Outlying Regions, or, Aggressive Networking (redux)

I rediscovered this one and gave it a much-needed rewrite. Thought I'd share. Futa on Female/Male, preg.

Expect something new within the month.

Outlying Regions

(or) Aggressive Networking

A Short Story by jokermon.

This is a piece of erotic fantasy fiction. If reading this kind of material is illegal where you reside, don't read it. It you are not old enough to legally read this kind of material according to your local laws, don't read it. This story is copyright the author © 2004- 2008.

1.

Marcie pushed her big red SUV up past the highway speed limit and held down the window button until a refreshing gust whipped and flapped through the interior. It was a beautiful day, not a trooper in sight, and she sang along with a rock song on the radio, feeling fine. The blazer of her smart navy pinstripe skirt suit was open and she undid the top two buttons of the crisp white blouse underneath it, enjoying the breeze. Countryside blurred past the highway.

Not countryside technically, she thought. This area outside Atlanta, past the suburbs but not quite the rural wilds yet, was formally designated an outlying region by the city planners. Because of a business-friendly municipal tax strategy, many companies had relocated offices and warehouse facilities out to this vast space and almost as many suburbanite salarymen-and-women now commuted out here as to downtown Atlanta.

She fluffed her curly mass of auburn hair and checked her make-up in the rearview as she pulled into the parking lot of a long low office building of painfully-bright mirrored glass. Her full lips were lightly glossed, the rest as tastefully understated. Her tan skin really didn’t need much help, but she liked to cover her bets. One of her oddly clear, quizzical brown eyes winked at her as she pressed the bridge of her red-lensed aviator shades back in place, parked, buttoned up and walked out into the baking July heat. She swung her hips as she walked, the gold chain-strap of her purse shining. She felt good, and blessed to be alive.

The interior was mercifully climate-controlled, professionally subdued with gray carpeting and dark faux-marble walls. She strode up to the receptionist, who commanded a great crescent-moon of a desk with the company logo in steel relief-sculpture on the wall behind her. Marcie beamed at her and the receptionist smiled back.

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” sh