"Me thinks the layd doth protest too much," said Hamlet. This statement, or something like it, can be applied to anyone who complains too much about how exploited he is sexually.
Still, in certain situations, men and women are forced to engage in sexual acts in order to satisfy the lusts of someone else who has power over them.
Prime example of this is the person who feels he or she must give sexual favors in order to maintain his or her job. Even though the individual making the advances may not be particularly desirable, unless the employee complies there can be trouble.
Scott Forsmo, young handsome, virile, is the night disc jockey at an all night radio station. Not only does he have to contend with the advances of his employer's wife, he has to fend off the suggestive telephone calls he receives from lonely and horny female listeners. He never refuses a call, and is notably unsuccessful in repelling the advances. Scott goes through life blissfully accepting most of what comes his way, especially when a sexual encounter is involved.
His friend and confidant, Rona Barnes, is the receptionist at the station. A girl from a rural community, she is the captive of the station manager, who treats her as his personal property and makes sexual demands upon her which go far beyond her job description. Rona complies, afraid of losing her job.
What happens to her and her friend, Scott, as a result of their situation is the basis of this novel, a book which explores the innermost workings of minds caught in the trap of having to please an outside force at the expense of personal pleasure and individual fulfillment.
Even though the story concerns those in the radio business, its message concerns everyone.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
"This is Station KSZX, Indianapolis, broadcasting on 870 on your FM dial." Scott Forsmo repeated the station's logo, reading it from the copy taped to his console, and then turned up the volume on his theme music. It was a funky rock tune and was supposed to project the image of a swinging, free wheeling show. Scott had chosen it himself. He wished now he had not. He hated the music. It was strident, nerve wracking, and anything but what he was interested in listening to at one o'clock in the morning. He suspected the citizens of greater Indianapolis felt the same. At least it seemed so, if the response he was getting to his new show was any indication.
He faded the theme music and switched on his mike again. "Yes sir, guys and dolls, we're here to entertain you from midnight to eight in the A.M. every night of the week. It's Night Line, boys and girls. Call in and tell us what you think about whatever's on your mind tonight. What about the world? What about beautiful Indianapolis, the star of the Midwest, the Crossroads of the Nation, the Circle City." He almost threw up at having to call Indianapolis beautiful. It was anything but that. He would never have come here had he not needed the job so badly. One thing was true. Indianapolis was the Crossroads of the Nation. At least it had been once. Its two major thoroughfares, Washington and Meridian had been part of the principal North-South route and the main East-West route across the country. That had changed with the building of the freeways, and now the intersection, in the heart of downtown, was as sleepy as the rest of the Circle City.
From where he sat at his console, he could look down on that once famous intersection. It was totally devoid of traffic, and for all he could tell by looking out at one in the morning Indianapolis was a ghost town.
"On with the show, Folks!" Scott chirped, trying to sound jaunty. "The lines are open. While we're waiting for you to call in and tell us what's on your mind, let's listen to the Bee Gee's latest hit. Remember, our number is 447-4730, and we're waiting for your call."
He turned up the volume, and the sounds of the Bee Gees filled the air waves. Scott watched the buttons on the phone with a coldness in the pit of his stomach. No one would call. No one had called all week. The equipment was all set up and waiting to operate. As soon as he picked up the receiver, the recorder would come to life, faithfully noting the call and then replaying it one minute after the caller spoke. That way he could edit out any obscenity without problem. Since Indianapolis was the headquarters of the John Birch Society and the American Legion, its citizens were staunchly opposed to dirty talk. One violation would bring a flood of angry mail. The station manager, Hal Ransberg, had warned him of that his first day on the job.
Well, Scott thought to himself ruefully, maybe he should say fuck or cunt over the air. At least if people wrote in to complain he would have some evidence that somebody was out there listening to his voice. As it was, he felt as if he were operating under a bell jar, his lips moving soundlessly as he addressed a stone deaf audience.
The light on line one lit up, followed by the official buzz announcing that someone was calling. Scott grabbed at the receiver wildly, half afraid whoever it was would hang up before he could say hello. He heard the recorder whirl into action.
"Station KSZX, the voice of nighttime Indy. You're on the air."
"Yeah? I want a twelve inch with sausage and mushroom. Extra cheese and hold the onions," said a slurry voice.
"This is Radio Station KSZX," Scott answered, speaking very slowly and distinctly as the cold feeling returned to his stomach.
"Ain't this Shakey's?"
"No, it's not. You're on the air. Do you have something you want to tell our listeners about? What you think of pizza, maybe? Anything?"
The line went dead. Scott hung up the receiver and hurried to stop the recorder before the idiot wrong numbered conversation went out over the air. It would never do for his public to know he had lost his cool.
The Bee Gees wailed off into silence, and he began another record without comment. He was too discouraged to talk, so discouraged he was afraid his voice would break. How long would they keep him on, he wondered, if nobody seemed to be listening? The worst part of it was, this Night Line business had been his idea. He had proposed it enthusiastically in his final job interview, and station owners, plagued by their low ratings, had brought it. It worked everywhere else in the country. People loved to be heard on the air. Why didn't it work here? Because this was Indiana, that was why, and the tone was so conservative that everyone kept his opinion to himself, if he had an opinion at all. Scott began to suspect most people did not.
He caught the end of the record, made a few more comments, encouraging, practically begging his supposed audience to call in, and began another record, this time Strisand. Thank God, he thought, at least there was one thing he could do to make himself feel good. It did not matter that much that he did not know anybody in Indianapolis and that he found himself not much caring whether he did or not. He had his big, built in friend.
Scott leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the edge of his console. As they had so often in the past, his fingers found their way to the front of his pants. Slowly and teasingly, he caressed the large tube of flesh that was his penis. He grinned with satisfaction. It was already half hard, just because it knew he was going to use it to give himself pleasure.
Scott chuckled as he ran his fingers over his rapidly lengthening prick. He always thought of it as having a mind and a consciousness of its own. It certainly acted as though it did, turning to throbbing stone at the sight of a nicely rounded ass or a pair of long, tapering legs. There were times when it seemed to him that sex was the furthest thing from his mind, and, then, suddenly, his cock would rise up and remind him that sex was the symbol that held his little world together. Yes, his rapidly erecting penis was his best and closest buddy, no matter what. It had even agreed to move here to Indianapolis, which was more than anyone else had, even Celia. She had actually laughed in his face when he suggested it.
Scott cupped his fingers around the hardness of his shaft. He squeezed it caressingly, thrilling to the tingles of exciting sensation that traveled down his thighs and up into his belly.
Celia used to do that, squeeze his cock lightly in just this same way. She could take his mind off anything, no matter how depressing. All she had to do was cuddle up close beside him and run her fingers up his leg until she was hugging them around the meaty stalk of his big, pulsing prick. He shivered with lonely delight as he thought about it. There had been so many times, like the night they decided they should move in together.
Celia had cooked them an excellent dinner, and they were settling down on the white velvet couch to sip a last glass of wine.
"What do you say we go out to a movie?" Scott asked, picking up the evening paper to see what was playing.
"If you want to," Celia answered indifferently. "I don't know if there's anything good on."
"You don't sound like you want to go. Got a better idea?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I was thinking we could have a fire in the fireplace and just sit and talk."
Scott grinned at her. "And maybe make love?"
Celia giggled. "Maybe, but let's not rush it. Let's be romantic, the way we were when we first met. Remember?"
He wrinkled his brow in mock concentration. "Let's see if I can. It's hard. After all, it's been a long time."
"Idiot," she screamed, poking him in the ribs. "It's been three months. If you weren't so busy fucking me all the time you'd remember. I make it too easy for you."
"Hey, relax. I was kidding." He took her into his arms and pressed her close to him, catching his breath as her firm, pointed breasts pushed into his chest. Hardly thinking what he was doing, he began running his hands up and down her back, feeling the softness of her skin through the fabric of her flimsy blouse, tracing the long, deep indentation of her spine that, for some perverse reason always put him in mind of the tenderly hairless crack of her lush buttocks.
He pressed closer to her, his lips finding hers and kissing them deeply as he thrilled to the gently yielding warmth of her body, the living richness of her mouth, the animal nature of her that lurked so close to the surface, always waiting to be turned loose by just such things as he was giving her now. Celia was a true sexual being, always amazing him with the depths of her sensual passion, taking his breath away with her squirming body and her burning soul.
"Aw, shit, Baby, I don't want to go out to a movie," he mumbled into the fragrance of her long, silky hair. "I want to stay here and screw."
She pushed him away suddenly. "There! That's what I mean. You've lost any feeling of romance. How do you think a girl likes to hear something like that? Can't you be a little more subtle?"
The anger rose suddenly within him. "No, Goddamn it!" he yelled, his face going red. "I can't! I haven't got it in me, and I haven't got the time."
She opened her mouth to scream at him, but he did not give her the chance. Grabbing her roughly and grappling her body with his strong arms, he threw her onto her back on the couch and covered her mouth with him, his full, sensuous lips demanding total compliance. His fully charged erection throbbed against her body.
"No," she mumbled. "No, Scott, not this way."
It was too late. He was bound to have her, and he would take her on his terms, savagely, unremittingly. Pinning her around the neck with one big hand, Scott drew back, his trunk and legs holding down the lower portion of her body. With his free hand, he grabbed the front of her blouse. One sudden, brutal yank tore the buttons loose. They went flying in all directions, and Celia let out a sharp cry of dismay.
"Shut your fuckin' mouth," Scott ordered. "I'll buy you a new one, better than this rag."
"Please, Scott. Please don't do it this way," Celia begged. There was less conviction in her voice than before, and he knew she was becoming aroused despite her fear and loathing of his rapacious action. His constantly thrusting pelvis against her vulnerable loins was having its effect, and she writhed salaciously beneath his sweating body.
"Fuck me!" she screamed. "Fuck meeeeeeeeeee now!"
Celia watched as Scott drew his long, vein covered penis out into the light. It was huge, and she caught her breath at the sight of it, just as she always did. Her eyes burned with hot desire, and she flared her nostrils, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of male sweat and pungent dried urine. Her mouth watered for the taste of that gigantic organ of his, and she licked her lips lewdly as she stared at it.
"You want it, don't you?" Scott whispered, his voice husky with lustful passion. "You want to suck it just like a calf after it's mother's tit."
She nodded her head dumbly, her eyes never leaving the hardening organ of lust. She had to have it or she would die.
"Maybe I'll let you eat on it, and maybe I won't. Before I decide, I want you naked, completely naked. Hurry up."
"Yes, Scott, oh, yeeeeeeeeeees!" she hissed, her body trembling with lewd excitement. She pulled up her short skirt and undid her garters. Pushing her stockings down over her long, tapering legs, she felt the sheer softness of the nylons caressing her sensitive flesh and pretended to herself that they had been made specifically to tease and excite her to further arousal. She pulled her stockings off over her toes. Next she turned her back to him. "Unhook my skirt for me," she whispered.
Celia giggled, turning to him and grinning down at him. "That's exactly what it is. It keeps me for you, Babe. Every time I see some guy I think is hunky, this little elastic pantie keeps me from spreading my legs for him. Don't you like that?"
"Shit no," Scott said, shaking his head. "You ought to be gettin' as much as you can. It's a new age. You're entitled. All women are. Believe me, I get what I can where I can, and you should do the same."
Hooking her thumbs under the top of the elastic pantie girdle, Celia began to worm it down over her wide, lush hips, twisting them from side to side seductively as she did so. As she moved the garment downward, she could see Scott's erection growing more and more pronounced. It jerked with lewd excitement. As her sizzling slit came into view, he gazed at it in open adoration.
"Man, oh man!" he whispered. "That is one beautiful pussy."
"I'm naked," Celia said. "What are you going to do about it now?"
Scott felt his pulse quicken at her saucy response. It was as if Celia had suddenly decided to take control of the situation. That was what he liked about her. They could start out with what was nearly a rape on his part and before long the woman was so turned on that the lewdness of her nature took control of the scene and turned it into a fresh adventure for him. The hardening in his loins was almost unbearable. His cock ached with engorgement, and he longed for climax. It was too soon. He wanted to make it last, to feel the divine tingling of passion as long as he possibly could.
Getting up, his huge erection sticking out of his pants at an abrupt upward angle, he reached into his pants again and scooped out the hugely bloated eggs that were his balls. They flopped lewdly below his cock in their puckered hair-studded sac, and he saw Celia's eyes widen at the sight of them.
"Oh, God," she mumbled in a half whisper, "they look like they're so full, and all of it's for me."
As though he were ignoring her, Scott strode over to the table and picked up a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, taking his time, sucking in on it, letting the match burn down before he shook it to death. He looked at her as though he were seeing her naked being for the first time, appraising her the way a sultan might a slave girl. Celia looked as if she were perturbed at his action, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Slowly, with sure fingers, he loosened the top of his pants. With one quick push he sent them downward to pool at his ankles. He stepped out of them and then reached down to remove his socks, all the time looking at her with the same leering glimmer in his eyes.
Celia shivered, feeling twice as naked because of his stare. It was almost clinical, as if he could see right into her body and as if he knew how her heart was beating, how her body was excited and aroused beyond all belief. She wanted him so badly she thought she might die. His cock was so gigantic, and she knew how wonderful it felt going into her, quenching the deepest thirsts of her passion riddled, boy-loving body.
"Pleeeeeeeeease ... " she pleaded, whining to him, holding her arms out toward him imploringly.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked suddenly, the smoke of his cigarette wreathing about his body as if he were being caressed by a ghost.
"What do you think, Baby?" she whispered, her voice low.
He snubbed out his cigarette and moved toward her like a tawny jungle cat in pursuit of prey. "I've got a few ideas," he said, his voice breaking with passion.
Grabbing her by her naked shoulders, he pushed her down onto the sofa. Her legs opened wide of their own accord, and her eyes closed. "Eat me," she crooned softly. "Put your mouth to my twat and eat me out. Pilllllllleeeeeeeease!"
"No way, Honey," he snapped suddenly. Grabbing her by the hair, he jerked her head. Her eyes flew open. She stared up at him fearfully. "What? What do you mean?"
"Not until you do it to me. You eat me, Bitch, and do it good." His lips were twisted in a cruel grin, and again he jerked at her hair sadistically Celia focused her eyes on the hugeness that was his cock. It was like ripe fruit, waiting for her soft, succulent mouth to taste it. She could see a large drop of clear precum oozing from its dark slit, and she longed for the earthy taste of it. Now she could really smell the hot muskiness of his crotch, and she was excited beyond all reasonable belief.
"Oh, yes," she mumbled. "Yes, I'll eat you. I'll eat you 'til I drink your cum, every drop of it. I'll suck your big balls dry, Babe. Wait and see."
She reached out and grappled her slim arms around his hips, pulling him to her face. Then she buried her head in his fragrant crotch, digging her face in between his low hanging balls and the hard muscles of his inner thigh. She pulled the air from between his legs, sensing the spicy odor of asshole. At the same time, her hands pulled him even closer to her, melting him into her, smothering her face with his muscular body. She flicked out her small, pink tongue, wiping it over the hairy flesh of his scrotum. Scott moaned, and his ball sac moved as if it had a life all its own. He knew the cum was churning inside it, preparing for its lightning-like journey up and out and deep into her throat or her vagina or wherever she chose to have it.
She licked him again, harder and more insistently this time, soft, low moans coming from her throat, and Scott spread his legs, inviting her on to further exploration. The heady flavor of his ball sweat was driving her mad. Opening her mouth wide, she pulled one of his huge gonads into it. At the same time, she whipped her tongue tip over the hot flesh, starting tremors of total excitement coursing through his body.
Scott's long, hard prick throbbed against her smooth neck, and she decided suddenly that it was time for her to take it. Letting his big, well sucked gonad drop from her mouth, she paused to feast her greedy eyes on his cock. It pointed upward, reaching nearly to his navel.
She took it in one hand, and pulled it down toward her mouth. It's dark pink, pulsating head was only an inch from her lips, and Scott could feel the hotness of her breath on it.
"Hurry," he whispered. "Suck it. Take it all the way."
Closing her eyes, she bent forward, her mouth open wide. The head of his penis slipped between her lush, full lips, and, always, the satiny smoothness of his flesh amazed her. It was by far the smoothest thing she had ever felt. She ran her tongue over it, savoring its texture, and growing in her awareness of its ultimately satisfying flavor.
She circled her tongue tip over the flange of his corona and heard him moan as she touched thousands of excited nerve endings. She began to milk him without mercy, frantically, insistently, literally begging him to shoot his hot cum into her mouth and down her greedy throat.
She took more and more of his long, heavy stalk to her, pushing it down into her gullet and driving him insane with passion. He was fighting to keep from coming, trying to hold off, to retain control.
Celia began worming her long middle finger into the crack of his buttocks, finding his tiny, puckered anus with the tip of it. Pressing against it with her long nail, she demanded entrance. With a grunt, Scott widened his stance, quivering salaciously at this newest perversion. Slowly, she parted his muscles and slipped her finger upward and into his hot, moist rectal opening. Her fingernail scraped into his soft interior, cutting him and bringing jolts of welcome pain. He felt alive, ready to experience it all and to love every lewd second of her ministrations.
The finger wiggled about inside his tube, and he felt as though a hot poker was being shoved into him. His anal muscles clutched tightly around the invader, trying involuntarily to keep it out, but it was no use.
"Oh, yeah, Baby," he cried, throwing his head back and tossing it from side to side. "Finger fuck me up the ass. Yeeeeeeeah! Oh, God, hurts! Hurts so goooooood!"
Suddenly, the tip of her nail touched his swollen prostate, and new, intense jolts of passion ripped through his sweating body.
Jabbing at the small gland repeatedly, she made him soar to new heights. Every nerve in his manly prick screamed out, and he was coming. Without warning in one long release he vomited out gallons of fresh, hot cum into her throat, as she kept poking at his prostate again and again, draining him of every drop and leaving him sobbing in relief.
Celia let his big, half deflated organ slip from her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "There," she whispered, easing her finger out of his well stretched rectum. "Now you eat me. Okay?"
By the time the evening was over, they had made the decision to move in together. They had hardly gotten settled when Scott received the unexpected telephone call from Indianapolis.
CHAPTER TWO
Scott Forsmo shook his head, pulling out of his reverie. Looking down at himself he discovered he had climaxed just thinking about those times with Celia. Why the hell had he not been able to convince her to move to Indianapolis with him?
The telephone was ringing. Probably another wrong number, he thought, as he reached out for the receiver. There was cum on his fingers, but he did not care. It would give the morning man something to ponder when he used the phone.
"KSZK Night Line. You're on the air."
"Hi, there," said a breathy female voice. "I've been listening to you. I like your voice."
