Wanton, ambitious, exquisite Donna Valento uses her precious body and superb sexpertise to lure a legion of lovers.
A career girl in the corporate jungle of the garment district, working on New York's famed Seventh Avenue, Fashion Avenue, Donna climbs the company pyramid, using as stepping stones her male and female lovers.
In her memoirs, now available at last, she unveils the naked truth behind the industry, where the makers of women's clothes spend their time trying to take those clothes off women and girls and make them.
But our narrator is nobody's fool, and she uses her body and her wits to make her way in this all too wicked world.
An introductory chapter, detailed by Ms. Valento, gives her background, setting the stage for the succeeding nine chapters of first-person memoirs.
And what sizzling memoirs they are!
In their pages, you, with Donna Valento as your devastatingly candid guide, will experience steamy sessions of fellatio, lazy nights of lesbian love, and a variety of personal sexual secrets which will startle you with their frankness, and arouse you with their intimate detail!
CHAPTER ONE
Cucumber-cool as always Donna Valento did not flinch when Stan came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.
It lingered there, so she knew he would do more with it.
Much more.
His advance was expected by her. The key question was, how would she respond?
It was early in the morning that Tuesday.
The working day had barely started, but already Stan was working hard on her.
Donna Valento sat in a chair at the long white table in Stan's office, a table now heaped high with reports, sketches, swatches of fabric, paper, paper, and more paper.
Donna was a very attractive young woman in her early twenties. She was a recently hired junior assistant here at Klenco Clothing.
The Klenco offices were located on the seventh floor of a building in the midtown area, located just off Seventh Avenue, Fashion Avenue.
Klenco, run by industry magnate Irving Klenetsky, was one of the biggest companies in the field, offering ambitious newcomers the chance to prosper.
But those newcomers must produce and deliver the goods.
To Donna Valento, it was obvious which goods Stan wanted her to deliver.
The "goods" of her beautiful body.
Donna Valento was a long tall brunette with a strikingly attractive heart-shaped face with carefully formed chiseled features.
She was tall and willowy, high-breasted and long-legged. She dressed for business, but not even her sensible outfit could hide her loveliness.
Her hair, long and thick and shadow-black, was worn pinned up neatly, leaving her finely formed and featured face prominently displayed.
Her face was made-up with subtle sophistication, the artful use of cosmetics.
She wore a gray blazer, white blouse, gray skirt, pantyhose, shoes.
She sat at the table, resting her arms on its top, with her knees pressed closed, and her feet firmly planted on the floor.
Stan squeezed her shoulder, kneading it through the blazer jacket's fabric.
"We're going to have to work closely on this project, Donna."
"Oh?" She kept her voice neutral, betraying nothing.
"Very, very closely. This is a big account, a big season coming up. It calls for a maximum effort, and I'm calling on you to give me all you've got."
"In a business sense, you mean?"
"Yes, that, of course ... and in other areas, besides."
She kept looking straight ahead, but she could see him in her mind's eye.
Stan Simmons, a middle-level manager, not particularly high on the corporate totem pole, but in a position vitally important to her.
For all intents and purposes, he was her superior, and was in a spot to help her advance upward, or to completely stall and even derail her.
He must be handled with care.
Donna Valento had a pretty good idea of just how and where he would like to be handled by her. That was what all this was leading up to, of course.
Stan was in his middle forties. He might have been handsome once, but he was starting to go a bit to seed.
His dark hair was marbled with gray. He wore it covering his ears, longish, but up on top it was thinning, showing a lot of shining forehead.
He had bushy eyebrows and a thick-featured, clean-shaven face.
Nests of wrinkled surrounded his dark eyes. His nose was snub, slightly upturned, giving him a piggish look-entirely appropriate and keeping in character, thought Donna Valento, who kept her face composed and blandly expressionless.
He was tall, bearish, with a wide head sitting on broad sloping shoulders. He was big all over, with a soft spreading middle.
He wore a conservative suit, button-down white shirt, tie, socks, black shoes.
Donna Valento glanced down at the hand which rested on her shoulder.
It was the left hand of Stan, a thick-fingered hand whose back was covered with crawling veins and bristly black hair.
A golden wedding band glinted on the ring finger of that hand.
The smallest of small smiles quirked Donna's wide lips upwards.
She asked, "What kind of work do you have in mind, Stan?"
That was part of the seeming informality of the company. Everybody addressed each other by first names a nice touch of casual hypocrisy.
Only the big boss, Irving Klenetsky, was not called by name, and even he was known and referred to as "Mr. K."
His son, Junior, also worked at the company, but no one would ever refer to him as "Mr. K." or mistake him for the big daddy.
Stan said, "This is a rush project, so you'll have to put in some time after five o'clock, working late to get this wrapped up."
"No problem."
"I'll be staying with you, of course, to see the project through."
"Of course."
Stan paused, his hand still lingering on her shoulder.
He said, "In fact, you'll have to stay tonight."
She nodded. "All right."
"Hope you didn't have a date planned or anything. I know this is short notice."
"No, I'm free for tonight."
"Good...."
Stan squeezed her shoulder. He was reluctant to remove his hand, but he wasn't quite ready to make any more advances at this time.
He took his hand from her shoulder and said with bluff business-like firmness, "Now, the way I see it, the line can't afford to have any losers, any numbers that we're not perfectly satisfied with and one hundred per cent confident in, and-"
His voice rattled on, outlining the plan of attack for the seasonal showing that would be coming up all too soon.
Donna Valento nodded her head and made encouraging responses in all the right places, to show that she was hanging on his every word.
But in truth, her thoughts were far away....
As Stan bustled around the table and spoke a mile a minute, she permitted herself to allow a small sigh to escape her lips.
A sigh too soft for Stan to overhear. But there was little worry of that.
like so many executives, he was in love with the sound of his own voice, and once he started speaking, could go on and on and on.
So the approach had been made.
Donna Valento had graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology over a year ago, with the highest honors in her field.
Since graduation, she had held a succession of poorly paid jobs in the industry.
She could say in all fairness that, based on her own observations of the industry, only two sorts of men worked on Seventh Avenue:
Gays, and cunt-crazy married men.
Gays generally gave her no problem, since they had not the least interest in her lithe and silky female physique.
As for gay women, well Donna Valento herself was bi-sexual.
But when it came to pure pleasure, she took her lovers from outside the industry, generally, be they male or female.
And, where business was concerned, men held the power.
Those ! men who weren't gay were concentrated more in the hard-assed purely business part of the operation, as opposed to the creative departments.
Virtually all those men were married, or, if not, were recently divorced.
They were cunt-crazy, and would go after just about anything in skirts.
Donna Valento looked sweet-faced and lady-like but she was nobody's fool. And she was gifted with a large share of grit, spunk, and all-consuming ambition.
She had been dumped from her last job-fired!
She had come across for the executive who was her immediate supervisor in that last company, and had let him use her.
For a few weeks, their affair was hot and heavy so hot and heavy, that it tipped off his wife to what was going on.
The wife handed the exec an ultimatum--either the girlfriend went, or she would.
The unhappy exec had to have Donna terminated in her employment. This was her reward for allowing him the free and full use of her body!
Once burned, twice shy and she was determined not to be burned again.
Donna Valento was done taking it.
It was her turn to dish it out!
Accordingly, when the lunch hour rolled around, she went shopping. Within walking distance of the building were many stereo and camera stores.
Donna Valento found what she wanted, and she had the salesman in the store demonstrate the use of the device to her satisfaction.
Not until she was sure that she had mastered its workings, did she agree to buy it. She paid for the purchase by credit card.
The package was little larger than the size of a mass market paperback book, and easily fit inside her pocketbook.
Returning to work, she threw herself into the mounds of paperwork piled up on the desk in her tiny cubicle of an office.
In this fashion, the day wore on, and the five o'clock closing time came around.
As the office, and the building, was emptied of its crowds of workers, Donna Valento went into the ladies room.
She went into a toilet stall, closed and locked the door, sat down fully dressed on the plastic toilet seat, and opened her pocketbook.
She unwrapped the package she had bought at the camera/stereo store.
Taking it from its box, it was revealed to be a portable cassette tape recorder.
It was small and simple to operate. Batteries were bought at the time of purchase, as was a blank cassette tape.
The tape recorder had a powerful condenser microphone built into its side.
Adjusting the RECORD button, Donna Valento spoke in a husky whisper.
"Testing 1-2-3, testing 1-2-3...."
When the tape was rewound and played back, her whispered voice was reproduced with fidelity and surprising clarity.
Donna Valento played with the sound levels, adjusting the volume so that the recorder would easily pick up the sounds of normal conversation.
She was careful, since she didn't want to betray her purpose.
Satisfied that it was properly adjusted, she set it so that it could be activated and recorded at the touch of a button.
This done, with all in readiness, she slipped the recorder into a pouch on the inside of her pocketbook.
Despite her confidence and determination, she was anxious, and sitting on the toilet seat while working with the recorder had made her have to go.
She set down her bag, hiked her skirt up to her waist, and peeled her flesh colored pantyhose down to her knees.
When she was done, she studied herself in the lavatory mirror.
In the armor of her tweedy business suit and skirt and sensible shoes, Donna Valento was as ready for combat as any knight of old.
Carnal combat.
Stan waited for her in his office.
As the business day had worn on, he had grown progressively more unkempt.
Now, his jacket was off, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his tie was loosened, and dark sweaty stains showed under his arms.
He got up from his desk and walked around it, crossing his office floor.
A middle level executive, he rated a medium-sized office.
"Come in, come in," he greeted her at his office door.
Virtually all of the staff had cleared out when five o'clock rolled around, although a handful of late workers remained.
But they were all closeted in their offices, while the halls were empty.
All the same, after Stan ushered Donna Valento into his office, he closed his door and locked it.
"So we won't be interrupted when we're in the middle of something," he explained.
He told her to make herself comfortable: "We'll be here for a while, a few hours at least, until we get all squared away.
"When we get hungry, later, we can send out for some sandwiches. There's a good deli down the block that delivers.
"So, make yourself comfortable. Take off that jacket of yours, relax."
Donna Valento took off her gray blazer and hung it up on a wardrobe rack.
The front of her long-sleeved white blouse was lifted by the twin mounds of her breasts, pear-shaped breasts with sharply pointed nipples.
Through the white blouse could be seen the outline of the lacy white bra which cupped those breasts.
A bra worn not for support since Donna Valento's bosom was high and firm without the lift of a supporting bra but for the sake of modesty.
A lady in business had to dress like a lady. When Donna Valento went braless, the guys openly ogled her, staring at her tits.
That had happened at her last job. She would not repeat the mistake here.
Stan ogled her breasts.
Donna Valento was acquainted with the expression, "undressed with his eyes," an expression which was an accurate description here.
Stan stared at her, seeing the shape of her body under her clothes, seeing her naked in his mind's eye, as he undoubtedly desired to see her in the flesh.
"Have some coffee, Donna. And bring me a cup while you're at it."
She took hers black. He liked his with lots of cream and plenty of sugar.
"That must be because you're so sweet," she said.
"You don't know how sweet-but you will!"
If he had even the slightest sensitivity or sense of irony, he would have known that she was goofing on him.
But he was happily oblivious to all save his own lusts.
Hardly had she taken the first few tentative sips of her coffee, when he put down his cup and came around his desk.
He perched casually on the corner of his desk, close to where she sat.
He looked down at her, at the globes of her bosom pressing the blouse.
"I've had my eye on you for some time, Donna."
"Yes...."
"I'm, uh, very pleased with your work, what I've seen of it."
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me you've earned it. I think that you could go places in this company, Donna ... with some help from the right people."
"I never say no to a helping hand."
"Yes, Donna, I think you could go far."
"You'd be surprised by how far I go," she said.
That wasn't quite the answer he expected, and it threw off his timing by a beat or two, so that she sensed him mentally changing gears.
"You know the old saying, Donna: 'you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.'"
"I know it.' "I can be a good friend for you to have, Donna."
"I'm sure ... I hope that we can be very good friends."
"That depends on how, er, ah, friendly you are."
"I think that you'll find me more than friendly, Stan."
"I'm glad to hear it...."
"You did say that we'd have to work very closely."
"Yes...."
He shifted his weight, squirmed on the desk, and she knew he was readying himself to make his move. She was ready, too.
She had butterflies in her belly, but that was nothing she couldn't deal with, just the excitement of the moment of confrontation.
Stan took a new tactic.
"You're a great looking, Donna, that when I first saw you, I thought you were a model and not an employee!"
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Beautiful hair...."
He reached out and touched it.
This is it, Donna Valento thought. Here we go-She steeled herself to sit perfectly still. Her face was frozen in the same blandly pleasant expression she had walked in with.
He touched her hair lightly, then, when she didn't pull away or repulse his advance, he fondled it openly.
His thick fingers, greasy with sweat, pawed the fine smooth black hair.
It was worn all pinned up, in a kind of bun, leaving her neck bare and her face unframed, giving her a prim look.
He patted her head, a master teaching his dog new tricks.
Donna Valento knew tricks he had never even heard of or dreamed of!
As he would discover, soon enough.
For now, let him have his innings.
He fondled her face, stroking her cheek-
"You're a beautiful girl ... just beautiful...."
Donna Valento lifted her hand and put it on his.
He froze in place, unsure of her reaction.
She pressed his hand to her face. Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her face against the hand, squeezing it invitingly.
She chewed her lips and puckered them out, then pressed his palm, kissing it.
Her body, her manner, both indicated she was open to him.
He reached for her.
She stood up and he embraced her. Tall as she was, he was half a head taller.
She wore her flat-heeled loafers. When she wore heels any higher, she was sure to stand taller than some of the men in the company.
Many men disliked a female taller than themselves, or another male, either. She would not provoke their enmity until she was ready to deal properly with it.
Power was all.
Power, not confidence in his sexual appeal and allure, permitted Stan Simmons to embrace a female young enough to be his daughter.
It was power which enabled him to wrap his arms around her warm, slender form and move his face to hers for a kiss.
Power, the confidence that she would yield, was in fact yielding.
He kissed her.
Kisses were bad. They were difficult for Donna Valento to do, when she must kiss someone she did not care for.
She could offer up her body for many more sexual uses than kissing, but there was something in kissing on the mouth that was unpleasant to her.
But she could stand it.
Donna Valento could stand just about anything.
Kissing her mouth, Stan pressed his front against hers.
His chest pressed her bosom, the mounds springily resisting.
His mouth was open and attached to hers. It was a thin-lipped steamy greedy mouth that crushed her lips and invaded hers with a tongue.
He shoved his big fat tongue in her mouth, probing, tasting.
He rubbed her back, tracing out the fine line of her spine.
His hands traced out the rounded curve of her rump.
Generally lithe and lean, she possessed a perfect ass, round, heart-shaped, luscious. It was one of her greatest assets.
Stan clutched her assets, one hand on each rounded buttock. He squeezed and kneaded them through the skirt.
He pressed his crotch against hers. Movement stirred in the soft bulge of his groin as it rubbed against her hips.
His penis grew in spasming jerks, stiffening against her, standing tall.
He broke off the kisses, leaving his saliva smeared on her mouth.
His face was flushed red under a shining coating of sweat. Now that he hadended the kiss, he could fondle her breasts.
He put his hand on her bosom and groped her through her blouse.
His sweaty palms smeared moist blotches on the fabric of the blouse. He handled her breasts like he was milking them.
"Make myself comfortable, you said," Donna Valento murmured.
"Yes...."
Smiling with her lips, her gaze sultry, she unbuttoned her blouse down the front. She pulled the tails from her skirt and took the blouse off.
The bra's lacy white cups gripped her breasts. The creamy breast tops were ivory white, smooth, shining over the bra cups.
He squeezed her breasts and rubbed their tops.
She reached behind her back, unhooked it, took it off.
Her breasts jiggled when freed from the confining cups, but she was well toned and fit, and the breasts stayed in position.
Her nipples, flattened by the pressing cups, expanded outward, throbbing.
Stan moaned with lust and fumbled with her breasts. He pressed them together and squeezed them, grunting while he did so.
He reached for her hip, squeezed it, worked his hand to her crotch.
He rubbed her thigh, his sweaty palm rustling over the nyloned flesh.
He started to reach between her legs-
"No."
Donna Valento took hold of his hand and moved it away from her pussy.
He started to get really mad.
"What kind of a game are you playing here-"
She pressed her finger over his lips.
"Shhhh ... don't be angry. Let me explain. I can't let you touch me there because, well, it's that time of the month for me."
She lied with a kind of shy hesitancy that was ultimately convincing.
"You know what I mean that time of the month! I'm having my period!"
The message finally got through to him.
"Oh! Oh, that's it! I get it!"
She went on, "I'll be over it in a day or two ... but in the meantime, even though you can't do it to me down there, there's still plenty I can do for you!"
Donna Valento knew that Stan, like most males, would have a deep, near-superstitious fear and dislike of a woman's menstrual blood.
Of course, she had gambled that Stan would not be one of that fractional minority of men who would not be turned off.
And she had judged correctly.
Besides, she had so much else to offer ... she leaned into him, so that the tips of her breasts nuzzled his chest.
Her nipples were dark brown, pertly pointed, and were ringed with aureoles which were the size of a twenty-five cent piece in diameter.
The nipples were stiff now, and throbbed as they glided over Stan's chest.
She reached for his crotch, pressing her hand against-his genitals.
"Oh ummmm!" he murmured, as she fondled him through his pants.
She stopped fondling him and took a step back. She unclipped the earrings she wore, taking both of them off.
"What are you doing, Donna?"
"I don't want these to fall off when I'm busy."
"Busy doing what?"
"Doing you ... with my mouth."
"You're a sweetheart, Donna, heh heh heh ... you're a prize package, a honey."
"Yes."
She picked up her pocketbook, opened it, reached inside to drop the earrings in.
Before she took her hand back Out, she pressed the RECORD button and looked to see the tape advancing in the cassette window.
