CEDRIC THE ACCOUNTANT
By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020
Warning: If you don't like reading transgender or related fiction, then stop reading now.
Author's Note: none.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
RT
Cedric Ashton-Stufmeyer-Jones was an accountant. Not just an accountant; in fact, he was an investigator for the Department of Goods & Services Tax. It was thrilling stuff! Moreover, he was well respected by the many other accountants in the Department. His was the life of envy, in their estimation. What, dear reader, would make them so envious?
Well, it was his non-work life, his out-of-office life: in a phrase, his married life. Unlike most accountants (and bankers and librarians for that matter), Cedric ruled the roost at home. His colleagues knew that his was a remarkable achievement for an accountant. They oft listened to him regal them with tales of his 1950s-styled married life.
So, let us briefly peer into a day in the married life of Cedric Ashton Stufmeyer-Jones:
-----000-----
Cedric's alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. and he sat up. His large wife, Beatrix, slept next to him. "Darling, I think you should make us some coffee," he said to wake her.
She groaned, rolled over, and replied, "Ricci, dear, I've tried again and again to make it just the way you like it. Perhaps you could make one more sample again and show me how it's done, yes?"
Cedric got out of bed and put on his fleece house-pants. He told her sternly, "This will be the last time, darling. You must do better at it." They had been married six years.
"Yes, dear," she answered and watched him slink away. She smiled fondly at him.
-----000-----
"No, no, no. Not like that. Please do it like this," Cedric said as he got up from the kitchen table and took over the cooking of the eggs at the stove.
Beatrix sat down and watched him; she sipped her coffee. "Oh, so that's how!" she said. "I never thought of that," she added.
Cedric looked at her in a paternalistic way: "Just try harder, darling. I know you can do it if you just try harder."
"Yes, dear." She took another sip. "I'm sorry." She batted her eyelashes at him.
-----000-----
Cedric stood at the doorway, suit on, briefcase in hand, his serious face underlying the importance of accountancy.
"Let me get your tie for you, dear," Beatrix said to him. She straightened it and flattened his lapels for him. "You are so handsome and kind. I am so fortunate to have you." She meant it sincerely, mostly; the fact was that Cedric was not much of a looker, not ugly though. Indeed, he was very much the prototypical accountant: frail, pale, and creatively stale.
"Be sure to have dinner ready for me this time, Beatrix. I must insist this time." Six years, he fumed to himself, and she still botches every meal. "I'm not going to help her tonight. I swear I won't." And off to work he went.
Once he left, Beatrix dashed to get ready for her work.
-----000-----
"This place has never been audited," Cedric's supervisor said to him as he flung the file to Cedric. He opened the file. The company was named 'Donna's Dungeon of Domination'.
He had never heard of it.
He swiftly summarized the file. The business had been open for six years. It had slowly but steadily rising revenues; last year's tax return indicated $576,000 gross revenue, $79,394 net, the usual sort of business deductions, and finally taxes and remittances of $138,675. At first glance, nothing eye-catching there, he thought.
"I'll do it straight away, sir," Cedric said and left to prepare for the audit.
-----000-----
The building was non-descript. Therefore, dear reader, I won't describe it.
He knocked on the front door. A large womanly figure dressed in black leather, her face covered by a mask, wearing high heels, and carrying a bullwhip answered his knocks. She immediately rocked back, as though shocked.
"May I help you?" she hoarsely asked in a stilted voice after a slightly awkward pause.
"Good morning, I am Mr. Cedric Ashton-Stufmeyer-Jones, accountant and inspector #483-35A of the Department of Goods & Services Tax." He passed her his card and flashed his badge. He enjoyed flashing his badge; it underlined the importance of chartered accountancy generally and the authority of his Department specifically.
"I have the lawful authority to inspect these premises for compliance with tax legislation, regulations both statutory and otherwise, Departmental interpretation policies and guidelines. Your co-operation is required," he passed her an official form, "under section 278(17.2)(a)(iii)(sub-g) of the Act."
"We're opening in 30 minutes. Please," she hoarsely said, welcoming him in.
-----000-----
"These capital cost allowance depreciations concern office and business equipment with which I am unfamiliar and for which there are official guidelines," he remarked as he feverishly poured over the books in the manager's office.
"Is that a problem?" the very tall, buxom manager asked. Like her large employee, she too was covered in black leather from head to toe and was mounted on a pair of stainless-steel stilettos that had, it appeared, some small specks of white goo on them.
