Working Girl

Last time Vanessa had gone to work, it had been as an awkward version of her professional self. A nervous version, overcompensating for her highly visible black eye, trying to project an image of anything better than what she had been. A victim of recent domestic **** and... and ****.

There was nothing about her, this time, that was any version of professional outside a street corner. Even there she would look... she had a swollen cheek and lip, a fading black eye, she...

There was no way, this time, to compensate. To cover up. To hide what she was.

The eyes wandering over her told her that. They told her everything that had crossed her mind, every loathsome thought that whispered in her skull when she had looked at herself in the bathroom mirror was true, reflected this time in the eyes of her co-workers.

She walked at Brand's side. She... she clung to his arm, at his side, for support. For shelter.

She hated him, hated that.

Hated knowing that Brand had noticed, and that he was accommodating her - hugging her close, blocking the vision of a few of their colleagues. That and s-stroking her butt, soothingly, through her spandex, small red clubbing dress. Running his fingertips down her crack... making kind, sweet little circles at the spot where her sore, used butthole would be, if the finger went deeper between the firm, trotting globes of her brown buttocks.

He touched her, and they looked, and Vanessa's... her...

It quivered. It squeezed and pulsed, and...

She hated herself.

If she was stark naked she might have felt less underdressed. Less humiliated.

And, even though she was freshly showered - between the looks, her dress, her cleavage supported and shown off by a lacy black demi bra... the once-professional colored woman knew... she just *knew* that she smelled like her... needs. That the scent wafted off her. Between her legs, her hairy vagina was puffy, swollen, and ready - leaking an almost constant stream of arousal that only got worse when people stared. People that she knew, stared. They smirked. They whispered.

She didn't have any panties on. No protection, nothing to stop the scent, or the active flow. Vanessa could feel, actually *feel* the slickness between her thighs while she walked. And the humiliation only made it worse, until she ached constantly. She needed to get into her office. Fast. Away from eyes and... noses and... and men and...

And women. Women that were nicely dressed. Secretaries and clerical workers. White girls, almost all of them. Women with silky hair, while Vanessa's natural Afro 'do... her gold hoop earrings, her bruised face - everything about her looked like something out of a '70s blaxploitation film. The women that caught her eye, that looked at her were girls that Vanessa had always had cause to feel superior to, before. P-pretty white girls that... she...

Her office was just a little further. God, she needed to get there. Now, right now. Now. N-

No. Just breathe. Breathe, Nessie. It could have been worse. They had arrived late enough that the gauntlet of peering eyes was somewhat mitigated. Most executives were inside their offices, or in meetings. Most secretaries had their heads down, working, on phones or gathering -

"Ahh! Chr-!" Christ! Vanessa yelped, jumped, and tottered on her pump heels, clinging to Brand desperately with both hands to avoid falling over from an unexpected swat to her ass.

"Really classy move there, Barrington. Bringing a black working girl - no offense, honey - to work." Vanessa recovered, physically. Mentally she was reeling, shocked, more so because - Cortland! A man she had known for years. And he had not only not recognized Vanessa, admittedly from behind, he had m-mistaken her for...!

Even though in her own thoughts she was dressed like a- a hooker, or a 'black working girl, no offense', hearing that someone she knew, maybe everyone that saw her, really, truly thought that's what she was... Vanessa groaned, burying her face at the crushing humiliation.

Brand laughed, and paused, turning. Hand on her hip, he turned Vanessa. N-no. She stumbled, resisting slightly. No! She couldn't. Not without at least... god damn her... she couldn't, couldn't be seen, talk, without at least first w-wiping up the... the inside of her... her thighs.

She didn't have a choice. Head down, she turned, concealing her face behind her wild, fluffy hair -

Brand, who had sheltered her up until that moment, grabbed the back of Vanessa's puffy Afro and practically yanked her head up to look right at the familiar face and completely bald head of her close coworker.

"Is that how we talk to our valued team members, Cortland?"

"Holy shit!" Cortland actually stumbled backwards a half step in surprise.

"Vanessa?! What the hell happened to your fa- to, ah, to you?" His eyes started at her face, before flicking down to her unnaturally propped-up cleavage, complete with the tippy tops of her dark aureolae subtly poking out, and back up. And finally, irresistibly down again to what was revealed by the broad, deep scoop neck of her teeny dress.

"I..." What happened to her? She... "I..." Vanessa whimpered.

She - she should... he had just... she should be mad. Yes. Like a light from above, seeing Cortland's dumbfounded face, like so many times before, helped her ignore and, and helped her recall - that was her. She, Vanessa, she could get angry. Coldly angry. He, piggishly, was still looking at her breasts, practically drooling. She usually had the better of Cortland, in their exchanges. In their work. She had almost always been a step ahead. She was better than him. Vanessa was better than him. She squared her slumped shoulders. She, whatever her state, she still could -

Cortland, her coworker, reached up and stroked Vanessa's face with the back of his hand. Right across her swollen cheekbone, down her hard dark face. "Looks like someone finally decided to take you down a notch, huh?" He growled softly, looking right in her eyes.

