Executive Vice Presidents Don't Get No Respect
By Wanderer
Frank confronts a lowly vice president, or maybe vice-versa.


This is adult material. Please do not read if you are under age 21 or laws in
your country forbid you to do so. Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.

Earlier parts of this story are scattered all over the Wanderer bookshelf.
They should be read in the following order:

Who's In the Closet Now? (Parts 1, 2, and 3).

We're Back In the Closet Again (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party (Parts 1 to 5).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue Two (Part 1).

My Big Deal Social Wedding.

Marriage Can Be Fun? (Parts 1 to 4).

The Board of Directors Meets My Wife.

The Executive Officers Meet My Wife.

Executive Officers Don't Get No Respect.

Copyright 2003 by Wanderer.

It was not surprising that as the women executives gained a little more muscle
they gained a little more confidence and it wasn't long before we were hearing
rumors about how some obstinate husband at home, who usually ruled the roost,
found himself upside down with his head being dunked in the toilet. But I also
heard from some of the husbands (being as close to the president and CEO as I
was I got a lot of feedback from everybody) that their executive wives had
rediscovered the joys of sexual intercourse, and more than one husband found
himself slung over the now brawny shoulder of his executive wife and being
carried off to the bedroom. I didn't hear a lot of complaining about that
aspect of their relationship, other than from the macho boys who found it
undignified to be carried rather ignominiously on a woman's shoulder, staring
down at her sexy ass and thick, flexing calves. Having found myself in that
position many times over Jan's shoulder I discounted their complaints. I
rather liked it. But to each his own.

So, why am I telling you all this? Well, as these female executives gained
more self-esteem in the gym they gained more self-confidence in their personal
conduct. For some reason my wife picked women like herself. Tall, bosomy, and
the more physically developed they were the more it pleased my wife Janice.
Maybe it was because they resembled her. And I didn't mind, either. Naturally,
in her role as chief executive, Janice traveled quite a bit. She had to visit
our international factories to check their operation. Foreign clients for our
product had to have their hands held. In the meantime some of the women
executives would play up to me, hoping I might put in a good word for them
here and there with my wife. You haven't lived until you've had 44DD's
pressing into your side as she puts her hand around your waist and gives you a
big hug that practically lifts you off your feet. Or join you in a crowded
elevator, push up against you, with her hand "innocently" bumping into your
crotch, the bolder ones even pushing you into a corner and working it, a big
grin on their faces. Even if it was the express elevator from the executive
77th floor to the ground floor. They worked fast. What am I going to do-charge
sexual harassment? Besides, I liked it.

As these women became stronger and more self-assured they became bolder and
more aggressive. As an executive vice president I was situated on the
executive floor, among the women who had been the subject's of my sister
Maddy's physical training regimen, and pretty soon I became the object of
their little "games."

Now I must modestly admit that I am a pretty good looking guy, and as one of
the few male executives left in the company the women liked to playfully flirt
with me, and I liked to flirt back. "Hi, handsome," they would say. I'd come
back with "Hi, beautiful, gettin' enough lovin'?" That was bold of me, but
what the hell, I ranked as high as any of them, my wife was the company boss,
and so none of them wanted to report me to the Human Resources Department for
harassment. They knew I wasn't going to be the one to leave, my wife having
made me take her last name when we married- Witherington. I was too well
entrenched in this family to get tossed out on my ear for any indiscretions.
Besides, it was all good harmless fun.

But as the women improved physically they got bolder. It wasn't long before
the dialog was reversed. "Hi, handsome," some of them would say, "are you
gettin' enough lovin'?" And when my wife, the CEO of the company, was away on
a business trip they became more insistent. "Are you sure you're gettin'
enough lovin'? You look a little needy to me." We'd both laugh, but I know I
was getting a little red in the face. I guess I embarrass pretty easily.

Then, one day, when my wife Janice was away on an especially long business
trip, I was standing at my desk, discussing the blue prints for a new
production plant laid out on the top of my desk, with the vice president in
charge of engineering. I was intent on some of the details and so was she. She
leaned in against me to get a better view and I became aware of her impressive
left breast being pressed firmly against my right arm. I really couldn't move
without it becoming obvious so I just stood there, a little perspiration
beginning to gather on my brow. I concentrated on the blueprints.

