The Better Business Bureau
By Max Swan.
[google-translator]
Richard’s purchasing department had tried to contact the salesman who had sold them these lathes, but was told that the salesman had been transferred. Mr. Rogers was welcome to discuss the matter with their Sales Director, Ms. Dupont. Richard had been livid. He had personally called and demanded to speak to the director of sales. However, the receptionist had politely explained that Ms. Dupont was presently unavailable, but would gladly give him an audience the following Friday.
Richard could not believe his ears and ordered the receptionist to tell Ms. Dupont that it was she who should come to his office, and not the other way around. Again, the receptionist had reminded him politely that this was against their corporate policy and that Mr. Rogers was welcome to set up an appointment with Ms. Dupont if he so desired.
The receptionist also told him that Ms. Dupont could be very convincing, and once Rogers had met her personally, she was sure that all these issues would be resolved. Richard had let loose a volley of insults at Solinax, their sales department, and their customer service. The receptionist hung up on him.
The following day, Richard had first lodged a formal complaint against Solinax with the Better Business Bureau. When Richard had inquired at the Bureau about the reputation of Solinax, he was reassured by the administrator that they had zero complaints on file. He was told that every complaint against Solinax had been voluntarily retracted by the organization making the complaint, and therefore, Solinax was rated among the top organizations for customer satisfaction.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Richard said.
He made it a point to visit the Solinax sales and technical center in his chauffeured limo to give this bitch Dupont a piece of his mind.
He had his assistant/bodyguard, Dwayne, help him out of the back seat and walk him to the lobby. Dwayne was African American with muscles bulging out like blocks of cement. He had been with Richard for ten years and was implicitly trusted for his loyalty and physical strength. While Dwayne was sculpted like a Greek God, Richard had not been quite so fortunate. He looked every bit of his sixty-five years of age, with a bald pink pate, a triple chin, a morbidly obese midsection, and four short pegs that constituted his arms and legs.
Due to his disproportionately shaped body, Richard had always been unable to exert himself physically. Since his youthful days, when he was unkindly nicknamed ‘Fatso’ by the high-school bullies, his physical activity had been limited to walking a few yards before breaking into a sweat, and having to take ample rest before restarting.
Middle age had been no kinder to poor Richard, where his marriage had failed miserably, and his ex-wife had taken almost everything that he had, both emotionally and financially. However, Richard was smart, and it was this intelligence that had enabled him to get back on his feet and own a successful machining business. At his present age, it was a wonder that he was still alive, and no surprise to all who knew him that he had to depend upon Dwayne for most of his daily activities.
After ensuring that the Boss was seated comfortably in one of the lobby couches, Dwayne walked up to the perky little receptionist and let her know that Mr. Rogers wished to see Dupont, the sales director.
“Does he have an appointment?” the receptionist asked.
“No, he does not,” Dwayne answered.
“Well then, Ms. Dupont cannot see him today, because she is preoccupied,” replied the perky bitch.
“Well, is there some way you can accommodate Mr. Rogers? He really needs—”
“Dwayne! Dwayne!” yelled Richard. “Don’t bother asking her, you oaf. Tell her that I want to see Dupont right now.”
“Yes, Richard,” Dwayne said and turned back to the receptionist.
“I will see what I can do,” said the woman with a smile.
“Let me tell you what you can do, little Missy, you are going to call Ms. Dupont and tell her that I am here to see her! Do it now, goddammit,” bellowed the old man.
“Sir, please calm down,” the receptionist said, sounding a little irate.
“Go get Dupont now! Now! Now! Now! Or else,” Richard yelled, already feeling the exhaustion from screaming on the top of his lungs.
“Or else…what?” asked a calm lady’s voice, as the door to the lobby opened from the inside.
“Or else I will bitch slap her with my—” Richard stopped in mid-sentence and looked at the lady who had opened the lobby door.
She was, to say the least, magnificent. The lady was nearly six feet tall, with a flawless, ivory-white complexion. She was a true Nordic beauty with curly blond hair cascading down to her waist, high cheekbones, and an icy blue stare. She wore a short skirt and blouse, which flattered her already perfect frame and made her appear professional and sexy at the same time. But what struck the old man the hardest was the fragrance of the exotic perfume that she wore. It reminded him of sweetly scented flowers, and sex, and his shriveled dick stirred in his pants.
