PGAD - Chapter 1

1.

“Check it, I finally got to take this thing out.”

“Holy shit..!  What is that, a 60-footer?”

“60 -- pssssh!  It’s 65.”

Sara was getting a bit steamed.  They weren’t even trying to keep it down.  She was so fed up with working here, tired of wading through the same muck as these other pigs that somehow passed for corporate leadership.  The misogyny, the chauvinism.  Pretending to laugh at the crass, tasteless jokes.  Watching ESPN in the evening so she’d have something to talk about at the water cooler the next morning.  Feigning like she wasn’t completely repulsed by the stories of late nights out involving alcohol and drugs, strippers and skanky party girls half their age.  As if on cue:

“Ooh, well hello, and who are these tasty little things?”

“Fuck, I never remember the names.  They’re like summer snow bunnies, hanging around the pier, looking for a yacht to hop on and party.”

“Dock bunnies?”

“More like dock rats..!”

A few mean-spirited chuckles followed.

It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to.  How else could a woman ascend to the C-Suite without enduring all of that and knowing how to pretend there was nothing to endure?  It was just…  here at Gen-U-Tech, it was so excessive, so rampant.  Here it was more than just the typical pervasive alpha male culture; it just ran so much deeper… a celebratory wallowing in the very worst of it.

“Goddamn, all three of them on your boat?!”

“Yea, well, had to break ‘er in properly...”

Sara wanted to quit so fucking bad…  but she knew she wouldn’t, not at the salary she was making.  And indeed that was the most disheartening thing about it.  The knowledge that she was a cynical, money-grabbing sell-out.  A shill for the perfect epitome of the stereotypical evil, soulless, corporate machine.  The plucky, bright-eyed college graduate with dreams of changing the world was long gone, trampled over a quarter century of shifting the goalposts of her principles, compromising ideals and convictions bit by bit, slowly replacing them with calculated political shrewdness and career ambition.

And now, here she was, just shy of forty-five, CFO of a multi-billion dollar corporation, seven figures in her bank account, a five-bedroom home, two cars; two ex-husbands, zero kids, eighty extra pounds around her midsection and premature wrinkles; being unceremoniously disregarded in the boardroom by her swine colleagues as she delivered her projections on Q3 earnings.

“GAAP profits calculated out to $22 per share,” she informed her inattentive audience. “Non-GAAP numbers look closer to $28--”

Most of them were simply checked out, either staring off into space or else scrolling disinterestedly on their phones.  A few were having side discussions, speaking in muted voices about one issue or another.  But no one was blatantly ignoring her to the extent that the two VPs sitting in the back were, huddled together as they scrolled through the pictures on one of their tablets.  Thomas and Randall.  If Gen-U-Tech was a testament to evil corporations, these two, most especially Thomas, were definitively prime examples of the toxic male culture of the executive world.

“You must’ve made out like a fucking bandit on T-175, huh?”

“Ha ha, bro, you have no idea.  About goddamn time, too.  After that I-New shitshow, I was ready to fucking shoot myself.”

Both came from already wealthy families, Ivy League schools, their positions gained by their privilege, status and connections, as had everything else they had ever gotten in life.  There was no shame or self-consciousness in this; a lifetime of entitlement precluded the possibility.

“After this next thing, it’ll be my turn.”

“Hey, so speaking of, check this out…”

It was no wonder they felt no reservations to speak so loudly and rudely, to drink expensive scotch in the boardroom at 10 AM; the largest repercussion they could expect was the occasional rancorous glance from a colleague that had actually risen to his or her position through genuine merit.

Colleagues like that were few and far between at Gen-U-Tech.

And so Sara simply continued on in seething disregard, just one more of the endless micro self-compromises to sacrifice on the altar of career progression, feeling her body temperature beginning to rise.

“Overall revenue is $12.83 billion, which is a year-to-date increase of 18% and 6% over analysts’ projections, which we anticipate increasing share value to...

In the rear, Thomas suddenly let out a loud obnoxious snort as Randall reached over and swiped something on the tablet.  They both continued looking down, and there was a series of huge thumps as he roughly clapped Randall on the back.

“Oh no, you didn’t..!”

She felt her face flushing as her eyes scanned across the huge table, seeing very few faces even looking in her direction. Sara felt so warm that she was actually starting to sweat a little, perspiration beading on her forehead.

“Cash flow liquidity continuing into this quarter practically dictates a share buyback in late Q4 or early Q1 of the next.. um… the, uh, upcoming year…”

Something…  something was wrong.  It wasn’t just her anger, she felt a little faint of breath, starting to trail off.  God, it was just so stifling hot in here…

“The buyback numbers…  uh… my analysts are still working on that…but I project it will be in the neighborhood of…  um...”

Sara couldn’t remember the figure, and she didn’t have it written down in her notes either, because she never forgot the numbers.  People were starting to look up now.  Even Thomas gave her a short glance before turning back to his buddy, pouring him another drink.

“Well…  I… I’ll send a note after the meeting with the exact numbers for the buyback proposal…

“Wait--  eight!  Eight million shares,” she blurted out, suddenly.  “That’s...  Uh... that’s what we’ll submit to the board…

“For approval…”

She could feel herself sweating all over like a hog now, in her armpits, dripping down her back, her butt felt drenched too, the pantyhose stuck uncomfortably in her crack, simultaneously grateful for the cover her blazer provided while cursing it for contributing to the heat retention.  Just standing there, she was starting to feel like she’d done ten hard minutes on the treadmill, though who knew when the last time was that she’d ever been on one of those.

