Pink Slip
by Julius700 ©
This was it. After the promise of quick dollars had led Jonathan to
leave a half-assed consulting career for a sales position at this
dot-com, less than 8 months later and no sales, Jonathan was staring
at the HR director handing him his COBRA form. At 6 PM, he was the
last that day and the HR director looked like she was barely holding
up. Fridays were supposedly the best day to lay people off, since you
had a weekend to cool down and reorganize.

Jonathan looked over at the 30-something director and felt a tinge of
pity for her. Sheila was a very attractive woman and smart to boot.
She had joined when hopes where high and the NASDAQ higher. It was a
good career move for her back then - she was able to run an entire
department and hire all sorts of people at a rapid pace. Her Kashmir
Indian good looks (blue eyes, light brown skin, and sumptuous curves),
as well as her ways with the H-1 visas soon had the development team
staffed with some of the best programmers around. No one had
anticipated that there would be no demand for the technology, or that
the company would be laying off at an even faster rate a year later.
Sheila had given the walking papers to 40 people today, her staff
working overtime to get all of the documents in order. This experience
had her thinking about getting out of Human Resources altogether, and
definitely ready to get rip-roaring drunk this evening.

And there stood Jonathan, one of the nicer guys in the sales
department, and definitely handsome. Perhaps it was due to the sales
profession's demands, or an unfounded stereotype, but something about
surviving on making your quota made for athletic, good-looking staff.

Jonathan looked across the desk as his hand signed off on a last
sheet. In the last months, he had given up on closing a deal, and
began working out 2 hours per day. Running in the park and lifting
weights kept his mind off the turmoil at work. He was lean muscle,
with a close shorn crop of blond hair and a white-toothed, boyish
grin. He had half a mind to try his luck at modeling, now that the
sales gig had ended.

-This, I think, is the last of the papers. Now we can both get on to
happy hour, or what is left of it. I feel relieved, actually, now that
this is over.

Sheila stared into this carefree bachelor's smiling eyes, and for an
instant wished that she was sitting on the other side of the table -
in his lap. She crossed her legs awkwardly, feeling a distinct tingle
between her thighs, as the humidity crept up.

-Jonathan, I hope you know that this is in no way a reflection on you.
We had to do some very painful layoffs today, and I do not think we
have seen the last of it.

Jonathan smiled, and for a minute it seemed as though he was winking
at her.

-I totally understand. And to show that I am a good sport, how about
joining me for a drink. I'm sure you could use one.

Sheila smiled a rather girlish smirk, her full lips creasing
sensuously, her lipstick gloss catching the desk light momentarily.

-Actually, I have a bottle of Scotch in my desk. Everyone has pretty
much left for today, and I have been thinking about this bottle since
noon.

Jonathan needed no prompting.

-I'll go get some cups and ice.

Sheila's first glass went down smoothly. The single-malt was
definitely worth the wait. She laid back luxuriously in the probably
soon-to-be repossessed leather sofa out in common-area. Jonathan had
poured them a second glass and was busy racking up the pool balls. The
pool table had been "let go" today, but the movers would not arrive
until Monday.

-This scotch is excellent. Care for a game of pool?

Sheila was momentarily engrossed in watching Jonathan's powerful hands
gently arranging the eight ball. Her eyes wandered to his jeans-clad,
obviously toned buttocks. She took a strong sip and managed:

-Sounds like a reasonable idea.

But there was nothing reasonable about their game. Jonathan quickly
began drilling balls left and right, his rolled-up shirt sleeves
revealing rippling forearms. He caught her eyes from across the table.

-A lot of green for this shot. How much would you bet I make it.

Sheila suddenly felt like a school girl. Blushing, she wagered:

-I bet you…Well I wouldn't feel right wagering for money. But my
jacket is messing up my shots anyway, so I wager my jacket that you
don't make the 3.

Jonathan sunk the 3 solid before the words had left her lips.

-There, well now you can take it off. And it won't fit me, so keep it.

Sheila's jacket ended up on the couch, revealing her ample bosom
concealed only marginally by a silk tank top. Jonathan nodded, more at
her cleavage than anything else.

-Now you have more wiggle-room for your shots.

Not one to miss a double-entendre, Jonathan poured her another shot of
the scotch. The bottle was looking half full.