“Oh my, my. In that case, Ms. Dupont will see you immediately. Why don’t you follow me inside, Mr. Rogers?” said the beauty.
Richard felt odd that this woman knew his name, but then most industrialists around town did know him quite well.
As Dwayne tried to enter with Richard, the lady gently put her palm on his chest and said, “Not you, Sir. Ms. Dupont will see Mr. Richard personally.”
The way her palm was positioned, Dwayne’s left nipple nested snugly between her fingers, and she gently squeezed it through the fabric of his tight muscle shirt by tightening her fingers against each other. Dwayne’s cock twitched with instant desire for this goddess, but she ignored him, turned her back, and walked through the open door, motioning for Richard to follow.
“Bitch!” Dwayne muttered in a growl that only his old boss could hear.
Richard smiled and nodded to Dwayne, “It is OK. I’ll take care of this. Wait for me in the lobby.”
With this, Richard followed the lady inside, and the door closed softly behind them. The lady walked with a long stride. Richard had to take three steps of his own to keep up with her. They both continued in this fashion down the hall, which had several cubicles where people were working. Richard was quite out of breath, but did not want to appear like a wimp in front of this goddess. It was then that they came up a long flight of stairs, and Richard looked up at the lady’s eyes in horror.
“Don’t you have an elevator?” he asked.
“No, we don’t, Mr. Rogers, we like physical exercise around here. It keeps us healthy,” she said coyly and started up the stairs.
Richard slowly lumbered up one stair after another until he came up halfway. He was profusely sweating by now and wanted nothing more than to end this, but determined to stop to catch his breath, and continued upward one slow, tedious step at a time. The lady had already reached to top and was standing looking back at Richard with a mocking smile on her face.
It seemed that she was very aware of what she was doing to poor Richard. Slowly but surely, Richard did finally reach the top of the stairs and stood with his hands on his knees, totally exhausted from the effort. The lady led him into an elegant office and asked him to sit down on the couch facing the main desk.
On the desk stood a line of beautiful shot glasses, each half full of a dried, wax-like substance. What was even stranger was that each of the shot glasses was labeled in a copperplate script with the names of some of the top industrialists that Richard recognized. Not seeing anyone besides the two of them in the office, Richard croaked in the most authoritative tone that he could muster, “Where the hell is Dupont? Is she going to make me wait again?”
The lady did not answer him but went around the desk and sat down in the leather executive chair on the other side. Richard was wiping streams of sweat running down his bald pate, his shirt was soaked, and he was breathing heavily. The lady took a long look at him and said in a calm tone, “I am Dupont, Mr. Rogers. I see that you filed a complaint against Solinax at the Better Business Bureau this morning. I request you to make a phone call and retract your complaint voluntarily.”
Richard looked at her incredulously and stammered, “Well, I-I—”
“Well, I-I what?” she responded with a sly smile.
“I mean, uh—” Richard said.
“I mean, uh—what?” she teased back.
“I didn’t know—” stammered Richard.
It was then that the old fool realized that she was ridiculing him and having a good time at his expense. The damn bitch was thirty years younger than him and had the fucking gall to joke with him. His temper flared up, and he asked, “Goddamn it, Dupont, I will not retract my complaint. You don’t have any idea who I am?”
She leveled her eyes with him and said, “Yes, I do know who you are, Fatso! You are just a fat boy who never grew up.”
“Fatso?. Did you just call me Fatso?” Richard groaned as the childhood taunt sank its teeth into his psyche.
The old man tried getting up from the couch, but the climb up the stairs had taken a lot out of him. His legs felt weak, and he plopped back into the comfort of the cushions. Dupont giggled in a way that humiliated the old man at his seeming discomfort and total inability to get back on his feet.
“Yes, you heard me right, Fatso, I have had enough of your tantrums for today. Stand up!”
“I won’t,” Richard growled. What he meant really was that he couldn’t.
“The hell you won’t? Stand up now!” she commanded again.
“Why?” Richard asked, but this came out more as a squeak.
She did not answer him, but walked up to the couch where he was seated and, pulling him by the ear, yanked him to his feet.
