Zero

"You're a bit late," said the woman. "Mr. Allen has been expecting you."

The secretary quickly stood up from her desk. She wore a dark blue suit, similar to what Stanton had on, but without any sign of a blouse, and with a shorter hem line to the skirt. Her makeup was flawless, and her hair looked as if she had stepped out of the salon. If she had been wearing a white lab coat, Stanton would have sworn she was in the cosmetics department of Nordstrom's department store.

"Right this way," the secretary said, interrupting Stanton's thoughts, walking toward the double doors to their right.

"Actually, there are two of us. I thought I was on time, but my partner seems to be running a little late," said Stanton.

"Two?" said the secretary with some surprise. "Oh, Mr. Allen must be a naughty boy, indeed."

She opened the door and showed Heather inside, leaving her to wonder just how serious Mr. Allen was treating this process for his secretary to make jokes like that. With that carefree attitude, Heather also doubted that the secretary would be joining any proceedings against her boss.

The office was larger than Heather's apartment, and certainly better decorated. An abstract painting, possibly a Mark Rothko, hung over a black leather sofa. A sea of plush carpet stretched across the floor and lapped up against the tile flooring of the kitchenette and adjoining wash room. Smoked glass lined two sides of the office, offering a view of Los Angeles attenuated by the smog.

A set of black leather arm chairs formed an arc in front of the desk in the corner. There sat Brooks Allen, chairman of Dyness Aerospace, and darling of California society pages. More than one journalist had pointed out that if Dyness ever lost out in defense industry re-shuffling, Mr. Allen could easily make the short trip to Hollywood and jump to the silver screen.

Heather thought he was even better looking in person, acomposite of several popular movie stars. How disappointing that she was there as part of a Justice Department probe into claims of sexual harassment and discrimination.

"I was about to send out a search and rescue team for you," the man behind the desk said.

"I apologize for that," said Heather. "I was under the impression I was early."

"I'll talk to my secretary about that," he said, while removing my sports jacket. "Gina is usually very reliable. Well, shall we get started? We don't have a lot of time."

"Certainly," said Stanton. She removed the tape recorder from her handbag, pressed the record button, and placed it on the desk.

"What is that?" asked Brooks.

"Don't worry, Mr. Allen," assured Stanton. "That's more for your protection than anything else."

Brooks Allen laughed. "Well, my lawyer would probably kill me, but why the hell not? Better to keep this as legitimate as possible, right?"

"Absolutely," said Stanton, smiling.

At that moment, Brooks Allen stood and began to unfasten his pants. Heather knew that part of the investigation was to check Allen's genitals for distinguishing marks, but she had assumed Maytag would handle that.

"Oh, Mr. Allen, we don't need to do that right away," said Stanton.

"Well, you're certainly not here for management consulting. We might as well get down to the business at hand, Ms....?"

"Stanton. Heather Stanton."

"Heather," repeated Brooks Allen, lingering slightly on the 'r'.

Brooks finished loosening his pants and lowered them, along with his silk undershorts, to his knees. "Why don't you come over for a closer look?"

Heather didn't think that was necessary. In addition to movie-star good looks and a position as a captain of industry, it seemed that Brooks Allen was well endowed, particularly in width. It was more than visible from across the desk. It looked to be visible from across the street.

Duty called, however, and it just so happened to be calling her to the considerable equipment swinging around the thighs of Brooks Allen. She wheeled an armchair over and sat down next to his third leg. From her bag, she now produced latex gloves, and pulled them on with a loud finishing snap.

"More precautions for my 'protection', Heather?" asked Brooks.

"You really are as insightful as those magazine articles say, Mr. Allen."

Brooks allowed himself a laugh. "And you're more sarcastic than I would have expected." He took the base of his meat in his hand. "I wonder how funny you can be with this stuffed in your mouth."

Heather looked up slowly from the thick sausage to the beefy hunk that owned it. She was shocked, but recovered before speaking. "Are you always that forward, Mr. Allen?"

"Only when I'm paying for it," he replied with a grin that neatly curled his mustache.

One

"Hello, I'm Agent Gerald Maytag of the FBI. I have an appointment with Mr. Brooks Allen."

"Of course, Mr. Maytag. Mr. Allen is running behind in his schedule, so please have a seat. Could I get you some coffee or something?"

"Yes," said Maytag, admiring the secretary as she stepped out from behind her desk. He wondered if Allen's sexual misbehavior started right outside his office. For now, the accusations had come only from one woman, Claire Boone.

