Sexual Misgivings of a Zombie Heiress
Part 1 It’s Hard to Fuck in a Cubicle
“Ding Ding” The elevator collides with the ceiling, and out I step. Right foot first.
“Hi, I’m.” I stutter.
“Michelle, hi there. We’re so pleased to finally have you here with us. How was your trip?” She hugs me and gently grazes my ass. We exchange smiles and some small words.
I feel happy, and on my way to my cubicle, everyone is seductively welcoming. Offices to my right and cubicles to my left — Fuck, there’s nothing I hate more than a cubicle, the’re just stifling. I thought companies in this city embraced open themes, you know like in Silicon Valley the long rows of people where boys and girls just have eye sex non-stop.
Carpeted floors, leather seats, offices, windows… fuck, more cubicles, more grey walls.
A man erects himself from his seat, and slowly but firmly grips my dry hands. I begin to sweat as he stares into my lips.
He looks up and dances with my eyes.
“Hi there I’m Robert, it’s very nice to meet you.” I struggle to whisper a response. “Please feel free to ask me anything,” he adds. His penetrating voice, obscure blue yes, and ram horn shoulders turn me into a glacier. He smiles as Cathy pulls me away from him and towards my desk.
“Nice to meet you too Robert, thank you.”
Gorgeous mountains peer through the glass, and the bright Sun shortly after. I turn around, and Cathy grins as I can feel my back begin to warm.
“Beautiful isn’t it,” she says in a ravaging tone.
A door shuts and my brain clambers out through my left ear. A tall, brown-haired man releases his command, “Cathy, reschedule my meeting with Mr. Bison for next Monday, please.”
His leather jacket invades my senses, and his large hands prompt me to lean in. I extend my hand towards his left hip, but he scolds me with his virulent eyes, and disapprovingly nods. His hands remain at his side and he walks to the elevators.
Part 2 Dick, for all that it’s worth
“Joe, I have to go” My cheeks are spread wide as he lifts his cock out of me, he comes on to my back and slaps my ass. “Slap it harder, pussy.” Joe follows orders, and it’s incredibly satisfying.
I’ve got to catch the train or I’ll be late.
I pick out my new navy knit cardigan paired with the white top I bought yesterday, and some skinnies — I am woman, hear me roar. I’m beautiful, right? Fucking mirrors, if only they could speak so I could get some fucking assurances.
Hair, check. Make-up, check. Lips, check. Everything else, check. As I walk out the worn, dark, wood door, my button breaks — alright God, thank you, thank you and fuck you. Why the fuck does a girl have to be physically active to be physically fit? Is sex not enough?! And why does food constantly insist on entering my sacred body, “out!” — I cast you out, demons of the fat.
My head’s over the toilet bowl. “What’s wrong?” Joe, still hard, walks in. “Nothing,” I reply. I tell him to quit playing with it and put it in me — again. Call it an attempt to reclaim my sense of self-worth. He hesitates because of the vomit, but he proceeds nevertheless. We’re both fucking, animals.