Some of the anger had disappeared from Sally's mind. She remained silent for the moment and pondered over the man's instructions. Finally, she decided she had nothing to lose and perhaps a helluva lot to gain. She'd swallow her pride and cooperate.
"Take off everything?" she asked.
"Yes, everything," Wilson directed. "Except your stockings and shoes."
Sally took a deep breath. Slowly, she removed her skirt, letting it slide down her legs before stepping out of it. She knew she was blushing, but she couldn't help it. There was a second of hesitation. Suddenly, she was filled with fresh determination, a degree of boldness that urged her on and to get it over with.
She faced Wilson almost squarely as he stood some seven or eight feet away from her. Even his speculating stare failed to dampen her enthusiasm. She unfastened first one and then another of the buttons of her blouse and took it off. At least a third of her breasts swelled over the top of her bra.
The man's eyes widened in eager anticipation. His eyes leveled on the wide streak of nude flesh which was exposed between the bottom of her bra and the elastic band of her half-slip.
Teasingly, Sally asked:
"Do you have any preference, Mr. Wilson, as to which garment comes off next?...."
CHAPTER ONE
Sally Logan's vivid blue eyes noted the neat sign on the door as she reached for it. It said:
MARK CARTWRIGHT, PRESIDENT
She took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.
A big man with broad shoulders and black, wavy hair was seated behind a huge, glass-topped desk. He looked more like a professional football player than the president of New York City's largest manufacturers of fine china.
"Hello," Mark Cartwright said briskly, his eyes still focused on the stack of papers in front of him.
"Hello, Mr. Cartwright," Sally said, still overcome by the plush office.
Carpet an inch thick covered the floor, and the hot summer sun failed to penetrate the heavy drapes which cloaked the big plate-glass windows.
Moments passed in silence as Cartwright continued to study the papers. He still hadn't come face to face with Sally, even though now she had paused only an arm's length from the desk.
Sally stood there taking closer inventory of the man, doing her best to hide the nervous tension within her. She realized by the appearance of his desk and his office and flawless creases in his dark suit that Mark Cartwright was a stickler for neatness.
Suddenly, Cartwright looked up at her, and a thin smile quickly creased his lips. Now he was taking inventory of Sally. She was a platinum blonde, her hair cascading down over her ears, and her eyes were lined with a thin line of blue mascara. Her lips were coated with bright red lipstick. Her breasts put a terrific strain on the buttons of her pastel blue blouse and tapered into two sharp points.
Cartwright's smile became broader now. He rose, leaned toward her, and extended his hand.
"I'm Mark Cartwright," he said, taking her hand in his and noting her long, beet-red fingernails.
"Sally Logan ... "
"Yes, I know, Miss Logan." He released her hand almost reluctantly. "You want to go to work for Cartwright Manufacturing Company?"
"Yes. That's right," Sally replied.
He motioned toward a chair at the end of the desk facing him.
"Why don't you come around and tell me about yourself?"
Sally circled the desk and sat down, automatically crossing her legs. She had always heard that being sexy landed a girl a job quicker than anything else, and she wanted this one. She already had concluded she wanted to be the personal secretary to Mr. Mark Cartwright, and she was going all out to get the job.
Cartwright's eyes wasted no time picking up the beauty of her shapely legs, which tapered off into black spike-heeled strapless shoes. His heart pounded sharply as his eyes picked up the hem of her tight skirt, which had pulled daringly above her luscious knees.
He reached in his pocket and withdrew a package of cigarettes, extending it toward Sally.
"Cigarette?"
Sally took a cigarette, inserted it between her brilliant lips and drew hard on it, as Cartwright held his lighter for her. She exhaled a long stream of smoke.
"Thank you."
"Now tell me about yourself," he said, lighting a cigarette, relaxing in his chair and continuing to let his eyes wander from the pointed contours of her breasts down to her knees and back to her breasts again.
"There's not too much to tell," Sally began. "I've never applied for a job before. I just got out of secretarial school last week."
She outlined her life briefly, telling him she'd graduated from a Brooklyn high school two years previously and had spent the last two years learning how to be a good secretary.
Cartwright pretended to be listening, but he knew damn well his mind wasn't entirely concentrating on what she was saying. When she had finished, he cleared his throat.
"That's very interesting, Miss Logan." He bit his lips and sat there surveying her finer points.
And he admitted silently that Sally Logan certainly had some finer points. Two in particular.
"I'd like to know what you're looking for in a job, Miss Logan," he said finally.
Sally was slightly puzzled by his remark. "How do you mean?" she asked. "What are your aims?" Sally smiled.
"Well, I suppose I'm looking for two things, at least. I want to become a successful career girl."
"And the other aim?" Cartwright prompted.
She grinned rather sheepishly.
"I guess I'd have to admit I'm hopeful of meeting an attractive man."
Cartwright smiled.
"That's normal." Once more, he was staring holes through her, boldly thinking this was a bundle of delicate flesh he's like to get into bed with him. He was drawing a mental picture of Sally's nipples thrusting against the pale fabric of her blouse. "How do you feel about sex, Miss Logan?"
The question stunned Sally. It had come so unexpectedly. Like a bolt of lightning piercing the sky. Quickly, though, she regained her mental composure and took a long drag on her cigarette.
"I don't know quite how to answer that," she admitted. "I didn't realize that would be one of the questions."
Cartwright laughed aloud.
"Are you a virgin?"
"Mr. Cartwright!" she exclaimed, her face smothered half in a smile and half in surprise. Again, he laughed out loud.
"Perhaps that was an unfair question all right, Miss Logan," he said rather apologetically. "Maybe I should've led up to that question by saying that I'm not entirely interested in hiring another secretary who merely puts in time from nine to five. Do you have any qualms about working after hours ... when it's necessary?"
Sally reached to the desk and crushed her cigarette into an ash tray. "No. Not at all ... when it's necessary."
"Okay," Cartwright returned. "Now I'll tone down my previous question a little bit. Are you a prude, Miss Logan?"
"No, I'm not," she answered firmly, drawing a deep breath in a sigh of relief.
Really, he'd wanted to press her for an answer to his question as to whether she was still a virgin, but he decided to be content with determining whether or not she was a prude.
"How well can you handle your liquor? I assume you do drink...."
She reached for another cigarette and waited again, while he held the lighter for her. Biting into the end of the cigarette, she replied:
"Yes, I drink, but I know when to stop, Mr. Cartwright. At least, most of the time."
The telephone rang, and Cartwright picked up the phone.
"Mark Cartwright ... "
Sally lapsed into a moment of meditation, completely ignoring the telephone conversation. My God, she thought silently, he's certainly an inquisitive man. I wonder what he's looking for ... a secretary or a girl to party around with?
Moments later, Cartwright put down the phone and turned toward Sally once more.
"I guess that's about all of the questions. I have an appointment down the street, and while I'm gone, I'll send our personnel director in to give you a typing and shorthand test. You do take dictation, don't you?"
"Yes," Sally replied.
"Good," Cartwright said, jumping up from his chair. "Just make yourself at home, and Mr. Moses will be along shortly. I'll only be gone thirty or forty minutes."
"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright."
She watched his eyes take a parting glance at her legs as he moved around her and walked toward the door to the reception offices. When the door closed behind him, she got up and began to wander around the office. Silently, she compared her height with his. She estimated Cartwright was slightly taller than six feet, maybe even six-feet-two, as compared with her five-feet-seven and one-half inches. She figured he must weigh close to one hundred and eighty pounds, and it was all bone and muscle. Not a trace of fat. Sally tipped the scales at one hundred and twenty-four. Entirely in the nude.
She possessed a small, narrow waist that swept in beneath large, pointed breasts and then curved out over her smooth hips. Her stomach was extremely flat, and her buttocks firm mounds of rounded flesh.
Sally was a blonde all the way. A natural blonde. She used a tint on her hair to make it platinum.
In short, Sally Logan was a beautiful girl with a perfect figure. She was just what a man would want a twenty-year-old girl to look like.
