0 comments/ 3838 views/ 0 favorites Grand Slam By: GC66 All people in this story are at least 18 years of age I'm from Cincinnati. In the summer of 1985, the buzz in the city was over the Reds' Pete Rose. Rose had been re-acquired by the Reds in a trade with Montreal the previous August and owner Marge Schott immediately named him player/manager. Rose, a Cincinnati guy, had been signed by the Reds in 1960 and debuted for them three years later and was part of the Big Red Machine which won World Series championships in 1975 and 1976. For nearly two decades, "Charlie Hustle" was the face of the Reds. During his five years with the Philadelphia Phillies and the partial year with the Expos, he began getting closer and closer to making people think it might be possible for him to break one of baseball's "unbreakable" records: Ty Cobb's 4,191 career basehits. "Can Pete do it?" was the big question. He was in his forties and clearly his best years were behind him. A switch-hitter, when he became manager, he mainly played against right-handers. In the summer of 1985, with Pete getting closer to 4192, I began working part time as a telemarketer. Yup. I was one of those people who call you at the most inopportune times to sell you a product or a service. Yes, I annoyed a lot of people, but I needed the money. My creditors trumped your inconveniences. Julianne was a co-worker. She wasn't the most beautiful or the most graceful woman I'd ever seen, but her confessed love of all things sexual more than made up for it. She was about five years older than I was, about 5'6" with long medium brown hair and blue eyes. I'm guessing she had 36 C breasts, but they were really firm, and she had a gorgeous ass. Julianne had a great personality and an engaging smile and a great sense of humor. She could've stood to lose about ten pounds, but a BBW she wasn't. She was somewhat of a baseball fan, but I was a total fanatic. I'd played a year of pro minor league ball in the Seattle organization, but unfortunately, I'd suffered a couple of injuries during my high school career and never really recovered. After a really bad season trying to play with back issues, I was convinced I no longer had it and retired. Plus I missed home. Julianne learned I had played professionally and asked me a lot of baseball questions in an attempt to learn more about the game, and I'd try to explain it to her. We had a good professional relationship. The day before Pete hit the record breaker, Julianne surprised me by asking me out for a date the following evening. The restaurant we went to had a television. We saw Pete's glorious moment: a 2-1 opposite field hit off of San Diego right-hander Eric Show, who became the answer to a trivia question and has since died. We cheered wildly along with the other patrons as the hometown hero celebrated one of baseball's greatest moments. After dinner, we went back to Julianne's small apartment. We watched television. She didn't resist my initial tentative moves and I got a little bolder. "George," Julianne suddenly blurted in an annoyed voice. "You know you don't need to try to put moves on me." We began kissing and feeling each other up. Bit by bit, our clothes came off. She had a shapely body. Once we were nude, Julianne gave me a pretty decent blowjob. It hadn't taken a whole hell of a lot to make me hard to begin with, but I wasn't going to pass it up. And I reciprocated. Her pussy was dripping and she tasted incredible. I fingered and tongued her to orgasm. "Alright," she said afterward. "Fuck me good!" I slid in her. God she was tight! I started off slow, but she liked it a little rough. I drove in and out of her with abandon. Missionary, doggy, cowgirl, Julianne loved fucking. She probably orgasmed a few times as she worked her clit as I fucked her. I was nearly ready to explode, but she sensed it and stopped and dismounted me and reached over and opened a drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube and handed it to me. Then she kneeled and stuck her beautiful ass high in the air. She grinned. "Come on, fuck that ass!" she commanded, as she slapped it. "Julianne?" I said shocked. I had never fucked a girl in her asshole before. I'd seen anal plenty of times in pornos, but never even attempted to do it. "Yeah, I do anal," she said, recounting her first backdoor invasion a couple of years earlier. "Now I love it." "I thought that was only in movies," I naïvely commented as I lubed her and myself up. "No, silly," she said. "By the way, Celia loves it too. She told me." Celia was a co-worker whom I longed to fuck. She was black, but her light complexion led me to believe that one of her parents was probably white. I'd never had a sexual interest in black women before, but Celia was an exception. In fact, we later had sex one time. She did like anal! I've since had sex with black women with far darker complexions. None of them did anal though. "Okay, Jul," I said, as I put the head of my cock against her back entrance. "You ready?" "Oh, fuck yes!" she replied. I pushed a little and my cock slipped in. Julianne stiffened and moaned loudly. I'm dead average length-wise: six-and-a-half inches. But I'm thick. I was afraid I was damaging her, but she didn't complain. As I pushed in slowly, she groaned and growled and