From the way she held the pocketbook, Stan hadn't seen inside and would never have thought to look inside, either.
To do so, he would have had to look away from her bare, beautiful breasts.
Donna Valento's stiff-nippled breasts dangled deliciously as she leaned over and safely tucked her pocketbook under the chair, out of the way.
Then she got down on her knees.
She turned her face up to him. A pink tongue tip glided over parted lips, wetting them, making them glisten.
"I know you're big," she murmured, "I could feel it."
She pressed the side of her face against his member, which bulged in his pants.
He pressed her head against his groin while she nuzzled it.
Donna Valento reached for his zipper.
"I'll do that," he said.
He unbuckled his belt and opened his pants and pulled down his fly.
When his undershorts came down, his erection flopped down in front of her face.
CHAPTER TWO
(EDITOR'S NOTE: The previous chapter depicted places, persons, and events which took place prior to the time when Donna Valento started her diary. This information was supplied by Ms. Valento to one of our staff writers. Her memoirs begin precisely at the point in the narrative where the first chapter ends.)
At least he was hard.
Sometimes it seems that no well, not many men over the age of thirty can get it up without a lot of trouble.
Not that I can't get it up for them, sooner or later. Not with what I know.
But Stan wasn't having any of that kind of trouble.
His pants and shorts were down at his knees. His feet were spread apart, so that his clothes were caught in place at his knees.
He had wide hips, thick thighs. He was heavily-haired, like a brown bear.
He had a dark bristly bush. His left ball was bigger than his right. Both balls were swollen and tight and red.
Jutting out over them was his cock.
He was circumcised-I was glad of that-and he measured about seven inches from the tip to the base.
His thing was thick and fat and purple red, with snaky blue veins.
A thick smell of man-sweat came drifting up from his crotch.
"Oh, that's beautiful," I lied. "My God, look at that!"
I stood on my knees with my face level with his crotch. His thick fat thing was horizontal at his waist and its head dangled in my face.
"It's all for you, Donna."
Gee, thanks a lot....
He took hold of himself and squeezed. The head flared red and widened.
"Kiss it, Donna. Give it a great big kiss."
I held his hips. His flesh was warm, slick with sweat, oily. He pressed his penis against my face. .It was hot.
I closed my eyes and nuzzled his cock, rubbing my face against it.
He rubbed its head against my closed eyes, nose, cheeks, chin.
"I want to suck it, Stan. I want my mouth fucked with it!"
I spoke clearly and distinctly, so the tape recorder would get it all, every word.
"Let me kiss your great big beautiful cock, Stan!"
Men! You'd think that even the most naive of them would suspect something was phony about a girl who kept telling them how great they are.
But they don't. They all think they're the greatest in bed.
Stan was no exception. He pressed his thing to my mouth so I could kiss it.
I covered it with hot sucking kisses that made it burn much hotter.
I licked the head like a lollipop. I dipped the tongue tip into the tiny little slit in the cock head, and drove him wild.
My lipstick smeared all around my mouth, and saliva got on my face.
Stan lifted his cock and held it upright while I licked its shaft.
I licked down to the base and kept on going, licking his balls, too.
"Christ!"
I stopped what I was doing and looked up. I asked innocently, "What's the matter, Stan? Don't you like me to lick your great big balls?"
"Baby, I love it, but you got to do it slower, I can't take too much of something that feels that damned good!"
"I'll lick them more lightly and slower, okay, Stan?"
"Sure, doll, sure!"
I licked his balls with just the very tip of my tongue, tickling him. He grunted and groaned and gasped while I did him.
Saliva was smeared all over my face now. My make-up must be a wreck!
I kissed and licked my way back up the shaft, to its fat knobbed head.
"Don't be cruel, Stan!"
"What?! "
"Don't tease me. You know I want to take that big fat thing in my mouth, all the way, as deep as I can, so please, give it to me!"
He leered, "You are a hot little bitch, aren't you?! "
"Yes, I'm a slut, and I need to have my mouth fucked!"
"Well then here you are, you hot-assed little honey!"
"Oh, Stan-"
I couldn't say any more because he stuffed his cock head between my lips.
He wanted to go deeper, and pushed. He shoved his thing way into the back of my throat, like he was drilling for oil.
His thing was fat and stretched the corners of my mouth. When the veins of it throbbed, my whole head seemed to shake.
It pressed my tongue down flat, squashing it, but I moved it some, and rubbed his penis with it, and sucked at his rod.
He pressed his palms against my cheeks-they were sweaty and held my head.
He rocked back and forth, pumping his penis in my mouth.
When he pulled back, I sucked and slurped just on his cock head, working on it like it was a ball of hard candy.
Drool spilled down the sides of my mouth and wet my chin.
I moved my head, responding to the way he was fucking my mouth.
When he shoved his hips forward, thrusting in, I pushed my head forward to meet him. My mouth slid down his member, engulfing it.
When he pulled back, I pulled my head away from his, watching the thick red pole of his erection emerge from inside my mouth.
As he got hotter he pumped more vigorously, not caring if he choked me or not.
I can take it pretty deep, but sometimes, when the cock head plugged my throat, I came close to gagging.
I wasn't worried about him being upset at not being able to fuck my pussy, though-I knew that for him, like for many men, he preferred being sucked off to fucking a pussy-having the girl go down makes it a real power trip.
Before this trip was done, we'd see who had the power.
"Ungh! Oooh! Christ, you've got a hot mouth!" he groaned.
After fucking my "hot mouth" some more, he was close to coming.
I could tell, from the way he gasped, and from the twitching of his cock on my tongue, that his orgasm was just about due.
"You'll swallow it, all of it!" he huffed and puffed.
"Ummmmm-hmmmmmmm!"
That was all I could say with my mouth stuffed full as it was. The humming vibrations nearly were enough to trigger his orgasm.
He pumped some more, thrusting so violently that fat drops of saliva spurted from the stretched corners of my mouth.
My jaws and' tongue were starting to ache, but his time was now.
He shoved his hips forward and plunged his stiff penis deep into my mouth.
The fat head of it plugged my open throat. This time, he didn't pull back for another thrust, but kept his thing in my mouth.
He started to shake all over.
I molded my mouth around the cock and sucked hard, squeezing it.
His thing trembled in my mouth. He cried out loud as he came.
His shivering penis shot a fat wad of come down my throat.
The first mass of semen splashed the back of my throat. I gulped hard, and kept on swallowing as more of the stuff streamed out.
I closed my eyes and kept my gullet working and kept swallowing. With the cock head in my throat, I didn't have to taste the come.
His thing was shoved deep, so deep that my lips ringed the base of his shaft, and my nose was tickled by his pubic bush.
He held my head in place, probably fearing I would pull back and not really swallow his come, and taking no chance of that happening to him.
He kept on shaking and groaning and his come kept on spurting.
The stream of semen faded, and the tension in his body ebbed.
He gave a sobbing gasp, huffing and puffing, now weak from his orgasm.
His thing still filled my mouth. It twitched, each twitch sending a surge through the cock and squeezing more come from the member.
He kept his thing in my mouth and throat long after he stopped coming.
I glanced up at him. His face was red. It was shiny with dripping sweat. Even as I looked up, a fat bead fell on me.
His cock continued to shake and tremble in my mouth. His mouth was wide open to suck in wheezing whistling breaths of air.
His eyes were squeezed shut, and before he could open them to see my coldly studying him, I cast my gaze demurely downward.
Its not easy to look demure with a cock filling your mouth but it can be done.
"Lord!"
He patted my hair and face, his hands clammy and shaking.
"That sure was something special! You've got a mouth in a million, baby!
He pulled out of my mouth.
His thing was still stiff, but not rock-rigid like it was before he came.
It throbbed as it glided over my tongue and out of my lips.
The cock head popped out of my lips. He caught hold of himself. A fat pearly drop of come oozed from his cock head and clung there.
I licked my lips and smacked them. "I taste you in my mouth, Stan . ... "
"Yeah, doll? How do I taste."
"Good, real good."
"You're good, kid. Where'd you learn to give head like that?"
"Just comes naturally to me ... ooh, you've got a big drop of come on your cock! Hold still and let me lick it off!"
I stuck my tongue way out and scooped up the come drop with the tip, then swallowed it down, while he chuckled and leered.
"Can't get enough of it, can you?"
"Not enough of that thing you've got between your legs, Stan."
"I've got plenty more of it, for you."
"I can see that ... when I'm done having my period, which may even be tomorrow, I've got plenty more for you, Stan."
"I bet."
"You've only had one part of me, Stan, my mouth. But wait until you've had the rest of me, all of me ... all of my hot, wet, juicy pussy!"
"Keep talking like that, and I'll get hard all over again!"
"That's okay I'm still on my knees!"
"You sure are something," he said.
Then he put his cock back in my mouth and there was no more talking for a while.
After I had sucked him off for the second time, we called it a day.
The second time, he was able to go much longer than the first, and my jaws and tongue really got sore and aching from the workout.
I went home after that. All that business about having to stay late for work was just so much nonsense, part of the come-on.
After he had gotten not one but two suck jobs from me, he was too tired and played out to work another minute.
Before I went out, when I was dressed and ready to go, he played with my tits and grabbed my ass through my clothes.
He kissed me on the back of the neck but not the mouth.
He wasn't the type to kiss the mouth of a girl who's just sucked him off.
All tidied up, I rode the elevator down to the lobby.
Alone in the elevator car, I opened my pocketbook and checked the tape recorder. I had gotten one of those 90-minute blank tapes.
I still had fifteen minutes or so of taping time left, but what I already had recorded on tape would prove more than enough for my purposes.
"Suck it, come on, ooh, yeah, yeah, that's good, so good, so gooooooood!, so keep on sucking it, work it, work that tongue, oh, yeah!"
Tony said, "That sure is some nice dialogue!"
"Isn't it?". I laughed.
As the tape recorder played back the cassette, Stan's voice could be heard on the sound track, coming through the speaker loud and clear.
The tape was at a point during the session when he had done all the talking.
I had been unable to talk at that moment-my mouth was full.
With his member.
On the recording, he could be heard urging me in intimate detail to suck him off, and keep on sucking him.
It was later that night and I was home in my little Village apartment.
It's a studio apartment with a tiny attached bathroom and a miniature kitchenette. The rent I pay on such a small place is staggering.
But in this town, housing is so scarce and so in demand, that you can't even rent a closet without paying an arm and a leg.
The place was fixed up as nicely as my small salary allowed. The pretty drapes on the windows covered the bars over them.
Those bars were there, not to keep me in, but to keep the animals out. That's New York the city where the people live in cages and the animals run free.
In the studio was a comfortable couch which folded out into a bed. There were two armchairs, a table with a lamp, some other odds and ends.
Art posters from museum exhibitions papered the walls, covering some of the cracks. The place needed painting, but then it needed lots of other things, too.
Small and sparsely furnished as it was, it was now equipped with the one most important item to be found in apartment or home:
A handsome young stud of a lover.
That was Tony.
Tony is a neighbor who lives in the same building, on the next floor up. If you think that my place is small, you should see his!
He's in his late twenties, and very good-looking indeed. He looks like a male model, a job which he's done from time to time.
He's six feet tall, athletic but not muscle-bound. He has brown hair, short and neat, and a chiseled, finely formed face.
He has green eyes and a sensuous mouth and a fine body.
He's an out of work actor. "Out of work actor" the phrase seems redundant, because just about every actor I know is usually out of work.
"Actor" and "out of work" are so synonymous, that they seem to go together like a hand in a glove.
Still, if all the out of work actresses and actors in this town actually got roles and parts, why, there would hardly be a waitress or waiter left!
Tony is poor, and if it wasn't for money from home, he sure wouldn't be able to live in this building.
But I like him. He's easy on the eyes, bright, mellow. He wants nothing from me but my body, which I'm more than happy to give him.
It was about ten o'clock that night, and I was in for the evening.
I had taken off my working clothes, showered, and put on a robe and slippers.
The robe was made of tight, clinging black silk decorated with rainbow colored butterflies, and was similar to a short kimono.
It was long-sleeved, and belted closed at the waist with a knotted sash. It had a plunging neckline and its hem reached the middle of my thighs.
I was naked under it.
After my shower, when I had finished toweling myself, my skin was still damp, and the moisture made the robe cling skin-tight to me.
My nipples were outlined against the front of the robe, and the inside curves of my breasts could be seen.
I wore a pair of flat slippers which were like ballet slippers.
Tony sat on the couch. He wore a black pullover sweater and a pair of faded designer jeans which hugged his lower body.
It was a body well worth hugging.
His crotch bulged out the front of the denims, while in behind, they hugged his buns and made them stand out.
His shoes were off and his feet were bare. He sat sipping the tea which I had just made, sat back and listened to the tape.
Listened to Stan saying, "Oh, Jesus, when you lick me like that, I go wild!"
I sat down on the couch beside Tony. I folded one leg and tucked it under me. The tea warmed my mouth and tingled in it..
I put my hand on his crotch and pressed it. "I just wanted to see if all this hot stuff was getting to you," I explained. "It is now," he said.
His penis was limp and thick. My fingers felt it out through folds of fabric in the denims, and it jerked with animation.
I stroked him some more, tracing out the outline of his member, an outline which steadily grew as his penis stiffened.
"You're really getting to me now," he said.
"I know...."
The front of his jeans bulged like it was lifted by a tent pole. He was fully erect now, as I rubbed the wide cock head.
He moaned and chewed his lip as I fondled him through his pants. I still held the cup of tea in my other hand.
I put it down on the floor, out of the way.
He reached for me and we embraced and kissed. He has a very kissable mouth and I could kiss it all night ... if I didn't have other desires, too.
And all of them would be satisfied, here and now.
We kissed for a long time, rubbing tongues, tasting each other. Then I gently disengaged from the kiss and stood up.
"You'll have to get up," I said.
"Why?"
"So we can fold the couch out into a bed."
He got up. We took the cushions off and he pulled the bed part out. It came out like the folded sections of an accordion.
The bed was folded out, complete with mattress, sheets, and blankets.
It was ready for use, and so was I.
From the tape player, Stan was still chattering away. I reached for the tape player to turn it off, but Tony stopped me.
"Leave it on," he said. "It's kind of a kick for me to listen to it while I'm with you ... I know that's kind of kinky."
"And so are you, lover. Which is one of the reasons I imagine you so much. And I've got some imagine ideas about what I want you to do to me, and what I'm going to do to you on that bed!"
CHAPTER THREE
Tony reached into the top of my kimono robe and put his hand on my bosom.
At his touch, my nipples came alive.
They tingled, then got stiff. His hand was between the inside of the robe and my flesh, and slid glidingly across my breasts.
He took hold of a stiff nipple and played with it
I opened my legs for the hand be put between them.
We stood on the floor at the foot of the fold-out bed, embracing.
His front pressed mine. I rubbed my hips against his groin. I felt motion there.
He took his hand out of my robe, freeing both hands to hold me while we kissed.
His mouth was very kissable....
He rubbed the line of my back and reached for my rear. He patted my ass and took hold of the bottom cheeks, one in each hand.
I have a very sensitive and sensual bottom, and having it stroked and petted makes the juices flow inside my pussy.
As they now were flowing.
Good to be with a man I really wanted it excited me.
Tony lives hand to mouth, and if it wasn't for subsidies from home,r he surely would be unable to continue living in the city.
He has few prospects, is charming but penniless. Careerwise, there's nothing he could do for me ... which makes me like him all the more.
After all, even for a girl like me, with ambitions, it can't be all work and no play. Sometimes I have to let my hair down and just plain have some fun.
Another thing I like about Tony is that he wants nothing from me but my body. Of course, he's very greedy for that ... which is fine.
So, I would give him a taste (and more!) of what we both really wanted.
My nipples felt so stiff that they smarted with soreness. My breasts pressed his chest, flattening against them and shivering as I breathed.
Where my hips pressed his groin, I felt he was hard.
I took a little step back from him and unwrapped the package.
I unknotted the sash of the kimono robe and opened it down the front. I swept back the twin halves of the robe to display myself.
Under the robe I was naked, and all of that was exposed.
He saw my high firm shapely breasts, with their stiff nipples; my long lean torso, widening at the hips; my pussy; my naked white thighs.
I pulled the garment off my shoulders and let it slip to the floor.
I pressed against him, pulling at the sweater which he wore.
He wrestled it off and was naked from the waist up, showing his fine form.
I got down on the fold-out bed and crawled to the head of it, where what was the couch's back of the seat had become the bed's headboard.
Sheets covered the mattress, clean and smooth and white. My limbs rustled on them.
Tony stood at the foot of the bed and took off his jeans.
He wasn't wearing any underwear beneath them.
His belly was flat and under it rose a horn of flesh that was his stiff penis. It was red, thick, circumcised, swollen.
His erection bobbed as he padded, nude, to the table, reaching for the lamp to switch it off. "No," I murmured, "Leave it on."
"All right," he agreed.
He was a fine figure of a man, a gorgeous male animal, and I wanted to feast my eyes on his masculine beauty while we made love.
My arms-and legs were open from him. I sat up and reached for him, taking his hand to pull him down to the bed.
Flesh massaged naked flesh as he lay down alongside me and pressed me.
His penis was wonderfully stiff, yet smooth and sleek where it rubbed me.
We kissed, and all of me was open to him. He kissed his way down from my mouth to my neck, top of my chest, then my breasts.
He rolled me on my back and my breasts were open and offered to him.
He nuzzled them, pressing his face from side to side. My nipples throbbed as his face rolled over across them.
He pressed many hot kisses on the breasts. Where his lips had been, his tongue followed, and he licked them all over.
My breasts were sticky with saliva when he took hold of one, gripping it so that its nipple jutted from the top of his hand.
Holding it in place, he licked it many times, his tongue flickering like a snake's.
My breasts were super-sensitive, and when they were kissed, I could feel the rushes all the way down into my pussy.
Which was also super-sensitive....
He kept on kissing his way down my body.
