The word of my fight with Britney spread all over campus like a wildfire. I saw the huddled conversations; I heard the whispers. Britney disappeared. Dropped out, transferred, whatever. I thought I’d never see her again. I was wrong about that - but that’s a story for another day.
The fight - it had a lingering effect on me. Confidence, for one. Especially with men. A certain kind came after me; the wolf kind. I loved the attention. It was an added thrill, knowing they saw me as an alpha and wanted me for that.
Also, it left me hungry. I started to look for something in the other girls that I knew or that I met. A signal. An indication. Most of them had nothing. But college was a small fishpond, and after graduation I was ready for the jungle of real life.
I met Paula when we both interviewed for an internship at a major fashion house (never mind which one). She was sweet to me in front of others. But she dropped the façade the moment we were alone. She was a slender shark, with cold eyes.
We were chosen for the two intern positions. A third candidate dropped out. She was probably the most qualified, on paper. I had seen Paula whispering to her at our interview dinner. I saw her look suddenly at Paula’s face. Hmmmm.
The internships were essentially summer-long job interviews. Did we mesh? Were we competent? Did we have what it takes? The work was interesting, the people who interacted with me were kind and patient. But there was Paula.
“You should quit,” Paula said suddenly one day. “It’s not too late for you to find something different.”
I was stunned. “Why would you say that?”
She shrugged. “You aren’t good enough to be hired here permanently. I’m just being honest with you.”
What a bitch.
She lounged back in her chair, smirking at me. We all dressed in corporate sexy, tight skirts and blouses, but Paula pushed the edge. Her skirts were a few inches shorter. Her top button was constantly open. Her bras were lingerie, rather than functional.
“And you are good enough?” I retorted.
She smirked. “I’m better than you.”
I stood and walked away. I heard her laugh.
From that day on, she tried to undercut everything I did. She was good at it. Subtle. Plausible. She whispered what too many people were ready to believe about me. I was stupid enough to leave my laptop open in our shared cubicle, and she deleted emails meant for me, she got into my files and changed things, inserted mistakes. I couldn’t prove she did, but I knew it.
She was granted a meeting with the senior partner, something she somehow wheedled. Before going to his office, she went to the ladies room and took off her bra. I watched her lean over his desk. I saw his eyes crawl over her. I saw her smile.
She started to get the better assignments.
“I told you,” she said mockingly. “You don’t have what it takes.”
I went to HR, and I learned a valuable lesson. They are there to protect the company, not virtue. Deaf ears, and counter-accusations that I was “disgruntled.” And word got back to Paula. She cornered me in the ladies room.
“Snitch,” she hissed in my face. “How dare you!”
It was too much.
“Fight me,” I whispered back. God. It just came out. Is this how I manage a crisis? How I solve problems? I almost laughed wildly at the thought of answering interview questions.
She smiled widely, her painted lips pulled back from gleaming teeth, and nodded.
“I’ll beat the shit out of you, you little cxnt.” We were alone, but she kept her voice deadly low. “I’ll fucking maim you.”
We were both breathing hard. I thought then: we wanted this, this conflict, this test. Wanted it more than we wanted a job. Her eyes were wide. Her lips were wet. So were mine.
The door opened, and some oblivious temp in accounting broke the spell. I drew a deep breath and pushed past her.
The tension in our cubicle was stifling now. Neither of us spoke as we pretended to work. Paula abruptly left after an hour. An hour after that, my phone buzzed.
Midnight. The main conference room on the top floor. No security cameras in there. The guard downstairs won’t bother us. No one will bother us.
It was the corporate arena, after all, that conference room. Where hiring and firing and promotions were decided by the company Caesars. Where violent disagreements about critical decisions were settled. Where careers were made and broken.
I went home. I had a glass of wine, alone in my cramped apartment. At eleven I slipped into a steaming shower, and thought only of her. My fingers mindlessly did the rest. I shuddered against the glass wall when I came.
I dressed carefully in a black teddy, lingerie given me by a man I had dated. He had an excellent sense of taste. It was cut high at the hip to lengthen my legs. It dove low in the back. It flaunted my breasts. I was wet again already. I called an Uber and added my corporate uniform of blouse and skirt over my erotic armor as it wound its way through the city maze to me.
Paula was right. The guard station was deserted. The vibration of the elevator thrummed through my body as it climbed, floors ticking past. The top floor was silent as a tomb, and dark, except for the central jewel, where lights blazed beneath the door. She was waiting for me, perched on the edge of the massive table that dominated the room. Table, credenza, chairs, a laptop and a confusion of various cords. There were no windows to the inner hallway, to keep prying eyes away from the overlords’ debate. A wall of windows to the outside world displayed the glittering nightscape.
I closed the door behind me, and she stood. Her blouse was already open. Her bra was white lace and her breasts were full. “Do you know what I’ve learned as an intern, Sahara?” she said as she walked slowly toward me. “I’ve learned that rules don’t matter - can you believe that? That getting ahead means taking what I want. That only Alphas matter.” She stopped in front of me and lifted both hands to the vee of my blouse neckline. I stood stock-still, my eyes locked with hers, as she pulled it open, as my buttons popped free.
