"Alright, ladies," I announced using the word in its loosest sense. I leant back in my second-hand, faux leather chair with its cigarette burns and continued, "I've got a proposition for you that could change the course of our firm. Hear me out."
Lan and Nga, the two female Vietnamese accountants who were my only staff, both looked up from their phones, not their work I noted, and rolled their eyes as I was always coming up with ideas that would turn my small, outdated, underperforming Accounting firm into the next big thing. Yes, my ideas had all failed, but this one was different. Of course, I had felt the same about the last 15 ideas: all of which had been unlucky failures. Unlucky in my eyes anyway.
I was thirtyish, actually 39 so I still qualified, Aussie accountant and what I had lost in hair I had more than made up in weight, especially in my belly which now bulged over my belt. My office was situated above a Chinese-run $2 shop. However, my goal, still unrealised after 15 years, was to have my business operating in the Corporate World. Walls of ceiling-to-floor windows with views of Port Phillip Bay from so many floors up you would get a nosebleed. I would dress in Armani or Brioni suits, not my present Target one and my staff would look like Victoria's Secret models and consist of many more than my two Vietnamese.
My Accounting practice operated in a constant state of chaos due to my inability to concentrate on one money-making venture, plus their dislike of each other. Lan, 25, was a spoilt Vietnamese princess: an outgoing, airhead wannabe beauty, whose brain was always thinking of fashion, makeup or sex. Sometimes, if I was lucky, she thought of the work I paid her to attend to. All of this was packed into a 5 ft 4 (5 ft 8 when wearing her heels), 32B 23 32 body. Nga, 35, was bespectacled, plain looking and bitter at the world as she was past the age when a Vietnamese would marry her and her scrawny 30A 22 29 body wasn't much help for interest from any other race.
Both were always threatening to quit, but I took that with a grain of salt. Neither would get an Accounting job anywhere else. Lan's year 12 results were so bad she ended up in the bottom-tier tertiary institution to which the government directed overseas refugees so that they were not unemployed but 'students', thus artificially lowering the unemployment rate which was good news for the government. Nga had arrived from Vietnam aged 30 and studied at a dodgy Indian-run course for Permanent Residence institution, just before public outcry had closed this method of mainly Indian students gaining Permanent Residence and the ability to then sponsor relatives here. As I had trouble acquiring good, or even mediocre, staff, they were the best of a bad lot.
They had fallen through the crack somehow. Vietnamese women either became surgeons, lawyers, business professionals etc. or hairdressers/beauticians. My two were glorified office clerks and, might I say, I paid them accordingly. But they knew there was no other business that would employ them as accountants, so they wouldn't be leaving.
I outlined my latest scheme. I had heard there were a lot of North Vietnamese investors trying to get their money out of Vietnam and invest it in Australia, fearing a change in government cliques there could lose their insider contact and therefore their wealth. To achieve that they needed a facilitator here. A bit like the Nigerian prince thing, but safer. My source was impeccable: Lien at the Golden Touch massage parlour, and it had only taken me 5 sessions at my discounted rate of $140 an hour to get the full details from her.
However, there was a hitch. At our 6th session, Lien had told me Thuyen, who owned the Accounting firm down the road that was putting me out of business was also aware of this. In my opinion, Thuyen had a reputation for thinking she was the sexiest woman and greatest cougar in the world. How she managed to do any accounting with the time she spent on TikTok and OnlyFans I don't know. Not that I looked, mind you.
So, my plan was that Nga and Lan sexfight, and the victor would represent our firm against Thuyen, whose pride would not allow her to back down. We would use some trickery I had not yet thought of and we would win. The prize for the sexfight with Thuyen would be obtaining exclusive rights to the North Vietnamese investors. See, I told you this idea was a good one.
Nga raised a tattooed eyebrow higher. "You're joking, right," she asked, her Vietnamese-accented English dripping with scepticism that she hoped I wouldn't notice. Lan, seeing Nga was opposed to it, immediately chose the opposite. She leant forward. "I'll do it," speaking and displaying her tits through the translucent blouse she wore to successfully distract me away from her many work errors. Of course, that then meant Nga wanted to compete against Lan and she was also in.
I watched as they both readied for action. Lan unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a black 1/4 cup bra that supported and exposed her firm tits and allowed her nipples to stand free. Obviously, she had done this before in public as well as practicing in front of a mirror. She shot Nga a smug smile. "You know, Nga," she said, as she fondled her tits, "You're going to need more than what you have to distract Thuyen because you haven't got beauties like these."
"And what makes you think your plastic assets will win the day, Lan," Nga hissed, her fingers undoing her dress? She stepped away from the pile of fabric at her feet, uncasing a body barely covered by her thong and a red, see-through bra.
My cock started to swell as the two of them finished stripping. Lan's smug smile faded as she stepped out of her black thong and realised she had been insulted. She shot back, "Plastic? At least mine don't look like overcooked dumplings." Nga responded by sliding out of her red thong to reveal her shaven mound and spread apart her cunt lips. "This is what will decide who is best."
"Alright," I began, my voice somehow steady despite the growing stirring in my trousers. "Here's what's at stake." I laid out the terms of the contest hoping they hadn't noticed an unnamed sizable bonus and an unspecified share of the new client's contract for the victor. I watched as their expressions grew more intense, as money talk had always been a motivator for these two.
Nga took the initiative, her hand slipping between her thighs. She started to stroke her clit, her eyes locked on Lan's. "You know, Lan," she hissed, "You can't match this."
"You think you're so much better?" Lan hissed back. "Let's see if you can still talk trash when I make you scream."
In reply, Nga stepped closer, her hand working her clit in slow, deliberate circles. Lan's eyes widened and my heart raced and pumped blood to my cock as Nga's fingers moved faster until her breathing came in short, ragged bursts. Suddenly, she threw her head back and let out a low moan, her body shuddering. A gush of fluid spurted from her pussy, arcing through the air to splatter across Lan's toned stomach and thighs.
"Are words the best you've got, Lan?" Nga taunted, "I can make myself squirt with just my fingers. Can you?" Lan's eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Nga's hand between her legs still working her clit. She knew she had to respond with something better, something that would show me and her office workmate that she was the superior woman. She strode over to me and without a word and as quick as a cobra striking its prey, she reached down and unbuckled my belt, unzipped my trousers and sank to her knees.
I felt cool air on my cock and then the heat of her breath. Lan's hand wrapped around it, stroking it expertly before she took it in her mouth. She looked up at me and began to blow me, her mouth working hard to accommodate my fuck meat. Her cheeks hollowed as she took me in, inch by inch, sometimes gagging and withdrawing, but always returning to her task. Finally, my entire shaft was buried in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth and throat. Her cock sucking skills told me why she always refused overtime: she was doing other things not related to accounting.