"Ummmmm, yes, that's so' nice," I murmured, "don't stop...."
"I won't...."
"Ummmm, do my pussy...."
Ordinarily, I would have been happy to take him by mouth and suck him off, and I might yet, but for now I just wanted to be done, not to do.
I had done when I was with Stan Simmons. Now, I would be the one to lay back and be pleasured, an erotic task Tony was only too happy to carry out.
As he kissed his way down my body, he slid on his belly on the bed, so that finally he lay on his belly with his upper body stretched between my legs.
And his head poised over my pussy.
He nuzzled the mound and the pubic bush, inhaling the scent of my sex.
I reached down and fondled his thick fair hair, caressing it.
He held my hips and pressed hot kisses on my pussy.
I squealed softly the first time he kissed me there, and as he continued, my sighs and gasps got louder and more prolonged.
He kissed the pussy lips until they were warm and then hot.
I felt all dreamy and floating....
His tongue returned where his lips had been, and where he had kissed me, he now licked me, with slow gliding strokes of his tongue.
I rocked my hips and rubbed my pussy in response.
He pressed his tongue against the slit and pushed it inside me.
I gasped from pleasure as I was penetrated by his tongue.
Inside the slit, I was moist and sticky. As his tongue worked, I got hotter and wetter, juices oozing from the membranes.
His parted lips were pressed to my pussy while his tongue thrust.
He licked and lapped for a long, sweet time of prolonged pleasure.
At last, he took his tongue out of me and pressed it to my clitoris.
If he had pressed too hard at first contact, I think I might have writhed out of the bed and flopped on the floor, I was that sensitive.
But instead he first licked long wet circles around the clitoris, then made little light passes across it, then pressed more urgently.
Then he massaged it steadily, but by then, I was ready for all the force of his tonguing, and could enjoy it to the fullest.
Down between my legs came wet, slurping, sucking sounds.
My pussy felt all squishy and dripping inside, while the pussy lips were so alive and electric that they seemed to glow like neon.
My buttocks were clenched as I rocked my hips and pressed my pussy in his face.
He held my hips and his head bobbed while his tongue thrust.
I came hard and heavy.
My body tightened at the climax, peaked, then eased off, relaxing once more.
The flash of the big orgasm had hit me and crashed over me.
I was left weak and gasping and wonderfully well satisfied.
But there was more....
I was weak from pleasure and lay there barely able to move. But Tony moved me. He took hold of my legs and spread them wider apart.
My pussy felt like one glowing mass of pleasure. I couldn't make out the outlines of it, or tell where the labia began and the membranes ended.
The bush was soaked, and saliva and juices were smeared over the slit.
Tony got on his knees between my spread legs.
The rod of his penis jutted from his hips as he lowered himself down on me.
He got on top of me. He took hold of his rod and pressed its head to my slit.
My pussy dripped with moisture on the outside and the inside. I was well lubricated with saliva and juices, and was more than ready.
He pressed the tip, then the head of his member into my slit.
It filled me and stretched me. Since I was ready for it, eager, it felt so fine.
He had partial penetration. I was seething and sighing under him.
He let his weight push down on me, and the shaft sank into me.
I wondered if I would faint from the pure pleasure of his thing entering me.
He was full, thick, strong. He entered me and filled me.
I wrapped my arms around his sweaty upper back and held him tight. His head was next to mine, our moist cheeks pressing.
He moved on top of me, working his rod inside me, thrusting.
He took me there. Having my pussy eaten to a climax had already steamed and satisfied me, but more pleasure was in store for me....
For a long time he took me on that bed, so that when he finally stopped delaying and came, we both were ready for it.
Sweat dripped from us, soaking the sheets, as we lay gasping after our mutual climax.
It was a good time, a sweet time, and the thrill of the memory helped get me through the grim tasks at work the next day.
The grimmest of which was letting Stan Simmons use me.
He had nerve, that man, real brassbound gall. He summoned me to his office for what I thought would be a mid-morning conference.
When I came into the office, he was alone, and sat behind his desk. He wore a gray suit jacket, white shirt, striped tie.
"Do come in, Donna," he said. "And please shut the door behind you."
"Yes, Stan."
"And lock it, please."
I did so, then when I went to his desk, he motioned for me to come around it.
As I did so, he pushed his swivel chair back from the desk, turned, stood up.
From the waist up, he wore his conventional conservative business suit, but from the waist down, he was nude!
He had taken down his slacks and shorts, which hung at his feet, while between them and the tails of his shirt, was his hairy reddish-pink flesh.
I wondered how long he had been dressed, or rather undressed, like that.
Had he done it just a moment before, when he had summoned me? Or had he been that way all morning, conducting business from behind his desk, giving orders, making calls, getting papers from secretaries?
I knew that it would turn him on to be nakedly exposed, with the secret of his nudity concealed under the opaque desk.
At any rate, he sure intended to make use of his condition.
He was semi-erect, and as I moved around to him, he handled himself.
Leering, he pointed down at the floor.
I knew what he wanted. I set down my notepad and pen on the corner of his desk, then put my pocketbook down on the floor, propping it against the edge of the desk.
Then I got down on my knees at his feet, facing his groin.
He moved closer to me and patted my head and fondled my hair.
He put his hand on the back of my head and pulled my face to his cock and balls.
His cock was thick but limp, a warm hose of flesh, while his balls were all heavy and dangling. He jammed my face to them.
He took hold of his penis and massaged it against my face.
The penis jerked and thickened, not getting fully stiff.
"Turn me on," he said, "make me hard!"
I cupped his balls and held them in the palm of my hand, where they tightened in the sac when I played my tongue over them.
I licked my way up his cock and took the head of it in my mouth. I rubbed the smooth insides of my lips against the rod.
I took the long, semi-erect member deep in my mouth, between my lips.
His thing got hard when I mouthed it, growing and stiffening on my tongue.
I pulled my head back a few inches to keep from choking, then sucked the rod.
He groaned, gasped, and grunted as he fucked my mouth.
Actually, though, I did all the work, since I bobbed my head back and forth while I sucked him, and he stood there in place.
His spit spilled from the corners of my mouth I didn't want it to spill on my blouse, so I was careful to keep wiping it off.
When he was going to come, he held my head in place, like he feared I would pull away, to cheat him of the fun of coming in my mouth.
He shuddered and his cock spasmed and spurted a load down my throat.
I took it and swallowed it, not liking it. but knowing my innings were due.
And after lunch, in early afternoon, they came due.
"Come on and suck me ... suck it ... suck it, you black-haired bitch! Ah, that's good, so good ... so fine but more tongue there-"
Stan Simmons sat statue-still, listening to the sound of his own hoarse voice, playing back at him through the portable tape player on his desk.
I was playing a fast game, and now that I had him where I wanted, there would be no delay in showing him exactly where things were at.
I sat in the chair on the other side of the desk, looking all lady-like, prim and proper, with both feet on the floor, knees pressed closed, and skirt pulled down.
Stan was a study in emotion, all right.
When I took out the tape player and hit the PLAYBACK button, so that the recorded cassette began to unreel, he was mildly puzzled, amused.
It took him a few seconds to recognize the sound of his own voice on the tape. That often happens people think they sound different in real life.
But this tape recording of the morning's blowjob session was all too familiar for him to stay in the dark about for long.
His eyes widened, then narrowed as the tape played on.
He frowned. Furrows were plowed in his forehead. His face reddened and swelled up, like an enraged heart pumped extra blood there.
For an instant, I hoped that he didn't have a heart problem.
If he should keel over while listening to this tape, the hard work I had put into this situation would all be for naught.
I would have to choose a new exec and start all over again ... happily, for me, Stan's ticker was able to withstand the shock I handed him.
But he was shook, I'll tell you that!
His face got redder and redder, going from a deep red to a lobster red, to a lava-like red, with his face swelling up more and more.
When he had heard enough, he gasped in a strangled voice, "You cheap little blackmailer!"
He shouted some other stuff, too, which was even less nice.
He grabbed the tape player and tore at the lid. He tried to open it without stopping the mechanism first.
His finger trembled as he stabbed the STOP button. He tore the cassette out with such violence that he broke a fingernail.
The tape wasn't yet freed from the machine, and long spirals of thin tape unwound as he ripped the cassette loose.
He tried to break it in two, then saw he couldn't, so he threw it on the floor and stamped on it, crushing and crackling it underfoot.
He was huffing and puffing from the exertion, which was more energy than he had put into the suck-job I gave him early this morning.
When he finally turned to confront me, I said dryly, "Feel better?"
"You you witch you're finished here!" A sob of rage, pure hate, crackled in his voice.
"You're through here," he stormed, "you're through here, and in the industry, too, I'll see that you never work on Seventh Avenue again. I'll-"
"Shut up."
"What?! "
"Sit down and shut up. And you better sit down; you'll need it."
He opened his mouth, a big black hole gaping in a furious red face, and took a deep breath of air, to begin another tirade.
"Don't!" I held up my hand to silence him. "Don't say another word, until you've heard me out, or you'll regret it!"
Something in my voice, in the calm way I was playing my hand, warned him that I had cards up my sleeve.
He shook from pure rage, but he shut up, his hands balled into fists.
I flashed him a thin smile, just to enrage him some more.
I said, "You don't really think I played that tape for you just so you could destroy it, did you?! Don't be ridiculous!
"That was just the tape of our little session this morning! The real stuff is on the tape that I made last night!
"Sure, that's a real hot tape. I played it back a few times ... sure made good listening, all that hot action going down.
"I especially like it when you're telling just how you like your balls licked ... but then, maybe even better, are all those parts where I call you by name.
"And best of all is the part where you're telling me how good I do it, and how your wife doesn't suck it at all, and how dull she is in bed.
"Yes, that sure makes interesting listening, all right!
"My friend is out this morning, making a number of copies of that tape. It's just too good for me to keep all to myself!
"No, Stan, I think that your wife might find it as interesting as I did-maybe even more interesting. Why, she might even learn something!"
He groaned, "Damn you!"
I went on: "And of course, if you want to push things, and get me fired from my job here, why, I'll just bet that the officers of the company, and especially your bosses, will be interested in hearing a copy of the tape!
"Not only that, but when I go file a complaint with the city's Human Rights commission, to claim that I got fired due to sexual harassment, that tape should surely prove a compelling piece of evidence, eh?
"With a big stink like that, a nice headline-grabbing lawsuit added to it, your name will be mud on Seventh Avenue it'll be you who'll never work in the industry again! And if you think I'm bluffing-why, call my bluff!"
But he knew I wasn't bluffing-I had him right where I wanted him. By the balls.
His voice was dull, strangled, when he asked, "What what do you want?"
"Before I present you with my list of nonnegotiable demands, there's one little thing I have to take care of first," I said.
Reaching across his desk, I took hold of the framed photo of his wife and kids which sat on the desktop, and turned it face down.
"Out of respect for your family," I gloated. "We wouldn't want them to hear all the sordid details!"
I told him what I wanted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Billie took me to a strange bar in the Village.
An unusual bar one whose patrons were exclusively female.
You know the kind of bar ... no men were allowed. The female clientele didn't miss them a bit, either.
"Lady Luck" was the bar's name. I had never been there before, but I had heard of it.
And I had visited other, similar bars.
It was secretive. The cab dropped Billie and me at the middle of the block, a side street above Houston Street.
No sign, no neon marquee advertised the presence of the establishment. It was a street of old tenements and warehouses.
Trucks lined the curbs and so did litter, newspapers and old packing boxes. A couple of Latino kids played stickball against a wall.
Billie and I got out of the cab, Billie paying the fare. The cab drove off.
She took me by the arm and guided me across the sidewalk. We ducked our heads to keep from getting hit in the face by the twilight drizzle.
One of the kids shouted something at us in Spanish. I couldn't make out what it was, but I'm sure that it was something dirty.
Another of his little buddies grabbed his crotch and paraded down the sidewalk, swaggering and posturing in the manner of his elder brothers.
The kids couldn't have been over ten, but already they were full-fledged creeps.
There was a waist-high iron fence with a gate which Billie opened. She had to let go of my arm to go down the stone stairs.
The door to the bar was below sidewalk level, the flight of stone stairs to narrow to permit more than one person to descend at a time.
Now I could sense the presence of the bar, as a dull hollow booming bass which vibrated through the brick wall.
Down in the well we stood side by side, as she pressed the buzzer.
In front of us was a solid metal door with a peephole set at eye hight.
As we waited for something to happen, I studied Billie.
Billie is a career woman, single, in her middle thirties. She's the top designer for Klenco Clothes, my company.
For the last few weeks, she had been my boss as well.
Now she wanted to be ... something more to me than just a boss.
She was good to look at. She's a brunette WASP from an old Boston family, tall and thin, aristocratic, casually elegant.
I like all kinds of ladies, with a special imagine for the tall, cool ones like Billie. I was mixing business with pleasure.
I'm tall, but even in her sensible flat-heeled shoes, she was an inch or two taller than me. Her long-legged frame is more spare, less rounded than mine.
She has a long, fine-boned face, features clearly formed, chiseled. She has dark brown eyes and a long thin nose and neat pink lips.
The bones of her face are thin and well-formed, with jutting cheekbones. She has dark thin arched brows and an air of superiority.
Her fine-formed head sits gracefully on a swan neck. Her body is thin and spare, with small breasts and long legs.
Her dark brown hair is cut very short, almost boyishly, a hair style so boyish that it takes a woman of fine, clean-lined features to make it work.
But make it work she did.
Her brows were dark, her eyes shone, her lips were painted red and a hint of blusher was on her cheeks. She wore cosmetics lightly applied.
That night she wore a beige felt beret, full and floppy; a neatly tailored expensive designer coat, black dress, black stockings, loafers.
She wore neat little earrings and a pair of thin black gloves.
I had used Stan Simmons to get to Billie.
Billie was the head designer for the line, the top-ranking creative person. In her department was the best stepping stone for my ambitions.
More than that, there was a personal element, since Billie fascinated me sexually.
Stan was under my thumb. I made him deliver.
I got him to transfer me to Billie's department, with a nice raise as a bonus, and a most glowing letter of recommendation.
The letter praised me for my hard work, and cited me for my fine company-minded qualities. I know the letter was good, since I wrote it myself, then had Stan sign it before it was entered on my record.
He wanted all copies of the tape, but I told him he had to trust me, since I couldn't trust him not to double-cross me if he got all of them back.
I also mentioned in passing that not all copies were kept at my apartment. A few of them were also stored for safekeeping with my lawyer.
That would keep him from getting any ideas about hiring a burglar to break into my place to steal them, since it would do no good for him.
Now that I had him where I wanted him, I took the opportunity to let loose and tell him what I really thought of him.
His red face turned white as I verbally flayed him. By the time I was done, the air seemed scorch by the heat of my words.
After that, he was more than happy to have me transferred out of his department. He was scared to be around me!
Billie was more than pleased to take on another assistant.
Her department was a madhouse. I wasn't overly strong on the creative angle, but I didn't have to be, since there were more than enough designers there.
Organizational work, clerking, making calls, arranging schedules and keeping things running smoothly these were my strong office skills.
They were just what was needed in the design department, so I quickly established myself as a fixture there.
There's so much competition in this business that it's not enough to fuck your way up the ladder you have to be able to do the work, too.
Then, if you handle the job, fucking your way up the ladder gets you where you're going a lot faster than plain old-fashioned good hard work.
So, I couldn't have kept the job working for Billie, if I didn't have the skills; but I never would have gotten a chance to show what I could do for her, if I hadn't used a little judicious sex and blackmail on Stan.
Whom I no longer had to deal with in the company thank God!
My copies of the blowjob tapes would make sure that he would stay a good boy.
My memories were interrupted by the opening of the door to the bar.
The bouncer knew Billie. Seeing her through the keyhole, she opened the door.
Inside it was dark and shadowed. The carpet was wine red and the music was loud.
The bouncer looked like a truck driver with tits. She closed and bolted the door as soon as Billie and I entered.
The bar was set so that its patrons were members of a private club. Admission to the club was gained by paying an entry fee.
I reached for my pocketbook, but Billie waved it away. Saying that I was her guest, she paid my fee, and in we went.
The bar was set up the same as lots of little bars around town.
There was a bar lined with stools, a small area cleared for dancing (very small), a few booths with tables and chairs.
The lighting was low, intimate. A jukebox opposite the bar was all blue and yellow neon, flashing lights, smooth chrome styling.
It was early and the place only had a few customers as yet. Billie and I had worked late at the office, and come here from there.
I was going to her apartment for dinner, but she had suggested that we stop off at a little place she knew for a drink, first.
So we had come to Lady Luck....
A handful of customers crowded the stools at the bar. They were women from different walks of life, different ages.
At the far end of the bar was a pair of attractive, adult businesswomen who looked to both be in their middle forties. They were neatly groomed.
A girl in her early twenties, with a hard, pale, young face and short hair slicked back 50's style, wore a black leather jacket and tight jeans with cuffs.
With her was her partner, her toy, a little blonde piece of fluff with long wavy hair and a heart-shaped doll's face.
There was one or two women who looked like middle class housewives who had hung up their aprons and stepped out of the kitchen to go for a few quick beers.
Behind the bar was the bartender, who knew and casually greeted Billie, as did a couple of the other patrons.
I would have sat at the bar, but Billie escorted me to one of the booths, which is where we sat with our drinks.
My martini wasn't as dry as I like, but it was very high-octane. Sipping it was like quaffing rocket fuel, and I felt it go right to my head.
From the instant we came in, I felt the stir of interest in the other patrons.
All these places, hetero or not, are the same, with everybody checking out everybody else, to see who's with whom, and how they look.
I knew that I was being looked over. I could have looked a lot more sexy and glamorous, if I hadn't just come from work.
But in all honesty, I had little, well, no worry that my looks were lacking.
I knew I looked great, even in this pert and well scrubbed look.
I knew the others were interested in me, too. But I had come in with Billie.
The two ladies at the end of the bar wanted us to join them.
