Grand Slam Homer

However, since I'd already learned from Maureen this morning that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, that Diane Weston apparently DID already know our little carnal secret, I figured, "What the hell". Besides, I wanted to find out just what Liz had told Diane.

"I know, I know, I'm falling on my sword, pretty lady, I've been a bad boy. But it hasn't been from not wanting to talk to you, I've just been very busy." That sure wasn't a lie, just look at my morning.

"Well, then, just how do you plan to make it up to me?" Liz mockingly pouted, her tone lightening palpably.

"Well, funny you should ask. If you don't have any lunch plans and can get away from the Wicked Witch of the Beltway for a hour, I was thinking of a nice, picnic lunch. I know just the spot. What do you say, gorgeous?"

Shortly after noon, I was fiercely jack-hammering my cock into Liz Woodson's young, nubile cunt as she braced her weight against a tree in an isolated area of Great Falls Park and soon fired yet another shot of cum all over her backside, glazing her skin with the creamy, milky load, though a lot less voluminous than loads one and two from earlier in the day. We stopped for a pack of peanut butter crackers and a Vitamin Water at Seven-Eleven to authenticate our lunch date, with the promise of a pending dinner date. Soon. I promise. Besides, in all the frenzy of an abbreviated lunch-hour fuck, I'd forgotten to ask Liz just what she'd told her boss about us. Damn.

I dropped Liz off so that we wouldn't be seen walking into the office together, and while parking my car, I saw Diane Weston and Maureen Stanton, my first lover of this busy day, walking towards Diane's car, obviously going to lunch, giggling like conspiratorial schoolgirls when they saw Liz scurrying into the office, her dress wrinkled and her auburn hair still slightly askew. It wasn't either of the older womens' first rodeos, they knew the look of a just-fucked young woman when they saw it.

As I walked into my office, I realized that it was barely past one o'clock in the afternoon, and three women within several hundred feet of my desk were wearing my cum on various parts of their bodies or within their orifices. I was basking in this revelation arrogantly while again skimming my e-mails when a recent one stopped my heartbeat cold.

It was from Diane Weston, and the heading was "Meeting Request". As Astro Jetson used to say, "Ruh, roh, Rorge."

I admit that my fingers trembled a bit as I hit the mouse. "If you could make yourself available, I'd like to see you in my office at six o'clock, after the budget meetings this afternoon."

"Consider it urgent. Thank you in advance."

My face was flushed with a mixture of mortification and fear for job security. It was well known that Diane had been sleeping with James McAllen, the company's chairman and founder, for years, and she could make or break careers within our company. I figured I had crossed that always fragile tightrope between personal promiscuity and professional foolishness by fucking her assistant, and now I might pay for it with my job.

Just then, Sue Trask poked her head into my office, and the rest of her sensational body magically followed. Out of all of the wantonly frisky women in this 'Little WhoreHouse' disguised as a real estate company, Sue Trask was one of the very few who seemed exempt from any and all arbitrary sexual licentiousness. She prided herself on being the consummate industry leasing professional, and seemed oblivious to the fact that she was lusted after by virtually every male within eyesight, due to her uncanny resemblance to Courtney Cox, at least from my humble perspective.

Even though she had been divorced within the past few years, she never socialized outside of the office, and I had long ago relegated her to fantasy-status only. It was common knowledge that she had shot down more hostile enemy approaches than a tail gunner in a World War Two B-24 fighter plane.

"Hey, John," she frowned, noticing my discomfort, sticking her tits against the door jamb. Lucky door jamb, I thought. "Everything ok?"

I quickly gathered my wits in a valiant effort to try to remain unflappable. "Oh, um, yeah, sure, Sue. Hi, how are you?" I smiled as best I could despite my dismay. "What can I do for you?" I realized this may have been the first time that Sue Trask had ever stopped by my office.

She smiled a megawatt smile that would melt a glacier. "Oh, no, please don't," I pleaded silently to my cock. Down, boy, haven't you had enough?

What she said next surprised me on a few levels. This was turning out to be quite a day of surprises, both pleasant and otherwise.

"I checked the office travel calendar with Janet, and she tells me you're booked to go to Seattle on Monday and will be staying at the Marriott Sea-Tac, is that right? Are you still going?"

As office manager, Janet Smith was indeed responsible for booking everyones' corporate travel, but I found it strange that Janet would relinquish such info to Sue. Even more puzzling was why would Sue want to know in the first place?

