0 comments/ 7056 views/ 3 favorites The Peter Principle By: oneiria The Summoning Dr. Catherine D'Great finally opened the door. "Sorry to make you wait, Mr. Crachit. I'm running a little late today." Robbie took in the elaborate furnishings of her office: A desk made of pure petrified wood, a wide consulting couch that appeared to be sleep number adjustable, and two lava lamps mounted on opposite walls. Above him loomed a chandelier made of glass tubing that rose like a flower before plummeting downward on all sides, like a fountain of liquid light overflowing its containment. This last marvel of modern photoelectronics resembled nothing so much as a giant luminiferous jellyfish that would sting and slay all trespassers. Such a fountain should be surrounded by the marbleized statues of those foolish enough to peek at such Medusan beauty, Robbie thought. He was shamed when he compared this grand office to the squalor of the main floor cubicle which served as his own humble abode and prison. "Please do come in and sit down, Mr. Crachit," said the distinguished Dr. D'Great. Robbie obediently, but with considerable trepidation, entered her realm and sat down in one of the chairs facing her magnificent desk. "Do you know who I am?" asked the great Dr. D'Great, as she plopped down on the soft leather of her Eames Executive Chair, which came complete with hydraulic lift, automatic tushie and lumbar massagers, and tricked out with a specially-installed state-of-the-art random-interval clit squeezer, manufactured by HydroTweak, your leader in electronic erotic office furniture. "Some people call you the terminator," Robbie said. "They say that lots of people who walk through the door to your office are never seen again. Or at least they quit after a few weeks." "Do you think that your work is sufficiently poor to merit termination?" "Nnnn-no, Dr. Great," Robbie muttered, shaking his head from side to side. "There are no formalities here, Mr. Crachit. Just call me Catherine or Tina if you prefer. And may I call you Bob?" "No please don't, Dr. D'Great. You don't know how many Dickensian jokes I have suffered through all my life ever since the movie 'Scrooged' was released." Catherine smiled beatifically at her frequently-lampooned underling, "OK, 'Robbie' it is then. Do you know why you are here, Robbie?" He shook his head in sorrow and fear. "Do you remember telling Sophia Linguini that you liked her new dress? Let see, this occurred at precisely 9:43 AM on September third in the copy room." "No, nnnn-not really," he whispered, his head bowed in fear. "While let me refresh your memory, Robbie," she snapped and punched one of the buttons on the clicker for her 65-inch plasma TV. The Redundant Taping of Nasal Malfeasance "You need to remember that you're living in the 21st century, Robbie. There are cameras and monitors tracking your every move and key stroke, including your cell phone and your computer. None of us is free from this. To illustrate, let me call up a video shot by your own computer camera last Friday." The 65-inch plasma screen now displayed a high definition close-up of Robbie's face. God, he should have been more ruthless with that zit. The camera now zoomed in on Robbie's nose. Maybe he should pick up a nose-hair clipper on the way home, Robbie thought. But what was this? Arise, fair index finger, and kill the devious snot. The giant plasma screen was now filled with Robbie's proboscis and daring digit. The fate of the latter was already sealed as it ascended into Robbie's nostril. It wriggled around like a hapless eel being hauled in by a sniggler's hook. No detail went unrevealed as said pointer finger withdrew its quarry from Robbie's nostril, a nine-inch goober festively colored in green and crimson. Robbie watched helplessly as his former self attempted to shake the dastardly wanna-be hawker directly into the wastebasket. But a tenacious booger will cleave to thy digit more tightly than velcro and cling wrap (someone really should patent this adhesion property of nasal secretions, Robbie thought). It was as if Robbie's fingers were trapped in a Chinese finger trap. There was only one solution, Robbie's former self knew. He had to get to the men's room, without anybody catching a glimpse of the offending would-be loogie dangling from his finger. The cameras picked him up as he arose from his cubicle chair and hightailed it to the plumbing facilities, looking like a Harlem Globetrotter dribbling a basketball of pure mucus. Only about 10% of the drudging drones looked up from their digital instruments of torture to see Robbie's faux cager performance as he maneuvered his way past their cubicles, but 10% was a lot. Future Robbie's face now matched the crimson shade of past Robbie's countenance. Nefarious Activity in the Restroom The cameras tracked him all the way into the men's room. "Hey, Crachit, what's up with the ten pound hawker dangling from your hand," the always observant Jake Marley asked with a leering smile. "Fucking new office product. Computer screen cleaning fluid. It sucks, don't try it." Robbie went into one of the shitter stalls for privacy. He could hear the massive farts of Jimmy Breezemaker in the other stall, which exuded a sulfur stench even the Devil would balk as inhaling. These gaseous eruptions were followed by an explosion that would make even the Enola Gay envious. The resulting high-speed shrapnel of fecal matter was audible even on this surveillance tape. The plasma screen switched to an overhead of Robbie's stall. It displayed a high-definition picture of the bowel carnage left behind by one of the previous occupants, which included a catastrophically soiled extra-large pair of Haynes underwear. Probably an earlier deposit by the still-defecating Breezemaker, Robbie thought. He hastily wiped the offending booger off his own hand with toilet paper, which he then threw on top of the excremental Jackson Pollock presumably left by Jimmy Breezemaker. Robbie's mother had always taught him to flush a toilet after doing his business. The earlier Robbie had mulled over this advice. The thought occurred to him that Breezemaker may have already tried this maneuver with unfavorable results. But even so, Robbie felt compelled to flush. His family honor was at stake here. He reached down and pushed the flush button. Two hundred milliseconds later, Robbie Crachit's face, shirt, trousers and hair were festooned with so many brown polka dots that he looked like Lucy Ricardo at the chocolate factory. The spraying water seemly had concentrated its effort on his crotch. This was not good, the earlier Robbie had thought, and he pondered his options. He figured he could ambush the next cleaner or maybe ask the next unfamiliar person to enter the restroom for help. He knew he could always depend on the kindness of strangers. The Recounting of Humiliations Past After a few moments of silence to allow Robbie to regain his composure, Dr. D'Great said, "So you need to come into the 21st century, Robbie. Every movement you make, including the explosive one we have just witnessed as well as every booger you pick is captured on camera. None of us is exempt from this. We are all under constant video and computerized surveillance. That is why we all must take measures to maintain our dignity and privacy. "I'm here to help you, Robbie. We can't just fire every nostril-raping file clerk we run across. It is much cheaper, and much more humane, to offer such employees counseling and neurological reprogramming and realignment. " She smiled sympathetically and whispered, "I am not the terminator, Robbie. I'm only a humble human relationships counselor, almost as far down the hierarchy as you are, if such a thing is even possible." Robbie looked around at the desk made of petrified wood and the cascading hair of the fiber optic chandelier, and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, all this?" Catherine said. "This is the office of the VP of Human Resources. We've had to share facilities, as everything is under construction now to make way for the new Human Rendition Center, in which the most advanced non-Western therapeutic techniques will be made available to all OrwellCorp employees." She picked up Robbie's hand and examined his fingernails. They looked like they would be a bitch to pull off, even using Grade 5 fine tweezers. "But these techniques don't really apply in your case, Robbie, so I am afraid you're stuck with us. Sorry." Crimes of the Tongue "Now let's get to the reason you're here," Catherine said. "Roll tape Crachit 22!" she barked to some unseen underling. The giant plasma screen was suddenly filled with an overhead view of the copy room time, time-stamped September 3, 2014 9:43 AM. Robbie had just picked up his print job, and Sophia Linguini entered with a couple of reports to be photocopied. "Oh hhh-hi, Sophia!" Robbie shyly stammered. "I lll-like your new dress," he said in a low voice as he exited the copy room. "Now do you know why you were called into my office?" Catherine asked the bashful Assistant Senior Clerk for the Re-Collation of Fumbled Files. "Nnnn-no," said the abashed master of paper shuffling. "Have you not read the OrwellCorp Employee Handbook, Robbie?" "I tried, but it was very long and they kept me busy 80 hours a week with other stuff." "If you had read it, as you were supposed to, you would know that you are never to comment on the appearance or apparel of your fellow Associates. Do you remember that directive? No? Well, it's right here in Paragraph 173.500.2HH3, which appears on page 1874 of the very first volume of the Handbook. You have no excuse for not memorizing it. "Did you know that Sophia is most probably suffering from a genetic disease called mammary hypertrophy, which affects 40% of Italian women, 70% if you just consider Southern Italy? In Sophia's case, she is forced to wear an H cup brassiere. Do you know what an H cup bra means, Robbie?" "I never learned my alphabet that far, Dr. D'Great." "Yes, that shows in your file-collating performance, Robbie. Big time." The Peter Principle "Wwww-why don't they just reassign me then?" "Because we adhere to scientific management techniques, Robbie. Have you never heard of the Peter Principle?" "Yeah, I think they maybe went over that at orientation a couple of years ago." "Well, to refresh your memory, in 1969 Dr. Laurence J. Peter discovered a phenomenon that later became known as the 'Peter Principle,' which states that employees will be promoted so long as are they are competent in their present jobs. When employees are finally promoted to jobs in which they are incompetent, they will no longer be promoted and will remain in those jobs forever. This explains why in any organization, the vast majority of employees are incompetent in the jobs they hold." "Wow, that must mean that I was competent at my job as Assistant Junior Clerk for the Gathering Up of Fumbled Files!" A wide grin spread over Robbie's face. "But why don't they just put all of us back in our old jobs?" "No can do, Robbie. The Peter Principle is like a law of physics, you could no more violate it than a politician could part the Red Sea." Robbie began to raise an objection, but then remembered that he was prohibited from speaking about religion in the workplace. "Also, it makes all our employees thank their lucky stars that they even have a job. So you see Robbie, it's much better that way, it eliminates the turmoil and complaints and establishes a workplace of peace and harmony, as nothing ever gets done. "To get back to the matter at hand, by complementing Sophia Linguini for her new dress, you are essentially saying to her that you want to liberate her Godzilla-sized hooters from their flimsy H-cup prisons, bury your head in her cleavage, give them a hummer, rip that much-beloved new dress from her body and rape her in ways that you cannot even imagine at your tender age. Do you now see why we have rules about commenting on our fellow associates' physical appearances and, in Sophia Linguini's case, her medical condition?" Robbie solemnly nodded. "We don't blame you entirely, Robbie. We have used computerized boob recognition algorithms to estimate Ms. Linguini's exposed cleavage in that new dress to be six inches long. Under paragraph 546.300.5GG7 of the second volume of the previous OrwellCorp Employee Handbook (which I don't imagine you've read either), this would not be allowed and you, Robbie, would have been entirely blameless in this matter. "However, in the face of protests by outside agitators from the National Mega-Honkers Liberation Front, this dress code regulation was changed to 33% of potential total cleavage for this year. Our computerized titty recognition and estimation algorithms indicate that Ms. Linguini's potential total cleavage is well over two feet. Thus, her exposed cleavage is less than 25% of maximum. So she is well within dress code regulations, not that I wouldn't mind doing her myself you understand. I am only human, just as you are. But we must control our impulses." "We also have a tape of you complementing Lisa Wong on her new haircut last Thursday. Do I need to run it?" "No," Robbie whispered, tears streaming down his face. He was going to lose his job. Who would take care of tiny Tim? It would take more than his morbidly obese wife Jackie managed to pull down at the strip club. She kept claiming that her tips were getting lost in her rolls of fat. But he knew she was holding out on him. "There, there" Catherine said, dabbing the tears from his eyes. "We're not going to fire you. We want to help you. Will you accept our help, Robbie?" Robbie nodded, choking down a last sob. The Examination "OK, let's get started. I'll tell you what, why don't you stand up so that I can examine you?" Robbie reluctantly stood up, not knowing what was going to happen next. Elizabeth walked over him and immediately took his balls in her hands, running her palms over them and rhythmically squeezing them as she looked up at Robbie's eyes, searching them for any sign of pain, discomfort, or embarrassment. He simply stood at attention, unflinching. "You've