by @polyphonetic on Twitter

It was an ordinary morning at Office Enterprises, Ltmd. The CEO, Clitoria Butte Pluggers, was at her desk. She had been going over a massive set of reports the previous night, filing all the employee reports and scheduling inventory deals in an attempt to cut some of her losses after a difficult quarter. Needless to say, she was tired, stressed, and was  desperate for anything to distract her from her work.

In the streets below, crime ran rampant as protesting lower-class residents scuffled with police officers. As newer corporations had swarmed the city due to its laissez faire taxes and zoning laws, the city became a fertile crescent for real estate corporations pushing higher-price rents into the poorer districts of the city. Gentrification drove many lower-class residents, particularly in historically poorer black divisions, onto the streets.

From the penthouse office of the lofty corporate building, Clitoria heard nothing of the commotion below through her glass windows. Though the windows, and the company, had started to lose their shine after the recent quarter. Mega-companies with more lawyers and resources were able to afford to outbid at a short loss and make up for it in time, and Office Enterprises was too much in debt to afford more major loans. Clitoria looked at her empty coffee cup forlornly.

Four stories below, Penne S. Junksplunk woke with a start. The buzzer from the top office was blaring red on the wall, which was just in time for the CEO's morning coffee request. The intern had been jolted awake from a dream that in retrospect was embarrassing, and he shook off his blush and the warm feeling in his pants as he prepared the coffee tray for Miss Pluggers.

Penne knocked on the door of the office, the tray held precariously against his muscular body as he reached for the high door knocker to the office. Hearing no reply, he nudged the door open with his foot, quickly glanced at a large mound of paperwork at a desk, he let himself into the suite.

Moments ago, Clitoria had dropped her pen in a moment of distraction, from having lazily read the same line of paperwork to manufacturing plant cuts for the third time. She sighed, and swiveled her chair to face the dark 3 AM cityscape. Through her reflection she saw the distant lights of bustling highrise towers, traffic, and the occasional warm glow of fire.
Closer, however, was her own reflected face, staring tonelessly toward her. She noticed her own sagging posture, and resolved to straighten up herself before meeting the work head on. Just as she was adjusting her bosoms she swirled around at the sound of a clattering spoon.

Penne had nervously dropped a precarious teaspoon from the mental gymnastics of holding a precarious coffee tray in one hand and seeing his boss adjusting her breasts. "M-Miss. Pluggers, I'm sorry I didn't see you there. When I looked in I only saw your massive stacks."

Miss Pluggers raised an eyebrow at his innuendo, standing up and brushing herself off from having been seen adjusting her bra.

"Ah NO I meant your paperwork, sorry ma'am, I had been trying to reach for your knockers and got off balance", he stammered.

The CEO walked over to him as he stammered yet another apology, picking the spoon off the ground. From a culmination of stress and tiredness, the phrase "If you wanted to reach my knockers you might have just asked, Penne" slipped past her lips.

At that, Penne dropped the coffee tray, spilling onto his legs and onto the floor. He bowed tensely. "Miss Pluggers I am very sorry for-"

She took him by his necktie and put a finger to his lips. "Please, Penne, call me Clitoria. We've known each other long enough."

Four blocks away, a father weeps in a dirty alley, muddy and muffled in the rain. Everything he loved had been lost due to his senseless gamble for money. For all the Blood Gang could do, nothing could ever bring back his Cecilia. None of what he had done for her was worth anything now.

Penne breathed heavily, attempting to stifle his racing heart. His boss, and the subject of his most recent daydream, was looking at him with a countenance of equal parts tiredness and something he was afraid to call sultry. While his upper half was focusing on breathing and feigning repose, his lower region felt a pulling sensation forward.

"C-Clitoria, I can get you some more coffee but I'm afraid that we're out of cream downstairs," he replied steadily, looking up at the woman holding his necktie.

"I believe we can find some cream if we look... hard enough", she mewed.

Penne at glanced towards the bosom of the CEO in front of his eyes, then diverted his eyes downwards and noticed his wet pants covered in coffee. "I think I need to get out of these," he muttered.

Just as he realized again the implications of that statement, the CEO replied, "As you wish".


10 minutes later, Penne S. Junksplunk was lying on the office table, paper scattered on the floor, with his wrists tied to the table legs with his necktie. All he wore left was his boxers as Clitoria stood beside him at the table, having stripped down to her lingerie as well.

"Please lets do the nasty dance," he moaned.

"Babe you know I'm ready to grundle fondle," she smirked hornily.

Clitoria got onto the desk above Penne, and unsheathed her vibrant member. "Are you ready for my chicken dinner, Mr. Junksplunk?"

Penne nodded, and felt a wave of hormones coarse through his body as she entered his moist lagoon. "My slophole is aching for your sperm rod," he gurgled.

As Clitoria drove her thunderous lance into his hornicopia, she took off her bra and unleashed the her ravenous duo-plop bags into the air. "My Cum Keurig® has plenty of K-Cup® Pods for your flesh cup," she rammed erectively, "And the K in K-Cup® Pods stands for Kummies."

As Penne's body was being excavated of his nub-rub power, all he could intone between his hornily moist breaths was to groinally groan, "There are potential business opportunities to fill my compartment with your goo hose."
Clitoria escalated the pace, her tempo increasing as did the class warfare on the dark city streets below. She could feel her spelunkinator jostle with excitement. "My telescopic flesh pipe is gonna output plenty of widdle nuttie wutties", she penetrated cocoonously.

As their moans grew louder and faster, suddenly, her dick exploded with guzzlebits all inside of his tartarusian mollusk babyshooter. Gallons of babybaste filled his mountainous quakening cum hole.

Just as she came, she suddenly had a realization as to how to effectively redistribute the burden of the company loans onto a subcompany she had inherited by investing in hiring undereducated lowerclass residents and invest in their education for loyal higher-quality employees, rather than a more standard contract model. Her economic plan that she had devised while eviscerating Penne's slop shop would reduce contractor costs and employee count while focusing on local residents who would in turn be more supportive of her enterprise and be a key factor in securing legislation that would benefit her company rather than the encroaching megacorporations.


An hour later. Clitoria works diligently at her now-restored desk, coffee (without cream) in hand.