The Actuary Couldn't Figure

There are some women who dress elegantly and look the Red Carpet part when they attend a black tie affair. That is, they fit perfectly into the night. They are beautiful, sexy and, well, perfect.

Others are more at home being trashy, dressing down for the occasion. Their skirts are short, blouses low cut. These are the kind of women who are at home in a local tavern, where every movement is watched with anticipation by all the males, and some of the females present.

Then there are women who, as my Uncle Bill used to say, "looked smart".

He'd take me to the local park at lunchtime when I would visit him at work. While we were together, at least a couple times on the break, he's say "she looks smart" or "she's smart looking."

It wasn't until a party at our house when I was home from college that he explained what he really meant by the term "smart".

"It's not about a woman's brain, I just say smart because that makes everyone believe I am talking about a woman's mind," explained the man. "No, when I say smart it's because the woman looks mighty fine, carries herself well, and gets you hot in the loins. I guess I could say something like she's a looker, but that would get everyone up in arms. So I just say she's smart."

Like the ZZ Top song about a smart dressed man, when my uncle spoke about a women who was smartly dressed it meant she was not only hot but beyond that. She'd have a certain flair and sexiness about her no matter what she was wearing, whether it was a man's shirt, down home jeans or an expensive gown.

Stephanie McCann looked smart.

My uncle's words came to mind the first time the Head Actuary on our business account came into the office. She was pretty, sure, but she wasn't elegant or trashy. Rather, she was a perfect specimen of womanhood, a beautiful woman who looked the part of an executive in her suit.

I didn't have much interaction with her at first, but after a while my boss pawned her off on me. He didn't want to be bothered with all the basic numbers, only that they were right and reported on time. Stephanie's firm worked on a number of our health plans, the pricing of them, and also our pension plans. These were more than a hundred million dollars in cost, expense and value, and as a partner with the firm Stephanie had ultimate responsibility of the numbers being right.

She had made partner the year before, and ours was her first case in that role. She had consulted with several other firms, gradually working up the ladder, so that now, at age 35, she was one of the youngest partners in her firm. Many of us thought she slept her way to the top, but that was unfair as the woman was clearly brilliant. Not just competent, she was an expert with the numbers.

I once saw her stocking tops sneaking out from under her dress, a mistake on her part but a vision that came to me many times late at night when I thought about doing her in all kinds of compromising positions. She was so very beautiful, so very unattainable, so very exciting.

Over the weeks we worked together, part-time really as she was only in the building a few times a month leaving her minions to do much of the heavy lifting, Stephanie came to rely on my advice and instinct. I was able to cut through some of the corporate bullshit, making her job a whole lot easier to do.

We became friends, with her telling me about her husband, her likes and dislikes.

The pretty woman had the world on a string.

That is, until the valuation of our health plan.

Look, mistakes happen. They happen in every job. But when you are in charge of a multimillion dollar account, making an error the kind Stephanie and her team did was career suicide.

I won't bore you with all the details. Hell, it's all mumbo, jumbo math equations and Actuarial tables and life expectancies and...enough.

The point is that late Friday night I heard her crying in the office we loaned her.

The door was closed, but I could hear the whimpers nonetheless.

It was late, nobody else was around, and I had merely stopped back to the office to pick up some items I had inadvertently left behind in my haste to leave.

Knocking at the door, I wondered whether I was intruding. There was silence beyond, then the door opened. Stephanie had a make believe smile on her face but the running mascara belied her attempt to mask things.

"Are you alright, Stephanie?"

The pretty woman looked at me, shaking her head no.

"I'm a good listener."

She mumbled something about me not being able to understand, but reluctantly led me into her office.

We spoke for a while, odds and ends kind of things, before she admitted the problem. She had made a mistake, a huge mistake, on the prior year's work. Not some simple, hide it under the rub, fix it now kind of thing, but a major career ending kind of mistake. The kind of mistake that causes financial reports to be restated, shareholders to revolt, and management aflame.