She had dreamed since her graduation from high school of the day when she could move away from her parents and have her own apartment. To do this, she needed a job. If she got this job, that was the first thing she was going to do. And she had resolved to go all out to get this job for which she was applying.
The door opened, and Sally's meditation was interrupted. She turned around and came face to face with a little man, who appeared to be in his mid-forties. He was slightly bald and a little more than slightly on the plumpish side.
"Miss Logan?" the man asked, locking the door behind him and starting toward Sally. "Yes," Sally acknowledged.
"I'm in charge of personnel here," he explained. "Name's Timothy Wilson. Don't believe we've met each other. My assistant must've directed you to Mr. Cartwright and handled your application."
"That's right." Sally moved toward him. "I'm glad to meet you. Mr. Cartwright said you were coming in to give me a typing and shorthand test."
Wilson stood there looking at her, mentally appraising her. He had already reached the conclusion that this girl had a lot of everything.
"I'd hardly call it a typing and shorthand test, Miss Logan," he said finally. He was staring at her. "In fact, I'd say right now that you'll do very little typing and take very little dictation, if you get the job. Very little, if any."
"I don't understand," Sally countered.
"To put it bluntly, Miss Logan, I have been told to examine the merchandise," Wilson revealed. "Would you mind removing your clothes?"
Sally was too stunned to move. She wasn't in the habit of undressing for strange men.
"What the hell is this?" she blurted out angrily.
"I want to see what you look like. In the nude. I want to make certain everything under that skirt and blouse is real. These are the boss' orders. You see, Mr. Cartwright ... "
"I won't undress for you or anyone else!" Sally snapped. "I won't ... "
"You want the job, don't you?" Wilson interrupted. "Mr. Cartwright has always paid a very good salary to a so-called hand-picked girl, and she must qualify physically as well as mentally. Looking at you, I think you stand a darn good chance of getting this job if you cooperate and do what Mr. Cartwright wants you to do, and he wants your statistical measurements, when he returns to the office."
Some of the anger had disappeared from Sally's mind. She remained silent for the moment and pondered over the man's instructions. Finally, she decided she had nothing to lose and perhaps a helluva lot to gain. She'd swallow her pride and cooperate.
"Take off everything?" she asked.
"Yes, everything," Wilson directed. "Except your stockings and shoes."
Sally took a deep breath. Slowly, she removed her skirt, letting it slide down her legs before stepping out of it. She knew she was blushing, but she couldn't help it. There was a second of hesitation. Suddenly, she was filled with fresh determination, a degree of boldness that urged her on and to get it over with.
She faced Wilson almost squarely as he stood some seven or eight feet away from her. Even his speculating stare failed to dampen her enthusiasm. She unfastened first one and then another of the buttons of her blouse and took it off. At least a third of her breasts swelled over the top of her bra.
The man's eyes widened in eager anticipation. His eyes leveled on the wide streak of nude flesh which was exposed between the bottom of her bra and the elastic band of her half-slip.
Teasingly, Sally asked:
"Do you have any preference, Mr. Wilson, as to which garment comes off next?"
"No," he answered simply and then added anxiously, "Not necessarily."
"Okay."
Sally's long red fingernails flashed to the elastic band of the half-slip and drew it down over her buttocks and stepped out of it. She was standing there now only in her bra, matching black lace panties, a black garter belt, her nylons and spike heels. Quickly, she removed the garter belt, dropping it across the back of a chair with the rest of her clothes.
She looked at Wilson and detected the anxiety and impatience in his eyes. A trace of guilt rippled through her body, and she wasn't certain she was going to be able to go through with it. The thought of getting the job bolstered her courage again. She reached for the clasp of her bra, unfastened it and pulled her bra away. Her breasts sprang free, hard and proud and extending straight out, the red-tipped nipples standing out rigidly.
Wilson gasped.
"My God!" he groaned. "They're the real McCoy, all right! I wondered ... "
"Oh, they're real, all right, Mr. Wilson," Sally said assuringly.
She laughed aloud at the look of disbelief on Wilson's face. Without further hesitation, she caught hold of the band of her panties and rolled them down her legs and stepped out of them.
Wilson's eyes brimmed with feverish excitement.
"I guess that does it," Sally said, feeling much better now, even though she was clad only in nylons and spike heels. "What comes next?"
The personnel director produced a tape measure and wondered if it was going to be long enough. He moved close to Sally and thrust the tape measure around her body.
"I have to get all of the measurements," he grinned. "Just relax."
Wilson felt a storm of excitement kicking up in his loins as he stretched the tape measure around Sally's chest and over the tips of her breasts. He hesitated.
Sally sucked in a deep breath of air, expanding her chest to its greatest peak.
"Don't strain," Wilson said. "You've got plenty any way you look at it." He cleared his throat. "Forty-two and one-half inches," he mumbled.
Wilson measured everything-from the top of her head to the tips of her toes-her legs, her buttocks, her hips, her waist, even her neck and the length of her arms. Through it all, he had perfect control over his emotions. Outwardly, at least.
Sally didn't have nearly as much control over hers. There were times when the man's touch electrified her with a tingling sensation.
Wilson took a final and reassuring glance over the contours of her graceful and curvaceous body.
"You have a beautiful body, Miss Logan," he smiled, drawing away from her. "You should be very proud of it."
"Thank you."
"You can get dressed now," Wilson said.
For the first time since she had removed her clothes, Sally felt embarrassed. She turned away from Wilson and picked up her clothes.
He watched her, catching a fleeting glance of her lovely breasts, as she raised her bra around them. Moments later, she had restored all of her clothes to their proper places, picked up her purse, taken out a cigarette and lit it.
Wilson went to Cartwright's desk, picked up a pen and made a notation on the note pad. Without further delay, he went to the door, unlocked it and disappeared.
Sally sighed with relief, wandered across the office and sat down in the chair near Cartwright's desk. Curiously, she leaned toward the notepad ... "One hundred in typing and one hundred in shorthand."
A thin smile spread over her face. She wondered whether Timothy Wilson had really carried out Cartwright's orders or had just wanted to see her in the nude. Either way, it was a strange method of making application for a job as a personal secretary to the president of a big manufacturing concern. She shrugged her shoulders and drew hard on her cigarette.
Cartwright entered his office again moments later, walked past her, and stopped at his chair behind the desk.
"Well, I see you're still here, Miss Logan."
"Did you think I was going to run off, Mr. Cartwright?"
"You never can tell about women," he answered, his eyes falling on the notation on the note pad. "I see you did very well on the tests."
Sally let out a little chuckle.
"I guess I did. It was a pretty damn rough test, I can tell you that."
Cartwright laughed.
Sally still didn't know whether he believed she'd really taken typing and shorthand tests, or whether he knew precisely the type of examination Wilson had given her.
"All right, Miss Logan, you've got the job. Can you go to work today?"
Sally hesitated. She wanted to move. This was Friday, and she was afraid it might not be too easy to move on Saturday or Sunday.
"Could I make it Monday morning?" she asked rather timidly.
He looked directly at her.
"Sure." He sat down. "I guess we haven't discussed salary, have we?"
"No, sir," she returned and was glad he had brought up the subject.
"What about a hundred a week?"
Excitement immediately erupted within her.
"That'll be swell, Mr. Cartwright."
Sally rose from her chair and put out her cigarette, saying:
"I'll see you Monday morning."
Cartwright jumped up and accompanied her toward the door. He put his arm lightly around her and looked down at the penetrating, swollen rise of her breasts and felt a wave of unparalleled desire sweeping through his body. He paused beside her at the closed door.
"What are you going to be doing between now and Monday morning, Sally?"
"I hope to find an apartment and get moved," she replied. "I may try to find another girl and share an apartment with her."
"Are you going to be doing anything tonight?" he asked, still silently admiring her charms.
She stood there looking at him, silently, wondering frankly whether Cartwright was toying with the idea he might be able to lure her into bed with him. Finally, she concluded that this was a silly thought.
