Years ago I had an office job. You may have heard of the term “office hot”. It refers to when a girl is somewhat attractive in a crowd, but as compared to the other lackluster talent in the work environment, she stands out as the best of the bunch. In comparison, she’s hot, or relatively hot. Take a wild guess about how much I stood out?

Believe it or not, I actually was pushed out of the company because of how attractive I am. Don’t get me wrong, I had my way, and left with a nice chunk of change in the form of severance, but when layoff time came, I was among the first to go. Let’s just say that I sort of cooked it up to happen that way. Cum is my ingredient and I definitely know how to get a man to produce more of my secret sauce.

It all started with one particular episode, and then evolved from there. I was testing the limits of how much I could violate the dress code. No one complained when I wore tight blouses to the office. Technically I was adhering to the rules, but I didn’t stop there. I eventually started wearing shorter skirts. That’s when things got interesting. I had wondered why I could motivate legions of men to go to war over my tits on a daily basis, yet in the office, I couldn’t so much as get taken to lunch. I figured out the secret.

With my melons on display at work, etiquette dictates that men look away. Outside of the work world, they don’t hesitate to stare and lick their lips. While every man wants to fuck me, because they know their chances are slim, they choose to act as if they place value in not offending a woman at their work place. My legs, however, they could take in without calling nearly as much attention to what they’re doing. Once I figured this out, I developed a new recipe for getting what I wanted.

I would purposely hike up my skirt a little, and then be the first to arrive at a meeting so that I could sit down first. Guys would be visibly rushing past one another in order to sit next to me. I would pull back from the table just a bit so that my creamy thighs would be in view. Then I would look away so that there would be no excuse not to take in the wonderful view while appearing to be just looking at the ground in disinterest from the meeting.

One day, the teasing was a bit much for my boss (we’ll call him Mr. Peterson). He was sporting wood to the point it was overtly noticeable when he got up to present. Involuntary giggles ensued. When he returned to his seat, I whispered to him “Don’t worry, I thought you were great.” The meeting progressed with everyone pretending that nothing had just happened. That is everyone, but me. I knew I finally had him. I knew I had motored his balls into overdrive. Every couple of minutes I looked over at him, sometimes giving him the gift of a smile, other times taking quick glances at his crotch, then up at his face.

When the meeting ended, he called me into his office. “I can’t pretend that I’m your boss anymore. Clearly you’re the one in charge of me. So I just need to know what it is that you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“Enough of the games Ashlee. I have a wife whom I love. I have a family.”

We understood each other. He knew that I knew I had discovered what I could do to him. His secret sauce isn’t a secret at all. It’s the same as every man. This man just had more to lose than most, and he knew that I knew he’d give it up to let me have my way.

I hated that job, to be honest. I didn’t want to be there anymore, but I still needed to support myself. You can guess at what happened next, but if you reread the first two paragraphs of this entry, you should be able to figure out how I managed.