Up Into The Chairman
#3 of Fuck The IRS!
The third and final installment of the story. Also, the longest and most harsh section of them all. But, if you've made it this far, how could you possibly stop now?
Fuck The IRS!: Part 3:
Up Into The Chairman
Helmsley Mooreland. The closed door read, Helmsley Mooreland. Helmsley Mooreland, chairman of the Internal Revenue finances committee and presidential cabinet member. He had held his position for over eleven years, with an excellent attendance rating and no conceivable end in sight. His large office had become a fixture, separate and secluded from the political environment of downtown Washington D.C.. There was a good amount of information someone like Gerald Richards could acquire from a Google internet search.
The German Shepard leaned over the third floor receptionist area, marked by marble floors and granite statues of lady liberty in all kinds of languid positions. "Excuse me. But, I have a fucking appointment with Mr. Mooreland at noon. It is eleven, fifty-five right now. Could you please let that asshole know I'm fucking waiting out here in the lobby?" The strikingly beautiful Pyronese woman looked at him in shock.
He did not return her gaze, but made his way to one of the leather arm-chairs in the designated waiting area. There was a coffee-maker nearby and a pile of current economics magazines, from Forbes to the Wall Street Journal, sitting underneath a marble table lamp. Gerald ignored the distractions and found himself sitting two seats away from another well-dressed gentleman.
For a moment, Gerald adjusted his black suit jacket and straightened his tie, then noticed that the Equine sitting nearby was doing the same. He was a tall horse, a painted Palomino coloring dressed in a well-fitted black suit and striped tie. There was a nervousness in his posture as he flipped through a copy of Newsweek.
Gerald leaned closer to the horse. "Who the fuck are you?"
The Palomino almost dropped the magazine in his thick brown and white fingers. "E-e-excuse me?"
"Do you fucking work here?"
The Palomino hesitated, "No, and your..."
Gerald interrupted hastily. "I bet you have a fucking appointment with this Mooreland guy in a minute here too, am I right?"
The horse bit his lip, afraid to answer.
Gerald continued. "Thought as fucking much. Tax return?" The horse did not answer again. "Doesn't matter."
The receptionist answered a distinct buzzing sound, lifting the phone to her golden earring. "Okay, Mr. Mooreland." The Pyronese lady looked in their general direction. "Mr. Mooreland will see you now." She said, disinterested.
"About fucking time!" Gerald screamed at her. "That scum-bucket better be on his fucking knees."
The horse turned to him, and Gerald turned to the horse. They both lifted to their feet and the horse shuddered.
Gerald led the way into the office, throwing open the wooden door and plodding into the two-tiered room. Helmsley was standing by the lifted portion, pulling a leather-bound book from one of the tall mahogany cabinets in the room. He stood by a full-length glass window, his hooves tapping on the hard-wood floor. His desk was nestled to the other side of the room, under two flag-like sashes, not five feet from a black baby grand piano, its cover lifted and shiny as a mirror.
The black equine turned and regarded Gerald Richards with obvious disdain. He was shirtless, showing off his attractive, yet older physique, wearing only his brown suit slacks. "I've told Donovan a thousand times, I do not like little, furry doggies."
"Where the fuck is my tax return, Mooreland?" Gerald snarled, taking a few steps towards the horse.
"Oh. Yes." The horse replied, placing the book back on the shelf, and taking a step towards the angry German Shepard. Gerald heard the wooden door close behind him as the Palomino's hooves clomped to a carpeted space. Mr. Mooreland pointed to the East. "The office for internal revenue service claims is downstairs. If you talk to the receptionist, she will gladly give you paperwork to fill out. I'll have to inform Donovan of my displeasure next time I see him. Thank you for the effort, but if you could please leave now, I have business to attend to."
The German Shepard had stopped listening to the horse after he began his referral. There was only one thing that could make the dog snap, and that was to rise so far, only to become stuck in an endless loop of incompetent bureaucracy once again. His left eye, surrounded in patch of deep black fur, began to twitch uncontrollably. Through the dark brown fur on his arms, the bulging veins in his biceps were completely visible. He was shaking.
