow thought that I made a million bucks because I was one of the few males in the county whose favorite suit wasn't John Deere-green, splattered with chewing tobacco, so I had a more-than-active dance card during my time at the Mall.
It was Labor Day weekend, and I was scheduled to report to my new position in Pennsylvania on the upcoming Tuesday, but I had volunteered to stay and work some of the weekend to finish the budget for my replacement, the incoming manager. Nikki had volunteered to, um, assist me as well. Dear girl.
Now or never.
Since there would be no one else in the office, and no tenants or customers really knew we were going to be there, I told Nikki to feel free to dress casually. Nikki was always one to follow directives literally, thank goodness.
I was already in the office at 8 a.m. that Saturday with the outer lights turned off and the shades on the plate-glass door pulled down. The forecast was for high humidity and temperatures soaring into the nineties, so it wasn't the worst day to be stuck inside doing budgets. That's when I heard Nikki's key turn in the door and I watched her enter.
Daisy Duke herself would not have ventured outside in the cut-off denim shorts that Nikki wore that day, lest she be arrested by Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane for indecent exposure. The front crotch seam was pressed so far up her pussy that every outline and crevice of her swollen labia were evident, and small wisps of strawberry-golden hairs kissed the very tops of her thoroughbred-long-and-muscularly-lean thighs. She turned to lock the door, providing me with the rear-angle view, and a pair of panties could not have been adorned under those jean shorts unless placed by a pair of tweezers, or by micro-surgery.
She also had on a sleeveless multi-color-striped tank-top that stopped somewhere south of her rather small tits but waaaaaay north of her tanned and toned navel. I barely noticed that she had a Longaberger picnic basket in her right hand.