"Thanks a lot," Scott answered enthusiastically. His heart was pounding. He had a live one. Quickly, he glanced at the tape recorder. It had clicked on properly. In less than a minute, everyone would see he was a success, that his idea would work, after all. He wondered if Ransberg and the other station officials were listening this late at night. It did not matter. He would have the tape as proof, and a hundred more like it. Once the ice was broken, everyone would be calling in.
The woman went on. "I was wondering about something," she whispered.
"What is it? On Night Line we're prepared to discuss anything, anything at all."
"Does it have to be broadcast?"
"Does what have to be broadcast?" Scott asked, his heart sinking. He already knew the answer to his question.
"What I say to you, of course, Silly Boy."
"Yes, Ma'am. It'll start hitting the air waves in just a few seconds from now. You'll be a star."
"Oh," the woman said, and she hung up.
Scott was furious, so angry he could hardly think straight. Before he could reach over to stop it, the conversation began to play out over the air, just as it had taken place.
"KSZX Night Line. You're on the air," he heard himself say. His voice sounded hollow, fake, a well trained radio announcer's rounded tones. If he let himself think about it, it almost made him sick. Therefore, he did not do so very often.
He listened to the woman's voice. It was low, seductive, full of promise. "Does it have to be broadcast?" it said, and Scott's heart sank all over again. Let everybody who knew the woman hear her. Let them all know what a slut she was. Her voice was full of promise, of voluptuous longing. Despite himself, he felt his libido rise just hearing her purring tones. That ought to wake up nighttime Indiana. Maybe the call had not been a waste after all, that is if Hoosiers responded to voices like that.
As the recording ended, Scott was struck with sudden inspiration. Why not play this out? He had precious little else to work with. He flipped on the switch of his microphone.
"Come on, now, Honey!" he said. "Let's play fair, shall we? It gets awfully lonesome here all alone. The last thing a hot blooded young guy like me needs is some beautiful chick hanging up on him. Call back and let's us have a little visit. The number is 447-4730. While I'm hanging onto the receiver waiting for your call, I'll play something to get us in the mood." He flipped on a slow ballad by Joan Collins and waited.
The lines lit up, two of them at once. He grabbed the receiver. "Hi, there. This is Night Line."
"Hi," said a woman's voice. She was speaking low, trying to sound like the woman who had called before. Her voice was much younger, though, not even a good imitation of the passion promising tones of the first caller. "I'm calling you back, just like you asked me to do."
"Thanks," Scott said. "If you'll just hold on a minute, I'll be right back." He punched the hold button and then keyed the other line.
"Night Line, KSZX," he said. "You're on the air."
"Hi, there," whispered another female voice. "I'm calling back, like you wanted." It was still not the first woman, he was sure.
"Hold on a second, and I'll be with you," Scott said. He returned to the first caller.
"Now," he said, in his friendly, on the air voice, "What can I do for you?"
The caller chuckled, sounding even younger than before. "It's more what I can do for you," she said.
"Yeah? And what's that?"
"Anything you like. I'll suck you off or let you fuck my hot little cunt, or ..."
Scott stabbed the button, putting the woman on hold. He made a grab for the tape, but it was too late. "Hi," the voice repeated, and his own voice responded. He stopped the tape.
"You're doing it, Folks!" he fairly shouted, switching on his mike. "You're calling in! I've got two callers on the line, late night people with something to say. Let's listen to another of the latest hits while I finish the conversations." He cued the record and pushed the button.
Glancing at the phone, he saw that both lines were still lighted. He picked up the first one again. Without giving the girl at the other end a chance to speak, he said, "Hey, what do you mean, kidding around like that? Don't you know you can get me in trouble? What if that went out over the air?"
"I wouldn't care. I meant it. I love your voice, and I want the chance to love you, any time and any place you say." She sounded as though she meant it.
"How old are you, anyway?"
"Oh, it's all right. I'm eighteen, over eighteen."
Something told Scott the girl was lying. He did not care.
"Well," she went on, "What do you say? Do I interest you?"
"I ... well, I don't know." This was crazy. He should not be stringing her along. He should hang up. He should, he should, but he did not.
"What's the matter? You queer?"
"No! What makes you think that?" He tried to imagine what she might look like, young, fresh, a succulent, lithe little body, just wriggling with life and sexuality and ready to give it all to him.
"Oh," she said, "I just thought you might be gay because a lot of guys are nowadays. It's a drag. Want to hear about how some guys from my school got a queer the other night?" She had tipped her hand. She was a high school student. Jail bait, particularly in Indiana.
"No. Frankly, I don't, little girl. I advise you not to call again, unless you have something to say that we can put on the air."
"Okay, Queer!" the girl shouted into the phone and hung up.
Shaking with anger, Scott checked to see that the record still had time to go. Then he punched the second line. "Hi, and thanks for holding so long. You're on the air."
"I don't want this broadcast," the voice said.
With a sigh, Scott stopped the recorder. He was sick of fighting it. "Okay," he said. "We're alone."
"Good," the woman answered. Her voice definitely did not have the sensuality of the first woman, the one who had started this mess, but she did not sound like a high school kid either.
"What can I do for you?" Scott asked.
"It's more what I can do for you," she replied.
Oh, no, Scott thought. This one may not be a high school kid, but she surely talked like one. "And what's that?" he asked.
"Suppose I pick you up after work, and we talk about it?"
"Gee, I don't know. I mean ... " His heart was pounding again, and the loneliness was welling up within him so hard it almost choked him.
"Just tell me the time, and I'll be there. You're downtown, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Washington and Meridian." He glanced over. The record was nearly over.
"What time then?"
"Eight or a little after," he said hurriedly and hung up the receiver.
As he gave a commercial, his mind was racing. What had he done? Picking up on a caller's proposition like that was certainly unethical. Still, who was to know? Her call had not been recorded. He had made sure of that. God, he was lonely and horny and scared all at the same time. He had not realized it fully until now. He had made a date with a stranger over the phone. What if she turned out to be sixty and weigh three hundred pounds? What if the back seat of her car was full of muggers, just waiting tightly to rip him off? If they did, they would not get much, he thought ruefully. It had taken most everything he had in the bank to make the move here, and then he had had to take an apartment that rented for more than he wanted to pay. At least he could walk to work. That was something. The Roley Towers, a three unit high rise was just past the edge of downtown.
He would meet the woman-if she showed up. She was probably just some crank who called all the night disc jockeys, setting them up and then chickening out. If she did show up, he had no idea how he would know it. Washington and Meridian might be dead at night, but they were crawling with commerce during the daytime, and the rush started at about seven forty-five, just about the time he was making his way home to bed.
The night dragged on. No one else called in, and Scott ended his shift feeling gloomy.
"How you doing, Stud?" Barry Mann called out as he came into the control booth to relieve Scott.
"Okay, I guess. Quiet night."
"No callers, then?"
"A couple. Nothing I could put on the air." Scott gathered up his cigarettes and half empty coffee cup.
"That's a shame, Kid. Sorry to hear it. I know what you mean by nothing you can broadcast. I couldn't believe some of the calls I got when I worked nights, and I wasn't even inviting them to pick up the phone the way you do on Night Line. There are a lot of lonely women out there, a few men too. Boy, did I ever have some weird conversations." He slipped behind the console.
"You ever meet any of them? The women who called in, I mean."
"A couple." Barry was rummaging through the records.
"And?" Scott asked.
"And what?" Barry asked, glancing up at him.
"Never mind. Sorry I was nosing in where I don't belong." He put his hand on the door knob.
"Hey, just a second, Man. Look, I didn't mean to put you off. We'll have a drink real soon, and I'll tell you some stories. A couple of them will curl your hair."
"Thanks," Scott said, grinning at him.
"Oh, by the way, there's somebody waiting for you out in the reception area."
"There is? Who?"
"I don't know her name. She's a real looker, though. You're a foxy dude, Scotty Boy! Take care now. I gotta introduce my show."
Scott walked out to the reception area half afraid of what he might find. His idea of a looker and Barry's might be two different things. Station gossip had it that the daytime announcer was none too particular when it came to the opposite sex. He was more interested in ease of entry than he was in glamour or personality.
In the lobby sat a shapely blonde. She looked to be about twenty-one as she sat there reading a magazine, her long, slim legs crossed at the ankles.
"Hi," Scott said in a low voice. "You looking for me?"
She looked up at him, her green eyes shining. "I am if your the host of Night Line."
"I am. I'm flattered you know the name of the show. No one else seems to. My name's Scott Forsmo."
"I'm Monica James. Let's get out of here." She stood up, her movements reminding him of a panther. Cooly, she slipped her hand into his. "You live near here?" she asked, purring, and giving him a smile that dazzled him.
"Roley Towers."
"Hmmm, classy. Come on. My car's down in front."
"That's strictly a no parking zone, isn't it?"
"Don't worry. My husband's a cop. We never get ticketed."
"Oh," Scott said weakly, letting her propel him to the elevator.
"He works three to eleven in the morning. Besides that, he doesn't give a damn what I do as long as I stay out of trouble."
"You sound like a bitter woman," Scott said as they got into the elevator.
"Maybe I am, in a couple of ways. Mostly I get along all right, though. Do you have eggs in your refrigerator? I'll fix you breakfast."
"I don't usually eat breakfast."
"Make an exception, okay? I like my men to have plenty of stamina."
They jumped into her car, a red Camaro, and she pulled away from the curb. Scott thought how lucky he was to be off work at eight instead of at nine, when the receptionist, the other station personnel, and Hal Ransberg, the manager would be in. It would not do for them to see him leaving with a strange woman, even though what he did on his off time was his own business.
Monica pulled into the parking lot of the Roley Towers and parked the car. "Is this all right?" she asked. "I mean, they won't tow me, will they?"
Scott grinned at her. "I thought you were the lady whose husband was a cop?"
"These people hire their own security guards, and they tow anybody they feel like. If I got towed out of here, there'd be a lot of questions to answer."
"I thought he didn't care what you did. That's what you said." He held the door open for her, and they walked into the small lobby of his building.
"I also said as long as I stay out of trouble."
"And you think this is trouble?" he asked, pushing the button for the elevator.
"I hope so," she replied, giving him a broad wink and the same warm smile he had seen earlier. The doors slid back and they got onto the elevator.
As soon as the doors closed, Monica fell into his arms. He bent to her, and they kissed, deeply, their mouths open, their lips bruising each other in their ardor. Her body pressed against his, and he could feel the hard, yielding flesh of her breasts pushing into his chest. His hands moved slowly down her back, feeling her body, and coming to rest at last on the lushly rounded cheeks of her buttocks.
"I love the way you touch me," she murmured. "It's as if you're taking possession, demanding me, wanting me completely."
Before Scott could reply, the doors slid open, and they stepped into the hail outside his small apartment. He fitted the key into the lock and open the door, then stepped back and let Monica enter.
"Nice place," she said. "Nice view."
"Not as nice as higher up, but this floor was all I could afford. It goes up as you do, the rent, I mean."
"Oh, yeah, I suppose so. Can I use the bathroom? You got me so hot and bothered in the elevator that I have to use it or I'll die."
"It's that door to the left. Sorry the place isn't cleaner."
"Don't worry about it. Maybe I'll pick up a little for you if there's time." She disappeared into the bathroom.
"It's lonely being the only one with no clothes on," Monica said, her vocal quality that of a seductive lioness. "Won't you join me, Scott?"
He tore open his belt and fumbled for his zipper. Once he pulled it down, he pushed his pants to the floor and kicked them aside. Monica stared at him now, just as he had done to her.
"Christ," she mumbled, "You're a real man. I love all that hair. I can't wait to run my fingers over your furry chest."
"Is that all?" Scott asked, smirking at her and letting his cock jerk wildly to show how excited he was.
Monica giggled, her eyes riveted to his huge male organ. "No. That's just the beginning. What I really want is that." She pointed a long, slim finger at his burgeoning erection.
"Is it as big as your husband's?" Scott asked, reaching down to cup his giant balls, lifting them to draw attention to their size and heavy weight.
Monica threw back her head and laughed. "Are you kidding? The turd's got next to nothing. Sometimes I think that's why he became a cop. As long as he's in uniform, he can act like a big man, and nobody has to know he's hung like a ten year old."
"Not only that, it gives him a chance to pack a gun, even if it is made of steel."
Monica grinned at him, showing her dazzling white teeth. "That's a good line. I'll remember it." Her hands moved down to cup her breasts. She lifted them as though she were offering them to him.
"Shall we go into the bedroom?" Scott asked, his voice husky with passion.
She shook her head. "I said I'd fix your breakfast, remember?"
"Later. Right now I'm too hungry for something else."
"No!" Monica answered resolutely. "I promised, and I always keep my promises." She marched toward the small, alley kitchen.
"Have a heart, Monica. I'm so horny for you I'm about to come just looking at that spectacular body of yours."
She turned and smiled at him coquettishly. "Then the longer you wait, the better it'll be. I won't take long. I promise." She began rummaging in the refrigerator, and Scott stood watching the soft curve of her buttocks, trying to decide what to do. Here he was, stripped for action, and so was she. Now she was suddenly playing hard to get. He contemplated jumping her from behind and raping her dog fashion if necessary.
She straightened up and turned to face him. "First," she said, sounding like a home economics teacher, "You need some fruit." In her hand she held a ripe banana.
"I don't care much for bananas," Scott said, wrinkling his nose.
"I bet you'll like this one, especially when you see howl plan to serve it." She peeled the banana, her fingers moving quickly and efficiently. When she had skinned it, she leaned back against the door of the refrigerator, spread her long legs wide, and, to Scott's amazement, pushed it gently between the moist lips of her swollen pussy.
"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.
She giggled childishly. "Serving you the banana, like I said." She stood before him in the tiny kitchen, arching her pelvis forward, the banana protruding lewdly from her groin as though it were a man's ball-less cock.
The salaciousness of it all was overwhelming, and Scott found himself actually shocked with the perversity of the scene. Still, he knew at the same time that he was incredibly aroused, more aroused than he could ever remember being. This beautiful, desirable creature was abusing her own body in the lewdest possible manner, and she was doing it for him.
Mindlessly, he fell to his knees before her, his eyes on her writhing hips and the tubular, delicious looking banana.
"Go on," Monica whispered, her voice so low he could hardly understand her, "Take it. Just take the end of it in your mouth and suck it a little, the way you would if it were ... she trailed off.
"Oh, yesssss!" she hissed, grimacing down at him. "Suck it, Baby. Make it feel real nice. Ouuuuuuuu, yeah!"
Scott ate, mouthing the banana, taking it into him and chewing it up, swallowing greedily as though he were eating the most expensively prepared steak in the world. His nostrils were filled with the musky smell of female crotch, and he knew he would never eat or even see a banana again without knowing that wonderful scent.
Monica threw her head back and rested it on the door of the refrigerator, soft mewling cries escaping her half open lips. It was easy to imagine that it was a real cock and that it really was being destroyed inch by inch, mutilating her superb boy's body for life. She loved it, and the extreme lewdness of the symbolism made it overwhelming exciting to her.
Grunting like a starving dog, he pulled the last of the banana out with his teeth. He could taste her cunt juice on its surface, and he chewed it up, savoring the flavor of woman and banana combined.
"Now," Monica announced, "You can have what I promised. Take it. Take as much as you want." With her long fingers, she pulled open the hair studded lips of her cunt. Scott saw that they were reddened and swollen with fresh blood, pumped into them by her excited, totally aroused body. Taking a deep breath and opening his mouth wide to create immense suction, he shot his head forward, closing his lips over the moist, leaking halves of her hotly alive pussy.
CHAPTER THREE
"Fuck me! Fuck Meeeeeeee!" Monica James shouted, her voice blurring with passion. Bracing her feet and lower back against the mattress; she shoved her pelvis into Scott Forsmo's groin, grinding her hips and forcing his burgeoning cock as far up into her vagina as it would go.
They had been at it for hours now, and Scott was beginning to feel as though she were burning out. Still, the woman's complete, rabid sexual hunger inspired him to new, ball-blowing efforts. Monica was insatiable. It seemed to Scott that no matter how violently he rammed his rigid penis into her soft, wet vagina she did not get enough of "Harder. Fuck me harder! Screw me to deeee eeath!" She orgasmed again. Scott had lost track of how many times it had been. His prick was suddenly bathed in a fresh supply of Monica's syrupy, thick woman's juice. He wondered if it still smelled of banana. "Oh, Scotty,-Scotty, you do it so good. What, a man you are! Better than all the others."
"Better than your husband, the cop?" he asked, gasping for breath as he speeded up the action of his hips, his slim buttocks dimpling and flexing as he shoved his penis into her again.
"A hundred times, a thousand times. You're even harder than his nightstick." She broke off into soft, urgent mewling cries, her hot, perspiring body undulating beneath him on the narrow bed.
"You've tried his nightstick?" Scott asked jokingly.
"Yes, oh, yes. He used it on me once when he couldn't get hard. It was wonnnnnderful, but not as wonderful as you are. I can feel your heartbeat throbbing inside me. You're so huge and strong and thick. I love it! Love it. I want it in me forever."
"Oh, yesssss," she hissed, tossing her blonde head from side to side. "Hurt me., Make my titties ache with your big, hard hands. Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"
Suddenly the tingling sensations in his nuts intensified again, and his belly swirled with warmness. He was going to come. He did not believe it was possible to come this much or this often. He was killing himself, turning himself into a drained, sexual cripple, but he loved every second of it. It was all worth whatever price it cost him. Monica twisted about, writhing like a wild animal, as she felt his cock swell larger than before. He was coming together again, uniting all his forces for her to spew a fresh, hot load of his steamy semen far up into her needing body. "Give it to me," she shouted, "give me all of it. I want your manjuice, Nooooooow!"
Scott climaxed. With a wild cry of startled pleasure, he came, twisting on top of her as he poured a gallon of white hot sperm rammingly up into her vaginal opening. It came in waves from his testicles, up his swelling urethra, out through the deep slit in his glans, and into her body. He choked and gulped for breath, explosions of violet light going off behind his eyes. He might have been suspended in midair, unable to tell up from down, spinning in a sexual void. He might be dying, completely cut off from living reality, but he did not care. If this death, he had gone to heaven. He lay across the woman's body, gasping and trying to force his being to return to something near normal.
Slowly and carefully he drew his deflating phallus from her body, groaning with exhaustion as he fell beside her.
"What time is it?" Monica asked after a long moment.
"About ten-thirty," he answered, looking at the clock radio.
"Jesus Christ, I gotta get home," Monica cried, jumping up. "He'll be home from his shift in less than an hour." She hurried to the bathroom.
"I'll get you some fresh towels," Scott called after her, resentfully rousing himself to sit groggily at the edge of the mattress.
"No time for a shower. I'll just comb my hair."
"But what about ... ?"
"How I smell? Never mind that. He won't come close enough to notice." She began pulling on her clothing.
Scott came to stand in the bathroom doorway, watching her dress. "Can I call you?"
