My Step Sister And I: Pregnant For Me

My plans

I graduated with an essentially useless diploma, so I had to find a way to get by professionally. A girl's got to pay the bills, you know? I eventually ended up getting a low-level secretarial job here. And trust me, it was low-level. I am by no means a genius, but doing that work made me feel almost insulted. Is this what the world thought of me?

Is this what they thought I was best qualified for? While I wasn't much of a student, I was very ambitious, and after a month or so of this work, I needed more. And I knew just how to do it.

To put it bluntly, I used my many talents to grease a few poles, and coincidentally, I was promoted. What a shocker!

I stayed as a secretary, but I worked for different managers. Slightly more important managers. And slowly, this process continued. My hot ass kept climbing up the corporate ladder. When I got bored or saw an opportunity, I sucked another dick, got another job, and added a few grand to my salary.

It was a pretty sweet arrangement. The work was dull, for sure, and I could do it just fine. But the real game was the corporate game, that maneuvering up the corporate chain. While I wasn't much of a worker bee, I was very good at that other game. The corporate game. The game of business. I felt like I had a complete understanding of how business was done, but I hadn't had the full opportunity to show off my skills.

Business wasn't about honorable negotiations. Real business was played dirty. I had no illusions about that. No ideals. I knew what motivated people deep down, and I played on that to great success. Business was all about sex, and in that sense, my body was built for business. My rise was equally as meteoric as Randy's, but not nearly as respectable. He worked in the boardroom, I worked between the sheets.

But unfortunately, this kind of thing could only get me so far. My tricks and flirting made mincemeat of the low-level management, but the upper-level guys weren't nearly so easy to fool. They were

obviously a bit more cautious and wary of intrepid little schemers like me. Plus, word had gotten out on me. I don't know how it got out, I'm guessing one of my old bosses aired my dirty laundry.

But then again, it probably didn't take a rocket scientist to figure me out. No matter how progressive some people claim to be, when they take a look at a woman with a body like mine rising up the corporate ladder, they make certain assumptions. In my case, they happened to be true.

I was far from the girl next door. I wasn't the innocent sunny type. I have been told I come across as bitchy and that I have a resting bitch-face. My lips were plump and curved into a natural sneer. I've been told my eyes seemed combative, as if I was spoiling for a fight. I wasn't afraid to speak my mind, and I had a bit of a dirty mouth. I could swear with the best of them, and I had a short temper. It was hard for me to contain my true feelings about people, and I was often the center of office gossip, some of it true, some made up.

If I wasn't good at what I did, there would literally be no good reason to keep me around. But I was good.

I was very good.

It certainly didn't hurt that I was drop-dead sexy as well.

I was slim and fit, but not overly so. I wanted to make sure I had curves in all the right places. And I definitely succeeded there. I had firm, thin legs, and I always wore high-heels to showcase them. They also highlighted my round, juicy, heart-shaped ass. I had a great ass, and I worked very hard for it. It was firm, round, and with just the right amount of jiggle. I had learned how to walk to best showcase it, and I made it a point to wear slim, figure hugging clothing, just to make sure that all eyes were on me. I wanted to make sure that my ass was a topic of office conversation every time, and I'm pretty confident my tight, slim skirts got the job done.

My upper half held up its end of the bargain. I had superb breasts, a pair of round, smooth, juicy EE's, capped with perfectly-sized, hard, rubbery nipples. I always found a way to show my tits off, even at work, packing them in to tight tops, testing the limits of decency at times. I had been given a few warnings about showing a bit too much cleavage, so I was forced to cover up at times, but once I would get promoted and rise up the ladder, those buttons on my tops would get disappeared immediately, until I was warned again.

I was a complete package. My hot body, poured into sexy business clothes, which I spent a sizable part of my salary on, by the way. My shiny, brunette hair was chopped stylishly just past my shoulders, and my make-up was always immaculate. I was the perfect embodiment of a corporate slut.

This fact eventually became apparent to the higher-ups. It probably didn't help that I vigorously posted pictures online of me at the club, partying and drinking, grinding up all on hot guys, and some hot chicks as well. Word got out on me and people compared notes to the point where it became well known exactly how I ended up in this position, an assistant to an upper-middle manager. There was nothing concrete enough to fire me, but it became clear after a while that I had hit the ceiling, that they weren't gonna let a woman like me rise any higher on the ladder.

I was the exact type of person this company didn't need to get to the top. Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

But I wasn't gonna let that stop me from achieving what I want. It would only make my success sweeter.