got some mighty big cojones there, Robert Crachit! And you can take a squeeze, I'll give you that. But can you take a vise?" she asked him, as she brutally squeezed his man orbs. Tears ran down Robbie' cheeks, due to both his pain and his embarrassment. His penis however had a different take on the situation and immediately shot up to near-maximum height. After all, Dr. Catherine D'Great had a certain je ne sais quoi, or should he say va-va-voom? Having no knowledge of French, he really didn't know. Robbie's corpulent stripper wife Jackie had at most voom, or should he say "boom," in view of the pain and suffering of those desperately horny bastards in the front row who had absorbed her 750 pounds of flesh when she fell off the stage during her finale at the old strip club. They had almost lost their home because of that carnage, and poor tiny Tim had come within a hair of being homeless. At least that lying bastard Fred Hendrickson had failed to convince the jury that the impact of one-fifth of a human body could cause a man's chest to become concave (although Robbie himself had no doubts on that score). The Diagnosis "Oh boys, oh boys, I think we're going to need a bigger cunt," Dan August, OrwellCorp's Director of Computerized Phallometrics, cried out in panic. "This is no Viagra-induced priapismic boner. This is the Great White Cock, as prophesied long ago by the sages Flynt and Guccione, may pieces of ass be upon them. Look at the thing. It has to be at least twelve inches long." Catherine, scratched her nails down a slate chalkboard that was part of the OrwellCorps history display. "Thirteen, with a two-inch radius," she said in a raspy voice. It was in fact the largest nonequine cock she had ever seen, save for the mummified shaft of Wilt the Stilt Chamberlain, which now lay in repose in the Ripley's Believe it of Not Museum in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, or was it the NBA Hall of Fame? Her hands went to Robbie's collar and waist, and then suddenly yanked the secret pull tabs that were sewn into all OrwellCorp uniforms. Robbie now found himself buck-naked in front of the assembled multitude. "I knew it. Infrared camera don't lie. Well folks, you all know me. You know what I do for a living. I know one cunt that can handle it, that's for damn sure, and that belongs to yours truly. Any of you girls and sissies who want to come along for the ride are free to join in. Just don't forget that I am the Director of this mission." She gave Robbie's balls a wakeup squeeze. "Well, Robbie, I see that you are in even deeper trouble now." "What do you mean, I ain't done nuthin' wrong." "Well Robbie, you walked up to me and placed your naked balls in my hands, in front of all these witness, Isn't that right?" All the potential witnesses nodded in fear. With her free hand, she grabbed Robbie's shaft hard and gave it a couple of pumps. "Now, look what you've done. You placed your cock in my curled hand and started ramming it up and down my poor virgin palm. Isn't that right?" The witnesses nodded in unison. "The tape will confirm this," Catherine said, pointing at the camera mounted in the corner of the room. Robbie didn't see how that was possible, but he gulped anyway. The Treatment "Do you know why I have grabbed your balls and am sliding my hand up and down this magnificent cock of yours?" Catherine asked. Robbie shook his head. "It is to teach you control. So that you will be the master of your cravings, rather than their slave. Have you ever wondered why our corridors are jam-packed with fornicating naked associates?" Robbie shook his head, although he had wondered at times. "Many of these are associates that have yet to complete the sensitivity training you are about to receive. They have not yet mastered their base urges and instincts. Some associates are slower to see the inner light than others. It takes great discipline to master these aphrodisiacally-enhanced urges. Alas, only some succeed." "Wouldn't it be simpler not to give them aphrodisiacs in the first place? Then they wouldn't have to control them." "Robbie, I am afraid you have a limited grasp of our business model here at OrwellCorp, which is only to be expected for a collation clerk. It will all become clear to you in time. All too clear, I am afraid." "Well, that's a relief. One load off my mind. When can we get started?" Casting Call "How about right now?" "Gee, that would be neat, Beaver, I mean Dr. D'Great." "You see that tab on the lapel of my shirt, Robbie?" Robbie nodded. "Pull it with all your might." Robbie did so, and suddenly Dr. D'Great was topless. She had the largest hooters he had ever seen, even bigger than Jackie's when they occasionally popped out of her rolls of fat and were briefly visible to the naked eye. Robbie had often thought that it would be nicer to have a wife that looked more like the other strippers at the club or like Dr. D'Great, rather than a spherical blob of adipose tissue that appealed primarily to highly-specialized, psychologically-twisted fetishists. "Grab the zipper on my pants." Robbie immediately complied. "Now yank it down hard." Robbie did so, and now Dr. D'Great was bottomless as well. The muscles of her tawny legs were well-developed but soft at the same time. Robbie's shaft made it to fourteen inches and counting. She kicked off her shoes, and indicated with her eyes that he should do the same. He did. "Is this not a violation of the dress code?" Robbie asked. Catherine patted his cheek. "Don't sweat it, cutie," she said. "It's all in the interest of therapy." The Peter Principle I have not written any stories before and this is my first attempt. I know this story needs polish but I like the idea behind the story. ***** The town of Somerville was an oddity. It was a mixture of rural and suburbia. It was home of some the wealthiest people in the state and also some of the poorest areas. The area outside of Somerville was dominated by farms and ranches complete with full crew of sharecroppers and ranch hands. The actual town was on the coast and as a result was home to a resort and plethora of boats, boathouses and beaches. The city houses resembled suburbs and was pretty affluent as far as towns go. Before the Pamela Wells came in with her resorts and her armada of fishing boats the town was one of the most conservative cities in the state. However, as the suburban housing developments started popping up the direction of the town started to change. Pamela Wells and her coven, as the old school elites were fond of calling the female career women in Somerville were intent on installing a local government more aligned to their views. If Pamela Wells was the queen, then Ellen Prince was her champion, the woman headed every single women's organization in Somerville, and she was Pamela Wells's strategist. Ellen was the one that Pamela would call upon when they had problems with anyone in town and most of the time she took care of business most men would steer clear all accept one. Ron Hawkins was a happily married man whose luck in life has been special to be sure. Ron met his wife, Ellen, just out of law school and he considered himself the luckiest man in the world. Even at thirty-two she was a knockout. She was 5'4" perfectly curved and possessed long curly blonde hair and had legs to die for. Everybody he met agreed that she was way out of his league which lucky for him his wife did not agree. A woman like Ellen inspired plenty of haters, there was none worse that Peter Daniels. Peter had been after Ellen since they were school together. He was a typical alpha male impressed with himself as well enamored with Ron's wife. She never gave him the time of day. Which to Peter just made him want her even more. Peter was an impressive person who had it all, if you ask most women, he was wealthy, successful, fit, and he was smart as well. The man was a very successful attorney. He and Ellen had a couple of epic legal battles that went both ways. To make matters worse they both worked for rival law firms. We live in the simple town of Somerville. So chances are when problems arose, you went to one law firm or the other. Peter Daniels was well known to all of the more conservative groups, while Ellen was head of every women's rights group you could name. Peter was an old fashioned man and he let Ellen know it. He would always try to get under her skin by making remarks about how she should be at home so she can clean, that her being a lawyer made her husband look like a wimp. She would always come home furious on those days. Ron tried to tell his wife that it was just a ploy. She never listened though and would go off on rants about how can there be men still like him in the world and that she was glad she married a liberated man. Funny Ron did not feel liberated. Although truth be told he sometimes he would wish he had a more traditional type of marriage, not that he minded sharing the chores, but he sometimes thought it would be nice to come home and have dinner on the table and the cleaning done. What was more troubling to Ron was the fact the ploy was seemingly starting to work the last couple of years. In fact the last four cases were not even close, and the more his comments got under Ellen's skin the more Peter would say them and the worse her performance in the courtroom became. Ellen had it with his superior attitude. What made matters worse was that after the last loss, the owner of his firm decided it was time for him to retire and handed the reins over to Peter. He was now the one running the law firm under the new moniker of Daniels & Associates. Ellen looked over the briefs on her current case. One of the most prominent donors to Ellen organizations and wealthiest members of their small town, Pamela Wells, was being sued for fraud, coercion and tortious interference with contract. They were charging that Pamela coerced suppliers into not selling to her competitors. The case had the potential to ruin her. The only reason their simple town was not a conservative stronghold like every other county surrounding their town was because of Pamela Wells. All of the women's organization in Somerville would lose all support and become insignificant without Pamela Wells. Pamela was a close friend of Ellen, and when the shit hit the fan she was the first person she contacted. Of course all the conservatives of the state wanted to nail her to the wall and they hired Peter to make sure that happen. Ellen gulped as she saw the name on the opposing side. She told herself she was not going to let him get under his skin, too much was riding on this case. It was time to show these back wood hillbillies what strong educated women could do. Ellen was an elitist in the truest sense of the word, in her mind most people of Somerville were beneath her, not because she believed in privileged, but because she just had the view that if people did not think like her it then they were not smart, or they were ignorant wretches. The phone rang and Ellen picked up and answered, "Fitzpatrick and Associates this Ellen speaking, how can I help you?" Ellen said while perusing the file. "Ah I see you found your true calling, receptionist." Peter said unable to stifle a small chucled. "If I was, I could hang up on you, what do you want, call me to say you want to drop the civil suit against my client?" "Why I just wanted to tell you I am sending you some new files for discovery, we have some nice e-mails sent from your benefactor Pamela Wells. It seems she has a penchant for losing her cool." Peter said while suppressing a chuckle. What an ass, Ellen thought. She was trying as hard as she could to not lose her cool. "We will see if you are still singing the same tune once we get to depositions." Ellen cooed back in a seductive voice. "Ooo I wonder what are you ladies will do once your cash machine gets gutted dry for what she has done. I am sure my benefactors will allow you ladies out of the kitchen for bake sales, or hold spots on the PTA." Peter said chuckling. He loved goading Ellen, now he had the upper hand. "Oh you just see, when I get her off, we will see if you and you gun club right wing nut balls will be acting so cocky when you fail and we file our own suit." "Oh man you are delusional, just remember that we offered your client to settle for one quarter of what she is going to lose in this law suit, but I must say it is about time we got a Republican mayor. Pamela Wells wife, I mean husband, has been in that job for entirely too long." Peter said. Ellen face turned red as her knuckles turned white from holding the phone so hard, "Frank, (Pamela's husband) is ten times the man than you will ever be, you Neanderthal." Ellen said through gritted teeth. "I seriously doubt that Princess, if you ever seen what kind of man I am you would not go back to those wimpy men you and your client call husbands." He said with a tone of complete arrogance. "We will see if you are still grinning by the time this is over, and Peter, by the time we are done with you, well let's just say you and your friends might want to move to the next county over, because you and your Neanderthal friends days are going to be limited here in Somerville." Ellen said as she hung up the phone. Peter smirked as he hit the hang up button on his phone and said to himself,"We shall see about that princess." On Peter's desk was a picture from Ellen taken during her law school days. He smirked as he looked at the files at his desk. Later in the day Mayor's office. Frank Wells was sitting in a small chair on the side of the mayor's room, his wife the real power in their marriage was sitting at the mayor's desk with her expensive designer shoes resting atop the desk. Everyone knew she had absolutely emasculated Frank but Pamela did not care. Pamela Wells was about ten years older than her latest protégé Ellen but that did stop her from being in great shape. The woman was an amazon to put in simple terms, her legs were rock solid as she was in perfect shape. The woman's arms were well sculpted as were her stomach, she still had breast however. The woman welcomed