It all began with a set of balls and I guess you could say it ended that way. The balls belonged, or would soon belong, to Mr. Nathaniel Liesenfeld and they were a set of hi-driver golf balls with a picture of Tiger Woods on the box. Mr. Woods was smiling: so was I as I started to put the Xmas wrapping paper around his handsome face. Until I noticed who it was that was standing next to my customer service booth.

"Oh, shit!"

"Well, what a surprise seeing you here, Clarissa, working away so hard when we all thought you were too sick to come to work. You've taken a day off to become one of Santa's little helpers, have you?"

Fuck it, Vanessa Liesenfeld, the office manager from hell, my boss, and the nastiest backstabbing bitch outside of Hollywood. I looked at the box and back at Vanessa. Tiger was still smiling but nowhere near as widely as Vanessa was. And I wasn't smiling at all, not anymore.

"Look, Vanessa, I needed to earn a few extra dollars to buy my daughter a nice present for Christmas. Just a few hours doing some gift wrapping in the store and then back to work as usual on Monday. I won't put any extra work on anybody else, I'll stay back in my own time next week to clear up any backlog. No sweat, hey?"

I would have had more chance appealing to Saddam Hussein's better nature. Vanessa shook her head and smiled again just to show how much she loved hearing Clarissa Curbeam beg for the break she had no intention of giving me.

"I'm sorry, Clarissa, but that's not really the issue here, is it? Suppose it had been Mr Drummey who'd found you out. Where would that have left me? I accepted your word for it that you were genuinely sick, I told Mr Drummey that you were sick. What sort of a manager would I have looked like if he'd come in here and found it was you wrapping up his balls for him?"

Oh, very funny, Vanessa. A comedian could die from your jokes -- every night.

"I mean, working in a store where anybody might see you. How clever is that? For all I know somebody else from the company might be watching us now and if I don't pass on what I've found out I could be as deep in trouble as you are. I'm certainly not going to risk that just to cover your slack ass."

"Shit!"

OK, I was repeating myself, and I wasn't saying anything clever, but it just wasn't one of my better moments.

"And, Clarissa, you will make a nice job of that package, won't you? Nathanial likes everything to be just so."

What the fuck, I was dead meat anyway.

"I can understand that, what with being married to you, Vanessa. By now these are probably the only set of balls he has left."

The bitch's eyes never even blinked: "Merry Christmas and a happy new year, Clarissa. I hear there are a lot of openings in Alaska for fish gutters. Maybe you'll even be able to get yourself a new husband up there, one who'll catch a fur coat for you."

I doubt if it's possible to gift wrap anybody to death, but I was tempted to try. Instead, I taped up the Tiger endorsed box thinking of the things I'd like to do if I was a multi-millionaire golfer with a bagful of heavy clubs handy. I gave the box back to Vanessa and she said: "Isn't it store policy for you to wish me a Merry Christmas?"

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Liesenfeld. Would you like a yo fucking ho from me as well?"

You know how sometimes you really, really wish that Monday morning would never come? Fine, then I won't bother telling you that it always does because you've found that out for yourself already. And, wouldn't you know it, the very first email on my screen was a cordial invitation to step into Don Drummey's office for some summary justice to be executed.

I was hoping that Don would be on his own. As bosses go he's not a bad guy and I had some hopes that by turning in an Oscar winning performance as a dumb and distressed female I might just haul my ass out of the firing line. Which was probably Vanessa's thinking as well, so she'd taken good care to get herself invited along for the formalities of inquisition and execution. One look at her gloating face and I knew I was so outsourced that a security guard was probably emptying my desk already.

Only it didn't turn out that way. Don called us in, told us to sit down, and then said he'd had no option but to report the whole deal up the line. He said it was now standard procedure in this kind of situation. I wasn't at all sure what he meant by 'this kind of situation'. Stranger yet, Vanessa didn't seem to understand what Don was talking about either. She looked at him and then at me as if the guillotine blade had gotten jammed in mid drop and somebody ought to be rushing around with an oil can.

"Don, are you saying you're not going to deal with this?" she demanded to know.

"Vanessa, I've already made an initial report on the company intranet and my instructions are to let Mr. Versace handle it."

I'd never seen such a mixture of surprise and sudden interest light up on Vanessa's face before. One mention of that name had set all her bells ringing. As for me, I was way back down the trail and trying to catch up. I knew that our company was part of something called the Versace group of companies, and I even knew there was a real live Mr. Versace -- who didn't? Even the people who picked up their reading material at checkout counters had read the tabloid stories about Eddie Versace, super stud CEO, the playboy businessman who made more money than anybody except Bill Gates and the Federal Treasury. And how come? Because he'd invented a pill that cost five dollars a day and took off a pound of body fat every week, that was how come.

