The sweat was pouring off her body and she was screaming as she rolled and tossed beneath me. I stuck my cock in even more deeply, pushing to the farthest recesses of her cunt.
"FUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" she howled.
I was certainly doing my best. She was the most pneumatic woman I had ever been on top of and I've had more than my share. Her body rose and fell as though it were on a trampoline instead of a ratty old couch. And what a body it was! Her tits were like cannon shells, squeezing deliciously against my chest, squirming and mashing into me. Her legs, which were curvier than the back roads of my native state of Kentucky, were locked around my waist. And her hips were battering at mine with the speed and consistency of a triphammer.
I think I'm pretty good at fucking, but about all I could do with this wild lady was hang on for the ride and try to give her the benefit of my rather large cock, which, as I say, was plumbing the depths of her pussy with the greatest of pleasure.
"I'm coming," she panted. "OHH CHRIST, I'M COMMIIIIINNNGG...."
It's about time, I told myself. I was exhausted.
* * *
When she had first walked into my office, I had known it was all over. I had argued with myself before she even sat down. This was not the kind of secretary I wanted, I rationalized. I would never get any work done if all I could think about was my secretary's tits and ass and so forth. What I needed was a nice, middle-aged, white-haired lady, efficient and strait-laced. Or even a male secretary-well, no, I guess I didn't want to go that far.
But then she sat down. Her damn dress was short anyway. When she sat, it hiked back over her thighs, letting me see damn near all of her legs. And her tits thrust out at me across the desk. I could almost have put my hand on one. And I almost did.
I said stupidly, "Can you type?" Who cares? my mind commented.
And she said, "No."
"Oh." What the hell kind of secretary doesn't type, I thought. "Uh-shorthand?"
"No."
"Oh. Let me get this straight," I said. "I thought you were applying for the position of ... secretary."
"I am," she said.
"How can you be a secretary if you don't type or take shorthand, for God's sake?"
"Ask me what else I do," this girl said.
Okay, I'll bite. "What else do you do?"
"I fuck," she said.
I said, "Oh." I mean, what else could I say? Don't tell me.
"Also," she said, "I suck."
"Uhhuh. Well. That's...."
"Also-"
"Hold it!"
"What's the matter?" she asked innocently.
"I-Look, Miss-uh-what's your name, anyway?"
"Peggy."
"Peggy. You're very pretty, Peggy. But...."
"But?"
"But I don't want-I mean I'm not looking for-I mean-Shit," I said. "Take your clothes off."
So that was how I happened to be on my ratty old office couch, fucking my just-hired secretary. And I knew she would get the job. Hell, I was ready to give her a raise before she'd even started.
"Peggy," I said while I was lying beside her, exhausted. "Peggy...."
"What?"
"Where in the hell did you learn to fuck like that?"
She smiled at me. In case I've been too busy to mention it, she had very white teeth. She also had red hair. Not bright red, but a sort of brownish-red-russet-I guess they call it. All over. She also had a body ... but I guess I mentioned that.
"You should find out how I suck," she said.
I didn't believe this girl. "Any time," I said weakly.
And the next thing I knew, I was going out of my mind.
Now I have been sucked from here to Timbuktu by girls of all shapes, sizes, colors, religions and creeds. Most blowjobs, I find, are mediocre. Some are okay. A few are very nice. And very few-just a meager, tiny, infinitesimal few-are really good. When you get one of those, you want to hang on to that girl forever. Well, sometimes anyway.
But ... Peggy was better than that. Hell, she was five-hundred times better than I'd ever dreamed possible. And I dream pretty good. Only the other night I dreamed I was screwing Raquel Welch and Raquel couldn't get enough of me. When I had negligently brought her to climax six times without coming myself, she had begged me to let her suck me off. And I thought she sucked damn well. But compared to Peggy ... nothing.
I was babbling something I couldn't understand and floating off somewhere in space. Meanwhile, Peggy held me in her incredibly-talented mouth, doing things with her lips and tongue and God knows what else that made my body twist and writhe like an electric eel-an electrified electric eel. I was about to come copiously down her throat when she took her mouth away. I grabbed blindly for her head, ready to commit murder if she didn't go on.
And she asked, "Would you like to come in my mouth or shoot all over my face?"
I couldn't think of a good answer to that one. I couldn't think, period. I said, "Yes."
So she put her mouth back where it belonged. With a couple of wicked licks in just the right places, Peggy brought my sperm pouring out of me. She was marvelous. She swallowed the first few jets and then pulled my cock from her mouth and let the rest of the jism splash over her beautiful facial features. There was enough to make it plenty wet, too.
I lay there, exhausted-I know I said that before, but this time I was really exhausted-while Peggy smiled down at me. Her lovely greenish eyes were gleaming; her nose, cheeks, lips and chin dripping semen.
"I love you," I said.
And then my wife walked in.
* * *
"My goodness," she said. I should tell you that my wife is a breathtakingly level-headed girl. "Looks like I'm just in time." And she began to take her clothes off.
Now when Amy-my wife-takes her clothes off-no matter how tired I am, no matter who or how many ladies I have just finished boffing, no matter if I were at death's door from being tortured on the rack-I watch.
Amy is a striking blonde. Jesus, is she ever blonde. Real blonde. Like yellow. Her hair is straight and long and it turns me on. Her eyes are blue. Her body is slender, but her breasts are not. Or her hips. Her legs are ... fuck it. She's gorgeous.
And she loves to fuck. Anybody.
So I watched as she took off her clothes. And it was as good to watch as ever. But right then I'd had it. "Forget it, Amy," I begged. "I'm done for now."
"Well, I'm not," Peggy protested.
"That's what I was hoping," Amy said.
She fell to the floor and raised her arms to Peggy. Peggy fell on top of her.
These two women, who had never seen one another before in their lives, kissed passionately, like long-lost lovers. Their mouths ground together and their bodies twisted against each other. Moans came from their throats. They were two kindred spirits and they didn't need any further introduction.
The kiss went on for a long time. When they broke it, Amy, with great pleasure, began to lick my come from Peggy's face. "Oh delicious," she murmured, lapping it up and swallowing whatever she could get.
When she was finished, Peggy lowered her face to Amy's breast, greedily sucking on the firm mound of flesh. Then she took the nipple between her teeth and bit it gently. Amy groaned. Peggy moved to the other breast. Breathing hard, Amy looked at me, still laying on the couch.
"Where ... where did you find this treasure?" she asked me.
"She applied for the position as my secretary," I said.
"Christ," Amy commented, as Peggy's head began to inch downward. "You mean she types, too?"
"Well ... no. But-"
"I know. Who cares? Aaahhh...."
Peggy's head had moved over Amy's spectacularly flat stomach and was now nestled between her legs. Those shapely legs rose and spread as Peggy's mouth went busily to work on my wife's cunt. From Amy's reactions, I gathered that Peggy was as good at pussy-lapping as she was at sucking cock.
Amy gasped and groaned and whimpered. While her body arched from the floor, she shoved her snizz harder against Peggy's talented mouth. Then she started making unearthly noises in her throat, writhing and squirming uncontrollably. Before long she started to scream.
And she came. And she came again.
And I had thought I was finished for the day. Nope. My cock was hard as a rock.
Peggy rolled over onto her back. "My turn," she breathed.
Amy took a minute to recover, but then she crouched willingly to do unto Peggy as Peggy had done unto her. And soon Peggy was making the same noises.
Amy's ass was up in the air as she pleasured the redhead and Amy has the roundest, firmest, loveliest rear end in creation. And-like I said-I was ready again. So I rolled off the couch and knelt up behind my twat-sucking wife. I spread her ass cheeks and stuck my finger experimentally into her little crinkled anus.
"Mmmm," Amy said, her mouth buried in Peggy's cunt. "MMHHMMM ... Mmnnnnhhhmmmm ... mmumummm...."
Which, translated into English, meant: "Yes! Fuck me in the ass with your big sexy cock!"
So, having been a student of Amy-lingo for a long time and knowing exactly what she meant, I complied. It took a while, though, because her asshole was so tiny that it was tough going at first. But I knew from long experience that the prick-in-ass gambit was not only possible, but that it was well worth the trouble.
When the tip of my cock poked into her tight opening, Amy gave a deep moan against Peggy's cunt. The redheaded recipient of her ministrations was rolling her head back and forth and gasping in short, harsh breaths. Similar sounds soon came from Amy as I slowly but firmly maneuvered my sizable tool deeper into her clinging anal passage. I reached my hands around her to clutch her hanging breasts and found the nipples were rigid little spikes between my fingers.
Farther and farther, I pushed inside her squeezing back tunnel, while I listened to the groans of the two women getting louder and louder. Then Peggy yelled shrilly, her body convulsing as she came under the insistent probing of Amy's lips and tongue. She pulled herself away then and Amy rested her forehead on the floor, her doubled-up bod jerking and sweating as my marauding prick reached deeply into her guts.
"Ohhh Godddd...." she cried. "Ohh YESSSS ... OHHH JESUS DO IT TO MEEEEE...."
I was in her sweet backside to the hilt. I held on tightly to her tits and started to give it to her, yanking myself out and then slamming back into her. She loved it that way.
Soon Amy was sobbing and blubbering. I squeezed her knockers, pounding my thick prong into her clutching rectum until my head swam. Her hips jerked back at me, meeting every stroke eagerly, while her body wriggled without control. I wasn't aware of what Peggy was doing until I felt something behind me. And then the top of my skull came off. Because Peggy had parted my ass cheeks, as I had done to Amy's. And she was fucking my asshole ... with her tongue.
I gave a roar like a strangled lion as that wet, wiggly, probing prong of wickedness pushed into my anus. It drove me to the brink of climax almost immediately and my hands squeezed hard around Amy's boobs, bringing a yowl of pain and pleasure from her gasping mouth. I rammed into her again and again, as hard as I could, with Peggy's tongue following me sans losing contact for an instant. With the last lunge I came hard, shooting my boiling jism up into Amy's belly, while her rear passageway spasmed around my semen-streaming prick as she, too, climaxed violently.
Then she fell flat on the floor and I collapsed atop her.
And from somewhere far away I heard Peggy ask, "Do I get the job?"
* * *
The three of us went out for a drink to celebrate Peggy's new position. It was well after working hours by now anyway.
Sitting in a back booth in a nice, quiet bar with a cool martini in front of me and two beautiful, sexy women flanking me, I felt content. I felt peaceful. I felt horny.
How, I hear you ask, can I feel horny after just having been fucked and sucked and ass-tongued to within an inch of heaven's gate?
All I can tell you is ... you had to see Peggy. And Amy. And that they don't call me Billy Goat Bernie for nothing.
Bernie?
Yep. That's my name, Bernie. Bernard P. Culligan. I can't help the name as my mammy and pappy didn't know any better. But I don't look like it. I'm big and solid and have a broken nose and red hair. Not red like Peggy's; carrot-red. What can I tell you? Except that the girls don't complain.
"So," I said to Peggy, sipping my drink, "as I asked before-where did you learn to fuck like that?"
"Natural talent," Peggy answered modestly.
"And hard work, I'll bet," I said. "You can't be more than twenty-two, for Chrissake. You must have started screwing when you were a mere wisp of a girl."
"Eighteen," Peggy said. "And I was no mere wisp. I was quite nicely filled out by that age, thank you."
"I believe it," I said.
"Tell us how you started," Amy said curiously. My wife loves a good dirty story.
Peggy smiled, the light of recollection in her eyes. "It was my high-school principal," she said.
"Really?" Amy said. "How sweet."
"See, I wasn't doing too well in school and there was this one class I was failing in that I had to pass or I wouldn't be able to graduate. I didn't care much, but I knew my parents would kill me if that happened. The teacher was an old lady and I knew there was no way I could convince her to pass me. So I went to see the principal."
"You mean you deliberately set out to seduce him?" I wondered aloud.
"Well ... not exactly. I mean, I didn't know what was going to happen. I just knew I had to pass that course and I guess I was ready to do anything, just about. But I didn't know too much at that time. I mean I knew, but I hadn't had any practical experience in sex."
"Go on," Amy said.
"Well, I went to see him in his office, you know and I explained to him about how I wanted to pass and all. And I guess I had sort of dressed for the occasion-I mean I had kind of a tight sweater on and my skirt was ... sort of short. You know."
"I know," I said. "Like now." And I put my hand on her bare thigh under the table.
She smiled at me. "So I was sitting there and he was telling me about how my work didn't seem to be too good and how there was nothing he could do and all. But I saw him looking at me and I knew he was kind of ... interested."
"So you encouraged him." L moved my hand higher on her thigh.
"Well, I kind of crossed my legs, you know, so he could see plenty and I took a real deep breath. And his face got kind of red and all. So I said ... I told him if he would do something for me, I would do something for him."
"So he did and you did," I said. I slid my hand farther up, until I felt her bikini panties.
"Quiet," Amy said impatiently. "Let her tell it."
With my free hand, I reached for Amy's hand and brought it under the table, placing it over my crotch. Almost automatically, she began to squeeze and knead me through my trousers. "Okay," I said to Peggy. "Then what happened?"
"Well, he asked me what did I mean. Like he didn't know. But I think he knew better than I did."
"So?"
"So I got up and went around his desk and just sat down in his lap. I was kind of nervous, but I tried not to show it. His face got redder than ever and he asked me what I was doing."
My fingers burrowed under the material of her sexy panties and wormed their way up toward her crotch. She drew a sharp breath and her legs parted slightly. Meanwhile, my cock had started to thicken and lengthen under Amy's knowing digits.
"Go on," Amy encouraged.
"Well, I sort of wiggled a little on his lap and I said I thought he was cute and I would do whatever he wanted if he could help me pass. And he started to, like, push me away, but then he couldn't and he sort of put his hands over my tits. And when he did that, he made a little noise, you know and I knew he would do it."
Amy's hand had closed around my rapidly-stiffening cock and she was rubbing it through the material of my trousers. One of my fingers found Peggy's clitoris and she made a tiny whimpering sound. I moved my fingers gently, not wanting to attract attention to us.
Peggy went on, a bit breathily. "When he put his hands on my tits, my nipples got hard right away and I started feeling funny. So I asked did he want to kiss me and he said yes and he took his hands away so he could hold me while I kissed him. I had kissed boys before, so I knew something about that and I put my tongue in his mouth and sort of moved it around. And he started to breathe kind of hard against my mouth and while I was still kissing him he put his hand under my skirt ... like you're doing now ... and I began to feel all worked up and pretty soon I felt like I wanted to do it whether he helped me pass or not...."
Two of my dexterous digits were deep in her cunt now and another was slowly manipulating her clitoris. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly under her blouse and I saw her hands grip the table tightly as she tried not to be too obvious about what she was experiencing. I knew something of what she was going through, because Amy's hand was still working on my now-rigid dick. I was glad the booth we were in was shadowy and rather isolated. With my free hand, I took a sip of my drink. A small sip. I didn't need any waiters hovering around at the moment.
Especially when Amy's mischievous fingers left my cock to find the tab of my zipper. And started to pull it down.
"So I stopped kissing him," Peggy said in an uneven voice. "And I put my arms up over my head and asked did he want to take my sweater off. So he did and his hands were shaking, you know? And he made the funny noise again and he put his mouth on my breast. Oh, I forgot to say I wasn't wearing a bra. He sucked on my tits and felt between my legs and I was going crazy. He was breathing real hard and I thought he might ... you know, come by himself, so I got off his lap and stood up and I took off my skirt and my panties. His eyes got all ... oh ... ohhh ... ohh my God...."
She was squirming slightly in her seat and her eyes were closed. I pulled my fingers away from her, but not too far away.
"Ohhh...."she whispered. "Don't stop...."
Amy had her hand inside my pants now, her fingers gripping my bare pecker. My own voice was husky. "Keep talking," I said, "and I'll continue."
"You're a bastard," she breathed. I wiggled my fingers tantalizingly on her thigh. "All right," she said. "I was naked and ... oh yes, yes ... and I asked why didn't he take his clothes off, too. And he told me to go over and lock the door and I did. And when I turned back he had his cock out. It was all stiff and real big, even though he was kind of a fat little guy ... ooohh ... and he said I was really pretty and he wanted to fuck my ass off. And ... and when he said that, just suddenly like that, I got so excited I was practically dripping ... and ... I...."
She was getting near the edge again. I kept my fingers where they were this time, but kept them still for a moment, until she recovered somewhat. Amy's fingers were far from still, however. They were sliding slowly and knowingly up and down my monstrous prick. I had to struggle to maintain my outward composure.
"I helped him take his clothes off," Peggy continued, making an obvious effort to control her voice. "And he was so eager he ... he kind of swept everything off his desk so we could get on top of it. It was a big desk and we ... I laid down on my back and he got on top of me ... and he stuck it in ... and it hurt, but it felt good, too ... and then it ... ohh ... it felt so damn good I couldn't believe it. I was ... ohh ... ahhh ... oooohh ... ohh I can't ... I can't ... uuunnhhh!!"
And she came under my fingers. I felt her snizz spasming and her body jerked, but she kept it quiet enough so that nobody heard or noticed anything. Then she slumped in her seat, panting softly.
I took my hand away, but let it rest on her leg. Amy's hand was moving faster on my cock and I was almost panting myself. "Go on," I said.
After a moment, Peggy went on. "Well, we did it on the desk ... and I loved it. I mean I came almost right away and then I came about three more times while that poor guy kept pumping away at me for dear life. But he had pretty good fucking power, I'll say that. And then he pulled out of me and he said he wanted to shoot his stuff down my throat. Well, I didn't know what he was talking about, but he crawled up over me and stuck his hard prick into my mouth...."
"Bernie," Amy said huskily, "is anybody looking at us?"
I looked around cautiously. "No. Why?"
"I'm going under the table," Amy said.
"Wait a second!" I protested. "I don't think-" But it was too late. When my wife says she's going to do something, you damn well better believe she'll do it. She slid beneath the table in a wink and I looked around again to make sure nobody had seen her go. She was pretty well concealed now, but I wasn't. And if she did what I thought she was going to do-That's what she did. In one gulp. You remember what I said about girls who give a good blowjob? I had been married to Amy for five years. What she was doing now was part of the reason.
I tried to keep a straight face. Have you ever tried to look natural while a gorgeous, sexually-talented female is under the table sucking on your joint for dear life? Especially if another gorgeous female is sitting beside you graphically describing a sexy incident.
Peggy went on with her sinful story now, an amused gleam in her eye. She knew what Amy was doing, all right and she got a kick out of seeing me get the same kind of treatment I had just given her.
"When Mr. Burnside stuck his big old cock into my poor virginal little mouth," Peggy said, choking it up a little for greater effect, "I didn't know what to do at first. But pretty soon, I sort of caught on. He was moving his fat dick back and forth, so I kind of closed my lips around it and started sucking on it, just like a big juicy lollipop. I figured that was what he wanted, because he started groaning and saying all kinds of naughty things."
I felt like groaning and saying naughty things myself. Amy's mouth was doing things to me that were easily a hundred times better than anything an inexperienced teenager's mouth could have done back then. Although maybe Peggy had been born with her spectacular oral talent. Amy's tongue danced on my cockflesh as she sucked me and her fingers tickled my balls through my pants. I had to keep myself from twitching in my seat. My hand tightened on Peggy's sexy leg and her. hand came down to cover it, stroking it softly and suggestively.
"Anyway," Peggy said, "I found I really liked sucking on his cock. In fact, I couldn't get enough of it; I wanted to keep sucking him forever. It was getting hard, though, because with every stroke he started to press deeper into my mouth. I was afraid I was going to choke. So I decided the best thing was to try to open my throat and sort of swallow that luscious penis when it came down. When I did that, old Mr. Burnside really seemed to go out of his gourd. He started yelling and jerking all over and then all of a sudden all this stuff came out of his cock and shot down my throat...."
I was slouched down in my seat, my head resting on the back of the booth. I was panting slightly and couldn't do anything about it. Amy's mouth was sliding up and down my tingling prick with a steady rhythm calculated to make me pour out my juices in no time. I groped for her head with my free hand, tangling my fingers in her hair. But it didn't slow her down or throw her off stride for an instant. I felt myself going over the edge and I heard Peggy saying, " ... and I swallowed and swallowed...."
And I prayed to the gods of lust that nobody was looking at me as I exploded uncontrollably into my wife's wonderful oral canal.
A moment later, Amy was sitting calmly at my side, looking as demure as a choir girl. Peggy's voice came back into my consciousness. " ... So I sucked out everything he had and swallowed it all down and then I asked did he want me to do it again, so-"
"Hold it," I said weakly. "That's enough for right now, Peggy. Jesus!"
"I want to hear more," Amy pouted.
"Another time." Covertly, I zipped myself up. "You want another drink?"
"No," Amy said sweetly. "I just had the best drink you can get. Let's go home and fuck."
That's my wife ... for sure.
CHAPTER TWO
The reason I needed a secretary was because my business was expanding. I'm a literary agent. If you don't believe that, just come to my place of business and look at the sign on my office door: Bernard P. Culligan, Literary Agent. That proves it. I mean, I think it was Billy Rose ( or his ghostwriter ) who said that his qualifications for writing a column were the same as those of any other columnist: a typewriter, a byline and a hell of a nerve. It's the same principle.
Up until recently, it had been a one-man operation. The reason for that was because I didn't have any clients. So not only could I not afford to pay any salaries, but I couldn't even pay myself. But now things were looking up. I had a client. In fact, I had two clients. So with this burgeoning sphere of activity, I figured I'd better get myself a secretary to handle all the menial tasks around the place. Now I had Peggy; and although she didn't have the conventional secretarial skills, I thought she might come in handy for other purposes ... aside from the obvious, I mean. A girl who looked like that and who loved sex could be great for drumming up business, no?
I had gotten my first client about a week before Peggy had come into my life. Her name was Jenny Jourdemaine-that's what she told me, anyway-and she was a poet. She was also a doll.
Jenny had appeared at my office unannounced and unheralded one day, while I had been contemplating the folly of trying to start a literary agency with no clients and no contacts. I had been contemplating this folly almost continuously for several months, so I was used to it; it had become a familiar and by this time, almost pleasurable activity. I mean, what else did I have to do? So I was sitting there thus engaged, when a strange and wonderful phenomenon occurred. The office door opened.
It was opened by a girl. She came in somewhat hesitatingly and said, "Excuse me. Um-are you Mr. Culligan?"
She was a small girl, about twenty I guessed, with black hair down to her shoulders and a remarkably-curvy figure. She wore a simple blue dress and horn-rimmed glasses and was kind of cute.
"Yeah," I said.
"Y-you're an agent?" she asked, still seemingly confused.
"That's what it says on the door," I said. "What can I do for you?" The dress was not very revealing, but I could see she had nice, firm-looking breasts and good legs. She carried a brown manila envelope.
"I'm a writer," she said. She took a breath. "A poet."
"Oh," I said.
"Are you going to throw me out?" she said.
"Why would I do that?"