"Maybe some other time," I said to Billie. "I just want to be with you now."
She said nothing but smiled and looked pleased.
The waitress, who had been the go-between, delivered the turn-down to the two ladies, who were regretful, then went back to their intimate conversation.
It was all down very discreetly, with no hassle.
The hard chick in the black leather jacket fished out some coins from the pockets of her skin-tight jeans.
She couldn't have been much older than me. She was of average height, but had a big-boned body under that leather and denim.
She had big tits and a small waist and a wide ass, with taut thighs. Under the black leather jacket, she wore a tight white T-shirt.
She wore no bra, and her tits were globes that shifted under the tight shirt. Her skin was very white, whiter than Billie's, who was quite pale.
The hard girl's jeans were skin-tight, looking like they were painted on. The faded blue denim hugged her crotch and ass.
She wore boots not finely turned, elegant ladies' boots, but biker boots, big solid things with heavy heels and soles.
She dropped the change in the outthrust palm of her blonde toy's hand.
The toy looked like she was in her middle teens, and acted younger, but she had to be at least eighteen to get into the bar I think.
The toy was actually a few inches taller than the hard girl. The toy had long masses of shoulder-length wavy hair.
The hair was yellow as straw, and to my eyes seemed to be her own natural coloring, although sometimes it's hard to tell these days.
She wore it done up in a pair of pigtails, one on each side of her head, bound at their bases with pink scarlet ribbons.
She had a heart-shaped face with sand-colored eyes, a sassy upturned nose, and wide lips which were painted a shade of fire engine red lipstick.
She wore a lot of make-up too much, if you ask me. But she was cute in a kind of young, flashy, cheap way.
Fluff like I said before.
She wore a short-sleeved pink satin blouse with a Peter Pan collar. Her breasts were nubile, heavy, with outlined nipples.
Her bra was too tight, and it pushed her tits way up and made them jut out.
She wore a short black skirt with a wide pink leatherette belt. Its hem came down to the middle of her thighs.
She went to the jukebox. Leaning over it, blue and yellow lights painting her pink face, she studied the selections of discs.
She found some she liked and fed a quarter into the slot and pressed the buttons.
Music oozed out, a slow smoky torch song from the fifties, slow and sexy.
Her hard friend swung off the bar stool, leather boots smacking down. The chain decorations adorning her jingled as she crossed the floor.
The blonde fluff pressed up against the hard girl, who embraced her with a show of ownership, pulling the blonde to her.
The blonde was pretty if vacant. She kind of melted, then fastened her front to the hard girl's, her limbs all pliant and movable.
The hard girl hugged her close, molding their bodies. Her hands crept down the blonde's back to fasten on her ass.
One hand on each ripe bottom cheek, squeezing and kneading them. They swayed slowly to the ripe sensual rhythm, grinding their fronts.
I looked away from them to discover Billie studying me.
Tight lines showed around her eyes, as they peered over the rim of her glass. I knew she studied me to see how I would react.
She said, "That's Kris and Jill ... they're quite a couple of characters."
"Yes, I can see that ... very interesting pair. Do you know them?"
"To say hello to. Everybody here knows each other. It's like a kind of family."
"Interesting place," I murmured.
She asked quickly, "Do you like it?"
I paused for a moment before answering, to prolong the suspense.
"This is the first time I've ever been here," I said, "But I've been to other places like it, places of which you might have heard."
I named a couple of bars into the same scene as this one. She knew of them.
"My, my," she said, "you have been around, haven't you?! "
"Some," I admitted. "Enough not to faint when I see two women dancing. As a matter-of-fact, it looks like fun! ... I love to dance, myself.
She got the hint, asked, "Will you dance with me?"
"I was hoping you'd ask!"
We got up from our seats in the booth. I paused before putting aside my pocketbook, but Billie assured me it was safe here.
We stood awkwardly facing each other, then she reached for me.
She murmured, "I'm far from the most accomplished dancer in the world...."
"I don't mind ... you lead, and I'll follow. In dancing, or ... whatever." Then she embraced me and we danced in place.
Her long lithe body was wiry. I rested my head on her shoulder. She took a quick breath when I lay my head down.
She held me and we swayed. Dancing? Well, it was more like just standing there, swaying, taking little steps as we pressed in close contact for the first time.
All too soon, the music played its last notes and ended. Another tune came on, but it was a fast jumping rock number.
I just knew Billie wouldn't be into that type of music.
I put my mouth close to her ear it was loud, with that rock tune on and I asked her if she wanted to leave for her place.
That's what she wanted. I wanted it, too.
From a pay phone, she called a cab, so we wouldn't have to stand out in the rain trying to hail one.
As we rode in the back of the cab, we sat close together, with our legs touching. We held hands, my palm moist in hers.
She lived in a renovated brownstone on a quiet, safe street, in an apartment on the third floor, a lovely place.
It had a living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. There were lots of flowering green plants and Art Nouveau posters and fine furnishings.
She had invited me over for dinner, but as she feverishly worked her key in the locks, I came up with a suggestion.
"Perhaps ... we can dine later," I breathed, '. . .afterwards."
"Yes...."
As soon as we were inside her apartment, with the door closed, we embraced and kissed, kissed, kissed ... for starters.
CHAPTER FIVE
On the dance floor of a lesbian bar, Billie might have been a bit unsure and tentative. But now that she had me up in her apartment, she took the lead.
As soon as we were inside, she backed me up against the front door.
I pressed the door with my back and it clicked home, the locks shutting.
Now I was sealed up with this beautiful lesbian.
I knew Billie didn't like men that was obvious from a hundred subtle signals she sent off, and from those she did not send off.
I knew she had an affair of some kind going with Martha, a pretty little miss who was her good right hand and assistant.
But it wasn't Martha occupying Billie's erotic attentions tonight.
She pressed her front against me. Her pocketbook was looped by its strap over her shoulder, freeing her hands to take hold of my head.
She brought her face up to mine and pressed her mouth on my open lips.
We kissed with open mouths. She put her tongue in my mouth, probing, tasting.
Her tongue pressed deep. It was urgent, and I could feel the strength of her desires, desires which she kept concealed under her cool, composed front.
But now she was in the privacy of her own place, behind a locked door, with a female she now knew shared her desires.
I let her take the lead, knowing she had to take the more active role.
Which suited me fine. I like to be done, as well as do.
She touched me as she kissed me, feeling out the form of me through the clothing which
I wore now, but not for long.
At last she broke off the kisses. The rosy red glow in her cheeks wasn't from cosmetic blusher, it was from natural excitement.
Eyes shining, she took me by the hand.
I said, "Billie, you have a beautiful apartment, and I really want to see all of it-later. Now, all I want to see is the bedroom!"
Her bedroom was all pink, white, and gold, with highly polished antique furniture and a beautiful brass bed.
I put down my pocketbook and my coat on an armchair in the bedroom.
Billie took off her coat and came to me. She wore a one-piece black dress, long-sleeved, tight in the bodice, with a flaring skirt.
The skirt was pleated and its hem dipped discreetly down past her knees.
From below the swirling hem came her calves, sheathed in black nylons.
She was thin and wiry, with a pair of small, sharply pointed breasts. They made gentle bumps with the nipples forming sudden sharp pebbles of flesh.
I knew from the look of her that she wore no bra.
"I'll undress you, darling," she murmured. "Yes, I'd love that," I said. She hugged me some more, pressed kisses on me, patted and fondled my hair which was still pinned up in the business-like style I had worn to work.
She stood facing me, posture straight and tall as she reached for the front of my blouse and unbuttoned it.
She opened my skirt, pulled the tails of the blouse from the waistband.
Her gaze, directed downward at my chest, glimmered more brightly, when she opened the front of my blouse and saw my breasts.
I wore a lacy pink satin bra and matching lingerie that day. My breasts were a deeper, more blushing pink than the cups which held them.
"Oh, you are exquisite!" Billie gasped.
"Wait until you see me with no clothes at all, all naked."
"I can't wait! I've wanted you since the first time I set eyes on you, when you were still working for that pig, Stan!"
While she spoke, she undid the catch of my skirt and opened it.
She said, "I wanted you so much, but I didn't dream you were a lesbian, too!"
"I'm not," I said, then, before she could freeze up, I added, "I'm bi ... but there's not many men who turn me on like you do, Billie!"
"I'll make you feel better than any man could!"
"I can't wait...."
My skirt was tugged off my hips and fell to my feet. I now was dressed in my bra, a pink satin half-slip, and flesh-colored pantyhose.
I reached behind my back to unhook the strap of the bra.
When it was freed, Billie slid the straps off my shoulders, then peeled the cups off my breasts, which tumbled out.
The nipples, freed from the cups, stiffened to their fully erect length.
Billie chewed her lower lip, breathing fast with hot longing lust.
She pressed her palms against my breasts, so that the tips of the nipples pressed the centers of her palms.
She massaged the breasts, making slow sensual circles, pushing the breasts together, pulling them apart, rubbing them.
She rubbed my flat belly, squeezed my hips, took down the slip.
I stepped out of my shoes and she guided me to her bed. She pulled down the ornate spread to display a quilt and sleek sheets.
She put her hands on my shoulders and sat me down on the mattress. She pressed until I lay down on my back.
I lifted my legs and put them on the bed. She leaned over me and fondled me through the skin-tight pantyhose covering my lower body.
She caressed my thighs, which I spread for her. She rubbed my pussy through the crotch of the pantyhose.
Soft rustlings sounded as her fingers writhed on the sleek nylon fabric.
Finally she hooked her fingertips into the waistband of the pantyhose and peeled them down off my hips, rolling them to my thighs.
She halted for a second to stare wide-eyed at my quivering pussy.
I arched my back and raised my bottom from the bed so she could take the pantyhose all the way down, which she did.
She caressed me as she undressed me, rubbing the smooth sensitive insides of my upper thighs, stroking my skin as she unrolled the pantyhose.
Presently, they were pulled from my toes, leaving me quite naked.
She stood at the bedside, looking down at me.
"Hurry," I urged, "I need you...."
With crisp, efficient movements, she undid the cuffs of her long-sleeved dress and pulled down the zipper which ran in the back.
While she took off her dress, I slithered to the bed's head and sat up.
I pulled the pins from my hair, freeing it. Masses of hair spilled down the side of my head, unwinding in spiral curves.
The hairpins made little tappings sounds as I set down each of them on the top of the night table, while the hair tumbled.
Then all of it was free, the last pin undone. I gave my head a toss to shake out the hair, then ran the fingers of both hands through it.
The hair spilled down over my back and breasts. Billie had stopped undressing, to savor the sight of me quite literally taking my hair down. I had a feeling she fancied long hair.
Not for herself her dark hair was cut in a neat, fluffy style, parted on the side, some of it sweeping over her high forehead and into her eyes.
But she fancied it on her girls. Martha, her little pet in the design room, whom I was positive she was having an affair with, had hair longer than mine.
My hunch must have been correct, since Billie gasped and told me what beautiful hair I had, and reached for it to fondle it.
She ran it through her fingers, which trembled with eagerness, as did the rest of her.
"You get undressed, too," I urged, pulling at her clothes.
She took off her dress. She was thin with ivory skin. Her breasts were about the size of small tomatoes, with very sharp pale pink nipples.
She wore black tights, which she took off so quickly that she put a run in them.
Then, naked as I was, she climbed into bed.
She pressed against me, and I was caressed by her smooth warm soft skin, which sparked tingles where it touched my flesh.
Her body was wirily muscled, covered by skin as smooth as silk and soft as butter. Her long-legged form shook with her strong passions.
She climbed on top of me and kissed me, her smaller breasts nuzzling my larger ones, her long legs entwined with my own.
Her hips were lean with sharp hip bones and a soft downy bush and infinitely softer pussy lips, which pressed my own.
She handled my hair-hair was one of her great fetishes.
She took double handfuls of my tresses and pressed them to her face, fondling them, inhaling their faint sweet scent.
She rubbed my hair against my breasts, flicking the tips of the hair against the stiff nipples of my upturned breasts.
She did not neglect herself with this treatment, and rubbed the hair against the mounds of her own bosom, small shivering knobs of flesh.
She pressed her face to my breasts and rained down kisses on them.
She handled them, soft bosom flesh oozing between her spread fingers.
She pressed them, plumping them up, with their stiff nipples jutting. She kissed them many times, then licked them.
She pressed both breasts together, with the nipples throbbing side by side, so close that she could touch both at once with her tongue.
I murmured, "Let me do you, too!"
Getting on her hands and knees, she crawled to the bed's head.
To my head....
I reached up as, on my back, I caressed her form.
She turned at the bed's head and squatted facing my feet. She planted her knees on either side of my head.
Her warm thighs pressed my cheeks. At their summit was the mound of her pussy, where a rich brown bush mostly covered a long, thin pussy.
She lowered herself down to me, to my open wet-lipped waiting mouth.
Her crotch covered my face, blocking the light, throwing me in warm dimness.
Her bush tickled my flesh, then her soft pussy lips pressed the lips of my mouth.
She held herself poised squatting above me, with her pussy lips pressing lightly on my mouth, while my puckered lips pressed kisses on them.
The scent of her was rich and musky and tingled on my nerves.
I extended my tongue. She moaned when I licked her pussy lips.
She rocked her hips back and forth over my mouth while I licked her labia.
When they were sticky with saliva, she lowered them more, and I put my tongue inside her, wedging it into her slit.
She was long and thin, as I said, with delicate pussy lips. Inside she was tight and slippery also steamy, humid, and dripping.
She gasped as she settled her pussy down on my mouth.
She leaned forward to do me, which pressed her pussy even more forcefully against my face, engulfing my mouth with pussy flesh.
Juices smeared on my face, while my tongue lanced up inside her.
My thighs were parted for her, when she rested her palms on top of them, and brought her head down between them.
Her warm breath fanned through my own bush, and played on my pussy lips.
Her breath was immediately followed by her lips, which pressed hot kisses on them.
My pussy sparked as her kisses played over it. She fastened her mouth to my slit, licked me, tongued me inside and out.
The two of us were locked in steamy lesbian love, attached mouth to crotch, with Billie riding my mouth while she mouthed my pussy.
There was the sound of the creaking bedsprings; the rustle of flesh rubbing flesh; the sound of sighs, gasps, moans; liquid slurping sounds.
Billie took her tongue out of me, and pressed the smooth wet insides of her lips against my already overheated clitoris.
She gently sucked the clit up between her lips and held it there, licking it with her tongue tip until she made me come.
Her own climax followed as soon as I had recovered sufficiently from my own.
That was the first of many mutual and singularly satisfactory orgasms the two of us enjoyed on a long night of hot lesbian love.
Billie was a good lady and a fine lover, and with all due modesty, I'm sure she was as pleased with me as I was with her.
For the two weeks following that night, we really got into it hot and heavy.
We hadn't been lovers for very long before she felt comfortable enough to let the kinkier side of her libido show itself.
With a wanton bed partner like me, she didn't feel the need to restrain all her desires, but she only let them show a little at a time.
The first Friday night of our affair, I spent the night at her place.
I brought my little overnight bag with me when I showed up at eight o'clock that Friday night, having first gone home from work.
I wore a red blouse and tight black jeans-but not for long.
As soon as I came over, after all our initial kisses and hugs, she took me into the bedroom, where I set down my bag.
Then she took off all my clothes.
She wore all black a long-sleeved man's black shirt which buttoned down the front, and a pair of slinky black pants.
The pants were very tight in her hips and crotch, showing all the details of her mound, and pussy lips, and the ripe cheeks of her ass.
She had a bottom like a fifteen year old boy's, with a pair of high, firm, rounded buttocks which formed almost perfect globes.
She stayed dressed as she sensually stripped me naked.
When I was all nude, I asked innocently, "Aren't you getting naked, too?"
"Later," she said. "Time enough for that later."
"You mean we aren't ... " I looked at the bed.
"Oh, we will, we will!" she laughed. "But not just yet ... dinner's all made and we'll eat it and have some wine first.
"I just like to see you naked, Donna. Do you mind?"
"No, of course not ... I like it. I like-games."
"Yes, I rather guessed that you did. So do
I."
She patted me briskly on the bottom. "Now come, Donna, into the living room with you!"
All nude, with my hair free and hanging down, I went with her into the living room, whose curtains, I saw, had all been closed to cover the windows.
There were good food smells in the kitchen, and they filtered out to the living room, where Billie and I sipped wine.
She sat in an armchair, and I sat naked on her lap, my bare bottom pressing the tops of her thighs, while she slipped an arm around my waist.
We both held our wine glasses, which were largely filled, although, at the rate we were drinking them, they would call for a refill before too long.
"Poor Martha!" I said.
"Why do you say that?"
"Oh, don't be coy, Billie. From the way the poor girl moons around you, anybody can plainly see that's she hopelessly in love with you!"
"Martha is a lovely girl ... so are you, dear."
And she rubbed the base of the wine glass against the smooth tops of my thighs.
I said, "Martha is very, very jealous of me. If she could see me-us now, she would really be green with envy!"
"Don't you worry your pretty head about Martha. Martha will take and like anything that I do to her."
"Hmmmm, that's a very strong statement ... very provocative."
"Very true."
"What is she, your slave or something."
"You don't know how true that is!" Billie said.
"More and more interesting," I murmured. "Now that you've got my curiosity fired up, you simply have to satisfy it!"
And so she did, giving me some very intimate details of the special relationship that she had with her little pet, Martha.
As she spoke, she got turned on and handled me.
She fondled my breasts, tweaked and played with my nipples, rubbed my belly and hips and thighs, then parted those thighs.
As she got to the more graphically detailed parts, she opened my thighs and she stroked my naked pussy while she spoke.
I was hot and wet. My juices coated her fingers as they fondled my slit.
At last, I said, "My, my! Who would have imagined that quiet, shy little Martha would be into such things as that!"
I spoke quite breathlessly those fondlings had really gotten to me.
Billie asked, "And you, dear are you into such games?"
