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 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."

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an503874@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sun, 28 Jan 1996 05:58:26 UTC
Subject: Corporate Tail 2/?

			    Corporate Tail
			       Part Two
			    Convention-al

	Three weeks after I put the screws to Karyn, my first
opportunity to use my new leverage came around. I had forgotten it was
almost time for the annual electronic engineering seminar I attended.
It was really quite a snore; three days of dull exhibits and boring
meetings covering stuff that most of us already know and highlighting
whatever "productivity" guru is hot that year. Still, it got me out of
the middle of a work week, and I usually saw the sights in some city
I'd never been in before. But when Gitler reminded me of the trip just
four days before I left, I knew this was the opportunity to exert my
hold over Karyn.

	I buzzed her office on the phone. We have secure lines, so no
one can listen in on a conversation. The phone also has a handy red
light that flashes if you're on speaker-phone. The red light stayed
unlit as Karyn's voice cautiously said, "Hello?"

	"Karyn!" I was enthusiastic. "I have a problem. I'm going on a
business trip next Tuesday, and I really don't want to go alone.
Wouldn't it be great if a couple of the gals from sales came along?"

	There was a pause. "That's short notice," she finally said.

	"So find someone who can go on short notice. And just so we
understand each other, bring 'em down to my office so I can see 'em."

	In about half an hour, there was knock at my door. Karyn's
voice asked if they could come in. "Sure," I replied.

	Two women followed Karyn into the office. "Ladies, I believe
you know Stefan Mills. Stefan, this is Martine and LeAndra. They'll be
going to the convention with you."

	Martine was tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed. She definitely
had a Latin heritage. She had a smoldering, sensuous look about her.
Maybe it was her wide mouth and impossibly full lips.

	LeAndra was shorter, of Polynesian descent. Her jet-black hair
hung below her shoulders. She had been a contestant in the local Miss
Fitness America pageant. I nodded my approval.

	"Tell you what, ladies, I like what I'm seeing," I said. "But
I need to be sure. Why don't you two just strip down right here." They
hesitated for a moment, but at a glance from Karyn, they both began to
strip.

	In moments, both of them were naked. LeAndra had shaved her
pussy; Martine's pubic hair was bushy and abundant. My boner was
throbbing as I looked at two prime pieces of ass. "Karyn," I said,
"come over here."

	When Karyn reached my desk, I pulled her around to me and
turned her to face the other two women. "Bend over," I commanded. She
did. I pulled up her silk skirt and pulled her panties down to mid-
thigh, exposing her purple-pink twat. I unzipped my fly and let my
dick spring out, then placed the engorged head at the lips of Karyn's
pussy and shoved it home. I slipped into her mocha love tunnel, pumping
hard, long strokes, withdrawing my cock almost to the head before
sliding it back in. Martine and LeAndra were clearly uncomfortable
watching me bone their boss in front of them. I grabbed a handful of
Karyn's hair and pulled her head back, so she would have to look at
their faces. Her muscular ass jiggled with the rhythm of my fucking; I
could feel her pubic hair tickle my swinging balls as each thrust
ended.

	Finally, I could last no longer; with a mighty spasm, my cock
shot a hot load of my seed into Karyn's pussy. I stayed buried in up
to the hilt until my orgasm was done, then pulled her panties up over
the sticky mess I had left there.

	"By the way, ladies," I said as they began to get dressed, "I
wouldn't pack any underwear for this trip. And try to look nice on
Tuesday."

				* * *

	On Tuesday, Martine and LeAndra met me at the airport. Martine
wore a red knit mini-dress that ended at mid-thigh. No sign of panty
line, and she was obviously not wearing a bra. LeAndra wore an
oversized leather jacket over a purple silk T-shirt and black and
purple patterned bike shorts. Again, no bra or panties in evidence. I
liked that. These girls knew how to take orders.

