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  • Be Reasonable. Do It My Way Ch. 07-08

Be Reasonable. Do It My Way Ch. 07-08

Chapter 7

Wilbur Dweeple wasn't sure how much longer he could last. He meant that in more ways than one.

The tall, thin, geekish IRS supervisor knew how much trouble he was in. Running a fake audit on a company was breaking more laws and procedures than he could count. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it going and still keep a lid on it.

His more immediate meaning referred to the naked, forty-something, big titted, raven-haired beauty who was on her knees in his office polishing his knob like it had never been polished before.

"Oh, shit," he moaned, "I'm gonna cum any second."

Agnes Walker lifted her soft, slick lips off of his dick. "Isn't that what you want," she cooed, "to shoot you hot juice down my throat?"

"No," Wilbur croaked out weakly, "not there."

"Really?" she said with an exaggerated pout.

He shook his head and tried to reach for her massive boobs.

"Oh," she said with an impish grin, "I know what you want." She gave his dick a couple of extra slurps then continued, "You want to shoot between my big, soft, warm tits. Don't you?"

Wilbur nodded.

Agnes pushed his hand away from her huge melons and said, "You just let me take care of that."

She didn't want to let this skinny jackass mauling her breasts any more than she could avoid. He tended to squeeze so hard that it hurt. She was willing to bet that this pencil-dicked jerk had never even seen a pair like hers up close let alone had an opportunity to fuck them. That's how she had talked, or, one should say tit fucked him, into going along with her scheme in the first place.

Agnes had gone to the local IRS office on the pretense of asking some tax questions. She had expressed aggressive, and increasingly angry frustration with any answer that she had been given. She finally demanded to see a supervisor. The poor, brow beaten clerk that she was yelling at was all too happy to pass her on to someone else. When Agnes was shown into Wilbur Dweeple's office she knew that she had hit pay dirt. Seducing him took all of three minutes. Talking him into going along with her plan didn't take much longer. The promise of continued access to her fabulous rack was all the incentive he needed.

She lifted up her hooters and wrapped them around his five inch stick.

Wilbur shut his eyes, gripped the arms of his chair tightly, and began to furiously hump those hooters. He wanted to make it last, but the sensation was just too much for him. He had never felt anything so amazing as his dick slid back and forth in her unbelievable cleavage.

"Any second, now," he squeaked.

Suddenly, Agnes pulled her tits off of his dick. The sudden rush of cold air down there made him sit up and open his eyes. He was about to say something when she shushed him.

"You know the rules, baby," she said, "I get mine first."

With that she laid down on the floor and spread the columns of her thighs to reveal her slick pussy beneath a neatly trimmed landing strip. Wilbur didn't need to be told twice. He stood up so quickly that he almost fell over. He had forgotten that his trousers were still down around his ankles. From his point of view it wouldn't have been the worst thing that could have happened. He would have landed face first on her plush pontoons. But, he recovered his balance quickly, dropped to his knees, and dove, tongue first, into her wet gash.

He loved eating pussy and the fact that this pussy was attached to a woman this gorgeous was a wet dream come true. He licked. He sucked. He nibbled. He rammed two fingers in and out of her hot twat. He moved his thumb down to tickle the rosebud of her magnificent ass while he did so.

"He may have a tiny dick," Agnes thought,

"but, damn, can this guy eat pussy!"

She wanted to reach down to grab his head and mash it into her cunt like she did with the pool boy. But, she knew that she had to play this guy carefully. She wasn't sure how far she could push him. Instead she grabbed her big tits and started tweaking her nipples. That combined with what Wilbur was doing down below was enough to push her over the edge. She bit her lip so that she wouldn't scream as she came. Her wide, inviting, fuck-me-all-night hips bucked up into the man's face. Her slurped up her juices happily.

As her orgasm subsided she pushed his head away from her vagina and said softly, "Your turn."

Wilbur scrambled back up into his chair. He was harder than he'd ever been. He was pretty sure that all he needed to do was stare at that amazing pair of gazongas for another thirty seconds to start shooting jizz all over his office.