gripped the sheets. I slowly began moving in and out of her tight ass and she fingered her clit furiously. "Oooh! Oooh fuck yeah!" she roared. "Damn! Damn!" After just a few minutes of pounding her tight ass, I told her I was going to come. Julianne turned over rubbing herself. "On me..." she moaned. We came together. Two huge shots landed her on her beautiful breasts. She loved it. We fucked like mad for nearly two weeks. Then it began to diminish. I suspect she was fucking other guys, which was alright. I didn't want a serious relationship with her and she didn't want a serious relationship with anyone. Then it stopped and I broke it off with Julianne. I had begun seeing another woman and I promised to be monogamous. While the sex was there, so was love. With Julianne, it was just sex between friends. It was great, but the was no love. The office closed about a month later. Julianne mentioned maybe moving "up north" to stay with her sister and getting a job where she worked. The last time I saw her was in 1988 or 1989. Grand Slam Homer The tall, nearly naked married woman began to strip in front of me, and barked her direct order like a drill sergeant. "Fuck me really hard, I want it hard this morning. Fuck me so deep and hard today, got it?" Hey, who was I to argue with a demand like that? She stood in front of my bed at dawn as the rising sunlight cascaded through the window shades, and removed her black pencil skirt, spreading her legs to do so, and her tuft of light brown curly pubic hair was cast in a silhouette from my vantage point, sprawled on the mattress, stroking my thickening cock in anticipation of this now weekly tete-a-tete with my married co-worker, Maureen Stanton. I worked for a national shopping center development company based in Northern Virginia, just outside the nation's capital, named McAllen-Gray. The employees in our corporate office were about seventy-five to eighty percent women, most of them educated, attractive, unattached, and each one seemingly more horny than the next. A dream scenario for a single, recently divorced, thirty-five-year-old male. So, why was it that I somehow ended up being attracted to the married ones, or for today at least, this married one in particular? Maureen eased her impossibly long, stocking-clad legs onto the bed and bent down to fondle my cock with two hands, grasping it firmly from my own grip, and she smiled at me lustfully just before she began to lick and suck on my heavy, swollen balls, taking one sac in each hand and lifting my ass off of the mattress with unambiguous intent. Her musky scent wafted through the air and mixed with her flowery perfume to permeate my small bedroom, the tactile combination causing my cock to grow even mightier in appreciation. "God, I love this beautiful cock. Please fuck my mouth first, I want to taste you before you split me apart with this monster." Oh, yes, that was why. I suddenly remembered as I watched her cheeks expand to accept my cock. Selective memory. I had fucked about a half-dozen female fellow employees since I started working for McAllen-Gray late last year (my envious friends called it a corporate whorehouse, and they weren't far off in their description), but Maureen was the only married one. So far. Prior to starting our Wednesday morning pre-dawn 'workout sessions', Maureen had confessed to me that she had very little experience in cock sucking men of ample dimensions, and she had heard from the office rumor mill ( a hot little blonde named Laurie who was the assistant to the CFO), that mine might be a good place to practice. Being a gentleman and a teammate, of sorts, I cordially donated about seven-and-three-quarter inches of my services, and over these last few months, Maureen had proven to be the eager and talented pupil. It didn't hurt, either, that she was about six-feet two, a lean, muscular part-time athletic trainer and possessed a cunt tighter than the wallets of the owners of the woebegone Pittsburgh Pirates, perennially last in payroll and on-field performance in the National League. Unfortunately, Maureen had tits that were smaller than the Pirates' game attendance, too. But those magic and fit kegel muscles of hers now regularly weaved their vaginal magic on my cock for an hour or so a week on Wednesday mornings while her legal Neanderthal hubby assumed she was attending early-bird yoga sessions, and, well, who am I to pick nits over little tits when she had the tightest of slits? She was in a loveless, sexless marriage with the affluent, obnoxious personal injury attorney. I met the guy once at a company social function, and he bore an uncanny resemblance to one of the Geico cavemen (how come those guys never were given names, anyhow?), a tall, hairy, unkempt, geeky looking guy who apparently hadn't touched his hot wife's taut body in well over a year. I guess because of that, I didn't feel the slightest twinge of remorse for banging the bottom out of this legal beagles' trophy wife. On this particular morning, though, Maureen, always bursting with libidinous energy (think Jane Fonda on stilts with a chest flatter than a dead man's EKG ), was essentially combining her blowjob warm-up duties with a verbal deposition of her own, taking inventory of my internal office conquests. "Not that