Henry McLeod's Exploits Pt. 02

FRIDAY MORNING/LUNCH

My alarm blares at 5 a.m. I groan, heaving my powerful form to a sitting position. My army days taught me that waking up early and exercising is the best way to begin a day, but it never quite feels that way when the bed is beckoning. Still, my future self will value the effort more than my present self abhors waking up. Discipline. It's what makes me a winner. 

I move down the hall to my home office/gym. I hop on the treadmill as I watch the news, cranking out five miles in less than thirty-five minutes. Then, I do a circuit of pushups, pull ups, air squats, and jump ropes. Finally, I spend half an hour stretching as I watch a video of myself fucking. The video is from my time in Afghanistan, and the hole I'm drilling belongs to one of my eighteen-year-old soldiers. Private Mills had a slender, twink body and loved to dress up in frilly outfits for me while I railed him. I'm mostly into women, but I have no qualms using a male hole in a pinch. I had a few burka-clad fucktoys in the village outside of our forward operating base, but if ever wanted to unload when we were inside the wire, I had Private Mills get himself dolled up and meet me in my quarters. I complete my stretches just as the version of me on video is unloading cum all over Private Mill's face. In makeup and a wig, he passed as quite femme. Few sissies could say the same. It makes me consider reaching out to reconnect. 

I shower and shave, then put on a suit for the day. Like all my clothes, it's expensive. There's no point in saving money in a materialistic, status-driven world. So, when I exit my apartment, I do so wearing roughly thirty thousand dollars' worth of clothes, shoes, and accessories. My watch alone cost more than Keisha's car. 

Jenny is waiting at the elevator as I enter the offices of Nguyen, Meyer, and Kowalski. She hands me a coffee, offering me her brightest, most hopeful smile. 

"Good morning, Mr. McLeod," she says. She pushes her chest out a bit, trying to draw my attention. She's wearing a tight blouse and an even tighter skirt, her body on full display for me. When she first started working for me, her business attire was all professionalism and no sex appeal. Now, however, that balance has shifted. I'm sure many people around the office talk about how provocatively she dresses. The fact that it's all for my benefit is a thrill. To reward her for dressing so sensually, I give her a polite glance at her cleavage, and she beams. She really is pretty despite being a bit heftier. When I do finally let her take my cock, I know it won't be a mere pleasantry. I'll legitimately enjoy it. 

"Morning, Jenny. You look nice. Green is a good color on you." I say, sipping my coffee. My compliment is having a clear impact on her. 

"Thank you, sir," she says quietly. I imagine her rushing to the women's room after this interaction to frantically rub herself as she thinks about me. It's a nice thought. "Here is your itinerary for the day. It's Friday, which means you have your 9 a.m. meeting with Mrs. Myers and the other department heads. That's in about five minutes if you'd like me to take your briefcase to your office for you."

I hand her my briefcase. Her efficiency is good. We begin to walk and talk as I make my way to the conference room. 

"You have a lunch today with a prospective client, some tech startup wants to acquire another, and they need the best in the city. Then, your afternoon is mostly blocked off for you to focus on case work, with the only thing being a 3:30 p.m. meeting with-"

"If it's in the afternoon," I interject. "You don't need to say 'p.m.' I doubt I'll have any 'a.m.' events during that window."

Jenny blushes. 

"Of course, sir. I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't be sorry, Jenny. Just do it right the next time. Continue." Mixing severity with the occasional compliment keeps her on her toes and makes her desperate for my approval. The more she sees that my praise is difficult to receive, the harder she works to get it. 

"It's a 3:30 with Mr. Nguyen in his office. I asked for details from his secretary, but all she said was that it was a 'discretionary matter.'" Jenny concludes. 

I nod. It's obvious that she's curious, but I don't reveal anything. We reach the conference room and she opens the door for me. 

"Anything else?" I ask. 

"Tomorrow afternoon is the softball game." She says, giving me an apologetic look. I hate the softball game. And yet I am doomed to participate. Anyone who wants to make partner needs to do the requisite groveling, ass-kissing, and volunteering. The softball game is an annual event that Mr. Kowalski puts on. He and Mr. Nguyen both put teams together from across the firm, and we spend a few hours playing slow-pitch. It's a change for some people to relive their glory days, and for me to demonstrate that my glory is still very much upon me. But it's not exactly 'fun.' 

