Stacy: The Office Bitch

The office bitch.  The woman who didn’t know her place.  Gary’s stoolie.

Stacy had been called all manner of things.  She didn’t care.  She knew who held the power in this office.  Contrary to the belief of all the other workers, Stacy had not slept with her boss.  In fact, she had not slept with any man in over a year.  She supposed this could be why she was referred to as “the office bitch.”  The title gave her some power, however, and she loved to wield it.  She would often smart off to her superiors because she and her target both knew that Gary, the office manager, would do nothing to upset his favorite worker.

Not that Stacy would ever give the overweight, balding Gary the time of day.  No, her short khaki skirt and feminine black sleeveless sweater that showed entirely too much breast to be considered profressional were just a tease.  She didn’t have time for a relationship anyway…there was too much work to be done, too many accounts to secure, and too many people to step on with her tan 4” heels.

She was working late this night.  Everyone, including Gary, had left early because it was Memorial Day weekend.  The office was the headquarters for a medium sized company that sold point-of-sale systems to retail locations.  Stacy knew that those places were often busy on holiday weekends and that their managers would likely be working.  As a salesperson, Stacy knew an opportunity when she saw one.  She was almost finished setting up cold calls for the next day.  No one else would be here all weekend, so she would have three full days to get ahead.

Stacy rose from her chair, smoothing her short skirt, and began to make her way to the coffee maker across the office.  She could smell that the coffee was nearly, if not completely ready.

Her cup was sitting near the coffee maker.  She picked up the cup and poured in the coffee.  She noticed, with disgust, that Jerry had neglected to supply cream and sugar.  His only job was office assistant.  He didn’t do anything important; just get coffee, buy supplies, and stare at her every time she got up.  He was really quite irritating.  Six foot tall and extremely lanky with glasses and a hawkish nose, Jerry was hardly Stacy’s type.  He was also a bit on the creepy side as he rarely spoke and often merely grinned his slimy grin in her direction.

Her thoughts were interrupted as all the lights in the office suddenly came on.  Stacy dropped her cup and hot coffee splashed on her foot.  She jumped back and felt a hand grab her shoulder length dirty-blond hair.

Screaming, Stacy tried to turn around.  A very strong, bony hand grabbed her right arm and pushed her toward a cleared, sturdy table in the middle of the office.  Stacy was toned, but only 5’2” and not much of a fighter.  The man had no trouble picking her up and slamming her onto the wooden table.

Gasping for breath and fighting tunnel vision, Stacy focused on her attacker.  She instantly recognized Jerry.  He jumped onto her and placed his bony butt squarely in her stomach, forcing the air from her diaphragm.  As Stacy struggled weakly, he bound her wrists together with silver masking tape.  The table was long enough to accommodate Stacy’s entire body stretched out.  The tape was run around her wrists and then around the table, securing them firmly in place.

As soon as Stacy got her breath back she began kicking at Jerry.  Her attacker merely grinned his creepy grin and began taping her ankles to the legs of the table.  Her legs were spread painfully apart and her groin muscles were protesting as the table was around five feet wide.  Jerry stepped back and admired his handiwork.

“Let me go you fucking creep!” Stacy screamed at him, pulling at her bonds.  “I’m going to have you fired!”

Jerry laughed a bit as he pushed her khaki skirt up to her hips, easily exposing her blue thong panties.  Two snips from a nearby set of scissors and her panties were in his hands.  As she continued screaming at him, he shoved the panties into her mouth and secured them with even more masking tape.  He also wrapped the tape around table, immobilizing her head.

She followed him with her eyes as best she could.  His motives were fairly transparent, however.  He dropped his pants and a huge penis showed itself.  Stacy screamed into her gag anew.  He mounted her and, without ceremony, thrust himself into her clenched pussy.  The pain was intense as he tore through her dry vagina.  The look on his face was sheer ecstasy.  Somewhere in the back of her head she wondered if the brute was a virgin.

She tried to distance herself from the situation.  She tried to retreat to somewhere safe within her head.  It was hard, however, as Jerry constantly did disgusting and strange things to her.  Once he licked her forehead.  His breath was terrible and his teeth looked rotten.  Her sweater was quickly pulled up over her head exposing her bra and depriving her of sight.  His assault slowed as he attempted to remove her bra.  Eventually he decided to simply rip it off.  The bra was surprisingly tough and only yielded Stacy’s 36D breasts after causing her quite a bit of pain.  He then mauled them roughly with his teeth.  A few times he bit so hard that she thought he was going to leave a huge gaping hole in her breast.  Luckily, although he seemed to be trying for her nipple, he had terrible aim and most of the mauling occurred on the meaty part of her breasts.

Soon Jerry was going crazy, howling at the top of his lungs and pumping into her with inhuman force.

