Corporate Corpus (mf cons)
By Foxbat



Disclaimer:  The characters in this story are completely fictional, and bear 
no intended resemblance to characters in real life.  This story contains 
graphic sex, in some cases non-consensual, and should not be read if such 
stories are illegal in your state, or if you are a minor.

Please feel free to distribute this, on the condition that the disclaimer 
and author's name remain intact and unaltered.


Feedback is appreciated: foxbat00@gmail.com


Corporate Corpus



	There are endless movies about end of the year parties, summer loving, and 
the like.  The problem has always been though, for me at least, that they 
were movies.  I don't give a damn if the protagonist, who I'm sure is a 
really nice guy on the inside, gets a piece of the hot chick or not because 
its not me.  Summer has always been associated with frustration in my mind, 
not with wonderful romances.
	I'd basically given up on my social life during the summer, and had gotten 
a job which occupied most of my time working in a IT department of a large 
corporation.  It's the kind of place where entire departments exist for the 
sole purpose of "supporting" other departments, and if the external 
customers dropped off the face of the planet tomorrow, it would probably 
take a month for the realization to penetrate the depths of the company, so 
busy are the departments making money off each other and supporting each 
other.  I sometimes wondered if any product was in fact being made.
	At any rate, my job mostly consisted of following my boss (who was referred 
to behind his back as "asshole") around and doing a small portion of the 
Herculean tasks he assigned to me without thought as to how I would 
accomplish them or if they were even possible.  Asshole was utterly 
oblivious to any results I produced, largely because having results meant I 
had to tell him, and if I was telling him, he couldn't be telling me, which 
is what he seemed to thrive on.  Under normal circumstances, I would follow 
Asshole around, wish I was somewhere else, retire to my small office which 
had doubtlessly started its life as a broom-closet, do a little work to 
appease my conscience, and then wish I was somewhere else for the rest of 
the day.
	The only break from the hell was lunch, where I got the wonderful respite 
of sitting by myself and choking down nasty cafeteria food, wishing I was 
back at my desk so I could wish I were back in the cafeteria again.
	It was only the pay I was earning, probably the result of some accounting 
snafu deep in the bowels of the company that kept me around.  That and the 
fact I really had nothing better to do.

	This all changed however, and it started in the least likely of places.

	I think Asshole believed that the more documents he had copied, the more 
important he must be.  A good chunk of my time was thus spent at the copy 
machine, watching it turn out reams of black and white versions of the shit 
that Asshole periodically excreted.  At first, my luck seemed to have gone 
to hell like everything else, when the copy machine nearest my office 
mysteriously died.  Now, instead of giving me nice neat copies to hate, it 
gave me shredded bits of paper, and complained endlessly of paperjams.  
Needless to say Asshole wasn't pleased, and nor was I since it meant I had 
to go to the copy room on the other side of the building.
	This however, wasn't a bad thing entirely.  You see, on my first trek over 
to the other copier, I entered nirvana when I had to stand behind a nice 
blond and wait for her to finish copying.  Coming from the land of fat 
fortysomething management, any female was a windfall but this one was really 
something.
	As she finished her stack of papers, she turned and made eye contact and 
smiled for a second before dropping it and leaving with eyes downcast to 
return to her cage doubtlessly.

	Since no one but me apparently used the copier in the close room, and no 
one including me knew how to get it fixed, it just stayed broken.  Which was 
fine.  Very fine.  Almost as fine as Sam's ass, in fact.  Sam was the blond 
who inhabited the other room and we rather quickly became friends.  She was 
in much the same position as me, basically an ego receptacle for her boss.  
We had started talking the next day when I was again waiting for the machine 
and checking out her ass.

	"Hey," she said.
	"Hey," I said.
	There was a pause as I enviously watched the copier ejaculating white 
copies.
	"Are you new?" she said, shifting her attention back to me.
	"No.... I've been here since the start of the summer.  I actually work on the 
other side of the building, but our copier just crapped out, so I have to 
use this one."  As if it were such a burden.
	"That's a bummer," she said, smiling again.  "I hate it when the copiers 
die."

	I eventually found out that she'd poured a 2 pounds of sand into the inker 
and put an entire roll of aluminum foil through the paper feed to ensure it 
would be broken.  Apparently unbeknownst to me, she'd decided that I'd make 
a good copy companion after following me back from lunch one day.
	Despite her knack for sabotage, Sam was an awesome person to talk to.  She 
had a great sense of humor, a sparkle in her eyes, and near-constantly hard 
nipples which poked through her blouses in the air-conditioned offices.  She 
was on the petit side, but always dressed to kill in spite of the corporate 
code.  We spent hours together in the little room, sitting on the floor 
talking while the machine did its job.
	Despite all this, it never occurred to me that something more was in the 
works.  The office was still so closely associated with hell in my mind that 
it had never occurred to me that she might be hot to trot.

	I was proved wrong on this score as well.