She shook her head resolutely. "It's best if I call you. He works different shifts. I can always reach you at the station, can't I?"
"At night, yes."
"You don't mind if I call, do you? At the station, I mean?"
"Christ, no. I wish you would. I wish a lot of people would."
The telephone rang, waking Scott out of a deep, exhausted sleep. As soon as Monica left his apartment, he fell back in bed, this time to get some rest. Goddamn, he thought, let it ring. He covered his head with a pillow and tried to blot out the jangling sound. It continued.
Finally he had no choice but to get up and answer it. He padded to the kitchen and picked up the receiver of the wall phone. "Hello?" he said, mumbling.
"Oh, dear. I didn't wake you up, did I?" asked a female voice.
"Yeah. It's okay," he answered, rubbing his head, trying to make the ache go away.
"This is Rona Barnes, the receptionist at KSZX."
"Oh, yeah?" He wanted to add, so what? but decided he had better not. It never paid to get on the wrong side of a secretary.
"We've never met, because I work days and you don't."
"I know that," Scott said, trying to maintain his patience. "Is that what you called to tell me?"
"No, not really. I called to say Mr. Ransberg wants to see you."
"The manager? What for?" Scott asked, afraid he already knew.
"I'm sorry. I don't know that. I'm only the receptionist, after all. He wants to see you right away."
"Why doesn't he come in to see me on my shift?"
"Mr. Ransberg is not on duty from midnight to eight in the morning," the receptionist answered flatly.
"And I'm not on duty from nine, or ten, or whenever he does get there to whenever it is he cuts out for his afternoon golf game."
There, was a silence at the other end of the line. Finally the receptionist said, "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault. I'll get dressed and be right down."
Scott walked into the outer office. Behind the desk sat a very young redhead, her hair arranged casually around a girlish, good looking face.
"Hi," Scott said. "You the receptionist who called me?"
"Yes. I'm Rona Barnes. You must be Mr. Forsmo." She smiled warmly.
"It's Scott, Rona. I don't remember seeing you when I came in the first day, or when I came for my interview."
"I'm new, just started this week."
"Nice to see somebody's newer than I am around this place. Is the boss ready for me?"
"Just have a seat, Scott, and I'll buzz his office." She gestured toward the couch, her eyes flickering up and down the length of his body.
Scott wondered briefly whether her look meant what he thought it did, but he was so tired out from his marathon session with Monica that he did not want to think about if. Besides, she was young, hardly more than eighteen. Even though the girl was intriguing, he was not sure he wanted to take a chance with a kid. It was too bad, though, that they worked at different times from one another. If anything were to pappen under normal circumstances, it never would the way things were now.
"Mr. Ransberg will see you now," Rona said as she put down the telephone. "You know how to get to his office, don't you?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Rona. It's a pleasure meeting you."
Scott was again aware of the girl's dark eyes traveling up and down the length of his muscular body. He wended his way back through the studios to Ransberg's large, corner office.
"Come in, My Boy, come in!" Hal Ransherg said, jumping up from behind his long, walnut veneer desk. "Take a seat."
Scott sat down uneasily opposite the desk, uncomfortable in the straight backed chair. The manager was too jovial. As he had suspected, this was not going to be a pleasant meeting.
"How is your show going, Son?" Ransberg asked, settling back in his high backed chair. He crossed his pudgy hands across his bulging belly and smiled at Scott paternally.
"Okay, I guess," Scott mumbled.
"Okay? Is that all? Okay?" Ransberg rumbled, the smile still on his puffy lips. "We're expecting big things from you, Son. That's why I sought you out. That's why I saw to it you were hired. Yes, Sir, we expect big things." He said big things as though he were describing a whale. His tone made Scott more uncomfortable than ever.
"Yes, Mr. Ransberg," he replied, trying not to squirm.
"Yes, Sir. When Myra and I were driving along through your part of the country, Myra's the little Missus, you know, we were listening to the radio in the car. Little station from some hick town, and then your voice came over the speaker."
Scott nodded. He had heard the story twice before, once in his first interview and again right after he %vas hired. He smiled docilely, wishing once more he had stayed right where he was. It was not as much money, not nearly as much, but he had no hassles, and he had Celia.
"Celia," he had said as soon as he walked into the apartment, "Sit down, okay? We need to talk."
The girl came out of the kitchen, wiping he hands on a towel. She kissed him, and his hands automatically began roaming over her back. She pushed her body against his, her pelvis pressing on his already aroused penis. He took a deep breath and held her at arm's length.
"What is it, Scotty?" she asked.
"Come on and sit down." He led her to the white velvet couch. When the two of them were settled, he said, "I got a call today, from Indianapolis."
"Who do you know there?"
"Nobody, at least I didn't think I did. Actually, I still don't, or that is, I do now, but I didn't before the call came today."
Celia giggled at his confused explanation. "So, who called?"
"A guy named Hal Ransherg. He's manager of a radio station, FM."
"So?" Celia's hand was on his knee, the fingertips of it massaging him slightly. Soon, he knew, she would begin to move upward along his inner thigh, until she could cup his rapidly erecting cock.
"So he was driving through here, and he happened to hear me on the car radio."
"Interesting. What else?" Her hand stopped moving. It was as if she suspected what was coming next.
"He asked me to come to Indianapolis for an interview."
"Interview for what?"
He put his hand on hers. "For a job. They need a new voice for their night programming."
"A job? In Indianapolis? You've got to be kidding."
"You act like you can't believe anybody'd offer me a job."
"No, it's not that, not at all. You know that. It's just that ... well, Indianapolis is such an awful place."
"For one thing, I came through there with my folks a couple of times on the way to Florida. It's ugly, and the land all around it is flat. If you built a hill, you could charge people a dollar to climb it and get rich. Besides that, the people there are real rednecks, conservatives."
"Don't you think you're generalizing a little?" Scott was growing angry, and he was not sure why. He had no commitment to Indianapolis. Yet he suddenly felt called upon to defend the place.
"Maybe I am generalizing. All I know is I read it's the headquarters of the John Birch Society, the Klu Klux Klan, and the American Legion. I don't know how much more conservative you can get than that."
"And so, My Boy, Myra agreed with me," Hal Ransberg went on. "It's not everybody KSZX offers to interview. This is your big break. Don't screw it up. I went out on a limb to hire an unknown."
"Yes, Sir," Scott answered mechanically. "It's just that ... "
"Just that what?" Ransberg countered, the smile fading.
"I don't know how to make people call in if they don't feel like it."
Ransberg coughed. "That calling in idea's kind of a loser, anyway, don't you think?"
"You seemed to like it fine in the interview," Scott said, flaring. "So did everybody else. Besides that, it works everywhere else in the country but Indianapolis."
Ransberg shrugged his beefy shoulders. "It's your baby. It's up to you to make it work."
Scott jumped to his feet and headed for the door. "Gee, thanks!" he snapped. "Thanks for your support. I really appreciate it." He slammed the door behind him.
"Through with your meeting already?" Rona Barnes chirped as he passed her desk.
"You damn right!" Scott growled.
"Oh, dear, it sounds like things didn't go well. Mr. Ransberg can be aggravating all right. I know how it is. Anything I can do to help?"
"You can call me on the program tonight if you're up that late. I don't know why you should be, though. Nobody else is." He pushed open the double doors and strode down the hall toward the elevators. Jabbing the button, he waited a few seconds until the doors slid back and strode into the car. As it descended he thought again what he had been thinking in Ransberg's Office, that he should have stayed in that little town with Celia.
"What do you say, Celia?" he asked that night, already afraid he knew her answer.
"I can't, Scott. I just can't go." She looked as if she were about to cry.
"But, Celia, Honey, what about you and me?"
"I can't help that," she whispered brokenly, shrugging her shoulders. "Don't you see, Scott? My plant store is just starting to make money. If I leave it now, I'll lose all the hard work I've put in. It's mine, Scott, my own business. If I had some kind of secretarial job I could leave here and pick up something there with no problem. I'd go then, even if it is Indianapolis."
"Buy a plant store there," Scott said.
Celia stared at him, the tears streaming down her face. "A plant store? In Indianapolis? I don't know why, but that's one of the craziest things I've ever heard in my life." She began to laugh, urgently, raucously, the tears still coming. She sniffled, and laughed, and grew weak, and fell into his arms, her despair wracking her entire body and turning her into an hysterical, sobbing child.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Here we are again, KSZX Night Line, where you let the world know how you feel." Scott began his program again, trying to sound excited and enthusiastic, despite the loneliness and despite the fact that he was still receiving very few calls.
He gave the telephone number and put on a record. The telephone rang.
"Good evening, Night Line, you're on the air!" he said.
"Do I have to be?" asked a breathy female voice.
Scott reached over and turned off the tape. "Aw. for Pete sake, Monica, come off it."
There was a pause. "This isn't Monica, whoever she is," said the voice quietly.
"It's not? I could have sworn ..."
"Well, you're wrong. I'm not one of your cheap whores. I'm a professional woman."
"I could make a reply to that, but I won't. What's on your mind?" He reached over and clicked on the tape recorder again.
"I'd like to meet you somewhere, you know, when you get off work. Eight in the morning, is it?"
"Yeah, I get off at eight." He started to turn off the recorder again and then noticed the record was ending. This took priority. "Just a second," he said quickly, dropped the receiver, and made a dive for the turntables. He cued the next record and started the machine. Fading down the previous record and fading up the next, he made the transition smoothly. God, he thought to himself, he was a professional. He picked up the phone again.
"That was very professional," said the voice. "Now, about what we were discussing, why don't you meet me at Sam's Subway at Sixteenth and Meridian when you get off work? We can have breakfast or something."
"Tell you what. If I did that, I'd have to leave here, walk home, get my car, and drive up to Sixteenth. If you're so interested in meeting me, why don't you come down here to the station at eight?"
"No!" the voice said quickly. "I can't do that." She hung up.
Cursing under his breath, Scott got ready for the next commercial. He had no sooner delivered it when the telephone rang again. This time the caller was Monica.
"Hi. Did you miss me today?"
"Right, Baby, every minute of the time. Funny thing. I kept smelling bananas."
Monica giggled prettily. "I can imagine."
"Let's just say this. You cook a mean breakfast, Woman."
"How are chances of a return engagement? My husband's still on the same shift."
"Sure. Pick me up at eight?" Again, his eye was on the record that was playing at the moment. He was going to have to cut this conversation short. Besides that, the recorder was humming away, getting down every word he and Monica were exchanging. While none of it was openly salacious, the conversation was filled with enough double meanings so he did not want to be in a position to have to explain it, especially to someone like Ransberg.
"Okay," Monica said. "I'll pick you up then. I'll be waiting down in front of the building. So long, Baby."
At eight-ten, Scott jumped into Monica's sporty car. She smiled across at him, dazzling him once again with her very white teeth. "How did it go?" she asked.
"Not so bad. You know something? A couple people actually called in, I mean with conversations I could play on the air."
She laughed. "Hey, you're a success." She reached over and squeezed his thigh playfully.
"Not nearly. It'll take a lot more calls than that to get the situation to the place where it ought to be. There have to be enough calls to cause controversy, you know, to get people talking about the show."
"Maybe you should tape our conversation in the bedroom. That would get you some listeners."
He threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Shit, yes. It'd get me so many I'd be ridden out of town on a rail."
"You sure got the rail for it. I'll say that." She slipped her hand up his leg and cupped it over his boldly bulging crotch. "Ouuuuuuu, yes, you're so nice and warm there, Baby."
"Warm is right. I'm hot for you, Honey. Ever since you called, I been boiling over. I damn near came in my pants couple of times just thinking about all the things we're going to do." He spread his legs wider, letting her caress his genitals as she steered the car through the morning traffic.
"Even though that's a compliment, I'm glad you didn't come in your pants. You'd have wasted a couple loads that could have gone to me."
"Don't worry, Monica. There's plenty more." Scott lolled his head against the seat back, sliding down in the seat to relax while Monica continued to massage his burgeoning cock. "Christ, I'm so horny, I feel like I could keep on squirting forever and never run out of fuck Juice."
She took her hand away. "I better quit, then, or you'll come before we ever get to your place."
He straightened up in the seat, his own fingers replacing hers at his crotch. "Don't worry. We're nearly there. If I can just manage to walk into the building without breaking something, I'll be fine. Good thing I didn't wear Levi's to work."
Monica wheeled into the Roley Towers parking lot, turned off the engine, and the two of them jumped out of the car. It was obvious that both Scott and Monica were in a hurry to get up to the apartment.
"What would you like to do today?" Monica asked coquettishly, as the elevator doors closed behind them.
"I want to fuck you till you're blue," Scott answered, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to him.
As they kissed, their mouths open wide, Monica started running her hand down the back of his pants, pulling out his shirt tail as she went. She jammed her fingers down to tickle the small thatch of: hair at the base of his spine. Scott let out an aroused grunt and pushed his rigid erection against her body.
"Oh, Baby," Monica mumbled, "you really are ready."
"You fuckin' bet I'm ready!" he said, fitting his lips over hers again and reaching with his tongue far into her wet, hotly alive mouth.
The doors slid back, and there stood a little old woman with a basket of laundry. Scott tried to break the clinch, but with Monica's hand shoved down into his pants, he could not get far. After considerable fumbling, he managed to stab the "close door" button, and the doors whirred closed again. The last thing he and Monica saw was the old woman, still standing there, her mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief.
"It's a good thing I didn't do what I was thinking about," Monica said, giggling.
"What was that?"
"Opening your zipper and pulling your cock out so I could play with it."
"Christ, the old girl would have had a heart attack right on the spot. Then we'd have had to cart her off to the emergency room, and we'd have missed out on fucking."
They were finally in the apartment. "Come on," Monica said as she pulled her thin sweater off over her head. "Let's get naked, both of us."
Stooping to remove her shoes, she let her melon shaped breasts swing freely. Scott paused to watch her.
"God," he said, "I'd like to just stand here and watch you strip. Shit, your tits are beautiful, so creamy and smooth, and those big, brown nipples just make my mouth water."
"Suit yourself," Monica answered. "I'll strip for you, but you have to promise to do the same thing for me. Sit down on the couch, and I'll give you a show."
Taking his hand, she led him to the sofa, her body wriggling sensuously as she walked. When he was settled, she stood before him, her arms extended above her head. She was naked to the waist, and she was in her stocking feet. Slowly and sexily, she began to undulate her lush hips, rotating them and making him think of how it would feel to have his cock planted deep inside them. She would milk the cum right out of him without his even having to exert himself.
Her hands moved. Her entire body moved in silent, sexual dancing. She manipulated her slim frame salaciously. Lowering her creamy arms, she hugged herself tightly, then played her hands over her body, touching herself as she continued to dance slowly before him.
Her palms came up beneath her breasts, and she held them out to him enticingly. Scott's prick throbbed with such excitement that again he thought he might climax before he even got his pants off. "Jesus," he whispered huskily, "you're great! Take off the rest of your things. Hurry."
Teasingly, smiling at him seductively, Monica moved her hands down over her rib cage, touching her smooth, satin flesh and worshiping it lovingly as she did so. Her fingers found the snaps at the waist of her skirt, and she undid them, never taking her eyes off Scott or his brutishly swollen crotch.
With deliberate slowness, she lowered the zipper and then sent her skirt cascading down her long, slim legs. She stepped out of it, wearing only her filmy pantyhose over tiny red bikini panties. Scott could see that there was already a small wet blotch at her crotch.
Monica was aroused, just as he was. His mouth watered as he imagined himself sucking the moisture out of those panties, savoring the fresh, tangy flavor on his tongue.
Monica's fingers curled under the elastic top of the pantyhose, and she began to push them down, never stopping her softly undulating dance as she did so. She rolled the top down and then pushed the transparent hose down her tapering legs to her trim ankles. Pushing with determination, she peeled the garment off over her feet and left it on the living room floor. Now only her red panties stood between Scott and her nudity.
As she made a move to rid herself of them, Scott reeled to his feet. "Not yet," he said. "Let me have them first." Quickly, he fell to his knees before the woman. With strong arms he pulled her to him, nestling his face in the soft warmth of her crotch. Inhaling deeply, he took in the wildly exciting sensation of her womanly odor, his fevered mind staggering at her heady scent.
"Oh, Babe, Babe," he murmured, his choking voice muffled by her steaming flesh. Holding her close, he burrowed his nose into the moist fabric of her bikini.
Trembling with excitement, Monica planted her hands firmly on Scott's broad shoulders. She arched her back, pushing her pelvis forward, offering herself to him completely. Quickly, she widened her stance, opening her body to him. She closed her eyes, feeling his face against her. "God, oh, God!" she moaned through clenched teeth. "I'm horny, sore with hominess. Make me feel good, Babe. Make me!"
Scott pulled back slightly to look at her open crotch, the wet panties snuggling against her cunt. It was the most exciting thing he had ever seen, so exciting that all he could do was moan like an animal in high heat.
His moans grew even louder as he held her gently by the hips and began to lick and kiss his way along her inner thighs, his head moving down and in between her milky skinned legs. His tongue moved closer and closer to the warm, moist fabric of her bikini.
"Oooooooh! Yeeeeeeeees!" she hissed as he began to suck her juices through the body warmed panties.
Scott could hardly believe how wonderful the liquids from her pussy were. As he sucked, his mouth was flooded with their earthy sweetness, and she kept pushing against him, massaging his face with her moist, hotly alive crotch, her satiny thighs burning against him, rubbing him, turning him into a madman.
"Oh, Christ, how good you taste!" he groaned, raising his face to her and licking his trembling lips. His cheeks were shining with her wetness.
Quickly, he remolded his open mouth to her fabric covered crotch, and she cried aloud as he poured his warm saliva onto her warm panties, making them wetter than they had been before. Then he was sucking again, making wet, slurping noises, loud, insistent, demanding all she had to give. He spilled more and more of his hot spittle into her, and then drank it up again. All the time, Monica was pushing her sopping pussy into his face and moaning wildly, as though she had taken leave of her mind.
Scott left off sucking her only when his jaws ached so intensely he could stand it no longer. Slowly, his hands playing over her body, he got to his feet. He kissed her hungrily, and she could taste the flavor of her own cunt on his lips. "Oh, Baby, Baby," she moaned, "Suck my tits now. Bite my nipples. Pleeeeeeease."
"Yes, oh, yes, I'll suck them, Honey. I'll suck like a baby." He took her twin breasts into his hands and lifted them, gazing at them lovingly, hungrily. Their hard, pinkish nipples stood erect on the white cones, and his mouth was watering again, just as it had done when he sucked her throbbing cunt. He rubbed her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, and soon she was groaning again, tossing her head about passionately, her blonde hair wreathing it like a halo.
"God, I never saw tits so beautiful," he murmured. "They're perfect, absolutely perfect."
