Lust and Dominance (PM interest!)

[Woe_Foe]

Name: Nikki Smith
Age: 27
Height: 5'9"
Cup size: 32J

~~~​

On the surface, it was just any other Thursday night here in San Francisco. Downtown was packed as always and parking was impossible to find. But today was also one of those few days that I could finally experience the nightlife that makes my city the gem that it is. I was busy most days of the week; I worked long hours at my internship at Merrill Lynch and finally I found myself with a day off and could head on out with my boyfriend of two months, Eric, to the hottest nightclub that opened up just a few weeks ago. It was sure to be jam packed.

"Nikki, do you really have to bring that along?" Eric asked, seeing me flip through pages on a clipboard in my hands.

"Oh, sorry Eric!" I said with a laughing, glancing away from it just for a few moments "I need to go over some financial statements and submit my report on it tomorrow. I swear, I won't be reading this the entire night!"

"Wah blah blah, god Nikki, it's your day off. Lay off the work." he said with his charming smile.

"I will! Just give me an hour or so." I then said as he scoffed and I laughed, eyes clued to the clipboard for a while longer. I kept it around with me as we stepped out of the car and walked to the line, leading to the nightclub.

Even though it was only about 8PM, the place was packed. I swear, anyone who was anyone came to this place tonight. Eric and I squeezed through the crowd and towards the bar, where we were to meet up with friends. Along the way, Eric rolled his eyes and plenty of other party goers kept their eyes on...well, me. Or more specifically, my body parts. Or even more specifically, my huge chest. Whatever, I wasn't going to even let any of these sleazebags approach me.

Along the way though, my eyes caught short glimpses of people I did know. Namely, I could tell right off the top of my head that there was...

Thomas, my brother's best friend. How he managed to get in here at eighteen years old, I had no idea. But there was the tall (6'0) skateboarder, taking to a few older looking people in suits. Probably trying to socialize, him being the social butterfly that he was. Tom was a popular kid from a popular crowd, so I figured that he wanted to keep trying to be the top dog in his group of friends by going to a new nightclub that many of his peers wouldn't be able to go to.

Rick, my manager at Merrill Lynch. Good grief, I was going to try my best to avoid that guy. Namely, because I didn't want him to catch me doing work here - I don't know, it would seem unprofessional, no? Other than that...well, because he was a sleazy, short (5'6) pervert. No...he hasn't sexually harassed any of the girls at work but I caught him lingering a stare a little too often. Especially when it came to me. I swear, he hired me mainly because of my jugs.

Dan, Eric's nemesis. From what I remember, both of them had a feud when a business that they shared went down. Since then, both haven't been in speaking terms...and have been at each other's throats ever since. Both, while they don't speak, seem to hold a crazy resentment towards the other and constantly try to outdo one another.

Anyway...

Wait, where did Eric go?

I quickly found myself alone in a huge crowd of people when suddenly someone tapped at my shoulder. I turned around to see...

((OOC: Hey! I need one dominant male writer to play as either Eric, Thomas, Rick or Dan. If you're interested, let me know with a PM. Thanks!))

 

[CarnivalBarker]

Rick.

That's right. I was there in every bit of glory that I could muster, and you could tell by the look in my eye that I thought I had captured the golden goose in the very trap I had set, had I been wise enough to set one. My eyes dipped to the clipboard in your hand, and then back to your face, and you saw how difficult it was for me to act like I had not noticed it, or didn't care. I certainly cared. Client information couldn't be disseminated, and it couldn't be destroyed - two things quite likely to happen when you go to a club with that information. Nevertheless, it was now a means to my end, and I knew it.

"Hey Nik," I said, as if we were close, and perhaps hoping you felt like maybe we were. I cocked an eyebrow while at the same time noticeably glancing down your shirt. "What brings you here?" I lean in hoping to hear you better, or maybe hoping to bump against you, who knows, but certainly straining to make out any response you might give over the loud house music and crowd.

About that time, a guy nearby stopped me and whispered something in my ear. I waved him off, telling him something you couldn't make out, but quickly sending him on his way. I straightened my black blazer and made sure the collar of my starched white shirt was cleanly visible and pristine. I knew Clooney would be proud. He and I were the same age, same generation, same tastes, and same class. I thought so at least. Some didn't see it.

The purple and gold lights began to flash over the crowd as a new song queued up. I notice you start to look impatient, as if waiting for someone. "Are you here with someone?" I ask, not waiting for you to answer my first question. I know if I get you talking, I can get information I need, that can help me get what it is I want.

 

[Woe_Foe]

"Hey Nik,"

Oh no.

I turned around to see you, the pervy older man from the office (and my boss, all things considered. But I wasn't about to think that.) pretty close to me right now. Nik - just who did you think that you were fooling, I thought to myself. Anyway, I cocked an eyebrow in response to you doing that, but quickly had to fight off the urge to push you away as your eyes indiscreetly found their way to the cleavage that my tank top gave out to your hungry eyes.

"What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know, getting a small taste of the nighttime. Like everybody else, apparently." I responded in a small chuckle. An inaudible gasp escaped my lips as you leaned in closer, bumping against me. I tried to move back, but ended up bumping into the back of someone else myself. So, the end result of this was that your face was nearly pressing itself against my large 32J chest, because you were a tad shorter than I am. I just managed to protect my dignity by extending my hands just a bit, which ended up on your shoulders.

I pretended not to notice the man whispering something to your ear, as I figured it was none of my business - mostly because I didn't really care honestly. Where was Eric?

"Are you here with someone?"

"Um...yes." I said, my eyes moving across the crowd of people "I'm here with a few friends and I lost track of them."

Yes, I chose to omit the fact that I was here with my boyfriend. I mean, it wasn't any of his business, right?

 

[CarnivalBarker]

"Friends?" I say. "I just saw one guy." I lean in again. "What are you drinking?" I ask. I definitely notice your breasts. I suspect everyone does. I order you another drink, and I suspect you will need it. The waitress brings it to you, and your date still has not returned. I smile after a few minutes and then turn to you once more.

"How is the Metrocharge account coming?" I check my watch. "Aren't you on that one?" You give me some standard, weak response and I act like it is nothing. "You know....Metrocharge could get you a full time job on an executive track, right?" I look at your chest again, thinking I am subtle. "Our client could make you a fortune if you play your cards right."

You act eager to learn more, but I know it is an act. Just before your boyfriend finally shows up, I drop some knowledge your way. "Hey, you should know...Metrocharge's numbers are both a fraud and an estimate."

"What?" You ask, suddenly interested in paying attention to me.

""Yeah," I say. "They send out false numbers to track who is leaking information." You look at me, not quite understanding. "You see, the numbers track the leak, but they are semi-accurate. The leak gets out, they are close enough to guarantee a RICO conviction to any leaker. 10 years minimum, Federal pen." I raise my glass, and my eyes look at your clipboard. Though I say nothing, I suggest I know what documents I have. "Cheers, little girl," I say. "Welcome to the major leagues." I say, taking a long sip.

I lean on the bar. "The numbers you have are pretty accurate."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"I mean that you bill 55 hours a week. You also want a job with our firm, and you are out at a club. There is nothing as important to you, that would require you to have stat sheets while in a club, this late at night."

"I'm trying to work and do my job." You say.

"You're risking a criminal investigation for yourself and the company," I say, again holding up my glass. "So, cheers."