Janet's late night visit

Janet's POV

Janet hated being middle management. She hated being the miserable old taskmaster to those below, and the worn out whore to those above. Most of all, she hated how true both impressions were.

She'll never admit it, but it was only ever what she had between her legs that got her where she is, but she was **** at the time; a knocked up black chick on a white trash estate, an absent boyfriend, a mounting pile of bills, and a complete lack of qualifications and experience...what else could she do?

So she fucked and sucked her way up the corporate ladder, selling off her body and pride to get to be the area manager of some mediocre hardware chain. She's got the nice house in the suburbs, and a healthy and grown-up, if bitchy and ungrateful daughter, but that's about it. Everyone in corporate knew how she got what she has, and no-one wanted anything to do with a two-bit slut besides the old rich assholes she's sucking off, and even they've lost interest now she's got crows eyes, wrinkles, sagging breasts and a chubby frame.

Lonely and bitter, she took her frustration out on her employees; it was petty and pathetic, and she knew it, but it was all she had. And it was all she could do to distract her from her own isolation, by drowning her sorrows every night in soap operas, gourmet coffees she'd learned to brew online, and idle masturbation whenever she could work up the enthusiasm.

She enjoyed a nutty frappuccino tonight, dressed a red velvet dressing gown, lounging on her leather sofa she watched a rerun of an old favourite, her glossy black hair resting on her generous cleavage, when her doorbell chimed. She sighed and checked the time on her tv, seeing it was just past eight.

Back in her old neighbourhood, she would never have dared to answer so late at night, but in this one, the only danger was someone seeing her half-naked as she likely unlocked the door for her daughter, Haley, who she was yet to trust with her own house key, what with her bad taste in...'company'.

She pulled herself up with a grunt, her back protesting with a stiff ache as she straightened up, pulling the belt of her gown tight before heading to the front door.

Opening it, her eyes widen at the sight of Emily, one of her younger, and depressingly pretty subordinates, dressed in a winter coat and jeans that squeezed her slender bottom half, and a tall, muscular man beside her, naked as the day he was born and pale as a sheet.