Mr. Mooreland barely had time to lower his arm before the the raging beast named Gerald Richards was upon him. The canine shoved Helmsley backwards against the bookcase, sending a shower of papers and books to the floor. Before, he could regain his breath, Gerald had spun him around, launching him gut-forward into the back of a leather couch, where Mooreland reeled helpless clutching at his stomach. Then, he felt a light sting on his backside as one of Gerald's well-aimed claws shredded the material of his pants at the seam. His long black tail came into view, draping over the frayed cloth. Gerald was quick to grab that thick lower mane and lift it up in the air harshly, exposing the black star of a hole, surrounded by sleek jet-black hair. Helmsley could not catch his breath, he felt as if he were choking on the air he brought in.
Always the gentleman, Mr. Richards licked two of his fingers, letting them drip with spit before shoving them hard into the tight male orifice, leaving it moist and ready. With one hand pulling down his zipper, and the other lifting the equine's twitching tail, Gerald was once again rock hard and out in the open. He placed his raw, red monster at the small opening before him.
"They told me you were the 'man to fuck' to get my tax return. And I fucking intend to leave here with a check in my paws!" In one long, slow stroke, Gerald forced the tight horse's ass apart. Definitely not as tight as the wolf's ass from yesterday, he was able to slide in and in, eventually biting down on the horse's black neck, and hilting himself to the knot. The horse felt like he would go unconscious from the asphyxiation, but the pain and pleasure combined to keep him just on the edge of darkness. When the dog began to move his hips, the horse coughed and sputtered, competing rushes of blood sent to his throbbing forehead and pulsing cock. Gerald, in his rage, tasted a slight tinge of blood in his clenched mouth, as he made the equine his total and utter bitch. His hips became a blur, his knot large enough to make the horse whinny when he shoved it inside, but small enough to keep fucking it in and out like a thick fist.
It took Gerald almost a full minute to realize that the blurry figure in the distance was the Palomino, who stood by the wooden door, his jaw open. His eyes refocused and he unlock his teeth from the thick black neck. With a few larger thrusts, and some upper-body maneuvering, the equine was now being railed by the canine, bent almost completely over the back of the couch.
Gerald panted and addressed the Palomino. "Get the fuck over here, horsey!" The horse beneath him whinnied at a particularly hard thrust. The predicament for the receiving black horse was only getting worse as his cock, trapped inside the tight confines of his slacks, had pushed his sheath downward, his lengthening member traveling down his pant leg, stretched behind the couch. His huge horse balls were pressed backwards between his legs, visible through the rip Gerald had created.
The painted pony was within five feet, nervously watching the display. Gerald was quick to scold him. "What the fuck are you doing, pony? I'm sure mister fucking Mooreland here is dying to have you join in on the fun!" The horse took another few tentative steps.
"Oh, god. Fuck! No." Mr. Mooreland gargled between quick breaths.
"Fuck, yes!" Gerald said, slamming as deeply as he could to silence the horse beneath him. A tear formed in the black stallion's eye. "So, what the fuck are you waiting for? Whip it the fuck out, horsey!"
Just as Gerald had suspected, when the painted horse stripped off his jacket, then let his slacks and underwear fall to the floor, he was hard as stone. The horse had to pull up his shirt to allow the rest of it to bob into the open. It was an impressive piece of meat, spotted with different tans and browns, exactly like his body. On his nearly seven foot frame, the sixteen incher looked somewhat proportionate for a stallion.
"Nice cock, man! Now, don't just fucking let it sit there. Mr. Mooreland here wants to fucking gobble it up." The black horse shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to escape, but Gerald reacted fast, and gripped the stallion's mighty balls with claws outstretched. "Now, you are going to fucking play nice, or I will make you a gelding really fucking fast, Mr. Mooreland. Now, horsey, could you please shut this fucker up with your big cock."