Ellen into her husband's office. "Pam, you did not tell me you wrote emails threatening the copper mine operator's business if they sold to your competitor." Ellen stated flatly while walking forward and handing the papers to Pam. "Threats I would not be dumb enough to threaten anyone like that, not when I could simply offer a non-compete agree... Wait this is my email, who wrote this? I don't understand, surely this is fake, I think I am being framed." Pam stated sounding worried as she realized what these emails meant for her case. The papers contained emails of her illegally threatening to ruin the parties business if they sold to any of her competitors, even going as far as taking credit for ruining other peoples existing contracts. This was damning. "Ellen I did not write these...in fact this last one was written from my home computer, and both my husband and I were not home when this was written, I could not have written these!" Pam protested in a voice of panic. "Calm down, Pam, ok, ok, do you have anyone or anything that can prove that you were away from your house." Ellen asked. "Sure we went to go visit, George Straton as his home and then he took us out to dinner. Just ask him and get it on record or go to the restaurant Albertos that Italian Restaurant near McDougal Ranch." Pam said. "Good, this is great news, I think Peter and his buddies just made their first mistake, if we can prove these were faked we can counter sue for malicious civil prosecution, and bring them all down." Ellen said excited. Ellen smiled as she and Pam said their goodbyes. Ellen left smiling as she drove over to George Stanton's house. George was the head of the chamber of commerce. He was strongly conservative man like most the men of this town, but he also was a business man, so he never let politics cloud his business. He made quite a bit of money partnering with Pamela on various business ventures. In fact, according to Pam they were discussing one of those ventures the day that email was written. Ellen came to Straton's house and explained the situation and asked if George would go on record and verify Pam's story. What followed Ellen blindsided the beautiful attorney. "Ma'am I have no clue what you are talking about. I was at Redwood Estates Country club all day long. Go ask anyone who is there they will tell you I hosted a barbeque for the Elect Shooter Stevens campaign." George said. "But both the mayor and her husband said they were with you that day? Are you sure it was not another day?" Ellen asked desperately. "I said I was at Redwood Estates don't believe me go check their records." George said in an irritated tone, it was obvious Ellen was irritating him. Ellen did not know what else to say as she walked out dejected and defeated. She was truly starting to worry about the fate of Pamela Wells. She did not want to think about what it would be like in this town if Pamela was found guilty. Because just about every service or organization that catered to women would most likely shut down. The misogynistic majority of the town already resented the fact that Pamela was so wealthy and powerful. Now Ellen had to go to the country club a place she loathed. The place was the one the last remaining symbols of male power in Somerville. The members of Redwood Estates were a virtual who's who of prominent males in Somerville including the head. The country club did not have one single female member, not even wives. Sure it was common place to see wives at the country club but they were not members, their husbands were, everything they did was accounted for under their husband's name. Woman had a separate section of the country club they could go to, they held the status of revered persons. A nice way of saying that they could use some facilities of country club but were not members, and were not under any circumstances allowed to go into the "members" section of the club. The wives did not mind because their side of the country club had more luxuries than even the most exclusive spas possessed and the wives of the male members used it as their own personal status symbol. However, to Ellen she saw those women as what was wrong with this country. Women so enfeebled that they had to have man to do anything. In Ellen's mind they were not intelligent, or productive, or contributing anything to the cause of the plight of women in Somerville. If anything she found them out of place. The ringleader of the women of Somerville was a woman named, Candace Walters, wife of the cattle baron Quinn Walters. Candace was the epitome of a rich trophy wife. She had flawless pale skin and vibrant red hair. The woman was sex incarnate, just about every man that laid eyes on her were powerless to take them off. She was an ex NFL cheerleader and was not afraid to own it. Ellen smirked as she walked into the lobby of the country club. The country club was divided at the lobby. On one side the country club had a white glass door that overlooked one of the pools at the country club. The door simply read ,"The Esteemed Ladies of Redwood" . She saw Candace Walter wearing a swimsuit and carrying around some sort of mixed drink, she was holding court to her fellow women of Redwood laying on her back on one of the lawn chairs as if it was her throne. Ellen simply just shook her head and walked towards the receptionist area. She remembers the last time she locked horns with Candace, and exchange that left Candace virtually tongue tied as both her and Pamela embarrassed Candace front of the entire Chamber of Commerce. The opposite side of the lobby had two enormous redwood doors with a simple gold placard that read, "Members Only". Ellen vowed that one day she would bury this place and open up those doors for all women. Ellen and Pamela had accomplished so much, when Pamela first came onto the scene in Somerville, the country club mentality was a mainstay everywhere you walked around town. Now, Ellen felt Somerville was a true bastion of progressivism in a sea of outdated thinking. A beautiful receptionist saw Ellen enter the lobby, and asked, "May I help you Ma'am?" "Yes, I am an attorney for Mrs. Pamela Wells and I would like to verify that George Stranton hosted a BBQ event a couple of months previous? The receptionist looked down like she was looking up something then picked up the phone and paged, "Would Mr. Daniels please come to the lobby Mr. Daniels." "I don't think that is necessary." Ellen exclaimed indignantly. "Actually it is, Ma'am he will be here momentarily." The young woman smiled as she sat back down. Ellen was left waiting at the reception desk in the lobby. Poor Ellen looked entirely left out of place dressed in a grey pant suit. Ellen grew angrier by each passing second he was making her wait and she knew it, but she had to take a look at that logbook, George was lying and that would prove it. The two giant oak doors to the member's side only opened up what came out shocked Ellen. It was Peter Daniels wearing only a towel. Ellen could not stop looking at him. Peter was a very fit man and his muscles covered in a sheen of a steam room. "What's a matter Princess never seen a real man before?" Peter said with a smirk, which elicited a laugh from the receptionist who was gushing at seeing Peter. "You are a pig Peter, I need to see the clubs logbook to prove someone is lying." She said looking away from Peter, who took the gesture to walk closer to Ellen. "No" Peter replied. "No? Are you seriously going to fight me on this?" Ellen said indignantly. "Yes... if you are going to come in here, a private club, and try to strong arm your betters than yes I am going to tell you no. I am going to make you take your pant suit over to the court and file a motion to request it, and I am going to forbid you from talking to any employee of the club as they are under my representation. However, if you check that attitude and ask me nicely and say please, and address me as Mr. Daniels then I might see it in my heart to let you look at the logbook you asked for." Peter said looking Ellen directly in the eye. Ellen face was red with anger and she was about to tell Peter what he could do with his request when she thought better of it, she needed to prove George was lying if she was going to get him to tell her who put him up to it. So Ellen cleared her throat and was paused as she tried to build up the nerve to say in a soft defeated voice,"Mr. Daniels may I please have a look at the logbook?" Peter smirked as he leaned forward and picked up the logbook and handed it over to Ellen, "Now was that hard princess?" Ellen bit her tongue and franticly flipped through the logbook and gasped when she saw the logbook. It verified George's story. "This cannot be right, you guys are all in on it, you forged this logbook" Ellen accused Peter. Peter frowned and looked at the logbook,"Ah the day of George's bbq party. "Oh my gawd his barbeque was so delicious" The receptionist chimed it. "I am surprised you could remember that Kelly you seemed to be enjoying yourself that night." Peter teased. "Oh hush Mr. Daniels, you know how I get when I have too much champagne." Kelly the receptionist said. Peter then looked at Ellen," I am sorry ,but George has about fifty men and women here at the club who all attended the bbq party he hosted here at the club. Here look at the video" Peter said while playing a video from his cellphone. Sure enough there was George Stanton with Kelly wrapped around his arm. The people appeared to having the time of their lives. Ellen did not know what to do. She simply said, "Thank You, Peter." Before making a slow walk towards the door. "Don't you mean Mr. Daniels, Ma'am" Kelly corrected. Ellen simply turned around and shot Kelly a look that could kill and continued walking out the door. Peter smiled from ear to ear as he ogled Ellen butt as she walked out of country club. Ellen frantically drove to Pam's house this was awful either Pamela was lying or she had been framed in a matter that she will be unable to get out of the allegations. Damn this fucking town. Ellen thought to herself. She was flustered. If Pamela goes down then it will be the end of so many organizations around town, including every politician that opposes the Redwood Estate crowd. I'll be damned if I let these assholes get away with this shit! If they want to make up facts then so could we! It was about time for those assholes get a taste of their own medicine. No there was no way I was going to stoop to their level surely the girls will find another way. Ellen was fuming as she drove down the highway. Ellen composed herself and called an emergency meeting of the Women Leadership Caucus. An organization of the most powerful women in Somerville and their region of the state. Every single member had a post graduate degree and most excelled in male dominated fields. However, Pamela Wells was the cash cow that made all their plans viable. The WLC already had ousted two of the seven city council members and replaced them with women and were working hard in taking over the school board as well. They also were the reason that women entrepreneurs were shining excelling, in spite of massive resistance from the establishment of Somerville, including the Esteem Ladies of Redwood. Pamela Wells and Ellen Prince were seen as the most visible representation of their cause. Most men glared at them, others simply gave them a wide berth. The Peter Principle Ellen held stage in the center of the room as Ellen describe to them the situation. The reaction was to be expected as they just sat in silence at the prospect of losing perhaps the most powerful woman in Somerville. "They can't do that surely you can poke through their lies, Ellen." Dr. Reichenbach who was chief surgeon of St. George's hospital stated stoically. "Yeah there has to be a paper trail somewhere!" Bethany Hodges who was a captain in the Somerville police department barked out. "That is the thing, there is a paper trail and it all points to Pamela, and the person she was actually with has an entire country club complete with video and photographic records to say that she was not with him." "The Redwood crowd must be getting desperate after you took out Donovan McDougal of McDougal Ranch. The McDougals' have had a family member on the city council for over a hundred years and not only did you beat them in an election but you got his son charged with election fraud Ellen. It is obvious the Redwood Gang is taking out our big Kahuna since we absolutely thrashed theirs." chimed Lucilla Davenport vice president of the Somerville bank. "Do you know Pamela is telling the truth Ellen, you might be able to defend her better if you knew for a fact she is telling the truth other than her story?" Bethany inquired. "Yes, the waiter that served told me that he saw George ,Pamela and Ron all eating dinner, however, when I went to go take down his testimony for the record, he was no longer employed there and worst yet, no one has seen him since. "Yes that would indicate a frame job, tying up loose ends. Unfortunately, in this kind of case circumstantial evidence is not nearly as strong as fabrications such as the emails from Pamela's account. I will see if I can find what happen to our waiter. What was his name" Bethany said with a sigh as she walked out the door. "Gabriel Ramirez" Ellen responded flatly before waiting for the police officer to leave. The room got eerily silent after Bethany left. Everyone was for a loss for words. The brainstorming session that was supposed to find a way out of this mess was quickly turning into a wake. A grieving session to prepare them for what was to come and perhaps if it ended there, things would have turned out different, but everything turned when the second wealthiest person in Somerville spoke up. "You know there is another way. Fighting fire with fire. If they want to try take us out with fake information why don't we send one right back at them? I mean we are pretty powerful people too. If they want to play dirty, I say let's gets some mud on their clothes too." The lovely Abagail Franklin said. Abagail Franklin was a brunette