Vespa Price

The woman in the doorway is tall, striking, and sexy. She wears a loose black business jacket and short black skirt. Her legs are long pale and perfect. You realize part of her height comes from gorgeous black with metal spikes, seven inch, stiletto heels.

Her waist is thin, yet she has large perfectly round breasts which ride high on her chest. Her face is pale and model perfect with cherry red lips. Her hair is the black of polished ebony and it falls like a waterfall just past her shoulders.

She gives you a smile that has no warmth. “Wendy, do come with me.”

You stand up to follow her.

She turns. Her jacket is backless allowing you to see her perfect pale back. She has a small tattoo of a bat on the nape of her neck. Despite her high heels she seems to glide along, her round perfect ass swaying with each step.

You step into her office. Law books and antiques line shelves in her office. You don’t have time to examine them before she begins questioning you.

“So Wendy, what do you see as problems with the product?”

“The stuff is clearly addictive. God knows what the long term effects are.”

She seems to snicker a bit. “Addictive? Addictive is a very relative term.”

“I was in a hazmat suit working with the stuff!”

“Hmm, yes. These things happen, that’s why the company has lawyers. Can you please relate what you’ve told me, and anything else you can think of to a couple of my new associates? Linda and Charlotte are thirsty for a new client.”

You are surprised at the lack of outrage. Maybe you should have gone to the press. Still you’re here you might as well try to stop this.