"You see this, Joyce?---" I questioned. Unfortunately that was the wrong thing
to say, I realized. Joyce now got closer, looking over my shoulder, and now I
could feel her left thigh pressing in between my legs from my back. God, how
do I get out of this one?

"No, Frank honey," she said, pressing even harder against my body. "Show me
again, sweetie." I tried to move away gracefully so as to make room for her to
get a better view, but she held me pinned with her left leg between my two
legs, her left leg pressing up hard against the edge of my desk as she
continued to look over my shoulder. At this point I didn't know if her conduct
was just unconscious coincidence or on purpose, but I was too embarrassed to
call her attention to our positions. Feeling that sturdy thigh pressing
between my legs my penis was starting to respond. Was she purposely flexing
her quadriceps? I could feel the bundles of muscle fibers moving across her
thigh from one side of her leg to the other, back and forth, back and forth. I
couldn't help it, I was getting quite a response from my penis. It was
creeping down the inside of my right leg, getting longer and longer and
thicker and thicker, and I was sweating more and more, and finally Joyce
noticed.

"Honey buns," she said, "is it too hot for you in here? You're perspiring
quite a bit there. But the air conditioning is on. Are you uncomfortable?" And
then my penis gave me away. "What's that on my leg, sweetie pie? Oh, my
goodness, sweetums, why I do believe you're having a special moment," she
giggled. Vixen. I think she was doing this to me on purpose.

"Why, sweetheart, I didn't know you cared for me in that way." Before I could
answer she spun me around to face her, put her left leg again between my two
legs, facing me now, so that she still had me pinned against my desk, put a
hand on each of the pressure points on the side of my jaw so that I had to
open my mouth, and she stuck her tongue down my throat, exploring my mouth,
and taking complete control of the situation. I felt pretty helpless.

I tried to push her off me, putting my hands against her arms, trying to push
her back. Then I realized that she was one of the female executives who had
thrown herself whole heartedly into the exercise regimen that my sister Maddy
had devised for the company's female executives. I had noted her in the gym
before. She had made excellent progress. She went from a rather shapeless kind
of mousey woman to a bold, strong, self confident executive who wasn't afraid
to tackle anything, especially men, and evidently especially me.

Now, I'm not exactly a mass of weak male flesh. I go to the company gym, too.
Men were not excluded by my sister Maddy, but her training was directed
primarily to benefit the newly appointed female executives, to build their
bodies so as to build their self-confidence, and Maddy was doing a good job of
it. Joyce was one of her star pupils. As a matter-of- fact, Joyce was so
dedicated to achieving results that whenever Joyce would hit a plateau it was
rumored that Maddy every once in a while would give Joyce some type of
performance enhancing drug, maybe even a shot or two of steroids, just to get
her going again. Nothing regular, just here and there when Maddy felt Joyce
could use it. I don't know, maybe it was the occasional steroid shot that made
Joyce so aggressive, but whatever it was she was no longer a timid mouse.

Maddy would work me out along with the other men and the women who came to the
gym. But the men could come when they liked, and I, along with most of the
men, was spotty in my visits, whereas, as a condition of employment, it was a
requirement that the women executives be in the gym every morning, Monday to
Friday, promptly at 7:00a.m.

Well, I didn't make much progress. I just stayed in good physical condition,
which was OK with me. I was kind of lazy, I guess. I had already achieved my
executive vice president status so I wasn't going any higher in the company.
Joyce, on the other hand, being a vice president, had room to rise higher in
the company if she could prove herself, so she was driven. And right now she
was driving on me.

But right now I was concentrating on getting her tongue out of my mouth and
getting her off me. I didn't want her going to my wife Janice and saying,
"Ooohhh, Frank, your husband, made a move on me while you were away on your
business trip."

Joyce continued to explore my mouth, her tongue deep inside and holding my
jaws open by using the pressure points on the side of my face. Very clever. I
was pushing against her raised arms as hard as I could. As I say, I was in
good physical condition, keeping my biceps at a commendable sixteen inches,
not bad for a guy six feet tall. But I swear, this woman's arms were bigger
than mine! They felt huge to my grip! And she was at least a good four inches
shorter than I was, at about 5' 8", I guessed. But with her four inch heels
she could look me right in the eye. Now she pulled her tongue out of my mouth
and pulled her head back so she could look at me.

"Sweetums," she said, "you're so cute, I think I want you, honey bunny!"