"Everybody else has. All the other agents, I mean. I've been to almost all of them."
"And finally you're down to me, right?"
"Th-They say poetry doesn't sell."
"They're absolutely right," I said. "Don't you write anything else?"
"No. Do you want me to leave?"
"No," I said. "I'm not exactly overwhelmed with manuscripts at the moment. Sit down."
She sat down. "Would you like to see some of my work?" she asked eagerly.
"Well ... Look, Miss ... uh...."
"Jourdemaine," she said. "Jenny Jourdemaine."
"Pretty name," I said. "Look, Miss Jourdemaine, the fact is, poetry doesn't sell. Unless you're Rod McKuen or somebody. And you're not. I could see that right away. He doesn't wear a dress."
She didn't crack a smile. "My poetry is good," she said, almost defiantly. "If only somebody would look at it...."
"Have you had any of it published?" I asked her. "In magazines or anything?"
"No." She blushed a little, for some reason. "I've sent it to a lot of places, but ... they say it's too-graphic for their audience."
"Graphic? What do you mean?"
"M-My poems are about ... love," she said.
"Lots of poems are."
"Yes, but ... See, I write about ... well, if you would look at some of them...."
I sighed resignedly. "Okay," I said. "I'm really not much of an expert on poetry, but I'll take a look."
She brightened. "Oh, thank you!" she breathed. She opened the manila envelope and took out a thick sheaf of paper, which she handed across the desk to me. I looked at the first one, wondering why I was wasting my time. I skimmed a few lines, then blinked and started over, reading more closely. The poem was entitled "Moonglow," and it went like this: With my legs twined around your body White in the moon-dark bed Your heavy lance probing deep inside me Roils my soul and rends my shrieking body Makes me clutch in passion your rolling bottom And shout my joy to the winds of night Blowing over our lust-entangled ecstasy. My moaning mouth hungers for your maleness Even as I split open to eternity And my nipples distend to touch the wine of our oneness As your holy wetness floods my inner being Oh my love.
I cleared my throat. "Ah-interesting," I said. I flipped the page and looked at the second poem. It was called "Rose in Bloom."
I am on my knees to you Filling my throat with the round virility Of your offering. Your thighs are my pillars Guiding my hands to the hanging spheres between And the touch of your fingers in my hair Inspires me to take you deeper While your whispering voice is fire in my ears While my tongue dances on your rigid flesh While the world goes on uncaring of my breasts against Your legs. Oh fill me with your love, Flood my mouth with the joy of you, Let me swallow the sweet whiteness And have you inside me forever.
"Well," I said. I looked up at her, not knowing quite what to say. She looked back at me with eagerness in her eyes. She sure didn't look like a girl who would write that particular kind of poem.
"What do you think?" she asked me.
"Well ... uh ... as I said, I'm not exactly an expert on poetry. They're certainly ... ah ... unusual."
"Do you think they're good?" she persisted.
"I ... I'd have to study them more closely," I prevaricated. "I can see, though, why they might be considered too graphic for ... a family magazine, shall we say."
The girl blushed again. "I write about what I feel," she said in that half-shy, half-defiant tone.
"Right," I said. "Of course. And so you should. But...."
"But what?"
"Well, it's just that these poems are so-well-so personal."
"Personal?"
"Yes. I mean, so obviously written out of your own personal experiences, that it might be a little-"
"Why do you say that?"
"Why do I-well, it's-I mean, it's obvious. You said it yourself; you write about-"
"I said I write about what I feel," she said. "I didn't say anything about experiences." She was blushing harder. "Look, maybe I'd better just-"
"No, wait, wait a minute," I said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you or anything. But surely these poems come out of your-well, your own-knowledge and ... um...."
"No," she said.
"No?"
"No."
"Oh," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"You mean ... You don't mean...."
"Damn it," she said, surprisingly. "The poems come out of my feelings. I have never ... acted them out."
"You," I said wonderingly, "are a virgin?"
She looked down at her hands. "Yes," she admitted.
"Well," I said. "Well." I cleared my throat. Then I said, "Would you like to change that situation?"
She looked at me then for what seemed like a long time. Then she stood up and held out her hand. "Please let me have my poems, Mr. Culligan."
"Sure," I said. I put the pages back together and handed them to her. She put them into the envelope and walked to the door.
"Miss Jourdemaine," I said as she was about to open it.
She turned, her hand on the knob. "Yes?" Coldly.
"I didn't mean to offend you," I said. "If you'll forget about it, I have an idea. Would you still like me to be your agent?"
She hesitated, then came back to the chair. "Do you mean it?"
"Maybe," I said. "Now let me talk frankly with you. I don't know if your poems are any good or not, but I know one thing. They're sexy. Whatever your status may be in real life, your poems sound like they were written by a female Henry Miller. Now, while it's true that poetry as such does not sell, sex sure as hell does. And I have an idea that if we could package this stuff-and you-properly, we just might have something good here. Do you follow me?"
She looked wary. "How do you mean-package?"
"Okay. In order for me to interest a publisher in your poems-and for a publisher to interest book buyers-we have to give them something that will hook them. If we just say, here's a book of sexy poems, that might arouse some interest. But probably not enough. But-if we present them with a book of sexy poems written by a sexy woman-that's got to be a grabber."
"A sexy woman," she repeated. "You mean me?"
"Right. Now, it doesn't mean you have to go around having sex or anything. It just means you have to present that kind of an image. You understand?"
"Image," she said with a hint of distaste.
"Look," I said. "You want your stuff published, right? And I suppose you wouldn't mind too much if it sold a lot of copies? Even maybe become a best seller?"
"I-I guess not."
"Okay. What you do is, you make everybody think you're the hottest woman since Cleopatra. You've got the basic materials-your poems; plus you're good-looking and you have a terrific figure. If you'll just do a few things to fix yourself up-"
"What do you mean?" she bristled.
"Well, I just mean-like, you know, get rid of the glasses, for instance. They're okay, but they're the wrong image. Get contact lenses if you have to. And the dress is nice, but you might wear something ... well...."
"Sexier?" she supplied.
"Exactly. Then we could take a nice sensuous picture of you-preferably looking horny-which any publisher would be delighted to stick on the jacket of your book. And we could get you on television talk shows and all that kind of thing. You could be a sensation. How about it?"
She hesitated. "I-I don't know if I could do it."
"Sure you could." I pretended more confidence than I felt; I didn't know if she could do it either. She would have to get a lot more self-assurance from somewhere.
She took a deep breath. "All right," she said finally. "I'm willing to try, anyway."
"Great! Now let me see what I can do. Just leave your poems with me and leave me your address and phone number. And get those contact lenses-I may want you to meet with a publisher soon. Okay?"
"Thank you, Mr. Culligan," she said. She wrote out the information and gave it to me, along with her poems. I stood up to walk her to the door. She shook my hand.
"I have the feeling we're both going to get rich," I said, smiling at her.
"It would be nice just to have my work recognized," Jenny said seriously. She started to open the door, then closed it again. She didn't look at me. "Do you think," she said in a low voice, "that I could really convince people that I was ... sexy?"
"Sure you can," I said. "You wrote those poems, didn't you? Just let those feelings show, that's all."
She nodded. She opened the door again. She closed it again. "What you said...." she whispered. "About ... did I want to change my ... situation ..
"Yes?"
"Maybe I do," she said. "Maybe it would ... I mean...."
"You're absolutely right," I said and reached for her.
She pulled away from me, but not with anger. "I didn't mean now," she breathed, opening the door again. This time she went through it and closed it behind her.
With a sigh, I went back to my desk. I sat down and began to read the rest of Jenny's poems. They were all like the first two, with the sappy titles and the graphicallyerotic contents. By the time I had finished, my cock was throbbing and I was wishing I hadn't let Jenny go so easily. I closed the office early and went home to screw my wife.
CHAPTER THREE
I told you I had two clients, so I guess I better tell you about the second one. He's my brother, Irving.
Among the respectable members of my far-flung family, it had long been a fascinating subject of debate as to who was the family black sheep-me or Irving. Both of us might be said to make good candidates for the position, but as far as I was concerned, there was no contest. Irving won the prize hands down.
In fact, the only reason I had managed to put up with Irving at all was because he was married to one hell of a sexy lady, whose pants I had long been dying to get into. As long as there was even a remote hope of that, I would tolerate even Irving.
So a couple of days after Jenny showed up, Irving came to the office to announce to me that he'd written a book. This did not exactly surprise me, even though Irving had never before shown any indications of being a writer of any kind. Irving was always doing nutty and unexpected things. It was a different nutty and unexpected thing every month and he was never very good at any of them. So when he plunked this manuscript on my desk, I quailed at the thought that I might have to read it.
"This, my boy," Irving announced grandly, "is the greatest novel of the century."
"Irving," I said, "go away."
"Is that any way to act?" Irving said, sounding hurt. "I am good enough, generous enough and compassionate enough to attempt to rescue your stillborn business by showering upon you the greatest literary masterpiece the world has...."
"Irving. I have a headache."
"You are an ungrateful dolt," Irving said. "But I shall overlook your churlish indifference. Just read it. Read but a few pages and you will discover for yourself the genius, the...."
"If you don't get out of here," I said, "I'm going to discover for myself what kind of toilet paper it makes."
"Bernie," Irving said. "Read it. For your own good, just read it."
"For your good, you mean."
"If you want to put it that way, okay. Okay. Read it as a favor to your brother."
"No," I said.
"Bernie...."
"Offer me a bribe," I said. "So it'll be worth my time."
"A bribe? From one brother to another? From one...."
"Yeah. A million bucks."
"I don't have it with me," Irving said. "Now, Bernie...."
"How about your wife?" I asked. "For that, I'd read anything."
Irving stared at me. "You're kidding," he said. "Sylvia? My wife, Sylvia?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sylvia, your luscious wife. With the elegant figure and the bouncing tits and the bouncing hair and the beautiful legs. You might as well know, Irving, that I have lusted after Sylvia for all these many years. I'd like nothing better than to spend an afternoon in the sack with her. You want to hit me or something? I'd love to beat you up, Irving."
"You're kidding," Irving said again. "You really dig her? You mean if I fix you up with Sylvia, you'll read my book? You mean it?"
It was my turn to stare at him. "What the hell, Irving," I said. "She's your wife."
"Yeah," Irving said. "But listen, no sacrifice is too great for the cause of literature, right? Should I deprive future generations of an immortal work of art just because I wouldn't let my brother have a little bang with my wife? It would be pure...."
"Hold it," I put in. "How about Sylvia? She may not be as dedicated to the cause of literature as you are. Not to mention that she's a lot saner. I've noticed that."
"Bernie," Irving said, "your lack of faith in me is my greatest cross to bear in life. Just promise me one thing. You get to hump Sylvia, you read the book. Okay? And consider handling it. Okay?"
"Deal," I said. "But maybe I better not hold my breath, Irving."
Irving looked at his watch. "It's three o'clock," he said. "Just stay right here until five. Okay? That's all I ask."
"I'm not going anyplace."
"You will not regret this," Irving promised. "Not only will you get to screw my wife, but you will become rich and famous as the agent for the newest, hottest, most fantastic...."
"Goodbye, Irving," I said.
"Until that time, Bernie," Irving said, which is a line he got from some movie he had seen. And then, mercifully, he left.
Of course, I didn't really expect Irving to do anything about Sylvia, or to succeed if he tried; it was all the usual hot air. But I didn't have much of anything to do and there was this manuscript he had left on my desk. So, just for the hell of it, I started to take a look at it.
It was, of all things, a historical novel. The title was "The World, His Plaything," and it was all about the Crusades. It was a huge, panoramic story, chock-full of colorful characters, passionate romance, hard-fought battles, action, adventure, suspense, laughter, tears....
It was awful.
I made it through about a hundred pages ( which was about one-tenth of its length ) and then couldn't take anymore. I almost shuddered at the thought that if by some miracle Sylvia came through, I would have to read the rest of it. I wondered if it would be worth it.
That got me to thinking about Sylvia and I decided it would be.
Thinking about Sylvia, about her sexy body, about her cool exterior which I just knew had to hide a smoldering sensuality-I could never imagine her in bed with my clown of a brother-passed the time a lot more pleasantly than Irving's novel. At about ten to five, I was preparing to close up and go home when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Bernie? It's Sylvia."
My stomach turned over. "Hi, Sylvia," I said as casually as I could manage. "What's up?"
"I'm at the Warwick Hotel," she said. "Would you like to come over?"
I couldn't believe it. "What are you doing there?" I said stupidly.
"Come on over and see," she answered. Suggestively? I wasn't sure.
"Okay," I said. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"Room 821," she said and hung up.
I hung up, too, shaking my head in wonderment. After all this time ... But maybe she just wanted to talk to me about something. But then, why hadn't she come to the office? And why was I hanging around, wasting time?
I made a quick call to tell Amy that with any luck I would be home late and got out of there. I made it to the Warwick in twelve minutes. My heart was pounding as I got off the elevator on the eighth floor.
I knocked on the door of Room 821 and heard her voice in reply. "Bernie?"
"Yes."
"Come on in."
I went in. And I almost fell over. I stood there, staring, unable to move.
"Close the door, for God's sake," Sylvia said.
I did so, blindly and went on staring. I couldn't believe what I saw.
Sylvia was lying on the bed, smiling at me. She was wearing a yellow silk blouse and a brown skirt. Her feet were bare. She looked beautiful. Her long brown hair hung loosely around her face. Her deep, dark eyes were shining.
What was so astonishing about that? you ask.
The thing is, she was tied to the bed.
Her arms were stretched over her head, her wrists tied together with a length of rope, which was fastened to the headboard. Her legs were spread apart, each ankle held by a rope tethered to one of the posts at the foot of the bed.
That's what.
So I stared. And after a while I said, weakly, "What the hell...?"
"Well?" Sylvia said. "Are you just going to stand there?"
"I ... Jesus Christ," I said. "Did Irving do this?"
"Yes."
"But ... why?"
"Well, Irving said you wanted to make it with me. And I said the only way I would ever go along with that was if I was tied down. And he said that could be arranged. So I said okay, arrange it. So he did. And here I am."
I blinked. "Wait a second," I said. "I'm a bit confused here. I mean, are you doing this because you want to? Or not? I mean...."
"Bernie," Sylvia said. "Have you ever known me to do anything I didn't want to?"
"No."
"So?"
"This is very kinky," I said.
"Bernie," Sylvia said. "You told Irving you wanted me. Do you want me?"
I took a few steps closer to the bed. I gazed down at her delicate outstretched body. "Sylvia," I said, "I have wanted you for years. I think you are a spoiled bitch, but I also think you are one of the sexiest women I know. I want to bang you so much that I'd ... I'd ... well, hell, I'd even read Irving's manuscript. All of it."
She smiled. "Then why are you standing there?"
I was damned if I knew. "Do you want me to untie you?"
"No," she said. "Not now, anyway. Maybe later. Right now I like it this way. Do you like it this way?"
"Any way I can get it," I said. I sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at the sweet shapes of her breasts, pulled tightly against the thin material of her blouse. I could see the little bumps of her nipples. "You can't imagine," I said, "how many times I have thought about what it would be like to put my hands on those sexy, bouncy goddam tits of yours. You just can't imagine."
"Do it," she said.
I did it.
"Jesus," I said.
"As you can probably feel," she said, "I'm not wearing a bra."
"Yeah," I said." I can feel that, alright. But then you never do, do you?"
"Seldom," she said. "Would you like to see them?"
"What do you think?"
"Nothing's stopping you."
"Wait," I said. "I'm not done feeling those fantastic knockers yet." It took me a while to finish fondling them. And when I stopped, it was only because there was so much else I wanted to do. The imprint of her hard nipples still burned my palms as I slid my hands down over her body. "Are you not wearing panties, too?" I asked her.
"Why don't you find out?"
My hands traveled down to the hem of her skirt, which came to just above her knees. Before I ventured beneath it, I let my hands slide appreciatively over her beautiful shapely calves. "Your legs blow my mind," I told her. "Every time I see you in shorts, I get a hard-on just thinking about having those great gams wrapped around me."
"Do you have a hard-on now?" Sylvia queried.
"You bet your delicious ass, I do!"
"Can I see it?"
"Later." My hands slid beneath the skirt and traveled slowly, reverently, up the soft sensuous columns of her thighs. I caressed the un-imaginably-wonderful flesh of her inner thighs, exposed to my touch because of her outstretched legs. When I got to the juncture of those legs, I felt the smooth material beneath my fingers.
"You are wearing panties," I said.
"Don't sound so disappointed," Sylvia said. "They're not welded on, you know."
My fingers crept under the panties and found her cunt.
"Bernie," she said, her voice softer now.
"Yeah."
"Bernie ... take my clothes off."
"I intend to," I said. My fingers were moving.
"Oooooo," Sylvia breathed. She squirmed her hips a little.
I took my hand away and grabbed hold of the hem of her skirt. I pulled it up around her hips, exposing the entire length of her widespread and mouth-watering legs. The sight of them made my head spin and I bent down and put my mouth on one, tasting it, running my tongue along that creamy secret flesh.
"Mmmm," Sylvia crooned. "Oh, Bernie...."
After a while, I raised my head. "I have a question," I said, somewhat huskily.
"The answer is yes," Sylvia replied sexily.
"The question is, how am I going to get your panties off without untying your legs?"
"Rip them," she suggested. "Like in the dirty books."
"I don't read dirty books," I lied. "And I'm not that strong."
She sighed regretfully. "Well," she said, "there's a pair of scissors on the night table."
So there was. Sylvia-or, perhaps, Irving-had thought of everything. I got up to get it. While I was up, I figured I might as well take off my clothes, which I did.
Sylvia's eyes widened. "Oh, my God," she said wonderingly. "You weren't kidding. About the hard-on, I mean. Why, it's almost as big as Irving's!"
I almost hit her. "What!" I cried indignantly. "Almost as big?! Why, that pipsqueak never saw the day when he could raise anything bigger than a toothpick! What the hell do you mean, almost?" It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't actually seen Irving's equipment since we were mere striplings. Could it be ... No. Impossible.
Sylvia laughed softly. "Don't take it so hard, darling. Or soft, I should say. You're beginning to go down. You're plenty large enough, believe me. Why don't you tell me what you're going to do with that thing?"
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do with it, all right," I answered. "I'm going to stick it so far up your luscious pussy that it'll come out your mouth. And then maybe I'll do it the other way around. I'm going to fuck you in every hole you have and maybe in a couple you didn't know you had. And when I get through with you, you won't even be able to think of Irving without laughing."
"Sounds beautiful," Sylvia breathed. "What are you waiting for?"
I sat down on the bed again, putting the pair of scissors beside me. "I want to look at those tits now," I said, reaching for the buttons on the yellow blouse.
I opened them slowly, one by one, prolonging the anticipation of feasting my eyes on those boobs which had taunted me for so long. Finally I had the buttons all undone and I pulled the blouse out of the waist of her skirt and spread it open. There they were.
And they were every bit as wondrous as I had imagined. Not terribly big, but just right for her sexily-slender body. The position of her arms lifted them slightly so that the stiff pink nipples pointed up at me, precisely centered on the firm, round globes. No sag, no spread. Perfect, perky hemispheres, rising and falling enticingly with her breathing. I think I made a small funny sound in my throat before I bent to put my mouth over the nearest one.
Her nipple was a hard little spike under my tongue. I nibbled at it hungrily, savoring its taste and texture, then ran my tongue around the delicate areola.
Sylvia's breathing was rapid. "Bite it, Bernie," she panted. "Please bite it. Hard."
I bit it.
"AAAHHH!" she cried. "Yes! Harder!"
I lifted my head. I was breathing hard myself. "Goddammit, Sylvia. What are you, a masochist or something?"
"You bastard," she answered huskily. "What the hell do you care?"
"I don't care a shit," I said. "But I'm not playing any weird games. I just want to fuck you."
"Then fuck me!" she pleaded. "Fuck the hell out of me!"
I picked up the pair of scissors. "Let's get rid of these," I said and began to cut her panties off. The scissors were nice and sharp and in a moment the panties were split open. Her lovely cunt, surmounted by a soft brown triangle of pubic hair, was exposed to my view. I pulled the ruined garment from under her and dropped it to the floor, then cut through her skirt and got it out of the way. I didn't bother with the blouse; she was as naked as could be now. I took a long look at her curvy, writhing body, then lay down on top of her. I found her mouth with mine.
She moaned and her probing tongue immediately came out to meet mine, then slid past it into my mouth. My head pounded with the sensation of that long-desired body spread out beneath me. We kissed passionately for many moments and then, with a gasp, she pulled her mouth away.
"Fuck me," she panted. "Please fuck me, Bernie. Please."
"You know it!" I said. I found the opening of her cunt with my throbbing prick. "Here it is, sweetie," I said hoarsely and went into her.
I tried to go slowly, wanting to draw out the consummation of my long-delayed lust, but I couldn't hold back. That warm, eager quish seemed to suck me deeper and deeper and in a moment I was all the way inside her. We both groaned. With effort, I kept myself there, buried in her clutching vagina, while we kissed again. This time I put my tongue into her mouth, reaching as deeply as I could and exploring the moist, slippery cavern. She moaned loudly against my lips, her marvelous body twisting under me, straining against the ropes that held her.
I couldn't wait anymore. I began to fuck her, moving in and out of her sweet, tight cunt with slow, even strokes. Jesus, I thought, I'm really doing it; I'm fucking Sylvia, fucking my brother's lovely, sensuous wife. At last! And it's good, it's so damn good....
Sylvia took her mouth from mine, looking up into my eyes. Her own eyes were glazed.
"Rape," she whispered.
"What?" I said.
"It's rape," she said. "You're raping me."
"The hell I am," I said, moving harder.
"Yes. You are. You have me tied down, helpless. I can't move. I can't stop you. You're raping me. Raping me. Raping me...."
What the hell, I thought. If she gets her kicks that way, let her. Meanwhile I went on with what I was doing. Personally I would have preferred to have her untied, so she could hold me and wrap those well-shaped legs around me and really enter into the spirit of things. But right now I wasn't complaining; I was having a great time. Her hips had begun to rise and fall in rhythm with my strokes and I could feel her squirming breasts beneath my chest, the nipples stabbing into my flesh as I moved in and out of her tautly-spread body.
I almost stopped before I realized that she didn't want me to stop at all. She was playing out her rape fantasy. I moved faster.
"Aaahhh ... she gasped. "Oh, don't, please don't ... I can't take anymore ... Oh God, no ... You're so big ... AAAHH! ... OOOOHHH ... Oh no ... Don't make me come ... Oh, please ... Please don't make me come ... OHH GOD! ... I'M ... OHH NOO ... NOOOO!! ... AAAAAAHHH!!!"
I felt her tethered body convulse beneath me, her cunt contracting around my cock as she climaxed. I kept moving as her orgasm subsided gradually into a succession of hoarse groans.
"Oh my God," she panted after a while. "You raped me!"
