IRS Audit


Dear Agent Edna Bitterly,

It appears that I have managed to make matters worse for myself. I am so dreadfully sorry for taking advantage of you, for getting you drunk, and for having sex with you under false pretenses. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.

My excuse is that I temporarily lost my mind. I was at my last desperate hope. I did not know what else to do. My life is spiraling down out of control.

When I received your notice that I was being audited, I was horrified. I had no proof for the $50,000 heart transplant deduction. Actually, my heart was okay until I received your notice that you were auditing me. Now, I really may need a new heart because I feel like I am going to have a heart attack. I had no idea that you guys really did your job and audited people. All these years, I only thought it was a scare tactic. Now, I am practically shitting my pants with fear. I don't want to go to jail to be someone's bitch.

As you immediately determined from your in-person visit to my home, I am not blind and/or over 65. I, uhm, checked those boxes in error, no doubt. And I apologize for listing my dog, cat, bird and three goldfish as dependents. I, uhm, apparently misread the definition of dependents, I think. I have no idea where I came up with social security numbers for them all. I was probably drunk at the time and was writing down cell phone numbers of hot models that I had been asking out for a date and wanted to write them down before I forgot them. Yeah, that's it.

It is amazing the things that some people will do to avoid paying taxes. Not me, of course, it was just a misinterpretation of the tax laws on my part, I assure you. This whole thing is a misunderstanding that can easily be explained away.

Also, I admit that the computer that I donated to the Boys Club and that I valued at $10,000 was closer to $100. When it was new in 1986, it cost that or so I was told by the guy who I paid $10 to buy it from at the junkyard. I imagine, before Intel and Microsoft, that it was state of the art then, twenty years ago. Now, computers are so cheap. Stupid me, I probably just put the decimal point in the wrong place. Yes, of course, that is what I did. It was just a stupid decimal point error.

Lastly, that classic car that I donated for the auction to the New England School for the Blind was a '92 Yugo and not a '65 Cobra. Sorry, my mistake, again. I was cleaning out my garage and stumbled over my classic '65 Cobra valued at one million dollars, the car that I thought that I had donated. Once I realized my mistake, that I had delivered the wrong car to the auction, I figured with the students being blind that they could not tell a Yugo from a Cobra because I had typed the description of the car in Braille. So, I figured that it was a no fault, funny mistake. I got a good laugh out of it. No harm done. Right?

I had no idea that those sons of bitches, er kids could feel the make, model, and year of the car with their fingertips. Those little bastards, er, poor blind kids are really amazing. Okay, I screwed up. Just because I have a classic Cobra, I am not a car buff and cannot even tell a Yugo from a Cobra. Yeah, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Nonetheless, it was a horrible lapse in judgment on my part.

Oh, and the $10,000 oil tax shelter deduction was not to buy a bulk shipment of home heating oil to distribute for free to the poor, elderly residents but for a case of Motor oil for my car that I ended up returning to Wal-Mart for a $10.00 refund. Stupid decimal point mistake, again. I am such a dope when it comes to decimal points. Okay, okay, in desperation and after a few beers, it seemed like a good idea at the time, 11pm on April 15th. I claim insanity with that mistake.

Then, to further compound all of these errors, in balancing my checkbook I realized that I never donated $7,000 to the Girl Scouts either. It appears that I forgot to mail the check. Stupid me, here it is still sitting on my desk under some papers. Yet, I did buy 7 boxes of Girl Scout cookies that I now realize are not tax deductible. I ate the cookies and now will have to eat this deduction, as well.

It's just that when I saw you walking up the path to my house for our audit meeting, I panicked. I admit that it was then that I decided to try and blackmail you so that whatever you found, I would have more on you than you would have on me. I thought, maybe, that you would be forced to drop your investigation out of sheer embarrassment and out of fear of losing your job with the IRS. I was hoping that rather turning me in to the authorities that you would save your ass and your job, instead.

Why am I telling you all this? My priest told me that I must tell you all of the outrageous things that I did to you before he will accept my confession. This apology is part of my act of contrition. He told me that if I did not make amends with you that I would go straight to Hell. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.

I figured that since you were a plain woman with your hair up in a bun that you would be flattered if I came on to you and tried to seduce you. Has anyone told you that you look exactly like Jane Hathaway, the banker's assistant, on the Beverly Hillbillies? Yeah, it's not a good thing, but you do. It's scary. You two could be twin sisters.

With me being an ex-model and an ex-CFNM dancer, I knew you would be a pushover once I started flirting with you, calling you pretty, and plying you with tea spiked with vodka. I knew, once I was drunk, closed my eyes, and thought of Heather Locklear, that I could easily get you in bed and have sex with you. I figured, by the way that you looked, that you had not had a man, if you ever had a man, in years. I figured that if I threw you a sympathy bang that it would go to your head and you would not think clearly about reporting me to your superiors.

It did not take me long to get you to remove your jacket and you could tell by my obvious erection that I enjoyed giving you a neck and shoulder massage when you were going over my shoebox filled with phony, er real receipts.

I hoped that once I gradually widened my massage of your back to the sides of your breasts that you would be more lenient with me. Then, I could not believe it when you allowed me to unbutton your blouse on the pretense that by moving your blouse out of the way, I could better relax some of your tight back muscles. I knew you were putty in my hands, once you allowed me to not only unbuttoned your blouse but, also, remove your blouse.

