Richard_Smith
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 1, 1970
- Posts
- 102
Handjobs Two (OPEN)
O.O.C.: Charles Rogers_ 44 years old_ 5 feet 10 inches tall_165 pounds_ Brown eyes_ Black hair graying at the temples_ Is married with two children. One still in High School, the other attending College. A conservative dresser, favoring wing-tips and somber three-piece suits. The only jewelry he wears is a wedding band and wrist watch (with hands; not digital)
=====================================================
“So I hear you will handling the Wilson acquisition personally?” Sal Zimmerman said as he stuck his head into the door of Charles Rogers's office.
Charles looked up from the spreadsheets on his desk, glancing briefly at the computer screen so he would remember his place, before answering his friend and colleague. “Looks that way. And come on; don’t bother to knock.”
Sal grinned broadly and did just that, plopping himself down in one of the two armchairs that faced Charles’s desk. “So what made you volunteer for the job?”
“Whitherspoon volunteered me,” Charles answered, referring to the C.E.O. of the Mohawk Corporation. “He said I knew more about Wilson Corporation than anyone…”
“Which is true,” Sal agreed.
“So, maybe by sending a Senior VP we could apply a personal touch and soothe any ruffled feathers caused by the transfer.”
“Which isn’t true,” Sal replied. “I just learned that they are in Federal Court right now filing a motion.”
“Federal Court?” Charles knitted his eyebrows. “As in U.S. of America Federal?”
Sal nodded, “They’ve exhausted all their legal options in the U.K., so they’ve hired a high powered Wall Street firm to fight us over here.”
Charles studied his fellow Analyst. They had worked together for, what, over a dozen years now? “You don’t seem too terribly worried about all of this.”
“I’m not,” Sal shrugged. “It’s all about the money. We’ve got it and they don’t…How long were you planning on staying in London?”
“I don’t know,” Charles answered. This latest information would effect his plans. “I thought I could have it wrapped up in three days. Five at the most.”
“You better figure on longer than that now,” Sal said. “Have you ever been to England?”
Charles shook his head. “No, but I know you have. You were just over there two years ago, weren’t you? That’s why I tried to convince Whitherspoon to send you rather than me.”
“My pal,” Sal sneered. “Let me just give you a tip. When you get there, if you find that you like the weather, then you will find that you will llove the cooking.”
Charles nodded his head, glancing around his office and thinking of all the things that he should be doing here in Manhattan rather than being away from his desk for such an extended period of time.
“Oh, but that’s not the reason I came here,” Sal told him. Glancing around in the theatrical way people do when they are about to share a secret or discuss a sensitive issue, he stood up and stepped over to the office door closing it. He reached inside his coat to extract his wallet and took out a business card, placing it face down on Charles’s desk and sliding it over to him the way Black Jack or Baccarat dealers do.
“HJL?” Charles read the embossed silver lettering on the buff colored card. In the lower right hand corner was a series of numbers which he assumed was a phone number, though the grouping was different than that used for American phones.
“Hand Jobs Limited,” Sal said in low but boastful tone, as if he was revealing some sort of vastly important piece of information. When he saw that his friend seemed even more puzzled, he explained. “It’s like an escort service. Only very high-tone an tellibly proper, don’t you know? Everything elegant and on the up-and-up, whut?”
Sal said the last in what was his version of the stereotypical retired Royal Army Colonel.
“I don’t think so,” Charles shook his head and offered the card back to his friend.
“Keep it,” Sal insisted. “I know how you’re a straight shooter, well, morally speaking, I don't know how you shoot with the other.” He leered and nodded towards the card. “You’ve never fooled around on your wife, but you might be gone quite some time. You can’t keep a clear head if your plumbing is backed up.”
“And this wouldn’t be fooling around?” Charles waved the card at Sal.
“Nope,” Sal was adamant about that. “The company provides hand-jobs and hand-jobs only. You wouldn’t be cheating on your wife.”
“Wouldn’t be cheating?” Charles sputtered. “How do figure? Some woman will be getting my rocks off for me. O.K., so she’ll only be using her hand, but we will still be performing an intimate act. It would be adultery.”
“Eating is an intimate act,” Sal countered. “But you wouldn’t think twice about going out to dinner on business with a female. Same here. It’s strictly business. Like going to a lady barber.”
A derisive laugh was Charles reply. “It’s a adultery, Sal. I’m not criticizing you for…for using the service. That’s none of my business. But it’s adultery.”
“Not so,” Sal grinned the grin that Charles had come to recognize. He had often seen it at meetings just before his friend delivered the coup-d-grace in a debate concerning a complicated business decision. Sal placed his fists on the desk and leaned forward, his eyes drilling into Charles’s. “Without penetration it is not adultery. Look it up.”
“You’re splitting hairs,” Charles answered, staring at the card he was still holding between his first two fingers.
“Hey,” Sal turned to head for the door. “That’s what we do for a living, remember? It’s part of our job description. Speaking of which…”
He had re-opened the door but not stepped through it yet. “Who’s going to be doing your job while you’re away.”
Now it was Charles’s turn to grin. “You are. I convinced Whiterspoon that since you weren’t going, then he could give you my assignments until I got back.”
Sal’s shoulders slumped. Maybe he should have volunteered to handle the final negotiations. As he walked out into the hallway, Charles called out in a cheerful voice, “I know the English weather is supposed to be bad, but I’ve always wondered what ‘Tea’ was like.”