"Coffee would be great, thanks," said Maytag.

Gina smiled as she started to walk out of the room. Maytag stopped her. "By the way, has Agent Stanton arrived yet?"

"I don't think so," replied Gina as she paused, rocking slightly on her platform heels. "I'll be back with the coffee in a few minutes."

Gina normally made coffee in the conference room, but the machine was broken. Normally, any work for Mr. Allen took priority, but the current situation had shifted the company politics somewhat. For the last few days, she traveled to the cafeteria for coffee. She also had to look elsewhere for extracurricular activities.

Brooks had taken to keeping his hands and his big prick to himself, or at least to the tarts-for-hire like the one he had in his office right now. The job was growing more tiresome by the day.

When the elevator doors opened, out stepped an athletic-looking blonde in a black pant-suit. Her hair was cut short, and was gelled and combed down in short bangs on her scalp.

"Hi, I'm from the Agency," she said expectantly to Gina. "I'm here to see Mr. Allen."

"Oh, yes, the Bureau" Gina replied. "Mr. Maytag is waiting for you in the reception area. You'll be able to see Mr. Allen shortly."

"Oh," Missy replied, confused. She hadn't heard anything from the agency about any office flunkies.

"Would you like some coffee?" asked Gina as she entered the elevator.

"Uh, sure," said Missy.

As the doors closed, Gina wondered if all the FBI women looked so butch.

Missy walked to the office, thinking it was no wonder Allen was having trouble keeping his hands to himself with fine-looking women like that working for him.

Two

"So, do you treat all your employees this way?" asked Heather as she moved Brooks's appendage to the side and found the birth mark Claire Boone had described. "Claire Boone, for example?"

Brooks Allen let out a long sigh and then spoke: "Now I thought we were getting along just fine, Heather, and then you mention Claire Boone. I'm never going to get this thing up if you get me thinking of personal problems."

"You have to admit this little birth mark here is certainly as she described it. Although it would seem there are other more obvious... " --Heather cleared her throat-- "... features that she could have pointed out."

"So she knows about the birth mark. Any number of people could have told her that," said Brooks. "Claire Boone is upset that her career is finished at Dyness, but that has more to do with her performance as a manager than my reputation as a groping executive. Now, please, Heather, I'd rather be stuffing some part of you with this instead of filling your ears with office gossip." He gripped the base of his cock and squeezed his balls, which seemed to inflate his tool automatically.

"I don't know if you're going to be able to stuff that thing anywhere, Brooks," said a doubtful but impressed Heather Stanton.

"But, like I said, Heather, it's what you're here for. Besides, I'm a very skilled stuffer."

It was at that point, as Brooks Allen drew near, his hands and arms coming closer, his thick organ growing thicker and stiffer, that Heather Stanton knew she had to either explain exactly who she was, or go along completely. The way she saw it, she had two reasons to continue the charade. The first was that he was talking to her about the case in a very open manner, and she did not want to lose his candor. The second reason had a cute little brown birth mark on its side, and was currently about the diameter of her wrist.

Heather gave in to the onslaught. Brooks's hands grazed over her back, along the bottom of her skirt, against her nylons and then under her skirt. He bit at her neck, nibbled on her ears, and pressed his thick cock against her waist band.

Soon, Heather's shoes lay on the floor against the wall, with her hosiery draped over them in a clump. Heather sat on the edge of a leather chair, one leg draped over a padded leather arm, skirt bunched up at her waist as Brooks Allen licked at her cunt and the bushy mustache tickled the insides of her thighs.

On his knees, Brooks pushed his face deeper into Heather's dark thatch. His attention began to roll the chair towards the glass-lined wall of the office. The chair hit the wall with a slight thud, and Heather giggled as she was thrown back.

She slid forward, and her smooth round ass met the plush carpet, and her head rested against the leather chair seat. Allen continued his licking, and Heather delighted in his skill. She grew wetter and opened more with each lick. Perhaps he really was going to be able to stuff that thing in her. Heather leaned over and took hold of his engorged tool. When her fingers failed to wrap around its girth, she changed her mind once again.

Three

"Mr. Maytag," said Missy as she walked into the reception area.

"Yes," replied Maytag, expecting to see Gina, the secretary. Instead a woman with surprisingly broad shoulders and short blond hair approached him.

"I'm Missy, I was told to see you before getting to Mr. Allen."

