A chance to make an impression on CEO Nolan King? Sign you up!

Meeting at the CEO’s Office

On my way up now, you reply to Aubrey Merriman. With a final wistful glance at Avery Parker and those bare, slender arms, you make for the elevator. Moments later, you arrive at the top floor, treated to an impressive view of the city skyline out the broad windows at the end of the hall. Past the restrooms, the boardroom and an open, empty room with no discernible purpose other than to display contempt for the price of square footage in this real estate, you reach the office of Monarch Innovations’ CEO, Nolan King.

Sitting outside at a broad, L-shaped desk with a quad-monitor display is Aubrey Merriman, whom you’ve encountered once before during your audit of executive security protocols. Two things struck you about her. First, that she is more than up to speed on the company’s security protocol and even many of the best practices for IT security. Second, that whoever was hiring all the lookers downstairs, King obviously valued talent above beauty. Not that Aubrey was a bridge troll or anything. She was simply a normal enough looking middle-aged woman. Dark hair with skeins of gray, though an impressive lack of laugh lines. It was good to know the CEO at least played it safe with his own staff.

“Mr. Saxon,” she greets you. You respond in kind. “Mr. King is in a meeting, but he should be done momentarily. Please, have a seat.”

You park yourself in one of the plush leather chairs in the waiting area. For office furniture it was remarkably comfortable, clearly high-end stuff. Obviously a believer in sending messages, Nolan King. After a few minutes, Aubrey excuses herself, assuring you she’s passed on that you’re waiting. You smile through your teeth, trying not to think about what headway you could be making with Avery in the meantime. When a few more minutes pass, you give yourself leave to peer out the windows in a nook adjacent to the private office, where, after some squinting, you can make out a small white rectangle on the windshield of your car. Striding away is a person in black uniform, indubitably that harpy Brooklyn. A curse is on its way up your windpipe when you hear the door to the CEO’s office swings open.

You hurry toward the door, but as you round the counter from the observation nook, you come face-to-face into a woman you don’t recognize. Literally face-to-face, in fact. She was in the midst of closing the door behind her, and the two of you collide right as she’s turning around. In your urgency to avoid her, you’re off balance and she bowls you right over. You land on your back and suddenly, she’s all you can see.

She’s beautiful. Somehow you haven’t seen her before around the building, but you won’t forget her, you’re sure of it. Blonde hair but shaved in sort of a bad-girl aesthetic on one side, hanging in a neat tangle of tight curls. Fair skin, athletic, but not enough to quell the unbelievable swell of her breasts. As for the rest of her… well, it wouldn’t be unfair to call it less than professional.

Tits. First and foremost were her tits. There was no other word for them. Once you manage to notice anything else, you forgive yourself immediately, as the fixation is obviously by design. A tight black sheathe of a dress that would have been among the sexiest sights of your life even if it didn’t feature a big oval to show off her tits. It contorted those things up and out like a kid clutching his playdough, oozing between his fingers.

Oy, why did you have to think of squeezing between your fingers? You clench your fists to make sure they don’t get to squeezing anything.

Her hose was dark and insufficient to reach the hem of her brief pencil skirt. Her makeup was thick, lipstick cherry red. She was young, for an office position, young enough that her whole aesthetic was more a college girl dressed up as a slutty secretary for a Halloween party. But this was not a frat house, and it was not Halloween. This was mid-January in the Monarch corporate office, and this girl did not belong.

And presently, she was on her hands and knees above you, face uncomfortably close to yours. One knee rested right up against your crotch, the accompanying thigh palpably warm. “Hello,” she said with an awkward giggle.

That H, that was what snapped you out if it. A small waft accompanied it, and on it… you’ve never been so sure in your life that you smelled cum on a woman’s breath.

“Hi,” you manage, striving in vain to unnotice all of these details you just noticed.

The woman – girl, really – didn’t get up. Didn’t even move. If anything, she straightened her arms enough that it was easier to see her tits dragging against your chest. “Are you OK?”

“Yep. Err, yes. Yes, I’m fine. Are you?” You will yourself not to get an erection. Your subconscious, however, is giving lengthy consideration to shoving your tongue down her throat, which is not helping.

“You’re sweet to ask. I’m fine. Just klutzy.” She smiled, teeth white and gleaming behind cherry lips. Her hips cock to one side, just enough to twist that leg you can feel against your balls.

