The Cost of Doing Business (closed)

Closed for Jennifersdreams

I looked at the nameplate - Thomas J. Dempsey - on my desk and frowned. Damn cleaning crew had moved it again. I re-centered it and nodded; better.

I looked around my office and smiled. My first apartment had been smaller than this. But after nearly 4 decades, I had hacked and clawed my way out of my blue collar existence.

I'd always been driven like that. Had to be, after my father died. As the eldest child, I became man of the house at 12. My paper routes and lawn mowing gigs helped put food on the table for my younger brothers. I'd gone straight into a job on the factory floor because there damn sure was no money for college.

But I had ambition. I saved my pennies so I could afford to go to college at night. It took years longer doing that way, but I gutted it out one semester after another till I had my degree.

That hard work paid off, too. Back in those days, the bosses cared more about practical experience and attitude than fancy pedigrees. I gradually rose through the ranks on the floor and then eventually transitioned out of grease-stained coveralls to the white collars of management. Now, after nearly 40 years with the company, I was the Senior VP of Production.

Of course, that made me an anachronism around here these days. Most of the executives were at least 15 years younger than I and none of them had graduated through the internal ranks like I had. Instead, they'd earned their places in the head office based largely on their fancy MBAs.

Worst of the lot was Michael Collins, Junior VP of Marketing. Kid was barely in his 30s and yet was practically running his entire department. College at some la-de-da Ivy League university, a few years of internship, and then his MBA from fucking Harvard before joining the company. The guy barely knew how to find the factory floor, let alone understand how things worked down there. But apparently if you have 3.9 GPA and graduate summa cum laude, practical knowledge is irrelevant.

Very little about the guy didn't irk me. He looked like a fucking Ken doll. His blond hair was always cut just so and he looked oh so dapper in his fancy suits. He kept fit and trim because, as he was fond of mentioning, he would hit the gym every night.

That last part always made me want to snort in derision. His 5'10" frame might be toned, but at 6'4" and 295 pounds, I could snap him like a twig had I chose. Admittedly, I had a bit of a gut these days, but I could still bench 3/4 of my high school best. I spent my high school years scaring the shit out of opposing quarterbacks as I blasted through their offensive line. Collins played fucking tennis.

Yet despite my derision, the company thought he was their little golden boy. He'd been rapidly promoted into his current position. Scuttlebutt was that he'd be given the number two job at the new west coast expansion when it finished construction later this year.

I couldn't stand how good this guy had it. At his age, I was still doing shift work and going to school nights and it'd be nearly a decade before I traded my iron-toed boots for wingtips. Collins had probably never done manual labor a day of his life and would be my equal in the company at nearly half my age.

Consequently, when I'd discovered a chink in little Lancelot's armor, I'd been thrilled. About time this guy learned that life wasn't all wine and roses. A little time in federal prison just might do him some good.

Upon reflection, I didn't have much taste for schadenfreude. Hearing some bad luck had befallen him might make me smile briefly, but such momentary amusement was hardly worth the effort. I'd have to do have to go out of my way to expose Collins' misdeeds, particularly if I wanted to make sure there was no blowback on me. That kind of work warranted a more sustained payoff.

That's when thought of Collins' wife crossed my mind. Collins adored her, and it wasn't hard to see why. She was a petite woman, standing well below her husband's height despite her apparent fondness for high heels. Given her slender frame, her massive chest shifted from eye-catching to jaw-dropping; I'd never seen breasts that size on a woman who didn't make her living dancing around a pole, but naturally she came from the same privileged, Ivy League background as her husband. So the Ken doll had his own little Barbie, albeit the small version.

I'd only met her a time or two in passing at various company get-togethers, but I remembered how she seemed to dote on her husband. Judging by her outfits, she also seemed fond of his money, too. As such, odds were that she probably would go to considerable lengths to shield her husband (and her income stream) from federal prosecutors.

I chuckled as I picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello? Mrs. Collins? Tom Dempsey. You may remember me from the company Christmas party? That's right, I work with your husband.

"No, I know he's not home; probably at the gym at this hour. No, I actually was trying to reach you. I've learned some information that I'd like to discuss with you. I'm afraid the matter is too delicate to discuss over the phone, so I'd prefer to meet with you in person.