"Uh, yeah, Sue, I am." I quickly thought about my upcoming appointment with Diane Weston. "That is, unless something unexpected comes up, that is."

Sue looked at me quizzically, but then her face brightened. "Well, if I can entice you to go through with your original plans, I've asked Janet to book me on the same flight and get a room for me at the Marriott also. We're looking at buying a shopping center down in Kelso, and I was hoping you could go down on me, uh, for me so we could do a property review together?"

I looked at Sue, trying to determine if her Freudian slip was intentional, among other things. This just couldn't be happening. Not with Sue Trask. Even if Diane did have me fired today, I quickly calculated that I was going to Seattle one way of the other, employed or not.

I looked right in Sue's blazing blue-green eyes as she curled a wisp of raven hair from her temple. "I'll be more than happy to help you anyway I can, Sue. I'd love to go down there with you." My eyes shifted to her crotch, the double-entendre was not subtle, but I wanted to see if we were on the same wavelength.

We were.

She softly squealed with glee in her cute Virginia drawl, causing MY south to rise again. "Wonderful, I'll buy the coffee at Starbucks in the terminal. See you bright and early Monday morning at Dulles." She twirled on her heels and left me at my desk with a gaping jaw.

She did a double-back into my office quickly. "And, oh, yes, if you see to it that nothing unexpected does come up to alter our plans, I'll make sure that something WILL come up during our trip." She winked at me. "I'll tell you one thing, though, I do hate those small rooms at that Marriott. They're so cramped they remind me of Gus' office, and we know it's tough to concentrate on work in there, isn't it, John?"

I stared at her in disbelief. Had anyone here ever heard of "Don't kiss and tell?"

Sue had one more parting shot. "Although, Janet tells me there's rumors of expansion plans for Gus' office, and she attended a meeting down there this morning and she took some measurements, and it sounds like everything will fit just fine, although it may be a wee bit snug."

"See ya Monday, John, rest up, OK?"

I stumbled and bumbled through the interminably long and tedious budget meetings (just why are there so MANY fucking budget meetings in every company, anyway? It's a budget, it's a fucking GUESS!!!!) , doing my best to give the impression I was prepared or interested, though my only thoughts were on the upcoming six o'clock meeting with Diane and my anticipated professional death march.

Then, suddenly, as the meetings were beginning to 'wrap up', as the meeting coordinators like to say so that they sound like we actually accomplished something, a light bulb went on inside of my often dim head. A revelation as it were, selective memory kicking it at a most opportune time.

I remembered something Laurie Mason said to me a few months ago, something about some potential improprieties in expense reports that she had come across, almost by accident. As the assistant to the CFO, all of the expense reports and stock purchases came across Laurie's desk eventually, both for cross-checking purposes, and ultimately for electronic filing in the archives. At the time, I was recovering from an explosive orgasm after a rousing session with Laurie (she DID give great head), and was only vaguely listening, as most guys do during post-sex pillow talk.

Now, however, I needed to verify that my memory was indeed accurate. What was that name she had told me about? Scott Johnson? Yes, that was it. Scott Johnson. My potential 'get out of jail free' card. Thanks, Scott, whoever the fuck you are. You may have just saved my ass.

I made a trip down to Laurie's cubicle and had to humbly fall on my sword so that Laurie could grasp the gravity of the situation in which I had placed myself. She sighed and made some comments about "thinking with the little head, as always", but didn't hesitate to lend her help, with another ultimatum as the caveat.

This time, I was in no position to barter and happily agreed to her terms, which truthfully, were very favorable. She could have made my life even more miserable, she had me by the short hairs, yet she came through, and for that, my eternal gratitude would be proffered. I was due in Diane's office within ten minutes. Laurie made a few clicks of the mouse, hit the 'print' key, and a few copies churned out, which to me, were solid gold.

I kissed Laurie on the cheek as she wagged a manicured finger at me menacingly. "Don't forget our deal, John." I would not be so foolish this time.

I walked briskly down the hall to Diane's plush office, confident, but being careful not to be smug. This still had the very real potential of blowing up in my face if I did not play my cards correctly.

Liz had already gone for the day, she was not at her station outside of Diane's office, and I again mentally kicked myself for not remembering to ask her what information she had relinquished to Diane about our own recent rendezvous. Funny how fucking a hot twenty-three-year-old against a tree on your lunch break can cause a severe case of 'above-the-shoulders amnesia'.

