She got it. I lifted my hips and in a moment she had my trousers and underpants lowered to my knees. Elegantly, proudly, majestically, my pulsing tool stood straight up, its throbbing head purple with passion.
"Eat it," I said.
I don't even know if she heard what I said, for she had already begun to work on my puffed-up organ. She hid her teeth with her lips, then placed my rod in her mouth and with an expertise that told me she was no newcomer to this kind of play, she sucked my bone right to the base, back and forth, elegant and smooth. No newcomer at all! One of her hands cuddled my balls delicately, one of her fingers found my rectum and tickled its way as far as it could go, while her hungry mouth lapped and sucked, planted sweet, sticky kisses all around it, took tiny bites from the head.
"Ooooh, mmmmm, haaah. Wooow!" I groaned.
Eleven in the morning at the advertising agency and all was going well ...
Pleasant Politics
I hadn't even finished my morning coffee-hadn't even gotten the sleepy seeds out of my tired eyes-when Eunice bent over. My lids shot straight up, my cock shot straight up and my brain went to Jell-O. 9:15 at the advertising agent and I, Harold Cranshaw, Creative Supervisor of the Nugget Cereals account, was quivering with horniness.
I suppose there's a special way a gal is supposed to bend down when eyes are present. Usually on one knee, so whatever material is on the backside stays on the backside. But with my half finished coffee in hand, I had just groggily rounded the corner of the hallway, so she didn't see me. She had dropped a piece of paper and bent over to get it. The vision was unfairly quick. But it was glorious.
Her short, brown leather skirt rose up above her panty line. The frilled panties were tight and white and instead of covering the moons of her cheeks, the nylon was stretched in the crack between them. From five feet away I made out a hint of dark hair from the center of her ass. Her double globes were pure white, perfectly round. Just enough jiggle in them to insure me of their soft, cushiony, squeezability. And tapering down from her ass, a pair of long, curvy, statuesque legs that I could already feel entwined around my sweaty body as I did the daylights out of her.
If Eunice was just any girl, a skipped heartbeat and a little cock twinge would have sufficed. But Eunice was special. She was one of the agency "untouchables."
Abundant tits that no material could hold in check. A delicious ass that followed her around everywhere. Gorgeous, blue deep-set eyes that could melt mountains. A gallant, proud, upward tilt of her head. She lowered herself to speak with no man. Except one. Her boss. Everybody's boss. Mr. McPherson, the agency president. No one knew for sure if he was boffing her or not. But everyone knew for sure that nobody else was. She wouldn't have it. Mr. McPherson wouldn't have it. Word at the agency was "don't fuck around with Eunice." As though anybody could.
But the moment Eunice went down for that piece of paper, my mind discarded all warnings about staying clear. But it wasn't just my cock that led me on. There was a political motivation, too. I'd been bucking for vice-president, unsuccessfully, for the last year. If I could get on the good side of Eunice (or the inside) perhaps she could help my cause.
I prayed that she would fumble with the paper, stay bent over just one second more. But my pleas went unheeded. In a second she was up again, continuing down the hallway.
"Oh, Eunice," I called, keeping it all peaches and cream, keeping the sex out, "I wonder if I could see you for a moment. It's quite important."
She stopped and turned around, leading with her left tit.
"What is it?" she inquired. Cold as ice.
"Oh, it's dreadful, dreadful," I said, "in my office. Come, let me show you."
Without waiting for a reply I turned the corner and headed for my office. Together, my heart and cock jumped around, as I awaited her sexy footsteps. In a moment, she was standing in the doorway of my office. Keeping her distance, looking official and businesslike as usual. Her tits loomed out of her blouse indecently and I swallowed hard.
"Well, what is it?" she inquired.
"I wish you'd come inside, Eunice. I don't want anybody else to hear. I wouldn't want to panic anybody."
She came forward a couple of careful steps.
"Please, Eunice. Close the door. What I tell you must be kept within the confines of this office."
Reluctantly, she closed the door. But she stood right next to it, eyeing me suspiciously.
"You're supposed to inform Mr. McPherson about anything that has to do with the efficiency of the agency, aren't you?"
"Yes. I suppose so." I could just make out the shape of her nipple through the patterned orange blouse. "Then, it's my duty to tell you this. But I don't want you or anybody to panic."
"Well?"
"Have you noticed any symptoms recently?" It was a good thing my suit jacket was buttoned. Otherwise, I would have stuck right out.
"Symptoms?"
"Shhhhh!" I said, moving quickly toward her with my finger on my mouth. "Don't speak that loudly, please!"
She blinked her steel eyes at me and more softly this time said, "Symptoms?"
"Sore throat?"
"No."
"Headaches?"
"No."
"Dizziness, nausea, muscle ache, fever. Or diarrhea?"
"No. Why? ... " she asked. For the first time, she now seemed somewhat concerned. The heat of her fantastic body overwhelmed me. I resisted the temptation to reach out and grab a flesh full of tit.
"Uh oh," I said, with great alarm, "that's awful."
"What's awful. That I don't have any symptoms?"
I shook my head quickly, as though she didn't understand. "No, no, no. You just don't see." I glanced left and right with slitted eyes, as though I were concerned that someone should hear. Whispering, I said, "Did you ever hear of ... Diddius?"
"Diddius?"
"Shhhh. Yes. Diddius Disease."
"Diddius Disease?"
"Yes. I think it's going around. It's awful. A little microscopic germ gets into your system. Then it starts multiplying. The terrifying thing is that it does not have the standard symptoms. Fever, aches, dizziness, things like that mean you don't have the disease. But without those symptoms, you have to be extremely careful."
More concern-and some confusion-showed on her face. "Then ... how do you know it's going around?"
"Can we be adult about this?" I asked, feeling the weight of my hard, impatient cock against my pants.
"Why, yes. Of course."
"All right, good. The telltale signs of Diddius are a slight discoloration on the chest. And a slight discoloration on the genitals."
"Oh, my god," she blurted out. Her hard-case shell was loosening. I could feel my orgasm ... and my vice-presidency already.
"Shall we look?" I asked, trying to keep my heavy breathing down to a bare minimum.
"Well ... "
"Eunice, please. If you've got it too, we must go into quarantine. This is very serious. And you can't leave this office unless you're sure you don't have it. It's ridiculously contagious."
She stood silently for a moment, her own breathing picking up a pace. Her incredible breasts went up and down inside her blouse.
"Do I have a choice?"
"You don't. Here, if you'll just open your blouse, I can tell you very quickly if there's any discoloration."
"How come you know so much about ... ?"
"Diddius."
"Diddius."
"I was a medic in the army. I've treated many cases of it, already. You wait too long and it's fatal." I looked at her sweetly. "And ... you're so young and pretty."
Her fingers started on her top buttons. I tried to keep my eyes on her eyes, but it was too difficult. I followed the undoing of each button with utter amazement. For the last two buttons, she had to pull her blouse out of her skirt. When she had finished, her hands went to her sides. Apparently, she was waiting for me to separate the halves of her blouse and check her out. I understood what it meant to have your heart in your throat. I was so excited I trembled. But without revealing a trace of emotion, I parted her blouse open. I must have taken in a gallon of air as the beautiful scene revealed itself.
I had never seen a larger, fuller pair of tits in my life. They hung down heavy and sweet, almost down to her stomach. She was huge. And at the center of each, two brownish, red nipples jutted out. They were the sort of tits you see in cheesecake magazines-but never in real fife. And here they were, in all their splendor. I wanted to grab the pair and squeeze with all my might, but I had to remain relaxed and cool. Restraint was almost impossible, but I managed. She looked directly at my eyes and I had to suppress a blush.
"Well?" she said, finally, for I had been staring at them for easily a minute, "do you notice any discoloration? Am I all right? Do I have it?"
"Here," I said, pointing, letting just the tip of my finger make contact with her oversized nipple, "there seems to be something."
"That's my nipple."
"I know, I know," I said, "but there's a little white speck mixed in with the brown."
"I don't see anything," she said.
She tucked her chin in and looked down.
"It takes a practiced eyes," I said. "Here, see if you can see it."
To help, I took one of her fleshy tits in both my hands and tilted it up towards her. The soft weight of her tit drove me absolutely batty. I caught my head moving down, instinctively, to suck on a nipple, but caught myself just in time.
"I still don't see anything."
"How 'bout a kind of burning sensation right behind the nipples. That's another symptom."
"No ... "
"Here ..." I said, taking each nipple between my fingers and pulling outward on them so her breasts shook and wiggled, "when I do this, do you notice any burning?"
"None."
"Are you sure," I said, now exerting more pressure, pulling her nipples out so far I thought I'd pull them off her.
"No."
"Then, we'll just have to check your genitals. As I said, let's be adult about this," I added, feeling her tense up when I mentioned that oh, so private area.
I released her nipples, which remained poking out and hard. Although her nipples reacted, still, I doubted that she was at all sexually excited. I think she was too frightened of what I was doing ... and too concerned about having Diddius to get horned up. But I persisted. My cock demanded that I persist. And so did my desire for getting my vice-presidency.
"If you'll just slip your skirt and panties off and lay face down on the floor, I think that will be the easiest way."
"What?"
"Well, I'd ask you to lay face down on my couch, but as you can see, I don't have one. Only vice-presidents have one. Now, if you were to talk to Mr. McPherson about my vice-presidency, why then, the next time a situation like this occurs, it will be a lot more comfortable. Anyway, if there's any discoloration on the genitals, the pubic hair makes it difficult to see. But, by examining the lips of the vagina from the backside, it gives a clearer view. I'm sorry, Eunice, I know this must be uncomfortable for you ... but when I consider what could happen if the Diddius spread around this office ... " I closed my eyes and put my hands over them. "It could really be awful. Anyway, Eunice, the carpet's soft. And I shouldn't take too long."
Eunice started to say something, but changed her mind. She really had no alternative. Then the strip began. I lit a cigarette to keep my nervous hands busy as my eyes went glazed from die show.
First, Eunice removed her blouse. The back swing of her arms caused her tits to bounce and I had to grit my teeth to keep from corning then and there in my pants. Then she put her thumbs on the insides of her brown leather skirt and pushed down. The frilly mini-pants she wore didn't even cover her pubic hair. Hair came out from the sides and top. I was puffing furiously on my cigarette as the private parts of tins exquisite girl were revealed to me. Then her panties went down and as she pulled them off she looked up at me for an awkward second. I smiled reassuringly. I could feel the heat from my cock.
At last. All her coverings were on the floor. She again looked up at me. What an absolutely beautiful way to start the day at the office. I nodded, indicating she should get on the rug face down. The gorgeous creature went down on both knees, then lowered her stomach and tits till she was flat down.
"That's a girl, Eunice. As I said, this is something we have to be very adult about."
I walked over to where she was lying and towered over her. Her legs were clamped together like a vise. Her back cinched in beautifully at her small waist; then her curvy lines flowered out to her hips and tapered down to her long, graceful legs. I could not believe that this sensational girl, this sprawled out curve of a woman was Eunice. Eunice, the incredible. Eunice, the untouchable. For a second, I felt like King Kong and had a desire to pound my chest. Below me, waiting for my searching and probing fingers, Eunice. My servant. The conquest is won.
"Okay, Eunice," I said as soothingly as I could, "just relax now." I got down on one knee and placed a noncommittal hand lightly on one of her full, soft asscheeks. "Now, if you'll just separate your legs ever so slightly, we can check you out and find out once and for all if any Diddius is present." To assist the instruction, I placed my hand softly between her cheeks and the legs went apart.
A little wet goo appeared as she separated her legs. Was it excitement or nervousness?
"I'm going to pull your cheeks apart now. But very gently, Eunice. I won't hurt you at all. I just want to get a good look."
Placing each hand on her fluffy, fluffy half moons, I pulled them apart. As I did so, a muscle quivered in her back. This, I repeated to myself, as I moved my head down to the dark, deliriously exciting area, is Eunice. Eunice, the untouchable.
By separating her cheeks, both holes appeared, clear and beautiful. Her dark asshole had a cluster of little black hairs surrounding it and they became more copious as they spread out around her pink cunt lips. It was not perspiration, but cunt goo that glistened on her swollen lips.
"Do you see anything?" she inquired, her voice sounding very far away.
Did I see anything? Only the greatest sight man's eyes were made to behold. "Still looking."
My finger trailed down around her asshole, then went down to the outsides of her cunt lips. I let my finger tease and tickle, being careful to avoid sliding my finger into either beckoning hole. As my finger circled around her area, it was obvious that her goo machine was stimulated. After a few seconds of careful prodding, my finger was drenched. "Anything, yet?" she asked.
"Not yet," I said, my bone straining out for attention.
Holding the small of her back with one hand to steady her, I took one finger and drove it directly into her asshole. I hadn't planned to do it, not yet, anyway. But I couldn't hold myself back. The dark, secret area simply implored me to get to it.
"Oh, god, oh, god, what are you doing?" Eunice cried out.
"Shhhh. Not so loud. I don't want anyone to hear. We don't need any panics. I'm only making sure your insides are all right."
Twisting and turning, I managed to bring my finger all the way in, to the last joint. By now, Eunice was whimpering softly and her pelvis had begun the slightest rotation. When a female's body strikes a harmonious rhythm, you know you're in.
"Oh, god," she muttered, her head turned sideways on the carpet as my finger kept an aggressive in and out rhythm going in her. "Maybe you better check the inside of my vagina, too. Just to make sure."
Now that's progress. She was initiating, at last. When it comes to the wiggle of a finger, all females are alike. Even untouchable Eunice.
"But that's not necessary," I teased, dying to get my finger up there, but thoroughly enjoying having the upper hand. "I can see you don't have Diddius at all." I removed my finger confidently and playfully slapped her on the buttocks. "You can get up and dressed now, Eunice. Examination's over."
If her body wasn't quivering so, if her goo wasn't in such evidence, if she hadn't suggested I check her vagina, I wouldn't have taken the chance of telling her I was through. But I knew I had her and I wanted her to beg.
"Oh, god," she said, as my finger came out of her ass, "you can't just leave me in a state like this."
She rolled over on her back and widened her legs as far apart as she could, holding her cunt lips wide open.
"Oh, check my vagina, check it now. PLEASE."
"Oh, all right." I had heart.
As I began removing my suit, her own hands played with her clit. Her long fingers stroked and poked at it, till it stood out like a little prick. Her breasts were wet and perspiring and as she rolled back and forth, from one hip to the other, her tits flopped beautifully around.
At last the clothes were off and I knelt between the legs, my reddened cock throbbing madly.
"Here I come," I said, as I lowered down till the head of my cock just barely touched her own pulsing wet lips.
"Oh, god, can't you hurry. Please don't tease me," said amazing Eunice.
"Just one thing," I said, as I started to shove it inside her hot canal. Then I quickly retreated, so I had her lips and pelvis jumping madly, impatiently around. "Do you think you could mention my vice-presidency to Mr. McPherson. I mean, well, I've been working on the Nugget Cereal account for over a year and I think I'm deserving of it. Just a good word."
"Yes, yes, yes, anything. But now, please."
"Promise?"
"Oh, god, yes."
The agreement settled, my much too impatient cock hungrily took its exquisite prey. As I inched in and up her hot insides, her cunt lips welcomed me. Eunice reached her hand around my ass and coddled my balls delicately, forcing me to pump her furiously. Her fingers were like silk as she caressed and toyed with my dangling, slapping balls.
With her free hand, she held her fleshy tit out for me to suck. I leaned my head down and gobbled at it mercilessly. Her tit was buttery soft, spongy and it bobbled around in my mouth. She bounced and threw her weight around so fiercely, I had trouble finding the nipple. But at last I caught it and sucked and nibbled on it mercilessly.
I brought both my hands under her backside and pulled her satin asscheeks hard against me as I drove my stiff prick all the way inside her. Our bellies slapped together and our breaths came quick and loud.
Normally, I can hold back my orgasm out of sheer will and usually like to hold it back because I don't like to end the joy of fucking. But it was a massive task keeping my fluid in with Eunice.
Her fingers continued caressing my hairy balls and each of her strokes inflamed my seed and made it almost impossible to hold it all in. But I squeezed my eyes tight to keep from coming as long as I could. That helped, because with my eyes open, I saw below me this soft, glorious creature twisting and moaning, giddy from each of my thrusts and the sight was simply too much to behold.
"Uuuh, uhhhh," Eunice moaned, louder and louder; and with both hands she grabbed my face and brought it up to hers, planting her full, wet lips over mine, slobbering excitedly, her tongue shooting all around my lips, teeth and the insides of my mouth.
Our mouths still pressed tight together, I managed to roll over on my back, with her still clinging to me. Halfway around my fevered cock slipped out of her cunt, but her quick fingers redirected it back in.
Once on my back, I pummeled her even harder. And grabbing hold of her hair, tugged on it. In this position, Eunice did most of the work. She pushed and shoved hard against my swollen, ready-to-come member.
"Eunice," I managed to say, "sit up on me. I want to come looking at your tits flop around. I want to see your expression as I explode inside you."
Lifting herself, Eunice straightened her back, her legs straddling my waist. My hands went up and took hold of her heavy tits. Eunice rolled her head back, putting her hands behind her for support.
"Uhhhh. Come. Come now," Eunice said, rolling her head from side to side.
Her pelvis worked back and forth, side to side, screwing left to right, then right to left. Squeezing her tits as hard as I could, I could feel my cock momentarily grow even larger in size and as Eunice twisted and turned more furiously, I finally let go.
On the first incredible gush, Eunice's mouth dropped open. The force and heat of my come shocked her.
"Oh, baby, let it come, let it come," Eunice said as the hot liquid shot deep into her. I surrendered myself to the overwhelming come and my legs and hands jerked about spastically.
Eunice was working faster than ever now and for a brief moment, she stopped all movement; then, with a wild tossing of her head back and forth, she let the feeling overtake her.
Her tits smashed around on her chest. Her stomach tightened. I could feel her cunt lips pressing hard on my shooting cock. She arched her back, whimpered and cried.
"Uhhhh, ohhhh, ooooh," Together, like a pair of electric motors turned on high speed, we threw our limbs around. The orgasm seemed to last an entire minute.
When the last tremble was over, Eunice slumped down into my arms, her tits bobbling on my chest as her breathing was still far from regular.
I kissed her hair, her ear, her neck.
She lifted her head up quickly and stared into my eyes.
"Diddius Disease, huh?" she said, at first seriously; then she broke up into convulsive laughter. "That's the best one I ever heard. You don't think I believed you, do you?"
"You mean ... "
"Any guy that goes to that extreme to make it with me, deserves it," she said, still laughing. "And with ingenuity like that, I think you're vice-presidential material. I'll see if I can't pull a few strings here and there."
I shook my head slowly, laughing myself.
"You really didn't believe that thing about Diddius? Come on, honestly? Or are you just trying to protect yourself because you're so damned gullible."
Eunice moved up on me so that her fantastic tits bobbled on my face.
"You'll never know," she said vaguely.
And frankly, at that minute, with her soft tits brushing back and forth across my face and my cock starting up all over again, I didn't care.
"Okay, Eunice, once more. Come on, I'm so horny for you, I can't stand it."
"Don't be greedy," she said, easing herself up from me and reaching for her clothes. "I've got to get back to my desk. If I don't Mr. McPherson's gonna raise the roof."
"Well, my thing's already raised," I said, holding the stiff cock up to her, "can't you just give it a quick suck?" I wiggled it around a little. "The only way to cure Diddius is to suck it out."
"Ha ha," said Eunice, now returning the blouse to cover her enormous tits, "that's pretty funny. But I'm afraid that's your punishment for having tried to make a fool out of me."
She walked to the door, swinging her fabulous ass, as usual and paused before opening it.
"I'll do what I can for you," she said, "but I don't think Mr. McPherson is going to be too anxious to hand out a vice-presidency to a creative supervisor who has nothing better to do than lie naked on his back and jerk off. I hope you take care of your Diddius before it causes any real damage."
And out she walked. With me, like a fool, lying there, holding my cock in my hands.
The Interview
The nicest thing about being made vice-president at my agency was not the window office they gave me. Or the brown leather couch they wheeled in. Or the key to the executive bathroom. Or the extra week's vacation. It was the privilege of being able to interview and select my own secretary. That and that alone made all those years of work worthwhile.
Prior to my promotion, Miss Gardner, the personnel assistant, did all the secretarial hiring. Her philosophy was apparent and simple. Since no one at the agency would ever make a pass at her, then no one at the agency would make a pass at any of the secretaries she hired. She had a nose on her that literally looked like she had picked it up at a fun store as a joke. But it was no joke. It made Pinocchio's look teensy by comparison. Her other features were equally unfortunate and appeared as though they had been haphazardly thrown on her unfortunate face. And below the neck, a similar disaster. A shapeless, anemic series of long bones that moved in perfect disarray when she moved. She was almost six feet tall. She was a nightmare. And she spent her days in constant search of secretaries that would make her look good by comparison. Her selections never looked worse. But they never looked any better, either.
With nausea, I can recall the series of secretaries-chosen by Miss Gardner-that have worked for me.
Marsha Millstone, whose overwhelming teenage acne had never disappeared. Susie Philips, who had such a prominent set of buck teeth that her chin was barely visible. Alice Popper, with football shoulders and a booming masculine voice. Karen Dingle, whose armpits could be smelled at the other end of the hall. And others, which I have a mental block about, for reasons I can well understand.
But those days were gone forever. Those days of ugly frustration and denial were over. As a vice-president, I would do the hiring. And I knew exactly what I wanted.
She was the third girl that came into my office that Monday morning. She stood in my doorway. My prick immediately rose to attention, even saluted. With a cool gesture, I waved her in and I spilled my hot coffee all over my lap.
"Oh, gosh," she said, with a mellow, sexy voice, "can I help?"
"Yes," I said. "Here. The pants. All hot and wet. Would you?" I extended a napkin towards her and she took it. She moved around the side of the desk, knelt on one knee and with absolutely precious strokes, rubbed my swollen lap. If she was aware of the stiffened monster under there, she kept it to herself. Almost without expression, just a small smile, she worked diligently, rubbing the material till my member was boiling to the point of bursting. And with a self-conscious cough, it did burst and again my pants were flooded with wetness. What a burst of exhilaration. But she made like she was unaware of what had just taken place. She got off her knee, rose and went over to my couch.
"Hello," she said sweetly, "I'm here for the secretarial position."
"Hello," I said. I frankly didn't know what else to say. I mean I didn't even know the gal and she had just jerked me off.
Silence.
"Hello," she said again.
God, how I hate those uncomfortable moments. "Hello," I said again.
More silence. Stuck for words, I began rearranging papers on my desk in no particular way, smiling awkwardly at her. I always get an awkward look on my face in the presence of a gorgeous chick. She had a sweet oval face, with big, blue almond eyes. Literally, they shone. Her outfit was simple. A white sweater, a blue miniskirt, white boots. The sweater was stretched out to an embarrassing degree by the braless push of her oversize tits. What was showing of her legs was perfect and tanned. What was happening in my own pants was rapid return of my prick, firm, hard and ready.
"Hello," she said again, waiting for a cue, a word. Anything.
"Won't you have a seat?" I offered, again trying to create the impression of total smoothness and cool, but it occurred to me she was already seated. "I mean, now that you're seated, won't you stand up?" But her confused expression clearly indicated I was still being unclear. "How's your seat?" I tried, but knew immediately that was even worse, "I mean, now that you're seated, what's your name?"
That, at least, had a semblance of sense, for she answered me.
"Betty Silver."
"Nice name. Betty Sliver ... "
"Silver."
"Ah, yes."
For a man who had met as many deadlines as I had, it was astounding to me that I should do so poorly under pressure. I helped myself with a good posture, straightening my back, inhaling deeply, feeling my sense of masculinity and importance.
"Now," I said, having gained a semblance of control, "Do you have any experience?"
She smiled and inadvertently parted her legs ever so slightly, exposing a pink fringe of panty. Christ, I didn't care if this gal thought short hand was an old age disease where the fingers shrink in size. I wouldn't have cared if she demanded $10,000 a year. I knew I wanted her. She already had the job.
"I'm asking $10,000 a year," she said demurely, the legs now farther apart, my prick now knocking furiously on the door of my zipper, "and I have lots of experience."
"What kind of experience?" I queried, as professionally as I could. I frankly didn't give a shit. All I cared about was that my prick, straining mercilessly in my pants, was in pain and under my desk I flicked at the bulge with my finger, hoping to force it down, at least temporarily. But it remained upright, unrelenting.
"Well, I spent five years as the personal secretary to Charlie Bibble, the Creative Director at one of your competitive Agencies, Lingman, Irving and Epstein. L.I. & E ... "
"Yes. I know Charlie well. What did you do for him?" Amazing, but I was twinged with jealously. Charlie must have pummeled the bejeesus out of her.
"Oh, everything?"
"Everything?" That sick feeling, when your woman tells you about her passionate past.
And fornicating, I thought, but repressed it. "And ... did you rub his back? Ha ha." "Back," undoubtedly symbolic of regions farther south and infinitely more interesting.
"Whenever he asked."
"That often, eh?" I cleared my throat and my prick remained hard as ever. Why were we wasting all this precious time talking? "Well, my own demands are very high."
"I can meet them," the angel said.
"I mean ... very high demands."
"I can meet them," she persisted.
"Well, they're not easy to meet. As you know advertising is a high tension business. Deadlines. Neurotic people. A million memos and telephones. Ulcer producing, even for the secretaries. So much pressure, sometimes you just want to scream your head off, just to get it out of your system. With this kind of atmosphere, I've got to have what I want when I want it. No pussyfooting, no a little laters, no I forgots, no questions, no back talk or sass. I want what I want when I want it. Exactly when I ask for it." I was impressed with myself. But then, why shouldn't I have been. After all, I was a vice-president.
"What do you want?" she asked me point-blank. "Go ahead, try me."
Spunk. She had lots of spunk. And lots of tit, too. The shape of her nipples pushed urgently against her straining sweater. My cock pressed urgently against my pants. Would she really give me what I asked for? I needed time to think.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"I said, what do you want. You can try me." Two dimples, adorable. Two statuesque legs that met at the furry melting point. I was insane with excitement.
"Well," I said, a stammer and quaver crusting up my voice, "I'm the creative supervisor on the Nugget Cereal Account. It bills $4 million a year, which is a pretty hefty hunk of business when you consider that there are agencies in town that don't do half that billing with all their accounts combined. With a budget like that, we do an awful lot of commercials, all of which are ridiculously expensive. Do you have any idea what it costs to make a thirty-second commercial? We've got to pay the writers and the art directors and the account people and the producers. We've got to pay the production house. We've got to pay for music. And we've got to pay for the models we use. Since everything is so damned expensive, we try to cut costs when and where we can. So to save money we often use our very own secretaries in test commercials. You'd be surprised how much that saves us."
"You mean, you might put me in a commercial?" She leaned forward on the couch and I imagined her mouth was about to circle my hot member.
"Yes indeedy. You might be called upon to do an on-camera job for Nugget Cereal."
"Oh, how fascinating," she said. Her skin was velvet. My prick was harder than ever. I think it was love.
"But, of course," I added, with an upraised finger of significance, "we can't have a female selling our cereal if she has any imperfections on her body. People will automatically assume that the cereal itself has some imperfections. It's a kind of transference."
"But why would people assume that?"
Questions. Questions. Women always ask questions.
"Research has proven it conclusively. They don't know why. But they've proved it. Now, how 'bout your legs?"
"How 'bout them?"
"Yes. How about them?" I drummed an apparently bored finger on my desk.
"Look, if this is your subtle way of asking me to show you my legs, why don't you come out and say it. I really hate it when people don't lay it on the line when they want something."
A tiger behind that beautiful face. She rose from the couch, took hold of her blue mini with both hands and hiked it up above her slender waist. Not the slightest trace of self-consciousness. If anything, she stood there proudly.
The panties were white lace, brief bikini-type. Through the delicate material, her black forest made a dark shadow. A couple of stray, curling wisps were exposed beyond the borders.
I gasped at the incredibly delicious sight, but covered the too obvious expression with a phony laugh.
"Mmmm hmmmm," I said. What else was there to say.
"Do you want to see more?" she inquired calmly, as though she were a saleslady showing my shirts. She stood there elegantly, her skirt still hiked up, a soft twinkle in her eyes and if my own eyes didn't deceive me, the slightest trace of wetness dead center where her cunt lips were hidden behind her frail panties.
"More?" I asked, rather dumbly. But I scooped a cigarette and lit it for confidence. "Why, uh, yes. Of course. More. More."
"Here's more." I liked her style.
With artistic grace, her long fingers took hold of the tops of her panties and in one easy, beautifully coordinated movement, she lowered them just to her knees. The Kingdom of Heaven would have had to take a back seat to the glorious sight that was bared before me.
A magnificent triangle of the softest, blackest curls, with the faintest hint of pink lips just behind them, beseeched me, beckoned me. My cock reeled, but I remained glued to my seat. After all, this was not a sex show. After all, I was merely interviewing a secretary.
"Mmmm hmmmm," I again said.
"Okay?" she asked, her left leg now swinging ever so slightly and provocatively back and forth.
"Just a moment," I said. I didn't want the goodies to go away that quickly. I scrutinized her carefully and the more I looked the harder I got. "Uh, may I see your ass?" I asked. It's hard to say that one professionally, but I tried. "I mean, if I'm going to look you over, I'd like to do a thorough job. We have to be ever so careful when we put anybody in our commercials. The slightest imperfection ... and zap ... nobody buys your product. Uh, your ass please, Betty."
She seemed eager and responsive to my request. Delicately, she swiveled around so that her backside faced me. Her cheeks were creamy white and picked up a ray of color from the sunshine that flooded in my window. Those glorious moons called me, softly, to take them and I'm convinced I was on the verge of charging and taking her then and there when the goddamned phone rang. It was like a fucking bomb going off.
I tried to ignore it, but it wouldn't stop. The shocking interruption of the phone caused Betty to automatically flip her panties back up. And caused my prick to shrink back into itself.
"Goddamnit! What is it!" I shouted into the phone.
Betty dropped her skirt and returned to the couch, legs together, hands folded on her lap, looking as innocent as a babe.
"Mr. McPherson. Your Delta Insurance Representative. I know you've been awfully busy ... but we have a special deal that I think will be of great interest to you ... "
He'd been calling me every day for the last three weeks.
"No. No. No. No! I don't want any!" I shouted, even louder.
Some people cannot take a hint. In a monotone, he droned on and on about benefits and policies and bargains and have I seriously considered my mistake by not taking out insurance with Delta and nobody lives forever and it could mean an awful lot to me. And I hung up on him.
"I'm sorry, Betty. Where were we?"
She answered by rising, turning, lifting her skirt and dropping her panties.
"Here, I think," she said.
"Oh, yes." Those luscious, perfectly white orbs brought me quickly back to reality. My prick quickly inched its way up to its full height, pressing hard against my pants. The white of her ass formed the shape of a bikini bottom.
"Do you ever show buttocks on television commercials?" Betty asked, turning her head to look at me. The movement caused a slight little jiggle of her asscheeks. I was dying to have my hands on those precious items as I rammed her senseless.
"Well, the networks are very sensitive about anything that's too suggestive. They don't like getting angry letters from their viewers. But they do allow us to show gals in bathing suits if it's done tastefully. The thing is, if a gal's ass isn't just right, she's not going to fit the bathing suit right. I just want to make sure you have the right stuff."