So why would a big time operator like Versace waste his time over the firing of some low life secretary? I couldn't believe that was going to happen.

Vanessa believed it though, and she believed it because Don was saying it. She suddenly developed a fully dentured 32 tooth smile and I thought I could guess why. She'd realized that right up there on Eddie Versace's own personal computer screen was an email which showed off Vanessa Liesenfeld as the baddest assed manager in all his companies. Maybe she'd get field promotion to Head Office Chief Bitch and Ball Tearer. And all because she'd proved that not even the Xmas spirit could make a dent in her timberwolf meanness. Vanessa, the ghost of Christmas present, Scrooge with tits on, the gal the corporate world had been waiting for.

Not that it made any difference to me. Except I was going to get sacked by a better class of boss. As soon as Versace sent back his decision, I was out of there, that was for sure. But Don hadn't finished surprising us, not yet.

"It seems that Mr. Versace will be in town in about a week's time. He'll interview Clarissa then and make his decision afterwards. And that's all I know, so don't waste my time or yours by asking for information I haven't got. Now, can we all please get back to work?"

Duh! I was still on the payroll for another week. I nearly fell out of Don's office in shock, and then nearly fell down all over again when Vanessa put her arm around my shoulders. I felt like that Aussie guy on TV who gets close and personal to animals that belong in nightmares.

"Well, Clarissa," she sniggered, looking as happy as a snake coiled up in a basket of eggs, "What do you say to that all that?"

I thought about the situation and how I'd somehow survived an impossible trap, at least for another week.

"Beep, beep, Ms Coyote?"

"Come in here, you idiot."

She took me by the arm and almost dragged me into the copying room, then looked up and down the corridor to make sure nobody was passing by.

"Haven't you got the message yet? Don't you know that Versace has a new woman more often than he changes his shirt? You're going to have the choice of dropping out of the company or dropping your pants for him. Only it's not any choice for you, is it, Clarissa? Not if you want to keep your job. So, sweetie, you are going to fuck Eddie Versace's brains out, right?"

No doubt about it, this was the one of the most interesting conversations I'd ever had on company time. The problem was that I couldn't understand it: "What do you care about what I do or don't do? I thought you just wanted to see the back of me."

Vanessa was still holding onto my arm as if she thought I was going to try to escape through the nearest fire door.

"I don't care what happens to you, Clarissa. What I care about is that you're getting a chance to meet a really big time guy and I'm coming with you, honey. Anytime Mr. Versace has any dealings that involve Vanessa Liesenfeld, he's going to have himself one hell of a good time, OK? You're going to put out like you've never done before and I'm inviting myself along to make sure the party goes with a bang."

I pulled my arm out of her grip: "Fuck you, Vanessa, fuck the company and fuck Eddie Versace and the horse he rides in on. If you want to cocksuck your way up the corporate ladder, go ahead. I guess Nathaniel won't mind a bit, but you don't own me. I'll take my money and go."

My boss smiled, crossed her arms and leaned back against the copier: "That'd be a very brave decision, wouldn't it? Considering that you're contesting for custody of your daughter and all. Being unemployed is hardly likely to help you fight your case, is it, honey? And don't think for one minute that your ex's lawyers won't get told about how you got thrown out of here for defrauding your employers."

I looked at her and slowly nodded as I accepted my defeat: "You are a total bitch, Vanessa. But did I miss something back there? Did anybody say anything about you being invited along to my date with Versace?"

"Wherever he meets you, I'm driving you there, and as soon as Eddie tells you want he wants, you tell him that your boss Vanessa is waiting outside, as eager as hell to show and tell as well."

I didn't doubt her willingness to offer up her virtue on the alter of ambition. Vanessa would have happily organized the looting and burning of a small town if it moved her one place up in the pecking order. Hilary Clinton could have taken ambition lessons from her. But, even so . . .

"What about your husband, Vanessa? Aren't you risking a lot here just to score a few brownie points with the boss of bosses?"

She shook her head in amusement at my naïveté: "This isn't going to be just about some casual fucking. Give me ten minutes with Eddie Versace and I'll pitch him a new business idea he'll love. But it's like they say, before you can talk to a mule, you've got to get its attention. Which is exactly what we're going to do, between us."

Then she stepped closer and jabbed a nail as long as a talon into my arm: "And Nathaniel isn't going to find out anything because I won't tell him and neither will you, Clarissa. If I think you're not doing your job I can fire you anytime I like -- I don't need anybody else's authority to do that. One wrong word from you, Ms Curbeam, and your tender little butt will be straight out of the door. On the other hand, help me cut a deal with Eddie and you'll be first in line to take over my job when I get moved up."

