Thread: A Devil's Game ::: {Ariamella & Prince of Smut}

RE A Devil's Game Ariamella Prince Jesus Christ, Damien didn't waste any time with this new proposal. Macy looked away from his searching gaze, a neutral expression on her face that belied the repulsive nature of her emotions as well as the tinge of excitement that made her pulse race. Although the command was questionable, it was still a command and just as obediently as she had sat, the girl stood to face him. Hesitation gripped her as she turned and glanced out the windows that faced the rest of the office. Hardly anyone was there as a majority of the executive staff was out at lunch while their new CEO was undoubtedly getting a feel for his new company, but there were still the office stragglers who were bent on getting a majority of their work done before the afternoon caffeine crash hit them. She could see the tops of the few heads that were visible above the line of cubicle walls, and her face paled with the sudden realization of not wanting to go through with this. The windows? she asked, raising her eyebrows in genuine concern and lightly bighting her bottom lip out of nervousness. Maybe Damien was right. Maybe her fear of being labeled as a whore was too strong for her to successfully pull this off. Maybe her pride was too much for this operation to smoothly. But then again... maybe not. Obeying orders were something she was already used to, so how could this be any different? The commands were going to be much harder than just running to Starbucks to get a chai latte, but the idea was the same. ... You really want me to do this? Fine, okay. With a sigh she stepped out of the nude Louboutins, instantly losing six inches to her height. She only came up to about the man's chest, but lost none of the fire and whatever was left of her attitude. She started unbuttoning the peach colored pants, pushing her heels to the side with a gentle sweep of her foot. There isn't anything wrong with sexual empowerment. If that's what get's some women going, then fine. I just judge women harsher because this isn't the 1950s. Women have a voice, and Andrea-- along with whoever else he fucked-- had a choice. They chose to let George touch them, they chose to let him affect their careers and they chose to open their legs, just as Andrea chose to throw me under the bus to get that promotion. The salmon pants slid down, and she lifted each foot to fully pull the fabric off each leg. Smooth, tanned skin of her legs were revealed as she tossed the pants near her discarded heels. Looking at Damien suddenly became too much for Macy, and she instead focused on a point right above his left shoulder, resisting the urge to cover herself with her arms. God, this was embarrassing. She wasn't ashamed of her body it was toned despite having the teeniest bit of extra fat on her butt, but it was just humiliating having to undress herself in front of her CEO-- something she promised herself she would never do. It was a regrettable decision to wear the underwear set that Wayne insisted on, as he was spewing something about the key to confidence being the basic necessities of a woman's wardrobe. So it was that Macy was now standing in front of her boss in a crop top and sheer black and white panties. Sheer black and white panties that were soon coming off, as per his request. Of course, I would have been more understanding if the conditions were a little bit more high stakes... say, a life and death situation, she said with a hard edge to voice, pointedly referring to herself. A sour look crossed her face. And let's be honest, it takes a special kind of someone to actually enjoy having sex with George. I'm not sure why anybody, male or female, would crave being used and abused by him... I can assure you that I have no itches such as that to be scratched. Sex and power sure are linked, but that doesn't mean people should carry it into the office. A harsh laugh escaped her throat. Me? I have no choice. I get to do as I'm told, otherwise I die. And what a lovely thought that is, to die at 27. Maybe my name would make a lovely addition to the '27 Club,' she continued, sarcasm flavoring the tone of her last words. Macy lightly took hold of the panties at her hips and started the slow slide downwards, heat and blood rushing to her face as a light blush even as she attempted to keep the bored expression on her face. She couldn't help but quickly glance around her shoulder and out the floor-length glass wall that separated herself and any potential eyes that might see what she was doing. There was no one, but some protection it was. Handing the undergarment to Damien, she crossed one leg over the other in a failed attempt at hiding the clean mound of her sex, then folded her arms across her chest they were instinctive reactions to feeling so exposed and indecent. My writing and editing skills are far superior than anyone else at Couture , excluding Heidi, she finally said after the panty transaction, her face and body displaying confidence even though it was more than halfway naked. Why do you think she has me look over the mock-up before I drop it off at her townhouse every second Tuesday of the month? And I'm only her personal assistant-- was her personal assistant. If you look at my resume, I was chief editor of caliber magazine while at Berkeley. Of course I'm confident in my writing skills.