	"Hey," she said one day, "I've never actually seen your office."
	"I don't know why you'd want to but we can go check it out."  I responded.
	We navigated through the halls and corridors until we reached my closet.
	"Its not much," I said, opening the door and sitting down in my chair and 
admiring my walls.  The walls were a true work of art - one was tiled 
entirely with tear-off pages from my off-the-wall dilbert calendar.  The 
other was dominated by a large poster of Kevin Spacey from American Beauty, 
and the immortal lines, "Mostly my job consists of masking my contempt for 
the assholes in charge and retiring to bathroom once a day to jerk off while 
fantasizing about a life which less closely resembles hell."  The other wall 
was Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden from Fight Club.  I was rather proud of it 
myself.
	We had just set foot back in the copy room and sat down in the office type 
chair and I was going to ask her what she thought of it when I was rudely 
interrupted.
	"What do yoaaahhhrrrggggg,"
	Somehow a tongue not my own had managed to work its way down my throat.  
After some quick mental accounting to verify that the tongue wasn't mine, 
and that the hands running over my face and through my own were not mine 
either, I arrived at the startling conclusion that they weren't mine.
	As you might now be suspecting, they belonged to Sam, who had managed to 
straddle me and was in the process of sucking my face off.
	Its about at this time that I fully realized just what was going on.  I 
reached up and began to respond about the time my chair flipped over 
backwards from the stress and dumped us on the floor.
	Not deterred for a second, we continued our deep kiss, as I began to work 
Sam's shirt off, which was hard considering our position.  I eventually 
managed just in time for her to sit up and grasp my oxford by the pockets 
and rip it open, sending buttons everywhere.  Not that I cared anymore.
	She leaned back down, and I slipped the straps on her bra and just yanked 
it down.  Her breasts were wonderful, and her nipples were standing at 
attention now as always, begging me to play with them.  So I obliged and 
began tweaking and twisting them.  I had to stop however, when I felt her 
moving down and freeing my dick from the confines of my pants.  She had it 
out in no time was pumping away with both hands and her mouth before the 
first pleasure impulses reached my brain.  I let her go for a while before I 
decided it was her turn.  Reaching down, I pinched her nipples and drew her 
off my cock and up until we were standing.  At this point, her skirt and 
panties teleported to the floor, and I grabbed her by the ass and plunked 
her on the copy machine for the cunnilingus experience of a lifetime.
	Somehow, between us, we managed to get it started.  The machine began to 
faithfully churn out copies of the lower portion of my face embedded in her 
crotch.
	I decided to start with the unexpected, so I danced teasingly around the 
outside of her well-trimmed patch, and then grabbed her clit between my 
teeth and let her buck of surprise do the rest.  Each time she bucked, her 
clit would move between my teeth, triggering the next
buck and so forth.  I finally let go, only to stuff a few fingers into her 
hot box.  I could tell she was enjoying this by the way she was knocking her 
head against the wall and moaning loudly.  I wondered if this might 
eventually become  problem.
	She was now wet and ready, and the surface of the copier was getting hot, 
so I stood up and ran the tip of my cock through her folds a few times 
before entering her.  This was heaven.  This was also work, and I was 
getting paid.  What more could you ask for.
	I started socking it to her, using my hands to hold her hips up against 
mine and her legs open as she was perched on the edge of my desk.  After a 
few good strokes, I leaned in to kiss her, and enjoyed feeling her ragged 
breathes being drawn in time with my thrusting.
	The machine was still going under us, making black and white records of our 
little escapade.  I thought this was pretty exciting, but she managed to 
tell me through the moan that the heat was burning her ass.
	I could feel us approaching the peak, so I reached down and cupped her ass 
and picked her off the desk.  With her still mounted on my cock facing me, 
she wrapped her legs around my back, and I leaned her up against the door to 
the office, and began nailing her like a mad carpenter.  With each thrust, 
my pelvis would smack wetly into hers, and her ass would smack loudly 
against the door, which would smack into the doorframe, which took it like a 
man.  This cacophony was further enhanced by my low gutteral noises and her 
distinct sharp cries of "fuck me harder!"
	I could feel myself beginning to come, so I plowed into her as far as I 
could and held, feeling her cunt spasm around my dick which was erupting 
like Mt. St. Helen at the moment.  As I felt my sperm enter her, I felt my 
energy dwindle, and so I let go of her ass and slowly let her to her feet.  
I had not yet removed my dick though, so she was still effectively skewered 
between the stoic door and me.  I took this opportunity to give her a nice 
wet sloppy kiss.

	Quite regretfully, she had to leave shortly there after.  I had gone back 
to the office and was in the process of relieving myself out my third story 
window when it dawned on my that this would happen again tomorrow.  I looked 
down at the sheaf of photocopies showing the intimate path between my dick 
and her cunt and ass.  Asshole probably wouldn't even notice the difference, 
or know what they were even if he did.

	The rest of that summer was amazing.  After a near miss when Asshole 
decided to interrupt a marathon fellatio session and Sam had to spend two 
hours under my desk servicing me while Asshole ranted, I decided to fix the 
problem.  I sent Asshole an email informing him that HR had transferred me, 
and left him fictitious contact information for one Heinrich Scheisskopf, HR 
director, along with an 1-800 phone sex number under the heading "Customer 
Service."  I knew it would take Asshole at least until the end of the summer 
to figure out what had gone awry, and in the mean time, I had some copying 
to do.


The End