I knocked on Diane's door briskly, and heard her sharp retort to enter. I opened the door and found Diane lounging on her couch, her own long legs crossed inside of a beautiful silk dress. I had to admit, she was quite a striking woman for her age, and in another setting, if she weren't such a blatantly cutthroat corporate cunt, I would have loved to bang that cougar ass of hers.

Diane was fifty-one years old, according to the bio in our Annual Report. We were a publicly-held company, a REIT (Real Estate Investment Trust), and as such, we reported ultimately to investors and Wall Street. The annual report stated that Diane held approximately fourteen thousand shares of the company's stock as a corporate officer, which added up to almost two million dollars at the current stock price.

Diane's resume was singularly unimpressive prior to joining McAllen-Gray in the late nineties. It was widely rumored that her only qualifications for the position was being the now aging Jim McAllens' mistress for the better part of two decades. McAllen was in his seventies now, in failing health, and there was going to be a power struggle at the top if and when he stepped down or was forced out by the Board of Directors.

It just so happened that a certain Scott Johnson, a local playboy marketing consultant of dubious professional acclaim, had been recently appointed to the Board of Directors, and was elected almost solely on the fervent recommendation of one Ms. Diane Weston, who had successfully utilized her charms and backroom negotiating skills to see that her chosen candidate landed on the Board.

Almost more out of boredom than curiosity, I had done a little research on my office computer on Scott Johnson after the announcement was made public, and completely by accident, had happened across an old blurb on "Google" that he had been involved in two separate ethical scandals as an Officer in Real Estate trusts in the past, but both of these companies were overseas, one in France, and one in Asia.

I didn't realize it at the time, but Janet Smith, as the Office Manager, was also the office snitch. She not only had a pipeline directly to the ears of Diane, but she and Diane also were sharing the carnal talents of Mr. Johnson. This was not to my benefit when Janet had secretly monitored and raided my in-house computer activities. She had subsequently reported to Diane that I might have some information that may ultimately prove damaging to the plot for Diane and Scott to ultimately gain control of the company, a feat which would be worth untold fortunes to the two of them. Of course, Janet Smith would be promoted and compensated handsomely for her role as their electronic guard dog, so to speak.

How did I know this? Because it all came out in the Federal Indictment of the Insider Trader scandal that ultimately resulted in the prosecution of Diane Weston and Scott Johnson for securities fraud, the resignations of James McAllen and his Chief Financial Officer, and the dismissal of Janet Smith.

You see, Janet was set up by Diane and Scott to seduce me, and when her panties were found in Gus' desk drawer, Diane had received consent from Phil, the Human Resource flunky, to fire me for having sex in the workplace, a 'dismissible' offense found in any Employee handbook.

Except, Laurie Mason had provided me with documents showing that Scott Johnson not only accompanied Diane Weston on EVERY business trip that she had made in the last ten months, but also that Diane had approved reimbursable that tripled Scott's actual expenditures on such trips. These invoices were ultimately approved by Laurie's boss, who rather sloppily let them fall into Laurie's diligent review.

Worse, at least as far as Diane and Scott were concerned, it was discovered by the Feds that Scott Johnson had made a sizeable stock purchase on the eve of our big merger with New Century Enterprises which raised our stock prices exponentially the next day when the merger was consummated. And, lo and behold, after her OWN computer was raided and confiscated by the Feds for evidence, well, wouldn't ya know it, that confidential information was provided to Mr. Johnson by Ms. Weston.

Hence, a Federal prosecution under several counts of fraud, and the tumble of corporate dominos. How about that?

Due to the circumstances that week, I never did get to make that particular trip to Seattle with Sue Trask, and that is indeed lamentable. But I compose this story as the recently appointed Vice President of Operations for the newly resuscitated entity, New Century Enterprises. Laurie Mason is my executive assistant, and we are now an exclusive couple. Well, for the sake of accuracy, perhaps I should say an open-minded, exclusive couple.

As when we share our bodies, which we do rather regularly, with our Director of Marketing, Liz Woodson, the youngest Marketing VP in the industry. And Laurie swears she has the best tongue on the planet.

Maureen Stanton is our new Head of Leasing. She recently separated from her husband after having a torrid affair with my good buddy, Paul, and they are now living together. Maureen's become quite the lover of anal, and she just loves to be DP'd by Paul and me while Laurie licks that tight twat of hers.

And we were all invited this past weekend to a celebratory party at the mansion of our new company president, Sue Trask. Just the six of us, Sue, Laurie, Maureen, Liz, Paul, and myself.

But that's to be another story. And a damn good one.

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