Intrigue was thick in the air as smartly dressed business men and women made themselves comfortable around the oval conference table. The CEO of AWS Tech, Mark Siphon, spoke quietly to his assistant. Damia watched the exchange as she took her place at the table. She was seated mid-table with the other upper middle management. The position gave her an unobstructed view of everyone seated. There were small fresh flower centerpieces every couple of feet from one end of the conference table to the other. Damia made a pleased sound as she leaned in to smell the centerpiece nearest her. Her hand came from her pocket with a large gel cap pressed against her palm. The capsule dropped into the flower water unnoticed by her peers.
Damia wasn't the most attractive or ambitious woman at the table. She was in her early thirties, single, and stuck in a job she couldn't escape. Like everyone else in the room she was wearing the latest in severe business chic. Her dark brown hair was highlighted around her face and then twisted tight at the base of her skull. She was short, busty, and about 100 pounds overweight. She suffered from fat girl stereotyping. Her dimples and pleasant attitude only reinforced the perception that she was harmless. Most of her colleagues called her 'that sweet fat girl' behind her back.
At some point in life you either come to resent what other people think of you or you come to believe that your opinion is what matters. Somehow Damia escaped the resentment and found a strength that insipid gossip couldn't extricate. The corporate world feed's off ambition and all the petty length's people will go to in search of power. Damia was aware that her kind temperament wouldn't advance her in the corporate world. In order to succeed she needed to find other means to supplement her ambition.
Tension crackled as Mark Siphon stood. Quite greeted his handsome and reassuring smile. His assistant dimmed the lights and a projector threw up statistics behind the CEO. In that moment, just before Mark spoke, Damia took a warm red crayon from her skirt pocket. Her hand felt the surface under the table until she found what she was looking for. The CEO opened his mouth to speak as Damia made the first marks with the crayon. The blood stained parchment was tapped securely, so it cased little or no noise as she marked from left to right.
Nervously she ran her fingers over the symbols as she spoke them under her breath. Three times she repeated the curse. Her nose sniffed the air anxiously. Her tests with this particular brand of capsule had it dissolving in about 15 minutes. She felt sweat trickle down her neck. She gave up smiling and paying attention to the meeting. Her eyes strayed to the centerpiece. As her eyes came to rest on the wilted flowers the first sweet smell of victory stung her nose.
It was the smell of sex. The men on each side of her noticed the smell first. Damia heard the man on her left fidget and then saw in the corner of her eye as he adjusted himself. The small movements rippled down the table until every one of her severely dressed peers was squirming. Some of them noticed the odd smell and others merely wondered at their sudden urge to breed. Damia kept her eyes on the goal. She waited until the moment Mark Siphon stumbled over his words before implementing phaze two.
The cell phone was all ready in her pocket. All she had to do was press send and then concentrate. Damia took a deep breath, pressed send, and then stared fixedly at Mark Siphon. At the same time she was stridently focusing on the words in her head. The CEO, who was known for his single-mindedness, lost focus on his speech as he reached for the vibrating beeper at his belt. Damia felt like laughing. Everything was going as planned. All she had to do was keep focus.
Mark said "I'll be just a moment", mumbled something to his assistant, and then rushed out of the conference room. The assistant began passing out prospective for the next fiscal year, all the while hiding his obvious hard on behind one of the folders. Damia took her cue and slipped out of the conference. She was counting on embarrassment to keep everyone else in their seats and assumption was working out well. Mark was not out in the hallway as she had hopped. With a sigh of frustration she looked for somewhere secluded. The men's room was closest. Damia checked to see if there was anyone looking and then walked resolutely into the bathroom.
She had the lock of hair and tea candle in her hand before the doors swung closed behind her, but they were unneeded. Mark was standing in front of the last urinal. A little trickle of fear ran down her spine but then she realized what he was doing. A mischievous smile dimpled her face. Quietly she bent over to look under the row of stalls. There was no one else in the bathroom. Damia locked the bathroom door behind her and strolled over to where he stood.
The sound of her footsteps didn't distract him from his task. He was lost in some internal world. Probably thinking of naked supermodels, she thought. She gave a glance down to his package and was glad to see the length more than filled his hand.
"Do you want some help?" Damia asked innocently.
He jumped at least a foot before looking at her. "Shit! Mrs., um, shit..." Then he blurted out, "What the hell are you doing in here?"
Damia returned his grimace with an unwavering look of self satisfaction. "Loveless. It's Damia Loveless." She licked her lips and tilted her head enticingly. "The girls bathroom is being cleaned and I needed to go pee."
He was staring at her lips. "Huh?"
Her smile widened, "You asked what I was doing in here."
"Right." He leaned in closer to smell her. It didn't matter what she looked like. The feral instincts coursing through his veins desired a ready and willing woman. She was counting on his indifference to her looks. A look of hunger entered his eyes as he smelt her body reacting similarly to those pheromones.
"Yes. Mrs. Loveless." He moved in closer still, but she backed up teasingly. "I remember you. You work for Tom Bailey."
