Last summer, even though my love life was a dumpster fire, my career caught fire in a good way.

I had finally secured both the funding and the space to launch my own boutique salon, and I could not have been more delighted to be my own boss after so many years working in the trenches for others.

However, there is one element to running your own business that made me shrivel in terror — taxes! Don’t laugh, but for those first few months — even though I had all the top do-it-yourself software — I lived in constant fear that I was screwing something up and that the IRS would be sitting on my porch one morning.

“For god’s sake, Gemma — just get an accountant,” my dear friend Stan told me at brunch. “Michael knows this guy who deals with small businesses — he did our taxes last year. I’ll get you his number.”

Since this recommendation was coming from my best gay friend’s husband, I admit I sort of assumed I was going to end up with a nice gay accountant. However, the tax guy Michael recommended was not what I expected.

Andrew was pencil-thin, with ginger-blonde hair and glasses. He had such a boyish face it almost looked like he was playing dress-up in his dark, conservative suit. But it turned out he was thirtyfive, just a few years younger than me. And it wasn’t long after we met that I decided the slender, bespectacled accountant was very straight.

We got together for coffee to discuss the business and my needs. While Andrew was a consummate professional in terms of his laser focus on my taxes, there was something about the way he looked at me. Those brown eyes peeking through wire-rimmed glasses glowed like those of an eager puppy dog when I met his gaze. And early on, I caught those eyes darting toward my cleavage. Typical!

I wasn’t offended in the least, however. I’m a five-five brunette who inherited my ample curves — and love of carbs — from my mom’s Italian side of the family. My breasts are natural DD/E cups, and they sway like pendulums when I move around naked. My waist tucks in neatly from full hips, which gives me an hourglass shape, and I have a round, apple-shaped bottom. Stan once said I’m a Rubenesque dream living in the wrong century, but I don’t hide these curves.

If a guy doesn’t check out my knockers, I kind of assume he’s blind, since even gay guys have said nice thing about my tits! Anyway, as Andrew and I were just about done with our official business, I caught him sneaking another glance at my chest. Smiling, I learned forward — my signature “I’m up here” move. “Andrew,” I asked, “is there anything else you can think of where tax deductions are concerned?”

He blushed a bit. “Well, actually, maybe I could swing by the salon tomorrow.”

“Do you need a hair cut?” I deadpanned.

“Now that you mention it, I could probably stand for a touch-up. No, I was thinking I could help you go over your supply inventory numbers, because even the smallest things can add up to” — his eyes darted to my boobs again — “major rebates.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “How about after six when I close up? That way I can give you my full attention.”

“Perfect,” he replied.

I offered my hand. “Thank you again for meeting with me on such short notice.” 

“The pleasure was mine. I look forward to our next meeting.” Andrew stood and fixed his jacket. We said goodbye. I’d never mixed business and pleasure before, but I couldn’t deny the fact that I enjoyed his attention. And after recently being burned by yet another cowardly jerk, something about Andrew’s boyish sweetness mixed, along with his initiative in suggesting this return visit, struck a chord.

The next day, I must admit I wore a slinky black dress that showed off my cleavage. I also made sure my last client was done by well before five, so I had more than an hour to clean up and prepare for Andrew’s arrival. In addition, I put some wine in the mini fridge. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but hope springs eternal, right?

Luckily, this time my hopes were not in vain. Andrew arrived right at six — and great minds clearly think alike, because he’d brought a bottle of wine with him.

“This meeting cuts into happy hour,” he said, “so I thought we should toast to good business.” He looked me up and down again — this time a bit more openly. “Do you want to get right to the inventory numbers, or would you rather make me a bit more presentable with that touch-up we mentioned yesterday.”

Laughing, I said, “Andrew, I think you look great, but since we are in a salon, let’s get you in the chair. I can thank you for your advice by giving you a little trim.”

As I spoke, I realized I could have maybe used a different word than that last one. I swear I did see a little glint in Andrew’s eyes, but then again there was already something in the air between us. I was feeling excited to see where this would go. I told him, “Go have a seat in the shampoo chair and get comfortable.”

Andrew took another quick peek at the cleavage straining against the top of my dress, then hung up his jacket and glanced around my salon. “You’ve done a nice job with this place. The interior design firm I handle isn’t half as well-decorated.”

