Adult Image Library 1/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_1.iso/stories/acctpay.txt

Text File | 1996-04-14 | 13KB | 291 lines

The following narrative contains graphic sex, humiliation and
degradation.  If you are a minor, or if you might be offended,
don't read the damn thing.

                       Accounts Payable
                an original story by Lester Izmoore

Unemployment sucks.  It's been sucking for damn near a year now, and my
benifits are about to run out.  That's the only reason I'm even going to
this interview.  The job itself is worthless.  I'm a CPA ferchrissake.

I arrive on time at Midland MicroAssembly inc.  Personelle escorts
me immediately to the CEO's office suite.

The secretary has luscious pouty lips all done up with bright red
lipstick.  "Ms. Fenton will be with you shortly," she says.  A big,
block-lettered name plate announces that this secretary's name is
Beth.  Her light brown hair is in two braids that drop down, one over each
tit.  And, oh, how I'd have love to sweep those things aside to see
if her nipples show through that tight, stretchy tube-top she has
on.  But this certainly isn't the time or the place, so I just wait
and pretend not to look at her.

"You may go in now, Mr. Abelton," she says, getting up and opening
the door for me.  I walk in.  Beth shuts the door behind me.

Ms. Fenton is a slight woman with short dark hair that has a gray
streak through it.  She wears an expensive looking navy blue skirt
and blazer combo.  The blazer has a jewel encrusted butterfly pinned
over her left tit, which, like the right, would fill no more than a
champagne glass.  I can't see her legs as she is behind her desk.
She slips on a pair of wire-rimmed and motions me to sit down.  She
doesn't even offer to shake my hand.

"Abelton -- Abelton -- I've got your resume right here.  You last
worked for Windham Commercial Credit, right?"

I nod.

"And that ended eleven months ago.  It seems you got yourself
terminated for being a worthless sack o' shit."

"I beg your pardon," I reply.

"Oh, I always call former employers, especially when they're close
business associates of mine.  Let's see -- you spent more time
running the office football pool than you did at your work, and then
there's the little matter of your sexually harassing poor Ms.
Brisbane."

"Well, I guess I won't waste any more of your time," I say, getting
up to leave.

"Sit down, young man," she commands.  "First, show some respect.  You
will address me Ms. Fenton, or Ma'am, or both, and you won't
interrupt me.  Second, the only person allowed to draw conclusions in
this office is me.  You'll do just fine, Abelton.  You're a little
overqualified, but I can use you.  You'll start immediately.  Beth
will get you your W-2 and show you to your desk.  The rules are
simple around here.  You do what I say.  If Beth tells you to do
something, it's the same as me telling you.  Got that?  And if you so
much as lay a finger on her, you'll hear from my attorney before she
even has time to yelp.  We clear?"

"Yes Ma'am."

Her steely eyes squinting through those glasses are burning holes
through me.  And the rest of her face looks like an icecube.  If my
life weren't about crumble like a moldy pound cake, I'd tell that
bitch to shove this job up her tight little ass.  But I need the
work.  The wife might even speak to me again if I come home tonight
and tell her I'm employed.

"You may go." she says.

I rise and back out of her office.

Here's what the job is:  accounts payable.  That means paying the
bills.  Any idiot could do it.  I just write the checks and keep a
ledger on my computer.  The bitch seems to know how much money I'll
need each week, and it magically appears in the checking account.

Beth has given me a desk across the hall from hers.  When I lean over
I can see those red lips and round tits.  All day she's doing her
nails or putting on mascara or smearing more red lipstick over those
lips.  It's a good thing this job doesn't take much of my time.  I
spend most of it daydreaming about having a big red ring around the
base of my dick.

The nineth Friday into this job and things are going well.  I've got
my mortgage paid up and I'm working on paying off the credit card.
The wife actually got naked for me last night -- first time in six
months.  And here at work, the bitch says I'm doing a great job.  Says
if I keep it up she might even move me up to payrole.  Whoop-dee-doo.

