Message-ID: <24845asstr$961812603@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: michaeld38@aol.communism (MichaelD38) X-Original-Message-ID: <20000623143949.10818.00014770@nso-fi.aol.com> Subject: {ASSM} Tales of the Booty Bandit, vol.2: The Strippers Union {MichaelD}(MF, breasts, size)(3/3) Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2000 22:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: english, gill-bates The Booty Bandit v. Local 201 of the Entertainers, Dancers, and Escorts International Union Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com. Free redistribution permitted; no commercial use without authorization --- 10. Guido Senigrandi's deposition is the following week. I have Tripod come over the day before to go over his tapes and investigation. I'm quite depressed to discover that all the work Tripod has done has produced nothing I can really use. We have a lot of tapes of Guido flirting with his girls, and the girls talking about how disgusting Guido is, but none of that is admissible or even particularly useful. The only interesting bit is that Guido is in quite a hole financially. The club is in hock up to its last brick, and Guido's credit record is a mess. Unfortunately, that has limited relevance to a sexual harassment suit. The depo is on Tuesday afternoon, which means I have to evict Jaime from the conference room and let her use my office. Mary is supposed to be here, but she calls at the last minute and tells Rachel she can't make it because of some "emergency." My concerns about Guido's lawyer polishing up his client have proved unfounded. If anything he looks even more greasy than the night I saw him in the club, so much so that I wonder if he's somehow trying to parody himself. He's actually wearing a gray sharkskin suit over an open-necked black silk shirt (and several gold chains around his neck), black-and-white patent leather shoes, and about half a jar of Brylcreem in his hair. He tries to flirt with Rachel when they arrive, but I can tell from the look of disgust on her face that she'd sooner date something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe. We spend a few minutes setting up, during which Guido attempts to hit on the stenographer, remarking that she's got a "first-class ass" but "needs more up top." The poor woman turns beet-red but doesn't respond. I watch the look of horror spreading over the lawyer's face and sense that this is not going to be an ordinary deposition. Guido lets the stenographer alone and turns to me. "Nice set-up you got here." "Thank you." "Must be nice having that blonde out front. Tits like those, I could put her to work easy." His lawyer and I exchange a look. "Let's get started," I say, "we're on the record." The stenographer starts the transcript, but either Guido isn't paying attention or he doesn't know what I just said, because he doesn't slow down. "You're porking her, right?" His lawyer's face turns white, because he knows as well as I do that Guido's question just went into his official deposition. "Uh, move to strike that remark as non-responsive," he says. Guido laughs, looking at his lawyer. He still doesn't seem to get it. "Non-responsive to what? I'm just asking if he's boning his secretary." "Let's go off the record a second," the lawyer says. "We're still on the record," I say instantly. "I think this is quite relevant." "I need to have a conference with my client." Guido laughs. "Come on, let's just do this. Ask me what you want." The lawyer rapidly whispers something in Guido's ear. Guido laughs at him. "Just relax, will you? I got everything under control." "Let's get started," I say again. Guido shrugs. "So start." The foundational questions are mundane enough, although I learn that Guido is from Brooklyn and that he (or so he says) is tight with various mob "crews" back home. This prompts another furious, sotto voce discussion with the lawyer, but Guido again dismisses his lawyer's concerns. When I begin questioning him about Mary Smith, things start getting weird again. "Now, Mr. Senigrandi, you asked Mary to move from the Wednesday to Sunday shift to the Sunday to Thursday shift, correct?" "Yeah." "Why?" "Because she wasn't pulling in the tips." I pull several sheets of paper out of my stack of materials. They're nightly summaries of the private dances each girl performed during the period Mary worked the weekend shift, which Guido's attorney had to produce to me when the case began. The club keeps track of the dances to make sure they're getting their cut of the tips. Each sheet is just a chart with the girls' names