Having all these strong, muscular women in my life was a curse-or a blessing,
I'm not sure which. It was certainly a fact that as they got stronger they got
more confident. From being the sweet, demure receptacles of the male sexual
advances their increasing physical prowess fueled their sexual prowess, and a
number of men in the company confided in me that some of the female executives
had become sexual predators. The women would wait until the men entered the
male executive wash room, then, using the duplicate keys they had made from
the master key of the female janitor, they would follow the men in and take
them. It was easy. The men already had their pants unzipped or down around
their ankles. Some of the men were willing. Others resented the intrusion. But
the women executives were always careful to confront a junior male executive,
guys who wouldn't want to lose their jobs because they had been forced into
having sex with a beautiful woman.

I never thought of women as anything but God's creation to serve the male.
They were to be weak, obedient, and servile. I didn't even know women could
have muscles. Not until I came home that one summer vacation from my eastern
college and my younger sister, whom I had abused for so many years in my role
of older brother, forcibly threw me into our hallway closet when I displeased
her. And then of course there was Janice, the younger sister of my college
roommate, who attended an all girls prep school and decided that I would be
the one to introduce her to the joys of sex, much to my chagrin since, as a
guest of my college roommate's extremely wealthy family, I wanted to conduct
myself as a perfect gentleman. I must have been good at it (sex) because later
on Janice informed me that I was to marry her. And after marriage, when she
was away at school, getting her M.B.A., she deliberately gave our French maid,
Alice, who was more like a sister to Janice than a maid as they had grown up
together, permission to use me in any manner she desired. When Janice was away
I tried to hide in our large mansion, but Alice always found me. It was like
she could smell out my pheromones.

"Oh, there you are, M'sieur Frank. Come, I will relieve your frustrations,"
she would giggle.

"But I'm not frustrated," I would demure.

"Ah, I'm sure you have had a hard day at the office, m'sieur, Madame Janice
has instructed me that I am to make you happy."

I would try to fend her off, but having grown up and trained at the estate
gymnasium with Janice she was almost as strong as Janice, and she easily
overcame any resistance I was able to muster and she would pick me up in her
muscular arms.

"Your room or mine tonight?" she would giggle. It wasn't that she wasn't great
in bed. It was just that sometimes I wanted to be the guy to start things off,
and, believe it or not, sometimes I really was too tired and just wanted to
rest. However, I must admit that come morning I really was one happy guy,
regardless of how tired I might be. Tired, but happy. I could always sleep at
the office.

And now, here was an employee, this junior executive, also exercising her
freed up libido on my poor body. Now I wouldn't even be able to sleep at the
office anymore.

I always considered it an advantage to be movie star handsome. In middle
school the girls would gather around me at lunchtime, giggling and offering me
bites of their sandwiches, pressing their nubile young bodies up against me,
testing out their budding sexuality.

In high school girls would throw themselves at me, even though I wasn't the
star quarterback on the football team.

In college my phone never stopped ringing. I think I probably would have been
a better student if I could have devoted more time to study, but as a result
of my social schedule I wound up being only an average student. The other guys
in the frat house would laughingly call me Mr. Sorority. However, I think
there was more than a little envy there.

Now I considered my movie star looks a curse. Why couldn't these women leave
my poor body alone? I mean, I had to satisfy my insatiable wife, then our
oversexed French maid, now this junior female executive of our company who was
determined to have me. I felt like some old clunker car with its transmission
about to break down due to overuse. I needed rest. Maybe a sanitarium. Maybe
an insane asylum.

I was shocked by Joyce's declaration that she wanted me. Here I am, an
executive vice president and husband of the company CEO, and a lowly vice
president is accosting me, telling me she wants me. It was a declaration of
intent. It didn't require any response. And now she's calling me honey and
sweetheart and honey buns and sweetie pie and sweetums. What's her game?

I drew myself up to my full six foot height, as much as I could with her left
foot impaling my crotch. "Ms. Adams, it is inappropriate for you to speak to
me in such terms of endearment. It's unseemly."

"Unseemly my ass," she responded. "I'm going to make you my boy toy so there's
nothing unseemly about it."

"Joyce, you can't have me, you know I belong to Janice. I'm going to be loyal.
You know Janice has a terrible temper, she's flunked every anger management
class she ever attended."

