The Accountant

Tammy Lyn watched her boss in action. Whoever he was talking to was really irritating him. He'd probably need a really big hug afterwards.

"Look, I'll come over tonight," he sighed in disgust. "We'll have a drink and you can look me in the eye. Then, for good measure, we'll sit down with him so I can openly support you... Would I? Fuck man, we've been tight since high school. Your sister gave me my first blow. Why would I not?"

Chris leaned over his desk and rubbed his temple. His other hand slinked down to Tammy Lyn's ankle. "See you tonight." With a frustrated sigh he handed the phone to his waiting secretary who placed it on the cradle. "Sorry about the language," he said, rubbing her leg soothingly. "Guy's talking shop."

Tammy Lyn shrugged and clinked her heels together. "You okay?"

Chris gave a tight smile, touched that she'd picked up on his mood. He stood and downed his glass. Tammy Lyn slid to her feet.

"Another?"

Still holding the glass to his lips with his left hand, Chris shook his head, sliding his other hand to the small of her back then over her right ass cheek. Tammy Lyn stood passively at his side, smiling.

It was almost five o'clock, and Chris congratulated Tammy Lyn on her first week, counting four one-hundreds out into her hand.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Peters!" She held the money with both hands, her blue eyes transfixed as if they were gazing at a cup of soup during the Great Depression. Chris hated that. For something as angelic as her eyes to look at money that way felt unnatural, blasphemous.

"Hey," he said, getting her attention. "Is Sara's mom taking you shopping again?"

Tammy Lyn's eyes lit up, hopeful, bashful. "I . . . She said—"

"Tell you what," he said, counting out six more bills. "Take this just in case. Then," he said, counting out another two, "for her time."

Tammy Lyn mouth hung open at the twelve hundred dollars stacked neatly in her hands. "But, sir," she said, her voice small. She looked up to him. "I still owe you from last time."

"It's only a thousand," he said, dismissively, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. He tilted her chin up with a finger. "You don't plan to quit on me, do you?"

Electric jolts firing through her body, Tammy Lyn shook her head.

"Good," he said, grasping the money from her still hands, folding it, and slipping it into the small side pocket of her skirt. "Enjoy your weekend, Ms. Davidson."

Tammy Lyn smiled then crushed her body against his, slipping her arms tightly around his neck. He reciprocated, squeezing the small of her back before cupping her ass, breathing in her sweet flowery scent. Fuck, she felt good. He wanted to slip his hands beneath her skirt and taste her pink mouth then devour her cunt while her legs dangled over his shoulders.

But he refrained. He was conflicted, not wanting to take advantage of a sweet, beautiful, naïve girl but wanting rather badly to fuck her silly.

"Okay," he said at last, releasing her. "Your mom and Gran wouldn't like me keeping you all weekend."

An absentminded smile appeared on her face before she thanked him again then started for the door.

His Blue Rose leaving for the day, Chris began preparing for another hellish weekend, which would start tonight with his dumbass, insecure friend. Something felt off about the guy. He thought Chris was maneuvering against him within their organization to become new "Head Pimp." The dumbest thing ever. Chris Peters was an accountant, a number's guy. He didn't know the first thing about the sex industry . . . Though, he could do it if he wanted. He'd have to research it, of course. Maybe fly in an expert from Russia or Italy, or some other European professional—their culture having the most experience with it . . . Maybe contract a girl or two, see the business from the "whore, up," sort-of-speak.

But regardless, his friend's insecurity revealed a lack of trust, and if he distrusted him, that was a major—"

"Mr. Peters?"

"Huh?" Chris blurted out. Tammy Lyn was standing in front of his desk. He was so lost in thought that didn't realized that she'd been standing there.

". . . Can I talk to you?" She was fidgeting with her hands, unable to hold his eye. Adorable, but he didn't have the time.

Glancing at his watch, he motioned her to the couch. Once they were seated (his arm around her, rubbing her juicy ass, because, why not) he spoke first to move things along. "I can't offer dental or medical since I'm paying you cash," he began. "But, oh,"—he reached inside his pocket for a card—"that has my cell. Have them call me. Or save the bill and I'll reimburse you."

