Thanks for Donating, Part One

I’m usually not so competitive in office politics.  My cube is by no means the biggest, I never get wrapped up in power games, and even when there are contests (like the annual contests we have at our holiday parties), I’m not one to try to win.  I would rather get my work done, and make sure everyone gets paid at my company, or everyone have a good time at the Christmas party, than be wrapped up in who wins and loses.

Maybe it was the recent failures I’d had in getting the raise, or the fact that I had been single for longer than I like, but when the office started a donation fundraising drive for the local food bank, and publicly posted everyone’s stats on the bulletin board, a fire in my heart ignited.  I wanted to be named the best at that more than anything, and each day I would carefully monitor my numbers, and the numbers of my closest adversaries, to see who was nipping at my heels.

Sushi Plate

There are few pieces of advice that can actually stand the test of time.  Advice concerning the benefits of sunscreen may be the best one, but my advice about fine dining and sushi restaurants has to come in a close second: Bring a calculator, and use it before you order.

Birdie's Contract, Part Two

Read Part One of Birdie's Contract here

It was three days later on a Tuesday that I came back from work and found Vince and Tatiana at the kitchen table, with a few papers between them.  If I didn’t know them better, I would have guessed they were an old married couple, looking over their finances.  I stopped dead in my tracks, and was a bit surprised.

“Tatiana,” I said.   “What brings you around here?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t really need to be here for this, it’s all preliminary stuff,”  Vince explained as Tatiana giggled a bit.  “We’re just coming to some terms that we can all live with when it comes to what you’ll do at Tatiana’s house.”

Birdie's Contract, Part One

My phone chimed, like it does a hundred times a day, and I checked the text message. I absolutely hate voicemail, and I’ve trained my circle that the best way to get a hold of me is through instant message.  I was relieved when I read it that it wasn’t yet another request from one of my managers, but a very nice request from my mistress:

Birdie, your contract is up tonight, when you come home, be ready for some fun.

Patience

Read all the Wank Wednesday erotic stories for Patience on Ruby Kiddell’s blog 

Believe it or not, my line of work is not all fun and games.  When people ask what I do, and I respond model, I do get a share of giggles, as if that certainly couldn’t be my real job.  When I meet that with a stoic glare, and they press on, I reveal that I’m a nude model for art classes, and then everything seems to fall into place for them.  They have tons of questions, and I have a ton of answers, which I can rattle off usually before the questions are asked.  Yes, I don’t have a problem taking off my clothes for strangers, no, I’m not going to do it now.  Yes, the pay is ok, at least when the schools honor the contracts and pay me on time, no, I don’t have to deal with lecherous glares from horny old men all the time.  Most people are cool with what I do, and some are a bit judgmental, looking at me like a glorified stripper.

Just a Dollar, Part Two

Author's note: Read part one of "Just a Dollar" here.

I reread the text message about a thousand times before I could get a break from work to respond.  Finally, I found a minute, and walked into the alley behind the restaurant to give Alyssa a call.

“Hi, whore,” she replied.  “Have some questions?”

“Is it really a he?” I asked.  I had a million questions but that seemed most important.

Just a Dollar, Part One

I came home at around eight at night from the late afternoon and early dinner rush at the restaurant, exhausted from being on my feet all day and smiling, which are two of the most exhausting things you’ll ever do.  While my job is fun most times, my boss isn’t too horrible and I get along with the other girls, I’m always thankful when I can get home and finally kick off my shoes.

As I slipped off my white sneakers, I saw that Alyssa was at the kitchen table, as usual, with the computer open and typing away.  Also, as usual, she was naked except for a pair of white cotton panties.  I was thankful she had at least had the decency, this time, to close the windows of our first floor apartment.  Of course, she had nothing to be ashamed about, but as her girlfriend, I liked asserting my right of being the only one allowed to see her naked.