"Well, who's going to tell her?" said Joyce. "Not you, you know she won't care
how you got yourself into a position to be my bitch, she'll figure it was your
doing, that you wanted it to happen. And you know about her anger better than
anyone. You're not going to subject yourself to that. And I'm not going to
tell her, you know I like my salary and my position here. And in case it does
come out I'm going to say, 'Oh, boo hoo hoo, he just forced me, he said he'd
get me fired, I didn't want to, boo hoo hoo.' No, I think I can use you
anytime I want. This is so much fun! Get used to it, my little slave EVP!"

She reached over to feel the bicep that was rounding out the sleeve of her
jacket. "Your sister has done such a good job," she giggled. "I used to be so
timid, scared of my own shadow. Then she worked on me. Power lifting, muscle
building, endurance, nutrition, vitamins, supplements, hell, the world is my
oyster now, and you're my little pearl," she laughed.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Adams," I said, "I'm flattered by your request, but---."

"Like you have a choice," now a slight edge to her voice. "My last boy friend
thought he had a choice. He'd lost his job, so he'd go out looking for a job
in the morning. He'd be home by noon and have a beer. Then another beer. And
another. He'd spend the afternoon watching Ricky Lake and Montel Williams and
Jerry Springer and Oprah and by the time I got home he'd be falling down
drunk.

"'Get me another beer, hon,'" that was my greeting when I walked in the door.
'Where's my fuckin' dinner?' I would hear ten minutes later.

"You could cook something up before I get home, sweetheart," I would suggest.

"'Fuck you,'" was his response, and after a while he would follow his response
with a slap to my face. He got more and more frustrated when he couldn't find
a job, and if I wasn't fast enough with a beer or dinner instead of a slap I
would get a fist in my face. I think your sister knew. I would show up at the
company gym with a split lip or wearing dark glasses to hide a black eye. I
think she gave me special attention. See?" She flexed her right arm and an
impressive bulge rose within her upper sleeve, absolutely stretching the
sleeve fabric to the splitting point.

"So one day when dinner was late and my drunk boy friend slapped me again, I
slapped him back," Joyce continued. "What was different was that I slapped him
so hard that I knocked him to the floor. He looked up at me in complete shock.
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I might as well follow up. I was wearing
a short sleeve blouse so I flexed my big right bicep right in front of his
bugging out eyes. 'See this,' I said. 'Well, next time you slap me you won't
get a slap back, you'll get my big hard fist right in your nose, you got it?'

"All of a sudden my big drunk boy friend sobered up real fast. I could tell he
was scared. 'Joyce,' he said, 'I can't believe it, that muscle is bigger than
mine. That's not what I'm looking for in a babe. I'm going to dump you,
Joycie. We're finished, done, kaput!'

"That bastard. I'd given him two years of the best part of my life. I nurtured
him, I comforted him when he lost his job, I supported him financially while
he looked for work, I made his monthly car payments, and now he was dumping me
just because my muscles were bigger than his? Well, I was going to beat the
shit out of him Then I thought, regardless of how I cut up this guy's face
with my fists and break some of his bones, in a couple weeks or a month at the
most he's going to be back in one piece conning some other poor girl to
support him. I was so angry I picked him up. Yes, I picked him up easily, this
6' 3" guy. Well, he weighed a light two hundred fifty pounds, easy for me. He
wiggled a little in my hands as I held him and smiled down into his face.
'Goodbye, honey,' I said.

"'What the hell you talking about, you stupid broad, put me down before I kill
you!" he threatened.

"Oh, no, you won't kill me," I responded. "I'm going to kill you!"

"'Wh---wh---what?' he said, sounding a little concerned now.

"Don't worry, my dear, it'll be over quickly," I said. Then I lifted him over
my head. Now he really got worried. He knew I was stronger than he was, but
his two hundred fifty pounds over my head? I could feel his body trembling in
my hands. Oh, I was enjoying this! I stood there, his two hundred fifty pounds
over my head, enjoying the moment.

"Now Bruce was seriously getting worried. I didn't seem to be tiring at all,
as he expected. 'P---p---put me down---please---' he begged me now.

