Gillian was having a little bit of trouble, working at the liberary. Sexual harassment, not to put too fine a point on it; her boss Joe wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, and his boss insisted on sending her for some extremely dubious training. Which at least turned out to have an upside when she got back:
On Monday morning, Joe looked up from his desk and saw Gillian in the doorway. He almost jumped out of his chair.
For Gillian had changed. Big time. It started with her face. Her old glasses were gone, replaced by big, thin-framed, black ones that added deadliness to the sensuality of her eyes. She wore makeup accentuating her high cheekbones. Her lipstick was a dark red and the pout of her mouth somehow told him he was in trouble.
And her clothes were different. Instead of the old dowdy dresses, she wore a flattering, pale-blue, turtle-necked sweater that didn’t hide the swell of her tits at all. Below that, she had on a suede skirt that ended several inches above her knees. It flared out and flicked as she moved, almost showing her stocking tops.
Now that Joe could see her legs he almost passed out, and a bulge started in the crotch of his pants. For Gillian’s wonderful thighs and calves were now pushed into perfect shape by a pair of spiked five-inch heels.
She paraded forward, holding a letter.
“This is for you,” she said. “I’m taking over.”
He gasped and tore open the envelope. He went white as he read the letter. It was from his boss, Dean Harper; informing him that he was out of a job and Gillian was now running the library.
He glanced up at her, but Gillian was looking around the room, taking mental notes on what changes she wanted.
“But, this can’t be!” Joe moaned.
“Call him; you know the number.”
When Joe put the phone back down, his hand was shaking.
“You can’t do this to me!” he gasped and almost burst into tears.
“We can and we did!” Gillian snapped. “Now, get out.”
She stood there while Joe cleared out his desk and put his things in his briefcase. Then, eyes down, he started for the door.
“You want a job here?” Gillian asked, one hand on her hip.
He swung around, his pathetic groveling nature suddenly very obvious. “Yes, yes, please, Gillian, I won’t –”
“Miss Smith!” Gillian snapped.
“Please, Miss Smith, I’ll do whatever you say, and I won’t get out of line at all. I need a job! I owe so much money!”
Gillian sneered at him. “Lock the door and come here!”
He came up to her and gasped, as she spread her legs and slid her hands over her skirt. The little skirt eased up, showing more of her incredible legs and her stocking tops. The bulge in his pants throbbed desperately.
“On your knees,” she ordered.