========================================================
O.O.C. The inspiration for this thread is from the first of three short stories written by “Louis Nessus” and archived at Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository
and
from another thread running in the Forum.
https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.phpt=326948&highlight=handjobs
O.O.C.: Charles Rogers_ 44 years old_ 5 feet 10 inches tall_165 pounds_ Brown eyes_ Black hair graying at the temples_ Is married with two children. One still in High School, the other attending College. A conservative dresser, favoring wing-tips and somber three-piece suits. The only jewelry he wears is a wedding band and wrist watch (with hands; not digital)
=====================================================
“So I hear you will handling the Wilson acquisition personally?” Sal Zimmerman said as he stuck his head into the door of Charles Rogers's office.
Charles looked up from the spreadsheets on his desk, glancing briefly at the computer screen so he would remember his place, before answering his friend and colleague. “Looks that way. And come on; don’t bother to knock.”
Sal grinned broadly and did just that, plopping himself down in one of the two armchairs that faced Charles’s desk. “So what made you volunteer for the job?”
“Whitherspoon volunteered me,” Charles answered, referring to the C.E.O. of the Mohawk Corporation. “He said I knew more about Wilson Corporation than anyone…”
“Which is true,” Sal agreed.
“So, maybe by sending a Senior VP we could apply a personal touch and soothe any ruffled feathers caused by the transfer.”
“Which isn’t true,” Sal replied. “I just learned that they are in Federal Court right now filing a motion.”
“Federal Court?” Charles knitted his eyebrows. “As in U.S. of America Federal?”
Sal nodded, “They’ve exhausted all their legal options in the U.K., so they’ve hired a high powered Wall Street firm to fight us over here.”
Charles studied his fellow Analyst. They had worked together for, what, over a dozen years now? “You don’t seem too terribly worried about all of this.”
“I’m not,” Sal shrugged. “It’s all about the money. We’ve got it and they don’t…How long were you planning on staying in London?”
“I don’t know,” Charles answered. This latest information would effect his plans. “I thought I could have it wrapped up in three days. Five at the most.”
“You better figure on longer than that now,” Sal said. “Have you ever been to England?”
Charles shook his head. “No, but I know you have. You were just over there two years ago, weren’t you? That’s why I tried to convince Whitherspoon to send you rather than me.”
“My pal,” Sal sneered. “Let me just give you a tip. When you get there, if you find that you like the weather, then you will find that you will llove the cooking.”
Charles nodded his head, glancing around his office and thinking of all the things that he should be doing here in Manhattan rather than being away from his desk for such an extended period of time.
“Oh, but that’s not the reason I came here,” Sal told him. Glancing around in the theatrical way people do when they are about to share a secret or discuss a sensitive issue, he stood up and stepped over to the office door closing it. He reached inside his coat to extract his wallet and took out a business card, placing it face down on Charles’s desk and sliding it over to him the way Black Jack or Baccarat dealers do.
“HJL?” Charles read the embossed silver lettering on the buff colored card. In the lower right hand corner was a series of numbers which he assumed was a phone number, though the grouping was different than that used for American phones.
“Hand Jobs Limited,” Sal said in low but boastful tone, as if he was revealing some sort of vastly important piece of information. When he saw that his friend seemed even more puzzled, he explained. “It’s like an escort service. Only very high-tone an tellibly proper, don’t you know? Everything elegant and on the up-and-up, whut?”
Sal said the last in what was his version of the stereotypical retired Royal Army Colonel.
“I don’t think so,” Charles shook his head and offered the card back to his friend.
“Keep it,” Sal insisted. “I know how you’re a straight shooter, well, morally speaking, I don't know how you shoot with the other.” He leered and nodded towards the card. “You’ve never fooled around on your wife, but you might be gone quite some time. You can’t keep a clear head if your plumbing is backed up.”
“And this wouldn’t be fooling around?” Charles waved the card at Sal.
“Nope,” Sal was adamant about that. “The company provides hand-jobs and hand-jobs only. You wouldn’t be cheating on your wife.”
“Wouldn’t be cheating?” Charles sputtered. “How do figure? Some woman will be getting my rocks off for me. O.K., so she’ll only be using her hand, but we will still be performing an intimate act. It would be adultery.”
“Eating is an intimate act,” Sal countered. “But you wouldn’t think twice about going out to dinner on business with a female. Same here. It’s strictly business. Like going to a lady barber.”
A derisive laugh was Charles reply. “It’s a adultery, Sal. I’m not criticizing you for…for using the service. That’s none of my business. But it’s adultery.”
“Not so,” Sal grinned the grin that Charles had come to recognize. He had often seen it at meetings just before his friend delivered the coup-d-grace in a debate concerning a complicated business decision. Sal placed his fists on the desk and leaned forward, his eyes drilling into Charles’s. “Without penetration it is not adultery. Look it up.”
“You’re splitting hairs,” Charles answered, staring at the card he was still holding between his first two fingers.
“Hey,” Sal turned to head for the door. “That’s what we do for a living, remember? It’s part of our job description. Speaking of which…”
He had re-opened the door but not stepped through it yet. “Who’s going to be doing your job while you’re away.”
Now it was Charles’s turn to grin. “You are. I convinced Whiterspoon that since you weren’t going, then he could give you my assignments until I got back.”
Sal’s shoulders slumped. Maybe he should have volunteered to handle the final negotiations. As he walked out into the hallway, Charles called out in a cheerful voice, “I know the English weather is supposed to be bad, but I’ve always wondered what ‘Tea’ was like.”
========================================================
O.O.C. The inspiration for this thread is from the first of three short stories written by “Louis Nessus” and archived at Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository
and
from another thread running in the Forum.
https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.phpt=326948&highlight=handjobs
Last edited:
