Posted by Extranjero on August 27, 2007 at 11:01:08:
The girl who came to get me wore high heels and lingerie, designer glasses, and a hot, self-conscious blush.
I smiled and rose to meet her, putting down my cup of coffee, straightening the pencil skirt of my smart suit. The waiting area was what you’d find in any other office, complete with pot plants, magazines and comfortable low chairs. But this was KnickerKnack’s HQ, hence the pussy-coloured carpet and the framed erotic artwork on the walls.
I was here ostensibly to meet the sales team and give them a presentation on how I could stimulate their “secs appeal.” KnickerKnack was an up and coming rival to Ann Summers, and their target market was the office girl. They’d notified me in advance that they always wore their products to team meetings. That was Taverner’s idea – to keep them focused on their customers.
Taverner was the new sales manager, fresh from Oxford, full of confidence. The girl standing in front of me was much less self-assured. She was doubtless Taverner’s PA and looked about nineteen. Her satin bra and briefs were pink, and her cheeks were pinker still. Not that she had cause to be embarrassed. Her body was in perfect shape, and her boobs were straining at the low-cut bra. I made myself look hesitant to put her more at ease. I was going to kill her very soon, and it seemed unfair to make things difficult.
“Miss Dark?” she said, her voice a little husky. She blinked behind her glasses. “The team’s ready for you now.”
I picked up my laptop bag and slung the strap over my shoulder. My gaze had barely skimmed her breasts, but my practised eye said 32, E-cup. I promised myself a quick squeeze of them later, once Missy was unable to object. Her briefs were very skimpy and her court shoes were bright pink, and I could tell she hated being dressed like this. A sober suit and opaque tights would be much more her scene. Too bad: she should have got a job with a law firm.
She led the way towards the inner office, mincing a little in her heels. I followed with one eye on her pert arse. She opened a door and ushered me into a spacious room with a view across the city. But the girls round the long table drew my gaze.
There were six of them, all young and sleek and undressed for the bedroom, in bras and briefs or playsuits that contrasted with their businesslike reserve. The boardroom reeked of confidence as well as classy perfume. They smiled at me politely, but I sensed each girl was looking for my flaws.
“Thank you, Claire,” said Taverner as she got up to greet me. She was a haughty-looking girl, with clear blue eyes and tied-back golden hair. Her lacy bra and briefs were black, with matching stay-up stockings. It was as close to power-dressed as a girl in underwear could ever get.
“Miss Dark, thank you for coming,” she said briskly. I shook her hand, and felt the self-possession in her gaze. There were cups of filter coffee round the table, and low-fat biscuits on a plate. I guessed the jug of milk was semi-skimmed.
Claire the PA simpered and sat down beside her boss. There was a notepad at her place. She picked her pen up and looked happier. I walked to the far end of the big table. There were papers strewn across it, and a few expensive mobiles within reach. One cute girl with hazel eyes browsed through her Filofax. A data projector was all set up. I set my heavy case down next to it.
Taverner sat down again, hands smoothing her pert arse instinctively. Her well-bred Essex voice was just as silky as her panties. “We told you how we dress for meetings. Hope it doesn’t put you off your stroke.”
Her cool gaze challenged me to feel uneasy. The other girls looked self-assured and smug. “On the contrary,” I said, undoing my fitted jacket. “It’s good to see a company believe in what they sell.”
I slipped the jacket off and hung it round the nearest chairback, then casually unzipped my narrow skirt. The sales team stared at me with heightened interest. I slid the skirt clear of my thighs, revealing stocking tops and scarlet briefs.
Taverner raised an elegant blonde eyebrow. “I see you’ve come prepared,” she said. “I like that in an advertising rep.”
I gave a modest smile and shook my hair back, feeling the auburn curls cascade between my shoulder blades. It was a wig of course, and I was wearing coloured contacts for the benefit of prying cameras. The skirt was quickly folded, then I unbuttoned my blouse. The bra beneath was scarlet too, the half-cups straining round my shapely boobs. All seven pairs of eyes were drawn towards them. I shrugged the blouse off, laying it aside.
Claire was nibbling on her pen, eyes wide behind her glasses. Taverner stayed cool, of course, but her entourage looked suitably impressed. Feigning coyness, I glanced down and unfastened my case. The lid came up and let me see the ugly weapon nestling inside.
It was an HK PDW, the size of a big pistol, but with all the attributes of the much larger MP5. Its seven-inch barrel was extended by a fat suppressor. At 4.6mm, it drilled a dinky little hole.
My eyes flicked to the seven pairs of breasts around the table. I cleared my throat. “Before I start, could I have a glass of water?”
