The cavernous shed, constructed of brick, mortar, granite, steel pilings and steel roof structures, was filled with the hammers and rattles and clangs and clanks of working men and women. The sound of workers doing hard manual labor. That it was an automobile assembly line.
Anita Dumont shifted the door into place and began to connect it to the frame of the car taking shape. She had to move quickly. The assembly line demanded workers be fast or fall behind and then face the wrath of supervisors, who in turn faced the wrath of their higher-ups. It wasn't an easy job for a woman to be holding. It was hard work. But Anita was nevertheless glad she had the job.
After the first few days the aches and strains of adjusting to the new job went away. She got used to the job. She no longer complained. There were still some days when she did bitch about it, when she did curse the alarm clock which woke her, when she asked why an experienced, intelligent bookkeeper could not find a job and had to support herself this way. But in the end she told herself not to complain, that things would eventually work out. That word someday vibrated again and again in her head as she worked. There had to be a better way of going about things. A better way of facing what life had to offer.
Her attention was diverted by one of her supervisors stepping up behind her and his hand closing around one, bouncy, satiny asscheek.
"Stop that, Mr. Hampton," she said, turning in rage to look at the gray-haired supervisor with the laughing wide mouth and sharp eyes.
The other workers along the line laughed. When she looked at them, she felt a shiver run up and down her spine. Then she looked at Hampton again.
"Keep working, Anita baby," he smiled without humor. She turned to work at putting doors on car frames, while looking back in fear that he might grab her ass again.
He laughed. She could smell the beer he'd been drinking, even here, among the industrial smells of raw steel, copper and aluminum.
"Whatsa' matter? Afraid I'll grab that big, juicy ass, baby?" There was more laughter from the assembly line. "I can't hurt that much fine meat. No sir, I sure can't."
"To tell you the truth, baby, you shouldn't be so afraid. A girl like you, in her middle twenties ought to be thinkin' of gettin' herself a man. I mean a girl like you has urges. It's natural!"
"My urges, Mr. Hampton, are my business, not yours. And I assure you I don't need help in taking care of them."
He laughed and made a motion of three bunched fingers going in and out of a gaping vagina. "That ain't the solution, Anita. A girl needs a man. If the urge ever gets too great, come see me or give me a call, not after eight though. My loyal wife comes home then. I may not look like much on top, but in bed I'm Tony the Tiger."
"Thanks, but no thanks," she snapped and hastily turned back to her work. Someone called to Hampton and he walked off. Anita was angry. Men shouldn't be allowed to talk that way to women at work.
She had been pinched and groped repeatedly ever since she came to the factory and no matter how many times she told men to leave their cotton picking hands off her they persisted in touching, probing and grabbing. She hated it all.
At first she wondered if maybe some of it was her own fault. The clothes she had come to work in had been a bit too tight. But then, with her body it was hard to get something that wasn't too tight. And then there had been the jeans she wore, the ones Sissy, her next door neighbor had given her. She had worn them to work as a joke, something to wear her first day on the job. On her behind, was a patch with one word in black letters, Silky. On the other cheek a second smaller patch said "Easy Target." It may have been too bold. She hadn't finished one half day of work when a supervisor stepped up, dug hard, hungry fingers into soft, supple ass, and exclaimed, "you are right. It is an easy target!"
Her mouth fell open in surprise. The supervisor walked off laughing. That was the first and last time Anita wore those jeans to work.
The only man she could really relate to was a black haired, mustachioed worker not far down the assembly line. His name was Claude Woolf. He was a gypsy, one of the few who worked and had left the line. He no longer wanted to be a gypsy and wanted to earn an honest living. They sometimes ate together in the cafeteria and spoke on the assembly line. He didn't treat her as a piece of ass, but as a woman and a person, someone to be respected. She liked Claude and would not have minded if he pinched her ass, which he never did. He was married, with a wife and two kids. She once mentioned her jeans to him and said all her troubles had started when she wore them to work.
He grinned. "Dear, they would have taken to you no matter how you dressed," he said. "You're an attractive girl."
Claude Woolf spoke in a polite way. To most men she was a young fuck. As she walked by and she'd heard them saying this. She wanted out of that job so bad. But there simply were no bookkeeper jobs available. Detroit was a tough city to make it in. She would just have to settle down for the long haul.
Aside from Claude and his friendly manner, there wasn't anyone on the line that she really liked. She would listen to him singing the same song he sang over and over. It was cute, sort of.
"There was an old man who went to the West."
"He married a girl who was not the best."
When she went home that night, she prepared dinner, took a short nap and then undressed, so she could take a shower. She looked at herself in the wall length mirror in her hallway and knew that all the things they said about her were true. She had a super body and she wondered how many men she had given hardons to. For an instant this brought a sensuous smile to her lips. But she realized there was danger amidst all the promise.
She remembered when she was in high school, how the boys had been after her, and once even a teacher. One of the guys, who imagined himself to be a playwright wrote a school play, which was put on in the auditorium. It was called, "Pagan Promises." And he wanted her to play the part of the island princess.
She gazed at herself in the mirror now. Fantastic legs. Nice shape, muscles in all the right places, huge thighs that any man would love wrapped around him.
Her cunt bush was excellent; thick, silky, glossy, not vastly kinky. Her pubic lips were pouting and pink, her clit strong and prominent, her gash peeking out wet and salmon colored. It was enough to make some horny man lick his lips.
She had a fine, high chest, two pillowy, upthrust, wide tits that were thirty-eight C's. Her areolas were a darker satin around the pointy tips of her tits. Once, a supervisor grabbed a bosom and squeezed. She got his hand off and told him to keep his hands to himself. He only laughed at her. To some men she was nothing but a toy. The place where that supervisor grabbed her hurt for days and it became darker; the sign for a black that here was a black and blue mark. Only on her it didn't show up so well.
Her face was triangular, more of an inverted heart shape. Her chin was smooth, and her eyes were oval with a slight upward slant at the outer edges.
Her nose was small and aquiline, her lips, sensuous, appealing in shape and size. She knew that many men would love nothing more then to have her soft lips around their straining, hard cocks.
Then she turned around. Her shapely behind was the first thing that would catch the eye of an admiring male. That, she had found her to her pain and rage on more then one occasion.
The smooth sweep of her back above the outward jutting, half-globes of silky brown buttocks, made her ass seem even better.
Hidden deep in the groove between her shapely asscheeks was the puckered her anal orifice. Men did turn on with her.
With that thought making her shiver and the knowledge of what a true ass lover could do to her.
Chapter Two
Duncan King fixed his tie, sprayed his breath, patted down his glistening, short-cropped blonde hair and walked back and forth in his green carpeted, wood paneled office. His office reflected his masculinity. Everything Duncan King did spoke of tough masculine pursuits.
Every winter and summer he went hunting. Mule deer, elk, bear, fox, coyote and puma heads hung on the walls of his home. One large mule deer head hung on the wall over his desk.
He had wide shoulders, an overflowing chest and belly, which seemed to rest on his belt, and was half-muscle, half-fat. He had short, thick, muscular legs, powerful forearms and biceps. Everything about him spoke of solidity. He had a flat, wide face and thin, brutal lips.
People feared King. He could be brutal or deadly smooth. He was chief supervisor for this assembly line building. There were more buildings like it on the huge lot which held many buildings, huge parking lots and the executive office building.
He'd seen Anita Dumont. He'd noticed her and she had noticed him looking at her. It happened more then once. He was the big boss. At least as far as her section of the automobile business was concerned. She sometimes fantasized that he would come over and pinch her behind and wondered what she would say to him. She could just imagine him, standing there, huge, menacing, his fingers digging lustily into soft tit or ass or cunt. She knew then she would be too frightened of her job to stop him. It was her one recurring nightmare. But she told herself not to be silly. This couldn't happen. Such things were fantasies and did not occur in today's age and world.
When Hampton came and told her that King wanted to see Anita after work she wondered why. Hampton wasn't really interested in her question. His hand was going for a soft tit. She chided herself for not wearing a bra and moved back out of the way. But bras, she told herself, were so damned uncomfortable and chafed, especially on a job like this, when she had to do such strenuous physical labor.
"Why does he want to see me?" she asked again.
"Who know," Hampton said with a shrug. "Forget him. Think of me. Remember, honey, I'm here and willing. So, if the need itches, just scratch it."
"I'll scratch it with you when I'm a hundred and five," she said. The other men on the line burst out laughing. Hampton walked away, laughing too, as if it were a joke. But in his eyes she could see that she had struck home.
Later, in the cafeteria, she told Claude Woolf about it. "Who knows," he said with a shrug. "Maybe Mr. King wants to discuss a new position with you. Just remember, follow the old gypsy custom. Then all will be well with you. When you enter his office do so with your left foot and then leave his office with your right foot. Remember that. It's good luck."
"You really think so, Claude?"
"I know so. We gypsies are seldom wrong. People think it is a silly superstition. But do it and you'll see that no harm comes to you. You must trust me."
"Okay," she said with a shrug. "I'll try it."
They went back to their jobs after that. Anita kept glancing nervously at the big wall clock, which she could see from where she stood, and wondered all the while what Mr. King wanted.
She decided it couldn't be that he'd fire her, for she had been working too hard. Still, one could never tell. Life is full of surprises and ambushes.
On her next coffee break she went to the ladies room; a shoddy brown tile and mortar affair that smelled too strongly of ammonia, cigarette smoke growing stale in corners and faint traces of perfume. She put on lipstick, did her green shimmering eyeshadow in a rush and remembered to spray perfume around her neck, her ears, and even between her breasts. Little did she realize what this would do and the danger she was in.
She returned to her job. As the hours dragged by and the end of the day loomed closer, Anita sweated more, afraid, really afraid of the menace to come. If indeed there was any menace.
And then there came the shrill toot of the air horn. It was time to put her tools away. The assembly line slowed as the workers left and the new shift began to come in. Anita rushed to punch out, then freshen up some more and make sure there were no grease stains on her face or arms. It was time to see the big boss.
And Duncan King Sr was waiting with baited breath!
King fixed his tie, checked in the desk mirror he kept at hand to see if he looked presentable and looked once more at his gold wrist watch. Soon, she would be coming, soon. He hoped that supervisor, Kuvalicik, reminded Hampton to tell Anita Dumont to stop by. King's cock was aching to get into that bitch. He would be sweet to her. Maybe she'd go down on him. Just the thought of those wonderful satin lips around his prong made his cock throb.
He hoped he could depend on Kuvalicik.
King cast a glance at the sex newspaper lying on his desk. He had been gazing through the back sections, looking at the hooker advertisements. He read this kind of paper a lot and went to many of the new massage parlors and prostitutes in town. From all the papers he looked at, those printed in Detroit as well as the New York and L. A. papers, it seemed New York served more kinky treats, but the L.A. girls were prettier, with better bodies.
There was a hooker operation in Detroit, that he was thinking of visiting. Their advertisement was right before his eyes. He had just been reading it, the reading making his cock tingle and his balls seethe with lust.
The faces and bodies of the girls on the advertisement were not, of course, those he would find there. He knew these were just pictures someone had ripped off and then printed. Those who took the pictures were not going to go into court to get the advertiser to stop the ads or pay for the use of the pictures. But it would be nice, King thought, if there were girls like that, which he could hire. There were so many bad numbers in the hooker business.
Still, this bunch seemed good. Their ad called them The Love Specialists. One of the girls pictured was black, sweet, sultry, and very sexy. But not as sexy as the bitch he hoped would be coming through his door short minutes from now.
Their fee was fifteen dollars. The ad said that was their only fee. Like hell it was. He was sure there would be fifteen more once he went in and more for extras. But he liked the extras.
Near the newspaper lay a paperback. It was a sex paperback, the only kind he ever bought. The title was, "Too Wild To Tame." And on the cover was a picture of a sexy, naked black girl.
King loved black girls. Like many men, he was beginning to discover their sexual values. The values that till lately only a few connoisseurs appreciated and that many years ago most southerners and old-time plantation masters had enjoyed.
King stood there, shocked, his mouth open, realizing right off she was from the south. And that in the south whites went with whites and blacks with blacks. That wasn't so up north.
As soon as she said that, her pimp rushed up and pulled her to the side and began explaining how things went in Detroit and other places up north. He sent her back to King, who by that time had picked himself another girl and had gone off with her. King was sure that fool hooker would get her teeth kicked in that night. But Duncan King didn't care. He was getting his and that was all that mattered.
He yawned once and stretching like a lion after a meal of good red meat. The past was the past. The incident that had come to mind was more then ten years old. It wouldn't happen today and was sure the same was true in the south. The impossible of today is the possible ten years later.
There came on a knock on the door. He quickly shoveled some of the things into his desk, fiddled again with his tie, cleared his throat and said, "come in."
She came in and he told her to shut the door. As she did so, it clicked behind her. For a brief moment the sound passed through her consciousness, but she ignored it, not realizing that the door had been fixed so that it would lock the very next time it was opened and shut. The bronze key that would open it lay on his desk.
Anita noticed the bright smile on his face and wondered why. She did not yet see the huge erection in his pants. King could not control himself from licking his lips and dry washing his hands at the sight of the tasty morsel in front of him. But he tried desperately to keep control, pointing at the chair in front of his desk and watched her clothes tighten around her body as she sat down. She did not cross her legs and her meaty pussy pushed out against the fabric of her crotch and stretched it tight. The sharp and always watchful eye of Duncan King did not miss this. He licked his lips and brought his eyes back to her face. Anita Dumont was appetizing, no matter what angle she was looked at from.
She began to notice the wet gleam in his eyes and the smile on his lips. Down deep something warned her that she was in danger. But it was such a small, momentary twinge, that it passed almost without notice, while she was listening to Duncan King and trying to pay attention to what he was saying.
"I've been looking at your record, Miss Dumont. It shows you to be an excellent worker."
Anita was surprised. She hadn't thought herself to be that good a worker. In fact, she thought she was rather deficient in the line and would have to put more effort in to do a better job. But maybe Claude had been right and his gypsy formula for entering with her left foot and leaving with her right had done the trick.
King went on. "I feel a woman like you has more value, and should be doing more valuable work."
Still not realizing what King was getting at, she smiled and said, "well, sir, assembly line work isn't what I really wanted to do.
"And you shouldn't do it, if you don't want to. A pretty woman like you certainly deserves better!"
"Why, thank you, sir." She smiled and warmed up. Mr. King really was such a nice man, even if he did have that funny glint in his eyes. All that beefiness made him look powerful and ruthless. He probably just looked that way and wasn't really like that at all.
"I wanted to be a bookkeeper, sir, but with things being the way they are on the market, I haven't been able to get the work I've been asking for."
"Well, you certainly deserve that and more."
"I'm so glad you recognize my talents, sir."
"I recognize all your talents, dear. Let it never be said that Duncan Albert King never recognized great talent when he saw it."
Anita smiled and dropped her eyes. This was so good that she almost felt bashful. It bothered her a bit that he called her dear. After all, he was not so many years older then her. In his thirties, she was certain.
She looked back up at him. "So you think you can get me a job as a bookkeeper, Mr. King?"
"I can do better," he said. "Why settle for being a bookkeeper when you can use and display your true talents in a better way. Why not be my mistress?"
The gleam in his eyes grew greater, as her mouth fell open and the shock of his word pounded inside her head like giant breakers on a beach. She was almost ready to tell herself that she had been hearing things and that Duncan King had not said what he did say.
He laughed as she sat there speechless and helpless, as if struck by great hammers. "You looked shocked, Miss Dumont, or should I say, Anita. You shouldn't be. I'm sure a woman as beautiful as you are has gotten more then a few proposals. Why should mine surprise you?" He smiled, leaning forward, his face sharp, sweat running down his face, his cock aching to burst out from the confinement of his pants.
"Think about it. I'm a man with money and power. I can do some nice things for you. You don't have to sweat over any assembly line. Be good to me, and I'll be good to you."
"I'm a good girl," she said, standing suddenly. "I don't do such things."
"Well, think of doing them. Think of a lot of things. You're not getting any younger. Think of making a place for yourself in the world. You can go up by going down. Start with me. And as for your being a good girl, I can't believe it. I know how women protest, then when you get them in bed they can't stop sucking on your cock."
"Well, I'm not one of those girls. Not now or ever!"
"Don't be a fool. I'm not asking you to be good, I'm asking you to be great."
"I think I've had enough of this, Mr. King. I don't care who you are or if you fire me, goodbye." She headed for the door, but it wouldn't open. She looked back in desperation, the first signs of fear swept across her face.
He lifted the bronze key and it gleamed in his hand. But not nearly as much as his eyes gleamed. He rose, came around the desk, headed for her, his face a lust crazed of passionate desire, his crotch, she could see, bulging.
Anita cringed. He came at her, pressing himself against her, pressing her back against the door. She sighed and gasped, her mouth falling open; a wet circle of painted flesh edged by sharp, white teeth. He sniffed her perfume, became maddened by it, dropped the key on the floor and pressed his mouth to hers and then began to suck on her lips, his tongue a darting snake into her open, gasping mouth, his hands rushing to her breasts.
She tried to fight him off but her fear paralyzed her. When she was able to try and push him away his hands came up and took her's by the wrists and then began to push her arms down.
She gasped and complained, in loud mewling cries coming from deep within her throat. As she protested his violation of her body. His mouth still pressed to her's, King continued sucking away at her lips as his tongue explored the insides of her mouth and slapped violently and lustfully at her softer, weaker, cringing tongue.
She threw all her reserves into fighting him off in a last ditch attempt to win, but failed. Anita shivered in fear, fighting still harder, but he kept on pushing her arms down just the same.
She was now finding out just how powerful and huge and menacing King was. And there was no one to save her, to hear her cries and come to her aid. Her fear erupted in great heart bashing thumps inside of her body. Her legs turned to rubber. Rather then being able to fight harder, she began to turn weaker and was almost unable to fight the man about to overpower her and then take his liberties with her.
She tried to lift a knee and kick him; all the wonderful advice those women's books and magazines and manuals gave. But he was pressing too tightly against her and she was pressed too tightly against the wall to be able to fight him off.
She wanted to scratch him, but he had her firmly by the wrists. She wanted to spit in his face, but he was kissing her like a madman. She wanted to scream, but the fear, the overpowering violence of the power being brought to bear caused her cries to die in her throat and the loud mewling would hardly be heard a foot away, much less through the door.
Finally, he pulled his mouth from her and moved his face back an inch or two. She could look into his wet, gleaming eyes. Her open mouth tried to make sounds, but she was unable to utter a single sound. Fear was a hand choking off all sound. The only thing that Anita could do was to suck air down into oxygen starved lungs. They were both breathing hard.
She could feel his swollen cock up against her and she could her to the throb of his heart under the thick layer of his powerful chest. Finally, she was able to find her voice. But by then his mouth had come down again, hot, hungry, his tongue a probing spear of living pink flesh. She sobbed deep down, her tits still rubbing up and down against his chest, making him hotter.
He pulled his lips away one last time from her and stood there, face beet red, eyes like those of a pig laughing out at her. Then he pulled her by the wrists as he moved back from the door, taking her into the middle of the room, smiling like a heathen in heat.
She came with him, unable to resist, sobs welling in her throat and her bosoms moving up and down and the flesh quivering as her chest heaved to suck more air into fear maddened lungs.
Then he began to twist her wrists. His face got very hard even though it stayed red. "Kneel, bitch!" The two words flew from the slit his mouth had become. She shivered and shook and finally knelt and then sobbed, "please, sir. Let me go. I never did you any harm. I won't tell anyone!"
"You'll never tell anyone, I'm sure. But not till you've been good to me. I want a blow job."
He bent over to say that. His face came down, close to her's. Big, swollen, pussy-hungry, red. The spittle flew from his wet and drooling lips and hit her face.
Then he stood straight and looked down at her, mighty, powerful like a great edifice, ruthless, hungry, merciless, holding her in a grip of steel, her wrists and forearms partially twisted and the pains radiating up them to her shoulders. She was on her knees, helpless.
"If you're thinking of screaming forget it. No one is in the office block where we're located. I made sure to call you here when everyone had gone home."
She stared up at him, sobbing, knowing this was the awful truth. He had called her to him at a time when no one else would be here and she had unknowingly stepped into the spider's trap.
He began to twist her wrists some more and then worked his hands up along her arm till he was holding her firmly by the fingers, his brute power huge and menacing and merciless.
"I'll break your thumbs and I'll do it wow," he warned her, grasping them, "if you don't do as I say."
"Please, don't."
He began to tug on her thumbs as if he might actually break them. His cock was swollen large and bursting. It was so huge that it was tenting his pants grotesquely and by sheer pressure forcing his zipper down and down.
"Don't, sir, don't."
"Well, do I break them or do you blow," he asked?
She gazed at his ruthless face, listening to the frightened beat of her heart. Finally, sobbing, her fear like few fears she had ever known, she surrendered and tremblingly nodded her head, then she broke into greater sobs. She would blow him. She would suck him silly.
"Good. I knew a smart bitch like you would wise up. A smart bitch like you would suck when persuaded enough." He emphasized the last word, persuaded.
"And I'm sure this isn't the first cock you've sucked. A girl like you must be pretty expert in giving blow jobs. So, remember, do a good job. I've been blown by the best."
She looked up at him, her eyes blurring. "I'm going to let go of you, so you can be real good to me and hold it the way a good cocksucker should. But if you get smart, remember, I can always get hold of you again."
She said nothing and shivered.
He let go and her arms came down. The places where he had held her were numb and pale. She could feel the tingle of blood coming back into them. Her body ached and she still felt his fingers even though he wasn't touching her any longer.
"Take off your sweater," he ordered.
She shook her head up and down. "Yessir." She took the sweater off over her head and tossed it to the side. Her breasts tumbled out. Young, healthy, strong, upthrust, resilient. His hands came down and he began to fondle them.
"Titties," he said with a fond grin and a fiendish chuckle of delight that made his face brighter and his chest heave up and down.
She said nothing as she felt his hands squeeze, fondle, pinch and touch her. Then he let go and told her to pull his zipper down. Her hand came up slowly, tremblingly, almost as if she were about to touch some ancient alter. Then she went faster. He grinned above her, his face some giant and ruthless.
As soon as she pulled his zipper down his cock began to stir in his pants. He gave a wiggle of his hips and it flew out of the slit in his shorts and smacked her face and then swung off to the side; dripping gleaming pre-cum dew from the slit in the apex of the cock head. The foreskin was pulled back some and he pulled it all the way back.
She inhaled, a shiver of bone gripping fear filling her. His cock was huge and thick, imprinted with a network of fine and wide veins and arteries of dark blue and purple.
He pulled his pants down and shorts too as he unworked his belt and then leaned back against the desk behind him, the pants and shorts fell down to his knees.
He had wide, muscular thighs. He had short blonde hairs sparsely growing from the skin of his thighs. Hanging down from his crotch were large balls carried in a wrinkled skin sac beneath his swaying and erect cock, which she now estimated to be over seven inches in length. His balls were lust bloated. And she knew balls that size would contain enough rich cream to flood her mouth. Short, thick blonde hairs grew from the wrinkled skin of the ball sac.
"Well, what are you waiting for, you fine bitch? Take that cock and suck on it till I cum in your mouth. I hope you're not one of those high class bitches that doesn't like to take it in the mouth. Because if you are, you'll have to take it anyway."
"No sir, I let the man cum in my mouth. I learned early on that a man doesn't like to shoot his load into empty air."
"You bet he doesn't. He likes hot, straining lips around his cock when he shoots."
She nodded again. Anita Dumont had come up out of the Detroit ghetto and though smart and ambitious she had to learn the lessons of the street before she could learn the lessons of the schools and colleges.
She had long ago learned to bring satisfaction to stiff cocks. Like many of her ghetto sisters, but not as much as some, she had gained experience in the servicing of fine, hard, eager prong. Her lips were no novice to the surface of a hot, needing cock.
With that, she closed her eyes, taking his cock in her hand, she began to rub him along her soft, tender cheeks. He shivered in glee. "That's so fine, baby. Now, when I cum, you swallow it all to the very last drop: you hear?"
"Yessir." She didn't really like cum swallowing, like some of the girls she knew, but on occasion, when the date was extra special she swallowed and earned herself a high protein, low calorie diet for the day.
"Don't worry, sir," she said, "I'll swallow it all. When I'm done there won't be a drop left and you'll be clean as a whistle." All the while she continued rubbing him against her cheek and looked up. His eyes were shut, shivery breaths were escaping from his open mouth and his head began to jerk from side to side.
She stopped rubbing him and then opened her mouth wide and breathed on it. He jerked in her hand. Her painted soft lips curved in a brief smile. Even though she was being forced to do this she could not help but take satisfaction in the reception she was getting.