"Some of them," I said, "but I switch roles. I'm not totally submissive like Martha must be. She sounds very well trained."
"Oh, she is, she is! She does anything I tell her to do!"
"That has possibilities...."
"Hmph! Now, you'll make me jealous, Donna!" she teased.
Then she put her finger in me, and we stopped talking about Martha stopped talking at all, as a matter-of-fact.
She pressed the tip of her middle finger into me. I was wet from the fondling she had already given me, so the finger easily entered.
She pressed it deep, and fucked me with it, fingering my clit at the same time.
When I came, I came heavily.
I squealed, gasped, groaned. I pressed my thighs closed and squeezed Billie's hand hard against my orgasming pussy.
She held me on her lap, kissing and cuddling and fondling me while I recovered from the orgasm.
At last, into the kitchen we went, a portion of it serving as a mini-dining room, and there we ate the gourmet meal she had cooked.
I wanted to do something, so after she had set out the various dishes on the sideboard, I served them to us.
Billie was very turned on from having a naked servant girl!
I had to be careful, to keep my bare breasts from smearing in the salad dressing or pressing the quiche, as I served it out.
Each time I came to the table to set out one item or another, Billie would touch me, to lay a hand on my ass, or hips, or thighs.
Each aspect of the meal was erotic, so that the acts of biting, chewing, and drinking all looked extremely sexually provocative.
The meal done at last, into the washer went the dirty dishes, while into the living room went Billie and myself.
She poured out brandy in oversized glasses. Plenty of wine had gone into me throughout the meal, so that I was nice and high.
But the brandy was of another, much higher potency. It numbled and tingled my mouth, and lit a fire in my belly.
Fire burned in more than my belly, though, and when Billy suggested that we refill our glasses and take them into the boudoir, I was more than ready.
Into the bedroom we went, where the night table lamp made the soft light all golden, and made our skin look rich and shining.
Billie wanted to play games....
While I sat on the mattress, feet on the floor, sipping gulping, really brandy, she rummaged through the drawer in the night table.
From it, she took a length of black silk, a scarf.
"What's that for?" I asked.
"To cover your eyes, to blindfold you so that you won't see all the things that I'm going to do to you."
"All right," I giggled. "Why not?"
She took the brandy glass from me, and set it down on the night table, next to her own.
She covered my eyes with the black silk cloth, knotting it closed at the back of my head, so that it banded clear around it.
It pressed my hair in like a headband, so that it pressed close to the scalp above the blindfold, while flaring out below it.
My eyes were closed when the blindfold was put in place. Billie adjusted the band so that my eyes were well and truly covered with the cloth.
Having my eyes covered made my other senses all the more acute and sharp.
I heard the rustling of Billie's garments as she moved, the soft intake of breath as she reached for me, the squeak of bedsprings moving under her.
She handled me freely then, her hands all urgent as they touched, caressed. She lavished lots of attention on my hair.
She sat me on her lap, then fed the brandy to me like I was a child.
I could not see the glass as she brought it to my face. Its rim pressed my lips, while its flavorful fumes made me tingle.
Billie held the glass to my lips and poured the brandy while I sipped.
Once or twice, she poured too fast on purpose, most likely and the brandy spilled down my chin and on my bosom.
She put down the glass, then licked the brandy from my chin, then nuzzled my breasts as she licked them clean.
The nipples were already stiff, before she even started licking. By the time they were done, they throbbed under a coating of saliva.
She kissed my mouth, tasting of brandy, her mouth humid with body heat.
She eased me off her back and down on the bed.
I lay there limply as she moved me around, positioning my limbs like a puppet.
She pulled my arms so that they stretched along my head. She lay down on top of me, her thin bony body still dressed in blouse and slacks.
My skin was ultra-sensitive and seemed to feel all the fibres of her man's shirt and the slinky slacks which covered her.
She took hold of my wrists and held my hands pinned down to the bed.
My head was turned up and she pressed hot kisses on my mouth. Having my eyes covered made me able to concentrate more on my mouth.
Her tongue probed and tasted and kissed. Her crotch rubbed my naked pussy, making the lips seethe with irritating stimulation.
She got off me, off the bed.
"Stay right there and don't move," she said.
"I won't move...."
"That's a good girl."
I heard her rummage some more through the night table drawer. She set down things on the table top. What things they were, I did not know.
There was the rustle of garments being taken off, and I knew she was undressing.
When she got back on the bed, her flesh was all naked where it rubbed mine.
She climbed up on the bed and on me. She squatted over me, with her ripe boyish buttocks perched on top of her chest.
She squatted with her legs folded under her, pressing down on my arms, with her taut thighs rubbing my face.
Her pussy was poised close to my face its aroma was overpowering.
She leaned forward to take hold of my hands, her pussy pressing my mouth.
I planted hot frantic kisses on her slit, as she crossed my wrists and bound them together with what felt like a velvet cord.
After she bound my hands, she let them fall to the mattress behind my head.
She leaned forward, pressing her pussy against my face.
"Eat me," she commanded.
The rich musky aroma of her already made my mouth water. She ground her pussy lips hard against my mouth.
The labia split and spread, smearing my mouth with hot wet juices.
I kissed her pussy, stuck my tongue inside her, licked her pussy.
She rocked back and forth, pressing her pussy up against my face, rubbing hard.
Her thighs squeezed my head, while her pussy engulfed the lower half of my face.
"Lick my clitoris and make me come," Billie ordered.
I pressed the tongue to her love button and polished it until she came.
After she climaxed, she was still far from done with me.
When she had caught her breath, and recovered her strength sufficiently for another go, she turned around on top of me.
She squatted down on my face, and spread my thighs for her mouth.
Her pussy dripped with masses of my saliva, which soaked her bush and dripped from her labia, spattering on my face.
The saliva was cool at first, but the pussy lips under it were hot, while between the labia, she was a furnace of humid body heat.
She held my thighs parted while she put her mouth on my slit and ate me.
She did me good and hard. She gripped my hips in her long-fingered hands and pinned me down to the mattress while she went down on me.
At the same time, I was eating her for the second time.
She made me come.
She didn't wait for me to stop gasping and moaning and shivering, so I could put my lips and tongue back to work on the pleasure of her pussy.
No, she had other plans, so she dismounted and climbed off me.
I lay there, hands still tied. The blindfold had slipped, but I kept my eyes closed anyway, so as not to spoil the mood.
She saw the black scarf had slipped, and pulled it back up to properly cover me.
Then she stood there at the bedside, while I waited. I heard her lift something off the night table, but I didn't know what it was.
After a pause of a moment or two. I was turned over.
She leaned over the bed and took hold of me and had me roll on my tummy.
My arms were stretched out in front of me, their hands tied. I rested my head between them. The nipples of my dangling breasts throbbed.
"Come on, Donna, bend your knees and get your rear up!" I did as I was told.
I knell on the bed with my upper body pressing the mattress. My knees were bent, and my bottom was raised up high.
Billie climbed on the bed, the mattress giving and adjusting to her weight. She stood on her knees behind my behind.
She fondled my bottom, patting it, smoothing it, stroking.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Donna?"
"No, I don't," I answered in a small frail voice.
"I'm going to fuck you fuck your pussy, just like a man would!"
She leaned into me then, and I felt something hard, rounded, slick, and smooth nudge my quivering pussy lips.
I knew what it had to be a dildo!
Billie held it and rubbed its head up and down my pussy. It was all wet, so she must have smeared it with saliva.
She reached around my waist with her left forearm and hooked it there, holding me in place while she pressed the dildo to my pussy.
I was dripping wet with her saliva and my own juices, which lubricated me.
She held the dildo head to my slit and pried open the pussy lips.
The dildo was smooth and fat, stretching me. Twinges of sensation shot through my stretched pussy, making me moan.
The head was in me, in to stay. Billie pushed her hips forward, which slipped the sleek dildo up inside me.
It fit me as tight as a finger inside a rubber glove.
I groaned when its base pressed up against the lips of my pussy. Billie fucked me.
She pumped the dildo in and out. It was tight, and produced suction sounds as it thrust back and forth, in and out.
As the rate of the strokes increased, she reached down my crotch to fondle my pussy lips, spread by the dildo.
After fingering them, she moved her hand up higher, to play with my breasts.
She handled my breasts while continuing to pump the shaft in and out.
My senses were pitched to ultra-sensitivity, from my eyes being blindfolded.
My throbbing nipples were so sensitive, that I thought I might well faint from pleasure as Billie played with them.
She stroked the dangling breasts and tweaked and rolled the nipples.
When those pebble-stiff nipples were handled, they sent off sensations which sizzled all the way down into my pussy.
She took hold of both breasts, using them like handles of flesh.
Her hips rocked back and forth, fucking me with the dildo, which was steadily more lubricated from my oozing juices.
Billie gripped my breasts so the stiff nipples jutted from the bottoms of her hands. She pulled and squeezed the mounds.
One hand released a breast. Freed, the fleshy mound jiggled wildly, while its twin, still clutched in her other hand, stayed in place.
She had freed her hand to bring it down to my clit.
She didn't touch it directly at first ... I was so tightly wound up from all that stimulation, that I couldn't take too strong a touch on my clit just jet.
But as she continued pumping the dildo, her fingers slid more forcefully on my clitoris with each stroke.
The pressure slowly increased, so that I was able to stand it.
The stimulation of her fingers fondling my clitoris was too much, combined as it was with the steady dildo fucking and breast handling.
Right in the middle of one of her fondling strokes, I climaxed.
I was so noisy, that I'm sure she wished she had gagged me, too!
When she knew I was coming, she plunged the dildo home.
like an arrow hitting the target, it filled me, its head pressing up tight at the top of my pussy, the shaft hugged by my membranes.
As I came, my pussy quivered convulsively, squeezing the dildo shaft.
I shook and trembled, spasming with ecstasy.
When I stopped coming at last, I was shaken and dazed.
I lifted my wet red face from the mattress, where I had pressed it toward the end, to muffle the cries I was making.
I heaved for breath, my breasts jiggling as I huffed and puffed.
I slumped forward, breasts pressing flat on the damp, sweat-stained mattress, while I kept my ass up and my legs bent.
The dildo was right inside me still, planted deep.
CHAPTER SIX
Junior was sweating....
More sweat oozed from his pores when I leaned over him and let my breasts nudge his shoulder, pressing their soft weight against him.
He sat on a stool in front of a work table in the design department. On the table in front of him were samples from next season.
But Junior was conscious only of the sample I was giving him.
It was early in the morning, a little after ten but never too early to turn on the magnetism to allure such as Junior.
Junior was a strange boy. I call him a boy even though, at twenty-five, he's actually a year or two older than I.
There's nothing wrong with his looks quite the opposite.
He's actually rather handsome. He's tall, over six feet, athletic, with broad shoulders and a fine physique.
He has strong well formed features, with a head of dark curly hair parted on the side, dark brows, hazel eyes, beak-like nose, strong chin and jaw, clean shaven.
But his gaze usually looks confused. He doesn't have rag trade smarts. Basically, he's a simple, uncomplicated jock type.
He draws a large salary, and holds a very important title in the company. But his position is more complicated than that.
He has a large office, and a small staff, but in reality, for all his imagine titles and airs, he holds next to no real power in the company.
Marge, his nominal secretary and assistant, is actually a kind of guardian, appointed to see that Junior's bad judgment doesn't harm the company.
Our company? KLENCO CLOTHES.
The KLENCO is short for "Klenetsky
Company." Our founder, fountainhead, and supreme boss is the big man himself, Irving Klenetsky.
Junior's full name is Irving Klenetsky II.
With family connections like that, it's obvious that no matter how much he fucks up, he's in no danger of losing his job.
Not that he has much chance of fucking up. He's too closely monitored for that.
When he first graduated college and came to work for his dad, after failing in a few aborted enterprises of his own, he had more responsibilities.
Irv, Senior, is a hell of a man that you have to respect. His is the basic American success story.
Starting out as a poor worker at the bottom of the industry heap, he worked his way up to become head of one of the leading manufacturers in the industry.
Irv is shrewd, tough, canny. He came up from the streets. But his kids grew up in upper class luxury, and can't hold a candle to the old man.
Junior isn't the only Klenetsky kid. There's a much older married sister, and a sister in her teens, a pretty little bitch named Jennifer of whom more later.
But Junior is the only male offspring, and the carrier of the family name.
His father has him work at the company since it's the best way for him to keep an eye on him, and make sure that he stays out of trouble.
Junior isn't dumb, it's just that he's, well, abstracted.
He's earnest and not unintelligent, but he has zero business sense, like a few other people around here I won't name.
When it comes to something that interests him, he comes alive. Ask him about the NBA rankings or hockey penalty box totals, and he'll tell you all about them.
But when it comes to business, he's a flop, if a likable one.
Generally his keeper, Marge, keeps him out of trouble. She has to handle him with kid gloves, since Junior doesn't quite realize that he's not an invaluable member of the company ruling hierarchy.
Every now and then he makes noises like a boss, which gets troublesome.
But I didn't mind it, not one little bit, when he came into our department this morning, saying that he wanted to look over the new samples.
Things were humming along nice and efficiently in the department, and there was no real press of work to harry us.
In fact, we were in a slack time, so that
Billie had gone to a fashion industry trade fair on the West coast, in LA.
I was kind of in charge of things in her absence, but I knew enough to keep out of the way of the creative people and not stifle them.
I was keeping a handle on the management aspects, overseeing the smooth flow of activities and dealing with other departments as liaison.
One of my duties, then, was to deal with visitors to the department, a heading which Junior came under, since he had come for a visit.
A visit which I encouraged.
It isn't all just sports, games, and fast cars for Junior. I forgot to mention one of his biggest interests sex.
He's real hetero and goes out with a lot of girls. He's engaged to one girl, but he has another steady, and he plays the field, too.
Sometimes, he dates or has little mini-affairs with some of the young ladies who work here at the company, although Irv Senior tends to discourage that practice.
But, he figures that if his boy is involved in chasing skirts, it'll be that much less time for him to spend on company matters.
And Irv Senior would infinitely prefer to have Junior fucking broads than fucking up the company finances.
Junior was aware of me, since he had seen me around the office, and knew me as a friendly acquaintance.
Billie has no patience with outsiders, especially not when they come into her design domain and take up her valuable time.
Junior was intimidated by her, and wouldn't dare just drop in for a visit if Billie was present ... but this week, she was away.
I had let him know that little fact, mentioning it in passing, and inviting him to drop in to look Over the line.
It had already gone into production, but he hadn't seen it, since in most company matters. Junior knew less than the lowest paid clerks.
So, there he sat at the work table, while I leaned over and into him.
I wore a sleek long-sleeved gray silk blouse, a black skirt, pantyhose, loafers.
The blouse was sheer and clinging, and molded to my figure, especially my bosom. It had a V-neck and was decorated with a gray kerchief of the same silk fabric of the blouse, which was knotted into a floppy bow falling on my breasts.
At the office my policy usually is to avoid showing too much skin, but in honor of Junior's little visit, I opened a few buttons.
Not many just enough to open the V-neckline to the top of the valley of my breasts, affording a little glimpse of the round breast tops.
Junior tried valiantly as he fought to keep his attention on the designs.
But he was just too aware of me, standing over him and slightly behind him where he sat on the stool, so close that I touched him.
He covertly glanced up from the samples and the drawings, to look at the mounds of my breasts in the blouse.
He got a funny kind of slanted squint in his eyes, the result of his efforts to move them so he could look more down my blouse.
I knew what he was doing. I leaned closer and rested the undersides of my breast on his shoulder, letting him feel their warm weight.
He started chewing his lips.
I really laid on the charm, and played him like an angler reeling in a hooked fish, netting him by the end of his visit.
I had just finished going over the department designs-and heating him up by nudging my breasts against him.
I did it discreetly, not too blatantly, and while I did it I kept a perfect lady-like demeanor, my voice never skipping a beat.
I had him a bit confused, so that he couldn't quite be sure that I was touching my flesh to his on purpose, or whether it was by accident.
An entry at the door was the arrival of Marge, come for Junior.
Marge was a divorcee, mature, blowsily attractive, sharp as a tack.
She was in her late forties and had been in the garment industry all her life. Her job had outlasted her one and only marriage by a decade.
She had brown-red hair, stiff and straight and styled with a little flip where its edges brushed her broad shoulder.
Her face was wide, thick-featured, with bright watchful eyes, a thick nose, wide lips, and a strong chin.
She was short, yet big-boned and buxom, if not voluptuous. She wore a tan blouse this morning and a rust-colored skirt.
She had an ample bosom, stout middle, and wide hips. Her appearance was such that she would not overly tempt young, horny Junior.
He fancied the hot young chicks as did his father.
Senior's new bride, only his wife for a year, was a real hot tomato.
His first wife had passed away some years before, and he had long gone without remarrying. But Beverly was the woman he had to have.
I had glimpsed her once or twice in the office, and she was a stunner!
Which goes to show that the taste for fine female flesh ran in the family, father and son. Senior appointed Marge as Junior's discreet keeper.
And here he was now. Somehow he had slipped her leash for a half-hour or so, and it had taken her until now to find him.
She bustled into the department workroom, all aggressive energy.
"Stewart, there you are!" she called.
Stewart was Junior's middle name. He hated the name Irving. Nobody called him Irving, but they didn't call him Stewart much, except for Marge.
I greeted Marge and we exchanged tight smiles.
She took Junior by the arm, explaining that he had to get ready for a meeting later on in the day.
I thanked Junior for coming by and invited him to drop in when he pleased. I did it all very properly, thank you, in a business-like fashion.
He said so long, then went off, firmly escorted by Marge.
I had cast my bread on the waters, and back to me it came, richly buttered, at the noon lunch hour, when Junior sought me out.
Usually, I don't go out for lunch, but take my lunch at my desk in the office. It's usually cottage cheese or yogurt or something similar.
But this lunch hour, before I could begin spooning out my yogurt, Junior stuck his head into the department and peered in.
