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Fuck The IRS!: Part 2:

To The Middle Man

"I want to fucking speak with D. H. Holmes! Where is that piece of shit?" Gerald looked at the Receptionist, who looked at him. Her mouth was open in shock.

He had to drive over three hours to find the place, hidden away in a commercial complex in Virginia. This had not improved his mood from earlier in the day, and also seeing as he had not stopped for breakfast or lunch this morning, he was feeling slightly confrontational. The other, more important point being that they still had not given him his tax return.

He slowed his enunciation. "I, want, to, fuck, -ing, speak, with, D. H. Holmes!"

The Border Collie steadied herself. "Sir, do you have an appointment with Mr. Holmes?"

"No, I don't have a fucking appointment with the fucker. He KNOWS I'm fucking coming; he has my fucking money."

"Your name, sir." She said, with an annoyance that the German Shepard responded to with more annoyance.

"Gerald Richards... you cunt."

She lifted the black telephone receiver on the desk, and began to talk softly. He lost interest very quickly in her figure, and a spider plant off to the corner caught his eye. It was nestled between a stack of files and a water cooler, a painting of a sunrise and seagulls adorning the wall behind it. The leaves of the plant were brown, and the carpet was littered with tiny leaves. He wondered how long it had been sitting two feet away from that full jug of water with no one even thinking to share some. It was dying, only an arms length from total sustenance.

He heard the distinct sound of a door opening, and the distinct footsteps of a pair of Perry Ellis leather shoes. "Ahh, Mr. Richards. Debbie told me you were..."

Without looking at the man, Gerald held up one finger. He took the six quick steps it took to reach the water cooler and grabbed a cone-shaped cup-like object from the dispenser. He filled the cup, took a swig, then filled it again, leaning over to give the dying plant a good four ounces of fluid. When he was sufficiently satisfied with the gesture, he dropped the paper into a nearby wastebasket.

The receptionist and a small, IRS wolf named Mr. Holmes, looked at him in confusion.

Gerald returned their look. "Where the fuck is my tax return, you flaming sack of shit?"

"Please, sir. Step into my office." The black-suited wolf cordially and nervously invited Gerald Richards through the open door.

The German Sherpard followed. "What the fuck kind of whorehouse do you run around here?" He turned again to the shocked receptionist as he rounded the corner. "And what the fuck do you do all day? Get that plant some fucking water before it dies, you insensitive prick!" This time, he slammed the wooden door himself.

"Debbie told me about your dilemma." The wolf spoke to him from behind a striped black tie. He looked like a stereotypical government agent, except for his obvious diminutive stature. To the very tips of his gray ears, he stood just over five feet tall. And his office was more of an efficiency apartment, with maple cabinetry, a large desk, and what looked to be a bar-room area in the corner. The room smelled of scotch and potpourri.

The wolf assumed the same position as the vixen had, only three hours ago, leaning back against the front of his desk. "And from what else she told me. You are finally 'talking' with right people." He loosened his tie.

Gerald snorted. "So, you're the 'person to fuck' at this office, huh? Am I fucking right? You're all pathetic, you know that don't you, shorty."

"Bingo." He grinned, removing his tie completely, along with his suit jacket. The glaring difference between the two situations today, being the immaculate cleanliness of his maple desk. Flick one paperweight, and a stack of business cards to the floor, and it would be spotless. "And I think you're just as pathetic, screaming at a helpless receptionist for a measly couple of bucks."

"Its two thousand fucking bucks, fuck-nut! And, it's fucking not even about the money anymore. It's the principle of the thing." He pointed his finger directly at the wolf. "And I refuse to get fucked over by my own government!"

The wolf kicked his Perry Ellis shoes across the floor, flexing his toes on the thick red carpet. "Then it's pretty simple. I know the man in the exact position to help you get your money, and the only way you're going to be worth his time... is through me."

"This guy had better be the next fucking guy to the president, you asshole. You fucking give me the run-around again and I'll..."

"I promise. If he likes you, you'll get more than your fair share." The small wolf grinned, licking his black lips. "I'll even make it easy on you." He removed his black and silver belt as he spoke. "You want a meeting with him? Then, all you have to do is suck my dick. It'll be a h-..."

Gerald snarled through clenched teeth. "Fuck you!" His finger remained pointed throughout. "I've only sucked one guy's dick in my lifetime, and that was in a fucking jacuzzi in college. And I only did it because he was gay and I felt bad because he let me fuck his ass every now and then and he was feeling bad about a break-up at the time. So, unless you're fucking Johnny-fucking-Depp, I'm not sucking your mother fucking IRS pretty boy cock!"

Mr. Holmes replied simply. "Oh." For a second, this confused the wolf greatly, and Gerald laughed through his nose, celebrating his victory. When Mr. Holmes realized the error of his proposition, he continued, hesitantly. "I thought. You... Well, then, all you have to do is fuck my ass?"

"Gladly." Gerald growled, ripping off his belt again in one swift motion. He found his lower half much less eager than he had been earlier in the morning, his red cock only poking out of the sheath. The small wolf had pulled his own trousers to his thighs, smiling when the large German Shepard displayed himself. Gerald rubbed at his sheath, concentrating to bring his full ten-inches out to play. "Damn it. Guys don't really fucking do it for me." He said, feeling his cock slowly expanding.

"I could..." The wolf, with an achingly hard cock jutting from his own sheath offered his help. "I could, you know." Mr. Holmes lapped at the air between them with his long tongue.