"Sylvia," I said, thrusting at her, "you're kind of flaky, but you've got a fantastic cunt. I could screw your sweet box all day long."
She ignored this. "I suppose," she said breathlessly, "you're going to make me suck your cock next."
"Now there was a tempting thought. "Eventually, no doubt," I said. "I sure would like to feel your sweet little mouth around my dork. But I want to fuck you some more."
"I can't stop you," she said. "I'm helpless."
"The hell with that, too," I said. "I'm tired of that." I pulled out of her suddenly, my dick jerking frustratedly in the air. "I'm going to untie you now."
"I see," Sylvia said. "You're going to subdue me with brute strength."
"Oh, Jesus." I moved to loosen the rope around her ankle. The knots were tight and I swore a little as I wrestled with them. "What did Irving do, get a Boy Scout merit badge in knot-tying or something?"
"He's had lots of experience," Sylvia answered smugly.
I got the rope undone and then untied her other leg. I moved up to her wrists.
"Can't you just leave my hands tied?" Sylvia asked. "Please?"
I looked down at her. I had moved up so that I was straddling her body, my stiff cock directly over her face. "I don't know," I said. "Ask me nicely." And I lowered myself so that my prick touched her lips.
"Oh, yes," she murmured, opening her mouth and taking my prong inside.
My head began to whirl. I forgot all about untying her and about everything else. I braced my hands against the headboard and angled my hips so that she could get a good grip on my penis with her lips. Which she did. Her tongue licked at the head, then made a circle around its circumference. I heard somebody moaning; I guess it was me. She sucked me more deeply into her oral channel and I helped her by moving my hips forward. Then back. Then forward again, farther this time, until I could feel the back of her palate. Her throat worked and her lips and tongue urged me on. I went on and felt her swallow me. She held me in her throat while her tongue swept back and forth on the underside of my prick. Her lips writhed around its base. My head pounded and I felt my cock begin to quiver. But I didn't want to come yet. Just in time, I jerked myself out of her mouth. She gave a cry of disappointment.
"Okay," I panted. "That was real nice. I'll leave your hands tied." I moved down her body and once again found her moist slit with my cockhead. "But I want those legs around me. And none of this rape stuff. I want to be fucked! Got it?"
"Yes, master," Sylvia purred.
I gave up. I slipped deliciously back into her glove-tight quim.
Her shapely legs came up and wrapped themselves around me, squeezing me hard. Her ankles locked behind my back, pulling me deeper into her. This was what I had wanted, what I had dreamed about. Every inch of her gorgeous thighs and calves caressed my body and I began to fuck into her once more.
And now, with her body no longer immobilized, she showed me what she could do with it. and as I had suspected, Sylvia was one sexually-talented lady. That body squirmed and arched and bucked and rolled. Her hips rose clear off the bed to meet me every time I plunged into her. Her breasts heaved and shifted like two live things underneath me and I had to wonder how her bound wrists could stand the strain. But I didn't have too much time to worry about it. I was too busy trying not to shoot my load as I pumped more and more rapidly into her wriggling love-hole.
"Oh fuck," she gasped into my ear. "Fuck. Fuck!"
Well, this is better than rape, I figured inwardly.
"Sylvia," I panted, "I always knew ... you had to be ... a hot little bitch ... under that goddam ... cool cover...."
"You don't know the ... half of it," she panted back.
"Goddam, Irving ... doesn't deserve you," I said.
"The hell I don't," Irving said.
I gave a startled cry and would have leaped three feet in the air, except that Sylvia's locked ankles held me so tightly that I couldn't disengage myself from her. My head jerked around. Irving was standing by the door to the bathroom, from which he had evidently just emerged.
"Jesus Christ!" I yelled. "Irving! What the fuck...."
Sylvia's body was still moving beneath me. "Don't stop," she groaned. "Never mind him. Don't stop...."
The way her hips were moving, with her legs holding me to her, it didn't seem to make much difference whether I stopped or not.
"Goddammit!" I made a weak effort to pull free of her, but even then I didn't really want to leave that beautiful bouncing bod. The hell with it, I thought. I'll kill Irving later. "Have you been there all the time?" I demanded.
"Of course," Irving said. "I have to guard my wife's good name, you know."
"Damn you!" I gritted. "As soon as I finish screwing the hell out of your wife's good name, I'm going to throw you out the goddam window!"
"Now, now," Irving said. "Let's not fly off the handle, Bernie. After all, I would have delayed my appearance until a more propitious moment, if you hadn't started insulting me. I can't be expected to just stand by while...."
"Irving," I said, trying to keep my voice down. "Irving, I don't want to talk to you. Not until I have finished fucking your wife-who, I repeat, you do not deserve."
"I believe you're just jealous, Bernie," Irving replied, "because Sylvia said that my prick is bigger than yours. It's childish to resent that, Bernie. Mere physiological size is really no indication of...."
With a roar of fury, I pulled out of Sylvia, strongly enough this time to break the hold of her legs. Rising to my knees, I clambered up her body until my rigid prick was wagging in front of her eyes.
"Look at this!" I yelled, pointing at my porker as it loomed up from my crotch. "Look at it! Are you going to tell me that his thing is bigger than that? Well? Are you?!"
Sylvia was panting hard and moaning. "Bernie," she pleaded, "put it back in me. Please. I want to come...."
"Answer me, goddammit!"
"Oh, Bernie...." And she raised her head so that she could lick at the underside of the rearing prong. I started to pull it away from her, but I couldn't. Not with that tongue stroking at it in that maddening manner. Instead, I lowered my dick so that she could reach it more easily. And then farther, so she could take it in her gasping mouth....
I knelt there and let her suck me. I looked over at Irving. I couldn't see him too well; my eyes were blurred because of what Sylvia was doing to me. "How does it feel, Irving," I said meanly, "to see your wife sucking on your brother's cock? Look how she loves it, Irving. Look how she gobbles it down. She's swallowed it, Irving; she's taken my whole damn prick in her mouth."
Irving shrugged. "If she can take mine," he said, "she shouldn't have any trouble with yours."
"I'm going to kill you, Irving," I rasped. "As soon as I shoot my cum down your wife's sexy throat. Which I'm going to do ... right ... Oh, Jesus! ... right NOW!!"
And I did. It felt like gallons of boiling sperm were pouring out of my cock. My hips jerked again and again, pushing my prick deeply into Sylvia's throat with each convulsion. She swallowed and swallowed and still some of my jism spilled over and came running out of her mouth to drip down the sides of her pretty face. At last, when she had emptied me of everything I had, I pulled myself from her still-sucking mouth and collapsed on the bed.
"I'm still going to kill you, Irving," I panted weakly. "I just have to ... get my strength back."
"Oh, God," Sylvia was moaning. "I want to come ... I'm so hot...."
"Bernie," Irving said reproachfully, "I'm surprised at you. You have left Sylvia unsatisfied, Bernie."
"I'll satisfy her, Irving," I said. "Right after I kill you-which will satisfy me. So don't worry."
"I don't think Sylvia wants to wait," Irving said. "So if you don't mind, Bernie, I'd better do it myself."
"That," I said snidely, "will be the day."
Irving started to take his clothes off.
"Oh, Christ," I said. "Don't be a jerk, Irving. Maybe I better kill you now, before you make an ass of yourself." I got up off the bed and started toward him. But then I stopped. Because Irving had just taken his shorts off. His cock was hard and erect.
And it was huge.
I couldn't say anything for a moment. It was hard to admit, even to myself, that my twirpy brother possessed a tool that outdid not only my own, but damn near any others I had ever seen. But the evidence was there before me, undeniable.
"Oh, shit," I said.
"Don't let it depress you, Bernie," Irving said and before I could hit him he moved past me to the bed. He put his hand over one of his wife's tits and fondled it gently.
"Of course, darling," Irving said. "How would you like it? In the ass?"
"Oh ... yes ... yes...."
"You're kidding," I said, before I could stop myself. "With that?" I pointed to his gigantic prong.
Sylvia rolled over onto her stomach, her arms still stretched above her head by the rope that bound her wrists. "Tie me, Irving," she gasped.
"Certainly, my dear." Irving spread her legs apart and once again tied each ankle with the ropes attached to the bedposts. With her legs stretched wide, her writhing body allowed me fleeting glimpses of her tiny, puckered anus between the rounded pillows of her buttocks.
"You can't do it," I said. "You'll kill her."
"Oh, no," Irving said placidly. "Sylvia's sweet asshole is amazingly adaptable. And we have a special process for loosening it up. It never fails. Isn't that right, darling?"
"Oh God...." Sylvia moaned. "Yes. Do it, Irving. Oh please do it."
"Right away," Irving said. He went to where he had left his pants. He picked them up and pulled the belt out of the loops.
I stared. "Jesus," I said. "You're not going to...."
Irving ignored me. He went back to the bed, doubling the thick black belt so that he held both ends in his hand. My knees felt weak. I stumbled to a chair and sat down.
"Ready, darling?" Irving asked.
"Yes ... Yessss...."
Irving raised the belt and whipped it down with a loud, sharp crack across his wife's writhing asscheeks.
"AAAAIIIIEEEEE!! OOOhhh! Oh, wonderful, oh God, more ... more...." Her body was tossing from side to side, straining hard against the ropes that held her. Trickles of perspiration ran across her smooth, creamy flesh.
Again Irving brought the belt down. Her cries got louder, her movements more frantic. She babbled, begged for still more. My mouth was hanging open as I watched. With all the things I had imagined about Sylvia, this was a scene I had never dreamed of.
"How's the asshole, darling?" Irving asked. "Nice and loose now?"
"Yes ... once more, Irving ... please ... please...."
Irving gave her one more. It was the hardest one of all. She shouted out her joy, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"That ought to do it," Irving said. He dropped the belt and got onto the bed, crouching between Sylvia's shapely, widespread legs. He parted her butt cheeks with his hands and placed the tip of his incredible cock at the opening of her rectum.
"Put it in me!" Sylvia cried. "Fill me up with it! Now!"
No way, I thought. It's impossible.
But it wasn't impossible. As I watched incredulously, Irving pushed that superhuman whang, slowly but steadily, up into the tiny shit chute of his tethered wife.
"OH YES!!" Sylvia shrieked. "YEEEESSSS!! AAAHHHH! AAAIIIIII!!" She threw back her head and screamed as his monstrous tool burrowed deeper and deeper into her sexy backside. It seemed to go on forever and so did her screaming, until I was afraid she would bring the hotel management down on us. The same thing must have occurred to Irving, because he reached up with one hand and pushed her head down so that her face was buried in a pillow. She bit on it frantically, but the muffled noises still filled the room with their intensity. And Irving kept right on pile-driving in. by the time he had buried himself to the hilt inside her anal passage, Sylvia was coming. Her luscious, bound body bucked and heaved more wildly than ever and the sobbing, gasping, shrieking noises coming through the stifling pillow were like nothing I had ever heard before. She climaxed with such violence that I wondered if she might even break the ropes which were cutting so cruelly into the straining flesh of her wrists and ankles.
She had barely begun to subside from the effects of her orgasm when another climax overcame her. And then, as Irving began to fuck in and out of her impossibly-stretched asshole, she seemed to go almost without a break from one orgasm to another, her body caught in an uncontrollable and seemingly-endless maelstrom of ecstasy. It went on and on and my cock was rigid again as I watched the screaming, tossing, sweating, convulsing woman tied to the bed, her husband pounding steadily at her rectum. My lust was mixed with disgust at the thought that my jerk of a brother was able to send her into realms of passion more profound than any she had reached with me.
After a long time, Irving finally came, grunting as he jettisoned his spunk up into Sylvia's belly, bringing one more scream from her mouth as her last explosive orgasm slammed through her. Irving fell on top Of her and their gasping, exhausted breathing was very loud in the sudden stillness of the room.
"Oh, Irving," Sylvia panted after a minute. "Oh, darling. I love you."
"I love you, too, Sylvia," Irving said.
How sweet. How fucking goddam touching. I never wanted to see either of them again. In a deep funk, I pulled my clothes on and got the hell out of there.
"Bernie!" Irving called as I went through the doorway. "Don't forget our deal, Bernie! Read the book! You'll love it!"
CHAPTER FOUR
"He's fat," Peggy whispered.
"So was Mr. Burnside," I said out of the side of my mouth. "Remember? You said so."
"Yes, but...."
"Shhh."
We were approaching the table in the Four Seasons Restaurant at which Preston Jarvis, editor-in-chief of Carswell & Haynsworth, Publishers, was seated. He stood up as we approached. We all shook hands.
"How do you do, Mr. Jarvis?" I said. "Nice of you to accept my invitation."
"Lunch at the Four Seasons I will always accept," Jarvis said amicably. "And if I had known I would be in the company of so attractive a young lady, I would have made it earlier." He smiled at Peggy.
"This is Miss Peggy Ashe," I said. "Author of 'The World, His Plaything.' "
"Ah, yes-the manuscript you sent me." Jarvis looked down at the glass of sherry he'd been sipping. "I'm afraid I haven't had time yet to look at it myself. I did give it to one of my sub-editors, however. I-ah-I'm afraid his report was ... not extremely favorable."
I wasn't exactly surprised. "I suppose," I said, taking a chance, "that this sub-editor is a man?"
"Well, yes...."
"Of course," I said. "But how can a man-most men, that is-understand or appreciate a book written by a woman? A book that comes from the profoundest depths of the feminine psyche, that is addressed to the feminine heart? You, of course, with your sophisticated appreciation of all kinds of literary talent-and vast experience and knowledge of what appeals to the marketplace-are an exception. That's why I was hoping you would read Miss Ashe's book yourself-before someone else snaps it up. We have, of course, other offers."
That was a lie, but then so was everything else I'd said so far. Irving's book was hopeless. But aside from Jenny, he was the only client I had and I was going to do my damnedest to sell it. I figured that the only possibility of doing so was with the help of Peggy's multifarious talents. So I had substituted her name for Irving's as the author. Irving didn't know about this yet, but that was a detail I would deal with later, if necessary.
Jarvis looked flattered, but doubtful. "Well," he said, "I will, of course, take a look at it-though I find Grimble's judgment is usually...."
Peggy went to work. "Oh, will you, Mr. Jarvis? "she gushed. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" She reached across the table impulsively to touch his hand, leaning forward as she did so. She was wearing a light summer dress that revealed a nice bit of cleavage. As she bent toward him, a goodly portion of her lovely breasts was exposed to his gaze. I saw his eyes drop to them and though he looked away swiftly, his fleshy face flushed a little. Peggy stayed as she was for a moment longer, then straightened as a waiter appeared to take our liquor order. by the time we had had a couple of drinks and ordered lunch, one of Peggy's shoulder straps had somehow slipped off her shoulder and I noticed that she had developed the habit of taking a good deep breath each time she spoke. Jarvis noticed it, too. I could only hope that his preoccupation with her bosom was keeping his mind off what she was saying. Peggy was not exactly an intellectual titan and a perceptive listener might well begin to doubt that she had been able to write a novel, even one as abominable as "The World, His Plaything."
But whatever her other limitations, Peggy damn well knew how to do what she was there for. She managed to lean over the table quite a bit and halfway through the meal I could tell by Jarvis's reactions that her leg was provocatively stroking his under the table. His collar seemed too tight for him and his conversation became more and more disjointed. I felt hope.
When we had finished eating, Peggy excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Her hips swayed enticingly as she walked away from the table. Jarvis watched them almost lewdly. So did I.
Jarvis cleared his throat. "Lovely girl," he said.
"Yes, she is," I said. "Talented, too. In a lot of ways." I said it flatly, but the suggestion was there if he wanted to pick it up.
"I'm sure she is," he said. "I'll-uh-I'll certainly read her manuscript. Looking forward to it, in fact."
"Fine. I'm sure you'll see there are advantages to publishing it. And if you do, I'm sure Miss Ashe will be very grateful. Very grateful indeed."
"Indeed," he echoed. "Yes. Well." He cleared his throat again.
After Peggy had returned, I paid the bill-which chilled my blood-and we left the restaurant. Outside, Jarvis turned to Peggy. "It was very nice to meet you, Miss Ashe," he said, shaking her hand.
"Oh, it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Jarvis," she cooed. "And you will read my book soon, won't you?" Imploringly, she pressed his hand against her bosom.
"Immediately," he said. His voice trembled.
* * *
Two days later, he called me. I could tell by his tone that he had read the book, all right. My heart sank. "Ah-Mr. Culligan, I have looked at Miss Ashe's manuscript," he began.
"Oh, good," I said brightly. "Amazing, isn't it?"
"Well-I suppose you could say that. Actually, Mr. Culligan, the fact is-well, I'm afraid I am forced to agree with Mr. Grimble that the book is-ah-not quite in our line. Perhaps some other publishing house...."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "Miss Ashe will be very disappointed."
He cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. Much as I personally would like to ... gratify that young lady, I'm afraid...."
I wasn't giving up yet. "As a matter-of-fact," I said, "Miss Ashe happens to be in my office right now." This was true. As a matter-of-fact, she was on my lap. With her blouse open, her skirt rucked up around her hips and my cock deep in her cunt. "I'm sure you'd like to discuss it with her personally. I'll put her on." While Jarvis was hemming and hawing, I handed Peggy the phone.
"Hello, Mr. Jarvis," she said breathlessly. The breathlessness was real; she had just been bouncing up and down wildly on my prick. "So nice to hear from you ... What? ... Oh, I see ... Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear that, Mr. Jarvis ... I had so much looked forward to being published by you. I mean, I felt we could have a really close relationship, Mr. Jarvis...."
I nodded my approval and put my hands over her beautiful boobs. Her voice became throatier. "Yes, I understand ... It's just that I would have been so grateful, Mr. Jarvis ... I would have done just anything ... anything at all...." Her hips twisted sexily, as if to emphasize what she was saying and I tried not to moan at what her movements were doing to my porker.
"What, Mr. Jarvis?" she went on. "Oh ... do you really? ... Oh, that would be ... Revisions?" She looked at me and I nodded my head emphatically. "Oh, of course ... Yes, I'd be glad to make any revisions you like ... Yes, I'd love to discuss it personally ... Yes, that would be fine ... Oh, wonderful, Mr. Jarvis ... See you later, then ... 'Bye."
She hung up. "He wants to talk about revisions," she said. "He wants to see me in his office right away."
"I'll bet he does. The son of a bitch probably wants to make it with you without committing himself to anything. Nuts to that. I'm going with you."
Peggy wiggled her hips and this time I didn't bother to hold back the moan. "I guess he can wait for a little while," she breathed.
"I guess he's damn well going to," I said and tightened my grip on her tits as her body began to bounce up and down again.
* * *
Jarvis was obviously not too happy that I had come along with Peggy, but he did his best to hide his disappointment. He sat behind his desk in his large office, with its private bathroom and impressive view of the East River. "As I explained to Miss Ashe," he said, "I have some doubts about the suitability of her book for Carswell & Haynsworth; however, if she is willing to make-ah-substantial revisions-on a conditional basis, of course-we could then determine...."
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Jarvis," I said. I was sitting in a chair across from his large desk and in another chair, placed where Jarvis could have a complete view of her, Peggy sat, her shapely legs crossed, her skirt riding high over her knees. The top leg swung back and forth, slowly and provocatively. "Miss Ashe is willing to make whatever revisions you suggest-but only after a contract has been signed."
Jarvis took his eyes reluctantly away from Peggy's gams to regard me with a pained expression. "I really don't see how we can do that, Mr. Culligan. The book, as it stands now, is ... well ... extremely problematic. We would have to...."
Peggy broke in. "Excuse me, Mr. Jarvis, but could I use your bathroom?" she inquired sweetly.
"Why, of course, my dear," Jarvis said hastily. "Please feel free."
"Thank you." She got up, smiling at him and wiggled her way into the john, closing the door behind her.
Jarvis and I did a bit more fencing on the matter of a contract. Then, in about two minutes, the bathroom door opened and Peggy came out-bare-ass naked.
Jarvis's face went crimson. He made a kind of wheezing noise. His lips moved, but no words came out. His eyes got very round, looking like two burning craters sunk in his fat face.
Peggy stood in the bathroom doorway in a consciously-sexy pose, one hand resting on the door frame above her head, the other on her hip.
"Won't you change your mind, Mr. Jarvis?" she asked softly.
The goggling eyes made jerky movements up and down her spectacular body. "Why-Miss Ashe-I-You-I...." He sputtered off ineffectually.
She let him look at her for another few moments, then straightened and walked slowly toward his chair. Lust and apprehension fought in his face as he watched her approach. I thought maybe he was going to get up and run out; but he didn't move. When she reached his chair, she sat down in his lap and put her arm around his neck.
He made another wheezing noise. Peggy leaned forward so that her breasts were against his chest. "Please, Mr. Jarvis," she breathed, wriggling her shoulders slightly. Her free hand stroked the side of his face, then moved down his body. His arms rose as if to embrace her, but his hands stopped, trembling, just short of touching her flesh. He glanced wildly over at me, his mottled face working.
It was now or never. "Well, Mr. Jarvis?" I said. "We can go one of two ways. You can make up a contract, sign it and have Miss Ashe sign it-after which I will leave the two of you alone. Or Miss Ashe can put on her clothes and leave with me, right now. Which is it to be?"
Peggy's hand was now at his crotch, moving in little circles. There was no way Jarvis was going to let her slip away now. He reached a quivering hand for the switch on his intercom.
A female voice came through. "Yes, sir?"
Jarvis had to clear his throat before he could speak and even then his voice was hoarse and trembling. "JoAnne, let me have one of our standard contract forms, please."
"Right away," the voice said.
If JoAnne, as I assumed, was the pretty brunette I had seen working in the outer office as we came in, I was glad of the chance to see her again. But Peggy's nudity might be something she wasn't prepared for. Jarvis had the same thought. "Ah-perhaps you'd better...." he suggested, motioning toward the bathroom.
"I'll hide under the desk," Peggy said with a little giggle. Before he could do anything, she had slid off his lap and crawled into the kneehole of the large wooden desk. She was effectively hidden there. Jarvis moved his chair closer in to make her concealment complete. Just before the office door opened to admit JoAnne, I heard the faint sound of a zipper and grinned to myself.
The brunette crossed over to Jarvis's desk, her high perky breasts bobbing nicely beneath her woolen top. She was slim but shapely, with shiny dark hair falling halfway down her back. She handed Jarvis a few sheets of paper clipped together. She could not have helped noticing his strained, flushed face. I saw her glance around, not too obviously; she had seen us come in and knew that Peggy was there somewhere. Her glance took in the open bathroom door. Something flickered on her face, but then she turned without a word. I watched her slender bare legs as she went out of the office. As soon as the door closed behind her, Jarvis slumped forward in his chair and began to moan. I could picture what Peggy was doing to him under the desk. Her natural love of sex had gotten in the way of her business sense. It was a tendency in her that I was going to have to watch.
"Cut it out, Peggy!" I said sharply. "He hasn't signed anything yet."