	We found our gate and determined that our flight would leave
in seventeen minutes. We took seats in those molded plastic airport
chairs whose colors and shape are not found in nature. The girls sat
side-by-side; I sat across from them. As I took my chair, I noticed a
well-dressed couple staring at the girls. The man looked to be in his
fifties; the woman was perhaps twenty years younger. He was slightly
heavy-set; she was blonde and trim, quite a looker. I supposed she was
a trophy wife. They were trying to look at the girls without being
caught staring. Over the top of my magazine, I made eye contact with
Martine, and moved my legs slightly apart. She got the message.
Slowly, she uncrossed her legs and sat with her feet slightly apart.
By inclining my head slightly, I could easily make out her pussy, the
pouting lips peeking plainly out of the dark hair. I glanced out the
corner of my eye at the couple. Both were clearly staring at Martine's
crotch. The wife was flushed and breathing fast. The husband looked
like he was about to have a stroke.

	The attendant called our flight. The girls and I got up and
entered the tunnel. Martine's admirers remained seated. I didn't think
the husband would be able to walk for a while. Our seats were in first
class; Gitler believes that first-class travel and accommodations are
worth the extra expense. The section was sparsely occupied. Rows ahead
and behind us were quite empty. I sat in the middle seat, with Martine
on my left and LeAndra on my right. I was already feeling slightly
hard from the flashing episode. We endured the captain's welcome and
the safety instructions. Does anyone listen to those? Then the jumbo
jet took off, slamming us back into our seats as we climbed into the
sky. Finally, we leveled off and the seat belt sign went off. We had
four hours to kill in the air.

	The flight attendant, a striking woman with coppery hair and
blue eyes, asked if we needed anything. I asked for a blanket. She
brought back a full-sized, first-class blanket. As she left, I
reclined in my seat. Drinks came. After we were refreshed, I looked
at the girls. "Why don't you lean your seats back and share the
blanket?" I suggested. They complied. The blanket easily covered us
all. Once we were comfy, I slid my hands underneath the blanket to
their crotches. My left hand slipped quite nicely under Martine's
dress, where my fingers soon found themselves lodged in slippery
pussy. My right hand roamed over LeAndra's hairless mound. At my
command, she raised her ass slightly and pulled the shorts down,
allowing my right hand to become acquainted with her twat. I slowly
finger-fucked both women; soon their breathing began to speed up and
become shallow. I teased them unmercifully, bringing them to the edge
of orgasm again and again, only to withdraw my fingers before they
went over the brink. Finally, I pushed them all the way. LeAndra's
firm body quivered and sweat rolled down her face; Martine stifled a
low moan as her body stiffened. I figured that two first-class seats
were going to smell like fish for a while.

	"Now, ladies," I said. "I think it's your turn." Soon, two
hands were busily engaged, unzipping my pants and taking out what was
by now a rigid talleywhacker. LeAndra squeezed and massaged my balls
while Martine took a firm grip on my manhood and stroked. It was the
hand-job of a lifetime. I was almost ready to blow when I stopped
them. "I don't want to ruin the blanket," I whispered to Martine. "You
have to use something to catch my cum."

	"What?" she whispered, then reached for her cocktail napkin. I
shook my head.

	"Won't do," I hissed. "Not big enough. Use you shoe."

	Her eyes widened. "Do what?"

	"Use your shoe. Now," I commanded. LeAndra was still fondling
my scrotum, which kept my erection ready to burst. Martine reached
down, removed her four-inch heel, and moved it under the blanket. Soon
I was blowing my wad into the toe of a $200 Italian leather pump.
After I finished, I said to Martine, "Put it back on." She made a
face, but obeyed, jamming her lovely foot into the sticky interior. I
could almost hear the scum squish between her toes.

	The flight attendant seemed to materialize in the aisle. "Sir,
I think you should know that behavior of the sort I have just
witnessed is not acceptable. There could be heavy penalties if I
report what went on here."