"Suck them! Suck them for me, pleeeeeeeeeease," she pleaded, her voice breaking with raw passion. She quivered from head to toe, pressing her wet groin against the front of his pants, feeling the hardness of his erection and desiring it more than she had ever wanted anything before in her life.
Scott ignored her cries and went on fondling her large breasts, staring at them constantly with hungry eyes. Then, after what seemed forever, he opened his lips wide and lowered his lace gently to her breasts. Teasingly, he licked at one nipple with just the very tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth wider, and then filled it with the softness of her flesh. He sucked greedily, his hand fondling her other breast, keeping it instantly ready for his lips.
He sucked and lashed the nipple until the sounds of Monica's groaning reached climatic proportions. Then he took the nipple from his mouth and stared at it again, just as lovingly as before.
"Shall I take your bikini off now?" Scott whispered, looking up into her passion clouded eyes.
"Yes, yeeeeeeeeeeees, anything." Then a new glimmer shown in her eyes, and a sensuous smile curled her lips. "No! Wait! You promised that if I stripped for you, you'd do the same for me. I almost forgot."
"Aw, Christ, Monica, I'm so horny I'm leaking cum right now. Some other time, Okay?"
She shook her head insistently. "No, now, now. I want you to strip for me now. That's what women's lib is all about." Resolutely, she plopped herself down on the sofa. "Why don't you put a record on?" she asked, grinning at him as she teased him.
"All right, by God, I will. If I'm gonna strip for you, I'll make it a real show."
One after another, Scott kicked off his shoes, his lewd movements never stopping as he did so. He dropped them to the floor and danced on. Starting with the top button of his shirt, he began opening the front of it, revealing more and more of his hairy, muscular chest.
Monica caught her breath, just as she had done the first time she had seen all that dark fur. She was too overwhelmed to shout any more, and the swinging show had only begun.
Scott peeled back the halves of his shirt so that she could see the brown circles of his small nipples crowning the blocky muscles of his pectorals, and then shook his shoulders to let the flimsy fabric drop down his long arms. He worked it off over his thick wrists, and his shirt hung like a short skirt. Slowly, rotating his hips in time to the music, he pulled the tails of his silky shirt up and dropped it to the floor.
Immediately, his fingers went to his beltline, He looked at Monica, his eyes hooded seductively. A strange thrill of excitement went through him. He was changing roles with her again, just as he had done when he ate the banana out of her dripping pussy. There was something so excitingly perverted e about his experiences with this blonde e woman, each one a new and undreamed of adventure.
"Yeeeeeeees!" Monica hissed, her voice low S and dreamlike. "Open your pants. Take them off. Let me see what you've got in there!" Her fingers moved lewdly up her inner thighs, and she started to massage her sopping wet slit through the fabric of her already soaked r bikini panties.
Scott's fingers flew over the fastening on his belt, and then he opened his zipper, moving the slide down its track slowly, enticingly, stopping frequently to go on with his salacious dance, teasing the woman, causing her fingers to press more insistently on the filmy fabric of her crotch.
He opened a wide vee in the front of his pants, revealing first his dense thatch of dark hair and then the thick root of his huge, completely erect cock. With one, quick thrust, he pushed his slacks down his muscle corded legs and kicked them aside. His erection snapped up to slap against his flat lower belly and then stood out, quivering with readiness. A large drop of clear precum glistened at his slit, and Monica licked her lips excitedly, her gaze focused on it. Through flaring nostrils, she took in the overpowering scent of his manly crotch, and the saliva dripped from the corner of her half open mouth. She had to have it. She had to eat his cock, just as he had suckled at her flamingly hot crotch a few moments before. Monica twisted about lewdly on the couch, totally overcome with burning lust.
Scott stopped dancing. He looked at her, a salacious grin twisting his full, sensuous lips. "We each have one thing left to take off," he whispered. Monica could scarcely hear his voice over the blaring of the music. She nodded wordlessly, her gaze still riveted to his throbbing, jerking erection.
"I'll take off my socks, and you slip down your panties," Scott ordered.
Quickly, before Scott could move toward her, she fell to her knees before him, her mouth open wide. It was wonderfully clear what she wanted. Scott took a step forward, his huge, thick penis jutting out before him. Monica grabbed him around the hips like a mad woman and capped his shining, wet glans with her hot, sensuous lips.
Instinctively, Monica wound her fingers around his scrotum, easing his gonads downward, back into their pouch, forcing him to hold off his coming for a few more perfect, lust filled seconds.
Grabbing the back of her blonde head, Scott forced her to him, pushing the fullness of his erection deep into her throat. Monica fought, trying to pull away, but it was no use. His big hands held her like a vise. She could not breathe, and still more of his thick, demanding staff pushed into her tender gullet. The woman fought for breath, trying to keep from passing out or choking.
Suddenly, Scott was coming. With a deep animalistic moan, he vomited gallons of his hot semen into her sucking throat. Monica thought she might drown as the warm, acrid syrup coated the inside of her mouth and her tightly gripping gullet. A tail of whiteness flowed from the cornet of her mouth. She could not hold the fullness of his load. She squeezed the root of his cock between her lips and swallowed, taking as much of his hot whiteness into her belly as she could.
Drained, Scott fell back onto the couch. Grinning at him, still on her knees, Monica wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "Wow," she whispered, "When you come, you sure come, don't you?"
He chuckled weakly. "God, I feel like I'm shot for life. My balls are so empty they ache."
"I'm a pretty good cocksucker, huh?" Monica asked proudly.
"You sure as shit are, Baby. The best."
She moved forward and snuggled her face against his knees. "Want to fuck me now?" she whispered.
"Hey, Honey, have a heart, okay? I feel like I never could fuck again."
Monica smiled up at him. "Oh, come on, Scotty Boy, you and I both know better than that." Slowly, she ran her fingertips up along the smoothness of his inner thigh, barely touching the skin.
Scott shook his head. "I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "You really fucked me out just using your mouth."
Monica giggled. "There's somebody here who's making a fibber out of you." She pointed to his groin.
Scott looked down at himself. His spent cock was already beginning to stir with renewed life. They had only begun.
CHAPTER FIVE
A few more people began calling in. Of course, the response was not as great as what Scott was hoping for, but it was building, nevertheless. Some of the callers' opinions hardly seemed worth expressing, and subsequent callers had a way of pointing this out with embarrassing bluntness. That was fine as far as Scott was concerned. Every call had the potential for controversy, for getting people to talk to one another about what they had heard on late night radio. Every call could help build his audience. The response was not overwhelming, but it was enough to get Hal Ransberg off his back, at least for the moment.
"KSZX Night Line," Scott called out into the microphone. "That last gentleman wants us out of the United Nations. What do you have to say to that. Call me at 447-4730 and tell me about it. Now here's a new one from the Village People."
The record came to an end, and Scott delivered a one minute commercial. Then he introduced the next song, made his usual pitch about how his listeners should call in, and played the new record by Wings. Now he had time to get himself another cup of coffee. As soon as he was up, he realized that he had better take the opportunity to pay a quick visit to the lavatory. Hurrying down the hail, he cursed the fact that radio stations always seemed to put the men's room as far as possible from the control booth. It was a good thing the record he had picked was a long one.
He gave another commercial and answered a telephone call, this one from an elderly man declared solemnly that fluoridation of the water supply was a plot designed to sap the sex drive of red blooded American male. His own sexual urges, he claimed, had diminished remarkably. Scott wanted to reply that his own had not. If anything, they had increased of late, especially since he had met Monica James. He said nothing, of course. Leave that to the next caller.
When he finally got the caller to hang up, he cued the next record, announced it, and leaned back to enjoy his coffee, his handily available; half hard penis still peeping fetchingly from the gap in the front of his slacks. Playfully, he brought his hot coffee cup down next to his stirring phallus. The heat felt good against his sensitive flesh, almost burning, but not quite. He could feel the sexy warmth way down in his big, low hanging balls. Spreading his legs a bit wider, he reached into his pants and pulled his scrotum out into the air. God! he thought as he looked down at himself, what a beautiful package that was.
Slowly and teasingly, he moved his cup up and down the long length of his prick shaft, feeling his male organ begin to swell and expand with the sensation. It felt so good. He could almost imagine he had a hot mouth on him, a mouth like Monica's or Celia's or some of the sex hungry women who called in.
Before very long, his penis had expanded to its full hardness and was standing straight up from his body like a stiff candle. He ran his fist over its length, shaking it and jerking at it, moving the thin skin of its surface back and forth over the sexually aroused stiffness beneath.
Scott's hand moved faster and faster as thrilling sensations of raw sensuality ran through his fevered body. Setting his mug of coffee down on the console, he brought his other hand down to cup his gigantic, sperm filled testicles. He roiled them about on his moist, smooth palm, pulling them down to the bottom of their big sac and squeezing at them gently, teasing himself just the way Monica had done when she was sucking him off.
A dear, fragrant drop of pre-seminal fluid had already formed in his deep, dark piss slit. He caught it on his finger and smeared it over the hotness of his throbbing cockhead, making it shine lewdly. He jerked himself faster then before, making his shaft hurt with his squeezing urgency. He was gasping for breath now, and he imagined he could feel the cum beginning to churn in his gonads.
Putting his feet on the floor, he spread his long legs wide. Taking his coffee cup in one hand, he held it to his crotch and plunged his achingly hard cock into the black liquid. The heat of it shot harsh bolts of pain and excitement through every inch of his tingling groin.
Scott forced himself to hold the mug in position for as long as he could stand it. Then he slowly pulled his prick out of the hot liquid. The rapidly cooling coffee on the surface of his skin was a lubricant for his demanding fist, and he began jerking himself again.
Throwing his legs wide apart, he knew it would not be long until his climax. Fire was licking at his crotch, making the semen boil up inside his sac. He paused for a second, trying to hold off, not wanting to come yet, seeking those few extra moments of exquisite pleasure..
Once again, he plunged the length of his meaty stalk into his hot coffee. By this time the liquid was cool enough to give him only a, pleasantly warm sensation. He held his cock in the cup for a long time, looking down greedily at the place where his pulsating root disappeared into the blackness of the coffee.
Scott pulled his cock out of the coffee and beat at it again. Drops of blackness spattered on the front of his pants. It was a good thing he had worn dark slacks. He was almost ready to come. In four or five strokes of his fist, he would be spurting white, starchy cum all over the place. He aimed the head of his throbbing prick so that his semen would shoot into his coffee mug. Just as the first jet cleared his pulsating slit, the telephone rang.
"Yes," he said breathily, watching as streamers of steaming sperm shot into the coffee.
"Is this Night Line?" It was the husky female voice he sometimes mistook for Monica's.
"Yeah, yeah," Scott answered, trying to sound normal. "KSZX at your service. What can I do for you?" He tried to imagine what the woman looked like, imagined his hot semen plummeting into her cunt, her mouth, her squirming body.
"My, my, you sound hot and bothered tonight," she purred. "Is it me that's making you feel horny like that?"
"What if it is?" Scott asked breathlessly, squeezing the last dribbles of white cum from the tip of his penis. They fell with a plop into the blackness of his coffee.
"Nothing, I guess," the woman answered candidly. "I'd like to think I had that effect on you. Why don't you meet me for breakfast, you know, at Sixteenth and Meridian."
Scott sighed. "We've been all through that, you and I. Don't you remember?"
"I know you don't drive to work, if that's what you mean."
"And you won't come down here and pick me up. So that leaves us both back at first base."
"Well, I suppose it does at that. Too bad."
"Look, the record's about to end. I have to talk on the air. Hold on, okay?" He turned to flip on his mike switch and then saw that the record had already finished, how long ago he could not be sure. Then, with a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach, he realized that the delay tape was running. He had neglected to turn it off when the mystery woman called in. It had simply kept running, and, this time, he was afraid, it had gone out over the air.
Scott began flipping switches and turning dials madly, desperately trying to turn the output off before the incriminating portion of the taped conversation hit the air waves. In the panic, he turned his cup of cum filled coffee over onto the console. There were loud snapping sounds, billows of steamy smoke, and brutal flashes of light. Suddenly everything went dead, everything but the telephone. It began to ring, and he picked it up, not being able to think what else to do.
"KSZX, Night Line. Good evening."
"How dare you put such dirty stuff on the air?" shrilled a female voice. "You ought to be ashamed. You should be arrested. I've a good mind to call the police."
"Do whatever you want to, Lady," Scott cut in. "I've got problems of my own." He stabbed the button, disconnecting her and tying in to the first line.
"Are you still there?" he asked the woman who had started all this with her veiled proposition.
"What?" barked a male voice. "What the hell are you talking about, Forsmo? I just had a call from the engineer out at the tower. He says you're off the air. What the hell is going on?"
"Just a little accident, Mr. Ransberg," Scott answered weakly.
"Accident? Can you fix it?"
"I don't know. I'll try if I can ever get off the telephone. Excuse me, I have to go now." He disconnected his boss. Good-bye job, he thought. At least Ransberg had not mentioned the lewd call's going out over the air. He probably did not know that part of the story yet. Chances are, he soon will, Scott thought to himself ruefully. Christ, Celia, why didn't I just stay home with you where I belonged.
The telephone was still ringing, but Scott ignored it. Manfully, he fought to get himself under control. Quickly, he flipped switches and made new connections, knowing now what he was doing and acting accordingly. In minutes, he had transferred the operation to the auxiliary console, and the station was back on the air.
"KSZX-FM, the voice of night time Indy," he intoned, using his best, radio trained voice, "We had a little problem here at the station, Folks. Hope you don't mind. We're back with you now, and Night Line is ready to take your calls."
With dread, he picked up the telephone. "Hey," said a man's voice, "What you said to that chick was real cool a few minutes ago. No wonder you blew out the transmitter. Do you get a lot of calls from broads like her?"
"A few," Scott replied.
"Gee, I'd wish you'd put 'em all on the air. It's a real inspiration to us lonely guys out here. Some operator you are, Man! I gotta hand it to you. I'm never going to miss a night with you from here on out."
"Thanks," Scott said, and he hung up.
The next call was another harangue about his lack of morals and about how he ought to he under arrest. Scott listened, not commenting and just letting the old man on the other end of the line go on and on. He sounded like the one who had called in to complain about fluoridation.
"Thanks for your opinion," Scott snapped and cut him off. He looked wearily at the tape monitor. It was whirring away merrily and the call from the man who had complimented him was already feeding out over the air. What he ought to do was stop it, right in the middle of the conversation. Instead, Scott did nothing. What, was the difference: No doubt this was his last broadcast, maybe his last broadcast anywhere if Ransberg decided to put the word out blackballing him in the industry. He might as well give Indianapolis what it obviously wanted, sensationalism.
He kept taking telephone, calls and letting them feed out over the airwaves, complete with all the obscene words, and the vilifications of his moral character, and the praise of his macho attitude towards women, and all the rest of it. The calls came in so fast and furiously that he had little time to do more than switch from line to line almost as though he were an answering machine. Before long the callers were disputing one another, irate citizens calling in to refute what a previous listener had claimed on the air. Scott was hardly part of it any more. He moved in a dream, and the calling did not let up until his shift was over.
"Hey, Man," Barry Mann shouted, sticking his head into the control booth, "Your time's up. Cut it off now. Quit hogging the spotlight."
Scott shook his head dazedly. Where had the time gone? He urged the last caller into finishing her sentence, gave his sign off, and switched on his theme song. He was so exhausted he could hardly get up from his chair. Still, he felt wonderful, better than he had since he came to Indianapolis. If this were his last time on radio, he had given them something to remember him by.
"Christ, Scott, did you do a job! Everybody in town's talking about it."
Barry Mann was fairly jumping up and down with excitement as he clapped Scott on the back, knocking the wind out of him.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Barry? Where'd you hear everybody in town talking anyway?"
"At the Huddle, Man, that greasy spoon up on Thirty-eighth Street. Of course, everybody in town wasn't there, but the freaks who do gather for breakfast every day are a pretty good sample of public opinion. They loved your show."
"Sure, sure. Maybe I'll dedicate tonight's show to them, if I'm still around to do it."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm betting Ransberg will fire me for being too controversial. Some of the language was pretty blunt."
Barry nodded his head thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right, even though most everybody I know talks a lot worse than that nowadays."
"Not on the radio they don't. You know how it is. We might offend some little old lady out in Greenfield. Besides that, the call that started it all and my reply to the woman on the other end isn't going to help me in the least, not with Ransberg."
"I suppose you're right," Barry said, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, I'm telling you it was a great show. Good luck with Ransberg." Barry turned to the microphone and flipped the switch ready to start his morning show.
Scott stood for a moment, watching the announcer's back. Maybe the show had not been so outrageous after all, and maybe enough people did like it to balance the complaints. No, that could not be true, not in this town, He would go home, fall in bed, and wait for Ransberg to call and fire him.
Rona Barnes, the redheaded receptionist was already sitting at her desk when Scott reached the lobby of the station.
"What are you doing here an hour early?" Scott asked.
Rona looked up, the sunlight glinting on her flame colored hair. She smiled broadly. "I came in because of you, actually. I caught the last hour or so of your program."
"Oh," Scott said quietly, plopping down in the chair next to her desk. "And you thought I'd need moral support, is that it?"
Rona nodded her head and looked at him seriously. "I know I really don't know you very well, Scott, but ..."
"But what?"
"But I just felt like you might need somebody to be here when you got off work, to field any calls that happened to come in."
"Oh, I see. And have there been lots of them? Calls, I mean."
"Only six or seven, since I've been here."
Scott shook his head despairingly. "Christ, I've only been off the air the length of time it takes to dial the phone. Any of them favoring me?"
"One, but it was from a guy who claims he's emperor of Terre Haute. He calls all the time. I'm sorry, Scott, I ... " She was cut off by the telephone.
"Good morning, KSZX," she chirped into the mouthpiece. "Yes, Night Line is our show. Yes, we know what its format is. I'm sorry you didn't approve. I ... Please don't shout. I ..."
Scott left the station. When he got downstairs, Monica's car was waiting out front.
"Hi," the shapely blonde shouted. "You look like you could use a drink."
Scott got in op the passenger side and sat slumped silently in the seat.
"Hey, come on, Honey. It can't be that bad." She gunned the engine and pulled out into the traffic. "You had so many calls I couldn't even get in to ask if I could pick you up when you got off work."
"Yeah, but did you hear them? My ass is grass."
"Sorry, I couldn't listen. The smuck was home last night. He insisted on fucking me. What a joke. It took all of ten minutes and then he came on my belly before he could even get it into me. Didn't the show go well?"
Scott sighed. "It's too long a story. I do need a drink. Just leave it at that."
"It so happens I have just the thing. Take a look in the back."
Scott peered into the back seat of the Camero. There he saw a large bottle of vodka peeping from a brown paper bag. "Oh, Monica, Baby, you're a life saver!" He reached back and grabbed the bottle. Twisting the cap off, he took a deep drink directly from it.