I heard a muffled sound of reluctant assent from beneath the desk. Jarvis straightened up, breathing harshly. "I'll have to ... fill it out," he panted. "I don't usually ... do it myself, but ... I...." He pushed back his chair and swiveled to face a typewriter on a stand at one end of his desk. With his trembling hands, he inserted one of the papers JoAnne had brought him.
Peggy crept out from under the desk. When I stood up to watch, I saw that Jarvis's fat little cock was sticking out of his fly. As he laboriously typed words and figures into the blank spaces of the contract, Peggy encouraged him by putting her head in his lap and taking little licks at his prick, rubbing her tits against his leg as she did so. This didn't make the task any easier for him and I could only hope that she didn't make him come before he had signed the thing.
"I can only give you our usual first-novel terms," Jarvis said hoarsely. "Ten-thousand advance against royalties and ... and...." He couldn't go on because Peggy was licking his dick again.
"Okay," I said hastily. "Finish it." I knew he was giving us the lowest terms he could get away with, but what the hell. I was lucky to get anything for Irving's piece of junk. Jarvis managed to fill in the rest of the contract, then pulled it out of the typewriter, almost ripping it in the process and handed it to me.
I read it over quickly. "Okay, sign it," I suggested, placing it in front of him. He picked up a pen and scrawled his signature.
"Now you, Peg." Peggy got up off the floor and signed her name where I indicated. After which she slipped back onto Jarvis's lap and began opening his shirt buttons.
I picked up the contract. "I'll ask JoAnne to make a copy for you," I told Jarvis. "Have fun, you two." I walked out.
JoAnne looked up at me speculatively from her desk as I came into the outer office, closing the door quickly behind me. I handed her the contract. "Mr. Jarvis would like you to make a copy of this for his files."
She glanced at it. "So he's buying that piece of crap after all," she said, shaking her head.
I raised my eyebrows. "Did you read it?"
"Most of it, unfortunately."
"I take it you agree with Mr. Grimble as to its merits," I said.
She laughed shortly. "There is no Mister Grimble," she snorted. "I'm Grimble. JoAnne Grimble. I read everything Jarvis is considering for publication and tell him whether it's any good. Of course, he'll never admit he takes advice from a woman and a secretary, at that. But usually he'll listen to me. This time...." She gave me that quizzical look again. "What's going on in there, anyway?"
"Business conference," I said.
"I'll bet." Her eyes went to the office door. "Too bad they don't make doors with keyholes anymore. I'd love to have a look."
"There's a transom," I said. I was just kidding around; but JoAnne regarded the door with a thoughtful glint in her bright brown eyes. There was indeed a transom above the door. It was closed, but the glass was clear and transparent.
"It's too high," she said. "Even if I stood on a chair or something...." She looked at me again. "You're tall," she mused. "If you could hoist me on your shoulders...."
It wasn't an unpleasant thought. "What if somebody comes in?"
She hesitated. "I'll take my chances," she said. "How about you?"
I shrugged. "Why not?"
An impish grin swiftly lit up her pretty face. "Great!" She stood up and climbed quickly and agilely onto her desk. I turned around so that she could straddle my shoulders. Without ceremony, she pulled her skirt high around her thighs and swung a leg over me. I grasped it and held her while she pulled the other one over, holding on to my hair for balance. Now she was sitting astride me, my hands firmly clasping her smooth calves. The skin felt soft and lovely beneath my palms.
Carefully I walked toward the door with my burden. She didn't weigh much. I positioned myself to one side of the door so she could peer through the transom. I just hoped she wouldn't be seen from the other side; but they were probably too busy to be likely to notice.
JoAnne gave a sudden gasp as she looked through the glass and I felt her fingers tighten in my hair. "Oh my God," she said softly.
"What are they doing?" I asked.
"They-he's-they're on the floor," she whispered unsteadily. "She's on top of him. They're ... they're going down on each other. At the same time."
"Sixty-nine, eh?" I asked, trying to picture Peggy's voluptuous body crouched over Jarvis's rotund form. It was quite a picture.
"My God," she said again. "Sh-she's devouring him!"
"Peggy's an expert," I said. Experimentally, I slid one hand higher on her calf, stroking the swelling flesh with my fingers.
"And he's ... she's sitting right down on his face-I don't see how he can breathe!" She squirmed slightly. Her stomach was touching the back of my head and I could feel that her breath was coming faster.
"I bet he's not complaining, though." I began moving my other hand up and down the expanse of her lower leg.
"God, I think she's coming," JoAnne said. "She's sitting up now. Christ, she's really stacked! I wish I had breasts like that."
"Yours look okay to me," I ventured, moving my hands slowly up to her rounded knees.
"She came! He made her come!" she whispered excitedly. Indeed, I thought I could hear Peggy's moans of joy through the door.
"Now she's lying on her back," JoAnne said. "He's going to get on top of her. Jesus, he'll crush the poor girl to death!"
"Peggy's pretty resilient," I mentioned. "I wouldn't worry about her." My hands went higher, moving onto her thighs. The flesh was even softer. My cock was beginning to ache.
"He's inside her." JoAnne's voice was breathless. "Oh, wow! Either she loves it or she's putting on a hell of an act. Look at that!"
"I can't," I reminded her. "Tell me about it." I stroked her thighs.
"She's wriggling away like crazy!" JoAnne said. "She's got her legs wrapped around his fat butt and she's ... oh golly...." She was squirming harder and I hoped she wasn't going to fall off. Her fingers were tugging painfully at my hair, but I didn't care about that. I slid my hands higher, my digits seeking the tender flesh of her inner thighs. I felt the edge of her panties and slipped my fingers beneath them, holding my breath. JoAnne moaned, but whether it was because of what I was doing or what she was watching, I couldn't tell.
"Ohh ... he's really giving it to her ... He's just slamming into her and she's ... ohhh ... ohh God...." She was panting. "I can't ... Let me down ... please...."
I turned and walked back to the desk and let her dismount onto it. Then I put my hands on her waist and lifted her down. I didn't let go of her. We gazed at each other. Her eyes were shining, her mouth open, her breath coming fast. I pulled her toward me. She pressed her body against mine and then we were kissing madly.
Her arms were tight around my neck, her lips soft and mobile under mine. She moaned when I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth and caressed it eagerly with hers. Her belly writhed against my hard-on.
After a while we broke apart, both of us panting now. She looked around wildly, then pulled me toward a sliding door to what looked like a closet of some kind. "In here," she breathed, pulling it open. I followed her in and she pushed the door closed behind us.
It was a coat closet. But there were no coats inside now, it being summertime. The closet was small and dark and there was no room to lie down or anything. But at that point, neither of us was very choosy.
JoAnne reached beneath her skirt and pulled her panties down. They fell to the floor and she kicked them off, then pulled her skirt up around her waist. I slid my zipper down and eased my cock out into the open. It was erect and throbbing. JoAnne reached for my dork in the dimness, her fingers curling around it. She drew in her breath sharply, bracing herself against the closet wall and pulling me toward her, planting her feet wide apart.
"Come on," she panted. "Put it in me." by a strange coincidence, that was just what I'd had in mind. I bent my knees to achieve the proper alignment, then guided myself to her awaiting entrance. She was tight but very moist and I slid deep inside her with no trouble at all.
We gave a simultaneous gasp as I filled her clutching sex-hole. Her arms went around my neck and I felt her panting mouth moving over my face. I straightened my knees, putting my hands under her buttocks and lifting her with me. Her feet left the floor. With a cry, she flung her legs around my hips and held on like an octopus.
"Oh yes!" she whispered harshly as I began to move back and forth inside her. "Yes! Do it to me!" I moved harder, my head spinning with the sensation of her tight, wiggling cunt around my dick. She clutched me harder with her arms and legs and I could feel her high, yielding breasts squirming against my chest. It didn't feel as though she was wearing a bra, but at that point there was no way I could check, much as I would have liked to. My hands were full of firm, bouncing rumpflesh. Keeping her braced against the wall as I thrust deeply into her, I managed to maneuver one hand so that I could search out her anus with my index finger. I worked it slowly inside the tiny asshole and she jerked against me, making a squalling noise which she tried to smother by burying her face in my neck.
No matter how quiet we tried to be, I knew that anyone who came into the outer office would be able to hear what we were doing; but I couldn't worry about that. This squirming, passionate girl I was plugged into was blowing my mind and soon my body was going to blow as well. I couldn't have stopped balling her if every Carswell & Haynsworth employee from old Jarvis down to the mailroom boy had been-lined up to watch. I lunged into her with mighty strokes, pounding her against the wall as though my cock were a hammer and she a picture I was trying to nail up. At the same time my finger moved in and out of her rectum in a mini-version of what was happening inside her cunt.
"Oh, God!" she rasped hoarsely in my ear. "Oh, I love it! More! Please, more! It's ... oohhh ... ohh do it ... Yes! YES! ... I'm ... I'm going to ... UUUNNNNHH!! UUUUN-NNHHH!! OH JESUS!!!"
And as her body went into a paroxysm, jerking and jouncing and twisting helplessly against me, I, too, felt my control give way and I joined her in her orgasm, shooting my sperm strongly into her vaginal depths.
Long moments later, I felt her legs relax and slip from my body. Slowly, I slid out of her and let her down. She leaned exhaustedly against the wall. We were both panting hard.
JoAnne reached out once more and patted my cock appreciatively before I put it back in and zipped up. "Beautiful," she said breathlessly. "And big, too!"
"You should see my brother Irving's," I said somewhat bitterly.
"Really? You mean his is bigger?"
I wished I hadn't said anything. "A little bit."
"I'd like to meet him," she suggested.
I wondered if she'd want to meet him if she knew he was the author of "The World, His Plaything."
"Let's change the subject," I said. "Do you mind if I feel your tits? I've been trying to decide whether you're wearing a brassiere."
I saw the flash of her teeth as she grinned in the dimness. "Be my guest."
I felt her tits. As I had thought, no bra. After I had found that out, I went on feeling them. They were damn nice to feel.
"Love to see them sometime," I said.
"Why not now?" She raised her arms so that I could slip her top off. We might have been in for another session, but before I could accept her invitation, we heard the sound of the inner-office door opening and we heard Jarvis's voice.
"JoAnne? Funny. She must have gone out for a minute."
I figured we'd wait there until he had gone away, but JoAnne unconcernedly pulled the closet door open and stepped out. I followed her, feeling a little sheepish. Jarvis and Peggy were coming out of his office. Peggy grinned when she saw us, but Jarvis stared angrily.
"JoAnne!" he huffed. "What in the world were you doing in there?"
She smiled at him sweetly. "Just what you were doing, Mr. Jarvis," she said.
Jarvis's face turned bright red. He turned and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him.
"I'll make a copy of this contract now," JoAnne said. She picked it up and went out.
"Nice going, Peggy," I told her. "Remind me to give you a bonus."
She gave me a self-satisfied smile. "What about this Mr. Grimble?" she said. "Maybe I could persuade him, too."
"I appreciate your devotion to duty," I said. "But Grimble's already been taken care of." Then I added: "Grimble thinks you have nice tits, though."
"Well, I do," Peggy seconded the motion. And I couldn't argue with her.
CHAPTER FIVE
"What!!" Irving exploded. "Do you mean to say you put some girl's name on my book?! My masterpiece, which I trustingly gave into your care out of the goodness of my heart-you had the audacity, the sheer unadulterated...."
"Calm down, Irving," I said wearily. "I sold it, didn't I? Ten-thousand bucks, Irving. Deducting my commission, that's nine-thousand for you. Be grateful, for God's sake."
"Nine-thousand," Irving said contemptuously. "That's nothing. That's only the beginning, Bernie. That book is going to become a best seller. A sensation. It's going to be the biggest thing to come along for decades! 'Gone With The Wind' will look like a piker in contrast. The author is going to be famous. And the author is me, Bernie. Me! Not some stupid secretary. And if you think I'm going to...."
"Irving!" I said, "the book isn't going to do shit. It's junk, Irving. It's terrible. They'll probably print as few copies as they can get away with and dump it as unobtrusively as possible, hoping to hell it won't ruin their reputation. I was only able to sell it because of Peggy. And if you make a fuss now, they could term the contract void because of false pretenses and demand their money back. So just leave well enough alone, okay?"
"I can't believe this," Irving moaned. "I trusted you. I rescued your business. I even lent you my wife to satisfy your twisted lusts. And now...."
"What!" Irving talking about twisted lusts after that scene with Sylvia was too much. I started to get up to punch him in the nose, but at that moment the phone rang. Peggy was out to lunch, so I answered it.
"Culligan Agency."
"Mr. Culligan? This is Jenny Jourdemaine."
"Oh. Hi, Jenny. How are you?"
"Fine, thank you." There was a pause.
"Well," I said. "What can I do for you?"
"I-I was just wondering ... if anything's happening. With the poems, I mean."
"I'm working on it," I said. "Jerry Bosset of Forest Press is looking at them at the moment and I think he may be interested. But nothing definite yet."
"Oh." Another pause. Then: "Mr. Culligan?"
"Yes?"
"You remember ... what we talked about? About ... well ... my-changing my status?"
"Of course."
"Well ... I'm ready now."
I was taken aback. I cleared my throat. "You are?"
"Yes."
"That's wonderful," I said. "I'll be right over."
"Oh," she said. Then she said, "All right." And she hung up.
I hung up, too, hoping I had heard right. "I have to leave, Irving," I said. "I have a very important business engagement."
"Now wait a minute, Bernie. About my book-if you think...."
I had to get him off my back. "Tell you what, Irving," I said. "You set me up with Sylvia, so I'm going to do you a similar favor-because I really feel guilty, Irving, for making nine-thousand bucks for you out of your piece of vomitive claptrap. Anyway...."
"Goddamm it, Bernie, you wouldn't know a work of deathless literary merit if it...."
"Irving, shut up! I'm trying to do you a good deed, for Chrissake and as usual you're not even grateful. Now there's this girl up at Carswell & Haynsworth by the name of JoAnne Grimble; she's old Jarvis's secretary and she's just dying to meet you, Irving."
"She is?"
"Yeah. She likes big cocks. But for God's sake, don't tell her you wrote that thing! Just tell her your my brother-the one I told her about. She'll have you in the closet in no time."
"In the closet?"
"Don't knock it, Irving. It ain't bad." And before he could say anything more, I was out the door.
The address Jenny had left with me was on a rapidly-deteriorating street in the West 90's. Her apartment was two flights up, no elevator. I made it up the steps and knocked on the door.
When the door opened, I was hit by an almost overwhelming cloud of perfume. I was surprised to see a strange woman standing there, because I had gotten the impression for some reason that Jenny lived alone.
"Hi," I said. "I'm looking for Jenny Jourdemaine. I'm...." And then I stopped, peering more closely at the stranger. "Jenny? Is that you?"
"Yes," she said. "Come in."
I went in dazedly. The apartment was small and neat. A quick glance showed that it was a one-room-and-kitchenette deal, but it was nicely fixed up. I couldn't take in very much, however, because my eyes were drawn compulsively back to Jenny. I couldn't believe what I was staring at.
She was wearing a very tight, bright red dress, against which her breasts were thrusting at an artificially-high angle, obviously aided by some sort of ultimate uplift bra and maybe falsies. The dress out-lined her hips almost obscenely and stopped short a couple of inches below her crotch. She was also wearing sheer black stockings and very highheeled shoes. Her glasses were gone and her hair was piled atop her head in a ridiculous-looking mass of frothy curls. Her face was heavily made up, her eyes painted with several different shades of mascara and shadow and God knows what and adorned by false eyelashes. Her mouth was a deep red slash.
"Jesus H. Christ!" I said weakly. "Jenny-what the hell is that?"
"It's the new me," she said, a little defiantly. "Me as a sexy woman. Don't you like it?"
I know I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't help myself. I started to laugh. Jenny looked stricken and I tried to stop, but the sight of her, now that the first shock had been absorbed, was so ludicrous that I was just overcome by helpless mirth. I laughed and laughed, doubling over, feeling tears coming to my eyes, shaking my head and chortling helplessly, until I collapsed into a chair, still shaking with laughter. When I finally recovered enough to wipe my eyes and look at her again, I saw that she was weeping.
I really felt like a heel, but still I had to make an effort to control myself before I could speak to her. "Hey, Jenny, I'm sorry," I said. "It's just that you-well, Christ, you went too far. All that crap doesn't make you look sexy. It makes you look like a caricature of a two-dollar streetwalker, for God's sake."
Of course this just made things worse and Jenny began to cry for real. "I told you!" she sobbed. "You said you wanted me to ... change my image and ... and be sexy ... and I told you I didn't think I could ... but I ... I tried and I spent all this money I can't afford ... for these dumb clothes ... and these contact lenses-they make my eyes hurt-and ... and...."
Her tears were dampening her eye make-up and making long black streaks down her face. When she rubbed her eyes, the mess got worse. "Jenny...." I said, getting up and starting toward her, but she backed away from me.
"No!" she cried. "Stay away from me!"
I shrugged helplessly. "Okay. But listen, I'm sorry. Maybe I was wrong about changing your image. Or maybe I just wasn't too clear about what I meant. Look, why don't you go and wash all that crud off your face. And take a shower to get rid of that perfume. Then put on some normal clothes and we'll talk about it, okay?"
She hesitated and at first I thought she was going to throw me out. But then she just kind of nodded and ran past me to go into what I assumed was the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I opened a window to get some of the perfume stink out of the room, then wandered around for a while looking at her books and stuff. I heard the shower going and for a pleasant moment imagined Jenny beneath the spray, naked. I wondered if I would ever see her that way.
After a time the bathroom door opened and she came out, wrapped in a shapeless blue terry-cloth bathrobe. The make-up was gone, the dark hair was back to normal and she was wearing her glasses.
"I didn't have any other clothes in there," she said defensively.
"Don't worry," I said. "I won't touch you without permission. I promise. Now sit down and let's talk about this."
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. "It was a lousy idea and I should never have let you talk me into it. I'm just not cut out to be a sexpot. I'm just a nice, plain girl who writes poetry. If I can't get it published by being myself, then it won't get published, that's all."
"You're a nice girl, all right," I said. "But you're not plain. You're very pretty. And I didn't want to turn you into a sexpot, exactly. I just meant that you didn't have to make yourself-well-dowdy."
She glared at me. "I like being dowdy!" she said defiantly.
I put up my hands. "Okay, okay. Be dowdy. But damn it, what I wanted was to bring out your sensuality. Not in a phony way, with tight dresses and false eyelashes, but the real sensuality that's inside you. I know it's there because I read your poems."
She didn't say anything for a minute. Then she said, not looking at me, "Do you really think I'm pretty?"
"I certainly do."
"And you ... you think I'm-attractive ... sexually?"
"Jenny," I said, "when you called me before to say you wanted to change your virginal state, I was so eager to get up here that I even did a favor for my brother Irving, just to get rid of him."
She blushed. "I shouldn't have done that," she said. "It was part of the new me. The phony."
"I'm not so sure of that," I said. I stood up. "Come here, Jenny."
She looked at me fearfully, not moving. "Why?"
"Why do you think?" I said. "You don't really want to stay a virgin, do you?"
She swallowed. "I ... Mr. Culligan ... you promised you wouldn't touch me."
"Without permission, I said. Okay, I'll keep my promise. But damn it, be honest with yourself. The girl who wrote those poems is no shrinking maiden afraid to have a man touch her and she's not a tarted-up whore, either. She's you and you shouldn't be afraid to let her out. Now you can either tell me to get the hell out of here, or stand up and take that bathrobe off. And call me Bernie, for God's sake."
For a minute she looked like she was either going to laugh or cry. But she did neither; she just sat there looking at me, until I began to feel awkward. And then, slowly, she stood up.
There was another pause, even longer this time, or so it seemed. But at last, with trembling hands, she fumbled for the sash of her bathrobe. She untied it and then took off the robe.
I didn't move. I didn't want to scare her off and anyway, I was stunned for a moment. I let my eyes move slowly down her body. It was a wonderful body, even more wonderful than I had imagined. She stood tensely, shivering a little, but made no move to cover herself.
"Jenny," I said softly, "you're beautiful." I started to move toward her.
"Wait," she said in an uneven voice. I stopped. "I-I want to see you, too."
"All right," I said. I took off my clothes.
She looked at me as I had looked at her. My cock was fully erect and her eyes went round as they focused on it. This time I was smart enough not to say anything about my brother Irving.
After a minute I moved again, stopping within reach of her. She looked like she wanted to run away, but she stood there.
"Jenny," I said, "I'd like permission to touch you now."
"I...." She gulped. Then she gave a short, jerky nod.
I reached out slowly and put my hand gently on the side of her face. She looked into my eyes, her dark orbs wide and vulnerable behind her glasses. I moved my hand down to her neck and then let it slide farther down, until I was holding her breasts. They felt incredibly warm and soft in my hand, expanding and contracting very slightly with her quickened breathing.
"Oh," she said softly. After a moment her eyes left mine and dropped again to my upstanding cock. Hesitantly, she reached one hand out to touch it. It jerked under her trembling fingers. "Oh," she said again and began to stroke it gently.
"Jenny...." My voice was husky. I knew I was about to make beautiful love with this lovely, virginal girl and I was literally trembling with lust and anticipation. Reluctantly I took my hand from her breast, then used both hands to draw her close to me. A bit hesitantly, she lifted her face to mine. Slowly our mouths moved closer to each other. Her lips parted slightly. I touched them gently, exploringly, with mine.
And the phone rang.
Jenny pulled back from me, her face startled, as if we had been burst in on by the vice squad. "Ignore it," I said. "Whomever it is will call back later." And I reached for her again.
But she was obviously one of those people who cannot just let a telephone ring unanswered. In spite of my frustration, I had to grin to myself when she picked up her bathrobe and fumbled into it before rushing over to the phone.
"Hello?" she said into it. And after a moment I saw her eyes go wide. "Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, yes ... yes, Mr. Bosset."
So it was Jerry Bosset, well known editor-publisher of Forest Press, to whom I had sent Jenny's poems. My eyebrows went up, but my cock did not go down.
"Yes," Jenny said. "Yes, he told me ... Oh ... You have? ... You do?" Her eyes went still wider. "Oh ... Oh, well, that's-that's wonderful, Mr. Bosset ... That's just....
What? ... Oh, yes, well, he's-he's right here, actually." Her face suddenly went red. "We-we were just talking business," she said hastily. "Oh yes, yes, of course." She held the receiver out to me. "He wants to talk to you." Her expression was ecstatic. "He liked the poems!" she whispered as I took the phone.
I winked at her encouragingly and put the receiver to my ear. "Hi, Jerry," I said into it. "How's tricks?"
I had to hold the phone away from my ear a little as the familiar staccato voice blasted through. "Goddam it, Culligan, you fuck-up, I've been trying to get you for a fucking hour!
Why the hell don't you stay in your office, for Chrissakes! I finally had to call this dame directly and now you're there! What the hell are you-no, never mind, I don't want to know, goddam it. How did she latch on to a screw-up like you anyway? I've just been reading her goddam poems. Jesus H. Christ in the garden!"