it's any of my business," she mumbled between slurps while drooling saliva on my cockhead, "But are you fucking Laurie Mason any more?" I shook my head to indicate a 'no' response, and grabbed my own hands tightly along the back of her curly locks, tumbling down over my dick, like a jockey reminding his filly to remember the task at hand. Suck, baby, suck. The truth was that cute little Laurie had given me an ultimatum once she became aware of my philandering activities. I really liked Laurie, she was fun, smart, and attentive, but that was a big mistake on her part. Maureen resumed her assault on my cock, about half of the shaft occasionally disappearing down her throat. She came up for air, temporarily suspending her oral probe in return for a verbal one, seemingly determined to place me at the scene of some crime with some female accomplice, somewhere. "How about Janet Smith? How about her, have you fucked her?" I shook my head more vehemently and frowned down at her, pointing to my cock as a directional guide. South, baby, south. A little less conversation, a little more sucking, isn't that the way they song goes? Janet had sucked me in the front seat of my Lexus after a happy hour two weeks ago, but I'd responded truthfully, even though I wasn't under oath. I had not yet fucked Janet Smith, the curvy office manager who was hired for her eye-candy attraction to clients and tenants. Apparently, she'd been on the period that night, but I assumed the offer to fuck Janet was valid for future redemption since she kept moaning, "God, how I want to just sit on this huge thing. I can't wait to have you sometime soon." Janet Smith, indeed. Hmmmm, now there's an idea for later today, perhaps. But, for now, keep sucking, Maureen, if you'd be so kind. By this time, however, Maureen had apparently concluded the oral warm-ups for this morning's aerobic activities, and mounted me slowly, easing those lean, loooooooong legs over my torso, straddling me, as her gaping cunt surrounded my cock in a sensational death-grip as her creamy, sopping pussy caressed me inch by inch on her slow descent. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes dreamily as she sensually rocked back and forth on my cock, which was only perhaps half-way inside of her warm tunnel, moaning huskily, savoring the mutually enjoyable sensation of big cock meeting tight pussy. But she wasn't finished with her line of questioning. "Diane Weston tells me you're fucking her new assistant, Liz. How old is she, about nineteen?" Maureen had never opened her eyes while posing this latest inquiry, but now she gazed down at me with a mixture of little-girl-like curiosity and animalistic lust. I gripped Maureen's tiny, slender pelvis roughly and threw her weight down onto me in one quick thrust, her pussy impaling itself on my manhood, nearly denting her cervix. I bounced her up and down, up and down, up and down, so that she was rendered speechless, her only sounds being indecipherable grunts and groans, laced in a tone of unmistakable ecstasy. I sneered up at her, admiring her long torso, writhing with extreme pleasure. "Maureen, I say this with ultimate and utmost respect, but shut up and fuck me. You wanted to be fucked hard, right?" Her cunt clenched and unclenched in small tremors on my cock, and her lithe frame rocked wildly on my pole, and she flicked her engorged clit with two fingers of one hand, pulling at her minuscule, yet highly sensitive nipples with two fingers of the other. I took this as a 'yes'. I flipped her over so that I wouldn't have to look her in the eye as I told her what I would tell her next. Her tight skinny ass hovered in front of me like a target, and I wanted so bad to take it right then, but we hadn't yet been able to convince her to surrender her virgin ass. Not yet, anyway. I bore my cock into her pussy in one deep thrust, and as she groaned deeply, I confessed my sin. "Liz is twenty-three, but if it makes you feel any better, your cunt is much tighter. No one has a tighter pussy that you, Maureen." She leered over her shoulder in smiling approval as my balls slammed hard against that muscular butt of hers. It's all in the way you phrase things, I thought. Knowing that I had her captivated mentally as well as fucking her vigorously, I continued my verbal teasing as I pounded into her. "Besides, I'm pretty sure she's bisexual. I'll bet she'd love to eat that tight pussy of yours and know what a real woman tastes like." Maureen moaned loudly, no doubt thinking about that scenario, as I pulled her curly hair tight in my fist. I changed gears quickly, wanting to keep her distracted and off-guard. "And my friend Paul, who you met in the Shade Tree Tavern last week? He wants to fuck you, too, he thought you were smokin' hot. He wanted to know if you'd be interested in fucking us both at the same time, a threesome?" Her velvety cunt convulsed around my cock, my words having the desired intent. She was about to blow her cream. "But I get your ass, Mo, we'd fuck you at the same time, DP you, and I'd fill your ass with my big dick while he fucked that hot, wonderful cunt of yours, what do you think, do you want two cocks, you cock slut, hmm?" The gush of warm, sticky liquid that exploded from her tunnel expressed her excitement over that