Her lips opened wider. She began to swallow him in. Anita took three inches of hard prong and then shut her lips securely around it. Salivating to make the inside of her mouth smooth and slick, she began to suckle on him, softly at first, then harder and still harder, till he was trembling in the knees.
She opened her eyes and looked up at his shut eyes and face going from side to side. He may have been in control before, but clearly, it was Anita who was now in control. Only if she let him out of her mouth would he be in control again.
She suckled a bit harder and began to rotate her head from side to side adding extra sensation and drive him up the wall. She was rewarded when he began to hiss and pump his hips in a swift, sensuous rhythm.
She put her hands out and held him by the hips to keep him steady and prevent him from wiggling too much. She didn't want to lose his cock out of her mouth and thus loose that fine cadence she was maintaining in suckling and rotating her head from side to side.
The sensations she sent racing up his cockhead and stem rushed down to his balls and made them stir uneasily, sending vibrations through the cream that would soon liquify and flow when she had him up to the right passionate pitch and really running a lustful fever.
She changed her tune a bit by stopping the suckling every half minute and then running her tongue along the edge of his cock from the head to where the stem extended outside her mouth before she began to suckle again. The swift, quicksilver licks of her tongue nearly caused him to groan. With the alternating blasts of suckle fire and the sharp lances of quicksilver rushing along his quivering cock, which had now swelled even thicker inside her mouth, he began to respond with more vigor to what she was doing.
His hips began to piston back and forth, driving his cock into and out of her mouth. As she realized that King was fucking her in the mouth, she timed her suckles between strokes and licked at him as he entered and as he left.
She clung to his hips, hoping to slow the rate at which he fucked her face and made her job of blowing that much tougher. She could see he was not one of those excitable men who shot their load right away. This was going to be a long haul blow against one hell of a bull of a man.
His cock was so thick her mouth was almost distended around it and when he went into her she really felt him filling her. He now speeded up his movements. Anita found it harder to swing her head from side to side while sucking, and after awhile didn't want to. She stopped this, while keeping up the rest of her work and let him fuck away into her mouth.
The sweat, from all this tough labor, was running down off her forehead and from behind her ears, down her neck and from under her swaying and jiggling breasts.
She took her hands from his hips, seeing that she could not control him, and began to play with his balls. She squeezed them like spauldines and ran her fingers from ball to ball. At the time she took hold of the hairs on his balls and tugged at them. The tugs sent sharp jolts of fire, which in the state he was in, became lashes of pure pleasure rushing through each quivering ball and helping to raise his pleasure rate a few notches on the lust scale. He began to vigorously pump his hips under the effect of her work, from side to side this time, ceasing, for short moments the in and out fucking of his hips and cock into her mouth.
There was a vast inferno flowing through each cell of his body. He could feel her hot, wet, slurping mouth and soft, cushiony lips in every vein, in every nerve end, in every bone and corner of his body. His scalp crawled, his soul yelled for more, his mind raced like a ticket counter gone wild. The colors inside his eyes became livid. He heard hundreds of small sounds; her lips, his heart and blood. And then he began to see the sounds. They were bright red bumps and long, quivering blue lines and white blasts and sparkles of orange and purple and then slashes of yellow. As quickly as they came they went and were wiped clean from the slate of his mind.
She had changed her pattern once more and now began to suck him as she bobbed her head and mouth back and forth, swallowing his cock, letting it out. Her soft lips slid back and forth on his hot and saliva lubricated skin surface; covering every bump and vein and artery and working him with that intentness that only a woman in deep love or a woman in great fear employs to satisfy her lover.
With great effort he forced his eyes open and looked down at her. He saw those fantastic, pink painted lips slipping back and forth and his cock riding into and out of her mouth, powerful, thick, wet, red. The sight of it made him swell still a bit more, thought Anita, feeling him in her mouth, hardly thought that possible.
She continued to swallow him in and let him out, using each inward stroke to lick the length of his stem and touch the mossy head of his cock and create more butterfly flutters of fire to rush up his cock, then down to his balls and up along his spinal tree into his brain, causing his heat to beat faster and his hands to clench the front of the desk he was holding onto. He held on for dear life and hissed like a man on fire, which in a sense he was.
Giant blasts of grinding sensation rushed along his body each time she licked at him or sucked him back in. He started pistoning his hips forward and at the same time fucked her mouth.
Anita found that as she swallowed him in he was coming forward with his hips and cock. This created a double movement and added friction that caused the fires in his cock to reach red hot proportions, that moved faster into his balls; the two points that seemed to be getting most of the fire coming from his sizzling cockhead.
She felt him stir some more within her and worked a bit faster now; the sweat running from her in waves so that she felt her entire body glisten. The musky man taste of him, the hum of his thrusting cock inside her mouth, made her shiver with the fear of a woman being possessed in the most personal way by a man she had not willingly allowed to love her. But in that shiver came the added fear of knowing that somehow her horror was slowly ebbing and being replaced by an acceptance of this power and this forced seduction.
She took his cock as he jabbed away at her, and her face and mouth came down around him. At the same time she added a suckle every time his cock filled her mouth and a flick of the tongue as he left.
Anita could feel the fire in her legs, the tiredness in her neck from moving and bobbing and swaying and fighting and complying at various moments with his movements and the power of his thick big, brutal and overpowering cock.
As his passion rose and the joy of having this wonderful bitch suck him with such love and technique grew in his heart, his cock began to dance with more power in and out of her.
Anita was jolted, but quickly adjusted. His cock thrust into her with huge power and the strength of a mighty man that rammed the head almost to the back of her throat and choked off all air except that coming through her nose.
She had to open so wide that the edges of her mouth ached. Her cheeks and tongue and the roof of her mouth were already numb from all the cock she had to accept. But, by superhuman efforts, and knowing the consequences of failing, she continued, and reached into her reserves to put still more effort into it.
Anita began to suck with great power that swallowed his cock as far as she could take it, then suckled on the head and stem. She salivated to make his ride friction free and without a hitch. He hissed at the feel of her cushiony lips sliding wetly and softly over his ruthless, lust swollen cock. He fucked her mouth even harder. And, with the spirit of a true, she took it all without a word or a whimper, aiding and abetting each and every move he made.
He fucked harder and harder as his balls began to clench up into his body and tremble with that signal which told him he was soon to shoot all his cream into that wonderful mouth that was working him like some huge suction machine.
She became a devil as his cock rammed away at her. She knew it would be impossible to take this kind of cock beating without her mouth coming apart. Anita had to get that big-cocked, ruthless stud to shoot and fill her with his cream. His hard pumping and her hard sucking were moving things towards this junction and they were moving there at lightning speed.
He let go of the desk near the end and grabbed at her face and head and held them as he punched into her mouth with his swollen cock. He felt like a powerful sheikh, fucking his best harem slave with the fierceness and lust of a true desert son.
She took the ramming, using her lips and tongue to lick and lave and her mouth to suckle. She salivated like a desert dervish and sloshed the saliva around to make his cock dance like lightning in and out of her mouth.
Her head hummed with the sound of him working her and her brain seethed with heathen fire at the sight and sound of his body ravaging her lips and tongue and the insides of her mouth. Towards the end she took everything he gave without showing one drop of resistance.
"I'm going to cum," he gasped and then, as he said the words, she felt his body stop a second, grow rigid and arch. His cock swelled, growing another half inch, throbbed and felt like a hand grenade about to explode, which it did.
He shot his first thick gob into her mouth and then began to piston back and forth and fuck her with utter ruthlessness. Anita was no longer able to suck or keep control, as the vast, thickness of him filled her and shot machine-gun bullet pellets of white cream into her mouth and then down her straining throat.
She held and swallowed and took every drop he gave. Pellet after pellet flew from his swollen cockhead into her throat. Anita worked him hard as she tried to keep up that great rhythm she had continued till now. But Anita was unable to bring it off. His rough assault had thrown her off balance.
She felt his cock jerk about inside her as he continued shooting in smaller and smaller bursts. It was all Anita could do to hold him and keep him in place as he rammed away. It was punch, punch, punch. And some of the blasts were touching the back of her throat. She fought to keep blowing and swallowing without gagging. And somehow she brought it off.
King was gasping and hissing and groaning and every two seconds his face exploded in what looked to be pain, but was really pleasure. Rivers of sweat ran from him. The back of his shirt was wet and the front too. His ass and balls were clenching with each jerk of his madly punching cock. Each shot that flew from him was given up with a groan and a hiss of pure delight. He could barely breathe, so great was the pleasure that rushed through him. There were times when he thought he would keel over or that his lungs would collapse.
He strained every muscle to fuck harder still. And he did. His brain boiled and flew about inside his skull. He could almost see it, behind his clenched shut eyes. It danced about in an incandescent syrup which swirled inside his head.
And then, quite suddenly, it was over. He began to come down off the plateau. He began to shake less and breathe more easily and his chest and belly heaved a bit less. His cock, he was aware, was shrinking in her still sucking mouth. He felt as if almost all the cum in him had been sucked out and swallowed down.
Then, King opened his eyes and smiled, almost with affection at the wonderful black bitch between his legs, lovingly sucking away on his still fat log of a cock.
Anita knew enough not to stop till he asked her to. He had been sucked dry. She was sure there was not a drop left in him and he could not complain. That had been some job of blowing. A good blow job would insure a happy man. And happy men rarely hurt a girl, at least she hoped so.
She sucked him for a minute longer; sending warm, gentle needle sensations up his body and through his cock into his balls. He closed his eyes and put his hands atop her head and enjoyed this service, sighing in the warm aftermath of a trained and loving mouth.
She felt the pressure atop her head, and adjusted her neck muscles to take him. There was some shivering on her part, but Anita kept on. His actions clearly showed he wanted to remain in the warm afterglow of the fine blow he'd just had. How long King would stay was up to him and not her. Anita continued with her sucking, her cheeks and jaw muscles tired, her bones hurting, the pressure in her eyes and sinuses and the fishy taste down her throat and in her mouth making her tired of this sport. If she had loved or even like him this would be something she would willingly do.
King sighed. She was very good. Most whores for pay just dropped your cock out almost before you were done coming cumming. It was like they were doing you a favor even though you were paying them good hard earned money.
Only the fifty dollar an hour kind kept sucking after you were done and for maybe a minute or two more; just like a fine date. The seventy-five dollar an hour chick might suck for ten minutes more, after the blow was done with, so he could cum a second time in her mouth. Girls like that had powerful mouths from long years of cocksucking experience. If they ever gave out Phd's. in that subject, they'd get it no holds barred, hands down. He was sure Anita could have been that kind of girl, had she wanted, and now, just for him, out of fear alone, she was.
As she sucked Anita became aware he was growing again. She knew where this would lead to and began to run her teeth gently up and down the length of his cock, stopping every half minute to nibble with vigor but gentleness on meat swollen so hard now between her numb and bruised lips.
She put on speed to make him cum faster. This was getting to be an overwhelming task and she had to end it somehow, she told herself. Her teeth and lips worked in alternating moves to make him redder and hotter.
His hands had now lifted off her head and were holding onto the desk again as she made him clench his eyes, gasp, throw back his head. King was swimming once more. He felt pains and rumbles in his balls. She was too much, this bitch, too much. Already, she had made his still sensitive, overworked balls, hum with the fire of passion.
Her hands rose and with both hands she grasped his balls. Each hand began to squeeze rhythmically at a ball and make him gasp with the rushing fires roiling in his roots. She used her long nails to scratch gently and scrapingly along the surface of the sacs in which his balls were contained. Great red bursts of fire exploded in the black void behind his eyes.
She held his sac in both hands and tugged down, applying pressure on his balls. He gasped even louder. She poked her nails into the sac surface, one nail behind a ball and one in front, and began digging fingers into his skin sac and ball surface. This was done firmly, but gently and caused his balls to send firey sensations rushing along his spine to erupt in his brain. His cock grew harder and quivered more. He began to grit his teeth and suck air in between his gritted teeth and through his flaring nostrils.
Anita stopped what she was doing to his balls and began to tug at the hairs and then squeezed his balls in pulsating motions. These moves followed one another and Anita did not pursue one move too long before switching to the next and back again. The differing and constant vast sensations had their effect as he swelled to full length and then grabbed her head and hair and began tugging on it. She increased the level of her sucking and the pistoning of her soft, pink painted mouth; going as fast as she could. But even so Anita was not able to go as fast as she had been able to.
Anita didn't have to. He was wound up from the last blow and as he swelled his cock began to quiver, the milky sperm, now watery, that was left in him, shot from his cock in hot, hissing spits of sperm-fire.
She swallowed and wiggled her head from side to side to make his cock sway around some more. As King exploded within her mouth he arched and a low yell of pleasure escaped from an open mouth suddenly gone crooked.
She was driving him up the wall. The second cumming hurt. It also made every nerve in his cock tingle with pleasure so that he was barely able to move and instead, hissed and trembled and felt a level of pleasure unlike the pleasure he had so far received. This pleasure was deeper, sharper, higher, not as thick as the first, just as his cum was more watery.
His skull vibrated with the blasts of erotic energy coming up into it from his cock and making him feel as if he would pass out from excess of pleasure at any moment. But, by gritting his teeth, he held and enjoyed every cocksucking moment of what she gave him. He felt the flow abate even as his body screamed at the torture of the pleasure and his mind raced with colors, sounds, stray and erratic thoughts. He had never thought a man could receive so much pleasure and joy that he would pass out and then die. It became so vast, so ruthless, that he thought he would scream no more. But then it was abating and as it did, his senses no longer danced so much and his brain was able to reason without the vast stress. He held and enjoyed the aftermath as she sucked and swallowed and worked him like few high class hookers or dates of the evening would. Though these days there was very little difference, because dates cost almost as much; at least as far as King was concerned. But what would he know? He was married, with a homely wife, who wasn't giving him all he wanted, which was the reason he was doing this to Anita Dumont now.
His cock shrank faster this time and he came back to earth with a rush. Looking down at her working him with weary movement he was moved to a moment of kindness. After all, the poor piece of ass had done enough.
Anita felt her whole face numb and sore and hoped he would say stop. As if an angel from heaven had been listening and working on King's brain, he spoke.
"Okay, you can stop now." He said it with a hint of gentleness in his voice. But he realized at the same time the consequences of what he'd done and thought of what to say next.
She dropped him from her mouth and swallowed, looking at his matted crotch hairs and the red stub of his cock resting there and his tired-looking balls hanging down. She looked at his red and lecherous face, still grinning.
Her face reflected her exhaustion. Her lips were puffed and smeared with cum and saliva and lipstick. Her eyes were drowsy, her hair disheveled. Her entire body from the waist up glistened with sweat like the finest of polished ebony and made her look some African goddess-princess about to be sacrificed to appease the mighty volcano god.
Just staring at her sitting there at his feet made his cock tingle. But no more, he decided. He did not want to get a heart attack. He staggered up from his leaning against the desk position and went around behind his desk, while Anita struggled to get out of her kneeling position and onto her feet. She found her energy reserves had been sapped by the overwhelming blow and she proved unable to do a thing.
At last, she did rise. Anita stared at him, as her head reeled and her legs felt like rubber. The places where the flesh had been too tightly pressed tingled as oxygen flowed back with the life giving blood that carried it. She felt the pains and her face momentarily exploded in a rictus of pain. This was so much like the rictus of passion he had seen on the faces of women that his cock again tingled as he flopped into his chair and sat there, staggered back, legs splayed out in front of him.
She stood there, and gasped, while her tits heaved up and down, giving him a graphic display of their size and the way they moved and enticed him. She was a portrait in pain. And he knew that later on, thinking about her the way she was now, his cock would rise and all he would have to satisfy him was the wishy-washy cunt of his unappealing wife.
"Sit down," he said, indicating with his chin the chair to the side of her. She staggered into it and sat there, barely able to talk. She tried, but her mouth was numb and what emerged were long moans.
"Your are good, little lady," he said, wagging a finger at her. "A girl like you is a girl after my heart. It can be easy on you if you're good to me."
She didn't answer. Her mouth was too numb and she was too stunned.
He realized that and sat forward, looking at her and added emphasis to his voice. "Listen good. What we did here," he pointed to the room around them, "is for you and me and the walls. Tell no one and make no complaints. Be damn sure you don't. Because you won't be able to prove it and the company will take my word over yours. As a result I'll just say you got drunk. I'm a respectable man with a family and a sweet, loving wife, even though I'll admit within these four walls that she doesn't come up to your kneecaps when it comes to blowing and I'll bet you're a lot better in everything else when it comes to doing it under the sheets.
"But just remember," again, he wagged his finger fiercely at her, "don't tell a soul. Because if you do, not only won't you get any justice. You'll be fired."
This struck like a hammerblow. Loosing her job was something she hadn't counted on. She shivered. She'd have to go on welfare if she lost this job. And welfare was something Anita didn't want to go on. She wouldn't be able live down the sniggers of neighbors who were on welfare and always spoke ill of her because Anita carried her head higher then them, worked hard and assumed she was better. Only now, King had pulled her down into the gutter with him. She sighed and shook her head in understanding.
"Okay." He nodded his head towards her sweater, lying on the floor. "Get your stuff. Get dressed, and hustle your ass outta here."
Added to the stunning things already done to her these words landed like additional blows. She rose and dressed, feeling like the black wench taken by the plantation master and now dismissed for the night.
He stood up as she began to walk slowly from the office and said, with a sly smile across his face, "be sure to be on time to the plant tomorrow. We wouldn't want you to be late now!"
Chapter Three
She rose groggy, showered, did her hair, but still felt exhausted from last night. Her tits hurt where he had fingered them. Her cheeks and jaw were sore. Her head and neck muscles ached. She felt the start of a headache coming on and went and took two aspirin. Anita did not feel like eating breakfast after what that satan-lucifer did to her.
She got the frying pan, added some oil, broke in two eggs, added pepper, fried a rasher of bacon. The four strips began to sizzle. A sound she would have loved any other morning but this one. Her stomach felt a bit on edge from taking the aspirin without anything to line her stomach. She remembered the admonition of her mother to never take any medication without some food to line and protect her stomach first. Always after a meal, her mother said. These words rang in her ears now. But it was too late to think of that. This wasn't her morning to think constructively.
She started the boiling water for the coffee. She didn't like the ordinary brands. She bought General Mills Cappuccino or Mocha. It cost a hell of a lot less than other brands selling in the stores and it tasted so much better. All she had to add were two teaspoons of sugar and stir. She had an eight ounce tumbler of Hawaiian punch along with her breakfast.
Anita couldn't stand eating without something to drink. Her mouth got. dry and she needed to wash the food down and at the same time hated to drink water. It just lacked the punch she looked for in a drink. Too much soda gave too much gas, so she drank juice. All kinds of juice. Orange, grape, apple, raspberry, cranapple, and punch.
She ate though she had no appetite. It would be a hard, long day on the assembly line and Anita needed energy to work. No food on top of the agony of yesterday and her storm tossed night would make the day tiring and tortuous. And when a woman or man was worried, that eight hours could be eight weeks long. She'd seen it before, in herself and others.
She went to brush her teeth and gargle. This was to loosen food particles, which she knew could harm the teeth, and to kill bad odors. She didn't want to do this either. But it was one of the normal routines she went through that made her seem more human and yesterday less of a horror.
Anita still felt funny. It had not all been the horror she had expected rape to be. That deep, gut and bone wrenching horror that would make a girl sob all day long.
The horror had ended quickly to be replaced by a neutral numbness and even an awareness that if he had not forced her in such a way to serve him she might have enjoyed what they were doing.
But all that was shoved into the background by the savage and ruthless grinding blowing she was forced to give and the twin cummings in her mouth and then down her throat and into her belly. She had walked out from there in the end numb more than anything, afraid of losing her job and terribly exhausted. She got home, barely had some coffee, tried to watch TV, then fell into bed and slept, woke up, slept and woke up again.
She finished with breakfast, put the dishes in the sink and decided to wash them when she got home. Then she dressed and went off to work.
The world seemed to pass her by, with Anita being only half aware of the people on the bus, the bodies, the chatter. The voices of people held few troubles and their only concern was over what had been on TV last night and what would be on tonight.
One man said, "I'm crazy about the Rockford Files. I watch him Friday nights and then the repeats on Monday nights. I saw most of them a few years ago. But I've forgotten them by now, so it's just like watching a new show all over. The older ones are still good. They've aged only a bit."
The other man answered that he too liked the Rockford Files. They came to her stop and she got off, along with many other workers. A couple of the men looked at her, made hour glass shapes in the air with their hands and smiled. She thought to herself, "circling buzzards."
She went into the plant and to the assembly line. Anita barely paid attention to the chatter of the other workers about clubs and bars they'd been too and woman they'd met and things they'd bought. The younger black men raised their voices when she went by, talking about their conquests, thinking that this would set her off. It didn't.
As she got on the line Claude Wolff came over. "Well, how was it? What happened? Did you go in on the left foot and leave with the right, like I told you?"
She felt like telling him to go buzz off. There were questions, so many questions. But he had been nice to her. No, she would talk with him. She wouldn't tell him everything, but she would talk with him.
"Not too good and not too bad," she said; answering his first question. Then, she went on before he could ask anything more. She couldn't bear his prying. He wasn't really doing that, but she was so sensitive to anything he said.
"He wanted to talk to me about my work and says he makes it a practice to talk to every new worker and get their impressions and then review their work record to date and tell them what he thinks. He says it makes for a better work relationship."
Claude Wolff scratched his gray and black stubbled chin and said, "I can't remember anything like that happening before." Then he looked off into the distance as he wondered aloud.
"It could be that this is a new policy. It hasn't happened in my years on the job. But then, this King is a new man, been here only six months and I guess he does things that way where he comes from."
Anita almost smiled at the way Claude was seriously taking what she said and wondering over this non-existent bullshit. He would probably think about it all day, discuss it with others, warn some of the new workers what they had waiting and they'd worry about it too.
"And did you go in on your left foot and leave on your right?"
"I went in on my left, but," she shrugged," I didn't leave on my right. Maybe I did. I can't really remember." Nor had she been in a state to remember.
When she saw the disappointed look on his face, she said, "it really didn't matter. Things would have gone the same anyway. They came out alright, you could say."
He shrugged, not really sure, wanting to say more, but then the plant whistle blew and the new shift began to work the assembly line, which moved into high gear. Claude ran to his place and she began to work with regular motions.
In a way she was glad for the work. It kept her from thinking about what she had gone through and because of that she could find some solace in what was normally boring and tension inducing labor.
Two hours into the workday Hampton stepped up behind her. She almost felt him before she saw him. He raised a hateful feeling in her. She turned, stared him in the face and asked what he wanted. He was a bit taken back by the sharp undertow in her voice. But since he had been told by King to go and get her, he forgot that and said, "King wants to see you."
"Why?"
"Go and find out." A shiver crawled up along her spine. She couldn't say no. She'd be fired. But King might rape her. Then again he might be having second thoughts and maybe wanted to test out the waters and see if she was going to tell someone on him. If so, she would make him pay and pay. He'd pay that blowjob. Imagine, him using her like a common street hussy. Still boiling, she left her place and Hampton had to take her spot while she headed for King's office.
When she got there he was sitting behind his desk, paperwork on it, but him not doing anything but waiting for her.
"Shut the door," he insisted.
"So you can take me again," she asked? Her voice was sharp, her hate strong, the aches of yesterday and this room making the moment vivid.
He smiled grimly. "I'll have you again, when I want to. But not yet. I have things I want to talk to you about."
"What?"
"Your body. Your good, wonderful, soft, fuckable body. I like it and I'm sure a hell of a lot of other men do. And I'm sure with the experience you showed when you blew me, that this isn't your first time or even the tenth. You've had men, you have had experience."
"So what? I've had men," she said, pounding her chest above her great breasts, raising her voice, "but they've been men I've chosen or who've chosen me. Not men who forced me to suck."
"Keep your voice down, others'll hear," he said, with a tight, toothy smile. The glints were back in his eyes; hard, steely glints. His eyes were alive, more alive than the flat mask of his face.
"People are out there you know." That told her he wouldn't try anything so far. And she remembered not hearing a click when she came in and shut the door. Knowing she was safe and would not have to face yesterday again, at least not now, made her relax some.
Her eye caught the title of some porno paperback he had on his desk, "Young Bitches Get Restless." She smiled smugly. That would be typical of his type of man.
He went on. "A girl like you has talent. Talent that shouldn't be wasted on an assembly line." He pointed toward the outside of the office, at the assembly line they could not see, only visualize from where they sat.
"Working an assembly line is hard on the body. It can age a pretty girl. You should be doing other things."
"I would be doing other things," she almost spat, "if it weren't for this goddam job market. I wouldn't have to work an assembly line to support myself. I'd be a bookkeeper like I always wanted, making much more than what I'm making now, using my hand and not my hands."
