Payne vs Stihl

MORGAN PAYNE

Morgan clicked through the layers of spreadsheets she had up on her computer, taking quick glances at the highlighted rows just to be sure. She had multiple large documents open, and her computer was heaving with the effort.

Click. Click.

Yeah, it was the same as yesterday… and the day before that… and the day before that. She had been through this for more than a week, spending every morning coming in early to look though the mass of documents knowing more and more each day that she was right.

But, she needed to be sure. Because if she wasn’t sure, she was sure to be dead.

She caught her own sly grin in the reflection of her computer. Morgan Payne knew she was dancing with death. And while that may scare most people, she found high stakes to be quite motivating.

It made winning more fun.

And that thought made her click “print” for the first time since she started to look through the documents. The printer across from her cubical fired up and began to spit out the incriminating papers. She’d been here for almost three months and her plan was finally coming to fruition. Her gut coiled.

Not because of fear. Oh, no. That didn’t make her body get wound up like this, vibrating with so much energy she could power the printer contributing to her situation. Her stomach was tight and hot because she was so horny she was soaking her lacy thong. She loved the thrill of the situation. And the ability to finally get something she’s wanted for a very long time. Or die trying.

Here was one of five from that “something” right now, walking past her cubical without even glancing at her. Damn Samuel Quinn and only having eyes for Mr. Stihl.

She wouldn’t be so miffed by it if he weren’t so drop-dead-gorgeous with his creamy skin, unruly brown locks, and slim muscular body that did things to suits that made other suits horny. Or the fact that she knew Mr. Stihl forced him to his knees every day and shoved his cock that matched his name so well right into that perfect, damnable mouth.

Well, no matter. Today, that mouth was going to be on her.

Smiling, plump lips stretching red lipstick into something slightly feral, she grabbed her stack of papers, still warm from the printer. Gracefully sitting down as if nothing was different, she began highlighting, marveling once again at the cleverness of it all.

She currently worked in an accounting firm that moved money for large corporations, universities, and other businesses. Well, they sold and integrated a large software package that did most of the heavy lifting. Her job was to make sure the connecting accounts were correct and keep the IRS happy.

They did do that very well, make the IRS happy. Even though they were laundering millions and millions of dollars for a slew of crime lords and everyday rich scum. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to know that. But she was Morgan Payne.

She had figured out the system after pouring over hundreds of accounts. Money would come in from one of their illicit clients and be moved through a copy of a vendor from a real account, who looked almost identical to the real vendor except a few things are changed like an asterisk or a period on the name. Once the accountants clicked all the approval buttons, the money would be paid out to another fake vendor who looked like a real one, except internally in the black box of the software system their routing numbers were changed where no one could see, sending the money legitimately to a fake business account of their illicit clients…after taxes were paid.

And that was how it really all worked. The companies saw no change in their profits or spending; the money they put in always equaled what went out, just a few more dollars were moved through as duplicates in separate accounts. And the IRS got all their taxes from the line by line. Yes, that’s right, Mr. Stihl made drug lords pay taxes.

So, her boss, Mr. Jake Stihl, was a grade-A crime lord himself… and a dick. He was that too. But she liked that part about him. This wouldn’t be fun if he were anything else.

It just so happened that she might have a bigger dick than him. Well, she did in her dresser for sure, but she meant the proverbial kind. The kind that made her print off all of these documents so she could blackmail a man she was sure had people killed.

The idea make her purr on the inside. Morgan very much liked outsmarting people, especially powerful men who thought they owned the world. Her entire life had been a lesson in dealing with the creatures. Especially the assholes her mother called “husbands.” Really, they were dicks with purse strings. Her mother didn’t care about them as long as they paid the bills and kept her comfortable. But, that dependency came with a hefty price that Morgan refused to pay. Morgan generally kept most men at bay, unless she had means to leash them.

Speaking of… Here was the man of the hour. She continued highlighting his demise as he walked by.

Jake Stihl wasn’t the tallest out there, but he was about the sexiest and tended to fill the room with his presence. He had tamed black hair that looked like it would be soft to touch, and an impossibly strong jawline – that fit his name well – complete with a constant five o’clock shadow. His skin was only a bit tanner than Sam’s, and he always wore the right colors like to set it off, like navy on navy. And he was damn muscular, or at least, she assumed he was by how he filled out his expensive suits. And how heavy his cock looked in the slim cut fabric.