down one side and penciled-in check marks beside each name. On every single one of them, for three weeks, Mary has the most check marks. I push the charts across the table to Guido. "Do you recognize these?" "Yeah. They're the dance charts, for the private dances." "Would you find Mary's name for me?" "Sure." "And would you look on each sheet and tell me who has the most check marks for private dances?" He scoffs and shoves them aside. "This don't mean shit. These charts, they're all bullshit anyway. Benny, the guy who does 'em, half the time he just marks them down without ever getting off his ass behind the DJ table. Or the girls will erase their marks so they don't have to give up their tips." "So how do you know that Mary's tips were down?" "I know how much she was giving me." "And did you ever check the charts to be sure she wasn't cheating you?" "Nah. 'Cause I know the charts are bullshit, like I said." "So why keep them at all?" He shrugs. "It's just what we do." "All right. So Mary moved. She says that you began making comments to her to the effect that she must miss the weekend shift. Do you recall that?" "Sure. I knew she was making a lot less." "Did you ever touch her during these conversations?" He laughs. "It's friggin' strip bar. Of course I touch them. What do you think they expect? The girls don't care. It's part of the fucking job." Guido's lawyer again grabs him and whispers something in his ear. Guido pushes him away. "Just let me fucking talk, okay?" "Did you ever touch Mary's breasts during these conversations?" He shrugs. "Probably. I don't fucking remember. All the tits I got in that bar, you think I remember every single one I grab?" "So you've done this to the other girls?" The lawyer tries to interrupt again, but Guido ignores him. "It's strip bar. What are you, a fucking fag or something?" "We need to take a break for a moment," the lawyer blurts out. "I have to have a conference with my client." "This is my deposition, counsel," I reply. "I'm not prepared to take a break." He's on the verge of losing it by this point. "I'm entitled to have a conference with my client whenever I want." "I'll move for sanctions. I don't think the judge will look kindly on a break at this juncture." The lawyer fidgets for a couple of seconds, trying to tell if I'm bluffing. Normally, under Sunshine state civil procedure, this kind of monkey business is routine in depositions, but the federal rules are much stricter. For the first time, I'm actually glad we're in federal court on this case. He doesn't say anything, and I continue. "Mr. Senigrandi, does your club have a written sexual harassment policy?" He looks at me like I'm nuts. Then he laughs. "At a strip bar? What are you, crazy?" "Did you ever tell Mary Smith you would let her back on the weekend shift if she would let you tit-fuck her?" He laughs again. "You've seen those tits. Don't tell me you don't think about it." "Did you?" "Maybe. I don't fucking remember. It was her tips that got her moved, not her tits. Her tits are fine." He laughs again, and this time his lawyer has had enough. He jumps to his feet. "I'm suspending this deposition. I have to talk to my client." "On what grounds?" I say. "I don't know. I'll think of something." Guido laughs again, and this time I laugh with him. "You're going to pay for this, counsel," I say. "Literally." He rapidly gathers up his material. "Guido, come on. We're finished here." "What?" Guido goes. "Fuck that. I'm having fun here." "We're finished. This deposition is over." Guido throws up his hands, laughing. "Fine. You're the fucking lawyer." They get up and prepare to leave. Guido's lawyer mutters something about calling me when he gets back to his office, and then they take off. I return to the conference room, where the stenographer is packing up her gear. "Wow," she says. "I don't think I've ever done a depo like _that_ before." "Yeah." I look out the door, and out the window beyond to where Guido and his lawyer are arguing on the sidewalk. "Me neither." --- 11. Guido's lawyer actually doesn't call me until the next afternoon, after which I've already reviewed my draft copy of Guido's deposition transcript. It's even worse than I remember. The lawyer begins by offering some vague apology for suspending the deposition, but I pounce on him immediately. "Counsel, I strongly suspect that your client will not make a very good witness in front of a jury." He sighs. "I know." "And he all but conceded my client's case yesterday. We've got that down in the record. I bet I could troll that bar for another half dozen clients if I wanted