"It may be a problem if your company has not submitted a Form 251-H. If the form was submitted, no problem. If it was not, then I must carry out an inspection of the equipment under subsection 54(j.3) of the regulations. Will that be a problem?"
The manager told him that they had not submitted the Form and therefore he best follow her employee --- the large woman who had greeted him at the door --- to the room in which much of the equipment was stored.
-----000-----
Cedric took measurements of the first device. It leant against a wall and looked like an extremely large 'X'. It was made of oak. There were various straps on each leg and one in the centre. "You've claimed an accelerated depreciation for this under an industrial equipment scale. May I ask why?"
The manager had a quick response: "During regular business hours with half-hour slots and ten minutes between, we can process more than 25 customers daily on this device."
"Ha!" Cedric exclaimed. "That was your mistake. The appropriate basis for the valuation and reduction is based for non-mechanical devices such as this, on a textile and resource scale: here, wood and leather. The big buckles don't count. Let me revise your figures..."
-----000-----
Cedric examined the equipment that had been claimed as 'safety gear'.
"Would you like to...uh...try one on?" the large woman hoarsely asked him.
He shook his head. "I will not because my inspection here must be based solely upon objective, empirical measurements and evidence. What I see though is another problem. Insofar as a leather mask is indeed not an unconventional type of fire protective gear, its functional uses here appear in doubt.
"First, they are not stored in situ with your fire extinguishers. Second, they are neither orange nor yellow blaze, and those are the only two colours permitted under the regulations." He grimly added, "I'm sorry, but I must disallow that particular entry for...I see, $745.28 on line 248 of Schedule B of your return." He typed away at his laptop.
The manager and large woman looked at each other.
-----000-----
"You are going to have to convince me on this," Cedric officiously remarked. He could not comprehend how they could have claimed these things.
"Well," the manager began, "many of our customers enjoy this. They ask for it."
"I regret to inform you ma'am," Cedric countered, "but the essential function test under the legislation controls. Yours is not a provision of a diapering service. Rather, it's obvious to me that your company merely supplies diapers. Therein lies the difference between using a Goods Table under the 2009 statute or the Services Deduction formula under section 2056(25.6)(d) of the amending legislation.
"The difference to your tax return will be... please bear with me... just one more minute... Ah! Your company appears to be positioned to receive a return of $241.89 which I can adjust retroactively to the date on which your return was submitted."
Cedric was pleased with himself to have discovered another error.
-----000-----
He finished his work. The three of them were back in the manager's office. The company owed an additional $98.72 which the manager paid from petty cash and for which Cedric issued a receipt (receipt #73893).
"I don't normally comment on the nature of the business of a company that I inspect. However, in this case, I am going to make an exception." He waited for them to acknowledge just how serious a deviation from standard Departmental protocol he was making.
He construed their opening their eyes wider, as if in disbelief, as such.
"For the life of me, I cannot see how any mature man confident in his masculinity would submissively subject himself to such acts, particularly toward more controlling female figures. I am not criticizing nor condemning the nature of your work. I am simply expressing in stark terms my astonishment."
The manager and large woman looked at each other.
"I take my leave and recommend that you retain a chartered accountant to assist you in preparing your next year's return. Thank you for your time and assistance," he offered as he left.
-----000-----
Beatrix greeted him breathlessly by the door. "I just got home too, dear. Let me get your coat and your briefcase please."
"Thank you, Beatrix. It was an exciting day."
"I bet it was. Accountancy is like that! Please tell me."
"In the living room, darling. I think I would also like a G&T for our talk. What's for dinner?"
Beatrix put her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, dear. I was running late and couldn't prepare the casserole. I suppose---"
Cedric sighed. "Look. In the fridge are all the ingredients. Remember last weekend how I showed you how to pre-prepare them? It's not rocket science, darling. Okay, follow me and I'll show you one more time." A slightly exasperated Cedric gathered the ingredients and put them in a baking pan.
"How do you mix them together, again, dear?" Beatrix asked as she leaned against the kitchen island, sipping the G&T he had prepared for her.
-----000-----
"Have you finished cleaning the bathroom yet, darling?"
"No, Cedric, I am still working on our banking."
At least, Cedric thought to himself, that was one thing she had learnt extremely well. He was proud of her. She managed their banking almost to his exacting accounting standards. Ask her, and she knew on the spot precisely how much money was in which account and what the value of their various investment portfolios were doing.
"There's still a ring in the toilet," he said to her. This is the last time I'm doing this, he fumed to himself. "Did you watch that YouTube video on how to clean toilets that I sent you?"