"There's nothing wrong in using one's hands."
"I'd rather use my head."
"You got to, yesterday," he said with a grin.
"Not that kind of head," she spat.
"You can advance," he told her.
"How," she asked sarcastically?
"My way." He touched his chest. "By going down to go up. I could, how do you say, introduce you to higher ups who need it lower down." He touched his crotch and grinned. "You could be transferred from department to department; bringing happiness to your fellow man and in turn earning the rewards of a happier life."
"What the hell do you think I am?"
"I know what you're not," he said. "You're not happy. You're not working the kind of job you want, at the money you want. Do it my way." Again, he tapped his chest.
"What would this get me," she asked; just curious, not yet ready to say yes?
"I could talk to the guy over me. He's a bachelor. A pussy lover and sharp as a goddam whip. He gets women, though with his face I don't know how. He takes care of the shipment and financing department. He orders the metals and plastics and other materials that go into car making. He bargains for the right price. He heads the payroll department and that sort of thing. I might be able to get you a job as a secretary, typing up payrolls. Not quite bookkeeping, but it's closer to your goal.
"Let's face it," he said, at his most persuasive now, his voice dripping honey, "you'll go on giving ass to men. Why not these? Guys like the one I've talked about and others I can contact. They're nice men, not repulsive at all. If you met them in a bar you'd be going to bed with them anyway. Why not now? Why not to advance your career?"
"I couldn't," she said, her determination wavering; her eyes on some far off goal she was seeing. "It would be simple prostitution."
"It wouldn't. Prostitution is something done by girls on street-corners for money, for quickies. This would be a more substantial thing. A favor in return for a favor."
His eyes watched her, his face beneath the smiling exterior, cold and calculating. He knew then that he had her. King went on.
"Look, wives do it. Girlfriends do it. They make their man feel good, so they can get presents. Wives do it to keep husbands and families together. Wives who don't feel much passion or love for the man they're with. And that marriage is just a piece of paper, not a marriage. If they can do it, so can you, for a hell of a lot more than they're doing it for."
"I couldn't."
"Sure you could. Why don't you go back to your job," he said, rising to show the interview was over, adding, "think it over while you work. After work, come back here, we can go to The Jade Cat. It's not far from here. A nice little bar-restaurant. We can have some drinks, talk it over, have supper. No need you're struggling home each night to make supper."
"I don't know."
"Listen to me. Think about it. Come back here after work."
She rose, and as she did, she spotted another paperback beneath the one she'd seen before. Part of it protruded. She read the unique title. "Cocksuckers In Paradise."
Then she left.
She went back to her job, thinking about all he had said and wondering what it really would be like to be a woman of passion, pleasing to men and at the same time pleasing them. It was wrong she told herself. But, looking around at her future now, she realized it could be better and this was one of the ways to make it so.
The work day ended, she went to change and then to King's office. He was waiting for her. "Well, don't we look fine," he said with a smile and a grin.
"Come on." He led her from the office, carrying a small, black leather attache case. The executive elevator, took them hastily down to the inside garage where King kept his Mercury Marquis. She would have thought someone as fancy oriented as he was would drive a Lincoln Continental or a Cadillac De Ville.
He drove her out of there and past the workers streaming to their cars. She thought she spotted Claude Wolff, but she wasn't sure. In no time at all they were out of the plant grounds and heading through shaded streets, past nice homes in the forty to sixty thousand dollar range.
Finally, he turned onto a broad avenue and then found parking in front of The Jade Cat. He locked up and they went inside. The maitre d' stepped up and King asked for a table and booth at the back.
It was not too crowded here. There was green carpeting on the floor, nice crystal chandeliers, white linen tablecloths, smooth, orange jacketed waiters.
They got their table and King held her chair, not displaying one bit of the hardness he had shown yesterday. They sat down and ordered. Rob Roys, steak and lobsters, green salad, creamy Russian dressing, french bread, Irish coffee for dessert.
The food, when it came, was good and she was hungry enough to forget for a moment what he'd brought her here for. But halfway through the meal he began his spiel.
"Were you thinking about what I said?"
"Unhuh."
"Have you decided yet?"
"No."
"Well, hurry up, decide. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get moving. And the sooner I get moving the sooner you move up and out. Think of it, honey, no more assembly line."
She almost smiled as she closed her eyes. No more assembly line. No more dull, routine. It sometimes made her clench her teeth together to do that job. It was one of the dullest assembly lines she'd ever worked. And she wasn't the only one to say that.
"I don't know," she said as she opened her eyes.
"Look, sweet cheeks, do you want to spend all your life on that line?"
"I don't intend to."
"Well, you don't have to spend anymore time there now. That bookkeeping job isn't around the corner. This is. Look at the here and now." He pointed at the tablecloth.
The waiter came over and asked if they would like a refill of their Rob Roys. "Sure, why not? Want another," he asked? She shrugged and shook her head.
As the waiter laughed and walked away, King laughed. "Why not," he asked? "It's free. And don't worry about the alcohol. It'll have much less effect after all this food we've eaten." He patted his belly.
After the drinks were brought over, he again asked for an answer. "Don't be indecisive, like most women are?"
"I am not indecisive," she said; disgust showing in her eyes, her voice rising. He looked around to see if anyone heard and made downward motions with both hands. He didn't want to be heard in this restaurant.
She looked around, seeing the stone green cats on shelves set into the wall. These were the imitation jade cats for which the restaurant had been named.
He lit a cigarette and took a sip of his drink. "This is no engagement party," he told her. "This is a business offer. In business you have to decide fast or life passes you by."
"There is also such a thing as deciding too fast," she reminded him. "I'm sure you've heard the folly of doing that."
"I've heard. But there's a big difference about between waiting to see and missing the boat, and you," he pointed with the cigarette at her, "are missing it."
"I'm not so sure," she said, seeing relief at one end and also a conflict with her inner self. She was a soul in turmoil and he saw it.
"Maybe," she said, "something will come up. I could win a lottery."
"You could also be the first woman sent to Mars. Cut out this bullshit. Even if you did win a lottery it might not be more than ten grand. What're you making now?"
"Nine. I'll be making nine-and-a-half soon."
"And you're not making out well on that; are you?" She shook her head, "Well, ten won't be too much higher. And if you do win it you'll be in a higher tax bracket. So you'll pay a lot more out of that ten than you would just making ten as a salary. Money looks better on paper than in real life. I mean it's good, but never as good as we expect it to be."
"I wouldn't mind the ten thousand, even if I had to pay tax on it and I might win fifty or a hundred thousand."
"That's just putting your dreams a trifle too high." He stubbed out the cigarette. "Ten thousand is nice, but no substitute for a job. You'll be needing ten like that every year. And ten isn't anything with the way inflation moves up.
"Take some guy who wins a hundred thousand. He quits his job and tries to live on his money. It can't be done. Before too many years pass it's all gone. Because ten isn't enough, he spends twelve, then fourteen. He forgets a man with an average salary makes as much and spends as much as he won in seven years or even less.
"You can't beat it. Money is only good when you win it and put it away, then live on the salary you make each day."
"Maybe I'll win a million."
"Maybe St Peter will knock on your door and tell you you'll go to heaven and that you'll live to the ripe old age of one hundred before you croak. Be realistic! One guy in maybe five million can win in a million dollar lottery. And you can be sure it won't be you. When you're in trouble and you're depending on luck to come through, then it doesn't. Life is full of more heartbreak than success stories. Those who come to success usually make it happen.
"There was a guy I knew who used to write on the blackboard next to this desk, The harder I try, the luckier I get.' That's the best damned motto I ever heard. And it applies here too. What about it?"
"What would I have to do?"
"How the hell would I know! Every man has different tastes. I expect some of them are pure muff men. You'd just have to go belly up, legs spread wide and take it between the chops. Some might be like me and would enjoy a good pair of lips sucking away on their prong. Others might enjoy a nice, tight, greased asshole."
Stars flew before her eyes. He spoke about this as if it were an everyday matter. To him it was, but to her it meant more, much more.
"Okay," she said, with a final nod. "I'm ready to go. Make your call. But not for today. I want to go home, rest up. Let it be tomorrow."
"Fine," he said with a smile as he made a sign for the waiter to come over with his bill.
Chapter Four
King felt pretty good. As he lit the cigarette the match flickered revealing the deep smile lines in his face. He put the match out in his copper ashtray. He'd bought the ashtray in New Mexico. Fine state. Great contrast between desert, forest, mountains, plains, white men, red men and all that sort of stuff.
He'd even gone to a massage parlor there; a place with a touch of humor. Hornblower's Counseling Service they called it. The women in New Mexico were better than in Detroit, he decided with an nod of the head.
He'd called Jaccuri and said he had a fine piece for him. A girl looking to get a little ahead in the firm and willing to give a bit of behind to do it.
Jaccuri had been more then delighted that his sometime friend, King, called. He said he would recommend King for a raise and maybe a chance at a promotion to inner plant supervisor. That would mean getting a job being supervisor over two plants full of supervisors. That was thirty-five hundred a year more.
He had called Anita into the office to tell her and then had sent her home early to get ready. He gave her the address. Not a Grosse Pointe location, but still an exclusive area.
She rushed home, mixed feelings dancing in her belly. But still, the sheer idea of having a man, a firm cock to satisfy her, was enough. She knew who Jaccuri was and had wondered what it would be like to fuck for him. Well, tonight she'd find out.
She had a quick dinner, not too much. She was much too excited to eat more. She did her nails, her hair, then decided to get something else to eat, but was too excited to make anything, so she ran down to buy two slices of pizza; one plain and one with mushrooms. She found that after many years of eating pizza she was no longer satisfied with plain slices. It had to have something on top.
She returned home and decided to take a bath, put on her bath cap and stepped into the tub, using some of the bubblebath she had left from her birthday party last year. It had been given to her by Ethel, one of the neighbors she was friendly with in the building.
Anita didn't linger long in the tub, got out, dried off and went to do her lipstick, put on perfume, pink tight panties, a nice sweater, slacks. She wanted to look presentable; hot, sexy, but not trampy.
She had decided yesterday that she would screw, and Anita had started taking the pill. No use in having any accidents.
As soon as she was done dressing, she got her bag, locked up and left, taking the elevator downstairs and heading for the bus. Across town a very eager beau was expecting her, wondering how she'd be.
Wilton Jaccuri looked out the window of his three room bachelor apartment at the view of Detroit twenty-two stories down and then the view of the great city and suburbs beyond. Amid the heat haze, the smog, the dust in the air, his eyes took in details with the sharp concentration of a man possessed by details and in turn possessing them.
It was called Motor City and for good reason. A quarter of all American automobiles were produced in this area and more then two hundred thousand workers depended for their jobs on this industry. There were more then a million and one half people in Detroit; a city, which in land area occupied half the surface of New York City. More then two and a half million people lived in the suburbs. There was a half billion dollar riverfront Renaissance Center which contained living units, offices and hotels. He liked to go there sometimes. Not far away was a half billion dollar four-tenths of a square mile medical center. There was the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village historical displays, if you liked that sort of thing and the Fort Wayne Military Museum. Detroit had been founded as a strategic fort way back in 1701 by a Frenchman named Cadillac, from whom we get our name Cadillac. There were a lot of explorers back in those days; De Soto, La Salle. It brought to mind cars no longer in existence. There are a lot of cars named after famous explorers. And the people who drove them and are still driving them don't even know it. Such is fame. It would probably make old Cadillac and the rest of those old buzzards turn over in their graves if they saw how their names were being bandied about these days, Jaccuri thought with a grin. He knew a lot about the area, being he was so involved in it and had so much free time on his hands.
Detroit was taken from the French by the British at the end of the French and Indian Wars and in 1796 was ceded to America. Later on, R.E. Olds' built the first auto factory for which Detroit became famous and Henry Ford helped things along. From a village of twenty five hundred when America took over, it had grown into something that always moved him each time he gazed at it.
Jaccuri was glad he lived on the twenty-second floor. High places moved him. He felt like an eagle in an eyrie; a cut in a vast rocky cliff, from which one could look down upon all of humanity. And there was certainly a lot to look down on.
He could see, in the far distance, the silver shimmer of Lake St. Clair and then running from it, in a southerly direction, the wide ribbon of the Detroit River, which emptied into and connected Lake Erie to her sister lakes. Across the Detroit River, almost indistinguishable from Detroit, was Windsor, Ontario. There were certain places there where he had gone to have himself a good time in some undefineable ways unlike Americans. Their women he found superior in many respects and though he paid for it, fine bed partners.
Between the two cities, and cutting the Detroit River into two temporary arms, one of which, on the US side, was called Scott Middle Ground, was the long, thick arrow of Belle Isle Park; a thousand acres of good fun on sunny afternoons or at night, a place to park in with one's girl, at some risk, but not so much if one kept doors locked. There were private places where one could enjoy one's self.
You went down East Berard Boulevard, then across Mac Arthur Bridge and you were there. You could visit the aquarium of the Dossin Great Lakes Museum; a place he found full of interesting and unique information. There was the Children's Zoo, which Jaccuri was too old for. And if one went south of the Great Lakes Museum along the Strand and looked across the river at Windsor he could see the looming form of the Ford Motor Company grounds in Canada.
Looking out the left window of his living room Jaccuri could see the north of Detroit, where Wayne County ended and Macomb County began. He could turn his head a bit to the northeast and see Lake St. Clair, then Grosse Pointe Park, Grosse Pointe, Grosse Pointe Shores, Grosse Pointe Woods; communities on or near the lake; places he did not yet have the bread to live in, or to be truthful, had the will to live in.
Looking in the opposite direction of some of the better neighborhoods he could see Detroit City Airport and just beyond it The Chrysler Corporation Plymouth Assembly plant. It was right next to the Forest Lawn Cemetery. This was something that always brought a smile to his lips. That was because autos put so many people in their graves each year. The symbolism of the two places side-by-side, may have been lost on many, but not on Jaccuri.
A bit farther south was the Chrysler Hamtramck Assembly Plant, a bit more down was the GM Main Division Cadillac Plant, then the huge, more then one square mile, Ford Motor Company River Rouge Plant. A decent chunk of land separated it from the GM plant and it was located in Dearborn and not in the River Rouge Community, which fronted on the Detroit River. It was just named after the narrow River Rouge,, which ran in front of it and down to the Detroit River.
Separated by a chunk of Dearborn on the west was another huge Ford plant and next to it Henry Ford Community College and the Dearborn Center of Michigan University. To the south of this section past the Rouge River, was the Henry Ford Museum, Greenfield Village and the Ford Proving Grounds. A bit farther south and west as his company's plant and grounds, almost touching Inkster City.
He always took the Edsel Ford Freeway south to where it became the Detroit Industrial Freeway, which then swung west and he got off somewhere along that line to get to his plant offices.
Wilton Jaccuri had a good job, one he should not by all rights have had. His life had been an unusual and hard one. Ruthless, to be frank. Sometimes he felt like a madman gone sane but still able to imagine the madnesses he had gone through and which had driven him to anxiety, sleepless nights, stomach cramps, deep depressions, with it's dual cycle of drowsiness, during which he had trouble keeping his eyes open no matter how many hours he slept, and anxiety, during which he could barely sit still and almost never enjoyed himself.
Despite his gruff interior and jovial pretensions there was a dark, and deep side to this man. He had not married, despite opportunities. His reasons were simple. He had his own nightmare, one he did not want any other human being to enter except women, for brief periods, and then only when he was able to hide his nightmare.
He put a Taryton to his lips, lit it, and stood there, smoking and watching the city play at his feet. Or was it really playing? That was just a word some novelist had used and it stuck. People didn't play. Most were working or sleeping and resting to recuperate from that work. Even in the places where people came to play the people entertaining them or dishing out the food they ate, didn't have fun. They were working. And even those having the fun many times found disappointment, heartbreak, missed chances and no fun at all. Fun was a word like love. It existed more in the mind then in reality. At least this was the way he saw it.
Reality was a strange thing for Wilton Jaccuri, he liked to forget it by taking long drives, drinking, going to sex movies, visiting massage parlors, trying to pick up girls. Girls was the answer for him. They made him feel wanted, important, a human being again. They didn't make him forget, like they did for some men. He went to the movies or bars or for long drives in the country for that. But girls and women made him real. Knowing what his life had been like it was easy to see why that was true.
All his life self value had been an issue. It was an item he hunted after with a zeal that could only be described as missionary, but which eluded him often, no matter how much he tried. It was just around the corner, a golden ball out of reach, on a ledge across the way, over a chasm a thousand feet deep.
He went from the window to a sidebar and poured himself a drink from a Johnny Walker Red bottle into a cut glass mug. He poured perhaps two fingers worth. Whiskey was another soother of men that helped, but only if you didn't let the sauce get ahead of you and become your master instead of your aid.
Throwing back his head, he drank deeply, then put the mug down and wiped his mouth. He shivered a second, then felt better as the whiskey burned down his gullet, filled his stomach, brought warmth to his lungs and guts and heart. He smiled, catching the smile in the mirror glass top of the sidebar.
He studied the face between the bottles and glasses. A face that was neither young nor old. A face that was lean, yet not hungry. A face that was hard, yet not vicious. A face that was cautious. Eyes that were hard, cruel, lost somehow. They say the eyes are the mirror to the soul. And what he saw in these eyes he did not like. There were men and women who had not liked it either. But it took time to fathom this character. He was not as simple as he looked and hard to understand. And there were people who thought him to be simple, foolish, even dumb. And they thought all these things despite the fact that he was able to clearly demonstrate his superiority. It was a superiority that he sometimes questioned, but never when he was with women. He needed them not for themselves, but for himself. He needed them for the self confidence, compliments and love that they gave to him. They made him feel not just a man, but a human being. And the latter was more important then the former.
His hair was black, straight, glossy. He sometimes felt sorry he had not been born with curly hair, but now was glad of the fact that his hair was straight, easier to manage, especially in the winds which swept from the river and Lake St. Clair across the city with sudden, swift gusts. Nothing as bad as Chicago in the winter, but unnerving at times. He was glad for the gentle touch of spring, which sometimes could be ruthless.
He was the same way, gentle, sometimes ruthless. He liked women, gentle women, hard women, tough, scrappy women, giddy, silly women, hot, sultry women, tall, cool, Nordics.
Jaccuri liked everything. There were men fond of Swedes or Germans or had a letch for French or Italian women, or blacks or Orientals. Not, him. Jaccuri had a letch for it all. He found, as he got older, not that he was old now, thought there were times when he felt like seventy, that he developed a letch for teenagers, girls who were in their middle or early teens, and girls in their early twenties, as well as women far older then him. He could not explain it, did not understand it. All Jaccuri knew was that he liked it.
He took another drink, finished the mug of whiskey and put it down. The juice was beginning to flow, beginning to make him feel warm and alive. He lit another cigarette and went to stare out the window.
He wanted just enough-whiskey in him when that fine bitch, Anita Dumont, came up, to be able to perform without any jerky movements and to give it to her with fire and lust. Proving himself with women was important.
To much, whiskey, he knew, and many men knew, could make a man impotent with a woman. While, for women, whiskey made them more eager and randy for the sex to begin. If both partners had too much to drink it was a nightmare for both. The man proved unable to give and the woman nearly went out of her mind wanting to get and unable to find what she needed. And unless she was fast for other men it often ended without any sex for both partners and grief and later recriminations.
He smiled and sighed. How good it would be to have a woman come to his apartment. It had been months since he'd had one come here, rather then him having to go to her place.
He heard the ring on his doorbell and realized right away who it was. Stopping to stub the cigarette out in his ashtray, he went to the door and opened it without asking who it was. She stood there, a thin smile on her lips, tight fitting jeans and a sweater without a bra clinging to her body. Her cunt was fat and promising against the puffed out crotch. He gulped and grinned, then stepped back and asked her to come in.
As she did, passing him and heading into the living room beyond, his head reeled with the sight of her large buttocks, her fine thighs, the scent of her perfume drifting back towards him on the currents of air eddying out of the house into the cooler hallway beyond. He shut the door and followed her into the living room.
She gazed back at him. He was a fine looking man. She wondered what his problems were and why he had no woman of his own. It would really be a pleasure serving him.
He shut the door and locked it. After her experience with locked doors this sent a twinge up her spine, but it soon passed. Jaccuri did not look the troubled kind.
"Would you like a drink?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Scotch and water or scotch on the rocks?"
"Scotch on the rocks."
He went out of the living room a moment and got a silver bucket of ice from the refrigerator and brought it back. He used silver tongs and gave her ice cubes and about three fingers of scotch. She noticed it was a good brand.
He took the same and they clinked glasses, drank and laughed at one another over the glasses, feeling giddy excitement.
She drank the frosty, hot liquid, feeling the cool burn going down. Then she put her glass down. He put his down a second after. Jaccuri, she now discovered, was not a man of many words. He knew what he wanted and he took it.
He went up to her, smiling into her eyes. She encouraged him, wanting this, not just for what it would give to her, but what she could get from him. If all men were like this, it would be a pleasure fucking for her bread.
His arms encircled her crushed her to his chest and then his lips came down on hers. They kissed hard, each tongue attempting to push out and into a waiting, hot mouth. Instead, they dueled, pushing back and forth.
She felt her tits up against his chest, crushed to him, her nipples already tingling with the touch of him. She kissed back harder and rubbed her tits against him. He grinned as his lips parted from her's.
"You're a fine woman, Anita."
"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Jaccuri." She wondered why she couldn't think of anything else but that tired, old cliche. But that was forgotten as he said, "call me Will. Wilton's my name, but call me Will. All my friends do, the close ones. The very close ones."
Before her lips could shape themselves to say his name with a smile, his lips, hungry, demanding, were down up her's; sucking away at her mouth.
She felt his hands travel down her back and grabbed a good chunk of ass. Then she heard the faint and clear rasp of her zipper going down. He was a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. She did not resist in the least. This surrender would indeed be a rare pleasure.
His fingers went into her pants, then under her panties to caress the naked, hot, silken, black flesh waiting for his fine touch and eager fingers. He pinched and probed. She felt his passion rise as he did. She felt his lips kiss harder, his tongue shot from his mouth into her's and began to slap her tongue and the lining of her mouth.
The power to cope with all this had been taken from her by the passion rapidly building inside her, the wetness between her legs, the flutterings of her pubic lips.
She felt his fingers drop lower as his hands went deeper into her pants and down along the smooth slope of her ass as he sought for her deep, hot groove and the forbidden flower of her soft anus. He found it. Then, his pinky speared her rubbery asshole and he penetrated into the slicked, wet tropic jungle of her rectum till he had his pinky buried up to the second knuckle.
Then he took his mouth from her, while wiggling his pinky about and sent fast fires rushing along her asshole into her intestines and across into her cunt.
With his face close up, he said, "I want to fuck your big, fine, hairy cunt." With that, his other hand came around in front and hot, eager fingers dug into fine, throbbing, hot pussy under the thin covering of her jeans and panties.
"Oh, yes, fuck me, fuck me," she said with a smile. "Drive it into me. Give it to me hard. Put it into me till my eyes pop."
"Oh, I'll give it to you alright. But your eyes won't just pop. They'll snap and crackle before they pop."
"Where shall we do it," she asked, looking around?
"We can rough it on the carpet, like the Indians in their teepees in the old days."
"How about the bathtub," she suggested?
"Excellent. Come, you can start the tub." He pulled his hand from her cunt and then from her asshole. He took her by the hand, while she held her slacks up with one hand and staggered after him. Her meat really wiggled now. She knew she was going to get fucked and good. This was the way she, liked getting cock and she hoped there would be plenty of it. She was one of those girls who enjoyed big ones. She believed that the more, the better.
He took her into the bathroom, a nice place, with white tile and blue porcelain bathtub and yellow painted walls. He turned on the water, tested it with his hand to see if he had a good combination of warm and cold. Then they watched the tub fill before he went to get soap and towels.
He brought back a bar of Ivory. In his other hand he had two big, pink, fluffy towels. Looking at the tub filling, full of turbulent water, bubbles and gentle wisps of steam, he said, "Cleanliness is next to godliness."
She pointed with her chin at the soap. "I see you've got the soap good enough for a baby's skin. I don't need anything that gentle."
"Your cunt does, when I lather it up. I don't want to use anything hard and damage the merchandise. And if I'm going to use anything good I'm going to use a special soap."
They looked, the tub was almost full. They shut it off. The room seemed peaceful after the rumble and roar of the falling water. Then he disappeared into another room of the house and began to undress. She also took this as her opportunity to take off her garments and put them on a small chair in the hall just outside the bathroom.
Then he came from the room, where he had been stripping, and stopped. He whistled as she held her hands out wide for him to see what she had to offer.
"Turn around," he said. She did, looking back over her shoulder. "Very nice," he said. "Very nice, indeed. Just what a man wants to come home to after a hard day at the office. Nothing like a hard day at home." He rubbed his cock, which she saw, was beginning to harden.
She glanced at his slim, muscled, hairy, tanned skin and the long, dark, firm, thick, blue veined cock hanging down over his dark skinned and wrinkled, hairy ball sac. The balls that hung heavily inside it were large and looked delectable to her eyes.
She walked up to him. "What you need is a little home-maker in your life."
"What I need in my life," he told her, "is a full-time cocksucker."
She smiled without answering, turned and headed for the tub. She stepped in, the water being just right, then slowly sat down in the water.
It was a bit too hot for her sensitive cunt and asshole. When she had her legs stretched out almost full length she looked down at her breasts. They were half-floating in the water, the ample, soft meat proved more buoyant then she expected. Small bubbles by the hundreds adhered to the surface of her breasts. She gazed up at him and saw where his eyes were.
"Like them," she asked; positive he would say yes?
"They're just what I need for lunch."
"Then come in and begin dining, sir."
"Okay, here I come. I hope you're ready for me. I'm a hungry eater."
"That's good, because there's a lot here for you to eat. And I'm sure you have plenty for me to eat."
She fell silent as he began to get into the tub and held onto the sides as he slid down into the water. When his cock and balls touched the water they floated a second before going under. He stopped and winced.
"What is it," she asked, some concern on her face?
"The damn water's too hot. It's stinging my cock and balls."
"Come on in. It's not that bad," she said.
"Easy for you to say. You don't have sensitive balls."
"But I have sensitive tits and a real sensitive cunt."
"It's not the same thing," he finally said, as he sat down and hissed. The water level rose in the tub, almost hitting the edge and overflowing, but not quite.
There was a gurgle beneath them, some of the water escaping down the drain, which was closed, because of the high water pressure.
She giggled. "How do you feel now? You're obviously very sensitive to hot water."
"Obviously. And I think I just cooked my balls."
"Let me see them," she asked; leaning forward, ready to plunge her hand into the water to find the darlings.
"Not yet," he said with sudden alarm.
"Why not?"
"Let them get over the hot water first."
Anita threw back her head and laughed. "You really are funny!" she said. "I wouldn't have known what a sensitive old lady you are, if not for this bath."
"I'm not a sensitive old lady, and move your legs a bit, so I can stretch mine out. I'm sitting here with them folded up."
"Sorry." She moved her legs, pulling them in a bit as he stretched out. His toe touched her cunt.
"My, what a lot of fur we have here."
"If that toe goes any farther," she said, "it'll be sticking in my cunt."
"It's not my toe I want to put there." Finally, he had stretched out as fully as the tub and Anita would allow.
"The water feels real good," he smiled.
She closed her eyes and absorbed the heat. "Mmmm," she said, then asked, "would you do me a favor?" He looked at her.
"Stick your toes against my muff again." She opened her eyes to see his smile. Then she spread her thighs against the enamelled tub walls and watched his knees rise up a bit out of the water and move about. In a second his toes were against the wet hairs of her muff.
She rubbed her muff against him and was rewarded by his wiggling toes. He rubbed them in an up and down motion against her muff.
The water, the entrancing setting, his toes, they all did things for Anita. A warmth began building in her crotch. Then it turned mildly hot.
Jaccuri found her clit and began to run his big toe around it. The hot water added to her comfort and his playing toe began to awaken more of the sleeping senses in her big, busty frame.
As he worked her he sat up and leaned forward. Jaccuri put his hands around her neck, pulled her face forward and began kissing her on the lips.
Anita let her mouth open and invited him to shove his tongue in and do anything in there that his tongue could do. She tried dueling with his tongue, but he proved so much stronger and won out. His passion had already risen past her level. His lusts developed in many places, were further lashed by the sight of her, so ready and juicy. The ghosts of a hundred bedrooms were awakened in him as his passion was driven ever skyward by the touch and sight and sound of her.
His toes were doing a good job at her muff. Anita found herself catching her breath every few seconds. His tongue was now running riot in her mouth, licking the side, the bottom, the top, running along the edges of her teeth, skimming over, around and under her tongue.
Breathless, he at last pulled his tongue from her flaming mouth and fell back with a wet thud against his end of the tub.
"Wow," he said, blowing out air. "That was fine tonguing."
"Stand up," he said.
"Why?"
"I want to eat you out."
Anita grabbed one of the faucets and began to stand. She rose straight up, water dripping from her as if she were some Venus risen from the stygian depths of some deep mountain lake. Then she lifted a leg and put her heel on the edge of the tub. She rubbed her cunt and smiled encouragingly at Jaccuri.
"Here it is. Come and get it!"
They grinned to each other, then he shifted himself along the tub till he was glancing up from under at her dripping cunt. He got onto his knees, and knelt beneath her, his lower half in the water, his face uplifted below her muff.
His pink tongue emerged from his wide-open mouth, as his fingers touched her, then parted her and he began licking her soft, trembling lips.
Anita closed her eyes. She put her hands on his head and then felt the thrill of touching a lover who was doing her so well. This, she imagined, was the kind of thrill he felt when a woman was doing him and his hands rested on her head.
His tongue worked her lips in long, soft strokes and then switched to the opposite lip. He liked working the big, thick lips, she now knew. And he worked them with true professionalism. Back and forth he went, stopping finally, gasping for air. But Anita would not let him stop. She pulled his head back to her muff, squatting down some more and then rubbing her muff against his face.
"Eat it, eat it," she muttered.
And now he went at her with new fervor in answer to her request and desires. His teeth began to nip lightly at her lips in fast, short jabs that covered their length.
Each nip sent a small sparkle of electricity up into her cunt. One after another, these endless sensations made her squirm and wiggle her muff up and down against his face, setting him to gasping. But, he did not stop for one second those wonderful delights that were driving her up the wall.
He switched from lip to lip, not staying more then twenty seconds on a lip. Then he pulled his face from her lips altogether and aimed for the Man in The Boat. His tongue was hot and hard as it began to lick her in up and down and side to side action.
Anita lifted her face so that her tightly shut eyes were pointed upward at the ceiling. Her hot, moist, red-painted mouth opened, wet, sharp, white teeth showing. Hot air escaped from her gasping mouth. Her nostrils flared.
She pulled his face closer and closer against her muff, till she felt his neck resisting her. Anita had him close enough now, he seemed to be saying.
But Anita did not care. She wanted that tongue to keep on thrilling her. Her thighs were trembling because of him and now soft as butter. She had to have him continue this.
"More, harder," she began to gasp; expressing the eternal litany of women in the throes of lust. There was never enough and it was never long enough. And it was never hard enough or thick enough. It always had to be more.
"Do me, do me," she cried.
His tongue was slapping her clit back and forth, then licking at her in long, pink strokes that made her squirm with hot desire. She was forced to grind her face faster and faster against him. Anita wanted to clench her thighs together against his face, but she held herself back. She wanted Jaccuri to be able to breathe while he was working her clit.
Then she felt his tongue stopping. She was about to ask him to continue, but his lips replaced the good feeling of his tongue, as he began sucking at her clit.
An intense fire spread through her cunt. Jaccuri's lips sucked hard and constantly at her clit, giving it not a second's rest, sending a wall of sensations through her. It was an overwhelming wall that made her swoon with the plethora of sensations. Anita had to keep her grip on the faucet in order not to keel over.
His lips let up some on her clit, then parted a bit, but continued sucking, as his tongue took their place and began licking at the tip of her clit, while his lips still did good work around it.
Spouts of fire lashed her tits. Joyce gritted her teeth and began to sway her head slowly, almost hypnotically from side-to-side. She did it without moving her muff, keeping it perfectly aligned over his face, allowing him to work her without a moment's disturbance or distraction. And allowing him to experience the full sensation of the joy of muff.
Purple and crimson welled inside her brain. Her mouth formed kisses in the air. Her lips twisted with the fire of his unending lip and tongue-work. She now pressed her muff more powerfully against his face.
"More, harder," were the words of her sinful, satanic desire. She said the words slowly, catches forming her voice as endless lashes of passion rushed up through her tremoring body.
"Use that tongue," she moaned. "Do me harder. Stick your tongue up my cunt," she groaned, not at all surprised at her lewdness. She wanted it all; anything and everything he could do to her.
She felt his lips and tongue lifting off her clit. The unendurable sensations of pleasure were dying away. But then she felt the pink, hard snake of his tongue jam into her cunthole and ram up as far as it would go.
His tongue was like molten velvet. She clenched at his tongue with her cunt, laughing each time she did so, then letting go of his tongue. She thought for a second of those Cuban cigar makers she had seen in magazine advertisements. She had grimaced in disgust at the big, pulpy tongues licking cigar wrappings. But now she wondered if they were as disgusting as they looked, if perhaps there might not be a use for them. If such men not be great dates. Her only wish at that moment was to have a tongue so big and pulpy up her cunt.
Jaccuri's tongue kept dancing in and out of her; swishing around the clenching cunt walls, licking, stabbing. She began to wiggle her ass to get some of the tension out of her aching cunt.
"Stab harder, much harder," she groaned and pulled his face more into her muff. "Harder, harder," she shouted in her lustfulness.
And harder he did stab, wilder, working her like a dervish. Licking and then licking some more. Nibbling and returned to the licking; using that tongue like a dagger.
Anita began to shiver and shake and throw her head back and forth, sending her hair flying. "Go, go, harder, go, go," she gasped.
And then she came, her body stiffening momentarily, her back arching, her muff rasping forward and backward against his face. Her fluids spilling out hot and boiling and till his tongue jabbed and Anita twisted, rubbing up against him, her tits dancing up and down like melting plastic.
Slashes of red fire flew through her brain. Her entire body seemed twisted about in a vortex that sent her spinning around and around, like someone falling off a merry-go-round.
This too passed gradually. Anita became aware of the man still jabbing into her, his finger playing with her clit. His mind, who knew where, her own head moving about less and less. As the tremors passed she quieted down. As she did, he let go of her and pulled his face and wonderful tongue away from her.
She calmed down a bit more and looked down to see him washing his face in the "Water of the bathtub. As she put the leg, that had been resting on the edge of the tub, back into the water, Jaccuri looked up, laughing, rubbing his face as water dripped off.
"That was quite a meal," he laughed. "Better than two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, onions, cheese and a pickle on a sesame seed bun."
Anita smiled without saying anything. She was still vibrating with the shock of the muff job he had performed on her. She knelt down in the water.
Jaccuri rose and said, "you're in a perfect situation for what I want,"
With that, he lifted his dripping, but still hard cock from the matted, black ringlets of his crotch. "Suck me," he insisted.
Anita brought her face forward, opened her mouth and put her arms around his waist, swallowing four inches of stiff cock. She began to suckle and also wiggled her head from side to side very slowly to get his cock to rub against the wet silkiness of her inner cheeks.
Her suckling indented her cheeks against the length of his cock and made the meat harden and lengthen also, so that she felt his cock pushing against the back of her throat. After several seconds this became a bit uncomfortable and Anita moved her head just a bit to let some of his cock emerge.
She now began suckling a bit harder, stopping every five seconds to lick his cock with her tongue, which worked round and round his cock, despite the fact that it was pretty much swollen in her mouth.
She opened her eyes a moment and looked up at him. His eyes were closed, his head was up and back, his mouth was open and he was holding onto the hot water faucet with one hand and her head with his other hand. Anita closed her eyes and commenced blowing with more force than before.
She slowed her suckling and licking, replacing it instead with the back and forth piston of her mouth and tender lips across the swollen, red meat of his shaft, bulging with blue veinlets and wide, thick arteries; now a blackish-blue against the darker red of his flesh.
She rode the cock rapidly with her lips, but carefully so that she could feel the heat and vibrant beat of his life giving hemoglobin rushing through the veins of the rigid, spongy meat.
He fucked into her mouth slowly, bringing his cock forward and withdrawing. Anita took it all and responded with strokes of her own along the meat. Complimenting his jabs with her swallows, she doubled the friction heat in their orifices and sent stars through her closed eyes.
Anita was unable to contain her own rising heat. The eating he had done just short minutes before was like nothing now. Her heat and the lusts of her inner nature were rushing Anita into one more cumming. She dropped a hand into the water, found her steaming pussy, then began to rub it and soon snaked two fingers into the water-filled hold of her cunt and began to work them in and out at a rapid clip.
She was gasping, twisting her head, opening and closing her eyes. Her mouth continued to move up and down along his cock, making him hotter and harder. She felt the throb of blood inside his shaft now grow stronger. And when Anita began to suckle on the inflamed head the throbbing of the blood grew loud in her ears. It was almost like a second heartbeat.
Jaccuri started to push at her head. He wanted her to stop. At first, Anita thought he was gasping with the joy of her work and that the pushing was just part of his reaction to the overwhelming sensations. But as his pressure became greater, she realized he wanted her to pull her mouth from him because he was ready to fuck Anita.
She realized he was pretty far gone by then. So far gone that he barely had the strength to push her head back and could hardly speak. Reluctantly, she let him from her mouth, red and wet and saliva slicked. Anita licked at her puffed mouth as she let go of his waist and looked up at him.
In a few seconds his eyes fluttered open. His cock was still hard, hanging at half mast over her head and slightly to the side. Anita had to fight the urge to rise up and kiss it. She knew if she did that, she would take him back into her mouth and mercilessly french him till he came and she swallowed every drop of what he pumped into her mouth.
Jaccuri glanced down at her with a smile. "Wow, but you are good. I thought for a few seconds there that I was going to open my eyes and find myself floating through the clouds."
She watched him stop for breath, as his hairy chest heaved up and down. She could not keep herself from cupping his balls.
"Easy," he said with a nervous laugh, almost loosing his balance. His cock moved up and down a few times like a cobra following the flute of a snake charmer.
"Easy now. Unlike M&M's this can melt in your hand and not in your mouth. I want to cum inside of you. Be merciful." He said this last part with a smile.
Anita let go of him, deciding not to take any chances at this critical juncture. She took a deep breath and rubbed her cunt and counseled herself to patience. Soon, soon, he would go into action.
Jaccuri got hold of himself and got down into a kneeling position. Her face was now only inches from his. They gazed at each other with a kind of sparkling, anticipatory smile brides and bridegrooms have at the alter.
But Anita knew, deep in her heart, that while marriages were made in heaven, affairs were made on earth, at the hands of men and women.
"How do you want me," she asked?
"Lie down and spread those chops wide." She did, letting her back hit the tub with a wet thuck. He grinned and licked his lips. "At last, our first underwater fuck," he said.
She lay back, watching him, her tits wobbling in the water, her heart beating rapidly. She gently pulled her pussy lips apart, as he got onto his knees, walked towards her, submerged his cock and placed the head against the opening, then pushed forward.
Anita felt the water being squeezed out of her cunt as his cock squeezed in. He shoved forward with steady pressure until he was buried to the hilt.
Then he stopped, stretched his legs out in the water and looked her full in the eyes. She put her hand out and began stroking his muscles and the hairs of his chest. Her legs closed around him, so that the balls of her feet were resting on his buttocks and her cunt clenched at him more tightly.
"Yes! but this feels good," he exclaimed; momentarily closing his eyes. When he opened them again he brought his hands up to grab her tits. His fingers dug hard into the flesh. She took her hands from his chest and put them around his back. This was so that he might more easily get at her tits without interference.
She pulled her lover closer, sending a smile across his lips. "Easy baby, easy," he muttered as he took her nipples between thumbs and forefingers and began working them together.
She responded almost right away. She was in a very randy state by now. The water they lay in was cooling, but they hardly felt it, as he continued working her, causing Anita to gasp with the stabs of pure sensation racing through her chest and cunt.
She nipped at the thick sausage which had pushed between her legs and licked at her lips in impatient desire to get more of this goodness that he was giving go her.
Anita tried keeping her eyes open, so that she could see what he was doing. But the swell of erotic impulses that he was sending up through her body from her cunt and out through her chest from her nipples, that he worked like control buttons on a console, made her grit her teeth and sent her eyelids slowly fluttering shut.
Her chin lifted, exposing the long, smooth sweep of her neck. At last he took the offer that she was unconsciously making to him. She felt his lips come forward. He kissed her neck from the hollow just above where it met her breast bone to right under her chin. He worked her in small, sharp butterfly kisses, going steadily up and up, till he touched her chin. Then he kissed the point of her chin just once before pulling back.
Anita had been enjoying this immensely and was surprised when he stopped. She wanted him to go on. But then she felt him grab one of the spigots and the side of the tub. He began to lift himself from her slowly. This was it! She shivered.
He pulled out about halfway before ramming back home. It was a short, solid glide, which rammed him home with full force. Anita shivered. He repeated it again. His pace set, he began to fuck into her.
She closed her eyes and wiggled her head and opened her mouth to suck more air into her suddenly oxygen hungry lungs. She wiggled her tits at him as he came down onto her chest. The bite and sting of his wiry chest hairs sent further sensations through her body. These merged with the quick fires of her cunt and the racing ripples of her vibrating belly.
He fucked harder now. She could feel him pushing her down. Her cheeks were splayed each time his cock thudded down into her and fucked her cunt down, opening her wide.
Anita aided and abetted these moves by bringing her legs more tightly around him and using the balls of her feet on his buttocks to shove him forward and deeper into her. At the same time she opposed him as he pulled out, fighting him at every inch of his withdrawal. But he got it all out before smashing back in.
She held onto him, feeling the warm water splashing around her, washing her buttocks and back, tingling her nipples, making the joys of the fuck so much greater.
Anita began to gasp as the heat built in her pussy and the swirling waters caressed every square inch of submerged flesh. She twisted her head to the side, caught his right shoulder between her teeth and bit down.
"Ouch," he said and twisted his shoulder out of her mouth, then said, "just lie there. Let me do the fucking."
He began ramming in and out in longer, harder bashes. Anita thrilled to the hard maleness taking and ravaging her cunt. She gritted her teeth and rotated her head slowly from side to side, while feeling the lashes of orange fire rushing through her and touching every outpost of her body to the tips of her toes and fingers.
She dug her nails into his back, marveling at the glossy smoothness of his skin and began to run her palms and fingers up and down without stopping, licking her lips, making kisses in the naked air.
The water around them spilled, splashed, flowed, sprayed, trickled, over, under, around and through, arms, legs, fingers, breasts, balls, assholes and backs.
Anita began to wiggle her ass sensuously around underneath him, making his plunging cock dance left, right, while he came down and went back up again. She thrilled to the sound of him gasping and hissing and the added feeling it set off inside of her.
The fire brewing in her cunt was flagged on by this latest maneuver and sent racing through her entire body. Inside her brain she was barely able to control the fast stream of thoughts rushing with terrifying urgency every which way. Slashes of brilliant yellow would shoot through her and obliterate everything that had gone before. And on this cleared easel new thoughts would be written. Only to be burned away by the next fire which burst within her brain.
"That's it," she gasped as the heat built in her and she rammed her body up each time he came down into her. "That's it, do it to me. Fuck me harder."
She pumped her legs with hysterical energy, forcing him down into her, twisting her behind against the enameled bottom of the tub, digging her fingernails into his back. And each time he came down she rammed back up against him, pressing her wobbling tits into his chest, hard. This caused them to flatten out. And as he felt the hot, hard nipples go into his flesh, he felt them burn him like hot coals.
The rough way his chest rubbed against her only served to make Anita wilder with the pleasures she was receiving and more lewd and eager for his cock to plunge ever deeper into her. But Jaccuri was going about as far in now as he could go.
Anita nevertheless pulled him into her with each downward thrust he took and at the same time she threw her lower half up towards him in an effort to swallow more of his cock as fast as she could swallow it in.
While Anita proved unable to take more cock then he was able to give, she did succeed in more than doubling the friction of their erotic flesh going against each other. The fires of lust were raised to great heights in both of them and still rose.
"More, more," she shouted, throwing her head to the side. In answer to this growing lewdness he began to huff and puff as he fucked her down into the tub, sending sprays of droplets over both of them and letting her have his cock in longer, slower strokes, which took him out almost to the head and then rammed him back in right to the hilt, so that their hairs were entwined.
His longer and slower strokes drove his tool deep and opened her cunt wide to his penetrations, driving her ass down and splaying it against the bathtub bottom.
Anita knew she could not take too much more of this. The fucking was driving her up the wall. She was beginning to dig her fingernails into her lover's back. She was raking at him in the wildness of her emotion.
Jaccuri speeded up his fucking still more, ramming now at her with ruthless force. He drove his prong into her in long strokes, but much faster than before. Her pussy walls clutched at him. They were on fire. A white hot heat burned in her belly.
Then Anita began to slide towards the edge. This was it. She was cumming! She wiggled faster, harder, and began gasping, "more, more, give me more." Then, with a shudder and a stiffening, she felt the first cum rush from her. It was not as thick or copious as the prior cum, but it was still powerful and sent her spasming into the water, tossing her head from side to side and raking his back, shouting her lust, mumbling, then shivering under the lashes of orange fire and green balls of flame dashing inside her.
She raised and dropped her head twice. She ground her tits into his downward plunging chest, then fell still, feeling the beat of her own feverish heart and the slosh of water around her along with the feel of his still rigid cock rushing in and out of her.
In the midst of all this he spasmed and began cumming. She edged him on by using her powerful limbs to draw him into her and her hands to massage his back. Her cunt clutched at him and milked his cock, as his balls bashed into her asshole and splayed cheeks. He pumped his load into her. Nothing was lost outside her cunt.
He continued to give it to her hard and fast till his flow slowed. As it did, so did the wild, weaving of his cock inside the clenching, tight, hot confines of her cunt. He began to shrink, Anita fighting that by clutching at him with her cunt, slowing the shrinkage, sending new flames racing through his crotch and up his spine into his brain.
She kept on working him with her cunt, feeling him grow again and stop shrinking. And she kept on working him, hoping for a second flow.
Her own fires were not entirely quenched and then the feel of him inside of her made Anita quite randy. She kept on clenching her cunt around him to keep him from shrinking. But somehow she felt as if this were a loosing battle.
Jaccuri opened his eyes to look at her and said, "keep on doing it, baby. Don't stop even for a second."
"I won't. I certainly will keep on doing it," she gasped, surprised at how breathless she was. After another minute, he spit out some water, then said, "stop. My cock's shrinking. This won't work. We just can't go on. My energy's almost gone."
"Aw," she said, then parted her legs and let him pull himself out. He stayed a second, then, when he had enough air in his lungs, he rose suddenly to his feet.
She winced as a spray of water caught her. She looked at his cock, which was now red and shrunken, not big and bursting and proud like it had been before he fucked her.
"What the hell am I standing for," he asked? "I'm not even thinking logically," he said, answering his own question. "That was some fuck," he added with a smile and sat back down. The water in the tub sloshed about with the impact of his sitting down.
"How did you like our bath together," he asked?
"It was grand," she sighed. "I never realized what a pleasure bathing together could be."
"Neither did I," he answered.
"After making love with you in this tub," she said, "I think I could stay here for ever."
"We can't do that," he said. "I have to work and so do you. Those are just dreams of La Man-cha. Impossible dreams that can't come true."
"But we can make them last as long as possible," she said, playing with the hairs on his chest.
"I'm not against that."
"I can come here all the time."
"Sure, why not?"
"It's exciting that way," she answered. "That gut wrenching feeling of knowing that in a short time you'll be bringing happiness to the man of your choice. It almost makes going to bed at night a pleasure one can look forward to."
She leaned forward, her big, heavy wet tits slapping against his chest. Kissing his ear gently, she asked, "do you think we can have one more screw before we have to get out of the bathtub?"
Jaccuri laughed. "What's gotten into you, girl? I thought I was the hot blooded one here."
She looked him in the eyes. "Maybe you've found out a few things since I've come here. And maybe I've found out a few things about myself."
Before Jaccuri could say another word she kissed him full on the lips, grinding her soft, painted mouth down against his and at the same time reaching for his flaccid cock under the water.
"Lord," and, "oh brother," he exclaimed. "You are something else, sweet cheeks!"
Chapter Five
Jaccuri gazed about at the room. Anita had left just fifteen minutes ago and already the glow she had brought with her was gone. The sight, sound and smell of her had been like nectar to a bee. It had made his stinger rise again and again.
He felt better now that he'd had her and worse now that she'd gone. Jaccuri needed women like a chain smoker needed cigarettes. The cost to him in cash and health had been too much to calculate. When he went out on dates he spent from ten to fifty dollars and when he went to hookers he could blow from twenty to sixty dollars at a throw. Hookers cost more than dates and were less satisfying. Each time you asked them to do something they asked for an additional five dollars. With a date you got what you asked for nine times out of ten and it cost nothing extra. You could tell the big spenders who went with women. They were the guys who had quit going to hookers and spending those big bundles. The kind of men who'll blow twenty dollars just for a quickie blow will easily spend that for a date lasting hours, consisting of good talk, companionship, kissing, squeezing and maybe at the end of the evening it would mean more kissing, feels of tender, furry pussy, fine, resilient, bouncy tit, or a nice, hot, wet mouth sucking lovingly and slurpingly in the back seat of his car, till he exploded and relief was just a swallow away.
Taking another puff of his cigarette, he remembered the last massage parlor he had been to. He paid ten bucks and walked through the door into a wooden paneled room with long wooden locker-room type benches and about fifteen very pretty Spanish girls sitting in tight black and blue silk bathing suit outfits on the benches, waiting for the customers.
He stood there a moment choosing, some of the girls looking at him, some not looking, some just staring then looking away, a few actually hard-faced towards him, and one young one about to jump up as he stood there. He finally decided on one a bit older and better looking, who wasn't even expecting to be picked. And when he did pick her, she pointed to herself and asked, "you picked me?" She was obviously surprised. The one who was about to get up and almost expected to be picked he did not even think about or look at. It was her he should have taken.
The other was nice, but not that good. And the reaction in the cat house was the kind he received most everywhere. Some smiles, some wondering looks, some looks of outright hate and some of wonder. It made Jaccuri feel like Lucifer Lost; a name he sometimes called himself. There were times he when he did not know whether to shake hands or punch out.
He didn't like going into a massage parlor where it cost ten or more to enter and then having to pay extra in the booth, and at the same time wonder how people were reacting to him.
That was his problem, his lifelong dilemma. Anita could be part of the solace and perhaps part of the solution. He would introduce her to Clayton Bullay, the boss over him. Nothing could hurt in getting himself in solid with the boss.
He hadn't noticed he was different when he was young. When a man or woman is young they notice few of these things. It's when they grow older that the pain and differences come.
He had been the class clown when he was in school and had acted like a jerk. It was a way of making oneself important and interesting. As he grew older Jaccuri realized doing such things on a permanent basis would make him the school jerk. So he stopped. It took some effort, but he stopped. And to his surprise and shock he found that the laughter had not stopped. There was laughter in places that did not know him as a clown. He was grotesque in the extreme. And this was no laughing matter. It reflected directly on his self esteem and personal worth.
Jaccuri noticed it was the first time when he was in junior high. Tougher, older kids or those his age began to point him out with a laugh as if he was ridiculous. There were only a few incidents. It stopped him a moment and made him think. But not for long. One is young in junior high and Jaccuri did not think much of such harassment. It continued in ninth grade and just about ceased in tenth grade. He forgot about it.
At the same time as these things were happening girls began to notice him and find him attractive, much to his surprise and the surprise of others.
In fact, girls began finding him attractive before guys began finding him grotesque. Even some guys found him attractive, not in any homosexual sense, just in admiring a good looking guy. And when others, no matter how few, found him grotesque, he was confused. This was all over with by the tenth grade. But at that point a more acute danger to his self-esteem occurred.
A teacher began to pick on him. The teacher was in charge of the lunchroom. The teacher began to accuse him of dealing in marijuana and all sorts of trouble. It was his first encounter and Jaccuri didn't understand why he was being picked on. He did not yet realize that to some he looked bad. They were not aware of his obvious charm
To this teacher he was the most dangerous student around. He made sure to stay out of his way. At the time, Jaccuri was going with a girl named Lydia. A fine bitch with a big, healthy ass on her. This was the main point which made him go out with her. He wanted more than anything to get her to drop her panties and grease up her rectum so that he could fuck her asshole. A lot of guys had made that offer to Lydia and she told Jaccuri about it. He was hoping none of them was able to make time with her before he was. Once he did get into her pants he was sure Lydia would be so much in love with his cock she could think of so nothing else.
When he was with Lydia, whom he never got, except for some feels and such, Jaccuri worried about nothing. It was then that he found out the joys of the female sex and how they could help take a man's problems away.
It was not with Lydia that he enjoyed his first tight, hot asshole, but with some prostitute, a Spanish speaking redhead, who for ten dollars, decent money for the time, raised those cheeks and spread them wide for the hard, greased cock going into and up her bunghole.
Things went better for him, later on. He began to get girls. At first it was just small things; hand-jobs, blows, then cunt screws and later, with more jaded and experience girl-women, he enjoyed hot, experienced assholes.
He sighed and shivered at the same time. Thinking about those days brought back pleasant and bitter memories. Times were simpler, seemingly more pleasurable, though they had not seemed so at the time. And there had not been all the trouble or the grimmer view of life that existed now.
As the eleventh grade ended and twelfth began he found that some more people disliked him just to look at him and that some guys would laugh when they saw him. It was that old stigma of being funny to look at that was returning and Jaccuri didn't like it. He stayed more with girls than guys after that and didn't think so much about it. Where there was cunt there was happiness. He needed them not just for the sex, but for the admiration, the smiles, the signs that he was good, okay, not grotesque.
Only a few guys made fun of them and it was so few and far between that he was able to ignore it despite the small subterranean tremors it set off. As long as he was appealing to girls it didn't bother him much and he was able to forget it. Still, it gave him his first major insecurity and inability to deal with people and that was not good. In later years he would have to fight hard to get over it.
Around that time Jaccuri found that older women and some men frowned when he went by as if he were some repulsive low-life. That bothered him. One of the men, a supermarket manager, would follow him around the aisles, as if he feared Jaccuri might steal something. Another who frowned at him, was a woman in the pool hall her husband owned. Jaccuri overheard her tell her husband that Jaccuri scared her and she wanted him put out. At the time, in his foolishness, he thought this was cool. Only later, when the impression one made when trying to get a job or find a permanent girl began to count, did he find out the true tragedy. Things became grotesque. You could not hide a face the way you could hide a damaged arm or leg.
There were times when this was no problem. For two years after he graduated from high school it disappeared. Then the problem returned. Things for him occurred in two year bursts.
Girls either liked him or didn't. Older women found him hateful and bad or didn't. Men more often found bad in him then women. But now, mothers and fathers of his new friends forbade them from going with him. They said he was bad and would be trouble for them all along the line. That was a new one for Jaccuri.
There was even the mother of a guy he knew who looked at him with total horror, as if he was the most fiendish creature in all existence. Looking at himself in the mirror he had trouble understanding why. He even had to laugh.
Still, the girls liked him. And as long as he could go to them he could be assured of his worth. Their warmth and their bodies gave Jaccuri all he needed, assuaged all his wounds.
He could not, of course, tell them his troubles. Unlike some men, he could not unburden himself before any woman or man. To tell a woman your troubles was to be weak and to be weak was shameful before a woman. To them he was always strong, hot, ready to go, a bundle of fun. The real Jaccuri was far less.
His grotesque reception by society disappeared as fast as it had come. And he thought he was rid of it at a last. But within a few years another phase began. At the time this was not realized. As with so many things that happen to men and women, they do not recognize the greater pattern till long after the event.
He found girls going after him now not because of anything in him, but because they thought Jaccuri was bad and therefore sexually exciting. They did not see him as a reliable worker, which he pictured himself as and which he was. It was his face, he knew. Despite this, he made his way through the business world without much trouble. He sometimes wondered why.
He remembered this period as the one during which he began to play the stock market. His father, who had played the stock market for years introduced him to that sport, which later cost him thousands of good dollars down the drain. It also introduced him to the Scuyer brothers, who served his father well. The first time he went to see them they gazed at him with wide eyes and said, "You're William Jaccuri's son?" They asked twice. He looked bad to them, he could tell and they did not much like him. He did not come back to meet them again, nor did they call him and try to keep his business, even thought they knew that as his brokers they could sell a lot.
He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another, admonishing himself that he was smoking too much. He yawned. This thinking was making him tired.
A year later, he left his job and began looking for another. Curiously enough he was having an affair with a stockbrokers wife. He was getting to dislike her because she was treating him as more of a plaything then a real person.
That was one more facet he disliked about women. As soon as they in any way grew critical of him he began to hate them and left them. And they always wondered why.
Once a woman criticized him she was done for in his eyes; no longer a source of joy or comfort. He hated them. Puzzled by this, the women he now disliked tried to make up, hoping the affront, which she supposedly committed and which she combed her mind to find, would soon be forgotten. But Jaccuri never forgot. His mind was that of a tortured man. And small, insignificant things became hard and serious for him.
He soon found himself new women to give him joy and comfort and make him feel like a real person. He grinned at the thought of some of the dates and hot numbers he'd had.
But then he frowned. Frowns often followed smiles these days. As the months and years added up in his life he became a harder man. He thought now about two jobs he had gone after.
They had started out with friendly phone calls about the work available. He was told to come down. He explained that he wanted a change from his office job working for an auto company and wanted to go into the stockbroker line because of the fat money sharp ambitious brokers were making. The first manager he spoke to said he could offer him seven hundred a month, plus what he made on commission. At the time Jaccuri went for that job seven hundred a month was a lot more then it is now.
As soon as he got down there and sat down things changed. The manager had a funny smile on his face and asked about Jaccuri's background. Jaccuri went over that quickly and started to ask about the job. Men were coming into and out of the office to fix communications equipment and put in new lines. As he talked with the manager he found them smiling derisively.
Things were happening so fast and were so unexpected he almost did not realize what was happening till he saw the looks on the faces of the men coming in and out to do the wiring. Their looks and his realization that he was being treated with contempt came home to him quickly.
Finally things got down to the point where the manager said he did not think Jaccuri was for the job. When Jaccuri, rapidly growing impatient asked why, the manager said he just didn't have the right qualities.
"I have two hands, two legs, a mouth, two eyes. I can talk, read, write and know the language. I'm willing to work, have a business background. What else do I need?"
The manager went on about his not having the right qualifications and his not being married and perhaps he would not keep the job and might skip out. He didn't say it right out, but that was the impression.
Jaccuri was too jolted by this new reception to think it out and answer. As with many people, he thought of all the right answers on his way home. He should have told that manager that his not being married didn't count. He was a good worker and had been one with the old firm he worked for. He left saying, "thank's a lot." And the manager just said, "go to a larger firm. We can't handle a training program which you would need."
That was bull. On his way out he saw one of their brokers. The man must have been seventy years old and barely spoke English with a broken accent.
Some guy who should be out grazing in a pasture was good, but not him. He decided the manager was some jerk. He saw no reason for such a reception.
He told a friend about this and Jaccuri's friend agreed. The guy must be some sort of jerk. His friend also had a lot of good answers and asked why Jaccuri hadn't used them. It's easy to offer advice after the battle.
Then came the next job interview. Only this manager was a lot sharper. He gave no information over the phone. He asked Jaccuri to come over. By now Jaccuri was a bit unsure of himself. He wanted to stop by at his girl's to get a quick dose till he felt better, but decided to wait till after he landed this job, which he was sure of getting.
He went there, went into the office and talked to the secretary, who had her desk at an angle to the bosses. He was on the phone. The secretary told him to sit down and wait at the desk. He did. The boss got off the phone in a minute and said, "no jobs."
Jaccuri's mouth fell open. Before he could say anything the manager began asking him questions. All sorts of questions. He could not remember most of them now. There were also men coming in and out to do the wiring. He had a funny feeling of deja vu, as if he were reliving the last interview. Only it could not be.
He began to ask him what he would do as a broker. Jaccuri answered he would report to customers, check their accounts, put their offers to buy and sell on the market, give them tips.
The manager exploded. "There are no tips."
"Well, something like that," Jaccuri mumbled.
The interview went on, going from bad to worse. Jaccuri was answering, but jolted, wondering why he was sitting there, but held down by some strange sort of momentum. And the manager kept talking to him in a smooth, silky voice, a false smile on his face, hate in his whole demeanor. Hate of Jaccuri; immediate, ruthless, bone boiling hate.
Jaccuri looked at the secretary, who gazed at him with shocked eyes and one of those I-feel-sorry-for-you looks on her face. That this manager was a vice president made his treatment of Jaccuri seem more revolting. He was the higher echelon. What would the lower echelon have done?
The manager began asking what sales ability he had, if he had ever sold shirts. Jaccuri answered he had no sales ability and what difference did that make. It was the job of the firm to train him. After all, he had done desk work before.
The manager looked at him with a sweet smile. "This is a job for doctors, lawyers, brain surgeons," he said. "Not you."
"Look, I know this line, Mr. I've bought stocks before. This is a job butchers, bankers and candlestick makers also go into."
The manager looked at him coldly. "This is not the job for you. Get a job as a door-to-door salesman out of town. That's more in your line."
Jaccuri had had enough. "I definitely don't want that kind of work. I'm talking to you about this job."
"Sorry," the vice president said with the sweetest of smiles. "No jobs."
Jaccuri got up in a huff and left, finding himself saying thanks a lot, like last time. There were a lot of things he should have said, but didn't.
He knew it now. He should have realized it before but had been too blind. He was unlike other men. He was a marked man. He was no longer a V.I.P., a Very Important Person in his mind, but a V.U.P., a Very Unimportant Person.
He had gotten his last job, working his way up in the firm and taking night college courses to get ahead, when he was sure of making it. He had not forgotten his past and how people treated him. Things were serious now. If you had no job you had no money. Such a situation could not be tolerated.
He tried for all sorts of jobs before this. In a travel agency, where the daughter nearly went bonkers when she saw him and wanted to do just about anything for him. But the mother looked at him with a mouth twisted by hate. And she was the one who hired and fired. She had a job alright, but not for him.
Finally, he went to work for an old coot with the kind of face you saw on pugs who drove bootleg whiskey during prohibition. With a face like that everyone would look good to him. Jaccuri loved him and spent quite a few years working for him.
Two years earlier Jaccuri went on vacation. At the hotel where he was staying he seduced a couple of women. They were around his age and he found they thought him exciting but shifty and untrustworthy. At the same time others thought him to be very nice.
Then there was the young man who began pointing to him and calling him ridiculous. Then there was the woman in the dining-room who told him quite sharply not to overload one of the waitresses with orders, as she was rushing back to the kitchen. And this was after he had been extra careful not to be too demanding on the waitress, because he had once been a bus-boy and knew the difficulty of that line of work. He stared in shock as the woman turned to those at her table and said, "who is he? I hate him." Everything had returned with a vengeance.
And then it went away as suddenly as it had come. But not all the way. There were people who still exploded in laughter at the sight of him, whereas they smiled before, as if he were some sort of a caricature. And in a way he guessed he was.
He could walk into a room and be admired and loved by some; hated by others; laughed at by still more. It would go away and then return in waves. There were times when he didn't know whether he was coming or going.
Women and only women could restore his balance. They were like a narcotic for him. A good narcotic to have, he thought with a smile.
After he got his job with the auto company Jaccuri worked hard to make a name for himself. Lately, people had even taken to him as if he were some nice guy by the look of it. No one who saw him now could even imagine how he had looked to people once.
But he knew this was only temporary. It would change. His face would make people hate him, laugh at him. He had to build such a name for himself that no one would challenge him or throw him out on his ass.
It wasn't that most people would hate him. But all he needed was one executive to come in, see his face and say, "I hate that guy. Get rid of him."
All his hopes and dreams would go down the drain. All his work would be for nothing. He was a man who walked with a stagger and waited for the other shoe to drop.
This Anita Dumont was good for him and could provide many of his needs. She could also help him in the company. He would get her a job off the assembly line. He had promised. He would also get King a raise and a promotion. To do that he would talk to Bullay. And if Anita could do things for Bullay, then Bullay could do them for him.
He went and picked up the phone and dialed. After two rings the line was picked up at the other end and Jaccuri began to speak.
Chapter Six
Anita did quite well for herself in the next few weeks. She found herself at a secretarial job, which she slowly mastered, but which she didn't really want. It paid around the same as the assembly line job, but wasn't as hard on the muscles, though tougher on the brain. King got his promotion. She got to satisfy quite a few hard cocks and was satisfied by them in return.
She returned a number of times to give Jaccuri and Bullay action and once or twice had to go down on King. She liked Jaccuri best of all, but found him to be a darker man within then he at first seemed. But most of all she had to take care to satisfy Clayton Bullay. What a curious name she sometimes thought to herself. Bullay was almost like Bully. He once even joked about it himself, but said it was a good, proper old English name from the Devonshire countryside.
She was dressing now to go and see him. She wore no underwear, as usual, when going to see Bullay. That's how he liked her. She thought of him while she finished with her dressing.
Bullay was stout like King. A bit shorter then she was, with a wide, red face, jolly blue eyes, a slash of a mouth, big hands, a barrel chest and beer belly. He was friendly and manager of the entire accounting section of the firm in that particular plant.
While she was finishing dressing, Bullay was making sure his face was shaved and his hands were clean. He liked to look good for his dates. He wasn't one of those men who allowed age to deteriorate their personal appearance.
It did not matter that he was fat. He played golf at least twice weekly, belonged to a pool in town, sometimes walked to the office. And did not eat too many fat meats.
He arranged his meetings with nubile and willing females when his wife went away to see her mother in Chicago, just like she had gone away now.
He smiled as he gazed at himself in the mirror. "You are one smart one, Clayton Bullay," he said with a satisfied smile.
Then he thought of a way to get himself ahead. Why not introduce Anita to Peter Bardeley. Yes, he would call Peter. He picked up the phone and dialed. Bardeley came on the phone right away.
"Hello, Pete. This is Clay."
"Hi, Clay. What can I do for you?"
Bullay told him.
"Holy shit. You've got ass like that and you don't let me know."
"She isn't mine to give away. The way I hear it from Jaccuri. You know, Will Jaccuri?"
"Yeah, I think so. I've seen him a few times. He's sort of a sharp dresser. But there's something about that guy I don't like. I can't understand why and I can't put a finger on it, but I don't like him in some vague way."
"Why? He looks like a perfectly reasonable guy to me. He introduced me to Anita Dumont. You should know him. He's a good guy. And the way he tells it Duncan King broke Anita in and contacted Will about her."
"You don't say. That new twin assembly line building manager?"
"Unhuh. He's a pretty sharp mover. I'm thinking of transferring him to trouble-shooter for the whole plant."
"Okay, maybe he deserves it. Where's this Anita now?"
"She's working as a secretary in the managerial section. She tells me she wants to be a bookkeeper. She has brains and the requirements, but hasn't had any opportunity so far."
"I see. Well, maybe I can get her the job she wants."
"I'll talk to her about it."
"No, let my man Dunahoe, James Dunahoe do it. He'll call for her. I'll make her a special offer through Dunahoe."
"I'm sure you will," Bullay answered, his voice sly, wondering just what kind of offer it would be.
"Okay, thanks for calling me about it, Clay. I'll see her and then I'll be in touch with you and tell you how it went."
"Fine. Nice speaking to you, Pete."
He hung up, the smile disappearing from his face and went to make himself a drink. Ice in a glass and then scotch. He lit a Corona Corona and with the drink in one hand and the big, smoking cigar in the other, stood and smiled as he surveyed the fine, carpeted living room.
He went and opened his window some and pushed away the drapes, then opened the other living room window. He stood a moment surveying the world outside, wondering who else in this goddamn town was going to get laid now. He felt good, the way a man who's going to get it from a fine piece feels. Nothing like good, young pussy to make a man feel like a man.
Bullay sipped his scotch and water and puffed on his cigar. The warm spring breeze coming through his open windows made him feel better. The fact that Anita Dumont was coming over made him feel a bit better still. And he was sure she would make a new man out of him. A good woman could do that.
He stared at the pictures hung on the wall, pictures of him as a much younger man. Behind him, in the how fading photos were pictures of desert. Great rolling hills of sand and pebbles and stones busted open and distant, rugged mountains.
He had hated it then, but today would gladly go back. He loved those young Arab houris, the bearded sheikhs and their water pipes and vile smelling tobaccos, the foul tempered camels, the dusty souks. It had taken him a whole week to find out that was the name for bazaar. What fun it had been. What fun it had been to be young. He'd swallowed a ton of sand and cursed the thick clouds of desert flies a thousand times. The sand had been murder on the wheels and motor of his new jeep. But he'd seldom had such fun. The women; the Arabian women. What lovers! What lips! What cock-suckers! What tight assholes! What hot, hairy cunts!
He'd been a private in the army then; black haired, not white haired and portly, like now. He'd seen some of the eight hundred thousand square miles of sand, hills and mountains that is Saudi Arabia, from the air in his Dakota transport.
It was here he became a man. It was here he learned the joy of asshole, the thrill of tight pussy, the delight of sucking, wet, painted lips. He found out that Saudi Arabia was not just a huge sand-lot under the hot sun. It was a place of brown, excitable people, who could be warm, brave, funny, colorful. There were old, exotic towns, silver-work, fine trinkets, daggers, swords, Arab costumes, cool, green oasises, hunting wild antelope in the desert mountains with submachine guns! He'd never seen a machine-gun used during hunting till he was invited along on a hunt led by a dashing young sheikh who was in line to inherit his grandfather's one hundred oil-wells and boasted he had made love to over eight hundred women and that he was going to buy himself a young, highly trained houri from a mighty master sheikh. She was reputed to be an expert in love. And for her, he would pay twice what a Cadillac would cost him, shipping all the way from the U.S. of A.
Bullay had licked his lips, thinking of that houri, wondering what she looked like and what kind of mysterious technique she used to get a man's cock to stand up harder then before and that sap to flow in a great and thunderous, flood between sucking lips or into a tight asshole or a fine, gyrating beaver.
After then he had seen her. She was black. Black as the finest, burnished ebony, worked over with costly oils, tanned by the African sun. Her face was fine and her body great. To own a body and a face that it certainly would be worth it to drop good cash. The thought of thinking himself her master sent a thrill through his body. Even though that was not possible, except in his dreams, just the thought of her coming over made his cock shiver with anticipatory delight.
He looked at the pictures again, sipped his drink, remembered the three antelopes they took during that hunting expedition. They were prepared over giant desert bonfires, on wooden spits that rotated slowly under the watchful hands and eyes of fierce faced and bloodshot eyed Bedouin warriors.
They killed a camel, stuffed the antelopes with camel meat. Then they killed a sheep and some chickens, doing the same with them. They spiced the food, added parsley, cooked up a spicy mash of fresh giant Persian Gulf shrimp, lobster and chicken, which they had brought along. All of this was liberally spiced, fresh leeks, tomatoes, water chestnuts, eggs, and cream added.
They cooked it up in huge black iron kettles they had carried with them on camel-back. He could still smell the food now. It made his mouth water. He smiled whenever he thought of the word leek. The Arabs used leeks a lot and each time the name was mentioned he thought of a leak and broke out into laughter.
He had known Arabia was rich in oil, even then. But away from the oilfields he did not notice it much. Not even then had he or anyone else realized the seas of oil on which that fierce, hot, dry, dusty, wild land rested. Not really seas of courage or even pools. That was just a term. There were deep underground sand beds soaked with oil and gas under huge pressure.
He wished he could get his hands on it. Oil was even better business then autos. But all he would be getting his hands on was some fine, black ass. There came a ring on the door. He grinned and put his drink down. His cunt was here.
He went and opened the door and she entered, a slight smile on her face, the short mini she wore greatly accenting her fine, stocking clad legs.
He shut the door, followed her into the room where he had left his drink and asked if she wanted one, as he shook the drink he held making the ice inside clink against the smooth walls of the glass.
She shook her head. She wanted nothing to drink. Not yet. Then she began to unbutton her blouse. "Shall we get down to the essentials," she asked?
"Yes, let's." He threw back his drink, put down the glass, empty except for the ice inside and wiped his lips.
He sat down and began working on his shoelaces. He worked quickly and without trying to exert himself. He didn't want to get all out of breath and look bad in front of her; face red, chest heaving, belly wiggling. It was important to Bullay to look well at all times and good in front of women.
She had her blouse off, and wearing no bra, was nude from the waist up. Her young, full tits, wobbling with youth, made him lick his lips. Bullay was always a man who admired a good pair and the sight of her naked, even partially, made his cock tingle and his balls move about in his pants.
"How do you want me, sir? This time, I mean. Wild? Sultry and quiet? Playful and hard to catch? Or just bowing, head forward, ass up, ready to give you fine ass or good, hot, furry pussy?"
The choices were overwhelming and the thoughts of any other behavior or positions, which he may have had, floated out of his brain as he rushed to undress and thought some more about what a fine treat this black bitch was.
He stripped off his shirt. Then he got his pants and shorts off. He stood there, naked, his cock already hardening, big, thick. She was surprised by the variety in the cocks she had seen. Men, like women, had a variety of sex organ sizes, colors, types.
He waited for her to remove her bottom garments. She did till she was down to her panties, then Anita stopped. "Go on," he said hungrily. "What're you waiting for?"
With a smile, she took off the panties, folded them and put them aside. Holding her hands away from her body, she asked, "like it."
He swallowed and nodded, then went to her and took Anita in his arms. She came without protest, her fine, bulbed tits pressed against his chest, feeling the tickle of the hairs.
Her mouth came open as his face came down on her's. Their lips met and his tongue danced into her mouth without delay. He licked at her and she licked back. This wasn't a contest of wills. Her tongue fought his and Bullay fought back gently, his cock rising. She felt his cock grow some more and push up against her and the lightly fluttering lips of her open and hot and wet cunt.
While she pushed forward into his mouth with her tongue he fought back and at the same time sawed back at forth against her cunt with his cock. Anita used the occasion to rotate her pelvis and rubbed her bush round and round against his still growing and swelling cock. By the time she was through he was as hard and long as he would get. His cock was quite firm for a man no longer twenty-five and it was exceedingly thick. And the feel of it sawing away in and out of her cunt was a delight she looked forward to each time she came up to see him.
Bullay had once told her that there were women whose qualities were hidden until you removed their clothes and started to fuck them. She was the same way, he said. On reflection Anita could say the same about him.
His hands came down off her back, where he had been massaging the smooth flesh and muscle over her shoulderblades. Now his hands dropped down and he began to massage her asscheeks. He had told her the first time that one reason he admired black women so much was because of their fantastic asses.
His fingers dug deep as he grabbed healthy chunks of hot assmeat and began to squeeze it in palpitating motions. It hurt, but in a way it also felt good as spears of heat rushed from her fingered cheeks down into her flesh to her cunt and asshole.
She stopped rotating her pelvis as his cock grew longer still and rammed up between their tightly pressed bellies. He used the occasion to rub his chest and wiry hairs against her tits, so tender and sensitive and soft. The tickle and cut of the hairs against the nipples made them quiver; sent rushes of electric fire down into her trembling tits and from her chest to her brain and cunt and asshole. All three reacted to the rubbing Bullay was doing. Now he felt her nipples harden all the way; turn to flinty pieces of flesh jabbing into his lower chest.
The feel of his swollen cock lodged between them, jammed up against her soft, trembling, silky belly, made his cock tremor and the fact that his downhanging balls were resting against the kinky and soft fur of her cunt, made him giddy with the thought and taste and feel and smell of her. His tongue continued to work Anita. Then Bullay pulled back and let go of her. He felt a bit sad to be doing this. But they couldn't just stand that way forever, as good as it might feel. He was sorry that his cock was no longer jammed up between their bellies and deliciously throbbing. But it would receive an ever better treat before long.
Taking her by the hand he led Anita to his bed and, hardly breathing, lifted the covers and slowly eased them down to the foot of the bed.
"Get on," he ordered in a low, sexy voice. She went and did as he had asked of her. Then she lay there, on her back, one knee slightly crooked, her entire vaginal mound exposed to his burning eyes. He felt the saliva boiling in his mouth and throat. He had an urge to go down on her. He had never before kissed a cunt in his entire life.
He had always wanted to, but never had been able to muster the courage to do so and certainly not with his wife. He didn't want that old, dried up beaver. He liked young stuff. Now, here was a fat, young beaver just begging to be kissed.
He looked at her, his eyes burning coals of fire. "Kiss pussy?"
"Sure, daddy. Kiss it, lick it, eat it all you want." She lifted and parted her legs wide, "Here it is, baby. Spread wide, big, juicy, hairy and plump and eager. Come and get it."
He climbed onto the bed and knelt down beside her parted legs, head low, ass high. He used both hands to spread her glistening cunt lips and expose her cunt hole. Unable to keep calm or hold himself any longer he lowered his long, rigid tongue and slid it into her cunt slit, softly spreading the warm pink flesh.
"Do it to me, daddy, do it to me," she moaned. She moved her legs more widely apart, giving him better access to her already very hot vaginal slit.
He thrilled to the feel of her ripe young body and the scent of her perfumed young flesh. He had rarely known the joys he now found, kneeling between her full thighs, keeping his fingers against her pussy lips, his tongue poised just above her gaping pink slit. It was slippery now with drops of moisture seeping from the depths of her vaginal flesh.
Finally, he speared his tongue deep into her heated cunthole. She groaned as he proceeded with the oral ravishment of her tasty pussy. He lusted after this mouth-watering morsel. Her entire body quivered with obscene hunger for the fulfillment of the throbbing ache inside his balls.
"Ohhhh," she moaned. "Do it!" He buried his face in her pussy, licking her with his long, probing tongue, moving it along the full extent of her desire-wet cunt, fucking his tongue in and out of her tight little hole, then frictioning across her hardened clit.
"Ohhh, aah, ooooh," she gurgled as she lifted her nakedly jerking buttocks upward, before pressing them downward into the mattress in an effort to relieve the intense pressure between her widespread thighs.
She could feel the hot air of his breath rushing across her burning cuntal flesh. Her eyelids began to flutter in ecstasy as he drew his pleasure-filled tongue through her gaping wet furrow. His hot, watering, hungering mouth gave her no rest as he licked back and forth through her tight vaginal flesh, his tongue now a probe that dipped into her hotly moistening hole.
She struggled frantically beneath him, trying to rid her body of the tension that his magic and all-controlling tongue was creating. She moved back, only to find herself against the headboard of the bed.
Bullay moved up with her, his face a reddened, grinning mask, from which his wild blue eyes peered out. He held her ankles in a strong grip as his hungry mouth moved towards her gaping cunt.
His mouth came down on her again. His eyes stared up at her as his lips grinned lewdly and he never stopped the suctioning action of working the soft, velvety flesh inside his mouth now.
"Noooooo, I can't stand it. Stop it, please."
He said nothing, thinking to himself, "today is your day, bitch. You will get your's."
He lowered his face just enough so that his eyes could see into her moistly gleaming vaginal lips, which were spread open, completely exposed to the ravenous hunger of his lust-filled eyes.
He let go of her long enough to say, "you love it, bitch. You love it, and you know you love it." Don't lie to me. Beg for that cock I'm going to be giving you soon."
The heavy bulge of his long hard cock feverishly pressed down into the bed as his eyes devoured the appetizing sight of her musky scented pussy.
Anxious to get her hungry enough to fuck, he lifted her legs and pushed them back so that her knees were touching her shoulders. Then, he lay flat on the bed, trying to rub his painful erection against the bed to ease the throbbing ache that was rushing through him.
His eyes glazed with raging lust, he lowered his smeared face to her widespread cuntal flesh and began to lick at her with greater determination and hunger.
"Ohhhh, Fuck," she gurgled. She thrashed like a trapped animal as his teeth nibbled at the sensitive bud of her clit while his long, rigid spearing tongue fucked in and out of her hotly tingling vagina. Her moans of protest grew weaker, being replaced now by mewls of obvious pleasure.
Grinning to himself, Bullay knew the hot, little bitch was excited and that it was just a matter of seconds before she would be begging for more. He shoved his rigid tongue as far into her as he could manage. When he was into her tight flesh to a goodly depth he began to work her firey flesh with nervous lust. He tasted her vaginal juices rushing in an even greater profusion in response to his work. He felt the undeniable movement of her juice-filled cunt up against his face and knew that she was ready for anything that he wanted to do.
Anita began to moan with sudden passion, unable to control the salacious excitement between her widespread thighs. She could not bear it, so much was coming to the surface, and she tried to turn sideways to escape the ecstatic tingles, but he prevented her from doing this.
There was nothing she could do to stop the powerful, flicking tongue as he licked and sucked at her with wild and uncontrolled abandon. Her clit throbbed with growing fire and she gasped, low mewls escaping from her mouth.
She whimpered in lewd delight as she ground her helplessly trapped vagina up against his face, forcing his tongue deeper into her nerve-filled flesh.
Soon, she was groaning continually in a combination of shame and uncontrolled excitement as her body betrayed her every secret lust to him.
As his hot, slippery tongue tantalizingly licked her pussy, the naked bitch on his bed knew she wanted him to keep doing this to her till she climaxed in clenching, scratching, gasping, moaning, gasping hysteria.
She had lost total control and would not be able to stop him or suggest something new. He gurgled in joy, happy that he was doing so well his first time at bat in this new form of love, for him.
She became a throbbing mass of flesh as she collapsed and absorbed everything his tongue and mouth and teeth did to her. He had driven her mind to a frenzy of fire with so many different sensations that she wanted to scream and laugh, all at the same time. The jolts of pleasure took precedence over all other feelings and even though she knew it couldn't happen, her body felt as if she were being fucked into mindless oblivion by the tongue that was working her vagina so endlessly and ruthlessly, devouring her and she loved each second of it!
She wanted more and more. Asking for it. Begging for it. Grinding her cunt up against his face. As she churned in raging desire, his hands went beneath her and gripped her squirming asscheeks and with each hand massaged a soft, resilient asscheek; working the mounds of flesh as if he were working dough.
Then, he slipped one finger up between her cheeks and along the groove of her ass till he found the puckered ring of her asshole. She jerked upward when the finger began probing at her forbidden hole, but the upward movement of her body only drove her muff against his face and shoved his tongue deeper into her crack. She grunted and went back down. At the same time he rammed his middle finger up her partially open and sweating asshole. Greased by her inner lubrications, he went up past the first knuckle. Her asshole ring swelled out as her inner passage opened for him. She cried out with the rush of sensations as he rammed his finger up her tropic rectum to the second knuckle.
His only answer to the further rush of her passion was to run his tongue back and forth against her clit. The throbbing Man In The Boat grew some more.
He worked her, pushing on and on, feeling like a general at the head of some conquering army, leading tanks, charging infantry, firing shells into her body that blew up in great cataclysms of fire and power. He led hundreds of tanks and then thousands through her flesh, as he ravaged it.
She was only vaguely aware of her loud and insistent moans, unable to control the quivering need down there. His mouth was glued to her cunt, her cheeks spasming beneath his touch as a second finger joined the first buried deep inside her rectum. Suddenly he began to thrust them in and out in a steady rhythm as he worked his skewering tongue the same way inside her pussy.
Seconds later, he pulled his fingers out of her clutching asshole. She groaned in disappointment, wanting him to keep on doing that to her. She felt his tongue leave her pussy and wanted to scream at him to keep licking her down there. To keep that wonderful tongue going down there till she came. But then his fingers returned to her asshole. One went in right up to the second knuckle and then to the joint, while the second finger stayed outside and he began to scrape his nail around her asshole and up and down her anal groove. He did so gently, but sent sharp, tickling sensations rushing deep into her ass.
She gurgled with delight as he fucked in and out of her, at the same time working her with his nail and giving his tongue and tired mouth a rest. His chest heaved up and down as he sucked oxygen into air-hungry lungs.
She could feel a raging fire inside her belly as the inferno burning her soul raced higher and higher. The flames of ecstasy consumed her as if she were some tinder-dry forest waiting for the lick of the flames.
She begged him to stop, but at the same time a grin split his slavering face, which went down on her again, as he watched her legs spread farther apart and her hips lift up against his impaling tongue. "The hot bitch," he thought, "wants it all."
She gurgled as shivers of raw passion enveloped her obscenely poised and opened body. Her guttural words brought tears to her eyes as she realized how much she was surrendering to him. She no longer cared as his magic tongue worked her wild. She cooperated with every move that he made. She lifted her pussy up against his face, shoving her buttocks down against his fingers. She was completely subservient to him now, writhing against the lewd demands of his lust driven body.
Changing tactics, he began to lick her in long strokes from the top of her pussy, down along her lips, between her legs and to her anus. He stopped before he reached her asshole. That was one thing Clayton Bullay was not and never would be; an asshole kisser. That was even lower than being an ass-kisser; something which he looked down on people for being and which he had never been.
He went back up and then down once more; keeping up the mind blowing rhythm and gently sweeping across the raw nerve endings until she was a blur of salacious movement. She lay in the lust induced trance and let him do as much as he wanted, her fully developed body begging for more of the same. She was barely conscious now of her wildly squirming buttocks punching her hungrily pulsing cunt up against his face with determined force. But she could feel the heated breath from between his lips slashing against her throbbing flesh and knew that she would cum soon.
Now, with his mouth clamped over her swollen clit, she felt the first flush of rapture flow over her uplifted loins. Her cunt walls began spasming, her cervix puckered, her clit almost shorted out and then exploded in a lightning flash of fabulous sensual delight. Her rectum clenched and unclenched so rapidly it seemed to beg for something big and hard and plump to fill it.
Low mewls of pleasure were torn from her open and gasping mouth. Her vaginal plain rammed and slapped against his face as if she had lost all control and her mind along with it.
Her hands reached down of their own volition and grabbed at his hair, forcing his rigid tongue down ever deeper into her convulsing pussy. She was cumming and now he would taste her.
"I'm cumming, aieeeeee!!"
She wailed and began jerking in helpless abandon, her cunt milking his tongue as her orgasm ripped through her young body like a sudden, jolting earthquake.
She was only vaguely aware of the fingers probing her rectum at the tail end of her last powerful orgasm. She shuddered in a final spasm and then ceased. She no longer cared. All Anita wanted was peace and some rest. It had been a rest she felt she had earned.
She shut her eyes and though it seemed like a long time, she found herself opening her eyes in a few minutes and gazing down at Bullay's heaving chest, his glistening, open eyes, his thick and fully swollen and yet unsatisfied cock. He had taken care of her needs and now it would be her turn to take care of his.
She was entranced by the size of his thick, throbbing shaft. She knew she would be entranced by it, no matter how many times she saw his shaft, the angry red cockhead peering at her out of one eye in the apex of the head; a gleaming, wicked eye.
He was stroking it now, still kneeling between her sprawled open legs.
She knew now that she would get it and she would get it but good. Her lover chuckled as he moved between her legs and balancing himself on one hand used the other to poise his swollen cockhead at the opening to her tightly quivering cunt.
The blood-swollen cockhead touched her fleshy asscheeks, which were lifted up towards him, then rubbed about against her asshole just to feel the delight of her. She felt his warm, pulsating cock and cringed, knowing that she was to be ruthlessly fucked. Her naked cheeks and tender asshole was lewdly exposed now and she just loved the thought it of being taken this way by this horny and resolute man.
He rubbed his cock against her asshole a few more times, then pushed her legs a bit wider apart and snorted as he slid his pulsating cocktip through her profusely flowing vaginal juices until he stopped at the opening of her soft, fleshy pussy.
She felt him push forward till the bulbous head was buried inside and had fully penetrated her opening. Now that he was ensconced, he rested a second. With a cock as wide as his he never rammed into a girl to ruin her. Bullay had consideration.
She thought of nothing more but the hot shaft being slowly bored up into her belly. She could feel every pulsating vein and ridge on the thickened trunk. As he wormed his way deeper into her sensitive flesh she whimpered a bit, then said nothing. It was getting good, so good. A warm glow began to diffuse throughout her body.
"Now you're gonna learn what true dick is about, bitch." He pushed it all up into her. She took it, her insides swelling wider to take and contain him.
Her legs came shut around him, squeezing his cock with hard, hot pressure. The slick, inner wetness was so good and hot. He had checked it out with his tongue and now would do so with his cock.
Bullay pulled out till he was out of her to the head, feeling the cool air on his naked shaft, now out of the warm, wet envelope that was natural for him to be in.
He rammed back in, but stayed only a second before dragging himself out, resting above her now on hands and knees. His pace set, he started to fuck in short, swift jabs that took half his cock out and then pushed him back in to the hilt.
Her cunt closed around him, sucked at his cock, rippled around the meat fucking into her, widened for the assault of this brutal club, lusted for more. She held herself back, trying not to dance around beneath him yet and to take all that he gave her.
He fucked in, going a bit faster, in spite of his unwillingness to push things. He felt her limbs tighten around him and shuddered at their size and fleshiness and strength. As a leg man he appreciated good drumsticks and black women in most cases had it out over white women when it came to that.
He cock slammed into her clutching cunt-sleeve a bit harder then the time before and was withdrawn a bit faster also. When he came back his pubic mound bashed into hers and for brief seconds their hairs were entwined before he again pulled back.
And all the while she held him in her powerful embrace and he thrilled to this vast circle of flesh holding him tight and not letting him go. Not that he wanted to.
She shifted her legs and then put her heels against his ass, changing the clutch and pressure of her cunt against him. He rammed harder still as he came into her and drew back. She used her heels to push down on his ass and shove him into her hairy maw that extra half inch he would not have gone. And then when he withdrew, she fought his withdrawal and slowed down his exit as her cunt clutched and sucked at the retreating object that was making it seethe and sending so much delight up above the planed muscles of her young belly and into her gravity-flattened and wobbling tits, their nipples pinpoint hard again. He made her cum once by mouth and now would do so with his cock. But he would cum just once and she was determined to make this as good a cum as he could get.
He fucked her still harder, his body floating along on a cloud of lust. His mind sizzling with wildfire, his throat tight, the air whistling in and out through his nose and mouth. His lust gave him the power to fuck effortlessly, feeling not for one moment the strain on his kneecaps and forearms, as he balanced his body on the bed and rammed away.
Her powerful legs seemed to control and hold him. They made his body dance back and forth with greater power like some turbo-charger. Each fuck seemed to have an extra kick. Despite this, he also controlled the situation.
He rammed a bit faster now that lust signals were traveling through his body. The slip, the slide of the fuck, the lustful fire rushing from his cunt massaged cock up along his body and to his balls were having an effect behind his closed tight eyes and inside his whirling mind. He felt it each time his balls bounced against her opening and closing asshole. The touch of her softness made him gasp and grind down into her still harder.
He fucked with determined effort now, thinking just about the pleasure in his balls and how long he might last while ramming down hard into her. She felt the quicker tempo and responded with the wiggle of her hips which made his cock dance from side to side of her as he rammed in and out.
She used her heels to add to each plunge and did not fight the withdrawals in order that he might slide from her in quicker glides that made fast rockets of red rush along her trunk into her head. She knew her tits were being jolted from left to right and back again and closed her eyes as she embraced him and began to massage his back with her long and elegant fingers.
Each time he came down now his chest slapped into her chest and touched her flattened out tits, flattening them still more, rubbing the hard berries of her nipples, sending a fast rush of fire along her tits to her brain and then back again to reinforce the flames from the tips of her tingling tits to the ends of her curling toes. She speeded up the side to side sway of her big hips and pulled him down a bit closer to her body.
This being not enough, Anita now closed her legs very tightly around him and each time he came in, she pulled inward and sent him jetting into her with a hard thuck sound. He nearly lost his head then. The rushing of sensations inside his cock, and along her burning cunt and the quick ripple and cunt kiss each time he entered the wet depths, made his balls tremor and his spine shiver with a hundred blasts of small, pinching fire that went away to be replaced by fast, big jolts, only to return again.
He gritted his teeth, fucking harder into that big, endless cunt, trying to find the end of her and couldn't. He blasted as hard as he could and gasped as she made him kiss and cry out in pain and lust and passion gone wild.
He began to wiggle his own hips to send his cock not only flying into and out of her but to the side, right and left, counter to the movements that she was making.
The effect sent sparkles of electricity through him and through her. The both of them danced like dervishes and smacked into one another with still greater power. Two battering rams of flesh. One white and one black. One red and soggy with sweat. One black and glistening like fine ebony with the sweat rushing from her pores out across her body.
She twisted and used her powerful legs to thrust her about under him, letting her legs row up and down along his back, leaving great red burn marks that disappeared only to be replaced by others. From his shoulderblades to his upper ass she left these marks, not giving a damn or caring, only wanting more and still more of that fine cock he was rushing in and out of her with such hard and fierce energy.
This was divine, he thought, as his brain felt puffs of red fire go up somewhere deep inside his skull. His brain sizzled with the energy of it and added to the wild sensation of the fuck.
He plunged ever deeper and harder, trying to touch the opening to her womb, but never quite making it. You needed one of those long cocked boys for that.
And he knew he wasn't in that category. Gritting his teeth, he gave her all he had, starting to pull his cock all the way out now to the tip before sending it all home to the hilt. These were the deep strokes that opened her wide and fucked her down into the bed. She took the smashes and ground her hips around to make his cock really dance as it plunged. He almost lifted off with each wiggle and gasped as yellow balls of fire exploded inside his brain every time. But he did not give up. She continued to receive those deep and long plunges. They were deeper and slower then the short jab-jab strokes which he had mostly fucked her with. But these latest strokes felt as if they were aiming for her throat. He fucked her down into the bed and spread out her cheeks as he opened her the deepest he had so far.
Every four long strokes he gave her two sharp short ones. That maneuver had been taught him by a whore in Singapore. The sensations made her feel as if the top of her head was about to come off. It was the kind of maneuver that had to be done just right if you wanted to get those kinds of results.
He rammed his cock full-length now, faster still. He was trying to emulate the short jabs in timing, but this was the hardest part. She was varying her strokes. Each time he came in she lifted one cheek and then the other as she rocked her body from side to side. It not only made his cock dance. It made him feel as if he were fucking a vat of living jelly in the middle of an earthquake. But he swore he would not be thrown by her tactics. He fucked her with harder strokes and even more determination.
His balls bashed into her asshole and plunged back out with each sweep downwards that they made. This added to the fires roiling about inside them. Each sparkle sent from his sensitive and lustfully tortured cockhead into his stem and down to his balls rushed about at the same time they were sending signals up his spine into his brain.
He began to clench his teeth and arch his head and back as he felt her wiggle more wildly beneath him and use her legs to pump her frame about in ways that made him feel as if she'd rip the very plunging cock from him. His balls were quivering with high energy and at the same time flying around as if there was no beginning or end to this wild, bed creaking, spring twanging ride. But there was. The both of them knew it.
These raging, dancing, twisting bundles of flesh fought for the last ounce of pleasure that was left inside their frames. They tried to sit on the welling rush of erotic energy that was pushing them towards the edge.
Bullay got in a few last plunges, that rammed him deeper into her then he had ever gone before. He bashed his cock as hard as he could into the sucking, spasming cunt-sleeve that was intent on holding him prisoner, but which he eluded each time he pulled out and back.
She pulled him closer and closer until her chest and his were squeezed tightly together and her squashed tits were hot and tremoring against the fat and muscle and hairs and the hardened nipples were molten coals burning holes into his chest.
His balls seemed to turn molten white and then they yielded up their essence at the same time as he plunged deep and hard, putting all the energy his hips still had into that fuck, which rammed her down into the bed and might have ripped the mattress open if he had not cum then and there.
His head twisted to the side, his eyes shut tighter then before and his cock grew a quarter inch in size as he spewed the first white bullets into her cunt-sleeve, filling her all the way down, touching and entering her womb, now protected by the pills she took each day. His cum flew from the sizzling cockhead being clenched by the twisted sleeve which attempted to milk him dry and was now being coated by the very cum it was draining from him. Bullay fucked on, a mindless automaton, operating inside her by instinct alone.
He felt none of this except for the storm let loose inside him. He felt the bells ringing in his ears, was aware of his cock inside her cunt. Then it seemed that he could see right through to his cock and watch the cum rush from his slit and coat the walls of the cunt now so expertly convulsing and draining him, milking him till he was as dry as the Arabian desert he had once walked.
Somewhere along this road she came. Her body arched up against him, almost lifting Bullay up and off. But her powerful legs, now riding up and down in such a frenzy against his back that they left it completely red, held him tightly. With such huge and powerful anchors he could not possibly fall off.
The passion rushed through her in a tidal wave that came from her brain and would inundate her body, touching every far shore of her flesh, making her wild with need, cause her to twist and gasp and even scratch at him.
Her hands ran up and down his back and Anita had to exert the highest control not to scratch and damage Bullay as he might another, lesser man. Still, she could not control herself perfectly in the vast power of this lust which was twisting the very insides of her soul.
Her long, sharp nails cut into his flesh here and there, leaving minute scratches and small streaks of red that would soon heal and in a few days be gone expect for small scars.
The wave touched her tits, burned them with great heat and made her feel as if the fluid in them would burst outward and shatter her fine tits and make the heard nipples bullets to plunge into his chest. But her tits did not burst, though they swelled and quivered under his touch and the bashing down of his chest against her. In the present state in which she found herself every touch was like a lash of fire.
The tidal wave of burning purple passion which rolled from her head down through her body, did not stop at the tits so ruthlessly lashed. They continued down to well in her belly and then touch her cunt, sending it into a further spasm which twisted, turned and clutched his cock inside of her and made Anita feel as if her cunt had been turned into a clothes basket in a washer-dryer. His cock was almost ripped off by the vigorous action of her cunt around it. Then the flames touched her asshole and her cheeks and made them twist and churn, serving to further make his cock and body to dance about as her cunt clutched and squeezed and drained him.
He was coming down from his high now, feeling her power and everything she was doing. He could barely catch his breath. It was a ride that was not yet over. And she, not he would decide that.
Bullay was excited by her and also a bit frightened. He had rarely had women this powerful before and always thought himself a match for them. But now he wasn't so sure.
As the first wave reached her toes, a second, but weaker wave flowed from her head down along her body and again sent her dancing about. To Bullay, who was almost down from high, this was a wave too powerful to control and it made him extra aware of his shortness of breath and exhaustion.
There was no third wave. He just collapsed on top of her and felt his drained cock being clutched at more gently. Her legs no longer pumped, but still held him tight, clenched to her, unable to move a back or get away. He was just glad not to be moving, resting here, enjoying the warm afterglow of good sex. Bullay had had himself a fine woman. A woman he would not soon forget.
He stared at her face in front of him. It was a serene face. Smiling, happy, beautiful. If he had been younger and not married he would have asked Anita Dumont to marry him. A woman like her was hard to find. And once a man did find her, he should keep and cherish her like a fine gem. What thankfulness he could expect from Bardeley if she came across. He would have to arrange it with King. It was King who brought her to Bullay's attention through Jaccuri and King deserved some sort of finder's fee.
She was breathing as if asleep, unable to hear or feel him. But he could tell she wasn't asleep. He could see that her breath was swift and short, not long and drawn out. She said nothing and he did nothing to disturb her moments of peace.
He watched her nostrils flare as she exhaled and then indent when she inhaled. He felt her tits, so good and soft, the nipples no longer rigid. Her cunt was good also. It clutched at him and kept his meat hot and feeling fine.
He could stay this way forever. But unfortunately there were more pressing needs in the world. And he had a wife who would demand to know where he was and what he had been doing. If only he could wave some magic wand and replace Anita with his wife. But that was not to be.
He smiled, pressed his face to hers and kissed her long and gentle on the lips. Her lips broke into a smile and she kissed him back just as gently.
Then he pulled his mouth from her's. "Did you enjoy it, darling," he asked softly?
She opened her eyes. Her smile widened. "Yes, very much. And did you enjoy me?"
"Very much, also. And now, afraid as I am to say it, I think it's time we ought to get off the bed, clean up and dress."
"Do we have to," she said with a pout?
"Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm not twenty anymore and don't want to wind up with a heart attack. There are too many men who've dedicated their lives to sex. And I'm afraid it's killed as many men as the battlefield, perhaps more."
They began to disengage with winces and laughter and smiles.
Chapter Seven
King seemed very pleased with himself. He had been promoted once already and had received a raise. Now he was looking at one more such prospect. It all depended on how well Anita did for him with the vice president who had expressed an interest in her. Bullay had called King to tell him all about his talk with Bardeley and how Bullay and Bardeley both would appreciate it if King could make sure that Anita cooperated. There would be a lot in it for her.
"The old bastard won't do it himself," King said to no one but the walls. "He's leaving it to me. Oh well, if it can help me, why then shouldn't it come from me?"
There was a knock on the door. That was Anita. Maybe she thought the reason he had sent for her was that he needed to have his lob sucked. Well, that wasn't the reason. Not at all. Though it wouldn't be bad to have his lob sucked. She had been getting so much experience lately.
He looked around the office at the new plaster statue of Winged Victory that he had bought and put there. The replica of ancient Greece looked good in the modern he-man decor that he liked.
"Come in," he said, his eyes hooding. She stepped into the office and looked at him, then dropped her eyes as she wiggled to the chair in front of his desk. She had become accomplished at making men drool at the sight of her.
Crossing her legs, letting that skirt ride up those smooth, bronzed thighs, she smiled seductively. "Anything I can help you with, sir?" Her eyes dropped to his crotch.
He felt a blast of erotic fire cross his balls and cock. But King forced that now down now. He said, "I want to talk to you about that bookkeeping job you've been asking me about."
Her eyes brightened, she sat up, her heart beat faster. "You mean there's an opening?"
He lifted a finger, waved it about in the air, then dropped it to his lap and rubbed his chin with his other hand. "There might be," he said, dropping this hand to.
"What do you mean, there might be?"
"Just what I said. There's room for a girl with brains and ass in this world. I pointed that out to you the first time I introduced you to the new opportunities in your life."
"That you did. Now what have I got to do and who do I do it with?" She looked at him sharply as she said this. He grinned, his face a pleasant mask, hiding his next move.
"The man who'd like to meet you and who'd like to have the pleasure of your company is named Peter Bardeley."
"The vice president?" Her eyebrows rose.
He nodded up-down, once. "His assistant, a Mr. James Dunahoe will talk with you about what your duties are and whether you can handle this bookkeeping job and the other activities that go along with it." He put the emphasis on the word other and his mouth broke into a wide smile at the end of it; the corners traveling up along his face.
Her smile was grim. "I can handle the bookkeeping. I'm trained in that respect."
"That's not the only thing you'll have to be trained in, my dear girl."
"I'm also trained in other respects," she said, her smile now gone. "I'm sure you experienced some of that not so long ago. You should be a good judge."
He pursed his lips. "I'll admit I was satisfied. But then I'm just junior league compared to Mr. Bardeley, when it comes to taste. He's a man who's been around. People like to please him. I'm sure he has a tougher shell to pierce."
She wanted to answer that he was junior league in just about everything, but instead said, "I can pierce it. Just let me at him."
King looked at his watch. "Your wish will come true. In about five minutes from now you're to meet Mr. James Dunahoe, who will interview you and see if you're what they're looking for. It's on the ninth floor of the executive office wing."
"I know where it is," she said, standing suddenly. "You might have called me earlier in the day and let me prepare."
"Honey, if you're not ready now you never will be." With his words ringing in her ears, she left. She took a small vial of perfume from her bag and sprayed herself. She looked at herself in a wall mirror and got ready to be as sexy and sultry as possible. They were calling her at the end of the business day. Things were bound to happen.
They didn't want anyone around when things got going, she thought as she rode up in the elevator to the ninth floor. There was a ping as the stainless steel doors slid into the wall to reveal a brief carpeted hall and a man sitting in shirtsleeves behind a desk at the end.
He looked up as she came from the elevator, walking seductively, her hips swinging like a pendulum, a smile of harlotry on her lips. James Dunahoe swallowed and felt his cock swell.
She stopped in front of his desk. "I'm Anita Dumont. May I sit down please?"
"Yes, sure," he stammered, pointing to the seat in front of his desk. She sat down and crossed her legs and gave him one long sultry stare. She was sure the first impression had been good, very, very good.
James Dunahoe stared at Anita Dumont and licked his lips. She sat in the chair in front of his desk, her legs crossed, her knees dull black satin under the smooth frosted sheen of her new, tight and sexy nylons. He kept dropping his hand below the level of his desk to rub his cock, forgetting that his desk had no front to prevent her from seeing his hand. The desk was the standard wooden top with two sets of drawers on either side and room for his feet.
Anita licked her lips, pretending disinterest, looking at corners of the room, while all along feeling heartbeats of desire inside and fear of the great unknown that lay ahead.
Her legs were crossed to accent her wide thighs and she added to the tension along her smooth and wide and shapely fleshy upper thighs to force the skirt to ride up another two inches. She was aware that his eyes followed her skirt up and came to rest again and again in the area between her legs, which she made sure would peek through. She was wise enough not to have crossed her thighs all the way.
Dunahoe felt a shiver of pleasure pass through him. He tried to hold it in, but couldn't. She could hear the breath rasp from his nose and open mouth and had to fight the faint smile working it's way across her lips.
Those lips were plump, painted with pink lipstick and tempting enough to make Dunahoe imagine her blowing him and those wonderful, plump, smooth, painted lips riding up and down his slicked, wet cock, while he strained to sustain the pleasure and not blast off into her mouth.
While staring at the corners of the room, she kept, casting glances at him; admiring his lean, handsome face, the thin, aquiline nose, the alert gray eyes and the nice graying around the temples and sideburns. He looked very distinguished. Black hair and graying sideburns became him. She wondered how his cock looked and how big his balls were and how they tasted. The taste of a man's balls were important to her.
Dunahoe stared at the fat beaver beneath the shadowed blue of her panties swelling around it. He rubbed at his cock some more. What a piece, he was thinking, wishing he had her for himself. He would take her home to his house at Grosse Pointe and fuck her silly. Now that he had his own house all to himself since the divorce he could bring women home. Getting them was the problem. When he didn't have the house free to himself he'd had the women and no place, except for a motel to bring them to. Now, it was the other way around. It was always like that.
Remembering what he was to do and why she was here, he cleared his throat and began. "I called you here, Miss Dumont..."
"Why not call me Anita," she asked him with a broad smile?
His cock really tingled.
"Well, Anita, the reason you're here is about that bookkeeping job you've been interested in."
Her face brightened. She sat forward, but at the last moment realized this might obstruct the view to her pussy and sat back. She made her face into a mask and waited for Dunahoe to go on.
"I've been talking with Mr. Peter Bardeley about this." Her head throbbed. Bardeley was the vice president in charge of hiring and firing; an important man to suck up to. And thinking about sucking she realized her reputation might have preceded her. And this was just what might be required of her. Well, if it had to be it had to be. If a girl was going to give it away she would give it away where it counted, on the job. She had been fucked enough by life. Now she was going to get fucked again, but for the rewards it would bring. Shivering within, she waited for Dunahoe to go on.
His face grew wooden as he began to outline the job and what would be required. He went through the hours and the different things needed from each bookkeeper. Then he got down to the essentials.
"The pay is three-fifty a week."
"That high, sir. I wasn't aware it went that high."
"We-e-ll, ordinarily it doesn't. But this is a special position we're discussing and I'm wondering if you're the right girl."
"I am sir, I am," she said, spreading her legs a bit farther apart. His gaze dipped, his cock hardened. He could feel it lengthen and move down his leg.
"This is an important position, where no mistakes are to be made or tolerated." His voice hardened. "And it is open only to the woman who can meet it's demands."
"I can, sir." Her smile had grown sultrier. She licked her lips and smiled so that her teeth showed; white as only white teeth can be in a dark face.
"And it is a position which demands punishment for any mistakes which are made."
"I won't make any mistakes sir. And I'm ready to pay for any mistakes I do make."
"Mr. Bardeley is quite particular. He is paying this high salary because he wants the right bookkeeper."
"I understand. I understand," she repeated, her smile growing still more.
"He wants no mistakes and since money alone can't insure that he'll enforce personal punishment to make sure no mistakes are made. And the high salary is to insure that the right bookkeeper will agree to the punishments meted out for not doing the job right on some days."
"And what may those punishments be, sir?"
Dunahoe hesitated, his heart beating, his head throbbing, his eyes bright sparkles of fire. He nervously licked at his lips and eyed her body up and down, wishing he were in his bosses shoes right then. Boy, could he give her a workout.
"In order to insure that you do this important, high paying work with the right attitude and minimum of mistakes Mr. Bardeley wants to give you a whipping each time you commit a major error in your work."
Now that it was out, he hurried on, almost afraid to stop, because he simply might not be able to go on once he did stop.
"You will be informed by phone on the day when he wants you to come to his office. You will come to his office as the workday ends, just as you have come to my office as the workday ended. You will then listen to the charges against you and will then prepare yourself for the whipping he will deliver. Do you understand?"
He stopped, his heart beating more, his brain about to burst from the bone encasing it. Sparkles flew before his eyes. His throat was shut. He expected her to rise up, screaming, ranting, cursing him out. He had told Mr. Bardeley he was not sure this might work. He remembered the hard, hot light in Mr. Bardeley's eyes and the way he spoke; his voice tight and high.
"She'll do it, Jimmy. I can feel it." He had tapped his crotch to indicate where he felt it. Well, Dunahoe had not been so sure. He sat and waited for her to speak; speechless himself.
Anita said nothing for a moment. Her face was flushed. Two burning spots were evident on each cheek; made harder to see by the darkness of her skin.
So this was it. This was what that big, hot-cocked honkey wanted. For that she would get her three-fifty a week. For that, she would get the bookkeeping job she wanted and needed; the money that would make her financially independent, take her out of the Detroit ghetto into a nicer black neighborhood on the edges of the city.
She grinned. "The request is unusual, but I can't say it isn't fair. Bosses are so demanding these days and I guess that makes for a better worker. Yes, I can see that's fair."
Dunahoe, turned a pale red. His cock sprang up and almost ripped a hole in his pants. A shivered passed up and down his body. He fought the urge to close his eyes and inhale deeply, instead he just blinked rapidly, up and down.
"You understand, that ahm-a-a, this won't be a simple spanking?"
"I understand, sir. A flogging. The way the English do it?"
"Yes, I-I-I think so. It won't be with his hand."
"I didn't expect that. But I'm hoping it won't be a cat-o-nine tails. That's too barbaric and should have gone out with, "Mutiny On The Bounty."
"No, no," he said, shaking his head from side-to-side, the red in his cheeks growing, the glow in his eyes considerably brighter.
"It'll be a birch switch. Narrow, about three feet long, flexible. It cuts more than stings. Not so bad, really. Just designed to teach a lesson and not hurt."
"Oh, I can't be hurt that easily, sir. I'm a big girl. If you haven't noticed yet."
He picked up a pencil and began playing with it. Shaking his head up and down, he muttered, "I've noticed. Yes, I have."
Then he dropped the pencil and raised a finger in the air. "One more thing." He hesitated, not knowing how to begin. "This birching, it won't be done across the back."
"I'm glad," she said, the smile still on her lips. "A lady's back is so sensitive. I was hoping it would be across the buttocks. They're so much more fleshy, ample."
"Yes, it'll be across the buttocks." Again, he stopped, then started and went on. "Naturally, for it to be a true birching and to teach you the lesson you have coming it can't be across a dress or slacks or anything, because the material would absorb the cuts and defeat the entire purpose of the punishment. It would have to be um, naked." He looked down for a second.
"Naturally, sir," she answered, not loosing her cool. He looked back up with a bit of surprise. She was still with them, still willing. This was a much hotter bitch than he'd imagined. Bardeley certainly had her figured to the T. She really wanted that job and that dough.
Still keeping that smile she said, "I didn't expect otherwise. I mean, if a lady has a whipping coming, is there any other way than with her skirts up, panties down and buttocks exposed for a good dozen or twenty, so that she doesn't make the same mistake again?"
"Yes, that's what I say," Dunahoe told her, his face growing still redder. Then he picked up the pencil. "One more thing. Just to show that you're not talking and won't chicken out when the time comes..."
"Anita Dumont knows the ropes, sir. She doesn't chicken out. When I give my word, I keep my word. I'm sure that when I'm called in to pay for my mistakes I'll be grown-up enough to admit them and take what I've got coming. You can be sure."
"I believe that," he said, bowing his head forward three inches, then straightening it up again. "But we have to be sure." He began to fiddle with his tie.
"Would you be ready to demonstrate that, Miss Dumont, I mean Anita? Demonstrate it right now? Come with me to Mr. Bardeley's office and take what you have coming? It wouldn't even be a demonstration in the pure sense. You have been making some bookkeeping mistakes and I say it's time to impress upon you that such mistakes can't be made when you take on your full responsibilities."
He gulped. She allowed her smile to grow a bit wider, her heart really pounding like mad. "Of course, sir. If you feel a demonstration is necessary and a lesson whipping should be administered for past mistakes, I agree. After all, if I'm going to do well I should have the proper attitude before I start. And this way I'll have the proper attitude."
Dunahoe smiled widely. "Yes, yes, you do have the proper attitude. I wish more young ladies were like that."
Thinking to herself, Anita said, "I'll bet you do you horny, ass hungry turkey and smalltime sadist. I'm going to get my cheeks warmed because some white cock needs hardening. His wife can't do a good enough job. So he's going to get it from hot, black meat."
"The fact that I am that way should help me in the company," she added; her face still covered by a bland smile.
"Oh, one more thing," he said, then paused. "You know, I guess you know," he said, gesturing with one hand before letting it drop, "that sometimes when a man is punishing a woman the sight of her wriggling behind may make him..."
"Yes, Mr. Dunahoe?"
"Well, it may make him horny. And it would be a shame to leave him like that. If, after the punishment, you could take the discomfort away, it would be deeply appreciated in many ways. Such an attitude, I am sure, would do wonders for your promotion in the company and would result in good marks on your company record."
"I understand those things sir." She let her eyelids sink down to cover her eyes a moment; feigning shame. Then her lids lifted and she looked him direct in the eyes.
"I'll be more than glad to help Mr. Bardeley over his temporary problem."
"Very good, very good," Donahue said; dry washing his hands, shaking his head up and down, hunching his shoulders. To her he looked like a vulture.
"There is one more thing though, Anita. Mr. Bardeley has this special way he likes to be satisfied. Especially after he has used his birch to help guide an errant employee onto the straight and narrow, so to speak. He enjoys a good session of Greek."
"Why Mr. Donahue, I enjoy Greek too. What a coincidence. I am sure I'll be able to do a good job of taking care of Mr. Bardeley's problem in the proper manner. I have a tight, hot, very satisfying rectum. And I am quite adept at using it with skill and dexterity. There is no art to these things, you know."
"Yes, I have heard," he replied, still dry washing his hands. "And," he added, "I hope you're not one of those girls who complains that it hurts and just lets the man put the head and maybe a bit of the stem in?"
"Oh, no sir. I have an educated and experienced rectum. When I let a gentleman take me, he gets it in all the way. And by all the way I mean right up to the gills."
Donahue's eyes did back flips. "I think we had better go up and see Mr. Bardeley."
"Yes, I think we had better. I'm anxious to get this started and to show just what talents I do have."
"I'm sure they're considerable," he said. Then, as he began to rise he remembered his hardon and sat back down. He took a few deep breaths and waited for his erection to fade before he stood, doing so slowly.
Anita suppressed a smile and watched him rise ever so slowly. Then he extended a hand for her to walk ahead of him. She did, adding to the already mean wiggle of her ass. Dunahoe watched and willed his cock to stop rising once more.
He led her to the small, three-person elevator, which led up to the vice presidential office. They rode up, the elevator came to a stop and the stainless steel doors parted, then sank into the wall.
Sitting behind a large desk with a glass top, a green blotter and many papers, was a man in a white shirt, red tie with silver patterns and no suit jacket. His hair was silvery gray, his face rugged and weathered, like that of an outdoorsman, which he wasn't. He had steel hard, blue eyes, which sent a shiver of fear and a feeling of submissiveness through her.
He was smoking a cigarette, waiting, a bit of a red flush to the dark tan of his face, a tan not produced by the still weak spring sun. It spelled Florida, Houston, New Mexico or California.
There was a long, narrow, rounded, white wood stick lying across his desk to one side. She did not have to ask what that was for. She felt her heartbeat increasing and her pulse rate follow along. She became painfully aware of her ass and just what she would now have to do, indeed, be asked to do.
She tried to guess how old Bardeley was. She figured fifty-five; thirty years her senior. Donahue was thirty-five. That she knew for a fact. When he had been her age she had been going from sixth into seventh grade. When he had been eighteen she had been eight. When he had been fifteen; probably riding around in cars, drinking, getting his first ass, she had been entering kindergarten. And Bardeley had already been older than Dunahoe. Who knew how many asses he had spanked or fucked by then or how demanding he would be now; the El Exigente of asshole connoisseurs. There were such men. They looked at a girl's asshole and the way she used it and knew how good her technique was and could guess within five screws either way how many times she had been taken up the shit chute.
Bardeley stood. He extended a hand. "How do you do, Miss Dumont." It was all so pleasant and businesslike.
"Please call me Anita."
"Please call me, sir."
She smiled. "I call all men, sir." Her eyes dropped down. She found his cock hardening already. Men were the same. You gave them pleasure, they turned to putty in your hands. They took care of your needs as you serviced them and they helped you get places in the world at the same time. Anita was proving that a woman's machinery could be useful for more than looking at. Those foolish girls who were saving it for some day were merely letting it lie fallow. Like money in a mattress instead of in a bank in a high interest bearing account.
"I gather James told you how things go here." He said that staring at Dunahoe, who stood, all nervous and red faced and waited to see what would happen. She glanced back at Dunahoe with a grin and saw the picture windows behind him and the view of Detroit. The lake, the skyscrapers, the crumbling brownstone inner city slums, the roads, elevated highways, parks, lakes, cars moving along. All of them out there unaware of what was about to go on here. Just as she was unaware of them.
She wondered if any of those curious skyscraper watchers with binoculars, was watching this skyscraper, then with a smile realized what a treat he would get to see.
"How do we go about these things," she asked, without answering his question? "I mean, do we wait till Mr. Dunahoe leaves or what?"
"We don't need any ceremony," Bardeley said, picking up the birch, slapping it lightly against his palm, staring beyond her at Dunahoe with a smile.
"We will do it in front of James here. The reason that's so is that I want him to see how the process goes. Some day," he grinned again, "he'll have an office of his own, like this," he swept the birch in a half circle to indicate the offices belonging to him and others of his rank. No one but him and Dunahoe and Anita were there.
She watched that birch with hypnotized eyes. She felt his menace in the depths of her bowels. She wanted him badly. But she also feared him. This was a part of her that proved new and strange. And she was afraid of it.
"I also want Jim here to watch this because he'll need to take care of your transgressions, mistakes, failings, sins against the company through error or carelessness, when I'm away and not around. So he has to be here and see how things go."
"I understand." With a smile back at Dunahoe, she said, "it's important for him to know these things. You're the boss." Turning back to Bardeley, she asked, "how could I refuse?"
His face grew redder. He asked, "and you don't mind receiving discipline from Jim also?"
"I'm ready to accept discipline from Mr. Dunahoe if it will help me do a better job and ease company relations." Both men smiled broadly. This bitch was alright and would prove a good addition to the staff. If she proved as good as she looked to be and acted, then she would be worth every cent of the money they'd be paying her. Anita knew this and resolved to be as good as good could be.
"Okay," Bardeley said, "strip off. Let's see what you're made of."
Without a word or a seconds delay, she began, proving what a good addition she was to the office staff. The sound of the zipper going down, the rustle of her nylons, the swish of her dropping mini, were all the sounds to be heard in that room. She put these to the side after stepping from her things and stood there a second, stretching, accenting her muscles, her shapes, her meatiness, the sheen of the nylons across her shapely legs, and thighs, the tightness of her panties over her big, blooming ass, and the vee of her dark pubic thatch showing through the light yellow gossamer material, which only barely covered it.
She cast brief, sly glances over her shoulder to see how the others were reacting and they were reacting well. Anita said nothing and began to take off her sweater, making sure to walk back and forth as she did, so as to point out her strength and power, the movement of her flesh as she used her legs, the sway of her ass, exposed now and accented so tightly by the panties she wore.
Finally, Anita pulled the sweater over her head, mussing her lustrous curls somewhat. But she shook her head like some fine doe emerging from a mountain pool after a summer dawn bath and her hair fell back into place. All of her hair, except for two or three ringlets, which remained nicely mussed. She knew this and smiled at them, watching the simmering fire in their eyes, while painfully aware of the hardening and rises in the area of their crotches.
She wore no bra and underneath the sweater she had removed was bare skin; smooth, satiny, ebony, resilient, young. Her tits were upthrust, the nipples semi-hard in anticipation of the fun to come.
"What now," she asked; holding her arms out, away from her body?
Bardeley gripped the birch more firmly. Then he used it like a blackboard pointer. "Go and lean over that desk. The empty one. Grip the ends and hold on. Are you one of those girls who have to be tied down?"
"Nossir. I'm very gentle and docile. You can do what you have to do. I won't be any trouble."
"Excellent." He studied her again. What meat! What ass! Licking his lips nervously, he realized just what a treat he was getting.
She walked to the desk, her feet feeling like lead bricks. She again became painfully aware of the size and wiggle of her ass and how enticing it must be for them to stare at her and just what sort of payment they were going to get from using that birch across her bare cheeks. She shivered, partially in fear, partially in excitement. Her breasts heaved up and down with the sudden increase in her breathing rate. There was a tiny film of sweat across her flesh and a hum in her ears. The hum, she understood, came from the nervous tension now passing through her. The muscles across her belly fluttered with nervous nips of energy. She wondered if the rippling of her belly muscles was visible.
She was afraid to look down and see. For if she did, Anita felt her legs would turn to rubber and she would be unable to go on. That would not help in her image as a cool bitch, ready to take a good warming across her buns; looking for ways to satisfy those white, hard cocks throbbing so grandly behind her.
She reached the desk, bent forward and rested her top half across the desk; feeling her tits flatten out beneath her and the edge of the desk catch her cunt and thighs. She felt the cool wood against her flesh, almost sending a shiver of coolness along her hot and trembling meat. The desk was so strong, so solid, so unbelievably powerful when compared to quaking human flesh.
"The panties, Anita darling," Bardeley said with a laugh, "the panties. We can't have them in the way."
