Corporate Tail


 From the day the company hired her, Karyn had set my teeth on
edge. When she was introduced as the new sales manager, she looked me
up and down before saying, "Engineering must agree with you" in a
cool, insulting tone. Then, without so much as a handshake, she turned
and sashayed back down the hallway, her ass twitching to its own
internal metronome.

I should tell you something about myself. I am chief engineer
for a mid-sized electronics firm. Since I grew up in a rural town
where $12,500 was a "good" salary, I feel like I've done pretty well.
I worked hard in high school and graduated from a prestigious
engineering school. Our company is in high demand, which means fairly
low pressure and very good money.

Growing up in that small town, I discovered that I was
fascinated by black women. There were no blacks in the town, so the
only African-American women I saw were in Playboy and Hustler, but
some of my fondest boyhood memories involved jacking off over pictures
of dusky-skinned beauties. There were few blacks at the university I
attended, but the fascination continued. The few times I went to a
strip club with my buddies, I always gravitated to the black dancers.
I later found out that my inclination was to all exotic women,
including Asian and Hispanic, but more of that later. After I married,
I put these thoughts out of my mind, but my wife died of cancer about
eight years ago, leaving me single and in my mid-thirties. That's when
I discovered that I was still drawn to women of color. I never acted
on my inclination. I'm an average guy, probably ten pounds overweight,
and my appearance is totally unremarkable, except for a very good head
of hair. I'm of average height, with average blue eyes. I had settled
into a comfortable, somewhat boring rut of success at the job and no
social life.

Then they hired Karyn. She was twenty-four, graduated from
some hot-shot business school at twenty-two and had been the top sales
exec at a major corporation for two years. When our firm decided we
needed a sales manager, she was a bit young, but her incredible resume
blew away Mike Gitler, the founder and president of our company. I bet
her appearance didn't hurt one bit either.

Karyn stood close to six feet tall, because she's almost eye-
to-eye with me in flats. Her flawless skin was slightly darker than
milk chocolate. She had large brown wide-set eyes, high cheekbones and
a graceful neck and jaw line. She was some kind of athlete in college,
either basketball or track. I think the size of her breasts probably
kept her from being an All-American. They blossomed off her trim,
athletic body with a fullness and heft that made you immediately think
"Implants!", but according to Denise in accounting, who worked out at
the same gym, they were the real thing. Karyn's long muscular legs
curved up to a round, high-riding ass. She favored short skirts and
high heels that emphasized those legs and that ass, and blouses that
gave a teasing hint of her fully-packed cleavage.

Not that she needed to. She was a dynamite sales manager, and
our gross profits began to climb from the day she arrived.
Unfortunately, she was a true bitch to me. I think it's because she
believed that sales made any company go. The product was irrelevant,
therefore engineering didn't matter. On top of that, I had little
real power. Karyn was very interested in knowing who had the power.
She always made a point of being friendly with Gitler, and anyone else
who might further her career. The rest of us, she snubbed. Except for
the sales staff, who worshiped her, Karyn was quite unpopular.

I had mixed feelings. On one hand, she was a snob and a
climber of the career ladder. On the other hand, her appearance made
her one of the most exciting women I had ever seen. Countless
encounters in the employee cafeteria with Karyn left me with a seething
temper and a throbbing dick. She walked away, head high, while I had
to sit quite carefully at the table lest anyone see my hard-on.

One Thursday, I had really had it. Karyn made a point of
coming INTO the engineering department to bust my chops about some
design feature of a new product. "Stefan," she cooed, in a patently
false voice, "we simply must think more like the customer. How can
Sales be expected to overcome the shortcomings of the design
department?" To make matters worse, she had brought one of her sales-
bitches, Tara, with her. It was all I could do to keep from hurling my
desk calculator at her as she leaned over my drafting table, her tits
practically in my face. Not only did she have the biggest set I've
ever seen, but she must have shoved them into a WonderBra. I could
feel sweat collecting at my hairline as I tried to avoid looking at
her boobs. I couldn't even hear most of her "advice". Finally, she
left, talking to Tara in conspiratorial tones. They paused at the door
to look back at me, still sitting at my table. "Man," said Ralph,
another engineer, "what a real ball-buster."

