After the meeting was done, Martin and his three leggy associates returned to the office for a few drinks to celebrate. Anticipating victory, Joan had ordered a generous supply of champagne. Fellow councillors and supporters dropped by to congratulate Martin and his team. Even the Mayor came in for a moment. She promised to put Martin’s motion into effect at once.
Later, when the well-wishers had finally gone, Martin and his staff retreated to his inner office for a private celebration. Some might have called it an orgy. Everyone had consumed quite a bit of champagne. Everyone insisted on kissing Martin. Once they started kissing, no one wanted to stop.
Priscilla determined that she had seniority, and therefore should be fucked first. Martin had her on top of the desk, long legs spread high and wide, while he stood in front of her with his pants around his ankles. She was wet and receptive. It felt so good that Martin barely listened when she started complaining.
“What—what are you—stop that!” she cried, when Summer impishly bent over her chest. “Martin! M-make her stop that! She’s—she’s licking my—oh! and she’s kissing my titties. Martin, wait, stop, ohhhh, please, stop for a moment so I can—oh god, what—Angela! Noooo, not you too, ohhhh, god, stop that, I, I don’t do girls! Martinnnn! Tell them to stop. You, you can’t (pant, pant), you can’t make me do—I don’t (huff, groan), you can’t make mmmmmppphhh . . .
Joan leaned over and stuck a red nipple in her mouth like a soother. The helpless office manager could only writhe and twist on the desktop. Assaulted on all sides, her first peak hit her before Martin was even finished. Summer quickly took her place.
Some time later, Martin was screwing Angela from behind while she leaned over the desk to eat out Priscilla, who was helping Joan entertain Summer in Martin’s big chair. Later still, Martin found himself sprawled on the carpet, licking champagne off Joan’s bountiful breasts, while a pair of tongues licked and sucked his cock with relish. Martin was using one hand to finger Priscilla, who was sort of flopped over top of him with her face buried in Joan’s crotch.
When the telephone rang, Joan dutifully extracted herself from the pile of undulating bodies and stumbled over to the desk. She was still wearing her cherry-red corset and five-inch heels. Her panties were long gone.
“Hello?” she said into the telephone. “Oh, hi darling. Goodness me, you’re right. I forgot about the time.” She tightened a garter strap absently. “No, we were having a bit of a celebration. Come again? Oh, no, uhm, we have the television on.”
The bodies on the floor re-arranged themselves and Martin missed the rest of the conversation. He wasn’t even sure whose mouth he came in.
Eventually, the party wound down. Joan staggered off to catch a taxi home to her family. Martin was unsure whether she put her dress back on. Summer and Angela, unseasoned at consuming large quantities of alcohol, fell asleep on the sofa, still in the sixty-nine position. Angela’s right hand clutched an empty champagne bottle.
Martin dozed on the thick carpet, listening to Priscilla’s even breathing. He looked around for his trousers. Lying on the floor, he found himself face to face with the stuffed boar that Higgins had insisted on keeping in one corner of the office. Jeez that’s ugly, Martin thought. It was high time he got rid of all that stuff.
He frowned for a moment. There was something about a black boar. He got to his feet, found his trousers and pulled them on.
“Prissy, come here a moment.”
His semi-nude office manager looked up blearily. Her hair hung over her face. “Wanna do it again?” she asked, a hint of eagerness in her voice.
“Not right now. It would fall off. But come take a look at this.”
Priscilla got to her feet. Though she was wearing nothing but a few scraps of underwear, she found her acrylic platform sandals with the towering heels and slipped them on. She managed two steps before she fell heavily to the carpet, laughing drunkenly. Rather than take her sandals off, she crawled on her hands and knees to where Martin was sitting.
“What? Whutz so important?”
“I was thinking. Have you ever wondered why Higgins kept this big stuffed pig in his office?”
“Cuz he was an egotishtical boor with no taste?”
“OK, but this is the only stuffed animal. Everything else he mounted the head, or took a picture.”
She leaned against him. “Darling, do we hafta discush this when I’m drunk?”
“You remember that cop, Ridley, that was here a few times?”
“Mmmmm, yeah, the babe with the great ash.”
“Uh, yeah, her. She said they tapped Higgins’s phone. He used the word “blackberry” several times. I assumed it was a password of some kind. Maybe for a bank account or a computer file.”
“Thaz nice.” She nuzzled against his neck. “I wanna fuck.”
“But what if they heard it wrong—hey come on, stop that. What if it wasn’t blackberry. What if the word was “black boar.”
She stopped what she was doing. “You mean . . . .” She paused for a long moment. “You know, I ‘member Higgins used t’ come back from meetings sometimes ‘n’ lock himself in the office. Told us not to dishturb him.”
Martin was running his hands along the flanks of the animal. “Yes. And you remember that one time he came back with two briefcases? I’m sure he left with only one.”
His fingers stopped. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“What?”
“Some sort of hidden fastener.”
There was a sound like a zipper being opened. Wads of paper began tumbling out of the boar’s belly. They kept coming and coming. They accumulated in a big pile on the floor.
Priscilla picked up a packet of bills. They were large denominations, neatly packaged. She looked at Martin, dumbstruck.
He grinned. “I think we’ve found the missing half million,”
There was a long silence, broken only by a soft thud and a sleepy groan. Angela had dropped her champagne bottle and then slid bonelessly off the sofa. She passed out again on the floor.
“So, what do we do now?” Priscilla wondered.
“Wellll, we could keep it.”
“I s’pose. The police have closed the case.”
“The City has written it off.”
“Nobody even knowsh it ‘xists.”
“Wouldn’t be right though, would it.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Another long pause.
“On the other hand, what if we made a donation to some worthwhile cause?”
“Such as . . .”
“. . . rehabilitation of McGrath Park?”
“Anonymushly, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You can plant lotta trees for half a million.”
“A lot of trees.”
“Maybe paint the bandstand.”
“New equipment for the playground.”
They were both grinning hugely. Martin picked up a packet of bills and tossed them in Priscilla’s lap.
“Wha’s zat for?”
“Call it a bonus. We don’t have to give it all to McGrath Park.”
“I’ll jus’ blow it all on trampy clothes.”
“I know.”
“You are so vile. I can’t believe I’ve fallen in love with you.”
“Neither can I.”
She reached up and pushed the unstuffed boar to one side. “You know what I’ve alwaysh wanted t’ do?”
“What?”
“Make love on a big pile of money.”
They were still grinning like fools. Priscilla spread out the pile of cash to make a more comfortable bed. She left her high heels on.
Martin pulled off his pants again. For a moment, he reached into his pocket and rubbed his worry stone.
But he wasn’t really worried.
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