Barry Harper had worked at WGC for nine months, having graduated college the previous spring with his diploma in computer network administration.
A more worldly classmate had convinced Barry to do a European backpacking expedition as a graduation celebration. The experience of sharing hotel rooms, hostels, and occasionally barns with Emilio and the conquest of the moment- including more than once the proverbial farmer's daughter-had soured Barry on the charms of the Old World, and driven him even further into his shell. Not once had the farmer's daughter had a sister for Barry. Well, one had a sister, but Emilio had ended up with both of them, leaving Barry huddled in the rough straw trying to resist stroking his throbbing cock as first one, then the other, beautiful blonde had kissed his swarthy pal. Once the kissing proceeded down Emilio's chest, Barry had rolled over, all the better to resist watching, to avoid the awful emptiness of not enjoying.
But Barry could not help but here the older bigger sister – Helga- say to her sibling, "Ilsa...you get first licks on this one, since you've never had one this large before."
As Ilsa cooed, "Oh, it IS big, much bigger than Pappa's...." Slurping sounds followed. Barry had been unable to resist further. He had snaked his rigid phallus out of his pants, the cool night air of the barn no deterrent. The occasional brush of straw against tender skin only heightened Barry's arousal.
"That's it, Helga, suck my balls while Ilsa licks me like a Popsicle," Emilio had cooed, causing the girls to peel in laughter, temporarily interrupting their work.
"Popsicle...that's funny..." said Ilsa, " since it was our Pappa who caught me watching the barn cats fuck, and asked me if he could teach me how not to get pregnant, but still please the guests. That's how I learned how to swallow."
"And who taught Helga?" asked Emilio.
"Well, she's older," Ilsa explained, "so some of the village boys got to her first, but after I told Pappa what I saw her doing for Hans Kluge on his eighteen birthday, Pappa and I showed her how to really blow out der birthday candle."
All three laughed heartily, so much so that Barry wondered whether or not he could plausibly still pretend to be asleep.
"And ever since then, Ilsa and I have shared," Helga said as she recovered her composure.
"Ya, that's why we like the oral sex better, because it's easier to share that way than when I have to get my share out of Helga's pussy."
"But I thought the oral was instead of sex," Emilio managed to sputter, his words punctuated by pauses as two tongues bathed his shaft.
More girlish giggling. "Well, Helga cheats. A lot."
"Ilsa only cheats a little. So she's still tight like a virgin. I think Pappa wants to fuck her, and I think she will, and let him think he is the first."
This banter, was interrupted by the sound effects associated with slurping and sucking, and squeals which Barry imagined must be Emilio reaching down to pull on the sisters' nipples. Barry came quickly but quietly, his spunk spilling into the vast blanket of straw. What seemed like an eternity later, he heard Emilio sigh in satisfaction.
"No fair swallowing it all, Ilsa," he heard Helga whisper; "I want more than just the scum off of your tongue. I want a mouthful too."
"Take it all in your mouth," Emilio had instructed, "and then stick your tongue out so that I can see it. Then Helga, you lick every drop off of Ilsa."
Barry listened a while longer, pretending to be asleep, and eventually, he was sleeping. When he woke up in the morning, a grinning Emilio had fresh warm bread and coffee "courtesy of the farmer's daughters", who were no where to be seen.
Emilio continued to fuck his way through Europe, though no other night had been as exasperating for Barry. Still, when Barry got home, he had dumped his packsack in the back of his closet at his parent's house, and had not thought about it since.
So, Barry was not happy when he had seen the notices posted at World Global Chemicals promoting the Earth Day celebration. When his supervisor had informed him that the nature hike was not really voluntary, Barry had grudgingly gone to retrieve his packsack.
Earth Day morning, as he slung his pack onto his back for the first time since that frustrating journey, Barry tried to concentrate on the fresh air and singing birds rather than sour memories. Having found petrified unopened condoms tucked optimistically in the bottom of the pack had not helped.
The group from WGC was lead by the founder of the company, Rex Beaumont. Rex was not your typical nerdy business type. He tried too hard in fact to get people to compare him to Richard Branson, the adventurer founder of the Virgin companies. Of course, airlines, records and resorts were a lot sexier than industrial solvents. The annual WCG Celebrates Green event was really just a PR stunt to balance that. Beaumont paid a struggling Hollywood filmmaker enough money to finance several indie films in return for a crew to shoot a complimentary documentary linking Rex and WCG to various environmental initiatives. In every case, Rex has donated only modestly to the green project, and almost randomly, with no real understanding of the impact of the projects, or whether they related to his company's harmful products. Rex was really only interested in getting on television, and hoped that a massive hike would get PBS interested in running the subsidized documentary. He had coerced over 2,000 employees into participating. The smartest, or most reluctant, were rewarded with matching days off.