	I studied her. She was actress-pretty. "Well," I said, "what
can we do to keep you from reporting this incident?"

	She looked down at LeAndra and stroked her hair. "I suppose I
should take a statement from this young lady regarding what happened."

	"By all means," I agreed. "LeAndra, go with the attendant and
give her whatever assistance you can offer." LeAndra slid out from
under the blanket. Her shorts were back up, but an unmistakable whiff
of pussy escaped. The attendant pointed toward the back of the plane,
then followed LeAndra.

	I drowsed, spent and happy. When LeAndra slid back into her
seat, I awoke and checked my watch. She'd been gone forty minutes. I
noticed that she was shifting in her seat and reaching for a napkin,
which she used to wipe her mouth.

	"Okay," I said. "Tell me all about it." I reached out and took
Martine's hand, which I guided back under the blanket to my dick.

	LeAndra made a face. "The woman is a pervert. She took me back
to the lounge and made me strip. Then she made me get on all fours
while she reamed my ass with this vibrating dildo. It was huge. She
stuffed her panties in my mouth to cover the groans. Then she said my
story wasn't believable, so she paddled my ass with a hair brush. God,
my ass is sore!" My dick was at attention, aided by Martine's expert
hand.

	"Go on," I prompted LeAndra.

	"I think the dildo worked like an enema, because I had to shit
something fierce. She wouldn't give me any privacy. She made me squat
over the attendant's commode so she could watch me take a dump." She
shuddered. So did I; Martine had me ready to pop.

	"And... " I said.

	LeAndra looked down. I think she was honestly ashamed. She
mumbled something I couldn't hear. "Excuse me," I said.

	Even with her dark Polynesian coloring, it was obvious LeAndra
was blushing. "I said, she made me lick her asshole until she came."

	I could feel the orgasm coming. "The other shoe," I said to
Martine. For the second time in the flight, I filled Martine's pump
with goo. As she slid her foot back into the squishy mess, I thought,
"Not even there, and already this is the best convention ever."

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an503874@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sun, 28 Jan 1996 05:56:39 UTC
Subject: Corporate Tail 3/?

			    Corporate Tail
			      Part Three
			    Convention-al
II

	I dozed for the rest of the flight. I was vaguely aware of the
girls making trips to the rest- room; I presume that LeAndra gargled
and Martine washed her feet. When the plane landed, we retrieved our
luggage (easily done, since the girls each had a garment bag and
duffel and I had two bags) then caught the airport shuttle to our
hotel. The driver of the van gave us some pointed looks. I suppose we
did look a little rumpled.

	I always stay at the convention hotel. Sometimes it costs a
little more, but convenience makes it worthwhile. I checked in and
received the key to my room; I had made a point of not changing the
reservation for a single room, king-size bed.

	As I was heading back to the girls, one of the bellmen stopped
me. "Need help with your bags, sir?" he asked. Actually, bell"man" was
stretching it; he was a rather weedy adolescent with straw-colored
hair and mild acne.

	I didn't need help with two bags, of course, but I thought I
might have some fun. "Sure" I said. "Grab a cart." His eyes popped
when we got to the girls. He loaded all six bags on the cart, trying
not to gawk as he did so. We rode the glass elevator to the twelfth
floor in silence. Room 1200 was a corner room. It had a nice view of
the city, but the bathroom was huge.

	The bellman put the bags in the closet and waited expectantly
for his tip. "What's your name?" I asked him as I place five dollars
in his hand.

	"Ed, sir," he replied.

	"Well, Ed, you did a marvelous job. LeAndra, why don't you
come over here and give Ed a little extra tip."