"I take it you like them?" I got in.
"Like them? Like them! Christ, they're sensational! They're brilliant! They'll sell like 'The Godfather!' Better! We'll all make a fucking mint! I want you to get down here right away-both of you-and talk money. Right now, you hear me!"
I held the phone farther from my ear. "They can hear you in New Jersey," I said. "That's fine, Jerry. That's great. We'll be down there ... uh ... later. A couple of hours or so, okay?"
"Fuck that! I have to leave at three-thirty to meet some shithead French playwright. You get down here in half an hour, damn it! You can do your screwing later."
Bosset's voice was perfectly audible to Jenny, who was standing right beside me and she flushed deeply. But her face was alight with obvious happiness at his reaction to her poems. I wanted to argue with him some more, but he hung up before I could say another word.
"Oh, how marvelous!" Jenny said breathlessly when I put down the phone. "He likes the poems! He wants to publish them! Oh...."
"I thought he would," I said smugly. "Jerry's a dumb bastard, but he knows a good hot property when somebody shoves it under his nose."
"We'd better leave right away," Jenny said. "I'll get dressed." She went to a closet and started going through clothes.
"Hold it," I protested. "There's no rush, Jenny. He'll keep."
She turned, surprised. "But he said he was going out. He said we should...."
"Don't worry about it," I said. "If we don't see him today, there's always tomorrow. I think we should finish what we started, don't you?" I moved toward her. "Now where were we...."
She sidled away. The belt of her bathrobe had loosened and the robe slid open just a bit. "But-but Mr. Bosset said we should be there in half an hour! We've got to go. What if he changes his mind?"
"He won't, believe me," I assured her. My hard-on had diminished only a little during the phone conversation and now it was coming back full force as my eyes devoured the inner slopes of her virginal breasts, barely revealed by the gap in the robe.
She saw where I was looking and closed the robe quickly. "No," she said. "We have to go. I don't want to take any chances. Please."
"Trust me," I said. "It's okay." I went toward her again. Her eyes were flashing, but I was too worked up to see it was a warning.
"We have to go," she repeated stubbornly. "It's important. It's my work. My poems!"
"Jenny...." I reached out to touch her. She slapped me hard across the face.
I was stunned and for a moment I could only stare at her. I saw there were tears in her eyes.
"Damn you!" she said. Her voice trembled. "I thought you ... You don't care about my work at all! I-I thought I could trust you. I even ... I almost ... Oh!!"
"Jenny...." I said helplessly.
She rubbed hard at her eyes, then took a big breath and drew herself up. "I'm going to get dressed now," she said coldly. She grabbed a dress from the closet, then got some things from a drawer. She took them into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. I heard the lock click.
I looked down at my hard-on; it looked up at me. Neither of us was happy.
CHAPTER SIX
The meeting with Bosset went well. I managed to squeeze almost as much as I wanted out of him in terms of money. He agreed with my ideas about the publicity blitz; but though Jenny agreed to publicize the book, she flatly refused to pass herself off as a sex symbol, or to change herself in any way whatsoever. But I figured we could eventually get her to come around a little; or maybe we could grab the public by playing up the contrast between her strait-laced appearance and her steamy poems. Anyway, I felt it would work out.
But I didn't feel so good about our personal relationship. As soon as we were outside the Forest Press office, she said a cold goodbye and walked away from me. I didn't try to go after her. I felt depressingly certain that whoever the lucky bastard was who would de-virginalize that sweet body, his name would not be Bernard P. Culligan.
In my frustrated state, I hurried back to the office in hopes of getting it on with my ever-reliable secretary. But Peggy had left me a note to say she had taken off early to do some shopping; she hoped I didn't mind. I did mind, since her chief function-her only function-was to be there when I needed her. But she knew I sure as hell wasn't about to fire her.
Well, I could always go home to Amy. Not that she was a last resort. Far from it. In fact, as I thought of my beautiful, blonde, sexy wife, I started getting randier than ever. What the hell, I thought, I might as well leave early. Nothing was going to happen that afternoon. Out of habit, I called to check my answering service and as usual the operator heroically kept herself from laughing when I asked if there were any messages. Then I called my wife.
"It's me," I said when she answered. "I'm coming home early. And I'm horny as hell."
"Wonderful!" Amy said. "Should I take off my clothes now or wait till you get here?"
"Surprise me," I said and hung up.
But I wasn't really surprised. She was waiting for me on the big couch in our living room, gloriously naked. I never got tired of that sight. I drank it in for a long, sweet moment and then, for the second time that day, removed my clothes. When I was as naked as she, I joined her on the couch.
"Ahhh," I sighed as I ran my hands over her silken body. "That's good. Really good."
"Mmmm," Amy agreed, stroking my erect cock. I recalled Jenny doing the same thing earlier. It had been nice, but Amy really knew what she was doing. And how to do it.
"You know," I said, playing with a breast and watching the pink nipple harden, "I almost fucked a virgin today."
"Almost?" she murmured, tickling my balls.
"Yeah. Almost. But this is-"
"Aha," Amy said. "No wonder you're all heated up. And I thought it was my girlish charms."
"Womanly charms," I corrected. "They're better. I love you. And I want to fuck your brains out."
"My, my, such passion. It runs in the family, I guess."
"What?" I stopped what I was doing. "What does that mean?"
She smiled at me. "I got a phone call today. From your brother."
"Irving?" I rose up on one elbow. "What the hell did he want?"
"Well," Amy said sweetly, "he wants to fuck my brains out, too."
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I was literally choking with rage and for a minute I couldn't speak. Then I said, "You-you mean he-he actually...."
"Yes," Amy said, still stroking my hard-on. "He said that, after all, you made it with Sylvia, so he thought it was only fair. Turn about and all that."
"I'll kill him," I said hoarsely. "I will really and truly kill him. That son of a bitch!" I jumped up and headed for the telephone. "How does he get the nerve...."
"What are you doing?" Amy queried.
"I'm calling the bastard up! I only wish I could kill him over the phone. That fucking weasel!" I was so mad I couldn't think of Irving's number and I hit the phone in frustration.
"Bernie!" Amy was laughing. "It's not like you to be jealous."
"This is different. My own brother! The dirty-What the hell's his number, damn it?"
She gave me the number. I dialed savagely.
"But you did fuck Sylvia, didn't you?" Amy asked, still amused.
"That was part of a deal, damn it! A business deal. Come on, answer, you son of a bitch!"
"What was Sylvia like?" Amy wondered aloud.
"She's a kook. A goddam masochist. She likes to be tied up and have Irving hit her with his belt and then screw her in the ass with his fucking huge...." I stopped myself.
But too late. "Really?" Amy said curiously. "You mean Irving has a really big one? How big?"
"Shit," I said. "I don't know how big. What the hell...."
"Not bigger than yours, surely?" Amy said.
"Jesus Christ!" Nobody was answering and I slammed the phone down. "Look-I don't care how fucking big his fucking dong is. He's a little shit and I'm gonna...."
"Really?" Amy asked. "Bigger than yours? My goodness."
I glared at her. "Now look," I yelled. "I don't want to hear any more about Irving. If he comes near you, I'll-Hell, I'm gonna kill him anyway. Then I'll cut off his dick and give it to you for a dildo. How's that?"
"You're cute when you're mad," Amy said. "Come over here."
I started toward her, but just then the phone rang. I picked it up. "Yeah?"
"Bernie? It's Irving. I found...."
"Irving!" I yelled. "You dirty motherfucking son of a-I'm gonna kill you, Irving. What the hell do you mean making indecent proposals to my wife? If you...."
"Calm down, Bernie," Irving said. "Why are you so excited? I merely...."
"Why am I...." I was choking again.
"I merely suggested that Amy and I spend a pleasant afternoon together. In bed. After all, you and Sylvia...."
"Irving." I swallowed hard and tried to keep calm. "Before I kill you, I will explain something to you. First, you are a piece of rotten shit. And second, whereas you gave me permission to fuck Sylvia in return for my reading your horrible manuscript, I wouldn't allow you to touch Amy with the tip of your cretinous fingernail. For anything. Is that clear, Irving?"
Amy had gotten off the couch and came over to stand behind me. She put her arms around me and began to caress my body, I guess to try and calm me down.
"Now, Bernie," Irving was saying, "I don't know why you should take that attitude. You had a fine time with Sylvia. I was there, remember? I know you enjoyed it. And even though you weren't able to completely satisfy her, that's no...."
I felt the veins in my neck swell up. I took the receiver from my ear and held it up over my head, about to smash it to the floor as if it were Irving himself. But Amy grabbed for the phone and got it away from me. She went on stroking me soothingly with her free hand and pressed her wonderful body against me from behind as she put the receiver to her ear.
"Irving?" she said into it. "Irving, Bernie's a bit upset just now ... Yes ... Well, I think he's had a hard day. So why don't we ... What? ... Yes, I know it's a compliment, Irving and I appreciate it, but...."
I made myself try to stop listening. I was going to kill Irving as soon as I could, so what did it matter what he said to Amy? I concentrated on the feeling of her yielding breasts against my back and on what she was doing with her hand.
Then she said to me, "Irving says maybe we can make it a foursome. You and Sylvi and me and him."
I closed my eyes. "Tell him to make his will," I said flatly.
"I don't think so, Irving," she said to the phone. Then, "He's jealous of what! ... Oh ... Well, he did mention ... Is it really that big? Really?"
"Tell him to pay up his insurance," I said.
"Bigger than Bernie's?" Amy said.
"Ask him what he wants done with his ashes," I said.
"That's hard to believe, Irving," Amy said. "I mean, I'm holding Bernie's cock in my hand right now and it's big. It's a really big dick, Irving. When he puts it inside me, it feels like it's going right up through my belly. And if yours is bigger than that ... It is? ... My God, Irving...."
I couldn't take any more. With a bellow of rage, I grabbed the phone out of her hand and slammed it down so hard it cracked the base. Then I turned to face her. The movement pulled my prick out of her hand and since she'd been clutching it pretty tightly, it hurt like hell, which didn't add to my pleasure at the moment.
"Okay!" I shouted at her. "Okay! You want to fuck Irving, go ahead! If some goddam overgrown whang is that thrilling, what the hell! Be my guest! If you can get to him before I kill him-have a ball! If all you care about is how big. .
Amy was trying to keep from laughing out loud, but her body was shaking with it, which did interesting things to her tits. "Darling," she giggled. "Stop being a baby." She reached out to hold my prick again. "You know I'd love you even if you had no cock at all. But you have." She slid her hand along its length. "You sure as hell have. And it's plenty big enough for me, or for anyone else, I should think. So stop pouting and stick it inside me. You said you wanted to fuck my brains out, remember?"
I still did, but I was still pissed off, too. "Yeah?" I growled. "That was when you told me about Irving."
"Screw Irv-I mean, forget about Irving," Amy said. "I want you." Still holding me, she lowered herself to her knees in front of me. My cock gave an anticipatory twitch at the thought of what was in store for it.
She opened her hand, releasing me. Her touch had restored me to full erection. "It's beautiful," she murmured and her head bent forward. I caught my breath at the touch of her lips on the sensitive underside of my prick. No matter how many times over the years Amy had pleasured me with her beautiful, talented mouth, it never failed to drive me crazy. And she knew it.
Her lips slid along my flesh, kissing lightly and then I felt her tongue tracing a moist trail down my cock. And up. And around. Meanwhile, she was talking to me-or to it-in a crooning voice, somewhat muffled by what she was doing, but understandable. I told you I was a student of Amy-lingo.
"So nice," she was saying. "So big and nice. Oh, I love it. My sweet prick. I want it inside me so bad. I want to feel it in my belly. All the way up my cunt. Filling me up. Oh yes. Oh yes, it wants me, too. I can tell. Oh you big, sweet thing. Let me eat you up."
Here she took me into her mouth. Just the head at first and then the rest of it, not gulping it all at once, as she had in the bar, but gradually, as if she was tasting every inch. It made my knees weak and I tangled my hands in her hair to encourage her. When she had it all, she began sucking it. Beautifully. Eagerly. But she didn't stop talking.
Of course, with her mouth stuffed as it was, her words weren't words at all, just garbled sounds. But she made them sound sexy as hell. I listened to the smothered murmurs as her mouth moved slowly up to the tip of my cock and to the stifled gurgling noises as it slid back down. I felt the vibrations of her throat as she took me into it and I felt the movement of her tongue as it brushed the underside of my shaft. I wanted to close my eyes to concentrate on those wondrous sounds and feelings; but then I wouldn't have had the arousing sight of that gorgeous bod kneeling before me, the blonde head sweetly bobbing, the luscious mouth stretched wide around my prick.
I wanted it to go on forever. But I knew it couldn't; there was no way I could keep myself from shooting everything I had into that sweet mouth very, very soon. Amy knew it, too. She also knew just how far to go and exactly when to stop before it was too late.
She stopped.
I groaned and tried to make her go on by pulling at her hair, but she nipped me lightly with her teeth. I knew that was a warning that I'd better let her go if I wanted to be able to ever do this again. So I did. She slid her mouth off me with a final tongue caress. I gave into the weakness in my legs and went to my knees, facing her. We were both panting a little. I leaned forward to kiss that wonderful open mouth. Her tongue collided with mine.
We wrapped our arms around one another and we toppled over and fell on our sides, still kissing. We plastered our bodies together, making grunting, whimpering noises into each other's mouth. Our bodies grinding, we rolled around on the floor, my aching prick pressed between our bellies, her breasts flattened against my chest, her legs scrambling to wrap themselves around mine.
Finally Amy pulled her mouth away. "Bernie...."she gasped.
"Yeah?"
"Let's fuck."
"That was ... the general idea," I panted.
"Let me get on top," Amy said. "I'll fuck your brains out."
"You got it, lady." I managed to roll onto my back, with Amy lying full-length on top of me. She kissed me again, her body wriggling sensuously and then pushed herself up until she was kneeling above me, straddling my hips. She reached a hand down to my cock and stroked it, then raised herself slightly, placed my dick where she wanted it and slid down, taking it deep inside her warm, moist pussy.
"Nice," I breathed. "Very nice. Oh Jesus, Amy!"
Did I tell you that among my beautiful wife's many talents was the ability to control her cunt muscles as easily as she might open and close her fist? If I did, it bears repeating; if not, let me tell you now. Not just at the opening, either; Amy could work those muscles all the way up inside and when she wanted to drive me particularly crazy, she could clench and unclench the entire length of that sweet tunnel with a sort of rippling effect. Which is what she began to do as soon as she had gotten all of me up inside her and which is what had brought forth my last exclamation.
Amy smiled at me and rippled away. "Ready to fuck now?" she asked sweetly. She wriggled her upper body so that her tits jiggled at me.
I reached up to put my hands on them. "You may fuck when ready, Gridley," I said.
"Who's Gridley?" Amy said.
"Just fuck," I said. A wife with Amy's attributes can't be expected to be a historian, too.
Amy began to move. I began to moan. She moved a little faster. I moaned a little louder. She settled into a steady rhythm-if such a bouncing, squirming, twisting' rhythm can be called steady. I panted in time with her rising and falling body. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the feel of what she was doing to me, but I had to open them again to look at her as she did it. My head began to spin. The frustrations of the day had built up inside me and all too soon I was getting close to the point of explosion. I decided I wouldn't try to hold back right now, I would just let myself go and then later I would make it up to her. Right now I couldn't do anything but lie there under my wriggling, jouncing wife and let it come closer ... and closer ... and....
The phone rang.
"Jesus fucking H. bleeding Christ bastard," I said, or words to that effect. Then I said, "Don't answer it, for Chrissakes!"
Too late. Amy said, "Hello?"
"Tell me it isn't," I pleaded.
"It is," Amy said. She had not stopped moving. But I had stopped almost coming. I grabbed the phone.
"Goddam...." I got out.
"Bernie, don't hang up," Irving said quickly. "I didn't get to tell you why I called before. I found...."
"Irving," I said as calmly as I could, "I am busy. I am fucking my wife. You are a pest, Irving. You interrupted me when I was fucking your wife and now you do it while I'm fucking mine. I really don't want to talk to you every time I fuck somebody, Irving."
"Bernie, will you listen, please?" This is important."
"Send me a telegram," I said, "preferably from New Zealand. Goodbye, Irv...."
"Lose? What do you mean?" I had already lost most of my hard-on, as well as my temper. In fact, my temper had been lost so long ago that I couldn't even find it anymore. "Lose what?"
"You know that girl you told me about? Up at Carswell & Haynsworth?"
"Yeah. JoAnne."
"I found her, Bernie. And you were right-she did take me in the closet!"
"Mazeltov," I said. The memory of JoAnne in the closet put a little starch back into my dick and Amy squeezed it encouragingly with her pussy.
"She loved it, Bernie. And she wants...."
"I don't want to hear about it, Irving," I said testily.
"Listen! She wants to make it with both of us."
"What!"
"At the same time," Irving said.
I had to laugh. "Are you crazy?"
"See, she says we have two of the biggest cocks she's ever seen. Mine especially. And she...."
"Irving...."
"And she says she just has to have both of them. At once. Me in her cunt, you up her ass. I'm quoting, Bernie.
"Well, quote this, Irving," I snapped. "No way. No fucking way! Is that clear enough?"
"But...."
"No! Goodbye, Irving."
"Listen, damn it! She says if we don't, she'll tell old Jarvis that I wrote 'The World, His Plaything.' And...."
I sat up abruptly, causing Amy to fall backwards off my rapidly-shriveling prick. She gave a moan of disappointment. "What!!" I yelled.
"And then he won't publish it. And he'll sue you for everything you have, she says. So...."
"Hold it!" I closed my eyes and took a very deep breath. "Stop a minute, Irving," I said very slowly. "Wait. Just hold on a minute. Now. Just tell me one thing, Irving. One very simple thing, all right? How-" I had to pause and take another breath. "How did she know that, Irving?"
"You mean about me writing...."
"That's right, Irving. That's very good. Now answer the question. How did she find out that information?"
"Well, I-I guess I told her," Irving said.
My silence was more than eloquent.
"It just slipped out," Irving said defensively. "See, I thought she liked the book. After all, she seemed to be a fairly-intelligent young woman. And she said she didn't think Peggy Ashe was the type to write a novel. So...."
"So you had to brag," I said flatly.
"But I don't think she did like the book," Irving said. "She's not really as intelligent as she appears, Bernie."
"Irving," I said, "listen carefully. I know I have threatened your life from time to time in the past. Perhaps you passed off those threats as mere levity, or as exaggerated expressions of annoyance, not to be taken seriously. But this time, Irving...."
"Come on, Bernie. You can't kill me-at least not before we fuck JoAnne. Because even if I'm dead, you'll still get sued."
"It'll be worth it," I said.
Amy was playing with my cock again and it was responding appreciatively.
"I told JoAnne we'd meet her at one o'clock tomorrow," Irving said. "You'd better be there, Bernie."
"At Carswell & Haynsworth? I don't think all three of us will fit in that closet," I said.
"Will you be there?"
"I don't know," I said. "I'm hanging up, Irving. I'm going to fuck my wife now. Which is something you'll never do. Eat your heart out, Irving."
"I don't understand why you persist in being selfish about Amy," Irving said. "After all, we shared Sylvia...."
"We've been through this, Irving." I laid down to let Amy climb over me again.
"We shared JoAnne...."
"And look what happened," I said bitterly. Then I gave a hiss of pleasure as Amy fitted her talented twat around my prick once more.
"We shared Peggy...."
"Peggy!" I sat up again. Dumping Amy again. This time she looked mad rather than disappointed.
"Of course," Irving said innocently. "We had a wonderful time, Peggy and I."
Amy's eyes were flashing dangerously. "Damn you, Bernie, do you want to fuck or not?" she demanded.
"Just a minute," I said. "What the hell, Irving? When did you-Amy, wait!"
Amy was marching out of the room.
"Goddam it, Irving ... Amy, please...."
"Go to hell," Amy said.
"I thought you knew," Irving said.
It was definitely not my day.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I admit it was a dumb thing to do. I had been married to Amy long enough to know that while she could get very mad very fast, she usually cooled down just as quickly. If I had waited a while, we could have finished what we had started and it probably would have been fantastic. But when she locked herself in the bedroom, my frustrations boiled over and I blew up. First I tried to kick the door down. That didn't work. It's hard, I found, to kick down a door with your bare feet. So I put my shoes on. Then I put on the rest of my clothes and went out and got drunk.
And I mean stinko.
I don't recall much about that evening, after the first couple of bars. I don't remember how I got home. I do remember waking up the next morning, on the couch, fully dressed, with the biggest hangover of all time. I won't try to describe that hangover, because when you get a real honest-to-God morning-after beauty, there is just no description that will do it justice. People in books try all the time. They always say something like: "Ten-thousand banshees in steel boots were pounding at my skull with jackhammers while playing 'The Ride of the Valkyries' on kettledrums." Or something like that. It sounds very cute and all, but just doesn't get at the way it really feels. If you've had them, you know. If not, you're very lucky and I can't stand people like you.
Amy, of course, had gotten over being mad at me. She made me one of her special anti-hangover potions, then helped me out of my soggy clothes and into the shower. She had relieved her frustrations by playing with her vibrators half the night and she wickedly insisted on describing her activities to me in detail. She knew that in my condition that morning I couldn't have been sexually aroused by an entire platoon of bare-ass-naked Bo Dereks. Or even by Amy.
And thinking about how I didn't want to think about sex, I suddenly thought of JoAnne.
"Oh, no," I groaned in despair. "Oh my God!"
"What's the matter?" Amy questioned. "Remember something you did last night?"
"Worse." I filled her in on Irving's side of our conversation of the day before. "The son of a bitch set it up for one o'clock today. What the hell am I going to do?"
Amy was laughing. "You'd better get in shape quickly, lover."
"No way," I protested. "I can't do it. The whole stupid setup would be impossible even if I felt good, for God's sake. But in this condition, forget it! I'm not going."
"Okay," Amy said.
"I'll get sued," I said. "For everything I've got."
"You haven't got anything," Amy pointed out.
"I've at least got an office. And a reputation, small as it is. I'll be out of a business for good."
"You'd better do it, then."
"I'll call her up," I said. I called her up. JoAnne was delighted to hear from me. She told me how much she had enjoyed our previous meeting. She thanked me for sending Irving to her. She described what had happened between them. She expressed her awe and wonder at the size of his cock. She said she was really excited by the prospect of making it with both of us. She said she couldn't wait to feel our two big dicks filling her up, front and back. She said just the thought of it was making her pussy wet. She said she was sorry to hear that I wasn't feeling well, but she was looking forward to seeing me anyway. She said she didn't want to hear about my lack of inclination for sexual activity right now. She said if I wasn't there at one o'clock, she would tell everybody who the real author was of "The World, His Plaything." She said she would see that I was ruined, became a laughing stock and probably went to jail. She said I should have a nice day.