But Beth is driving me nuts.  She wore this short little skirt today
with irridescent blue stockings underneath, and a V-necked lacy
silk top that shows lots of cleavage.  I just know there's nipples
sticking through under those braids.  She comes over to my desk
this morning with a handful of bills and stands there drinking
coffee out of a white mug.  It has a big red stain on the rim.
And those thighs.  I could eat them right now, stockings and all.
She steps to my side and stares at my computer screen.

"I wanna get one o' these things for my home checkbook," she says.
"Can you show me how it works?"  She pulls up a chair and sits down.
And I don't think her mama ever taught her how to sit like a lady
either.  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her garter under her
skirt, and sometimes a flash of panties.  I spend the next hour
showing her the finer points of electronic checkwriting.  She keeps
brushing against me when she reaches over to point to something on
the screen.  I have to cross my legs to hide what she's doing to me.
When we get done,  she pulls her compact out of her purse and is
checking her face over for the fourteenth time today.

I figure, what the hell -- she came to me.

"Would you like to get together for a drink after work," I ask.

"Yeah, that's right up there on my list," she answers without even
looking up.  "About two slots below sitting on a cheese grater in
the bath tub."

Ah -- Beth in the tub.  At least she leaves me with an exquisite
picture.  She goes back to her desk.  I'll work on her some more
another time.

That was when it happened.  I open the bills Beth just gave me and
the account is $22,000 short of what I need to pay them.

"Beth," I call out.  "Tell Ms. Fenton I need to see her today."

"Yeah, when I get to it," she answers.

Three o'clock rolls around and the Fenton's door is still closed.
Four o'clock, no change.  I've got to get these bills taken care of
the same week they come in, or the bitch will castrate me.  She made
that clear the first day.  Five o'clock -- Beth goes home.  I'd like
to do the same, but that door is still closed.  Five-thirty.  My phone
rings.  It's Fenton.  She's ready for me.

I go in with the bills and a printout of the account.  She's got
her back to me.

"Ms. Fenton, I need more money to pay these bills, Ma'am," I say.

"So you screwed up, did you?  How much has the CPA lost track of?"

"It's $22,000, Ma'am.  And I didn't lose track of it.  I've checked
the figures three times.  You haven't deposited enough money this
week.  Look."  I drop the printout on her desk.

She turns around.  She's got on the same outfit she wore that first
day.  She doesn't even glance at the printout.

"Tell me something, Abelton," she says.  "If you were to pay $22,000
for a hooker, what would you expect her to do?"

"Well, I don't know, Ma'am.  A lot, I expect.  But I don't see what
that has to do with this."  I'm beginning to sweat.

"You're asking me for $22,000 aren't you.  What should I get in
return?"

"Ma'am, don't you think this is getting a little close to sexual
harassment?"

She laughs at me.  "You think you have even a chance of making that
stick after what you did to Ms. Brisbane?  Hah!  Besides, if I fired
you today, it'd be years before you could get a judgement against me,
even if the court would listen to the likes of you.  You remember
what it's like to be unemployable?  I think you'd better get over
here and beg me for the money."

I step behind her desk.  She turns in her chair and faces me, then
stands up and glares into my eyes.  Her lips are thin and tight.
God, I wish I were somewhere else.

"Okay," I say.  I cast my eyes down.  I see she's got on spike heels.
I wring my hands for show.  "I need this job.  Please, please, please
deposit the money," I beg.  A bead of sweat runs down my brow.

"You'll address me as Ma'am," she replies.  "And you'll do it on
your knees.  And don't even think about looking up my skirt unless
you want my heel in your nuts."

"Ma'am, if I've done something to make you mad, I assure you, I'm
very sorry.  Now can we just get past this?"

"Do it," she commands.

I drop to my knees.  "Ms. Fenton, Ma'am.  I beg you.  Please give
me the money so I can pay your bills."