Once again Agnes encased his dick between voluminous tits. The moment her flesh made contact with his Wilbur's hips began to buck like a jackhammer. He fucked her funbags like a man possessed. At that moment he didn't care about the audit. He didn't care about the trouble he might be in for it. He was as lost in the moment as his tiny dick was lost in Agnes Walker's cavernous cleavage. Nothing in the world existed but the feeling of plowing his stick in and out of her hot, pliant flesh.

"That's it, baby," Agnes cooed, "fuck my tits. Cum all over them"

Wilbur moaned and obeyed. His jizz shot up out from between the deep, soft crevasse of her tits. He shot rope after rope of hot juice all over tits, chin, and face. It surprised the hell out of both of them. Neither of them could have imagined that he had that much semen stored up in his itty bitty balls.

When he finally stopped shooting Agnes stood up, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on Wilbur's desk, and started wiping the jizz off of her tits and face.

Wilbur watched her intently as she cleaned up.

"I can't keep this up, you know," he said.

Agnes smirked and said, "You kept it up long enough."

"I don't mean that," he whined, "I mean the audit. Somebody's going to get wise if we keep this going too much longer."

Agnes didn't answer him right away. When she had finished dressing and fixing her makeup she leaned over his chair so that her twin mountains of skin were right in his face.

"Don't worry so much, baby," she whispered, "In another couple of days it will be all over. I should have everything wrapped up by Tuesday afternoon."

Then she stood up and headed to the door. Wilbur's eyes were glued to the round spheres of her magnificent ass as she swiveled out of his office.

"I'm screwed," he thought glumly.

Chapter 8

As Harry walked slowly back to his office after talking to his partner he started listing in his head the things he needed to do to expose Olivia Freemont's scam, or, at least, make it go away.

"We should create a still of Olivia from the video made in my office," he thought, "and send it to Ed Slate."

Ed Slate was an investigator whose services Harry had used from time to time. He was reliable, accurate, and relatively inexpensive. That made him perfect for almost anything that Harry needed.

"Ed can probably track down some kind of background on this con artist," he thought.

As he entered his outer office he saw Gloria beaming at him. Since the encounter with Olivia had ended she felt that she could relax, had taken off the blue blazer, and had undone the top two buttons on her blouse revealing a generous amount of cleavage. She was holding out a manila folder to Harry which made the material of her blouse stretch tightly across her conical, 38D tits.

Harry took the offered folder.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Accounting sent it over," said Gloria, "It's probably something about the audit."

Harry looked at the folder grimly and grumbled, "Crap! If it's not one thing it's another around here lately." Then he held up the folder and said, "I'll deal with this later. Right now I need you to..."

"...isolate a still of Ms. Freemont from the video," Gloria finished his sentence for him, "and e-mail it to Ed Slate. I've already done that. Believe it or not he's already answered us. He copied us both on his response."

Harry grinned and chuckled, "I can always count on you to be two steps ahead of me, Gloria. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Do you want me to get him on the phone?" Gloria asked.

"Good idea," said Harry. "Do that and I'll go open that e-mail. When you've got Ed on the phone come into the office. I'll put him on speaker. We should both hear what he has to say."

"Will do," said Gloria as her boss walked into his office.

She smiled as he walked away. Gloria was always ready and willing to do almost anything the Harry asked of her. In the five years that she had worked for him she had come to know him well. She had a pretty good idea of what he was likely to do in most situations, even, as with Olivia Freemont, if it was a situation that neither of them had ever been in.

Bridgette Weldon, Gloria's predecessor as Harry's Administrative Assistant and the current Assistant Manager of Marketing once asked Gloria when she was finally going to land Harry and get him to the alter.

"I don't want to 'land' him," Gloria had answered. "I like my life and my freedom just like Harry likes his."

"Really?" Bridgette had asked skeptically, "I'll bet you'd nail him down if you could."

"No!" said Gloria defiantly. "Besides, it would be pointless. He already has a wife and family."