"Do I have the right stuff?" she inquired, still standing with her beautiful backside to me, like a pinned-up donkey waiting for someone to direct a dart at her.
"You have die right stuff. But the eyes can deceive. If you'll just part your asscheeks a bit, it'll be easier for me to see just how perfectly formed they are."
An illogical piece of logic, which she responded to, anyway.
Keeping one hand on her skirt, to keep it up, she simply took one soft cheek and separated it from the other. I could clearly see the curly hairs that stuck to the perimeter of her asshole. And what an asshole. Tight, brown, round. It might take a little doing to twist up into there. But in the heat of passion you can do almost anything.
"Am I hired now?" she inquired, still with that soft, sexy voice of hers. Still with that glorious asshole opened up for me.
"Just about," I said. Her head was turned from me and I used the opportunity to pet and squeeze my impatient prick. "You've satisfied my concerns about your lower portions. But, of course, you've got to be able to fill the top part of a bathing suit, too."
"Can I turn around?"
"You may," I said, quickly removing my hand from the heated insides of my pants.
She turned around, still holding her dress up, with her little panties suspended indecently at her knees, with her cunt as real and visible as I would ever want.
"In other words," she said, staring me down with those exquisite blue eyes of hers, "you want to see my tits."
"I do."
"Is it really necessary for you to see them bare? I mean, can't you tell just from looking at me that I'm fine in that department?" She took a deep breath and extended her chest way out, still holding her little skirt up.
"In this business, you just can't be too sure about anything. There's a lot of phonies walking around. In the business of advertising, you've simply got to deliver what you advertise. I'm not saying you're not well equipped. I'm simply saying I'd like to be sure."
"I'll have to drop my skirt to lift my sweater," she said, matter-of-factly. In fact, she was so matter of fact about this whole thing, that it disturbed me. I like a girl with a little embarrassment.
"If you must drop your skirt, then you must," I said forlornly.
She dropped her skirt. Act one was over and the curtain came down over the cunt scene. But Act two was beginning and my eyes were more than compensated for.
In one lovely motion, she crossed her arms over each other and lifted her sweater over her head. I could understand why she wasn't wearing a bra. No bra was made large enough to hold these full, luscious mammaries. Big, beautiful, swollen, they hung like soft balloons, all white and soft. Just above each of her thick, red nipples, I could see little streaks of blue veins. One pair of hands couldn't possibly do justice to the mass of wonderful flesh that hung there.
"Now do you believe?" she asked, rather proudly.
"Frankly," I said, having some difficulty getting the words out, "I find them hard to believe. I would say that your breasts are nothing short of incredible. You must be proud of them."
"I am," she said with virginal sweetness, "although they hurt so when I run."
"Yes, well ... " I stammered. It's hard to keep a cool head when you've got a hot prick. "Well, now I have seen the top. And now I have seen the bottom. But it's like a television commercial. You can't judge it by the copy alone. Or by the visual alone. It's how the two things work together."
"You know you're so indirect with me," Betty said, every word causing a little jiggle of her gigantic jugs, "you're obviously trying to tell me that you'd like to see me completely undressed."
"I was getting to that," I said. My face was flushed and I could feel my heart beating a maddening rhythm in my chest and temples. And cock.
"But ... then will I get the job?"
"Why, yes."
"And you'll give me $10,000 a year?"
"Yes."
"Fine, then," she said. "I told you I could meet every one of your demands."
She sat on the couch and spent a good minute unlacing her boots. I was fascinated with her huge boobs, the way they shook and bounced as she bent over and worked with the laces. Once she got her boots off, she again stood up. With one deft motion she had her skirt to the floor. With another smooth move, the dainty panties were down. There, in blazing, living, cock-hardening reality, she stood before me. What a beautiful, symmetrical body. What a piece of ass. My secretary.
She struck a pose, with one hand on her hip. Her breasts were so large, there was barely any room for cleavage. I could sense the heat emanating from the deep, dark area between her long, shapely legs.
"Now I get the job?" she asked. The demonstration completed, she bent down for her clothes, her hair tumbling forward, her large breasts doing the same.
"Not quite yet," I stammered, not wanting the goodies to go so quickly. The prick can stand only so much entertainment before it demands action. Mine was clamoring.
"But you promised if I showed you everything I'd get the job." She let go of her clothes and stood up, looking a bit upset.
"Come now, Betty. You've worked in an advertising agency before. You should know by now that you have to take all promises with a grain of salt." I figured the longer I kept talking, the longer she'd keep her clothes off. I wanted all I could get. "Take our national campaign for Nugget Cereal. Do you know what we promise to all those viewers?"
"No."
"We promise to be 34% more nutritious than any other cereal. Think it's a good claim? I mean with all this recent business about what little nutrition most cereals offer?"
"I suppose so," she said, still voluptuously elegant, with her nipples hardening up from the draft in the room, "but what's your point? Aren't you really 34% more nutritious? I know enough to know you've got to prove whatever claim you make on television."
"Ah," I said, throwing my head back, "of course we can prove it. But it's what we call a weasel. A clever little distortion of the facts. You see, it's merely a question of mathematics. In truth, our nutrition value is absolutely zero. Nugget Cereal doesn't have a farthing of nutrition to it. But then, none of the others do, either. So, if you're up on your mathematics, you know that anything multiplied by zero is zero. So Nugget Cereal could also claim that it's 1000% more nutritious. But then, that would be just too unbelievable."
"But you still lied to me," Betty said. No matter what she said, it always came out sultry, sexy, wonderful. The nakedness helped, of course.
"Mustn't ever use the word 'lie' around here. Let's just say I gave you a semblance of the truth. I'm frankly convinced you're right for the job, but as I said before I'm a very demanding person. If you're sure you want the job, there's still a little more to do."
"Of course I want the job. You know I do. Okay. What do you want now?" What could any man want from a naked goddess within reaching distance?
"Well, I would like to get a better look and perhaps a feel of the texture of your skin. You know, today there's a whole new wave of advertising. Everybody's doing close-up work. Tight shots on products. Tight shots on faces. Tight shots on bodies. If your skin can't stand up to that kind of scrutiny, I'd have a serious problem using you in any of our commercials. Come here, Betty. I'll show you what I mean."
She came, or rather floated. With a graceful display of bounces and ripples, her lithe but meaty body was momentarily directly in front of me.
"Here I am," she said.
It was apparent. A scent of gardenias permeated my nostrils and my head went dizzy from her soft proximity.
My trembling hand reached for her bare shoulder. I circled the soft, round bone with my fingers, then let my fingers trail down to where one of her huge breasts just began to swell out.
"Here. What's this?" I said in mock alarm, discovering the tiniest of moles on her alabaster skin.
"That?" she said, glancing down to where my finger was pointing-halfway down her breast. "Oh, that's a birth mark. Why, is there something wrong with it?"
"The close-up camera misses nothing, Betty. That imperfection could ruin our business if we cast you in one of our national campaigns and the viewers saw it."
"But that part would be covered," Betty said all too logically.
"You just never know," I said vaguely, letting my fingers continue their joyful journeying. At long last, after a few self-conscious circuitous routes, my fingers found their way to one of her supremely upright nipples. I twiddled it for a moment, then brought my eyes close up to it. "I have never seen such pure red nipples in my life," I said.
"Is that a commercial problem, too?" she inquired, concerned.
"Could be," I said, still twiddling, more aggressively now. "Your nipples are fine as far as color is concerned. But they're so prominent and large, it would be difficult to suppress them under a bathing suit. Might be too suggestive for the networks."
"I didn't know you had to worry about all those tiny details when you made a commercial," she said. I was amazed at her cool. Although her nipples were indeed responding to my touchings and ticklings-for they became almost monstrously hard and large-her face remained almost without expression. I would have preferred to have her panting and begging. But apparently Betty wasn't the begging type.
"Isn't this interesting?" I said, taking the underside of one of her breast and letting it sit-or what I could fit of it-in the palm of my hand. It felt like a hunk of Jell-O. But a good deal more exciting.
"Isn't what interesting?" she asked.
"How heavy your breasts are. You're not pregnant are you?"
"Of course not."
I bounced the booby in my hand.
"You're sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure."
"You know, I couldn't hire you if you were pregnant. You'd just have to leave in a short time. I can't take any chances."
"Well, don't worry about that."
I bobbled her right breast. Then went over to her left breast and did the same. "Hmmm," I persisted, "I suppose I'll have to take your word, but I'm just trying to make sure." Then I used both hands. And the only thing I was certain of was that I had never held a pair of tits like this in my life. I was also sure that if I didn't attend to my prick's needs-it was almost screaming down below-I'd end up coming in my pants. As I did before.
I removed my hands from her tits-not an easy thing to do-and moved back on my chair. Putting my hand on my chin, I looked up at her quizzically, with concern.
"What is it now?" she asked with a sigh.
"There's only one thing that disturbs me," I said.
"And what is that," she said. Another sigh.
"Your reactions."
"What about them."
"You don't seem to have any."
"What?"
"Well, I mean it's fine to have a beautiful face and body and that you certainly do, Betty. But ... and I don't mean to insult you ... beautiful girls come a dime a dozen in this business. What I'm getting at is that if you're going to be in a commercial ... and be charged with the responsibility of selling millions of people a cereal that they've got no interest in the first place, then you've got to have charisma. Warmth. Aliveness. You see, if you're not convincing on the television, absolutely nobody's going to believe you. They won't buy your product. And if that happens the Nugget Cereal Account will simply move to another agency. If that happens I'll be out of a job and of course, so will you. In other words, unless I can be sure that you can react, breathe life into a commercial, demonstrate your zest and interest in what you sell, both of us will be out of a job."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"
"When I touch you, Betty, for some reason, you have, I don't know, maybe it's kind of a bored expression on your face. I'd like to see you react with some emotion, some passion, some life. Do you think you can do that?"
"I suppose so. I guess if we were making love, it would be easy for me. But, after all, this is simply an interview."
"Ah, yes, but I told you how demanding I am."
"I suppose you did," she said.
I again moved my chair close to her, till I was way within reaching distance. Through her marvelous tits, I looked up at her face.
"Now, Betty, when I touch you, show me something from the heart. A sigh. A moan. A gasp. Anything that demonstrates to me that you've got it."
"I'll try."
I reached up and squeezed both her white tits.
"Aaaahh," Betty said.
"Good."
Then I moved my mouth up to one hard nipple and gave it a five second tonguing.
"Oh, wow," she said.
I was unsure whether these were real responses or simply put-ons, but I contented myself with the fact it didn't make a damn bit of difference.
"Here's a good one to respond to," I said.
I extended my second finger rigidly, then drew it to the entrance of her cunt. With little assistance from me, her cunt lips drew my finger in like a magnet. Her cunt was fiery hot, sopping wet and very roomy. I had my finger in to the hilt. Then I knew she was genuinely reacting.
"Oh, god, that's beautiful. Oh, oh," she moaned, as my finger twisted around inside her hot canal, exploring the upper and lower inner walls of her vagina, sliding in and out, stopping for a momentary flick of her extended clit, then back in for more squooshy explorations.
"Oh, oh, oh," she continued and her hands began toying with my hair, messing it around, pulling on it.
"That's the spirit," I said encouragingly, adding two more fingers to my inner thrusts, "that's the spirit."
With my free hand, I pulled her head down to mine and placed my lips on hers. Automatically her mouth opened, our tongues intertwined and roamed about a bit.
My free hand found an incredibly soft asscheek and I squeezed it, first gently then with more pressure. Then I shifted to the other round globe, kneading and pinching. All the while, our tongues danced together and my finger kept wriggling inside her inflamed cunt.
"Uhhhh. Mmmmmm. Ooooh," she said, the sounds coming from deep within her throat.
Not one to leave a hole unattended, I directed my finger to the tightening of her asshole and with a jerk and a turn had my finger started up that orifice.
"Arghhh. Mmmmmm," she continued.
"Excellent. Excellent reactions," I said, momentarily removing my mouth from hers. At the same time, I finally managed to make sliding headway up her ass and had my finger to the hilt.
The action was sensational. Both fingers worked both hot holes with a fury. Our salivated tongues and teeth and lips hungrily sucked, licked, bit, banged together. Her body jumped and quivered crazily and her huge melons, by now wet and perspired, shook all around. Release, release, my painfully stiffened prick demanded, pushing and butting against my pants.
"My back," she said, moving her lips from mine and straightening up, "it's not a very comfortable position."
"Well, why don't you get on both knees and let your pretty little head just rest here on my warm lap."
She kneeled and without a sign from me, got between my legs and frantically went for my zipper.
"Go get it," I said.
She got it. I lifted my hips and in a moment she had my trousers and underpants lowered to my knees. Elegantly, proudly, majestically, my pulsing prick stood straight up, its throbbing head purple with passion.
"Eat it," I said, holding the monster at the base and directing its huge head towards her, "it'll be good practice. You see, you may have to eat Nugget Cereal in one of the spots and ... well, don't let this on to anybody ... but it's frankly the worst cereal I've ever tasted. It's got kind of a dried up, dusty, funky kind of taste. Sugar and milk and strawberries and bananas just can't disguise that horrible taste. But, of course, that's why we're telling a nutrition story. But you can practice expressions while you eat me. Smile, keep a twinkle in your eyes and don't make a face."
I don't even know if she heard what I said, for she had already begun working on my puffed-up organ. She bid her teeth with her lips, then placed my prick in her mouth and with an expertise that told me she was no newcomer to this kind of play, she sucked my bone right to the base, back and forth, elegant and smooth. Free handed, I, of course, reached for the available breasts, and in concert with her own rhythm, I alternately squeezed her left and right tits. No newcomer at all. One of her hands cuddled my balls delicately, one of her fingers found my asshole and tickled its way as far as it could go, while her sucking mouth lapped and sucked, planted sweet sticky kisses all around it, took tiny exciting bites from the head.
"Ooooh, mmmm. Haaah, wooow!" I groaned.
"Hmm, aaaawww. Grgggle, ooh!" she uttered.
11:00 in the morning at the advertising agency and all was going well.
Abruptly, Betty disengaged my ready to come cock from her hot mouth, stood up, spread her cunt as wide as she could in front of my eyes and said, "Oh, now, now. Do me now, please. I can't take any more play. I've got to have it now."
"That's what my client always says," I said. "He's always got to have his new campaign now. Now."
"Please, don't joke," Betty said, pleading, moving her hairy center region even closer, so I could see in detail the sticky wetness that surrounded her fat, pink, swollen lips, "take me now."
"Oh, all right," I said, feigning a semi-boredom, for no reason in particular. "But remember, I told you my demands are very high. If I'm going to take you, it's going to be different. It's got to be." I reached for a nearby nipple and yanked it slightly to emphasize the point. "It's like a commercial. If it's dull, commonplace, average, nobody cares. But when it's executed with flair, uniqueness, originality, why, then ... then you really have a message of interest."
"But intercourse is intercourse ... isn't it?" she asked, turning her body slightly for me to work on her other nipple. Which I did.
"That's like saying a commercial is a commercial. They're all different," I said, now patting the unbelievably soft skin of her belly.
She took my hand and rubbed it on her swollen cunt. "Different. Same. Do what you want. But do it, please. Now."
"Ready then?" I asked.
"You know I am."
"Okay."
Like a fucking explosion, the telephone rang again. Betty jumped back and my finger, which had just begun another entrance into her hot cunt, fell out.
"Yes, damnit!" I screamed into the phone. I prayed, a split second after that, that it wasn't my boss. It wasn't.
"Hi. Insurance man from Delta again. Sorry to bother you, but I think there was a broken connection before. Damned phone company ... just can't trust them at all. Anyway, I was just getting to the part about an exciting, money-saving new subclause in our latest contract ... "
"You call me once again you fuckhead and I'm going to sue your company!" My finger smelled of cunt juice. "Then I'm going to sue you. And then I'm going to go to an Army-Navy store and buy an axe and find you and chop you into a thousand pieces. So you better fuckin' buy some insurance for yourself!"
I banged the phone down and looked up at Betty, my eyes apologizing for the interruption.
"Where were we?" I asked.
She took my finger and returned it to her still very hot and wet cunt.
"Oh, yes," I said, "now I remember."
"But you said we were going to do it now. I hope that wasn't just one of your phony advertising promises."
"Not at all. I'm ready. We're going to play ... surprises."
"What?"
"Surprises. I just thought it up." Good advertising men have to be quick and original.
"Can't we just do it?" she demanded.
"We will, we will," I said, again removing my hand from her wonderful cunt. "But this will make it oh, so much more exciting. Now, you go over there and stand in the middle of the room. And close your eyes. No peeking allowed. You won't know what to expect and that will make it tremendously exciting. I may grab your ass. Maybe I'll lick one of your tits. Maybe both. Maybe I'll do something that's never been done to you before. It'll really be exciting. But you've got to promise not to open your eyes. That would kill it."
Betty was too anxious, too heated up to question my request. She would have done anything in the horny state she was in. My naked Queen glided to the middle of my office and closed her eyes tight.
"But do hurry," she said.
"Oh, I will. I will," I said.
Still wonderfully erect, I started toward her, not really sure just how I would begin. But on the way I tripped over a pile of story boards I had just presented to the client, unsuccessfully. I fell with a thud.
"What's that?" Betty asked.
"No peeking," I said, embarrassed at my own clumsiness, my own impatience. I got up and again started toward her.
At that precise moment, with Betty totally naked and waiting, eyes closed and I, approaching at full speed, being led by my stiff prick, Paul Finnley, senior writer in my group, stuck his head in the door. Not knowing what to say, his mouth fell wide open and the piece of paper he held in his hand floated to the floor.
Again, the advertising man's quick decisiveness and resources are called upon. I could hide neither my erection nor the red blush that poured from my face. So I simply gestured for him to come in, with a wave of my hand and at the same moment brought a finger to my lips indicating that he shouldn't make a sound.
"Well?" said Betty, her hands now on her hips, anxious and impatient for whatever joyful assaults were about to come. "Where are you?"
"In a moment, in a moment," I said. All the while, indicating to Paul, with a series of frenzied gestures that he should join us by also removing his clothes. And with a couple of bump and grind movements and by pointing a finger at Betty, I indicated that he was at liberty to do as he pleased with my future secretary. I didn't like the idea of sharing, frankly. But I preferred that to having Paul run out of the room and telling the whole agency-not to mention ugly old Miss Gardner, who would undoubtedly find some way of having Betty fired from the agency.
Paul was not the sort of fellow to question the situation. He was as horny as any advertising man-and this I knew from his endless stories of the multitudes of conquests he had made in the short twenty-five years he had been alive.
More practical than I, Paul first closed the door, then began rapidly disrobing. His supermod clothes flew helter-skelter about the office. First his checkered form-fitting jacket, then his wide-striped tie, his ruffled blue shirt, his skin tight flair pants, his orange, square-toed shoes and then his B.V.D.'s ... the only item that was dated. To my competitive disappointment, Paul had me by a couple of good, stiff inches, but this was not a time to worry about competitive masculinity. It was a time for action. Betty, by now, probably drying up and cooling down, again called out.
"What are you doing? What's the surprise? I'm starting to get bored. Come on, now. You promised."
Paul answered the cue himself. With masterful poise, he approached Betty from behind, first reaching his hands around to her large breasts, squeezing them softly, then roughly, with well-experienced fingers. While he did this, his prick embedded itself straight up, flat against the crevice of her buttocks.
"Oh, I like that," Betty said, relieved that at last some real contact was being made with her hot and horny body.
Paul wasted no time at all. With one hand, he redirected his swollen phallus straight to the center of her backside and with some few swiveling and gyrating motions, began inching his steaming rod into her. Once in, he gave a forceful thrust, so forceful, that Betty was forced to bend all the way forward from the waist.
"Oh, wow," Betty cried, "what a nice surprise."
But not nearly as surprising as what happened to her next. I approached her from the front and let my hot cock just barely touch the tip of her cunt lips.
"How do you do it?" Betty asked, her eyes still closed still linking it was only me.
"You'll never know," I said, now letting the tip of my cockhead move slowly into her sticky entrance, "but keep your eyes closed."
My cock well in her fiery furnace, I joined Paul's hands on Betty's tits. Two advertising men never worked so well together. Betty was in an absolute delirium.
"Oh, god," said Betty, getting pummeled from both sides, "this is the most exciting thing I've ever done." Her body went rigid and her head tossed back and forth, so her long hair first hit me in the face, then Paul.
"I told you it would be better if it was different and original," I said and while Paul's engine charged her backside, my own drove even farther into her main channel.
Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Betty broke the rules of the game and opened her eyes.
"Wha? ... " she said, turning her head, shocked at the presence of Paul, not to mention Paul's peter. "Who is he?"
"Oh, gosh, I really am sorry," I said, still keeping a fast rhythm with my thrusts, "Betty, this is Paul Finnley, writer ... Paul, this is Betty ... my next secretary."
"Pleased," said Paul, lunging even more aggressively into her ass, "extremely pleased."
"If I wasn't so damned excited, I'd really be annoyed," Betty said and she shrugged her shoulders as though there wasn't a thing to be done about the situation, closed her eyes and returned to the double banging ecstasy she was receiving.
"I'm sorry, Betty," I said, twiddling her clit with one hand, "I didn't plan it this way. He just walked in."
"Mmm," Betty said somewhere amidst the gasps and moans of her throat.
"Okay, everybody," I said, asserting myself as boss of the situation, as indeed I was, "all together now, let's come."
"Oh, let's," said Paul and Betty in perfect unison.
And so we did.
A trembling trio. Together, a loud chorus of moans and groans echoed from our combined voices. Betty received a jolting double flow of sperm as Paul and I released our hot come at precisely the same moment. Betty was overwhelmed. For a moment, her own body went stiff, then let go, as her entire sweet body shook and shuddered from her own explosive come. A triplicate orgasm.
Betty pushed her pelvis forward, releasing Paul's cock from her ass, then pulled back till mine fell out.
"Whew," Betty said, amidst her still-heavy breathing, "that was absolutely incredible."
"Unbelievable," said Paul.
"You lived up to my standards, Betty," I said. "You've got the job."
Casting
The actual job of casting actors or actresses for our commercials is done by a department entirely separate, known as The Casting Department. As you'd expect. The word 'department' is impressive and suggests a multitude of employees phoning, searching for talent, hurrying and scurrying about. But in truth our entire casting department consists of one man-and I use the term man loosely-Danny Pringle.
Danny is a whiz in this business, has a nose for talent and can get you exactly what you're looking for before the most absurd deadlines. His nose, however, is of no particular interest to me. What he has that interests me, are his hands. The fastest hands in the business. He can grab a feel, even get a finger in and out of a gal before she even knows what happened. But the speed of his hands are only part of it. More important, it's simply how he is as a person.
If I called him a fag, you'd get the wrong idea. His hair is long and blond, each curl painstakingly taken care of daily. His features are all ... adorable, I suppose is the only way to describe them. Long-lashed little eyes. A pert little mouth. And a walk that is less a walk than a float, for sometimes he swishes by so effortlessly, you're not even sure anybody has passed. These are all features that normally describe the term fag. But the odd thing about Danny was that he never had an affair with a man in his life and never intends to. He swore it to me and I believed him. He said he had a thing for chicks, always did, always would, till the day his bone wouldn't happen. His less than masculine characteristics and style of dress-he loved ascot's, the color pink and always wore numerous assortments of fancy bracelets, rings and beads, were nothing more than his "schtick" as he phrased it. He agreed that he looked like a fag. That he swished like one. That he talked like one. But he said that was only for appearance sake. In truth, he told me, he spent twenty four hours a day doing women or thinking lustfully about them.
"What drives me mad with happiness," he had told me, "is that chicks always trust a fag. Heavens. You can get away with so much when a gal thinks you're harmless. And frankly, sugar, I'm about as harmless as a python. You put me within seeing distance of anything with a pair of tits and a hairy box and watch out, baby. Listen, each guy has his own methods. More beautiful power to them. I've got my method and it's surefire for me. If the world wants to think I'm a fruitcake, let 'em. I've probably gotten more fucking in the last two weeks than all those square, button down, square-jawed masculine types."
If seeing is believing, then I believed Danny after the first casting session I went to. Because I saw him work.
That's another joy about being made a vice-president at my agency. You get to go to casting. You get to watch Danny work. And if Danny likes you, his gives you some of the action. Danny liked me.
The casting department is two floors up from where I work. Outside the casting room itself, a series of luxurious chairs and couches are set up. That's where the models sit and wait to be called.
The casting room itself has orange and red flowered wallpaper. "Kind of eases the girls' nervousness, don't you think?" Danny had said to me. In the far corner of the room were all of the accoutrements necessary for casting and auditioning. A five-foot tape machine with a multitude of dials and switches. A video tape machine. Two or three microphones. Floodlights. A piano. The other end of the room, where the girls showed Danny what they had, was simple and uncluttered. A red velvet two-seater couch for Danny and whoever else Danny allowed at the casting session. From that seat Danny would sit and judge the future of the thousands of girls that paraded in. And from that seat he would direct them to do things that any other male casting director wouldn't have the balls to do. Always, he removed his shoes and socks before starting a session. "I love the feel of fluffy carpet between my toes," he said, "and in addition to that, it kind of sets a tone of informality. I mean, you wouldn't believe how uptight some of these girls are when they walk in. But I put them all at ease. In as many ways as I can."
Paul Finnley, the best writer in my group, had just come up with what he said, "is a gang-buster idea." I had to agree with him. Our nutrition story on Nugget Cereal wasn't making much headway. In fact, after running the campaign for over a year and a half, Nugget had dropped into last place in the marketplace and the client was on the verge of seeking out a different agency. The stuff had a flavor story we couldn't tell, since there wasn't any flavor to the cereal at all. It was literally godawful. I preferred Cheerio's. But Paul's idea seemed to be the breakthrough we'd been looking for-for months.
The sixty-second commercial would feature a beautiful, sultry gal wearing as little as the networks would allow us. With soft lighting and a music track to enhance the mood, the gal would hold up a box of Nuggets, kiss the box, fondle it, place it against exciting areas of her body arid say, "Nuggets. Naughty Nuggets. Oh, they're soooo, sooo naughty."
The idea seemed to answer the information of our research. The commercial would be directed towards children. The commercial, if done properly, would stimulate the young child's sexuality. As Paul put it, "the little girls will get wet when they see it, just by identifying with the sultry model. The little boys will experience their first erection. But more than that, the cereal will represent everything they're not allowed to do, everything they're not allowed to have. Screw flavor. Screw nutrition. Today's the kids want no-no's. And Nuggets, naughty Nuggets will be their no-no."
I thought it was a cracker jack idea and put in a $5,000 raise for Paul. The art department did a knockout job on the story board. It was the first "X" rated story board I'd ever presented to the client. They ate it up. They loved it. From the lowly brand man all the way up to the president. They wanted us to produce it as soon as possible and get it on the air immediately.
The key to the success of the commercial, of course, was to find the right gal for the spot. I talked to Danny about the commercial.
"Jesus," said Danny, looking over the story board, "I'm coming already. I can't tell you how excited I am about casting for this spot. For the last two weeks I've had a casting dry period. Nothing but male announcers. Male models. I can't tell you how I hate to cast men. They're so fuckin' boring."
So Danny told me to come up to the casting department on the following Monday. He needed a couple of days to scout up the right talent.
"We'll start at 10:00," he said, with a wave of his limp wrist and a toss of his flowing blond hair, "but don't you dare make any lunch plans. We might be busy eating all day long. Eh, sugar?"
* * *
The first gal to come into the casting room wasn't right for the commercial. I couldn't have described what precisely I was looking for, but intuitively I knew when I saw the right gal-the gal that could steam up the television tube, the gal that could bring out all the repressed sexuality in children-I'd know her. The gal that entered was too clean looking, too innocent, just too nice. She wore, of all things, a red suit to the session. She had a pixie-like face, with short black hair down in bangs on her forehead. She was attractive, but wrong for the spot.
"She's not at all what I'm looking for," I whispered to Danny as the girl read the script. "She says 'naughty Nuggets' like they've just been approved with the Good Housekeeping Seal."
"Of course she's all wrong," Danny said to me in a return whisper. "But, let us not forget she is a woman. Tits and box. You just don't let someone like that go without getting something out of them. If you know what I mean, sugar."
Danny got up from the couch, barefoot, of course and walked over to the young model who had just finished reading the script.
"Listen, sweetheart," Danny said to her, standing in front of her with his hands elegantly placed on his hips, "didn't anybody tell you we're casting for a sexy commercial?"
"Why yes," the girl said, flushing.
"Well, then what's with this stiff, formal red outfit? I'm not going to take anybody that can't project sex, heat, fire, action."
"Well, do you want me to take it off?" the girl said, shyly.
"No. I want you to stick a burlap bag over your head," he said sarcastically. "Of course, I want you to take it off. Get down to your panties and bra. And let's not have any shyness shit, please, honey. I've got a lot of girls to look at."
The girl began removing her outfit and Danny turned to me, still sitting on the couch and winked. In a moment, the girl was down to her underwear. White panties, White bra. Exactly what you'd expect from a virgin.
"Okay," Danny said, hands still on his hips, looking down at the floor, like he was bored with the whole thing, "let's hear it from the top. But this time put some oooomph into it, will you?"
The girl read it again. She read it like the Gettysburg Address. But I was less aware of the reading than the fact that I was sitting in front of a fresh piece of flesh. Her innocence interested me. Danny's method interested me. My cock started up.
"Okay. Okay," said Danny, removing the script from her hand and replacing it with a box of Nugget Cereal. "Caress the box. Kiss it. Make it look like you're horny for the cereal. Treat the box like your last lover. Do obscene things with it. Do any damn thing you like, but do it with sex. If I don't get charged up when you do it, nobody else is going to. So let's give it a whirl."
Danny flicked off the lights in the room, leaving only one small floodlight on her. Danny returned to the couch and sat next to me.
"Okay, honey. Be sexy. Turn me on."
The gal stood there in her bra and panties, holding the cereal box in front of her own box. For a moment she stood there, doing nothing, looking rather helpless, but Danny assisted.
"Kiss it," Danny called out.
She brought the cereal box up to her lips and kissed it on a corner. Like it was the most repulsive item in the world.
"Shit. Are you kissing the box or reading the back of it. Put some passion into it, sweetheart. Make believe it's a big cock."
Danny had a way. In a moment, little Miss Puritan had her tongue extended out and was lapping the corners of the box. I had to cross my legs. I was embarrassed that the sight of a half nude girl working over a box of cereal should have aroused me. But it did.
"Okay, pretty good," said Danny. "Now rub the box across your body. The works. Across your tits, cunt, ass, okay, sweetheart? You're doing just great."
Danny leaned over to me. "God, she's shitty for the part," he said.
The girl followed instructions beautifully. She rolled the box across her bra, eased it down to the front of her panties, then put it behind her, undoubtedly rubbing it on her ass.
"Look, do you want the job or don't you?" Danny called out.
"Yes, of course, I do," she said, sounding a little frightened.
"Then let's get with the program. That's $4 million worth of billing you've got in your hands. I want that box of cereal to come alive."
Danny got up and stomped over to her. I couldn't believe what he did. He simply pulled the rim of her panties aside and slid one of his fingers right in.
