How to Get a Job at Fucking

(This story is posted on the Literotica website. Do not repost anywhere else without the author's consent. For fans of my stories, they know what kinds of things to expect. This story deals with similar themes as the stories by wannabeboytoy, seducedHylas, and Dark Betrayal, namely cheating, betrayal, and heartbreak. If stuff like that isn't your cup of tea, then you probably shouldn't bother reading it. I do not condone any of these actions in real life. This is just a story. Enjoy.)

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(Tori)

I honestly couldn't stand him.

His name was Paul Martin. And apparently, according to everyone else I worked with he was this perfect fucking guy. Judging by the stories, when he would walk across the office, light would shine on him and the angels would sing. Everyone fawned over him. The other girls in the office talked about how cute they found him and how lucky his wife was. The guys would say how cool he was and talk about how they had hung out with him that one time. He was treated like a rock star within the office. No, actually it was more like, they treated him like a rock star, crossed with the pope, who was also an Olympic hero.

And of course he was, without a doubt, the most aggressively nice guy around. He was annoyingly nice. He would chat people up, and he knew every little thing about every single person. He would talk to the other salesmen and the bosses one minute, and the secretaries and the janitors the next. He would even talk to those old-timers who had been working the same fucking job for years. He would schmooze them up in a way that would seem totally false from most others, but not him. I think he actually cared about these people, which is just nuts to me. He was either the most incredibly friendly guy around or an incredible conman. But as time went on he never slipped. His perfect veneer never wavered, even after working here for years. It seemed like he was actually as perfect as everyone thought he was.

He was the top salesman at the company. His rise within the company was unprecedented, but his high intelligence, humor, and charisma made him an absolute natural. Even I could admit that. He was very good at his job. The big bosses loved him and he almost became the poster-boy for the company. He was the guy the company sent out for PR events, the young, handsome face of the company. His face was probably on a company billboard somewhere. I'd definitely seen him on the website. He would be the guy they would trot out to donate checks to charities, volunteering at the church and the local soup kitchen. The bosses knew what they had in him, and they threw everything his way. Promotions, money... the CEO even gave him permission to date his daughter. Now, he held one of the highest positions in the company, he served many different roles within the company, and he was married to the CEO's little princess. Not bad for 30-year old. He was a lifer here for sure, and judging by how his life was going, the rest of it was gonna no doubt be very good. At 30 he was already set, and it seemed like he barely had to try. His future was very bright.

God, it was so annoying!

He was just one of those guys that had everything just come to him, you know? If he bought one lottery ticket, he would win. If he went to a baseball game, he would catch the foul ball. If he dug a hole in his backyard, he would strike oil. Everything just went his fucking way. It was infuriating how easy he had it.

I hated him with a passion. He was just... he was just too good, you know? He was too perfect. It just HAD to be bullshit. No one was that nice. No one cared that much about other people. I would see him at work, and it was SO obvious to me what he was doing. A conman couldn't do it better. He was such a good schmoozer and it was just so natural for him. He did it with everyone and they loved him for it. People bent over backwards to be in his presence to have his attention. To his credit, he was great at one-on-one interaction. When he talked to you, it felt like he was your best friend, like your problems were the only thing on his mind. He came across as totally genuine and truly caring. It was infuriating! I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes when he flashed those pearly whites and gave that charming laugh of his.

I couldn't let anyone else see how much Paul frustrated me. How irritating I found him. It was impossible for anyone to hate the immaculate Paul Martin, apparently. And even voicing the slightest bit of that annoyance would be enough to make me the talk of the office. Not that I already wasn't, but that's a whole other part of the story.

I can't tell you how many times I had to look up and watch him chatting with the execs, seeing them slapping him on the back like a son. I grit my teeth every time he made some old lady giggle, or some young woman blush. I gave him my death glare when I heard him effortlessly transition from talking intelligently about world events with one group of people to chatting up fantasy football with another.