idea, and at that point, I had reached my own breaking point, also. I literally threw her up in the air and spun her. She landed with a 'plop' on her back, her pussy in a spasm and splashing cum, and I fisted my own cock and shot one, two, three, four hard shots of cum, then a fifth, and then a trickle, and another, and the last, directly onto her belly button, bullseye, each spurt landing perfectly in the crevice of her navel, creating a warm, oval pond of semen. She lay there, gasping, panting, wide-eyed, and I scooped up a large puddle of cum and latched it onto two of my finger tips, and offered it to her lips. She sucked my fingers greedily, hungrily, the cum seeping from the corner of her mouth before she snaked her tongue out to recapture it, tasting my gift of seed. I ran my fingers over the impressively large puddle of cum. It was one of my biggest loads in a long, long time, I'd even surprised myself with the intensity of my massive load of ejaculate. Maureen watched, paralyzed, completely submissive, and for the next few minutes, I gave her a small skin bath of cum, coating my fingers and smearing it into the skin of her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, her forehead, behind her ears, and lowered my fingers to her neck and collarbone, each touch of mine on her skin accompanied by her small whimpers. Her hips began to buck again involuntarily, craving insertion, wanting again my big, thick cock to impale her. Instead, I continued her body-painting, moving down to her tiny breasts, circling her nipples and smearing them with the milky sex juice. I dotted each bony hip with a dab of cum, and for the finale, I lifted her legs up in the air, grabbing her by the ankles, and raised her ass off of the mattress, and rubbed the rim of her light brown puckered anus, lubricating it with the last drops of my cum, before lightly inserting my pinky finger into her asshole, and she groaned and shuddered into a closing climax. I hopped off the bed and rubbed my still gleaming and semi-erect cockhead onto her face and she sucked the tip of it into her warm mouth, but I quickly pulled away. I walked towards the bathroom and tossed her a towel. "You can use the other bathroom to freshen up, sexy, but leave that cum smeared on your body all day. I want to see you walking around the office knowing you're coated with my cum." I heard my front door close moments later as I was shaving. I exited the elevator of our office suite on the fourth floor at about eight-fifty-five, and as fate would have it, none other than Janet Smith was sitting at the receptionist desk, filling in until the regular receptionist arrived. Janet would have been fired long ago if she was judged merely on job performance, but a pair of 38D's and the sultriest voice this side of Susan Sarandon kept her gainfully employed. Her voice was a walking 900 number, she gave incredible phone, as they say, and it didn't hurt that the first image that prospective clients had when entering our office were Janet's big, firm, inviting tits spilling out of her inevitable low-cut blouse, sweater, or dress. Plus, she was naturally friendly and helpful, so much so that even the women in the office who wanted to hate her couldn't help but like her, too. I'll bet there wasn't a male visitor to our office who could tell you a thing about the interior design or color of our waiting area, because their eyes were riveted on Janet's chest the entire time. It was entertaining to watch, and no one took more pleasure in the process than Janet herself. Phil, the human resource guy, confessed that he didn't even glance at Janet's resume when she came into apply for the job, yet she was hired on the spot anyway. Phil jokingly called Janet's unofficial job title, "Office Tits", and Janet assumed an appropriately inappropriate dress code daily, usually augmented by a dress or skirt that would be tailored to her body in such a tight fashion that would make Mae West proud. This morning was no exception, a sheer cotton button-down blouse displaying copious amounts of large, freckled mammaries, and a tan miniskirt that ended maybe ten inches below the promised land. I was still exceedingly horny from my earlier jaunt with Maureen, and silently thanked Maureen and her interrogation for planting the idea in my head that I was about to pursue. I smiled at Janet. Janet smiled at me. I looked Janet up and down admiringly, subconsciously licking my lips while I felt the familiar stirring in my loins begin to shake, rattle, and grow. Janet looked back at me, lingering at the noticeable intrusion burgeoning beneath the zipper of my khakis, while her lips pursed open in an "O" shape. Was it my imagination, or were her nipples beginning to protrude ever so slightly beneath her sheer blouse? She slowly crossed and uncrossed her legs. Light blue panties today. Nice. And, no, it wasn't my imagination, those nipples were in a match race with my dick to see which could grow the fastest. "Morning," I said, shifting my weight on the balls of my feet to adjust for the rising tide in my pants. "Morning," Janet replied in that sweet pseudo-porn voice, parting her legs slightly, lowering a hand to her thigh seductively. I looked around. The coast was clear, at least for a few seconds. If it wasn't for