"Now, honey, sex isn't my bag. Commercials are what I get paid for. Know what my finger feels? Right now?"
"No," she said. I couldn't understand why she didn't whack him, or just grab her clothes and walk out. But she took it. Maybe she trusted Danny, thinking he was strictly fagsville. Maybe she needed the money. Whatever it was, she didn't resist. My bone could grow no farther.
"I'll tell you what I feel. Lots of woman deep in there. Hot and wet and hairy. Now, honey, that's your sex. That's your fire. Now I want to feel that from you when you act. Or you're all wrong for the spot."
Danny motioned for me to come over, which I did. The girl remained motionless, arms at her sides, still holding the box of cereal. Still, Danny's finger was plugging up her cunt.
"Here," he said to me, "put your finger in here. You tell me if it's my imagination or whether this gal really has some sex to her."
"May I?" I asked the young lady, feeling a little silly. But more horny.
"Of course, you may," Danny said to me, without even letting her get a word in.
So I did. I slipped my finger through the other side of her panties. My fingers met Danny's halfway in.
"Yes," I said, with a spontaneous wiggle of my finger, "I'd say she's got what it takes."
"Can't understand why she's holding back," said Danny.
"Is all this necessary?" the young hopeful finally managed the courage to ask.
"Do you know what you could make if we use you in this commercial, if the commercial goes national and we keep it on the air for just one year? Do you know what you could make in residuals?"
"Not exactly," she said, still receiving a double fingering.
"Maybe $40,000 ... maybe $50,000."
"That much?" she asked, surprised at the possibilities.
"That much," Danny said, "you could retire before you're twenty-three. Now, with that much money at stake, are you going to blow it all by concerning yourself about whether two little fingers inside you are necessary? Believe me, if you've got what it takes, I'll do my damndest to get it out of you. I'm only trying to help."
"Yes," she said, "I'm sorry for being difficult."
"Tell you what," Danny said to her with an endearing smile, "I'll make this whole thing as easy as possible for you. Just make believe you're in front of the cameras. Ad lib. Hold the product up and say anything you feel like saying about the product. While you do that we'll keep our fingers going. You provide the words, well provide the excitement for you. See if that helps."
The girl gave Danny a quizzical look, but he ignored it and simply turned his suggestion into a command.
"Ad lib, damnit. Just ad lib. Do you want the job or don't you?"
The girl held the box up and started saying how much she liked it, how good it was, how naughty it was. While she spoke, Danny lowered her panties just below her public hair.
"Work on her clit. I'll do her ass," he said to me, like it was standard operating procedure for every casting session.
I would have preferred his role, but I didn't argue. I worked on the girl's clit, rotating it back and forth with my thumb and forefinger. Danny stepped behind her, unzipped his pants and in a moment was pummeling her from the rear. All the while, she continued her inane comments about the cereal. But now her words were interrupted with gasps and heavy breathing.
"Yes," she said, "Nuggets are naughty." The words didn't come out too clearly. Danny was pummeling the wind out of her from behind and I was plucking madly away at her swollen clit.
While the poor girl rocked and heaved from Danny's thrusts, I unhooked her bra, letting her sweet titties fall out. Like independent creatures, they danced and jiggled around. I enveloped one of her nipples in my mouth and now had both hands working her below. One stretching and yanking at her clit, the other gushing in and out of her wide, wet cunt.
"Nuggets are ... "
"Oh, forget the reading," said Danny, still pushing into her from behind. Beads of perspiration formed around his forehead. "Just enjoy it, darling."
Enjoy it she did. Her entire body went limp from the overwhelming sensations that overtook her. She took the kneading, the mauling, the pummeling like a hot, horny animal. She gasped and gurgled, helpless to the excitement of it all.
I lowered my head, with my tongue extended out, licking the underside of her shaking tits, then trailed down her stomach till my mouth reached her flooded cunt. Separating the lips with my hand, I tongued her feverishly, my head bouncing back and forth from the thrusts of Danny's nonstop prick.
Danny's aggressive shovings became so great, that our lass's legs buckled at the knees and we all toppled over, Danny still screwed up in her ass, my mouth still slurping away at her sopping cunt. There were flailing limbs all over the place. Casting was really exciting.
I edged myself up on the carpet and slid up so that my rock-hard cock lay against her mouth. Instinctively, she took it in her mouth and with professional perfection, sucked my skin back and forth.
She still persisted with her reading. "Nuggets are naughty."
On the word "naughty," Danny cried out, "Holy beautiful shit!" And he smacked up violently against her backside, undoubtedly drenching her inside with jism. While he came, he grabbed tight to her hips, to make sure he didn't uncouple before he was entirely finished.
She took his orgasm by arching her pelvis all the way forward, at the same time drawing the heated skin of my bone back and forth so fast I thought it would burn off.
My own come splashed into her mouth with wicked spurts and she gasped and tried to yank her head back from the oncoming flood, but I held her head tight, keeping her lips pressed tight until the last ounce was out of me.
The oral, anal spurtings were obviously too delicious to be unheeded. Kicking her legs as wild as she could-with Danny still plugging up her ass-her whole body went crazy and in the ecstatic throes of her climax, she ripped off the top of the cereal box, which she still clutched in her hand.
Danny withdrew from her ass quickly and reached for the box, without the lid. He looked at it, quizzically, then held it up.
"Now, look what you've done. We've just done everything in the book to help give you a little emotionalism, a little spirit and what do you do? You ruin the damn box. That's the last straw. The last straw. Now get up and get dressed. And leave forty-five cents at the front desk, will you?" Danny got up, looking at the box, shaking his head slowly. "Talk about gratitude. Heavens."
The distraught girl left, trying to figure out what had just happened. I shook Danny's hand silently. He was an incredible master.
* * *
My cock hardly had a chance to recede before the next gal walked in. She looked like a Greek goddess. Her blonde hair was up in a high bun and she had a long, white, graceful neck. She was tall, statuesque, classic looking. Sexy, yes-but far too much sophistication for the part. But for the moment my concerns were less on the commercial than on the body that moved so beautifully under the tight fabric of her green pants suit. She took a position facing Danny and myself, waiting for some kind of cue.
"More to the left, darling," Danny said.
She moved more to the left.
"No. More to the right. I want the light to catch you just right."
She moved more to the right.
"Forward, a little," continued Danny.
She moved one step forward.
"No, no, no! You're standing in the wrong spot," he said, sounding aggravated. He rose and went over behind her. Holding her just under her arms, so that the tips of his fingers made contact with the sides of her breasts, Danny moved her a little this way, a little that. I was getting to know Danny well by now. He didn't give a shit if she stood facing the wall. All he cared about was getting his feels. He got them. But he did it so professionally, so matter-of-factly that I don't think the pretty thing was even aware.
"Here. Here's where I want you," Danny said, after positioning her exactly where she had started out. "Now, please read the script. And do it sexy, honey. I want you to turn the words into sex objects."
Danny returned next to me on the couch and crossed his legs.
"She's not wearing a bra," Danny said softly to me out of the corner of his mouth. "I'd say about ten minutes with her and she'll be ours."
"Is it really that easy?" I inquired, having considered myself-before I met Danny that is-a pro in dealing with women.
"That easy," he said, scratching himself delicately under one ear with one of his long, painted fingernails.
"Are you talking to me?" our goddess asked, holding the script out in front of her.
"No. Just read," Danny said.
She read. It was good. Too good. Her diction and enunciation were perfect. The word "naughty" had a decidedly English ring to it.
"Okay," Danny called out after she went through it once, "that's how a graduate of Oxford would do it. Now do it like you got a pair of tits."
"I beg your pardon," she said, apparently distressed at Danny's free use of language.
"Maybe fifteen minutes," Danny whispered to me. "She's a resisting type."
Danny turned toward her. "I said read it like you have a pair of tits."
"You mean I should read it like a woman?"
"Look. I know you're a woman," Danny said, running his long fingers through the curls of his hair in apparent desperation. "You read it like a woman the first time. I don't want the reading from a woman. I want the reading from an animal. A sexpot. And if I may repeat myself ... like you got a pair of tits. Okay? Can you do it? Or are you too proud to be sexy?"
She looked at him for a moment, then at me, without saying a word. I've never met anyone who could turn insult into an art, but Danny was a master at it. Maybe he hit some especially sensitive nerve in the gals. I don't know. But I do know that he got what he wanted. In a moment, our goddess provided us with a reading that had so much animal in it, my cock quivered.
"Now you've got it," Danny complimented her, finally, "but you look too matronly with your hair up like that. Give me the same reading you just did, but take that silly bun out, will you? Hair's sexy. I want to see it."
She removed a couple of clips from her head and the blonde hair came tumbling down. It was a metamorphosis. She went from school marm to wanton woman with a shake of her head.
"Ahhhhh," Danny sang, "That's it. You look great. Now, try one more reading."
She tried one more reading.
"Only one thing bothers me," Danny said, again getting up and going over to her. I didn't think he'd stay seated for long. "There's something about your voice. It's got too many highs in it. Do you know what I mean?"
"Not exactly," she said.
"Well, not enough low texture to it," he said, all of which was bullshit, I was convinced. "You don't get quite enough basic sex into your voice because you're not breathing right."
"I'm not?"
"Listen, sweetie, I was a singing teacher before I got involved in this business. So I know what I'm talking about. If you don't breathe right, you can't get the right control in your voice. Let me show you how."
"Oh, all right," she said ingenuously.
Danny stood there with his arms folded. "Well, how can I show you if you don't unbutton your top? The voice starts deep in your chest, right behind your breasts. I can't talk it to you. I have to show you."
She looked a little bewildered and kept her hands at her sides.
"Oh, no," Danny said, slapping his hand on the top of his head, "you're not going to tell me you're shy? Breasts, breasts, breasts. Everybody's got them these days. Really, now, how can you be expected to take on an adult job if you're going to have such an immature attitude about these silly little things. Now, are you going to unbutton your top, or shall I call the next girl in?"
Danny began drumming his fingers on his hip.
"I'm sorry," she said, finally, as her hands lifted up to her buttons. "It's just ... well, I wasn't really worried about you," she said, with obvious reference to the fact that he was obviously a fag, "but I was concerned about him," she said, gesturing toward me.
"Him?" Danny said with alarm, "he's the one that's responsible for this commercial in the first place. If it wasn't for him, you wouldn't even be here to try out at all."
"Oh," she said glumly. By now she had gotten to the last button. Her hands fell to her sides and she stood there waiting for whatever was to happen next. The top part of her suit opened only slightly, so I could just barely make out the inner puffs of her breasts.
"Well, take it off," said Danny, "do you want to learn something about voice control, or don't you?"
"Yes," she said, defeated. She pulled the top off and let it fall to the floor.
"So what's the big deal?" Danny said, gesturing at her breasts. "What's with all the embarrassment? I'm not turned on sexually. Are you?" he asked me.
"Nope," I lied.
"Okay? Everything okay, now?" Danny said softly to her.
"Yes, I suppose so," she replied.
"Good," said Danny. "Then we can continue."
Good hardly described the pair. Excellent was a more appropriate word. Her round, cherry-topped breasts tilted up toward the center. They looked absolutely appetizing. They looked like they had been sucked into their upright position.
Danny grabbed on to the underside of each of her tits and held tight. "Now, right under this area is the chest cavity. It is where the voice originated. For inside the chest cavity are the lungs. And without air you cannot have sound. Understand so far?"
"Yes," she answered, looking away, as though looking directly at his hands on her breasts would be too uncomfortable a thing.
"Good," said Danny. "Now take a very deep breath and go aaaaaaaaah. I'm going to put my hands on your breasts and I want you to feel, with the pressure of my hands, how your chest cavity expands."
She said, "Aaaaaaaah." Danny grabbed hold of her soft tits and squeezed. To myself, I also said, Aaaaah. I was jealous.
"Feel that pressure?" Danny asked.
"I do," she said.
"Let's do it again, then. It's an important feeling to feel."
Again she "Aaaaahed." Again Danny squeezed. I squeezed my legs together.
"Now read through the entire script once more. While you do, I am going to hold onto your breasts. Concentrate on which of your words create the greatest pressure on your chest area."
She held the script up in front of her as Danny again placed his hands on her tits. For the duration of the reading, Danny's hands felt their way to glory. Restlessly, I twiddled my thumbs. Jealously, my prick throbbed.
"Especially on the word 'naughty'," she said. "That's where I felt the most pressure."
"Good," said Danny, "we're almost there." As he continued talking, he didn't bother removing his hands from her white, wonderful tits. "Now that you know something about the relationship between chest pressure and voice control, let me ask you ... do you know which other part of your body must be controlled when using your voice?"
"Which part?" she asked, tentatively, with some concern.
"Your stomach muscles, of course," said Danny. His words were emphasized with squeezes on her luscious breasts. "When you speak, your stomach muscles contract. Once we understand how they work in relationship to everything else, I think we'll have the battle nearly won."
"And now?" she inquired, looking down at his hands playing with her tits, "what do we do now?"
"We look at your stomach muscles."
"Well, you can see them," she said, putting one hand on the soft, white flat of her tummy.
"But that's not where the stomach muscles originate. That's where they end."
"And where do they originate?" she asked, with growing concern.
"Well, in your pelvis, of course, just a shade above the genitals."
"Oh, dear," she said, flushing.
"Well there you go again, getting all hot and bothered," Danny said. "Are you really so embarrassed to have a body?"
"No ... but ... well, I just didn't expect to have to go through all of this when I came here."
"Do you want the part?"
"Of course."
"Then do yourself a flavor. Let me see your pelvis muscles."
"Do I have to ... take this off?" she asked, indicating her tight, green slacks.
"Unless you want me reaching down in there," said Danny.
I was breathing heavily.
Danny was always, somehow, victorious. She removed her slacks and lo and behold, our goddess wasn't even wearing underpants. One of the largest triangles of bush I had seen in a long time was staring at me.
"I didn't wear any panties," she said dumbly.
"Let's not worry about it," said Danny, now getting down on his knees and bringing his eyes up close to her belly. He scrutinized the area carefully; then he moved his head down, till he was staring directly into her crotch. All the while, she looked at me with a dumb, blank look on her face.
"Amazing," said Danny.
"What's amazing," she asked, with a visible tremble.
"You don't seem to have any groin muscles. I mean on most people they're as obvious as the nose on your face. But yours don't even show. Now how can I demonstrate how you should use them if I can't even see them?"
"Perhaps if you could feel them," I called out, wanting desperately to be a part of this scene.
"I'm afraid that's exactly what I'll have to do," Danny said. "I'll just be a moment, if you don't mind," he said, looking up at our nude, trembling model. "But I need help, honey. How can I reach my hand up in there to feel your groin muscles unless you give me the room to work in. Here. I'll tell you what. Why don't we let him hold you open," he said, gesturing his head in my direction. I didn't have to wait for her to say no. I sprang from the couch like a jack rabbit and in the time it takes to say, "here, let me hold your cunt lips open," I had already done so.
Danny was still down on his knees and he took his entire left hand and inserted it up into her cunt. Our model let out something like a whistling noise as his hand entered. I was on one knee, directly in front of her, separating her lovely pink lips as wide as I possibly could. Her entire body shook like a spastic as Danny's hand probed and roamed around inside her.
"Ah," Danny said finally, "I think I've found them. The groin muscles. Now, honey, can you feel them?"
"I'm not sure," she answered, vaguely. She was in a frenzy. From excitement or from embarrassment, I couldn't be sure. But she was quivering like a little bird left out in the cold.
"Okay," Danny said from below, "do the script once more. This time pay particular attention to what happens with your muscles down here when you hit the word 'naughty.' Okay, honey. Read it."
She began-or at least began trying to read the script. It was difficult. Danny's hand was working furiously now and I was pulling on her clit.
"Wait a minute," Danny interrupted her, "There's no 'Ooooooh, god,' in the script."
"I'm sorry," she moaned, dizzy from the excitement of the four working hands, "I couldn't help it."
"You know what?" Danny said, again interrupting her, for she had started the script again. "My hand isn't really the right shape to get up in there. It's got all these fingers and this funny thumb on it. I wonder if there's anything around that could get up there more comfortably."
"I have an idea," I offered, "wouldn't an erect penis get up there a little better?" I felt the straight terms were more appropriate.
"Excellent idea, sugar," Danny said. "Is that all right with you?" he asked our passionate model. But she didn't answer. She was in too much of a dither to say a word. Her legs were swinging in and out and her breasts were heaving all around. That was a good enough answer for Danny and myself.
Together, we unzipped our flies and pulled out our hard cocks. Since neither Danny nor I were really gentlemen about the matter, we didn't ask the other if he'd like to go first. We simply approached her steaming, wide cunt together. I was surprised to find it was unnecessary for either one of us to back away. There was enough room in there for both of us. Both standing in front of her, at a slight angle, we inserted together. I would have never believed it would be possible. It was.
When Danny and I pushed at different rhythms, the friction of our cocks rubbing against each other was too painful. So after a moment, we worked the thrusts together, as a unit. We were gentlemen about her tits. He took the left and I took the right.
"Zounds," or something like that was the last word we heard from our hot flailing woman. She was lost in a series of groans and moans and pulled violently on our hair.
I felt sorry for the girl, having to go through all of this just to discover that she was all wrong for the job. But a quick listen to her heavy breathing and a quick glance at her parted lips and rolled up eyes, told me she shared the joy equally with us.
"Isn't this interesting, duck?" said Danny, charging deep into her cunt, side by side with my own prick, "here I'm supposed to be teaching you how to control your muscles ... and well, sugar, you've simply lost all control. But, frankly, I think it's divine."
She didn't answer. But her hands went down to our balls and she played them with perhaps too much pressure, squeezing the balls a little too hard. I could understand her frantic fingers, though. I was feeling the same.
In and out, Danny and I plunged, the friction on our own cocks adding to the inside heat.
As I felt the rush of my own come coming, I reached under her asscheek and lifted. Danny saw that she had one foot off the ground and so he too, reached around her and lifted. Straining our muscles, holding her inches off the ground by her soft ass, Danny and I let loose together. Feeling the discharge, our voice student clamped her cunt lips tight like a vise to insure that she lost neither of us at this most precious, heated moment.
We unloaded in unison, forcing our pelvises forward as the delicious juice steamed forward. We still had her in the air and she arched all the way back, kicked her legs wildly and clenched her fists. Then, like some animal from the deep of night, she let out a bloodcurdling yell, then a long, deep sound from down in her throat.
"A mrggggggghhhhh."
"That," said Danny, as the two of us let her feet touch the carpet, "is the sound I've been looking for. Good control. Nice texture. Sexy and sensual."
"Then I get the part?" she inquired, as we both slid out of her.
"Well be in touch, you wonderful, wild animal you," Danny sang.
For the duration of the afternoon, our search went on. Danny's methods and approaches with each of the models absolutely fascinated me. And the fact that Danny let me join in on all the fun absolutely thrilled me. It was a day I shall never forget as long as I live. It was a day my cock couldn't forget for a week. I was so sore from over-activity, tears came to my eyes whenever I pissed. But the punishment was well worth the crime.
Danny had one of the girls suck both of us off. He told her that she needed more lubrication in her throat in order to project the kind of sexuality that the spot demanded.
Another gal got a double-finger frigging. Up her ass and up her cunt. Danny told her she was just too tensed up and that that would loosen her up. It did.
All day long we ate cunt, sucked tits, got sucked, got fucked. We humped and bumped. We did sixty-nine and seventy-four and every other number available to healthy, imaginative adults. We must have deposited a gallon of jism inside cunts, inside asses, on the carpet, on top of chairs, everywhere.
Danny was no fag. He was voracious when it came to women. His balls worked overtime to manufacture the quantity of come he always had ready. By 4:00 in the afternoon, I couldn't have gotten it up for all the accounts in town. I'd had it. My cock was so tired, so exhausted, so pained, it was like a frightened turtle. It wouldn't come out of its shell for the world. Which was really unfortunate. Because the last gal we cast-at 4:00-was the gal we finally decided on. Danny went through his bullshit rigmarole with her, too. But I had to content myself with watching. It was too bad. Because this girl was really something else.
The second she walked into the room, I prayed. I prayed my cock would come up just one more time. But no go. It had had its day. It was through for a week.
This business is full of beautiful girls. Beautiful models come in carloads to the city. But what walked in put them all to shame. She was supreme.
Most gals-if you look carefully at them-have something about them that isn't just right. Mouths are a little too big. Chins too small. Too much forehead. Breasts a little saggy. Too much meat on the thighs. A less than perfect walk. But always something.
But this girl was absolutely 100% perfect. She didn't walk in; she was so utterly sensational when she moved that she literally glided in. The parts all worked together like a well-oiled engine. A slow, graceful, languorous walk. With perfect ass action. Just the right tit thrust. Head up-not way up, like the snotty ones carry their heads-but proudly, exquisitely. The queen wore a pair of dazzling red hot pants. So tight, you couldn't tell them from her skin, except for the color. So tight, the line between her buttocks and a small indentation where her cunt was showed perfectly. I didn't know how she could have possibly gotten into them. And I didn't know how she could ever get out of them. Her legs were tan, taut and smooth. Sensational.
On top, a fancy, frilly half blouse that fell just below the shake of her unfettered tits. With each step, the weight of her breasts caused the white blouse to rise and fall in a delicate rhythm.
Her face was incredible. Soft, full, red pouting lips. Just a hair of a turn on her nose. Large green eyes with the suggestion of an Oriental slant to them. And a full sweep of jet black hair that hung to her shoulders.
This walked in. This female of females. And I wouldn't be able to get it up. I would have to content myself watching Danny. I would have to do it vicariously.
Danny's response was no different than mine. His eyes lit up and his long lashes fluttered excitedly. I could see the bulge happening in his pants. His face lit up with color.
"I'm here to try out for the cereal commercial," she said in deep, rich, sexy tones.
"Yes, well, you certainly are," Danny said with a wave of his arm. "Why don't you just go through the script."
She went through the script. I knew the words were good, but now I thought they were sensational. She said, "naughty Nuggets" like she slept with them. When she finished the reading, even Danny was speechless. It was perfect. His mouth hung open. Or perhaps he was reacting to more basic things. Like how to move in on her incredible body.
"You ever do any spots before?" Danny asked.
"No," she said, "this is my first casting session."
Danny used every piece of information to get what he wanted.
"Oh, heavens," he said, tossing his head back, "then you haven't been through the preliminaries at all, have you?"
"The preliminaries?" she asked, widening her cat-green eyes.
"Yes, the basics. The measurements, the testing ... you've heard about all of that, haven't you?"
"Why, no."
"They won't take long. You don't have to run, do you?" Danny asked, going over towards her.
"I've got a 10:00 date with an old friend. But other than that I'm in no hurry," she said, shifting her weight onto one gorgeous leg.
"Good," said Danny, "because the preliminaries-sometimes take just a little bit of time. Excuse me, hon'."
He swished over to the back of the room and returned with a tape measure.
"Part of the preliminaries, duck, is knowing how you measure. Shouldn't take long."
"My measurements? I know them," she said confidently.
"Oh, not the standard ones. Not bust, waist and hips. In the trade we call these casting measurements. Every actress has them," he said, pulling the metallic measure out of its container. "For example, hon, you wouldn't happen to know your leg distance, would you. For us in the advertising business, that's an essential one. Without knowing what that is, the cameraman wouldn't know how to keep you in focus."
"What's ... leg distance?" she asked, looking a bit perplexed. For all the years I'd been in advertising, I'd never heard of that one either. Danny was a cool, cool operator.
"Here, sweets, I'll show you."
Danny got down on one leg in front of her.
"Here, now, just spread your legs apart a little bit." She did as he requested. My cock stirred, but couldn't go anywhere. Danny placed the heavy part of the measure on the carpet directly between her feet. Then he slowly lifted the coiled strip till it was directly between her legs. The tip of his finger made contact with her crotch.
"Let's see," said Danny, sounding cooler than cold potatoes, "Mmmmm hmmmm. Yes." While ostensibly adjusting the measure into the correct position-all the while moving his hand between the underside of her leg-he looked up at her. "Won't be long. It's the same kind of measurement your tailor gives you when he's making you a pair of slacks."
While he fiddled and felt around, while he got away with absolute murder, the gal looked toward the wall, or up at the ceiling, trying to maintain a professional composure. But she was working too hard at looking indifferent. She knew exactly what was going on down there. But since it was her first session, she apparently didn't want to make a fool out of herself by asking Danny if he had to do what he was doing. So Danny continued, interrupting his obvious feels with comments like, "No, this isn't quite the spot it should be. Let's see, do you measure from the tip of the crotch or the base of the crotch. Mmmm hmmmm. That looks right." Then, "Oh, doll. Could you spread your legs just a little wider. It's hard to get a reading on this tape measure when your legs are so close together."
She separated them even more. I couldn't get it up. But I was flushed with excitement, watching Danny take advantage of the gorgeous creature's utter naivete.
"Yes, well, now we've got that," Danny said, getting off his knee.
"Is that the preliminaries?" she asked, with a sigh of relief, glad that the embarrassing little scene was over.
"Oh, gracious no!" Danny said in his most dulcet tones, "There's still more to determine. For example, do you have buttocks flex?"
"Do I what?" she asked, now appearing more nervous than before.
"Buttocks flex. It's how well you control your gluteus maximus muscles. Without proper control, you can't take good direction when the director tells you how or where to walk." Danny was incredible. More incredible, I think she believed him.
"Really?" she said, "I didn't know that."
"Yes. Well, let's find out what your buttocks flex is like. Here. Just touch your toes and turn around so your backside is facing me. And please, sweetie, try to do it without bending your knees. It screws the whole test up."
Having no other choice, given the situation, the living doll turned and bent over, exposing her backside to Danny and myself. Each asscheek was perfectly round.
"Okay, now, I'm going to place my hands on either side of your buttocks. When I say go, tighten up your ass muscles. When I say stop, relax them. Got it?" Danny looked at me quickly and winked. A sly smile appeared on his face. "Okay, go."
I could see the material move as she tightened up. Danny had his hands firmly on her ass and squeezed.
Still bent forward, she twisted her head, upside down, to look at Danny.
"Can I get up now?"
"What'd you have to wear such tight pants for?" Danny said, shaking his head like he had a serious problem.
"Excuse me?" she asked, straightening up, without a cue from Danny.
"The pants. They make it impossible to feel the flex." He gestured toward her zipper. "Could you, honey?" he inquired as sweet as flowers, "just drop them for a moment. Without being able to know your flex, we can't cover the preliminaries."
"Must I?" she asked, looking over at me, perhaps for some help. I looked away.
"You've got to, sugar."
Damnit. Why had I been so wasteful with my cock all day long. It just didn't have the energy to get hard. What a time to be impotent. Miss Hotpants unbuttoned the top of her pants down. With them came her underpants. When she had struggled to get them just to her knees, Danny put a hand on her arm.
"Okay, sweetie. That's good. You don't have to take them all the way off. I'm no sex fiend." I had to keep from laughing out loud.
She had a thin line of bush that started between her legs and rose up, thinning out about three inches higher. The cunt hairs were so soft and fine they didn't do a thing to cover her private parts. Displayed, in pink and pouting elegance, were her two cunt lips. She blushed and put her hands in front of her pussy.
"Okay, turn around and bend over. Remember, don't bend at the knees. Here we go."
She turned around and returned to her earlier position. Her soft, white asscheeks were so incredibly inviting that I literally licked my chops. Danny did more. He put his long fingers on her ass and gave her go, stop commands, all the while squeezing the daylights out of her ass. When he told her she was finished with this particular preliminary, her cheeks were red from his pinching and squeezing.
"Okay. You can straighten up now. Your flexers are good. Shouldn't pose any problem in front of a camera."
"Can I lift my pants back up?" she asked, as soon as she turned around.
"Soon. Soon, sweetie," said Danny. "But now comes the biggest preliminary of all. It has to do with your control mechanism."
"My what," she asked, her hands immediately covering her private parts.
"Don't tell me you never heard of that?"
"Never," she said.
"The control mechanism. Every good actress has an excellent control mechanism. All it is, honey, is your ability to keep yourself from reacting to extraneous things. For example, we shoot you in a commercial and the lights get hot. You can't just perspire. It would ruin the shot. So you've got to utilize your control mechanism. To keep yourself from sweating."
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
I didn't know what he meant either. But it was getting good.
"It's a kind of mental control. How can I explain it better?" Danny said and he started pacing around the room. Finally he stopped and clicked his fingers. "Ah, yes, I've got it. Take sex, as an example. When someone touches you, your body reacts. Now if you have a good control mechanism, you can keep yourself from reacting. It's really that simple."
"Well, how do you find that out," she said.
"Easy as pie," Danny said, again going to the back of the room. He went to a wooden table, cleared off some papers and mechanical equipment, then pushed it over near her.
"Here," he said, "get on the table. But I think for this one you better remove your pants. I think they'll get in the way."
She flashed what looked like an angry expression at Danny, but then proceeded to do as he asked. The pants went down to the floor and she sat up on the table.
"Now, honey, lay back. That's it, all the way back." She did as she was told. "That's a good little actress," Danny soothed. "Now bring your legs all the way back so that your feet are on either side of your head. I know you might think this a little embarrassing, but you have to understand every decent actress goes through this. It's really quite painless."
Like a trained seal, her gorgeous legs shot back, opening and exposing her cunt and asshole.
"Now, sugar, relax. I'm going to touch you. If you're at all any good you'll be able to work your control mechanism. Now, try not to react. Try to keep your body from reacting, no matter what I can do."
Danny's head moved in between her open legs and he began lapping her cunt.
"Uh, uh. No wiggles. Don't tremble. Just try to ignore it. It's crucial if you want the part."
Again his head went down. All I could see was his head rolling back and forth, back and forth. She barely moved a muscle. While Danny worked her over with his tongue, his hands worked on his zipper, undid it; then he pulled his pants down. His rod stuck out fiercely.
"No reactions now, sugar."
In a flash he was up on the table and plunged deep into her. His ass and balls jumped around furiously as he screwed the daylights out of the poor, defenseless girl, who still kept her legs swung back to her head. Danny pumped harder and harder. So hard, that a leg of the table buckled under and in a second the entire table toppled down with the two of them landing with a thud on the floor.
Something's are too good to be interrupted; Shifting their bodies slightly, they returned to exactly the same position on the carpet. I don't know where Danny got the energy. In vain, I fondled my cock, but it hung like a limp rag. It was useless.
Momentarily, Danny was calling out, "Oh, sweet Jesus, Oh, mother, Oh, heavens, I am coming, coming, cooommming!" Danny came.
Very slowly, Danny eased himself up from the girl. Then he bent down and extended a hand to her. Shakily, a little wobbly, she stood up, like a new born colt.
Shamefully, she looked over at me, still sitting on the couch, no expression on my face. There were tears in her eyes. She looked at Danny.
"I controlled it. I controlled it," she said. "I didn't come. I didn't react. I hope you weren't taking advantage of me."
"What do you mean," said Danny, "you've passed the test beautifully. You've got the part."
"Danny never takes advantage of women," I chimed in. "He's a fag."
Hiring Female Copywriters
It is a truism in the advertising business that all female copywriters are either attractive or put out or both. The reason is fairly simple. Advertising is essensentially a male business, so if a female wants to break in, she has to pay her dues to the male inner circle.