"How about you come by my office tomorrow evening, say around 5:30. Yes, when Michael goes to the gym. That's right, he doesn't need to be there. In fact, given the nature of the subject, it would be better if Michael didn't know you would be meeting with me.

"Sorry to be so cryptic. I promise to explain everything in detail tomorrow. Can you come? Great. I shall see you tomorrow at 5:30 then."

Jenni had met Mike her junior year at Harvard, jogging along the Charles. She was used to guys watching her go by, because she had the kind of figure that guys couldn't help staring at. At barely 5' tall, she was a slender girl, except that her breasts were a large D cup. On her slender figure, they looked much bigger. Mike had run alongside her, making small talk, and she had been cool, but friendly.

In High School, she had learned men were dogs and had hidden away, but in college, she had learned that, like dogs, they could be trained. She quickly learned that they mostly would do anything as long as there was a chance it would end with sex, and she learned how to keep them coming back for more, even when she gave nothing away.

Mike was a cut above the average. Not only was he smart, and fit, and cute, and driven, but he had a pedigree. He was an MBA student who had gone to the best undergraduate and prep schools. His family was wealthy and powerful and he was being groomed to succeed on a level most people barely imagined. She made up her mind to marry him, but she didn't scare him away with it. She simply went to work making him think he couldn't live without her.

She got her BA in Art History at the same time he got his MBA, and they were married a month later on a private island near Bermuda. Since then, she had been his wife, taking care of him and keeping him sharp as he shot up the ladder at the company. At 25, she was married to the youngest VP the company had ever seen, and her life seemed perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

That was why she didn't give much thought to Dempsey's call. She had met him once, an older man, a giant brute who looked more like he should be down on the factory floor with the other grunts than on the top floor with Michael and the others. She remembered him from the party to celebrate Mike's promotion, a little sullen, grey haired. He was tall and thick, and there was obviously plenty of brute strength under the suit, but she doubted he worked out. He probably hadn't worked out in her lifetime, and why would she waste a moment of time on someone who would retire from the same position her husband made before he turned thirty?

Still, she had to play nice and see what he wanted. It meant rescheduling her spa, but she got in a good long workout before she had to get ready. She looked at herself in the mirror for a long while before she dressed, and smiled. She was flawless, still. She smiled and put on a tight v neck sweater that would show a good deal of cleavage. She wore a black skirt and knee high boots, with 5" heels, which would still leave her staring at the knot in his necktie. At 5:30 exactly, she walked into his office and gave him a friendly smile.

"So why all the mystery?"

I stepped from around the desk to welcome Mike's wife. "Hello, Mrs. Collins," I said good-naturedly. "Thank you for meeting me."

She smiled politely at me as she proffered her hand in greeting. Even with the impressive height of her heels, she had to tilt her head back to make eye contact.

"So why all the mystery," she inquired.

I gestured for her to take a seat opposite my desk as I sat back in my executive chair. I gave her a quick appraisal as she sat down. She was wearing another outfit that called attention to her breasts. At the July 4 company picnic, it had been a form-fitting sun dress. At Christmas it was a tight red sweater. Clearly she was proud of them.

Her eyes returned to mine and gazed coolly at me. I got same sense of dismissal from her that I did her husband. Clearly she shared his impression that I was an over-the-hill executive from a forgotten era that should make way for the young Turks of today. I knew little about her background, but I bet dollars to donuts that it mirrored Mike's. Well-to-do parents, high-priced college education. Hit the genetic lottery with that face and those tits, so she likely had her pick of the guys. Picked Mike to hitch her star to and had been enjoying the perks of being one of those perfect couples ever since.

I held off my own satisfied smirk. This would be harder if she were a sweet little innocent, but clearly she was every bit as smug as Mike. I would definitely enjoy this.

"Mrs. Collins, I won't beat around the bush. Mikey has gotten himself in trouble." I watched her crinkle her nose at "Mikey"; she obviously knew he hated that name. I wasn't the only one around here who valued experience and "Mikey" sounded like your kid brother, not someone to respect and obey. I liked to "forget" that he preferred Mike every so often just to irritate him.

"I won't bore you with the details," I continued. "Suffice it to say that one of the things that Mikey handles are some quarterly reports to a federal administrative agency. Unfortunately, the reports are a tad confusing because the regulations have shifted back and forth over the last couple decades. Now if you'd lived through it like I have or if you have know how our production facilities work, you can figure it out, no problem." I shrugged and smiled. "But Mikey is new to the industry and unfortunately his MBA didn’t include any hands-on experience in a factory like ours."

