Punching in with Bongo the gorilla

Jessica stepped into the back alley that lead to the Ink & Paint Club's staff entrance. As she neared the nondescript wooden door that was the gateway to the club's backstage, she braced herself for her daily confrontation with the doorman, Bongo the gorilla. Not a flesh and blood goriall, of course: Bongo was a toon, nearly twice as tall as Jessica and many, many times larger. He had been hired for his brute ****, but unfortunately for her, Jessica had soon learned he was also gifted with a devious kind of intelligence: like so many of the males she encountered, the club's doorman had instantly developed an unhealthy obsession for her humongous breasts, and he made no effort whatsoever to hide his lust for her overly plump chest.

This dangerous combination of strenght, wiles and libido in the one toon who held the key to her place of work routinely **** Jessica to submit to humiliating practices. On most days, Bongo was content to growl "Tits out, toots!" until Jessica gave in with a disgusted sigh. Bongo would then snicker at her misfortune and open the door. Then, as she rushed past him, struggling to stuff her bouncy assets back into her dress, he would very openly flaunt the monstrous erection she had given him, and Jessica often couldn't avoid brushing against the gigantic cock - as big as her husband's - on the way to her room. However, every once in a while, he wouldn't contend himself with just looking and would viciously grope her huge breasts with his enormous paws, making her wince. A few times, he had even tried to stuff his rigid cock between her tits or into her mouth, but she had always fought back at that point, and he hadn't insisted: after all, spoiling the club's property could get him in trouble.

So, just like she had gotten used to her husband's incessant masturbation and to Benny the Cab's crass humor, she had learned to cope with the gorilla's perversion. But she also knew that being late, like she was that evening, placed her in a particularly difficult position. She couldn't count on another performer passing by to **** Bongo to rein in his ****, and she was so pressed for time she couldn't afford to resist much of his advances...

Jessica drew in a deep breath and knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked again. Still nothing. The fear of missing her grand entrance for the first time of her young career gripped her heart, and she pounded on the old wooden planks and called out : "Bongo! Bongo, open up!" But when that failed to elicit any answer from within, she reached for the handle... and found that the door was not locked.

This discovery brought her a sense of relief: not only would she be on time, but Bongo wouldn't be able to use her tardiness to **** her into doing... things. He had probably been called away, she reasoned, and knowing she hadn't showed up yet, he had left the door open - not out of the goodness of his heart, but probably to avoid any blame if her show hadn't started on time. Jessica hurried through the club's dimly lit storage room. Her dressing room, truth be told, was little more than a glorified broom closet, its worn door ornamented with a faded gold star clumsily painted on it. It was poorly lit, minimally furnished and barely spacious enough for her to turn around without smacking her tits against the walls, but at least, it gave her a little private place to focus before strutting on stage...

But that evening, for the first time ever, when she opened the door to her little haven, she found the room already occupied. "Bongo! What... what are you doing here?!"