"If you'd have dinner with me, it would give us a chance to become better acquainted," he prompted.
"All right, Mr. Cartwright," Sally agreed without further hesitation.
"Good. Where can I call for you?"
Sally debated his question.
"If I get moved, I don't know where it'll be. Could you give me a phone number where I could reach you later in the day? Maybe around five or six o'clock?"
She took the card.
"Thanks, Mr. Cartwright. See you later."
"Goodbye."
She reached for the door, and he caught her by the arm.
"You can forget 'Mr. Cartwright'. Just call me Mark."
"All right, Mark."
She opened the door, stepped into the outer office and closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER TWO
Three hours later, Sally climbed out of a taxi in front of a large apartment house a couple of blocks off of Broadway, on Sixty-seventh Street. As she emerged from the cab, the driver spun his head around and watched her skirt draw high over her knees, putting her shapely legs on sexy display.
Sally paid the driver, walked into the apartment house, took the elevator to the ninth floor, moved down the hall until she was standing in front of the door to Apartment 94. She rang the buzzer and waited.
Seconds passed before the door opened. A pretty brunette stuck her head around the edge of the door.
"You're Miss Logan?" she asked.
"Yes," Sally replied. "I called you about the apartment you have advertised."
"Won't you come in ... "
Sally entered the spacious living room of the apartment. Her immediate interest focused on the girl with whom she might share the apartment.
"Won't you sit down?" Ginger asked, backing toward the divan and dropping onto it.
Sally sat down in a chair not far from the divan and kept sizing up the girl.
Ginger was about five-foot-three and was wearing a red jersey jump-in that had zippered legs and was tied at the waist. The brunette's large, pear-shaped breasts formed two distinctly separate mounds which rose high on her chest, the nipples vividly outlined against the clinging material. She had on a pair of glittering, red five-inch spike heels, and Sally concluded she wore them to make her appear taller.
Ginger's fingernails were long and slender and, like her toenails, had been freshly manicured with heavy coatings of snow-white lacquer.
"You have a very nice apartment here," Sally volunteered, sucking in a deep breath of the cool air from the air conditioning.
"Thank you, Sally," Ginger said, lighting a cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke from her brilliantly red lips. "I guess you'd like to know some of the details."
"Yes," replied Sally. "I have a date tonight, and I'd like to run over home and bring part of my things over right away, if that's possible."
"If you decide to move in with me," Ginger said, "you can move in any time. We split all expenses, including the rent, which is one-eighty a month. That makes ninety dollars apiece. Other than that, we pay only for the lights. And the telephone, of course."
"Sounds interesting," Sally said, figuring that one week's pay would take care of the apartment.
"Perhaps we'd better talk a little about our personal lives before you decide," Ginger suggested. "I'm nineteen."
"I'm twenty," Sally told her.
Ginger pulled her legs onto the divan and crossed them, leaning back on the arm. "I work bastard hours-six o'clock in the afternoon until two in the morning! That's the reason the ad said to call in the early part of the afternoon."
Sally explained that she had just taken her first job and was a secretary.
"I'm a hostess at a swank restaurant in mid-Manhattan," Ginger continued. "With my hours, you'd have full possession of the living room, if you wanted to bring your date to the apartment."
Sally removed a cigarette from her purse and lit it.
"I'm sorry," Ginger apologized, "I didn't offer you a cigarette."
"That's all right."
Ginger glanced at her watch.
"My God, I've got to start getting dressed for work." She jumped up and started toward the bedroom, turned around and faced Sally again. "I'll bring my things out here, and we can keep talking while I dress. I just got out of the bath tub when you rang, and I slipped into this."
She tugged at the bow around her waist and disappeared.
Already, Sally had taken a liking to Ginger. She made the decision quickly but silently that she'd share the apartment with Ginger Melony if the younger girl agreed.
Ginger returned carrying a coat hanger with a gold lurex sheath hanging from it. She removed the jump-in and nonchalantly faced Sally, clad now only in a pair of red lace panties and the spike heels.
She wore no bra. Her ripe, young breasts were firm and extremely pointed.
"Do you drink?" Ginger wanted to know, drawing the sheath over her head.
"Some. I started drinking about six months ago. A guy I had three or four dates with got me started."
"I learned to drink when I was a senior in high school, and it comes in pretty handy around a joint like a supper club where everybody drinks," Ginger said, moulding the sheath over her body.
Sally believed it was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen. It fit Ginger like rubber, curving tightly over her breasts, hips, and buttocks, and it struck her just above the knees.
"That's a very pretty and sexy looking sheath," Sally told Ginger. "Makes you look like a million dollars."
"Thanks. I like it, because I don't have to wear a damn bra with it. The bra's built in."
Ginger went back into her bedroom and returned with a pair of gold, high spike-heel sandals with gold nailheads and stepped into them.
Sally resolved right then that when the money started coming in from her job she was going to buy herself a gold lurex sheath and matching gold spike heels.
"I think there's one more thing I should tell you about myself, Sally," Ginger said, going to her and sitting down on the arm of her chair.
Sally looked up at her during the ensuing silence and concluded Ginger was about to change her mind.
"Sure, go right ahead. If we're going to be roommates, we can't keep any secrets from one another."
Ginger seemed to relax.
"Well, occasionally, I bring home a boy to spend the night with me. Or what's left of the night and up into the morning. Frankly, I lost my virginity when I was in high school." She paused momentarily. "Do you have any objections to this kind of arrangement?"
Sally was surprised at the brunette's boldness and knew she could never be equally as frank about her personal life with a strange girl.
"No," she replied. "I figure anything you do is your own business."
Ginger beamed.
"You know, I like you, Sally," she said. "You do seem a little shy right now, but you'll come out of that if you stay around me." She slid off of the chair arm, picked up a cigarette and lit it, facing Sally once more. "So ... what's the verdict? Do you want to shack up with me?"
Sally laughed and said:
"Yes, I'd like very much to share the apartment with you."
"Good. That settles it." Ginger got her purse and removed a key. "This is the key to the apartment," she said, handing it to Sally. "We'll have a helluva time together. You can pay your half of the rent when you get paid." She reached for her cigarettes. "I have to get to work. See you later, Sally."
"Thanks for everything," Sally told her as she opened the door and disappeared into the hallway.
Sally felt good. Everything was working out for her. She had a job, and she had an apartment. Her dreams were nearing reality. Ginger Melony was just about the kind of a girl she wanted to share an apartment with. Ginger was obviously a bit on the wild side, and Sally had long nursed secret ambitions to let her own hair down and kick up her heels once in a while. Until now, she had had little opportunity, but things were going to be different now.
Only one thing was missing.
A man.
Sally needed a man. She had never gone with any man on a really steady basis. Four or five dates had been about the limit. To tell the truth, she'd never met a man she cared a great deal about.
Suddenly, she thought about Mark Cartwright. She'd become so wrapped up in her thoughts that she'd forgotten entirely about her approaching date with Mark. She looked at her watch. It was five-thirty.
She realized now that she didn't have time to think about moving the rest of the day. She hardly had time to go all the way over into Brooklyn to dress for her date. And in thirty minutes she had to call Mark.
Sally jumped up and wandered through the apartment. She went into the kitchen and looked around. The kitchen was spotless, and she concluded that Ginger was a good housekeeper. She went to the refrigerator and opened it. Her eyes fell on a bottle of Scotch. She decided she needed a drink, found a glass, poured herself an inch of straight whiskey and drank it. The liquor burned her throat and crashed into her stomach, but it felt good. It was exactly what she had needed to set her in motion for her date with Mark.
Mark ... he does seem like a nice guy, she thought. He's young and wealthy and has a nice smile and nice voice. I wonder exactly what he's got in mind for me. Actually, they don't seem to give a damn whether I can type or take shorthand or not. All that seems to concern them is my face and my legs and the size of my bosom.
Sally was becoming more interested now in her date with Mark. Perhaps the date would help clear up some of the mystery, she concluded.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a clock striking....
One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... Six o'clock!
