Looking for a quality female writer to portray Mrs. Bowen. I prefer a multi-paragraph poster with some semblance of grammar. Would like one who can articulate the emotional dissonance of a woman morally repulsed yet physically aroused by the situation. Please PM me with questions or to submit a sample first post.
My phone trilled, so I slapped it to speakerphone mode. "Your 5 o'clock is here, Mr. Jarvis."
"Thank you, Colleen. Show her back, please."
I leaned back into my well-worn leather chair and waited. As expected, there was a knock at my door. After a moment, the door opened just wide enough for Colleen's brunette curls and big doe eyes to glance in. "Mr. Jarvis?"
I motioned for her to come in. She swung the door wide and stepped aside to let my guest inside. At my height, most women outside the WNBA seem short, but even Colleen seemed tall next to her diminutive companion.
"Mrs. Bowen, do come in," I said with a broad smile. "Colleen, it's after 5 and I don't expect I'll need anything else today. You can leave."
Colleen's curls bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Jarvis." The door shut behind her.
Mrs. Bowen gave a polite smile and strode towards on of the comfortable chairs in front of my oak desk. Mrs. Bowen wore a pale green dress that was clearly picked because it matched her eyes. Her makeup further enhanced the color scheme in a manner quite pleasing to the eye. Mrs. Bowen was no novice at presenting herself well.
Her features were undeniably lovely and a bit exotic. I vaguely remembered hearing her father was Japanese - or was it Chinese? Either way, her almond-shaped eyes, sharp chrecheekbones, jet black hair clearly signaled some sort of Asian heritage.
Her dress fell just below the knee and was clearly tailored for her figure. Its demeanor was strictly professional, but fit just well enough to hint at the curve of hip and firmness of thigh beneath. "I'm serious, but I'm also hot as hell" was the clear message.
Her upper body departed somewhat from this by incorporating a suit jacket. However, this was clearly to somewhat disguise her impressive chest. Even with the additional concealment, Mrs. Bowen unequivocally possessed a rack that would be the envy of a woman half again her height, let alone her petite stature. If Richarrd - her husband and my fellow coworker - could be relied upon, the true size of her bosom was even larger than it already appeared due to the skillful fashion choices and some very resilient undergarments. Moreover, he also had repeatedly asserted - for Richard was no fan of discretion - that her mounds were perfectly natural.
I made little effort to conceal my appraising glances. I could see she wasn't expecting such treatment, nor did she appreciate it. I'm sure she also didn't reciprocate my physical admiration. Judging by her husband, Mrs. Bowen preferred her men be slim and trim metrosexual types, whereas I was about as svelte as a bull moose. Being not to far from twice her age probably did not enhance my appeal either.
I didn't care. I continued trying to guess whether her panties were briefs, a G-strings, or a thong till she sat down and demurely crossed her legs.
"Mrs. Bowen, I am sure you are confused as to why I have called you here, so let me get straight to it. I despise your husband, Richard. I think he's a pompous windbag who loves the sound of his own voice. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has been pampered his whole life. That fancy Ivy League degree is no substitute for hard work and experience, but he looks down on anyone who didn't grow up with a yacht and ski lodge. He hasn't earned the position he has, but because who his daddy is and his granddaddy was, the Board of Directors got him a plush little job for one of their own. He's a fucking junior executive who talks like we're equals and acts as if he's better than me. He's an arrogant little son of a bitch and I'd very much like to see him fall on his ass."
I held up a manilla envelope and slid it across the desk to her. "That's a copy of documentation we're required by federal law to submit every quarter to the EPA certifying out compliance. For the past three years that's been Richard's job to complete, so you'll find his signature at the bottom of every one attesting to their accuracy. The highlighted portions are where I've identified that he has also been misreporting certain information. Now personally I figure that Richard did it because he's a clueless fuck up who couldn't find his way across the factory floor with a map, but if the EPA and the DoJ catch wind of this, they're going to call it falsification of data, failure to report, and fraud. That means means millions in fines to the company and maybe a short stint in federal prison for Richard.
"Now the feds won't cotton onto this because they get a thousand of these every quarter and probably stick them all in file cabinet. But if I place an anonymous call to them, inside a week we're going to have government investigators all over the place and your husband will be well and truly fucked.
The leather in my chair creaked as I leaned back."Of course, with your hubby's daddy's connections and money, Richard can probably avoid jail time. Might even keep his job here. His future would be totally screwed, but he'd hold onto what he had.
" That doesn't do me a damn bit of good. I want that motherfucker gone. Now simplest way to do that is just wait. Peterson is retiring in six months out at the California plant and everybody knows how the golden boy is the inside favorite to replace him. So I keep my mouth shut and that asshole will wind up 1000 miles away and out of my life for good.
I leaned forward, a malicious smile on my face. "But it doesn't seem fair to just sit on this information and let that prick get a free pass. So I came up with another option. I'm willing to bet that as the loving wife you are, you'd do most anything to protect your husband. I'd further wager that you aren't too keen on having your primary source of income and social status see his career prospects nose dive after narrowly avoiding federal prison.
"So here's my proposal: I'm going to hold onto this information and in six months, you and Richard jet off for to to the sunny West Coast. In the meantime, you become my mistress. You keep my libido satisfied, you get your California dream life. You don't, then I make that phone call and you can kiss that shiny happy future goodbye.