Claire rose dutifully and teetered over to the cooler. The others watched expectantly as I made a show of getting organised. The petite girl with the Filofax looked keen to learn something. She had bobbed brown hair with a single streak of blonde worked into it. The girl beside her looked less earnest, more approachable. Her face was sweet, her eyes dark brown and her bare skin almost glowing with good health.
The water cooler gurgled and Claire minced round on her heels. I took the cup, before she saw the gun. I thanked her with a winning smile, and her cheeks got pink again. She went back primly to her place. I took a long cool drink. My heartbeat thrummed.
“You’ve got it right,” I said to the whole table. “A lady should feel confident when wearing lingerie. If she’s not at ease when she’s among her colleagues, what hope has she of taking charge when it’s just her and her man?”
Taverner nodded, pleased to see her policy supported. The others (except Claire, of course) allowed themselves a preen. A cheeky-looking blonde was wearing a translucent playsuit, the sheer material clinging to her melon-heavy breasts. She clasped her hands beneath her chin, her blue eyes bright with interest. Next to her, a brown-haired girl regarded me a bit more warily. She was paler than her suntanned friend, her figure slightly plumper but the right side of voluptuous. Her turquoise bra and panties matched her eyes.
The seventh girl was olive-skinned and impish, her dark hair in a ponytail, her brown eyes glittering. She dipped her head and whispered something to the blonde beside her, then flashed her white teeth in a smile. Her bra and briefs were tied with black silk bows.
I pressed the power key on the projector. “My name’s Diana Dark,” I said, “and I hope to teach you all a thing or two. But before I start, I want to challenge your self-confidence. Because lingerie is not enough. You need to trust the breasts beneath the bra.”
Reaching up behind myself, I popped my own bra open and slipped the straps down off my shoulders till I felt my nipples peeking out. The girls blinked in surprise. Miss Filofax’s mouth fell open. Even Taverner looked thrown. I dropped my bra onto the tabletop. There was a nervy pause while they all focused on my cleavage. Then Taverner sat upright and unfastened her bra too. Her boobs were perfect – medium sized with the sleekness of ripe plums. The nipples were as round as bull’s eyes. Sitting back again, she smirked at me.
The others hesitated before following her lead, but it was clear that they were all the boss’s pets. One by one the bras came off and the girls pushed back their shoulders, tautening their well-toned boobs and trying not to blush. The blonde in the playsuit bit her lip and fumbled with her V-neck, then realised that her nipples stood out clearly anyway.
I glanced around approvingly as the girls regained their poise. Only Claire stayed bent over her notepad, trying to keep her nipples out of sight. I reached into my bag and curled my fingers round the weapon. “It’s bitch-eat-bitch out there,” I said. “To get ahead, you have to have an edge.”
A Nokia on the table started warbling. The girl in the playsuit scooped it up and gave me an apologetic smile. “Hi, I’m in a meeting.” She caught Taverner’s cool eye. “A problem with the Hayes account?” She clambered up. “Excuse me please, Miss Dark …” She trotted out as quickly as her court shoes would allow. I watched her peach-shaped arse recede and cursed her silently.
Ignoring her, the others sat awaiting my next insight. I looked from face to well-scrubbed face. There didn’t seem much point prolonging things. Miss Filofax wore earrings like dangling silver stars. The brunette next to her flicked at her fringe. The girl with olive skin was wearing way too much mascara. She batted her long eyelashes. I raised the PDW from my case.
Naturally they stared at it in total bafflement while I pulled the cocking lever smartly back. The forward grip flipped down and I was ready to do business. I turned towards Miss Filofax and squeezed a three-round burst into her breasts.
Her pert tits quivered with the triple impact and she sat back sharply in her chair, her mouth an O of shock. The firm flesh of her bosom barely slowed the wasp-sized bullets, and they ploughed into her heart and lungs; I watched her grimace with the sudden pain. The girl was dead, although she could still wriggle, and I switched my aim to her companion, still so luminous with health and youth. Another triple tap left her considerably less healthy. Her breasts twitched like her friend’s had done, and she reared back with a squeaky grunting sound. I liked the way she tossed her head like a teenager at orgasm. The papers strewn in front of her were flecked with sudden red.
I pivoted towards the girls on the far side of the table, to find them gawping comically at me. My thumb flipped the selector down to fully automatic and I raked them with a single spitting burst. The pale girl jerked as I stitched across her cleavage, and gave a sobbing, almost sexual gasp. As her body bucked, the other girl leaped upright, her impish face now grimacing with fear. The shots intended for her boobs tore through her abdomen and chewed into her spleen and liver. Jack-knifing, she crumpled out of sight.