Although he was only five inches long, hardly the longest Stacy had accommodated, he made up for it with sheer maddened strength.  Still, he did not cum.  For ten minutes he pushed and pushed, harder then Stacy would’ve thought possible, cramping her already strained thigh muscles.  His untrimmed, dirty claws were now digging into her soft flesh; one on her left breast and the other on her right arm.  She could feel blood oozing down her arm onto the table.

Time went by and Jerry became even more frenzied.  Stacy was screaming into her panty gag as loudly as she could.  She wished this lunatic would just orgasm and be done with her!  Her legs were on fire and she was shocked that the tape holding them in place was still working.

Harder and harder he slammed into her, bruising her entire vaginal area.  Her breast was throbbing where his nails were digging into it.

Suddenly the man reared up and placed his hands on her throat.  He began choking her as his body stiffened.  Stacy, completely immobilized, was powerless to get him off of her.  As she blacked out she was only somewhat conscious of him cumming in her bruised and battered sex and then collapsing on top of her.

Stacy woke some time later.  Jerry was still on top of her.  He did not appear to be breathing.  She struggled but was unable to free herself.  Not only had she been raped, but her rapist was laying dead on top of her and no one was likely to come in to the office for the rest of the weekend.  She remembered that Jerry had used a pair of scissors to cut her bra…maybe they were still nearby.  She grasped around with her hand for what seemed like hours.  Slowly she was able to stretch the tape a bit.

Just as she was about to give up in exhaustion, she felt the metal handle of the scissors.  Gingerly she slid them toward her, not wanting to lose her grip or send them sliding off the other side.  She was able to get them open and around the tape that held her hands over her head.  She could not, however, get them to close.  Instead, she very slowly sawed the tape across the scissors.  Once the tape was nicked, she was able to pull her hands free of the table, though they remained taped to each other.

She used her still bound hands to shove the corpse of her rapist off of her ravaged body, which landed with a sickening thud, and pull her sweater from over her face.  She was able to maneuver the scissors in such a way as to cut the tape from her wrists and then her ankles.  She stood up, wobbly from having no food or water overnight.  She ripped the gag from her mouth and spat the panties out.  She was desperately thirsty.

She jumped off the table, nearly onto the maniacs corpse.  She looked down at him.  He still had a disgusting leer on his face, even in death.  She could still see the cum and blood all around his cock.  It was also in her sex, oozing down her inner thigh.  She was disgusted.

Stacy realized she still held the pair of scissors and gave in to a wild impulse.  She stabbed the dead rapist repeatedly, screaming obscenities at him as if this would somehow atone for what he had done to her.  She stabbed him in the eyes, the throat, the face, and the crotch.  She left the scissors in his crotch, wedged between his balls, and laughed at the absurdity of it.

Not that seeing a man’s crotch stapled to the ground with office scissors is normally something that Stacy would find amusing; she was just not quite feeling herself at the moment.

With a satisfied grunt and a sigh, the little blond turned about and limped her way to the water cooler which sat beside the coffee maker.  Everything below her waist felt like one big bruise, and walking was agonizing.  Halfway to her destination, she removed her heels and tossed them behind her.  Much better, she thought.

It occurred to her that the smell of fresh coffee would probably always be a bad thing in her mind from here on out, which was a shame, as coffee was one of her favorite things in the world.  Maybe she could try tea.

She drank five cups of water from the water cooler before she felt as if she were going to vomit.

Bracing against the wall with one hand and panting at the floor, Stacy tried to decide her next move.  Which brought her to a problem.

Normally, after having been raped, one would call the cops.  That was all well and good, and it was obvious that she had been raped, but what would the cops think about the mutilated corpse?

Would they think she murdered him after the rape?  Would that constitute as self defense, if they did?

Stacy was terrified of the idea of being blamed for this creep’s death.

Should she try to hide the body?  Oh, how silly, she thought.  It’s not as if she’d done anything wrong; he’d raped her then died on top of her!

Unfortunately, she’d then gone and stabbed him repeatedly, which would make her story of him having died while raping her at least questionable.

She decided to call the cops.  She’d explain everything.  Once she came clean, they’d know what to do, and if she had to get a lawyer to defend herself, then so be it.

Stacy picked up an office phone and dialed 911.

“911, what is your emergency?” the operator said.

“I’ve just been raped.” Stacy replied.

“Okay ma’am, are you injured?”

“No.  Yes.  Sort of.  My…um…can you just send an ambulance, please?”

“Of course, ma’am, but we need to know the severity of your injuries.  And are you sure the rapist has left?”

“My injuries aren’t that bad, I guess.  And, no, he hasn’t left…he’s dead.”

“Pardon me, did you say dead?”

“Yes.  He died while raping me.”

“Okay.  So I guess we can assume that, for the moment, you’re safe?”

“Yes, fine, it’s not a huge emergency, just please get someone out here, okay?!”

After that, the operator asked her for her name and address, which Stacy willingly supplied, then said they would have a squad car and ambulance out as soon as possible.

The ambulance arrived first, of course.  As it was late, they had to buzz Stacy’s office in order for her to let them in, which she did.