Now I knew how Tiger Wood's golf balls felt. Wrapped up tightly and ready to be hand delivered the new owner.

"Whatever you say, Vanessa."

"I knew you'd be smart about it, Clarissa. And don't forget to come shopping with me after work. I'm going to buy you a Christmas present."

I gaped at her.

"A really sexy set of lingerie, honey."

"I've already got some."

"Whatever you've got, it didn't do much of a job on your last man, did it? You'd better let me fix up so you at least look halfway presentable."

So that was me, trapped between Versace and Vanessa in a Victoria's Secret.

I guess you could say that by the time of my 'interview' came around, I was something of an expert on Eddie Versace. Partly because Vanessa kept talking about him, and partly because you don't often find yourself googling a guy who's a complete stranger and about to fuck you.

Mind you, from what I could find on the net, it seemed like a fate considerably better than death. They guy was a tight assed hunk and nobody had any doubt about his sexual orientation -- or ability. By my research, Eddie Versace's record of satisfied women was somewhere between Mick Jagger's and whoever the guy was who invented the vibrator.

Even more interestingly, as far as I could find out, he didn't own a ranch in Texas. Which made you wonder why Eddie's nickname around the celebrity hot spots was 'Long Horn'. I just hoped to God it didn't mean he wore cowboy boots with spurs to bed. Although it might suit Vanessa.

Moi, nervous? Not that you'd have noticed, except that my nerves were so tight a piano tuner could have worked on them. Even Vanessa was looking a touch apprehensive when she picked me up for the trip to the company penthouse. It was late afternoon and the sunlight was coming in through the car windows at exactly the right angle to show up all the cracks in our makeup. I told Vanessa that Eddie would probably take one look at us and either throw up or throw us out.

"The guy is totally loaded. He can pick up a phone and have as many beautiful women as he wants sent round. Why would he bother with us?"

"The way I hear it, he's a tightwad. Most rich people are. He doesn't pay for it when he can nail a female employee for making a mistake. Saves him money and I guess he gets a thrill out of making his working stiffs beg him for a fuck."

"Is that why you want to be a boss as well, Vanessa?"

She went out into a gap in the traffic that only she could see and a truck driver behind us hit his brakes and air horn simultaneously.

"I like giving orders, that's all. And people like you like taking them. So it's going to be a better afternoon for you than it is me."

The woman always was a liar. Not that she'd been telling any untruths about Eddie's dishonorable intentions. I rang the bell on the apartment door, it opened, I went in and got met by two guys in smart business suits who looked like they got their exercise by bench pressing compact autos.

"Hi, I'm Clarissa . . ."

"Yeah, the dumb broad who got caught with her hand in Santa's sack. We heard. The bedroom is third on the left. Have a nice evening."

"Uh . . . OK. And you are?"

"I'm Mr. Versace's human resources consultant."

It seemed to me that a human resource expert ought to at least look more like a human than a great ape. It also occurred to me that maybe I shouldn't say that.

"Great. Then maybe I should tell you that my boss is waiting outside and would like to come in as well. She's the one wearing the purple stockings and she can't wait to be resourced right out of her skull."

Versace's HR guy looked at me as if he wanted to pick me up and shake me to see which bits fell off first. Mind you, all human resource managers look like that.

"I'll check her out. Now move your idle ass."

Yes, he sounded like a management type dealing with unorganized labor. Only in my case it was more a case of being disoriented than unorganized. I'd never been in a penthouse before, let alone a corporate penthouse, and never anyplace with bodyguards at the door. I felt like a Filipino maid who'd spent all her life in a cardboard shack starting work in a millionaire's home.

Not, of course, that being surrounded by luxury items and waiting to have sex with one of the most desirable bachelors in the country made me feel any better about my situation as Versace's enforced whore. On the other hand, if the HR guys grabbed Vanessa and I got a clear run with Eddie it might be quite a painless way of keeping my job.

Painless! That was how much I knew . .

It seemed like maybe the head honcho would be pissed if he came in and found me still wearing my full attire of street clothes. So I stripped off to my underwear. Outside, I could hear Vanessa's full throated laughter. She must have persuaded the body guards to let her in, but maybe they were giving her a thorough body search just to make sure she was carrying any weapons. If so, they were wasting their time, Vanessa didn't use weapons, she was a weapon -- an all woman weapon, and they're the most dangerous. Watching her trying to weasel her way around Eddie Versace would make a great episode of "Sex and the City", especially if I could have watched it from a safe distance with time to think things over during the commercial breaks.