I am so sorry that I took advantage of you like that. I am so sorry that I led you to believe that I could possibly be interested in you. When I proposed marriage to you it was only out of desperation knowing that a wife cannot testify against her husband.

I am so sorry that I led you to believe that I thought you are pretty because you are not, you are plain bordering on ugly. Matter of fact, if I am speaking honestly here, if you were the only woman left on the planet, you would still come in second in the beauty contest. My skin is crawling just remembering us making out. I'm going to be sick, again. I have to vomit.

I had to pretend that I was with Angelina Jolie, for me to enjoy giving you a back massage, once you finally agreed to lie on the couch on your stomach. Actually, I had a difficult time telling your back from your front because your ass is so flat. I could not believe you gave me no resistance when I unsnapped your bra. I guess it must have been the alcohol, huh.

Nonetheless, even though you are a plain woman, I was getting excited massaging you, especially when I unzipped your skirt and could see the top of your slip. It must have been the alcohol for me, too, at that point. I was blitzed. Then, when you turned to get more comfortable and allowed me to remove your bra altogether, I was rewarded with a glimpse of the side of you're A cup tit. Actually, I have never seen tits as small as your tits. They are just nipples, really. If I may give you a bit of advice, don't waste your money on bras. You really don't need to wear one. Think implants.

I lied when I told you that I had to remove my tight pants to give you my special massage by climbing on your back. I just wanted to rub my cock against your ass through my underwear and through your skirt hoping that I could tease you a bit more hoping that the sexual contact would be enough for you to erase all of my tax indiscretions. Then, when I asked if I could remove your skirt so that I could get to your tense lower muscles, I lied about that, too. I was just trying to get you naked, and I could not believe it when you allowed me do that, too.

Curiously, you did not resist when I removed your slip along with your skirt and were now on my couch in just your white panties. Actually, those are the biggest granny panties I have ever seen. They really are too big for you. You could wear a much smaller size. Think thong. Ouch! No, that was a mistake. I have a brain freeze from the image of you wearing a thong. Wipe that thought from my mind.

Then, when I told you that I needed to remove your panties to massage your gluts but assured you that I would cover you with a towel, I used a face cloth to cover you, instead.

I am so sorry. You were totally exposed. Clearly, I could see a good part of your ass crack and much of your bush that stuck out between your legs. When was the last time you trimmed that forest?

I found it difficult to believe that you did not see me remove my underwear. And how could you not feel my naked cock touching your naked body? You were probably to embarrassed say anything, too horrified to complain, and too afraid to protest. Even though I was drunk, no does mean no. You could have said no. You were probably a virgin, right?

Lastly, even though I said it was accidental over and again, it was not accidental when I was fucking you over and again. I had my way with you so that I could tell everyone at your office that we had sex, that is, if you continued with this audit. The worse thing that I regret doing is going down on you. Man, your pussy is nasty. After you left, I gargled with an entire bottle of mouthwash. Then, when I stuck my cock in your mouth and had you blow me, I now know you were drunk and I was totally taking advantage of you, especially when I cam off in your mouth.

I am sorry. I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?

So, even though I am sorry for all the lies and the things that I did to you by taking advantage of you sexually, I hope you find it in your heart to have mercy on me with this audit.

Thank you,


I struggled with mailing the letter and finally decided to e-mail it to her hoping that it would reach her faster and that she would show me leniency. Almost immediately, I received her reply.

Dear Freddie,

You are such a bad boy. Yes, of course, I accept your apology. I know how you felt. I know what it feels like to want something. In your case a good outcome on the audit and in my case, I just wanted to get fucked. I wanted you more than you realize.

How would you like to not be asked to go to the prom? I am still scarred from that experience. I was the only girl not asked to the prom? How would you like not to be kissed until your 30th birthday and then, the one who kissed you was drunk and legally blind? I did not get married until last year when I turned forty-something. My husband, you see, is a real pervert. He is proud of the fact that he is number one, number one on the sex registry list. I figured better to be with him than to spend the rest of my life alone with my cat, Mr. Stud.

Since we are confessing our indiscretions, I do not work for the IRS. I pretended to be an IRS agent knowing that you would do anything for me not to report you and it worked. You were the one who was putty in my hands and not the other way around.

I needed to know what it was like to fuck a hot ex-model, ex-CFNM dancer, even if you were drunk and kept your eyes closed the entire time, while thinking of Heather Locklear. Thank you for the Nancy Kulp compliment. She was the one who played Jane Hathaway on the Beverly Hillbillies. I only wish I looked as good as her.

Actually, it was my pervert husband who put me up to this and now after having sex with you, having you fuck me, eating my pussy, and blowing you, I do not regret any of it. Matter of fact, he taped the entire thing from outside your living room window.

In closing, if you are nice to me, again and again, by that I mean, if you give me more sex, I won't post the video on the Internet and embarrass you in front of all your snobby friends and hot girlfriends. Further, if you refuse to continue this sexual relationship, then I will have no alternative than to report you to the IRS. They give good Samaritans like me a 10% finder's fee for ratting on tax cheats like you.

Have a nice day.

Edna Bitterly

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