A Cost-Cutter's Sweet Revenge

Her playful lips are wrapped around a peppermint candy stick. She occasionally stops sucking and twirls her wet, pink tongue around the sweet, sticky shaft and lets a purring moan of contentment escape those pink, pouty lips. Her dreamily half-closed eyelids shield her deep blue, baby doll eyes while she’s lost in her thoughts. Her thoughts now consist of sucking the sweet, sticky shaft around and around. She drifts mindlessly on a wave of snow-white bliss. Her curly blonde hair protects a once bright mind now hopelessly addled by dumb drops. How did we get here?

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We are a cozy little group of four food chemists toiling away developing various food additives for our corporate overlords. Sometime during last year there was a corporate cost-cutting summit and we were assigned our own personal cost accountant watch-dog. That's when Candice, sorry, Ms. Johnson (emphasis on the ‘Ms.’) entered our happy group and turned everything gloomy. She made it very clear when she joined our group that she wasn't going to tolerate any sexist abbreviated version of her name. She was to be referred to as Ms. Johnson or Candice within the group.

Trimming expenses and curtailing our perks was her mission in life. With a cut-cut here and a cut-cut there, here a cut there a cut… well you get the picture. One of the perks of our job was access to free lunches at the company canteen over in the main building. But she made it clear that there was no more ‘free lunch’. Candice reported to her managers that the privilege was no longer needed. Simply because she doesn't eat lunch doesn't mean we all have to starve!

She even cut our company funded Christmas party. That was a cut too far. We decided that we would do it ourselves – no cost to the company. She must have a problem with fun in general, because she tried to stop it. But she didn't have a leg to stand on, and the party was approved by the higher ups in HR.

As the day of the party approached, we pooled our resources and decked out and trimmed the conference room in holiday fashion. We each supplied the party from projects we were currently working on in the lab. Bob brought pizzas as he was perfecting sauce additives. Larry brought a six foot hero with his condiments additives. Warren brought the liquor (his pork additives were not going as planned) while I, ever the sweet-tooth, brought a variety of candy I was developing. Ms. Johnson brought herself, and grudgingly at that.

We decided to take care of the secret Santa gifts right away, so we wouldn't forget like we did a couple of years ago. That's when I gave our little watch-dog her treat, 'Dumb Drops'. The dumb drops are my custom creation, home-made gum drops dusted with sweetened, powdered variation of ecstasy. She opened the box of spearmint drops and seemed to be pleasantly surprised. She said she hadn't had gum drops since she was a kid. I opened the box for her and let her get her first taste of the 'enhanced' treat.

We played a marathon of big bang theory episodes on the large-screen TV. The volume was off because we were playing our own MP3 playlists sequentially with each one of us taking turns as DJ in chief. While the guys were fiddling with the TV I was watching Ms. Johnson. The dumb drops were definitely having an effect. As the party progressed we noticed that she was really starting to groove with the music. Her brown blazer lay discarded on the floor and her blonde curls shook loose upon her shoulders.

The dumb drops were working just as designed. By the time Ms. Johnson enjoyed three or four, her eyes where glassy and her hips were in sync with the music. She had a 36-28-36 hourglass figure, five-foot five and a hundred and twenty pounds. All of it was wiggling and jiggling, and it seems we’d added a giggle to the company overseer. Having tossed her coat we encouraged her out of those three inch heels and onto to the long conference table. One slender foot on a chair then her knee on the table, I fed her another candy and she was off to the disco.

We cued up the sound track for Saturday Night Fever. Our little corporate overseer was wasted on the candy but rather well coordinated moving to the music. As we sat around the long table, looking up at her, I started waving a dollar and chanted "Cut those costs and take it off, Candy!”

I suppose that when dancing on a conference table Candice is fine with ‘Candy’ in more ways than one, as she deftly stripped off her shirt and tossed it to me, I tossed her another dumb drop, and she had such a lovely, wasted smile as she bit into it.

We let her continue gyrating to the music for a little longer. She was swinging her hips, running her hands through her hair, and holding her firm softball sized c-cups in a flirty display. We decided it was time to kick this party up a notch. I waved a five dollar bill in the air.

She took the bill then shook her hip to the left and shook it to the right. Her hands went behind her and the skirt dropped down. Kicking her feet over the dropped fabric, she stepped out of it and threw it over Warren’s head. Then she knelt on the table and I fetched another dumb drop. "Candy gets a candy" I said placing the little sweet right on her hungry tongue... she audibly moaned as she bit down on it and her eyes drew heavy with bliss. I drew her spinning head close to me and whispered in her ear.

“It’s time to bring those cupcakes to the party.”

“These cupcakes?” she teased, holding her lovely, bound breasts.

“That’s right dear, the ones with the cherries on top” I winked.

She let a giggle escape her lips as she got up to sitting back on her heels and drawing herself up, running her hands through her hair again, and swaying with the tunes. She let her head fall forward, the curls cascading around her precious plastered face. Snaking her arms behind her and with a ‘pop' the strapless bra jumped right into my lap.

Perching on her heels, she giggled as she jiggled, and worked her hands up to her tits. She gently let her hands glide over them, warming them up, and warming us up as well.

She was in full-on stripper mode as her tit massage rang her bells this holiday season. Her pussy was certainly registering her pleasure as I could see a large wet spot soaking through her white cotton briefs. That rated a ten dollar bill. When she saw me wave it over my head, she brushed back her hair, turned her lightened head, and with those heavy half-open baby blue eyes gave me a beaming, stoned smile. I flashed the bill again. On all fours, she leaned forward to snatch the bill in her teeth. Her curls fell forward giving her a lion’s mane. The watch dog had become a happy, giggly, pussy cat high as a kite.

Right in front of me, she rolled onto her back and kicked long, black-stockinged legs in the air. Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her saturated panties, she rolled them slowly down that shapely ass. The soaked cloth eased all the way down those lovely legs until it hung precariously off the tip of her right foot. Then pulling herself into a V, she bent that leg and flicked those panties right into Larry’s face.

She lay down on her back again and kicked her hosed legs high. All she had on were black thigh-high stockings and an equally high look of bliss on her face, and as the ecstasy worked its way through her pleasure-soaked head, her fingers worked around her pink, pouty, nipples. While she was happily drifting along the lazy current of pleasure, I got up and pulled out a foot long peppermint stick and wet

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THE END