"End result is that he has signed his name attesting to the accuracy of at least a dozen inaccurate reports. You know what the federal government calls it when you swear to report accurately and then you don't? Fraud, Mrs Collins. Fraud."

I let my words sink in for a bit before proceeding. "This information is about to go public When that does, you can count on a few things happening. First, I'm sure Mike has told you that he's been groomed for that big West Coast promotion to VP. That definitely won't happen. In fact, he'll likely be fired for incompetence. Moreover, word of this will get out, so he'll never find an executive gig at a Fortune 500 company in the next few years. That's assuming that some ambitious federal prosecutor doesn't decide to make an example out of him as another corrupt corporate fat cat and send Mike to prison for a few years."

"Now I'm sure you know that there is no love lost between me and your husband, so I won't shed a tear seeing him go down. But you're innocent in this matter, so I thought it only decent to give you fair warning. If I was in your position and had a spouse about to totally destroy our life, I'd want to know before the shit hit the fan."

"So maybe you're a stand by your man type who will make whatever sacrifice necessary for her husband. If so, then at least you can brace yourself for the storm. But I think no one would think any less of you for choosing to cut your losses and get out now before the government gets involved and starts seizing personal assets. Just because you said 'for better or worse' doesn't mean you signed up for this. So a little forewarning gives you the chance to get out now before Mike drags you down with him."

I paused, measuring her reaction. My plan hinged on her being as lovey-dovey as she appeared around Mike. There was no point trying to leverage her if she was already looking to cut and run.

Jenni stared across the desk at Dempsey coolly. The sofa was low, soft leather. It was an expensive piece, but it was far from new. It was old, like the man facing her, and she knew that the man's sofa reflected the man. He was of a completely different world from her and her marriage. She sank back in the sofa, a bit low, forcing her to lean back.

She was uncertain of what he was saying. Mike wasn't the youngest VP ever for nothing. He was smart and motivated and he pushed himself and everyone around him to be the best. It didn't seem like the kind of mistake he would make, but there was one thing that made her wonder if the old man might be right. Michael trusted people. When his people told him something was done properly, he believed them. Would he have signed off on something as important as that without double checking the work? Or would be believe in the people that worked under him? The answer made her stomach twist. It wasn't just possible, it was almost inevitable.

All this raced through her mind as he was speaking, but then he threw her when he spoke of his motivation. In the blink of an eye, his tone changed, from gently threatening to phony concern. The loathing he felt for Micheal was plain enough, but whatever he was telling her this for, it wasn't for her well-being. His disdain for her was too apparent in the way he looked at her, though it wasn't quite the disgust he obviously felt for her husband. Even as she tried to determine why he was telling her this, it occurred to her that if he was so poor a liar, he was probably telling the truth about Micheal's situation.

"I suppose I should thank you for the warning," she said smoothly, wondering what his angle was, and what she could do, knowing this. "I know you and Micheal have disagreed on a few things, and you were certainly under no obligation to help me." That they disagreed on a few things was an understatement. Dempsey and Micheal were such opposites that they clashed on nearly everything. She knew the older man must be thrilled to see her husband crash and burn, which left her with the question of why would he warn her? She looked at him more intently. He was holding something back, she was sure of it.

"It's an old-fashioned attitude," she said, "so maybe you'll appreciate it, but when I said 'for better or for worse,' I signed up for whatever comes. I know you don't think very highly of people who went to good schools, but your blue-collar snobbery has really blinded you if you think I'd walk away from my husband over something like this."

He talked like the low-class thug that Micheal had described him as, beating her down with his words as brutishly as he would with his fists, if he chose to be violent. The hate he felt for her and everyone of her class was palpable in the way he spoke about her, and the way he spoke about her husband, and she had no doubt that he'd happily watch them both go down in smoke. She actually felt herself trembling as he ranted at her, with indignant outrage, anger, but mostly fear. Old, crude and beneath her, he was, but there wasn't an ounce of subtlety there. A man like Micheal might bluff something like this, but she doubted Dempsey had the brains to think of it. She was sure that he wouldn't have the talent to lie so convincingly.

