"Cold-twat, cock-sucking bitch!"
There was no one else in the copy room—Hell, there was practically no one left in the whole fucking building. It's was after 9 p.m., and Alan Taylor should have left the office four hours ago—except that cunt who called herself his boss had stopped by his cubicle at 4:55 p.m., just as Alan had been eyeing the new temp two cubicles over and idly considering whether he should ask her out for a drink. She was a pouty little thing, but she had that sort of China doll vibe going on, petite and ivory-skinned, and the longest silkiest hair Alan had ever seen on a chick, coupled with a tight little ass and pointy little tits. Nice package all the way around.
But then, before he could ask out his future fuck toy or make an escape, she popped up like the Witch of the West, neatly blocking the opening. Lilith Kramer, head of the marketing department, the Ice-Box, as some of the younger male employees referred to her—but never while they were on the premises. There she stood, dressed as always in that tight-assed business suit, either, black, navy, or gray, with white blouse, panty hose even in the hottest August weather, black or white pearl earrings depending on her outfit, hair pulled back into a tight bun, and sky-high heels that made her probably 6'3" and ensured that everybody had to look up to her—which was no doubt why the bitch wore them. She looked down on Alan in his ergonomic chair like he was a turd she was about to scrape off her sole, and then she smiled slightly. Everyone in the department hated the sight of Lilith Kramer smiling.
"You weren't planning to leave, were you Mr. Taylor?" she asked. Everyone in the nearby cubicles scurried for the doors as fast as they could, seeing that Lilith had her prey cornered.
"I…Well, yes. It's five o'clock, after all, Ms. Kramer." Alan logged off his computer and got to his feet, taking one step forward and then stopping as Lilith just stood there.