“Argh!” Richard screamed, and tears rolled out of his eyes involuntarily.
Thwack!
She slapped him across his face, and all he could do was look back at her incredulously.
“From now on, you will address me as Ms. Dupont. Do you understand, Fatso?” the lady said.
Thwack!
Came the second slap, and Richard tried to raise his arms to protect himself.
Thwack!
Came the third slap from nowhere.
Damn, the bitch was so much faster and stronger than him.
Richard knew that he needed to get out of this office and tried to turn around, but the blond goddess had him by the same inflamed ear again and yanked him back into attention, facing her, and…Thwack!
Thwack! Thwack!
“Stand up and take it like a man,” she said.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Please stop, Dupont,” Richard screamed, his face a mess of tears, drool, and sweat.
Thwack! Thwack! “Please stop what?” she asked sharply.
“Please stop, Ms. Dupont,” Richard whimpered.
“What happened, the great Mr. Rogers can’t protect himself from a woman, one that he wanted to bitch slap with his cock?” she taunted.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
She was relentless.
“Please, stop, Ms. Dupont!” Richard begged. “I’m sorry, Ms. Dupont.”
To his surprise, she stopped the onslaught and pushed him roughly down on the couch. Richard fell on the cushions with a thump. He suddenly realized a warm sensation filling the front of his pants. Dupont noticed it too. The old bastard had peed himself. The strain of the physical exertion, the mental and emotional trauma, and the fear of this blond goddess had made him shame himself right in front of her.
“Oh my God, did the great Mr. Rogers just piss himself?” Dupont asked incredulously.
Fifteen minutes ago, Richard was in his element. He was here to teach this bitch Dupont what it meant to do business with him, and now he stood in Dupont’s office, physically exhausted, basted in his own piss, reeking of sweat and urine, being bitch slapped to within an inch of his life, and addressing the bitch as Ms. Dupont. Life was indeed full of twists and turns.
What happened next was a blur for poor Richard. Dupont got astride him, took hold of his ears, and forced his head back on the backrest of the couch. She had each of her beautifully waxed legs on either side of him so that her crotch rested right over his dick. The old man could feel the heat emanating from her womanhood envelope his groin.
Then she looked into his little pig-like eyes with those incredibly icy blue eyes and said, “My, my, what do we have here, Fatso. Seems like somebody likes me.”
Richard could not believe it, but she was right, even though he had taken a severe beating, his dick was standing up rigid against Dupont’s crotch. For some inexplicable reason, he felt sexually excited. However much he did not want to show this to the bitch, she had discovered it and was taunting him for it. The thought filled his mind with a bitter rage, but his dick also hardened in unison.
“So is this what turns you on, old man?” Dupont asked. “All day you give orders to the ladies on your staff, but what you actually want is one of them to take control of you and whip you till you cum all over, don’t you?”
“I, uh, no,” Richard blurted.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me, you pathetic excuse for a man. I know you better than you know yourself, and I have only known you for the last fifteen minutes,” she said menacingly.
With that, she moved her hips provocatively over his dick, which was now standing up like a wooden peg. She kissed his lips and ran her tongue over his earlobe. “Let’s look at it, baby. Won’t you show Dupont your B-I-G T-O-O-L?” she asked in a teasing tone.
Her hand reached down and unzipped his pants, her fingers reached down through the fabric of his underwear, and touched his dick.
“Uh-oh, what do we have here, Richard?” she asked, giggling. “It’s so…small…and cute, what’s its name?”
Richard knew that it was small. All the bullies in his high-school gym class had teased him relentlessly about his tiny dick, but it seemed a hundred times more emasculating coming from Dupont. As her fingers gently ran up and down the short shaft, the old man’s dick jerked in involuntary spasms.
“I asked you what its name is, Fatso?” she said again and followed it with a stinging slap on his face with her free hand.
Thwack!
“I… It does not, uh, have, uh, a, uh, name, Ms. Dupont,” stammered the old man.
“Yes, it does, and I will slap you like a bitch until you tell me what it is.”
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
She repeated three slaps in rapid succession.
“The whores at the brothel call it Peen… Its name…is…Peen,” Richard screamed in agony.