I arrived home in a fine stew. Throwing off my clothes, I went
upstairs to the bathroom and ran the shower very, very hot. I stood
under the showerhead, letting the stinging needles of water pound at
my shoulders as I soaped my chest. Soon, I felt the tension begin to
drain away. I soaped my stomach, then my groin.

To my surprise, my dick sprang to attention. I hadn't
masturbated in a long, long time, but the touch of the soap on my
organ brought it to life. I realized I was thinking of Karyn. That
knowledge made my dick even harder. I glanced down. My cock was stiff
and shiny, like a teen-age boy's. Almost without thinking, I began to
stroke it.

As I did, images filled my mind. Karyn naked... no, wait, not
naked - in lingerie, that's right, in trashy, Victoria's Secret-style
lingerie. Karyn in thong panties and five-inch heels, kneeling in
front of me, sucking my dick. Karyn in garter belt and lace gloves,
spreading her gorgeous legs for me. Karyn in, in... The image was so
powerful it almost buckled my knees. Karyn in garter belt and fish-
net stockings with a seam up the back, bending over in front of me,
reaching back with her hand to spread the cheeks of her ass so I
could...

I had never had anal sex, not even with my wife, but my hatred
of Karyn was so strong that I could see myself forcing her to pull
apart her butt-cheeks so I could slide my dick into her puckered
bunghole. Holding the image in my mind, I jerked my cock faster and
faster. It wasn't my hand that gripped and pulled at my stiff tool, it
was the tight, warm interior of Karyn's rectum. I felt my orgasm
building, boiling in my balls. I reached down with my other hand and
massaged them until my semen exploded, spurting jet after jet of cum
against the tile wall of the shower.

I opened my eyes, my knees weak with the force of my
ejaculation. Slowly, a plan began to form. Karyn had thrown down the
gauntlet. Now, I was going to get her.

* * *

But how was I going to do that? Karyn was doing a great job.
Sales were increasing. Her sales staff was bringing in the clients. I
began to scout around, looking for an opening.

My first break was a simple discovery. While eating lunch one
day, I noticed that the sales department sat together. As I watched, I
was struck by how many of them were female. Not just female, either.
No, Karyn had populated her department with particularly attractive
women. They outnumbered the men by at least 3:1. The ratio itself
wasn't alarming; most of our executives and engineers were men. The
heavily female sales staff made our numbers look better to the feds.
What struck me was just how juicy these babes were. Big bosoms, long
legs, tight asses, gorgeous faces. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a
tiny idea began to stir. I needed to find out when a sales call would
be made.

It was easy to do. I simply picked a saleswoman, Annette, and
tried, through e-mail that I routed outside the firm, to set up a
product meeting with her. I was able to get her entire schedule for
the next week. Then I hired a private detective to follow her on her
calls on a particular day. It was expensive, but why make the money if
you can't spend it? I told him that I suspected my wife was cheating
on me, but I needed proof. The expression on his face when I paid him
and took delivery of his report told me I'd hit paydirt.

The report was thorough and professional, but it was the
photos that made it worth every penny. There were several shots of
Annette, statuesque, blond and wind-blown, meeting with clients.
Strangely enough, most of her sales meetings occurred at hotels. Most
of the interior photos were in hotel bars, but about halfway down the
stack, I got lucky.

Annette had met her client at the Palm Shores, a very
expensive hotel that features bungalows and detached cabins. This
enabled the detective to get in close, and he was good. I had a half-
dozen glossy 8x10's of Annette on her knees giving the guy head,
Annette on all fours getting doggie-dicked, Annette masturbating the
guy, and finally, the piece de resistance, Annette taking the guy's
cum full in the face. The detective even threw in some shots of the
client leaving the Palm Shores and Annette showering and cleaning up.

It was a good start, but I needed more. I won't bore you with
details, except to say it involved a phone call or two to the client
in the photos, but in a few weeks I had garnered the knowledge and
proof that Karyn was using kickbacks to increase sales.

I still felt I needed more. I was at home one night, fuming
over another of Karyn's insults and wondering how to cement my plan
when it occurred to me. The answer was right there in front of me!