He looked around, and he must have been looking for me, for when he spied me sitting at my desk, his face got all flushed.
He came in and came over to my desk and invited me to lunch.
An offer like that was too promising to refuse, so away went my yogurt, and off I went with Junior, out the workroom and out of the building.
In the area were many restaurants doing brisk lunchtime trade from the Seventh Avenue folk. We went to a little place down the street.
I ordered a small, diet-conscious salad. A girl like me must always watch her weight, always, since my physique is one of my prime assets.
Junior was surprised when I insisted on paying for my half of the meal.
He walked me back to the office and the department. Everybody in the place knew Junior, and quite a few of them looked slyly at me.
I knew what they were thinking, seeing me with the boss' son and they were right in thinking that the girl from the design department had designs on him.
When we paused in the hall outside the workroom door, Junior asked me if I would like to go out with him sometime, socially.
I said that I surely would, but I slipped away before he could pick a date to go out on I didn't want him to think me too eager.
That afternoon, a little problem developed in my department, one which I decided to nip in the bud by taking a firm stand.
Martha usually is a quiet, soft-spoken young miss, very dutiful. But ever since I had come back from lunch, she had been sullen and sulky.
Martha is younger than me, only twenty, and looks younger. She's tall and willowy, slight, with a pale sensitive quite lovely face.
Usually she's very sweet, but she had an attitude this afternoon. She glared at me and frowned and pouted.
When I spoke pleasantly enough to her, she would answer me in grudging curt monosyllables, and she kept frowning.
It came to a head when I politely requested that she bring me some forms which were at her work table, which I needed to consult.
Sighing with exasperation, as though called upon to perform some mighty task, she snatched up the papers and stalked across the room with them.
She flounced to my desk, long skirt swirling, and all but threw the papers down on my desk, then turned on her heel and started to walk away.
"Martha!" I called.
She halted in mid-stride and stood there with her back to me, body stiff with indignation and anger.
I got up from my desk, went to her, turned her around.
She tried to give me a mean look, which came out as kind of comical, since that child hardly has a mean bone in her body not like me.
Her behavior was so out of the ordinary that I was determined to get to the bottom of it. Even her jealousy of Billie and me was much less than this.
"Come with me, young lady," I said. "I want to talk with you!" , "You can talk to me here!"
"In private!"
I took her by the arm and pulled. With that kind of encouragement, she came along.
Only a handful of folk were in the department we have a small staff, with everybody doing the work of two.
They glanced up from their desks to see what was going on.
At the end of the workroom opposite the door, was a small room which served as a kind of walk-in supply closet.
I opened the door and pulled the string which switched on the light, a lone bare bulb dangling down from the ceiling.
It swung like a pendulum, casting crazy sliding tilted shadows.
Shelves lined the walls on either side of the door, and those shelves were stuffed with bolts of fabric, scraps, scissors, rulers, T-squares, etc.
The floor was wide enough for two people to stand abreast, while the room was about ten feet deep. In we went, with Martha marching in beside me.
I closed the door behind me. It didn't have a lock, but I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. And we were too far from the work tables to be overheard.
Martha turned to face me, while I folded my arms over my chest.
"Well?" she said. "What do you want?! "
"Martha, what's gotten into you?! "
"I'm quite sure that I don't know what you mean!"
"I'm quite sure that you do. Ever since I came back from lunch, you've had a terrible attitude. Now, what's wrong?"
"Nothing!"
"Obviously something is disturbing you-what?"
"Nothing! Why don't you just leave me alone?"
I'll
"Because your bad attitude can't help but effect everyone else ... and because I don't like to see you so unhappy, for whatever reason."
"Hah!"
I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?", "Like you really care about how I feel-or anybody else!"
"I think you'd better explain that remark, miss!"
"The only person you care about is you! You don't care about me or Billie or anybody!"
"What does Billie have to do with this?"
"Huh! How do you think Billie would feel if she knew you were playing up to Junior, huh? You wouldn't do it if she were here!"
"Playing up to Junior?" I gave a little laugh. "Don't be ridiculous!"
"Oh, you weren't coming on to him, huh? I saw you this morning, hanging all over him, smiling at him, laughing at his stupid jokes-"
"That's what's known as getting along with people, Martha a skill in which you seem sorely lacking! There's no harm in being pleasant to people."
"Oh, so that's what you call it, eh? Being pleasant! Hah! And I just bet you were just being pleasant with him at lunchtime, too!"
Martha is a few years younger than me, but much more slight physically, and much less emotionally mature, with a lot of girl in her.
She's a type that you see a lot of in New York-young, creative, intense, quasi-Bohemian, educated, sensitive.
Her light brown hair was worn in a pair of braids which hung on either side of her long delicately featured face.
Her hair was straight, fine, silky, and she would have worn it free, except that there are machines in the work room, making long hair dangerous.
So that long fine hair of hers was done up in a pair of braids which, if allowed to dangle freely, would have reached below her breasts.
Instead, they were done up, wrapped at the top of her head in a kind of bun which accented her face and made her look more youthful.
She had a high forehead, warm dark brown eyes which now blinked furiously behind a pair of thick-lensed tortoise-shell spectacles.
Make-up? Martha wasn't the type of young lady to wear such frivolities as make-up. Her face was pale and scrubbed and fresh.
She wore a turtle-necked black sweater and a long brown corduroy skirt whose hem brushed her ankles. She was barelegged and wore loafers.
She flinched when I stepped forward and reached for her.
I took hold of her by the shoulders and unleashed the full force of my personality on her. Her eyes widened behind her glasses.
She hadn't expected this, and she was intimidated scared, to put it bluntly.
"Now, you take a good hard listen to me, young lady," I began.
"Let go of me!"
"When you've heard me out. First of all, Martha, for your information, I don't belong to Billie not like you."
She gave out a little gasp, red spots growing in her cheeks.
"What do you mean?! "
I laughed. "Don't play coy with me, miss! I know all about you-and I mean all about you! Billie's told me a lot about you!"
"She didn't she wouldn't!"
"Of course she did. How else am I going to take care of you while she's away? And I can see that you need a lot of taking care of!
"Billie is hardly gone a day, and already you're acting up, whining and sulking like a little spoiled brat, Martha.
"Well, I know how Billie deals with naughty little girls who don't mind their manners ... naughty little girls like you!"
"I don't believe you! Billie wouldn't let you-"
"If you don't close that saucy little insolent mouth and button your lip, Martha, I'll have to do something drastic."
"W-what?! "
"I'll have to take you out into the work room and discipline you, in front of all your co-workers in the department!"
"Y-you wouldn't dare!"
"No? How little you know me! You're very small and thin, Martha. Physically, I can handle you like the little girl you are.
"And if you make me give you discipline in public, I'll take down your little panties and spank your bare bottom in front of everybody!
"That is, if you wear panties or are you too bohemian for such luxury items? Either way, it doesn't matter, since you'll be spanked on the bare bottom."
"S-s-spanked?! "
Her voice was thin and rasping and cracked comically in mid-word.
"Martha, Billie told me all about what she does to you when you've been bad. And in her absence, I'll take care of your discipline needs!"
She still seemed defiant-I would put her in her place.
"I see you still don't believe me, Martha. Actions, as they say, speak louder than words, so I'll prove it to you that I mean business!"
I started pulling her toward the door.
"What what are you doing?! " she gasped, white-faced now.
"I'm taking you out for your punishment!"
"No, don't! You can't!"
I took hold of both her wrists, which were thin, dug in my heels, and dragged her to the door, while she struggled in vain.
"Let's let everybody see how bad girls with bad attitudes are dealt with!"
"Oh, no, please don't! Please!"
I held both her wrists in one hand while I reached for the knob with the other.
"Please, please don't please!"
She was near tears now, moisture welling up in those rich brown eyes.
"The more you fuss, Martha, the more strict your punishment will be!"
"Don't, please, don't, I'm sorry for the way I acted!"
"And will be a lot sorrier ... now stop all this fuss!"
"Please give me another chance!"
I turned to face her, letting go of her without opening the door. She was caught off balance and stumbled backward.
She slipped and fell, lurching against one of the shelves. She sat down hard on the floor, long shapely legs extended.
"What a little baby you are, Martha! I'm surprised Billie tolerates such antics! Or is it that you act this way with me, but not with her?
"Well, no matter. I'm inclined to give you one more chance. But even though you will not be publicly punished, not at this time, you will be punished.
"Punished privately, in private by me," I stated.
"By you?! "
I could see that the concept was equally attractive and threatening to Martha. And I had decided it was high time that I had her.
"By me, Martha. Now, get up and go back to work."
I leaned over and assisted her to her feet. She was nervous around me and shrank away from me when I stood close.
"While you're working, Martha, you can spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you after work!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Now I'll find out if you wear panties or not," I said. "I do."
"What's that? Stop mumbling, Martha. Speak up!"
"I do wear panties," she said.
"Do you indeed? We'll see ... lift up your dress."
She leaned over, took hold of the hem of her dress, and pulled it up her legs, up to the tops of her thighs.
She wore a pair of functionally plain white cotton panties. But not even bikini style panties these were cut full and wide.
"Higher, Martha. Lift your dress higher. I want to see."
Martha pulled the front of her dress up to her waist. She was slim with a flat belly whose navel was an inward bellybutton.
The panties were a size or two too big, and hung loosely on her lean hips. She stood with her feet touching and her legs closed.
"Turn around, Martha ... show me your back your bottom."
Her drooping head hung a little lower, a bit more downcast, as she obeyed.
I leaned forward in the chair where I sat, in my studio apartment, the place where I had taken Martha when the work day was done.
All afternoon the girl squirmed and sighed in apprehension of the day's end, when she would come totally under my disciplinary power.
But the prospect excited and aroused her, too. I could tell. Sometimes I surprised her sitting at her desk, chin resting on her hand as she stared out into space, an anxious little dreamy smile on her mouth.
I would allow her to daydream for a moment or two, then would move into the range of her gaze and scowl or stare icily at her.
At that, she would become flustered and confused, and squirm in her seat.
Just to remind her of my power over her, not because I felt she would try to elude me at the day's end, I spoke to her at 4:45.
Just fifteen minutes remained of the work day. I came up from behind Martha, and when my shadow fell on her sketching pad, she. flinched.
"Don't even think about leaving at five," I murmured. "I wasn't."
"Better not."
The day ended. The department staff gathered up their personal belongings, put on their coats, said their cordial goodbyes.
Martha continued to stay at her work table, hunched over a drawing board in an attitude of intense concentration.
But it was all just a pose, since she drew not a line on the paper, nor could she have, not with the way her hand shook.
I was ready to leave, but I lingered at my desk for close to a half-hour, taking advantage of the opportunity to polish off some paperwork.
The work easily could have waited until tomorrow, but I wanted to keep Martha waiting, so the suspense could work on her nerves.
An over-active imagination sometimes is the worst torment of all, especially to a timid and particularly imaginative girl such as Martha.
I knew she kept glancing at me, peeping at me, trying to discern some idea of my true nature from the way I looked.
I let her look, and pretended to studiously ignore her.
When I felt she had waited long enough, I got up, filed the paperwork, taking my time, and finally gathered up my pocketbook and coat.
I went to her: "Let's go, Martha."
Silently she trailed after me like a little puppy dog, down the elevator, out the lobby, and into the back of the cab I hailed.
I swept Martha straight from the office to my place.
As the cab idled at a red light, I said, "I hope nobody is expecting you for dinner or anything like that, Martha."
"No...."
"You didn't have to cancel any dates, hmmmm?"
"I, uh, don't date...."
"What? No dates?" I lifted an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Don't tell me a pretty little thing like you doesn't have plenty of boyfriends!"
"No, I don't go out with boys "
I laughed, then patted her on the knee. "No, I'm sure you don't, Martha."
The cab took us down to the Village. Martha waited anxiously on the sidewalk while I paid off the cabbie.
She stood with her shoulders hunched, as though expecting a blow to fall. Her hands were held in front of her, their long sensitive fingers interknotted.
The cabbie drove off and I marched Martha to my apartment. She jerked when I closed the door behind us and locked and bolted us in.
"So here we are, Martha ... here you are."
I licked my lips. "Give me your coat." I took her plain little coat from her and hung up it and my own in the front closet.
Later there would be time for dinner, for other, nonsexual diversions....
Later.
Now, I said, "Put down your bag. Just put it on the couch. Come to me."
I stood in the center of the floor, waiting with my hands on my hips. Martha was only a few years younger than me chronologically, but mentally I was years and years ahead of her, and had the psychological edge on her from the start.
I went around the room, closing the curtains and pulling down the shades. I switched on the lamp at the far side of the room.
It was night outside, and the lone wan lamp kept the place in shadows, which made it make look bigger than it really was, and added immensely to the mood.
When all the windows were opaque with curtains, I returned to Martha. That's when I demanded that she lift her dress. She had done as I commanded. I sat down on the armchair adjacent to the fold-out couch time enough later to transform couch into bed.
I leaned forward and raised the rear of Martha's dress myself.
"Come closer." I pulled her near. Her backside was inches from my face.
I bunched up her skirt in the back, exposing her pantied bottom.
Her skirt was long, ankle-length, with many folds of fabric. I bunched them and held them at her waist with one hand.
Martha had a beautiful bottom. Generally, she was thin skinny but she had a swelling bosom and a gorgeous rounded ass.
Her breasts I would more closely examine later. But her bottom was right in front of my face now, the milky buttocks jiggling as "she trembled.
Trembled with wanting.
"So you do wear panties!" I said. "Not especially pretty ones, either ... what's the matter, Martha? Don't you like pretty things touching the softest, most intimate parts of your anatomy? These plain panties aren't very exciting...."
"I do like them ... but I don't have a lot of money to spend on luxuries like that, not when I can barely pay the rent!"
"Yes, Martha, knowing how little you're paid, I can imagine that....
I let the skirt drop down, put my hands on her hips, and turned her so that she once more faced me as I leaned back in my chair. I said, "Take off your clothes." She stared at me, her face reddening. "Now, Martha! Take off your blouse first." Still she hesitated, her eyes flashing. "I'm very short of patience, little girl. If you make me go to the trouble of stripping those clothes off you, I'll take it out on your hide!
"I'll whip your bare ass until you scream, Martha! Don't play with me, missy!"
Martha decided not to tempt her fate, which is just as well, since I'm no sadist and could never bring myself to whip such a sweet creature as she.
But dominating the docile girl was, well, very arousing to me.
With Billie I generally took a more passive role, though hardly submissive. But Martha was a confirmed submissive type.
This I knew from some of the descriptions Billie had detailed to me.
Now, I had fibbed when I stated that Billie had requested that I oversee Martha in her absence, since she had made no such request.
But I was sure that she would have approved of what I was doing, since it would lay the groundwork for delightful games for we three.
In the future. For now, I had Martha all to myself.
She stripped off her blouse, revealing the white nylon bra, plain and unadornedly functional as the panties she wore.
She had nice apple-shaped breasts, full and rounded, firm, looking more lush than one might expect from a girl of her overall slightness.
The points of her nipples jutted against the nylon cups.
Martha left her bra on while she took off her shoes. She fumbled with the catch of her skirt, took it off, and stood there in bra and panties.
She stood there staring straight ahead, hands at her sides, breasts rising and falling, bobbing with her shallow gasping breaths.
I took her blouse and skirt and folded them neatly. I rose and walked in back of her and unhooked her bra.
"Take your bra off and give it to me, Martha."
She did.
Her breasts had sharply pointed nipples which were a bright shocking pink in color, and ringed by aureoles the size of dimes, very small aureoles indeed.
I deposited her bra on top of the pile of her garments, which I set down on the coffee table, leaving my hands free.
She was unhappy with her partial nudity, and had coyly folded her arms over her breasts so the nipples were hidden.
The way her arms were held also plumped up her breasts.
"What are you doing, Martha?"
"Nothing...."
"Nothing? You're touching yourself do you call that nothing? Do you think it's funny to play with yourself right under my nose?"
"I'm not playing with myself!"
"You're playing with your titties, Martha, you bad girl!"
"Really, I wasn't! I was just covering them!"
"Why? Little girl, you don't have anything that I haven't seen before!"
I took hold of her wrists and pulled her arms down to her sides.
I said, "Oh ho, what have we here?"
Her nipples were both stiffly erect. I tweaked one, rolling it in my fingers.
"What do you call this, Martha, this stiff nipple?"
Before she could reply, I said, "I call you a very naughty girl, miss! But I know how to keep those hands out of trouble."
From around my neck, I took the floppy kerchief which adorned my gray silk blouse, unknotting the big bow which pressed my breasts.
I still wore the identical outfit I had worn at work, since I had not even bothered to change in the time that I had come home.
I took hold of her hands and pulled them behind her back. I knew she could deal with light bondage Billie had told me that.
I crossed her wrists and bound her hands with the kerchief, fitting its strands snugly but far from painfully around her wrists.
I sat back down on the chair and summoned her.
"Get over my lap, Martha!"
"Oh, wait just a minute, please-"
"Now, Martha. Bend forward and I'll help you down there, I've got you!"
I put her over my lap in proper spanking position. It was a kinky contrast between my prim and proper, lady-like outfit, with its crisp lines contrasting with her near-total nudity very exciting contrast.
Through my skirt, through my pantyhose, I could feel her body heat.
She sighed with surrender, her head hanging low, eyes closed.
She whimpered, "Oh! What are you doing?! "
"Taking down your panties, Martha."
"Must you?"
The way she spoke, it was clear that she wanted exactly that.
"Yes, Martha, I must. I spank only on the bare."
Down her panties came, as I rolled them to a line of white fabric positioned well below the tops of her thighs.
That way, in addition to the pinkish-white moons of her buttocks, her precious little silky pussy also was exposed to me.
In the dimness between her legs, I saw the tufted mound of her bush.
Mouth-watering precious little pussy, soon to be mine!
Mine now, ripe and ready for the taking, just like the rest of her.