She started laughing hysterically, “Peen, eh, Fatso? I can see that, cos it’s all of three inches long, fully erect, and the whores call it Peen?” Dupont asked incredibly.
Richard looked down, humiliated.
“Tell me, Fatso, has it recently been touched by an actual lady and not some cum rag you pay to touch it?” Dupont asked.
“No, Ms. Dupont… ” he shamefully admitted, all the action that his dick had seen in the years since his divorce was at the Asian Massage Parlors, where hand-job whores were readily available.
“From now on, we will address him with a proper name befitting his size. Its new name will be ‘Babydick.’ Do you understand? Now repeat after me: Babydick!” Dupont demanded.
“Babydick,” the old bastard said.
Dupont let go of her captive and got off the couch. She deftly slid off his shoes and with one fluid motion she unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his urine-soaked pants, and slid them off his short, fat legs. Then she did the same with his wet underwear. The old bastard was completely naked from the waist down. She then pulled him by his throbbing ear to a standing position. Richard’s enormous gut heaved and rolled as he stood up, covering Babydick completely.
“Awwww, Babydick wants to play hide the sausage with me,” she said as she moved behind the old man and pushed him so that his arms and chest fell heavily on the backrest of the couch, and his flabby ass lewdly stuck out in the air facing her. “Don’t you dare move, Fatso! If you do, I will make this a thousand times worse,” Dupont said, as she stepped back with his belt in her hand.
Swish! She swung the belt through the air and landed it on the back of Richard’s thighs. Crack!
Swish. Crack! Swish. Crack!
The belt landed twice more on the same spot.
“Argh!” Richard screamed desperately.
Swish. Crack! Swish. Crack!
“Argh!” Richard screamed again.
Dupont’s hand then reached down between Richard’s enormous thighs, and she delicately curled her thumb and forefinger around little Babydick, who had receded into Richard’s scrotum. As she massaged Babydick, he started to get hard again.
Swish. Crack!
She swung the belt with her free hand, and Richard crossed over the threshold from exquisite pleasure to unbearable pain in a single instant. The old man had not stopped sweating, and his mind was swimming in delirium.
This alternating pleasure and pain treatment continued for a few minutes until Richard felt his physical strength completely sapped. Dupont’s administration of pleasure and pain in rapid succession had drained him of all his energy that he felt too weak to even prop himself up from his ‘ass in the air’ position to stand up straight. The fact of the matter was that there was no physical restraint necessary to hold the old man in place.
Richard was trapped in this ludicrous position by the weight of his own morbidly obese torso that hung like an anchor, and the lack of physical strength in his arms to push up against this weight. After a while, he quit fighting completely and remained in that position like a defeated beach whale. His sweat had saturated his shirt and was running in rivulets down his massive thighs, dripping onto the floor.
Then the old bastard felt an unfamiliar sensation. It was as if something cold, wet, and hard was probing between his butt cheeks, looking for his anus. Meanwhile, Dupont’s other hand maintained a gentle grip on Babydick, who was fully erect and ready to explode if Dupont would give it one more stroke.
Needless to say, Dupont knew his proximity to ejaculation and just stopped short of that crucial final stroke each time she noticed him getting close to his threshold of tolerance.
“Please, Ms. Dupont, don’t. I beg you, please not in my ass!” Richard wailed, but she was not listening.
The probing continued.
“I beg you, don’t, please, don’t… I will retract that complaint!” Richard begged to no avail.
“Oh yes, you will retract the complaint, old man, but after I’m finished with you,” she said cruelly.
The probe now found the object of her search, his asshole. As Dupont started applying pressure on the probe, the old man’s sphincter muscle stretched, and the probe penetrated with a plop!
Richard bit on the backrest of the couch and waited for a giant strap-on dildo to split him in two. However, contrary to his imagination, the object that Dupont inserted into him was small, long-reaching, and strangely pleasant against his rectum and prostate. Dupont gently worked the device until it started to coil and uncoil a muscle deep inside him. She let go of Babydick and grabbed an empty shot glass from the arrangement on the desk.
“I am going to milk you till you fill up this glass, old man,” she said and continued his anal ministrations.