"Fat chance, asshole," I said. "You think you can use me for the last two
years and then just throw me away like a piece of shit just because my muscles
are bigger than yours now? You're never going to get another chance to do this
to some innocent, trusting girl like me." Holding him over my head I moved to
the open patio door. Now my condominium is on the twenty- eighth floor. He
suddenly realized what I had in mind. He started wiggling his body frantically
as I held him over my head and slowly walked out the patio door and onto the
balcony. I wanted to savor this moment. I wanted him to savor this moment. But
he started screaming at the top of his lungs, and I didn't want the neighbors
to hear. So I released him. Problem was, I released him over the railing of
the balcony. He kept screaming all the way down. It was music to my ears. I
was so glad I lived on the twenty-eighth floor rather then the fifth or tenth
floor. I had so much more time to enjoy the moment. Wow, what a pleasant thunk
sound he made as his body hit the concrete below. Poor dear, he just didn't
have much future. I think I saved him a lot of aggravation and heartache.

"You're still probably wondering why I just didn't black a couple of his eyes,
or break a couple of his bones, or something like that first. I was going to
beat the shit out of him. Then I thought, regardless of how carefully I cut up
this guy's face with my fists and break some of his bones, if I beat him up
and then dump him over the balcony the police could probably tell some of his
injuries didn't come from the fall. What am I going to say? Oh, a burglar
broke in and hurt my boy friend? The burglar just happened to come to the
twenty-eighth floor and pick my apartment? Besides which, the building has
very tight security and nobody who isn't invited gets past the front door
guards. No, we had a couple martinis- shaken, not stirred-and I knew the
police would conclude he'd had too much booze and he had just stepped out on
the balcony for some air.

"Sure enough, that's what the cops said. They asked me if Bruce was suicidal,
or if we had some relationship problems. 'Oh, no,' I said, sobbing,
'everything was peachy keen.' Poor Bruce, what a lovely splat he made as he
struck the concrete. Oh, I notice you have a nice balcony, too. I love the
view of the city you can get from the seventy-seventh floor. Now," she said,
as she flexed her right arm bicep right in front of my face, it swelling
tremendously and threatening to burst through the sleeve of her jacket, "I've
decided to make you my bitch, honey. You don't have any objections, do you?"
And she moved towards me in a rather threatening manner.

"No," I gulped, "but you need to be very discreet," I said, hoping to somehow
discourage her advances.

"Oh, don't worry," she giggled, "discreet is my middle name. I mean, how could
you eliminate a boy friend if you weren't a careful and thoughtful person?
Now, listen carefully, if you don't want to get hurt, just like Brucie. At
10:00a.m. and at 3:00p.m. you are to close the blinds of your office windows
facing out to the executive floor, as if you were going to take the morning
and afternoon siestas that you are famous for. I will arrive promptly at
10:05a.m. and 3:05p.m., carrying some official looking papers. Everybody on
this floor knows we are collaborating on design of the new production
building. They'll get used to my coming and going soon enough. Nobody will
give it a second thought. You are to have your pants down around your ankles
and you are to be lying on your back on the top of your desk. Do you
understand me?" she asked, with now a very hard edge to her voice.

"I---I---guess so." I said, slowly, searching for a way out.

"No guess so," she said, emphasizing each word. "It's a long way to the
courtyard below, you'll have a lot of time to think about it. You wouldn't
want to disappoint me now, would you, sweetie?" she asked, as she gently
patted my left cheek.

"N---no," I said, resigning myself to my fate. I mean, what man would want to
die to preserve his honor? I would sacrifice myself to this predatory female
so I could live another day. Besides, she was damn cute and had an amazing
body. My sister's training of Joyce had given her swelling pecs, with swelling
breasts on top of her swelling pecs. And from what I could see of those legs
of hers it was going to be a pleasure to have them wrapped around me.
Actually, as we had met to talk over the plans for the new building I had
fantasized about taking her, and now instead she had plans to take me. Oh,
well, what's the difference? Only a question of male ego. After my sister had
beaten me up, and my wife Janice had taken me, and our French maid Alice had
taken me, I was ready to be taken. Who wants me next? Any time. Any place. I
guess my ego could suffer one more blow. It's really hell to be cute and
handsome. I guess I'll just have to get used to it.

But in the meantime, as I was dealing with the idea of her callous disregard
for the human life of her boyfriend, Bruce, she removed her hands from my jaw
and put her left hand around my waist, holding on to the back of my belt, and
she put her right hand under my left armpit and coming up my back to grab my
neck, supporting my two hundred pounds on her raised left leg, bent at the
knee, bracing it against the edge of my desk. She pushed her leg even harder
between my legs and against my crotch so that I was now sitting on her thigh
with my feet a couple inches off the floor. She was slowly moving me back and
forth on her thigh, kissing and licking my neck and my cheeks when she got me
close, and then pushing me back again, giggling at my discomfort. She had me
in a very compromising position, and I felt very compromised. This bitch was
so physically strong and dominating she was just like my wife, and I was
responding just as if she was my wife. My penis was growing again in my pants
along the thigh that she had pressed against my crotch, stimulated by this
vixen rolling her quads and bouncing my penis up and down along her leg.