"Hey, you asshole! Put that down. We're right in the middle of the frigging traffic. Don't you know there are all kinds of laws against drinking in car?"
"Fuck the laws. It's not every day a guy loses his job."
"That bad, huh?" Monica said as they pulled into the parking lot of Roley Towers.
"Yeah, Monica. That bad."
The blonde reached over and patted him on the knee. "Don't worry. Mommy will fix it. As soon as we get upstairs, I'll make you forget all about whatever happened, and you won't need to get bombed on vodka to do it either. Come on."
CHAPTER SIX
Monica James was determined to make good her promise. The minute the apartment door closed behind them, she was all over him.
"Hey, Honey!" Scott cried, pushing her away playfully. "Give me a minute. I need another drink." Hurrying to the kitchen, he got down two glasses and poured each of them some vodka. He threw in a couple of ice cubes and then rummaged through the refrigerator.
"Got any orange juice?" Monica asked, coming up behind him and running her hands over his muscular back.
"No. Will tomato juice do?" Scott replied.
"Sure, only hurry up. I'm so horny I can hardly wait to get you naked." She accepted the drink from him and took a long swallow.
"Hey, slow down, Girl. I gotta relax. I'm still pretty upset."
"I told you I'd make you forget all about that," Monica answered. "Sit down on the couch and put your feet up."
Scott did as he was told, wondering what would come next. Perhaps Monica was planning another of her mutual strip teases. Standing before him, teetering on her high heels, the woman pulled the top of her dress down to her waist, revealing her low cut brassiere.
"Hey, how come you've got 'em trussed up today?" Scott asked as he finished off his drink.
"Just thought you'd like a little variety. Here, take the rest of my drink. I've hardly touched it." She handed him the bloody mary and stepped out of her dress, leaving it in a heap on the bare floor. Now she wore only the skimpy brassiere, tiny panties, pantyhose, and her high heeled sandals. She paraded before him, her large breasts mounding above the cups of the brassiere and bouncing about as though they were trying to jump out of their own accord.
Scott's eyes were fastened to the crotch of her panties, where her blonde thatch made the garment bulge enticingly. He looked the woman over as though he were seeing her for the first time. There were many things about her to take his mind away from the fear of losing his job at the station.
Monica watched the throbbing bulge in the front of Scott's tight pants as she bent slightly to unhook her brassiere. He let out a gasp as her creamy breasts fell into view. Dramatically, she dropped the small halter to the floor. She cupped her sumptuous breasts in her palms, offering them to him as she always did. He licked his lips excitedly, and she saw the bulge in his slacks give a jerk. She smiled. As she had predicted, she was making Scott forget about whatever was bothering him.
"Look," she whispered. "My babies are just begging for you. Want to kiss them?"
Scott nodded his head dumbly, unable to speak. His eyes were wide as he watched the woman, as though he were seeing her for the first time.
Hooking her fingers under the waistband of her pantyhose, she began pushing them down over her lush, flaring thighs. At the same time, she kicked off her shoes. She could not bear to tease him any longer. Something told her he needed her too badly for that. Besides that, the sight of the hard cock jutting down the leg of his pants was making her horny.
Monica pushed her pantyhose down the length of her long, tapering legs and pulled them off over her feet. Now she was naked except for her tiny bikini. As happened so often, it was already moist at the crotch, the results of her growing physical arousal. Scott licked his lips salaciously as he stared at the dark patch of wetness. He longed to suck its tangy sweetness into his mouth as he had done before, but this time, Monica had other plans for him. She felt especially desirable today, and there was one special perversion she had not tried with him. That would occupy his mind and body if nothing else could, She swung her lush hips for him, giving him a performance, doing a lewd, sexually centered hula.
"Oh, Baby, Baby, you are something else," Scott mumbled, his eyes glazed with passion.
Slowly, Monica turned and allowed him to admire her beautiful, rounded buttocks, barely hidden at all by her skimpy bikini. She could hear by his labored breathing how hungry the sight of her was making him, and that knowledge made the churning sensation in her drooling pussy increase in intensity. She moved gracefully, turning toward him again and undulating her hips enticingly. Smiling at him she winked and turned away again, ready to put her plan into action. Bending over, she slipped her tiny panties off over the fullness of her marble white butt cheeks. She displayed her flawless ass to him, wriggling it enticingly, showing its clean and hairless cleft.
Staring at her, Scott felt his cock jerking as though it were going to explode in the confines of his pants. He was beginning to realize what Monica had in mind for today without her even having to tell him in words. He caught a glimpse of her lovely, tightly clenched anal rosebud, and that was all he needed.
Scott jumped to his feet, unzipping his fly. He fished into the front of his slacks and pulled out his hard, steel like cock. He had to handle it gingerly to keep from climaxing all over the floor he was so aroused by Monica's salaciously exciting movements. He stood there, trembling with raw passion, his eyes glued to the long, smooth crack of her buttocks. Scott had only taken a woman up the anus a few times in his life, but he remembered well how tightly exciting and sensually fulfilling it could be.
"Take your clothes off," Monica whispered, looking over her creamy white shoulder at him. "I want to see your hairy body naked, so we can play without anything getting in our way."
Scott tore at his clothes as though he were trying to destroy them, and as she watched him, Monica sat down on the edge of the couch, her legs wide apart, her pussy tingling with anticipation. Maybe she would have him fuck her both front and back, reaming her out entirely. She knew he could do it. If he had anything, Scott had staying power. That was why she came back to him time after time.
As he pushed his pants down over his trim buttocks, Scott whispered huskily, "Why don't you bend over the couch?"
"Whatever you like, Darling. But don't you want me to suck your cock a little first, get it all wet and slippery so that it'll slip in without hurting my asshole?"
Scott nodded assent, too overcome with sexual arousal to speak. He moved to her in his nakedness, and the woman reached out with demanding hands and gripped his throbbing penis. She held it gently, massaging it lightly, feeling his velvety knob and stiff, rock like shaft. Then, with her free hand, she reached in behind to caress his big balls.
Scott let out a low, quiet grunt of satisfaction. He knew one thing for certain, and that was that Monica knew what it took to satisfy a man. She was the most expert of all the women he had yet known, and he intended to use her in every possible lewd way.
Monica bounced his gonads in her palm. They felt big and full of cum, and she thought of how much male juice he could shoot up into her bowels. The idea of all that slippery cream inside her anal passage, coating it and turning it white with its warmth excited her even more, and she felt the tingling, pinprick sensation in her crotch increase in intensity. Suddenly, her eyes on his cock, she bent forward, her mouth open wide. As always, she had to fight to make his big, pulpy knob fit into her hot mouth and, for a moment, she was afraid she would not be able to do it. Scott was so excited, his penis seemed even more enormously swollen than usual. Then her lips slid over the pulsating tissues of his head and gripped his hard shaft.
"Oh. Baby, Baby, suck me good." Scott moaned, his mouth gaping open as he gasped for breath.
Slowly and tantalizingly, Monica withdrew her hot mouth from his huge, throbbing cock shaft. The length of it glistened with her slippery spittle. "There," she said, smiling up at him. "It's ready now."
"You gonna let me take you up the ass?" Scott whispered, his voice hot with raw lust.
Monica nodded her head, her eyes smoking with passion. Slowly, she got up from the couch and bent over it, bracing her arms on the back and leaning over the cushions, her lovely, full breasts swaying and her lush buttocks presenting themselves to him for total violation.
"Aw, Christ, I haven't done this for so long, I can hardly remember the last time," Scott said, half to himself.
"Don't think about the last time, think about now, only now and how wonderful you're gonna make us both feel," Monica ordered huskily, swaying her buttocks rhythmically back and forth before his eyes.
With a gasp of passion, Scott gripped her hips in his strong hands. He snuggled up against her, the throbbing knob of his cock nudging against her tight anal opening. He moved slowly, rotating his own hips and hers, letting the dripping head of his prick rub salaciously up and down the crack of her ass, teasing her and teasing himself with the waiting. Reaching back impatiently, Monica grasped the shaft of his cock and guided it back to her taut rosebud.
"Fuck me," she hissed through tightly clenched teeth. "Fuck me hard up the ass. NOW!" She held his cockhead against her demandingly and wriggled her buttocks against it, inviting him into her rectum.
Scott paused, his throbbing corona firmly inside her anal gateway. "You okay?" he whispered into her ear. "I don't want to hurt you."
Monica nodded her head, the perspiration breaking out on her smooth forehead. "Yes," she replied, her voice breathless, "It's all right. Sometimes it just takes me a minute to get used to it."
Scott threw his head bask and cried out loud in triumph. His prick was buried all the way to the hilt in the tightness of Monica's milking asshole. He could feel her ring of muscle clamping as tightly as a cock ring around the root of his pulsating cock, and he wanted to stay inside her forever. It was so warm and encircling that he felt as if his whole life were centered lewdly in his burning, tingling groin. As he moved against her ass, his wiry pubic hair scrubbed against her tender skin, making her wince.
"You're in me, aren't you?" Monica whispered, her fevered voice filled with awe.
"Your damn right I'm in you, Babe. I got it stuck clear up into your hot guts, and I love it. It feels good."
"It feels good to me too," she said, gripping him more firmly than she had before. She giggled. "I love it as much as you do, even more. It feels so real in there, like it belongs."
"You got it, Babe," Scott grunted. The beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and he trembled all over with total excitement. "Brace yourself, Monica. Here it comes. I'm gonna ride your beautiful tail until I blast a gallon of cum into you." Slowly and enticingly, he drew his huge erection out. Looking down between them, he could see her rectum pulling out along with it, pouting as he left her, trying to hold onto him as though she could not bear to give him up. The shaft of his prick was shiny and wet with the juices of her ass. When only its head was still buried, he paused for a second, letting her feel the throb of it. Then he pulled her body back to meet him as he pushed the whole length of his burgeoning cock back up her receptive, grasping ass.
He stroked in and out of her slowly, kindling her perspiration covered body to new heat. "Oh, Man, Man, Man!" Scott groaned. "This is wonderful, just wooooooonderful." Every time he pushed in, her anal sleeve seemed tighter and more constricting than before. He reached around in front of her and squeezed her soft, spongy breasts in both hands. He twisted the nipples with his fingers, making them stand out even more erect than before.
Monica moaned. The pain of his pinching her coursed through her quivering, mindless body, and -sent her to new depths of raw passion.
Scott began stepping up his pace until his gigantic cock was ramming and pulling out like a living piston. Monica pushed back against him, pushing her buttocks lewdly into his flaming hot groin.
"Harder!" she shouted. "Fuck me harder up the ass." Grunting passionately, Monica, spinning, spinning off into climax, tossed her head from side to side, her eyes turning up in their sockets. She was in a world apart now, a place of total satisfaction, a place her lout of a husband could never take her. Her climax did not slow her down. She was ready to go on forever, coming and coming and coming again while Scott screwed her tender, throbbing nether hole.
"Get ready to thank me for my hot, runny juice, Baby!" Scott cried, panting as he kept ramming his cock into her, his lower belly spanking against her white buttocks, filling the room with salacious slapping sounds.
Suddenly, Scott's taut body was jerking with orgasm. He tightened his grip on her hips, slamming his cock into her ass while at the same time, pulling her back against him, forcing his fountaining cock further into her rectum than it had gone before. Hot, richly thick cream shot way up into her bowels, flooding her squirming body, filling her completely with the warmth of his ejaculation. His big prick shot and throbbed and expanded to new thickness until he did not believe it possible.
Scott let out a low groan. He felt as if his balls were emptied for life. The grip of his hands on her hips began to relax, and he felt weak and ready to pull away.
Monica was not about to have that. She was only starting. As she sensed that Scott's erection was beginning to lessen, she gripped it with her educated ass muscles, fleshy hips and buttocks flexing and rotating around him, trying to stimulate him to renewed hardness, trying over and over again to coax him back to his huge, erect size.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Scott moaned. "Your asshole, it feels like it's sucking my cock. Oh, Christ, stop. Please stop." In self defense, he pulled his spent penis away from her, and Monica let out a tiny moan of disappointment.
"Oh, Monica, Baby, you are something else, How many times did you come, anyway?" Scott asked, looking up at the open legged woman from where he was sitting exhausted on the floor.
"Three or four times, I guess. I lost count. Will you fuck me? In front this time. My cunt feels all lonely because you spent so much time in the back. Look, it's juicing over." She splayed her legs even more widely and opened the moist pink lips of her quivering pussy to show him.
Scott shook his head wearily. "A little later, maybe. Right now, I gotta rest my prick. I feel like it's broken."
"Then eat me out. Will you do that for me? I need you, Scotty. My pussy needs you."
Scott smiled up at her, his eyes mirroring his exhaustion. "Sure, Honey, I'd love to eat you out." He got to his knees, moving into position, his eyes riveted to her lush, dripping slash, its blonde pubic bush gleaming with female wetness. As he bent his head the telephone rang.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Scott sat fidgeting in the outer office of KSZX. Hal Ransberg had demanded that he come down to the station at once, dragging him away from his superb session with Monica James, and now he was letting him cool his heels. It was a typical administrative technique to punish an employee who had done something displeasing, and Scott knew it.
Not only did he know it. He resented it deeply.
Rona Barnes glanced up from her typewriter and smiled at him. "Nervous?" she asked, her voice soft and musical.
Scott nodded. "A little. Does he always keep people waiting like this?"
"Sometimes. It all depends."
"On how much he wants them to sweat?" Scott asked cynically.
"Mr. Ransberg can be very cruel when he decides he wants to be," Rona said, her dark eyes showing him she was sincere. Suddenly, she said impulsively, "I'll be here when you finish seeing him. I mean ... well ... I don't know you that well, Scott, but I know how you feel. He's not easy to work for."
"Gee, that's nice of you, to be concerned about me, I mean."
"I'll do anything I can. I like you," the girl blurted.
"Hey, terrific. Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
"Well, I don't know. It's pretty short notice," the redhead answered, fumbling for an excuse. Then her face lit up in a broad grin. "Of course I'll have dinner with you. We'll decide what time when you come out of your meeting."
"Yeah," Scott said, chuckling, "if it goes badly enough, I may have all night."
"Oh, Scott, you shock me!" Rona giggled, and Scott could tell she was ready to share more with him than dinner.
The intercom buzzed, and Rona motioned him back to the manager's office. Scott's heart sank. Even the prospect of spending time with the beautiful young receptionist did little to cheer him. He was about to face his employer, and he had every reason in the world to believe Ransberg would fire him for what he had allowed to be broadcast last night.
He tapped at the door. "Come in," rumbled the voice from inside.
"I suppose you know why I called you in here," Ransberg growled, shifting his soaked cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.
Scott fought the urge to say, no, he had no inkling, and nodded his head "yes."
"What do you think I ought to do to you for what you let happen on the air last night?" There was silence. It was another technique designed to put him on the defensive, Scott realized. Ransberg was trying to trick him into designing his own punishment, the bastard.
"That, Sir, I suppose, is up to you. You're the station manager."
"Hmmmmmmph!" Ransberg grunted, waving his comment aside, as though he did not want to hear it. "The board president called me just now. You have one more chance. Unless you play it straight and upfront, you will be out. No more dirty talk on the air, and no more conversations about sex. You understand?"
Scott nodded his head slowly. Whoever the president of the station's board of directors was, he was a powerful man. Ransberg was obviously hating every word he had to say, and that he could do nothing about it. Suddenly, Scott felt an unreasoning surge of power. "I didn't talk dirty or say more than a little bit about sex. The callers did."
"You control that little tape monitor, and we both know it. Ride it from now on."
"Censor the calls, that's what you mean, isn't it?"
Again, Ransberg waved his comment aside impatiently. "Call it whatever you want, just do it."
"Can I quote you on that, on the air, I mean?"
Rising suddenly to his feet, Hal Ransberg struck the desk top with his heavy fist. The ashtray lifted a full inch above the surface and clattered back into place. "Don't you dare say anything!" Ransberg screamed, the veins in his neck standing out. His face was so red now it was nearly purple. "Get out of my office. Just do your damn job around here and don't make trouble."
Scott got up, only too glad to leave. He paused as he reached the door, fully aware that he had won the round. "There is one thing, Mr. Ransberg," he said quietly.
"What's that?" Ransberg snapped, wiping his florid brow with a white handkerchief.
"Last night, for the first time, we had some evidence that people are listening to me." He left the office, closing the door behind him.
* * *
"How did it go?" Rona asked eagerly as Scott rounded the corner into the reception area.
He shrugged his shoulders and winked at her casually. "I still have my job," he said.
"Wonderful!" Rona cried, clapping her hands.
"Now, what about dinner."
"Why don't you pick me up when I finish work at five?"
"Good. See you then."
As they finished their steaks, Scott said, "How about an after dinner drink?"
"Do you dare drink before you go on the air?"
He chuckled. "Sure. It makes no difference. From now on, after last night, everybody'll think I'm drunk half the time anyhow."
"In that case, how'd you like to have a drink at my place?" Rona said, her dark eyes focused on him, and her full, red lips forming a smile.
"Love it," Scott answered, his heart rising. Today was a fairly good day after all, all things considered.
Rona's apartment was less than a mile from the restaurant. They made small talk as she fitted the key into the lock and ushered him into the tiny. He looked around. All of the red haired girl's life was available for his glance. There was a small, blue covered love seat, an easy chair, a cheap walnut coffee table, and a braided rug thrown over the grayish wall to wall carpet.
"What are you smiling about?" Rona asked as she brought him a snifter full of brandy.
"Nothing. I'm just happy."
They clicked glasses. "Here's to your keeping your job," Rona said. "I still don't know how you did it, though. Mr. Ransberg was so mad when he came into the office this morning I thought he was going to have a heart attack."
"I'm glad you didn't tell me that before I went in to see him," Scott said, chuckling.
The girl shrugged. "There was no point. I tried to calm him down before you got there, but it was no use."
"Oh? Are you good at that. Calming him down, I mean."
Her cheeks went suddenly crimson, and she looked down into the swirling liquid in her glass. Scott realized all at once that he had teased about the wrong thing.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything by that."
She shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. You would have heard about it from somebody or other at the station before long, anyway. Mr. Ransberg and I have been the subject of a lot of gossip."
"Is there anything to it?" Scott asked boldly.
"Yes," the girl answered, leveling him with her dark eyes. "There is."
"Oh," Scott said quietly, wishing he had not asked.
"To begin with, it was as much my doing as it was his. I'm a farm girl, from a little town over west of here, and I'd never been anywhere before I moved here to take this job at the station. Ransberg was nice to me, paid attention to me and besides that, he was the boss. He started coming over here to visit me in the evenings. I was so lonesome for home, and, well, one thing led to another."
"I see, and it's still going on?"
She nodded unhappily. "To some degree. I've tried to break it off, but it's no use. If his wife ever found out, I don't know what she'd do to me."
"Why don't you just tell the old bastard you're not having any more of him?"