the ever-present security cameras, I would have ducked below her desk and run my tongue over the Carolina Blue lace of her thong. I opened my mouth to speak, but she beat me to it. Great minds were thinking alike, though. "You know, Gus is still traveling this week," she said. I nodded. Gus' office was among the most secluded in the office, he was the company's in-house architect, and he had the big corner office on the nearly vacant third floor. Her eyes bore like a laser into my groin. "Would you be interested in helping me with a brief DICK-tation lesson down there?" She emphasized the first syllable so that her intent was unambiguous. Before I could reply, a tumble of late-arriving employees, including Anne, the regular receptionist, spilled out of the elevator cab. We all merrily said our morning salutations to the arriving group as Janet brushed past me, her breast touching my arm in the small crowd of people in the lobby now. "Sure, then, happy to help, I'll bring those files now to you at ten, John, would that be OK for your schedule?" "That'd be splendid, Janet, thanks very much for your help," I said as innocently as I could muster, watching her ass wiggle as she headed down the hall. "My pleasure, glad to be of assistance." She looked over her shoulder at me. "Anytime." At ten-oh-two, behind closed doors in Gus Perrone's vacant office, my stiff cock rested between the almost indescribably perfect breasts of our helpful Office Manager as she peeled off her pale blue lacy bra. "No time to fuck, not today, although God I want to, but Cheryl called a conference call for ten-thirty and I have to set up the phones." She grabbed both of my balls gently in her hands and eyed them up admiringly before soaking my testicles with her lathered tongue. "A tit fuck and quick BJ will have to suffice," Janet said, beginning to engulf my cock in her palms. "But I insist on a rain check," she continued, reaching beneath her skirt with one hand and extracting her thong, handing it to me. "Here's your deposit and reservation. Return them, say, tomorrow night, my place?" Janet's efficiency with a cock certainly superceded her full time day job performance, and after about seven or eight minutes of an eager and enthusiastic tongue lashing, I exploded my second large load onto my second fellow employee of the morning, right on Janet's huge target missiles, and then helpfully joined her in rubbing the protein onto her tits before she fastened her bra back on. Before she departed, she took two of my fingers and guided them into her steamy snatch. We mutually explored her tunnel for a few tantalizing seconds before she pulled out as quickly as she had inserted them, and placed the sticky goo-cover digits to my lips. "Payback is most certainly NOT a bitch, John. Eat me first, then fuck me with that beautiful dick. Tomorrow night, seven o'clock. I'll e-mail directions to my condo." By the time I returned to my office moments later, Janet had already electronically forwarded the directions, and included a graphic of a big set of ruby lips on her tag line signature. I perused through the remainder of the earlier e-mails that I'd missed while being the beneficiary of Janet's oral homage, and found one from Maureen Stanton. There was no heading, and I opened it before all the other e-mails that were pining for my attention. "I love the feel of your cum up my ass hole. I'm sticking to my seat. And I liked your ideas this morning. Both of them. RSVP." I drummed my fingers on my desk top in contemplation, while absentmindedly recalling that I had placed Janet's sopping thong in Gus' top desk drawer, and I made a mental note to go back sometime today to retrieve them, lest Gus would have quite a surprise upon his return. Impulsively, I picked up the phone and dialed the extension for Liz Woodson, the aforementioned young marketing assistant, nine months out of college and a proud alumni of Marymount University and their cross-country team. Liz was relatively petite, but her legs looked like they could be on the cover of Runners' World, tanned, tone, and lean. Best yet, at least for my purposes, they had been wrapped around my waist and ass for a good portion of last weekend after I ran into her on the biking trail near Dulles airport. Twenty minutes later, her Spandex shorts were down around her ankles as I had her bent over a large tree stump in a small forest off the trail near Herndon, and we continued our impromptu workouts through that evening and into the following morning. During that time, I learned that mine was the first cock Liz had enjoyed in many months, she had just broken of a bi-sexual relationship with her college track coach after the lesbian coach had chosen to bed down one of her current students. Liz was old news to the coach, apparently, and I was Liz' revenge fuck. Timing and opportunity is indeed everything. "Liz Woodson," the voice on the phone cheerily answered, before she saw my called ID on her display. "Oh, hi, John, what a pleasant surprise." Her voice lowered and took on an icy tone. "Stranger." I hadn't seen nor spoken to Liz since our little marathon weekend encounter, and it was not by accident. Liz worked for the most powerful woman executive in the company, Diane Weston, the Senior VP of Marketing, and I had