She realized that several seconds had passed without her saying anything.  She even had Thomas and Randall’s full attention at this point.  “Uh..

“Dividends!”  She said it louder than she had intended, jerking the few remaining unengaged executives out of their stupors.  “We’ll probably end up proposing an increase in dividends to... umm... to…”

Once again, the number eluded her.  Sara felt like she was on fire, and her pantyhose were still riding up on her uncomfortably.  She shifted around slightly and then she felt it… something of an itch between her legs.

“Umm..  OK, I apologize,” she said, a light tremor in her voice.  “The numbers…  I’ll just have to circle back on those right after the meeting.”

She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, and it came away slick with sweat.  Sara wondered if she looked as thoroughly sweat-covered as she felt, like she was soaking through her thick dark, skirt suit.  Why the hell did she wear wool today anyway?  The itch between her legs was still there, and she shifted again, trying to inconspicuously rub her thighs together as she stood there in front of the room.

It was an enormous mistake to do that -- it caused a huge wave of sudden, unexpected arousal to wash over her.  What the fuck?!  Sara couldn’t imagine a less sexy occasion than this exact moment, standing hot, flushed and sweaty in front of the entire executive team, but there was no mistaking it.

There was definitely no mistaking it.

She was turned on.

“In summation, Q3 was highly successful for the firm,” Sara spat out, deciding on the spot to cut off her report, desperate to get out of there.  She had everyone paying attention now, some looks of concern, but mostly a general puzzlement.  “Revenue is way up and -- ackk!”

A huge burning spike of pleasure flared up, seeming to emanate directly from her clitoris and Sara nearly yelped out before immediately closing her throat, choking it off in mortification.

“I…  I…”  she breathed heavily despite herself, unable to think of anything, trying to keep composed despite her body going haywire.  “Revenues…”

The itch between her legs was maddening and Sara felt a sudden insane impulse to just yank her skirt up on the spot in front of everyone and rub herself, rub that spot, rub it until she could just get some relief.

What the fuck is happening to me?!

“Revenues are profitable and profit is extremely high, which has resulted in great profits,” she babbled out meaninglessly.  Her undergarments were soaked, and Sara knew it wasn’t all sweat that was the cause.  Her clit was aching, throbbing painfully, it needed stimulation…

She rubbed her thighs together again, none too subtly, and that was all it took; a huge, pulsing, quaking orgasm washed over her, and her knees nearly gave out, buckling for a moment, and again she choked up, a queer snorting sound escaping through her nose.

She couldn't believe what was happening.  She was having an orgasm, completely unprovoked, right then and there, standing at the head of the boardroom, in the front of the entire firm's leadership, focusing with all of her might to not let it show. 

“Ok, thank you, I’ll send out that email,” Sara choked out, and she turned and left the room on the spot, her face ablaze, trying with all of her might to appear normal even as the pleasure was crashing over her, wave after wave, with an intensity she had never known.  She glanced back to see people watching her go, murmuring in confusion to each other.  And Thomas and Randall in the back, snickering.

She half walked, half ran to the women’s room, bursting into a stall and sat down on the toilet immediately, pushing her skirt down around her ankles, struggling with the waist control pantyhose clinging to her clammy belly and thighs.  She ripped at them, the loud tearing sound echoing in the tiled room, and then her fingers were between her legs, rubbing her dripping slit.

“Oh, finally,” she whispered in a shuddering voice, her fingertips moving up and down frantically on her swollen nub.  Even as the orgasm had subsided, that maddening itch immediately resumed, that urgent need for satiation.

“Finally…”

She breathed noisily as she sat on the toilet, masturbating wildly.  Sara couldn’t believe she was doing this, in a dirty public bathroom at the office, getting herself off like some kind of mindless animal.  But it didn’t matter, there was nothing, nothing more important than fulfilling this need, satiating it, making it stop…

The pressure built up again, and she worked her hand faster, roughly, her thighs parted widely, undignified, and then the second orgasm hit.  Sara let out a little whimper and then bit her down on her bottom lip hard, her hand still compulsively rubbing herself as her pelvic muscles twitched and convulsed involuntarily.

It was every bit as powerful and intense as her first climax, and she nearly fell off the toilet as her toes curled and her legs jerked, her fingers working, even as the intensity became too much to bear.

Sara hunched over, eyes bulging, sweat running down her face as she panted for breath, coming back down from her peak.

“Jesus… Oh, sweet Jesus…”

She sat there heavily, motionless for a long while.  The itch was finally gone, and she felt almost back to normal.  With a loud groaning gasp, she staggered to her feet, pulling up her revoltingly sodden panties and then the torn panty hose, large runs stretching unsightly as they covered her belly again.  She pulled her dress shirt down and pulled her skirt over it, roughly tucking it in.  Then she stumbled out to the sink.  Her hand was completely disgusting -- slimy, wet, covered in her own lubrication.  She washed up and then pushed her damp hair back, futilely attempting to arrange it, and did her best to wipe her sweaty, dripping face without ruining her makeup worse than it already was, the mascara running down from the corners of her eyes.

What the fuck was that, she wondered yet again.  That…  that was so fucked up…

She took a series of deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves and regain her composure.  It was several minutes before she walked out of the restroom.