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.