and the second most successful business woman in Somerville. She was also the only woman ranch and farm owner in the Somerville area. She had inherited the land from her father. McDougal tried to buy from her saying that ranches and farms are not lady's work but she proved him wrong did both very successfully. So when she talked all the women listen, if Pamela did get taken out it the mantle of supreme leader of their organization would go to Abagail. Ellen would get disbarred if anyone ever found out but then again, if she nothing the plot of all women in Somerville would be in jeopardy. She refused to go down without a fight. Finally something galvanized in Ellen, she finally spoke up and said, "Ok let's do it and I think I know just how to do it. Lucilla, does the Redwood Estates Investment Group still park their money in your bank?" "Yes...what do you have in mind Ellen." Lucilla said with grin appearing on her face. "Oh I think it's time they make some questionable transactions. We just need someone who is good at clandestine activity with a computer." Ellen said. "I think I know just the man, and he owes me big! Just make sure to tell me what you want the records to read" Abagail said with a smirk on her face. "Ok Ok...here what he needs" Ellen explained as the women came up with a grand plan to get back at the misogynist group that was the redwood estates venture group. The next day. Ellen felt like a million bucks as she could not wait to tell that asshole Peter Daniels about the lawsuit that was going to come their way. She went to Abagail's ranch that morning to pick up the information her hacker friend obtained and planted. It was a sunny day to be on the Franklin farm and ranch. Abagail's gigantic house was literally in the middle of the farm and a ranch. Ellen got out of her car and started walking to the house. Immediately she saw two ranch hands both with one foot on the fence post one of them was chewing on piece of straw. The men let out a chuckle as they looked at Ellen. Abagail must have told her workers what was going on. It was a good day. Ellen silently contemplated. "Give me a sec, I am coming down." Abagail yelled from her end of the house. It sounded like she was not alone, she could have sworn she heard someone raising their voice in the background but she could not make out the voice. Abagail came down and she looked like she had a rough night her hair was disheveled, and she was wearing a simple pair of short cutoff jeans and a button up shirt tied off under her breast. "Oh hi Ellen, I apologize I had a long night last night, and am...a little under the weather this morning. I have the documents right here. You do not have to go through with this Ellen. I know I said..." Abagail said with the door half opened. Ellen had cut her off with raised hand and said, "No we have to do this. Abagail, I for one think the fight here today is one that will resonate with this town for years to come. We put an end to those cronies at Redwood. Let it be known the women of Somerville will not get pushed down by anyone." Abagail tried to say something else but Ellen was already well on her way to the car. The Ranch hands clapped as they heard Ellen's words. My it is so refreshing to such open minded men. Abagail workers respected her, and it shows in their behavior. Most men would not be so happy that the patriarchs of their town were about to get taken down. That one Ranch hand with the straw in his mouth was very cute...Keep focused Elle." Ellen thought to herself. Abagail looked at the modern office building in downtown Somerville and smirked to herself and thought, after we are done with you, you will be lucky if you can own a shanti for your office" Ellen was dressed in what the lesser sex would call ice queen attire. Ellen wore a navy blue pants suit, complete with a pair of modest 1" heels. The woman's dark blonde hair was done in a bun and her glasses completed the attire. Ellen finally made it to the top floor where Peter Daniels office was located and walked up to the receptionist but before she could speak. The receptionist spoke up, "Ah Ms. Princess? Peter told me if you came in to let you know that he is at 1342 Appleburrow Rd if you want to meet him, and that you would know the place?" "It's MRS. PRINCE and that is my address!" Ellen said totally stunned. "Then you should know where it is! Is there anything else you needed?" The Receptionist inquired. "What's this all about?", Ellen demanded. "I dunno Ma'am I was just told to give you that message the minute you walked into the door. The Receptionist answered not even bothering to look up at Ellen anymore. "Fine!" Ellen said fuming as stormed out of the office. She was going to kill Peter. She was going to offer them an easy way out now it was time to simply destroy them. Ellen car screeched as she came into her driveway so fast she screeched on the driveway. Ellen stormed out of her car and realized she left her brief case in the car, then she fumbled with her keys to get back. Ellen was so furious she was totally flustered. Petered smiled as he drank a coffee while he stared out of the kitchen window at Ellen storming back and forth to and from her car. Ellen finally did get everything together and she took deep breath to calm herself only to see Peter drinking out of Ron's coffee mug staring out of her kitchen window drinking her coffee. She immediately fumed and stormed into her own house and walked right over to the kitchen and shouted, "Who in the fucking hell do you think you are! I was going to offer you a deal but now forget it! You are to leave this instant or I will call the cops and get you for trespassing." Ellen shouted to Peter. Peter looked on with a façade of immutability as he waited for her to finish. First off, No, because I am not trespassing. I had a key and permission to come into your residence. Second, you will not address me or any other man in that manner ever again. Third sit down, we have some serious business to discuss, trust me, if you throw me out without talking with me, you are going to be much worse off. My employers would like nothing more than for you to throw me out of your house right now." Peter explained calmly holding up a key and showing it to Ellen. Ellen was dumbstruck as the key he held up was Ron's, it had a picture of Winnie the Pooh because he was her Pooh bear. Ellen told herself that she still had the "incriminating" evidence against his goons over at that misogynistic racist club known as Redwood Estates. So Ellen slowly walked forward and sat down without saying a word. Peter smiled as Ellen slowly walked forward and sat down in a chair in the kitchen. As soon as she got settled in Peter continued, "Good, ok let's cut straight to the bottom of this. We know you hired a hacker to falsify records trying to frame us for embezzling and we have the entire criminal act on camera, and have already have a signed confession from Mr. Williams. Furthermore, after researching to see the extent of his Illegal intrusion we found that you have embezzled over 4 million dollars from all six of the organizations you head. Furthermore, found that those organizations were simply fronts for a meth-amphetamine drug dealing ring so you could launder their money in exchange for a cut of the action. We have the full confession of Deadspin, leader of the Hopeless Sinners criminal biker gang stating that you personally had a deal with them. We have proof and financial records of a paper trail that goes from their drug deals all the way on the down payment of your house." Peter said before he threw down a thick file on top of the table full of information verifying the information. "I did not, you made that up I have never even touched drugs or ever spent one dime of those women's group money on myself!" Ellen retorted. "Oh really you have in your possession right now the falsified records your organization paid Mr. Williams to falsify bank records through and illegal intrusion attempt on the First Somerville Bank. We have a confession in his hand. These video clips" Peter said before laying down a tablet and hitting play on the video player. The player showed Mr. Williams illegally inside the bank after hours at a terminal that Lucilla Davenport leaned over and typed a key code. So they have the goods on Lucilla too! This could not have turned out any worse, We're fucked! Ellen thought. She had no idea how right she was going to be. Peter let the videos finish playing the last one showing Ellen at the meeting the night before basically planning the whole fiasco. How the hell did they get fucking video, they must have had our place bugged. Holy shit we screwed up. Ellen could not bear to look up at Peter's smug face. Peter gloated and relished in his glory. He then smiled and said, "As much I would like to just end this whole thing right now and have your criminal ass to jail I have an alternative." Peter paused until he was sure he had her attention." Ok Princess, here is how it is going to play out. From now on you will do anything I say when I say it, I own you or all of this evidence will show up and you will be sent to prison for so long you will not have a single hair that is not grey when you get out. Do you understand?" "You are out of your fucking mind! I will never..." Ellen spat out before being interrupted by Peter. "No, you do not understand but you soon will, just remember when you feel the wheels of the system grinding your entire life to dust that I gave you a way out." Peter said as he reached forward and picked up his tablet and started to head for the door. Ellen was became truly scared as Peter abruptly started to pack his things and walk out the door. Peter was about five feet towards the door when Ellen barked out in a wavering voice, "Www...ait.". Ellen could feel her stomach turning. "Yes Princess?" Peter said turning on his heel to face her. "Don't press charges" Ellen softly spoke out. "Well that depends on you princess. Will you do what I say at all times?" Peter asked his face becoming increasingly predatory. Ellen did not answer at first but the tension built until she finally stammered out,"Yes..." "Sir, you will address me as Sir, or Master." Peter said as he gave Ellen a look to show that he was deadly serious. Ellen bit her tongue and said in capitulation, "Yes sir" "See that was not so hard princess. Now for a test, I want you to come over to me get down on your knees and give, your better, a proper blow job." Peter said grinning ear to ear. "You can't be serious?" Ellen barked out. "Forget it, I knew you would dumb and proud to accept this better way out. I guess you can forget seeing your family again." Peter said as he started to walk out the door. "No no no I'll do it, I'll do it! " Ellen barked out but Peter ignored her and kept walking. "I'll do it Sir!" Ellen shouted in pure desperation. Peter stopped and slowly turned around and did not move an inch closer and said in a deadpanned voice, "Ok slut, but if I have to walk to that door one more time it's over. From now you do exactly what I say and when I am through playing games." Ellen did not want to do this, surely there had to be a way to get out of this disaster, but not one thing came to mind, so Ellen with the sole thought of avoiding jail got out of her chair walked over to Peter and got down on her knees. She was a bit embarrassed as she noticed now she was directly in view of the open window. Peter noticed this too, as he looked outside the bay window and then down to the kneeling Ellen. Ellen reached forward with shaking hands and started to undo Peter's belt buckle. Peter was in heaven as he looked down on his incredibly sexy foe. He wanted her just like this before he started on her. He wanted her in her best suit of armor, at the time when she was at her highest so he could truly appreciate the fall he was going to make her endure. Ellen grasped Peter's belt and undid it with her fingers. Tears were starting to run down her eyes as she was feeling of the humiliation of having to perform this vile dead for this heinous man. She leaned forward and backed her head out of the way when the leather of the belt loosed and opened. She then undid the button his pants and underwear and slid them down, what followed she was not prepared for. As Peter's very healthy member fell out, she saw a much bigger penis than her husband had, not to mention more girth as well. Ellen could not control her blush as she looked at the monster and took a deep breath. "Go on put those luscious lips around it, taste it slut, you know you want to" Peter said. Ellen did not verbally respond but the humiliating words caused her face to blush even a deeper shade of red. She then unconsciously licked her lips and leaned forward and stuck her tongue out and licked the tip of his penis. Peter then grabbed her head and pushed his cock forward. Ellen was taken by surprise as Peter took possession of her head. Ellen did not know what hit her, one minute she was getting ready to vanquish her enemy, the next, she was tasting Peter's dick. "Oh yes... that's it princess, now show me what kind of mouth a high priced lawyer like you possess. Slide it in. "Mmmmpph...gck!" Ellen muffled breaths echoed the room as Peter's girth filled her mouth. "Oh that's it...suck it bitch!" Ellen sucked on Peter's cock as she gagged from it fill her throat. Ellen was forced to inhale through her nose forcing the poor woman to get a strong whiff of Peter's scent. Peter reached down and grabbed Ellen's chin and spoke harshly, "Look up at your master when you suck his cock whore!" Ellen gagged as she looked up at Peter. She had never been so humiliated in her entire life. Worse than looking at Peter was the absolutely smug look on his face as he pumped his cock into her mouth. "Don't you dare take your eyes off me...take it...take it...take...it!" Peter barked down at Ellen. Ellen gagged as Peter cock slammed against the back of her throat. Ellen mouth began to drool over the side of her mouth as Peter's cock took more of the space there. Ellen suctions caused the room to echo with loud