Then somebody must have rung a bell or something because the bedroom door opened and the champion himself was in the ring.

Not very tall but a man who looked really sharp and moved well, with his tie undone and his jacket slung over his shoulder. If you'd filmed it, that was what you'd have seen. Maybe what the camera wouldn't have shown though was the way the light focused inside Eddie's eyes, as if he could see right through everybody he met. Perhaps Vanessa could have traded him stare for stare; not me though. I had to look away as I tried to think of something to say.

"Hi, you're Clarissa, right? The one who's been a naughty girl on company time?"

"Yes."

It was silly, my throat was so tight I was almost croaking with fright. This was the first time I'd ever been near any kind of a celebrity and it was awesome to think that this guy could bet my entire lifetime earnings on a hand of cards and not even blink if he lost.

"Well, don't look so miserable about it, Toots. I'm just going to give you a good fucking to teach you to mind your manners and then send you back to work. That's better than losing your job, right?"

"Yes, sir, that's much better."

"What's more, I've even decided to let your boss in so you'll have company."

"Hi, Clarissa."

Vanessa was standing in the doorway, already stripped down to a set of purple underwear that matched her stockings. They looked revolting and made me feel a bit better about things: OK, I was no high flyer but at least I had some dress sense -- or undress sense, anyway.

We didn't have time to compare fashion notes though. Eddie clicked his fingers and pointed to the other side of the bed. My boss almost jumped to attention like a boot Marine before she quickly followed Eddie's directions and knelt down on the bed beside me.

I shouldn't have said it but I did: "You've suddenly become an obedient bitch haven't you?"

She put her palm against my cheek, pressing it hard, like a slap but without the initial impact, half playfully and half in warning.

Eddie snorted with laughter, then helped himself to a double handful of tit flesh -- mine

Things started to get confused right there, what with Vanessa's fingers stroking my neck and shoulders as Eddie went after my nipples like they had some kind of flavor he'd never tasted before. But it was also about then that it occurred to me that I was very lucky not to be getting laid by some mush faced businessman with a belly as big as a pregnant sow's. I mean, job or no job, Eddie Versace was a guy I'd probably have picked out of a line up of hot dates, as long as Tom Cruise wasn't in it. Throw in his power, his money and call me a groupie.

Whatever, after a couple of minutes of Eddie's handling my radiator was starting to steam.

Well, OK, I'd gotten passionate with a guy before now. I'd even been married to one. What was new was having somebody else around taking off my bra and pulling down my pants while Eddie's hands never left my tits. Jesus, I thought, the rich do live differently -- they even have their women stripped for them.

Then I felt Vanessa's body rubbing against my legs and I realized Eddie was getting even more in the way of personal services than I'd realized. Vanessa was crawling in between us to give him a blow job. Only something seemed to be going wrong with her intention of giving some oral gratification to our big boss, because I heard her squeak like a mouse suddenly bumping into a cat. I wondered what sort of problem could possibly get between Vanessa and a chance to cock suck a billionaire.

Eddie saw my eyes flickering down as I tried to figure out what was happening. He stopped kissing me and pushed me away a little.

"Go ahead, take a look and satisfy your curiosity."

I guess I must have blinked a couple of times. It was a confusing situation. Here I was, little Red Riding Hood, trapped in the cottage with the big bad wolf, only it was Granny who was doing the gobbling up. A kind of a strange fairy story already. Then I leaned back and got down to get an eyeful of Vanessa getting her mouthful.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

A big bad wolf! A huge bad wolf!

So that was why Vanessa had reacted as if she'd leaned over a barrel to go apple bobbing and found it full of floating turds. Eddie had something even her big mouth could hardly begin to deal with.

Give the gal her due though, she wasn't the sort of company trouble shooter to admit defeat, not even when she found herself going head to head with the sort of schlong that a stud stallion would envy. This was a gal who'd always give the job her best shot. So she was laying hold and pump priming the best way she knew how.

"Rub her cunt. Get her excited."

"Uh . . ." Did he mean me? I looked around in case the human resources guy had come in and was getting his orders.

"I'm talking to you, you dumb bitch."

Dumb bitch? That must be me, then. I recognized the description. But what to do? I didn't want to touch Vanessa at all, least of all her cunt. But one of us was going to find herself jammed onto King Eddie's lance very soon, and I sure wasn't volunteering to be at the front of the queue for that experience. Yet the only alternative was to do nasty things to my boss when she wasn't in a position to tell me to stop . . . what a shame!

END OF PART ONE

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