I cursed ( after I had hung up, of course ). I drank some more of Amy's concoction. I cursed some more. I laid down for a while. And cursed. By noon I was able to force down some lunch. Then I cursed for a while. Then I took a cab to Carswell & Haynsworth.
Irving was already there, talking with JoAnne. He greeted me cheerfully. I told him that if I felt better I would knock his teeth out. JoAnne was seated at her desk. She smiled at me.
"Oh, lovely," she said. "We're all here. I'm very excited about this."
"Of course you are," Irving said.
"Look, JoAnne," I began, "I'm really not up to...."
"Sure you are," JoAnne said. "Let's get started, shall we?" She got up.
"The closet again?" Irving said.
"Oh, no," JoAnne said. "We can use Mr. Jarvis's office today. He won't be back for a while." She went to the door of the inner office and opened it.
She was wearing the same kind of skirt and pullover outfit as before and I couldn't help noting that her legs were as good as I'd remembered and that she still didn't wear a bra. We all went into Jarvis's office and she closed the door behind us. There was no lock on the door. JoAnne saw me looking.
"Don't worry," she said, "nobody would come in except Mr. Jarvis and he's out to lunch. And even if he came back and found us, he'd never fire me. He needs me."
"Oh," I said. "Terrific."
Irving had already started taking off his clothes. I slumped against the door. "Look," I said. "Can't we put this off till some other...."
"Bernie," JoAnne said. "Remember when we were in the closet? What a good time we had?"
"Sure, but...."
"Remember you said you liked the way my tits felt and you wanted to see what they looked like?"
"Yeah," I said.
"But you never got the chance, remember? But now you have. Would you like to see them now?"
"Well ... sure," I said. "But right now my interest is purely academic."
"All right," JoAnne said. And she crossed her arms in front of her, grasped the bottom of the pullover and with one smooth motion drew it up over her head and off. She dropped the top on the floor and stood there, letting me look at her boobs. And look at them I did. They certainly weren't the largest breasts I'd ever seen, but they seemed plenty big enough for her slender body. They were beautifully shaped and they stood out firm and proud, like two ripe fruits ready to be plucked, their stiff red nipples pointing perkily upward.
For the first time that day, I acknowledged the faint possibility that some time in the future I might be interested in sex again.
JoAnne moved toward me. "Touch them, Bernie," she said.
I didn't have the strength to argue. I touched them. I touched them for a long time. They felt marvelous. I stroked them and squeezed them and felt them all over. I strummed the nipples with my fingers. JoAnne made appreciative little noises as I did so. I felt a definite stirring in my crotch. A stiffening. An expansion.
JoAnne looked down at my trousers and grinned. "Academic, huh?" she chuckled.
"Well, I ... uh ... you...."
"Kiss me," JoAnne suggested and moved closer, My arms slid around her and her upturned mouth sought mine. We kissed. Her mouth was sweet and hot and very mobile. Her tongue pushed into my mouth, stroking and caressing. I felt her naked breasts pressing into my chest, the nipples hot little points through my shirt. Her lower body moved against my hard-on, making it harder. The kiss went on and on and when it ended I was breathing hard and wasn't thinking about my hangover at all.
We might have gone right into another kiss, but Irving, across the room, cleared his throat impatiently. He was completely naked by this time. "What about me?" he demanded. Just like a little kid. "Don't I get a kiss, too?"
"Go jump out the window," I said.
"Of course," JoAnne said, walking over to him. "Take your clothes off, Bernie."
I removed my clothes while I watched her kiss Irving. She kissed him with the same enthusiasm with which she had kissed me. It pissed me off, but it didn't make me any less horny. I figured maybe I could go through with this crazy scene after all. And then I would throw Irving out the window myself, still naked, as an entertaining distraction for the tourists.
When they broke apart, Irving's cock was hard, too. JoAnne looked from one to the other of us with a blissful expression on her face. If she had said one word about whose was bigger, I would have walked right out of there, clothes or no clothes. But all she said was, "Oh, my God, I can't wait! Let's do it."
She unfastened her skirt and let it fall, then pushed down her panties and was naked. Deliciously naked. Her sweet little backside was nicely rounded, but the compact slimness of her enticing body made it seem somehow un-likely that she could take two large pricks inside it. It was going to be a tight fit and the thought of it was getting to me.
JoAnne instructed Irving to lie down on the floor. She straddled his body and crouched down, taking his oversized dick in her hands. "Let me get this inside me first," she said, licking her lips. "And then you go up my ass, Bernie. Okay?"
"Anything you say," I told her.
"I admire a woman who knows what she wants, "Irving said.
"This will go a lot better if you just be quiet, Irving," I suggested.
"Both of you be quiet," JoAnne ordered. "We're here to screw, not talk." And with that she began to lower herself onto Irving's monster cock.
It was a gradual process. She took it in a bit at a time, pausing after every inch or so to accommodate herself to the massive invasion of her snatch. The breath rattled in her throat as she slid slowly down the widening shaft and her moans and whimpers and little cries of pleasure made me impatient to get inside her and elicit some of those sounds myself.
Finally she had it all. For a long moment she just sat there on Irving's hips with his entire prick up her pussy, panting a little, with her eyes closed and a blissful expression on her face. Then she bent forward, lowering herself onto her elbows, her breasts brushing Irving's chest.
"All right, Bernie," she said breathlessly. "Now. Come on. Now."
I crouched behind her, straddling Irving's legs. Her delectable, rounded ass poked out at me. I put my hands on it; it was as soft and smooth as a baby's. Moving closer, I spread the luscious cheeks apart. I saw the crinkly little hole I was supposed to enter. It looked so small and tight....
My father always told me it was impolite to keep a lady waiting. Of course, he usually imparted these words of wisdom over a long series of drinks in the local bar, while my mother waited at home and wondered whether he'd show up for dinner. But I digress.
I placed my porker carefully at the opening of her asshole. I pushed. She grunted and pushed back at me. I pushed some more and felt a yielding, felt my dick sinking in....
"Oh Jesus God in heaven," JoAnne said.
"Should I stop?" I asked, hoping her response would be in the negative.
"You do and I'll kill you," she warned. So I didn't.
"Aaahh!" JoAnne said. "Oh Christ, Bernie. Oh God. Oh yes. Aahh. Unnhh. Aaahh. Is there ... is there much more?"
"Some," I answered.
"Go on," JoAnne panted. "But slow. Oh, yeah ... easy ... Oh my ... oh my God, it's so ... it's-Christ! Fuck me now! Both of you inside me ... Oooohh...."
Her hips began to make little jerking movements back and forth. She didn't have much space to maneuver in. But each time she moved back, my cock sank a little deeper into her wonderfully-tight rectum. I could feel the hardness of Irving's huge prong through the membrane that separated us; it would have turned me off completely, if it hadn't been for the incredible feeling of that clutching, squirming asshole squeezing my happy honker.
"Ohh!" JoAnne moaned, moving harder. "Oh God, it's good. It's so good! ... I'm filled up ... so full of you, oh Jesus ... two cocks ... stuffing me ... all of me ... aaahh ... ooh fuck ... fuck me till I burst...."
I was willing. I began to move inside her, trying to pick up on her jerky, erratic rhythm. Irving was doing the same from beneath her, but for the most part it was JoAnne who did the work, sawing herself back and forth on our big cocks, groaning and babbling. I was ready to come any time, especially after my recent frustrations, but I gritted my teeth and held on. I didn't want to come before she did-and certainly not before Irving.
Irving was in a better position than I was. Not only did he get to lie down while he fucked, but he had the benefit of JoAnne's lovely breasts sliding on his chest as her writhing body leaned over him. And once, she lowered her head to kiss him passionately on the mouth. Annoyed by this inequity, I gave a particularly-strong thrust, bringing her head back up and wrenching a loud cry from her throat.
She seemed to like it so much that I did it again, digging my cock improbably even deeper into her narrow anal passageway while her cunt was jammed down over Irving's pole. Her cries turned shrill and she began to come. Her whole body shuddered and her trapped hips jerked and twisted repeatedly. I felt the entire length of her shit chute massaging my prick in rhythmic spasm. More than anything, I wanted to let go and shoot my load right then into the farthest recesses of her anus. But Irving showed no sign of coming and I was damned if I couldn't hold out as long as he could. So I hung on and let JoAnne ride it out all by herself.
"Oh, lovely," she said breathlessly after a while. She was still crouching between us with our cocks inside her, but she had pushed herself up so that she was leaning forward on her hands rather than her elbows, her head hanging down, her mouth open and panting, her dark, sweaty hair falling over her face. "That was lovely. Oh. Oh. I'm so glad you boys are still hard. It feels so nice. Let's do it some more."
"Whatever you say, my dear," Irving said. "Speaking for myself, I am enjoying this immensely."
"Shut up, Irving," I said automatically.
"Come on," JoAnne said. "Nice and easy to start, okay?"
We started. Nice and easy. It was more controlled this time, slow and sensuous, but with the underlying promise of a wilder passion as things moved on. JoAnne was more relaxed now and I moved easily inside her snug little chocolate speedway. The three of us were just getting into a fine, cooperative rhythm and were beginning to build nicely toward what I thought might be a triple orgasm, when, without warning, the office door opened.
Jarvis stood in the doorway.
Everything stopped.
Jarvis stared at us with his mouth open and we stared back. At least I did-I don't know what the others were doing, except that nobody moved. I was too stunned. Irving, on the bottom, probably couldn't move anyway and JoAnne seemed perfectly content to stay right where she was.
Jarvis's face went white. Then red. Then purple.
"Grimble!" he choked out. "What-what are you-what's going on here?!"
JoAnne gave a little sigh. "What does it look like, Mr. Jarvis?" she said. "We're fucking."
"You-you...." While he tried to sputter out his indignation, Jarvis's popping eyes were glued to Jo Anne's body, especially her tits. She made no attempt to cover herself.
"Why don't you come back a little later, Mr. Jarvis?" she asked sweetly.
"You-I-Miss Grimble! This is my office!" Jarvis raged.
JoAnne shrugged. Jarvis watched her breasts. "Stay if you like," she said. "But at least shut the door, okay?"
Jarvis's jaw worked. "Miss Grimble-I have never ... You ... you're fired!"
"Come on, Mr. Jarvis," JoAnne said. "You can't fire me and you know it. Who would make your decisions for you? This place would go bankrupt in six months."
His mouth opened, then closed again. Obviously, he agreed with her assessment.
"But-but...." he choked. "How can you-right here-in my office...?"
"Well, you were out," JoAnne explained reasonably. "Anyway, you've done some fucking in here yourself. With Peggy Ashe, remember? Author of 'The World, His Plaything'?"
The real author of that masterpiece, whose cock was buried in her hot cunt at that moment, made a low growling noise. I kicked him in the shin. Jarvis's face went back to red again. "Just-just-get out," he sputtered. "Leave my office. Right now."
I was ready to pull out of her butt and make a leap for my clothes; but JoAnne didn't move an inch, so I stayed where I was. It was nice in that tight little hole.
"But we're not finished yet," JoAnne said. "Besides, if we left now, you wouldn't get to look at my tits anymore."
Back to purple. "I-I'm not-I don't...."
"It's all right," JoAnne said. "I don't mind. I'm glad you like them. In fact, why don't you come over here and get a closer look. And I'll suck your cock for you."
Back to red.
"Come on," JoAnne coaxed. "It'll be nice to have three cocks inside me at once. And you'll love it. Come on. You know you'd like to put it in my mouth."
Jarvis wavered for a long moment while his indignation battled it out with his lechery. No contest. I saw the little bulge form in his trousers. He was already breathing heavily as he waddled across the room toward us.
JoAnne reached for his fly as he got there, quickly pulling down his zipper and digging out his stubby cock. "All right, guys," she said happily, "let's get this show on the road." And without further preamble, she took Jarvis's fat little prick into her mouth and began to devour it.
Jarvis made a sound like a dying seal.
JoAnne made a more appealing noise, muffled though it was by Jarvis's flesh and her hips began to move again. I joined in with her enthusiastically and I guess Irving did what he could to help things along. JoAnne showed her appreciation. Her noises got louder, her movements harder. Her breath whistled in her nostrils, but she didn't miss a beat on her boss's cock. Her moaning mouth moved steadily back and forth, in counterpoint to the wildly-spasmodic rhythm of her body as she was buffeted between Irving's hips and mine.
Jarvis was huffing and grunting like he was going to come any moment. Though I could well have done without his presence ( not to mention Irving's ), I was hoping he wouldn't pop off too quickly, since being pronged by a trio of cocks rather than two seemed to make JoAnne hotter than ever. Her twisting, whip-sawing hips were doing things to my whang that had my head whirling-or was it the other way around? They were having some effect on Irving, too-he was panting and groaning now, I was glad to hear. Not that I wanted him to enjoy himself; I just didn't want him to outlast me.
But Jarvis was not going to last. He was gasping and hissing and making horrible noises, which meant that he was either coming or having a heart attack, or both. Then, with a gurgling yell, he grabbed JoAnne's hair and held on to her as though he meant to shove his dick down her throat. Having seen his equipment, though, I doubted if it reached much beyond her teeth. His crotch jerked several times against her face while he made weird rattling sounds from deep within himself. JoAnne sucked and swallowed, until, with a final groan, he let go of her and staggered back.
His now-limp dork looked ludicrous hanging out of his open fly. He looked down at it as if it had betrayed him, then hastily tucked it back in and zipped himself up. He started to say something, but evidently could not find a sentiment adequate for the occasion. Nobody was paying much attention to him anyway. After a moment, he turned and waddled out, closing the door after him.
"Alone at last," I said, which made JoAnne giggle. But not for long; she was too busy gasping and groaning as the three of us got back into stride. Up to now, JoAnne had pretty much set the pace. But now I began to take over. Irving picked up on my movement and soon we had set up a strong, steady, contrapuntal in-and-out rhythm that had her climbing the walls. She screamed as she came a second time and I could only hope there was nobody in the outer office to hear her.
I was close to the edge myself and I knew damn well that Irving was, too. Our mutual rhythm speeded up-it was the first time the two of us had ever successfully cooperated at anything. I think we both wanted to make JoAnne come yet again, along with us. And we did. She yelled louder than before and collapsed on top of Irving, her body jerking uncontrollably. I couldn't hold back anymore and I was relieved to hear Irving's loud groan of completion just at the moment my cock exploded, shooting jet after boiling jet deep inside that twitching, clutching backside.
We fell apart and lay sprawled every which way on the floor, all of us gasping for breath. After a few moments, JoAnne spoke.
"Let's do it again," she said.
I groaned. "You're kidding," I said. "No, I'm not."
"I can't," I said. "Not right this minute, for God's sake."
"I can," Irving said.
I closed my eyes. "Listen, JoAnne," I said. "You open the window and I'll push him out of it, okay?"
"This is a modern building," JoAnne said. "The windows don't open."
"Oh," I said. "Well, I guess you can't have everything. In that case, let's do it again."
"That's the spirit," Irving said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"No way, Bernie," Paul Gannet said. "Poetry is poison."
Paul was the booker for "More at Four," the afternoon news-and-interview show on Channel Six. We were casual acquaintances and I had inveigled him up to the office with the promise of a free drink. Which meant I had to buy a bottle of Scotch. But I figured it was worth it, because if the discussion went the way it was now going, I would have my Secret Weapon close at hand.
"But this is different," I said. "This girl's stuff is really hot. Here, just read some...."
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Nobody will hear it. The minute the audience hears the word poetry, sets will be switching off all over the city." He emptied his glass. "Got any more of this?"
I poured. "Look," I said, "what you do is hit them with the sex angle. Nobody's going to switch the set off when they hear sex. They'll be turning the volume up."
Paul looked doubtful. "I don't know. This is a family show, we can't get too raunchy." He drank. "Anyway-a lady poet is a lady poet. Deadly. Unless she looks hot. Like Erica Jong ... in her younger days. Does she?"
"Well ... not exactly...." I said. "But that's what makes it intriguing, see. The contrast. She looks like the sweet girl next door, but...."
"Forget it," Paul said. "Not for us. Now if you have a new cat book or a new diet book-or an astrologer. We haven't had anything on astrology for a couple of weeks...."
"But...."
"That's how it is, Bernie. Sorry." He finished off his drink and started to get up.
So I had to go to the Secret Weapon.
"Hold on a second, Paul," I said. "Before you make any final decisions-I'd like you to meet my secretary."
"Your secretary? What for?"
"Well, she might ... show you something you've overlooked," I said.
He stared at me.
I pressed the intercom button. "Peggy, would you come in, please?"
Peggy came in. I introduced them. I could see Paul was impressed. He went so far as to put down his glass to shake her hand.
"Peggy has certain powers of persuasion that I lack," I said.
"I can believe that," Paul said, a little hoarsely.
"Well," I said, "I'll leave you two alone now." And I did.
Jenny was booked on "More at Four" for the following Tuesday.
* * *
I went with her to the studio. She was very polite to me-as she would be to any stranger. She wore the same uninspiring dress she had worn when she first came to my office. And the glasses, of course. There was one difference, though-she had her dark hair up in a bun instead of loose. It was as though she was defiantly trying to make herself dowdier instead of sexier.
Before the show started, we were introduced to the director, Osborne Miles and the two anchor persons, Larry Brewster and Nancy Norris. Miles took one look at Jenny and said, "Oh, God. I think Paul has finally flipped."
"Wait a minute," I said.
"A poet!" he said, rolling his eyes. "Just don't read any, dear, all right?" He walked away.
Larry Brewster took one look at her and said to Nancy, "I'm glad .you have to interview her." And he walked away. Nancy Norris eyed her and asked, "Are you going to be wearing that dress, dear?"
"Yes," Jenny said.
"Oh," Nancy commented and walked away.
I patted Jenny on the arm reassuringly. She pulled away from me. "Look," I said, "don't let them get to you. Just be yourself. Don't be nervous."
"I'm not at all nervous," Jenny said.
"Right," I said. But I was.
Jenny didn't get on until three-quarters of the way into the broadcast. I watched on one of the backstage monitors as Brewster, at the anchor desk, introduced the segment.
"A real treat coming up now," he said. He sounded sardonic, but then he always sounded that way. "Nancy is going to talk with a promising new literary talent, a young lady who we are told is headed for the best-seller list. Remember you saw her here first. Nancy?"
I noticed he hadn't used the dreaded word "poetry."
The scene switched to a shot of Nancy and Jenny facing each other in a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs. Nancy smiled at the camera.
"This is Jennifer Jourdemaine," she cooed. "An exciting new author whose first book, entitled 'The Regretful Rose,' has just been published by Forest Press." She turned to Jenny. "Jenny, it's nice to have you here. What a lovely title-'The Regretful Rose.' Where does it come from?"
"It's the title of one of the poems in the book," Jenny said. I saw Nancy wince slightly, then hastily cover it with another smile. Jenny went on: "Would you like to hear it?"
"Uh ... let's chat a bit first," Nancy said. "It's such a romantic-sounding title. Your poems-your work is mainly concerned with romance, isn't it?"
"Yes," Jenny said. "And love. I believe that the love relationship between men and women is the most important subject in the world."
"I think most of us would agree with that," Nancy said, "but do you...."
"Especially for poetry," Jenny said.
Nancy smiled again. Very brightly. "Tell us a bit about yourself, Jenny. What made you become a writer?"
"I've always written poems," Jenny answered. "Since I was old enough to write. But I never felt I was a real poet until I began concentrating on love as a subject. Now...."
"Yes," Nancy interrupted. "That's certainly fascinating. What is your view of the feminist movement, Jenny?"
Jenny looked surprised. "Why?" she asked curiously.
"Well ... your being a member of the-the new generation of artists, I think our viewers would be interested in your opinions," Nancy said.
Jenny shrugged. "I think it's fine."
"You don't think the romanticism you say you emphasize in your work might clash with the principles of...."
"It's not romanticism," Jenny broke in. "It's reality. All my poems deal with the realities of love. I'd like to read one of them to show you what I...."
"Well, we're a little short of time...." Nancy began.
"I'll read a short one," Jenny said. Before she could be stopped, she had her book open. "It's called 'Summer Sweetness' " The camera moved in on her as she began to read: "My pale thighs open like the apple blossom As your serpent tongue winds into The nexus, warm and wondering, of my being. The ancient honey flows to your lips, And I writhe in breathless dance Desiring forever the throbbing in my soul. Oh rise to me, my love, Enter my body with your pulsing wand, Split me in two and let our keening mouths Cry tidings of our cleaving through the earth."
There was a long pause.
"Uh...." Nancy said. "Um ... Yes. Well ... ah ... that was ... uh, thank you ... um, Jennifer Jourdemaine. Now ... back to Larry."
Nancy had been so startled that she had even forgotten to smile. But Larry, back at the anchor desk, could hardly contain his laughter. His toupee shook as he tried to suppress his reaction. "Thank you, Nancy. Most interesting. Yes, indeed. Well-we'll have some sports news for you right after these messages."
Jenny came backstage as the commercials came on. I wanted to hug her, but considering her attitude toward me, it didn't seem like a good idea.
"You were terrific!" I told her. "Marvelous! I'm really proud of you, Jenny."
Her face was flushed with excitement, but she still looked coolly at me. "Even though I didn't look like a sex object?" she said.
"Forget that," I said. "You were wonderful. The book is going to sell a billion copies."
"I'm glad you're interested in the book," Jenny said. "Even if only for financial reasons."
"Of course I'm interested. Jenny, look, just because...." But I stopped because Nancy Norris had come up to us. She still looked a bit stunned, but she smiled at Jenny-a different smile from the one she used on camera, though not necessarily more sincere.
"Quite a performance," Nancy critiqued. "She should go far, this girl." Then she looked Jenny up and down, a speculative gleam in her eye. "Do you-ah-go both ways, dear?"
"What?" Jenny asked.
"No, she doesn't," I said. "Thanks anyway."
Nancy gave me a glare, then shrugged and walked off. Hard on her heels came Larry Brewster, eyes glittering and toupee a-quiver. "Just have a moment while the sports guy is on," he said in his deepest tones. "Really wanted to tell you how great you were in there, Jen. Look, how about you and me grabbing a bite to eat after the show?" Hmm?"
"She's busy, "I said.
This time it was Jenny who glared at me. "No, I'm not," she said firmly. "I'd love to," she told Larry. "Thank you."
"Great. Hang around, I'll pick you up later." He winked at me and was gone.
"That wasn't a good idea," I commented.
"Why not?" Jenny said coldly. "And what business is it of yours, anyway?"
"Look, Jenny. You just read an erotic poem on television. A lot of people who don't know you are going to think you're...."
"A sexpot?" Jenny inquired teasingly.
"Well, yeah. Now that's great for selling books, but it means you're going to have to be very careful in dealing with people who might want to ... take advantage. Especially guys like Brewster."
"I'm sure I can handle myself, thank you," Jenny said. "And Mr. Culligan, I would appreciate it if you would not interfere any further in my personal life. It's no concern of yours-and it never will be."
And she walked away from me.
