I'm just a figurehead." Yeah ... but what a figurehead," she teased, reaching for my soft cock once again. "So, that's why you don't have to work?" Ye...ah. That's why. I just sit back and watch the money roll in. Our family owns fifty-one percent of the business. According to my father's will, I was supposed to be given all fifty one percent, but I cheated. I split the stock with my sisters. We each own seventeen percent. After all, my parents left their estate to be divided equally, so I felt. Mix your own metaphor.But I couldn't help believing that a little something extra had happened -- something that went a little beyond just my getting laid.Emmy. Emmy was extra.No illusions on my part. Even Emmy wasn't going to make me hit .750, or even half of that. What is half of .750, anyway?... Let's see -- half of .700 would be .350. So then -- .375. No, no, I wasn't going to hit .375; or .350, either. Not even if Emmy Shreve was right there in the dugout, boffing me between plate. She did not stopand pushed harder and finally the bulbous middle slid past mysphincter and the narrower neck was sucked into my anus up to theend ring. I never thought I could be stretched so much and asshe, none too gently, pushed me over and told me to get up I feltas though I was being split in two."You've fucked my arse before and now you know what it felt likefor me."Under her direction I dressed with a tightly laced corset andstocking and the frilly panties. The maids dress was so. She had on a pair of Daisy Dukes and a pair of flip flops on her feet. Her nipples were pushing hard at the tank top and I got instant major wood."You doing anything important?" she asked."Batching it. Working on dinner and drinking beer." Mind if I join you?" No in the least. I could use the company" I said as I stepped aside and let her in. We walked to the kitchen and she sat down at the table. I knew she didn't drink beer so I opened a bottle of Merlot and I poured her a glass."Dinner is.