"What are you talking about?" Bridgette had asked incredulously. "Harry's not married!"

"In a way he is," said Gloria, "His wife's name is Artpico and his family is the people who work here."

That had stopped Bridgette cold. The more she thought about it the more she realized that, after a fashion, Gloria was right.

Harry Brinkton was unlike any man either woman had ever met, certainly unlike any previous employer either had ever had. He cared about the company, but her cared more deeply about the people who worked there. Artpico was in a huge, oblong one story building on the east edge of town. On the north end of the building was the loading dock which lead directly into the factory. On the south end of the building were the offices. Each had its own parking lot. Harry only parked in the office lot if he was in a hurry. Ordinarily he would park in the lot on the north end of the building. He'd come in through the loading dock entrance and walk through the factory to get to his office. On the way he would greet and shake hands with many of the people who worked there. He knew well over half of them by name and almost all of them by sight. He would stop, chat a bit. He would ask them about their lives and their families. If someone had a problem he would do his best to help them solve it.

Like many factories there was a suggestion box near the break room. Unlike most factories Harry actually read and considered what his employees put in there. If it was a technical issue he would pass it on to Bill. If it was a personnel or personal issue he would deal with it himself, or, if he wasn't sure what exactly to do, find someone else who could deal with it.

When he found out, for example, that Wanda's ex-husband was beating the snot out of her and that she and her son were living in a shelter for battered women Harry had helped her find an apartment. He also arranged for a lawyer so that she could divorce the bastard. Neither Gloria nor Bridgette could ever prove it, but they were pretty sure that Harry had paid for the attorney out of his own pocket.

"All right," Bridgette said after a long silence, "You've got a point. But, that doesn't change what I said."

"What do you mean?" Gloria asked.

"I'll admit," said Bridgette, "that when I had your job I had one hell of a crush on Harry. For the first month or so that I worked here I did everything I could to seduce him."

"And did you?" Gloria asked.

"Girl," said Bridgette with a sly grin, "we're talking about Harry Brinkton, here."

Gloria laughed and said, "You're right. Silly question." Then Gloria looked at Bridgette and asked earnestly, "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

"You mean more personal than we're already being?" Bridgette answered.

"Good point," said Gloria with a smile. "did Harry ever do that thing to you with his tongue?"

"You mean," said Bridgette with a wicked smirk, "when he spells out the alphabet on your clit?"

"Yes, that. It's incredible."

"Who do you think taught him that trick?"

"Ooooh!" said Gloria with a giggle, "I owe you a big thank you. That's just amazing."

"He's still the only man I've ever been with who has gotten it right," said Bridgette.

"Doesn't your husband do that?"

"Not as well as Harry. Don't get me wrong. I love Bob and the kids more than life itself. But, sex with Harry was," Bridgette paused, struggling for exactly the right phrase, "a one of a kind experience."

"I can't argue with that," said Gloria with a smile.

"And it still doesn't change," Bridgette said forcefully, "what I said earlier."

"What are you talking about?" asked Gloria.

"Gloria," said Bridgette seriously, "I've seen the way your eyes light up when he walks into the room. That's not the look of a girl with a crush. That's not loyalty to a boss. That's the look of a woman in love."

"I am not!" said Gloria defensively, "You stop that!"

"Oh, admit it," said Bridgette, "You are head over heels, knock down drag out, hopelessly in love with Harry Brinkton."

"Stop it," said Gloria, blushing a little.

"You are."

"No."

"All right," said Bridgette smugly, "prove it. Look me straight in the eye and say 'I am not in love with Harry Brinkton'. If you can do that I'll believe you."

Gloria raised her eyes to meet Bridgette's and said in a tiny voice, "I am not..." Gloria took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and started again. "I am not..." She opened her eyes and said angrily, "Just stop it right now."

The look in Bridgette's eye softened as she said, "Listen. You may be the one woman who can actually reel him in. But, you won't be able to do that until you admit to yourself that you love him." Then she gave Gloria a hug and walked away.

Gloria looked back down at her paperwork, but she didn't really see it.

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