"Tough titty," Nancy Norris said from behind me.
I swung around, startled.
"Guess she doesn't go either way," Nancy said. She gave me one of her bright smiles. "How about you?"
"What?" I said intelligently.
"I just have to sign off in two minutes and I'm done for the day," Nancy said. "Want to screw a TV star?"
"Uh...." I said.
"Sure you do," Nancy said. "Everybody does. You wait right here. I'll be back."
I waited right there. I watched the monitor as Larry and Nancy did a little cutesy patter-supposedly spontaneous-as they closed out the program. Did I want to screw her? Well, she was a phony through and through, but she wasn't bad-looking-long reddish-blonde hair, a great set of cheekbones and a sleek, well-engineered body. and as you may have noticed, I'm not in the habit of turning down a romp in the hay when it comes along. As I watched her signing off, my cock twitched in anticipation. Of course I didn't like her much, but my cock didn't care about that.
Before the credits had stopped rolling, Nancy Norris was beside me. "Come on," she said. "Follow me." And she walked away, before I could say anything.
I thought I probably should have been offended by her confidence, and for a brief moment, I thought of just walking out of the studio. A very brief moment. Watching her back, I noted the elegant carriage of her slender body and the shapely lines of her long legs. I followed her.
She took me to her dressing room. It was small and cluttered. There didn't seem to be much room for sexual activity; but what the hell, it was at least bigger than the closet up at Carswell & Haynesworth and I had done all right in there. I noticed a lot of mirrors around; aside from the dressing-table mirror, there was a full-length looking glass on one wall and a smaller one hanging on the back of the door, plus a few others here and there.
Nancy closed the door and locked it. Then she turned to face me. She looked me up and down, much as she had looked at Jenny. "You're a big one," she said. "God, I'm horny. Take your clothes off while I get rid of some of this makeup."
Just to show some independence, I didn't start stripping right away. I leaned against the wall and looked around while she sat at the table and started removing her television makeup. "When you came on to Jenny before," I said, "I had you figured for strictly a ladies' girl."
"Not me," Nancy said. "I do it all. Most of the time I prefer men, actually. Especially after a show. I get so damn hot after a show. Always. Every time." She looked at me in the mirror and her eyes were burning. I figured I had shown my independence sufficiently. I began to undress.
"You know why?" Nancy asked, but she didn't wait for a reply. "Because when I'm on, I know that men-hundreds, thousands of men-are watching me and lusting for me. It's true, you know. Men tell me that. And they write to me about it. Not just weirdoes, either. All sorts of men. They watch me on the air and they think about fucking me. Sometimes they sit there and jerk off just watching me. When I'm on camera and I think about that, I get hot as hell. My nipples go all hard and I get wet between my legs. Then, afterwards, I have to have somebody. I just have to."
I took my pants off. "So you latch on to whoever's around," I said.
"Don't be nasty, dear." She stood up and faced the full-length mirror. "You're getting what all those men only dream about. They strip me in their fantasies. Imagining how it would be to see me take my clothes off." She raised a hand to the neck of her dress and began to open a row of buttons down the front. When she had it open down to her waist, she slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her figure in bra and panties was fuller than I had expected, but the overall effect was still one of slender elegance. My cock stood up to show its appreciation.
I was watching her in the mirror, but she wasn't looking at me. She was staring at her own reflection. Her hands brushed over her body, lightly caressing it. Then they reached back for her bra catch.
"They would give anything to see what my breasts look like," Nancy murmured. And she took off the bra.
Her tits were terrific. Perfect round melons sitting firm and proud, with rich, red nipples sticking up and out. She touched them. Her eyes never left her own body in the mirror. Neither did mine. I dropped my shorts.
Nancy took off her panties. "They dream of seeing me naked," she said, a bit breathlessly. "Look. I'm naked. This is my naked body." The narcissistic woman moved closer to the mirror, until her nipples touched the glass. Then she pressed herself against it. A tiny gasp came from her throat. For a moment, I thought she was going to kiss herself in the glass. But then she moved back a few steps. Still gazing at herself as if in a trance, she slid a hand down over the front of her body. Her legs moved apart slightly and her fingers went between them. "Look at me naked," she moaned, stroking herself. "Nancy Norris, naked."
I had the feeling she wasn't talking to me anymore, but to the unseen hordes of lusting television viewers. I wasn't even sure she knew I was there anymore. But the throbbing of my cock told me I was there all right. I moved forward and reached for her. At my touch she gave a start, then pressed herself back against me.
"Fuck Nancy," she said breathlessly. "Fuck the TV lady."
"That's the idea, all right," I said, rubbing my hard prick against the smooth, yielding cheeks of her ass.
"Wait," Nancy said, pulling away. She reached for her dressing-table chair and swung it around to face the full-length mirror. "This way," she breathed. "Sit down. Sit down here."
I sat. There was no bed or couch in the room, so the chair was probably as comfortable a place as any. I figured she would straddle me face-to-face; but instead, she lowered herself into my lap with her back to me. Of course-that way she could still see herself in the mirror. All of herself.
She sat down on me slowly, her thighs spreading wide. As she moved back against me, she reached down between them, found my stiff prong and held it at the angle which would guide it into her descending pussy. We both gasped as the tip of my tool slipped into her. She took her hand away then and her tight warm cunt slid down over me like a custom-fitted sheath.
Nancy hissed with pleasure. "Ah," she said. "Ahh. Ohh. Ahhh."
"I agree," I said. And I did.
Nancy spread her legs as far apart as they would go, planting a foot on either side of the chair, which let me slide more deeply up inside her. It also gave her-and me, over her shoulder-a good view in the mirror of my prong stabbing into her pussy. In fact, the view of her whole body in that position was pretty spectacular.
Her hips began to squirm as she gazed at the reflection in front of her. I encouraged her by pumping myself up and down slightly and she took the hint and began a slow but rhythmic rising and falling movement around my happy prick.
"Look," she breathed. "I'm fucking. I'm fucking you. "Ohh ... oh, look how beautiful...."
It was beautiful, with her sleek body in motion, her succulent breasts quivering, her slender legs open to show the long stretch of her inner thighs, her triangle of reddish pubic hair below which her cunt rose and fell over my cock. She watched herself as she moved harder. I reached around her to put a hand over her breast, rubbing the hard nipple between my fingers, bringing a moan from her. I slid my other hand down over her stomach, through her pussy hair and down to the labia of her moving cunt, my fingers probing for and finding her tiny clit.
She inhaled sharply when I touched her little love-button and then moaned again as I gently brushed my fingers across it. I continued to explore that sensitive area, while with my other hand I played with her breast, squeezing and stroking them and twiddling the nipples. Nancy's breathing became harsh and she began to move harder. I watched the breast I wasn't holding jiggle sexily in the mirror as she got into a strong up-and-down rhythm. My own breath was coming faster and I moved with her as much as I could beneath her writhing bod.
Nice as this was, I was beginning to wish for a position in which I could be more active. I wanted to really bang it into her and see if I could get her mind off her own image. But that was probably an impossible task. And I really didn't have any cause for complaint. I slid my hand over to the other knocker and squeezed hard, while my fingers stroked in quick little circles around her clitoris.
"Uhh...." Nancy gasped. "Unnh ... Aaahh...." Her movements got jerkier and I knew she was on the way to climax; so was I. I brought my head forward and licked at the skin of her shoulder, suppressing a desire to sink my teeth into it.
"God, I'm ... I'm going to come...." she panted. "Oh, look ... I'm coming ... watch me come ... ohh ... watch Nancy come ... Aaahh ... Unnhh! ... Aahh! ... LOOK AT ME ... AAAAHHH!!"
I watched her and she watched herself. Her hands clutched at my legs and her body spasmed once, twice, three times. Her mouth was open and gasping; her eyes never left the mirror.
She went limp then, slumping in my lap like a deflated rubber doll, my hard cock still up her cunt. I had held off to give her her orgasm and now it was my turn. But Nancy didn't seem interested. I gave her a few moments to recover, but the occasional involuntary twitch of her pussy kept me on the edge. I moved my hips suggestively. No response. I fondled her nipple and licked the back of her neck, trying to raise some interest. Nancy only made a noise that sounded like protest.
"Come on, baby," I said. "My turn." I squeezed her boob.
"Don't," she said. "I'm finished."
"Yeah, but I'm not." I moved up and down as strongly as I could beneath her, but the limp weight of her made if difficult. Still, I was able to slide my prick in and out of her tight twat to a limited extent. In my present state, that was enough.
"No!" Nancy whined, trying to pull away from me. I tightened my arms around her and the squirming of her body pushed me further toward the finish line. It also made me mad. The self-centered bitch had gotten her rocks off and didn't give a shit about anything else. It didn't turn her on to watch me get off.
Unable to break my grip on her, Nancy went limp again, but by now I was about to come. I felt my whole body tightening, ready to shoot my hot wad up into that soft, warm cunt. But I had another idea. At the last minute, I tightened my hold on her even more. With a supreme effort, I lifted her body just enough to let my cock slip out of her. I held her back against me as it began to spurt strongly and the silver jets shot up into the air and fell onto her body. The first couple of shots splashed onto her lovely breasts and the rest hit her stomach and then her red pubic triangle before dribbling off.
Nancy cried out with indignation and tried to hit me with her elbows. I let her go then and she jumped and took a swing at me, blindly and missed. "You bastard!" she yelled.
I got up. Maybe it had been a rotten thing to do, but I couldn't feel too bad about it. In fact, I was chuckling. "Never mind," I told her. "Think of all the TV fans who fantasize about Nancy Norris with cum coating her body."
"Bastard," she said again, but less harshly. Then she turned to the mirror. I guess I had said the right thing. Her eyes softened as she gazed at herself with the slick white stuff dripping from her sweet flesh. Slowly she raised a hand to one tit and began to rub a wad of semen over her skin, while all those unseen men lusted and jerked themselves off in her mind.
I'd had enough and got dressed as quickly as I could. By the time I was ready to leave, Nancy wasn't mad at me anymore. She even kissed me goodbye and offered to give me her autograph. But I told her I hadn't brought my book with me.
CHAPTER NINE
"The Regretful Rose" took off like a rocket.
The day after the "More at Four" interview, every store in New York City was sold out of the book. The reorders poured in. Within a week, Forest Press went into another printing and then a third. Word began to spread and I knew we were home when I got a request for Jenny to be interviewed on "Morning Mainline." This would mean national exposure; so even though they specified that Jenny could not read any poems on the air, I jumped at it. For one thing, I didn't see how they could stop her; and even if she didn't, the general nature of the book would get across. That, I knew, would be enough. I sat back happily and waited for the royalty checks to start flowing in.
My joy was not unalloyed, however; I also got a call from Irving.
"Good move, Bernie," he told me. "Having that weird broad read her hot stuff on TV like that."
"Thank you, Irving. I'm flattered that you approve."
"I do," Irving said. "Now how about doing something like that for my book?"
I sighed. "Irving," I said, "you are not Jenny. Weird, yes-but a broad, no."
"But...."
"Besides, your book is by Peggy Ashe. Remember?"
"So put Peggy on a show. She's sexy. Then, when we've got a best seller, we can reveal the true author. They wouldn't do anything to us then-we'd be too successful! You see it, Bernie?"
"Forget it," I said. "First, Peggy's not bright enough to carry it off and second, that book is such a piece of garbage, Sophia Loren couldn't sell it if she went on naked. So goodbye, Irving."
"Damn it," Irving said, "I don't understand why you keep putting my book down like that. Can't you even begin to see the power, the depth, the...."
"The crap and the bullshit," I said. "Irving, I'm busy."
"Come on, Bernie. You took the book on for agenting, so you must have thought it was...."
I closed my eyes. "Irving. Please. A little respect for the facts here, okay? I took your horrible concoction only because I wanted to fuck your wife and for no other reason. As you damn well know."
"You want to fuck her again, Bernie? Is that it? You want another crack at Sylvia's crack, that's why you're holding out on doing anything for the book, right?"
"No, Irving...."
"Listen, it can be arranged, Bernie. See, I'm not like you, Bernie, I'm not so insanely jealous that I begrudge my own brother a little fun with my wife. If that's what you want, I'll...."
"Irving, for God's sake! That's not-Oh, what's the use." Why was I arguing with this maniac? At least I had one client who was sane-relatively, anyway-and successful. "Don't bother me anymore, Irving. I'm busy thinking about getting rich."
"But...."
"I'm hanging up now, Irving," I said and I did.
But that wasn't the end of it. Later that same afternoon, Peggy buzzed me to tell me that Mrs. Culligan was here to see me. Thinking it was Amy, I said to send her right in. But it wasn't Amy; it was Sylvia.
She was wearing a snugly-fitting blue sweater and an even more snugly-fitting pair of slacks. My throat tightened as I took in that alluring figure. Sylvia always had that effect on me. I used to look at her and go crazy imagining what she was like naked. Now I recalled what she was like naked. I remembered extremely well. It didn't make me feel any better.
"Hi, Sylvia," I greeted her. "Nice to see you get loose."
She didn't smile. In fact, she looked quite tragic. Except for her eyes, which had something in them that I thought I remembered.
"All right, Bernie," she said. "You've got me here. Now what do I have to do?"
I blinked. "What are you talking about?" I asked.
"You don't have to beat around the bush, Bernie. Irving told me the setup quite clearly. I know that to get you to advance my husband's career, I have to pay for it with my body. I've come to submit myself to your every whim."
"Now wait a minute...."
"I know I'll be forced to degrade myself," Sylvia said. "That's what you want, isn't it, Bernie? To have me debase myself before you. To make me crawl and grovel at your feet. To use me as a receptacle for your animal lusts...."
"Hold it!" I yelled. Then I took a deep breath. "Look, Sylvia, I don't know what kind of game you're playing now, but I made it quite clear to Irving-if anything can be made clear to Irving-that I didn't...." A thought struck me. "Wait a minute. Is Irving with you? Like last time? Is he hiding out there someplace? Because I'm going to...."
"No," Sylvia said. "Irving's not here, Bernie. He sent me to face my ordeal alone. A sacrificial offering."
"Oh, for God's sake," I said disgustedly. "Sylvia, look-you're a hell of a sexy lady and a damn good lay, but you're nearly as balmy as your husband and that's pretty serious. Now I really don't want to get involved in this nuttiness and I'm certainly not making any deals with Irving. So why don't we just forget about this and go have a drink or something, okay?"
"I suppose the first thing you'll make me do," Sylvia said, "is take off my clothes."
The thought sent a little tingle through me, but I fought it down. "Please, Sylvia. I don't want you to do anything. Go home to Irving, all right?"
"Very well, Bernie," Sylvia said. "I have no choice." And crossing her arms in front of her, she took hold of the bottom of her sweater and pulled it upward. All the way up and over her head and off. She dropped it on the floor.
Naturally she wasn't wearing a bra. Naturally I stared at her breasts. What else could I do? As I felt my cock stiffen, I realized that the only time I had seen those tits naked before, she had been lying down. They looked different now. Not better, necessarily, but certainly not worse. Fuller. Bouncier. The nipples sticking out and up. Obviously, she was turned on by the little drama she was playing out.
After letting me look for several long moments, Sylvia brought her hands up to cover her breasts in a gesture of phony modesty. But then, with a tiny sigh, she let them fall again. "What's the use?" she said tragically. "I know you won't allow me any dignity. You enjoy shaming me like this."
I took another deep breath, struggling with myself. I had to be strong, or else I knew I would have trouble with Irving, who would insist we had made a deal of some kind. I gritted my teeth.
"Sylvia," I growled. "You came here to do what I want, right? Okay, I'm giving you an order. You understand? An order."
"You have complete power over me," Sylvia said. "I must obey your every despicable command."
"Good. I want you to pick up your sweater and put it on. And then get the hell out of here. Is that clear enough?"
"I thought so," Sylvia said. "You have no pity. You force me to disrobe completely before you." She opened a button at the front of her slacks.
"Stop," I said desperately. "Damn it, stop. Please stop. For God's sake, stop."
Sylvia pushed her slacks down.
This was getting very interesting to watch. The slacks were so tight that she had to work them down gradually over her lusciously-curved hips, pulling first at one side, then the other, gaining about an inch with each tug. This made her breasts shake and quiver and bump each other in a fascinating manner. I felt my hard-on getting stronger as my resistance got weaker. I thought of getting up and walking out. I thought of it. Fleetingly.
"Sylvia," I said. My voice was not completely steady. "I make no deals, you understand? No deals."
The slacks fell. Sylvia kicked off her highheeled shoes and stepped out of them and the slacks together. She wore only panties. Thin ones. Her legs were bare. I looked at them. Not fleetingly. I think I gulped.
"Oh, God, Bernie," Sylvia said, sounding as though she was about to cry. "Will you leave me no last shred of modesty? Must I strip myself utterly naked?"
"No deals," I said weakly.
"You beast," Sylvia quavered and took off her panties.
Somehow I summoned up a last tattered remnant of strength. I buzzed Peggy on the intercom. "Get my brother on the phone," I told her. "And hurry!"
"My God, Bernie," Sylvia said. "Will you take pleasure in gloating to my poor husband over the shameful position you have me in?"
In a minute I had Irving on the line. "Listen," I said, "your crazy wife is here, as you probably know. Now we made no deals, Irving. I didn't agree to a damn thing and I don't intend to. No matter what Sylvia does. Period. Is that absolutely clear to you, Irving?"
Irving sighed. "Well, it was worth a try, Bernie. I thought you enjoyed screwing Sylvia."
"I did. I do. I would," I said. "But not under these conditions. Now you better call her off, Irving. She's standing here stark-naked and I don't know what to do with her. I mean-well, you know what I mean. I'll put her on."
"Sorry, Bernie," Irving said. "I can't help you. When Sylvia wants something badly enough, even I can't control her. You're on your own." And he hung up.
"And now," Sylvia said, "I suppose you'll make me get down on my knees. And crawl."
"Oh Lord," I groaned. But before I could think of what to do now, the door to the outer office opened and Peggy came in.
"Bernie," she began, "it's five o'clock and I'm...." She stopped short when she saw Sylvia. Her eyes went wide.
"Peggy," I said weakly. "For God's sake. What do you think we got this nice new intercom system for?"
"I-I'm sorry, Bernie," Peggy said. "I didn't realize you were ... busy."
"It's all right," I said. "As a matter-of-fact, Mrs. Culligan is just leaving."
"I see," Sylvia said. "It's not enough for you simply to humiliate me and force me to your will. You're going to make me perform these vile acts in front of a stranger."
Peggy looked interested. "Look," I said. "It's not...."
"What next?" Sylvia asked, her voice trembling. "Will you call in all your friends and have me degrade myself with them, too?"
"What's going on?" Peggy asked.
"It's hard to explain," I said.
"All right," Sylvia said, whimpering now. "You don't have to hit me anymore. I'll do anything you say." She got down on her knees.
"Jesus," Peggy said. "This chick is out of her tree."
Sylvia went on all fours and began to move toward me across the floor. "Making me crawl to you on my hands and knees like an animal," she said breathlessly. "Naked. In front of a witness. How horribly degrading." She reached my chair and stopped in front of me. "Must I kiss your feet, too?" she said. And she did. My shoes, anyway.
"Sylvia," I said huskily, "I'm telling you for the last time...." I broke off when she knelt upright and put her hands on my legs. She pushed them apart so she could move between them. I did not resist. "The hell with it," I said, "I'm not fighting it anymore. Do whatever you want."
Her hands slid up my legs. One felt my hard-on through my pants while the other found my zipper. "I'm forcing myself to do this," she breathed. "I know you'll tie me down and whip me if I don't. And maybe even if I do."
"No such luck," I said. She was pulling my zipper down. Peggy moved in to get a closer look.
"Peggy," I said unsteadily, "maybe you'd better go now."
"No way!" Peggy said.
I didn't feel able to argue the matter just then, because Sylvia was pulling my porker out of my pants. It stood up stiff and throbbing.
"How disgusting!" Sylvia declaimed. "And you're going to force me to take that loathe-something into my mouth? And-and ... Oh please ... please don't make me...."
I didn't say anything. I had stopped fighting her, but I was damned if I was going to participate in her weird scene. Even though, at that point, I was hoping to hell she wouldn't stop.
"Oh...." she said in a hopeless tone. "Oh you vile, perverted monster!" And then she lowered her head and took me into her oral cavern.
"Oh my God," I said. And then I said, "Oh, Jesus." I might have thrown in Buddha and Mohammed, too. I was having a very ecumenical experience. Sylvia's mouth and tongue could convert an atheist. There had to be a God to have created pleasure like that.
Sylvia's head moved up and down. Slowly. I began to gasp. "Oh ... oh, yeah...." I heard myself pant. "Oh Sylvia ... oh you sweet little ... oh shit...."
Peggy was watching avidly. "She looks good," my secretary observed. "Is she as good as I am?"
"Damn," I said, squirming as Sylvia's wicked oral digit traced a vein. "I ... I don't know ... How do you compare ... Michelangelo and ... and Rembrandt?"
"Who are they!" Peggy inquired, as I should have expected.
"Ahh," I answered brightly. "Ahhh ... oh, ahh ... oh yes ... oh God yes ... Sylvia ... oh Christ!" I was twisting in my chair now, gripping the arms for dear life. I felt as though I might take off any second and fly up to the ceiling. Sylvia was putting everything she had into this blowjob and I knew I wasn't going to stop myself from coming right down her talented throat.
She moved faster. The room began to spin around. I saw Peggy revolving with everything else, her eyes bright, her hands gently squeezing her own delicious boobs as she watched.
Then I didn't see anything but comets and rockets and shooting stars. My head fell back and I arched my bottom clear off the chair, shoving my prick hard into Sylvia's devouring mouth. I made some loud noises which I will not attempt to reproduce and then I was spurting hard, my hips jerking uncontrollably as I emptied myself into her gullet while her lips sucked and pulled at me and her tongue caressed me encouragingly with each spasm. She swallowed all of my spunk, moaning with greedy satisfaction.
Slowly I came back to earth. I sat panting and blinking stupidly until the office had slowed down a bit. Sylvia was looking up at me from her kneeling position. Her nipples were harder than ever.
"Oh, how could you force me to perform such a horrible, wicked act?" Sylvia moaned. "And what in the world are you going to make me do next?"
"Next?" I said dully.
Sylvia's eyes widened. "Oh, no...." she gasped. "You wouldn't ... you can't want me to ... to do that...."
My eyes closed. "Do what?" I croaked.
"Do ... do perverted things with ... with this woman," Sylvia said.
My eyes opened.
"Hey!" Peggy said. "That's a great idea!"
"Oh, you filth!" Sylvia said and she cried out a sob. "Is there no depth to which you won't sink to get your twisted kicks?"
"Shit," I said.
With a pathetic whimper Sylvia turned away and began to move on her knees, to where Peggy was standing beside the desk. Peggy didn't waste any time; she had her panties off and her skirt up around her waist before Sylvia even got there. She leaned back against the desk and planted her feet wide apart. Sylvia moved close to her and with another dramatic sob, buried her face between Peggy's beautiful thighs.