“You’re not really an Alpha,” she purred. “Are you? From one little fight in college? Oh yes,” she continued. “I’ve asked around about you.” Her bra clasped in the front and now that my blouse was open, her fingers found the clasp and smoothly undid it. “We’re going to fight here, Sahara, with our tits out. Without any rules, or limits. I’m going to take what I want, and I’m going to take it from you.”
I shrugged my open blouse off my shoulders. “You may be right about life, Paula,” I said. “But you’re wrong about me.” I unzipped my skirt and wriggled it over my hips. I slipped the shoulder straps of my teddy down my arms and tugged its bodice down to my waist. I felt unreal at the glimpse of my bared torso reflected in the windows. Paula stripped to her white lace panties without another word. Her eyes measured me, lingering on my nearly black nipples. Her breasts were bigger, perfect spheres with wide brown areolae and thick nipples.
She turned at the waist to drop her bra on the polished table and without warning whipped her arm back at me. I twisted under the impact, my hair flying as the back of her hand slashed across my mouth. She dug both hands into my hair and slammed me against the wall, then flung me forward against the table, buckling me in half over its cold unyielding surface.
She thrust her hips against my ass lewdly, and dragged her nails down my back. “This will be your life, beta,” she hissed. “Bent over, getting fucked.” She gripped my hair and pulled back my head, then drove my face down against the table. She turned my face to the side and pressed down, grinding me against the wood, her nails in my eyebrow and the heel of her hand on my cheekbone. Her hard stomach slapped against my ass again. “We’re going to play a little game, Queen of the Mountain.”
She smoothly vaulted up onto the table and dragged me after her by my hair. “Get up, bitch,” she purred but as soon as I did she hit me in the face again, in my mouth again. This time her fist was closed. I dropped to one knee, dazed with pain. She buried both hands in my hair and flung me sideways. I hit the edge of the table and slid off, crashing to the floor.
She stood there, posed, hip cocked, and crooked one taunting finger to call me back. She let me crawl back onto the table unmolested, with every tilt of her body radiating contempt. When I was upright, she lunged forward. Not with her hands aimed for my hair, or my face. She drove her breasts into mine. I landed hard on my ass, my breasts quivering.
She was breathing in harsh gasps now, and from arousal not from exertion. She gestured again for me to get up and again she rammed her chest into mine when I did. I kept my feet this time, tottering backwards on my heels. I braced a foot from the edge but she slammed into me a third time and I catapulted off the table. I felt like someone had hit me in the breasts with a baseball bat.
Paula cupped her breasts. They were red from the impact but her face was ecstatic. “Do you like that, beta? Getting your tits beaten? I think you do. Come get some more.”
God. Such an arrogant, sadistic bitch.
She let me climb up again.
And again she crushed my breasts with hers, so hard I felt like my sternum cracked. I staggered back, unable to breathe, then collapsed to my knees, hugging my chest.
She hooked one leg over my shoulder, and pulled my face into her pussy. The lace was rough on my battered mouth. Her musk was thick in my nostrils. “You weak little cxnt,” she said.
I opened my mouth wide, and bit her through the lace. I threw my arms around her hips, and I bit her pussy. I bit her without thinking and without a shred of hesitation. I felt nothing but fierce glee. Her scream was incredible, an operatic, tremulous, raw note of pain and panic. I didn’t pull away. I bore in. Chewing.
She tore away, and she paid a price for that, because I didn’t open my mouth. She staggered back, her hands clutching her groin. I pushed myself up and shoved her, two hands to her fucking tits, as hard as I could.
She crashed to the floor. Fucking Queen of the Mountain, no more.
Oh-so-worldly Paula, telling me life’s lessons. I learned something, though, about myself. Something I had tried to bury, after Britney. This…was an adrenaline high, and it was sexual.
I dropped to the floor next to Paula, and I kicked her in the pussy. Her hands were still there. I didn’t care if I broke her fingers.
That’s not true. I wanted to break her fingers.
I reached for her bra, still on the table, right there, where she’d left it. I wrapped it around her throat and lifted her to her knees as I twisted it. Our reflection in the window….I made sure she could see it. I tilted her head so she could see. See me strangling her.
Her hands beat at my wrists. Her nails raked my forearms, then dropped to my legs. She gurgled, and choke-sobbed. She didn’t call me “beta.” I knee-walked her forward, until her reflection was only inches away. Until her nipples brushed the glass. I twisted the lace into her neck.
“You will take nothing from me,” I spoke into her ear but I don’t think she heard me. Her arms fell limp.
I put her on the table. She was still breathing. Should I have felt relief at that? I didn’t. I crawled on top of her and clawed her breasts. I tore a nail on one of her nipples. Even unconscious, she jerked. I left her with blood trickling down her ribs.
I didn’t go back. She was right about one thing: it wasn’t too late to find another internship. But my future really wasn’t in the corporate world. Are you curious about my future, dear reader?
