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Milking the Taxman
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 05:46:19 +0000 UTCHe taxed the wrong bimbo
He barely looked at the name on the screen.
Lily something. Another self-employed digital sex whatever. The kind of file that always came with missing receipts and emotional emails.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
There were seventeen cases left and one hour till close. His tie felt like a noose. The fluorescent light had been flickering for weeks. And now this voice—
God. The voice.
“I just don’t understand,” she said.
“How am I supposed to build anything if you take half of it every time I breathe?”
He clicked the next form field. Her numbers were clean, oddly elegant. She sounded tired—almost disarmed. Not begging. Just worn down.
“It’s not like I’m hoarding it. It goes right back into the work.
Into keeping things alive. Into keeping me alive.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Ma’am,” he muttered,
“I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.”
A pause.
Then a breath. Velvet. Too slow.
“You used to worship girls like me.”
He blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You used to kneel. Before the empire.
Before the forms. Before you forgot how to feel.”
He sat up.
“Look,” he snapped,
“You’re not special, okay? You're not entitled to some tax-free fantasy empire. You're a name in a spreadsheet. And I swear to God if I have to explain what an operating expense is one more fuc—”
“If you’re so eager to milk me,” she purred,
“why don’t you come do it yourself?”
And then—
“Did someone say milk?”
The voice didn’t belong.
It was too loud. Too heroic. Too scripted.
Like it kicked down the fourth wall with protein shake energy.
He turned, already regretting it.
There he was.
Blond. Shirtless. Veins like cables.
Holding a glowing, weaponized breast pump the size of a toaster oven.
“LilyCorp Enforcement, Refund Recovery Division” the man grinned.
“You’ve been selected for... full dairy conversion.”
The taxman barely had time to gasp before the beam—
BLAST.
Right in the chest.
Pink. Blinding. Wet-sounding.
He felt his whole body twitch.
His last coherent thought?
“I don’t even like milk—”
That’s when the audit ended.
And the milking began.