"Oh," said Maytag. Perhaps she had a complaint, he thought. "Maybe we should get a little more privacy."

While waiting, Maytag had noticed the conference room opposite Brooks Allen's office. He led Missy inside and began to ask her questions.

"How do you know Mr. Allen?"

"Actually," replied Missy, "I've never met him. I know him from reputation, though. Y'know, like from the other girls."

"I see," said Maytag. "And what is his reputation?"

"I hear that he's very nice, that he treats the girls well. And, uh, that he's rather generous, if you know what I mean."

"Generous?" asked Maytag.

On-the-job training had taught Missy that men sounded curious about such things, but never really maintained much enthusiasm after hearing about another man's heavy lifting equipment. She decided to change the subject.

"Listen, Maytag," she said as she sidled next to him and grabbed his necktie, sliding her thumb down along its face. "What exactly do you do for Mr. Allen? Royal pussy taster? Making sure the top dog gets the finest in bitches?"

Missy's hand had reached the bottom of his silk tie. She allowed it to drop from the bright strip of fabric and take hold of his crotch. After giving his balls a gentle squeeze, she dropped to a crouch and nuzzled her face against his fly.

"Coffee?" asked Gina as she walked into the room." Or maybe not." Gina turned quickly, straining her arms to keep the vacuum bottle and coffee mugs securely on the serving tray.

"Gina, wait, stop right there," Maytag called. He was so concerned with the secretary that he had not bothered to move Missy away. She began to unzip his pants." This isn't what you think!" Maytag pleaded.

Gina watched as the blonde fished a hand inside Maytag's pants. A gold bracelet dangled from her wrist as it turned to and fro and eventually emerged with the beginnings of an erection.

"It certainly looks like what I think," Gina said, moving the tray forward to indicate Missy's ministrations.

Maytag realized that appearances had only grown worse in the last few seconds, and he then tried to move back from Missy. Instead, he managed to pull back the cloth of his pants and reveal more of himself. He also lost his balance, and found his hands behind him, gripping the conference table to support his weight.

"There's been a mistake," Maytag said, his voice rising as he said the last syllable. The moment corresponded to Missy taking his dick into her mouth and tugging on it with a considerable amount of sucking. It almost sounded like he said, "birthday CAKE". Only Missy was doing the candle blowing.

"Oh, I understand," Gina said, putting the coffee down on the table next to Maytag. She craned her neck to get a better look at Missy sucking his dick." A couple of co-workers, waiting for a meeting. It's easy to get bored, I know."

Gina ran her hand along Maytag's necktie, and used it to pull his face towards hers.

"I miss that kind of work environment," Gina whispered, "Things just haven't been the same since the whole Claire Boone mess. I don't get as many... coffee breaks... as I used to."

With that, Gina pressed her lips to Maytag's, pushed them apart, and kissed him slow, then deep, then slower. Maytag now had two reasons not to clear the confusion. Nevertheless, he pressed on with some questions.

Or at least, he did the best he could under the circumstances.

"You mean...?" was what he managed as a start after Gina pulled her lips away from him.

"That's right, Mr. Maytag, no hanky panky since then. Not that he doesn't get the chances. Women here practically throw themselves at him."

Gina loosened the knot of Maytag's tie, and unbuttoned his collar. She inched her nose inside the starched celluloid, and breathed hot on his neck.

"And... Claire?" Maytag asked. Considering the professional nature of Missy's cock-sucking abilities, that was quite a feat.

"I don't know," Gina said." I don't think he ever touched her. But one thing's for sure: she was a fuck-up. She deserved to be fired. Now she sues, and ruins a good thing. At least for me."

"I see," said Maytag. That was not entirely true. Maytag could barely make out what Gina was saying past the sensation of Missy cupping his balls and running her mouth over his dick like a hypoglycemic with the last candy cane off the Christmas tree.

"So, I hope I can help you two give Mr. Allen a favorable report," Gina cooed. Gina slid down Maytag's silk tie, as Missy had earlier, and joined her in the slow task of depositing all of her lipstick along Maytag's cock.

When Missy had a free moment, Maytag asked if her if this was an example of Mr. Allen's generosity.

Ever the professional, Missy kept her mouth shut.

Four

Heather Stanton struggled to open her mouth and take in Brooks's generous endowment. After he licked her to a spine-tingling orgasm, she felt she had an obligation to at least give his cock the ol' FBI academy try.