been still sorting out if it was in my professional best interests to continue to fuck Liz. Grand Slam Homer However, since I'd already learned from Maureen this morning that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, that Diane Weston apparently DID already know our little carnal secret, I figured, "What the hell". Besides, I wanted to find out just what Liz had told Diane. "I know, I know, I'm falling on my sword, pretty lady, I've been a bad boy. But it hasn't been from not wanting to talk to you, I've just been very busy." That sure wasn't a lie, just look at my morning. "Well, then, just how do you plan to make it up to me?" Liz mockingly pouted, her tone lightening palpably. "Well, funny you should ask. If you don't have any lunch plans and can get away from the Wicked Witch of the Beltway for a hour, I was thinking of a nice, picnic lunch. I know just the spot. What do you say, gorgeous?" Shortly after noon, I was fiercely jack-hammering my cock into Liz Woodson's young, nubile cunt as she braced her weight against a tree in an isolated area of Great Falls Park and soon fired yet another shot of cum all over her backside, glazing her skin with the creamy, milky load, though a lot less voluminous than loads one and two from earlier in the day. We stopped for a pack of peanut butter crackers and a Vitamin Water at Seven-Eleven to authenticate our lunch date, with the promise of a pending dinner date. Soon. I promise. Besides, in all the frenzy of an abbreviated lunch-hour fuck, I'd forgotten to ask Liz just what she'd told her boss about us. Damn. I dropped Liz off so that we wouldn't be seen walking into the office together, and while parking my car, I saw Diane Weston and Maureen Stanton, my first lover of this busy day, walking towards Diane's car, obviously going to lunch, giggling like conspiratorial schoolgirls when they saw Liz scurrying into the office, her dress wrinkled and her auburn hair still slightly askew. It wasn't either of the older womens' first rodeos, they knew the look of a just-fucked young woman when they saw it. As I walked into my office, I realized that it was barely past one o'clock in the afternoon, and three women within several hundred feet of my desk were wearing my cum on various parts of their bodies or within their orifices. I was basking in this revelation arrogantly while again skimming my e-mails when a recent one stopped my heartbeat cold. It was from Diane Weston, and the heading was "Meeting Request". As Astro Jetson used to say, "Ruh, roh, Rorge." I admit that my fingers trembled a bit as I hit the mouse. "If you could make yourself available, I'd like to see you in my office at six o'clock, after the budget meetings this afternoon." "Consider it urgent. Thank you in advance." My face was flushed with a mixture of mortification and fear for job security. It was well known that Diane had been sleeping with James McAllen, the company's chairman and founder, for years, and she could make or break careers within our company. I figured I had crossed that always fragile tightrope between personal promiscuity and professional foolishness by fucking her assistant, and now I might pay for it with my job. Just then, Sue Trask poked her head into my office, and the rest of her sensational body magically followed. Out of all of the wantonly frisky women in this 'Little WhoreHouse' disguised as a real estate company, Sue Trask was one of the very few who seemed exempt from any and all arbitrary sexual licentiousness. She prided herself on being the consummate industry leasing professional, and seemed oblivious to the fact that she was lusted after by virtually every male within eyesight, due to her uncanny resemblance to Courtney Cox, at least from my humble perspective. Even though she had been divorced within the past few years, she never socialized outside of the office, and I had long ago relegated her to fantasy-status only. It was common knowledge that she had shot down more hostile enemy approaches than a tail gunner in a World War Two B-24 fighter plane. "Hey, John," she frowned, noticing my discomfort, sticking her tits against the door jamb. Lucky door jamb, I thought. "Everything ok?" I quickly gathered my wits in a valiant effort to try to remain unflappable. "Oh, um, yeah, sure, Sue. Hi, how are you?" I smiled as best I could despite my dismay. "What can I do for you?" I realized this may have been the first time that Sue Trask had ever stopped by my office. She smiled a megawatt smile that would melt a glacier. "Oh, no, please don't," I pleaded silently to my cock. Down, boy, haven't you had enough? What she said next surprised me on a few levels. This was turning out to be quite a day of surprises, both pleasant and otherwise. "I checked the office travel calendar with Janet, and she tells me you're booked to go to Seattle on Monday and will be staying at the Marriott Sea-Tac, is that right? Are you still going?" As office manager, Janet Smith was indeed responsible for booking everyones' corporate travel, but I found it strange that Janet would relinquish such info to Sue. Even more puzzling was why would Sue want to know in the first place? "Uh, yeah, Sue, I am." I quickly thought about my upcoming appointment with Diane Weston. "That is, unless something