The next day, I called Karyn's old business school and,
pretending to be a prospective employer, checked her academic records.
What I found out rocked me. Karyn had lied about her grades on the
application. Not only that, but according to a b-school secretary who
swore me to secrecy, there was a rumor that Karyn met her requirements
for graduation by giving a blow job to the dean and performing
cunnilingus on her female faculty adviser. I couldn't wait to call her
job references.

Paydirt again. Some of them hadn't even heard of her, and the
ones that had were less than enthusiastic. As I hung up the phone, I
wondered how she had gotten this far. Still, it wasn't implausible.
Gitler was notorious for going 'on his gut'. He was probably so
knocked out by her personal poise in the interview that he ash-canned
the references.

I put copies of all the information in a manila envelope,
which I carried in my briefcase. Now I was waiting for the right
moment.

It came the next week. I was in my office, a small cubicle
separate from the rest of the engineering floor. The rest of the guys
were already gone to lunch. I was getting ready to leave when the door
opened, and guess who walked in?

She was wearing an oversized double-breasted blue jacket, and
apparently no skirt underneath it. The jacket came just below the
cheeks of her ass. Her legs were bare, her feet in four-inch heels.
Some sort of stretchy lace showed in the deep V of the jacket front.
Her usual half-smirk was aimed at me.

"Stefan," she said, "we need to talk."

"Yes, we do." I cut her off, taking the manila envelope out of
my case. "I think we really need to make sure that we understand where
we stand with each other." I handed over a copy of her transcript that
I had obtained, along with reports from the "references" she had
given. She was very good. She barely blinked.

"So?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "I lied on my application.
Everybody does it. My record since I've been here will make this seem
like a harmless tactic."

"Ah, yes. Your record." I handed her the documentation of her
kickbacks. This bothered her more.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Karyn, I am putting you in you place." I gave her the coup de
grace, the photos of Annette. "The transcript may not be that
damaging, but in conjunction with fraud and what can only be called
pimping, I think it's enough to guarantee that you'll never work in
sales again, not even after you get out of prison."

She was trapped and she knew it, but she tried a gutsy
maneuver. I had moved around to lean against the front to the desk. It
was probably obvious that I was aroused. It felt like I had a 2x4 in
my pants. Karyn stepped up close to me; I could smell her expensive,
spicy perfume. Red lacquered nails rested against my shirt. "What is
it you're really after?" she whispered, her voice low and throaty in
my ear. Then she reached down and actually began massaging my erection
through my pants.

That was when I really knew I'd go through with it. Her brazen
belief that a little heavy breathing would satisfy me kept my anger
alive. I grabbed her by the nape of the neck and hissed in her ear,
"You've got the right idea, but that's not enough."

"Really?" she asked. I felt her hand pull down my zipper and
free my dick. As she stroked my boner, she leaned forward and gave me
a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Our tongues swirled together for what
seemed like forever, then she broke the kiss and stepped back. She
unbuttoned her jacket with one hand and shrugged her shoulders,
letting it fall to the floor. She was wearing only heels and a
sleeveless lace body suit with a thong back. She struck a pose, hand
on hip, displaying her magnificent body. "Is this what you want?"

Now was the time to drop the hammer. I stood there with my
dick sticking out and heard myself say, "Karyn, I could ruin you
forever. If you want to keep this job or any job, here are my terms.
You're mine. All the time, any time. Not only that, but I want the
services of your little pool of sales whores. If I demand it, you
provide it, no matter what."

Her flirtatiousness vanished. "No way, you bastard! Get
fucked!" She bent to pick up her jacket, the thin strip of white lace
vanishing between her round ass cheeks.

"OK," I said. "I'll just get the first set of these to Mr.
Gitler. Nothing personal."

She stopped, her back to me, allowing me to observe that
luscious butt. When she finally turned, I knew that I had won.

"All right," she said. "I accept the terms. Now what?"

"Well," I said. "Now I think we should finish what you
started." My dick was still standing proud. Without a word, Karyn
knelt in front of me and took me in her mouth. I watched her head bob
up and down on my dick, her shiny black hair swaying. Her tongue
massaged the length of my pole until I could take no more. Grabbing a
handful of her hair, I pulled her head back just in time for my full
load to land on her face; spurt after spurt of pearly white cum
splashing on her chocolate skin. Finally, I exhausted my supply.

"Clean yourself up," I ordered. "And remember, this is just
the beginning."