-Hmmm, purred Sheila, as she sauntered over to a corner pocket. You
have left me with a full glass and no easy shots.

Jonathan flashed a healthy smile and, moving behind her, gently
touched her arm.

-Au contraire, you have a straight shot at the 6. There's just a lot
of table to cross. Here, bend over the table more.

From Jonathan's vantage point, he now had a clear view of two very
nice breasts swaying suggestively as Sheila angled for her shot. Her
scent, the scotch combined with a clean scrubbed perfume, tinged with
a faint smell of stress from the day, was intoxicating.

Sheila looked down at Jonathan's powerful arm as it cradled her hand,
and slowly shifted her flanks so that they were touching Jonathan's
thigh. Had she moved back a little further, she would have become
aware of a raging hard-on. Jonathan tore his gaze away from her
breasts long enough to see her business skirt hike up and settle on
his leg. A faint outline of a garter belt whispered just at the hem.

Jonathan whispered hoarsely.

-Hold the Q steady, and make sure you take it across the table.

Sheila looked up at him, her right breast briefly brushing his hand.

-Care to wager on this one? I bet you your shirt that I don't make it.

Sheila took aim and sunk the 6.

-Well, I guess we have a difficult wager to pay up here, Ms. HR
Director.

The heat rose noticeably from Sheila's body as she turned around.
Jonathan had not moved and caught her in a close embrace.

-Take off your shirt, Sheila. I want to see what I've been staring at.

Sheila removed the black tank top to reveal a lacy bra barely
supporting two light brown boobs. Jonathan lost all inhibitions and
began kissing Sheila's neck, with her moaning in approval.

-Yes Jonathan. My breasts are very sensitive - they need of your
attention.

Jonathan stripped Sheila of her bra and began ravishing her breasts
with his hands and his tongue.

-Ohhhh. Suck my tits Jonathan. Lick them. Mmmm.

Jonathan complied while hiking up her business skirt to reveal the
long promised garter belt and lacy panties. Sheila's lips were swollen
and half parted with anticipation. An earthy smell of sex emanated
from her skirt. Jonathan suddenly left her breasts to begin a trail
down her belly and underneath her skirt. His descent was soon rewarded
with renewed moans as Jonathan pushed the lacy fabric to one side of
her nether lips.

-Use your tongue on me. Yesss. Sheila hissed.

Jonathan's tongue and fingers began a sensuous, round-about journey,
touring her thighs and mound, before finally settling on her engorged
clit. By now, Sheila's thighs were shaking in anticipation. At the
third flick of Jonathan's tongue, Sheila's clit sent a rapturous
orgasm coursing through her entire vagina. Dizzily swinging around,
Sheila hiked up her skirt and laid her self prone across the pool
table, the twin globes of her ass beckoning lewdly.

Jonathan needed no prompting. With one quick zip, he was out of his
jeans and his magnificent hard-on jutted quivering as he laid his palm
on Sheila's derriere. Pushing her skirt up still farther he made his
was towards her dripping wet hole, easing his full girth into her with
a collective sigh. As she grunted with appreciation, Jonathan pulled
out almost up to the tip and then swung the motion back into her
heated pussy. She was immensely hot inside, and with each thrust she
began letting out ferocious moans.

-OH FUCK. OH GOD. OH DO ME. FUCK ME HARDER. HOW, UHH.

Jonathan began pummeling her ass, her thighs flexing to receive each
impending thrust. Jonathan gripped her garter-encased torso with both
hands, sliding his girth close to the entrance of her womb, her pussy
generating immense heat and friction. Her breaths began coming in
short gasps, her vagina spasming wildly and her knees giving way.
Jonathan gave no quarter and continued to pump Sheila furiously with
his rod, sweat beads beginning to form on his broad shoulders. His
heavy biceps now flexed to hold Sheila up and continue to keep her in
position.

Sheila was moaning incoherently as Jonathan felt his own orgasm
beginning to build from deep within his balls. As he gazed down upon
the quivering globes of Sheila's ass, and with a throaty roar let
loose a torrent of semen into Sheila's supercharged vagina.

Jonathan moved in with Sheila that very weekend. She would support him
in more ways than one in following months...