slurping sounds. Peter could not take it anymore as he tilted his head back an unloaded his seed directly into Ellen's mouth. "Oh Fuuuuuuuuucckkk yeahh!!" Peter screamed pressing Ellen's face as much as he could into his crotch. Ellen gargled as she felt his hot seed spray inside of her mouth as she tried to take all of his seed but was unable to take his full load as it dripped out the side of her mouth. Ellen finally coughed hard as she tried to catch her breath only to have Peter grab her hair and force her to look up as he slowly slid his cock on her face to clean it off. Peter then shook her hair hard before saying in a menacing tone, "Don't you dare clean it off. You wear my come like it is a priceless piece of jewelry bitch!" Ellen nodded as she closed her eyes and started crying again. "What was that bitch, I did not hear you?" Peter said as he looked down at her. "Yyy...ess...Ssir" She stammered out in a fit of outright crying. Peter looked down at her and was without mercy, he was on a mission now. "Now that was a good start. Now let's go upstairs." Peter said as he slid back as he motioned for her to get to her feet. Peter cupped Ellen's ass the entire time up the stairs. Ellen no longer fought Peter the ordeal of having to give her most hated enemy a blowjob shook her down to her very core. She simply walked like a zombie up the stairs of her own house. The come on her faced drying as she made her way down the upstairs hallway and into her bedroom. Peter the pushed her into her own bedroom. Peter noticed that the upstairs family room had a fireplace inside of it. He smirked as he had an idea. "Ok Princess take off those hideous man clothes off now...all of them!!" Ellen stood stoically as she slowly slid out of her blazer that went with her suit and let it hit the floor by her feet. She then stepped out of her shoes. She then unbuckled her belt and undid her pants and let them fall to the floor revealing her less than appealing panties. Ellen was an extremely attractive woman but she never liked the idea of girly, judging by the repulsed look on Peter's face in regard to her choice of wardrobe he did. She started to unbutton her shirt but as soon as the drab looking bra peeked through Peter rushed forward with a look of disgust and raked his fingers through the front of Ellen's shirt, immediately ripping the remaining buttons of as the bounced off the hardwood floor. Ellen was taken off guard as she was shaking with fear in her panties and bra. Peter roughly turned Ellen's shaking body around and unhooked her bra, to which Ellen pulled them off her breast. Peter then ripped Ellen's panties from her body leaving her drenched in fear. Peter then step back and slapped Ellen's ass, "Man you are one fine ass woman, you definitely should showcase that body more." The Peter Principle Ellen shook as Peter slapped her ass, she was so stunned at being so possessively handled that all she could manage out was a soft and simple, "Thank you." Peter slapped Ellen's ass hard and asked, "What was that slut?" "Oooo...Thank you...Sir." Ellen said as her face became redder at the having to call this man Sir. "Ooo I love the way you say that...now when I ask you to do something the only thing I want to hear you to say is Yes Sir." Peter said. Ellen tried to cover her breast with her hands and she choked out the words in a soft voice, "yes...sir." "Don't you dare cover yourself slut...hands down by your side." Peter barked as he slapped her hands covering her breast. Ellen jumped when she felt the harsh hands of Peter make contact with hers. Peter, not missing a chance to pounce, grabbed her by her wrist and pulled her forward, he then sat on the edge of the bed and yanked hard on her wrist until she fell over his knees with her naked ass staring straight up at him. "Don't you dare get off my lap until I tell you slut. You have been a bad little girl and need to be taught your place in the world." Peter said while sliding his belt out of his pants. Ellen tensed as she heard the metal of the belt buckle jingle somewhere out of sight. She felt the cool air kiss her naked skin as she looked forward at the floor in front of her. Ellen current position forcing her butt to be presented to her tormentor. She let out a involuntary gasp as felt as Peter lightly slid the leather of his belt on Ellen's naked buttocks. "Now my little slut, I am going to punish you for being bad earlier. Now you are new so I am going to explain the rules. You are to keep count every time I spank you and say the words "Thank you Sir for punishing your fuckslut." I will not count any strokes that are not followed by those words and failure to keep count will result in starting from the beginning. "I will never say that you evil moth...", Ellen screamed at Peter before she was interrupted by Peter's belt savagely hitting her butt cheeks. "Ow, You will never... "Stop hitti...", Ellen tried to say before Peter continued his assault on Ellen's ass. "Please...Stop I wil..." Ellen pleaded as tears were starting to well up as her ass felt like it was on fire. "Ah! It hurts ple..." Ellen was openly weeping now as Peter had Ellen's ass turning red. "...Ow Thank you sir!", Ellen screamed Peter delivered another blow, pausing with a smile on his face for a couple of seconds only to have his smile turn into a frown when Ellen did not expand on her answer. AH FUCK... One, TTThank you sir! For punishing your fuckslut!" Ellen said crying hard while staring at the floor. "Good!" Peter said with a smile on his face. "Two! Thank you sir for punishing your fuckslut!" Ellen cried out. "OW! Three Thank you sir for punishing your fuckslut!" Ellen cried out. The total reached twenty, and Ellen's ass was dark red. Peter had punished her good. Ellen wailed on top of Peter's lap, the punishment absolutely devastated her resolve. Peter for his part rubbed her ass to inspect his handiwork. He especially loved the head that emanated from Ellen's luscious ass. Peter then could no longer resist. He reached down in between her legs and cupped Ellen's sex. Then he wasted no time to slide a finger inside of Ellen's pussy. He rubbed her clit. "Ooo you are wet my little slut but do not worry I am about to stuff you good." Peter goaded as he fingered his enemy. Ellen involuntarily squirmed atop her tormentors fingers. She closed her eyes as the pleasurable sensation assaulted her senses only to have the moment cut short as Peter withdrew his fingers. Then before she could get her bearings again she felt Peter thrust a finger wet with her own juices thrust into her mouth as her own taste rested upon her tongue. Ellen suckled on his finger hard before she realized what she was doing. She was being played like an instrument. Peter smirked as he smacked her butt with his bare hand and got her up and threw on top of her own bed. Ellen taken off guard landed on her back as she looked down through her own spread legs at Peter, who stared at her with purpose. Peter slid up onto the bed and moved right through Ellen spread legs until he was face to face with Ellen. Ellen was in the moment as she threw her arms around Peter's neck. Peter leaned in and pulled a long slow suckle from Ellen's lovely lips. The two made out for about five minutes straight. Their naked bodies sliding against each other as Peter tasted the lips he wanted since college. Ellen kissed back Peter who was a phenomenal kisser. She shivered as she felt the tip of Peter's cock slide against her pussy. Ellen cursed herself as she spread her legs wider to offer Peter easier access. She was so turned on at the moment, even though her ass still smarted from the thrashing. Peter eyes grew darker as he looked at Ellen. He slid inside his nemesis moist clit and slid it into Ellen. "Ahhh" Ellen moaned as he mouth was completely agape as Peter widen her pussy lips farther than had been widen before. Peter had to be almost twice the size as Ron. "That's it take it whore...the only...words I want to hear from you is Thank you Sir!" Peter panted out between hard thrust from his shaft. "Ah Thank AH You Ah Sir Ah Thank Ah You Ah Sir!" Ellen moaned out as Peter's body slapped against Ellen. Ellen could do nothing but to open wider as Peter fucked her hard on top of her own bed. Peter escalated his pace to the point where Ellen was shouting at the tops of her lungs, "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you sir!" Peter could contain himself anymore as sweet voice of Ellen thanking him was just the catylyst to send him over the edge. He thrust as hard inside of Ellen as he could and came incredibly hard as he shot an incredible load inside of Ellen. "Arrrrrrggggggggghhh!! Thhaaank Yoooooou Sssssir!" Ellen screamed out at the top of her lungs like some pornographic town crier, as soon as he felt Peter erupt inside of her she felt herself explode from an intense orgasm. Ellen squeezed as hard as she could against Peter. As Ellen panted trying to recover from the incredible fucking she just received from Peter the room grew quite. Instead of the standard cuddling or laying down with each other, Peter looked down at her like a man assessing his property and said, "You're mine now, that is my pussy, my ass, my mouth. You and your coven have caused the peaceful town of Somerville a lot of grief. I am keeping that pant suit you wore today, the rest we are going to go through to see what you can keep and not keep." So I want every stitch of clothing and shoes you own in the family room in ten minutes. We are going to inspect your bedroom to see you have gotten everything, for every item of clothing you miss you will be punished for. Starting now" Peter said as he got up from the bed and causally made his way to the family room. "We? Uuumm We Sir?" Ellen quickly corrected. "Ooo that was a close one, yes we, they should be here at any moment. But now you need to get your ass moving clock starts now!" Peter barked. Ellen's eyes got wide as she was still recovering from the sex she just had. However, as soon as she heard the instructions she rolled out of bed and made her way to her closet on wobbly legs. She rant to her closet and quickly picked up as many hanging clothes as possible. By the time Ellen was on her fourth trip back from her bedroom. Peter was already in the process of starting the fireplace. Ellen was so desperate at the seven minute mark she literally had the entire dresser drawer in her hand and just tipped it over dropping all the lingerie. By the time ten minutes was up the family room was empty and every piece of clothing she owned that was in her bedroom was on the floor, and the fireplace was going. Ellen did not know what to do she was alone in her own house naked, with Peter's cum now leaking out of her pussy waiting for her next order. It all happened so fast she had no time to think of what just happened. She immediately started to feel the intense remorse of cheating on the man she loved Ron. Ellen was openly crying which caused her to miss Peter coming up the stairs. "I am so sorry love...I ruined everything...Oh Ron...How could I have done this" Ellen said she placed her own head in her hands. "Oh my little slut no need to cry my little trophy-slut. You put up a hell of a fight even won quite of bit of battles but you lost the war, and to the victor go the spoils. Anyways you forgot to look in the drier. Don't worry I got it for you?" Peter said he looked at Ellen, the sight of his cum glistening on her thighs making him hard once again. "Who's coming?" Ellen responded as she wiped the tears from her eye. "Who's coming what?" Peter said as he raised his voice slightly. "Whose coming, Sir." Ellen quickly corrected as her pride forced her face to blush once again. "Good, well someone I believe you know I do not want to ruin the surprise. They should be here at any moment." Peter said as he causally walked over to the drinking cabinet. Ellen heard the front door unlock and it swing open. Then she realized someone else has keys to her house as well. "Honey I am home!" Candace Waters announced as she followed by few of her entourage. The announcement was accompanied by giggles from the entire entourage. "We are up here, Sweety." Peter called out. Ellen heart sank as she heard Candace. She embarrassed and humiliated Candace on many occasions. She absolutely destroyed her during the Chamber of Commerce meeting two months ago, to the point where the whole chamber even some of the Redwood Estate members were openly laughing at her as Ellen dissection of her business proposal was precise as it was devastating. Ellen knew that this was not going to be pleasant. The sound of high heels clacking on the hard wood of their house could be heard from the upstairs hallway just outside the open door of the family room. Ellen wanted to hide but was forced to stand with her hands on her side completely naked with Peter's cum leaking out of her pussy and coating the insides of thighs. "Mmm looks like you already fucked this slut stupid Peter" Candace said as she entered the room and looked at Candace. The rest of the ladies started erupting in laughter. "Oh shit...look at her...she naked and fucked" Selena Powell, wife of Thomas Powell owner of the town's only chain of carwashes, uttered from the back of the group "Not so smug now bitch!" Alexandra Lowe best friend of Candace and wife of Roger Lowe franchise owner of the strip club known as Inferno. Ellen was devastated as her enemies gloated at her current state and predicament. Alexandra hated Ellen because she personally killed her husband's plan to open a second strip club closer to the beach. She also was head of two organizations that were trying to have her husband's club thrown out of town permanently. "What was it you told me princess...oh yeah do you know words or do you truly have nothing to say?" Candace said as she walked over to the naked Ellen and spoke directly in her face. Ellen had been utterly destroyed by Peter earlier but seeing these idiotic women rekindled her fire, her fight, "Go ahead...do what you are going to do have your fun, you have me, but mark my words the Women's League