I am a high-priced call girl. Very high-priced. I doubt you could afford me. But I'm worth it. I file a tax return reporting all my income. Surprised? It's not that unusual. Really. The elite of our profession are competent business women, most are very educated and intelligent. Surprised? I have an MBA from a prestigious university. This is business. The business of sex. Supply and demand. Sex sells. Pillow talk also has its rewards. Some of my favorite clients are, well I won't mention names, but insider-trading leads to wise investments.

I was audited because of some unusual business expenses I claimed, particularly related to my office. You see, I move my office around and never spend more than a week in one place. Precautions. Most of my offices are in and around Las Vegas. I do spend some time in Reno, Denver and Salt Lake City also. And let me tell you, those Mormons are horny dudes! Must be because they had to give up polygamy. Almost as horny as Catholic priests, especially the Polish ones, although the Mormons don't usually beg me to fuck them in the ass and they will eat pussy if it's salty.

When I received notice of the audit, I requested the IRS auditor meet me at my current office in Reno. I told James Street, the auditor, it would be best if he actually saw what these offices of mine were all about. He got permission from the head honcho to conduct the audit at my place.

My office during that week of the fateful day of the IRS audit was a luxury two-story suite at the largest hotel and casino in Reno. Last time I had the Safari Super Suite but this time it was the Roman Super Suite. It was a two-story penthouse of more than 4,000 square feet. There was a dramatic circular stairway, three luxurious bedrooms and five baths. The master bedroom had hand carved classic Italian marble statues of Roman heroes and gold gilded hand carved furniture. Two cast bronze lions were at the foot of the lavish canopied bed. The formal dining room had cut stone arches, marble columns and gold leafed Corinthian capitals and frieze rims, imported Italian Bottocino marble floor and walls with gold tile features and hand made mosaic murals.

The IRS auditor, James Street, arrived at my "office" almost an hour early. I had just woken and was still in my jammies. I padded to the door in my bare feet, wearing an imported white cotton pajama bottom with cropped legs, a drawstring waist and embroidered with cute little kittens. The handkerchief matching top was in my left hand as I opened the door with my right. I couldn't do the hook-and-eye closure. At least not at that sleepy-eyed moment. I didn't want to keep the IRS waiting.

James and I hit it off right from the start. I think I startled him with my candor. I guess he was used to suspicious and apprehensive types. "James, you just ask for whatever you want, whatever you would like to know. And please call me Angela."

"Thank you, Angela, I will. I must say you are a very, very attractive young lady."

"Well, thanks James, but I assure you I look better when I have been awake for half an hour and have had my first cup of coffee," I replied as I struggled to fasten the handkerchief top. "You are quite early."

"Yes, Angela, I'm sorry, I should have called. My first audit of the day ended early. I had to call the sheriff. I think Mr. Lewiston, my first appointment, is on his way to prison for tax evasion. You would not believe the scams that some people try to pull."

"I can just imagine, James. Let me assure you that I want to pay my fair share to Uncle Sam and would never do anything I thought was illegal or unethical."

"I believe you, Angela. You have such an innocent and honest face. Let's get started if we might. What exactly are the nature of these personal services you provide?" James asked innocently. "On line A of your Schedule C all you put down for business or professional activities was 'personal services.' What to you do?"

"I am a masseuse. A very special masseuse. Not only do I massage the body, I massage the mind. That is what makes my personal services very distinct, innovative and expensive."

"That's difficult for me to picture, Angela. Can you give me a detailed description of exactly what you do?"

"I'll do better than that, James. Let me show you. It won't hurt, I promise. You will understand much better if I demonstrate."

"Well, I uh, I don't know, I uh ... "

I grabbed him by the hand and led him up the spiral staircase to the master bedroom. "Just sit on the bed, James. You don't even have to take off any clothes if you don't want to. This is not a sex thing. Didn't you ever have a real massage before? Just pretend I'm a masseur, you know, a guy. A straight guy who just gives other straight guys a massage. You look a little tense. I guarantee you will be totally relaxed and re-energized by this experience."