Sally rushed to the telephone and dialed the number on the card Cartwright had given her, then waited. She heard Mark's voice.
"This is Sally Logan. I told you I'd call you at six and tell you where to pick me up. Still interested?"
"Of course, I'm still interested," Mark replied. "I'm looking forward to tonight. Did you find a place to live?"
"Yes."
"What's the address?"
Sally gave him the address and the apartment number.
"What about seven-thirty?" Mark asked. "Can you wait that long to eat?"
"Seven-thirty will be fine," Sally agreed.
"Okay. I'll see you at seven-thirty, sharp," Mark said.
"Goodbye."
She hung up and began to ponder over her plight of not having anything to wear. She felt like she couldn't face him wearing the same clothes she wore for the interview. Mark Cartwright would expect her to be dressed like a girl should dress for a date with a rich man.
Sally toyed with the idea suddenly of wearing some of Ginger's clothes. Finally, she shook her head. ... Ginger was several inches shorter than she, and anything of Ginger's would strike her several inches above her knees.
She looked down at her skirt. She had put it on freshly cleaned and pressed that morning. She had an idea now. Quickly, she went into Ginger's bedroom and stirred through the closet, searching through Ginger's abundant supply of blouses, until she found one she was certain would open the eyes of Mr. Mark Cartwright.
Sally looked at the size ... a thirty-eight. Just right. She removed the blue blouse she was wearing and slipped into the black one, went to the mirror and studied the reflection.
The blouse fit her perfectly. It was pure mesh with sleeves that came all the way down to her wrists and was cut low in front, permitting the upper portions of her bare breasts to be exposed. It had no lining and was covered with hundreds of tiny sequins that sparkled brilliantly.
It had a heavy concentration of sequins forming two circles about the size of dimes that fit squarely over her rigid nipples and was meant to be worn without a bra or a full slip.
And that's the way Sally was going to wear it.
Without bra or full slip.
Mr. Mark Cartwright was going to get his eyes full. He'd be so busy staring at this show-every-thing blouse he wouldn't have a chance to think about what else she was wearing.
Sally returned to the closet and found a pair of the most seductive spike heels she'd ever seen.
The shoes were coal black and trimmed in silver nailheads with large rhinestone buckles. She carried them to the bed, sat down, and removed her nylons. She slipped her feet into the shoes and found that they, too, fit her perfectly. The toes were open and accented her red-lacquered toenails.
That did it! Everything was perfect. Sally Logan was going on her first date with Mark Cartwright, bare-legged and as bare-breasted as the law allowed.
Sally Logan resolved right then and there she was going to have herself a helluva time.
CHAPTER THREE
It was seven-thirty, give or take a minute or two, but only a minute or two, because Mark Cartwright was as punctual as any man-or woman-in the glittering city. And he was busy right now ringing the buzzer on the door leading to Sally Logan's new apartment.
The door opened, and Sally stood in front of him.
"Hello, Mark," she said in her most sultry voice.
For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. Timothy Wilson, his director of personnel, was right ... this girl was one hundred percent, any way you looked at her. Finally, he said, "Hello, Sally."
"Won't you come in a moment?" Sally asked. Mark stepped inside. "Terrific," he said immediately.
"You like the apartment?"
"The apartment's fine, but I wasn't really appraising the apartment; I was talking about you," Mark returned, his eyes aglow as they soaked in the beauty of this luscious doll standing only three or four feet from him. He felt himself rapidly stirring to life as he stared at her.
Her lips were rich red. Her eyes were accented with fresh mascara. Two-inch rhinestone earrings dangled from her ears. She wore a large sparkling ring on a finger of her right hand. The whiteness of her body glared through the black mesh of her sequin-covered blouse. Its plunging neckline bared the deep valley between her breasts, the two big mounds of naked flesh seemingly mounted on a shelf high on her chest. Her smooth legs tapered gently into the spike heels, the highest heels she'd ever worn.
"Do I look all right, Mark?" she wanted to know.
"You're gorgeous!" he replied. "You certainly don't look like the girl who came to my office this morning to apply for a job."
He kept staring at her. He pointed to a spot directly in front of him and said:
"Come here."
Sally moved close to him.
Without saying a word, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him. Still without saying a word, he kissed her.
Hard.
For a brief second, he found her body stiff and unrelaxed. Suddenly, her body became putty in his arms, and her arm circled his neck, and she was seeking to get the utmost out of the kiss-as if she'd never again have the opportunity to feel his lips against hers.
He felt the sharp tips of her breasts digging deeply into his chest.
Then it was over, and he drew away from her. He backed slightly away and continued to stare at her. He said nothing.
Sally was as lost for words as Mark. Pure, raw desire was curling through her body. Mark Cartwright had forgotten more than most guys she'd known ever knew about the technique of kissing a girl.
Without warning, she suddenly blurted: "Mark, are you a married man?"
"No." He laughed. "Divorced?"
"No." He was shaking his head and grinning. "I'm free, white, and over twenty-one." He saw the relief in her eyes. "Are you getting hungry?"
"It's been a long time since noon," she admitted. "That bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich has started to wear off."
"Then why don't we do something about it without further delay?" he suggested.
"Okay."
He took her arm and escorted her out of the apartment. Moments later, Mark held the door of his plush limousine open for her after telling his chauffeur to remain seated. As she slid into the rear seat, Mark's eyes followed the hem of her skirt as it pulled high above her knees and put the gentle rise of her shapely thighs on breathtaking display. He climbed into the seat beside her, took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly as the limousine sped away into the shadows of the approaching night.
"Do you have a steady boy friend, Sally?" Mark asked, gripping her hand more tightly now.
She shook her head "no."
"Have you lived in Brooklyn all of your life?"
"My parents moved to Brooklyn from a little town in Pennsylvania, when I was five years old," Sally explained. "I don't remember ever living anywhere else."
He released her hand, took out a package of cigarettes and offered it to her.
"Light it for me," she said.
Mark lit two cigarettes and inserted one between her lips. Slowly and gently, his hand found the soft flesh directly above her knee, and he was swayed by the surge of passion which skyrocketed through his body.
"You know, I'm taking you to my penthouse suite high over the city," he revealed. "Do you have any objections?"
Sally looked at him and smiled.
"I should object," she replied, "but I'm not going to."
"Does it frighten you that you'll be all alone with me?" he asked, his hand continuing to fondle the delicate nude flesh of her thigh. "Soft lights and lots of food and all of the champagne you can drink...."
She drew hard on her cigarette. She felt a little ill at ease because the chauffeur undoubtedly could hear every word of their conversation.
"I guess I should be frightened, but I'm not. Not really."
She paused and added boldly:
"Not a damn bit."
The limousine stopped in front of a swank apartment house towering high toward the sky.
"That's all unless I call you," Mark told the chauffeur, as he and Sally emerged from the vehicle.
Sally was stunned by Mark's comment to the chauffeur. She knew damn well that sooner or later somebody was going to take her home, and that somebody undoubtedly was going to be Mark's chauffeur.
"That's all ... unless I call you...." the words echoed in her ears.
Sally and Mark went into the apartment house, located in one of the most expensive rental areas in all of New York City. A uniformed doorman nodded, and they entered the elevator and rode in silence all the way to the top of the building.
Mark's arm circled Sally's waist as they left the elevator, and he escorted her down a long, narrow hallway and into his penthouse suite.
"God!" she moaned as she quickly surveyed the luxurious living room. Rich, thick Oriental carpeting covered the floor, and very expensive maple furniture was arranged expertly. "I've never seen anything like this before. Why, Mark ... "
Her words faded away as he took her into his arms, crushed her body against him, and kissed her. He released her quickly this time, wound his arm around her waist and ushered her through one door after another, through the spotless kitchen and outside onto the large secluded veranda. Far below the lights of the city sparkled brilliantly. The veranda was arranged like a sidewalk restaurant, except that there was only one table with two chairs and electric candles at each end.