	The bellman's eyes widened as LeAndra walked over to him and
knelt in front of him. Unzipping his pants, she brought out his
pecker. Ed may not have been handsome, but he hadn't been shortchanged
in the dick department. His tool lengthened impressively as LeAndra
grasped it in her hand and began to lick. She worked it like an all-
day sucker, coating it generously with saliva. Finally, when it was
purple-red and hard, she took it in her mouth. Ed slumped back
against the wall, his eyes rolling back. LeAndra was sucking hard, her
head bobbing up and down as one hand squeezed Ed's dick and the other
fondled his dangling balls. Ed moaned. "Are you gonna cum?" I asked.
He nodded. "Why don't you cum on her face?" I suggested. Ed's eyes
widened, but when he saw that I was serious, he pushed away from the
wall. Grabbing LeAndra's hair with one hand, he tilted her head back
while jerking his cock with the other. After a few strokes, long
spurts of pearly-white semen began jetting from the gaping eye, arcing
through the air to land on LeAndra's tawny skin. By the time Ed was
finished, LeAndra was covered in cum. It ran down her chin, splattered
her forehead and cheeks, and was even in her hair. Ed suddenly looked
embarrassed, tucked his now-limp organ into his pants and stumbled out
the door.

	"Geez, LeAndra," I chuckled, "clean yourself up. You're a
mess." She shot me a wicked look and went into the bathroom. When she
came back, I was struck by how we must appear. The girls looked gamey
and used (surprise!), and I figured I looked pretty rumpled myself.
"I'm going to shower," I announced. "You can use it after I'm
through."

	When I emerged, squeaky-clean, the girls went into the
bathroom. When they finally emerged from the bathroom, naked and wet,
I was lying on the bed, naked as the day I was born. I immediately
jumped up from the bed and offered it to them. "Lay down, please," I
said. They sat on the bed, rather suspiciously, I must say. I produced
a bottle of body lotion supplied by the hotel. "To help take the edge
off your strenuous trip, I thought I would give you both a massage.
Lie back please."

	They both lay back, side by side. I squeezed a generous amount
of coconut-scented oil into my palm and began to massage Martine,
paying particular attention to her breasts and abundant thatch of
pussy hair. Then I moved to LeAndra, beginning with her toes and
moving up her legs, finally straddling her torso and rubbing the oil
into her breasts. LeAndra had spectacular nipples. They were like
gumdrops, surrounded by large areoles that grew puffy when she was
aroused. I began to roll her nipples in my fingers, my cock growing
stiff between her breasts. After several minutes of playing with her
titties, I commanded both girls to turn over, face down. I repeated
the massage process, oiling them all over. Finally, I leaned back and
looked at their glistening bodies. Their wonderfully rounded asses
looked so inviting. Why not? Martine started when I pulled apart her
cheeks and dribbled oil on her anus. I repeated the process on
LeAndra, then worked the middle finger on each hand into their
assholes. Within moments, I had three fingers on each hand in an
asshole. They were rolling and moaning on the bed; my dick was bobbing
around like a cork in a hurricane. I pulled my hand out of Martine's
bunghole and positioned myself behind LeAndra. Grabbing her around
the hips, I placed the head of my cock against her already-ravaged
pooper. She tried to protest, but it did no good. I buggered her. The
feel of her poop-chute squeezing my cock was unreal. It was tighter
than any vagina and the friction was incredible. As I pushed further
into her bowels, LeAndra pleaded with me to stop. Right! I was a man
possessed. I rammed into her, feeling every inch of every stroke. I
unloaded an enormous amount of spunk into her bowel. It felt like
liquid fire pouring out of my dick. Finally, I pulled out, exhausted.

	"Great," LeAndra said, jumping out of bed and holding her butt
with both hands. "Now I have to shit again." She ran into the
bathroom. The sounds of a prodigious bowel movement followed.

	I turned to Martine, who was staring at me. "Not bad for the
first day, eh?" I said.

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an503874@anon.penet.fi
Date: Wed, 7 Feb 1996 15:30:13 UTC
Subject: Corporate Tail 4/?