Apparently she accidentally uncovered the problem and had been working diligently over the last couple weeks to isolate it and make sure it wouldn't happen again. She had interviewed associates, managers with the firm and company executives as well, all in the guise of a simple look back at how things went.

It was serious. She briefed her boss of her concerns. The man went ballistic, knowing that such a mistake would cost the firm its reputation and a significant client, to say nothing of his own humongous annual bonus. He shouted at her to get to the bottom of the mess my the following week, find a weasel way out, and promised that if it was as bad as it could be, she would be sacked in disgrace.

"I'll never get another job, I will lose my license," cried the woman.

I listened, consoled her, and then asked the obvious question. "How could this happen, Stephanie?"

Over the next two hours she explained what she knew. On one hand, the mistake didn't really cost the "real" company dollars. It all had to do with expectancies, projections and variables. But on the other, given the regulatory nature of our industry, it would require a complete restatement of financial results. That restatement would undoubtedly have a negative effect on the stock price, cost the shareholders millions and management their jobs.

There was a lot on the line here.

This was awful. There would be major repercussions. Probably even a guy like me would have his job at risk. It was that serious.

The more we spoke about the problem, the more a gem of an idea came my way. Look, I'm all for corporate governance and protecting the financial statements and all that, but I am also a realist. If it really didn't effect true financial result and was only a figment of the Actuarial world, why couldn't something be worked out.

Having worked with much of the front end data cleansing on the initial project, I had a good idea of the overall scope of things. I might not have a clue of what the numbers really meant, but I did know a thing or two about the numbers. That's what I do as an efficiency expert in IT.

We left the office that night, me telling her everything would work out, with a promise of getting back together the following morning to go over the reports from soup to nuts, attempting to find a way to satisfy the management team and the government.

The solution came to me at 3 a.m., startling me awake. I don't really know if I was dreaming, or if I was laying there thinking of the problem, or what. All I knew was that an idea hit me. That led me to the computer, where I started running illustrations and reports that, by 5 a.m., had the basis of hope.

I fell back to sleep, struggling out of bed at 9. I stumbled into the office at 10 where I found Stephanie poring over documents. She was in a little better shape this morning, not a lot better, but better.

"Good morning, Rob, or should I say good afternoon," was her best attempt at levity. "It's nice to see I can count on you with my ass on the line."

I smiled at the woman. I not only thought about numbers overnight, but also that pretty ass.

With a leer, I replied. "Your ass is on the line? Wow. I hope I can be on the receiving end of any giving of that pretty behind."

The woman backed up in shock. Then she smiled and shook her head. "I might have to sell my ass to make ends meet after the Board gets through with me," said the woman. "I will never work again in the field, and the embarrassment would make me an outcast. Damn, I wish there was a way out of this but I can't think of a thing. I think this is really a major fuck up that can't be fixed. And it's so stupid because if I hadn't brought up the issue at all I don't think anyone would have ever known. In a couple years it would have all balanced out."

It was now or never.

"What if there was a way to make this right? What if it could be blamed on a computer mistake, something that could not be traced and that, in a couple years, would indeed all balance out on all the books? Clean and clear."

Stephanie looked at me, surprised and excited.

"I'd be forever thankful," said the woman.

Nodding my head, I told her I knew that. "But I would be putting my ass on the line here, Stephanie, if this little escapade was uncovered I not only would be fired but I'd end up in jail. The government doesn't take kindly to these kinds of things. There are guys in Club Fed who thought they could manipulate the numbers."

I paused for effect.

"Would you be willing to put your ass on the line for a solution?"

There, I said it. I threw the offer on the table. I asked a married woman for a little a quid pro quo, a little ass for a pass on the problem. I couldn't believe I said what I had said, I was such a cad. I was attempting to take advantage of a woman in the depths of despair.

Stephanie, the Actuary, started calculating the options in her head. "Get out. Get out, you bastard."

Hum, I think that was a no. And it was such a devious plan, too.

I walked to my desk, wondering that the next call I received would be from HR or my boss talking about sexual harassment or something. Time stood still as I wondered how big a mistake I made.