Barry of course had not been that clever. He showed up on what should have been a day of rest, shivering in the early morning spring air. The event began where it would end, with a rally at the local stadium. Rex was on stage, bragging about the great tailgate party they would throw after the hike "featuring only organic hot dogs."
It was a beautiful day for a nature appreciation hike, and as Barry listened to the speeches, he tried to cheer up.
More than a few hikers, Barry had noticed, had already started the tailgating before entering the stadium, fortifying themselves from flasks or wineskins. This gave them a pleasant glow. Barry also noted that the cold made most of the women's nipples poke rigidly against their T-shirts, as Rex insisted everyone display the giveaway apparel for the cameras.
"What does any of this have to do with the environment?" a woman standing beside Barry muttered. He turned to see a beautiful raven haired woman that he did not recognize. She was short slim, with small perky breasts. Barry instantly registered that she was braless beneath the shirt, her nipples accentuating the Grand Canyon and Africa on the Dadaist globe logo.
"He's so full of shit," she continued, since Barry was too busy drooling slack jawed to respond.
"Are you talking to me?" he finally stammered, still not quite believing that such an angel existed, let alone was prepared to speak to a wretch like him. What a stupid thing to say, he immediately realized.
Except instead of cutting him with a sharp rebuke and walking away, she blushed. If anything, this made her seems more beautiful to Barry and he felt the blood draining out of his brain and flowing to his groin. He still was thinking enough however to be conscious of the strange reaction by which embarrassment seemed to make her breasts swell firmer, her nipples hardening and seeming, in Barry's overheated imagination, to be trying to tear through the thin T-shirt fabric.
"This is all just such an act of theatre to pretend he's interested in the environment while his plants spew more poison into our lakes and rivers."
"Not to mention the worsening world wide drought," Barry replied, recalling a headline from a magazine.
"What's that got to do with World Global Chemicals?" she replied, looking puzzled by Barry's strained effort at conversation. Before he could recover, she wheeled and walked away. Despite his distress at once again dropping the conversational ball, Barry could not help noticing that her legs were long for her height, perfectly formed tanned stems disappearing into short shorts which stretched taut over an ass that would serve a dancer proud. His cock throbbed hard inside his shorts. He flushed with his own embarrassment as he realized that anyone looking would see his arousal plainly. Then he decided that no one would be looking at him anyway, and turned his attention back to the speeches.
Beaumont was blessedly brief, leaving Barry contemplating the woman's remarks. "I guess he hasn't got much to say about the environment after all," he muttered, perhaps unaware that he said it aloud.
The documentary crew however noticed, one of their handheld video units having been assigned to roam the crowd picking up just this sort of dissent. Beaumont would likely refuse to pay the fee, and maybe sue over copyright, but the film makers secretly planned their own expose of WGC's hypocrisy. Barry was now about to be a star. To them, the fact this might leave Barry unemployed was irrelevant. They knew that everyone was prepared to do almost anything for fifteen seconds of fame.
Next up after Rex was Lola Lotsa, a faded Hollywood glamour gal of the previous decade, now reduced to cameo roles and bad reality shows. Lola was available for hire to dress up almost any corporate event, and still, through the miracle of plastic surgery, filled out her T-shirt firmly. Barry, and every other guy in the crowd, played little attention to what Lola had to say, mostly focussing on how he chest jiggled as she giggled at canned scripted lines like "I'm glad to be here with all my friends at WGC, because the animals are our friends."
"Freaking tree hugger," Barry heard a rugged looking production foreman standing nearby mumble.
"Don't you mean you'd freaking like tie her to a tree and fuck her?" teased the big man's fat winger.
"At least I've got a dick big enough to reach past my belly," the first idiot retorted, seemingly agreeing with his chum's anti female sentiments.
Despite his earlier arousal, and Lola's abundant attributes, Barry felt ashamed for the male gender. His swollen member relaxed.
"She's probably just fucking Rex as part of the package deal anyhow," the buddy suggested. Both Neanderthals convulsed with belly jiggling laughter, drowning out the end of Lola's brief remarks.
