Improper Conduct. Various

      Model Employee

      Donna George Storey

      Thirty minutes. That’s all the time she had until the meeting began. Zara took the stairs two at a time, but stopped to collect herself before she pushed open the door to the fourth floor. Officially this wing of the building was not in use by her company, but the clever planning that served her well in her career was equally useful for this particular action item.

      Chin held high, she strode into the hallway. If she happened to meet anyone, she would confidently claim she was on her way to the CEO’s office to discuss her upcoming presentation. Yet, in the six months she’d been engaging in this special ‘preparation’ for important staff meetings, she’d never met a soul.

      With one final glance down the empty corridor, she slipped into the WC by the stairwell and locked the door behind her. It might seem strange to make a special trip upstairs to answer the call of nature, to put it one way, but Zara was partial to this particular room. It was of an intimate size, with a sink, a single stall and a lounging bed upholstered in fake leather. The lighting was unusually flattering thanks to the sconces around the mirrors, and the air always had the fresh scent of lemony disinfectant cleaner. Zara suspected it was rarely used, except by her for this very special purpose.

      She hung her purse and suit jacket on the hook by the sink and turned to study herself in the full-length mirror. She looked a little tired, she thought, although she was pleased with her new haircut that just grazed her jawline. Sophisticated it was, the perfect look for a vice president of marketing. She gave herself a sly smile. She had twenty-eight minutes now.

      Still gazing at her reflection, she began to unbutton her blouse. She pulled it slightly down over her shoulders and unsnapped her white satin bra by its front hook. The cups parted and her breasts spilled out, as if eager to escape their workaday bondage. Her nipples were already stiff and rosy.

      Her secret muscles clenched with anticipation, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. If only the company elites could gather here instead of the conference room on the floor below. What would they say to see her like this, breasts exposed, chest splotched with sexual rash, eyes hooded with lust?

      ‘My model employee,’ Michael Jones, the CEO, would tell her. He always said this in a slightly flirtatious tone, but he did in fact seem pleased with her work.

      But now she was of a mind to model a different professional behaviour – the kind you find in a red-light district. Zara took her breasts in her hands and began to massage them lightly, half for her own pleasure, half for the show on display in the silvery world receding before her.

      ‘Oh, my God, I can’t believe it. She’s standing there playing with her bare tits in front of everyone,’ a husky male voice murmured in her ear.

      ‘You’re going to enjoy this week’s presentation,’ promised another, sounding very much like the CEO.

      ‘Pardon me, sir, but what might we expect on today’s agenda?’

      ‘First Ms Reynolds will masturbate for us until she comes. If we’ve shown her our appreciation with plenty of lewd comments, she’ll choose one lucky man to bang her on the conference table until she climaxes again.’

      ‘Choose me, darling, I’ll give your cunt a good ploughing.’

      Zara pinched her nipples, twisting the hard nubs between her fingers. She didn’t need to answer. She didn’t even really know who these phantom men were, but their crude words aroused her like nothing else.

      ‘Lovely breasts, but why don’t you show us your bare bottom and your pretty lady parts as well?’

      Obligingly Zara unzipped and let her wool pants slither down around her knees. She yanked her satin panties down and spread her thighs as if to show herself to a roomful of voyeurs.

      ‘There’s a quim I’d like to get to know better.’

      ‘Touch it, sweetheart. Touch your hard clit. That’s what we’re here to see.’

      Zara dropped one hand between her legs and pressed a finger to her sweet spot.

      ‘Suggestible, isn’t she, boss?’

      ‘She’s my model employee,’ observed the CEO.

      Zara hastily glanced at her watch. Five minutes had passed. She began to strum herself industriously, aware of the soft click of her lubricated flesh.

      ‘I love to watch that finger jiggle, but you’re running out of time. I think you need the help of your special “friend”.’

      Unfortunately

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