to." An edge of panic comes into his voice. "You haven't talked to anyone else about suing, have you?" "That's neither here nor there. What I want to know is whether your carrier is amenable to a settlement demand. My client would really rather get out of this. I think that would be best for all concerned." "Well, if you're going to make a demand, make it." "We're prepared to let it go for two hundred." That's about twice what I think this is worth, but that's how these things go. "That strikes me as excessive." "You've got a substantial punitive damage exposure here. I think you know that." "I don't know." "Come on. Don't bullshit me." "I think we could agree to fifty." "Not a chance. A jury could give us seven figures on a good day if Guido repeats yesterday's performance." "A jury could decide your client is a loose woman who got what she deserved." I laugh. "In _this_ town? Give me a break." He sighs again. "I'll have to talk to the insurance carrier. Two hundred is way above my authority." "Talk to them and call me." He hangs up. Ten minutes later he calls me back. Will I take seventy-five? No way, I say. One-fifty, minimum. He calls his carrier again. How about eighty? Make it a hundred and we've got a deal, I tell him. He makes another phone call, and two minutes later, we've got a settlement. "Ha!" I yell to Rachel when I finally hang up. "I just made forty grand!" "Does that mean I get a raise?" "Maybe a bonus. We'll see." --- 12. I call Mary as soon as I'm off the phone with Guido's lawyer. She's ecstatic and wants to come pick up the check immediately. I try to explain that I don't have the money yet, and that she'll have to sign a release first. That cools her mood, but she's still clearly thrilled. The rest of the day is uneventful, and I head home around five-thirty. I'm eating dinner and watching the SSU basketball team losing in the NCAA regionals when my phone rings. "Hello?" "Yo, man." It's Tripod. "Hey, what's up?" "I'm still sitting on your wire over here, man." I told Tripod to keep up the surveillance, just in case he caught something I could actually use, but I'd forgotten to tell him the job was done. "Hey, forget it. The case settled. It's over." "Yeah, I know." "You do? How?" "Because I just got something I think you're going to want to hear." "What?" "I'm going to play it right now, you listening?" "Yeah." I can hear Tripod moving the phone around, then starting a tape. It's a woman's voice, and I recognize it immediately: Mary Smith. "We did it, baby! They just settled!" "How much?" A chill shoots through my gut as I recognize that voice too. It's Guido, and he doesn't sound upset. "A hundred grand! Jason will take forty of that, but it's still sixty! That's enough, isn't it?" "Fuck, yeah! We're clear!" Mary laughs in glee. "I told you, doll," Guido says. "I told you those jerks would fold. After that show I put on yesterday, they were probably shitting in their pants." Mary continues to gush into the phone, and they exchange some oily endearments for another minute before Mary declares that she's coming over to screw Guido to death. He tells her to make sure bring her tits. Then they hang up. Tripod comes back. "You get all that?" I'm still too shocked to respond. "Yo, Booty Man, you there?" "Yeah." "I said, you get all that?" "Uh-huh." "That mean what I think it means?" I let my breath out slowly. "Yeah, Tripod. Yeah, it does." "What do you want me to do?" "Uh . . . pull out. Get your gear and shut it all down." "You sure?" "Yeah." "Okay. I'm outta here." "Thanks, Tripod." "No problem." I sit there in a daze for a few minutes. No wonder Guido was so cooperative yesterday. No wonder Kelly told me that Mary Smith keeps to herself and that the other girls don't like her. I try to remember if I've ever been scammed like this before. Then I try to decide what to do about it. The phone rings again. It's the body shop, wanting to know if I still need their services for the Jag. I'm about to tell them I don't have time for this when I suddenly get an idea. "Uh . . . actually, I do. In fact, I'm going to bring it right in. When is good for you?" "Uh, jeez. Let me check." I hear paper rustling around in the background. "Not tomorrow, but maybe the next day. Yeah, you can bring it by Friday morning." "Great. Thanks." When I hang up, I find myself grinning. Sometimes I'm so clever I amaze even myself. --- 13. The check arrives by messenger on Thursday afternoon, along with the insurance company's release. After explaining to Rachel what we're going to do, I call Mary to let her know about the check, and within twenty minutes, she