unexpected comes up, that is." Sue looked at me quizzically, but then her face brightened. "Well, if I can entice you to go through with your original plans, I've asked Janet to book me on the same flight and get a room for me at the Marriott also. We're looking at buying a shopping center down in Kelso, and I was hoping you could go down on me, uh, for me so we could do a property review together?" I looked at Sue, trying to determine if her Freudian slip was intentional, among other things. This just couldn't be happening. Not with Sue Trask. Even if Diane did have me fired today, I quickly calculated that I was going to Seattle one way of the other, employed or not. I looked right in Sue's blazing blue-green eyes as she curled a wisp of raven hair from her temple. "I'll be more than happy to help you anyway I can, Sue. I'd love to go down there with you." My eyes shifted to her crotch, the double-entendre was not subtle, but I wanted to see if we were on the same wavelength. We were. She softly squealed with glee in her cute Virginia drawl, causing MY south to rise again. "Wonderful, I'll buy the coffee at Starbucks in the terminal. See you bright and early Monday morning at Dulles." She twirled on her heels and left me at my desk with a gaping jaw. She did a double-back into my office quickly. "And, oh, yes, if you see to it that nothing unexpected does come up to alter our plans, I'll make sure that something WILL come up during our trip." She winked at me. "I'll tell you one thing, though, I do hate those small rooms at that Marriott. They're so cramped they remind me of Gus' office, and we know it's tough to concentrate on work in there, isn't it, John?" I stared at her in disbelief. Had anyone here ever heard of "Don't kiss and tell?" Sue had one more parting shot. "Although, Janet tells me there's rumors of expansion plans for Gus' office, and she attended a meeting down there this morning and she took some measurements, and it sounds like everything will fit just fine, although it may be a wee bit snug." "See ya Monday, John, rest up, OK?" I stumbled and bumbled through the interminably long and tedious budget meetings (just why are there so MANY fucking budget meetings in every company, anyway? It's a budget, it's a fucking GUESS!!!!) , doing my best to give the impression I was prepared or interested, though my only thoughts were on the upcoming six o'clock meeting with Diane and my anticipated professional death march. Then, suddenly, as the meetings were beginning to 'wrap up', as the meeting coordinators like to say so that they sound like we actually accomplished something, a light bulb went on inside of my often dim head. A revelation as it were, selective memory kicking it at a most opportune time. I remembered something Laurie Mason said to me a few months ago, something about some potential improprieties in expense reports that she had come across, almost by accident. As the assistant to the CFO, all of the expense reports and stock purchases came across Laurie's desk eventually, both for cross-checking purposes, and ultimately for electronic filing in the archives. At the time, I was recovering from an explosive orgasm after a rousing session with Laurie (she DID give great head), and was only vaguely listening, as most guys do during post-sex pillow talk. Now, however, I needed to verify that my memory was indeed accurate. What was that name she had told me about? Scott Johnson? Yes, that was it. Scott Johnson. My potential 'get out of jail free' card. Thanks, Scott, whoever the fuck you are. You may have just saved my ass. I made a trip down to Laurie's cubicle and had to humbly fall on my sword so that Laurie could grasp the gravity of the situation in which I had placed myself. She sighed and made some comments about "thinking with the little head, as always", but didn't hesitate to lend her help, with another ultimatum as the caveat. This time, I was in no position to barter and happily agreed to her terms, which truthfully, were very favorable. She could have made my life even more miserable, she had me by the short hairs, yet she came through, and for that, my eternal gratitude would be proffered. I was due in Diane's office within ten minutes. Laurie made a few clicks of the mouse, hit the 'print' key, and a few copies churned out, which to me, were solid gold. I kissed Laurie on the cheek as she wagged a manicured finger at me menacingly. "Don't forget our deal, John." I would not be so foolish this time. I walked briskly down the hall to Diane's plush office, confident, but being careful not to be smug. This still had the very real potential of blowing up in my face if I did not play my cards correctly. Liz had already gone for the day, she was not at her station outside of Diane's office, and I again mentally kicked myself for not remembering to ask her what information she had relinquished to Diane about our own recent rendezvous. Funny how fucking a hot twenty-three-year-old against a tree on your lunch break can cause a severe case of 'above-the-shoulders amnesia'. I knocked on Diane's door briskly, and heard her sharp retort to enter. I opened the door and found Diane lounging on her couch, her own long legs crossed inside of a beautiful silk dress. I had to admit, she was quite a striking