"I'm considering it, worm.  How about you say, 'Ms. Fenton, I'm not
worthy to lick your feet, but I'll do it for you if you find it in
your heart to fix my fuck-up.'"

I repeat her words to her.

"So start licking, you miserable turd," she says.

I bend down and lick her ankle.  She has no hose on.  I'm licking
bare skin.

"Take the shoe off and do it right," she says.

Her shoe pulls off easily in my hand.  I bend down again and start
licking between her toes.  They're sweaty and taste moldy.  I'm
beginning to get a hard-on from this.

"The other one too," she says.

I obey.  My cock is hard now.  My trousers are ballooning out.  And
my shirt is soaked with sweat.

"Oh, this will never do," she says.  "I don't think you're the least
bit sorry for the trouble you've caused me.  I didn't feel one
teardrop fall onto my feet.  And look at your pants.  This is how you
show respect for me?  By letting you piddly penis out of control?  I
don't think you grasp the enormity of this.  $22,000 is the better
part of a year's salary for you.  I think I'll just have to set your
head straight."

"Please, Ma'am.  I'm sorry.  I really am.  Couldn't we talk about this
on Monday?"

"Shut up!"  She pulls a scarf out of her purse and blindfolds me with
it.  "I'd never give you the pleasure of viewing my private parts,"
she says, "but you're gonna lick them, aren't you.  You're gonna lick
them because your so sorry.  So sorry that you caused so much grief to
the only person who keeps you out of the homeless shelter."

"Yes, Ma'am."  My cock is aching.  "I'm really sorry."

I hear her skirt rustling up.  I reach up and put my hands on her
thighs.

Whap!  She slaps me across the face.

"Don't touch, you slug.  Take off your belt."

I obey.  I hear the buckle jingle as she picks it up.  I expect she's
about to beat me with it.  I find myself looking forward to it.

"Put your hands behind your back."  Her voice is behind me.  I do it.
She ties my hands with the belt.  I hear her step in front of me again.
I can smell her now.  I feel her fur against my nostrils.  She grabs
me by the ears and pulls me in.

"Lick, you bastard!" she says.

I dip my tongue deep into her crack.  Yecch!  Something tastes awful.
I gag.

"What?  You don't like Gynalotramin?  Eat it, you prick!  Eat!"

I gobble on her clit and suck the paste out of her hole.  I'm panting
through my nose.  I can't believe it, but I really want to please
this bitch.  But she's having none of it.

"I'm trying to decide whether a little dipshit like you is worth
orgasming for," she says calmly.  "I'm having so much fun just
watching you slurp on my peehole.  Mmmm.  I almost felt that one."
She presses me in harder.  My cock is ready to explode.  "You're not
going to have one of your messy little dingaling orgasms, are you?
Ooooo!  I'm warning you -- ahh -- you better not come unless I do.
I'll twist that -- mmmmh -- thing out by the roots."  I gobble harder.
I hear her heave a deep breath.  I'm having to hold back my come.  I
can't get enough air.  Her pussy juice is coming in through my nose.
Her breaths are turning into shrill cries.  She digs her nails into
my earlobes. "Oooooh, you fucking bastard!" she screams.  She presses
her bare foot into my crotch.  The pain feels so good.  My cock spews
come into my boxer shorts.  It dribbles down my shaft and entangles
itself in my pubic hair.  She pushes me away.  I fall over backward.
My head thumps against the floor.  My cock is still pulsing.

She pulls the blindfold off and unties me.  Her skirt is a bit
rumpled, but otherwise reveals nothing.  Her face is flushed but
still icy cold.  There's a big wet spot on my trousers.

"You have your $22,000," she says.  "Next Friday, you'll need more.
Bring a change of clothes, too.  I feel like getting messy with you.
In fact, better bring all your clothes.  I don't think your wife's
gonna let you back in the house after she's seen the video we just
made.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for dinner with my niece.
Perhaps you know her.  Her name is Ruth.  Ruth Brisbane."

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