"OK, Angela, but I would have great difficulty pretending you are a guy. A massage might help my aching back. I see a chiropractor twice a week and it doesn't seem to be doing much good."

"Good boy. Now we'll start with your hands. You must write vociferously and use a computer incessantly. Although men certainly are not as prone to carpal tunnel syndrome as women, a man's hands should not be neglected."

"James, you have very strong but gentle hands." I placed my thumb on his palm and gently pressed and massaged the back of his right hand with my fingers, rubbing between the tendons of his fingers. The soft area on his palm below the thumb and below each knuckle was next. Then I worked on the tips of his thumb and each finger, pressing and pulling tenderly. I switched to his left hand and purred, "James, do you like a good hand job?" He blushed and I thought he looked cute when he was embarrassed.

Next I pulled off his shoes and socks and started tickling his feet until he mildly protested. I pressed and massaged the tendons on the back of his left foot, and then concentrated on the ball of his foot between his big toe and the soft area below his other toes. I worked on the first joint of each toe by pressing on the bottom and top with her index finger and thumb and gently pulled forward for a few seconds. He sighed when I began to rub his arch and heel expertly. I then switched to his right foot. And you should have seen him squirm when I began to suck his toes!

"No, no, Angela, please stop!" He squealed as I slurped on his big toe.

"Yeah, right, James, do you stop when a girl says 'No' to you? I don't think so." I did let his squirming big toe loose after a few more minutes.

"OK, James, now what's really hurts and throbs? What would you like me to rub and suck next I wonder?"

"Uh, Uh, well, uh ... "

"Your back? We can do that!"

"Angela, I think you made a typo on line C of your Schedule C. You list your business name as 'Angela's Ass.' Isn't your last name Ashe?"

"Yes, James. My eyes are bad. Hey, don't I get another deduction for that? I forgot that one. Is your hair red?"

"No, it's blond."

"See what I mean?"

"Yes, yes, I do. We might be able to adjust your return for that, uh, what are you doing?"

I undid his tie and removed it, along with his white silk dress shirt. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and I was surprised at how muscular he was. "Hey, you work out!" I commented as I admired his arms. I love those arms on a guy where the veins stick out in his forearms and biceps, but he doesn't look like a weightlifter. I just love the look of veins popping out somewhere else also.

"Yes, Angela, I'm into martial arts and I used to wrestle in college, I almost made the Olympic team but I screwed up my knee."

"Well, I'll just have to rub your knee for you when I'm done with your back. I love wrestling! I could whup you I bet!"

"I don't think so, Angela."

"Well, we'll just see about that, when I'm finished with your massage. Now face down on the bed, dude."

I began by smoothing down his back muscles on both sides. I used equal pressure with my fingers and the heels of my hands along his side, shoulders and neck. I moved along his side and faced his head and repeated the long smoothing strokes, going slightly deeper with each pass. Next I split my index finger and middle finger, placing my hand over his spine, with each of my fingers in the groove between his spine and Erector Spinae muscles, and I placed my right hand over my left hand.

"James, I should undo your pants if that's OK with you."

"Uh, yeah, sure Angela, whatever you need to do. God, this feels good."

"I'm glad you like it, James. You will feel like a new person when your done and I stick a fork in you." I couldn't help giggling and he laughed.

"James, nice camouflage boxers. Oh my, you guys and your underwear. Are you making a fashion statement?"

"No, Angela, I, Uhhhh, that feels good." I was working his buttocks area by pushing down with the heel of my hand and then pulling back with my fingers in large fluid circular motions. Then I began to use my elbows, working from his lower back to the top. Each stroke was deeper and slower than the previous one, but very gentle. Fifteen minutes later he was all rubbed up and down.

"OK, James, let's wrestle!"

"Angela, you can't be serious. I'm much bigger and stronger than you are."

"Me no care. You'll see. I have Native American blood. No way you can beat me at Indian wrestling. I'll show you how." I positioned our bodies so we were lying on the bed on our sides facing each other with our feet touching. My left foot was braced heel to toe against James' right foot and his right foot was hooked around my left foot and vice versa for my left foot.

