Exfiltration a success, but it's time for work

You kept the gun in front of you as you left, which was fortunate because you caught Steve stealing a look at your rear as you exited the living room. You're relieved that you jilled yourself off ten minutes before Steve got home, or you'd be on the fast track to uncontrollable arousal by now.

And that would have been bad, because it's less than an hour until your shift at the fashion store begins. "Yikes," you whisper to yourself and you scratch your head. So many problems, so little time. Oh well, all fun and no work makes Mary a poor girl. And there's a lot of stuff you'd like to buy before you grow old, so you stash the gun in your purse and get something a little more fitting for work.

An hour later and you're in the backstages of your workplace (you work at a pretty big fashion store in a lucrative chain,) sitting through a speech by the big boss, Jonathan Johnson. You've found a black top that covers up your chest and waist a bit more, some more comfortable underwear in black and, not trusting your previous pair of jeans to be spot-free, you found a fresh pair that's a bit more fashionably torn, but perfectly acceptable at work. You also find a pair of heels that matches your outfit and a sweater for the trip to work., but you discarded the sweater the moment you got inside.

Either way, Jonathan the "big boss" is one of those second generation rich kids that's used to getting everything handed to him on a silver platter. Late thirties, early forties, educated alpha male from childhood. Got the management position mostly for coming from a family that has a large amount of the shares in it. He admittedly knows a little bit about men's fashion, but he's got no idea about how to build a team or how to solve drama. Exercises and looks cute enough to fuck though, but fortunately he's never considered approaching you at or off work for some fun. You wouldn't have any qualms about getting fucked by him, you're sure he'd be all dominant and, guh, clingy and entitled as if he owned you if you did so. If you wanted a baby you'd get one.

Either way, you barely see him around more than a few hours every week, because he, like most stupendously rich people, have delegated his chores to others. Like your day-to-day boss, Charles. He is a fashion-fanatic beard hipster in his late 40s, studied management and Feng Shui, and he shares your preferences for guys. He's nice to talk to because your body apparently respects his desires, so you're able to keep a conversation going with a male without getting hot and bothered by it. He's good at his job, but you know he's been using up all his favors to keep you around because of your biggest problems at work: the other women.

Two of the "let's make Barbie-Mary life hell" clan is sitting a few chairs over and you can feel their icy stares trying to kill you from afar. Janet the "I used to be a super model but really it was just one photoshoot while I was studying sales," blonde with some East-European bloodline mixed into it. And Violet the half latina "I was the head cheerleader and I should be in charge of whatever and whomever wherever I am because I'm flawless," who probably studied economics but probably never got hired for that because she was just making drama at work and shirking her duties.

Guh, as the memories begin to resurface, you seriously reconsider if you should try to use the gun on yourself again to get away from all the bitches, but you put the thought to rest. Why are they trying to make your life hell? Welp, mostly because you are who you are; an unapologetic shameless slut who looks awesome, fake boob preferences or not, but also has the best sales in the men's department. Truth be told, you'd be horrible at selling expensive brand clothing to women, mostly because only a small percentage of them are lesbian. You assume that your winning personality with your sex appeal sprinkled on top, has a tendency to make the hearts of rich men flutter.

Fortunately, Charles has been smart enough to put you in the men's division. And even more fortunately for your career, he's been covering your butt whenever you've gotten a little too excited, stepping in when you need to go a quick trip to the bathroom or the parking lot or elsewhere, deleting camera footage when you've been a bit to intimate in the booths. Considering how much time and energy the clan puts into catching you doing something worth firing you over, you're glad to have at least one ally at work. He's probably the closest thing you got to a friend here, and you'd certainly invite him to your wedding if you didn't find the concept ridiculous beyond having a great party. Truth be told, you and him probably have radically different opinions on what is considered correct party customs, but you like each other anyway.

Either way, you ignore the glares and sigh with relief as Jonathan finally finishes his motivational speech of the week. "Time to get to work," you think to yourself as you move out into the store to start working. today, however, you're bringing your purse and its contents with you to your workplace instead of leaving it in the back. You've been conspiring a little while Jonathan has been speaking, and you've come up with a few ideas you think you should be able to execute without too many complications. If anything, you might get out of this better off than you currently are.