But Martha had certain very definite needs of which I was aware. She was too timid and inhibited to perform in bed without special preliminaries.
She must be dominated, so her haunted guilty conscience could be eased by the fiction that she had been "forced."
"What a spankable bottom you have, Martha! I'm sure Billie must have you across her lap constantly, for one reason or another!
"You do know why you are being punished, don't you, Martha?"
"Because I had a bad attitude at work ... was a bad girl."
"No."
"No?"
"You're being punished because it pleases me to do so."
Let her think about that one! But she wouldn't have much time to think, since I started spanking her bare rear with my hand.
Martha was a sensitive, high-strung girl, and all the suspense and the emotionalism of the situation had her nearly in tears before she was spanked.
She was in tears after the first few swats.
She wiggled on my lap. I held her tightly by the waist. Her bush rubbed my lap. Her bottom jiggled under my palm.
She cried out each time I spanked her--cries which were overdone, considering how mildly she really was spanked.
But, hand spanking or not, presently her buttocks glowed all rosy red and warm, and Martha sobbed freely and without restraint.
Tears of joy, for now that she was under the power of another name, me she was free to do all the sinfulness that her ordinarily inhibited nature never would permit. More than her bottom was hot.
I stopped spanking her. Her bound hands were clenched fists above a ripe bottom that warmly glowed with redness.
Her bare breasts pressed my thigh, jiggling and rubbing against it.
I stopped spanking her and stroked her, first her back, then her flanks.
When she didn't expect it, I slid my hand between her legs and touched her pussy.
"Ooh!"
"Hold still, Martha don't forget, darling, I still have you over my lap! I just want to, ah, inspect you more intimately...."
I stroked the delicate lips of her pussy, which quivered. I laid my finger lengthwise in the slit, where warm slippery moisture oozed.
"Why, Martha, you naughty girl, what have we were?"
"I I don't know...."
"We, or actually you, have a hot wet pussy."
"Oh!"
I slid my finger inside her. She was tight, her membranes hugging the finger.
"You need special treatment, Martha ... and so do I.
I took my finger out of her. It glimmered with sticky wetness. I wiped it clean on the full cheek of her spanked ass.
I eased her off my lap, so that she stood on her knees on the floor.
Her eyes were red and her face was wet with smeared tears. Her eyes shone. Her nipples stood out stiffly, rubbed more than a little red against my thigh when I spanked her..
Wetness shone on the tops of her breasts, where fallen tears had spattered. She sniffled and swallowed and hung her head.
"Look at me, Martha...."
When she lifted up her head, I took off my blouse.
I wore a sexy black lace bra, a potent visual stimulus which I knew excited her, since it contrasted with the no-nonsense under things she wore.
The lacy black cups hugged my breasts, where my stiff nipples were outlined.
I took off my shoes and skirt. Had Martha's hands been free, I would have made her undress me, with plenty of worship along the way.
But since her hands were tied, and behind her back, too, I would leave them that way for a while longer.
For what I wanted from her, she wouldn't need her hands anyway....
I pulled down my pantyhose to the tops of my thighs, sat my bare bottom on the armchair seat, and unrolled the pantyhose the rest of the way.
Now I was all naked, except for the bra which covered my breasts. But my pussy and bottom were nakedly exposed.
I sat forward on the chair, so that my buttocks perched on the edge of the seat. My feet were planted on the floor.
My thighs gaped open, knees spreading to the sides as I exposed my pussy.
I pointed a finger at it.
Martha's wide-eyed, moist gaze fastened on the finger which imperiously pointed out the pussy she was due to serve.
Her gaze was still locked on the finger, as I raised it from my slit and crooked it to beckon her in a gesture of command.
Her breasts bobbed as she shuffled forward on her knees.
When she was close enough, I put my hand on the back of her neck, and pulled her face so that it pressed down on my naked crotch.
"Worship," I commanded.
Martha was seized with an intense passion. She was a girl of very strong desires under that quiet exterior.
Freed when under domination, she could indulge those passions to the full.
Hot kisses rained down on my pussy. Her face, wet with shed tears, smeared wetness on the smooth insides of the thighs.
When she had sufficiently kissed my pussy, I put her tongue to work.
The shy, soft-spoken little creature who worked away quiet as a mouse in her corner of the office workroom, would hardly be recognized in this hot little submissive toy who passionately kissed, then licked my pussy.
When she licked the outside of the pussy enough, I pushed harder on the back of her head, so that her mouth ground into my slit.
Pussy lips spread, smearing juices on her face.
She slid her tongue inside me, licking and lapping, going at it like a veteran pussy eater, swallowing the juices she slurped.
I put her to work on my clitoris. At first she licked it almost too forcefully, so eager and aroused was she.
But I put a stop to that, since my clit was quite sensitive, and I had her calm down and start slowly and lightly.
Her tongue tip flickered pinkly over the throbbing clitoris.
I pressed my fingertips on either side of the clit and pulled back the labia to fully expose the finger of flesh.
Martha massaged it with the caressing tip of her velvet tongue. Her face was red under the shiny coating of my juices which covered it.
Her head bobbed as her tongue lurched and thrust, and the movements of her head made her pert breasts similarly jiggle.
Looking down between her kneeling legs, I saw the tufted bush and the petite labia and the moist slit.
I knew that presently, I would taste as well as view it ... but for now, there was my pleasure to consider, and the climax which hurtled toward me.
As my passion mounted, I urged Martha to increase the force with which she licked me, so that at the finish, her tongue rubbed roughly.
I came.
T clamped my thighs closed at the instant of the climax, pressing Martha's head between them and squeezing them.
Her tongue stopped its thrusting, but her mouth and nose were pressed against my pussy, which now flashed like lightning.
Finally I stopped shaking and let my thighs fall open.
Martha's face was bright red, and she gasped in great gulping breaths.
My bush, labia, and of course the inside of the slit, were saturated with dripping saliva and even thicker secretions.
I felt all hot and melted with pleasure between the legs. I sat slumped loosely in the chair, feeling boneless from the climax.
When I finally recovered, I leaned forward to take Martha's head in both hands and press a hot open-mouthed kiss on her lips.
I fancied I could taste myself in her mouth....
When I broke off the kiss at last, I smoothed back some few strands of hair which had fallen across her forehead, which also was sticky.
As long as I had her kneeling on the floor, I thought of another use for her.
Among the many uses I had planned....
I stood, a little shakily at first. My pussy lips glowed. My breasts felt sweaty and stifled in the confinement of the bra.
I took off the bra, the breasts seeming to expand when freed.
Still, it wasn't my breasts which I intended to have Martha now worship.
I stood facing her, turning her so that she no longer faced the chair where I had sat for the spanking and the pussy eating session.
Standing on her knees as she was, her head face, mouth was level with my pussy.
But it wasn't my pussy which was offered up for her worship right now.
I turned and presented my backside for her to orally worship.
I looked over my shoulder at her. She looked fascinated, hypnotized by the sight of my buttocks poised under her nose.
I put my hand on her head and pulled her face to my buttocks, which she at length nuzzled, kissed, polished with her tongue, and adored.
But her task was not yet complete until I spread my buttocks, exposing the little brown rosebud of my anus for her tongue to tantalize....
She did everything I told her to do, everything!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Junior finally had me right where he wanted me or so he thought.
It was after working hours, and I was in his office nude.
It was late Thursday afternoon, about a quarter to six. The closing hour of five had come and gone, and with it had gone the hordes that peopled the office.
Junior had a very impressive office. It made him feel better about not having any real power in his father's company. The outer office, where the receptionist worked, was as big as some of the offices of the company's mid-level managers.
Junior's inner office was very much larger, vast, sprawling, and all done up in the ultra-expensive height of office furniture fashion.
His desk wasn't as big as Mussolini's-not quite but it seemed to be the size at least of a grand concert piano.
It was at the far end of the office, opposite the door which opened into the outer office, and the distance was quite a little walk.
Taking that walk, though, was like walking through a field of clover, since the deep-pile wall to wall carpeting cushioned each footstep.
There were paintings on the high white walls, and indirect lighting mounted in ceiling alcoves, and hanging over all was the aura of money.
Decorators had furnished the interior, even picking out the stylish paintings on the walls, which certainly weren't chosen by Junior.
Junior was best at the social aspects of the business. When it came to showing important out of town clients a good time, Junior was in his element.
His routine was a round of business lunches at expensive restaurants, hours spent drinking in the higher-priced saloons, and other party-activities.
His office was equipped with a private bar which looked as well stocked and outfitted as some bars I've been in.
The few signs that the office belonged to Junior were the trophies from high school and college days in a display case, some little knick-knacks and odds and ends on his desk, and the copies of girlie magazines hastily stuffed into a bottom drawer of his desk, so that the glossy edges of the magazine stood out.
Ordinarily, the outer office was occupied by Marge, the tough lady who was supposed to be Junior's assistant.
Actually she was the power in his office, and no decision of Junior's was ever implemented unless she had okayed it first.
But for once, she was not present, having been called away on one errand or another, and not returning to the office at closing time.
Three weeks had passed since Billie had gone away and returned from her trip, and much had happened in that time.
Much was happening now, as Junior pawed me and panted for me.
Our, er, romance was progressing nicely.
First, he had asked me out for a date, and I accepted. I was dressed to kill, my face made up so that it was sexily exotic, my body sheathed in an expensive designer-label dress which played up my assets.
The exotic, sleek, glamorous beauty-for such I was; no point in false modesty was a side' of myself never before seen by Junior, or by any of my coworkers in the office (not including private, after-office amours I carried on, such as with Billie, since that never was done in the office).
Junior was rocked. When he saw me dressed to the teeth, any thoughts he might have had about a cheap date went flying out the window.
Dressed as I was, he had to take me someplace expensive ... and was more than happy to do so, since that way he could show me off.
He couldn't get over the change in me. At work I'm crisply pretty, but business-like and never overtly provocative.
Now I was dressed to thrill, and was more than succeeding.
In the imagine restaurant where we dined, men looked on me with lust, while their women were envious although one or two of the ladies looked on me with as much lust as their men.
Junior couldn't get over the change in me.
He said it was like I was a different person. We dined in gourmet luxury.
His sports car, sleek and low slung, was scarcely larger than his desk, and was infinitely more expensive, a high-priced machine.
At the end of that first date, Junior also discovered that I was not going to be an easy lay-not for him.
When he parked at my apartment building he was all hands and arms, but I fended him off and thanked him for a lovely evening.
He seemed stunned when I didn't invite him in, and turned down his suggestion that he come in for a nightcap.
Such refusals could only intrigue and allure him so I reasoned.
I was right.
No calculating virgin holding out for a wedding ring was ever more strict with her favors than I was with Junior.
On the second date I let him kiss me, but when his hand pressed my breast, I kept on kissing him but firmly removed it.
By the fourth date, he was feeding me all kinds of lines; that time I let him rub my breasts through my blouse.
But when he tried to slip his hand inside the blouse, I slapped it away. I did let him play with my nipples through the blouse.
More recently, when we had been in his car. parked at night, and I let him put his hand inside my unbuttoned blouse, he wanted more.
He was hard ... well, I knew that. Even in the dimness of the auto interior, I saw the fat bulge between his legs.
But he made sure that I knew about it, when he took hold of my hand and slid it over his muscular thighs to his crotch.
He pressed my hand to his stiff penis and held it there.
I said, "What are you doing?! "
"I want you to feel how much I need you!"
"Stewart ... " That was the name he liked to be called, his middle name. And so, I'll call him that for the rest of these memoirs.
"Stewart, please let go of my hand!"
"I need you so much, Donna ... you can feel it ... feel how hard it is, so hard that it hurts ... Donna, please, don't torment me, I can't stand it anymore!"
"Stewart, what do you want me to do about that?! "
"Let me make love to you."
"Stewart, please, we've been over this before--"
"It'll be good for both of us, I know it will!"
"Stewart, I've told you before, that's one thing that I'll do only with my lawfully wedded husband which you most definitely are not!"
"Donna, you're so cruel! You can feel how much I need you!"
And I could at that, for his erection felt like a length of hot pipe stuffed in the crotch of his pants, where my hand pressed it.
"Oh, Stewart!" I sighed, them smiled to myself. It was dim in the car and he couldn't see that naughty little smile of satisfaction.
"I won't go all the way with you, Stewart," I began, "at least not now. And you can be sure that if I did, it wouldn't be a quickie in your car!"
"Donna, you know how much I care for you...."
"And I care for you, Stewart, which is why I haven't yet slapped your face for holding my hand on your, your thing!"
And at that, I pulled my hand off his groin, out from under his hand which held it there. But I didn't slap his face.
I undid the front buttons of my blouse, opening it to the waist. Shadowed and dim as it was, he could surely see that.
"Oh, Donna-"
I fended off his hands. "Don't get grabby, Stewart. I want someone gentle and caring, who takes his time, not an octopus that's all hands and arms!"
I pulled open the blouse, exposing the bra I wore and the breasts in it.
I worked down the lace cups of the bra, pulling them down off the breasts, so that they were rolled under the now-naked breasts.
He leaned forward. He couldn't get too close, not in that small sports car with its bucket seats and the stick-shift separating the two of us.
His hands shook as he reached for my breasts. He gasped when he touched them, like a man plunging into a hot bath.
He squeezed and rubbed and fondled them. The nipples stiffened and throbbed erect as he stroked and caressed them.
"Donna, you are so beautiful!"
I pulled his head to my bosom.
"You can kiss them, Stewart ... do it slowly and gently...."
He nuzzled the breasts, which were lifted and raised up to a high tilted angle by the rolled bra cups under them.
His lips massaged my breasts. I stroked his dark thick soft hair. He took a nipple between his lips and sucked on it.
He moaned as he sucked my breasts. I reached across his muscular thighs and put my hand on his bulging crotch.
He moaned, and the vibrations shot through my breast, to which his mouth was attached.
I rubbed him through his pants, stroking his penis, feeling out the form and shape of his flesh he had a big one.
I felt out the form of its head and squeezed it. I pressed my palm on his penis and rubbed it back and forth, exciting him.
I rubbed faster and harder while he moaned, quite frantic.
Sucking my naked nipple while being masturbated by my skillful hand, both at the same time, proved too much for him to resist.
I stroked him only for a few minutes, when suddenly he stiffened, not just in his member but all over, and shook.
He cried out from the force of his orgasm. Inside his trousers his erection surged like a water hose, throbbing against my hand.
Masses of come boiled up from his member and spurted in spasmodic gushes.
As his forceful orgasm ebbed and faded, the tension left his form, and he gave off a great sighing moan.
I had masturbated him so that he came inside his pants, with masses of sticky come soiling his undershorts and oozing through his trousers.
While he labored to recover his gasping breath, I used the opportunity to fit my breasts back into my bra, and button up my blouse.
I had given Stewart a taste, enough to whet his appetite and keep him coming back for more, but not enough to compromise myself.
When I saw his fiancee, I knew stronger measures were needed.
She came into the office one day to meet him for lunch. I took the opportunity to look her over, like one fighter sizing up another.
She looked to be tough competition.
Tamara was her name, and she was a real princess. She was the same age as me, dark-haired where I was fair-haired.
She was tall, slim, aristocratic in facial features and physique. She had quite striking good looks, which made her seem model-like.
She was tall, with fine straight black hair cut simply and elegantly in a sharp sweeping line which ran along her jawline.
She had an aquiline nose, high prominent cheekbones, and sunken cheeks which gave her a kind of starved look.
Very fashionable, very chic ... her mouth was a red-lipped slash and her eyes were cool and appraising.
She carried herself gracefully. She had small perfect breasts smaller than mine, I was pleased to note, since Stewart most definitely had a big breast fetish a rounded bottom, and long lithe legs.
This was the competition, all right!
Stewart went out to lunch with her. He took a long lunch, and I feared that he wouldn't return for the afternoon, but would take the day off with her.
But he did return, at two o'clock, which pleased me, since I had my plans all made. You might say I planned to bring up my heavy artillery.
Things could not have worked out better for my plans, for Marge was gone for the day, one of the reasons why Stewart dared take so long a lunch.
At the three o'clock coffee break, I told him at the water cooler that I planned to drop by his office after five.
I mentioned it quite casually, so he wouldn't guess my purpose.
Tamara was lovely well, so was I. She had the benefits of caste and class working for her but I had something even better.
Sexpertise.
Sexual expertise, to drive a man wild!
CHAPTER NINE
While the office was emptied of its workforce, I went around the big desk in Stewart's office, and sat on his lap.
Which had just the effect on him that I intended.
I wore a one-piece dress that day, a long-sleeved knit dress which hugged my curves but which I could wear to work as well.
The knit fabric, all pale blue, perfectly hugged my form.
Stewart hugged me, as I sat on his lap, with my warm bottom pressing his groin.
I knew how to excite him.
I put my hand on his big shoulders and massaged them. I leaned into him, pressing the tips of my breasts against his chest.
I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and turned up my face for kisses.
He wrapped his arms around me and covered my open mouth with his.
His tongue, thick and wide, pushed into my mouth. My tongue squirmed under it, sliding, thrusting, teasing.
As we kissed, I squirmed on his lap-purposefully.
Having those soft warm yielding globes of flesh rubbing and massaging his genitals made them tingle with animation, with new life.
Within a few short seconds, I felt his penis twitch against my buttocks.
In a few more seconds, it had grown in quivering jerks, to its fully erect state.
Then my squirmings made him squirm, as my bottom pressed his now-hard member.
I took him somewhat by surprise when I took his hand and placed it on my breast.
Once I did that, nature took its course, and he pressed my bosom, slowly rubbing my breasts through my garments.
He started slowly, tentatively, taking a few liberties at a time, hesitant as he waited for me to draw the line.
But this time, when I did draw the line, the limits that I set would be far beyond those that I normally followed and made him honor.
My nipples tingled, puckered, throbbed as they became erect.
He handled my breasts. I guided his hand to the zipper at the back of my dress.
He pulled it down slowly, opening the dress to the small of my back.
