Business as Usual
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Predating the phenomenon of the Japanese biz novel by decades, Business as Usual offers us the account of how one man got ahead. There are also instructions for handling maids and an all-female clerical staff. Not clear what product our hero, Alain, is selling, but he does make his mark.
As you'd expect, the author of this work was rather an able capitalist. After he turned over the manuscript to Girodias, he then went down the Seine a bit to a fellow named Bruno Rabinsky, and sold the manuscript again, changing the author's name to "Adam Peters." In a defensive move, for later editions Girodias mucked up the first page a bit, and reprinted the work as "Springtime in Paris" by Theobold Lovelace.
mumbling to herself as she went. Armand repeated his question stupidly, then downed the contents of his glass in one swallow. The Norwegian girl continued her perusal of nothingness. “You could at least be polite,” he grumbled. Still in a trance-like state, Ula rose from the table and walked over to a window. As she walked she crossed her arms over her chest, her right palm cupping her left shoulder and her left palm her right shoulder. She emitted a low, cooing sound and looked out into the
dark-haired girl of seventeen, was smartly dressed in a mannish-cut gray suit, white silk blouse open at the throat in a low-plunging V-neckline, exposing the cleft between two burgeoning young breasts. She was rather small in height, with the plumpness of a fruit ripe for plucking. Her jet-black hair was cut to medium length and bobbed up into a tiny cluster on the back of her head. She wore no make-up except for a hint of red on her lips, which were full around a rather large mouth. Her cheeks
displayed the same coloring all over its surface. He teased the nipples into erection with his lips and a few expert nibbles with his front teeth, caressed the bare stomach in a lazy circle with his free hand, then pulled the sweater up and over the girl's head. One of her long earrings fell to the carpeted floor soundlessly. Suzanne good-humouredly entered into the spirit of the morning. She playfully undid A.J.'s cravat and opened the starched collar of the white shirt beneath. Alain threw off
and ran his fingers through the thinning hair. The Englishman put his arm around the youthful buttocks and caressed them voluptuously. “How's my little darling,” he purred as the boy rubbed his soft cheek against the butler's pasty cheeks. “She's been suffering,” he replied in a silky, pouting voice. “Why haven't you come to see your little Nanette this week? She's been so lonely.” Robert kissed the boy lightly on the lips, giving the buttocks a tender squeeze at the same time. “There, there,
hand, the mobile dick evoked images of women's hair in the imagination of its master. His fountain gushed forth its charge of hot semen and, for the second time that night, Alain felt light and happy. He jumped off the beast's back onto the springy earth and walked on a bit through the heavy wood, which was beginning to glow with the hint of coming dawn. The pair paused at a tiny spring that gurgled by the path, and both drank their fill. The wind had fallen to nothing and a few pale stars had