and her tits are coming through my office door, grinning from ear to ear. She shuts the door behind her. I notice that she's dressed far less professionally than I've seen her before. She's got on some airtight jeans and a bikini top, with a leather jacket over it. The top is only a half-cup, but it's still the biggest bra I've ever seen, and she's practically spilling out of it. "We did it?" she asks. "Yes, we did. I told you it would be Guido's depo that made the difference." I wonder if the remark I made to her was what prompted Guido's performance the other day. Mary smiles at me and licks her lips. "You did a terrific job." "Thank you." She walks around behind my desk and turns my chair so I'm facing her. Then she slowly drops to her knees. "When men I find attractive do me a big favor, I like to show them I appreciate it." Oh, shit. _This_ I had not anticipated. And given what I'm about to do to _her_, I find it all the more fitting. Mary glances at the door, still smiling. "Your secretary isn't going to barge in on us?" "No." She drops her jacket behind her, then opens her top. Her tits are impossibly, inhumanly big, the size of basketballs almost. Somehow they stay put on her chest. The tension of her flesh seems to be enough to hold them up. She tweaks her nipples--the areolas are both stretched out to the size of silver dollars at least--then begins undoing my slacks. I wonder if Guido put her up to this, or if she thought it up on her own. I suspect Guido has no idea what she's about to do, and that just amuses me even more. Mary pushes herself between my legs, propping her gargantuan tits up on my thighs, and bends forward to take me in her mouth. She bobs rapidly, eager but not especially talented. She's clearly not taking lessons from her co-worker Kelly, who incidentally is still calling me. I try to decide if I want to see her again this weekend, and I begin to wonder if Mary is even going to be able to get me off. Then she leans back away from me. She pulls her chin in and lets a load of spit drop into her cleavage. She squishes her tits together to spread the saliva around, and then leans forward again. My far-from-modest member disappears between her enormous mammaries, and my doubts about getting off disappear with it. Mary presses her tits together and starts rocking back and forth. I've had tit jobs before, but nothing like this. She has my cock completely enveloped, entirely wrapped up in flesh and silicone. I groan, groping at her shoulders, and she rocks faster. The all-encompassing friction is almost more than I can stand. She pauses after about twenty seconds to give my cock a few sucks, then gathers me up again and resumes her massage. "Just tell me when you're going to come," she says softly. "Okay," I gasp. It doesn't take long. I start humping up at her as I get close, then, on the brink, grunt out my impending climax. She drops her head instantly and swallows me up as I erupt into her mouth. She sucks out every last bit of my come before withdrawing and gulping it down. "Consider that a tip," she says grinning. "Thanks," I gasp. She pulls a tissue from her purse to clean up the reside between her breasts, then gets dressed. I button myself up and find the release. She signs it quickly. "Where's the money?" I hand her the envelope with the check, which she tears open immediately. Several varieties of confusion shoot over her face. Then she looks up at me in baffled disappointment. "It's just forty. I thought you said it would be sixty." "I took out forty grand as my contingency fee for representing you against Guido. The extra twenty is my one-third share of the proceeds from this little scam that you and Guido have going." I wish I could have bronzed the look on her face. She can't answer me for about five seconds. "What are you talking about?" I'm prepared for this, so I reach over and hit the tape recorder in the corner of my desk. Inside is the tape of her phone conversation with Guido, which Tripod thoughtfully dropped off that morning. Mary's face slowly turns red as she listens. "You see, when I handle cases like this, I make it a point to discover as much information about my opponent as possible. You might have thought about that before calling Guido at the club the other day." She looks as if she wants to murder me, although I'm not sure if it's because of the money or because I let her suck me off before I told her all this. "You _shit_. You complete _shit_!" "I happen to know what Guido's financial situation is. Forty is enough to get him back on his feet. It won't pay off all his debts, but