She bit her lip when he made his offer, but it wasn't enough for him to make it, he had to add insult to injury, and run her down even more. The conditions he added just underlined his arrogance, and she was so furious she could hardly think straight. She had to, though. Everything she had worked for was at risk, and she didn't doubt this gorilla would gleefully destroy her life if he felt like he was provoked. What she wasn't sure of, was that he wouldn't just do it out of spite. When he finished his verbal assault with a demand for immediate service, her heart sank.

She needed time to think, to try to find an angle. She needed to know if things were really as bad as the goon opposite her was making them out to be, but he wasn't going to give her time to consider his offer. Maybe if she hadn't called him on his snobbishness, but it was too late now. Being right didn't make her any better off. She stood up, clenching her teeth to keep her jaw from trembling. Four months, she thought. Could she stand it that long?

She stepped to the door to his office and saw her future laid out before her. She could be on the west coast with her husband racing towards the pinnacle of wealth and influence, but she had to submit to this beast's wishes. Her other choice was to walk out, preserve her dignity and her honor, and start over, with an anchor around her husband's career prospects to drag them both down. There would be shame and humiliation either way, but only one way let her keep her degradation private. No one would know, and in four months it would be over.

She locked the door to his office, and a tear slide down her cheek as she stepped towards him, her legs rubbery as she felt the horror of her situation settle on her with its full weight. She sank to her knees, her body shivering with the humiliation of what she was about to do, and she actually crawled the last few yards to his chair. She didn't do it to please him, but because she was afraid she couldn't stand.

She knelt at his feet, her hands resting on his thighs. She looked up at him, knowing he would show her no mercy, but hoping her tears might move him to some sort of human compassion.

"You'll keep it all secret?" she whispered, as her numb fingers fumbled with his belt. "The reports and ... what I do for you ... everything?"

I watched her carefully as she stood and paced. I tensed slightly in anticipation. I'd knew I'd make a strong case, but the decision still lay with her. She might rather have her honor than her cushy lifestyle. She might not actually love her current life enough to suffer for its protection. She might despise me enough to bit could only play the hand I had been dealt.

The click of the door lock brought a smile to my face. I had won.

I offered no pretense of sympathy as I watched her walk - and then crawl - to kneel in front of me. I was gloating, but I saw no reason for humility. I was running the show now.


"You'll keep it all secret?" she whispered. "The reports and ... what I do for you ... everything?"

I nodded. "I said I would, didn't I? You keep up your end of the deal and I'll keep up mine."

Her fingers fumbled with my belt, hampered by her desire not to even look in my direction. When she at last freed the clasp, I leaned forward off the desk to let my pants slide down around my ankles.

She proved equally slow at removing my boxers. I was slightly irked by her reticence given her obligation to show enthusiasm. Still, I always liked seeing the moment when a woman first saw my cock.

The meaty shaft sprang from a wiry thicket of brown hair. Fortunately for her, I'd trimmed in the area a few days earlier, so it wasn't the chaotic mess it had been prior. I was still mostly flaccid; I had outgrown the age when a mere thought of sex would stiffen me in seconds. I needed more direct stimulation and some time before I was at full mast.

"You'll need to play with it a bit to get me hard," I advised. I smiled as a mix of emotions zipped over her countenance. I couldn't quite tell which was prevailing. Still, she mastered her reluctance and gingerly gripped my shaft just beneath the mushroom-shaped head. Even soft, her finger and thumb couldn't quite encircle me.

I'd never been with such a petite woman, at least not as an adult. I'd gotten my first blow job in 8th grade, but everything had been smaller back then. I gave a silent prayer that Jenni was truly as skilled as her husband claimed. Fully aroused, my cock's girth was quite a mouthful and I was in no mood to have some amateur gag on it and knick it with her teeth.

I sighed softly. Only one way to find out. I sat down on the edge of my desk as she began to tentatively massage my shaft.

Jenni could sense his impatience as she fumbled at his belt, and when she finally got it open, he pulled his pants down himself. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. The thing was to get it over with, she told herself. If she could just get away from him for a minute, she could figure this out, but he left no room for her to think or push back. He tugged his boxers down and she stared for a second at his cock. It was hanging low, swollen maybe, but no way hard, and she looked up at him.