One of the joys of being a supervisor and a vice-president is that females are always calling you for a job. There are never any available. Or rarely, anyway. But any supervisor worth his soul will do the interviewing, anyway. There's remote chance she'll really be a good writer and when an opening happens in the group, it's nice to know there's a good writer available. More than likely, though, the supervisor likes the opportunity of having a damsel in economic distress, sitting before him, begging. It feeds his ego and more often than not, ultimately feeds his sexual appetite, too.
I have interviewed scores of females for the job. I'd have difficulty recalling their great copy lines, or their key visuals, or their award winning radio spots. All that is a hazy blur somewhere in the back of my mind.
What I can recall, however and in detail, are the relevant little things. Nipple size and color, shape and design of the breasts, depth of cunt, tightness of asshole, softness of skin, attitudes of willingness or resistance. I can recall unusual positions and unusual places where the unusual positions took place. I can recall all of the meetings I've postponed or missed because I was too busy moving my limbs into one of those unusual positions. And I can recall their tears as I would tell each and every one of them-after we had cavorted about on my rug, or couch-that I was sorry, nothing was available now but I'd let them know if anything came up. Job-wise, that is.
Another nice thing about interviewing a female copywriter; you don't really have to be so sneaky with your intentions. Danny Pringle, for example, our casting director, would never be direct with the girls about what he wanted. He always had some clever ploy, some strange reason for wanting to touch them here or there, or have them show him this or that.
But when you're interviewing a female writer, you can be a lot more direct. You don't have to sneak up on them. You can let them know you are interested in them sexually. They usually take it as a compliment. And most of them feel that if they give you what you want, they'll get what they want-the job. But they're usually wrong.
As a case in point, there was Louise.
That particular morning, I had three writers in my office. Paul Finnley, Samson Hobart (an old pro-forty-who was good, but never made supervisor because he was always so argumentative) and Freddie Talbert, a young, new writer. We were discussing some exploratory ideas for doing Nugget Cereal in print. Paul, who had originated the "Naughty Nugget" idea, wanted a full page display of a gal in a negligee, caressing the box of cereal. Samson didn't agree. He thought there was no reason to be so literal with the visual. He wanted the whole ad simply in bold type, with a shot of the package in the lower left hand corner.
"You got to be subtle, today," he said, raising his voice like he always did when he sensed a losing position, "Christ. Everybody's using half nude girls to sell their products these days!"
"But we should have some consistency with our television campaign," Paul said calmly. "We're using a gal on TV. Let's use her in print, too. Before long, people will begin to associate our product with that piece of ass."
"How do you feel about it?" I asked Freddie, whose head was swiveling back and forth from Paul to Samson, silently.
"I think they both have a point," he said quietly.
"Well, of course they do. But take a position. If you were supervising this account, which decision would you make?" I inquired, trying to keep him from copping out.
"Well ... " he said. I suppose he may well have had a point of view, but didn't want to offend either one by disagreeing with them.
"Well?" said Samson to Freddie, almost threateningly.
"Well?" asked Paul.
"Hello," said Louise.
We all spun toward the door. Louise stood there. Red hair, red sweater, white pleated skirt, with a portfolio under her arm. Copy meetings become irrelevant when a pretty girl enters. First things first.
"We had a 10:30 appointment," she said sweetly, "I'm sorry I'm interrupting."
"Oh, you're not interrupting," said always horny Paul.
"Not at all," said Samson with a Cheshire grin on his face, looking her up and down.
"It's all right," said young Freddie.
"Well," I said, glancing quickly at the obvious curves of her body and taking control of the situation, "you guys are interrupting me. Why don't you work out some decision amongst yourselves and we'll talk about it after lunch?" First choice is one of the advantages of being boss.
Glumly the three of them rose and filed out. All giving her the once over as they passed by.
"I suppose you'd like the door shut," said Samson, sarcastically.
"That would be sweet of you," I said. "Won't you come in?" I said to the lovely thing, with a warm gesture of my hand.
"Thanks," she said. She came over to one of the chairs facing my desk and sat down.
"Got a resume?" I asked her, using my most sensitive, masculine voice.
She handed me a piece of paper across the desk.
"Louise Kinnley?"
"Yes," she said. A little nervously. Pretty girls are always nervous on interviews. Most of them know exactly what's in store for them.
"Mmmm hmmmm. Mmmmm hmmmm," I said glancing down the page. "I see you've been without a job for three months. Why is that?"
"Oh, you know," she said with a pretty blush on her lightly freckled face, "hardly anybody is doing any hiring now. Money is tight all around."
"I see. Do you have a book?"
Louise handed over her portfolio to me. I laid it on my desk, unzipped it and spread it out. Silently, I went through the print ads and the stats of her commercials, all neatly placed behind acetate sheets. Without comment, I closed the book and zipped it back up.
"How much are you asking?" I inquired. I didn't let on that I thought her book was absolutely terrible. Trite, cliche headlines. Schlocky visuals. No wonder nobody wanted her. For a job, that is.
"Fifteen."
"Would you take twelve?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Ten? How about ten?"
"Gee. I don't know."
"Well, how about eight?" I asked.
"Eight? Seriously. Am I that bad?"
"I didn't say that. I just wanted to know how desperate you were for the job."
"Well," she said, that engaging blush returning to her wonderful face, "I don't know that I'm ... desperate."
"Three months is a long time without work."
"You don't have to tell me that."
"Can I ask you something point-blank?" I said, gazing directly at her.
"Well, yes, I guess so."
"Would you sleep with me for the job?"
Silence. She looked at me, amazed at my candor. Then her eyes dropped down. Nervously she began to fiddle with a pencil, which she took from my desk. Finally, after a few moments of furrow-browed concentration she spoke.
"You mean for eight thousand ... or fifteen?"
"That's beside the point," I said, not wanting to commit myself to any kind of money, since I knew she was all wrong for the job, anyway.
"Well, I don't know."
It's not hard to read a yes. My cock read it. It came alive under the desk and grew rapidly, happily.
"Not sure, eh?"
"No. Not sure."
"How about just a little feel? Would you allow me that if I gave you the job?"
"Gosh, yes," she said.
I reached across my desk and gently put my hand on her sweater, over her breast. I squeezed softly, enjoying the soft play of her flesh under my hand.
"Do I get the job now?" she asked.
"I didn't say you could have it now. I just wanted to know what you're willing to give for it."
"Well, gee, I don't know exactly what I'd give for a job. I mean I brought my book in here, because I thought there were some pretty good things in it. I mean I'd like to be hired on that."
"Fifteen thousand worth?" I said with alarm, "why that's $300 a week. That's an awful lot of money."
"Not if you're good," she said.
"Well, you're not that good." Silence again. "I mean, judging from your book, you're not that good. But your looks are pretty good."
"Are my looks worth $15,000 a year?"
"Tell you what," I said. "I don't like this bargaining any more than you do. Let's just make love, clear our systems and then talk about the thing again with a clean slate. Okay?"
"I really should be going," she said, taking her portfolio.
"I mean we'll discuss salary. Maybe we'll talk about $20,000 a year."
"You're kidding," she said, depositing her portfolio on the rug by her feet.
"Maybe $30,000. Listen, Louise. This agency is made of money. They find the right person, they're not going to start bickering over ten, fifteen thousand dollars. That's peanuts to an agency this size." I looked at my fingernails, confidently. When you're confident, it's the best part of your body to look at."
"Then ... " she was finding the previously mentioned sum of money quite incredible. Frankly, so was I. But when you're hungry, you do what you have to in order to eat. "Then ... you may hire me at $30,000?"
"I may indeed. Afterwards."
"Where shall we start?" she asked, her hands grabbing hold of the lower portion of her sweater.
"Right there's just fine. Just flip it on over, cast aside your bra and let's let nature take its course."
Flip she did, flinging the sweater aside, so an arm of it hung on my couch. Then she reached behind her, unfastened her bra and tossed it into the air. Cupping her own hands under her well-formed tits, she lifted them up and offered them to me.
"Here," she said. And then, more to herself, "Wow. $30,000."
"You want me to climb over the desk to get them?" I asked, knowing damn well that if she said yes that's precisely what I would have done.
"I'm sorry. I'll bring them to you."
"Swell."
She got up, still holding her tits out. She came over to where I was seated and leaned her boobs directly into my mouth.
I worked on the left one first, circling my tongue around her tit in smaller and smaller circles, moving slowly to the center, till I ended up dead center with her cute little nipple in my mouth.
"Mmmmm, good," I mumbled through the lapping.
Then I turned my attention to her right tit and performed the same circling ritual-kind of a little self-imposed tease-because I was really a nipple man from way back. But in time, the smaller concentric circles again led me to her rubber tip and I worked on it like an executive who hasn't had a donut with his morning coffee.
Then, raising my hands and squeezing the pair tight together, I munched on both her nipples together, lapping, biting, sucking and doing other orally noisy movements. In due time, the muscles (I suppose it's the muscles. What else could it be?) in her nipples grew as hard as my cock. This was much more fun than the copy meeting.
Having eaten sufficiently on her upper portions, I leaned back in my hair and put my hands behind my head.
"You know," I said, smacking the aftertaste with my lips, "you're very tasty. That was an absolutely delicious appetizer. I must speak to our office canteen about serving tits up for breakfast. You should taste what they call donuts. Yeccch. Anyway, what's next?" I felt like a kind being served and serviced by a sumptuous subject.
"What would you like next?" she asked with an absolutely prize-winning smile. Then she shook her head and again said, in disbelief, "$30,000. I really can't get over it."
It's incredible how money motivates. Just wonderful.
"Next? Mmmmmm. Let's see. Listen, why don't you suggest something? I really don't want to exert too much energy this morning, if you don't mind. I have to conserve my energy for this afternoon. Client meeting. Those sessions always demand full energy."
"Want to eat me?"
"Oh, all right," I said calmly. "Will you prepare everything for me?"
She nodded and once again, as she began removing the pleated skirt from around her waist, she said to herself, "$30,000. Why, I could get a new apartment, a new boyfriend, a new wardrobe ... " The black panties were finally off. Naked, except for a pair of flats, which she kept on for no particular reason, she moved toward me, thrusting her pelvis towards my face.
"Listen, Louise, I told you I don't want to do any work. Now I can see you've got an awfully big bush of flaming red pubic hair down there. Now I don't want to have to spend the morning picking little pieces out of my teeth. And how would it look ... me presenting a commercial to the client with hair coming out of my mouth? Come on, pull the hair aside for me, separate the lips. Make it easy for me. Okay?"
"Okay." And so she did. Leaning in, I took a preliminary lick and finding the flavor pure and sweet and just to my liking, I returned my mouth to her slit. Darting my tongue on and around her little clit, I inserted my tongue as deep as I could up into her hot cunt, Nibbled on her inner thighs as a breather, Then returned to her wet and wild cunt.
I say wild because she began shaking her pelvis around so frantically, I kept losing my place. I would direct my tongue toward her clit, but as soon as I'd make initial contact, she'd get so jumpy and quivery with excitement, that I'd find my tongue on her belly button, or somewhere else. To control the sweet devil, I had to grab tight to her asscheeks, which were also flipping and flopping around. But with some measure of control over her jerking, I at least could plan with some accuracy where my next bite or lick would land.
"Oooooh. $30,000. Woooow. Aaaah. $30,000. Whew. Ooooh" she moaned.
"I'd like to take you now. I mean, I don't want to do the work. Actually, I'd like you to put it in. As I said, I want to conserve my energy for this afternoon. So, here, why don't you come sit down on me?"
All she had to do was move forward slightly and bend her legs. As she did this, I found the energy to at least undo my own pants, so that when she landed, there'd be an instrument waiting for her. She landed easily and there was but a split second before I was entrenched deep inside her. Such is the value of wetness.
The tigress pumped and jumped with a fury, so violently, in fact, that three times my bone slipped out and we had to take time out to redirect it back in. Her arms had circled round my head so tightly that I felt I was trapped in a head lock. I tried to remove my head as she bounced on top of me, but she was too strong. She was getting the fucking of her life. Shit, she should give me the $30,000.
There comes a time when things get too good to go on. Our time came. Together. The only way, really. She pressed harder with her head lock vise and I hung on to her nipples. With her belly smacking up against me, we let go together. I, with a flood of fluid. She, by one tremendous tremble and a loud wail.
Without a word, she got off me and returned her clothes to her delightful body. I slid my pants back on.
"Well?" she finally said, after she looked essentially the way she had when she entered, fully clothed, portfolio in hand.
"Well, what?" I asked, dabbing at some escaped semen on my pants with a napkin.
"Do I get the job? Do I get the $30,000?"
"What television campaigns do you have running right now?" I inquired.
"Now?"
"Now."
"Well, I don't. I mean ... " she sounded flustered, "I mean you remember that story board for Mrs. Berkin's bread in my portfolio? The one in animation where the little bread crumbs dance around the table and sing about flavor?"
"Yes. I remember that."
"Well, it got all the way to the client. Went through my supervisor. Through his. Through all the account men. And it finally got to the client."
"Well, did they buy it?"
"Oh, they don't know a good commercial when they see one. Have you seen the dirt they're running on the air this year?"
"Yes," I said, "there is an article in Madison Avenue about the campaign. It's moved their business up 44 per cent in less than a year."
"It did?"
"It did. Do you want to see the article? I have it here."
"No. Thank you," she said as she parted. "I believe you."
* * *
Then there are the pushy types. Like Margo. I'm sure she does the same thing every interview she goes on. I'd like to believe there's something intrinsically more sexually appetizing about myself, but I don't think it was me-personally-that motivated Margo to the extremes that she went. I think she pulls that stuff at all her interviews. I'm not complaining, I enjoyed every minute of it. But I'm not stupid enough to give a girl a job just because she takes the initiative. And believe me, Margo took the initiative. Actually, it was refreshing.
Like Louise Kinnley, like so many female copywriters running around jobless, Margo's portfolio demonstrated little else to me than that she had the coordination to slide print ads under acetate sheets. Or maybe her mother did it for her. Anyway, her book was lousy. There wasn't an original idea in it. Old hat stuff that ran on television in its early days. She was insulted when I suggested she try another line of work.
"Why don't you try modeling, or something, Margo? You have a nice enough face. Maybe you could pose for Vogue or something. But really, I can't hire you on the basis of your book. It's just no good. And I'm only telling you this for your own good."
Margo was attractive, but too thin. Flat as a board, too. But perfect, really, for one of those fashion magazines.
"No good, huh?" Margo said to me. "I'll show you something good. You ready for this? Did you ever see a girl who could wink her nipple?"
"Did I what?"
I said did you ever see a girl who could wink her nipple?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Well, you're about to."
Margo undid her blouse, exposing a chest that could have been a man's except for the size of her nipples. There was just no swell under them.
"Are you watching?" she asked, holding the sides of her blouse apart. She kept her thin, long face back proudly.
"Yes, I'm watching."
"Okay, here goes."
I guess she did it by contracting her chest muscles. I don't know. But it was weird. She could actually make her nipples move slightly in and out. First she did them together. Then one at a time.
"Hey," I said, really rather fascinated, "that's a great act. Forget modeling. All you got to do is put out a sign and advertise your thing. 'See the Girl With the Winking Nipples.' It'd be great. They'd flock from miles around. You'd be in Life. On television. Interviewed. Written about. Famous."
"Well, doesn't it excite you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean ... when I go like this ... " and again she "winked" them so they jiggled around, "doesn't it turn you on? I mean, sexually?"
"No. Should it?"
"Jesus," said Margo, dismayed, "you sure there's nothing wrong with you? I've done this for other fellows and they come in their pants. I wink and they come. I don't understand why it doesn't turn you on, unless you have some sort of sexual problem."
"I'm sorry, Margo. But it doesn't turn me on."
"I know why," Margo said, like she just figured it out.
"Why?"
"You're too far away. You can't really see them winking. If you got up close you'd really get excited."
"I don't think so."
"You're afraid to try."
"No. I'm not afraid to try."
"Prove it."
"Margo, please. You're really being very immature. You came in here for an interview. I looked at your book and I don't like it. Look, maybe somebody else will think your work is sensational. But I don't. So I am not going to hire you. So don't think by showing me your winking nipples that you're going to change my mind. I'm sorry. But I can't hire you. And I'm sorry ... but your ... winking nipples don't do a thing for me."
"Ooooh, you talk big sitting all the way over there," said Margo, "but I'm telling you if you were here, right up close and you watched what I did to my nipples, you'd go out of your bird. I guarantee it."
"No. You're being childish."
"Don't accuse me of being childish just because I have such small breasts. It's not a very manly thing to do. You've hurt my feelings." She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. "And I'm going to tell your boss on you. I'm going to tell him that I came in for an interview and you were nasty to me and hurt my feelings. And wouldn't respond to my winking nipples. I'll bet he'd respond to them."
There are certain characteristics that tie all women together. All of them-every single one of them-when they don't get their way, pout and cry and make a scene.
"Okay, Margo," I said, thinking of the possibility that she might really talk to my boss, which would obviously turn into a messy situation, "I'm going to come over to you and take a real close look. But you have to promise me than when you're through winking, you'll go. Okay?"
"Okay," she said, beaming.
I got out of my chair, walked directly in front of her, then leaned down, close, so that my eyes were about an inch away from one of her long, red nipples.
"Okay," I said, "go ahead and wink."
"Wait a sec," she said.
"What now?"
"Can I hold onto your thing while I wink?"
"No."
"Just the outside of your pants."
"No."
"But that's the way I always do it. That's part of what gets everybody so excited. And anyway, if you don't let me, I'm still going to tell your boss. I really will."
"Okay," I said, defeated, "hold on."
A childish, victorious smile spread across her face. Then she reached out and grabbed my pants, right over my cock. She began squeezing the material. I had to force myself to keep from reacting.
"Okay," she said, "now watch."
Again she did it. Her nipples wiggled around. But while she did it, she increased the pressure on my pants. She was squeezing rapidly now and I couldn't help myself from getting hard. In a matter of moments, I was stiff and swollen. Really, her nipples did nothing for me. But she had terrific hand action. The sneaky bitch.
"Told you," she said gleefully. "That's no rock in there. It's no flashlight ... " Still squeezing the daylights out of my cock, "that's no rod and reel in there. Baby, that's dick, long and hard and plenty excited. Did I tell you you'd get excited if you got up close ... or didn't I?"
"You certainly did," I said straightening up, torn between returning to my seat and asking her to go now, or having her continue. The latter seemed much more appealing.
"Well, I've got to tell you," I said, her hand still massaging the fabric just over my prick, "that even if you manage to excite me sufficiently to do things with you ... you still can't have the job."
"Let's talk about that later," she said. She brought both hands to my fly, unzipped it, then reached inside and in a matter of seconds had my straining cock sitting in her hand.
"Wow," she said, bringing her head close to it, examining the head, then the underpart, "it's really beautiful." Slowly she began pumping it back and forth with her hand, till a little drop of juice appeared at the tip. Her tongue darted out and back, just once, so that the drop disappeared. Then she continued with her hand work.
She got me to a fevered pitch-she just sensed that I was on the verge of exploding right then and there-and then she abruptly stopped.
"Wanna talk about the job now?" she said, running her hands through her hair, while my cock stood out hard and red.
"I don't want to talk about anything, now," I said.
"Oh, very well," she said calmly and began buttoning up her blouse. "You know, I can imagine how uncomfortable it must be for you to have such a big erection as that ... to be so close to coming ... and then have to forget the whole thing. I suppose you'll just have to jerk off or something when I leave. And you know," she said, finishing the top button and tucking her blouse back into her skirt, "there's nothing like the real thing. I mean when you think of it you could have let me blown you ... and then you could have slid your thing as far as you wanted inside me and simply had a wonderful orgasm." She rose and started toward the door as I remained standing there, still erect, looking angry. And frustrated. "And the funny thing is, you could still have all those wonderful things, if you'll just change your mind about the job. Look, if you don't think I work out too well, you can always fire me. But I just want the chance." Mockingly, she stood near the door and swung her portfolio back and forth. "So it's up to you. You know, for an executive, you look awfully silly standing there with the thing like that. You really do."
"You really want it that bad, eh?" I said, angrily.
"Yes. I want it that bad."
"Okay. I'll give it to you."
"Honestly?" she said dropping her portfolio.
"Honestly. But come over here."
She had taken one step toward me before I practically charged her and was all over her. I maneuvered her over to the couch and desperately lifted her skirt and yanked her panties down. I spread her legs apart and started moving in.
"You're really going to give me the job?" she said again.
"Job?" I asked, screwing up my face, as my cock entered the portal of her cunt, "who said anything about a job. I said I'd give it to you and that's exactly what I'm about to do."
"But ... that's unfair!" she protested, trying to push me off of her. But it was no use, I had already entered and was in an inch worth.
"About as fair as leaving a man standing around unsatisfied."
She struggled violently, grabbing at my hair, kicking her legs up and down. But like the books say, never panic when you're drowning or being taken, for it makes it happen all the sooner. And it's true. The more she wiggled and squirmed around, the deeper my cock went. She yelled and flailed and I was in to the hilt.
"You bastard," she said.
"You bitch," I said.
To the tune of these endearments, locked together, we rocked sweetly back and forth. Her violent flailing had settled down to a comfortable rhythm and now she was, finally, working with me. In and out, back and forth, a pair of happy lovers doing their thing.
"Bastard."
"Bitch."
The accusations only added to the fire. Faster we frolicked, up and down, up and down, squashing and crushing my early morning story boards. What she didn't have in the tit area, she made up for with her cunt. Larger than most, hotter than most, it sucked my cock in like an independent thing, till I could hold it in no longer.
With a series of thrusts that were so forceful I thought I'd separate her into two halves, my long awaited orgasm came, gushing, spurt after spurt. And responding to the message, my little tit winker joined the release, grabbed onto the back of my head for support and let out blood-curdling yell that could have awakened the dead.
Instead, it brought to my door the head of my boss, Alex Barker. Fortunately, he is a man who is so dedicated to the profession of advertising, so involved in the details of the day to day work, that I seriously doubt whether the scene that was embarrassingly placed in front of his eyes even registered. For he simply said, "Hi," came in my office, walked over to my desk and said, "Do you know where that Reader's Digest print ad is?" And without getting up from Margo, or apologizing, or doing anything, I answered, still on top of her, "No, it's not here. Paul's got it in his office."
"Thanks," he said and out he went.
I have never found out whether he was truly oblivious, or tried to save me my own embarrassment by making no comment about the scene, but the subject was never brought up and of course, sex and advertising are such related fields, anyway, that I suppose the matter wasn't of any consequence.
At any rate, I looked down at Margo.
"Oh, Margo, that was my boss, Alex Barker. He's the guy you were going to complain to. If you'd like to, please feel free, because I am not going to give you the job and by the way," I said, lifting off her and putting my pants where they properly belonged, "his office is number fifty six."
"You're a bastard," she said to me as she left.
"And you're a bitch," I said charmingly as she slammed the door behind her.
The Female Reps
Every photographer in town is looking for business. Every production house is looking for business. They get their business from the advertising agencies. But how is the advertising agency suppose to know which photographer to use. Or which production house to turn to?
They make it easy for us. They send over female reps. Now since all photographers are equally bad and all production houses are equally bad, you, as an agency man, make your decision on the basis of the girl they send over. Theoretically, the girls come to see you to tell you something about the kind of work you can get if you use their employers. Theoretically, they come to see you to tell you about how fast they can deliver work, how inexpensively they'll do it and of what high quality it will be. Theoretically. What the girls are really there for is to let you look down their dress, let you look up their dress and let you do practically anything else you're in the mood to do. If you like what you see, you take what you want. And once you get what you want, you feel obligated. So if Suzy lets you fuck her and it's better than fucking Mary, then-when you're in need of a photographer-you turn to the photographer that Suzy represents. It's really that simple. And it's really that much fun.
So instead of trying to improve the quality of then-work, photographers try to improve the quality of their reps. The result is that the world's most gorgeous, most giving girls, are all reps. They don't wear bras. They don't wear panties. They're ready for action, night or day. Advertising is a tough, competitive business.
Langford Sanders is an unknown photographer I use for almost all of my jobs. If his photos aren't great, at least he used a great deal of taste in selecting Elvira. I continued to use Langford because, frankly, I continued to use Elvira.
Elvira is an energetic, dark-skinned Puerto Rican with enough fire and flame in her to take on the whole office (if she hasn't already). She's got a little black pony-tail that gives her a look of childish innocence. But she's no child. And she isn't innocent. She's got an accent that's thicker than gravy. But in the ecstatic throes of orgasm, a moan and groan in any language will do.
The first time she came to my office to see me, she asked if it would be all right if she closed the door and lowered the shades on my windows. It was quite an aggressive request-although her reasons were obvious-but I asked her about them, anyway.
"Why?" she said, standing in front of my window with the light shining through her sheer pink polka-dotted dress, "If you knew anything about Langford Sanders you'd understand why." Her heavy accent forced me to strain to understand her.
"Well, I don't know anything about Langford Sanders," I said.
"That's why I'm here," she said, "so you can get to know this great photographer. So sensitive. So delicate. He is truly an artist." On the last word, she trilled the "r" and put the accent on the last syllable. "I would very much like to show you some of the fine work he has done. But to show them to you, the lighting conditions must be perfect."
"Okay."
She lowered the shades, turning the slats upward. Then she closed the office door. What the door had to do with light I didn't know, but I let it go.
"And now," she said, moving gracefully toward my desk, her pony-tail flopping behind her head, "I hope you're prepared to meet a most incredible photographer. Once you see his work, you will unquestionably wish to use him."
"Unquestionably," I said. I had heard this song and dance routine too many times to wet my lips in anticipation of anything unusually exciting. If there was anything to get excited about, it was the sweet, little body that moved so beautifully under her thin dress.
"By way of introduction," she said, taking a seat in front of my desk, "I should tell you that Langford has a particular knack in the commercial field. He can turn a dull print ad into a good one. He can turn a good print ad into a great one. And he can turn a great print ad into an even greater one. And now I would like to show you a sample of his work."
"I can hardly wait," I said, checking the line of her breast. It was hard for me to tell if she was small or medium.
She placed a red portfolio on top of my desk facing me. She opened it and I was surprised to find that the first photograph was of Elvira, quite naked, sitting in a chair with her legs crossed, looking up somewhere out in space. Now I knew she was medium. I'd have to wait to know about the lower areas. Her crossed legs covered them.
"Now in this picture I want you to notice the exquisite use of lighting. See the way the shadow works on my face to bring out the bone structure. And notice the minimum of props. Just a girl and a chair. Langford does not like clutter. Do you like it?"
The real question she was asking was how did I like her in the nude. But I stayed with the program and nodded, noncommittally.
"They get better. As I continue you will discover that Langford uses some of the most advanced techniques and principles in his work."
"Mmmmm hmmm."
Again she turned the page. Almost the same picture as the last one. Elvira was still in the chair. But now her legs were uncrossed. Now I could see the pubic hair. Lots of it, black and curly.
"Notice now, by the slightest change of position, how Langford has effected an entirely different mood. This one being subtler, perhaps a little moodier than the last."
"Yes, indeed," I said. I felt like I was at one of those dirty movie arcades. Put another quarter in, see a little more. But my nod served the purpose of the quarter. Again she turned the page.
Again, Elvira and that wooden chair, Except this time, Elvira had one knee on the seat of it and she was turned away from the camera. The picture was designed to do nothing more than show me what a great ass she had. And that she did. Elvira's method of getting to me was quite original and a little warmth in my lower parts told me I was beginning to respond. But all the while she kept up the pretense of talking about Langford and his sensitive techniques.
"Notice the small shadow from my left leg," she said, "he achieved this with a small floodlight and a green filter to take out any harshness. He's really a master when it comes to people and lighting."
"I can see that."
I again nodded. She again turned. Elvira was back in the chair. But this time her legs were parted slightly. Not enough to catch the inner goodies-although I was sure they would be coming up soon enough-but separated just enough to be suggestive. It was a better look at her pubic hair.
"This is much like the second one ... "
"But the legs are parted here," I interrupted.
"Oh, that's just a detail. The real difference is the position of the chair. See the angle? It sets a beautiful contrast to the position of my feet. Quite remarkable."
"I hadn't really noticed that subtlety," I said.
She flipped the page. Now it was getting good. Same chair. Still Elvira. But now she was sitting with her legs up on the chair and her arms folded around them. Her head hung on one knee with a sultry expression. But in this position her crack was clearly visible.
"Notice anything special about this picture?" she asked.
"Yes," I said and I pointed directly between her legs in the photo. "In this one I can clearly see that you're a girl. Ha ha."
I enjoyed that, but she kept a straight face without even looking up at me. "Your attention is focused on the wrong thing," she said. "In this one, Langford has taken pains to position me like a non living solid object. He does a lot of experimental work like this, in an attempt to see just what he can and cannot do with the human form."
Checking at the photograph, between her legs, I had some of my own ideas of what to do with the human form.
"Please continue," I said, noticing that the book was a good three inches thick.
"Now we get to something more complicated," Elvira said, starting to turn to the next photograph. "Now we'll see how Langford handles a pair of subjects."
I could have anticipated that.
In the next picture, Elvira and a young man, both entirely naked, stood side by side, arms at their sides, looking directly at the camera.
"In this picture, there's a sense of geometrical form. Notice the levels of our shoulders. Doesn't it make an interesting design?"
"Quite. Do go on."
She did. The next photograph showed some contact between Elvira and whoever else was in the picture. Harmless contact, but the direction the pictures were taking was quite obvious. In this one, the male had his arm around Elvira. His hand fell just where her breast began.
"The sense of touch particularly delights Langford. Note the delicacy of this pose, the subtle expressions on the faces, the totally different lighting."
"I notice," I said, looking up at her. Elvira had heavy, bedroom eyes. Just below the lids, twinkling, blue fire.
"You'll like what Langford has done with the next one."
She was right. I liked it.
The male had his hands on his hips and Elvira stood next to him, one hand holding on to his erect prick, the other hand delicately cradling his balls underneath.
"You see, sex doesn't have to be erotic. Langford is a strong believer in the esthetic of sexuality. If you know what I mean."
I knew what she meant. The bullshit artist.
"Yes. Do keep going, Elvira. I have an all-type print job coming up next week. I'm sure with lighting, Langford could turn it into a knockout print ad."
"Yes. I know he could."
In the next picture, the male had his hands on Elvira. Her hands were at her sides and one of his fingers was poked up into her cunt, the other hand had one of her tits in it. His cock was still straight out.
"Oh, that's splendid," I said, "but don't you get embarrassed posing like that?"
"Embarrassed? I'm not ashamed of art. It's only the mind that makes these things shameful."
"Yes, of course," I agreed, my head full of shamefully delicious thoughts.
"Let's proceed," she said.
"Oh, goodie. Let's. I do find his work so inspiring."
In the next photo, Elvira was on her hands and knees, her head craned up, with the male's hard cock in her mouth. The male was bent over so he could get his hands on her tits. I thoroughly enjoyed the picture and loosened my tie.
"Notice the exquisite use of body lines in this one."
"Yes. The exquisite use of body lines," I said.
"Langford's big on body lines."
"You're big on lines," I said, without thinking.
"Excuse me?"
"What I meant was Langford certainly did a bang-up job composing that picture."
"Yes," she said, looking back down at the book, "Langford is an artist with rare talent."
"He certainly is. So much so, that I just can't wait to see the next picture. I suppose you know them all by heart now."
"Most of them."
The next was a dilly. A close-up shot of a cunt-hers, undoubtedly. But there were three hands on it. Two hands held the thick lips apart and the third hand had three fingers shoved in the sticky area.
"Langford is an expert on the close-up. He's better than any of the big names. Note the splendid detail. Each hair has such definition. See how the wetness glistens. Take a look at ... "
"Where'd the other hand come from?" I interrupted.
"Oh, that's Langford's. He put his fingers in because he felt it would make a much more interesting composition."
"What did you use, vaseline?"
"Oh, no. That's natural wetness."
"Pretty horny, were you?" I asked with a devilish grin.
"Oh, not at all. Just the excitement of creating beautiful art. You know, there's a difference between a sexy wetness and an artistic wetness. That's an artistic wetness."
"It certainly is," I said, quite aware of a throbbing in the center of my legs.
"Say," she said to me, getting up and walking around the side of my desk, "would you mind standing up just for a moment?"
"No, why?" I said, rising, my hard prick hidden behind my jacket.
"Unbelievable," she said, coming close to me. She put both her hands on my shoulders, then slid them inside my jacket till both her hands were around my waist. Then she brought her hands-I knew she would-over the swell of my prick, then continued down my legs. When her examination or whatever it was-was over, she looked me square in the eye.
"You know, you're really quite well built. Maybe it's a silly question to ask someone in your position, but would you at all be interested in posing with me? I mean, I'm convinced your weight and mass and build are just perfect for the kind of work that Langford does."
"I hardly need the money," I said, enjoying the body compliment, although I knew it was basically bullshit. Her sole interest was getting our business. But I played along. After all, I was swollen and hard and in a state like that, man is capable of doing almost anything.
"It wouldn't be for the money. But the experience would be overwhelming. This fellow in the book is a professional model. He looks good, but he's really too stiff, too formal. I'd like to get some shots with someone who's really relaxed, natural."
"Relaxed and natural?" I said stiffly.
"Oh, yes." Her hand went to my stomach. "Oh, you'll be so good, if you'll only do it." A small circling with her fingers before they left my tummy.
"Well ... "
"Oh, good," she said, reaching for her book. She closed it and zipped it up. "Can I use your telephone? I'd like to tell Langford we'll be over in about twenty minutes. He can get things set up."
"Well, there are things I have to do at the office ... "
"Oh, we won't be that long," she said. She was already dialing.
* * *
Langford had a grubby little walk-up studio in the East Village. He was short and bald and he wore a long, red smock. Hardly what I expected from Elvira's description of all his sensitivity.
"Aaah, hello. Hello. I see you've brought him. Oh, I can't wait to take some pictures." The old man-he must have been about sixty-clasped his little hands together in childish glee. "If you'll both just remove your clothes, we can get started at once. Oh, I'm so thrilled."
"Where shall I change?" I asked. My cock will still hard. The thought of the shooting-all the way downtown in the cab-kept the fires burning.
"Oh, right here. Right here. Photography and modesty just don't mix."
"Oh."
While I contemplated the fastest method of getting my hard-on down to normal size, Elvira had already flipped her polka-dotted dress over her head. She didn't wear a stitch underneath. The same lovely body I had seen in the photographs. Now it would be impossible to get my prick down. Langford fiddled with some photographic equipment while Elvira stood in front of me.
"Well," she said, "are you going to take them off? Clothes always get in the way of good shots."
"Yes, I suppose they do," I said, starting slowly to remove my jacket. But feeling absolutely ridiculous for having a hard-on. I prayed that by the time the pants came down, it would be down. I mean, a man has to preserve some cool.
But I was unable to keep my slow undressing pace up. Elvira smiled, moved a step toward me and helped. That made matters worse. If my prick had been large, now it was huge.
"Uh, I can do it myself," I said self-consciously.
"Nonsense," said Miss Puerto Rico, now working on the clasp of my belt. "I'm anxious to get started."
Unable to keep her back, she finally had my trousers, then my underpants down to the floor. My broom handle stuck straight out, big and hard.
"Ha," I said, flushing. What the hell else was there to say.
"Oh, splendid. Isn't he splendid, Elvira? He's so massive and large. Why, we don't have to waste any time getting started. He's already ready."
"I had no idea you were so ... so wonderful," said Elvira.
"I really don't have all that much time," I said, totally embarrassed, "maybe I should get back to the office and we can pick up some other time."
"Well ... just a few minutes," said Elvira and she bent down on her knees in front on me and placed my hard shaft deep in her mouth. On contact, I went from embarrassed to horny. Elvira's full lips worked like a suction cup on my sensitive organ. Not knowing precisely what to do-I mean old Langford was simply standing there with a lustful smile on his face-I put my hands on my hips and looked around his studio, trying to be nonchalant.
"Nice place you have here, Langford," I said, as Elvira's lips cork-screwed around on my prick. But Elvira's heat and speed won out over my apparent nonchalance. I closed my eyes and began thrusting my hips toward her with ecstasy.
"If you'll both just turn slightly this way, I can get a splendid shot," said Langford, his eye now behind the lens of a camera on a tripod.
Elvira led me by the cock to a new angle. I heard the camera click and felt Elvira's finger wiggling up into my asshole. Like a wild man, I wiggled and thrust my body back and forth. Elvira had a way. When her soft lips pulled back on my cock, her finger drove farther in my ass. And when she brought her lips down to the base of my shaft she pulled her finger back from my ass. As she kept the rhythm going, Langford continued clicking away with his camera. I was on the shuddering verge of exploding into Elvira's rapid-fire mouth when Langford called out, "Okay. New position."
On cue, Elvira released my bulging bone from her mouth, stood up, then swiveled around so that her soft asscheeks made contact with my prick.
"Vaseline," Elvira called out. Langford reached into a camera bag and produced a small jar, which he handed to her.
"Would you mind?" Elvira asked me, passing the jar over her shoulder, "rub it good in and around the asshole. I have a tendency to be a little tight there, but the lubrication from the vaseline takes all the pain away."
I did as I was instructed. I placed a huge gob of the stuff on one of my fingers, then worked the goo all around Elvira's incredibly soft ass till it glistened.
"Inside, inside," said Elvira.
"Oh, yes, inside," I said, thoroughly enjoying greasing up my little sextress. Taking another gob of vaseline from the jar, I brought my finger to the center point between her cheeks and then worked my finger-with delightful ease-straight up her ass. Finishing that, I brought my hand up in front of her and ran my vaseline-covered hand up and down her tits.
"Oh, that's good," said Langford, repositioning his camera for even more goodies, "I like a male model that uses his own initiative on shots. I think that little bit of shining vaseline of Elvira's breasts is just the right touch to give the picture that little something extra."
Not waiting for direction, my impatient cock began wedging itself between Elvira's asscheeks. I could feel her ass muscle loosen as my prick started up. To get the proper angle, I had to bend at the knees as I directed my throbbing stick up Elvira's rear hole.
"Uuuuh," Elvira said, reaching a hand behind her and taking hold of my cock, helping to direct it in.
"Wow," said Langford, gleefully clicking away at the action, "I can't tell you how that little touch of vaseline on her breasts makes this such a fine, fine picture."
If the picture came out anywhere near as exciting as what I was feeling, it would have to be a knockout. Elvira's rear end rotated and swiveled in perfect rhythm to my thrusts; and I was amazed to find that there was incredible room up her back alley. While pummeling, I let my hands roam freely over her now wet and vaseline-covered body. Bumping harder and harder up against Elvira's asscheeks, once again I was on the verge of expelling all my delightful fluid when Lang-ford again called out for another position.
"Wait," I said, thrusting harder than ever, hoping I could get my come going before another position interrupted the action. But Elvira was too fast for me. With a forward push on her pelvis, my cock disengaged from her ass. I was left standing there, hard, red and swollen, panting like a mad dog.
"On the bed. The rope," Langford called out.
Taking me by the cock, Elvira led me to a large double bed without sheets or spread. Simply a large mattress. Placing me down on my back, my cock standing straighter than an arrow, Elvira leaned down and planted a firm, full kiss on my lips. While enjoying that little bit of tenderness, I felt my hands and legs being bound, but didn't let it disturb me. In a state of wild excitement, it's nice to let anything go. At the conclusion of that long kiss, Elvira removed her face from mine and stood up.
"Let's see you get up," said Elvira.
I couldn't. Langford had attached rope to my arms and legs. The vice president was helpless. Flat on his back, hard as a rock. Excited as ever.
"Whip him off," Langford said, pulling his tripod over towards the bed.
Elvira reached under the bed and pulled out a vibrator.
"Oh, you'll enjoy this," she said.
She turned the thing on and kneeling between my spread, bound legs, placed the humming vibrator on my left ball.
"Ouch," I cried out, "cut it out, it's too sensitive there."
"How 'bout here?" Elvira asked sweetly, bringing the vibrator up slightly to the wide base of my hard cock.
"Better," I said. I closed my eyes, It felt like a million electric hands sending charges through my hypersensitive organ. With my eyes closed and my come juices boiling to a froth, I could hear the clicking of Langford's camera.
"Oh, this is a picture," Langford said. "Could you imagine what would happen if I released any of these pictures to the advertising press. My goodness. I can already see the caption. ADVERTISING VICE PRESIDENT AT WORK. Oh, goodness, you're clients would be absolutely delighted. Of course, I'll gladly destroy all the negatives for a small favor. I'd like your business. That's all. And it should be fine with you, since I do better work than anybody else in the city," Langford said.
As a rule, blackmail gets one a little angry. But it's not often that somebody is blackmailed in the midst of such delights as I was experiencing. How could I turn him down? Elvira worked the vibrator professionally over the tip and sides of my cock and at the same time let her free hand roam over and tickle the sack of my hot balls.
I opened my eyes. "It's a nasty way to get business, Langford," I said, my hips convulsing from the powerful sensations, "but it's a deal."
"Splendid," said Langford, "I'm glad to hear that. I think it would be nice if we all celebrated together."
A million technicolor images flashed in my mind and my body went into ecstatic trembles as my sperm was finally about to be ejected. But once again, on the very heated verge, it was interrupted. Elvira flipped the switch, the vibrator ceased and again I was left in a state of utter, palpitating, hornier than ever frustration.
"Damn," I said, "won't you let me come."
"Better to save it all up for the celebration," Langford said.
Quickly, he and Elvira removed the ropes.
"Now," said Langford, moving his camera equipment aside, "let us begin our celebration. For our new business relationship."
"Oh, let's" said Elvira, with a horny fire in her eyes. She rubbed her own nipples expectantly.
"God, let's," I chimed in, "I'm dying to come."
"Why don't we start by getting you excited?" said Langford, starting to remove his clothes.
"What do you mean? I already am," I said, still lying on my back on the bed. "This thing isn't standing up because I have to go to the bathroom."
"Yes, of course," said Langford, "but why don't you just relax and let Elvira and me show you a thing or two. Voyeurism is one of the great ingredients of sex. So why don't you just relax ... if you can ... and watch a couple of pro's go through a few simple moves." At the conclusion of his sentence, Langford was down to his birthday suit. Though he was small, he was muscular. The shocker, was his prick. At his age, I might have expected that he would have some difficulty getting it up. He didn't. The menacing monster, thick and purple-veined, stood out with an uncanny measurement. How such a huge cock belonged to such a body, I couldn't figure. But there it was. Absolutely gigantic.
My interest was not exclusive. As Langford had downed his final apparel, a pair of B.V.D.'s, Elvira's eyes widened with excitement and her hands seductively began stroking her own body. She tickled her own firm nipples and let her hands brush past her cunt. She stood there gazing excitedly at Langford's huge cock.
"Tallyho," said the old man and quick as wink, he was over toward Elvira. I couldn't believe what he did. He put his hands firmly on her bony hips and lifted her. Not an inch or two off the ground, either. But straight up, so that her cunt was directly in front of his face. His muscles rippled and strained as he held her up and when her cunt was in direct line with his face, he jutted his head directly into her bush and tongued her hot cunt, his head bobbing and weaving excitedly back and forth. This little old man was a superman. If I even had the strength to lift her that high, I would have dropped her for sure. But Langford held tight to her and lapped her furiously. Elvira's legs started kicking around furiously, but Langford kept at it, his tongue working deeper and deeper inside her, his old muscles quivering and trembling as he held her high. Then he lowered her to her feet and licked his chops.
"Dominating the female is the basis of all sex," Langford said, turning to me. "They respond especially well in the presence of a real man. A guy who's got the strength and balls can do with them anything he damn pleases."
A lesson in love. I loved it. And so did Elvira. She stood there, breathing heavily from his recent tonguing of her insides.
Then Langford hoisted Elvira from under her armpits till her tits were level with his face. Holding her up there, he sucked and slurped on her nipples till they stood out like two little cocks. Elvira went mad, rolling her head from side to side, her little pony-tail flopping around. Then Langford set her down.
"A woman like to feel a man's strength. These days men are too passive. When the woman is forced to be assertive, she starts to lose her animal drive and gets bored quickly. But the whole thing is to keep the female off-guard by surprises. The man must always take the initiative. It is the only way to really horn up a gal."
So saying, Langford hoisted Elvira up over his shoulder and began spinning her around faster and faster. He drove one finger deep into her still vaseline-slick ass. As he spun her around, his finger wiggled violently around in her backside. Elvira's eyes were closed and a small helpless smile appeared on her face. I got dizzy just watching his spinning her around and my hand went directly to my cock. I found his methods-his shenanigans, or whatever they were-peculiarly exciting.
After a while, Langford put Elvira back on her feet.
"Now she's dizzy, helpless and horny," said Langford. "She's so damned excited she doesn't know if she's coming or going. You've always got to keep your woman off balance ... always got to keep ahead of her if you want sex to be everything it really can be."
"I see," I said, working a little faster on my throbbing cock.
Langford then pulled Elvira down on the floor, till she was on her back. Then he lifted her legs up, apart and back, so that she was bent over with her spread legs on either side of her head, with her cunt and asshole gaping wet and wide open. Holding her legs down in that almost yoga position, Langford, still standing, lowered his enormous cock to her open hole and drove it fiercely into her. With the thrusts of an animated twenty-year-old, Langford plunged deeper and deeper, faster and faster into Elvira's inviting cunt.
"The man's gotta dominate all the way. Right now, if I move, Elvira moves. If I stop pummeling, she can't move. Position makes it too difficult. The whole idea is to control the situation."
Still doubled up on her back, Elvira received the old man's thrusts with wide open mouth and heavy breathing. He tore into her mercilessly, his huge member undoubtedly causing havoc on the insides of her fiery cunt. But she obviously loved her helplessness, loved the way he took charge. I, too, loved it and couldn't keep my hand from pumping ferociously away at my own fevered cock.
"I can make her come any time I like. That's also exciting to a woman," said Langford, still fucking the daylights out of her. "A woman doesn't like to figure out when she should come. She likes the male to make it happen when he wants her to. Watch."
Langford now angled his body so that his thrusts changed direction, more to the side than straight up her hole. With short, convulsive movements, his cock became much like a vibrator. The man knew what he was doing. Elvira started coming.
"I don't like to have a woman scratch and claw and flail all about when she comes," Langford said as Elvira was in the throes of an obviously incredible orgasm. "And the woman doesn't like that much freedom either. It's much more exciting for them when they're in a restricted position. Being physically restrained during an orgasm is the greatest delight to the woman."
Langford was apparently right. Elvira's position made it difficult for her to move too freely to express all the wild things that were happening in the midst of her orgasm. But the expression on her face-her eyes were squeezed tight and she was biting on her lip-clearly indicated the intensity of the sensations she was feeling.
"Ooooh. Oooooh. I don't believe it," Elvira said in a thick Spanish accent. "No yo creo," or something like that came from the bowels of her being as every single muscle in her body tensed.
"And if you know the right angle to thrust at," said Langford, still providing short, quick thrusts into his prey, "you can double the length of her orgasm."
He must have known the precise angle. Elvira's convulsions and cries continued for an incredible length of time. Watching them, I was crazy with lust and simply dying to shove it deep into Elvira.
"And the best dessert for any woman," Langford went on, as Elvira was on the tail end of her wild orgasm, "is to flood her insides with such a fury and heat, that they come all over again. Like this! ... "
The old man became a spastic. He bent at the knees and contorted his face as his fluid ejected. In unison with his own strange grunts and groans, Elvira once again went into a frenzied orgasm, shouting out and mumbling in Spanish.
When that incredible exhibition was over, Langford reached down and took hold of Elvira's tits. Pulling on them, with a fierce yank, he managed to lift the trembling beauty to her feet.
"Now let's see what kind of a man you are," Langford said, rubbing the excessive juice of his cock onto Elivra's stomach. "Let's see what you've learned. See if you can give dear, sweet Elvira another come."
Judging from the size of my purple-headed cock, it would seem I was most adequate to perform any of the sexual necessities. But after having witnessed the master at work, I seriously began to question whether in fact I could provide sufficient excitement for Elvira. Oh, I knew all the standard techniques, but I wondered whether the simple things-a little tit suck, a cunt-lapping warmer upper and some asshole tickling-would really suffice. But the challenge was laid before me and it was not the time to cop out. My prick and pride were both at stake.
I decided to toss aside whatever inadequate feelings I was having and simply meet fire with fire. I was a gladiator in the ring and I had to perform. As with anything, if your confidence falters, you always lose. So I decided to meet imagination with imagination. I was not going to be outdone. Elvira would come again. And enjoy it ever more.
"Delighted," I said, with a casualness that seemed to surprise Langford. And with a swift motion I slid my legs over the side of the bed.
"Come over here, Elvira, would you?" Elvira came over to me and I gently helped her on my lap.
"Excuse me, Langford, I have something to whisper to her," I said and leaning into Elvira's right ear, I first expelled a little air, then said softly, "Elvira. I don't want to brutalize you or humiliate you. I want to love you. You may not believe this, but it is not just sexual excitement I have for you ... that's much too common. I am excited by your mind. Your delicacy. When we are through here today, I would love to see you again. Take you to some nice, quiet candlelit place, hold hands with you and talk of all my deep feelings for you."
Spontaneously, Elvira threw her arms around me and gave me a hug.
"What did you say to her?" asked the old brute. "Why is she responding to you like that!"
"Trade secret," I said to him. Then I again brought my lips to Elvira's ear and whispered, "let's not have sex, Elvira. Let's make love. Unlike your boss, I don't see you as simply a sex object. I see you as a real, sensitive woman."
So saying, I let one hand gently play with her breasts, squeezing them ever so softly and delicately. With those small little touches, Elvira responded with a shudder throughout her entire body. The poor girl was excited with my tenderness. It was an approach Langford - for all of his "sensitivity" - obviously couldn't comprehend.
"What the fuck are you whispering to her?" Langford again demanded. He was upset to see his sweet employee responding so feverishly to someone with methods quite different than his own.
"Oh, sweet nothings," I said and I placed one finger ever so lightly just on the tip of Elvira's already stiffened clit. The contact made her jump and spontaneously, she reached for my cock and began to stroke it slowly and sweetly.
"I think I love you, too," Elvira whispered.
"What are you two whispering about," asked the old man, who had now moved quite near the bed in the hope of discovering just what was going on. He assumed he knew all the tricks in the book and was disturbed that my special quality of manliness was so different from his, yet still worked.
"Oh, private things," I said calmly and I let a couple of fingers slide into Elvira's cunt. "I love you," I again whispered to her as my fingers probed about inside her.
"I love you, too," she said, lowering her head and sucking on my own nipples with cute little nibbles.
"What the fuck is this?" Langford called out, "a love scene from Romeo and Juliet? I want to see some hard, fast action. Shit, all I can hear are romantic violins. I feel like a godamned intruder."
"Well, why don't you leave for a while," Elvira said.
"Good idea," I added.
"But I want to get horned up watching you assault her," he said to me. "I can't get horny over love or whatever this gicky stuff is."
"Well, tough titty," I said.
I eased Elvira off me and gently laid her on the bed. With a series of I love you's from me to her and she to me, I gently placed my cock inside her, held her close and kissed her full on the lips. In a slow rhythm, we rocked together. It was quiet, peaceful, beautiful. Something old Langford couldn't understand. Or get excited by.
"Action. Action," called Langford.
"Our feeling are active," said Elvira.
Without screams, or crazy jumping around, more in a relaxed, loving kind of way, Elvira and I came together, our sensitive feelings wiping out the presence of the old brute. I grabbed onto Elvira's soft asscheeks as I came and she held tight to my ass.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you," she said.
"Shit. The two of you make me sick," Langford cursed.
"Will I see you again?" I asked Elvira sweetly, now relaxed from my last orgasmic shudder, holding her near.
"Of course, my sweet," she said, holding even tighter.
"Well, how the hell am I supposed to jerk off to all that fucking tenderness!" Langford shouted. "I wanted something really dirty to whip off to."
"Do it in front of the mirror," I said, kissing Elvira sweetly.
Makeup
The makeup man is the least heard about in the business. Every production company has one. He usually has a tiny two by four room somewhere off on the side and no one bothers him. But the things that go on inside those tiny innocent rooms is enough to fill a book.
Most makeup men are meek little fellows, with some effeminate qualities. They'll tell you all about color (how a number three rouge and a blue outfit will not go together). They know all about hair styling, mascara, lipstick and-best of all-they know how to feel up a woman from end to end, so that by the time she's supposed to be ready on the set, she's ready in the cunt. And that's a detail those little makeup men take care of, too.
When you think about it, the sexual depravity of these makeup men is simple to understand. First of all, the females that walk into their little rooms are the most beautiful in the world. Models, every one of them. Secondly, putting makeup on-in itself-is pretty boring. The makeup man doesn't have the action of the director, or the involvement of the cameraman, or the authority of the agency producer. He's a little nothing who's off in a corner, taking care of little details that most people don't notice or care about anyway.
So with those kind of circumstances, you let a hunk of gorgeous flesh enter into the privacy of our little makeup man's lair and you can be sure he's going to take advantage of the situation. A good makeup man is as apt to rouge up a nipple as he is a cheek. And he's as likely to comb the pubic hairs as he is the hairs on top of a model's head. He can get away with anything and everything he wants to. First, because no one else ever comes into his little room to bother him -everybody's too busy with more important things. Secondly, because he has the authority to place makeup any damned place he pleases, since this is his specialty. He has inalienable rights to examine skin texture, anywhere and everywhere, touch any part of the body, apply anything any damn place he wishes to. A quick line like "Every makeup man touches up these areas," or "It's a rule in the union. I've got to make sure there are no blemishes here," all suffice. Most of the models don't know what's happening to them-or care. They're usually so excited about being chosen for the commercial that all they can think of is whether this is the commercial that will mean their lucky break to go on to bigger and better things, or whether this is the commercial that will run six times a day for five years and let them retire wealthy at the age of twenty-five. So when our little makeup man is touching up a hard nipple with a little powder, or greasing up their vaginal lips so that, "this way you walk more easily," it is not of much consequence to the actress. The only time these little feels (and big ones) matter to them, is when their horniness gets too much for them. And every actress knows she can't perform with all that pent up energy inside. So they will usually be quite accommodating about having the makeup man relieve them of all those unnecessary tensions. I know all this as fact, because I've seen it happen. The first time, I found all this hard to believe, but as soon as the makeup man let me join in on the fun, I knew it couldn't be more real.
We were doing a low budget cheap test commercial that involved nothing more than a young husband and wife-newlyweds-sitting across the breakfast table with a box of Nugget Cereal between them. In their dialogue, they talk about how nice it will be to have children who are guaranteed to have a nice breakfast, Nugget Cereal, that is. It might sound somewhat inane, but you'd be surprised at the kind of things that motivate people to buy.
At any rate, the gal-a young gorgeous blonde Danny and I had just selected the previous week (that was an experience in itself)-was to be clad in pajamas and a robe. On the day of the shooting, I went down to the studio to look things over. I arrived around nine in the morning and was offered coffee by a stockly-looking fellow who introduced himself as Ziggy.
"You cast yourselves a real hunk, heh?" Ziggy said to me, handing me the coffee with two sugars.
"She's quite a looker," I said, noncommittally.
"What's your job?" Ziggy said to me, slurping noisily on his own cup of coffee.
"Supervisor on the account."
"No shit," Ziggy said to me, with his thick, New York, truck-driver voice, "dat's real good. I'm the makeup guy. Hey, Us' ... you'se wanna watch me work? I mean, I usually keep my door closed so I can ... " he broke out in laughter, showing a wide expanse of not very well taken care of teeth, "so I can ... mess around a little. But I see's this broad this morning and I says to myself, 'that's a lot of meat to handle.' So if you wanna watch me work, maybe you'se can learn a little about what really goes on."
"Delighted," I said.
Ziggy led the way to the makeup room, swinging his husky, short arms rapidly back and forth. Balancing my full cup of coffee in my hand, I followed as quickly as I could.
The makeup room was small, with mirrors on three walls. A long table stretched from one end of the room to the other; on top of it were powders, makeups, face paints and oils, all kinds of brushes and combs; in the corner stood a long clothes rack with an assortment of multicolored outfits.
"This," said Ziggy, opening the door for me, "is where imperfection, blemishes, blackheads and pimples disappear. It's where beautiful women become even more beautiful and ... " he said with a broad grin, "it's where all the action is."
"I see," I said. "What time are you expecting Stephany?"
"Our young, blonde, sweet-titted pajama clad model? Ah ... she should be here any minute now. I really hope you can stay around. Every time I tell someone about the kinds of things I get away with in here, nobody believe me. So I figure it's time I let somebody else see for themselves. So you'll stay around ... just for a while, huh?"
"Oh, I'll stick around," I said, lighting a cigarette, letting a few fabulous fantasies get hold of my brain. "As supervisor on the account, I should certainly be aware of all the intricacies of the business. Right down to the makeup."
"Right down to the cunt," Ziggy added.
On Ziggy's final, most descriptive word, Stephany, the young, sweet thing walked in.
"Makeup?" she asked, with an adorable little smile that sent shivers down my back.
"Makeup," said Ziggy, giving her the once over, then a twice over. I couldn't blame him. Stephany's body deserved more than one look. Her red minidress bulged wonderfully, but indecently at all the appropriate places. On top of her pretty, ivory white face, a flow of beautiful blonde hair.
"Weren't you the fellow at the casting session?" she asked me.
"Why, yes," I said sheepishly, "it was me."
I had sat back on the couch while Danny achieved a series of devious feels all over her body.
"Well, why don't we get started?" Ziggy said. "For a start, why don't you go across the hall and slip these on ... one yellow flowered pair of pajamas ... and this white robe. Oh and Stephany ... if you don't mind ... no underwear, please. It causes the strangest kinds of creases when you move. The camera picks up everything, you know."
"Yes, I know," she said. She took the robe and pajamas and left the room.
"No underwear?" I said. "You're kidding, of course."
"Listen," said Ziggy, who was busily putting a group of makeups and lotions together on the side of the table. "Like everyone else in this business, I gots time pressures, too. I mean, I don't get all day with the girls. If I take too much time they start yellin' and hollerin' that the director is waiting and time is money and shit like that. So, anyway, I gotta move fast. Now when a gal's got underwear on, I figures I adds about an extra twenty minutes to getting what I want. It's just a couple more obstacles. So I always use that line about underwear causing creases. Shit. I've never had anyone ask me about it. I guess it sounds kind of on the up and up. But what I do I gotta do fast. That's all."
"Don't you have to fix up the male model, too?"
"Sure, him too," Ziggy said, looking at himself in the mirror and giving his hair a little pat, "but he'll get about sixty seconds. I'm not the kind of guy to go foolin' around with men."
Stephany returned in P.J.'s and robe.
"Okay," she said sweetly, "ready."
"Would you mind closing the door, Stephany?" Ziggy said, still fiddling with his makeup jars. "If we're not interrupted, we'll be done in no time at all."
Stephany turned to close the door and Ziggy winked at me. I winked back and offered a smile. Then I sat down on a small red wooden chair in the corner of the room, crossed my legs and waited impatiently for the action.
"Let's see how all that fits you," Ziggy said, standing in front of Stephany, looking at her from head to toe. "Mmmm hmmm," he said, letting his hands move professionally over the collar of her robe. "Mmmm hmmmm ... this seems to fit okay here," he said, adjusting a crease on her left breast. "Mmmm hmmm ... wanna open the robe a sec, Steph? Like to see how the bottoms of your pajamas fit."
Stephany opened her robe and Ziggy placed his hands on her hips.
"Not too tight here?"
"No," she said.
"How 'bout here in the crotch?" he said, letting his thick fingers grab hold of a piece of material right in front of her cunt. "You know, they always make it baggy down in the crotch. I don't know why, but they always do it."
"It's all right," said Stephany, with the slightest blush. She kept her eyes away from mine.
"Looks a little baggy to me," said Ziggy, now letting his hands work around on the insides of her upper thighs. "You sure it's not too loose ... especially here?" He placed his hand flat on her cunt. Stephany pulled her pelvis back slightly-instinctively, I suppose-but Ziggy's hand simply followed her movement and kept contact.
"I don't think so," she said.
"Okay, okay," said Ziggy, "just making sure. The littlest things can louse up a commercial."
"That's quite true," I chimed in for no reason at all.
"How 'bout the rear, Steph ... okay back there?"
"Yes, it's okay."
"Here, turn around, let me see." She turned around. "Yes, the robe falls okay. Well, little lady, looks like you got yourself a pretty good fit." He patted her on the rear. I was surprised that Stephany showed no particular reaction. I suppose she took it all as part of the business. She simply smiled slightly and turned around to face Ziggy.
Ziggy stood there and placed his hands on his hips, scrutinizing her carefully. He provided a few "Mmmm hhhhnms," then started shaking his head slowly.
"Tsk. I've still got one problem."
"What's that?" Stephany asked.
"Well, it's just that you're so large breasted ... "
"Well, you asked me not to wear any underwear. I assumed that meant no bra, too."
"Yes. But you see, now we have a problem. You can't wear a bra. That's definitely out. It'll crease your robe on the top. But if you don't wear one, well, you just stick out so far, I'm afraid nobody's going to pay much attention to the dialogue. And after all, your job is to sell the product, not to sell your body."
"Hey, that's good, Zig," I piped in, "you seem to know more about advertising than about makeup."
Ziggy guffawed, then stopped abruptly, as though quite concerned about the breast problem.
"Steph, we've got to do something. Would you mind letting me see your breasts for a minute? If I see the shape of them, maybe it'll help me come up with some suggestion so they don't jut out so far."
"I can tell you what they're like," Stephany offered, hoping to cop out from Ziggy's request.
"Oh, come, come," said Ziggy with a serious tone, "I been doin' this for fifteen years. I don't get horned up just because a girl shows her breasts to me. It's a necessary part of my job."
"Okay, okay," said Stephany, who wasn't in a position, really, to question her makeup man's judgment.
With her long-nailed fingers, she undid the buttons of her pajama top. When she was through unbuttoning them, she put her hands at her sides and stood there quite stiffly.
"No, hon," said Ziggy, "you don't seem to understand. I want the robe and top of your pajamas off. Look," he said, glancing at his watch, "it's already quarter of ten. They're gonna be ready to start shootin' soon. Now I don't have much time to solve this breast problem of yours. Christ," Ziggy said, turning to me, "didn't you guys think about the problems of large breasts when you were casting?"
"Slipped my mind," I said, which couldn't be farther from the truth. If she was chosen for any reason, it was her tits. I'll cast a big-titted female before I cast a Twiggy any day of the week.
Stephany slowly removed her robe and hung it over the side of a nearby chair. The she slipped off her pajama tops, placing them over the robe. What popped out could have suckled a family of five, all at once. A white, creamy pair of big mamas, capped with large, brown nipples. My cock twinged and Stephany glanced over at me. I smiled as casually as I could, but couldn't look her straight in the eye. I looked down at the floor.
"Well, there's part of the problem right there," Ziggy said, moving his head close to the large mammaries that hung there so sweetly, "your nipples are so large."
"Listen, are you really serious?" Stephany asked.
"Am I being serious?" Ziggy asked, sounding annoyed. "Listen, last week, we shot a commercial with a fellow in a shaving cream spot. He and an opponent dueled for possession of the can of shaving cream. We had him in tights, but we never thought about checking out his ... " Ziggy looked at me for a better word than he had on his mind.
"Penis," I said nonchalantly.
"Yeh, penis. We never checked him out. But he was so damned large that you had to focus all your attention on it. So we had to shoot everything all over again, making sure the camera was always above his waist. I mean, stuff goes on like this all the time, Stephany. You just can't be too careful in this business."
"I can see that," she said, defeated.
"Now, let's get back to your breasts ... if it's all right with you?"
"Yes," Stephany said glumly, "go ahead."
"Wow, they really are monsters," said Ziggy, who took a step closer and closed the two of them in his hands. "Let's see ... maybe if we could lift them somehow, like this ... "
He lifted her luscious breasts up a few inches.
"Whaddya think?" he asked me. "Are they too high like this ... or do you think they'd be better flattened out kind this way? ... " He dropped her tits to their naturally fantastic position, then pressed in on them, flattening them with both hands.
"Gee, I don't know. When you flatten them like that, all the puffy skin comes out on the sides. I think you've got a real problem there, Zig." My cock inched up.
"But when I flatten them like this ... " and again Ziggy pressed in on Stephany's tits, "you can't see her large nipples, can you?"
"No."
"Gee, I don't know. Listen, Steph ... do you mind if I try something? It usually works."
"What is it?" she asked, somewhat concerned. As Ziggy talked with her, he kept his hands wrapped around her gorgeous boobs, squeezing them slightly. "Maybe if I applied a little flattener."
"A little ... what?"
"Flattener."
"What's that?"
"Special cream. Made just for women whose breasts are too large. A little chemical in the cream depresses the breast tissue. Put a little on you ... and it should flatten 'em down a couple of inches."
"I never heard of that before," Stephany said, skeptically.
"After fifteen years, you get to know all the latest techniques. I'm not just one of your run of the mill makeup men. I take my job seriously, kind of like an artist. Listen, flattener cream has been around for two years, now."
"Really."
"I'll vouch for it," I chimed in, never having heard of flattener cream and quite delighted with Ziggy's imagination. A little weird, but in the game of women, I suppose there's no such thing as a weird technique, if it works. And apparently his was working, because in a moment he was digging his hands deep into a large jar and both hands came out filled with gobs of a white, gooey cream.
"It's a little cold and tingly, but it should be refreshing, Stephany. The girls usually like this part of the makeup."
"They do?" she asked, as Ziggy's hands moved in for the feels. My cock moved out to newer heights.
"The whole idea is to work the cream on the out-sides of the breasts first, then move in toward the nipple," Ziggy said, beginning his molesting. "Once the breasts are fully covered with the cream, it's really got to be massaged in good."
Stephany stiffened the moment Ziggy's hands made contact. He started on the fleshy sides of her breasts, kneading, rubbing, pressing. Her huge boobs danced and my hard cock was already in pain from frustration. I mean it's not every day you get a front row seat to a grand feeling-up session. As Ziggy's hands worked vigorously on her tits, Stephany would occasionally glance over at me. Each time, I diverted my eyes, thinking the steaming fire in my eyes must have been all too apparent.
"Tingly?" Ziggy asked, his massaging circles now getting smaller as his fingers began directing themselves toward the wonderful center of her tits.
"Yes," she said, noncommittally. And she looked straight ahead, trying to show no expression. I couldn't be sure if it was embarrassment or horniness she was trying to hide, but it was obvious something was going on inside her.
And something was definitely going on outside and to the front of her. Ziggy had finally reached her nipples and was giving them such a zesty workout, they popped out big and hard. Every once in a while, Ziggy's tongue would hang loosely from his mouth, but he would catch himself and bring it back in. But Ziggy couldn't keep his innermost feelings to himself. His underarms began perspiring profusely and a large, dark sweat stain appeared under each of his arms. And every few moments, he had to wipe his forehead with his sleeve, because the sweat was really dripping down.
I wasn't in much of a relaxed state either, but sitting a short distance from the action, I could keep more of my panting and perspiration to myself.
Even Stephany couldn't keep up the pretense of no emotions. Sporadically, her mouth would drop open and every once in a while I would catch her eyes rolling up. Her breathing had lost its regular rhythm and now she took deeper, faster breaths.
You could hardly blame her. Ziggy's hands knew what they were doing. He squeezed and pulled every iota of sexual excitement out of every little nerve in her tits and nipples. He pulled them up, twisted them, pushed them into her fleshy tits, yanked at them.
The three of us were horny as hell, but it was so quiet, you could hear a drop of semen hit the floor.
"I think it's working," said Ziggy, for no apparent reason, except to break the tension of the strange quietness in the room.
"Oh, is it?" Stephany asked, at this point, probably not even caring. Or maybe she was even aware of Ziggy's imaginative game. But if she was, it obviously didn't bother her now. Because even her pelvis had started a slight, but unmistakable movement in response to her feelings.
"Listen, will you take over for a moment," Ziggy said, turning his head to me. "I want to make sure I've got all the face makeups in order."
"Okay," I said. Had I given a more honest response. I would have blurted out, "Holy Shit ... I'd fuckin' love to." But I didn't blurt it out. I simply flew out of my chair, quickly dipped my hands into the cream jar and in the shake of a tit, my hands had already made contact with Stephany's deliriously, delicious boobs.
The incredible sensation of handling those massive tits was almost too heavenly to describe. The heavy mass of flesh was like putty in my hands, soft and pliable. And then the change of texture, as my fingers went from the velvet softness of her tits to the erect firmness of her nipples, made me dizzy.
Ziggy returned. "Listen, we can speed things up a little with a couple of extra hands. Why don't you work on the right one, I'll work on the left one."
"Right," I said, feeling a little annoyed that my soft territory was being invaded. But, I resolved to myself, if it wasn't for Ziggy in the first place, I might be doing nothing more exciting than sliding my hands into my pockets right now. So I assented and together we manipulated poor Stephany practically senseless.
Stephany was beyond the point of being able to hold back her gush of sexual feelings. Her heavy breathing was noticeable now, louder and the circular movements in her pelvis increased unselfconsciously.
"Ooooo ... wow," came out of Stephany's mouth. I don't think she chose to express herself, but the words seemed to just come out all by themselves.
"Yeh," Ziggy said, squeezing every ounce of flesh out of her tit.
I simply smiled. And worked away. If you call that work.
Ziggy's hands now started moving down from her tit and he began caressing and rubbing her soft, little stomach. Gradually, he inched his hands down farther, till he got to the tops of her pajama bottoms. And with one clean movement, he lowered them, so they fell, in place, to the floor.
Stephany was most accommodating. Gracefully, she stepped out of the pajamas and widened her legs to allow free play in her pussy.
And what a pussy. A huge forest of real blonde hair. But the hairs were so light and fine, they couldn't keep her large, puffy pussy from view. Her cunt lips were obviously red and swollen and the goo that appeared dead center on her cunt gave her horniness away.
Still contenting myself with her breast-by now I was working on both of them again-Ziggy began his horny explorations of her private regions. With both hands, he separated her cunt lips, then released them back together. He did this three or four times, as though he were exercising the lips for the action that was about to follow.
By now, Stephany was totally helpless to the rage of her own feelings and her head was back, her eyes closed, her legs spread apart even farther. She was joyfully receiving the wonderful ravaging her fantastic body was getting.
Ziggy spread her cunt lips with two fingers and with his other hand, began stroking her cunt up and down rapidly. He paused longer on the sensitive clit, then worked his finger down and inside, then back up, then down and in.
Falling to his knees, Ziggy got his head right in front of the action and his tongue began darting in and out furiously across her hypersensitive cunt.
Stephany started losing her balance from the excitement, so I put one arm around her shoulder to steady her and with the other hand, kept up the kneading and squeezing.
"Ooooo," Stephany said, now louder than before.
"Mmmmm," Ziggy grunted as his mouth slurped around in her juices. He nibbled her clit, sucked on it, drove his tongue all the way into her burning insides.
"Oh, do it now," Stephany said uncontrollably, "I can't take any more of this. Now! Now!"
"Sure you're ready?" Ziggy asked, still in the kneeling position, "I like a girl to be so wet, it slides right up here without the slightest resistance."
"Oh, god, yes. I'm ready, I'm ready," she said and in an attempt to demonstrate some of that readiness, her hand moved over to the center of my pants and she gave my bursting cock a series of impatient squeezes.
"She's ready," I said.
"Oh, now!" she said and she gave my hard cock an even more vigorous squeeze.
"How do you want to work this?" Ziggy asked me from below.
"You're the specialist," I said, "you call the shots."
"Oh, now!" Stephany persisted, her legs now opening and closing to the shivering excitement she was feeling.
"Okay," said Ziggy, "I'll take her first."
"Well, hurry up," I said, going out of my own mind, dying to get inside this sensational, luscious creature.
"Now!" said Stephany.
Ziggy stood up and with surprising gentleness, lowered Stephany on the floor. Of her own volition, she lay straight back and spread her beautiful legs as wide as she could. Her cunt hole, wet and glistening, opened wide and I thought I would shoot off right then and there, for the sight was just too wonderful to behold. But I held myself in check, saving my silver droplets for her hot innards.
Ziggy dropped his pants as fast as he could. Hardly did I get a view of his large cock, when he was already between her legs and mounting her.
To each of his thrusts, Stephany's legs lifted off the ground and parted farther. First pumping straight, then cork-screwing in a winding circular motion, Ziggy was in deep.
In this most basic position, the two of them bumped and thrusted together. Not being in a situation quite like his before, I didn't know whether to help out with a few tit squeezes, or simply sit in the chair and await my turn. They seemed to be doing fine together, so I chose the latter. But before sitting down, I removed my pants, wanting to be fully ready the precise moment Ziggy was through.
Ziggy was quite an animal. His hairy ass bounced and quivered as he gave her a merciless pummeling. Each time he thrust it in, Stephany let out a moan, "Unnhhh, Oooooh!"
Ziggy got one arm under her back and with a deft motion, managed to roll her over on top of him. Stephany lifted off of him with her hands, so that her tits swung deliriously from her and of course, Ziggy didn't miss the opportunity to open his mouth wide for the succulent, sweet tits.
With a fury, Ziggy rammed his cock deep inside her, each time making contact with a squooshing, thumping kind of noise. Stephany was no beginner to the act. Her ass gyrated about with such wonderful abandon, that it seemed she was dominating and directing all the action.
"Come on, will you?" I said impatiently, still sitting there. I was certainly enjoying watching, but now my body demanded more. My prick stood up straight, hard and purple and each time the two of their bodies slapped together, my cock throbbed in harmony.
Since I got no response from either of them, I figured I'd take the bull by the horns myself. Her ass looked so damned inviting, all that soft, creamy flesh swinging around like that, that I decided I might as well take her in the ass. As long as I could get into their own rhythm, there wouldn't be a problem at all.
So I approached Stephany from the rear and got on my knees. I put both hands on her asscheeks, in an attempt to steady her movements a bit. After all, I wasn't used to directing my cock into a moving target. Unfortunately, I couldn't slow down the action. The two of them thrust about wilder than ever and at that incredible speed it would have been impossible to get it in her rear.
So I reached over and took a finger full of flattener's cream, or whatever the gooey substance was and locating her hole with my eyes, I thrust my slippery finger right up her backside. For a few moments, I kept my finger passively inside, letting the movements of her ass take it up and down and around; but then I think she got my message, knew my finger was for the opportunity to let my larger organ enter and she slowed her movements.
"Thanks," I said as she slowed her movements to a momentary halt. And without a moment to spare, I directed my seething bone to the center point of her backside. With both my hands, I spread her voluptuously soft cheeks and seeing the deep, brown aperture, moved in.
Thanks to my gooey finger, her channel was ripe and ready for me and presented no obstacle at all. At first thrust, there was a little tightness, but on the second the opening widened sufficiently to give my cock full freedom to thrust and roam deep inside her. She was getting it now in both holes and she was wild with excitement. She tossed her head back and forth, so that her beautiful blonde hair flew all around.
I reached out in front, removed a breast from Ziggy's mouth and took it for myself, squeezing and rubbing the precious hanging piece of flesh with joyful abandon.
Ziggy and I alternated our thrusts. As he sped his spear deep into her, my cock receded back from her ass. And as she pulled away from his pummels, she got a thrust from me. Ziggy and I-we had her coming and going.
And speaking of coming, it took my full, concentrated energy to keep from ejecting. My excitement was so great, my passion so energetic, that I wanted to hold on to it as long as I could. Apparently Ziggy felt the same way, because I could see him bearing down on his jaws, tightening his face, undoubtedly to keep from coming. Happiness is so rare these days, that when you find it, you don't release it too quickly. You hold onto every delicious morsel of it as long as you can. And that's precisely what I was doing.
However, Stephany wasn't busy philosophizing about happiness. She wasn't holding a thing back. If I can read an orgasm, this girl had gone through at least a dozen of them and there were more coming. Her ass rotated at an extraordinary speed and she kept up a constant sound of moans and groans.
Her asscheeks were like fur cushions as I smacked up hard against her. My entire body demanded release. But still, I managed to hold my orgasm back.
"Let's shift," I said to Ziggy, "you take the back. Let me get some of the front action."
"Shift? She's all yours. I've just come. How the fuck do you keep it in so long," he said, disengaging his half erect cock from her slippery pussy.
Obviously, I had read Ziggy wrong. He was a quiet comer.
As Ziggy got out from under her and wearily got to his feet, I rolled Stephany on her back and without a moment's hesitation, had my cock lodged securely in her fiery hole. The cushiony softness of her tits drove me wild. Her whole sweet body was heaven and my body moved with a zest and energy that literally surprised me. Nuzzling my face in her roomy breasts, I darted in and out of her faster and faster. She took the pace well, never missing a beat. When my pelvis charged in, hers was always right there to meet it.
"I can't hold on much longer," I muttered, half to myself.
"Oh, come now," she begged, putting her nails into my back and clawing downward. I felt a trickle of blood, but this only added to my excitement.
I brought my hands down to her kitten soft asscheeks and pulled them apart as wide as I could, allowing myself the deepest possible penetration. She sensed I was on the very verge and uttered a string of short, breathy, "Oh ... oh ... oh's." My swollen, liquid filled cock could not be controlled any longer. Gasping from the sheer power of my powerful, boiling come, I shot my enormous load.
I could feel the remarkable heat of my come as it jetted out deep inside her. Each fabulous spurt was more intense than the last. When I had entirely let go of every last drop of fluid-and that was about a dozen spurts later-I felt so sated, that a refreshing tingle ran through my whole body.
I started retreating from her pussy, but it was clear, Stephany wasn't quite ready to stop. She clutched me even tighter, forcing every iota of satisfaction she could get from my hard cock. Her legs wrapped around me like a vise and now she began pulling on my hair.
Her own excitement was so exciting to me, that my cock stayed where it had been, regenerated itself in a matter of seconds and as her own wild orgasm shook every inch of her skin, I met it with my second coming.
Together we tensed, together we let go. Less spurts this time, but even more intense. It's the quality, not the quantity of a come that counts.
Until this moment I had completely forgotten about Ziggy. But now that my delicious activity was over, I twisted my head to see where he was.
I should have guessed. He was on the floor, right next to us, whipping his hard peter to a pulp.
"Hey, can't you'se guys keep it up just long enough for me to come again?"
"Sorry," I said, "I've had it."
"Don't talk. Don't talk. I'm coming," he said and with a grimace on his face, he shot his come all over Stephany's tits, missing with a few spurts and getting me on the arm.
Just as Ziggy was shaking the last oozing drop from his cock, there was a knock at the door.
"Hey, Zig'," the voice said, somewhat angrily, "let's go in there. The cameras are all set up and ready to go. Come on."
"Okay, okay," Ziggy called out, rising off the floor, "but don't rush me. If I'm gonna do a makeup job, I'm gonna do it right. So go tell the director to have another cup of coffee, because I got a few finishing touches to go."
Then Ziggy turned to Stephany, still under me, holding onto her breasts, as though trying to hold on to the delicious experience she had just had.
"Listen, Steph ... why don't you slip on your PJ.'s and robe and go on out there."
"Well, aren't you going to make me up?"
"Shit," said Ziggy, "the whole commercial's gonna be done with low key lighting. Anyway, the way I got it, your back's gonna be to the camera, anyway. So even if you had a couple blackheads and a bunch of dirt on your face, it wouldn't really matter."
"Some makeup man," said Stephany, getting up from under me.
Stephany put on the pajamas and robe silently and without even thanking me for staying in her long enough for her to enjoy her twentieth come, she walked out the door, slamming it behind her.
"Temper, temper," said Ziggy, slipping his pants back on.
"Who cares about the temper ... what about that bod' ... eh, Zig? You ever fuck anything like that before?"
Ziggy looked at me with a funny expression, then scratched his head.
"You kiddin'?" he said, "I'd say she's about average. Maybe not even that. Look, I live to fuck. And I get the greatest in here. Steph's okay. But believe me, I've had better. I didn't like her nose. And I think she was too hippy for her build."
"I hardly noticed her imperfections," I said, zipping up my fly. "I guess as a makeup man, you're sensitive to things like that."
"Yeh," said Ziggy, "guess so."
Filming
Filming is truly one of the most exciting aspects of the advertising business. All those visual ideas you had floating around in your head, all those wiggly lines that were put down on a story board, suddenly turn into reality. And best of all, all those gorgeous chicks that started out as simple sketches, suddenly appear before you, in living breathing flesh, awaiting the director's every command.
Film is money. Lots of money. A thirty second commercial can cost around $50,000. So when you're on the set, when the cameras are ready to roll, when the lights are all set up, there's no time for dillydallying. On the set, the director is god. If he says to a model, "Okay, hon ... drop your pants," she drops her pants. He doesn't have to explain himself. All he has to do is give the command. No actress in her right mind would ever stand there and ask why she should drop her pants. You do what the director says. He is god. When you consider how much money is involved for each minute on the set, you understand why there is such little fooling around. But ... you take a director with nothing on his mind but sex and he has an absolute field day. At the snap of his fingers, women undress, gyrate, stand patiently to receive a finger full of feels, or they fuck. As I said, nobody questions the director's decisions.
Lou Torino is one of the best directors in the business. He's known for doing snappy, bright, creative work. He's remarkable with people. He knows how to make actresses cry, get angry, be arrogant, anything. He's got a resonant booming voice that can make your hair stand on end. He's a huge, barrel-chested man that played college football. When he gives a command, you follow. Not necessarily because he has the title of director; you do what he says because of his size. If you don't, you can easily imagine him squeezing you into a pea-sized ball.
I met Lou in the business some years ago, at a cocktail party. We hit it off very well and got together every couple of weeks or so for lunch, drinks and business bullshit.
We were having lunch at a Japanese restaurant, sitting cross legged, both of us somewhat bleary eyed from too much to drink. I had had two Saki martinis and was working on a beer. Lou had had four martinis and was working on a fifth.
"Listen," said Lou, looking intently at me, "I'm shooting a spot next week. We're using eight gals for the commercial. Big expensive production. Two day shoot, Thursday and Friday. But the way I figure it, we should be done around noon on Friday, if everything goes right. Know what that means?"
"What does that mean?" I asked, putting a piece of raw fish in my mouth.
He leaned in closer. "It means, my friend, that from the hours of 12:00 to 5.00 I will have eight female bodies hanging around the studio with nothing to do. And I intend to give them something to do."
"Don't stop now ... "
"Who's stopping? I've just begun. Now ... you tell me ... if you had eight broads on your hands ... with the authority to have them do anything you wanted ... and you had five hours to do it in ... what kind of activities would you plan?"
I laughed. "Eight to one it's got something to do with sex."
"Something to do with sex? My friend ... it has everything to do with sex. I plan to have the world's greatest orgy. Five hours of fun-filled, fabulous fucking."
The final word came out too loud and heads turned towards us. I looked down at my drink to avoid the stares, but Lou took it in stride. He simply folded his arms, directed his attention towards one old lady giving him a disapproving look and said, "Yes, ma'am. That's fuck. F-U-C-K. As in copulation, fornication, penetration ... "
The old lady turned away quickly, but Lou finished the thought.
"And if it wasn't for that horrendous act, madame, you'd never even be here. So mind your own fucking business."
"About that orgy," I said to Lou, quietly, trying to keep the conversation strictly between us, "how many fellows you gonna have?"
"Oh, that's where all the fun comes in ... the whole crew will be on hand. Figure twelve guys, plus you and me."
"There won't be enough action to go around," I said.
"Y'ever play musical chairs? The whole idea is to be fast. You got to beat the other guy out, that's all. Eight cunts and fourteen pricks. The way I figure it, that leaves two holes unfilled."
"What if some of the models want to leave when the shooting's over?"
"Not likely. I know these girls. They're always looking for action. No. They're not going to walk out. Not with all those happy pricks waiting for entry. All you got to do is call out the word "orgy" and these chicks get wet."
"That's all it takes with them, huh?" I said a little skeptically.
"Sometimes not even that," Lou said, "cuz they're usually walking around wet all the time, anyway. But listen. Come at noon, Friday, will you? I guarantee satisfaction."
"Then I guarantee I'll be there."
It's amazing how long a day can become when there's something you're looking forward to. And it was seven days-seven interminably long days I had to go through-before orgy time. I managed a few incidental fucks here and mere-but the orgy loomed in my mind with such importance, nothing else really seemed to matter.
And nothing seemed to go right, either. The Friday orgy took such precedence over everything else in my mind, I couldn't concentrate on my work. I said okay to commercials that were absolutely shitty. And I turned down commercials that might have been perfect. I recorded a commercial using the wrong track entirely. I missed a few important meetings. And I was restless and uninterested in the ones I did attend. I came to work late. Went home early. Drank too many martinis. By the time Friday came around-finally-I was tired from sleeplessness, annoyed at myself for forcing my boss to yell at me far too many times, all nerves.
But if that was the price I had to pay for that Friday orgy, I would gladly do it again. Any time.
I arrived at Lou's studio early, around eleven. I didn't want to miss a thing. And knowing that there was going to be a shortage of chicks for all the men, I wanted equal opportunity to make my selection.
"Turn faster, damnit," Lou called out to the eight girls, all clad in red, one piece bathing suits, holding hands and moving around in a circle. I hadn't the vaguest idea of what product they were trying to sell-and couldn't even imagine an appropriate one. Maybe sun tan lotion. Or bathing suits. At any rate, the girls looked absolutely ridiculous rotating around like a bunch of dummies. But I withheld some of my cynicism. I had done a few weird executions myself.
"Faster, girls! I want a feeling of speed and motion."
My concern was not, however, what the girls were doing at that moment. What concerned me was what they'd be doing in the afternoon. I watched the girls spin around and tried to pick out the best of the bunch.
It wasn't easy. Or I should say it was too easy. Because I'd gladly take any one of the beautiful pussies that paraded around there on the stage. And if my imagination for the past week had at all been accurate, I wouldn't be limited to one at all. If I was lucky-and if I knew what an orgy was all about-I might even make it with all eight.
Apparently Lou had mentioned his idea to the crew. All of them were gaping, wide eyed and horny. I caught snatches of conversation amongst them. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of that fuckin' redhead ... " or, "Shit, I'm already coming in my pants. I wish Lou would wrap up this job so we can get started," and "I don't think I'm gonna mention this to my wife."
Lou spotted me, excused himself from center stage and came over to me by the door.
"Little early, aren't you?" he said, throwing his large arm around my shoulder.
"This isn't the kind of thing you come late for," I said.
"Well, I got about half an hour left to get this job done right. Have yourself some coffee. Relax."
"Hey, Lou ... just out of curiosity. What's this commercial for, anyway?"
"New sinus tablet. We're demonstrating what it feels like when this wonderful new product drains all your sinus cavities. It's symbolic, of course."
"Of course," I said.
Lou returned to the girls and I poured a plastic cupful of coffee. I guess I must have been pretty tired, because I started dozing and in a few moments my brain was off in never never land ...
* * *
It was an elongated bed, maybe fifteen feet wide. Lined up, on their backs, were eight gorgeous cunts, each with their legs spread and their holes wide open.
"Me ... me ... me ... " each one called in a deep, sexy, kind of echoed voice.
"Who gives the best fuck here?" I asked, leisurely removing my pants.
"Me ... oh, it's me ... here, me ... " they all said in unison. Each and every one of them was dying to get fucked. I couldn't have been more relaxed about the whole thing.
"Who's got the deepest hole?"
Again, the selfish, supine beauties screamed for themselves.
"Who can take it the longest?" I asked, removing my socks.
Again, each voted for herself.
"Okay," I said finally, I won't be unfair to any of you. I'll fuck you all."
I approached the girl on the extreme left. As I got directly in front of her with my rod poking straight up, her arms opened up for me. And her legs widened even more.
"Name, please?" I inquired, now straddling her between her legs, on the threshold of entry.
"Barbara."
"Occupation?"
"Cashier."
"Ready?"
"Very."
I plunged in, deeper than I expected. The hot inner walls of her cunt were like satin. I rocked and rolled crazily inside here and just before shooting my load, the girl to my right called out, "Now. Me!"
"Oh, all right," I said and releasing myself from Barbara, I climbed over to mount the next extraordinary cunt.
"Name?" I asked.
"Ester."
"Occupation?"
"Dancer."
"Ready?"
"Oh, god, am I," she said, putting her hands on my backside and shoving me deep inside her. As I drove my stiff cock into her, she put a hand on my shoulder and began shaking me violently.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked, pounding away at her insides furiously. "Stop shaking my shoulder, damnit."
"I won't stop," she said, but her voice now sounded deep, like a man's.
"Stop shaking my shoulder like that," I shouted at her.
"You gonna join in on the orgy, or you gonna sit here and sleep all day?"
I opened my eyes. It was Lou, standing next to me, shaking my shoulder.
"Boy, I've seen guys who are blase about an orgy, but you really take the cake. You sit down in a chair, put a cup of coffee in your lap and fall asleep."
"Oh," I said, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes, to bring me back to reality. "Oh, yes. Orgy. Oh. Yes, indeedy." I rubbed my eyes a couple of times. "Say, Lou, how do you organize this thing? I mean, how do you get it all started?"
"That's an absurd question," Lou said. "You don't have to organize sex. All I got to do is call out orgy and let nature take its course."
"Let's see you call it out," I said, now fully awake, now fully prepared for all the action I had dreamt about so intensely for the last week.
"You're sure you're ready?"
"I'm sure," I said.
I looked around the huge studio room. Over on one side, near all the lights, were the men. Clustered together, silently awaiting the command of their director. On the other side of the studio were the girls, still in bathing suits, most of them seated primly in chairs.
"You mention this orgy to the gals, too?" I asked.
"Sure. Told them all this morning before we started working. It helps their attitude when they work. And it's kind of a nice dessert for them for a job well done."
"Oh." Apparently, I had lots to learn about the inner workings of a model's mind.
"Okay, kids ... are you ready?" Lou called out in a thunderous voice. The walls of die studio seemed to vibrate with the response. The crew and all the girls, in unison, cried out a tremendous, YES!
"Well then. Don't just sit there. Go to it. It's ORGY TIME."
I suppose the best way to describe it, is to say it was like a herd of wild buffalo. I almost saw smoke in the air. On the word "orgy," bodies charged toward bodies, voices cried out. For a second, I panicked. My god! I suddenly thought. I'm not part of it. I was so fascinated watching everyone's response to Lou's command, that I had quite forgotten that the orgy was as much for me and for anyone. During that split second when I stood there, fearful that I might not get any part of the action, I discovered that one of the girls had broken from the pack and was running directly towards me. Instinctively, I opened my arms to greet her, but as she approached, she went to her knees, put her arms around my ass and began nuzzling her head against the front of my pants.
"Don't just stand there," Lou said, laughing, with two gals clinging and clawing him like parasites, "drop your pants and give the pretty girl what she wants."
I didn't have to. Her fingers had already pulled down my zipper and she was struggling to pull my half erect cock out of my pants.
"Mmmmmm," she said, "I can't wait."
She didn't wait. She had it out in a second and immediately gulped it into her mouth. She sucked my cock skin back and forth voraciously. Her left hand crept into the opening of my pants and gently coddled my full balls.
This was all happening too fast for me. I glanced up, across the studio floor and was shocked to discover that almost everybody was already fucking. Whatever happened to foreplay? I guessed that the anticipation of the orgy was all the foreplay everybody needed. On the word "ORGY," undoubtedly, the men were already hard, the girls already wet. It was a roomful of twisting gyrating bodies, loud moans and groans.
My own cock was really getting the business. This gal put her heart and soul into each and every slippery, salivated suck on my hard prick. My organ had become a furnace and this beautiful creature on her knees before me, was forcing the fires hotter and hotter.
"Listen, this isn't the beach. You can take your damned bathing suit off," I told her, having some difficulty sliding my fingers in her suit to get at her tits.
I had never before seen a girl remove a bathing suit with a cock in her mouth, without even breaking rhythm. Contorting her arms and body around, she actually managed to slide it off entirely. I bent down and caressed two divinely soft tits in each of my hands. I closed my eyes to enjoy the sensations. After a moment, I had the decided impression that my blower's tongue had divided, split in two, because I could feel one of her tongues moving up and down my hard shaft and the other tongue circling the head of my prick. Marveling at the extraordinary flexibility of this gorgeous creature, I opened my eyes and was amazed to find that the double blowing I was receiving was not the product of one mouth at all, but two. Another fabulous creature had apparently reveled in the visual delights of my cock and had come over to give it some attention. There was no possessiveness at all between the two girls. Each worked with her own territory on my cock, without interrupting the other. Fortunately, the newcomer had already removed her suit-or had it removed for her-so now I took one of her tits in my hand, squeezed it and compared it with the other gal's tit, which I still cradled in my other hand.
It was like buying tomatoes in a supermarket. But if I had been shopping, I would undoubtedly had purchased both. The tit in my left hand had more resilience, more bounce to it. But the smaller, firmer tit in my other hand had its own special excitement.
The comparative details of the two tits became muddled in my mind as I realized that my greatest energy was focused on the hard center of my being. The two gals worked so well together, with such excellent juicy teamwork, that I had to pull back quickly to keep from jetting then and there. With five hours of raw, unmitigated sex to look forward to, you don't want to blow it too fast.
"Awwww," said the two girls, disappointedly. But I cheered them up by getting down on my own hands and knees and joining them on the floor. Extending the middle finger of each hand, I inserted both into each of the girls' steaming pussies. Wiggling my fingers around roughly, the two girls sprawled out on their backs, spreading their legs wide to receive the greatest sensation from their finger fuckings.
The trick now, was to get my pants off without removing my fingers. It was a physical impossibility, though I did try to loosen my pants by wiggling my elbows. Having no choice, I removed my sticky goo-filled fingers from their boiling boxes and started to work my pants down.
The gals took the respite as an opportunity for aggressiveness. Just as I got my pants down below my knees, one of the girls toppled me backwards, mounting herself across my neck.
What could I do? The large black forest tickled my lips, the gleaming wet, hot juice beckoned my mouth. My tongue sprang out of my mouth like a frog. Fast, straight darts. The first directed to her hard, enlarged clit. The second shot aimed right for the line between her aching lips. I alternated the thrusts at an incredible speed and the gal's hips started a feverish rotation, so that even if I kept my mouth perfectly still, she bumped her crotch hard against it, anyway. My tongue was getting tired, anyway, so I pulled it back into my mouth and let her do all the joyful work.
While all this action ensued, the other girl also remained active. With one hand, she was jerking me off, pulling on my cock so hard, I thought she'd remove all the skin. She used one finger with her other hand to get in my ass. Her finger poked and scratched around in my hole. My mouth, my ass and my cock couldn't have been happier.
My little group started to grow. One of the fat lighting men had come over and was noisily sucking away on the tits of the gal who was sitting and bumping on my face. And from the corner of my eye, I could see that the gal who was whipping my cock to a froth, was getting a little frothing herself. And from no one else but Lou. Her ass was up in the air and Lou was zinging it into her, dog style. I loved being in the middle of the action.
In a gesture of sexual exultation, I reached my arms back and was delighted to find that I had made contact with yet another pair of tits. I couldn't get a good grip on them because they were bouncing around too rapidly.
"Squeeze the nipples," a female voice said.
"They're flopping around too fast for me to grab," I said, my face now feeling like it was being bruised from the incredible pelvis strokes my seated cunt was delivering.
"Nipples. Squeeze my nipples."
In an orgy, everybody asks for what they want. There is no semi consciousness at all.
Waving my arms around, I again managed to find the flying tits. But this time I held tight and in a moment, had each of the nipples securely. I pinched and pulled on them crudely and the copulating cunt loved it.
"Oh, pull on them harder."
I pulled on them harder.
"Harder!"
I was sure I was stretching the poor nipples completely out of shape, but I was glad to accommodate her desires. While working the firm nipples in my hand, the gal atop me, with her cunt smashing up hard against my face, started to come.
"Holy shit!" she cried out and I was sure I would lose a couple of teeth before she finished. Her hairy cunt seemed to be propelled by a jet motor. Harder and harder she banged her pussy into the weight of my mouth and tongue; and then it was all over. Grabbing onto my hair and pulling it almost sadistically, the energetic young thing shivered, cried and came. It relieved me, too, because my mouth ached like hell.
As she slowed her gyrations to a near halt, I felt something hot and wet circle my prick; quickly it had slid deep into a hole. A cunt hole, for sure. Without any exertion on my part, the cunt drove up and down on my cock with slippery speed. The gal that had taken my cock was sitting with her back towards me and with her hands, she manipulated and massaged my fiery balls. And while all that was going on, I continued yanking away at the pair of nipples that I had discovered somewhere behind me.
"Don't stop now!" I called out, feeling the rush of boiling liquid inside my cock.
Far from stopping, she speeded up. And with the hard nipples between my fingers, with a furry cunt still slopped up against my face and with a hot, gooey box pumping me into sweet oblivion, I came. I wanted to hold it longer, but I couldn't grit my teeth any longer. The fiery liquid gushed out of me in gloriously thrilling spurts. I pulled even harder on the nipples behind me. Even took my tired tongue out of my mouth to lap at the honey-sweet cunt juices that sat in front of my face. With each spurt, I shoved my prick as deep as I possibly could into the cunt that clamped it like a vise. Ejecting completely, I let my hands slip from the hard nipples and turned my head away from the liquid cunt that sat on me.
"Wow," I said aloud, "I don't believe that."
"Why don't you wait till five o'clock before you evaluate the action," said Lou, still ramming his cock into the same model, "we've still got hours to go. The most amazing thing about an orgy is how many times you can come. Excuse me."
On that, he turned his attention back to his spread-legged lover and with massive convulsions all over his huge, muscular body, Lou came. Undoubtedly, for my benefit, to demonstrate his "come-ability."
"Just came, didn't I," Lou said, slowly extracting his cock from the cunt.
"You sure did," said the gal who had just received his torrential blasts.
"I'm not talking to you," he said.
"Yes," I said to Lou, my words partially muffled by the hairy cunt that had again repositioned itself to my mouth. "You sure came. I could see it."
"Then watch again," said Mr. Muscles.
Once again, Lou plunged deep into his happy model. Quicker and quicker, he lunged. Then-not even thirty seconds after his previous orgasm-Lou had another.
"Oh, boy. Beautiful. Whoo!" cried Lou and clutching tight to the agreeable body that lay beside him, Lou's muscles rippled; he convulsed and came.
"That's two," said Lou proudly. "I tell you, it's the orgy situation that stimulates the old gonads. Christ, I've been to orgies where I've had a dozen comes."
I would have continued the conversation, but my mouth was again engaged in wet pussy. I would have continued eating her-as she obviously was demanding from her forceful thrusts-but my jaws and tongue were too sore.
"Christ, even when you're working you get a ten minute coffee break. Can't you give your pussy a rest for a minute?" I begged my seated companion, who was violently smacking her cunt into my face.
"Don't talk," she said, swiveling and bouncing.
By now, my whole mouth was quite uncomfortable, so I lowered my face just enough to let my nose make all the contact. Her clit banged up against the bridge of my nose at whirlwind speed. Her tits jumped around crazily and in a moment, it was all over.
"Oooooooh!" she moaned, tossing her head back with closed eyes. "It's too incredible."
"What's incredible," I said, relieved that her pelvis pumping had slowed to a halt, "is that I've just masturbated you with my nose."
"Sweety," she said, looking down at me, placing both her hands lovingly on the side of my face, "I wouldn't care if it was a lawn mower. Or your big toe. It was delicious."
"I'm sure it was," I said. "Listen, would you mind getting off me for a second. I'm a little uncomfortable pinned down here like this."
She accommodated me; and with wobbly legs, I rose. I was surprised to find that I was standing dead center, in the middle of all the action. Bodies heaved and humped away, arms and legs flew about, almost every hole was happily taken, no breast was left unattended. Strewn across the entire studio floor were bathing suits, pants, underwear, shirts, socks, shoes. The place was a wreck. But when it comes to sex, who said neatness counts?
Seeing, at least for the moment, that each body was quite well engaged and wanting a bit of a breather, I walked over to a table with a large coffee pot and an assortment of danish and cookies. I poured myself a cup and munched away at a cheese danish. When I was finished with the danish, I lit a cigarette and coolly looked about the room for a piece of action I might want to get a piece of.
I wouldn't have known just where to start. In the center, a gal lay stretched out on her back, her arms extended and in either hand, a hard cock. Each of her soft tits were being attended to by two different mouths, one male, one female. Her pussy was getting a licking from another male who was also busy ass-fucking another gal side-saddle. It was somewhat difficult to determine whose cock, whose tit and whose pussy belonged to who. A multitude of arms, legs and organs just seemed haphazardly thrown together, like a pile of jigsaw pieces that hadn't yet been put together. Up and down, not in syncopation, the pile of bodies moved. Eyes were closed tight, or open wide examining some nearby organ. Hands clenched, squeezed, clawed. Legs kicked. Pelvises threw themselves around. Female hair flew around. Moans, groans, strange sounds echoed throughout the room. And the perspiring bodies made the whole room smell like a gymnasium.
I enjoyed all of this seated in a chair, finishing my coffee, blowing smoke rings. It was a visual delight and I took each luscious detail in, missing nothing. And then I saw a pair of perfectly round, soft asscheeks moving backwards and forwards. They were unattended to. It was my opening and I took the opportunity without the loss of a second.
Practically flying down, I put my lips on these softest, round orbs and kissed the velvet skin. In reaction, the legs separated, allowing me full view of the center goodies-a pair of gaping, wet holes, impatient for contact.
Tonguing across the moon of one cheek, I moved toward the center section and soon had my tongue racing over fertile valleys. In the ass, across the puffy red cunt lips, to the clit, a quick sniff with my nose, then back into the hot cunt for some tonguing explorations.
It was to be expected. While my head was so deeply engaged between the long, soft legs of this extraordinary cunt, a pair of lips had descended upon my cock and began sucking it up to a froth, up to a stiffness that was so hard it was almost painful. This disturbed me, because I was just preparing mentally to ram my engine inside the wet and ready hole of the gal I was tonguing. I don't know if politeness is an absurdity in an orgy, but at any rate I tried. Momentarily turning my head away from my huge, wet, waiting hole, I looked to the gal who had put my aching member deep inside her mouth.
"Excuse me," I said, sweetly, "but I was just about to use that. Would you mind terribly waiting a few minutes before you take my cock? I promise I'll give it to you after."
She was either deaf, or thoroughly unwilling to relinquish the bone she had found and was sucking away at so possessively. She neither looked up nor slowed her movements at all. In fact, she sucked harder and faster.
"Listen," I said again, "if you don't mind, I'd like my cock back."
Still no response. I tried a desperate tactic, tried to yank my phallus back away from her mouth, but the girl simply bore down with her teeth. When a woman wants something, there's not much you can do about it, but give it to her.
Defeated, I resigned myself to continuing the sticky job at hand and I rolled my head back and worked diligently on the cunt by my face. As soon as my lips touched her heated areas, my pet kicked her legs apart widely, obviously demanding that I hurry. She wanted penetration now. Christ, I wanted penetration now. Knowing there was no alternative, I reached down, grabbed the hair of the gal who refused to return my cock and pulled with all my might. It worked. She quickly undid her mouth from my cock and yelped. I wasted no time. Repositioning myself, I directed my impatient prick into my lover's impatient pussy and shoved with everything I had.
"Aaaaah," she said, as my bone drove up inside her hot walls, "it's about time. I thought you'd never get here."
"I'm here," I said, thrusting like a madman, though still a bit sore from the teething I had just received from Miss Possessiveness, but a pain I was most willing to endure.
The girl's swollen cunt lips clamped down hard on my sliding stick. I had barely given her a dozen thrusts when it was all over for her. First tightening her muscles, she then let it all out, kicking her arms and legs wildly. I could feel her cunt juices pouring out. It was premature for me to come, so I didn't force myself. I simply didn't. I had plenty of time, plenty more chicks to make it with. When my flailing animal had had her come, she simply pulled her pelvis back till I slid out, then turned around with her ass facing me.
"Now do me that way."
I was in a giving mood. But I didn't have to do much of the work. She reached her hands behind her and separated her cheeks for me, exposing an enticing, brown and round anus. With just a delicate smattering of wet, plastered down hairs.
"Okay," I said.
I leveled my cock, aimed straight and got the head to her entrance way. I had a little trouble getting up in there.
"Take some stuff from my cunt and rub it all around my ass," she said. "A little more lubrication and away we go."
Good directions. I got a handful of wetness from her cunt-some of which was undoubtedly my own come -and spread it generously around her tight asshole.
"That's good," she sighed.
It sure was. Once again, I made my thrust, this time making better progress than before. I was in head deep. Another thrust and I was in another inch.
"You're hurting me," she said.
"Shall I stop?"
"God no. I love pain."
"Oh."
Another little push and I got another little inch in. Thrust by thrust, I inched my way into her, until the entire shaft was buried deep inside her gripping asshole.
"Ah, finally," she said. "Now shove like you mean it. And don't be afraid to hurt me. Really, it's okay. I can take it."
"If you can take it, I can give it."
And so I gave it to her. Holding on to her hip bones, I smashed into her at lightning speed. The harder I smashed, the louder she moaned, "Oh, do it harder. Harder! Can't you do it harder!"
Actually, I couldn't. I was doing it as hard as I could. My thrustings had helped give a little leeway in her tight entrance and now my cock at least had some play deep in there.
"Do my clit while you do me up the ass."
This girl was full of directions. But why shouldn't I make her happy. I really had nothing else to do with my time. Reaching my hand around, I found her erect clit and flicked it back and forth as I pummeled her asshole.
"Good ... good ... good! ... " she cried.
She not only gave directions. She evaluated everything that I did. But I quickly became less aware of her own little peculiarities, than I did with my own present hot needs. Again, my juices were at the boiling point and the tight fit of her sensational asshole milked away at me beautifully. As my tension grew, I flicked harder and harder on her clit, remembering, of course, that she had said she didn't mind pain at all. At my joyful moment of explosion, I had grabbed her clit between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed on it as hard as I could.
Together we came. We sang a duet of "Ooooh, wow, baby!" and then the two of us simply collapsed from exhaustion.
The orgy master himself, Lou Torino, had found me. He caught me in the middle of this immense orgasm and just as it was finishing, he said, "Hey there. What'd I tell you? Orgy's wake up the sex organs don't they? How many have you had now?"
I finished my orgasm before answering him.
"How many what? Gals or comes?"
"I don't care. Pick either one."
"Haven't been counting."
"Atta boy. Lost count. That's the way it should be. Want a piece of this?"
Lou handed over still another gal. He patted her bare behind and the young thing crawled over to me on hands and legs, her big tits swinging under her like fat cow utters.
"Thanks, Lou ... but I need a little break."
"A break? You just had one. Wasn't that you over by the coffee pot, just before?"
"Yeh."
"Well, hell ... you getting old or something? This lovely beast who is about to mount you has just finished commenting to me about the size and shape of your prick. She says she'd love to try it. So don't turn her down, okay, pal?"
There wasn't any time to do any rejecting at all. The sweaty beast rolled me on my back, positioned her cunt just above my half erect cock and directed it straight into her slippery cunt.
"Just relax," the long-haired beauty said to me, "I'll have it all the way up in no time."
I don't know where I picked up all the energy, but the girl was quite right. Just the feel and texture of her hairy, wet box, caused my prick to return to its regal height. I lifted my head up and grabbed a hanging tit in my mouth. The beauty rocked back and forth, up and down on my cock and I sucked her tit lovingly.
"Love it," my seated beauty said, jumping up and down atop my hot, hard cock.
"No arguments from me," I said, pushing harder and deeper inside her, still a bit amazed at my energetic cock, I winced, just thinking about what shape my cock would be in when this day was over, but then chose to keep my mind on present activities. And that was pretty easy to do. I had removed my mouth from her tit and was now squeezing each of her meaty breasts viciously with my hand-so hard, I wouldn't have been surprised if both of them squirted out a jetful of milk. At the same time, our bodies thumped and bumped together and the perspiration simply poured out.
"Oh, now ... it's gonna happen now," she said.
"You don't have to tell me," I said, watching her contort her face from the ecstasy of her oncoming come.
Not wanting her to be lonely with her experience, I joined her. God knows where my liquid came from, I had expelled so much already I was convinced I was bone dry. But sure enough, the hot liquid came out-not as much as before-but enough to assure me of my joyful potency. Done, finally, I patted my lover on her forehead.
"Would you mind remaining here for just a little? If you get up, someone else is going to take your place ... and I don't think I can take another fucking. Not for the moment, anyway."
"You're kidding," she said, again starting her pelvic revolutions on my sore prick, "I'm just getting started. What do you think I am? A one-come gal? I got lots left in me."
"Please," I pleaded, "I'm getting sore."
"Isn't it worth it?" she asked, arching her back left and right, finding new angles to help arouse my semi-erect cock.
"Not at the moment."
"But I'll do all the work," said my superpotent cunt.
"It doesn't matter who's doing the work. It's the friction on my cock. It just needs a little rest, that's all."
"What friction?" she asked, still working faster on me. "I'm so damned wet, it slides perfectly smoothly. Anyway, it's almost over ... because I'm about to cooomm mm! ... "
And she did. Fortunately, I was finally able to convince her that I had really had quite enough-at least for a while. So she promised she would remain on me to keep the other horny girls from pressing their demands on me. And she promised-at least for a while -to keep her cunt still and quiet and not start up the action till I said it was okay.
Lying there, with nothing else to do, other than to let my cock take a much needed break, I talked to her about other things.
"You been a model long?" I asked.
She looked down at me and smiled. "Too long. Five years. Actually, I hate the work. You know what it's like? Going from casting session to casting session. You hardly ever land anything solid. This job today. I'll be lucky if it even goes into a test market. The odds against making it as a model or actress are insanely low. But it's all I know how to do."
"You fuck pretty well."
"Oh, that. Of course. That's the only end of the business I really like. I love these orgy's. They really give me a chance to clear my system. And I like the feels I pick up at the casting sessions. They're actually kind of exciting. Kind of keeps me assured that I'm still appetizing. That's important to a gal, you know."
"I know."
"Can we fuck, now?" she asked, "we've done an awful lot of talking. And I'm really horny as hell lying on top of you like this."
"Hey, come on," I said, "you promised to be still."
"I was. But it's been ten minutes already."
"Not nearly," I said, "and I couldn't get it up now with the aid of a hoisting crane. So can you cool it, hon, just a little more? Give me time to generate a little energy."
"Men ... "
"Hmmm ... ?"
"It's funny," she said, reaching down and toying with my nipples till they tingled and hardened, "you men do all the chasing. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, you men always poop out so soon."
"Don't generalize," I said, finding myself starting to respond to her caresses. Her hands had moved to my stomach and she tickled it with her long fingernails. "Just because you're a nymph ... doesn't make every man you make it with inadequate. Do you know how many orgasms I've had in the last hour?"
"A hundred?"
"Very funny. No, not a hundred. But ... maybe three or four."
"Oh, poor baby," she said and now she again started her slow rocking motions. I desisted from saying anything to her. Yes, she was a good girl. She had waited. And my cock was responding. In moments, it was again at full height and she brought her hands down and started rubbing the head of it against her swollen clit.
"Mmmmmm ... " she said, "you're not bad at all."
"You're pretty good yourself," I said, encouraged by my growing member.
Getting herself sufficiently aroused, she directed my prick straight in her and it slid right in, without a trickle of resistance.
"Aaahhhhh ... " she said. "That was worth waiting for."
"No argument," I said, still finding it difficult to believe that my swollen member had so many fucks stored inside it.
Again the movement started and although I didn't thrust with quite the same energy that I had earlier, the excitement was equally intense.
"Can't you go a little faster?" my nympho inquired, ahead of me with her fast, impatient rhythms.
"Can't you go a little slower?" I inquired, "You're always in such a hurry to come. Take it easy. There's no fire. We've got plenty of time. We've got till five."
"Men! ... "
But she went along with my slower pace. Actually, it was quite relaxing. Leisurely, I took one of her breasts in my hand and toyed with it. It felt like a soft balloon.
"You've really got some pair," I said, letting my finger trace the outline of her fleshy tit from top to bottom, stopping momentarily for the thrilling hardness of her erect nipple."
"You know something? You talk too much. Orgy's aren't for talking. They're for fucking. And if you pop out so fast, you shouldn't come to an orgy. It's really unfair."
"Know what?" I said, ignoring her comments. "Your breasts are not identical. The left one is bigger than the right."
"Oh, just ride on, will you?" she said and like she was on an old horse who was having trouble moving, she bucked and swiveled her hips in an attempt to charge me with more energy.
She was successful. My cock felt the oven heat of her wide, deep cunt, and in spite of all its exhaustion, it charged on inside the hole like it was trying to dig new ground. Of course, she kept with my more rapid pace and in moments the two of us were crazily crashing together without regard for genital pain or exhaustion.
Crushing her tits in my face-licking the perspiring valley between them-once again I came, my seed spilling out in thick fast spurts.
"Oh, my god, that's delicious. I just love the feeling of hot come pouring into my insides. I thought you said you were tired."
"Don't worry about it," I said, knowing full well it was my problem anyway. Tomorrow, I'd do the suffering from this overused cock. Not her.
"I'd rather come than worry," she said. And she came.
I suppose the best way to describe it, would be to say I felt like my entire body had been rolled flat under a steam roller. Right now, I didn't care who approached my cock. If they wanted to play with the soft piece of skin, it was okay with me. It wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't going to get hard. Not now, anyway. My model dismounted from me and after a few struggling attempts, I managed to stand. It wasn't easy. My legs wobbled, my whole body felt like jelly. Though I was small and soft, my cock throbbed with discomfort.
"Hey, babes ... "
I turned around. Lou was pawning off another cunt in my direction.
"Lou. Do her yourself. Eat her. Fuck her in the ear, up the nose, in the armpit. I don't care. But don't give her to me. For the moment, I'm useless."
"Oh, come on. You serious? Christ ... I've had dozens of orgasms already ... and I'm ready for more."
"So you take her," I said to Lou, pushing the naked beauty in his direction. "Really, Lou, I appreciate the gift ... but I'm not really in a receiving mood. Not now, anyway."
"But we've got a couple hours left," Lou said, letting his finger crawl up into a nearby pussy.
"Good. That'll give me a little time to relax."
I didn't mean to shrug Lou off ... but I didn't want to get into a hassle with him. If he had the energy to take ten more, then and there, that was his business. But for me ... all I wanted was a cup of coffee, a smoke and a few minutes to myself. And I took them.
I was delighted to find that my problem was nothing unique. It wasn't impotence I was suffering from. It was sheer exhaustion. Sheer justified exhaustion. And almost everybody else there was in the same state. Christ, I've seen movies where couples go at it morning, afternoon and evening, nonstop. They don't take time out to shit. Or to eat. Or to rest. Or to talk. They just fuck and fuck and fuck, But that's the movies. They cut out the rest parts. Shit. Who wants to see a porn with a ten minute rest period. But this was real life. And in real life-no matter how much fun you're having-your body says, "okay. Take a break. You've had enough for a while." I heard my body and I was giving it full respect. It said rest and that's precisely what I intended to do.
Maybe there were a few paired bodies still going at it. But for the most part, everyone had reached their limit and they lounged, or slept, or lay on their backs looking up at the ceiling. Lou, the great director, was even making himself somewhat obnoxious with his super energy. He'd walk over to a gal, grab a tit, thrust a finger in her cunt and she'd say, "Not now, Lou. Maybe later, okay?" Poor Lou. His own orgy. Nothing but naked chicks around. And everyone of them too tired to do it. That's life, I suppose.
"Don't feel rejected," I said to Lou as he walked over to me, "it's just that everybody's not in the same shape as you."
"Yeh, yeh. But it pisses me off. I mean, I can remember years ago, we'd have all-night orgies. And I'm telling you ... there was no copping out ... no pooping out. We'd all go at it for hours on end. The later it got, the harder the guys got ... the wetter the gal's got."
"Guess times have changed," I said, letting my left hand idly stroke my sore, soft cock.
"Damn right. Next time, I'm gonna be more selective about who I invite to an orgy. Christ. What's this world coming to when you can't even fuck to your hearts content?"
"There are still a couple of hours to go. Let everyone relax a little. And then ... they'll be all too willing to go at it again."
"I suppose so," he said and he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down next to me. His cock remained straight up. If he was going to wait, his cock clearly wasn't.
"Well, looky here," I said to Lou. Coming over to him was a beautiful young thing in jeans and sweater. She wasn't part of the original eight.
"Excuse me," she said demurely to Lou, "but is this Studio C?"
"No, this is studio A ... but what's the diff?" said Lou, delighted that he had found a female who couldn't possibly be tired out. "Won't you stay for a moment?"
"What are you shooting here ... a documentary for a nudist colony?" she asked, looking about and seeing nothing but naked bodies sprawled all around.
"That's right," said Lou, "and you're going to get the lead part."
"I am?"
Lou answered by putting his large arms around her waist and drawing her close to him. He planted a long, wet kiss on her lips-and at the same time let one band slip down to her rear. He squeezed both her cheeks.
"I really should find studio C," the young thing said, after Lou released his lips from hers.
But Lou persisted. He brought his hand to the front of her crotch and took a handful of cunt. His aggressiveness was too much for her and her legs parted.
"In this scene ... everybody's naked," said Lou, who quickly lifted her sweater over her head and had her pants down.
"Do I really get the lead part?" the girl asked, as Lou lowered her on her back.
"I wouldn't call this a bit part," Lou said, getting between her lithe legs and shoving his hard bone deep inside her. From that point on, there were no more words. The girl's legs were spread wide and lifted high off the air ... going up higher every time Lou forced his rod deep into her. Lou's bulky body practically buried the girl's body under his ... all I could see of her were her legs and arms, both of which were now wound tightly around Lou's convulsing body. Lou's hairy ass worked up and down. Little moans and squeals could be heard from somewhere under him.
I hate to admit it, but I finished my coffee, got up and left. I had really had it. And my cock had had it.
Instead of returning to the office, I wouldn't have been able to keep my mind on my work, anyway, I went straight home, took a cold shower, poured myself a cold beer and crawled under the cool sheets of my bed.
"Whew," I said to myself and I slept for fifteen straight hours.
Lunch
A book that has to do with advertising, must certainly include lunch. The term-to an advertising man -does not mean an hour's worth of lettuce & tomato at the local coffee shop. Hardly. For the advertising man, lunch means anywhere from two to three hours ... it means drinks, lots of them ... and it means women, of course. In fact women are the very reason the advertising man needs so many hours ... and so many drinks. The time-to get to know the chick. The drinks-to give him the courage to follow through with his imagination. The drinks also serve to lower the female's resistance. For when two martinis are swimming in the head of a gorgeous gal, you can already consider the gal's body your own.
When I first went into advertising, I was dedicated and hard working. My attitude was nothing short of cynical towards what I considered the "goof-offs" that wasted company money and time in two and three hour eating affairs, most of which are put down on the company's expense account. But in time I began to learn. I saw, for example, that the tired, ineffectual workers who went out for their long lunch periods, usually came back awake, alive, happy, full of piss and vinegar.
First, I thought it was just the drinks. That it was nothing more than a goofy drunken state these executives were returning in. But that didn't explain their sudden bursts of creativity. Their drive. Their afternoon fire.
Since I allowed myself only the time it took me to eat, which was usually less than an hour, I felt it my duty to discover not only what other advertising men did with all their lunch time ... but what it was that caused their sudden extra motivation for work.
I am long past that primeval time of utter naivete now, but in those early advertising years, I refused to be satisfied until I discovered precisely how all that time was being used up.
I went about it the easiest way I knew how. I asked my co-workers how and why they spent so much time for lunch. That was a tough question to ask, because in this business, everybody is supposed to know everything about everything. So it took a prideful sacrifice to ask. And I got some interesting answers. None of them totally direct. But putting them all together, they drew the picture quite clearly.
"Eat? Who eats?" was one common answer.
"Well then, what do you do?"
"Eat. But not food. No time for that."
"Oh,"
Then there were the guys that became paranoid about my questions.
"Listen ... the boss set you up with these questions? Come on, level with me. Does he want to know how I'm using my time?"
"No, honest ... " I would answer, "I'm just curious, myself."
"Yeh. Right," they'd say and excuse themselves for that mysterious three hour absence.
But you persist with something long enough, you find out everything you want to know. What they all did was so obvious, I felt like an utter idiot for not knowing, immediately. Each and everyone of them was shacking up. Screwing their brains out. Getting all the early morning tension's out of their systems so they could face the other half of the day with a stiff upper lip and a square jaw. Fucking. How fucking obvious.
Who were they fucking? Anything with a cunt and tits. Anything and everything. Their secretaries. The female reps. Gals they'd meet on the street. Or in casting. It didn't matter who. None of them were selective. It was a question of how often. Because if a guy could get it once a day, during lunch, he could survive the work of the week.
"Yeh," I said to myself, in those days, "that's right. There is kind of a tension in my head ... kind of throughout my body. Quite true, I've been getting more headaches recently than ever before, been noticing that I've been waking up with stiff necks, been a little irritable and grouchy lately, not feeling quite up to my usual par. Maybe a little lunching fuck now and then would ease things up, let me relax, get me back to my basic equilibrium."
And with that point of view, I planned and organized and worked out a series of schemes to insure mi-self of those early afternoon fucks. That was then. Now, it happens, naturally. Don't need much planning. Or figuring. Just a snap of the fingers, or a dial on the telephone and bingo, three hour lunch with all the sexual accoutrements.
To best clarify the use of those divine hours between twelve and three, let me pick out one of my better weeks and give you some of the horny details on a day to day basis. That should give you some idea of the wonderful opportunities that face an advertising man every day of his career.
Monday. During this particular day, it was dark and rainy. It's not the kind of weather that's conducive to work at all and it's bad weather to be alone with. Too many depressing thoughts come to mind. But fucking. Ah! That's precisely what rainy days were made for.
I had had no particular plans that day and so decided to scout around the agency for some nice, young blood. That means-simply-a part-time secretary. We always use them every time one of the regular gals gets sick or decides to take a day off. Finding them is easy, because I'm familiar with all the regular secretaries around the place.
So I made my way through the art department, down a long corridor past the production department ... and lo and behold ... seated directly in front of Pearson Dibbs office ... there she was. A young thing, maybe twenty or so, long black hair that separated into two long braids down her back. Dark complexion, high cheek-bones, fiery dark eyes. She looked Indian-American kind-so much so, that it wouldn't have been a shock to me at all if she pulled out a tomahawk from her pocketbook. I approached Pocahontas the way I usually approach a lunch victim-with a paper in my hand and a serious expression on my face. I know a lot of fellows who use the direct approach. "Hi, say you're something to look at ... listen ... wanna have lunch with me? ... Really you're something to look at." But the trouble with that method is that it gives the gal too easy an out. If she says, "no," plainly and simply, you've had it with her. Or rather, you can forget about ever having it with her.
But my method is far more successful. Rather than giving her equal status, by dealing with her as an equal, I deal with her as a secretary. Automatically, she feels her place. Following that, any direct conversation, gives her the feeling of rising above her station. And a girl will do anything to rise above her station. Especially a secretary.
"Oh, excuse me," I offered, waving the paper in my hand rather frantically, I must have this copied immediately. "I see you're quite busy ... but if you could just take a second ... I'd be most appreciative."
The squaw looked up at me from her typewriter. Her big lashes blinked beautifully over her eyes. A smile happened, exposing an ivory white set of teeth.
"Okay, sure," she said pleasantly, "I'll copy it for you on the Xerox, if that's all right. How many copies do you want?"
"Oh, just one, thanks," I said, "but not on the Xerox. It's for the client. I'd rather that you simply typed up a copy for me."
"Oh, all right."
"And could you hurry?" I asked.
The relationship was clearly set. To her, my interests were no more than professional. With slightly nervous fingers, she stuck a piece of paper in the typewriter and started pounding away, looking up once for a brief nervous smile, then continuing like a good, dedicated little secretary.
Little, however, would not be an appropriate word for the marvelous creature who was busily working away copying some old memo I had grabbed off my desk. There was a decided shake to her tits each time she returned the carriage on the typewriter. The pink blouse changed its wrinkle pattern each time her jugs bumped about inside. The Indian clearly wore no bra.
"A little faster ... ?" I said.
The faster she typed, the more energy she put into her arm movement as she repositioned the carriage. And the greater movement there, caused a greater movement of her tits. The action was delicious. But I was running out of time. She only had about eight lines to go ... and during that time, I had to lay a couple of lines on her. If you don't move quick in this business, you really don't get very far.
"Actually ... " I said, "typing the memo isn't really such a good idea."
"What?" she asked, her fingers still singing along the typewriter. Four lines to go.
"I mean ... well, can you stop typing a minute? I'd like to ask your opinion about something."
There's not a secretary in the world that wouldn't give her left tit to help a harried executive with a problem. It feeds their mother image and momentarily, allows them to forget the despicableness of spending their time as lowly secretaries.
"Oh ... sure ... if I can help ... "
"Got a sec'?" I asked.
"Sure ... "
I pulled a chair close to hers and leaned in confidentially.
"Well, there's this new client, see ... and he adds up to a lot of profits for this agency ... so, of course, he should be treated right ... don't you think?"
"Well, I suppose so ... " She put both her hands under her chin, rather sultrily, I thought.
"Well, this particular client likes the feeling of getting special attention. I mean ... I could either send this memo over to him, which probably wouldn't impress him a bit, or, I could have you go over yourself and simply talk it. I mean ... can you imagine how he'd feel ... our agency sending over a gal to personally give him the message? ... "
"I didn't know they did things like that ... I mean ... what's wrong with sending it over?" she asked.
"You're right. Oh, you're so right. Things like that are not usually done ... but that's why I want to do it. Something kind of special for him. Make him feel important."
"Oh ... "
"Of course," I said, running my hands through my hair, "I wouldn't want you reading the memo to him ... I'd much rather you had it memorized. He'd really get a bang out of that."
"Memorized?" She seemed in a bit of a quandary. After all, she was only a part-time secretary ... hired for the day to do a little typing and take a few calls. I couldn't blame her for her quizzical reaction. I knew my method was a bit whacky, but since I'd started, I decided to keep a straight face and go on with it.
"Sure. You know ... just study the memo ... and then you can tell it to him. You could have it memorized by ... three ... couldn't you?"
"Three o'clock ... gee ... I don't know ... I'll probably have some work to do for Mr. Dibbs ... and ... well ... it's almost twelve ... I was just about to go out for lunch."
"Mmmmm," I mused allowed. Then, snapping my fingers and with a broad smile, I said, "Hey, I've got it. Why don't you memorize it over lunch ... and I'll do the honors of picking up the check ... and I'll even throw in some wine."
Now, there's not a hundred dollar a week secretary around that would turn down the opportunity for a free lunch. If not for money's sake ... certainly for gossip sake. And there's something about the word "wine" that clinches the deal every time.
"I'm sorry ... but no," she said, still smiling.
"No?"
"Really can't. I have an appointment with my boyfriend."
"Oh." The puppy dog with the tail between his legs act. It's a fairly good counter-measure. "Gee ... well ... I guess maybe I'll get fired or something. I mean, if the client isn't impressed with me ... but ... don't you worry ... it's not your problem ... you go have lunch with your boyfriend ... I'll ... survive."
"Gosh ... " she said, with supreme sympathy, "I didn't know it was that important for you. Listen ... maybe I'll call my boyfriend and explain to him ... "
"You wouldn't ... "
"No. Yes, I will."
"Thank you ... uh ... what's your name? I really appreciate this."
"Jenny."
"Thanks, Jenny."
I couldn't have been happier with my success. But I was. As soon as she got up from her seat. The most rounded, delicious ass that ever slid into a pair of white slacks. Christ ... who could eat food at a time like this?
I couldn't believe my success at convincing her-after we had gotten outside-that there wasn't really a restaurant in the vicinity with sufficient quietness to let her memorize the memo, uninterrupted. And that the only possible place we could go ... was my place. It was close, I would fix us a couple of sandwiches and the wine offer still held.
She was either as horny as I was, or she was only too willing to do anything to keep me from getting fired. Whatever was going on with her, she said yes. Ah, sweet, glorious yes.
Actually, I think she took my request seriously. I couldn't get a word through to her on the way to my place in the cab. She was too busy trying to memorize the memo.
"Wait a sec'," she said, cutting my mid-sentence, "I've just about got the second line perfectly."
"Oh, sorry for interrupting."
I contented myself by saying nothing and keeping my glazed eyes fastened on the fascinating bounce of her tits every time our cab driver hit a bump, or made a fast turn.
In about ten minutes, we arrived at my Eastside apartment. She stopped at my doorway, sighed as she looked over my living room and said, "Wow, this is really some place."
"It's okay, for a bachelor, I suppose."
She loved my color pattern-orange and brown. Loved the antique furniture. The colorful throw pillows. The shaggy rug. Wondered if I used an interior decorator.
"Wow," she said again, "if Jeff and I could find something as nice as this, we'd be in heaven."
"Make yourself comfy," I said, "memorize the lines. I'll get some wine ... as promised ... and ... how's roast beef on rye with a little catsup?"
"Fine, fine."
I prepared the sandwiches quickly, brought them in on a tray, with a bottle of wine in my other hand. Then I brought two long-stemmed glasses and placed them on the wooden table in front of the couch.
"I'm really getting the royal treatment ... " she said, smiling, looking up from the piece of paper she was busily trying to memorize. Even at that point, I hadn't the vaguest idea what was on the paper. And didn't care, either.
As fate would have it (or was it my subconscious mind working overtime) I filled her glass too high, so that when she went to sip it, some of the wine spilled on her clean, pink blouse.
"Oh, gosh, look," she said.
"Uh uh ... don't wipe it with your hand. Let me dab a towel in some water. It's the only way. Otherwise, it's going to stain."
I fairly danced to the kitchen. What a beautiful opportunity. Rub a dub dub. Rub away the wine. Rub in the heat. Of course, I used hot water on the towel.
"Now just relax and your blouse will be as fresh as new."
Rub a dub dub. The wine had made a direct hit with the material directly over her left breast. I applied the towel, gently at first, then vigorously, shaking her tit back and forth. She gave no expression at all, keeping me from knowing just what was going on inside her. She just kept her yes down, watching me rubbing furiously away.
"I think it was really my fault. I filled your glass too high," I said.
She didn't answer, but kept her gaze on my circling hand. Touch can be deceptive sometimes, but if I wasn't mistaken, as I continued rubbing, I felt her nipple getting hard; so that after about five glorious minutes of sneaky tit caressing, her nipple jutted out like a rock. That little hard sensation was enough to wipe all pretenses away. Once a girl's tits get started, the rest of the body joyfully follows along.
"And here, let me get this side, just in case you dropped any over here."
Had she resented my feels, she would undoubtedly have stopped me there, since it was obvious there wasn't a drop on her other tit. But she simply nodded. And I simply brought the wet towel to the other side and massaged away with wild abandon.
"You really have a nice place here," she said quite inappropriately. But the remark only served to convince me that she was a little nervous about the toying she was getting.
"Now," I said, having worked the other nipple to an equally appropriate size as the other, "the best thing to do is to hang the blouse up and let it dry. Okay?"
Silence that lasted too long. This was the key question. Would she or wouldn't she. She darted her gorgeous eyes at me, then down to her blouse.
"Okay."
Ah. "Here, let me."
With trembling fingers, I undid each of the buttons and then removed the wet garment from her unbelievable chest. But I didn't hang her blouse up. That would have wasted too much precious time. I simply tossed it aside and moved my mouth down to one of her sweet, white breasts. Her hand covered her tit just as I was about to make contact.
"Shouldn't I memorize that piece of paper?" she asked. There's always something.
"It can wait," I said, trying to nudge her hand away from the wonderfully soft object that hung so near my face.
"I wouldn't want you to get fired."
"Don't worry about that."
"But you said ... "
"Let me just have a little suck, then we'll talk about it."
Slowly, her hand left her tit. Before she could have time to change her mind, I planted my lips firmly on her nipple and chewed and nibbled on it. Now, I was sure she wouldn't change her mind, for I could feel the little nipple bud growing firmly in my mouth. Soon it was big and hard. While I sucked on one nipple, my hand fondled her other tit.
"I don't know if Jeff would understand ... "
My response to her comment was a swift movement of my right hand, down her soft belly, to the tops of her slacks, then to her crotch. As my hand approached her cunt, her legs locked together. I love the innocence of young girls. What I don't like is the way they tease.
"What are you locking your legs for?" I asked directly, still trying to insert my hand between her legs, but to no avail, because she had them clamped like a vise.
"I'm just worried about Jeff ... "
"Look, if you think he'll be concerned ... at least give him something to be concerned about," I said and I tried a new tack, lifting my hand and slipping it underneath the top of her pants. My hand moved quickly and before she could remove my hand, it made contact with her public hair and clit. Once I had her by the clit, her concerns for her boyfriend seemed to fade in the wind, for she now parted her legs and reached an aggressive hand to the bulge between my own pants.
"Oh, Jeff is probably making it with someone else now, anyway. I never fully trusted him ... "
"You really can't trust men," I said. My trusting finger had now settled to the slit between her puffy lips and I slid it up and down the sticky area. Each time my finger rose, to make contact with her sensitive clit, she applied greater pressure to my bone. Indeed, this was lunch.
Leaving her cushiony breast, I brought my head down to her pants and licked her trembling stomach, still keeping up the action with my finger. She made life easy for me by lifting her hips and sliding her slacks and underpants down below her knees.
"Oh, good, thanks," I said and my mouth moved like a magnet to her hairy hole. Quicker and quicker I darted my tongue around her hot lips and she started rotating her hips to the swelling excitement.
While I ate my lunch, her deft fingers pulled down my zipper and managed to disengage my hard cock from the opening. Repositioning herself, she brought her head down and took a mouthful of cock. Now here was something for Jeffery to be pissed off about. She slurped my prick like I was the one who was soon to be her husband. With loving, careful sucks, she treated my cock royally, undoubtedly for repayment of my roast beef sandwiches and wine. She made a meal out of it, taking the head as an appetizer, circling slowly around it with her tongue, then mouthing the whole shaft entirely. For dessert, she placed one of my balls in her mouth gently, treating it like a delicate morsel.
All the while, my mouth was busy getting drenched between her legs. It was sixty-nine at its best and I contributed my efforts diligently. Between her asshole, her cunt lips, her deep wet hole and her clit, I had plenty to busy myself with. And an occasional squeeze on a tit, provided me with delicious variety.
Her luscious body was obviously ready and though my couch is really too narrow for a luxuriously comfortable fuck, I was too anxious to waste time taking her into the bedroom. My head moved from between her legs slowly up to her face, stopping on the way for a stomach lick and a tit bite. By the time I got to her face, she had disengaged my cock from her mouth and her warm, full lips were open and ready to receive my own. As our lips met, I wiggled my body between her legs and with an easy motion, had my cock sliding deep into her hot insides.
"Shouldn't I memorize the ... "
"Oh, forget it," I said, emphasizing the point with an aggressive push of my pelvis. Jenny moved like an experienced fucker. Unselfconsciously, she thrust her body up to meet mine and with each thrust, her soft tits crashed against and tickled my chest. I had to keep moving her body to the left, as the narrow couch kept forcing us to the edge. A couple of times we nearly landed on the floor. To avoid the possibility of falling, I dismounted from her, got up, took her hand and led her gently down to the carpet. It was harder there, but safer.
There's something primitively animal about doing it on the floor. It takes the sophistication out of sex, makes it basic. Once Jenny was on her back, I pulled her legs back to her soft tits and inserted my throbbing cock into her uppermost hole. It slid in with a wet sound and felt so good, I kept it deep inside her without pumping at all. I wanted to freeze this moment of ecstasy without letting it get away.
Jenny started wiggling her pelvis and ass, in an attempt to goad me into some rocking action. But with her legs back like that, it was hard for her to take the initiative. I held tight to her ankles, fully inside her, without motion.
"Come on," she urged, still shifting her soft weight around to get the motion started.
"I just want to enjoy you like this for a moment, Jenny. It's really exciting just keeping my prick quietly in your hole, watching that impatient expression on your face. You look so beautiful."
"Come on, rock with me," she said, squirming around under me to start the movement.
"What would Jeff say?" I teased.
"Oh, never mind Jeff. Just fuck me, will you?"
"Technically, I already am."
But human nature took over. I couldn't keep still any longer. I felt her cunt lips beginning to work on my cock like suction cups. With neither of us moving, her fantastic cunt lips started milking me. I surrendered to her cunt demands, eased my cock back to the rim of her pussy, then pushed in hard, like an arrow released from a bow.
"God, it's good," Jenny said, delighted to get the hot action started, finally.
I looked down and watched with fascination as my veined, wet, throbbing cock slid deep into her cunt, out of view, then back out glistening with her wet juices. In and out I plunged with delicious energy. Yes. Today's lunch was superb.
I rocketed into her faster and faster. Each time my cock reached the inner hilt of her deep cunt walls, she squeezed her eyes tight from the incredible sensations. On each rapid thrust, her soft tits bounced around beautifully.
"Ready?" I asked her, my bone full to the brim, ready to let loose with my happy fluid.
"Oh, god," she said.
I arched my back and my bloated cock let it all out, with splendid powerful spurts. As I came, I gripped her ankles harder, pulling her legs farther back, as far apart as possible.
She took my blasts with a series of "Oh ... oh ... oh's" ... and her mouth opened wide as she delighted in the overwhelming sensation of her own come.
Finished, finally, I released her legs and collapsed on top of her sweaty, heavily breathing body, planting a delicate kiss of each of her turgid nipples.
"Beautiful," she said, wiping her forehead with her arm, "that was absolutely beautiful."
Two more little kisses on her jutting nipples.
"Jeff never did me like that," she said, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tightly.
"Well, that's all right," I said soothingly, patting her head. "Sex isn't everything in a marriage. I'm sure he's got a wonderful sense of humor."
"But ... I've never had an orgasm like this with Jeff. In fact, I wonder if I've ever had an orgasm with him."
"Well, don't you worry your pretty head one bit," I said, with a quick, final nuzzle of my head in her full, warm tits, "anytime you're in need of an orgasm ... feel free to give me a call."
I rose and started dressing.
Jenny sat up and looked up at me. "Oh, my gosh. I can't even remember what I already memorized. What time is it?"
"Quarter of three."
"Oh, I'll never learn it by three o'clock," she said, most concerned.
"Well, let's not worry about it," I said, lifting her to her feet from the fleshy undersides of her tits, "I've been thinking ... maybe it's not such a good idea to pamper the client too much. Christ ... he'll expect it every time. I'll just send the memo. But thanks, Jenny."
I'm still convinced that if I had approached Jenny with a horny hello and a direct request for lunch, I would have gotten a flat no. Being an advertising executive certainly has its advantages. And I should point out, that after this absolutely delicious three hour lunch, I worked splendidly for the remainder of the afternoon. Believe me, there really is nothing like an afternoon fuck to clear out the old system.
* * *
Tuesday. I interview a young negro girl with an afro hairdo and a red and orange, ankle-length muu-muu. She looks young, like a teenager, with a perfectly round face and a set of dazzling white teeth. Her eyes are attractively piercing, but shifty. As we talk, her eyes dart from left to right as though she's expecting to catch someone sneaking up on her. She wants a job in advertising, though she's not exactly sure which end of the business would suit her. What she is sure about is that she is black and demands an equal opportunity. What I'm sure about is that I have no plans for lunch and being typically horny, I'm going to make sure Carmen joins me. I'm also sure that there are presently no jobs available at the agency-in any department-but that I've got to keep the conversation going.
"I demand equal opportunity," the attractive thing said to me, "I'm not gonna accept no no's ... and then have you turn around and hire a white girl who probably isn't as good as me, anyway."
Carmen was good. Very good. You could see how good by the projections that pushed out from her muu-muu.
"Well, I can certainly understand how you feel," I offered most compassionately, "but you must understand that this agency has no prejudices whatsoever. We hire on the basis of quality ... not skin color."
"I've heard that line before. But if it's really true ... give me a job. Then I'll believe you."
"It's not as simple as all that," I said. Actually, I was trying to reassure her.
"Yeh, it's always complicated." She looked down to her lap, sulking. If I had the opportunity to get into her lap, believe me, I wouldn't be sulking.
"Okay, Carmen. Tell you what. I'm a busy man. But I'm sensitive to your problem. I usually give five minutes for interviews. But in your case I'm going to extend myself. I'll give you an extra three hours. How's that? That should give us plenty of time to talk things out. Believe me, I want to be fair to you."
"Honest? Three hours?" she said, beaming.
"Honest. Matter of fact, let's have lunch together. Maybe we can get a little bite in the park and kind of just walk around and chat."
"I'd love it."
I never had fucked in the park. I was delighted with the thought of it. There were lots of people ... but with a sharp eye, I was sure I could find a heavy clump of bushes. It's hard to spot a bush in the bush.
Carmen and I ate a couple of hot dogs and a bag of peanuts and started walking north in the park. Walking up a small hill, we came to a dirty, makeshift shack, used for god knows what. In front, a pile of lumber that had undoubtedly been sitting there for years. And behind the shack ... ah, my heavy clump of bushes. A divine spot, totally secluded, with a dirty touch of romanticism to it.
"Here, behind the shack, Carmen."
"What's behind the shack?" she asked, naively.
"Are we going to have an uninterrupted talk ... or would you rather we discuss things in the middle of Fifth Avenue? I frequently come here ... behind the shack ... to relax and do a little thinking. It's really very pleasant."
"Okay."
We sat down on the ground behind the shack. Except for an occasional rustle of leaves from a darting squirrel, or from some chirping birds, we were quite alone. The ground was slightly damp from yesterday's rain, so I let Carmen sit on my suit jacket.
"You sit on this," I said, "I'll just plotz myself down on this wet, damp, pneumonia-ridden ground."
"There's enough room for both of us," she said sweetly, moving her little ass sideways, making room for daddy.
"That's kind. Thanks, Carmen."
Our thighs touched. From the sheer material of her garment, her body heat surged through. Contact. Step one in a series of steps that lead to the final, exquisite joining.
"I'll tell you straight, Carmen," I said, lighting a cigarette, "I'm all for equal opportunity. I mean I feel just as you do. Why should somebody be penalized for skin color? Listen ... for two years I dated a black girl. One of the best relationships I ever had."
"So what happened?" she asked. She sat with her arms cradled around her upraised legs.
"Reverse prejudice. Her parents didn't want her marrying a white man. I was very upset ... but I understood." I wiped the corner of my eye, looked away, as though the pain I felt was too much to bear. "Listen ... Carmen ... you ever go out with a white fellow?"
Carmen laughed heartily. "Never."
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"I shouldn't tell you ... really I shouldn't."
"Ah, come on," I said, touching her arm, encouragingly. Brother. This girl had heat coming out of every pore of her body.
"Well ... "
"Come on, now. Don't bait me, then drop me ... tell me."
"Well, it has nothing to do with prejudice. It has to do with facts. It's got something to do with ... " she laughed again, "the male organ."
"I can't imagine what."
"Well, black men have longer ... things ... than white men. And well, I'm so used to the extra size that a white man would be a come-down for me. Know what I mean?"
"How do you know how long white men's ... things ... are?"
"Oh, word gets out."
"What do you consider ... sufficient size?" I don't know how we happened into this conversation, but I wasn't fighting it.
"I don't know."
"I mean in inches."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Aw, come on, Carmen, tell me. Show me with your hands. What's a good, standard black size for you?"
She laughed again, having gotten herself in a bit deep (which is precisely where I wanted to get myself), then raised her hands, holding them apart to demonstrate what she was used to.
Then I laughed.
"What?" she said, but I continued laughing away, squirming and rolling about.
"Well ... why are you laughing?" she insisted.
"I really shouldn't tell you," I said, playing at her own game. Now she put her arm on mine, as an inducement to talk.
"Out with it," she said.
"Out with what?" I asked, widening my eyes, hoping she was in fact asking me to remove my member from my pants.
"With what you're not telling me."
"Oh." I laughed again. "Well, show me again ... with your hands ... what size is adequate for you."
She did.
"Is that hard ... or soft?"
"Well, hard, of course."
"Well, that's how big I am when I'm soft," I said.
"Really?"
And then there was a most embarrassing silence. Neither of us said a word. We were in sexual territory and didn't quite know what to do with it. She picked up a leave and stared at it. I picked a lady bug off my knee and stared at the full swelling of her chest. I laughed again, trying to break the ridiculous silence, but it did nothing. We just sat there. Somebody had to take the initiative. Finally, I did. Not gracefully perhaps, but in the realm of sex, all advances are primitive and crude.
"Wanna see?" I finally said, blushing at the idiotic, childish way it sounded. I could only guess how she must have felt when she answered.
"Yes."
To go about the whole thing of exposing myself slowly, would have been much too uncomfortable. The idea was to whip it out and hold it out for her to examine as rapidly as possible. Which is what I did.
Down went the zipper. In went my hand. Out came my cock, finally.
"That's not soft," she said, gazing at my organ with unquestionable eagerness in her eyes.
"It was a moment ago," I said, "but I guess the idea of showing it to you ... was too exciting to keep it down."
"I never knew a white man's ... thing ... could be so big and nice," she said softly. She learned over, putting her face quite near it. "Can I touch it?"
"Oh, all right," I said. My heart was beating like a hundred galloping horses.
And then she touched it. First quite cautiously, as though contact might make it rear up and attack her. But all it did was throb. A small drop of come oozed from the top. Holding it delicately with one hand, she brought her other hand to the underside of my hard shaft, stroking it like it was the most fragile thing in the world.
"I really can't believe how big it is. All along I've been under the impression that white men ... had little things. But you've sure shown me how wrong I was."
"Glad to oblige," I said, "and speaking of impressions ... I've always believed that black girls' cunts, if you'll pardon the expression, were all very small."
Momentarily, she stopped rubbing my aching bone.
"But I thought you said you went out with a black girl for a long time. Didn't you find out?"
"No. Completely platonic. But if you'd show me yours ... "
It was an odd way into the action; but it served its purpose. Off came her garment. Following that, the black lacy bra and panties were discarded. What was left was a body meant for fucking. Two dark, succulent boobs that rose up in the center to the pull of her long, black nipples. And a mound of black pubic hair, so abundant, it could have hidden a dozen cocks in it. Languorously, she stretched out on the ground, so her tits jutted out even further.
"Speaking of equal opportunity," I said, letting my eyes play up and down her dark, naked flesh, "I'd sure like the opportunity to give you the same kind of joy your black friends do."
"Wasn't it the size of my cunt you wanted to check on?" she teased.
"Oh, right. Right,"
I placed both hands on her supersoft thighs. They were as hot as fire. I brought my hands slowly together on her cunt. Then I carefully parted her pussy lips and took a good look inside.
"Guess I've been under the wrong impression myself," I said, panting a bit. "You're as big as anything I've seen."
"And as deep. If you'd care to find out ... " To help assist me, she separated her legs wide and with her hands she gestured that I climb on her then and there.
Without even removing my pants, I wedged my hungry cock into her wide slit. Fucking kills any prejudice. White, black, green, blue. That wide, wet hole is always as comfortable and as exciting as ever.
Behind the shack, we fucked. With each hard push of my cock, her graceful body turned to jelly, melting and trembling all the way down to her toes.
I would have preferred removing my slacks-every now and then the zipper interrupted the action painfully-but I was too far into the spirit of things to take any time out.
"Oh, you're so big and good."
"And you're so big and deep."
Complimenting each other in that manner and with the violent rustling of shifting leaves below us, not to mention that beautiful way the sun streamed through the overhead trees, we fucked ourselves silly. Like two animals, we clutched and clawed at each other, trying to derive every iota of pleasure from this marvelous afternoon's activity. I grabbed her thick, bouncing buttocks, hard and she dug her nails into my neck. Then, as we came, we laughed. No particular reason. Perhaps it was just the happy delirium of finally letting ourselves go totally and completely. Like children, we laughed and giggled. And came.
"Now, that's what I call total integration," she said dreamily rolling her head around after it was over. "Course, we never did get around to talking about that job."
"I guess we had better things to do," I said, pumping all over again.
* * *
Wednesday's lunch happened too easily. As the proud possessor of the only couch in my corridor, I had a great advantage over the others along the hallway. If a luscious female thing had had a late night, or was tired from the drudgery of the day, she would come to me and ask if I would mind if she lay down on my couch during lunch. That's precisely what happened. Sandra Berger, a new production assistant and a rare visual treat, approached me Wednesday morning around eleven.
The tantalizing cunt, decked out in a pair of black hot pants and midi-blouse, stood at my office door and cooingly queried whether I'd mind too much if she could nap a little during her lunch break on my couch. Her long, black hair hung seductively to the middle of her back. The possibilities were too wonderful to be denied.
"Why, sure Sandy ... of course ... any time you like. I have a meeting at quarter of twelve, so why don't you stop by a little after noontime? Then the office will be yours."
"That's peachy. Thanks." She swiveled and her jiggling ass exited out of my office.
My meeting was a disaster. I mean who can keep their mind on quarterly sales figures when a piece of ass is about to recline at your feet? I did my best to pay attention, but my imagination prevailed.
"So you think 3.5 per cent is a gain that can be justified by the advertising expenditures?" the dull account man asked.
"I think so," I said, picturing Sandy's tits bobbling about in my face.
"And what about last quarter," my account man persisted.
"I know how you feel," I said, now inserting my thick phallus into Sandra, the sleeping beauty.
"What? What does that mean? What do you mean you know how I feel?" he persisted.
"Let's pick up at four o'clock," I suggested. "I have a terrible migraine."
Ten after twelve, exactly, Sandy appeared, peeking her head around my door with a seductive grin. Or, at least, I was hoping it was seductive.
"Okay? Through with your meeting?" the pert little thing said.
"All through."
"Good."
"Why don't you just lie down, make yourself comfortable. I have a few papers to get together. But don't worry about me. I'll just make believe you're not here. Just stretch out and take your nap."
"Are you sure ... "
"Of course. It's fine. Go ahead now. You really do look tired."
She must have been. She lay down on the couch, turned on her side, using both her hands for a pillow and in moments she was out like a light.
"Sandy? ... Sandy?" I called softly, but she didn't answer.
To have grabbed a tit, or shoved a finger on the underside of her hot pants, would undoubtedly have alarmed the sweet creature who slept so blissfully in front of me. So I approached the problem more gently. I sat on the edge of the couch by her and quietly began to massage her shoulders. If she woke, it couldn't have alarmed her, since I was doing nothing very shocking. But if she didn't wake, the gentle strokes would certainly relax her body ... or possibly prepare it for things to come. As I softly rubbed her neck and shoulders, I was delighted with her reaction. At first, she brought her shoulders up and repositioned her head in her hands, suggested that the massage was most comfortable for her. Then she let out an "Mmm-mmmmmmmm ... That feels really good." With such encouragement, who would stop?
For a second, she opened her eyes halfway, without turning to look at me and said barely audibly, "that really feels good. Thank you. You really have nice hands. Mmmmmmmm ... " Then she closed her eyes again.
As I continued my massage-restricting the touch to her neck and shoulders-she slowly rolled onto her back, so that without moving my hands at all, I was now massaging her chest. She obviously liked that. And she persisted with her languorous, "Mmmmmmmmm ..."
With the slightest pressure, I played with her tits, giving them a thorough massage through the fabric of her blouse. The sides, the underpart, the tips of them. I couldn't misinterpret the little smile that formed on her face. I'd seen that smile too many times before. It was the smile of a purring woman. A woman in heat, who loves the attention and wants to be satisfied. But she went farther than just a smile.
"Could you move your hands lower? ... " she murmured.
My sleeping kitten was horny. I let my finger trail down to her small, soft stomach momentarily, then continued journeying down to more interesting regions. As gently as I could, I placed one hand between her legs and like a hungry animal, she opened them. Even through the thick material of her hot pants, I could feel the heat and wetness of her cunt. From this point on, no pretenses were necessary. I suppose she could have opened her eyes-I knew she wasn't asleep at all -but I suspect she enjoyed the idea of being felt up and caressed while she remained in a vulnerable, dreamy state.
The little motion that started with her hips was her way of asking me to please remove the unnecessary clothing. A task I am always too willing to do. Down went her zipper. Up went her pelvis. Down went her hot pants ... and along with them, the see-through sheer blue panties. And up came my cock.
Such a young, pretty pussy, just a faint touch of wispy pubic hair, thin little virginal cunt lips, already swollen and throbbing from my gentle touches and her little stomach rising and falling quickly from the heavier breathing that was now going on.
Just barely, I let my finger touch the tip of her clit and quickly I drew it away. Her whole body jumped uncontrollably, then quited down. Again, I gently touched her clit. And again her body reacted. My finger was sending joyful electric currents through her. So much so, that I'm sure that sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. Right now she had one thing on her mind. And I aimed to please.
With the same easy strokes as before, I now massaged both of her small cunt lips, rubbing the two of them back and forth together till the wetness seemed to pour out.
"Mmmmmmm ... " she said again.
"Mmmm hmmmm," I said softly.
To the thrill of my touch, she separated her legs, letting one dangle over the side of the couch. Her separated legs gave me a clear view of the wet and ready slit.
"Now?" I asked sweetly, letting my thumb enter her orifice, to give her a small idea of what was about to happen.
"Mmmm. Now."
With that agreement made, my pants and shorts fairly flew off me and I stood over her with my hands on my hips and my rigid monster sticking up and out.
"Now?" I said again.
"Now."
"First open your eyes," I said.
She opened them, then opened them even wider, seeing my throbbing instrument hovering above her.
"Beg," I said.
"Now," she said.
"No. Tell me how much you want it. Tell me how badly you've got to have it. Otherwise, I won't give it to you."
"Oh, please, now ... " she begged.
"Louder."
"Now!"
"Good. Now open those little hips as wide as possible. I want to know precisely where I'm headed."
Sandy spread them wide, enlarging her hole a considerable size. "Nowww!"
"Just wanted to make sure you really wanted it," I said and I lowered myself into position, depositing my joy stick neatly between her cunt lips, which she still stretched wide apart for me.
A woman's cunt can be a deceptive thing. The lips may appear small. The aperture may seem puny in size. But on contact with a good, hot prick, they really open up. I shoved in deep and had plenty of room to spare. Reaching under her blouse and under her bra, I got hand fulls of tits and worked on them feverishly as I drove deeper and deeper inside her sweet flesh. It was an inexpensive, but unbeatable lunch.
I wiggled inside her nonstop, pausing only momentarily to hold myself from letting go prematurely. But just looking down at the wild, young flesh sprawled so givingly below me, made it impossible to check the tide. Like a torrent, my fluid gushed out of my cock, crashing deep inside her. Such a heavenly way to clear the system.
She received the blasts with little yelps and strange noises, clutching onto my rear end, pulling me inside her as deep as possible. When it was all over, I got up from her and returned my cock to my pants. I bent down and kissed her on the forehead and patted her lightly on her pussy.
"There, now, Sandy. All satisfied now. Maybe now you can get a little sleep." I walked softly out of the office, quietly closing the door after me.
* * *
Thursday, Carmen returned to do some more "talking," since she enjoyed the Tuesday interview so much. Everything was the same, except the locale and the position. We did it at my apartment, standing for the most part.
* * *
Friday, Sandra returned for more lunch time shut eye and just to be kookie, we did it under the couch. I really must talk to the cleaning lady about those hard-to-get places.
And that, in a nutshell, is why advertising men take three hours for lunch.