Some primal, male voice in your head snarls to seize the moment. Hell yeah, you’re fine, it supplies. Say it. Come on, make sure she knows you wanna fuck her. Don’t waste this!

Luckily, more evolved portions of your brain are doing their work as well, reminding you that this girl is probably either a hooker or the CEO’s girlfriend. Possibly, you consider, his daughter, here straight away from a hot lunch date? Any of those possibilities, however, render her forbidden fruit of the highest order.

So your brain compromises, and you say nothing, simply taking in the sight of this unbelievable beauty. God, her boobs are packed in there so tight, that even on her hands and knees like this, they’re trying to squeeze out wide arm holes of her vest.

She says nothing either. Is her head coming closer? Oh fuck, is she going to–

“Jenna, why don’t you help Mr. Saxon to his feet,” came a voice, and you look up in a mix of relief and despair to see Aubrey Merriman looking down at the two of you. How long had she been there? What had she seen? As the woman – Jenna, apparently – stands up, you remind yourself that nothing inappropriate actually happened, though if you look up her skirt like she’s practically inviting you to do standing so close like that, that might change. Was she wearing panties? Skirt that tight, you’d see panty lines for sure if she were, right? Something to contemplate later. At length.

Aubrey and Jenna each extend a hand, helping you back to your feet, the latter still smiling fetchingly when the CEO’s door swings back open seconds later. “Aubrey, is whathisface still–” The voice stops when the door clears the sight of the three of you. “Oh hey, there’s my guy.”

Nolan King pauses, looking between the three of you. He really is a handsome fellow, a tight fashionable haircut over a tight, fashionable suit. He looks more like an actor playing a businessman on a soap opera than the real thing. Still, his reputation precedes him, and while he might not remember your name, you know there’s a sharp mind behind that chiseled jaw.

“What, ah, what happened here?” he asks at the little cluster outside his office.

“Oh, nothing,” Jenna explains. “I bumped into my new friend here and we had ourselves a little spill.”

“Oh. Everybody OK? Oh hell, you’re bleeding, buddy,” said Nolan, looking at you anxiously.

“I am?” You’re surprised to find upon inspection that, by your best guess, Jenna’s glasses caught you in the chin during your initial impact, and indeed, there’s a teensy little cut. Somehow the presence of a warm, gorgeous woman on top of you kept you from noticing. No wonder he wondered what had happened.

“Why don’t you get that checked out, cleaned up, yeah? Don’t want another lawsuit on my hands,” he says with an affable chuckle.

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, trying to mirror his easy demeanor. “I can power through it, honest. If you have a tissue or whatever…”

Jenna frowns, somehow looking concerned at your war wound. “I am so sorry, Mr. Saxon. I can’t believe I did that. I feel terrible,” she pouts.

“Quite all right – honest accident. It really is fine – certainly nothing worth rearranging the CEO’s schedule over. We’re supposed to meet.”

“And we just did,” he says. “I put a lot of stock in first impressions, Will, and you… I think I’ve decided to like you. Jenna, am I wrong?”

“When are you ever wrong, Mr. King?” she giggled. Jesus. You add gold digger to your list of possibilities as to their connection.

He laughsd it off. “You’ve got work to do, I’m sure, Will. Why don’t you clean yourself up, walk it off, and Aubrey will find time for us to have a proper meeting for your, you know, report or whatever. Really only wanted to look you in the eye, shake your hand, and now hey.” He extends his hand, and you promptly give it a firm shake. His grip is firm, his hands soft. “Now we have.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. King.”

“Same, and call me Nolan.” He claps you on the shoulder, gives a brief nod, and retreats into his office.

Decision time! Voting takes place for patrons $10+ at https://www.patreon.com/icebear. Results will continue to be posted here for free, though, so no pressure.
"Jenna" modeled by Natasha.

• Insist! Barge into Mr. Nolan’s office. Whatever he’s got going on, you want some of it. Maybe he’ll be impressed by your confidence…?
• Stay a moment and try to chat up Aubrey. See if you can’t dig up anything about the CEO’s relationship with Jenna.
• Take the elevator down with Jenna. Maybe she could help put a bandaid on your boo-boo?
• Take the stairs; safer that way. Blow off steam by marching outside to give that awful meter maid Brooklyn a piece of your mind. She can’t have gone far.