Caucus will get your husband, and you will not be able to stop them, because on your own you are one useless bitch!" Ellen said trying to hold back tears. "Ooo Kitty has claws...Did not anyone explain the situation to you bitch?" Candace said before turning her head confused at Peter. "Yes and No, She knows that if she does not play ball that I will go to the police and she will spend the rest of her life in a fucking jail cell, where she can be around as many strong women she wants. " Peter explained. "Ah you have no clue your stupid whore...but you will get a clue. I fucking own you, we all own your ass, and you are going to learn your place bitch!" Ellen barked back visciously. "Ellen you are to treat anyone that I bring over with respect, you will not talk back and you will listen to them as it is coming from me, No, is no longer part of your vocabulary bitch! Got that?" Peter said as he gave Ellen a look to show that he was deadly serious. Ellen was furious as she wanted to kill Candace and her ditzy crew right now but once Peter told her the score she gulped down her pride and softly answered, "Yes...Sir." "What was that slut I did not here you?" Candace said with a smug grin on her face. "I said Yes Sir..." Ellen said louder with a tone of hostility toward Candace. Candace annoyed at the hostility grabbed Ellen's chin, "That's Mistress to you fuckslave, When you talk to ANY of the Esteemed Ladies of Redwood, you will address them as Mistress, or we will see you spend the rest of your fucking life sharing a 6x6 room with a lesbian rapist. Got it cunt" Candace angrily chided. "I thought..." Ellen tried to say. Candace reared back her free hand hard and harshly slapped Ellen's face. "I said...have you got it?" Ellen said. "Yes" Ellen promptly said. Candace let loose another slap from the other side and said, "Yes what bitch?" "Yes I got it" Ellen responded holding her face. Candace slapped her hard from the other side and barked, "Yes I have got it what. You stupid whore!" "Yes I got it, Mistress!" Ellen cried out. Peter shook his head and started laying down the terms of Ellen's surrender, "Geeze fucking hell, it took you long enough. Now that we taught you how to speak lets go what will happen and over some of the ground rules. First, Mr. Fitzpatrick has fired you from Fitzpatrick and Associates and you have been removed from all your current cases including the law suit of one Pamela Wells. Second you are to report to Daniels and Associates on Monday. They will be your new Employer. Third, from now on your life belongs to us. ALL of your assets will be transferred to a trust fund ran by several of our associates at Redwood estates. All purchases you make from now on must be approved by Candace or myself. Fourth, you are to cease all contact with any other organizations around Somerville except for those affiliated with Redwood Estates and any residences, businesses, or properties owned by members of Redwood Estates. Earlier today Judge Harwell approved a motion by your former firm to grant Pamela Wells extra time to find a new lawyer. You are to no longer talk to Pamela Wells or any members of your former organizations you ran. "What about Ron you are taking away everything, he did nothing wrong?...Sir..." Ellen meekly said. "Oh Rhonda will be taken good care of, we will make sure Rhonda will live a life of absolute comfort." Peter said as Candace and Peter both grinned at each other. "Don't interrupt me again. Any person of Redwood is now your Master or Mistress. You may refer to a member of Redwood as Sir or Master, and an Esteemed Lady of Redwood will be referred to as Mistress or whatever the hell else they want you to call them. Your appearance will now be supervised by Candace and my receptionist Melanie. Do you have any questions whore" Peter asked. "No Sir" Ellen said in utter defeat. Candace snuck up behind Ellen while she was listening to the terms of her surrender and reached under Ellen's arms and cupped her breast from behind then the redhead suckled on Ellen's left lobe and whispered, "I am going to have so much fun with you bitch, I am never going to get tired of using and abusing your ass bitch. Anytime you think I will just forget about you and move on, remember all I have to do is think about how many times you utterly humiliated me in front of everyone and my motivation will return." Candace then leaned her head around and planted a long kiss on Ellen's check as she grabbed her in a possessive manner and then spoke across the room to Peter. "Why don't you go hang out at Redwood hon, us girls will meet you there around dinner time, do not worry we will make sure she is ready. We have quite of bit of changes to do here." The Peter Principle She pressed her body against his, wrapped her arms about his neck and slowly drew his mouth down to hers. She kissed his lips, her hot tongue darting in and out of his mouth. She pressed her unshaven bush against his Brobdingnagian shaft, which extended from the lips of her kooze to her triply-pierced bellybutton. She pressed his body tightly against her and ran her fingernails up and down the length of his torso. She was dripping with desire now. She could restrain her urges no longer. "What say we repair to the therapy room, my valiant savior of fumbled files?" "After you, my beauty," Robbie said, his hands executing a flourished gesture, as though she were the Queen herself." "That goes without saying, mah charming beau. Do follow me." She opened the door to the therapy room. The room had green walls, green furniture, green everything. "We call this the green room, Robbie," Dr. D'Great said. "Do you know why?" Robbie was somewhat at a loss, but offered a tentative guess: "Because it's green?" "The green room is a name for the waiting room for guests on TV talk shows. And that is precisely what we are about to do, you and I. We are going to be on TV. Isn't that exciting? Green is also the color that calms most people down, and that's another reason entire room is painted in this color." Where had Robbie seen such a room? Let's see, there's the Boise State blue-mold color football field, where no opponent stands a chance, insofar as the Boise players cannot be distinguished on basis of vision, olfaction, or IQ from the rotten cheese-like surface they play upon. Ah, now it came back to him. It was like the giant green screen on Tosh.0, which allows Daniel Tosh to insert his own image into any virtually any scene he chooses. Suddenly Robbie's stream of consciousness (or, perhaps more accurately, trickle of protoconsciousness) was interrupted by the clamor of of invading helmeted Spanish Conquistadors, who wielded chains, spears and various other implements of destruction, including curved axes, shackles, and torture devices. It seemed the unknown curator of OrwellCorp's weapons department had very eclectic tastes when it came to torture hardware. They slapped a horned Viking helmet on Robbie's head. (Had they run out of Conquistador helmets? It didn't matter - he liked Viking helmets and usually wore one when Jackie blasted out an aria or two during her occasionally fatality-producing finales.) "We are about to shoot a TV movie for educational and outreach purposes. It will also be an integral part of your psychodrama therapy, Robbie. Do you like TV shows?" Robbie nodded. "Very much, Dr. D'Great." "You're going to play a Viking lord who bought a defective compass from a double-dealing Gypsy in Gotland. As a result, you wound up in Tenochtitlan just as that very Gypsy is about to be sacrificed to the Aztecs' Sun God. "Do you like Gypsies, Robbie?" He hung his head and shook it. "How about Aztecs?" Robbie wasn't sure about this one. The Aztecs were Native Americans, or at the very least Native Wetbacks, and Dr. D'Great was in the Human Resources Department. He gave it his best shot: "No, Catherine, I do not like those Aztecs, not with eggs and not with ham." "But would you like them with... No, forget about it." She hugged him and he could feel her sumptuous breasts pressed around his right arm, and her right hand traveled up his leg for a reunion with the Great White Cock. She could not close her fingers around its girth, but she figured that would be OK. It wasn't as if a hand job was going to be a primary feature of this particular performance. "We have written a script for this show," Catherine said. "However your personnel file indicates an unfamiliarity with the alphabet beyond the letter G, and so you will have to ad lib your performance. Do you know what 'ad lib' means, Robbie...Why do I even ask? "I will play the part of the Gypsy wench who cheated you. You have to pretend that you are very, very angry at me. You can slap me around and scream at me, but mostly I want you to take your long, long pole here and shove into me as hard as you can, over and over and over again. Don't stop, no matter how much I may scream, cry, beg or cough up blood. Call me names, slap me, and humiliate me in every way you can think of. "I want to be a worthless piece of throbbing dirt when you are through with me, ready to be used by the endless line of Aztec priests and Conquistadors that will follow you." Catherine grabbed his head and pressed her forehead to his. "Please tell me you will do this for me. It means a lot for me and it means a lot to the company." A couple of tears flowed down Robbie's cheeks, but he silently nodded. They told him what he needed to do for the first scene. Scene 1 "Roll'em," the Director said, and Robbie heard the sudden whirring of security cameras. Thousands of green micro-drone cameras took to the air, disguised as locusts, houseflies, and various other insects. "Bring the witch in," intoned the Conquistador general and the Aztec High Priest together, their booming voices united in this one common cause. The Conquistador brass and the Aztec priests dragged the still naked Dr. Catherine D'Great to the Altar of the Sun. They chained her wrists together in front of her so that she could not move her arms. At least she should be able to cup anyone so bold as to violate her mouth. They chained her legs apart, completely exposing her private parts so that her soon-to-be rapists could savor the delights awaiting their already erect cocks. The Aztec priests and Conquistador soldiers then stood before her and shed their armor and clothes so that she could see the lances that would pierce what was left of her cunt after the great Robert Crachit fucked the living daylights out of her, whether Catherine be dead by then or by some miracle still alive. Crachit, playing the anomalous Viking king in these rites, unrolled a scroll that he as an actor could not read but had memorized: "Be it known that this witch sold me a defective compass back in Gotland, see. She cheated me and my brother, see. We were going to Martha's Vineyard, see. Instead, we wind up here in Pallookaville, see. This Viking king looked at the battleaxes and spears glistening in the morning light. "Don't get me wrong, see. I got nothin' against wetbacks and valley girls. You guys have a real nice sacrificial pyramid here. Real nice. I was just lookin' for a place with a nice cool ocean breeze, that's all. No offense." "None taken," said the Aztec High Priest. "But can we get to the matter at hand?" he asked, gesturing at the chained naked girl before them. "Hey, that compass is not defective," said Catherine in her role as gypsy. This asshole doesn't know his alphabet beyond G. It's not my fault that this moron thought S stood for north." "It's pronounced 'norte'," said the Aztec High Priest. "Besides, we don't really have much of an appeal process when it comes to human sacrifice." "Fine," said Catherine, "just go ahead and fuck me to death, please." "You don't even wan' us to tear out your still beating heart and offer it to the Sun God?" "No, I'm afraid of sharp things and I really, really like sex." "So be it. Let the gods make it so, with a little help from their friends." Robbie looked at Catherine's naked body spread upon the altar. So that was how a real woman looked. His royal scepter climbed to fifteen inches. He had never before seen all of a woman's junk, save for a brief glimpse of the cheerleader of whom he dare not speak. But there before him, laid out in all their glory were what he suspected were Catherine's anus, clit and cunt, orifices helplessly open to him and subject to any and all violations Robbie might inflict upon them. And there were what could only be Catherine's breasts spread out on the altar beneath her. And at the other end, her precious mouth. With the one exception duly noted above, the only woman Robbie had ever seen naked was his roughly spherical 750-pound wife Jackie Crachit (nee Sprat). It was hard to make out anything in that throbbing ball of flesh. Once or twice, he had glimpsed what might have been nipples emerging from between her folds of fat only to disappear once again into the pulsating orb of corpulence that was her flesh. Sex had been difficult too. Robbie had tried many times to find her gash with his behemoth phallus, but always in vain, with the seeming exception of the coupling that led to tiny Tim. Robbie had no explanation for this seeming immaculate conception, nor for the infant's successful emergence from the deathtrap of Jackie's corpulence. Robbie was usually able to get off by sliding his dong up and down the various folds of Jackie's fat, lubricated as they were by sweat and the remnants of her last sundae of the night. However, even these pleasures were now denied him, as Jackie had recently discovered an autoerotic way of sliding one fold of fat along the crease formed by two other folds. Judging from her orgasmic cries, the crease in question must contain the erogenous trifecta of her vagina, clit and anus. Robbie wondered if she would eventually managed to achieve a topological contortion that would bring her mouth in contact with the three just-mentioned erogenous zones, a feat cruelly denied to humans, but seemingly granted to every dog on the planet, no matter how mangy the cur. One thing was all too clear, Jackie Sprat Crachit had