She’d left the body exactly as it had been once she was done with her revenge.  She was trying to do everything she could think of to be sure she didn’t get blamed for any of this.

Yes, she’d lost it and gone crazy stabbing him… after he was dead.  Surely some sort of autopsy would confirm that, right?  Things like this happened all the time on TV.

Apparently the EMS team didn’t watch many crime shows as they were shocked at what they saw when they arrived.  Neither of them particularly wanted to approach the blond at all, thinking she must be some sort of psycho and might be holding something sharp behind her back.

They loaded the corpse onto a stretcher, covered it, and brought it downstairs to the ambulance, but only after assuring Stacy they would be right back to tend to her.

After fifteen minutes of hazily trying to make shapes or figures out of the blood stains on the office carpet, Stacy realized they hadn’t returned.

She looked out the office window, which sat eight stories above the road, and saw that the ambulance was still there.  There was a cop car now, too.

Were they expecting her to go down to them?  That seemed rather odd.

She waited a few more minutes, then looked again.  Both vehicles were still there, but no uniformed men.

Good, she thought, maybe they were finally coming back up.  What the hell were they waiting for?

Come up they did, only not with guns instead of sympathy.

Three cops came in the door first and ordered her to put her hands up.  She was furious.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at the officer, “he raped me!”

“We understand, ma’am,” they replied in infuriatingly calm voices, “but after seeing the condition of his body, we have to take precautions.  Please put your hands up so we can check you for weapons.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” she mumbled, while raising her hands.

She was quickly patted down by two male police officers who determined that she had no weapons.

They then proceeded to pull her hands behind her back and cuff them.

“Wait,” she screamed, pulling away, “what the fuck are you doing!?”

“We need to bring you in and get a statement from you.”

“I’ll go with you, you don’t have to handcuff me!”

“We’re more comfortable this way.”

“Well I’m not!”

They’d managed to get her hands cuffed and were roughly leading her out of the office by her arm.

“Why are you treating me like this?” she asked, “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Ma’am, did you see what you did to that poor guy’s body?”

She had to admit that, outside of her rage, she really hadn’t taken a close look.  It was probably pretty nasty.

“What does that matter?” she asked, “he died while raping me, not from the scissors.”

“Are you qualified to make that sort of judgment?  Can you be completely certain he was dead?”

“Okay, look, he choked me then died on top of me.  I was unconscious, then when I shoved him off me, he just fell.  So obviously he was dead.”

“Ah, so now he choked and raped you,” the cop said as he pushed her into the back seat of the cop car.

At this point, Stacy, being an intelligent woman, realized she needed to shut up and wait for a lawyer.  Although they hadn’t technically arrested her, she was still being escorted to the police station in the back of a squad car while wearing handcuffs to make a statement regarding someone she’d stabbed repeatedly.  Anything she said would most likely be used against her.  Just like on TV.

——————————————————-

“Gary, thank god,” Stacy said from behind bars as an officer opened the door.

She’d used her one phone call to get in touch with the one person she knew was lonely enough to be at home, not to mention most likely to come bail her out.

“What the hell happened, Stacy?” he asked her.

She told him the whole story, surprising herself at how quickly she confided every little detail to someone that she typically didn’t respect in the slightest.

“Wow, that’s rough,” he responded.

Stacy looked at him sardonically.

“Wow that’s rough?” she echoed, “that’s it?  I get raped, then arrested, and all you have to say is ‘Wow that’s rough?’”

“Well, it is,” Gary replied, “what more do you want me to say?”

“Oh my god.  Just take me home, Gary.”

“Oh, about that.  I can’t take you home.  See, you’re actually being held without bail, but I convinced a buddy of mine to let me bring you home as long as I kept an eye on you.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, so you’re going home with me.  And don’t try anything funny, either, because all I have to do is make one phone call and suddenly you’re an escaped convict…understand?”

Stacy looked at her boss with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Gary,” Stacy said, sounding scared, “what the hell is going on here?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Gary replied, “I’m doing you a favor, getting you out of that cell.  I figure you can repay me, maybe with a beejay or three…”

“Take me back to the police station, NOW,” Stacy said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Oh, no can do, there’s some guys from the office at my house waiting for us right now,” Gary said, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.

Gary was slowing for a red light.  Stacy had decided she was going to bail out of the car and walk back to the police station and turn herself in.

The night’s events were making her head swim, and all she knew was that she wanted back to the relative safety of the holding cell.

Before the car slowed enough for her to comfortably jump for it, though, a wasp with a stinger the size of Canada stung her in the left hip.

Actually it was a tazer, and it wasn’t even set very high, but that was more than enough to set her to twitching about like a fish out of water and feeling as if she had magma for blood.

Gary watched her eyes roll up into the back of her head as she jerked about violently enough to shake the car, blond hair flying every which way.

He tazed her twice more on low before getting her home, keeping her in a constant state of convulsion.

He didn’t care if it was hurting her.  Bitch deserved it.