A portable bar flanked the table, which already contained two place settings. The table was situated beneath a canopy. A high railing extended all the way around the veranda, and lattice ran from the floor to the railing. Parallel with the railing was a long, plush divan.
"What do you do when it rains?" Sally asked, her curiosity running away with her.
"There's a switch just inside the kitchen door that controls a large, heavy canvas canopy overhead," Mark replied. "It covers the top and the sides. Not a drop of rain can get in."
"Very interesting."
Mark took her by the arm and guided her to the portable bar.
"Would you like some champagne before dinner, gorgeous?"
"Please," she answered.
During her brief drinking career, she had never tasted champagne, and she was looking forward to it. Besides, she wanted to feel relaxed and gay, and she knew of no better way to achieve that feeling than to have a couple of drinks.
He poured her a glass of champagne.
"Now you make yourself comfortable at the table and nip away at the champagne, while I bring out the dinner. I have a little confession to make. I let the maid off so that we could be alone, but dinner's all ready."
He disappeared into the kitchen.
Sally sat down and began to sip the champagne. She'd always heard that you really didn't feel anything when you drank champagne, but that all of a sudden you found yourself feeling very, very gay.
And that's the way Sally Logan wanted to feel.
Very, very gay.
After all, when dining with the filthy rich, do as the filthy rich do. And enjoy it while you have the opportunity.
Mark went back and forth four or five times, and dinner was all ready to be eaten. He sat down at the opposite side of the table from Sally.
"How's the champagne, Sally?"
"It's wonderful," she returned.
"You like quail?" he asked.
A sheepish grin bathed her face. "Really, I don't know. I've never eaten quail before."
"You don't know what you've been missing," Mark suggested. "It's one of my favorite delicacies."
They dined on quail and drank champagne. When the quail was gone, they drank champagne. And more champagne.
Mark tilted the flame from his lighter to the tip of Sally's cigarette.
"Would you like to go over on the divan?" Mark wanted to know.
"And leave the champagne?"
"We'll take the champagne with us."
Sally got up, circled the table, her cigarette in one hand and her glass of champagne in the other, and sat down in his lap.
"I feel like being a very naughty little girl," she said, beginning to feel unsteady. "I'm going to get drunk, Mark. What do you think of that? I've never been drunk. Not really drunk."
"Be my guest, Sally," Mark said. "I think it'd be a lot of fun to get you drunk."
"I've always heard a guy can have a helluva lot of fun with a blonde when she's drunk," Sally said, raking her lips very close to his.
He kissed her for a long while, unchecked desire racing through his body.
"Come on," he said, drawing away from her, "let's go over on the divan."
She thrust her arm tightly around his neck.
"Pick me up and carry me over to the divan," she said.
Mark picked her up into his arms, letting her legs dangle loosely in the air, and carried her to the divan and sat down beside her.
"More champagne," she laughed.
Mark poured two more glasses of champagne, drank part of his and set the glass down on the railing in front of them. He decided to waste no more time going to work on Sally Logan. He kissed her lightly on the lobe of her ear as his arm circled her and his hand swept up beneath her armpit and grasped the fullness of her breast. He squeezed gently.
She gasped with his touch.
"That feels good, Mark," she cooed, twisting her head around toward him until her lips were only inches away from his. "Kiss me!"
He removed the glass from her hand and set it down on the floor.
"Kiss me!" she pleaded, her voice filled with urgency.
His lips melted into hers, and he felt her tongue drive into his mouth and begin to lash against his tongue. Her long, sparkling fingernails tightened, noose-like, around him, and he felt them digging into the back of his neck. He felt a quiver surge through her body.
Sally felt Mark's hand on her legs.
Between them.
Higher.
Ecstasy mounted within her like lightning bursting out of the sky.
She pulled away from him and removed his coat. She wanted to be even closer to him. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body. She unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. She removed his undershirt and ground her arms around his naked chest and crushed him to her, but still there was too much between them.
"Take off my blouse," she urged drunkenly. "I'm hot as hell!"
Mark removed her blouse, and his arm brushed against the erect nipples of her breasts, sending a wave like an electric current knifing through his body.
Now there was nothing between them.
They were nude from the waist up.
It was pure flesh against flesh.
He buried his face between her breasts, began to massage each one with his lips. One and then the other. His hand caressed her thighs, and he sensed that she was experiencing one fresh sensation after another.
Suddenly, she spun out of his arms. She found the zipper of her skirt, yanked it down and removed the skirt. Her half-slip followed, and Sally was entirely nude except for her panties and spike heels.
"We'd be much more comfortable in the bedroom," he suggested.
"Then let's go into the bedroom!" Sally blurted back without hesitation. "I don't give a damn where it happens, just as long as it happens! And quickly!"
He could see the outline of her body in the reflection of the light-her large, excited breasts; her face; her legs; and her comparatively dark panties against her milky-white skin.
"You're drunk, Sally. I never like to take advantage of a girl when she's drunk."
"Hell, yes, I'm drunk!" she admitted. "But I know what I'm doing, and I know what"I want! Don't keep me waiting any longer!"
Mark Cartwright wasn't about to keep her waiting any longer. He was convinced that she did know what she was doing, and he knew what she wanted as well as she did. And he was going to give it to her. The desire was mutual. Mark wanted Sally Logan like he'd wanted no other woman.
He scooped her into his big, husky arms and carried her into the kitchen, through the living room, down a hallway and into the large bedroom.
He put her down on the edge of the bed and backed away from her. For the first time, he was viewing her nearly nude body in brilliant light, and to say he was overcome at what he saw would be putting it mildly.
"Come here, handsome," she purred.
He started to remove the rest of his clothes.
"Wait a minute, Mark!" Sally said. "Come over here and stand in front of me. I started that job, and I'll finish it."
He smiled and went to her.
Sally reached out and loosened his belt and slid his trousers down his legs. She laughed aloud when she saw his red-striped shorts. She knelt down in front of him, unlaced his shoes and removed them and took off his socks while he towered impatiently over her.
"And now," she boasted, "I'm going to see what the president of the city's largest china manufacturing company looks like. What he really looks like. In the raw."
She sat back down on the edge of the bed, un-snapped his shorts and let them fall to the floor.
"God!" she mumbled, throwing her head back on the bed. She stretched out the full length of the bed and elevated her buttocks. "Take off my panties, Mark!"
As he reached for her panties, he heard her spike heels bounce against the floor at the foot of the bed. He had barely managed to slide the filmy lace garment down her legs and off before she raised up, threw her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her.
Quickly, his hands found the peaks of burning flesh rising from her chest, and his lips sought hers.
"Now, Mark! But please be gentle with me," Sally murmured. "You're getting a virgin!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Mark Cartwright didn't believe it. He heard her all right, but he couldn't believe his ears. Sally seemed too easy, too experienced in the preliminary part of making love.
He felt her arms tighten around him and her fingernails penetrate his back as he kissed her, lashing his tongue against hers in one of his wildest moments of ecstasy.
Sally felt him moving to her, the first forward motion. A streak of pain seared her body, and she realized now that she no longer was a virgin. She was a woman.
All woman.
The pain mounted, but she clung to him as if she had suddenly found herself in deep water and didn't know how to swim.
Mark moved again.
Deeper.
All the way.
Sally flinched and then experienced the greatest sensation of her life.
The pain had faded away.
She found herself automatically assuming part of the initiative, her hips grinding pistons as her legs encircled him. And then it happened.
They scaled the heights together like a whirlwind out of control, reaching the ultimate point of no return in unison.
Perfect unison.
A lengthy silence followed. Their energy had dwindled to zero.
Sally felt good. Very good. There wasn't a trace of regret in her thoughts as she lay stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
For a moment, she turned back time to the first year she was in secretarial school. The boy's name was Walt Phillips, and she had gone reluctantly with him to the beach at Rockaway on the subway.
Sally and Walt had gone out into the water until it was up to their necks. Walt started playing around with her, touching her between her legs and squeezing her breasts through her bathing suit.
"Let's blow out of here," Walt suggested. "Why?" Sally asked.
