Robert Vickers: Easy office girl

"What do you think, Richard? Do you think the chickie up there looking all sweet and innocent sucks cock?"

"It's really hard to say," the other cameraman answered, just loud enough for the girl to hear. "I figure she might be a first-rate cocksucker. Look at the way her mouth gets all puckery. And those lips! Hell and damnation, man! Those have got to be the lips of a grade-A, ultra-prime cocksucking woman!"

Cheryl nervously shifted from one foot to the other. She didn't like either Dick or Jim, but she had to put up with them. They could do all sorts of horrid things to her if they wanted. Putting up with their crude comments was better than having them turn her green or yellow with their cameras. In spite of all their horsing around, they were good TV cameramen.

They knew their trade. And they loved trying to embarrass any of the newcomers.

Cheryl wished the little red light on the camera would blink. She wanted to get on the air, give the weather and get the hell out of the studio. She couldn't bear the thought of having to fend off those two wolves one more time. She'd only worked at the station for a week, and they hadn't ceased trying to pick her up.

She wandered what type of girl they thought she was.

"Imagine having her go down on you, those slender fingers slipping around your butt, diving down into your asshole. A cool finger sort of working its way in while those hot lips of hers started kissing your dick." Jim was really getting into it.

"Hey, guy, watch your language," snapped Dick. "I mean, you're around a real lady, not one of those whores you usually shack up with."

"Lady? A lady? When?" He began dollying in on Cheryl.

"Aw, come on! You can see she's a lady. Look at those legs. Can a whore have legs like those? Slender, trim, graceful. And you can see all the way up to mid-thigh. And what thighs! Enough to make a man hard just thinking about what's a few inches higher up and buried, huh?"

"I don't know, man. It's the tits that get me hard. Really. I mean, that low-cut neck and all." He smirked as Cheryl unconsciously moved her hand to her neckline. She momentarily wondered if it was just a bit too daring to wear on the air. "And the way her jugs sway back and forth, hell, man, she probably isn't even wearing a bra."

Cheryl blushed a vivid red. She wasn't.

"Hey, Dick, my color level just went haywire." To Cheryl, Jim called, "Get ready. Producer says fifteen seconds."

Dick started moving the camera in, continually saying all sorts of awful things designed to upset the new weather girl. They had been at this all week, and Dick enjoyed the little game. When Cheryl had coldly turned him down the first time he propositioned her, he started giving her the full treatment.

It was almost too easy to fluster the eighteen-year-old girl. Just out of high school, she'd actually landed the first job she had applied for. It was almost a miracle to her – almost.

She knew what she'd had to do to get the job. Dick and Jim didn't know a thing about that. And she'd be damned if they would ever know.

"You're on!" called Jim.

Cheryl never trusted the man. He had given her the cue ten seconds too early the first couple days. When the camera had cut in, she was already started on the weather. She'd learned to wait for the red light. That told the story.

All the while she was giving the weather, she could hear Jim and Dick making their comments. Smoothing her dress down brought forth a torrent of "God, lookit that ass!" and "Looks like it's just begging to be fucked, doesn't it?" from the pair.

She tried to ignore them and concentrate on giving the weather. It wasn't much of a job, but it was better than nothing at all. And the producer had promised her she would be able to move up in the station to a better position after she'd put in her apprenticeship.

After what she'd done to get the job she so desperately needed, Cheryl was going to hold Roger to his promise.

The weather over and the red light out – Dick had almost made her say something unfortunate while she was still on the air at the close of her third day at the station – she smoothed her dress again and stalked off the set.

Dick and Jim quickly took off their headphones and cut the power to their cameras. They went after her like sharks after their dinner.

"Hey, Cheryl, don't be mad. How about dinner? Then we can go over to my place and you can show me how good you can suck cock."

"Richard, old man," chimed in Jim, "you just don't have any style. Any finesse. Allow me to show you." He cleared his throat and turned to Cheryl. "Please excuse my crass and sometimes crude comrade. He was merely joking, I assure you."

Cheryl could hardly believe her ears. Was Jim actually going to be polite for a change?

"I would like to take this opportunity," he continued, "to invite you to dinner, perhaps a drink, then we can go to my place and fuck. I'd hate to waste those lips when others are probably even tighter!"

Cheryl flushed a furious red. She would have screamed except she knew it would only goad the men on. She stalked off, her lips, normally full and sensuous, a thin line.

She went toward the producer's office. Behind her, she heard Dick say, "My, my, our little Miss Tight-ass is going to tattle on us to the big old producer man."

She never slowed down when she got to Roger's door. She just barged on in.

Roger looked up from his control panel. He was finishing off the videotape she'd just filmed. The complex array of flashing lights and meters and equipment confused her. Cheryl wondered how Roger managed to keep everything going all at once.

"Be right with you, doll." Roger switched off a rig, then barked into the PA system, "You two dorks clear out. I don't want you loitering around. The watch dog might bite you and get rabies."

Cheryl leaned back against the closed door to the control room. She was breathing hard. It was so difficult putting up with the two cameramen she could barely stand it any longer.

"Dick and Jim still giving you a hard time, Cheryl?" He didn't have to be a mind-reader to know the answer. "Forget 'em. They're nothing around here. Only the staff – the professional staff – matters. And you, babe, you're on your way up. Come on into my office."

They left the control room and walked down the corridor. Roger's hand started out around Cheryl's waist and ended up firmly planted on one of her tight ass cheeks.

She didn't say a word or give any indication that she thought this was out of line. She'd have to be one hell of a hypocrite if she griped about his actions at this late date.

She'd done worse – a lot worse – to get the job.

Cheryl still couldn't quite forgive herself for letting him fuck her. But she justified it with the knowledge she'd landed a job she badly needed. And stringing the producer along could only be in her best interest. He could get her a better job around here. He could literally catapult her into stardom with a prime-time newscast instead of the late-night weather show no one watched.

The girl sighed. She'd do whatever had to be done to get ahead. She had a taste of how the game was played. Hating Dick and Jim didn't count. They didn't count. They couldn't swing a better job, higher pay.

Roger could.

Roger counted.

The producer stripped off his tie and casually tossed it onto his desk top. "Hate that damn thing but the owner says I got to wear it. Stupid wearing that hangman's noose all night long."

He felt his cock stiffening as he surveyed the girl. She was even lovelier than he'd thought when he first hired her. The trim legs really turned him on in a big way, and the smoky nylon covering her legs almost begged to be stroked. He loved the feel of a woman's stockings under his hand. Especially when her legs looked as good as Cheryl's. The smooth flesh, warm and yielding, never failed to get him hard and ready to ball.