He glanced at her and she stared back, wanting to start the challenge. He almost paused, eyes narrowing the slightest bit, as if seeing something he wasn’t sure he liked. His eyes slid off her then, like she wasn’t really something to consider, and he went back to strutting his way to his office. Sexy bastard.

He always came in a few minutes after one of his men. Today that was Samuel Quinn. And usually…yes. Another of his men always came in just a breath afterwards. It was Noel today, Mr. Stihl’s sweet little personal secretary, whom he also fucked of course. Noel rushed past her desk in his shiny grey suit holding a large briefcase to his chest. He ran to catch up with Mr. Stihl, head turning longingly up at him when he reached his side. Stihl stroked a quick hand down Noel’s blond hair.

Puppy. That’s how she liked to think of him. He was Mr. Stihl’s cute little Shih Tzu. And he was a little shit too. He flirted with everyone, loving any attention given to him. It was how she was able to gather as much information as she had on Mr. Stihl. When she asked something important, he’d become quiet or change the topic, and she found that what one didn’t say was usually more valuable than what one did.

So, both Samuel Quinn and Noel Hill would be a part of her show today. Which was good because Devin Colt was a big ass motherfucker and might just pick her up and throw her where Stihl wanted her. The man was a brute and tended to do a very good job looming over everyone when they were with Mr. Stihl. Those were the three men she’d met so far, but she knew from Noel that Mr. Stihl owned four men in total.

Yeah, that’s right. Own.

He had four men wrapped around his every little desire because they had nothing else and nowhere to go. She had snuck into HR files – by fucking Greg the HR IT manager – to get their social security numbers. When she ran them through every software package she could afford that month, she’d found nothing. The men didn’t even have credit cards now, and only terrible credit scores with records that stopped a few years ago for most of them.

She was sure that is when Mr. Stihl took over their lives, because before then they seemed to be normal people doing normal things. But now, they owned no cars, had no apartment they were renting, or even a library card. She knew because once she’d flirted with Noel insisting that she had the worst license photo, and while he pulled his out to prove her wrong, she’d got to see inside his wallet. There had been one credit card. A black Amex that had Mr. Stihl’s name on it.

She was sure they wanted for nothing, as Mr. Stihl could probably afford his own country. He dressed them and fed them what he wanted, and she was damn sure they all lived with him. And so, the boys were good little slaves to their Stihl master. She assumed they were willing, but it was hard to tell when she so rarely got to interact with them.

Morgan looked down the long room that stretched from the elevator to Mr. Stihl’s office, glancing at his nice ass that was soon hidden behind his office door. Noel sat at his desk right outside that door, which barely opened during the day. The rest was a wide room that had lots of cubicles shoved to either side of the main corridor. It narrowed down by her cubical where the printers and the bathrooms took up space before the elevator. The nice offices were on the outside of the space with windows that overlooked beautiful NY, NY. Down here, towards the center of the building it was dark and grey and boring.

She had long figured out that the closer you were to Mr. Stihl’s office door, the more you knew about the illicit operation. Somehow he got everyone on board with trying to please him more and more until they were a part of a huge criminal enterprise… that paid them normal fucking wages. She was sure a few people got a little extra, but fuck, Greg from HR IT had shown her the salary sheets (after another fuck) and she was damned surprise she couldn’t tell who was in the know by them. Which was smart on so many levels, but made it very clear Stihl was an emotionally manipulative asshole.

She smiled again. This was going to be fun.

Looking back at his door, she saw the gold plate on the outside be flipped over to silver, then to bronze. Gold meant come in. Silver meant I’m on the phone, and I don’t really care about you. Bronze meant stay the fuck out, I’m fucking one of my slave boys. It was a code that only people in the office knew. Okay, well, not everyone interpreted it quite like that. Most people saw Gold = yes, silver = no, and bronze = hell no. Still, she knew what was happening.

Sam was getting a cock rammed into him. Well, well. That was her cue.