			   Corporate Tail
			      Part Four
			     Room Service

	Well, the rest of the night was kind of a blur. LeAndra was
pretty much out of action; two bouts of butt-fucking had made her ass
so sore she could hardly move. That left Martine to carry the weight,
but since I had already popped my cork three times, I only fucked her
twice. The first time, I made her stand against the open window,
breasts mashed flat against the glass, while I balled her from behind.
I landed my cum-shot just at the base of her spine, then watched it
slide down the crack of her ass. The second time was in the early
morning; I awoke at 3 am with a boner you could have used to cut
glass. I was sleeping in the middle of the bed with a naked girl on
either side of me, so I simply slapped Martine on the ass and told I
was horny. When my knob was good and spit-shined from some handy oral
fore-play, I made her grab the back of her knees and pull them up to
her chin, then I plunged my pulsing pecker into her twat. She was
fantastic, tight and slick, and I fucked her for forty minutes before
I pulled out and came on her face. By the time she returned from
washing up, I was asleep.

	I awoke at 7:30. The bedsheets were tangled, the girls nude
forms pressed tightly against me, but my prick wasn't stirring. He
needed some time to recover. I considered what had happened the day
before and was astonished. I realized it had been some time since I
had experienced any kind of real sexual activity, but I was amazed at
my own capacity and vigor.

	I untangled myself from the pair of nubile sleepers and
showered. I ordered breakfast as they were awakening. After a rousing
room-service breakfast of fruit, coffee, muffins and eggs, they
showered, first LeAndra, whose butt was still quite sore, then
Martine. They began to dress, but I stopped them. "No," I said. "The
only time you dress is when I tell you, and you wear what I tell you.
While we're in this room, you both stay naked." I stood there buck
naked myself, my cock swinging loosely.

	A knock sounded on the door. "Housekeeping," a female voice
called out. I opened the door. Two maids stood there. One was a stocky
older woman, gray hair pulled back in a bun, wearing a sky-blue
shirtwaist dress. The younger woman was of a type familiar to me from
my home town. She'd been the prettiest girl in high school, and she'd
kept her looks and body, but she'd never bothered to improve her mind.
In her mid twenties, she had found that employers weren't impressed by
a line reading "cheerleading" on a resume. Her hair was bleached
blond and pulled up on top of her head in a loose fall. She wore an
oversized blue shirt over black tights and athletic shoes.

	When they saw that I was nude, the older woman said, "Excuse
me. We'll come back."

	"Might as well do it now," I said. "I'll probably be this way
all weekend." They entered the room, trying to keep their eyes
averted. When they saw the two naked girls, their reactions were
markedly different. The older woman, who had probably seen much worse,
steeled herself and began to clean the room. The blond colored
fiercely. I heard her say something that sounded like "Goddamn spic"
under her breath. I listened closely as she helped with the room.
Several racial slurs passed her lips. LeAndra and Martine tried to
shrink into the wall; their nakedness seemed starker with two clothed
women in the room.

	As the maids finished, I took the older woman aside. The young
blond went into the hallway. I guess the room wasn't racially pure
enough for her. The older woman looked at me. I had wrapped a towel
around myself. I had two five dollar bills and a fifty in my hand.

	"Here," I said, placing the fives in her hand. "One for you
and one for your partner." She tucked both fives in a pocket of her
dress. She looked pointedly at the fifty.

	"What're you savin' that for?" she asked bluntly.

	I smiled. "I didn't really appreciate your co-workers attitude
toward my companions."

	She pursed her lips in distaste. "I don't make it my business
to judge people. But Shana sure don't like anybody who ain't lily-
white. I've seen her like all my life; don't pay attention in school,
get through by wigglin' your ass at the teachers, then complain that
minorities are keepin' you from gettin' ahead. I won't apologize for
her; I ain't responsible for her."

	"No, no, of course you aren't." I held up the fifty. "But I'd
like to teach her a lesson. This is for you if you'll send her back
here in a half hour, and then cover for us if she makes any
accusations."