Richard felt a heavy sensation in his gut, almost like he was being tickled from the inside, and then it came like a sudden flood. It felt as though some valve had been opened, and Babydick started dripping drops of jizz, which Dupont expertly caught in the shot glass. The old man felt incredibly excited, but the sensations of an orgasm eluded him completely. It was as though he was leaking jizz and not ejaculating.
Dupont continued manipulating the probe, and a second stream of jizz dribbled out of poor Babydick. Again, the fucking bitch caught it in the shot glass, not letting a single drop fall on the floor. Babydick started to soften as the knowledge that there would be no enjoyment for him sank into the old man’s brain. It was as though Dupont was making his prostate to cum repeatedly without allowing poor Babydick to have an orgasm.
“Let me cum… Let me cum… Please!” Richard screamed, but the icy bitch just continued grinding the device in his rectum.
Each time after dribbling a stream of jizz, Richard felt as though he was completely drained. However, after a few minutes of Dupont’s expert stimulation, the next stream of jizz drained into the shot glass. The old man’s emotions swung like a pendulum. One minute, he was begging, “I can’t cum anymore… Please stop!” While the very next minute he would scream, “Let me cum… Let me cum, for God’s sake. Let me cum!”
After about twenty minutes of milking his prostate dry, Dupont brought the shot glass up to his face, and he was amazed to see that it was three-quarters full.
“Don’t you dare stop until this is full, you pathetic loser, or I’ll make you scream like a two-dollar whore,” she whispered into his ear.
“I… I can’t,” Richard moaned.
“Oh yes, you can and you will, Fatso! I will make sure of that,” Dupont said in a firm, no-nonsense voice.
Swish! Crack!
Came the belt across the back of his thighs, drawing a trickle of blood. Richard screamed and gyrated his ass grotesquely in the air. Dupont started laughing. A merciless, heartless, humiliating, bitchy laugh.
Swish! Crack! Swish! Crack!
Twice more she struck him while holding the shot-glass under poor Babydick. Maybe it was the probe that was still lodged up his rectum, or her laughter aimed directly at him, or the abject humiliation that the old bastard was being subject to, but something started building deep inside him.
His balls started swelling, and Babydick started getting rock hard again.
Swish! Crack!
The old man felt a volcano rise in his bowels.
Swish! Crack!
He was starting to lose control of his mind. Dupont reached down between his massive thighs and took a hold of Babydick with her thumb and forefinger.
Swish! Crack!
Came down the belt yet again while Dupont’s fingers stroked the full three inches of Babydick. A delicious feeling overtook the old man, that of an orgasm building simultaneously in his ass, prostate, and his balls. He started making grunting noises like a cornered pig.
Swish! Crack!
Then Babydick came harder than he ever had in his life. Just when he had thought that he did not have any more jizz to give, Dupont had made him cum one last time. It felt like the fluid that had been pent up in his balls for a long, long time was released, and stream after stream of jizz ejaculated from Babydick, filling the shot-glass to the top. Still, the old man did not stop. The shot glass started overflowing, and Richard bellowed insanely before passing into unconsciousness.
*****
When he woke up, he was fully dressed and lying down on a couch facing a desk across which sat a blond goddess. His clothes felt clean as if they had been washed and dried, and he felt strangely at peace.
“How do you feel now, Mr. Rogers?” she asked him.
“Uh, what happened?” the old fool asked.
“Nothing, you were just telling me how much you liked those machines that you purchased from us last month,” Dupont said with a sly smile.
“The hell I did. I hate those fucking machines,” he blurted, remembering bits and pieces of what had happened before he had passed out, and the pieces soon formed the full picture.
Dupont smiled at him and picked up a shot glass filled with a white fluid. To his horror, it was labeled with his name in the same copperplate script as the others on her desk.
“Now will you make a phone call to the Bureau, Mr. Rogers, or maybe I should call our corporate lawyer and slap a sexual assault lawsuit on your sorry ass?”
Richard pulled out his cell phone and dialled the number to the Better Business Bureau.
*****
Half an hour later, Richard was seated in his limo with Dwayne, his bodyguard, next to him. The old man sipped on a glass of scotch.
“Did you teach that bitch Dupont a lesson, Boss?” Dwayne asked.
The old man looked at him sheepishly and barked, “I’d rather not talk about it, Dwayne. Let’s go home.”
The End.
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