I felt pride bubbling up as I watched him admire the space. Thanking him, I added, “It’s nice to hear someone so appreciative.” Andrew sat down in the chair and set his glasses on the counter. “It’s the little things,” he said. “They’re important.”

“Music to my ears!” I replied, patting him on the shoulder.

And then Andrew took some more initiative. Looking directly at my cleavage, he said, “I’m a fan of big things, too.” I felt something stir inside me. Grinning, he held my gaze, then joked, “I hope you won’t drip soap in my eye for saying so!”

“Nope, not soap,” I said, my eyes still locked on his. “But maybe something else?”

I leaned over him in the chair, my bountiful bosom inches from his face.

Andrew inhaled sharply. “Mmmm, I like that perfume. And I very much like what I’m seeing, even without my glasses. Truth be told, I’d love an even closer look.”

Andrew pulled me in tighter, burying his face in my cleavage.

I giggled. “Can you breathe?”

I heard a muffled “Mmm hmmm,” followed by, “God, your tits are amazing.”

Then Andrew leaned back enough to stare up into my eyes. A moment later, we began to kiss. I never would have guessed this by looking at him, but he was a great kisser. And the ferocity of his desire turned me on — a buzz traveled from my lips to my clit to my toes! Our make-out session in the chair by the sink quickly escalated. Andrew pulled me into his lap and once more buried his face in my rack.

“You’re a goddess, you know that, Gemma?” Andrew caressed the outer swells of my breasts and ran his hands over the curves of my hips. He sighed with pleasure.

“Some men think I’m too much to handle,” I said.

“Then they aren’t real men.” Kissing my neck, he added, “Lucky for me!”

I was already wet, but in that moment, Andrew managed to rev my desire even more. I slipped down the top of my dress and teased him, slowly removing my bra.

“Let’s see how you handle these,” I said. Grinning, I offered him one of my nipples.

Andrew eagerly went to work, swirling his tongue around the rosy areola and sucking my sensitive buds until I gasped. “Oh god,” I said. “That feels so good.”

“How about we move to the couch?” Andrew said after a couple minutes.

“Good idea,” I agreed. We kissed our way across my salon, shedding clothes en route. By the time we got to the couch, I was down to my lace bikini bottoms.

Andrew stood before me, savoring the sight of my breasts and hips. Then he moved around behind me and began kissing his way down my lower back. He planted more kisses of adoration on my ass. He ran his hands along my hips, then slipped my bikini bottoms down my legs and off. Next he began stroking my pussy.

It made me shudder. “I really want you,” I whispered.

“I want you too, Gemma,” he said, his voice thick with lust. He followed up what he said by slipping another finger into my wet crease. Then, with the same enthusiasm he’d displayed motorboating between my tits, Andrew pushed me down on the couch and focused on my pussy, driving me wild with his fingers and relentless tongue.

Soon I felt an orgasm building. But all the same, I said, “Fuck me! Now. I want to come on your cock!” Andrew moved his face away from my pussy, licking my juices off his fingers. The erection in his boxer briefs was already impressive, but I felt a thrill of electric surprise when his enormous, rockhard cock appeared.

I cried out in ecstasy as he entered me. He filled my pussy with a long, hard cock as bountiful as my boobs. We both came completely unhinged in our passion.

Andrew took me places I’d never been, all of them along the road to an incredible orgasm. “Yes, yes, yes!” I began screaming. I felt my body start to shake from the inside out. Andrew didn’t let up — he kept thrusting, fucking me harder and harder with that huge cock, until I came so intensely that heaven and earth merged.

When I opened my eyes again, Andrew was smiling down at me.

“Don’t worry,” I said, still panting a little. “We aren’t done.” I lubed up my tits with some nearby hand lotion. “You still want your salon treatment today, right?”

Andrew laughed, but quickly was gasping and groaning as my tits enveloped his huge shaft. I sucked his cock and titty-fucked him until I was rewarded with his load shooting all over my breasts. A few minutes later, we opened his bottle of wine, got some music going in the salon, and spent the rest of the night together.

These days, my business is booming. And thanks to Andrew, I no longer worry about my taxes. However, I will have to reupholster the salon couch soon. We’ve ended up on that couch many more times, enjoying multiple sequels to that first night.

Proving again we’re on the same wavelength, Andrew surprised me last night with a carefully coordinated selection of fabric swatches. After a quickie, we went to dinner.