Right before lunch my phone rang. It was Stephanie's line calling.

"Rob, you suddenly seem to be a bastard and a genius at the same time. I am really in a hard spot here. My career is on the line. Are you saying if I, uh, put out, you will get me out of this problem?"

"Yes."

"But I am married."

"Yes, I know."

"There must be another way."

I let her know that I only knew of one way.

"You are trying to make me a whore."

"I am attempting to provide a service. Think of me as a mechanic, I am going to fix your problem. Make everything right. Clean up the mess. Don't you think I should be compensated for such difficult work? Or, if you had a pain and went to the doctor and he fixed you up good as new. You'd be happy to pay the price, right?"

I liked that analogy. "Suppose you had a dreaded disease, cancer. He was a special doctor, who had the cure. But only for his price...would you pay it?"

I hung up the phone and strode to her office, closing the door behind me. Stephanie looked at me as if I was crazy. On one hand, she sort of nodded her head, like she heard what I was saying and understood. But on the other I believe she was in shock.

She stood, walked around behind her desk and then reached out and held the top of her chair, looking at the papers on her desk. I stood there, expecting her to explode. But she dismissively said she'd get back to me.

I wasn't sure what to think.

My mind was jumbled with the possibilities. What started, I thought, as a good idea was quickly turning into a potential nightmare. I waited, worried and waited some more. At lunchtime she called me into her office and firmly directed me to shut the door.

She stared at me. It was if she was attempting to read my intentions. I stared back. Stephanie broke the ice. "So how about if I pay you. Name your price."

I told her I did want significant payment, but it wasn't money. It was payment in kind. It was her ass.

"You mean, have sex with me?"

"Sounds as if you are recording me."

She said she wasn't, but that didn't expel the worry from my mind.

"What do you want?"

"Let me spell it out for you. I will want to have sex with you, yes, but I especially want your ass. I want to fuck it." I paused for a little effect, and then continued. "The good old in and out, a real ass fuck. Period. No negotiation. And I want you to like it."

I swear her jaw dropped. The look on her face was one of dismay and disbelief.

"But I have never done that," she stammered. "I couldn't."

Now that's the spirit, she's actually thinking about this.

I stood there, gazing at her as she looked at the ground. Finally I broke the silence.

"All the better. Look, you don't have a choice here, Stephanie. There aren't other options. I mean, you can just let things happen, get fired, and be blackballed from the industry. You will live with the disgrace, I guess. Do people's taxes or something. Or, you can play ball my way."

She wanted time to think it over. I told her time wasn't something she had. "I think right now would be the time to make a decision. It's going to take me time to get this all done, to fix the problem, to save your job and professional reputation.

This wasn't an easy thing for Stephanie to consider. She started crying, begging for another way out.

I ignored her.

The battle of wills took only about 10 minutes.

"It won't be detected? The solution I mean?"

I told her I didn't think so, I thought I could protect the project, deflect all concerns and make things right. I could do it quickly, it would be blamed on a computer malfunction, and that it would be fixed by Monday afternoon in time for her meeting with her boss.

"Okay, Rob, I don't want this but I have to do it. I don't have a choice, do I? I agree."

Smiling, I told her a blow job would seal the deal.

"You didn't say anything about, uh, a blow job."

"Consider it a down payment. The final payment can happen any time over the next year, at your convenience so to speak. Remember I will always have the key to turn you in, but I won't use that key unless you don't comply with my demands. That's the deal."

I stood up, leaned against her desk, and unzipped my fly. I reached into my pants, adjusting things, but didn't pull out Mr. Happy.

"Now, as I was saying...."

Stephanie moved as if in a trance. She stood from her cushy seat, smoothed down her skirt. She walked to her office door, locking it.

Looking into my eyes, then my crotch, she walked toward me.

Balancing on her desk as she got down on her haunches and then reached out to grasp my manhood. She wormed her way around my underwear, grasping my cock and bringing it out for air.

"On your knees, Stephanie, that would be better for me."