Plus, because he had to just have everything going for him, he was also very good looking, of course. The girls in the office always talked about his cute smile and his square jaw, the dimples, and that perfectly unkempt hair. The less inhibited girls talked openly about his impressive fit body and cute butt. He was this fucking perfect, All-American golden boy. Good looking, with the perfect life, a pretty wife, a perfect house, and a perfect body. He would be the guy in the fucking pictures when you bought a fucking picture frame. He would be the love interest in some shitty rom-com. He was just so boringly fucking perfect.

If it wasn't clear already, I just couldn't stand him.

But, God, did I ever want to fuck him.

I know, I know... I couldn't explain it. He was SO not my type. I preferred the type of guy I would find at the club, a guy who could knock back a few drinks. A guy who would look at me and give me THAT look, that 'I want to fuck you right now' look. A guy who would buy me drinks, chat me up, and drill my hot ass at the first opportunity. I knew I had terrible taste in guys, but those obvious flirts, those lecherous party guys who just obviously wanted a piece of my hot body... those guys were just way more fun. Guys like Paul were boring to me... normally.

I couldn't explain it. He was so clean-cut, and boyish, and seemingly innocent, a good, friendly, nice guy. Ugh... boring, right? But when I would see him, being the fucking perfect guy, all I could think about was that he had to have a dark side. He HAD to. He couldn't actually be perfect. He had to have some sort of character flaw. Maybe he was a freak in the bedroom, but I couldn't even imagine him fucking. He no doubt made sweet, nice love to his pretty wife on a bed of flowers in the sunshine, while birds sang. I couldn't imagine that mouth of his in a snarl, fucking some slut hard. I couldn't imagine his muscles taut with need. I couldn't imagine his cute butt flexing. I couldn't imagine hearing him growl in my ear, voice heavy with lust. I couldn't imagine his big, manly hands on my large breasts, squeezing them, taking them like a man. I would squeeze his butt hard as he fucked me, screaming at him to take me like a slut, bite my nipples, squeeze my huge fucking tits, and take me like the stud he was. God, I would let him do it all to me. I would let him try to make a good woman out of me.

Yeah, that's how it kinda started...

Despite my best efforts, for some reason, he would keep popping up in my dreams. My fantasies. At some point, the wires in my brain got crossed, and suddenly a guy like him became the object of my lust. He was hot, okay! I admit it! He was a former athlete, and he still had the body for it. As annoying as I found him, I couldn't look at him without my thoughts devolving into thoughts of sex. Thoughts of sex with him. Thoughts of all the bad things I could teach a good boy like him. Whispers of his butt and his noticeable bulge were commonplace in the office, and even I wasn't immune.

I hated myself for it. I hated myself for wanting him. I hated that a boring ole nice guy could get my juices stirring. He was the type of guy my mom would approve of. UGH! I hated that I, just like all the rest, was susceptible to his charms. I should know better. I could see through him, but it didn't make a God damn difference. I hated the guy, but I wanted the dick. Oh, did I ever want that fat married cock of his. I would inhale the shaft, cradle the balls, and swallow the load. I would blow his fucking mind with the things I could do. Thoughts of draining his balls into each and every one of my holes became commonplace.

He was nice to everyone, even me. He had no reason to like me. He barely knew me, but he would be perfectly willing to chat me up, even though everyone knew about my... reputation. Some others at his level knew enough to stay away from me, but he wasn't afraid to talk me up. I would be polite and cordial, but I had trouble hiding my annoyance, and I'm sure he could sense it. But that never stopped him from being friendly to me. That never stopped him from saying hello. And when he'd walk away from me, I'd roll my eyes at him in annoyance as my juices dripped down my legs.

On one hand, I couldn't stand him and didn't want to be anywhere near him. On the other, I wanted to spread my legs for him, let him use me like a cheap fucking whore, and have all of his babies.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

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My name is Tori Kryselneski, but most of the time, I go by Tori K, because, trust me, I know my last name is a total nightmare.

I was an assistant at a pretty big company. We designed and did research on some new technologies, and I worked at the corporate end. We did business with tons of major companies, both domestic and international, and...ugh, I'm boring myself here. None of that really matters. All that matters is that Paul worked with the sales team, and handled special projects and hiring, and I'm a fucking glorified secretary.