"That will be all, Jenny." I say as I enter. 

The conference room is large with an enormous mahogany table dominating the space. The outer wall is covered in floor to ceiling windows, while the inner wall has portraits of the three named partners. Veronica's painting has her looking down severely, as if scoffing at someone presumptuous enough to even look at her portrait. Around the table are the four other department heads: trial law, regulatory law, accounting, and human resources. I take a seat next to Becky Lipscomb, the HR director. She's in her late fifties, her blonde hair occasionally streaked with silver. But she's quite attractive for her age. 

"How are the grandkids, Becky?" I ask her. 

"Just wonderful!" She says, immediately pulling out her phone to show me some photos. "Chloe had her twentieth birthday party last weekend. Here she is with her eighteen-year-old brother and her twenty-two-year-old older sister."

I look at the photo and see three incredibly attractive young adults. They are all the picture of feminine beauty, even the brother looks more like a girl than plenty of women I've met. My cock throbs as I look at the picture. 

"Your grandson, how old is he again?"

Becky looks at me with a roll of her eyes. 

"I'm supposed to correct you and tell you that 'their' new pronouns are 'they/them,'" she sighs. "'They' are eighteen. And I guess 'they' have decided to be called Whitney now instead of William. It was my father's name, you know. But I suppose those kinds of things just don't matter to this generation."

"Becky, isn't HR supposed to be a bit more progressive about these types of things?" I tease, giving her a playful push on the shoulder. 

"Oh, you hush," she says, swatting my hand back. "I love all three of my grandchildren and I want nothing but the best for them. It's just that William is so young and it's difficult to understand how someone his age could be able to just decide to toss away their family's legacy because they're going through changes. Isn't that what adolescence is, anyway? Who decides which changes are natural, and which ones are because of gender dysphoria?"

I shrug. The army taught me a valuable lesson about these situations: if they wanted you to have an opinion, they would have issued you one. 

"Besides," Becky winks at me. "If you want to be the one arguing for HR to be a bit stricter around here, you'd find yourself in quite a bit of trouble, mister."

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean." I grin. 

"That's what I thought," Becky smiles, patting my hand. "Just like I'm sure you have no idea how a full gallon of vodka found its way into the punch bowl at last year's Christmas party?"

"There was a movie I saw once where inanimate objects could move around when humans weren't looking. Maybe it was something like that?" I say. 

"Just be thankful that you have an HR rep who knows how the game is played, and don't forget it." Becky says. "Or maybe the next time one of your former employees tries to subpoena you for a paternity test, my department won't be able to 'accidentally' lose the paperwork."

"You're a gem, Becky, I've always said that about you," I say. "The height of professionalism, decorum, and beauty."

"Atta boy." She winks. 

Veronica enters the conference room like a cyclone. She is angry about something, which means this meeting is going to be both worse and longer than usual. She looks at Peter Quirrin, the head of the accounting department. 

"Do you want to tell me why our firm has an unidentified surcharge of two hundred thousand dollars from a bank in the Cayman Islands, Peter?" Her voice is low and threatening, her shoulders hunched like a tigress about to pounce. 

Peter is a slight man with a bit of a stutter. He does not perform well under pressure, but he has a talent for manipulating the books to give the company the best possible financial results. That, and the fact that his wife is the daughter of Leonard Kowalski, the founding partner of the firm, and his station as a department head is a bit more understandable. 

"W-w-well," he stammers. "The th-th-thing about that ac-c-c-ount is that it... it..."

"It's fucking illegal, is what it is, Peter!" Veronica snaps. "Offshore accounts of that size for a company incorporated in this state are fucking illegal. Why is a Cayman bank even charging us for anything? What the fuck are you doing?"

Peter adjusts his tie nervously. 

"It's not... there's r-really a very s-simple explanation for-"

"There fucking better be, you dickless little weasel," Veronica glowers. "It's Friday, and those Rastas on island time won't be doing a god damn thing after noon. You have until then to unfuck this thoroughly fucked situation. Then you'll report it to me and the other partners at 12:15 sharp. If there's anything shady about it at that time, your ass will be sacrificed upon the altar of corporate fraud. You'll do a cozy three to five in a minimum-security prison, but I will make sure that I find someone inside to make you hold his pocket. Do we understand each other?"

Peter nods. He looks like he's about to pass out. 

"Sorry for the profanity, HR," Veronica says, looking at Becky. 