"I tried that. He threatened to see to it that I never got another job anywhere in town."
"Could he really do that?"
"Who knows? He surely has plenty of connections. He knows everyone in Indianapolis from the mayor on down. He even goes deer hunting with the governor."
Scott let out a sigh. "Well, at least it's nice to know you're not a virgin."
Rona threw back her head and laughed. "Did you really imagine I was?"
Scott shrugged his shoulders. "You never know. Indianapolis is an odd place."
"I'm not from here, remember? Where I grew up we matured early. Farms are like that."
"Oh," Scott answered. He liked the way the conversation was going, but he was not quite sure how he could prod it along. As it turned out, he did not have to. Rona was in a talkative mood.
"We were a big family," she went on, "And we weren't very inhibited."
"Lots of brothers and sisters?" Scott finished off his brandy and Rona poured him another.
"Oh, yes. I had two older brothers and older sister, just about a year older than I was."
"Don't tell me you did it with your brothers, like they do in the ozarks."
Rona blushed. "Yes," she said quietly, "I did."
Scott looked at her, shocked. He could tell she was not lying.
"Does that shock you too much?" Rona asked. "It happens all the time in the country. We were no different from anybody else out around Rockville."
"No, I guess it doesn't bother me. Why should it? You didn't get pregnant or anything."
She smiled. "Not from lack of trying. We were so dumb we didn't even know that was how babies were made. All we knew was that it felt good, and we liked feeling good."
"The first time you had sex, it was with one of your brothers then?"
"No, actually. The first time I had sex with another person, it was with my sister."
"It happened one afternoon when she and I were home all alone. I was about twelve or thirteen, I guess. My dad was out on the lower field, plowing, and my brothers were helping him. Mother was gone, shopping, or to her Ladies Aid Society, or somewhere like that. It was hot. Indiana can really be scorching in the summer.
"Marie, my sister, and I were wearing cut off blue jeans, the way we did in the summer, and hers were real tight. She'd cut them very high on the leg, just to get my brothers all excited, she said, but they excited me too. The material drew up between her legs and show off her little crack almost as though it were bare.
"Anyway," she went on, "On this particular day we were alone. I was sitting in the living room, watching some silly old movie on television when Marie came into the room. Her blouse was open, tied at the waist, and I could see half of her sweet little breasts. She came over and sat down by me on the couch, so close she was nearly touching me. I felt a sudden sexual seizure, and I realized all at once that I liked having her that close to me.
"'Those shorts are getting too small for you, Sis,' Marie said."
"'But these are my favorite pair, just like those are your favorite ones,' I answered."
"'But they're sticking way up into your cunt, Sis,' Marie continued, gazing down at the spot between my legs. I felt a tingle beginning to rise there, just because of how she was talking to me.
"'So do yours, Marie!' I countered. How did she dare say something like that to me when her shorts practically showed everything she had.
"'I know,' Marie said, giggling. 'That's why I like them so much. Every time I move around I feel so good. I get all excited. That's why I wear them all the time.'
"'I thought you wore them to turn on our brothers.'
"Marie leaped at me, taking me by surprise. 'You take that back,' she yelled. 'Take that back, you cunty little bitch!' Using both her hands, she pressed my shoulders against the back of the couch. One of her knees was between my legs, and I could feel the bareness of her skin against my naked inner thighs. That felt good. She looked down into my eyes, scowling at me angrily. I couldn't figure out what I'd said that made her so very angry. We both did things to try to gain our brothers' attention. It was kind of a game with us, and Marie and I both kidded about it. Now, for some reason, she was taking me seriously. More than that, though, her bare knee was pressing right up against the small fabric ridge of the crotch of my cutoffs, and I could not keep my mind on the argument. It felt so good, so very good, that my body was tingling right from my toes up into my chest. I couldn't even keep my mind on the fact that we were supposed to be fighting.
"Marie's blouse had fallen open completely now, and her small, beautifully rounded breasts were completely exposed. At their tips rose her smallest things, her little, pinkish nipples. They stood up erect. We had laughed about that so often, how Marie's nipples stood up when she pinched them and made them excited. She had not been pinching them now, though, and they were still standing at attention. As I looked, I thought to myself that those little rosebuds of hers were the most gorgeous things I had ever seen in my life. I began to realize that my sister was turned on, seething with sensual excitement, and as I realized that, I got excited too. All of a sudden, I was acting instinctively.
"My hands went up to caress Marie's bobbing breasts, my fingers curling around her hard little nipples, tweaking them and making them even more erect than before. Marie let out a little cry, half of surprise and half of pleasure. Her eyes were wide as she stared down at me, and as I confined myself to squeezing her nubs, I saw her gaze grow in passion.
"She lowered herself to me, pressing her warm, girlish body against mine on the couch, and I was gasping for breath. Moving slowly, as though we were in a dream, Marie let her moist, trembling lips cover mine, and we kissed for a long time, out bodies pressing against one another insistently.
"We were both perspiring, our bodies shivering with raw arousal, and I knew now that there was no turning back. I had never felt such hunger. My hands kept working over her small breasts, and Marie whimpered and squirmed, her moans becoming louder and quicker.
"'Don't,' Marie cried, 'Please don't do this!' Her mouth crawled over mine, exciting me all the more. We were grinding our lips against one another hungrily, whimpering and sobbing like a pair of animals, and our tongues slid against each other, first in her mouth and then in mine. Marie's saliva tasted so sweet to me. It always did.
"My fingers were fumbling, trying to undo the snaps at the side of Marie's cutoffs. After a moment, I succeeded acid began pushing them down over the smoothness of her pert little rump. Marie was sobbing sensually, and her kisses were getting wetter and hotter and more demanding. She moved continually, squirming against my bare legs, driving me mad with sexual pleasure.
"I was doing a lot of shifting and wriggling about myself, mostly because I was squirming out of my own cut-offs. My body was seething with wonderfully sensual feelings, and I kept sliding my tongue over her sizzling slit, lapping up her sweet nectar. My hands caressed her inner thighs, and as I petted them, more and more of her girlish juices dripped from her seething cunt.
"The two of us wound up on the floor, our mouths glued together, our bodies too full of sexual excitement to hold still even for a second. We were necking as passionately as we dreamed of doing with boys, and both of us were loving every sweet minute of it.
"Suddenly, Marie rolled onto her back, her legs spread wide apart. I looked at her, and her youthful cunt looked like an angry, dripping wound. Instead of repelling me, it drove me to new heights of excitement, and I fell upon her, licking and nibbling and whinning like an animal. I slid my long, hot tongue in and out of her red cleft, and Marie sobbed and shuddered wildly at the fierce and thrilling sensations she was experiencing. I was amazed at the fury of her sexual frenzy. I was in charge now, making my older sister react in any way I decided. I knew I could have her begging just by withdrawing my lips from her hungry, pulsing cunt. I reached up without even looking, my face buried between her long, tapering legs, and grasped her firm breasts with both my hands. I squeezed them, and I heard her cries become more frantic and high pitched.
"'Turn around,' Marie said breathlessly. 'Let me eat you out, just the way you're doing to me!' Well, it took me about two seconds to get into position, and then Marie was slurping up my hot juice too, and the two of us rolled around on the floor, moaning and groaning and acting like wonderfully wild animals. I could hardly believe anything in the world could feel so tremendous."
"Was that the only time it happened, between you and your sister, I mean?" Scott asked. Her story had excited him to the point where he could hardly talk straight. His cock was fully erect, and it throbbed in his pants leg. It was clearly visible in its meaty hardness, and he could tell Rona was looking at it, her dark eyes flashing with arousal.
She giggled. "Heavens no. From that day on, Marie and I couldn't keep our hands off each other. We did everything two girls ever thought of to keep each other satisfied."
"Did you consider yourselves lesbians, then?" Scott asked, half afraid of what her answer might be.
"Lord no! We were just having fun. There's a lot to be said for making use of what's available, don't you think?" Lewd flashed filled her eyes, and she smiled at him sensuously. "I do the best I can, and I don't worry about a thing."
"That's a good philosophy, I guess," Scott said, opening his long legs a little wider to be sure the girl saw what was growing and swelling between them.
"Before long, Marie and I had our brothers involved with us. You should have seen us making excuses to get away from wherever our parents were so we could have sex. We practically burned one another out."
"I bet you miss them, then," Scott said, reaching out to caress Rona's smooth cheek.
"I make up for it with other people now," Rona whispered. Taking his hand, she guided it down to her bosom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rona bent close to Scott and pressed her full, sensuous lips to his. Without intending to, he began to shiver with excitement. The redhead let her hand fall to his crotch, and she let out a soft mewling sound as she felt his hard, rocklike penis.
Scott did nothing to push her hand away, and she began to move it in small, teasing circles, the palm of it pressing over the hotness of his male organ again and again. Their lips clung together, working against one another frantically. Now Rona was trembling too, just as he was. She felt half crazy with sudden surges of raw sexuality.
Scott kneaded her soft breasts frantically, bringing new cries from the girl. He reached into the low neckline of her dress and pulled first one and then the other of her fleshy orbs out into the open. Rona arched her back excitedly, inviting him to arouse her further by playing with the tiny, crinkly nipple that crowned her breasts. His fingers curled around them as if he were blind and reading Braille.
With skillful fingers, Rona unzipped Scott's tight pants and reached inside, touching the hardness of his prick firsthand. "Ouuuuuuu!" she exclaimed, You're not wearing underwear. I like that!" She looped her fingers around the firmness of his shaft and tried to pull on it to bring it out of his pants. It would not move. The head of it was caught down in his trouser leg. Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and undid the snap at the top of his pants.
Scott lifted his buttocks, letting the girl push his pants down far enough to pull his burgeoning erection out into the air. She gazed down at it excitedly, looking at its red head, glistening and shining in the light, a huge droplet of clear precum already glowing in its deep lips.
Slowly, Rona moved her hand up and down, carrying the thin skin along over the hardness of his flesh beneath it. Her eyes were focused on it, and she watched the head of it grow larger and larger still.
"Oh, Baby, that feels sooooooo good," Scott mumbled, his eyes closed. He reached around behind her and pulled down the zipper of her dress, then pushed the top of it down so that she was naked to the waist. Now he had free access to her cone shaped breasts, and he massaged and kneaded them gently, his fingertips twisting and pulling at her small, erect nipples.
Suddenly and without warning, Scott was coming. With a low groan, he began to spurt, covering the front of his pants and the girl's fingers with hot, rich, manly liquor. Rona's hand moved faster and faster, masturbating him until every drop of starchy semen was wrenched from his roiling balls.
Rona slipped to her knees before the couch, and then she was licking at his wet cock, sucking gently at its tip, hungrily cleaning away every drip of white, fragrant sperm. As he looked down at her, Scott could tell how much she loved it. Rona made loud slurping noises, her long, pink tongue darting out to wrap around the head of his cock and then move down along its rigid shaft. In seconds, she had him tingling so intensely that it was hard for him to imagine he had climaxed only a moment before. He felt ready to go again, to go and go and go.
His hands went to the top of her red head, and he encouraged her on, pushing down as though he wanted her to take him to the root. She fitted her mouth over his throbbing head and slid her lips down the length of his prick, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him with intensity beyond anything he had ever imagined. She scooped up his huge, spongy gonads in her fingers, and her sharp fingernails plucked and teased at them. Soon, Scott was bouncing around, shivering and squirming.
"No," he groaned pitifully, "I can't come again, not this soon. Oh, God, you'll rupture me."
The girl did not even seem to hear. He felt her fingers pulling at his balls, dragging them to the bottom of his sac, demanding that they yield up another load of hot, fresh seed. With her free hand, Rona began to jerk the base of his cock while she sucked its tip and shaft unmercifully, trying to exhaust him.
"No!" Scott moaned, "Nooooooooooooo, Pleeeeeeeeease!" Then he was coming again, the semen bursting from him to coat the inside of the eager girl's mouth. He sobbed and cried, tossing his head from side to side. It was like being the victim of a vampire, a wonderful, skilled vampire.
He lay back against the couch cushions, his eyes closed, gasping for breath.
Rona stood up. Grinning down at the exhausted male, she wiggled out of her dress and let it fail to the floor. She kicked it out of the way and then removed her high heeled shoes. Rotating her lush, rounded hips, she pushed down her pantyhose. The filmy garmet seemed to float down her long, tapered legs, and she pulled it off over her feet.
With one quick movement, Rona pushed down her brief panties. They were already moist at the crotch, evidence of her intense arousal. She displayed, herself to Scott, her slushly thatched pubis inches from his face, With a groan of exertion, Scott slipped to the floor before her. He pushed his mouth up between her widely splayed legs, and she was dripping her hot juices as he reached out his long, thick tongue to taste of her sweet woman's nectar. He licked frantically at her sizzling slash, treating it the way he knew a woman's cunt should be handled. Soft, mewling cries escaped Rona's lips, and he knew he was now in control, just as she had been only moments before. She arched her hips forward, rubbing her exposed pubis against his face, wetting his cheeks with her sweetly tangy female liquids. "Fuck me," she moaned. "Pleeeeeeease fuck me NOW."
He looked between Rona's widespread legs. Her cunt was drooling impatiently, but that was not what interested him. He could see the dark place that hid her, tight little asshole from sight, and he longed to pry her cheeks apart and look at the tiny, gripping pucker. He thought again of how he had screwed Monica, opening her up and making her cry out with pain while she loved what he was doing to her. He had pushed in again and again, faster and faster, and now he would do that to Rona.
"Turn over on your belly," he whispered, his voice thick with passion.
Rona flipped onto her stomach. "Oh," she said, "you want to go dog fashion. One of my brothers used to like that. He didn't want to do it any other way." She was now on her knees, her lush buttocks weaving about teasingly. "It was nice when he and I fucked that way, my sister would crawl in under me and suck my tits. Sometimes my other brother would screw her while she was doing it. Wow, it was really something."
Scott hardly heard what the girl was saying to him. He was much too busy staring hungrily at the silky halves of her buttocks and at the long, hairless crack that divided them. He wrapped his fist around the shaft of his hard cock and jerked it easily, making sure it was fully erect and ready to stab relentlessly into her hot, quivering flesh. With trembling fingers he caressed the skin of her rounded cheeks, and she wriggled her ass excitedly, moaning softly at the attention he was giving her. He moved on into her long crack and ran his fingers downward along it.
"Ohhhhhhhhh! Feels good!" she mumbled. "It tickles so nice." She spread her knees further apart, and she could feel her liquids dripping from her cunt and coating the insides of her thighs. She had been waiting so long for this. She had been dreaming about Scott ever since the first day she saw him. She wondered whether he would be as good as he looked, and now she was finding that he was. Not since those first times with her handsome brothers had she enjoyed a man so much. "Now fuck me," she groaned. "I'm so ready for you. I can't remember ever being this ready. Fuccccccccck meeeeeeeeeee!"
"Oh, yeah, Baby. I'll fuck you. I'll screw you to the floor." Quickly, Scott brought the dripping knob of his penis up against her tightly puckered anus.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" Rona screamed hysterically. She bolted away from him on her hands and knees, and then sat huddled against the base of the couch, her arms hugging her body tightly.
Scott was angry. "I'm trying to screw you, of course. I thought that's what you wanted. It's what you asked for."
"Not up the ass!" she yowled. "Nobody does that. Nobody's ever done that to me." She began to sob uncontrollably.
"Not even your brothers?" Scott asked cruelly. He was so angry he could no longer see straight. He wanted to grab the girl, throw her down, and rape her anal passage until she screamed in pain. He wanted to rip her rectum to shreds, to make her hurt so badly she would die for days afterward. Instead, he gathered up his things and slammed out of Rona's apartment, leaving the redheaded girl sobbing and crying hysterically on the floor by the couch.
CHAPTER NINE
Scott was amazed as anyone at what happened. He literally could not begin to handle all the calls that came in that night. It was apparent that his off color program of the night before had been the talk of Indianapolis. He was careful to cut off any callers who used obscene language, but he was intelligent enough to know that if sexual propositions and comments were what his audience wanted he had better give them to them.
Instead of going home when his shift ended, he waited around for an extra hour. He wanted to see Hal Ransberg the minute he arrived. Of course, he was not happy about having to confront Rona Barnes after their experience of the night before, but that could not be helped. Actually, he felt badly about what had happened. What right did he have to force himself on the girl like that? In fairness, though, from the way she talked about having sex with her sister and letting her two brothers do what they liked with her, he was not crazy to have jumped to the conclusion that she was receptive to anal contact. The hard truth of the matter was that his conclusion was wrong, and both he and Rona had handled the situation badly. Even though the fault was partly hers, he still hated to face her.
Rona came breezing into the outer office, ready to start work. When she saw Scott sitting on the couch, she froze. "What are you doing here?" she blurted, the fear flickering for an instant.
Scott smiled and hoped the smile did not look as if he were uneasy. "I work here, remember?"
The wariness left her eyes. She smiled. "Of course you do. What I meant was, how come still here at nine o'clock."
"I stayed around to talk to Ransberg. You won't believe what my show was like last night."
"Yes, I would. I listened to most of it." Rona glanced down at her shoes, blushing slightly.
"Oh, I see." There was an awkward pause, and then Scott added, "I'm sort of surprised. I mean, I wouldn't have thought you wanted any more to do with me last night."
She looked him straight in the eye. "No, that's not true. Scott, I'm so sorry. It was all my fault. I led you on with those terrible stories. I can't blame you for thinking that I was ready for ..."
"Never mind what I thought. Those weren't terrible stories. They were really great, made me real excited. You know?"
Rona nodded dumbly, listening carefully to the handsome young announcer.
"Scott," she said quietly, her voice so low he had to strain to hear it, "I made those stories up. I don't even have a sister."
His mouth fell open. "Made them up? But they sounded so real."
"I know," Rona answered, giggling despite herself. "They were supposed to."
"You mean you just told them to turn me on?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say so. I'm really not as experienced as all that. I mean, I'm no virgin or anything, but I've never done ..."
"What I was trying to do with you?" Scott finished for her. "Gosh, Rona, I'm really sorry."
"What I'm trying to say to you, Scott, is that when I got to thinking about what I'd led you to believe I can see exactly why you did what you did. It's my fault."
He shrugged; grinning at her happily. "It was both our faults. No hard feelings?"
"None. Will you ask me out again sometime?"
"You can bet on it."
Hal Ransberg came bursting into the office. "Good morning," he growled. When he saw Scott, his eyebrows lifted quizzically. "What are you doing here?"
"I stayed around to see you, Sir."
"Good. Give me a chance to go over the mail and come in in five minutes. I'm glad you waited for me, My Boy."
"Well," Rona said as soon as she heard Ransberg close his office door behind him. "He sure sounds different from the way he did yesterday."
"I'll say. He must have heard part of the show. I bet he counted every one of those calls."