"OK, James, now clasp your hands under your knees, and when I say 'go' try to flip me over using only your foot. Are you ready? Go!"

I flipped him three times and began to laugh so hard I was crying. "It's all in the technique, James," I whispered. "I bet you could pin me if you really wanted to."

"Yeah right, Angela. I can't believe you did that to me so easily."

"James, there are probably other things I could do to you that you might not believe. But I simply must bathe now and change because I soon have to leave for a very special appointment with a very important person."

"A famous politician?" James asked politely.

"More important than that. He is one of the real leaders of our country. Mafia. James, give me ten minutes to run the water and get in the tub and then you come into the bathroom and you can ask me more of your questions, OK?"

"Sure, Angela. Whatever you say."

I luxuriated in the bubbles and whirling water for almost forty-five minutes. James sat on the edge of the tub, trying unsuccessfully not to look at me, asking question after question about my various deductions and the like.

"Angela, I don't understand what you did for line 13 regarding depreciation. What exactly are you depreciating here?"

"Pussy."

"Say what?"

"Pussy. That's uh, well, the name of my computer, Pussy. You know I like kittens because you saw my jammies. You can depreciate computers, right? I use it for cybering."

"Well, yes, Angela, in some situations you can depreciate computers. What exactly is cybering?"

"I like make out on line. You know, make deals. Consummate agreements. Do the deed." I thought it was time for a distraction as I rose out of the water.

"Uh, uh, yes, I see Angela."

"James, I'm getting out now so don't look." He did look out of the corner of his eye as I knew he would. I wrapped the large towel he handed me around my body. "Let's go back into the master bedroom so I can get some clothes on."

I picked out what I wanted to wear from the huge walk-in closet. "James, you can look if you want. You can watch me dress. I mean, I'm sure you have seen naked women before."

"I better not, Angela. Yes, I have seen a few naked women. But I think we better keep our relationship totally professional."

"Yes, James, you are right. Professional. OK, you can turn your head and look now. I'm dressed."

"Oh my God!" he stammered. "Where are you going looking like that?"

"What are you my father now, James? I'm wearing a coat over this, silly boy."

I showed James my wet and wild black wicked collar jacket which barely came down to mid-thigh. He kept staring at the sheer body stocking I had put on. The bikini design did provide an illusion of modesty for private areas. The body stocking was black with stretchy spaghetti straps and an open crotch. Also I had slipped on the vinyl lace-up gloves which were long enough to cover my elbows. And of course the six inch black leather spiked heels.

"Can I ask you one more question, Angela, so that we can fully resolve this audit?"

"No, James, I'll ask you one more question so we can fully resolve this audit. Would you like a five minute blow job?" I didn't wait for an answer. His belt was already undone, I unzipped him all the way and dropped his pants and camouflage boxers to his ankles. His cock looked very small and I was rather amazed at how large it became in a matter of seconds.

After I sucked him for five minutes and he still didn't seem close, I think he was enjoying it too much, I slipped my hand inside the open crotch of my body stocking and quickly got myself ready and wet for what was next. I stood up and pulled James against me pressed up to the wall. I lifted my legs up and around him, slipped him inside me and begged, "Fuck me, James, fuck me hard!"

Several minutes later James concluded the audit with, "Angela, let me assure you that your tax return and the business expenses and deductions you claimed are entirely legitimate. I might suggest that you include those five minute blow jobs and three minute stand-up screws in the personal services you provide. You could certainly make twice as much money."

"Now there is an idea, James! I'll think on it. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you and I'll probably see you again next year."

"You can count on it, Angela. I just wish I could audit you more than once a year. When I joined the IRS I never thought talking about seductions, 'er I mean deductions, could be so stimulating. Incidentally, my rough calculations indicate you will be receiving an additional refund of $16,032.71 but I'll figure it out exactly when I get back to the office."

"Thanks for cumming, James," I said seductively as I closed the door behind him. I immediately opened my diary and began a new entry, "Fucking the IRS."

Home | Story Index | Contact Us | Other Sites

All contents © Copyright 2000 by literotica.com.
No part may be reproduced in any form without explicit written permission.