She studied the card then slid it in with the money. "It's about my responsibilities," she explained, fidgeting with her hands, looking down at her lap. "Sarah's mom is secretary, and she said that there's stuff secretaries are expected to do." She paused, sneaking a glance at him. "She said I didn't have to, but if I didn't, a C-word would steal my job."

Chris chuckled. Sara's mom was quickly becoming the best person he never met. But he assured his adorable secretary that no C-words, or any other words, would be stealing anything.

"You're invaluable to me," he said, rubbing her shoulder. "You know how important your hugs are. Synergy."

They both smiled and high-fived, their fingers interlocking. But Chris's mind reverted back to his fat, dumbass friend. He said, "So enjoy your weekend, Ms. Davidson. See you bright and—"

"I'll do it, Mr. Peters."

Slowly, Chris lowered their hands. She stared at him with innocent and fearful with blue eyes. It'd taken every ounce of nerve to tell him that.

Tammy Lyn slipped her hand away and averted her gaze. "I wanted to tell you that this morning. I thought if other secretaries do it, then . . ." She paused, fidgeting her skirt, before turning to look at him. "Do you want me to?"

Chris took a long breath then ran his hand back through his hair. "That's a tricky question."

"I won't tell anyone," she said, turning towards him, her voice more confident. "We can add it to that non-disclosure thing."

"Tammy Lyn...," Chris started, feeling weird arguing against his self-interest but wanting to be honest with her. "What you're talking about—it's not like giving me a hug whenever you feel like it."

She looked down at her lap pensively. "Then I could just . . . do it whenever you needed me to."

Chris's teeth clopped as his jaws clenched shut. What was it about her that made him so aroused? That made him feel so much? He'd had women before, sure, but never one so innocent, so pure.

Like a moth to a flame, Tammy Lyn was drawn to his silence, embolden by it. She leaned closer, her eyes searching and fearful, then angled her head up and closed her eyes.

Chris didn't remember when he closed his eyes, but it was like a solar flare when their lips touched, illuminating a myriad of emotions hours of therapy had failed to reveal.

When Tammy Lyn opened her eyes, they were low and blue and passionate and made Chris's cock swelled against the metal teeth of his zipper. Shyly, she licked her lips. "Would that make you happy, Mr. Peters?" she asked, picking up from where she left off. "If I did that stuff whenever you wanted?"

"Fuck yeah it would; but, sweetie," Chris said, licking his own lips. "Sometimes, I can be a bad person—really bad."

She countered immediately and said, "But you've been nicer to me than anyone."

Chris gave a reluctant smile. "Which proves how fucked up this world is." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Out of all the people who were using her, at least he was honest and gave something in return.

A quick query into her sexual history revealed exactly what he expected: some light touching and kissing but no penile penetration. Walking the precarious line of caring older boss and horny sociopath, Chris decided to go slow.

"We'll start you off with blowjobs," he said, as if it was an orientation. "Once you're comfortable with that, we'll add other stuff. Okay?"

Tammy Lyn nodded, and Chris could see the anticipation in her eyes, her ponderous chest heaving as her breath quickened. He moved his hand up her thigh, until he was gripping her big ass as if he owned it, eliciting a silent whimper from her lips. Wordlessly, Tammy Lyn turned towards his lap, crossing her legs to gain better leverage while simultaneously exposing more of her bum.

Her small, peachy hands were jittery but persevered, unclasping his belt and slacks. Chris pulled the belt through, not wanting it to poke her. She was pulling his zipper down when the moment finally dawned on him. His heart raced with anticipation, not just for today but also for the days, weeks, and months to come. She was now his personal office slut. Fucking unbelievable.

She pulled back his boxer briefs, freeing his tortured cock. Its swollen crown and veined shaft throbbed impatiently for the teenager's promising mouth. Tammy Lyn craned her head closer, her nose hovering and inch away, her pink tongue wetting her lips.

"Tammy Lyn."

Poised over his lap, she angled her head up to him.

"We go down this road," Chris warned, staring into her eyes, "we're on it. There's no turning back."

Staring deep into his dark green eyes, Tammy Lyn said, "Okay," then swiveled her head over his cock, her soft palm sliding over his taut length teasingly slow.

He felt the warmth of her breath at the tip of his manhood and licked his lips in anticipation. Her tongue came next, waxing his head with its slick velvet pad, sending ripples through his groin. Then she pulled away, the air cooling the saliva on sensitive head before he was suddenly plunged inside her hot mouth.

Chris rolled his head back on the seat and let his eyelids drift close. Amazingly, her mouth was able to do what no pharmaceutical grade medication could: calm his mind. Like rain filling a dry and cracked riverbed, Chris's incessant thoughts of murdering his boss were soothed by Tammy's Lyn lips puckering lovingly around his cock. For the first time in his life, sex wasn't a task to be scheduled and marked off a weekly list, but purely pleasurable and fun. "Oh, Tammy Lyn," he sighed in relief. "That feels . . . wonderful."

Encouraged by his words, the teen began to stroke him up and down with her face, resisting the urge to catch her drool. Unless he was due for a meeting, her mentor advised against this. Otherwise, she should make it slow, hot, and wet. Tammy Lyn kept her palm and tongue wet and twisted her neck at the top, doing as she practiced on a cucumber under the tutelage of Sara's mom.

The hard smack she received on her butt confirmed that it was working. Tammy Lyn now bobbed her head a little faster, stroked him a little quicker, conscious that he was probably watching the back of her head go up and down. Sara's mom had held a mirror while they practiced, saying how much men loved that view because it made them feel superior, explaining to Tammy Lyn a brutal truth. Hone, men don't care about love or companionship; they just want a sex slave.

So, slipping her lips from Mr. Peters' thing, Tammy Lyn kissed it and said, "You can have this anytime you want." Watching his thing spew clear stuff, Tammy Lyn leaned down and swallowed the salty excess. Mr. Peters smacked her bum and she swelled with pride. She was doing a great job!

She raised up again and added, "You don't even have to ask. You can just walk over to my desk and just stick in my mouth." Then she turned and angled her head up to him, her cornflower-blue eyes staring longing into his. "Mr. Peters, can I be your sex slave?"

***

Tammy Lyn pulled the door shut then looked up to the tinted lens of the security camera. She smiled and waved, then headed to her truck with a triumphant grin. She was so happy. She'd just did it with Mr. Peters!

Though, she did feel a little guilty about him being married. But, gosh, he really liked it and couldn't get enough of her big fat butt—grabbing it, squeezing it, even slapping it! Maybe he'd make her do that every day! She was so wet, she couldn't wait to get home and play with herself. Hopefully Mom and Gran wouldn't bother her until she finished this time.

No, first she had to stop by Sara's house and change clothes.

There was so much to do this weekend. Mr. Peters had called a place in Uptown so she and Sara's mom could shop and spa—for free! She was so lucky to be Mr. Peters' secretary. He was nice and didn't make her feel worthless or dumb. If only he wasn't married. Did he love his wife? Probably not, she never even called him at work! Well, it's like what Sara's mom said. F that C-word.

At the truck, Tammy Lyn unlocked it then pulled back the heavy door. She climbed in and grabbed the handle with both hands, pulling it shut. Whew! Those hinges were getting stiff again. She looked over longingly at Mr. Peters' shiny blue car. She loved that car! It went so fast and had that deep vroom sound.

She started the truck and ignored the backfiring rumble, and instead, imagined riding back to Mr. Peters' place while he patted and squeezed—

Shoot, she couldn't wait anymore. Tammy Lyn checked the parking lot then slipped her hand between her legs. The truck needed a few minutes to warm up anyway. And with the memory of Mr. Peters squeezing her big butt while she swallowed his hot load, a few minutes was all Tammy Lyn needed. She couldn't wait till Monday!