So there I was, sitting at home watching the history channel when all of a sudden these two leather-clad B & D chicks show up and one starts sucking my dick while the other makes me eat her snatch.

Between mouthfuls of pussy, I managed to eek out, "Enough! Get away from me! I don't have the time for this!" Immediately the girls backed off into a corner, massaging each others clitorises, blowing me kisses and acting altogether unseemly.

This ordinarily wouldn't be such a problem; I would let them become bored and leave. This was a problem because it became obvious to me that these whores would not leave, and additionally I had much on my mind what with the upcoming parade.

Stalking out of the room and into my private office, I sat at my desk and ruminated under the smoke of my cigarette. "Shit, if we only have three thousand cubic litres of helium, how are we supposed to fill up all seven dwarfs… unless…", Just as the solution came to me, here once again these whores imposed upon my otherwise calm existence.

"Fuck you, whores!", I screamed, throwing my executive stress ball at one of them, "Just fuck off."

I should have spoken more precisely, it soon occurred to me, for they proceeded to fuck off indeed, using an assortment of vibrating devices. Wrenching the dildo from one vagina, I shook the toy and yelled at them some more, spraying pussy juices all over my bookshelf.

"Shit! Goddamn it you filthy hooker! Look what you've caused me to do to my well-appointed office! Juices everywhere! I can't stand to look at you! Leave my sight immediately!" I threw the dildo down the hall, and indeed a dog will chase after a bone. Her friend followed her in an odd sort of waddle, trying to hold her own two dildos in each of her holes. Every few steps she'd straighten and shudder slightly, then continue. This fascinated me for a moment, until it occurred to me I'd forgotten the solution to the helium issue.

"Fucking dirty whores", I thought as I returned to my desk, lighting up again. I knew they meant well, and surely I would fuck their brains out later, but this parade simply would not plan itself.

Now, for the annual Thanksgiving festival Santa himself would take up the terminus of the parade, a foreboding of the Christmas season to come. Setting aside the helium problem for the moment, I now had to think of a proper finale for the First Annual Corporate Bonanza and Parade. Perhaps someone as benevolent and friendly as Santa Claus, yet one who exuded corporate professionalism? Someone to foretell of skyrocketing retail sales and consumer borrowing! Wait, I'm still hung up on Santa. No, I need something original. Something fresh and unexpected.

Meanwhile I could still hear the whores in the kitchen. Over their low humming and paddling I heard my father cough in his study upstairs. He came to live with me when my mom died after a long bout with cancer. He was still fairly vital, though a little out of his mind. Of course, the prostitutes heard him as well and I heard them scurry upstairs. Whatever. Perhaps now I could have some peace.

A couple of hours later I had solved the helium problem! I figured we'd mix some hydrogen in and hope for the best. After all, hydrogen is far easier to come by in a small town like ours. There had been a little noise from my father's room as I worked, but now it was silent, and perhaps it was time to reward my good thinking with some old fashioned sodomy.

The thought of greased whore-asses quickly fled my mind when I saw my father propped up in his chair, dead, a small yellow post-it attached to his night gown:

	"Sorry we killed your father.
	 He wasn't up to the task.
	 Sorry again.
		- The Whores"

I explained to the police exactly what had happened and dismissed them and dismissed the coroner. I returned to my office, masturbated, and returned to the task of divining a solution to the parade's end. It just wouldn't come to me. I wish I knew who sent the whores so I could call for more. As it was, I settled for a line of coke and another light-speed monkey spanking.

Restless, I decided to sit out on the back porch with a novel and a glass of Port. It was cool outside in the dead of California's night, but pleasantly so. I briefly looked out past the palm trees to the beach, shuddering to think of all the life teeming there.

Not four pages into my book I hear my wife come in the front door, her irritating high heels clicking again and again on the marble floors.

"Hi dear", she called out.

"Yeah. Hi. You just missed the whores. They killed Dad", I informed her, really annoyed to be interrupted.

"Oh, honey, that's awful." She came out onto the porch, putting her arms around me from behind. "Why did you hire those malicious whores?"

"I didn't hire them. They were sent for by someone else."

"Yes, clearly." She sounded like my mother when she walked outside to find me watching the neighbor's dog and cat have sex. I said I hadn't set it up, I'd found them that way. She didn't really believe me, but she thought the act was so ghastly that she just wanted to leave and never come back.

"Well, anyway sweetheart, I have that party tonight as you know.. Ladies only. So I'll see you in the morning." She kissed me on the cheek and left.

It's not that my wife cared about the hookers; She and I constantly hired 'escorts' to spice up our sex. She had undoubtedly slept with no less than five men that night already, and would eat no less than twenty cunts later, were I to have to guess. She just wasn't interested in what went on at home anymore. We often mused about a divorce on late, tired Sunday afternoons, but it was too much of a hassle. We had our freedom anyway, and with my father gone our large house would seem even bigger.

I returned to my novel, but soon found it boring and retired to bed for the night.

. . .

I woke up estimating that I had slept well.