Carter's face flashed through Vanessa's head.

Brand's hand, still gripping her hair, pulled and relaxed, nodding her head for her.

The carefully gathered remnants of Vanessa's calculated fury, her personality, scattered in an instant. She melted.

Brand finally let go of Vanessa's unkempt Afro, and his hand drifted down her straight, bare back - left open by her slutty dress. His thumb trailed down her spine, and lower, until... he stroked the hump of her round ass, and pushed, pushed her butt, pressed her forward and **** her to step into Cortland's space.

So close. Hands defenselessly, nervously by her sides, Vanessa looked into Cortland's eyes, set a hair lower than hers by virtue of her wobbly 4" heels.

He stroked her face again, hand open this time. He touched her... gripped her chin, brushed her lips, and gently caressed her bruises. She inhaled sharply, and felt her upright nipples and breasts touch his chest.

"Yes, Mister Walden," Vanessa whispered, not remembering... not remembering exactly the question she was answering. Cortland's hand went low and brushed her thigh - her mid thigh, where smooth brown skin met the hem of her dress. She, pathetically, she had no anger, no thoughts left. When she didn't stop him, didn't protest or move he gripped, gripped her smooth, dark muscle and squeezed. Squeezed, stroked, and Vanessa stood paralyzed before her colleague while her dress climbed a little higher.

"That's enough flirting, Nessie." Brand patted her ass after a long moment, breaking the spell. Vanessa flushed, taking a step back while Cortland's hand lingered before reluctantly falling away. "You can make good on it later," He promised. The way Cortland's eyes crinkled with a lecherous grin at Brand's afterthought made Vanessa's stomach churn.

Her eyes blurred with tears, while she walked away after quietly whimpering, accepting a last ass grab. Whatever was wrong with her was deep. So deep, so wrong and thoroughly, sickeningly deep that she...

She wondered, if she saw Cortland later, if she could get permission to cum.

Just the thought of him, bald headed, sweating, bending her over... fuck. She, her disgust at the thought was, like everything else, it was...

With her mind on the needy thing in between her legs, Vanessa barely noticed she was at her destination until she saw her young sex- s-sec... secretary. Her young secretary, and was absolutely thunderstruck.

Cheryl was leaning over.

She was... had- had she always looked th-that...?

Cheryl hadn't noticed them yet, and Vanessa's eyes roamed greedily over... she could see the edge of Cheryl's hard collarbone, and deep, deep down her... Vanessa, salivating instantly, was **** to swallow back her own drool. The white woman was bent over at the waist, hands on her desk, looking intensely at her laptop while she chewed on the back of a pen worriedly. Her sensible white blouse was undone at the top, and further... unbuttoned, more than Vanessa had seen out of her before. Unbuttoned and bent low, revealing a lacy white bra, a slender g-girlish chest. The young assistant's straight brunette hair was in a pleasing do-up, a few strands slightly disarrayed and hanging over her prettily tired face. Tired, maybe, but an intensity that Vanessa couldn't help but admire radiated from Cheryl's smooth features.

And then she saw them. Or s-smelled... Cheryl looked up, at Vanessa first, catching her staring, ogling, and gave her a- a *look*. A look that took in and judged her hookerish appearance in an instant. Unsurprised disappointment played across her face, a single expertly plucked eyebrow arched... and then - she looked at Brand. Her face lit up. She blushed.

She looked perfect. Not just her appearance. Her poise, her manner. Cheryl floated around her desk and one hand fluttered, artfully, accidentally-on-purpose parting her top for Brand's benefit. She must have been waiting like that, for her new male friend. They embraced, and with one leg up she kissed Brand's cheek.

Leaving Vanessa standing, dazed. To the side. Awkward. Shuffling, looking on as the two exchanged pleasantries, hands touching arms, clearly having shared more moments together than Vanessa had... oh. Oh...

No.

How much did Cheryl know?

The thought popped into Vanessa's head. It crept in, while Vanessa looked at the two; distant, painful jealousy stabbing her loins.

Cheryl had been talking with Brand.

Vanessa's shuffling got worse. She was practically grinding her slick thighs together while the thought... thoughts, they flooded in. While Vanessa stared, and shifted, and...

Did Cheryl, while she smiled for Brand, did she know about Carter? They were laughing now. Did they also laugh about Vanessa's intrusive, compulsive m-monkey cleaning and hoo-uoo-ooting? Vanessa shivered, sending that thought.... she couldn't start, not that. What about James, or... no. Elly?

Something buzzed, words, around her, filling the air. Vanessa couldn't hear them. She was lost, drowning. She had to purge, purge those thoughts. Purge her brain. She had blocked so much away, blocked it in, shut it up. She... she shouldn't have thought of... Vanessa closed her eyes. She couldn't think about that. Any of it. Not now. Couldn't think. It hurt. Get rid of it.

Yes. She shut them away, piece by piece. The voices, the real voices, started coming into focus.

Cheryl?

Vanessa blinked.