"Not yet, dear."
-----000-----
"And that's how I showed them the benefits of a year-forward claim under section 836(f) instead of a post-Fiscal Year retroactive submission using Schedule 18(G). I think they appreciated my ingenuity." Cedric lay on the couch after dinner next to Beatrix. "How was yours?" he asked.
"Not much new. Just the normal ins-and-outs, you know, teaching little bitches how to obey, corrective discipline, whimpering, anal gland squeezing, urination, and defecation. Dogs; that's my day, me, the dog trainer."
Cedric was glad that she enjoyed her work training dogs. It was unfortunate that she never had any exciting stories like his adventures in accountancy and tax remittance, but such was life. He loved her anyway, no matter her job.
-----000-----
Their bedside lamps were on. They were reading and chatting about the day.
His book was entitled, 'Tax Deductions In Imperial Rome: The Fourth Republic'.
Hers was covered in a brown paper but was in fact volume 5 of a series entitled, 'Japanese Roping Techniques'.
They put their respective books down and turned off the lights. They lay facing each other in the quiet room, dimly lit by a distant streetlight. The suburb was silent.
"I love you, Beatrix. Please try again to get the coffee right tomorrow morning, darling."
Beatrix caressed his cheek. She kissed him. "Yes, dear. I'll try again tomorrow, but you may have to help me."
She looked at him with nothing but love in her eyes. She was so proud of him for his professionalism; she had never seen him working before today. She adored him because he was, in so many of his endearing ways, so much more of a man than any of the customers she had abused and whipped that day.
And he knew how to make her coffee perfectly.
END
By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2020
CEDRIC THE ACCOUNTANT (PART 2)
By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2021
Warning: If you don’t like reading silly fiction stories, then stop reading now.
Author’s Note: Please read Part 1 first or you may not understand this Part.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
RT
Cedric Ashton-Stufmeyer-Jones lay in bed. He stared at the ceiling. Beatrix, his matronly wife, snored next to him.
It was three o’clock in the morning and he couldn’t sleep.
As it had for the previous few days, his incredibly dull accountant’s brain raced through the audit he had been assigned last week: “Donna’s Dungeon of Domination”. He had found several irregularities in their corporate income tax returns: another victory for the Department of Goods & Services Tax!
Yet he lay pondering the bizarre, fascinating things he had seen during the audit. Whips. Leather masks. Collars and leashes. A St Andrew’s Cross (but not eligible for a religious exemption). Diapers. Phalluses of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Hemp rope. Cages. Evening gowns, Ballet shoes of incredible height. French maid uniforms. An endless variety of items and equipment, every one of them beyond his experience.
The establishment’s manager’s parting words rang in his ears: “a little make-believe in this dungeon gives wings to your imagination.”
And imagination was something Cedric had, like every good accountant had.
He eventually drifted off to sleep, content with his resolve.
-----000-----
He left his office at 11:30. He explained at length to his director that he had an engagement and wished to have an extended lunch.
“I thought you were married,” came the more senior accountant’s reply. “Anyway, take your time; you’ve earned it.”
Cedric walked the streets towards “Donna’s Dungeon of Domination”. He steeled himself and knocked at the door.
The manager, a large woman, answered it. “Hello!” she cheerily said.
“Good morning,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I have an appointment. I’m Mr. Basil Carmen Snotwobbler. I’m a banker. I’m here for a lesson.”
The owners head tilted slightly. She raised her eyebrows. “Please come in then, Mr. Basil Carmen Snotwobbler,” she said merrily. She led him into her office, the same office in which he had informed her the previous week that the company owed an additional $98.72 in taxes. She invited him to sit and closed the door.
“It’s nice to see you again. I thought your name was Cedric Ashton-Stufmeyer-Jones, accountant and inspector #483-35A of the Department of Goods & Services Tax? You were here last week auditing us, yes?” She spoke gently.
Cedric gasped.
Busted! She remembered him! His hopes of anonymity lay in ruins. Well, he thought to himself, in for a penny, in for an audit.
He stared at her blankly and replied, “Ah, err, yes, it is. I was just testing your memory! It’s a pleasure to see you again!”
They then chatted for a brief minute about the weather and the audit. Cedric took particular pains to assure the manager that he was not presently attending on official business.
“Cedric, why are you here? You’ve made a one-hour booking. What interests you here?” The manager leaned back in her chair and put her stilettos on her desk.
Cedric drew a breath and answered: “I would like to take lessons to become a Dominatrix.”
“You mean a Dungeon Master?” she warmly asked.