woman for her age, and in another setting, if she weren't such a blatantly cutthroat corporate cunt, I would have loved to bang that cougar ass of hers. Diane was fifty-one years old, according to the bio in our Annual Report. We were a publicly-held company, a REIT (Real Estate Investment Trust), and as such, we reported ultimately to investors and Wall Street. The annual report stated that Diane held approximately fourteen thousand shares of the company's stock as a corporate officer, which added up to almost two million dollars at the current stock price. Diane's resume was singularly unimpressive prior to joining McAllen-Gray in the late nineties. It was widely rumored that her only qualifications for the position was being the now aging Jim McAllens' mistress for the better part of two decades. McAllen was in his seventies now, in failing health, and there was going to be a power struggle at the top if and when he stepped down or was forced out by the Board of Directors. It just so happened that a certain Scott Johnson, a local playboy marketing consultant of dubious professional acclaim, had been recently appointed to the Board of Directors, and was elected almost solely on the fervent recommendation of one Ms. Diane Weston, who had successfully utilized her charms and backroom negotiating skills to see that her chosen candidate landed on the Board. Almost more out of boredom than curiosity, I had done a little research on my office computer on Scott Johnson after the announcement was made public, and completely by accident, had happened across an old blurb on "Google" that he had been involved in two separate ethical scandals as an Officer in Real Estate trusts in the past, but both of these companies were overseas, one in France, and one in Asia. I didn't realize it at the time, but Janet Smith, as the Office Manager, was also the office snitch. She not only had a pipeline directly to the ears of Diane, but she and Diane also were sharing the carnal talents of Mr. Johnson. This was not to my benefit when Janet had secretly monitored and raided my in-house computer activities. She had subsequently reported to Diane that I might have some information that may ultimately prove damaging to the plot for Diane and Scott to ultimately gain control of the company, a feat which would be worth untold fortunes to the two of them. Of course, Janet Smith would be promoted and compensated handsomely for her role as their electronic guard dog, so to speak. How did I know this? Because it all came out in the Federal Indictment of the Insider Trader scandal that ultimately resulted in the prosecution of Diane Weston and Scott Johnson for securities fraud, the resignations of James McAllen and his Chief Financial Officer, and the dismissal of Janet Smith. You see, Janet was set up by Diane and Scott to seduce me, and when her panties were found in Gus' desk drawer, Diane had received consent from Phil, the Human Resource flunky, to fire me for having sex in the workplace, a 'dismissible' offense found in any Employee handbook. Except, Laurie Mason had provided me with documents showing that Scott Johnson not only accompanied Diane Weston on EVERY business trip that she had made in the last ten months, but also that Diane had approved reimbursable that tripled Scott's actual expenditures on such trips. These invoices were ultimately approved by Laurie's boss, who rather sloppily let them fall into Laurie's diligent review. Worse, at least as far as Diane and Scott were concerned, it was discovered by the Feds that Scott Johnson had made a sizeable stock purchase on the eve of our big merger with New Century Enterprises which raised our stock prices exponentially the next day when the merger was consummated. And, lo and behold, after her OWN computer was raided and confiscated by the Feds for evidence, well, wouldn't ya know it, that confidential information was provided to Mr. Johnson by Ms. Weston. Hence, a Federal prosecution under several counts of fraud, and the tumble of corporate dominos. How about that? Due to the circumstances that week, I never did get to make that particular trip to Seattle with Sue Trask, and that is indeed lamentable. But I compose this story as the recently appointed Vice President of Operations for the newly resuscitated entity, New Century Enterprises. Laurie Mason is my executive assistant, and we are now an exclusive couple. Well, for the sake of accuracy, perhaps I should say an open-minded, exclusive couple. As when we share our bodies, which we do rather regularly, with our Director of Marketing, Liz Woodson, the youngest Marketing VP in the industry. And Laurie swears she has the best tongue on the planet. Maureen Stanton is our new Head of Leasing. She recently separated from her husband after having a torrid affair with my good buddy, Paul, and they are now living together. Maureen's become quite the lover of anal, and she just loves to be DP'd by Paul and me while Laurie licks that tight twat of hers. And we were all invited this past weekend to a celebratory party at the mansion of our new company president, Sue Trask. Just the six of us, Sue, Laurie, Maureen, Liz, Paul, and myself. But that's to be another story. And a damn good one. We're accepting employment applications, too. RSVP.