"Please, Ms. Adams, this is undignified, you must stop this. Put me down!" I
ordered.

"Oh, shut up," she said, "you know you love it. You have a reputation around
here as a horn dog, so don't pretend you're offended."

My penis kept growing inside my trousers along her muscular leg and I was
about to blast off. I didn't want to be used in this way, even though I was
secretly enjoying it. I was pushing against her left arm that was holding me
by the back of my belt, and I could feel her very large bicep flexing as she
slowly moved my body around on her raised left thigh. But my efforts to remove
her left arm were in vain. The only thing left to do was to threaten her with
dismissal from her position in the company.

"I'm going to have to fire you unless you cease and desist this very instant!"
I declared in my most authoritative voice.

"Oh, don't be silly," she said. "When I finish with you I'll just rip my
blouse to shreds and I'll run out of your office boo-hooing about how you just
took advantage of my poor weak body." The irony of that statement made her
laugh. "You want that?" she asked. "Everybody knows you're a skirt chaser. Who
are they going to believe?" The truth of that statement mollified me.

"Please be gentle with me, "I gasped, as I shot my wad along my pants leg,
soaking it and her skirt in my come.

She was plenty aware of what was going on. "Why, Frank," she giggled, "I do
believe you're hiding quite a pipe in there. Let's take a look, shall we?" She
put her left leg down and with just her left hand she moved me around to rest
on her left hip, holding my two hundred pounds with her left hand on the back
of my belt. Then with a sweep of her right hand she violently cleared
everything, lamp, PC, notebooks, papers, everything arranged so that anyone
walking into my office would think I was very busy. Then she slammed me on my
back onto my desk top, and put her right forearm across my neck to hold me
securely down on my back. I struggled to get her off me. Using both my hands I
tried to push her right arm off my neck by grabbing at her upper arm and
pushing. It was a shock to feel the girth of her bicep covered by the suit
jacket she was wearing. I never realized how muscular she had become. Damn my
sister's training! My efforts were fruitless. She was much too strong for me.
I mean, I'm not a weakling. I've got sixteen inch biceps, as I said, but I
swear she must have been hiding at least an eighteen or twenty inch bicep up
that sleeve.

Holding me down with her right forearm she used her left to unzip my pants
despite my kicking out violently to try to keep her away. Reaching in she
pulled out my penis, holding it up between thumb and forefinger to inspect it.
"Nice tool," she commented. "OK, big guy, let's see if you can live up to your
fabled reputation! Get it up-now!" she ordered.

"Ooohhh, look at it grow! Nice work, Frank. I like it!"

I was practically apoplectic, I was so red in the face. I didn't want to be
Joyce's boy toy, I was already that for my wife Janice. My ego was being
fractured into tiny pieces.

Well, I'm not used to performing on command, but Joyce kept working me, now
surrounding my penis with her palm and rubbing up and down. I'm pretty well
hung so I had a lot of room for expansion. Joyce brought me up to an
impressive girth. Then she said, "Mmmmm, baby, I think I can handle that!"

She hopped up on the desk, kneeling down and kissing and licking my neck. Now
that gets me hotter than anything, except maybe my hands on a pair of
impressive sized boobs, so my penis is starting to throb all over again. In
addition, her domineering style of love making is getting me excited. She
wants me! Out of all the guys around she wants me! Of course, the fact that
I'm such a highly placed executive can't have anything to do with it. She
finds me desirable. I find that desirable in a woman. She's very perceptive. I
think she should be promoted.

"Now that you've been satisfied it's your turn to satisfy me," she declared.
She raised her skirt and pulled down her panties and took me inside her. I
fought like hell (I think) but I already knew she was much stronger than I
was. Well, might as well relax and enjoy it. We came together. And boy, did I
enjoy it. And evidently so did Joyce.

"See you tomorrow, honey" the muscle bound bitch said, as she jumped off me
and adjusted her panties and smoothed her skirt over her bulging thighs.

I wonder if I can get my wife Janice to extend her business trip for a few
more weeks.