"Fuck! Might as well, you're already half-way down there already. No fucking teeth, you bastard." He put his paws on the smaller wolf's shoulders, pressing him downward. The wolf fell to his knees, his pants around his ankles, and Gerald used Mr. Holme's ears as handles. He directed him to his slick flesh, still sticky from his earlier encounter with the head of the local office. The warm muzzle engulfed his cock, pressed all the way to the base, and instantly he could feel his prick surging with blood. The feeling was exquisite, and he moved his hips in a quick circle to feel all the bumps and ridges in the IRS wolf's long maw. He was growing too large for the small wolf and he reveled in it. The little business man tried to pull away, but Gerald held him down, feeling his cock-head touch resistance at the entrance of the drooling wolf's throat. The furry plaything was breathing heavily through his snout, eyes wide and pleading, obviously resisting the urge to gag. The German Shepard kept him locked in position, knowing the little man had experience enough to take it, or at least did not care to be sympathetic otherwise. A good two inches stretched open the wolf's esophagus, the red German Shepard penis finally reaching it's full potential.

"Good wolf. Now get the fuck on that table!" Gerald ripped his dick from the wolf's spasming jaw, letting him cough and sputter. He lifted the smaller wolf harshly, his relatively built physique having no problems lifting the fit and trim ball of gray fur. Mr. Holmes was still gasping for air, left to lay helpless on his back, when he felt the hard, wet tip of the German Shepard's beefy fuck-stick against his puckered hole. Gerald wasted no time in slamming his dick inside, gripping the wolf by the base of tail and tugging hard. His saliva covered member speared into the excruciatingly tight depths. The wolf being skewered grunted loudly, feeling his own hard dick bouncing against his abdomen, and convulsing with each slam of his abused prostate.

Gerald Richards grabbed the wolf's hips and began a torturous rhythm that made the entire length of his cock scream with pleasure. The wolf was tight, but yielded eventually till the fist of a knot he was sporting was slapping like his balls against the furry backside. Within seconds, the wolf was moaning and shaking, his cock and testicles swinging, completely dwarfed by the size of the German Shepard's large equipment.

"I'll fuck every last one of you assholes. I will never stop until I've got the fucking money in my account. Fuck!" Gerald panted, throwing his weight down on the wolf's ass and fucking to the pounding beat of his own heart. The familiar feeling was brewing in his balls, the release right on the edge. He slammed home, deep inside the wolf in a signature fashion, barking loud as his muscles clenched. The wolf howled in pain and pleasure as the doggie knot barreled inside his ass. The feeling sent him over the edge, and without touching himself, he pumped his white chest and neck with cum. Gerald let loose simultaneously with a similar, hefty white wash of sperm. The wolf's insides were splattered and filled with jet after jet of his hot liquid. The tie felt delicious, and milked him all the more, sending shivers down his spine.

D. H. Holmes was still spinning, dizzy with lack of oxygen, some drops of white dribbling down the fur on his chin. Gerald relaxed and allowed his heavy breathing to subside. After a good two minutes of afterglow, Gerald was the first to speak.

"Alright, bitch. Where do I find this fucking douche-bag?" Gerald said, listening to the wolf's pants jiggle as he attempted to move with a wince.

"Oh god, that knot feels huge." Mr. Holmes, finally lifted himself to his elbows, admiring the large wolf locked to him. A paperweight, then a stack of business cards fell off the desk and scattered across the carpet. "I'll make you an appointment right away, love." The wolf smiled.

There was a moment of silence shared between them, which Gerald then shattered. "Then fucking do it. I'll be right here."

The wolf reached into his first drawer, pulling out a corded telephone and dialing a quick extension. "Yes, Miranda. This is Donovan. May I speak with Mr. Mooreland? Thank you." The wolf winked at the German Shepard. The German Shepard growled. "Good old, Helmsley, how does your schedule for tomorrow look? Ah. Well, I thought you may want to squeeze in... yes? I know. Another client claim dispute that has escalated. I know. And I did everything I could. But, now I am officially recommending him to you. He may be an 'exception,' and very energetic one at that. Yes? Oh, yes. Yes? Certainly. See ya on Saturday then. Toodles." The well-fucked wolf sighed, and placed the phone on the receiver, shutting the drawer again.

"Fucking Saturday?" Gerald asked, none too appreciatively.

"Nope, tomorrow. Saturday is... well, it'll be a very good day, I can assure you. Tomorrow at noon. He will see you then, and luckily for you, his office is just upstairs. Remember to dress in a suit and tie."

Gerald, placed two fingers to the side of his knot and pulled backwards hard. His knot came free with a scream of pain from the abused wolf. "I'll dress appropriately."

"Oww. Fucking bastard, that hurt!" The little gray wolf grasped at his abused anus, rubbing it and squinting.

"Yeah, well you're fucking hurting my eyes. Clean yourself up, you prick."

He secured his doghood and slapped on his belt. Before he could leave the room, the wolf spoke to him in a much softer, pleading tone. "Wait. I... just wanted to ask. I... Would you like to go out, you know, to get some coffee sometime or something?"

Gerald's canine brow furrowed. "I'd rather choke on my own shit."

He left the wooden door wide open. When he walked by the receptionist, she was tending to the withered plant. This made him smile, and he turned to her, reeking of sex and male scent. "If you ever quit this fucking place, give me a ring."

He patted her ass and walked out of the glass front door to get some lunch.

***