"You'll need to play with it a bit to get me hard," he growled at her, like a beast threatening someone approaching his lair. The fact that he was old enough to be her grandfather hit her as she reached up for it. The fact that he was such a large man had intimidated her, but now that she saw how big his cock was, she was positively terrified. Aside from her husband, she had only sucked one other guy, and neither of them was as big as this. She put both hands on the shaft and squeezed, feeling him growing in her hands. He was getting hard slowly, and she couldn't imagine how big it would get when he was all the way hard. She did know that the longer it took, the more likely she was to give up and break down crying from the shame.

She would just have to finish him off as quickly as possible, she decided. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was just a cock. Girls sucked them every day. Cheap sluts, of course, and not women like her, but still. If they could do it, so could she. She leaned down and swirled her tongue around the head. It tasted different than Micheal's. Sour, and salty, but not actually bad, if she didn't think about who it belonged to. She ran her tongue along the shaft, shivering as she felt how long it was growing. She had no doubt he was going to try to force it down her throat, but it was impossible. He was at least three full inches longer than Micheal, and thicker by far. She could barely get her lips around the head without her teeth scraping, but she managed.

She sucked the head at first, feeling as if her mouth was full already. When she heard his impatient sigh, she began to slide him deeper. The head of his cock pressed into the back of her throat and she opened her eyes. She was still far from having the whole thing, and she slurped loudly as she bobbed her head, wondering if there was any chance he would be satisfied with what she could do without hurting herself. One glance up answered her, and she whimpered softly.

Still, it was better that she do it without giving him any reason to force her. She pushed down on him, feeling the big thing pushing into the back of her throat. A moment later, she sat back on her heels, coughing andtrying not to throw up. She felt her spit dribbling down her chin, and her tears streaming down her cheeks, and when she looked up at him, she felt something strange inside her. She was weeping shamelessly in front of him, afraid and shamed and abused by this big brute, but inside her there was a stirring of something else. She sat back up and pushed his cock back in her mouth.

He could use her and hurt her and punish her however she wanted, she told herself, but he couldn't force her to be a victim. He could force her to suck his dick, but she didn't have to cry for him. She didn't have to break for him. She pushed down again, choking herself again, but this time she forced herself to stay down on his cock, choking around it but keeping cool. She pulled back to gasp for air, and then she closed her eyes and began to pump his cock in and out of her throat.

Jenni didn't know how long she had been there, sucking Dempsey's cock, choking herself on it like a whore. It might have been a few seconds or a few minutes, but it felt like eternity. Tears flowed from her eyes from gagging, and around her mouth and chin was a froth of spit that she could feel dripping down in long ropey strands, falling on her cleavage and her thighs, probably on her cashmere sweater and her skirt as well. She knew she would be a mess, and she'd have to race home to change before Michael saw anything, but first she would have to finish this disgusting old man.

When she pulled back to gasp for breath, she looked up at him, panting and struggling to hold onto her pride, despite the circumstances. If she could get through this nightmare and keep the humiliation and the shame inside, not showing him, it would be a small victory. There would be some part of her that he couldn't touch with his filth, and that pure core would save her. These thoughts flashed through her mind as he reached down, stroking his slippery cock in his big fist. For just a moment, she wondered if he had changed his mind. Maybe he was going to give her a break. Maybe it had been enough.

Then the first wad of his thick, slimy cum splatted across her face and into her hair. She closed her eyes just in time as a strand fell across, and then another blast splattered her, and another. Her face was covered in hot sticky jizz, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from screaming or sobbing at the degradation of it. No one had ever cum on her face like that. She knelt at his feet, her eyes shut tight as drops splashed across her lips and cheeks, dripping off her nose and chin, ruining her clothes and her make up.

She heard him groan softly, and the desk creaked as he leaned back against it. Her fingers trembled as she found a tissue in her skirt pocket. It was enough at least to clear the goo off her eyes, so she could crawl back to the sofa where her purse was. The big mirror in his office showed her a face transformed from cool perfection to something grotesque and disgusting, cum dripping down, make up smeared, lips trembling and eyes bloodshot from crying. Cum was in her hair, dripping onto her clothes, and she was sickened with disgust at the sight. There was a package of kleenex in her purse, and she wiped most of the mess off her face before they disintegrated.

She was still trembling when she stood up. She picked up her purse and then turned to Dempsey, with her chin up, and gave him a stiff nod. Her legs were weak, but she walked to the door and put her hand on the knob. If he didn't stop her, she could text Michael and ask him to pick up some take out on his way home. That would give her plenty of time to get home and shower. She looked back over her shoulder at the old man, and her voice was hoarse and weak.