he'll be out of the red and back in business." "You can't do this. That's our money. This is against the law, or something. You have, like, ethics you have to obey. I know it. You can't do this." "If you really prefer, I can live up to my ethical responsibilities. Of course, that would require me to turn you both in for insurance fraud." "You can't do that. You have to obey attorney-client privilege. I looked it up." I wonder if she researched this entire scam. It would explain why things went so much more smoothly than I expected. "Apparently you missed the part about the crime/fraud exception. I'm prohibited from revealing my client's secrets unless she's using my advice to perpetrate a fraud. Which is the case here." I smile at her. "Keep in mind that it would be very difficult for either of you to spend that money in jail. Besides which, the carrier will sue you for the proceeds of that check if they find out what was really going on." She stands there shaking in rage and frustration for several seconds. Then she reaches for the door, pulling it open so hard it slams against the wall. She's out the door and out of my office within another three seconds. My profound sense of satisfaction is immediately disrupted, because Rachel comes walking into my office. Something is clearly out of whack here, because she's naked from the waist up. She had shown up for work today wearing a cropped silk tank top so short I could see the bottom arc of her breasts, but even that has now disappeared. "I need to take the rest of the afternoon off." "Wha--gack--" I choke on my surprise. "Why?" I've seen her wearing all sorts of skimpy outfits before today, but I've never seen her breasts completely exposed, and it's enough to short-circuit my thought processes. "Because I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon. I'm getting my breasts enhanced." I choke again. "No--what?" "Ever since that girl showed up here, you've been acting like I don't exist." I can't tear my eyes away from her chest. "No--Jesus! Rachel, your breasts are fine. Better than fine. They're perfect! I swear. Don't do anything to them, please." She smiles triumphantly. "You sure? I ordered 2500cc implants. Mary told me where she got hers done." I choke again. "God! No, please--don't do it." She stands there for a second, smiling, then looks down at herself. "Hmm. Okay. If you say so." She turns around and heads back to her desk. I spend a few seconds gasping for breath. "By the way," she calls out to me a moment later, "what do you want me to do with this extra twenty grand?" "Uh . . . uh . . . write yourself a check for fifteen hundred. No, make that two grand. Write Tripod a check for three. Then write out the rest of it to Manny's Body Shop. I have to get the Jag fixed." "Okay," she sings out. "Thanks." By the time I've regained my composure and emerged from my office, Rachel is dressed again, this time in a simple white T-shirt. She has a bra on, but I can see through the fabric that it's a fairly sheer one. She notices me looking and smiles slyly. She hands me the check for fifteen grand, money that isn't really mine--it belongs to my insurance company, and I figure I should use it where it belongs--fixing my goddamned car. On the way back to my office, I catch the scent of something burning. I follow a thin trail of smoke into the conference room, where I find Jaime staring, mesmerized, into a little bonfire she's got going in a glass ashtray. She doesn't notice me standing there for nearly five seconds, but when she does, she blushes in embarrassment and quickly blows out the flames. "Sorry," she says sheepishly. I'm too disconcerted to so anything, so I just nod. When I get back to my office, I hit the intercom to get Rachel's attention. "What?" "Rach, can you take fifteen minutes and run down the street to the hardware store? From now on I want fire extinguishers in every room in the office." "Gotcha." "Just to be safe." "I'll get right on it." THE END --- Jason Boutey will return in: "The Booty Bandit v. The Johnson Erecting Company." --- The Booty Bandit v. Local 201 of the Entertainers, Dancers, and Escorts International Union Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com. Free redistribution permitted; no commercial use without authorization Michael ~Story Archives~ www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/ www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www ~Other Archives~ www.storiesonline.net www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/BitBard/www/forray/michaeld/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+