no further need for the miserable Robbie Crachit. Oral sex was likewise out of the question. Any attempt to provide Jackie with this treat was fraught with peril. Robbie was pretty sure that any aspiring cunnilingist would never return from the folds and canyons of her body. With regard to Robbie's chances of ever being able to receive oral sex from his devouring wife, it is true that Jackie's mouth usually remained near the outer boundary of her flesh for reasons of biological necessity. Sometimes it was even visible to outside observers. However, in addition to suffering from morbid obesity, Jackie also suffered from Abnormal Oral Ingestion Reflex (more widely known as Bullfrog Syndrome) and would instantly swallow any object that came within three feet of her mouth in a flick of her tongue. Worst of all, each time Robbie tried to mount his wife for any purpose she rolled like a ball, forcing his sternum and rib cage to absorb all 750 pounds of Jackie's weight. His orthopedist had warned him that his rib cage and lungs would undoubtedly collapse if he did not desist from these copulation attempts. Robbie snapped out of these reveries, realizing that he was on a movie set and he was the star. He quickly got back in character. "Hey, Priestie, said the Viking King, "how about I get a little taste of oral sex first? C'mon, show me a little courtesy here. I never get any respect. No respect at all." "Come around this end, big guy and I'll give give you some respect," Catherine said. Robbie walked around to the front end of the sacrificial victim. Catherine looked at him and said, "I can't give you the whole nine yards today, Robbie. Can't even give you the foot and half you're gonna need for Scene Two. But I'm working on it. I am training with a master sword swallower right now. I am also learning how to voluntarily dislocate my jaw, if it need be. As far as my anus is concerned, I am undergoing a reaming out process that should enable you to penetrate me to full depth, right up to the ileum. Past it if need be, but I hope it doesn't come to that." A green camera drone disguised as a housefly suddenly entered her mouth. Catherine did not seem in least surprised. Back in the control room, the mission specialists began to chat excitedly: "Oral Drone Alpha reports entry." "Copy that, entry by Drone Alpha." Catherine got back into her role as sacrificial victim. "Just lower your throbbing balls into my chained hands, my lord," she told him. Robbie complied immediately. Catherine seized his orbs and began to squeeze them rhythmically. "Now, I want you to ram that gigantic cock into my mouth, as hard as you can. Disregard my screams. Now matter how hard I beg you, show me no mercy, my lord, for I know I have wronged you." She opened her mouth and showed him a maw that would shame that of any king cobra, a blackness of such depths as to make Robbie's very soul tremble. He hauled back and shoved his massive battering ram into Catherine's willing mouth. Somehow she was able to open her mouth even further and enclosed its massive head with her lips. She nursed on it and licked it as her hands tortured Robbie's balls. Just then Robbie felt something unexpected. If he was not mistaken, the High Priest's considerable schlong had just entered the hitherto unexplored temple of Robbie's very own anus. "Second contact point initiated." "Roger that." Robbie hauled off and rammed his massive shaft as hard as he could into Catherine's mouth, but it seemed as though he was coming up against a brick wall. "Drone Alpha has confirmed uvula penetration." "Catherine, this is mission control. Calm down. Remember your relaxation exercises." Meanwhile, down at her south end, Catherine suddenly felt an unexpected double-penetration of her ass and cunt. She hoped it was by that cute Conquistador with the curly blonde hair and the nice smile. Who ever it was, he sure as hell knew to wield a dildo-enhanced cock. "Penetrations Three and Four confirmed." "Copy that." A particularly brutal thrust gained Robbie's cock passage through Catherine's throat and entry into her esophagus. Robbie looked up and saw a conga line of alternating Conquistadors and Aztec Warriors, each one buggering the next, a tail seemingly dancing out of Catherine's ass. The High Priest was now pounding his way in and out of Robbie's ass at full force. "Penetrations Five, Six, Seven... Oh, the hell with it." Suddenly, Catherine brutally squeezed Robbie's conjones and his tool erupted, sending an avalanche of hot cum straight into Catherine's stomach. As she came, her orgasm set off a chain reaction in the conga line, with one dancer after another shooting his seed deep within his predecessor's ass. Last, but not least to shoot was the Aztec High Priest, the master of this ritual. Robbie felt the heat of the master's juice as it poured into his anus and covered the walls of his large colon. Promotion "Congratulations on a fine performance, Robbie," the temporarily unshackled Dr. Catherine D'Great said, anticlimactically shaking Robbie's hand as she sat in one of the director's chairs, wearing only a small robe that did nothing to conceal the delights of her exquisitely sculptured body. "Do you have any questions?" "Yes, what was up with that green fly that flew into your mouth?" "That was just a drone camera, just like ones in our employee restrooms, which by the way explains the 'insect infestations' our employees are always reporting. The only difference is that it takes pictures from inside your body rather than outside. Would you like to see?" She pushed a button and the 65-inch plasma TV screen came to life. It showed the inhumanly stretched interior of Dr. D'Great's mouth, as illuminated by one of the two spotlights on the drone. It showed her uvula approaching as a frightening speed. The probe then rushed past her throat, and the walls of her esophagus filled the screen, rushing at the camera at a blinding speed until they were washed white by a liquid that could only be Robbie's jism. (The counterhypothesis that it was in fact Catherine's puke would be ruled out on the basis of a DNA swab to be performed later.) "But this tape shows only me, Robbie. I'm an old hand at this. How about you? Let's take a look." She pushed another button on her clicker of the damned. The screen now showed the inner lining of Catherine's mouth and displayed her tongue and teeth as her mouth opened. The green room was briefly visible before the giant head of Robbie's cock filled the screen. Its single eye cast a look of defiance at the forces denying it full entry into the delights of Catherine's oral passage. Then the floor of Dr. D'Great's mouth suddenly dropped (due to a voluntary dislocation of her jaw) and Robbie's tool rushed at a breathtaking speed down her oral tunnel. Of course, only one outcome was possible now and the giant TV screen went white under a deep coat of the jism spewed by OrwellCorp's Assistant Senior Clerk for the Re-Collation of Fumbled Files. Robbie remembered how Catherine's lips had held him inside her for a long time, her tongue gyrating along the length of his shaft, trying to coax every last drop out of him. He remembered how her arms had tried to reach up to hold him and press his head against her, but was prevented from doing so by the chains on her wrists that limited her to emptying his balls, a duty she performed with the skill of a long-practiced milkmaid. Still making no attempt to hide her nakedness under her flimsy robe, Catherine said, "What to see something cool, Robbie? Look at this!" She pushed another button on her clicker, and the scene changed to show assorted Conquistadors, Aztec functionaries, one lacivous chained-down naked gypsy, and a Viking king wearing nothing but a horned helmet, not that any off-the-rack costume could have contained the Viking's magnificently swollen shaft. Robbie was amazed at the detail of the Aztecs' sacrificial altar and pyramid and the surrounding countryside. "See what green-screen technology and computer-generated imagery can do, Robbie? Here, look at this." She pushed a button on the clicker, and the scene changed to show Robbie's immense phallus entering Catherine's inhumanly stretched mouth. But the background was changed, and the scene suddenly shifted to show this courageous feat of fellatio as taking place in the intimate privacy Robbie's and Jackie's titanium-reinforced bed. "How did you do that? I have never been unfaithful to Jackie. What if tiny Tim sees this?" Robbie cried out in horror. "Relax, Robbie, we didn't break into your house. You know that green fly you've been having trouble swatting? It's one of our camera drones. We have to monitor all employees' behavior both inside and outside the office to ensure that it complies with OrwellCorp's standards and practices. We also monitor associates' health behaviors for the purposes of insurance contracting. This is covered on page 237,549 of your contract and as well as in Paragraph 324.600.9FFB, which appears on page 6491 of the the third volume of the Handbook for OrwellCorps Associates. Surely you remember signing these agreements several years ago. "This is just standard behavioral monitoring practice in our industry, Robbie. It in no way violates associates' right to privacy, as confirmed in numerous court cases and financial settlements involving OrwellCorps human relations practices. "We would never do anything that would intrude on your privacy, Robbie. We also would never use this photographically-enhanced video to blackmail you into maintaining your employment with our firm, even though we could, Robbie. We really could. "As one bonus of this monitoring, we have validated your statement that your wife's body is, to a very good approximation, spherical in nature. And we can put to rest your concern that it might implode gravitationally. She would need to gain a very substantial amount of weight for this to occur. Also, well be before she collapsed into a black hole, the Earth and our entire planetary system would be sucked down the maw of your wife's devouring stomach. So we would have a number of additional worries if her body were to collapse in this manner. "Robbie, I am sorry to tell you this, but your wife's vaginal aperture would never be able to accommodate a penis with a four-inch diameter. I am afraid that I must disagree with Bilie Jean's findings - the kid is not your son." The Peter Principle "How is this even possible?" Robbie wailed, burying his head in his hands. "Cheer up, Robbie," Catherine said, patting Robbie on his back. "We are pretty sure we can get you on the Maury Povich Show just to make absolutely sure, especially in view of your wife's almost perfectly spherical morphology. But forget about that now. Something wonderful is about to happen." "What could that be? This is the darkest day of my life." "A promotion, Robbie. We know that you are unhappy in your job as a Fumbled File Collation Clerk, as most of the alphabet is beyond your ken. At your present level of performance, you would never be able to earn a promotion and would have to stay in that job for the rest of your life. Your salary would not be enough to adequately support tiny Tim." "Yeah, plus the fact that every time I try to feed Timmy, Jackie's Bullfrog Syndrome kicks in and she flicks out her three-foot tongue, grabs the food, and hauls it down her own throat." He again buried his face in his hands and began to sob uncontrollably. Catherine patted the lachrymose collation clerk on the back. "There, there. Well, that's all going to change Robbie. With your new salary, you will be able to employ a small group of hyperaggressive thugs to serve as your private child protection contractors. Jackie would have to settle for whatever scraps these goon social workers throw her way. They will keep tiny Tim out of trouble in the same way that Lil Twist, Lil Za, Crazy Khalil, and Scooter Braun keep Justin Bieber out of trouble." "Well what's the new job? I don't see how I can possibly be promoted. I am an utter failure as a collation clerk." "Robbie, I am going to reveal to you the secret of OrwellCorp. Do you promise never to tell anyone else except the initiated about it?" Robbie somberly nodded his tear-streaked head. "OK, we have led you to believe that OrwellCorp is in the business of producing tapes of group psychotherapy sessions to be provided to self-help outlets that in turn market directly to the general public. That is not strictly true. Actually, we are in the much more lucrative business of making pornographic tapes that are directed at the most twisted, craven, if not outright psychotic individuals in our so-called civilization. "Did you really think that a for-profit corporation would employ twelve levels of clerks to deal with fumbled paper files? No, paper files would not even exist in a corporation with reasonable privacy concerns such as OrwellCorp. If they did exist, the first clerk to fumble such a file would be humanely and immediately terminated in accordance with best business practices and OSHA regulations. "We at OrwellCorp select our employees on the basis of their physical attributes (as determined using the infrared drones) and their ability to contort their bodies to perform the most disgusting sexual practices imaginable, and even some that you will be unable to imagine even after you have witnessed them or participated in them yourself. "Mathematicians from such institutions as MIT and Caltech routinely fly in to study some of the positions achieved by our so-called 'actors' to see if they can glean new insights into abstract topology and of course string theory from them. "Many of our employees have studied advanced tantric yoga and are able to use reverse peristalsis to withdraw their newly ejaculated semen from their partners, pass it up their own colon and esophagus, and into their mouth, providing their partners who balk at the practice of fellatio a taste of the real thing with the additional bonus of trace amounts of the object of their affection's most recent meal, be it Mexican, Indian or Chinese. (Forget about English and Welsh, though.) "But