"Tell you something else, Scott. Right this minute he's counting something else. You should have seen this morning's mail. Sponsors are clambering for time on your show. You're a hit."
"Jesus, that's great news. Now all I have to do is keep them calling."
"They will, especially if that woman with the sexy voice keeps calling you."
"Oh, you mean my mystery woman. She's something all right. She calls almost every night. You should hear some of the stuff she says to me that I don't let get out over the air. I hope she keeps right on."
"Who is she, anyway?" Rona asked.
"Search me. I have no idea, but I sure would like to find out. You know something, Rona?" Scott said, leaning over her desk and whispering. "For a while there I thought it was you."
The redhead looked shocked. "You did? Why, Scott, I'd never call in like that. It's, well, it's so brazen."
Scott smiled at her, resisting the temptation to say he thought it was no more brazen than making up stories to excite a man. "Got to go now and see the boss," he said, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the end of her nose.
He found Hal Ransberg at his desk, just finishing the morning mail. The way the man beamed at him, it was hard for him to believe yesterday had ever occurred. He rose to his feet, his arms outstretched. "Come in, My Boy. Come and sit down."
Scott bit his tongue. It was all he could do not to comment on his boss' change in attitude. Rona had been right. The mail was full of sponsor requests, and they were all for his show. At least that was what Ransberg's open friendliness made him suspect. Now, he thought to himself, was the time he should have another job lined up, just waiting for him to take it. How he would love to walk out of KSZX and leave Ransberg in the lurch. Then he could get on the telephone to Celia and ask her to join him. He felt sure she would go anywhere, as long as it was not Indianapolis, her plant store and other commitments not withstanding.
He slipped into the chair opposite Ransberg's desk and waited until the man sat down. "What did you want, Sir?" he asked.
"Merely to congratulate you properly on the sudden success of your show. You're a genius, My Son, a real genius. By the way, do you think you have time to run a few extra commercials during your show?"
"I don't see why not. Up to now there have hardly been any. I was feeling like a charity case."
"Well, there are plenty now," Ransberg said, waving the sheaf of papers on his desk. "Seems they all want to be part of your action. I'll get the Ad Department busy on the copy right away."
Scott wondered whether this would be a good time to ask for a raise. The idea struck him funny. Yesterday, he had been resigned to losing his job with the station. Today, he was a hero.
"Ah, I see you're smiling, My Boy, and well you might. You're a big success. It's nice to have you as part of our broadcasting family." Ransberg rose from his desk and extended his hand. The interview was over.
Scott shook the manager's pudgy hand and left his office. Just as he was going out the door, Ransberg called after him, "Oh, by the way, Son, the little woman and I would like you to come over to our place on Friday night. We're having a sort of get together, you know, to celebrate the Christmas season, and we'd like to have you with us. Bring a date if you want to."
"Thanks, Sir. I'd like that," Scott said as he closed the door.
As soon as he was alone, Ransberg hit the intercom button. "Miss Barnes, would you come in here, please. No need to bring your pad and pencil."
Rona knew what that meant, and her heart sank. Ransberg wanted sex again. She hated this degrading ritual he had made a part of her job. Whenever the station manager touched her, she wanted to vomit. Her only consolation was that he did not make his demands very often. His doctor told him he had to slow down. She wished she knew the doctor's name. She would send him a bottle of Scotch. The trouble was when Ransberg did get horny, he wanted all sorts of degrading things from her. How badly do I want this job, anyway, she thought to herself as she made her way back to his office, after making some excuse to get one of the other girls to cover her desk while she was gone.
"Here I am, Mr. Ransberg," Rona said, sticking her head in the door.
"Ah, good. It took you long enough," Ransberg grunted.
"I had to get someone to mind the phones," she answered, trying to look pleasant.
"Come in and close the door. That's it. Lock it behind you like always." He leered at her hungrily. "Now come over to me."
Rona walked across the office to his desk. It was as if she were in some nightmarish dream, just as it always was. Her stomach turned over and over and over again as she approached Ransberg. As she rounded the corner of his big desk, he swung himself around toward her. His pants were open, and he held his fat, stubby cock in his hand.
"See," he said, leering again, "I've got him all ready for you."
Rona tried to smile. What would he want today?
"You ready to take it up the hind end?" Ransberg rasped, waving his short, thick cock at her.
"No. Never. I can't do that," she stammered, her head spinning.
Ransberg chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Honey. We can wait. Both of us are very patient. One of these days you'll be ready to give us what we want."
* * *
Monica was waiting for Scott.
"Hey," he shouted, jumping into her Camaro, "this is a nice surprise."
"I figured you could use a little action after that horny show of yours last night." She gunned the engine and eased the car into traffic.
"Oh? Did you hear it?"
"Honey," Monica said, flashing him a big smile, "everybody in this frigging town heard it. You may not know it yet, but you're rapidly becoming a local celebrity."
"I'm beginning to suspect it. The boss actually said something nice to me this morning, and believe me, that's probably a sign of something."
"Who is the manager down there nowadays?"
"His name's Hal Ransberg, and he's a real shit."
Monica nodded thoughtfully. "I thought that's who it was. I went to school with his wife. She's a lot younger than he is, and she's from a rich family. I'm trying to remember the story. There was quite a scandal when they got married. He left his first wife for her. That wouldn't be a story anywhere else, but you have to remember this is Indianapolis."
"Well," Scott said, stretching luxuriously back in the bucket seat, "I expect to be meeting the lassie before very long. Ransberg invited me to a Christmas party."
"That should be interesting," Monica said as she pulled into the parking lot of Roley Towers. "You won't have far to go, either."
"What do you mean?"
"Last I knew Dorry and her husband lived right up there." She pointed to the penthouse.
"No shit? You mean to tell me Ransberg's wife can look down to the ninth floor of the next tower and see you and me in action?"
Monica giggled. "She could if we left the blinds up."
Scott stared up at the penthouse thirty floors above them. All he could see was its wide, covered balcony and floor to ceiling windows glittering in the winter sunshine. "So that's where the boss lives. How the hell does he afford it? He can't make that much loot, even as station manager."
"I told you his wife was rich. Among other things, her father owns the station where you work, which is how come his daughter's husband is the manager." Monica took him by the arm. "Come on and let's get upstairs. I'm so hungry for your prick I might rip your pants off right here in the street."
Scott was rooted to the spot, his eyes still focused on the penthouse at the top of the tower next to his. "Oh, yeah, I'm coming," he mumbled.
"Not yet, Honey, not yet. You're not coming anywhere this morning but in me." She grasped him harder by the arm and dragged him into the building.
As soon as they were in the elevator, she was all over him, her full, sensuous lips closing over his own and her hands running down to touch his already hardening penis. It took Scott less than a minute to forget all about Hal Ransberg, or his wife, or the fact that her father had very probably been the person who saved his job for him.
The second the apartment door closed behind them, both Monica and Scott stripped off their clothing. Monica fell to her knees on the bare floor.
"Ouuuuuuuu," she sighed, reaching out to take his throbbing manhood in both her hands, "I miss this baby so much whenever I'm away from it, I can hardly stand it." She could feel his huge organ jerking sexily in her fingers, and she caressed it lightly from tip to root, her eyes focused on its reddened knob. Slowly she caressed his huge, egg shaped balls, bringing shivers of passion to his muscular body.
The telephone rang.
"Damn!" Monica snapped. "Let the thing ring."
Scott backed away from her reluctantly. "I'll only be a minute. I promise. Go in and turn down the bed, and I'll be right back." He padded quickly to the kitchen, hoping to get there before the caller hung up.
"Hello. Is this Scott Forsmo?"
"That's right." He tried to ignore his rigid, jerking phallus.
"The Scott Forsmo who hosts Night Line on KSZX?"
"The same."
"Well, Scott, this is Hank Snodway, manager of KRAY in Cincinnati. Have you heard of our station?"
"I'll say I've heard of it. You're heard by more people than almost any station in the Midwest."
"More than any station," Snodway corrected. "Mr. Forsmo, have you ever thought of moving to Cincinnati?"
"No, I can't say as I have," Scott answered, his heart pounding.
"Well, think about it. We'd like to have you with us at KRAY."
"Are you offering me a job?" Scott asked bluntly.
"That's about the size of it. We like the things you're doing there in Indianapolis, and we would just as soon you were doing them for us."
"But I don't understand. How do you even know about me or my show?"
Snodway laughed heartily. "We keep our ear to the ground and to the radio speakers of the nation. Think over what we've talked about and get back to me later. Okay?"
"Yeah, sure, Mr. Snodway. Thanks for calling." Scott hung up the telephone, half dazed. Things moved fast in this business, there was no doubt about it. A few months ago he was a disc jockey for a hick station in a hick town, and now he was getting offers from the best stations around.
"What's taking so long?" Monica called from the bedroom. Scott knew she would be waiting for him, her legs splayed wide, her pubic mound rising invitingly for his use.
"I'm on my way," he said, and headed for the bedroom.
"Hmmmmm, that feels soooooo good!" Monica whispered. She splayed her legs further apart, pressing her knee against his buttocks. She reached around in front of him to caress his long, thick penis. It throbbed insistently beneath her gentle, admiring touch and swelled to an even larger size. Her fingers encircled his huge, turgid rod-like erection, and she stroked it slowly, working his fleshy skin back and forth in her palm, feeling the pulsing of his heart as more and more of his fresh, hot blood pumped into his massive organ.
Monica's legs parted a little more, and he could see the beads of moisture that rimmed her tender pink pussy lips. The tempting folds of her cunt flowered open in eager openness.
"Holy shit, are you a cock hungry piece," he muttered as his fingers brushed the base of her vagina. "You're just aching for it, aren't you?"
"Oh, yeah, yeah! Aching for it, Baby. I want that long hard hunk of prick right between my legs!" She squirmed about on the bed salaciously.
"Mmmmmmmmm, Scotty, Baby, you're so big and so hard! Oh, God, stick it in all the way. Stick it up my cunt!" she gasped, hissing with the frenzy of raw passion. She had to quench the ardent fires of her consuming lust, and there was only one thing that could do it, the gushing bliss of his manly semen.
Scott squeezed the soft fleshiness of her large, velvety breasts, rubbing his fingertips over the hard peaks of her brown nipples until he had her moaning aloud with pleasure. She opened her thighs even wider now, her loins wiggling upward until his prick was driven half way into her body.
"Ohhhhh hhhhh, Christ, come into me. Fuck me all the way to the hilt of your big, hard cock. Fuck me or I'm gonna die!" she gasped, her voice pitched high in fervent arousal. Her lips quivered as she spoke, and she was finding it hard to stay conscious. She was near climax, and he had only begun to enter her. She grabbed the shaft of his cock and worked it into her body with a squeal of eager passion. She pushed it between the moist, pink folds of her ravenous pussy, pushing the shaft into her, through the blonde fleece of her lush pubic curls and into the hot, clasping grasp of her burning cunt.
"Aaaaa aaaa aaaa uuuu uuuu gggg gggh! You're inside me. I can feel you in my pussy. God, god, it's so big, feels so big and good. Fuck me, Baby. Fuck meeeeeeee hard!" She tossed her blonde head from side to side and sobbed with raw passion.
With every thrust of Scott's long, stiff prick, Monica gurgled and grunted like an animal. Her buttocks were upturned beneath the weight of him, and the after shocks of his deep stroking made her flesh quiver with delight.
Scott's breathing quickened now, coming deeply, hurriedly. He pushed down hard with all his brutish strength, and the blonde met his thrusts with her own brand of vigor, the passion of a female in heat. She grunted and moaned, tossing he head about, her mouth gaping open, spittle drooling from its corners. Her eyes rolled up in her head. She was crazy with lust. Cock, cock, cock was all she knew and could imagine. She was in heaven.
His cock was pumping in, out of her distended pussy lips. In, out, in again harder than before. The constant sawing set up a wildly hot friction that unhinged her completely.
"Commmmming! I'm, yes, I'm commmmmmming now!" she gasped, her voice loud and harsh with raw, unbridled passion. She shook with convulsions, gasping and sputtering, grabbing for air as the waves of orgasm swept over her totally aroused body.
The trembling, milking sensation of her cuntal walls on his aching cock threw Scott over the brink. "Yeeeeeeeah! Me tooo!" he moaned, tossing his head about and spraying hot drops of sweat over her face. The cum shot from him with one long gusher of whiteness, spattering far inside her and bringing on another series of climactic rushes, driving her even further from the world of immediate reality.
"Oh, Scotty, oh, Baby, Baby, you're so great," she babbled.
"Yeah, Honey. So are you," he answered, burying his face in the dark hollow of her neck.
CHAPTER TEN
"Welcome, welcome! Come in and join the party!" Hal Ransberg was in a more jovial, more animated mood than Scott had ever seen him before. He slapped the young disc jockey on the back, then helped him off with his overcoat, accepting the carefully wrapped bottle of wine Scott had brought as a gift with great ceremony.
"Let me introduce you around," Ransberg shouted. He led Scott into the thick of the crowd and began presenting him, the names rolling off his tongue so quickly that Scott caught none of them. He was pleased to find that a number of the guests knew all about his radio show, and that most of them claimed to like it.
Ransberg pushed him toward the bar. "Have anything you like, Son. Only the best for my favorite boy."
The black bartender looked at Scott blankly, a glass already in his hand.
"Scotch on the rocks," Scott mumbled, looking around for someone, anyone he knew. He took the drink and drifted over toward the fireplace. He should have brought a date, he thought ruefully. If he had brought Rona he would at least have someone to talk to. He had considered it, but since she had told him that she and Ransberg were intimate, he thought better of it. Nothing could fuck up a relationship with a boss quicker than having him find out you were screwing his mistress. As it was, he was afraid word would get back to Ransberg that he and Rona had been together. He would almost rather have Monica's husband find out about the two of them than have that happen. It was better to have the whole Indianapolis police force on his ass than to lose his job at the station, especially since he was now so well established. His show had continued its rise in popularity. By now he had appeared on all the local television talk shows and had two more calls from Cincinnati.
"Hello there," said a voice close beside him.
"I've been just dying to meet you," the woman said, extending a beautifully manicured hand.
Scott took it, resisting an impulse to bend and kiss it. He had the most uncanny feeling he knew this woman. But that was impossible. If he had ever seen her before he would certainly remember.
"I listen to your show all the time," she said, her voice low and breathy. "Hal gets so angry with me sometimes because I stay up almost all night just to hear your program."
"Thanks, Ma'am," Scott said, still overwhelmed by the woman's beauty.
"Call me Dorry," she said, "and I'll call you Scott, if you'll let me." Her hand was still in his.
"You ... you're Mrs. Ransberg then?"
She nodded her head. "Dorry, please. It's so much less formal, and I feel like I know you, after listening to you every night."
"Funny," Scott blurted. "I feel the same way about you." Then, suddenly, he knew why that was so. It was the woman's voice that was familiar. "You're the mystery woman, aren't you?" he said.
Dorry Ransberg glanced over her shoulder hurriedly. "Shhh!" she cautioned. "If Hal heard you say that, he'd kill me."
"Why? You saved the show. It was your calls that started people talking about Night Line." He had not yet let go of her hand.
"You would have caught on anyway. I knew the first time I heard you on the car radio that you had talent. That's why I talked to Daddy about hiring you as soon as we got home."
"Daddy?"
"Yes, my father owns KSZX."
"But I thought Mr. Ransberg was responsible for getting me hired."
Dorry Ransberg tossed her head contemptuously. "That's what he'd like everyone to think, now that you're the hottest thing in Indiana. My husband is an idiot. He would have fired you a while back, would you believe? It only took a quick call to my daddy to fix that. Sometimes Hal is so stupid I can hardly believe I married him."
The dark haired woman floated off into the crowd, and Scott looked after her, feeling as though he had just lived through a dream.
He stuck around for another hour or so and then excused himself. Having to go to work was the best excuse in the world, especially since he had little desire to see the rich of Indianapolis any more drunk than they already were.
He found Ransberg and his wife at the front door saying good night to other guests.
"Thanks, Hal," Scott said. "I really enjoyed the party."
"Enjoyed having you, Son," Ransberg answered, his voice slurred. "Come over any time. You're always welcome. Isn't that right, Dorry?"
"Yes, of course," Dorry Ransberg added, giving Scott her warm smile. "After all, Hal tells me you live right next door."
Scott felt dizzy as he rode down the elevator. It was still hard for him to believe that his employer's wife was the mystery woman. She had admitted it, though, so there was no doubt that it was true. She had also said two other things that stuck with him, that she knew he lived in the next tower and, most important, that she always meant what she said. When he thought of some of the things she, as the mystery woman, had whispered to him over the telephone, Scott almost blushed. Well, one thing was for certain. Dorry would not be calling tonight. She and her husband were much too occupied with their party.
* * *
Scott had hardly signed on, when the telephone rang. It was going to be a night like all the others, he thought happily.
"Hi," said a female voice. "I could hardly wait for you to get on the air so I could call and visit as usual."
The hair on the back of Scott's neck began to rise. It was the mystery woman. It was all he could do not to blurt out that he was sure she would not call tonight. He bit his tongue and answered courteously.
"Hi, there, Mystery Lady. Welcome to Night Line. Are you going to say anything extra special and X rated tonight, or can we share our remarks with all of Naptown?"
There was a short pause. Scott thought he could detect the sound of the Ransbergs' guests in the background, but he could not be sure.
"Well," the woman answered at last, "it does seem to me that we might have a few things to say to one another in private. Why don't you just put on a record?"
"Sure thing, Mysterious Lady. Here's a new one by the Bee Goes. Sorry to do this to you, Loyal Listeners, but the Mystery Woman has spoken, and as you know, she always gets her way."
He flipped the switch to start the record, faded in the sound, and turned again to the telephone. Dorry Ransberg was giggling.
"What's funny, Dorry?" Scott asked.
"Oh, nothing much. It's just that you've got me pegged all right."
"What do you mean?"
"You said I always get my way, and I find it nice to know that you understand that." There was a touch of coldness in her voice.
"Yeah, right. What's on your mind?"
"What time tomorrow do you get home from work?"
"Usually about eight-thirty. Why?"
"I'll be there at nine," Dorry Ransberg answered and hung up the phone.
He gave a commercial, took a few more phone calls, and played some records. Monica called to see if she could pick him up after work, but Scott made a rather lame excuse about having a doctor's appointment he had forgotten about. He just kept watching the clock, knowing that every hour brought him closer to his confrontation with the Mystery Woman, his boss' wife.
At exactly eight-thirty, Scott burst through the door of his apartment. He made the bed hurriedly, jerking off the sheets and putting on fresh ones to get rid of the evidence of his and Monica's last sex session. He threw the dirty dishes into the dish washer and straightened up the living room.
Glancing in the mirror, he decided that he should change clothes, even though he suspected he would not be wearing whatever he changed into for very long. Just as he headed for the bedroom closet, there was a knock at the door.