As it usually did on most slow days, or days when I didn't feel like being productive, my thoughts drifted back to him. To Paul.

We really couldn't be more different. He was the guy with the fancy degree, the former athlete. I was the college slut who barely graduated. We were the same age, but we couldn't be more opposite. He was the big success, the guy they sent to travel internationally to handle major deals, and I answer phone calls and get coffee.

But that was about to change.

One of the most valuable positions in the company had opened up, and I had put my name in the fray. And that job was an executive assistant. Executive assistant to Paul fucking Martin.

Now, you may wonder why this job would appeal to me. I, who proclaimed to not being able to stand perfect Paul. Why would I want to work for a guy like him?

That requires some explanation.

As I mentioned before, I had a bit of a reputation. A reputation that would be offensive if it wasn't completely true. The word was out on me, and everyone seemed to be aware of it.

To put it simply, I was a complete fucking slut.

I wasn't ashamed of it. Why should I? I love sex, and I love having a lot of it, with a lot of different guys. How dare I pursue the pleasure that is hard-wired in all humans? So yeah, anyway, I was pretty whorish, and that meant that all that time and money my folks put in to get me through college and get me a good education was wasted. Instead of studying and gaining an appreciable professional skill, I spent most of my time on my back, gaining an extensive knowledge of frat-guy cock. My best talents were in the bedroom, and that would never change. Sex was the one place where I could be truly outstanding.

I graduated with an essentially useless diploma, so I had to find a way to get by professionally. A girl's got to pay the bills, you know? I eventually ended up getting a low-level secretarial job here. And trust me, it was low-level. I am by no means a genius, but doing that work made me feel almost insulted. Is this what the world thought of me? Is this what they thought I was best qualified for? While I wasn't much of a student, I was very ambitious, and after a month or so of this work, I needed more. And I knew just how to do it.

To put it bluntly, I used my many talents to grease a few poles, and coincidentally, I was promoted. What a shocker!

I stayed as a secretary, but I worked for different managers. Slightly more important managers. And slowly, this process continued. My hot ass kept climbing up the corporate ladder. When I got bored or saw an opportunity, I sucked another dick, got another job, and added a few grand to my salary. It was a pretty sweet arrangement. The work was dull, for sure, and I could do it just fine. But the real game was the corporate game, that maneuvering up the corporate chain. While I wasn't much of a worker bee, I was very good at that other game. The corporate game. The game of business. I felt like I had a complete understanding of how business was done, but I hadn't had the full opportunity to show off my skills. Business wasn't about honorable negotiations. Real business was played dirty. I had no illusions about that. No ideals. I knew what motivated people deep down, and I played on that to great success. Business was all about sex, and in that sense, my body was built for business. My rise was equally as meteoric as Paul's, but not nearly as respectable. He worked in the boardroom, I worked between the sheets.

But unfortunately, this kind of thing could only get me so far. My tricks and flirting made mincemeat of the low-level management, but the upper-level guys weren't nearly so easy to fool. They were obviously a bit more cautious and wary of intrepid little schemers like me. Plus, word had gotten out on me. I don't know how it got out, I'm guessing one of my old bosses aired my dirty laundry. But then again, it probably didn't take a rocket scientist to figure me out. No matter how progressive some people claim to be, when they take a look at a woman with a body like mine rising up the corporate ladder, they make certain assumptions. In my case, they happened to be true.

I was far from the girl next door. I wasn't the innocent sunny type. I have been told I come across as bitchy and that I have a resting bitch-face. My lips were plump and curved into a natural sneer. I've been told my eyes seemed combative, as if I was spoiling for a fight. I wasn't afraid to speak my mind, and I had a bit of a dirty mouth. I could swear with the best of them, and I had a short temper. It was hard for me to contain my true feelings about people, and I was often the center of office gossip, some of it true, some made up. If I wasn't good at what I did, there would literally be no good reason to keep me around. But I was good.

I was very good.