I heard Miss Filofax’s head bang down against the table, but her punctured bosom cushioned her collapse. The girl beside her was still drooping sideways, her fingers plucking feebly at her tits. I felt my own breasts joggle as I turned on Taverner. She stared back at me, mouth agape, her blue eyes scandalised.
I thumbed the gun to single shot and squeezed the trigger smartly. The bullet punched a dark hole in the middle of her brow. The impact snapped her head back like a whiplash, her firm breasts jiggling with the jolt, arms flailing uselessly. The bullet made short work of her expensively-schooled brain, erupting through her occupit and leaving clotted pulp in her blonde hair.
Her PA squealed in horror and sat frozen for an instant, then scrambled up and bolted for the door. I clicked back onto three-round bursts as if resetting my hairdryer and gave her one between the shoulder blades. She squawked like a shot partridge and nose-dived into the carpet, one court shoe tumbling clear as she convulsed. Taverner slumped limply in her chair, head hanging backwards. Her blank eyes stared towards the ceiling. Blood ran off her forehead in a stream.
The girl beside Miss Filofax collapsed over her chair arm, her body dangling sideways with the grace of a dead swan.
The impish girl had crumpled to the carpet, still grizzling and squirming as she clutched her abdomen. I stepped around the table and squeezed off another triple, hearing the thud of impacts as I saw her bosom bounce. She arched her backbone upward with a throttled, barking cry, and her high heels snagged the carpet as she kicked. Her plumper friend sagged motionless, two places down the table, her shocked mouth hanging open, blue eyes brimming with reproach.
A sudden, hollow silence filled the boardroom. I sighed, my own taut breasts subsiding as I scanned the girls for signs of life. But I’d taken out all six before they could so much as snivel. The smell of cordite blotted out the perfume they’d put on.
There was just the cheeky blonde to go. I doubted that she’d heard her colleagues die. Crossing the room and stepping over Claire’s upturned behind, I peeked out through the window. There was no-one in the corridor outside. Flexing my fingers round the gun, I gave the door a push. It opened without creaking and I heard Miss Playsuit murmuring nearby.
She was standing at the far end of the passage with her back turned, still speaking on her mobile as she gazed out at the view of city roofs. She was fiddling with her bobbed hair as she tittered; I didn’t think it was a business call. The Hayes account, indeed! I stood and waited. “See you soon … You too,” she signed off brightly, then flipped her mobile closed and turned to find me standing there.
“I’m closing that account,” I said and let my weapon splutter. The blonde girl squeaked and clawed her breasts, recoiling from the sudden blast of pain. Her tits bulged in the confines of the playsuit. Her face contorted miserably, in contrast to the smirk I’d wiped away.
She jiggled back against the wall, then sobbed and slithered down it, her bosom leaking little squirts of red that matched her nails. Her legs splayed open, showing me the shadow of her bush. The playsuit’s tight, translucent crotch grew sodden with her urine as I watched.
Leaving her where she’d slumped to rest half-sitting, I sauntered back into the silent room. I put my weapon down and took a camera from my bag, then moved around the table, snapping photos of each dead girl’s documents. KnickerKnack’s trade secrets lay exposed for my perusal – sales figures and strategic plans; next year’s designs bespattered with bright red. I reached over Miss Filofax, flipped her organiser open and took pictures of her contact lists while blood oozed from beneath her face-down corpse.
I snapped each of the bodies, too, as a bonus for my clients. They’d be amused to see their rivals murdered in their trademark underwear.
Finished, I quickly dressed and slung my bag over my shoulder, then headed for reception with the PDW held down at my side. The receptionist who’d made me coffee was on the telephone. Her blue eyes widened in surprise to see me back so soon. I waited patiently while she kept talking. Her tone was chirpy but professional. She wore a scoop-neck top that gave a teasing glimpse of cleavage. I knew there was a smart black skirt and hose below the desk.
She ended the call, hung up and turned her dimpled smile on me. “Are you leaving now, Miss Dark?” she asked.
“I am,” I said and calmly raised the gun.
I let her realise what it was, watched her face go slack with horror, then squeezed three rounds at her from point blank range. They punched into her plump left breast and the girl arched backwards, dumbstruck – her sweet, shocked face contorting as her chest filled up with pain. The three neat holes bloomed vividly, like poppies. She bucked and tried to clutch her tits, then sagged back in her chair with a damp sigh.
“Don’t worry,” I said briskly, “I can see myself out, thanks.” I put the gun into my bag and went back down towards the busy street.