Scott was momentarily frozen to the spot. This was it. Dorry was apparently so hungry for him she had come over five minutes early. Slowly, trying to keep his breathing under control, he walked to the door and opened it.
There stood Dorry Ransberg, dressed in skin tight slacks. Her long hair cascaded down her back just as he remembered it from the night before, and she was no less beautiful in her more casual daytime makeup.
"Hi, Scott," she whispered, stepping inside. "You got home right on time. I was watching out the window." She shrugged her short coat off over her shoulders and let him take it from her. Her see through blouse revealed that she did not believe in wearing undergarments. Scott could see her large, lushly beautiful breasts clearly through the flimsy fabric. He could think of nothing to say.
"You going to invite me in for a cup of coffee?" Dorry asked pleasingly.
"Coffee? Oh, yeah, sure. I guess."
Dorry strolled into the living room, her hips undulating invitingly as she moved. "I'd really rather have a bloody mary or something like that, you know," she said.
"No problem. Coming right up." Scott headed for the kitchen.
"I'm rather surprised you don't remember," Dorry said, coming to lean against the door jamb and watching him while he prepared the drinks.
"Remember what?" Scott asked uneasily.
"That I like bloody marys in the morning. I think I told you that in one of our long, intimate conversations. But, then, I told you a lot of things, and I don't know if you remember any of them." She took the drink he held out to her.
"I remember a lot of things about our talks."
She laughed. "Yes, you're blushing. You're really blushing. I guess you do remember."
"Why did you make all those calls, anyway?" Scott asked, his voice even. He really wanted to know.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Boredom mostly, I suppose. You have no idea what it's like to be locked up in the penthouse with Hal Ransberg every night. God, what an asshole his is! There was more than that, though. I liked the way you sounded, from the first time I heard you. You have something so sexy about your voice that I just had to talk to you."
"Then why didn't you just come down to the station and introduce yourself. As the boss' wife, you have certain privileges."
"And what would I have said? Among other things, my husband is jealous, the boob. No, this was better. As your Mystery Woman I could say anything I wanted to say, and as you said last night, it certainly has helped your rating."
"Why didn't you let me know who you were earlier than last night?" Scott sipped at his drink, his eyes on the dark haired woman.
Again she shrugged. "It just didn't seem right before. I guess I wouldn't have said anything last night if you hadn't recognized my voice."
"You could have denied that you were the Mystery Woman."
Dorry smiled at him. "Once I saw you standing there in front of me, I didn't want to. I wanted to let you know who I was. I wanted to see if you would do anything about what you and I talked about over the phone."
"And that's why you're here this morning, isn't it?" Scott whispered.
Looking at him with her deep violet eyes, the woman nodded her head slowly and began to unbutton her blouse. "Let's go into the bedroom," she whispered.
"You move fast, don't you?" Scott said.
Dorry reached down to undo the zipper at the side of her tight slacks. She slid it slowly down its track, her eyes on his crotch as she did so, watching his erection grow to its full, rigid size. She parted the halves of the zipper and pushed the slacks down over her lush, flaring hips.
With her toe, she kicked off one of her flat shoes, and with the now bare foot, the other. She wiggled her legs to allow her tight slacks to cascade down to her ankles and stepped toward him, leaving them in a heap on the bare floor. She held out her arms to him, inviting him to take her.
She eagerly unbuttoned his shirt, soft mewling cries escaping her throat as she saw the thick mat of curly hair on his broad chest. With nimble fingers, she pulled the shirt tails out of his pants and pushed his shirt off over his muscled shoulders. Quickly, the tips of her long fingers closed over his tiny, dark nipples, and she pinched them teasingly, making them stand erect. Scott was not used to this kind of treatment, even from women like Monica. It was almost as though he were a sex object for Dorry Ransberg. He resented the idea, and, yet, he found the sensation lewdly exciting. It was nice to be worshiped, especially by a woman as beautiful and desirable as this one.
Sliding the cool palm of her hand down along the washboard scallops of his stomach, Dorry ran her fingers down into the front of his pants. "Ouuuuuuu," she said. "You're not wearing any underpants!"
"I never do, just like you," Scott answered, his voice tight with passion.
"I have to sometimes. Hal insists on it, the shit. God, how I hate him sometimes." As she talked, her hands were busy. One continued to play with his erect nipples, the other curved around the shaft of his throbbing, hot erection. "God, you're big," she said, "Just like I knew you'd be. Oh, Baby, I can't wait to feel that big donger of yours stuffed all the way up my hole."
"Which one?" Scott asked playfully, flexing his hips as she began to manipulate his penis.
Dorry slapped him hard across the face. "There's only one, as far as you're concerned. My pig of a husband suggested once that I let him in the back, and I damn near ripped his balls off. Nobody screws me in the almighty ass. Understand?" She gave his penis a cruel twist.
Scott winced at the sudden pain. "Yes, Ma'am. Forget I brought it up."
"That's better," she replied, almost purring. Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and undid the snap at the waistband of his pants. "I want to get a look at you," she whispered.
"I've tried to imagine enough times how you were hung, and now I'm going to see for myself." She grasped the slide of his zipper between her thumb and forefinger and jerked it down. In the widening vee she could see a lush bushing of black curls. The sharp scent of male crotch assaulted her flaring nostrils. She could see the thick, fleshy root of his cock. With determination, the woman pushed Scott's pants down over his trim sinewy hips, and the slacks to the floor, bunching around his slim ankles.
"Oh, Christ," she whispered. "Oh, Christ, you're so beautiful."
Wrapping her fist securely around Scott's erection, she pulled him toward the bedroom.
"Hey," he said, laughing. "Wait a second. Let me get out of these ankle-grabbing pants, or I'll trip and break something."
"Well, hurry up, for chrissake! I can't wait much longer, or I'll be coming all over your kitchen floor."
Scott kicked off his shoes and managed to get out of his bunched up slacks and socks. All the time, Dorry held on tightly to his cock. He was her prisoner, and they both knew it. She would take everything she wanted from him, and she would do it for as long as she found it to her satisfaction.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"You're fired," Hal Ransberg said.
"Fired? What are you talking about? My ratings are higher than ever!"
"I know. At least that's what my wife told me." Ransberg scowled at Scott, his hands balling into fists.
"Dorry told you about us?" Scott and Dorry Ransberg had been having sex on a regular basis now for over a month. She had acted like she enjoyed it. He could not understand her telling her husband.
"She told me every word," Ransberg answered, his voice rumbling.
"But why, for Godsake? What could be gained by that except a lot of unhappiness for everybody concerned?"
"You pinpoint it exactly. Dorry loves to hurt people, people like you, people like me, any man with whom she comes in contact. That's just the way it is, and it has been for a long time. You don't need to flatter yourself that you're the first young prick that's attracted her."
"Then why fire me?" Scott asked flatly.
"Because your sniveling type of creep who takes advantage of other men's wives makes me sick."
"But you just said ..."
"Don't tell me what I said or didn't say. Get the fuck out of here! Do your show tonight and then be on your way."
Scott stormed out into the reception area, his face purple with anger.
"What happened, Scott? what's wrong?" Rona asked.
"What's wrong? I just got fired. That's what's wrong."
"Fired? How could that happen?"
"If you really want to know, Rona, I'll tell you. I'll tell you all of it from beginning to end."
The red haired girl took his hand. "Yes, tell me. I want to know. I care about you, Scott, much more than you realize."
When Scott had finished his story, Rona sat silent for a moment. Then she said, "You go on home, I'll see what I can do."
"Do? What could you do?"
"I have something Ransberg wants. He's wanted it for a long time. Maybe it's time to give it to him." She pressed the intercom button.
"What is it he wants from you?" Scott asked.
"Never mind. Just go home and wait until you hear from me." She put her finger to her lips, hushing the disc jockey as the intercom crackled into action.
"Yes?" Ransberg's voice rumbled.
"Can I come in and see you for a moment, Sir?"
"I'm pretty busy."
"This won't take long, Sir, not any longer than you want it to."
"All right. Get someone to man your desk." Rona ran to another office, then returned to where Scott was still, standing, wondering what she was up to and how it could possibly help him. "Scott," she said, "you'll have to watch the desk for me."
"But I ..."
"Trust me," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. She ran down the hail to Ransberg's office.
"What do you want, Rona?" Ransberg asked. Scott jumped a foot. It sounded as though the boss were right beside him. Suddenly he realized what was going on. Rona had left the intercom line open. Well, he thought, that was convenient. Now he would not have to guess at what the girl was trying to carry off, He could simply sit here at her desk and listen in. Quickly, he switched the intercom from the remote speaker to the telephone. This way he could listen privately, and anyone who came into the receptionist's area would never be the wiser.
"I hear you fired Scott Forsmo," came Rona's voice.
"Word travels fast around here, doesn't it?" Ransberg said, his voice edged with nastiness.
"I thought maybe I could persuade you to change your mind."
"That's a laugh. There's no way you could do that."
"Are you sure, Hal?" Rona asked, her voice almost playful now. "It seems to me there's something you want pretty bad, and I might just be willing to let you have it if Scott keeps his job here."
"You mean ..."
"Yes. If you keep him on, I'll let you have sex with me the way you want it, right now."
He grabbed the dictaphone and held the microphone up to the ear piece of the telephone. Clicking on the switch, he was just in time to catch Ransberg's voice as it said, "Okay, Baby. It's a deal. Your ass for your boyfriend's job."
Rona was terrified. Until now she had not even realized she felt strongly enough about Scott to give up for him what she had guarded so jealously. Here she was about to be raped anally by a man she hated more than almost anyone in the world, and she was still willing to do it for Scott.
"Take off your clothes," Ransberg demanded, grinning at her lewdly, his fat cheeks flushed with passion. "I want you stark naked for this, you tight little bitch."
"There," Rona said, turning to face him, her hands at her sides, making no attempt to hide her perfect, nicely formed breasts or the fleecy vee between her long, tapering legs. Her nipples began to harden under Ransberg's unabashed stare, and despite her fear, she felt her own libido begin to rise.
Slowly, Ransberg got up from his chair, undoing his belt as he moved toward her. Grinning lewdly, he bent his head to her softly rounded breasts and opened his mouth over one of the curving mounds. His thick tongue swirled over her already erect nipple, and he could feel it harden even more under the moist pressure of his mouth.
"Pleeee eeeease stop! Ohhhh hhhh, pieceeease," Rona moaned, her eyes closed tightly and her head thrown back.
Ransberg slapped her hard across the face. "Shut up, you little slut," he growled. "You offered it, and I'm taking. There's nothing you can do to stop me. Get used to the idea."
Bending over and kneeling on the floor, Rona sobbed aloud, her mind spinning crazily with abject fear and her heart pounding so intensely she feared it would burst. The soft carpet against her knees and elbows did nothing to ease her feelings. She buried her face in it, her eyes tightly closed, praying that something would happen to prevent what was about to occur. She could not stand it. She could not go through with it. Still, it could save Scott's job, and that was important to her, important enough for her supreme sacrifice.
Hal Ransberg grabbed the softness of Rona's ass cheeks and worked his body in between her legs, wriggling against her smooth, silken thighs. His hard, thick cock rode up between her butt cheeks. It seemed so huge to the girl, like a giant pole that was about to pierce her clear up into her belly.
With one quick thrust, he dragged the exposed head of his blood filled organ through the moisture of her pussy, dampening his knob, lubricating it so that he would not bruise himself as he entered the tightness of her anus.
"No. Oh, please, no," Rona whimpered helplessly.
His pudgy fingers tightened on the silky smoothness of her cheeks, and he held her to him, pulling her onto his unyielding erectness.
Through the red haze of pain that rocked through her body, Rona began responding to the skewering hardness of his thrusts. To her suffering was added a new sensation ... one of enjoyment. As hard as it was for her to believe, she was starting to enjoy this. Once the terror subsided, once the stabbing pain began to fade away, she liked it.
"Ohhhh, Hal! If fucking is like this, I want more. Oh, it feels soooooo big." Squirming, she worked her ass back against his relentlessly pumping loins. "Sooooooo big! Screw me harder with it, up the ass, yeeeeeeeeeeees!"
"Take it," he shouted. "Hurt with my cock! You're Dorry and you're her goddamn father, and I hate you both, and I want to hurt you with my cock!" His voice trailed off into broken sobs of passion.
Rona moaned and shivered with lewd delight as the last inches of his hugely erect cock bored into her bowel, ironing out every curve and crevice. She wailed wantonly, crying out her raw lust. "Ohhhhhhh, yeeeeeees, give me all of it. Shove it in all the way and grind it into me. I want all of it right up my ass ... Oh, yeeeees."
Rona ground her ass back against his pelvis, safely gathering in every inch of his thick cock. She grunted hoarsely, and her entire body shook as she knelt on the floor, her breasts swinging lewdly from side to side and shaking like jelly as she moved about.
Reaching forward and around Rona's body, he began fondling the spongy, yielding orbs of her breasts, pushing his palms against her crinkly, erect nipples, squeezing her flesh until red welts showed on her milky flesh. She cried out in lust.
"Oh, yeah, yeeeeeah. Make it hurt. I love it when it hurts meeeeeeeeeee!"
Ransberg shook and jerked in spasms founded in pure pleasure. He felt his balls draw up to the base of his penis and fire out their heavy lust filled load of male juice. He trembled and cried as though he were having a stroke, spraying gallons of his manhood into her grasping bowel.
Stunned, unable to speak, Rona left her Ransberg crashed to the floor with her, his deflating penis still buried far up her rectum. He lay on top of her, his sweaty body pressed against hers. After a long time, he pulled away, his prick slipping out of her, leaving her with a feeling of loneliness.
Quickly, he put his clothes back on, throwing her her garments. Now he wanted nothing more than to have the girl out of his office. It was time to get back to work.
"Why don't you take the rest of the day off?" he said gruffly.
"I'd like that," Rona answered, smiling at him. "Especially now that I know Scott's job is safe."
Ransberg looked at her as though he were surprised. "I assume you're kidding, aren't you?"
Rona looked at him, shocked. "No, of course not. You promised."
"Look, my dear," Ransberg said, coming over to pat her on the shoulder. "There's nothing I can do about that now. I already fired Scott. Surely you don't expect me to go back on my word. It would be embarrassing for all concerned. No, Scott will do his show tonight, just to say good-bye to all his fans and then he'll be on his way. You go home and rest now."
Stunned, unable to speak, Rona left her employer's office. When she reached the receptionist's area, Scott was sitting at her desk.
"Oh," she said quietly, "you're still here."
"Yeah. I thought I'd wait around for you."
"That was nice of you, but I'm going home. Mr. Ransberg gave me the rest of the day off."
"Will you go home, pack a bag, and meet me here at about twelve-thirty tomorrow morning?"
"Why? What for?"
"You and I are going to take a little trip. Will you do it?"
"But I only have today off."
"Tomorrow's the weekend, remember?"
"Oh, yes, that's right. You want me to go away for the weekend with you?"
"Something like that. Will you do it?"
"I guess so, but don't you have to work until eight in the morning as usual?"
"I'm going to make a little change in schedule. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."
"All right. I'll be down front at twelve-thirty."
Scott got up and kissed her on the cheek. "Perfect," he said. "I have to go home now and pack myself. See you tonight." As he left the office, he patted the pocket of his coat, where the dictaphone cassette was safely stashed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Scott sat at his console, waiting for the hands of the clock to reach twelve. He faded up his theme music and then faded it down again for his introduction.
"This is Station KSZX, Indianapolis, broadcasting on 870 on your FM dial. This is Night Line, boys and girls. You know all about that. Call in and talk to us. Tonight we have a very special edition, full of surprises. You're gonna love it. Stay tuned. We'll be ready to take your calls right after this word from our sponsor."
He played a short tape advertising a local funeral home and then came back on the air.
"Tonight I'm going to do something different from usual. Most other nights, I take the calls. Tonight I'm about to make one, a very important one for me, and you're going to listen in. It's long distance, all the way to Ohio."
He dialed. After three rings, a sleepy voice answered the telephone. "This is Hank Snodway," it mumbled.
"Mr. Snodway, this is Scott Forsmo in Indianapolis."
"Yeah? What do you want, Scott? It's after midnight."
"You told me to call you any time I made up my mind about your offer, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember." Snodway was beginning to sound much more awake and very interested.
"Well, I've decided. If the offer's still open, I'm ready to come work for KRAY in Cincinnati."
"You bet the offer's still open, Scott. When can you come over and sign the contract?"
"How about tomorrow morning?"
"Terrific. We'll look for you. The contract will be drawn up by the time you get here."
"Thank you, Mr. Snodway, and good night." He hung up the phone.
Scott turned to the microphone and spoke. "There you have it, boys and girls. You just witnessed a very real and exciting part of old Scotty's wild and fast moving life. What do you think about it? Call in and let me know. It's your last chance."
When a brief respite finally came, he said, "I'm going to have to make another change in our usual schedule tonight, Friends. There should be a gorgeous redhead waiting for me downstairs right about now with the motor running ... both hers and her car's. I'm about to join her there for the quick trip down the freeway to Cincinnati. So this is good-bye. By way of a last treat, though, I have some very special, once in a lifetime listening for you. Here it is."
Scott left the studio, locking the door behind him. It would take whoever came rushing down a little while to find the right key to open it, and that would give the incriminating tape just that much longer to play. By the time it was finished, Ransberg would be totally discredited, both with his station and his father-in-law. He would never harm anyone again.
Scott jumped into Rona's car. The radio was playing, and the girl was sitting there as though she were hypnotized, listening to herself being raped by her employer.
"Where ... how did you?" she asked, her voice choked with disbelief.
"It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it on the way to Cincinnati."
"But what if everybody hears it and knows it's me?"
"Don't worry about that I spent a lot of time editing this afternoon. There's nothing of your voice on the tape any more other than a few very lewd groans. There's plenty of Ransberg, though. The part where he mentions his wife and his father-in-law is really worth listening to. I predict KSZX will have a new manager by the time business hours start on Monday morning."
"I wonder how welcome I'll be by then," Rona said with a sigh.
Scott reached over and took her hand. "Listen, Babe, and I mean this. You don't have to go back there at all if you don't want to. Stay with me in Cincinnati."
"You mean move in with you, Scott?"
"If that's what you want. I was thinking of something a little bit more permanent than just moving in with me."
Rona looked at him, startled. "Are you asking me to marry you?"
Scott chuckled. "I guess so. Keep your eyes on the road, though, or they'll have to perform the ceremony in the hospital."
"I don't know, Scott. This is awfully sudden." Rona clutched the steering wheel, her eyes on the highway.
"Don't rush yourself, Babe. You got all weekend to decide. Let me help." He slid over close to her in the seat and put his hand on her right knee.
"Don't do that, Scott. Not while I'm driving." She said it, but the tone of her voice told him she did not want him to stop.