Besides, the thought of fucking that crotch rocket was similar to the idea of getting into a cold swimming pool: she knew that it would feel just fine once the initial shock was gone, but she was still a little reluctant.

As she her lips contorted to fit over his cock, however, she realized that what she was trying to do was the equivalent of getting into a pool one step at a time. What she needed to do was to dive straight in, take that initial plunge, and then work on full long strokes through the pool.

"Fuck me with that thing," she said, rising from her kneeling position, and leaning over the desk.

Brooks lifted her skirt and took hold of his tool. Heather brought her right hand to her twat, then lowered her stomach to the desk, lifting her ass up and out in the process.

"That," said Brooks, "is a fine ass." He ran a free hand over her cheeks, dipping down to feel the damp warmth between her legs, and stopping to give her ass a playful slap.

Heather gave her clit a gentle rub, then used her index and forefinger to spread her lips apart.

Brooks placed his pipe against her and pushed forward. Slippery from the all the earlier licking, Heather's cunt easily gave way at first. But as the tapered head of Brooks cock gave way to its girth, Heather's pussy did not yield as easily. As he penetrated, his shaft tugged at her uncomfortably.

Soon, though, his trunk was coated with her wetness, and he slid easily in and out. The initial sting gave way to a filled-to-the-brim sensation that Heather relished. She pushed back against his advances, and enjoyed the feel of his thick prick filling her cunt. What had been a jaw-straining, eye-watering exercise in fellatio was now a luxurious leg-spreading, pussy-stretching fuck.

Heather was going to come again, and it wasn't going to take long to happen. She couldn't focus enough to rub her clitoris, but the widening of her lips to accept Brooks's cock seemed to tug on it by itself.

En route to her second orgasm of the day, this one more bone-shaking than spine-tingling, Heather gasped a stream of'god's, 'oh's, 'yes's, and 'fuck's. She might have formed a complete sentence, but the only person there to hear it was in no position to tell. He was busy pumping her cunt full of his spunk, and enjoying a little bone shaking and spine tingling of his own.

Five

Gina held on to the necktie, tugging it while she sucked, as if she were underwater and the red strip of silk was her way back to the surface. It might have seemed the necktie was getting as much attention as he was, but that simply wasn't true.

In reaction to the tension around his neck, pulling on the tops of his shoulders, Maytag leaned back and stiffened. Tensing the muscles in his upper body, he jutted his cock further out into the air, or, more precisely, into Gina's mouth. She could sense him approaching climax, and she gripped his neckwear firmly.

Gina held on with good reason, for when Maytag came, her mouth was soon filled with his warm slippery semen. She could barely contain the torrents of his spurting, and a small trickle ran down her chin.

Missy licked at the small rivulet with her tongue, and that pushed Maytag into a renewed bout of twitching. The pulsing of his cock never seemed to end and he collapsed against the table. Relieved of the strain, his upper arms twitched while his legs turned to rubber, and Maytag's whole body fell limp.

Meanwhile, Gina recovered and saw Missy staring at her. She wondered if she had to get this FBI agent off, too, in order to help her boss.

For her part, Missy wondered if this was another test set up for her before getting to Mr. Allen's office. She was not one to complain about such good-looking assignments, especially when the client had as much money as Mr. Allen.

The two, still lost in confusion, soon rolled together on the conference room floor: a tangle of arms, legs, and fluttering tongues. Maytag could only watch.

"Where the hell is Maytag?"

The voice was Stanton's, and it came from just the other side of the conference room doors.

Maytag hurried to tuck his shirt into his pants and zip up his fly. He fixed his collar and slid into the waiting area, barely opening the doors before shutting them behind himself. He pulled the knot of his tie snug against the collar, as Stanton leaned on Gina's desk and fixed the strap of one of her shoes.

"Maytag!"

"Stanton! Where were you?"

Stanton stood straight and brushed the long dark hair from her face. "I was just with Brooks Allen... I was debriefing him."

"Oh," said Maytag warily." That's good."

"How about you?" asked Heather.

"I was, uh, conducting an oral session with a couple of Allen's employees."

"Oh," said Heather, "Good."

"Good timing," remarked Maytag, "It seems we both got done at the same time."

"Yeah, well, timing is everything," agreed Heather.

"Are we finished, then?" asked Maytag.

"Yeah, I think we oughtta go," replied Heather.

With that, the two of them left. The elevator doors closed just as Brooks Allen went looking for his secretary, some coffee, and the FBI agents that were supposed to arrive for his questioning.

End