Cheryl was looking at Vanessa. Talking. How long had the young woman been looking at her, speaking, saying something about...? Vanessa could make out, or remember, some of the words. Normal words, or trying to be - 'weekend' 'behind' 'hello'... but... they didn't have context. She was still... she still needed to focus.

Focus, on the now. Not- not the...

"Ms. Lockley...? Miss Lockley...!" Vanessa nodded, immeasurably relieved that Cheryl had given her something to grasp onto. Cheryl was calling for her. That was something she understood. But...

The brunette was frowning.

"Sorry..." Vanessa mumbled.

Her tongue had been inside... the young woman was dating Brand, while... and Cheryl, she was working while... "Vanessa! Christ, my eyes are up here...!"

She was frustrated with Vanessa. With her... boss. Vanessa was supposed to...

"I'm sorry," The bumbling colored woman mumbled, flushing, eyes flicking to the space between Cheryl's slim white legs and her slender, straight tummy and her... the revealed little bits of her chest. That, more than anything. But... she was trying, really trying to focus higher. She met Cheryl's eyes, a few times, but... finally Cheryl turned to Brand for help, her expression exasperated.

"Does she really...?" And turned back, frowning, "Vah-nessa!"

Finally, scolded by Cheryl's sharp voice, the black executive's eyes found where they needed to be. U-up.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with her like this..." Brand apologized, "I have to get to my own office. I've had a long -"

"Its fine," Cheryl said shortly, then paused; and more pleasantly, formally, "It's fine, Mister Barrington. Go ahead and take care of your work. I'll get her settled."

Brand was one thing. Carter and Cortland, and... but to have Cheryl talk like she wasn't there, like she was a child... it hurt. It seemed impossible that she was so incompetent, suddenly and completely so much less than Cheryl...

But she was. Cheryl had been working all weekend, bettering herself, and Vanessa, whatever the cause, had walked into their shared workspace dressed like a whore, dazed and mumbling and staring and leaking out of her uncovered vagina like the worst kind of female pervert. She...

"I didn't think it was this bad. At home, maybe. But here, I thought for sure you would want to..." The younger woman crossed her arms beneath her breasts, wrinkling her unbuttoned blouse, revealing a tiny portion of her lacy white bra -

"Eyes, Vanessa," Cheryl sighed, and held her forehead between her thumb and middle finger.

O-oh. "S-Sorry," Vanessa stammered, and nervously licked her painted cherry-red lips. She looked up, but... that wasn't going to work. She could feel it. Cheryl waited, tapping her foot, until Vanessa's flitting eyes finally found a safe spot where they could settle. Down, looking at her own wiggling feet, their open brown tops angled down into her black pumps.

"You know Mister Barrington has told me a few things about your... care, and the reasons for that."

Vanessa shook her head, staring at her shuffling feet, not trusting herself to speak. She hadn't known that and... it confirmed the two had been in communication. Communication about her. It meant that Cheryl might know or suspect... have clues or outright knowledge of all sorts of humiliating, private things. Behaviors and tasks and -

"That's between the two of you. At least while we are in the office. I'm just here to work. I know there's more to it. I... well I was there. With you. You know."

Vanessa knew. She couldn't get it out of her head.

Being laughed at, ridiculed. The shock on Cheryl's face when she had run her toe along Vanessa's spread cunt. How her sopping, hairy hole had opened up, spread itself, flowered for the other woman.

And even more, Cheryl's... the shape and smell of... her... when it had been revealed. The look of her smooth white mound, the- the feeling of reverently sliding Cheryl's white, lacy panties off her slim hips. The sensation, of the young white woman's smooth femininity when it had been planted on Vanessa's slack, sad nigger face, slipped back and forth. Drowning her, using her for a masturbation tool, an accessory to satisfy her feelings for Brand. Then, enveloping her tongue, fucking her tangy-sweet young pussy with Vanessa's tongue and kissing Brand. Never minding that Vanessa was tasting another woman for the first time. Barely acknowledging that Vanessa was there, while the black woman hardened her tongue, stretched it until it hurt so it could go deep, deep into that mysterious young...

That hole that was hiding from her. Hiding, just behind the enticing cleft where Cheryl's thighs visibly met behind her gray pencil skirt, covered in panties, hidden panties of some unknown type and co-

"Mmp!" Vanessa squeaked, and quickly sucked back another mouthful of drool. A sharp nail dug into the soft underside of her jaw, roughly prompting her head up and away from staring at Cheryl's smooth white legs, her skirt and crotch. Hard hazel eyes glared, right into Vanessa's.

"But we are at work now, okay Vanessa?" Cheryl's voice was tight. Maybe attempting to sound soothing, or sympathetic. But the strain underneath was obvious.

She stared, but Vanessa couldn't meet her eyes. She tried, but she couldn't. She couldn't hold still. She tried, but -

"Go to your office. I have work to do. Lord knows you do too." Cheryl finally gave up, and dismissed the older woman in disgust.

"Make sure you wipe your... self up." She said in parting, "Thoroughly."

The black woman half expected a swat on her backside when she mumbled her affirmative, and scampered off to her office.