“Yes! A Dungeon Master!”
“May I inquire of your motivations?” she asked taking her feet off the desk, leaning forward, and cupping her head with her hands.
“May I speak candidly?” he politely asked. She nodded and opened a hand to invite him to do so.
“I am happily married to the best woman in the world, my Beatrix.” He noticed that the manager smiled. “But our sex life is, well, I’ve never told anyone this and I could not ever mention it to Beatrix. Our sex life is monotonous. I’ve tried to get her to experiment beyond the missionary position but she always seems so reticent — or embarrassed to try anything else. ‘Why? I love us like this,’ she says. Or ‘That sounds terribly kinky,’ she says. And so we’re stuck in the missionary position.
“Long have I desired to use the doggie position. It would be so enlivening! I have many fantasies about the doggie position: the control, the power, the dominance. Sadly, she seems unwilling to push our boundaries.”
He hastily added, “Just to be clear, I love her deeply and want to make her happy, but I feel as thought she’s simply satisfied with the basics. I want more than the basics! I’m an accountant! I, however, don’t know how to get us to be more creative in the bedroom.
“And so,” he sighed, “after the audit, I gave some thought to the possibility of persuading her to be more adventurous in the bedroom. Showing her how wickedly kinky we can be if she just let go and allowed me to open her mind to the wilds of her unexplored imagination!”
The manager raised her eyebrows and took a moment before answering.
“Very well then. Let me talk to my staff for a minute to see whether we have a submissive — that’s a person whom you would master, a ‘sub’ — available for you to practice on. Please wait a moment. I shan’t be long.” She left the office and closed the door behind her.
A minute or two later, he heard muted laughter down the hallway.
The door reopened and the manager stood brightly by his side.
“I have good news! There is a sub here getting ready for her session! You can be her Master! Put on this mask! Now, take off your clothes and put this on.”
She passed him a black leather dress and black leather boots.
He looked puzzled at her.
“This is standard fare for a first lesson. No, hush; don’t worry about the fee. You can pay me at your next lesson. Let’s see today whether you like it!”
And she left and he changed.
-----000-----
“This willing girl is into flagellation. Now, it has to be done a certain way. Gently. Slowly. Methodically. It’s just like a backrub! So, try it for five minutes and then rub her back. She’ll moan in satisfied desire!”
In the dim, hot dungeon, Cedric stared at the shape on the table. He thought laying on it was a larger woman, naked but for the fact she wore a mask. No handcuffs. No ankle straps. The lighting was poor.
He glanced around the room; no First-Aid kit. He would bring one next time.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Now you twirl the floggers in a rhythm like I showed you and swat her backside. Yes, just like that! Good! That’s it!”
After a few minutes during which the sub moaned with pleasure, the manager gave him further instructions: “Excellent. This time, when you flog her, respond to her moans. She’s enjoying herself. Give her pleasure. When she moans, be sure to ask, ‘Do you like it, Mistress?’ or words to that effect. Remember: the customer comes first!”
“Mistress?”
“Yes, ‘Mistress’. If you’re the Master, then she’s plainly the Mistress, yes?” The manager fluttered her eyelashes as she happily answered him.
Well, that reasoning makes sense, I suppose, Cedric thought.
Oblivious, Cedric renewed his efforts to give the sub what she wanted. After each gentle flail, he inquired of the sub as the manager had instructed.
“That’s enough for now,” said the manager shortly. “Does our little sub want a back rub, now?” asked the manager, putting a finger under the sub’s chin. There was a nod in response.
“Cedric, sweetie, sit astride the sub’s back and rub it.”
He stumbled his way in his high heels and climbed above the large woman. He sat on her butt and leaned forward.
The manager encouraged him. “Glide your fingers over her back. Awaken her skin, her flesh. Drag your fingernails softly down back toward you. Get the blood flowing. Don’t scratch; just let your fingers doing the domme-ing.”
She giggled.
“Use your thumbs. Right there! Under the should blades! Feel the muscle! You can do it, Basil!”
Cedric was grateful that she used his pseudonym before the sub.
Cedric exerted sufficient force to render an adequate Swedish massage, exactly like the ones he had seen on the YouTube videos he had watched. He lowered his elbow and pushed it up the side of the sub’s spine. He did the same on the other side.
His enthusiasm raced as she melted under his touch. He got daring.
“You like this, Mistress?” he cooed to her sighs and rubbed more furiously.
His thumbs began to ache.
“Moooooooore,” came the muffled voice of the sub.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said cautiously.