you, Robbie, do you know what they are calling you?" Robbie shook his head. "The Franchise, Robbie, that's what they are calling you. We figure we can make millions and perhaps billions from that mega-schlong of yours. Hell, it's already gone viral due to leaks and premature data spews by some of our infiltrated and compromised bee cams. But don't worry. We are already taking prophylactic measures." Robbie looked around him and noticed that many of the bee cams were now indeed encased in rubber, which did not appear to impede their ability to fly. "We are prepared to offer you a new job, Robbie. We can't afford to lose you. For one thing, in view of the exalted status of your shwanschtupper, we are going to offer you the position of Principal Peter, as you are going to be our go-to guy. Do you see any problems with that, Robbie?" Robbie shook his head. "Well, do you remember our discussions of the Peter Principle, Robbie. Now do you see the problem?" "Yes, Dr. D'Great. I would be good at this job and thus would be promoted out of it." Robbie again buried his face in his hands. Whatever would become of tiny Tim? "That is precisely why we are rolling two positions into one, Robbie. We will offer you the position of Principal Peter and Executive Senior Vice President of Plumbing and Porta Potty Operations in our west office complex." "Does this mean I will have to enter one of those bathrooms again? I don't think I could take it. You all saw the tape of my last visit." "No, Robbie, you won't. Also, to prevent you from being promoted, Jimmy Breezemaker, whose anal explosive assault you recently suffered, will remain in his position of Director of Sanitation, Cleanliness and Drinker of Excess Sewage. He will report directly to you. Thus, you will never receive a satisfactory job performance rating and will never be promoted out of your position. Also, if you had any idea of the horrors poor Jimmy suffers through on a daily basis, you would be more sympathetic to his plight. "As we do not want to lose you to one of our competitors, we are prepared to offer you a salary of $800,000. However, we are not going to actually offer this salary, but will offer instead a salary of $600,000. How does that sound?" It sounded great. He would now be able to have tiny Tim's tracheotomy closed and pay for the PCV piping that would finally allow Timmy's poor brain to breathe properly through his unclosing fontanel, all this just for banging Catherine all day and night. "I'll take it!" Robbie exclaimed. "Where do I sign?" "Right here, Robbie," the Director said pointing to the dotted line on page 3961 of his new contract. "Also here," the Director said, pointing to a dotted line on page 845R of a different document. "What's this?" "Just a routine waiver stating that you may not sue us for any sexual act, such as cornholing, Lakota-style pectoral piercings, aggravated coprophagy, cyclical urodipsia, minor cannibalism, painful and excessive ear wax extraction, temporary eyeball relocation to enable an act of orbital copulation or a so-called golden brain shower, temporary brain implants to enhance sexual desire, sexual performance and willingness to engage enthusiastically in acts that the unenlightened public regards as involving extreme depravity, unspeakable moral turpitude, the carnal knowledge of advanced botanical life forms such as pitcher plants and venus flytraps, the unnatural knowledge of extracted Arctic and Antarctic ice core samples, yada, yada, yada ..., you know, the usual stuff, provided we obtain your express written consent beforehand. "We note that this waiver also exempts OrwellCorp from any punitive damages in relation to Jacob 'Deliverance' Stoltzfus's unfortunate cornholing of your virgin ass during the recent first take of the Aztec sacrifice scene. That guy is a loose canon. He's always adlibbing, calls it 'method acting.' As if he thinks he is going to win the Brown Pillar award at this year's Sleazies. At any rate, that won't happen again, not to our new Principal Peter it won't. Your co-stars will stay strictly on script and you will have to agree to all script changes beforehand." "Where so I sign?" "Right here on the dotted line." "One other thing, Robbie, as your Director, I would like to see you take a different approach to your acting. While your Edward G. Robinson and Rodney Dangerfield impressions are quite good, they will likely prove distracting to viewers of the film. We would rather see you and Catherine acting naturally, expressing your true feelings to one another. Do you think you could do that?" He thought he could. Screen Test "OK, Robbie in view of the difficulty you have had finding female orifices due to your wife's unfortunately rotund condition, I am going to give a crash course on human female anatomy," Catherine said. They were both sitting on a bench, barely covered in their satin robes. Robbie took pride in the fact that their names were sewn into the back of said robes, just like two prizefighters. Catherine shrugged off her robe, and peeled Robbie's robe off his broad shoulders. She took his hand and pressed it flat against her crotch. He felt her wetness and his boner ascended. She took two of his fingers and pushed them inside her cunt. "There, Robbie. That's one entrance to my body that you will use over and over again. It will feel wonderful, so wonderful. It will be like we are one person instead of two." "It will never fit. It will rip you in half." "Not to worry, Robbie. I'm a seasoned professional. Why do you think I do traffic-cone squats for three hours a day? Why do you think I go down to spring training, catch knuckle balls in my cooze, suck them up, and expel them at 100 miles per hour for the Dodgers' batting practice? Why do you think I can carry a grapefruit from one pile to another without using my hands? Do you think that I would be a Sleazy Award-winning actress year after year if I didn't practice as though my life depended on it?" Robbie nodded silently, having gained a true respect for his co-star's professionalism. At least she wouldn't suddenly burst apart into a rain of red, dripping protoplasm like that poor cheerleader back in Salinas. The NSA had ruled that one an act of terrorism and Robbie had done nothing to disabuse them of that notion. His guilt led him to swear never to touch another woman but Jackie again. He had held himself to that vow up until this very day. Catherine moved Robbie's hand to her clitoris. "Do you feel that Robbie? That's a woman's special place. Your fingers and tongue need to work this place hard. Even if I cry out for you to stop, I want you to keep going. You need to work all my holes hard with your fingers and tongue, long before you fuck me with this bad boy here," she said squeezing his massive shaft, which had grown to at least fifteen inches in the course of their stimulating conversation. She took his hands and placed then on her breasts. "This is what a woman's titties feel like, Robbie. Do you like them?" Robbie did indeed, very much. She pressed Robbie's palms against her gigantic hooters and initiated a circular motion. "Feel that, Robbie? Those are my nipples getting erect, baby. That's always a good thing. Now maul my breasts baby. Don't be so gentle. Squeeze them like you're going to rip them right off me. Yeah, that's it baby, that's what mama needs. "Kiss me baby. Just shove your tongue in my mouth. Oh my, it seems we have another outlier here. Lick my neck and ears baby. Oh yeah. "I think we're ready for Take 2, baby. They're going to chain me down again, Robbie. That's OK. I like to be helpless, exposed, and vulnerable. It's kind of my thing. I want you to rip me apart, Robbie I want you to pound me like I'm a defenseless rag doll. Ooh, we'd better get started baby, I am almost ready to come just thinking about it. Let me just fluff you a little, baby," she said, as her rapacious mouth engulfed Robbie's by now legendary organ. Two key grips put the shackles back on Dr. Catherine D'Great's wrists and ankles. They dragged her protesting body away from Robbie's delectable genitalia and walked her back to the altar, where they chained her flailing limbs to the scaffolding even more tightly than before. "Looks like it's bottoms up again this time, my love, but don't worry, we are flying in our mathematicians from Caltech and MIT. They assure that there are more attainable positions for us than there are stars in the sky." The first key grip brought out a small cage containing two camera drones. "Do we really need those?" Robbie asked. The Director kneaded Robbie's neck and told him that there was no greater spiritual beauty than the act of lovemaking by two devoted lovers and that it would be a travesty to deny future generations the exquisite beauty of this pure act as revealed by widescreen endosomatic camera drones. Just because previous generations have been denied such beautiful views of the intricate internal passages and tissues, and wondrous events, including but not limited to peristaltic contractions and secretions, that occur within the human body during the sacred act of sexual congress, there is no reason to deny posterity the best possible coverage of the unearthly beauty that is about to unfold before us. Robbie nodded. He couldn't argue with him there. "Release the drones!" the Director commanded. One of the key grips opened the screen door to the cage, and two camera bees flow out and directly into Catherine's snatch. "Confirm entry, drone beta-female," said the first guy in the Control Room. "Roger that, confirm entry drone beta-male," said the second guy. "OK Robbie, she's all yours. I want you to give her the greatest pleasure you can," said the Director. Robbie looked at Catherine's Daisy Dukes-qualified ass and her chained and splayed muscular legs. He held up his thumb and squinted his eyes to get a sense of perspective. Then he was on her ass like a coon dog on a squirrel. He puckered his lips and kissed Catherine's sweet anus. His extraordinarily long tongue darted in and out of that nether passage, as his hands gripped her waist to haul her up hard against his mouth. He swirled his tongue in wider and wider circles and he grabbed her buttocks in his hands and began squeezing them rhythmically and hard as his tongue thrust deeper and deeper into her ass. "Work me baby," Dr. D'Great commanded. "You know how." Robbie's hands abandoned Catherine's ass cheeks for a greater quarry. His hands slipped beneath her waist and found her clit and dripping wet cunt. He stroked her clit with his right hand and slid the four fingers of his left hand up and down the wet left lip of her cunt. He gave her uterus the always popular Vulcan live-long-and-prosper salute, and soon both lips of her cunt were spasming as she began to come over and over again, his deep tongue working her ass the whole time. He licked his way up her butt crack to the small of her back, then further up her spine as his fingers worked her clit and cunt and she trembled and screamed in orgasm after orgasm. His tongue traced its way down her back and ass crack to her cunt. He licked her and thrust his tongue in and out of her, his hands still working her clit as if their lives depended on it. She shuddered and came again, again, and again. He flicked his tongue up and down both of her cracks as he ravaged her clit with his insatiable fingers. He went down further and seized her clit with his lips, sliding them back and forth as his nose penetrated her cooze. His hands grabbed both of her ass cheeks, and she ground her pelvis into him and began to buck up and down as she exploded three times in succession. Robbie licked his way up her ass crack and her spine as he rose higher and higher. She looked at him in fear as she felt his massive organ on her back and struggled, but her chains held her fast. His hot organ dripped precum on her small of her back and he began licking her neck, feeling her soft hair covering his own head, as he took her ear in his mouth and prepared for the first thrust. It's OK, Catherine thought. Just like having a baby in reverse. This was the event that she had prepared for all her life. Robbie intertwined his fingers with those of her chained hands as he reared back for the first thrust. "Take this, you vile witch," he cried as his rammed his mammoth tool four inches into her protesting cunt, A flock of camera drones surrounded them, capturing this event for prosperity. His hungry tongue began to explore every convolution of her right ear. She squeezed his fingers with hers, urging him deeper inside her. He hauled back and thrust his prodigious organ a full foot into her protesting body. She cried out, her whole body trembling as she came in a tsunami of orgasms. He took her mammoth titties in his hands, teasing her nipples as he began to thrust inside her again, bringing the drones into physical proximity. "Drone beta-female has made contact." "Roger that, confirm deployment of beta-male probe." "Copy that, can confirm weaving and deployment of tangled webs." "Roger that, can confirm catastrophic loss of cognitive functioning in male drone." The control room technicians then lit each other's cigarettes. Robbie briefly separated himself from the alluring bed of Catherine's naked back. He put full a full-nelson on her, pinning her head against the silken sacrificial altar. His tongue traveled over her eyes and face, finding her mouth. Their tongues intertwined as Robbie prepared her helpless and fragile body for one last brutal thrust. He rammed into her with all his might, burying his surreally-dimensioned shaft into her up to the hilt. The cum poured out of him in torrents. Catherine felt the heat of his life-giving manna as it filled her cold body from within. They lay there together, spent. Robbie was now pretty sure that he was going to like his new job. God had blessed both him and tiny Tim, who was not going to be tiny any more. At least not where it really counts, once the little guy received the paternal Y-chromosome splicing OrwellCorp was now offering them. And verily, the son shalt know the passages plowed by the father.