"What is it going to be, Mrs. Bowen?"
My phone trilled, so I slapped it to speakerphone mode. "Your 5 o'clock is here, Mr. Jarvis."
"Thank you, Colleen. Show her back, please."
I leaned back into my well-worn leather chair and waited. As expected, there was a knock at my door. After a moment, the door opened just wide enough for Colleen's brunette curls and big doe eyes to glance in. "Mr. Jarvis?"
I motioned for her to come in. She swung the door wide and stepped aside to let my guest inside. At my height, most women outside the WNBA seem short, but even Colleen seemed tall next to her diminutive companion.
"Mrs. Bowen, do come in," I said with a broad smile. "Colleen, it's after 5 and I don't expect I'll need anything else today. You can leave."
Colleen's curls bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Jarvis." The door shut behind her.
Mrs. Bowen gave a polite smile and strode towards on of the comfortable chairs in front of my oak desk. Mrs. Bowen wore a pale green dress that was clearly picked because it matched her eyes. Her makeup further enhanced the color scheme in a manner quite pleasing to the eye. Mrs. Bowen was no novice at presenting herself well.
Her features were undeniably lovely and a bit exotic. I vaguely remembered hearing her father was Japanese - or was it Chinese? Either way, her almond-shaped eyes, sharp chrecheekbones, jet black hair clearly signaled some sort of Asian heritage.
Her dress fell just below the knee and was clearly tailored for her figure. Its demeanor was strictly professional, but fit just well enough to hint at the curve of hip and firmness of thigh beneath. "I'm serious, but I'm also hot as hell" was the clear message.
Her upper body departed somewhat from this by incorporating a suit jacket. However, this was clearly to somewhat disguise her impressive chest. Even with the additional concealment, Mrs. Bowen unequivocally possessed a rack that would be the envy of a woman half again her height, let alone her petite stature. If Richarrd - her husband and my fellow coworker - could be relied upon, the true size of her bosom was even larger than it already appeared due to the skillful fashion choices and some very resilient undergarments. Moreover, he also had repeatedly asserted - for Richard was no fan of discretion - that her mounds were perfectly natural.
I made little effort to conceal my appraising glances. I could see she wasn't expecting such treatment, nor did she appreciate it. I'm sure she also didn't reciprocate my physical admiration. Judging by her husband, Mrs. Bowen preferred her men be slim and trim metrosexual types, whereas I was about as svelte as a bull moose. Being not to far from twice her age probably did not enhance my appeal either.
I didn't care. I continued trying to guess whether her panties were briefs, a G-strings, or a thong till she sat down and demurely crossed her legs.
"Mrs. Bowen, I am sure you are confused as to why I have called you here, so let me get straight to it. I despise your husband, Richard. I think he's a pompous windbag who loves the sound of his own voice. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has been pampered his whole life. That fancy Ivy League degree is no substitute for hard work and experience, but he looks down on anyone who didn't grow up with a yacht and ski lodge. He hasn't earned the position he has, but because who his daddy is and his granddaddy was, the Board of Directors got him a plush little job for one of their own. He's a fucking junior executive who talks like we're equals and acts as if he's better than me. He's an arrogant little son of a bitch and I'd very much like to see him fall on his ass."
I held up a manilla envelope and slid it across the desk to her. "That's a copy of documentation we're required by federal law to submit every quarter to the EPA certifying out compliance. For the past three years that's been Richard's job to complete, so you'll find his signature at the bottom of every one attesting to their accuracy. The highlighted portions are where I've identified that he has also been misreporting certain information. Now personally I figure that Richard did it because he's a clueless fuck up who couldn't find his way across the factory floor with a map, but if the EPA and the DoJ catch wind of this, they're going to call it falsification of data, failure to report, and fraud. That means means millions in fines to the company and maybe a short stint in federal prison for Richard.
"Now the feds won't cotton onto this because they get a thousand of these every quarter and probably stick them all in file cabinet. But if I place an anonymous call to them, inside a week we're going to have government investigators all over the place and your husband will be well and truly fucked.
The leather in my chair creaked as I leaned back."Of course, with your hubby's daddy's connections and money, Richard can probably avoid jail time. Might even keep his job here. His future would be totally screwed, but he'd hold onto what he had.
" That doesn't do me a damn bit of good. I want that motherfucker gone. Now simplest way to do that is just wait. Peterson is retiring in six months out at the California plant and everybody knows how the golden boy is the inside favorite to replace him. So I keep my mouth shut and that asshole will wind up 1000 miles away and out of my life for good.
I leaned forward, a malicious smile on my face. "But it doesn't seem fair to just sit on this information and let that prick get a free pass. So I came up with another option. I'm willing to bet that as the loving wife you are, you'd do most anything to protect your husband. I'd further wager that you aren't too keen on having your primary source of income and social status see his career prospects nose dive after narrowly avoiding federal prison.
"So here's my proposal: I'm going to hold onto this information and in six months, you and Richard jet off for to to the sunny West Coast. In the meantime, you become my mistress. You keep my libido satisfied, you get your California dream life. You don't, then I make that phone call and you can kiss that shiny happy future goodbye.
"What is it going to be, Mrs. Bowen?"