It certainly didn't hurt that I was drop-dead sexy as well.

I was slim and fit, but not overly so. I wanted to make sure I had curves in all the right places. And I definitely succeeded there. I had firm, thin legs, and I always wore high-heels to showcase them. They also highlighted my round, juicy, heart-shaped ass. I had a great ass, and I worked very hard for it. It was firm, round, and with just the right amount of jiggle. I had learned how to walk to best showcase it, and I made it a point to wear slim, figure hugging clothing, just to make sure that all eyes were on me. I wanted to make sure that my ass was a topic of office conversation, and I'm pretty confident my tight, slim skirts got the job done.

My upper half held up its end of the bargain. I had superb breasts, a pair of round, smooth, juicy EE's, capped with perfectly-sized, hard, rubbery nipples. I always found a way to show my tits off, even at work, packing them in to tight tops, testing the limits of decency at times. I had been given a few warnings about showing a bit too much cleavage, so I was forced to cover up at times, but once I would get promoted and rise up the ladder, those buttons on my tops would get undone immediately, until I was warned again.

I was a complete package. My hot body, poured into sexy business clothes, which I spent a sizable part of my salary on, by the way. My shiny, brunette hair was chopped stylishly just past my shoulders, and my make-up was always immaculate. I was the perfect embodiment of a corporate slut.

This fact eventually became apparent to the higher-ups. It probably didn't help that I vigorously posted pictures online of me at the club, partying and drinking, grinding up all on hot guys, and some hot chicks as well. Word got out on me and people compared notes to the point where it became well known exactly how I ended up in this position, an assistant to an upper-middle manager. There was nothing concrete enough to fire me, but it became clear after a while that I had hit the ceiling, that they weren't gonna let a woman like me rise any higher on the ladder. I was the exact type of person this company didn't want to succeed.

But I wasn't gonna let that stop me. It would only make my success sweeter.

I had interviewed for higher positions many times, but the bosses were always cold and obviously disinterested in me. But I wasn't gonna let that get me down. I kept trying and trying, hoping one of these interviews would take, desperate to continue my meteoric rise.

That brings me back to Paul.

The job of executive assistant to Paul Martin was a highly prized position. That job would lead to big things to whoever held it. His last assistant, Edwin, had just left for another company, leaving the position open. A lot of people speculated about why he would choose to leave such a great, cushy job, but uh... haha, let's just say, I had some suspicions. But... that's another story.

Nevertheless, the job had opened up. And when it did, when the position working for Paul opened up, it felt like serendipity. At that moment, it all clicked into place. The solution to all my problems. The glass ceiling I had hit, the way people in the office looked down at me, my obsession with Paul, I could solve all those problems in one fell swoop. An insidious plan formed in my pretty little head. If I played this right, I would have to go down as, like, the smartest bitch ever.

I'm sure within an hour, Paul's inbox was filled with resumes. Mine was among them.

Even though the word was out and I was not likely to rise any higher in the company, they couldn't just not allow me to apply for new positions. They still had to at least give me an interview, and at least let things play out. And this little bit of forced generosity was all I needed. For this job, that would put me and Paul, alone in a room, one on one. Perfect. That was exactly what I needed to put my plan into motion. And with his unwitting help, I was about to turn his life upside down.

My plan was beautiful. A work of art. In one ambitious maneuver, I had figured out a way to not only get promoted and, like, double my paycheck, but also get to the bottom of my obsession with Paul and, if I played my cards right, I could take control of this company in a manner so bold that even the hardened execs at the top of the company would have to respect it.

And the most beautiful part was, this plan relied on me doing the thing I did best. Better than just about anyone. What was my plan, you might ask?

I was gonna fuck Paul Martin's brains out.

I was gonna put his hard cock in my tight pussy and blow his fucking world apart.

I was gonna conquer him.

I was gonna make him mine.

It was perfect. It was beautiful. And the sweetest part was, he was unwittingly the engineer of his own destruction. He had unwittingly created the blueprint for me to conquer him, and I was the first clever slut to figure that out.