Onto her knees she went, looking up at me as if asking if this pose was better. It was, and my dick throbbed to her touch. I was so glad I hadn't jerked off the night before.

"Rub me on your face, your pretty face, Stephanie."

If looks could kill I'd be six feet under. Instead, I was standing above the pretty woman as she rubbed my bulging cock on and about her face. She did it for a bit, maybe 30 seconds, and then concentrated on the task in her hand.

The woman opened her mouth and began licking my cock, starting right down the shaft but ending up underneath and at my balls. That surprised me, because I thought she'd merely start sucking to get it over with. But she licked my cock for more than a minute before opening her mouth and wrapping her lips around my horny cock.

She worked her lips slowly down my shaft, taking in about three inches of cock meat before starting back toward the tip. She repeated the action several times before reaching up and grasping the base of my cock with her hand. There she was, the unapproachable married woman, sucking on my wang like a high school blow job queen on a date with the football quarterback.

I basked in the sensations, loving each and every lick and suck on my cock. She worked the dick like a pro and I couldn't help thinking about how lucky her husband must be to have these lips at his beck and call. She looked so beautiful, in her own world.

Her eyes were closed but she instinctively knew her way around a cock. The experienced combination of mouth and tongue quickly took me to the edge and soon I was spunking a copious load of man sauce into her wet and willing mouth.

Stephanie tried to pull off my dick when I came, but my hands holding her head made sure her mouth stayed active on my dick. She had to swallow or choke, and swallowing won out.

I left my dick in her mouth until it was fully spent. Slipping it out I rubbed it on her face before tucking it back into my pants.

"It's time for me to get to work, Stephanie. I have a big problem to solve."

* * * * * *

The rest of the day was spent working on the problem. It wasn't as easy as I had thought, but my midnight Sunday the deed was complete. The problem was solved and only the person with the magic key --- me --- knew anything about how it was worked out. Stephanie didn't need to know the details, only that the problem was solved.

On Monday morning I gave her chapter and verse about a yarn of a computer malfunction, of how the numbers were tied out just as she had expected. About how she could show her boss all was well, that her concern was merely a false alarm.

Monday night she returned from her meeting with her boss with a big smile.

"He's fine with the work, he complimented me at bringing the potential problem to his attention but was euphoric about it being much ado about nothing."

We parted ways that night with her thanking me, but also with me reminding her that there was a certain payment required. She nodded and said she'd work something out.

Thinking back, I believe she hoped the blow job would be the end of things, but she realized she was over the barrel. She agreed to the weekend. I did what I was supposed to do. She might not like it but she knew I held the winning hand.

It's funny, but over the next couple months neither of us mentioned the rest of the deal. She was working on her timeframe, I guess, but I didn't pressure her. Every so often she said my day was coming. Every once in a while I had to remind her of our deal, and convinced her that her interest payment was a blow job.

Twice I was able to have her munch my dick in her office. I have to tell you, it was quite erotic to have the married woman on her knees sucking me off like a wanton slut when in fact she was a powerful executive.

Watching her in the act was exquisite. Once I convinced her she needed to keep paying on the debt she got into the act, almost as if she had no choice. I think that once she had the feeling she absolutely had to perform for me, she did it. It was almost as if she was relieved of any responsibility for her actions.

I loved watching her blow me. The one time she knelt in front of her office chair with me in it. That was really good, as when we were really into it I could rock back and forth into her mouth. On that occasion my cum built up for several minutes before I pulled out and shot several copious volleys of man sauce that coated her face.

She looked lovely.

The other time was a quickie that couldn't have lasted more than three minutes. On this occasion I lifted her skirt and played with her ass while she was blowing me. That marvelous sensation alone brought the cum up my tube and into her busy pretty mouth.

It was actually quite erotic to have the hold over the woman.

One marvelous blow job occurred quite by chance. I ran into Stephanie heading into a local coffee shop. She was on her way shopping, I was on my way home from golf. I asked when we'd be sealing our deal and she blanched at the thought.