"I'm going to take you to a hotel room," Walt insisted.
"Like hell you are!" Sally spat. "Oh, come on," he begged.
"No!" she said angrily, broke loose from him and hurried from the water. She told Walt she'd see him after they got dressed, but in the dressing room, she merely pulled her clothes on over her bathing suit, marched right back out the door, and caught the subway to Brooklyn and home.
That was the first time Sally had been propositioned to go all the way. She had dated quite a few boys in high school and several during secretarial school. Occasionally, she had permitted boys to touch her between her legs and feel her bosom and, of course, kiss her, but Mark Cartwright was the first man who ever managed to take off her panties or view her breasts in the nude.
Sally, in short, had been pretty much of a prude by present day standards.
Until she met Mark Cartwright.
She smiled now as she thought of Mark, who remained silent beside her. She wondered what he was thinking and decided to find out, shifting her head around toward him, she said:
"A penny for your thoughts, Mark."
Mark grinned.
"I was thinking how surprised I was to find that you were really telling the truth when you told me that this was the first time."
"You didn't believe me, did you?"
"Frankly, no," Mark admitted. "With a body like yours, the idea seemed fantastic. But I certainly found out."
"How was I, Mark? Were you disappointed?"
Again, he grinned at her, this time inserting his arm around her and spinning her around toward him.
"I'll admit that this wasn't my first time. Not by a helluva lot. And you were the greatest of all of them. Magnificent." He came face to face with her. "Are you sorry, Sally?"
"Sorry?"
"Yes-sorry that you are no longer a virgin?" Sally shook her head.
"No, I'm not sorry. I made my decision when you asked me if I had any objections to having dinner alone with you in your penthouse, and even though I was tight as hell from all of that champagne, I knew what I was doing. Precisely what I was doing."
Mark pulled her lips down to his and kissed her and felt her hard breasts digging into his chest.
When he released her, she continued to look down at him.
"You know what I want now?" she asked. "What do you want now?"
"I want to do it again!" she answered excitedly. "Now?"
"Right now! This very minute!"
Her words were wasted because Mark was already pulling her over on top of him. He imbedded himself deep within her, and he felt her hips begin to sway above him. He'd heard her sigh in the wake of the full impact, but he realized she knew exactly what to do.
Sally felt like she was on a giant ferris wheel, going up and down. Under and over. To the bottom and then to the top. Over and over again.
Mark's hands made a desperate effort to consume her voluptuous breasts, but it was impossible. He heard her breathing hard, drowning out his own staggering search for breath. This blonde bundle of dynamite was entirely too much for one man, he concluded.
THE END came with shattering force that left them both totally exhausted, spent, all energy drained from their bodies. She had collapsed against him, and her breath was coming in short, jerky motions now. Her body was as limp as a wet towel, and suddenly, her jerky breath had become slow and easy.
Mark soon realized that Sally was asleep. He felt her breasts. They were not nearly as hard now, being comparatively soft and pliable.
He rolled her away from him, climbed out of the bed, and lit a cigarette. He stared off into space, smiling. Yes, Sally Logan was the best he'd ever encountered. He could remember most of the girls he'd taken, and some of them drifted back into his thoughts now.
There was Jill. She had a weakness for green clothes-panties and bra included. Dark green on the outside and pastel green underneath. She was a honey-colored blonde of twenty-five, and she had had plenty of experience in bed. She was good in bed, too, if you could get her there before she got too drunk for action.
And Bonnie. Bonnie had just turned twenty-one the night Mark met up with her, and she was in the mood to celebrate. Her idea of a celebration was one which lasted three days. And nights. And Mark spent all of them with her in a swank hotel suite she rented just for the purpose. She was a brunette with long, slender legs, and a forty-inch bosom. She talked big, but she was actually frigid in the clutch.
Flo was a dancer in a chorus line at Radio City Music Hall. She possessed brilliant red hair and pale green eyes and was stacked from here to hell and back. Flo had spent many a night in this same penthouse apartment with Mark, before he found out she was a divorcee not once, but three times, even though she was only twenty-three.
And Marcia. She was a little Spanish dish, five-foot-two. All you had to do was touch the rosebud nipples of her breasts and she began to sizzle. She was only nineteen at the time and had poise to spare. Her trim buttocks swayed when she walked, and when she got in bed with a man the sky was the limit. There wasn't anything she wouldn't do.
Penelope was a high society dame who liked diamonds and mink. She was twenty-two, stood five-nine in her high heels, had long legs, a narrow waist and wide hips. She never wore a bra and claimed she possessed America's biggest breasts, and every dress she wore was cut low in front to advertise her claim to fame. She drank pure, undiluted whiskey and chain-smoked foreign cigarettes through a long holder. Mark always figured she was the best roll in the hay he'd had.
Until Sally Logan came along.
There was something about Sally that was different from all of the rest. Mark sat down on the edge of the bed near her, gazing at her. He couldn't reach a conclusion as to what it was that made Sally different. Nevertheless, she was like no other girl he'd ever known.
Sally was at peace with the world, stretched out there on the bed facing the ceiling, her legs forming a forty-five-degree angle and her terrific breasts pointing upward like two giant pyramids, rising and falling as she breathed.
Mark saw Sally stir slightly. She rubbed her eyes and suddenly awakened. She turned slowly in Mark's direction, blinked her eyes and smiled.
"How about a cigarette?" she asked.
Mark lit a fresh cigarette and handed it to her.
"Thanks." She took a hungry drag from it. "Now I'd like some more champagne."
"Really living it up, aren't you, doll?" Mark said, noting that her eyes were roaming up and down his nude body.
"Hell, it isn't every day that a girl loses her virginity," Sally shot back. "What is it that redhead used to say in shorthand class? 'I got drunk and I got laid last night'. Well, Sally Logan got laid tonight. Not once but twice. And she got drunk, too."
Mark began to laugh aloud.
Sally rolled across the bed and climbed out of it and ran to Mark and kissed him.
"You know," she said, "you don't seem like my boss."
"Right now, I don't feel like your boss, either," Mark returned. "I feel like I've been on a merry-go-round and gone round and round and round. I'm still spinning."
"Now tell me the truth, Mark," Sally said, facing him squarely and moulding the curves of her body into his. "Mr. Wilson ... was he supposed to give me a typing and shorthand test, or was he supposed to find out what I looked like? In the nude?"
Mark had a sheepish grin on his face.
"Well, he was supposed to find out how well you could type and take dictation, but it looks like Timothy Wilson was up to his old tricks again. Did he really make you strip?"
Sally wasn't satisfied with Mark's explanation. She silently concluded he was lying. She raked her lips over his lips.
"You bastard!"
He tapped her breasts lightly.
"Well, I had to have some way to find out whether those things were real or not."
"You should know pretty well by now."
"I do."
Mark kissed her again, feeling the suction of her mouth as his tongue darted past her lips. He liked the taste of her lipstick. He liked everything about her.
Deep in his thoughts, Mark reached the unqualified conclusion right then and there that Sally Logan was going to be good for Cartwright Manufacturing's business. Contracts would come easy now with a girl like Sally around. Big contracts.
Sally was exactly the type of personal secretary he had been searching for. And he did mean personal!
When she drew her lips away after the long, burning embrace, she said:
"Now be a good boy and go bring some champagne. Lots of champagne."
"If I go get the champagne, will you promise to do something for me?"
She curled her lips in a little circle.
"I don't know," she answered slowly, indicating she was deep in meditation. "Bring the champagne first, and we'll see."
He turned toward the door.
"You drive a hard bargain."
He disappeared into the hallway, her throaty chuckle resounding in his ears.
Sally touched a match to another cigarette. I'm going to hook Mark Cartwright, she was thinking. I've known him less than twenty-four hours, and already I'm in love with him. He doesn't know it, but after tonight, he's not going to get me in bed every time he thinks about it. I'm going to play it smart ... give him a good sample and then cut him off.
Nearly.
I can't say it will never happen again until we're married, because I need it as badly as he does, but I'll give in only on special occasions.