He put his hands on my shoulders and worked the garment off them. I unbuttoned their cuffs and worked my arms out of the sleeves.
The dress was now pulled down to my waist, while above it, I wore only my bra.
He rubbed the swelling breast tops where they rose out of the bra cups. They jiggled, all pink and creamy.
While he handled them, I unhooked the bra in back and took it off.
My breasts tumbled free and the bra fluttered to the carpeted floor.
He took hold of my breasts in both hands, cupping them in the palms, lifting and pressing and kneading them.
He lowered his head to my bosom and nuzzled my breasts.
I held a breast, cupping and lifting it to bring the nipple to his mouth.
His lips parted when the tip of the nipple pressed them, then he wrapped his hot wet sucking mouth around the nipple.
His swollen penis throbbed against my bottom.
After a moment of heated breast worship, I disengaged my nipple from his mouth, and slid off his lap to stand facing him.
I kicked off my loafers, then pulled my dress down off my hips.
It fell to my feet, and I stepped out of it, now clad only in pantyhose.
I said, "You've never seen me all naked, Stewart...."
"Donna-"
"Let me take down my pantyhose ... you men are so clumsy, and I can't afford to ruin this pair ... ah, here we go."
In a half a minute, I stood naked in front of this fully dressed young man, the front of whose conservatively tailored slacks rose with a massive bulge.
I let him touch me.
He leaned forward, the springs in his executive style swivel chair creaking. His hands trembled with eagerness as they reached out.
He took hold of my hips and wrapped both hands around them and squeezed.
I fondled his hair and stroked his flushed, heated face.
He rubbed my hips and flanks with long, smooth strokes, his hands moving inward.
I spread my feet, parting my legs to open my thighs for his hand.
He put his hand between my legs, and stroked the smooth inner thighs.
"Ummmm, slowly, Stewart, that's how I like it...."
"Donna, lord, you're beautiful, just beautiful...."
He was hypnotized by my body. He reached for my pussy.
I gave off a little moan when his groping fingers contacted my pussy fle.sh.
I stood between him and his desk, with my bare bottom pressing its edge.
He rubbed my pussy, leaning forward to peer at it and see how it was made, to rub the pussy lips which tingled under his touch.
I sighed dreamily. He pressed the tip of his finger against me and pushed it in a little. I moaned as his finger penetrated my pussy.
I was wet, so his finger slid in easily enough, although my tightness hugged the finger. I held on to the desk edge while I was entered.
I stood with my legs spread, holding on to the desk, while he fingered me.
When he put his finger deep inside me, then the juices really flowed. He pushed it in and out, with more juices oozing at each stroke.
I began to rock my hips, swaying them to the thrusts of his finger.
He took his finger out of me at last. It was all wet with juices.
He stood up. then groaned from the stiffness of his erection. I reached for him and fondled his penis through his pants.
I tugged at his belt, unbuckling it.
He took hold of my hand and started to lead me away.
"Come with me to the couch, Donna!"
"No, dear...."
"What?"
I kept on rubbing him. "You know what I told you the only man who can make love to me, who can have my pussy, is my husband!"
"Oh, Donna!"
Before he could protest, I pressed my finger to his lips to silence him.
"Shhhhh ... darling, let me finish. You don't think I went through all this, just so I could tease you and get you all hot and bothered!"
Which is probably just exactly what he thought, and I couldn't blame him. But he was due for a real treat.
"But that isn't the reason, Stewart-I did it because I love you, and so I want to do something very, very special for you."
I continued rubbing and stroking his penis through his pants. Now my fingers found out the top button, undid it.
"I'm going to do something for you which will prove how much I adore you, Stewart!"
Now I pulled down his zipper and squeezed his member.
I looked away from him and over my shoulder. I had planned to go to my knees, but a better idea came to me, which I acted upon.
His desk, as I said, was as big as a grand concert piano. I pushed aside papers and whatnot, then swung my long legs up on the desk.
"Donna, what are you doing?! "
"You'll find out!" I promised.
The desk was formed from some dark, highly polished wood, slick and hard under me, so that my knees knocked against it.
I knelt there, facing him, with my long legs folded under me, and my bottom resting on the backs of my heels, with my head close to the desk's edge.
"Can you guess what I'm going to do, lover?" I whispered sweetly.
To make sure that he got the message, I stuck out my tongue and slowly, lewdly licked my lips so they were all moistly glimmering.
"Good gosh, Donna!"
"Come on, honey, and give it to me I'm ready!"
He pulled down his pants. The change and wallet in his trouser pockets made a heavy chunking thump when his pants fell to his ankles.
He wore a pair of sexy low-slung men's briefs which were stretched to the limits by the size of his member.
His penis stood up in stiff erection inside the pants, rising vertically, with its fat knobbed head peeping over the waistband of the shorts.
Down came the shorts, and the erection jutted at a tilted angle from his hips. Angry red it was, thick, swollen, long.
I leaned forward, so that my stiff-nippled breasts dangled down, and pressed the tops of my thighs, oozing out to the sides.
I lowered my head so that my face was level with his crotch, his groin.
I reached for his rod. He gasped, then shivered as I took hold of it.
I gripped it in both hands and squeezed. I moved one hand down the shaft to his balls, which I fingered and fondled.
The balls swelled inside the sac and vibrated with sensation.
I pressed out my puckered lips and kissed the head of his cock. More kisses covered the penis head. I nuzzled his erection. He held it now, while I rubbed my soft cheek against its underside.
I touched my tongue tip to the base of his penis. I licked my way up the shaft, following the fat blue veins wrapped throbbingly around the member.
When I was back up at the cock head, I stuck the tip of my tongue in the little hole at the cock head's top Stewart moaned some more.
I took the cock head between my lips and sucked it.
It was a fat knobbed ball of flesh which grew fatter still as I sucked it.
I slid my moist lips down the shaft, engulfing it in my mouth, taking it deeper.
I rubbed its head on the slippery roof of my mouth.
I took the rod so that it was deep in my mouth, its head nudging the back of my throat, the member boiling in the oven of my mouth.
Stewart gasped and moaned. His hands made free with my stiff-nippled breasts.
I pulled my head back, massaging my lips against the shaft, until all of it but its head emerged from within my mouth.
Then I pushed my head forward, taking the rod deep.
Stewart circled the base of his member with his thumb and index finger and rocked his hips as he worked his rod in my mouth.
I bobbed my head, meeting him halfway when he pushed his thing deep.
I caressed his rod with lips and tongue.
Here was a dream come true for Stewart, a wet dream, with a naked beauty squatting on his desk to give head and suck his cock.
His plunging grew more frantic as his lust mounted, and his rod seethed in my mouth.
The jerking of the rod of flesh on my tongue warned his orgasm would soon arrive.
I reached out and held his muscular hips while bobbing my head.
His time came, and so did he.
He plunged his penis deep in my mouth, its head bumping the back of my throat. I was open throated and took the head inside it.
My mouth molded around his squirming erection, sucking as he came.
Masses of semen spurted down my throat, as he pumped his load into me. I swallowed, gulping down the contents of each swelling gush of semen.
When the streaming semen ebbed, and the last few droplets of come oozed from his member. Stewart was shaken, shivering, satisfied-and mine.
CHAPTER TEN
Up at the top of the world, I was ushered into the Presence.
Marge said, "Mr. K will see you now."
Mr. K Irving Klenetsky, Senior.
Up here in this penthouse duplex on top of Manhattan's most fashionably expensive condos, was one of the elder Klenetsky's dwelling places.
It wasn't his main residence. Out on the
Island, he had a real mansion, sitting on a sprawling cliff-side estate overlooking the sound.
There were other homes, too ... a vacation home in Martha's Vineyard, a ski chalet in Vermont, Pacific shorefront property in California.
But this penthouse suite was his home away from home, where he spent a great deal of time and where he waited to meet me.
It was night, a weeknight, after work but early in the evening. In the room where I was, curtains were pulled back to expose a window taking up much of the wall.
Level with me, in the distance, I saw the tops of other tall buildings, alive with beacons and shining lights.
It was black night and there were stars and a quarter-moon, and far off, blinking lights that were airplanes glided through the sky.
I felt like I was up at the top of the world-exhilarating feeling!
But I was just a visitor, and could be returned to the streets easily enough, never to return if I had displeased Klenetsky Senior.
Marge? She was the same, only different. She was dressed in a clinging black velvet dress, stockings, high heels.
It was a duplex, with two levels, but we didn't climb the spiral staircase which wound from lower floor to upper.
No, we entered the elegant narrow elevator car at the end of the hall, and rode up a floor, to the private quarters of Mr. K.
I was dressed in the clothes I had worn to work that day. Near the close of the working day, Marge, then quite differently dressed, in her working clothes, sought me out in the design workroom.
She announced that Mr. K wanted to see-meet me.
It was an imperial summons which could not be denied. One which I had been expecting for some time, and which had come at last.
What's more, I was to come to his private residence, not his office.
So here I was.
"So you're Donna," he said. "I've wanted to meet you for some time!"
On this level, directly outside the elevator was a small lobby, from which doors led off to various other rooms.
One of those rooms was Klenetsky's study, where he would meet me.
In that wide wood-paneled room, he sat at his desk with his back turned to me, his swivel chair arranged so that he faced front.
Marge escorted me in and stood slightly behind me, and exited so silently that I didn't suspect she was gone until I heard the lock click shut as she closed the door on her way out. Then Irving Klenetsky spoke to me.
He turned in his seat and faced me, hands resting on his desk.
This was the first time I had ever gotten a close look at him. He was an attractive middle aged man, not handsome, but attractive.
He had thinning gray hair, a wide, thick featured face with a long nose and more than the beginnings of a double chin.
His deep-set eyes were thoughtful, cool, as he studied me.
"How do you do, Mr. Klenetsky."
I took the bull by the horns. No sense beating around the bush.
I went on: "I've been waiting to meet you for a long time, too."
"And so we meet at last."
"Yes...."
"You're very lovely, Donna. No mystery about the attraction you have over my son."
"Thank you, sir."
"Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable."
He motioned to one of the visitor's chairs which faced his desk. I sat down in the chair so indicated. I was not relaxed.
He said, "Even though we've never met before in the flesh-I feel that I know all about you, Donna."
It was early evening, and he wore an old-fashioned quilted smoking jacket, with quilted cuffs, its main body black velvet.
He was broad-shouldered a family trait, perhaps with thick arms and a barrel chest, his middle stout but not fat.
He picked up a manila folder on his desk, opening it. I saw glossy photos and sheets with typewriting on them.
He thumbed through the folder, then looked up, smiling.
"In fact, I do know all about you, Donna-everything."
And he proceeded to prove the truth of that assertion.
He had it all that folder was a file filled with information about me, probably gathered by private investigators in his employ.
They had done their work well. They had it all, about Martha, Billie, and Stan, with names, dates, places, and in some cases pictures, too.
But the file went way back before that, to other jobs I had held, even back to the record of my school days at FIT.
He neither gloated nor accused, just went over all the information in that deep, resonant, avuncular voice of his.
That was what he looked like, up close-your favorite uncle, mature and warm and comfortable as an old shoe.
When he reached the end of the file, he stuffed all its material into the folder, closed it, and folded his hands on it.
"As you can see, Donna, I like to know about my employees especially when they're so charming and so, uh, active as you!
"And especially when they're so very close to my son," he smiled.
I said simply: "Well, what now."
"You're a cool one! No denials, no remorse, no hysterics!"
"That's not my style," I said. He got up from behind his desk and came around to me, held out his hand. "Won't you come with me. please?" I took his hand and rose. In very courtly style, he escorted me out of his study and into the adjacent room the bedroom. We exchanged glances.
He patted my hand. "Congratulations, Donna ... I know you'll make a wonderful wife for my son. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage."
I was speechless.
He continued, "My boy has many fine qualities, but when it comes to the business, he hasn't the head of a glass of beer.
"Well, no reason why he should. I built the business up from nothing, and it's got enough momentum now to run forever.
"I wouldn't want to think that my heir and the bearer of the family name would, pardon my language, piss away his heritage, his legacy.
"He needs a strong, smart, cunning wife to look out after his best interests and the interests of my company which are one and the same.
"Donna, you are that woman!
"In my own way, I'm a student of history, and I've seen the same pattern time and time again the founders of a fortune are tough and scrappy, but their offspring, weakened by too easy living, eventually lose that fortune. The line needs new blood the infusion of new family members by marriage who are strong and tough, whose vigor benefits the entire line.
"And, when that new member comes wrapped up in as beautiful a package as you. Donna why, it would be foolish indeed to let her slip away!
"And so, I will not only not oppose your marriage to my son, I will encourage it. You will be a daughter to me."
I glanced at the big, luxurious bed. "Only a daughter?"
"Ah, yes, but then I'm intimately close to my daughter ... as I will be with you. Tonight we will celebrate your forthcoming marriage, Donna.
"Take off your clothes and get into bed, dear, while I tell you some of the pleasures I have planned for us."
I undressed facing him, so he could watch. There's an art to taking off one's clothes ask any stripper.
This was more subtle than that, but the idea was the same to allure and excite by the slow disrobing and unveiling of the flesh.
At last, when the last wispy garments my panties had fluttered down my legs to fall at my feet, I was all naked.
By this time I stood with my back to him, so he hadn't yet seen my pussy. I glanced over my shoulder, to see his massive arousal.
I stepped out of the panties and got into bed, slipping under the covers and pulling them up to my shoulders.
He took off his robe. His erection rose from his wide hips like a red broomstick. His balls were hairy, heavy, hot and tight in their sac.
He stood at the bedside, facing me. I slid along the mattress and sat up, sheets and blankets falling off me.
I was bare from the waist up, as I raised myself on one elbow.
He gripped his penis and nuzzled it against my face. My velvet lips played over the shaft, which seethed hotly.
He brought the cock head to my lips. I nibbled it and licked it. He patted my hair and fondled my face.
I licked his swollen balls, which were so tight that they vibrated under my gliding tongue, shaking the rest of him.
Into my mouth he stuffed his swollen penis.
I sucked him, head bobbing, tongue caressing, lips making love to his member. Each stroke increased the heat of the rod.
But he pulled out way before he could come in my mouth. The red rod surged in his hand, saliva dripping from it.
I cast a puzzled look at him, surprised he had pulled out so soon.
"I want what my son hasn't yet had from you," he said, "your pussy."
"It's yours, along with all the rest of me."
"Your wantonness is delightful. Donna. I will take you up on your offer. But for now, lay down on your back and open your legs for me.
"Now, play with yourself make yourself all hot and wet for me!"
I positioned myself as ordered and stroked myself between the legs. I fingered myself while he stood at the bedside, handling his stiff penis while he watched me.
"That's enough," he said.
My arms were open to receive him, and so were my legs, as he climbed on the bed and got on top of me, his weight warm and heavy.
He guided his swollen penis to my slit and pried open the pussy lips.
I was the lover of his son, but he would have from me what Stewart would not enjoy until our wedding night my precious pussy.
I tried to imagine what it would be like, being Stewart's wife, and the plaything of my father-in-law. The erotic possibilities were complex, and many.
So, I stopped thinking at all, and gave myself up to a deep, fulfilling fucking from my future father-in-law.
After only a few minutes of the kind of hot loving he was giving me, I made a silent prayer that Stewart would be half the man his father was.
The senior Klenetsky was swollen in his member, which stretched me.
As he rode me, I bent my legs at the knees, lifted my feet from the bed, and pressed hard against his flanks.
His body was thick, strong, sweaty now.
His belly was thick and slapped mine when he plunged his member into me. Its head bumped the mouth of my womb.
I wrapped my arms around his sweating shoulders and held on tight.
Each stroke increased my body heat, and his, until at last I felt like I was boiling inside, burning with sexual fire.
He plunged deep, and this time he kept his thing planted inside me.
He came-and so did I.
I was filled with masses of come pumped from his thick rod, like water gushing from a fire hose extinguishing a roaring fire.
The fire was between my legs, in my pussy.
After he stopped coming, after he pumped me full of his come, he was still stiff inside me, as hard as he had been at the start.
I gurgled with satisfaction, his come oozing inside me.
He had lessened but not put out the fires of lust mine and his.
He pulled out of me. It was good, being filled with his member, and I sighed with disappointment when the penis was withdrawn.
Come smeared on my warm pussy lips, making them sticky and honeyed.
He squeezed my hip and stroked my sweaty belly, thighs, breasts.
He got off the bed. I turned to face him where he stood at the bedside.
"Surely you're not leaving?! " I asked.
"Hardly, daughter, hardly."
"I like when you call me that 'daughter', I mean. Do you if you don't mind my asking do you do these things with your real daughter?"
"You'll find out," he promised, chuckling. "But for now, let's talk about what I'm going to do to you, and you to me."
"Let's do more than talk."
He gripped his penis, squeezed a pearly drop of come from its tip.
"I'm ready now for some of that famous mouth of yours," he said.
"My pleasure...."
Between the climax I had just thrilled to, and the semen inside me, my pussy felt all creamy and gushy and seething.
Just moving on the bed, kneeling on folded legs so that I faced the bed's edge, nearly made me faint with dizzying rushes of pleasure.
I lowered my head to the member lifted to my mouth.
"Oh, beautiful!" I murmured. "Makes my mouth water, just to see it...."
I puckered my lips and planted a hot sucking kiss on the cock head.
My lips nibbled and my tongue licked, not just the head, but shaft and balls, too.
I'm no one-man woman no one woman-woman, either. I could never be sexually satisfied with just one lover of either sex.
No, I need constant stimulation, and the thrill of novelty, from a parade of equally insatiable male and female lovers.
I had a powerful intuition that, when I married into this family, my desires would be satisfied, and my wildest fantasies of lust would come true.
But all that lay ahead in the future ... in a future volume of memoirs, perhaps.
For now, there was the reality of the stiff red shaft which surged with lust as I took it between my lips and engulfed it with my hot sucking mouth ...