"May I go home now?" she said. The word "Please?" slipped out on it's own, and she flinched at how pathetic she sounded.

She didn't bother with the company bathroom, just called Micheal as soon as she got out of Dempsey's office and asked him to pick up some take-out. She kept her head down and moved fast to get to her car, not wanting to risk any accidental encounters on the way. As soon as she got out of the building, she took a deep breath, as if she had emerged from under water. She hadn't quite been holding her breath, but she had been holding back her sense of revulsion. She held back the trembling until she reached her car, and was safely hidden behind tinted glass before she let herself go.

She was still deeply in love with her husband, and that grotesque thing up there had made her betray him. She started the car and turned up the radio and just sat until she had screamed out the worst of it. Still sniffling and sobbing a little, she put her car in gear and headed for home. The worst of it was yet to come, she discovered, for as she drove, she couldn't stop thinking about him. He was a disgusting old man, a pervert and a blackmailer, but every time she let her mind drift from the simple task of driving, she felt herself sinking into her memory of what had just happened, and questioning herself. Why had she believed him? Why had she just accepted everything he had said and done to her without checking anything? Why had she been so quick to suck his cock, and why had she done it like that? She had never sucked Micheal so easily, or so energetically.

By the time she was on the expressway, she was hardly watching the road at all. When a truck blasted it's airhorn at her, she found herself drifting out of her lane and gripped the wheel with both hands. She stared at the road, forcing herself to focus for a while, but it only took seconds for her to realize that her right hand had been pressed between her thighs. Her skirt was hiked up and her panties were soaked. Unconsciously, she had been masturbating as she remembered her actions in Dempsey's office.

She almost drove off the road when she realized it, and then it hit her. She was turned on. She was hornier than she had been in her life. Her hand slipped down again, and she stared at the road as her fingers stroked her clit gently. She was on fire, and just the least touch had her arching up, eyelids fluttering with pleasure. The memory of his huge cock seemed to flood her mind, and she felt a sick fascination. A chill swept through her then as she realized that on some level, the disgusting thing that had been done to her had excited her. The chill made it so she was able to make it to her exit without touching her pussy, but she slid two fingers inside herself at the light, and her body shook with pleasure this time.

She made it to the house and stripped off her cum-stained clothes. Her coat covered her well enough as she stashed them in the trunk of the car. She went inside and hopped in the shower and found herself unable to hold back from bringing herself off again before she washed Dempsey's cum out of her hair. It made her hate herself, that she was actually aroused by such repugnant treatment, but she justified it to herself. She told herself she had no choice. He had raped her, in a way, and her mind had to find some way of dealing with it. If this was what her mind needed, that was not her fault.

She told herself that until Micheal got home with pizza. It didn't make her any less disgusted with herself, but she made sure her husband never guessed. When he was in bed, she sat up, with the phone Dempsey had given her in her hand. She prayed for the courage to throw it away and let the chips fall, but when she finally went to bed shortly before dawn, it was still in her hand.

By the time Saturday came, Jenni was a wreck. She had managed to keep Mike from suspecting anything, mostly by inventing appointments that kept them apart. With their busy lives, he hardly noticed the difference, and the one time he made love to her that week, she had not been able to stop thinking about what had happened. It disgusted her, but the worst of it was that she felt no connection to her husband when he was in her. After, he said she had never been so hot.

Saturday, Mike went on a bike ride with a few friends, and Jenni begged off, saying she had to catch up with a girlfriend. When Mike left, she dressed herself for Dempsey, in a black lace corset with a matching g string and thigh highs. She threw a simple black dress over it and wore her black 5" stiletto mules. She wore her hair back in a ponytail, and a big pair of sunglasses in the hopes that if anyone saw her, they wouldn't recognize her. The lobby was almost deserted, and she slipped into the elevator and punched the button for Dempsey's floor at 5 to 3. As the car rose, she put drops in her eyes to chase the red away from crying on the way over, and touched up her make up.

She gritted her teeth like a soldier going into battle when the elevator door swung open, and marched down the hall to 1246. She felt her face grow hot with embarrassment as a couple from out of town strolled by and gave her a look. She knew she must look like a whore, and the worst of it was that she was. As she knocked on the door, she felt the heat from her cheeks spreading as the shame of what she was about to endure filled her.