She laughed to herself. "Oh, sorry sir. I guess I just forget in all the excitement of undressing. I've never done this on the job before," she said, standing up. "The panties are so light I hardly felt them."
"But they are there," Bardeley said. "And they'll get in the way of the whipping."
"I wouldn't want to do that, sir," she said as she pulled the panties down to her ankles. "I want to feel the full effect and I'm sure you want me to feel the full effect."
Her words and the sight of her suddenly bared, big, black, juicy, meaty ass, made their cocks throb, their faces turn red, their tongues stick in their throats.
Smiling back at them she again took position and parted her legs, so that they made a V, spreading her ass, opening her up wide, letting them see it all. She gripped the ends of the desk with her long, elegant fingers; the polished tips like ten red spots of elongated blood against the fine, dark grained finish of the wood.
The men licked their lips and stared at the sight she had laid out for them. The hot, open, wet, hairiness of her beaver hanging down at the apex of the inverted V that her legs made. The inner flesh of her exposed cunt was pink, salmon pink. The lips were a lighter color of black, almost the color of malted milk. They were very thick and fleshy. Dunahoe could almost imagine himself sitting there on the floor; his legs out before him, his back to the desk, his mouth nibbling away at the hairy cuntflesh. He forced this thought down. It was not for now. More momentous things were about to happen.
Her ass was fantastic to say the least; two large, fleshy half globes of satiny black meat. Staring at it was enough to make a true assman's mouth water. She was good enough to make a man want to give up white women forever. When one stared at a woman like Anita Dumont one realized for the first time what the motto "Black Is Beautiful," was all about.
The fine upsweep of her back, the shoulderblades, ribs and muscles outlined by the position she had taken, were a grand topping to the sight of her ass spread so wide and tender before them. Then there was the piece de resistance. Her asshole was fully exposed by the position that Anita had assumed.
Her asshole was at the upper half of her wide ass, just above the centermark of the deep groove that contained it. Light, short black hairs grew up and down the groove and around her asshole. Bardeley was glad there were not too many hairs. He liked assholes, but not one surrounded by too much hair. Though there were men who loved hot, hairy assholes.
Her asshole was dark, malted colored, big, rounded, with an irregular outer perimeter. It was plump, the asshole ring puffed with soft flesh, the flesh cut by deep wrinkle lines that pointed inward to the slight open chink in her ass, which led to the rectum and from there the colon.
It was a big, appetizing looking asshole and just seeing it Bardeley knew he would find true asshole joy within those tight, hot bowers. He was mesmerized by all this fine meat put on display before him. So mesmerized was Bardeley, that he forgot for a moment his overwhelming letch to warm the buns and instead, walked closer to inspect the wonder of her asshole. Dunahoe also moved closer by a few steps. Anita said nothing and waited. She knew they were as amazed by her ass and body as were many men that she knew. So she stayed and let them look and touch.
Bardeley went right over and began to run a finger over her asshole, sniffing her female scent. The scent of her perfumed cunt and the higher, sharper scent of her asshole; there, so fresh and big and juicy and ready for him to use to his heart's content. She was sure, lying there, waiting for him to get on with it, that she would earn every penny of that three-fifty a week that she had been promised.
He ran a fingernail across the flesh of her puffed anal ring. He felt the flesh quiver and she felt a sharp dart run up into her ass. A good and not uncomfortable feeling.
Turning to Dunahoe he said, almost in wonder, "this is prime asshole, Jim. Prime asshole. I've got to check this girl out and see if she's as good as she looks."
"I'm better sir," she said. "But I've got a tender rectum. A woman's rectum is so soft. Please use some lubricant, maybe Vaseline."
"I'll do better," he said, going away for twenty seconds, then returning. "A true man," he said, "never goes anywhere unprepared."
He thrust a small rounded jar in front of her eyes. There was white cream in the see through glass and a label. On it, in big black block letters were two words, REAM CREAM.
"Very good, sir," she replied. "Use the product in good health."
"I intend to," he assured her, a quiver of joy in his throat.
He put the jar down and flicked the birch through the air several times to test it out. Every good whipping artist does this. The way he worked the switch told Anita this was no novice to the whipping game. Bardeley was an experienced whipsman. An artist who knew how to process an ass and manipulate a switch to make the meat sing and dance.
Indeed, Bardeley had seen more then his share of twitching, well birched asses in his time. As a bachelor he had made it a practice to spank girlfriends. When he married and his wife would not let him warm the buns for her more than once a month he began to seek out secretaries who would raise those skirts, drop those panties and lift those cheeks for a brisk half dozen with the birch or with the hand. He found call girls, divorcees eager to prove the breakup of the marriage was not their fault and that they could still bring happiness to an erect prong in many different ways. And now he had Anita. She would feel the culmination of his many years as a devoted participant in the underground ass culture.
Her ass was just marvelous, he thought to himself, as he tested the birch a few more times; building anticipation, excitement. She listened to the swishing cut of the birch through the air and could just imagine it working her ass. She listened to her heart beating so fast that it almost felt that it was within the very confines of her head. She hoped they couldn't hear her fear and excitement. She closed and opened her eyes a few times. Anita could feel the switch of that birch along her back. The air it moved about made her shiver a bit. Still, she kept the position she had taken, pressed her thick, soft lips together and waited for the birching to begin.
Bardeley still stared at her asshole. Bardeley's wife was such a bitch. She only gave him her asshole on special occasions such as Christmas and New Years. He thought fondly of how he had fucked her ass not too many months past, and this being Spring, how much longer still he would have to wait till he could fuck her ass again. The fact that it was so rare for him and that here now was a great ass to fuck made his hunger greater still.
He lifted the birch up and back now. Bardeley was through swishing it. He looked at a red faced Dunahoe and winked. Dunahoe smiled back weakly.
Then the birch swished down, coming into her right cheek at an angle with a hard thwack. The birch indented the meat, then lifted up and away. The chocolate flesh turned a slightly darker color along the line. Her cheeks trembled once, then stopped. She said not a word.
The birch came down with a second thwack across her other cheek, also indenting at an angle. She shivered slightly, but kept her position and never moved an inch. The birch lifted away and another diagonal slash darkened.
He could hardly tell, looking at her. This was a resilient woman, with a lot of meat to whip. Now that the timing was set he loosened the birch, so that it could ride around in his hand and brought it forward. It came down with a thwack as it covered her in a side to side slash that touched both buttocks.
This time she lifted her head a bit and shifted her buttocks. The birch struck again and her cheeks lifted and began a bit of a wiggle. A whoosh of air escaped her mouth. He gave her slashes five and six; one for each buttock. Now the meat wiggled and she hissed, moving her head about. Her asshole opened a bit more in shock. Bardeley had an urge to plunge in, but didn't. He held himself and gave her slash seven. Her ass really began to dance the way an ass should.
Her face was covered in sweat and wrinkled up. Her eyes were shut tight. Her mouth was open. Her teeth were sharp white slashes of bone. Her tongue darted in and out. Her head rotated as each stroke came down. Her mind traveled about in a pink and purple fizz of fire. She was mad with the thing he was doing to her. It both hurt and stung. The slashes were not vastly hard, nor were they light. They made her quiver and twist and expose private and very erotic parts of her body to the two men watching.
This both frustrated and delighted her. On one scale she was still unwilling to do what she was doing. She regarded this as a forced affront on her flesh. But on the other side of the coin she loved it. She fought it and loved it at the same time and the things she was being forced to expose and the things she was being forced to endure made her deliciously, throbbingly, excitedly hot and erotic. She wiggled more. The birching was making her hot. The sharp whistle of the cane, then the thwack and the cut and the heat radiating away from the slash into the depths of her fine and ample ass, into the hot tropics of her needing, hungering bowels, up the pinpoint had, splayed out thickness of her tits and down to the churning core of her furry cunt, made her hornier still.
The winking pink eye of her cunt slit and her downhanging beaver, as she danced, made the two men tremble. The twists and turns of her plump asshole made mouths drool and eyes water. Bardeley did not know for how long he could continue whipping that fine ass before he had to whip out his hard cock and take her tender, twitching asshole.
His hunger made his hand a bit too hard and heavy. He let her have three stings that really cut the meat. And he dropped them down to get the low undersides of her buttocks. The heaviest, thickest part of the ass and the most sensitive portion of the female buttocks. He let her have one to each cheek, then a cross slash across both cheeks.
Her ass quivered, her cheeks wiggled, her head lifted, more hisses came from her lips. This, the bitch had felt. It was time to end the strokes before they got too hard and entered the realm of painful and punitive. He wanted to arouse her, to give her and himself some fun, not to turn her off to the joy of whipping and most of all, he didn't want to come cum in his pants.
Bardeley would give her just one more. Gripping his birch he swung it up and down in a vertical slash that ran down her groove and kissed her puffed anal flower with the edge of the birch.
"Oh, my," she said, as she lifted her head in response to the sharp sting that rushed up her asshole and through her intestines! He dropped the birch just then and said, "let me put something on that miss. It'll take away the sting and then I've got something to put inside to really make it feel better."
He laughed at his own humor as he got the ream cream, after throwing the birch away to the side. He fumbled with the cap and got it off. His face was flushed, his eyes were doing somersaults in his head, his mouth was open and air was jetting in and out.
He threw the cap to the side and took out a gob of cream and began to smear it across the anal flower before him. She felt the coolness and smiled, relaxing her body, but knowing her asshole would be getting a reaming she would not soon forget. Mr. Bardeley looked to be one of those hard-loving anal studs who would take her again and again to find the true rectal joy an ass admirer like him would really appreciate.
Then he took another gob and poked one long finger up into her in a moderate corkscrew motion. While rushed, and needing satisfaction fast, he also had some consideration for the woman with him.
Anita appreciated this. She would pay it back by being extra considerate as she gave him pleasure now and in the future.
He pulled his finger out, got another gob of cream and gave that to her. Anita lifted her burning, well birched ass and spread those cheeks wider in order to provide him with the extra room he needed to get those fingers in.
When he pulled his fingers out he got his zipper down, loosened his belt and pulled down his pants so that he could operate with his unlimbered cock and balls ready for action.
He began to apply gobs of cream to his cock. He was so hot that he hadn't even allowed Dunahoe to use the switch on her ass. Dunahoe had been too scared to ask the boss to let him. He didn't want the boss angry at him. But if the boss didn't ask him when he was done, Dunahoe would go over, grease up his own cock and plunge it in. He was going to get some ass off that fine black piece come hell or high water.
Bardeley worked his cock till it was gleaming and greased. Then he dropped the jar to the floor. So nervous had he become, that he did not even think about putting it on a desk or anything else but getting into that gleaming, throbbing, hot asshole in that fine, fleshy, big black ass he had birched so well and with such skill only minutes before.
The jar rolled till Dunahoe picked it up and then he too began to unlimber his machinery and began to grease it up, hoping that Bardeley would not take too long in her divine asshole.
Putting his hands down on her trembling, hot and marked cheeks, Bardeley palpitated the hot flesh; his fingers digging deep into the hot, shivering cheeks. With his hands thus anchored he was ready to ensconce his pole of burning purple-red meat in the depths of her bowels.
She began to will her asshole to relax. Anita knew what was coming and wanted no problems in swallowing that big meat, which the vice president would now push up into her rectum. She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the cool wood of the desk.
Bardeley put the tip of his blunt, quivering cock against the hot softness of her puffed anal ring and just felt the flesh for a second. It was enough to make his balls tremble with the thought of taking her.
Then, he closed his eyes a second and pushed forward. Her asshole seemed to give around him, putting up no resistance, as he shoved the head steadily into her. Seeing that her asshole took him with ease and without any oohs or aahs from her, he pushed on, not stopping when her anal ring swelled up as her asshole took in his head and then her anal ring closed around him.
It was hot and soft and tight and greased at the same time. He pushed on, savoring the first heat and squeeze of her ass. By this time he had the head and more than an inch-and-a-half of the stem inside of her. He heard her hiss and whoosh and lift her head and watched the ripple of muscles along her smooth, sleek back. Bardeley stopped.
She was grateful for that. Anita took it as a time to rest up for the next squeeze of cock going up into her and willed her rectum and colon to relax some more.
Bardeley blew out gusts of air and kept throwing his head up and back. Her asshole was reacting to the penetration of this hard object up into her. It began to ripple down and out as if to expel him. But the immovable object now inside of Anita would not be moved. It would not go away and it merely quivered as her asshole assaulted it.
Bardeley was hissing, gritting his teeth, clenching his lips, squeezing harder on the chunks of assmeat he held in his hands. Anita, below him, felt that cock tickling her insides and the heat from her cunt merging with the conflagration in her asshole and the tingling effects of the birching, which had traveled to every portion of her body and had gotten the blood to flow faster and her sexual feelings to rise to a point where her heart was beating a hundred-ten times a minute, and there was a whirling within her head which made Anita see double.
Bardeley ceased waiting and began to push inward again. She willed her asshole to relax still more and open wider still for the large pole of firm flesh being so lovingly and steadily shoved up and up till her asshole would be gorged with hot, executive cock. White executive cock. Remembering who she was serving and what it would mean to her future, Anita began to make small moans of pleasure. This was to massage his ego and to show him that she really loved it. That ought to be good for a twenty-five dollar raise after three months on the job and a further twenty-five a week three months after that or maybe sooner, depending on how much he liked her ass. It was high for a bookkeeper. But then, books weren't the only thing she would be keeping. There were hard, hot cocks, like the one he was pushing up and up into her clenching, squishing, hot and burning rectum. She gasped. The tension of the passion passing through her made Anita suck more air down into suddenly bottomless lungs.
She twisted those cheeks from side to side, the flesh undulating under his hands. But she did not move too far. Bardeley had her anchored there and kept her firmly against the desk.
Anita thrilled to his masculine power and the strength of his fingers. At first, he had hurt her, with all the pressure he was applying, as he speared big chunks of flesh with hard, hungry fingers. But now, she felt almost nothing. Not even the aftermath of the sting of the birching he had given her.
Bardeley pushed himself into her to the hilt. She was so tight that he felt the very ream cream squeezed from his slicked and hard cock. He stayed and felt the tightness, the spongy power of the rectum undulating and trying to expel this hard foe now deep into her guts. The feel of so many convulsions created hundreds of ripple sensations that massaged his prong from head to base. The touch of her along the plump underside, against the thick vein which ran there, was maddening.
Bardeley began to rotate his ass to work off some of the sexual tension her asshole massage was creating. Dunahoe watched and rubbed his meat and swallowed and tried not to pull off. Soon, he told himself, soon, it would be his chance and his cock plunging into the tropic depths of that fine, black ass, now so insolently display and about to be so grandly and gloriously fucked till she was mad with the power of that thing and wild like only a woman can be in the throes of high passion.
Bardeley began to pull himself out. He looked down; his eyes still open, but being forced closed by the power of the sexual waves now smashing over the beachhead of his consciousness.
He took himself out to the head. She felt him leave and wanted to hoist her ass back and swallow all that fine, wonderful, white executive meat that was leaving her. Anita felt strangely empty now, and her bowels hungered for a hard, masterful cock to ream out her insides and teach her what being a woman is all about.
But she had nothing to fear. Bardeley rammed back home and pushed himself into her to the hilt. She took him with a gasp as his belly slapped back in against that big ass. He felt those cushiony cheeks indent then spring back into place.
Her asshole exploded in a frenzy of ripples, as it fought his cock's return. But it failed. All it did was to make him gasp and hiss and groan with the pleasure he was receiving. Bardeley, shut his eyes, opened his mouth and threw back his head. His fingers squeezed harder at the meat of her ass. But by then Anita was on fire and felt nothing but waves of pleasure. Her asshole was a burning oil-well and his cock was the drill plunging into her unknown and plumbing the depths.
He pulled out and then rammed home. This time he was a bit harder and faster. Under the divine ministrations of her experienced and hot asshole, he had grown an additional three-quarters of an inch. He was harder and thicker now. And she loved it, she just loved it.
He plunged in again and buried himself as far as possible before pulling back out. Her asshole was going crazy under the ruthless pile-drives of his boiling prong. Her bowels twitched and every corner of her dark, tropical intestines was tingling with the fire and the ass heat emanating from the ruthless buggery he was practicing on her.
Anita was digging her nails into the desk and shaking her head and opening and shutting her mouth. Her lips were clenching tight one moment, while the next second she was licking them with a long, wet, hot looking tongue. He continued to ram faster and harder into her. These were short, swift jabs, which took him about halfway out, then back home to the hilt.
The fires from her whipped cheeks traveled till they touched the far reaches of her ass, thighs, toes, tits and fingers. Her nipples, now so hard with lust, were rubbed against the smooth wooden surface of the desk by the swaying of her body under the assault of his hard plunges.
Each rub made her tits tauter and hotter. The fires of lust traveled from her swollen tits back down to her cunt and asshole and made them vibrate still more with the fire and the savage passion of the thing he was doing to her.
Her brain stewed in a pink fizz. She wanted to take one hand from the edge of the desk and begin to play with her tits, but couldn't. The effect of the fire across her senses and throughout her flesh made any movement impossible. Anita began to hiss and wiggle her ass more wildly; enticing the man fucking her, making him fuck in harder, more brutal jabs. Her asshole was overwhelmed by the effect. It aided him mightily in the downward thrusts and helped him grandly in the upward bashes, as it rippled with full force against the ram thrusting into her. But all this was to no avail. He was master of her ass and the possessor of her asshole.
"Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me deeper and harder. Screw the living shit out of my asshole."
Bardeley clenched his teeth and began to fuck her with determined ruthlessness. He let his cock shoot out to the head and then rammed all the way in. These were full thrusts, that opened her up, right to the limits of her colon. They were longer thrusts than the short fuck jabs Bardeley had been using till now and so they were not as fast. But the raw determination and power he displayed as he fucked into her, made his cock travel in and out with the speed that gave it super strength and made her asshole convulse like a wild sleeve around the slicked, red and now brown stained meat spearing her with such savage regularity.
He used his hips like blazing pistons to shove that cock about and put the meat to her with a harsh pounding vigor that he rarely used on his wife.
"God, Lord, Holy Mother," she exclaimed, lifting her hands from the edges of the desk, making them into fists and beating the top of the desk as she sobbed and gasped and groaned in passion at the power of his fucking.
"Take me, take me. Take all of me, sir. I'm yours. My asshole is yours forever." Then she fell silent except for gasps of fresh air and mewlings of advanced passion. He was piledriving her asshole into ruthless convulsions that made her cunt drip lust juice onto the desktop and her entire body quiver with jolts and waves of red and green and orange fire.
Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open, and her brain sizzled with myriad colors and waves of incandescent blue and red and purple. She could feel the lust dancing inside of her. She could feel her tits about to burst with the pressure of her lust, the nipples so hard, that she was afraid they would scratch the wooden desktop; her cunt so wet that it seemed as if half of Lake Michigan was leaking from between her thighs. The peak of her sexual flow was coming. She could feel it rise from deep within her, moving past her madly pounding heart. She could see it even though her eyes were closed and her face pointed forward and not down at her body.
Bardeley increased the level of his fucking a few more strokes per minute. His own peak was about to strike. He could feel it in his balls; which swayed to and fro like a pendulum gone mad. He bashed still harder into her and felt his balls bouncing, smashing, thumping against her furry, wet, open pussy and one of his balls almost, but not quite, making it into her gash each time he stroked home.
His nuts quivered and in their quivering he could tell the juices were boiling, about to rush up his cock and into her asshole. He could almost visualize this and remembered the last time he had filled a soft, yielding female asshole with white hot cum. It had been New Years and, as was always the custom in the Bardeley house, his wife greased up her rectum, went on hands and knees and shoved that fine, white ass of tier's in the air, then spread those cheeks and took a mighty load of her husband's tool up the old bunghole. She had walked funny for days afterward. But Bardeley remembered fondly what a treat it had been. And the remembered delights of last time came back now and made his cock grow another quarter inch in anticipation of the feast he would have in this fine, vigorous, still fighting asshole. He knew that his wife's asshole could never compare to that of Anita Dumont. Nor could his wife's ass compare to her's, nor could anything his wife had compare to the qualities of this woman.
Getting such meat was a rare and grand treat. He tried to reflect some more. But now his stomach muscles quivered, his brain seethed, his nuts twitched. He could feel his balls preparing to give up their cream. He rammed harder still.
In that ramming, Anita could feel he would come. She hoped she would be able to cum before him or while he was cumming. She didn't want to miss out on anything.
Watching them, hotter than he had been at any point since he was fourteen and jerked off, watching an older boy, next door, fuck the queen of the high school cheerleaders in the mouth, Dunahoe prayed his cock would not burst and he would not shoot prematurely. He wanted to be ready when Bardeley finished spewing his load in Anita's asshole.
"Feel it, you bitch," Bardeley muttered. "Feel that cock." He gave her the whole thing from tip to base in one second. Then he repeated it and did it in just half a second. His cock was going so fast there was almost a friction burn between the surface of his tool and the shocked insides of her poor asshole.
His tool swelled as the sensations of needle-fire rushed up his cock and then down into his balls, causing the sperm there to liquify and flood up the length of his tool, then explode like fire from a flamethrower, coating the walls of her insides with sticky, thick white cum.
It touched her like liquid nitro with a match put to it. Her rectum and colon exploded in an even wilder frenzy of clutchings and downward ripples. She gasped, trying to lift her behind, but unable to. Her entire body seemed to collapse in surrender as he fucked her wild and filled her with his cream. Her asshole reacted by squeezing his cock like a wet washcloth in an attempt to make it limp and soft.
She shivered, she shook, she gasped, she twisted, and then she began to sob hysterically as her asshole sent tidal waves of brutal fire up along her body and then through each fiber of her frenzied, maddened flesh.
She could not move, so powerful had this thing become. She just lay there, her body now a receptacle of flesh into which he punched his now shrinking cock, which she milked with grand and powerful convulsions of her burning rectum. It felt as if napalm had exploded inside. Great heat waves passed up through her intestines and towards her heart and brain; where they struck with crushing blows that drove her into a tizzy of wild gasping and mewling. This fucking was becoming too much. She almost wanted to scream, "stop, no more. My asshole! My poor, poor asshole!" But there was no strength to scream, to say a word. She just lay there, his clay to do with whatever he pleased. And at the moment he pleased to fuck her with every ounce of energy he had left.
She felt each pounding blast. Each thrust that sent her brain dancing to even wilder and more rabid heights. The entire screen of her inner vision danced with the fire of burning red and then shimmering orange and blue. Out of the shimmering would come three, four, five, vase shaped puffs of blue and these would disappear to be replaced by slashes of yellow, which would finally dominate the entire screen before fading out to allow a newer color to take it's place.
In the middle of this firey show and the ruthless pounding of the vice president in her asshole so sore and tortured, she came. The coming was like a hammerblow through her brain and heart and cunt and ass simultaneously. It seemed almost to lift her up out of this place, where she was. For short seconds she became one with the universe. Her body danced about under Bardeley. He was barely able to hold her. Her shaking made his cock tingle and slowed the shrinking, even though she was squeezing his meat like a limp washrag and squeezing every last drop of cum from his cock.
His own cumming passed quickly. He came down from that high world, in which he had been, and as he did and the grip of passion loosened, he went slower; aware of his exhaustion and breathlessness. His cock was still hard, but softening and he found that making progress in the inferno of her asshole was quite hard in his present state. At last, he stopped altogether, wiped sweat from his brow with the wrist of his right hand and let go of her cheeks.
Standing there, he wondered a moment if he should perhaps go on, but then decided, no, he'd had more than enough. He looked down at his white, still reddish cock sticking out between her cheeks, which still wiggled around.
Anita had not yet emerged from her high and the fact that he was no longer shooting or filling her shit chute with cum made her sad and disappointed. She was half-aware of this world, while still in the other world.
At last, Bardeley began to pull himself from her. He did so slowly, watching his stained cock emerge inch by inch. Then he stopped at the head to let it stay in another ten or fifteen seconds so he could feel the delicious nippings of her anal sphincter.
Then, Bardeley pulled out and staggered over to a nearby chair, not even bothering to put his cock back in his pants. He looked at her, still bent over the desk, those big cheeks pointing up in the air, her asshole swollen wide open, as big as a silver dollar, the fleshy perimeter quivering.
"Oh, shit," she muttered, "I need dick. I still need dick."
Anita would get her wish answered sooner than expected. Dunahoe rushed over and staggering the last few steps, said, "this is for you, sweet bitch." Without hesitation, he rammed his meat into her, up to the hilt, like a madman in heat.
Her asshole closed around him as Anita gurgled in joy and Donahue began fucking her with the ruthlessness of a man who hasn't eaten in three months, being invited to Thanksgiving dinner. All the while, she danced about beneath him and massaged his plunging tool with her hot rectum.