"Mrs. Myers, I was doing this job in the '80's. They haven't invented words yet that can startle me." Becky says with a sly smile. She may look like a sweet grandmother, but she has iron in her. "If Peter's antics are going to put my pension at risk, then you can rest assured that I will be paying some gangbanger to make him his prison wife."

Veronica smiles. 

"Glad we're all on the same page. Now, let's get to the case reports."

The rest of the meeting goes relatively smoothly after that, with all the boring minutiae involved in the running of a large company. After another hour and a half, we all stand to leave. 

"Mr. McLeod," Veronica says as everyone else files through the door. "A moment."

I turn to her as Becky shuts the door behind her, leaving the two of us alone. 

"It seems that my husband's business trip is ending early," she says, looking at me ruefully. "He'll be getting back tomorrow afternoon."

I nod. 

"Well, then it really sounds like you need to come over to my place tonight. Another load or three would definitely help get you pregnant, then you can fuck him tomorrow afternoon to convince him that it's his." I shrug. 

Veronica opens her mouth to respond, then closes it again. 

"What I was going to say was that I would not be coming to your place tonight under any circumstances," she says. "But... you may have a point. It's just... I'm forty-four, Henry. I'm not even sure if I can still get pregnant. He and I have been trying for so long..."

"I'm... virile." I say with a sly grin. "And I don't have any other plans for the evening. I'm prepared to go all night long with you. I can give you your best chance."

She ponders it for a moment. 

"I'm... I... okay." She says. "I'll be there at 9 p.m. tonight."

"If it's at night, you don't need to say 'p.m.'," I say. 

"Shut the fuck up." Veronica rolls her eyes. "You really are a gigantic asshole, you know that?"

I wink at her. 

"Wear something slutty for me." Then I walk out of the room. 

When I return to my office, Jenny is waiting. As I consider my upcoming schedule, I start to wonder whether I'm wasting valuable time keeping Jenny on my hook. If the pleasure is greater because of delayed gratification, then haven't I already delayed both of us for months now? Will the pleasure of finally taking her intensify proportionally? And doesn't she look too good in that dress not to fuck? An idea begins to form in mind, and once I get an idea, I tend to act. 

"I'd like for you to join me at my lunch meeting," I tell her. Her smile looks like she just won the lottery. 

"O-of course, sir." She says. "Should I bring anything?"

I shake my head. 

"Just yourself. That green dress looks great on you, and I'd like to show these prospective clients what kind of eye candy they can expect when they work with us."

Jenny's mouth hangs open, unsure of how to respond. 

"Eye... eye candy? Mr. McLeod, if you're trying to show off the pretty girls at the firm, I can get another secretary wh-"

"You are one of the prettiest girls in this place, Jenny," I say, smiling down at her. I put my hand on her shoulder. "You're beautiful, and your dress looks great. So, I want you to be there with me. Flirt a little, give a few peaks, sultry but not begging for it. Do you think you can handle that?"

She tucks her auburn hair behind her ear. 

"Yes, sir. I can do that." 

"That's my girl." I wink, then head into my office. 

After half an hour of checking emails, I exit the office. Jenny is fixing her makeup. 

"I'll drive." I say. Then I start walking to the car, knowing that she's following right behind me. 

While driving, I place my hand on Jenny's bare knee. I can feel her body tense at my touch. 

"Just relax," I say to her. "When these Ivy League dropouts get a look at you, they'll be cumming in their cargo shorts. Just take some deep breaths, and follow my lead."

She nods, her enormous bust rising and falling as she practices her deep breathing. Jenny is quite attractive. She's has the stereotypical Irish look: brilliant red hair, piercing green eyes, pale white skin covered in freckles. The fact that she's a bit on the heavier side is, for me at least, an asset because so much of her excess weight has gone to her tits and ass. I'm a man who enjoys a woman with large proportions, and the biggest breasts and butts also tend to come with a bit else as well. It's never bothered me, and it's quite appealing when it comes to a person like Jenny. Besides, my cock is big enough to handle even the most massive of curves.

The restaurant is crowded, but we find our guests sitting on the same side of a secluded booth. They look to be in their early twenties, faces still pocked by acne scars. They aren't wearing cargo shorts, but one has a tee shirt with an anime character on underneath his blazer, and the other is wearing a pocket protector. They're nerds. Rich nerds, but still nerds. And if I know anything about nerds, a pair of big tits will have them slavering. 