His hands began to ache.
“Moooooooore,” came the muffled voice of the sub.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said daringly.
His shoulders began to ache.
“Moooooooore,” came the muffled voice of the sub.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said confidently.
Eventually fatigued, he looked at the manager.
“Time’s up!” she said chirpily. “How was it?”
Cedric sat erect. There was a little bulge underneath his leather skirt. His heart raced.
The exhilaration! The rapture! The power! He had pleased the sub! The customer was satisfied! He had taken this unknown woman and pleasured her beyond her dreams! He could do it! He could satisfy a stranger this way and so could surely satisfy his wife this way too!
“Same time next week?” the manager asked him as he left.
Cedric was thoroughly pleased with himself. He hadn’t had to pay for this session — “The first one’s free!” the manager said — and now was being offered a chance to return for another lesson: “We don’t get many like you, here!” the manager quipped.
He returned to his office.
-----000-----
“No, no, no! Not like that!” Cedric whispered in frustration.
He got up and went to the cutting board.
He nudged Beatrix away and began salvaging her pitiful attempts at sliced carrots.
He moved to the stove and stirred the — yes — stir-fry. The mushrooms were sauteed to perfection. His thin carrot slices quickly softened. The medley of other vegetables (but aren’t mushrooms a fungi?) leapt at the addition of the soy sauce and subsequently the marinated sliced steak strips.
The meal was delicious.
“How was your day?” he asked his wife.
She nibbled on her dinner, sipped her sparkling water, and lovingly replied, “We got a new puppy in for training today. He’s really quite adorable. So willing and eager to obey. I can’t wait for the next lesson. It would be so nice to have him here at home — if you let me.”
Cedric frowned. A puppy? Some four-legged wild beast wandering indiscriminately around the house? An unpredictable, uncontrollable, little puppy? He shuddered at the thought.
“How was yours?” she asked.
Cedric was paralyzed! He hadn’t thought of a cover story to explain his lunch appointment at the Dungeon! What to do? What to say?
“I performed some physical exercise of an uninteresting nature to increase the strength of my upper body.”
He hastily gulped a huge bite of his food. She beamed at him.
“Isn’t that somewhat risky for accountants?”
“I’m an accountant,” he said proudly, “I can handle it.”
They finished their meal.
“You’ll get this, won’t you? Cedric asked as he waved his hand at the plate-strewn table.
“Yes, dear. It’s a dishwasher night. It won’t take long.” Beatrix stood, cleared some dishes, and started placing them in the dishwasher.
Cedric watched her in mounting frustration.
“Beatrix, my love,” he snorted to her, “did you pay any attention to me when I explained how to load a dishwasher to you?” He also bitterly remembered the dishwasher loading course in which he had once enrolled her.
Six years, he thought. Six darned years and she still messes it up.
“I read the instruction manual,” she said disarmingly. “Everything will get cleaned.”
He moved toward the dishwasher. She smiled and stood aside. She opened a cupboard and grabbed a bottle of Whiskey.
“Would you like one, dear?” she asked.
“Yes, please, dear,” he said, aligning the dinner plates on the left-side of the bottom rack and arranging the forks in one section of the cutlery basket and the knives in another.
-----000-----
Cedric’s loin surged with vitality as Beatrix French-kissed him goodnight in bed.
Then she rolled over.
He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Now.
Now was the moment to apply the knowledge he had acquired today. Her kiss had been extremely passionate, like those described in racy tales about investment bankers. He sensed that she was open to his advances tonight.
But he would surprise her with his newfound skills!
He flung the sheets off the bed and sat on her rump.
“What are you doing, my love?” asked Beatrix with a husky voice.
He leaned down and put a finger to her mouth to silence her.
“Shh,” he whispered in her ear.
He began rubbing. Her neck. Her shoulders. Her rhomboids, Her lats. His hands glid up and down her spine, his thumbs pressing into her lumbar muscles, his fingers inching underneath her should blades.
Beatrix groaned: “Yeees.”
Cedric smiled to himself. It was working! That lesson was bang-on! He could rub her and make her body respond! His touch! His fingers! Him! Novelty in the bedroom! A new beginning! More interplay and playfulness! Yes! He could do it! He was in control! Yes, he could!
Feeling a tad smug, he (as macho-ly as he could) asked her the determinative question, the question the Master he was willing to become had to ask, indeed, had been trained to ask:
“Do you like this, Mistress?”
Her face in her pillow, Beatrix moaned — and grinned.
END
By Rhayna Tera, copyright 2021