	The woman's greed for money and distaste for her co-worker
made it easy for her. "Half-hour, you say," she said, taking the fifty
and putting it in the same pocket as the two fives.

	"You bet," I said. While she went down the hall after Shana, I
went back into the room and told the girls what was ahead. After
taking it for twenty-four hours, they were eager to dish some out. We
spent the thirty minutes getting ready for Shana's "visit".

	It was actually forty minutes before we heard the knock at the
door. The girls were hidden in the closet. I was in the bathroom,
peeking through the partially-open door. I heard the lock click and
the soft sigh of the door opening. Through the crack between the door
and the jamb, I could see Shana enter the room, looking around. She
didn't find what she was looking for, but she did see the $200 I had
left on the nightstand.

	As she picked it up, I came out of the bathroom, and the girls
stepped out of the closet. She was trapped, but she didn't know it.
She started at the sight of me, tossed the money back on the
nightstand and took a step backward. "'Scuse me. I'm lookin for
somethin we left here." The flat small-town twang in her voice was
pronounced.

	"I don't believe you," I said. "I think you came back to rob
us. And I think you did it because you're a red-neck racist." I
stepped toward her. I was still naked, and aware that my dick was
beginning to swell.

	"No sir," Shana protested. "I didn't come to rob you."

	"Then why were you taking that money?"

	That question stumped her; I had known it would. "You don't
like those two girls in here with me, do you Shana?"

	Her face darkened. "It ain't right! A man like you oughtta be
with his own kind."

	"And what kind would that be, Shana? A small town dumb-ass
like yourself?"

	The question stung her. She turned to leave, and for the first
time saw the girls standing in front of the door. Their expressions
were not pleased. Shana looked back at me, panic in her eyes, then
she made a real mistake. She tried to run for it.

	Shana's physique was toned by aerobics, but LeAndra and
Martine were hard-core fitness nuts. As the blond tried to burst
between them, Martine threw out her left arm, catching Shana right
around the collar bone. Her feet went out from under her and she sat
down with a "whump". As she struggled to her feet, LeAndra stepped
forward and delivered a perfectly-timed right uppercut to the solar
plexus. Shana dropped to her knees, gagging. When she finally
recovered her wind, she looked up at the three of us staring down at
her. "Whatta you want me to do?" she asked.

	"Well," I said, "speaking for myself, you can start by getting
naked."

	"Go to hell," Shana retorted. Martine grabbed a handful of
bleached-blond hair and yanked. Shana howled, then cried, "OK, OK,
I'll do it!" While LeAndra set the security chain on the door, Martine
put Shana in a hammerlock and lifted her to her feet. I pulled the
room's chairs away from the wall, dragging them across the room so
that they were between Shana and the door. Then I sat in a chair and
the girls sat on the bed.

	Shana stood in the middle of the room, head down. "All right,"
I said. "Let's begin." Shana lifted her head. "Please sir, don't make
me. Not in front of them at least." Martine got up from the bed and
went into the bathroom. She returned in a few minutes with a towel
rolled up in the familiar "rattail" shape known to every eighth-grade
boy. She walked over to Shana, and snapped her on the thigh. It must
have hurt bad; it cracked like a.22 short. Shana gasped and jumped,
then rubbed her leg.

	I said, "I think you should take off your clothes." Tears
welling in her eyes, Shana began to unbutton the oversized blue shirt.
It seemed to take a long time for those seven buttons to be undone.
Finally, she dropped the shirt. Her large, firm breasts were encased
in a plain white lace bra. I nodded. "Now the pants." She gave me a
pleading look. I responded by nodding to Martine. Again the towel
flicked; this time the tip found Shana's ass. Again she jumped and
cried out, then began to kick off her shoes. After the shoes were
off, she shimmied out of her black tights, then straightened, looking
down at the floor in shame. "The underwear," I reminded her. Defeated,
she dropped the last vestiges of her modesty to the floor.