Yes, I'm out to nail Mark Cartwright-hook, line and sinker.
Mark returned to the bedroom carrying a new bottle of champagne emersed in a bucket of ice. He ripped off the stopper as he entered, a loud thud echoing through the room. He poured two fresh glasses of champagne and handed one to Sally and began to sip the other one.
He drew close to her and asked:
"Now that you've got your champagne, what about the promise?"
"Promise to do what?" Sally replied, her voice filled with suspense.
"Spend the weekend with me."
"Here?" she asked, draining her glass.
"Right here."
"I haven't enough clothes," Sally countered, refilling her glass with champagne.
"Hell with the clothes. We'll eat together, sleep together when we sleep, drink together, and I'll show you everything I know about rolling in the hay. All in the nude."
Sally was hitting the champagne hard again now.
"I have to move before I go to work Monday morning."
"That won't be any problem," Mark assured her. "After we have lunch Sunday, I'll call my chauffeur and he'll take you to Brooklyn and help you move." He eyed her closely. "Now, you can't ask for more than that."
"What about Ginger?"
"Who in the hell is Ginger?"
"My roommate." Sally ran her hand over his flat stomach. "What will she think?"
"Do you really give a damn what she thinks?"
"No."
"Then you'll stay?" Mark asked again, this time more hopefully than before. "Don't you think you should?"
Teasingly, she replied: "No, I really shouldn't, but I will!"
"That's my girl!" Mark said excitedly, scooping her into his arms. "I've got plans for you. Big plans. Right over here." He set her down on the bed. The full length of the bed. It was time for the third round.
CHAPTER FIVE
Days went by. Two weeks. A month.
It was late Friday afternoon, five weeks to be exact, since Sally Logan had started to work for the Cartwright Manufacturing Company, in general.
And Mark Cartwright in particular.
Sally was seated behind her desk in the end of Mark's office, where his personal secretary always did her work. She was typing the last letter he had dictated earlier in the day, her fingers putting the words down on paper but her thoughts occupied with only one thing.
Mark.
Since that weekend she spent in Mark's penthouse apartment, she hadn't been able to figure him out. He'd been friendly enough and had even taken her to lunch several times during the noon break, but never again had he asked her for a date after working hours.
And only once had he seemed to have more than a passing interest in her. That was a few hours earlier, while he was dictating letters to her.
She had been waiting for him to continue his dictation. After a lengthy pause, she looked up at him. His eyes were glued to the streak of flesh showing above the tops of her nylons.
"Those are nice legs," Mark said, a rather silly grin on his face.
She didn't know whether to brush him off, in view of his recent business-like behavior, or to joke around with him. So finally, she said:
"You ought to know."
"Remind me to look into that matter a little later," he smiled.
Then he resumed his dictation.
She finished typing the letter, picked up a cigarette, and relaxed in her chair. Sally knew it was true that Mark had been extremely busy the past five weeks, and he had gone out of the city on at least two weekends, on business.
At least that was what he told her he was going to do.
Still, she felt that if he was really interested in her, he could've found time to have an occasional date with her.
"Dammit!" she mumbled aloud.
She silently reiterated her love for Mark despite the disappointment of the past month. She not only wanted to be with him but was in desperate need now of something else.
Sex.
She'd had a taste of something she liked, and she wanted more.
Not just with any man. She could walk in any bar and pick up a dozen men, but she had resolved she'd never be intimate with a man she wasn't in love with.
There'd been times recently when she'd seriously debated saying to hell with her resolution, but somehow she had each time managed to weather the storm. To get rid of the ache which swept through her lovely young body.
She didn't know right now how long she could go on keeping her resolution. If only Mark would ... damn him, anyway!
Sally put out her cigarette and covered her typewriter.
"You must always cover your typewriter when you leave at night," Mark had told her that Monday morning after her weekend in bed with him".
She picked up her purse, walked across the office, looked at the vacant chair behind Mark's desk, turned and headed for home.
Another week in her secretarial career was over. And another week had gone by without Mark Cartwright. Or most of another week, anyway.
Thirty minutes, a short subway ride, a walk of a block and a half, and a hundred dammits later, Sally opened the door to the apartment she shared with Ginger Melony and went inside.
Ginger emerged from the kitchen wearing gold baby doll pajamas and matching gold mules.
"Well, how's tricks, Sally?"
Sally tossed her purse into a chair.
"I'm about to burn up."
"Yeah, it's hot as all hell outside," Ginger said. "Luckily, I don't have to go to work tonight. The club's closed for inventory. Isn't that a helluva time to take inventory ... the first week in September? So I thought I'd have dinner started by the time you got home."
Sally started toward her bedroom.
"Let me get out of these damn tight clothes and into something comfortable."
Ginger lit a cigarette, flopped down on the divan, drew her legs up in front of her and circled her arms around her knees.
"Put on your baby dolls, honey. I can't think of anything more comfortable."
Sally reappeared, pulling her lavender baby doll pajamas around her bare breasts and tying the belt-like ribbon in a bow as she entered.
"You know, Ginger, this is the first full night the two of us have been home together since I moved in," Sally said, drawing an unlit cigarette to her lips.
"I hadn't thought of it, Sally," Ginger agreed, "but I think you're right." She leaned back against the back of the divan and blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "I guess I've had a date every night I've been off from work since you came."
"That's right," Sally said, "and I haven't had a date since ... well, for ages."
"This Cartwright guy ... he's still treating you like a stranger?"
"Yes ... the bastard!" Sally answered angrily. "Most of the time it's 'Miss Logan, do this ... Miss Logan, do that!' "
Ginger raised her head and faced Sally squarely.
"Look, honey, I know how you feel. Cartwright isn't in a class by himself ... All men are bastards. All they want to do is take your panties off. If you don't let them, they don't have any more to do with you. If you do, they give you the gun, classify you as a bitch, and then they don't have any more to do with you. So what the hell ... "
Sally slumped into a chair.
"I guess you're right." She became sullen and didn't say any more.
Ginger got up and went to her and sat down on the edge of her chair.
"Forget Cartwright," she advised. "Just do your work and ignore him every chance you get. Remember, there are a million pebbles on the beach."
"Yes, but ... "
"So that's what's bugging you?" Ginger interrupted. "You told me about Cartwright breaking you in that weekend you spent with him, and you haven't had a man since. Am I right?"
"That's right."
"Well, if all you want is to get laid, just let little ol' Ginger get busy on that phone. I know a dozen guys who'd give their right arm to bounce around on that body of yours for awhile."
She started to get up, but Sally caught her by the arm.
"No, Ginger. Please don't."
"What are you doing? Saving it all for Cartwright?"
"I guess so."
"God, you've got it bad for that guy, Sally. I didn't know you were really that serious."
"Oh, I've got it bad for Mark, all right."
"Well, maybe you'll feel better after we have dinner," Ginger said consolingly. "Come on...."
Sally followed her into the kitchen.
The conversation about men was avoided by both girls while they were eating dinner.
"That was wonderful steak, Ginger," Sally said as she took the last bite from her plate. "I didn't know you knew how to cook."
"I've learned some little tricks over at the club," Ginger explained. "Do you feel better now?"
"Much better." Sally looked off into space. "But...." She hesitated.
"The ache's still there?"
"Yes," Sally answered, nodding her head affirmatively.
"Sure you don't want me to make a phone call?" Ginger coaxed. "I'm certain."
Ginger got up from the table, her firm breasts peeking through the opening in her baby dolls.
"Well, there's more than one way to kill a squirrel."
Sally didn't understand.
Ginger opened the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of whiskey.
"Come on, Sally, let's have a few drinks."
"The dishes...."
"Hell with the dishes," Ginger interrupted.
She disappeared into the living room, taking the bottle, some soda, ice, and two glasses with her.
Sally sat there for long moments.
"Come on, Sally!" came the voice from the living room.
Sally got up, the baby dolls striking her just below the point where her legs joined, saw Ginger sitting on the divan drinking and smoking. Only a small table lamp far across the room was turned on, and the shades were drawn tightly.
