It was April 15th, tax time.

I'm a frugal wife, saving where I can on household expenses and investing the savings wisely. I quickly got in over my head with investing, so I hired Jim. He is a genius with all things economic, especially investments and taxes.

I meet Jim annually to review our savings and investments and sign tax documents.

I hired him as our financial planner and accountant, and have no regrets, but it's one appointment I dread.

To envision Jim, imagine Mr. Scrooge except taller, older, meaner, and uglier, with bad breath and horrific body odor.

Jim is a hermit, never leaving his home office for anything. He has no family, no pets, and no car. He buys everything online and has it delivered, so he never has to go shopping. He also has no mailbox.

Oddly enough, he still receives newspapers. They are stacked floor to ceiling throughout his home, leaving only small pathways connecting the office, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. 

On tax day, I arrived at the appointed time and parked in the driveway. The door was unlocked and I went inside. I was reminded of a musty old abandoned museum that smelled like old people. I followed the trail between the stacks to his home office to find him at his desk. My account was pulled up on his cutting-edge computer system. Everything was in order.

His body odor pervaded the house and got stronger as I made my way to him. The stench from the office doorway was nauseating. When I entered his office, my skin felt like bugs were crawling on it.

I knew I didn't have to 'sign papers,' but that's what Jim calls it when payment is due.

"Good day, Catherine."

"Good day, sir," I responded with a smile.

"Any questions, deary?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then," he said, getting up from his chair and coming around to stand in front of the desk. His body odor was revolting, wafting through his crumpled business suit. 

I stood so he could see my outfit, a black miniskirt with heels, my red blouse open and tied at the waist, revealing a lacy red bra and ample cleavage. I turned around so he could see all of me, and he slapped me on the ass.

"Very nice, Catherine. Now then," he said, close enough that I could smell his vile breath. It made me thankful that I must drop to my knees to pay him.

I unbuckled his belt, opened his fly, and pulled his trousers and briefs down just enough to reveal his flaccid tool. The stench of his unwashed, sweaty balls would make most girls puke, but I am not most girls. 

"No hands, deary, " he said, just as he did every year..

"Yes, sir," I responded, taking his limp penis between my lips and lashing it with my tongue. I overcome my discomfort with his smell and blew him like a true cocksucker. His dick stirred and grew immediately and I lavished the head with my tongue, wrapped my lips tightly around the thin shaft and give him the best blowjob of his life.

I bobbed my head back and forth on his fully erect tool, now six inches long. I tightened my lips around his cock and looked up at him with my pretty blue eyes, my face framed by the long hair cascading down my back.

I wrapped my lips tightly around his bell end, flickering the glans with my tongue, and began a low hum. The vibrations flowed through my lips to his cock and I felt it grow and throb. He started humping my face wildly.

"Oh my, deary!" he said and unloaded a year's worth of cum. He held my head and shoved his cock in my mouth, his balls pressed against my chin and shot pulse after pulse of thick, delicious jizz faster than I could swallow it. I gulped down all that I can, sucked out the last few drops and tucked him back in, zipping him up and fastening his belt. I wiped the cum from my chin with the back of my hand and licked it off.

The whole thing took under ten minutes.

He turned and walked around the desk and took his seat. I stood up and straightened myself.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Goodbye, Catherine," he said, peering at his computer monitor, already back to work.

"Goodbye, sir."