Mr. Mooreland looked up into the Palomino's eyes with hatred. The large Palomino smiled and shoved his flared cock head into the chairman's mouth. A good six inches of the thing was all the black horse could take, and the Palomino watched as the mouth began to hollow at the cheeks giving him a gentle suction.
Gerald immediately sped up the pace of his fucking, feeling his balls slapping loudly against the black horse's balls. The horse was pinned between the two machines, feeling his ass pummeled and the entrance of his throat slammed with each powerful thrust. Helmsley's cock was twitching hard against the back of the couch, spasming with pain and erotic humiliation. Gerald panted over the back of the equine like a feral beast.
The first to go off was surprisingly the Palomino, he whinnied, grunting as his ass cheeks contracted and he drowned the sputtering Mr. Mooreland in cum. The painted pony, sprayed like a fire-hose, almost all of his hot cream spilling over the sides of the black horse's stretched maw. The couch was soon covered, and the final splatters as the cock began to soften, dripped down Helmsley's chest.
Gerald was not soon afterward pulling out and jerking his cock between horse's ass cheeks. His German Shepard cum rocketed out of his spurting dick and doused the horse's back and shoulders with the thick white spooge. The spurts were dripping down along the stallion's sides and mixing with Palomino's. Mr. Mooreland, after being soaked in cum and made into a shivering mess, finally came, almost blacking out from the pleasure. His trapped member, its large head having reached down past his kneecap, began to spew cum from his tightening balls. His pant leg was instantly soaked in the shower, and a large puddle formed around his hoof. The deluge was impressive, and the stallion was bucking his hips long after Gerald had released him. The stallion could barely walk, his right hoof slippery with cum, and his legs wobbly as he coughed.
"Now, Mr. Mooreland," Gerald said, after straightening his fur, and replacing his slacks. "I believe you will be writing me out a government check for the amount of two-thousand, one hundred twenty-four dollars and eighteen cents. To Gerald C. Richards Jr.. As the chairman, I am sure that is well within your fucking rights, to rectify a citizen's complaint."
Helmsley Mooreland blinked a few times, shaking his head. "Of course, of course." His mind was set on auto-pilot as he made his way, very carefully, to his mahogany desk. With every other step, he left a soggy crescent mark in the carpet. The ebony horse flitted through the pages on his desk, then searched the drawers. Eventually, with a hand that would not stop shaking, he found a ball-point pen and filled in the necessary information. His chest was literally dripping with sex. Finally, he lifted a small rubber stamp, slamming the red ink down onto the official documentation, a presidential seal left behind.
The equine handed over the check without a word. Gerald looked at the check, and smiled. "This says three thousand dollars."
The horse grinned, eyes half-open. "I rounded up. You were worth every penny." He threw the pen he was holding into a small trash can under his desk.
Gerald pointed to the Palomino, shifting his head. "What about this fucking guy."
Helmsley considered the painted pony for a moment, then leaned back in his swiveling leather chair. His short, black mane was matted and wild against the cushioning. He grinned a toothy grin at the other horse. "I've decided, Mr. Matthews, to forego auditing your business, as more pressing matters have recently come up. You are 'off the hook,' for a few years at least. However, should you want to solidify our dealings in the future, you should definitely stop by again."
Mr. Matthews answered with a stoic silence. Gerald, however, did not. "You're a fucking crook. You're all fucking crooks!"
The black horse shrugged, licking his lips. He reached into a small box on his desk, retrieving a long, brown cigar, quickly chomping off the tip.
Gerald Richards turned and followed the Palomino out of the wooden doorway. As he rounded the corner, he turned to the relaxing black equine who was puffing at the cigar between his slippery digits. "Oh yeah." He added. "Clean yourself up, you look like a fucking mess."
For the first time in almost two months, Gerald smiled a contented, white-toothed smile. Before leaving the door wide open, he peaked his head around the corner.
"See ya next year, Fuck-bag!" And he walked back to his car with a check in his hands.
---Comments? Suggestions? Praise? I love 'em all, of course.---