"That's right." Damia replied as she shuffled out of his looming embrace. It wasn't until she was pressed up against the bathroom wall that she finally let him touch her. His hands wandered under her skirt as his mouth pressed urgently against her lips. The sensations coursing through her body were more intense than she'd expected. She balled up her hands until the tiny needle in the back of the ring on her right hand punctured her skin. The little pain pierced the fog and brought her attention back to her goal.
He had successfully bunched her skirt up around her waist. She moved his head so it was pressed into her neck. Damia felt carefully until she found one of the tight muscles on the back of his neck. The fingers of her right hand moved into place as he pressed upwards and penetrated her. It was natural to grasp his neck as the force of his sex thrust her against the bathroom wall. He didn't notice the tiny needle stab his skin. For that matter, neither did she. All her attention was focused on the feeling of his thick sex.
She moaned. He growled as he pushed into her faster and harder. Damia forced her eyes open so that she saw her hands. There was a small bit of blood on her right palm. She had the urge to lick the sticky redness from her hand but she quelled the urge. There was no time for such deviance. He was nearing climax. The most important moment of her mission was still to come. The noises he made were becoming fiercer. She had to wait until for his last moment of pleasure.
Damia fought the tightness between her legs. The last time a powerful man took her she came for hours. She reminded herself that this was not an indulgence. She was not here for pleasure. She was here as the servant of her ambition. Their bodies hit the wall so fiercely that she felt bruised along her hips and back. Ambition was a master that brought sweat, tears, and pain. Pleasure was merely a symptom of the disease that was ambition.
At last, she thought, as his head thrashed back and his penis pulsated betwixt her legs. His head fell heavy into her shoulder as the last moments of pleasure drained him. She quickly turned the ring around so that the tiny jeweled compartment lay against her palm. Her left hand flicked the jeweled lid open. A coarse powder fell against his neck. With deft fingers she ground the powder into the wound on his neck. As a safety measure she made a second hole next to the first so that the powder was sure to get under the skin. He stirred as she pierced his skin for the second time.
His eyes, when they met hers, were slightly out of focus. Dazedly he murmured, "Ow."
She laughed intimately, "I think I scratched you."
"I think you did." He put a hand to the back of his neck and then stared distractedly at the blood he saw when he brought the hand around.
Damia closed her eyes as he pulled from her. She didn't want to share the vulnerable feelings of regret she was feeling. Her secrets were veiled when her eyes opened again. Instead she gave him a look of concern. "Let me look."
He turned around so that she could see the wound she had inflicted. The powder was packed firmly into the wounds. As she pulled down her skirt and straightened her blouse, she steered him over to the sink. "You are in luck." She showed him the bandage on her left pinky. "I cut myself yesterday and I have been carrying around extra bandages since then."
He smiled at her from the mirror. "You're an angel."
"I don't like to think of myself as an angel." Damia took a couple of paper towels and wet them. Carefully she wiped away the matted blood and powder so that the wound appeared to be clean.
"Being human is just fine with me." She continued to talk as she took the antibiotic ointment and bandages from the pocket inside her business jacket.
"Take Adam and Eve as an example. I don't think there was anything wrong with them." She put a dot of the ointment on the wound. This allowed her to rub the powder in deeper.
He chuckled, "Not many people would agree with you."
She put the bandage on the wound and stepped back. "We all make mistakes. Adam shared a bone with Eve, you know."
There was a kind but pitying look in his eyes as he turned back to her. "That' the story."
She knew what the look was about. They had just had sex and here she was taking about biblical tales, but what he didn't know made her more powerful. "It's the sharing of the bone that gives man power over women." She tilted her head with a look of unmitigated innocence. "Do you think if a woman gave a man her bone that would give her power over him?"
Now he was looking at the door. "I don't know."
"I think so." She followed him to the doorway. "Did you hear that I had foot surgery a couple of months back?"
"No. I hadn't heard about your surgery." He unlocked the door. "I think we should get back to the meeting."
Damia let the Cheshire cat grin spread over her face. "Yeah," She said to his departing back, "I had a bone spur removed. They even gave me a piece of the bone as a keepsake."
He turned around briefly to address her, "Are you coming?"
She shook her head. "I need to tidy up first."
"Well, then..." He trailed off and then let the door close behind him.
Damia locked the door again. There were still a few items she needed to finish. She walked into the handicapped stall, drew a circle around her with the lipstick in her pocket, set the tiny candle down, and then finished the binding. When she was done chanting and burning what was left of the hair she'd pulled off Mark, Damia went back down to her tiny office. She went on with business as usual and didn't even make a fuss when her boss called her in later to chew her out for leaving the meeting early.
A week later Tom Bailey was moved to an overseas office. Damia Loveless was immediately promoted. Six months later Damia was head of her department. A little over a year latter Damia became Vice President of Operations. There was a nasty rumor that Mark Siphon was having an affair with the ambitious Mrs. Loveless, but only a few people believed that the 'sweet fat girl' would participate in such a tawdry scandal.
Damia often replied to those rumors inexplicably. She was even quoted in the monthly newsletter about them. The interviewer asked her about the "unfavorable rumors concerning your sudden upward movement in the company" and Damia replied, "Don't mistake my sweetness for lassitude. Sweetness can be a competitive edge, when used right."
The End.
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