	Her body was toned and firm, her legs long. It was obvious
that her blond hair came out of a bottle. Her pubic hair was black and
thick, trimmed to a perfect triangle just above the cleft. She was tan
with lighter shades over the breasts and groin. She obviously
sunbathed nude sometimes, but not always.

	The girls approached her and began to run their hands over her
body, caressing her breasts and thighs. Shana quivered like a new-
bridled horse, tears running down her face, but she did not run.

	"Well, ladies," I said. "What are your plans?"

	LeAndra stepped back and looked Shana in the face. "I've had
so many things in my ass lately, it could use a little TLC." She
climbed up on the bed and grabbed the headboard, feet apart. Squatting
slightly, she looked back over her shoulder at Shana. "I think she
should kiss it and make it better."

	Shana started to shake her head. Martine had picked up the
towel from the floor and CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Three times it found
Shana's bubble butt, leaving an angry red mark each time. Driven by
pain, she clambered onto the bed and was soon on all fours, her tongue
frantically licking LeAndra's asshole. Martine and I watched for a
moment, then I suggested something to Martine. She nodded and went
into the bathroom. She returned with a tube of KY Jelly. It must have
come from her own luggage. She positioned herself behind Shana and
applied a generous dollop of the lubricant to her middle finger.
Spreading Shana's buttocks with the thumb and forefinger of her left
hand, Martine began to work her finger into the blond's bunghole.

	When she felt this new invasion, Shana stopped servicing
LeAndra. I simply cracked the towel in mid-air for emphasis, and she
hastily returned to eating LeAndra's ass. I moved around to get a
better view. LeAndra's crack was shiny with Shana's saliva; her cheeks
clenched and relaxed, squeezing Shana's face in that wonderfully musky
crevice. I could see that Shana's tongue had actually penetrated
LeAndra's anus. As she worked it back and forth, I could hear low
guttural sounds coming from both women. Shana was starting to get
turned on!

	Martine was helping. She continued to add lubricant, and now
had the first three fingers of her right hand in Shana's ass. As I
watched, she slipped the little finger in. Shana's violated poop chute
gaped open as Martine's hand worked in and out. Finally, Martine
decided to go for it; fixing her hand into a rigid point, she forced
all five fingers in. Her hand disappeared up to the wrist. Her entire
fist was lodged in Shana's rectum. Skillfully, Martine matched the
rhythm of her fist-fucking to Shana's ass-eating. Sweat was pouring
off all three women. LeAndra's teeth clenched, her eyes closed.
Suddenly, she threw her head back. Her bum cheeks tightened; I thought
she was going to pull Shana's head in. Shana's orgasm followed
quickly, driven over the top by Martine's ramming fist. She collapsed
onto the bed. Martine pulled her fist out of Shana's ass with an
audible 'pop', then went into the bathroom to wash her hand.

	The smell in the room was incredible, sweat and girl-scent.
LeAndra turned, her magnificent body glistening with perspiration, her
hair plastered to her head. "God, I have to piss," she said. "But the
bathroom's full." Without another word, she squatted over Shana's
prone torso and emptied her bladder. The sight of the amber fluid
splashing down was too much for me; I grabbed my rock-hard tool and in
a few strokes brought off one of my most powerful orgasms ever. Semen
covered Shana from her pussy to the dark roots of her hair.

	But the semi-conscious Shana's greatest humiliation was yet to
come. As LeAndra climbed off the bed and I finished shaking the last
drops of spunk out of my dong, Shana's bowels and bladder betrayed
her. She lay in a mixture of piss, sweat, cum, and her own filth.

	"Ladies," I said. "I think we need to put these linens out in
the hall for cleaning." We bundled Shana up in the spread and neatly
dumped her in the hall. "By the way," I whispered in her ear as I
closed the door, "Next time, watch your mouth."