Peggy hissed sharply and dug her hands into Sylvia's hair, guiding her head where she wanted it. But Sylvia didn't seem to need much guidance. Peggy began to squirm and moan and I got the definite impression that Sylvia's wondrous mouth was giving her as much pleasure as it had given me.
Keeping one hand clutched in Sylvia's hair, Peggy raised the other to the buttons of her blouse, unbuttoning a few so she could slip her hand inside and fondle her breast while the kneeling woman continued her expert cunnilingus. I watched all this with a fair amount of objectivity at first; but after a bit I felt the old cock perking up again. It was a pretty erotic sight, after all. The naked woman was kneeling before the half-naked one, her face in the other's crotch. Both of them were moaning now and Peggy was writhing and gasping and twisting her own titties. by the time Peggy cried out her climax, her violently-jerking body bent forward over Sylvia's still-working head, my prick was in full bloom again. Feeling a little foolish, I stuffed it back inside my trousers and zipped up. Which didn't seem to discourage my organ one bit.
"Ohh...." Peggy panted, slumping weakly against the desk as she released Sylvia's head. "Oh, that was ... lovely...." Then Peggy said, "Lie down, Honey-I'll do you now, okay?"
"Oh, no," Sylvia said bitterly. "Bernie doesn't want me to get any pleasure. Only shame and humiliation, that's what he wants to see. Now he's going to tie me down on his desk and ... and...."
"Forget it," I said.
Sylvia rose to her feet. Her face was wet with sweat, saliva and pussy juice, which somehow made her look even sexier. She walked around to the front of the desk and then bent forward over it, her upper body resting on the desk top, her sweet round ass sticking up and out. It was a big desk and she spread her arms across it toward the far corners, flattening her breasts against its surface and stretching herself as if she were indeed tied in that position. Then she spread her legs apart, standing as though her ankles were bound to the legs of the desk.
"Now I'm helpless," Sylvia said. "You'll be able to whip me until I scream. There's nothing I can do about it."
Peggy was pulling her panties back on and stifling a giggle.
"And then," Sylvia went on, "I suppose you'll take me from behind like this, while I struggle frantically in my bonds."
I wasn't interested in the tying-and-whipping part, but those curvy, jutting ass cheeks were certainly tempting. My cock wanted to slip snugly between them and bury itself in her tight little asshole. My head, on the other hand, told me to get the hell out of there already.
Guess who won?
CHAPTER TEN
But it was not to be. I had just unzipped myself again and placed my hands lovingly on Sylvia's smooth, wriggling buttocks, when the phone rang. Peggy, ever the faithful secretary, reached over Sylvia's body and picked the receiver up.
"Culligan Agency." She listened, then handed me the phone. "It's your wife."
"Hi, Amy," I said, rubbing my eager cock over Sylvia's delectable ass-flesh. "What's up?"
"Have you seen the Post today?" Amy asked.
"No, I've been busy. Why?"
"Well, there's an interesting item on the gossip page about one of your clients," Amy said.
"Not Irving, for God's sake!"
"Nope. The other one."
"Jenny? Really? What does it say?"
"I quote," Amy said. "The headline reads, 'Hot Author Not So Hot?' Then it says: 'People have been wondering if Jennifer Jourdemaine, the sweet-looking author of the hot best seller 'The Romantic Rose,' is really as sexually-oriented as the poems in that lusty collection would seem to indicate. Well, Page Six has the answer: Sorry, fellas. According to a well-known broadcaster ( who is in a position to know ) the winsome Jennifer's passion is all on the page. With flesh-and-blood males, she's downright ... cool. ( We wouldn't say frigid-though he did. )' "
"Oh, Christ!" I said. I was so disturbed that I pulled my cock away from Sylvia's ass cheeks and sat down. "Jesus fucking Christ. That lousy son of a bitch!"
"Who?" Amy asked.
"Fucking Larry Brewster, that's who. That creep on 'More at Four.' It had to be him. And that slimy rag prints that damn garbage. Shit. I'm going over there and punch that bastard in the nose!"
"Now, Bernie, don't start any fights. You know you always get hurt."
"Thanks a lot," I said. "Oh, Jesus, I better call Jenny. I'll see you later."
As soon as she hung up, I dialed Jenny's number. I knew she must have heard about the item and I expected her to be upset and tearful. But I was wrong ( I'm wrong a lot about women ). She was angry, but she sounded a lot calmer about it than I was.
"Yes, I'm sure it was Larry," she told me. "When I went to dinner with him that time after the show, he tried to ... take me to bed. When I wouldn't go, he got mad. He's called me a few times, but I've refused to see him. So this is his revenge, I guess."
"Well, don't worry," I said. "I'm going to find him and beat him up. Then, I'll make him deny what he said."
"That's not necessary," Jenny said. "He's not worth it. And I've already called the paper and made a statement of my own."
"Oh? What did you say?"
"Well, I ... I hope you don't mind...."
"Mind what?"
"I-I told them it wasn't true that I was ... cold. I said I was having a big affair right now."
"Oh," I said. "Who with?"
"With ... with you," Jenny said.
"What!"
"Well, I-I couldn't think of anyone else," Jenny said. "I mean, anyone who ... I mean ... I'm sorry ... I just wanted to ... Oh, gosh...."
"Oh," I said. "Oh, well. It's okay, Jenny. Don't worry about it."
"I hope it won't ... cause you any trouble...."
"Of course not," I said. "I'm very flattered, in fact. And if the paper calls me, I'll be happy to verify it."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Culligan."
"Bernie."
"Bernie," Jenny said.
"I'll tell them you are a warm, highly-passionate female ... and that Larry Brewster is a jealous creep who couldn't get laid in a who-in a house of ill repute," I said.
"I'm very grateful," Jenny assured me.
"What a twist," I said. "A man defending a lady's honor by saying he is sleeping with her when he isn't."
"I guess it is unusual," Jenny responded.
I took a deep breath. "Of course," I said, "now that we're on good terms again, we could, perhaps, make it true."
There was a long pause.
"I don't think so, Mr....Bernie," Jenny said at last. "I mean, you're very nice and if-if things were ... I mean ... But I think I'd better wait for ... for the really right man."
"Ah," I said.
"But I hope we can be friends," Jenny said.
"Friends," I said. "Right." I sighed. "Sure, Jenny, I understand. You're probably right. You wait for the right guy. He'll show up one of these days."
"Not too long, I hope," Jenny said and I could almost see her blushing over the phone.
"Jenny," I said. "Just do me one favor, okay?"
"What?"
"Just promise me it won't be my brother Irving," I said.
* * *
During all this, my distracted cock had gone down a good deal, but it was still hanging foolishly outside my fly. When I hung up with Jenny, the memory of her ripely-virginal body, which I had seen naked and had even touched briefly, but which I would never have, was depressing my spirit. But it was also making the old prick perk up a bit. Then it came back to me that there were two naked women in the room. Given the right stimulation, nothing escapes my eagle eye.
I say two naked women because while I had been on the phone, Peggy had taken the remainder of her clothes off and was now directing her attentions to Sylvia, who was still bent over my desk in that uncomfortable but sexy-looking pose. She had evidently overcome her noble determination to sacrifice her own pleasure, for she was offering no objection as Peggy crouched on the floor with her head between Sylvia's outstretched legs, using her talented tongue on Sylvia's crotch. Peggy had her hands on the straining woman's ass, spreading the luscious buttocks apart and she was alternating between Sylvia's open pussy and her little puckered asshole, her busy tongue squirming deep into whichever opening she was on at the moment. Sylvia was squirming, too and making noises of a kind which brought my brainless battering ram right back up again.
I was eager now to take up my delayed confrontation with Sylvia's succulent asshole, but it seemed only polite to wait until the girls were finished with the task they were so absorbed in. I was not bored, however, watching Peggy reaming out Sylvia's anus so thoroughly, while listening to Sylvia's moans and whimpers get louder and harsher by the second. Sylvia was twisting her ass so hard that even Peggy had trouble keeping her tongue up there. So she switched back to Sylvia's slit, fastening her mouth on it like a leech. Sylvia began to babble, her body bucking on the desk. Then she was coming. Peggy kept her mouth where it was throughout all the jerking and yelling, until the orgasm was over and Sylvia went limp.
Peggy got up then, a big smile on her very wet face, but Sylvia still stayed right in position. That was definitely okay with me. I got up, my prick leading the way and again reached for those devilishly-delicious buttocks. I brushed my cock over them as before, but only perfunctorily this time; I was anxious to get it between them and into that tight, beckoning shit chute.
But it was not so easy. Sylvia's asshole was every bit as small and tight as it looked and even though it was slick with Peggy's saliva, it was not about to accept my fully-engorged cock. I tried and tried, but it was no use; the thing just wouldn't open enough to let me in. I began to curse.
"Bernie," Sylvia said gaspingly. "Beat me."
"No," I said.
"Please ... beat me ... It's the only way...."
I remembered Irving whipping her with his belt to loosen that sweet hole for him. That had certainly done the trick. And if it had taken Irving's cock, it could-I cut off that line of thought.
Obviously the thing to do in my passionate state was to go for an alternate avenue of relief. There were at least five obvious and available ones-Sylvia's pussy, her mouth, or any of Peggy's bountifully-welcoming apertures. But I had sampled all of those delights before; and right then my desire had become fixated on that little puckered opening between Sylvia's thrusting butt cheeks.
"Beat me...." Sylvia moaned once again.
I took a deep breath. "Damnit," I gritted. "No. No!"
"I'll do it," Peggy said.
"What!"
"Well, why not? It's what she wants." Peggy came toward me, reaching for my waist. "Here, give me your belt."
"Wait a minute," I said. But Peggy already had my buckle open and I didn't stop her as she pulled the belt out of the loops. My pants sagged. Feeling somewhat foolish with my cock sticking out of my drooping trousers, I opened the top button and let them fall all the way down.
"Get out of the way," Peggy said, doubling up the belt and swinging it experimentally.
"Now, Peggy, I don't think...." I began, but Peggy pushed me aside and I had to move to keep from tripping on my trousers. Cursing, I pulled them off over my shoes, while Peggy took a stance behind Sylvia, eyeing the jutting ass with a glint in her eye.
"I've never done this before," she said. "It might be fun."
"All women are perverts," I observed wisely. Peggy ignored me. She took a breath, swung her arm back and then brought it down, the doubled strap whooshing through the air. It smacked across Sylvia's desirous buttocks with a sharp crack.
"Sure, Honey," Peggy said. She swung her arm again and the sound of the belt on Sylvia's sexy rear end was like a pistol shot.
Sylvia screamed. Her body jerked under the blow and then began to writhe, but she didn't move her outstretched arms and legs. The belt left an angry red stripe across her buttocks.
My prick seemed as hard as a diamond, but I didn't feel too hot about getting off on Sylvia's pain-even though she obviously loved it. "That's enough," I said.
"Nooo...." Sylvia groaned. "Again ... Do it again...."
"Okay," Peggy said and spanked her again.
Sylvia's scream was louder than before. She twisted against the desk, her ass deliciously rolling from side to side. Peggy was breathing hard and it was not just from the exercise. Her nipples were stiff and thrusting. I stepped forward and grabbed the belt away from her and she gave a small moan of disappointment.
"Now...." Sylvia gasped. "Please ... now ... fuck me now...."
"You got it," I said and stepped once more into the breach. I held her twitching ass still as I spread the crimson-striped cheeks apart. My cock was twitching, too. Probing, I found that the belt had done its work. While it was still not exactly a gaping portal, her asshole had relaxed enough for me to at least get a foothold, so to speak. Though I was tempted to ram it up into her, I held my bestial instincts in check-probably to Sylvia's disappointment-and worked myself slowly and gradually into the narrow anal passageway, while Sylvia twisted and pushed back at me and emitted strange noises.
Meanwhile, Peggy had lowered herself to the floor again and was crawling between my legs. I felt her hands on my thighs as I began to ease my cock back and forth inside Sylvia's snug sweet rectum. And then I felt her tongue on my balls.
I thought my head was going to explode. The pleasure would just burst it wide open and I would expire from sheer ecstasy. I didn't want that to happen, because I figured even if I got to heaven-which seemed extremely doubtful-they couldn't possibly have anything up there that was better than this.
Sylvia's backside was the tightest thing I had ever had the privilege of screwing. It was clamping and spasming around my prick as though she wanted to crush it into pulp. Her ass twisted and squirmed so passionately that I knew I was not going to be able to hold out for as long as I would have liked, which was forever. And in addition, Peggy was licking at my swaying nuts, her fantastic tongue laving them all over. She didn't content herself with that, of course. Her oral finger made occasional side trips, like to the sensitive perineum between my balls and asshole. With a few teasing stabs into the chocolate speedway itself. Then, as my thrusts speeded up, she slid one hand up to my buttocks and I felt her finger slide between them and wiggle its way into my anus. I gasped and started to make groaning noises, which intermingled with Sylvia's shrieks as she approached her climax. Looking down, I saw that Peggy's other hand was between Sylvia's legs, her fingers obviously playing with the writhing woman's clitoris.
And then Peggy's tongue was licking at my cock as it slid in and out of Sylvia's ass, stroking it wetly with each movement. That was the last straw. My knees began to buckle and I had to lean forward over Sylvia to keep from falling, crushing her against the desk. She was bucking so hard that I felt like a bronco rider. Her ass and Peggy's tongue were sweeping me away to some unimaginable destination and I knew I either had to come or black out, or maybe both. And just then Sylvia gave an unearthly screech and convulsed repeatedly beneath me, her fists pounding on the desk as her climax blasted her into a million pieces. A second later I was gone, too and I heard myself roaring into Sylvia's ear while my cock exploded violently inside her clutching, twisting rectum.
I don't remember much about the next few minutes. By the time my head stopped spinning enough for me to remember who I was, I was sprawled in my chair, feeling as though I would never move again. Sylvia had slid to the floor and was lying there, panting for breath, her striped ass still twitching in the aftermath of her come. And Peggy was standing with her legs spread, fingering her crotch with one hand and swinging the belt with the other, hitting herself experimentally to see if she liked it.
She must have decided that she did, because when she saw me watching her, she asked me if I would use the belt on her. I said that even if I had wanted to, I was too weak even to lift the belt just then. I said Sylvia might be willing to help her out. Peggy asked her if she would. Sylvia replied breathlessly that I was her master and she had to do anything I commanded. I wished them a good time and fell asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"How's the suit coming?" Amy asked, taking off her brassiere.
It was a couple of weeks later and I was indulging in one of my favorite pastimes-watching my wife undress. The suit she mentioned did not refer to the clothes I was wearing; I wasn't wearing any. I was lying in bed, comfortably naked, enjoying the view and letting my cock slowly harden as Amy's clothes came off. After five years of marriage, the old boy still responded nicely to that stimulation. It gave an extra little jump as she uncovered her breasts and they bounced happily in their new freedom.
What she was talking about was the legal suit that Larry Brewster was threatening to bring against me, because I had named him to the Post as the guy who had slandered Jenny. They had called me to check Jenny's statement about our imaginary affair. Yes, I told them, certainly I was having an affair with Jenny Jourdemaine, author of "The Regretful Rose," the hot best seller published by Forest Press, twelve-ninety-five at all bookstores. I was very proud to say that, I told them; Jenny was an extremely-passionate young woman, whose erotic poems only hinted at the torrid depths of her sexual being. ( I may have laid it on a little thick-Jenny hinted as much when I tried to call her and she hung up on me. ) I also told them that Larry Brewster was a jerk and a liar who maligned Miss Jourdemaine after she wouldn't let him get to first base. The Post quoted me, more or less. Larry was not happy and had threatened to sue.
"Oh, Brewster's still making popping noises," I said. "But I don't think he'll go through with it. It's just bad publicity for him. It's great for Jenny, though. The book is going wild; they can't print it fast enough."
"That's nice," Amy said. "When are we buying our first yacht?"
"It's hard to park a yacht in Manhattan," I responded. "I'm thinking about a snazzy little sports car, though."
"How about two?" Amy slid her panties down over her hips.
"You're trying to influence me with your feminine wiles," I suggested.
"Looks like I'm succeeding," Amy said, looking at my erect prick. She pulled the panties off, then posed provocatively, stark-naked. "Two?" she said.
"I don't know," I said. "Turn around."
She turned slowly, while my cock got as hard as it could get without bursting. "Well?" she said demurely.
"Come over here and we'll talk about it," I said.
"In a minute." She sat down at her dressing table and started brushing her hair. It was a ritual with her before she went to bed and she always did it nude. I didn't mind; I liked to watch the way the movements of her raised arm made her breasts squirm around.
"What about your other client?" Amy asked.
"Irving?" I made a nasty noise. "Right down the tubes. Carswell & Haynesworth printed about five copies of that thing and didn't put out a line of advertising or publicity. They're just hoping nobody will ever notice it. And who can blame them?"
"Poor Irving," Amy said.
"Poor Irving, my ass," I said.
"Well, I think it's sad," Amy said perversely. "He writes a book he's so proud of and you put somebody else's name on it and it doesn't sell. And he lets you make it with his wife, but you won't even let him near yours. And...."
"Goddamit," I said. "Has he been sniffing around you again?"
"Oh, he's just called me a few times," Amy said. "But...."
"That son of a...."
"Now don't get excited, Bernie. He knows he can't have me as long as you're against it. It just seems so silly. You've never been jealous before...."
"Shit," I said eloquently. "Anyway, I told you that if it really means so damn much to you to boff Irving...."
"Yes, but you didn't mean it," Amy said. "Anyway, of course it doesn't mean so much to me. It's just-curiosity...."
"About his big dick," I said bitterly. "Hell, you could do it with a broom handle if all you want is...."
"Oh, stop it," Amy said, putting down her brush. She got up and walked over to the bed, her whole body rippling sensuously. "Let's not talk about Irving anymore."
"A terrific idea," I said and reached for her.
She sat on the side of the bed and touched my cock, stroking it gently. "So nice," she murmured. "Where would you like to put it tonight?"
"Everywhere," I said.
"My, my," Amy said. "How ambitious." Then she bent over me, slowly lowering her face toward my crotch. I caught my breath as her long yellow hair fell over my prick. She moved her head from side to side to let the soft strands brush across my loins. She knew the feeling drove me crazy. I caressed her leg, sliding my hand up the inside of her thigh to her warm pussy. With a tiny whimper, she lowered her head all the way and I felt the familiar but always gut-wrenching feeling of her soft lips around my cock.
I lay there for a while, letting her work her magic with mouth and tongue and encouraging her by stroking her clit, which made her moan around my dong. The pleasure got so intense that I had to do something else to distract myself a little, or else I would be finished before we really got started.
I tugged at Amy's leg. "Come on up here," I said. "I want to do you, too."
"Umm mphumph wrunge," Amy said, which I translated as, "Be my guest." She moved around and crouched up on the bed with her thighs on either side of my head, without once removing her mouth from my granite-hard dick. I pulled her down to me and buried my face in her warm crotch. Then I stuck my tongue into her delicious pussy and began to lick away at it.
Amy's moans increased in volume and frequency, while her incomparable lips and mouth and tongue became more passionate on my joyous prick. I could enjoy what she was doing now without getting too close to climax, for I was putting all my concentration into licking and sucking and exploring every exquisite crevice of her slowly-writhing snatch.
We had been peacefully engaged for several minutes in this very pleasant activity when the telephone rang. Amy raised her head, startled.
I groaned. "Don't answer it," I croaked. "It's Irving."
"How do you know?" Amy asked.
"It has to be. The son of a bitch has some kind of radar system or something. Every time we start making love, an alarm goes off in his house and he calls me up. The bastard."
"Maybe it isn't," Amy said, starting to get up. "We'd better...."
"No!" I caught her and held on, then rolled her beautiful body underneath me, turning around so I was lying on top of her. "Let it go," I said, holding her down.
She struggled. "But Bernie, it might be im-por...."
"No!"
"But...."
"Listen," I said desperately. "I'll make you a deal. For every ring you don't answer, I'll make you come once tonight. Okay?"
She stopped struggling. She looked up at me, her eyes bright. "Really?"
"I promise."
"Oooo," Amy said. "Let's see, that's seven ... eight ... nine .. God, I hope he's stubborn ... ten ... eleven...."
* * *
For some reason I was completely exhausted the next day. I was slumped in my office chair, trying to work up the energy to go out to lunch, when Irving burst in.
"Great news, Bernie!" he greeted me.
"Goodbye, Irving," I groaned.
"Bernie, listen. I...."
"Irving," I said. "Did you by any chance call me last night?"
"Well, I tried to, Bernie, but nobody answered. I wanted to...."
"I knew it. You son of a bitch, Irving. Look at me. I'm a wreck, Irving. A gutted husk of my former self. And it's your fault, you...."
"What are you talking about?" Irving questioned. "I just wanted to tell you the good news."
"I don't want to hear it," I said. "Get out of here."
"Bernie, it's finished!"
"Good," I said. "So are you. Goodbye."
"Damn it, Bernie, you don't understand! It's done! I finished it yesterday! Look!" He held up a thick manila envelope.
I had a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach.
"What's finished?" I croaked. I knew I shouldn't ask, but I also knew he was going to tell me anyway.
"The sequel! "Irving cried. "The ... sequel?...." I asked weakly.
"The sequel to 'The World, His Plaything,' " Irving said, putting the envelope on my desk. "And it's even better, Bernie! It's the greatest...."
"No," I said.
"I call it "And Now, The Universe,' " Irving said. "You'll love it, Bernie. It picks up where...."
"No, Irving," I said firmly. "No. No way. Take that thing out of here. And you go with it. Far away, Irving. I never want to see either of you again."
"Don't say that, Bernie. You're my agent."
"I resign."
"You're my brother!"
"I resign from that, too," I said.
"Now, Bernie. You're not going to make me go to some other agent, are you? I mean, I would have to explain about Peggy Ashe and all. It could get very confusing, Bernie. And if it got around...."
"Irving. Listen to me. Forget it. Even Peggy couldn't see old Jarvis on a sequel now. Throw that thing away, for God's sake. Stop trying to be a writer. Try something else-only don't try it on me."
"You're just jealous," Irving said. I would have hit him, but I didn't have the strength. "I know you'll love it when you read it, Bernie. I know it!"
My head was throbbing. I looked at the manila envelope, then looked away. "Irving," I moaned, "I can't do it. Now let's be reasonable here. What would it take to get you to just take the thing out of here, put it away someplace and never even mention it again?"
"Are you kidding?" Irving asked incredulously. "My sequel? My masterpiece? The greatest...."
"You're making me nauseous," I said. "There must be some way, Irving."
There was a pause.
"Well...." Irving said. "Well ... perhaps ... for a night with Amy...."
I decided I wouldn't hit him, after all. I would strangle him. I started to get up to do so. I stopped. I cursed. I started to get up again. I stopped. I took another look at the envelope on my desk.