Sure enough, as introductions are made, one of them can't take his eyes off of Jenny's impressive rack. They are Ernest Campbell and Gerald Fife, the co-owners of the newly minted company PlaySmart. I don't do video games, but they're breaking into the e-sports industry with their revolutionary new virtual reality headsets. Their goal is to acquire a software firm that can make the kinds of games and visual experiences that would suit their latest hardware. 

The meeting is filled with discussion about how an acquisition works, the details of which have become my lifeblood. A hostile takeover is a thrill that is only comparable to combat, and I always relish a good fight. As we talk and eat, I see Gerald glancing at Jenny's cleavage repeatedly, while Ernest seems less interested. Jenny, meanwhile, does an excellent job playing coy with these boys. She giggles at their jokes, leans over a lot, and gives them the types of looks that would make them cream. Gerald is eating it up, although Ernest doesn't seem to be as phased. 

"So, what do you two think?" I ask, pushing my empty plate away and putting my arm around Jenny's shoulder. "Is Nguyen, Myers, and Kowalski the place for you?"

They glance at one another. 

"It certainly seems as though your firm can handle the kind of work we'd like to conduct," Gerald says. 

"But we've been courting other offers as well. Some firms are suggesting that they could get us a better deal than the terms you're estimating." Ernest finishes. 

"You two are finish each other's sentences like you're the fucking Borg over here," I laugh. "Numbers are never a guarantee, and anyone telling you that they can get you a particular price is probably about to offer you some snake oil along with it. I'm not here to make promises or to give you a false impression. I'm here so that you can meet me. I run all M&A at the firm, and I am a god damn shark. I've never missed on a hostile takeover, and I have always delivered more to my clients than they expected. Fuck the numbers. What you need is a proven winner in your corner. That's me."

The two young computer whizzes look at one another. 

"So," Ernest says. "We get that. But we've also been led to believe that some other law firms have... what would you call them?"

"Fringe benefits." Gerald says, looking directly at Jenny. 

I nod. So, this is the way it's going down. It was a pretty high likelihood, which is why Jenny is present in the first place. The standard computer coder doesn't spend a lot of their teen years drowning in pussy, so whenever one breaks into the stratosphere of the tech startup world, they tend to be eager for the privileges of wealth. While that mostly applies to men, I've met a few women in tech who were desperate for some cock once their valuations pushed them into eight figures. And of course, I was happy to oblige them. The question now is whether Jenny is what they're looking for. Of course, for me this is a relatively low stakes meeting, so it's also an opportunity to see if Jenny is willing to engage in these kinds of activities for me. Two tests, one lunch. And if it goes belly-up, I'll just get her to jerk me off on the drive back.

"I see."

I move my hand away from Jenny's shoulder, leaning into the table conspiratorially. 

"You two are a couple of handsome young fellas," I say, my voice low. "I doubt you have trouble with the ladies, and I'm sure your newfound wealth doesn't hurt."

I point my thumb at Jenny. 

"But do you have a woman in your life who would do absolutely anything for you?"

Jenny's body is tense next to me. She's no doubt picking up on where this is going, so her behavior will be critical in determining how this lunch, and her employment with me are going to proceed. 

"Jenny does... anything?" Gerald asks, swallowing hard. 

"Well?" I ask, turning towards my secretary. "Do you do anything, Jenny?"

Jenny looks at me nervously, then over at the two coders. She puts her hand on my toned, muscled thigh, giving it a squeeze.

"I... well..." she takes a deep, steadying breath. "When my boss is happy, then I'm happy. I do absolutely everything I can to ensure that he's taken care of."

She looks at me in the eyes, her earnestness palpable. It's like she's willing her thoughts into my head. She means what she's saying.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Mr. McLeod."

I look at Gerald and Ernest. 

"How would you two like to have Jenny, or one of the dozens of other women in my department, personally dedicated to ensuring that your satisfaction is always assured?"

Gerald seems eager. 

"Can we have a... demonstration?" He asks. 

I don't even need to look at Jenny to prompt her. Without bothering to check if she's being watched, she reaches into her dress and pulls one of her breasts out. It's even bigger than I expected. Her breast, like the rest of her body, is speckled with light brown freckles, and her pale areola is almost invisible. Her light pink nipple is rigid. After a few moments, she places it back inside her dress.