"Have a drink and sit down," Ginger said.
Sally could think of nothing except Mark. She suddenly felt like getting drunk. She poured herself a drink. Whiskey and ice only. She lit a cigarette and started to sit down in a chair.
"Sit here on the divan, Sally," Ginger said.
Sally turned around and walked to the divan and sat down beside the brunette.
The whiskey had already started to warm Ginger's body. She was on her second drink and nearly ready for a fresh one. She put out her cigarette and slowly put her arm around Sally.
"What are you doing, Ginger?"
"Just leave it to little ol' Ginger. Remember what I said ... there's more than one way to kill a squirrel."
She set her glass on the coffee table, wound her other arm around Sally, untied the ribbon which held her baby dolls together, and parted the pajamas down the front and quickly cupped Sally's breasts in her hands tightly.
"Oh, God!" Sally mumbled, a cyclone of passion ripping through her body.
"You feel anything, Sally?"
"Damn right, I feel something."
Sally emptied her glass and poured another drink and tossed it down. The whiskey burned, but it felt good.
So did Ginger's hands.
"Turn around, Sally," Ginger said.
Sally twisted her head around toward the other girl.
Their lips met automatically, their tongues entwining in a long and lingering embrace.
When Ginger drew away, she suggested:
"Let's go into one of the bedrooms."
She jumped up and started for her bedroom.
Sally picked up the whiskey bottle and gulped it hard. Three times. Then she followed Ginger into the bedroom. Only the light from the small lamp in the living room reflected into the bedroom.
Ginger was removing her baby dolls. "Take off your pajamas. The top and the panties."
Quickly, Sally removed the two garments, tossing them aside.
"Now lie down on the bed," Ginger instructed her. "Stretch out and look up at the ceiling."
Sally followed the girl's instructions and soon was lying flat on her back.
Ginger rolled onto the bed beside her, her fingers going directly to Sally's breasts, kneading the flesh, and found them responding to her touch. Then her lips went down and began to ravish the hard nipples.
"Oh...." Sally moaned.
Gradually, Sally moved into the love-making, her hands caressing Ginger's breasts, and she heard Ginger gasp.
Presently, Ginger worked downward, finally turning completely around until her head was at the foot of the bed. She kissed the calves of Sally's legs and began to move upward to her thighs.
Sally duplicated the brunette's movements, exactly. Simultaneously, they found each other and began to kiss each other brutally. With whirlwind violence.
Until both of them were exhausted.
And thoroughly satisfied.
It was over. Ginger climbed around on the bed until her head was even with Sally's head. Neither of them spoke a word for a long while.
Finally, Ginger said:
"Now, do you feel better, hon?"
"I'd have to say yes," Sally answered, "but it wasn't like being with a man."
She felt kind of dirty now that it was over.
"I know, Sally. It isn't like being with a man. Nothing's like being with a man, but it's better than nothing. Really, hon, I'm not like this. I haven't done it more than a half dozen times. A girl at the club showed me how to do it. She hates men, and this is what she does."
Sally chuckled lightly.
"Well, it was an experience, but I don't think I'd ever do it again. Ever."
"You should get a man to give you that kind of treatment sometime. God, you'd go out of your mind."
Sally laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "I might just do that. Sometime." Their conversation was interrupted by the telephone.
"Who in the hell could that be at this time of the night?" Ginger said, jumping off the bed and hurrying toward the phone.
Seconds later, she returned.
"It's for you, hon," she said.
"For me? Male or female?"
"All male," Ginger quipped.
Sally got up and went to the telephone.
"Hello."
"Sally, this is Mark," echoed the voice at the other end. "Mark!"
"I'm sorry to call this late, but I got tied up," Mark said. "I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me tomorrow night. Maybe I should say tonight. Saturday. How about it?"
For a second, Sally debated telling him she had other plans, but the thought remained with her only for a second.
"Yes, Mark, I'd love to."
"May I pick you up at seven?" Mark asked.
"Yes. Seven."
"Okay, I won't detain you any longer from getting your beauty sleep. I hope I didn't get you out of bed."
"No, you didn't," Sally said, excitement now gnawing at her.
"Goodbye, doll," Mark said.
"Goodbye, Mark." She hung up the receiver.
She did a little dance as she ran across the living room and back into the bedroom.
"It was Mark!" she exclaimed happily. "I've got a date for tomorrow night! Tonight! Saturday night!"
"Well ... I'm glad," Ginger said, stretched out on the bed, still in the nude. "Guess we'd better get some shut eye. Do you sleep in the nude, Sally?"
"I never have," Sally replied. "Until tonight. You know, Sally Logan's going to start doing a lot of new things, and sleeping in the nude is one of them. Sweet dreams."
Ginger laughed.
"You, too, hon."
Sally picked up her baby dolls and headed toward her own bedroom. She wanted to get a good night's sleep because, if she had her way about it, she wasn't going to get a damn bit of sleep Saturday night. She was going to be with Mark, and she didn't intend to spend half of the time sleeping.
Sally felt good. Wonderful. The best she'd felt for five long weeks. She tossed her baby dolls over the back of a chair and stood there dreaming like a sixteen-year-old school girl, who had been asked for her first date. Things were looking up for Sally, she concluded.
She smiled, turned off the light and climbed into bed.
In the nude.
CHAPTER SIX
Soft music sifted through the big, swank dining room. The lights were low and the food was wonderful.
Sally's rich, black metallic lurex sheath brought out every curve of her graceful body. Thin straps curved over her shoulders. Her arms were bare, and the sheath was cut so low in front that nearly half of her breasts were exposed, revealing the deep, scooping valley between them, the nipples forming two distinct, sharp, points at the tips.
Her fingernails glittered with coat after coat of silver lacquer. Her lips were heavily coated with brilliant orchid lipstick, and long silver earrings dazzled from the tips of her ears. She had gone all out to make this a special occasion.
A very special occasion.
Mark's eyes were focused sharply upon her, dancing back and forth between her eyes, her face, and the bold, daring cleavage formed by her breasts.
"You know, Sally, I don't know where these five weeks have gone since we really saw each other the last time," Mark remarked. "I really wanted to see you more."
"It's your own fault that you didn't, Mark. I was certainly ready, willing and able." She'd had two dry martinis before they started to eat, and the drinks were beginning to take firm hold of her. "I sat there in that goddamn office day after day waiting for you to ask me for a date."
He laughed.
"Well, we'll make up for lost time tonight. And all day tomorrow. How does that sound?"
"Like heaven," she answered.
"I've rented a suite upstairs for the occasion." He looked up at the mass of star-like lights flickering out of the ceiling. "Would you like to dance or ... would you rather go directly upstairs?"
Sally mediated for short seconds.
"Does it matter to you?"
"Not a bit."
"Then, let's go upstairs," she said without further hesitation.
"Okay," Mark agreed.
He could feel the warm pangs of desire rising within him, and her decision was the one he'd hoped she would make. He got up, moved around the table, and drew her chair back as she rose. He noted for the first time that she was wearing nylons tonight and saw the milky flesh of her thighs as she swung her legs around.
Sally took his arm, and five minutes later they entered the blue pastel-decorated suite, where they were going to spend the night. And the following day.
Sally looked around, overcome by the heavy drapes, the thick carpeting and the unique furniture. There were three rooms: one for entertaining, one for writing and lounging around in, and a king-size bedroom.
"It's gorgeous!" Sally beamed.
"It's for a gorgeous doll," Mark said, his eyes peeled on her skin-tight, shimmering sheath which swept in at her waist and struck her a full two inches above her knees.
"I expect to wake up any minute and find out I've been dreaming," Sally told him.
"Oh, it's real all right," Mark countered. "And the things I'm going to do to you tonight just aren't in the book. We're going to break all records."
With that, he went to the phone, dialed room service and said:
"Bring up a big bucket of ice. Enough to drink all night on."
They waited impatiently for the ice to arrive. Impatiently, because each of them had something the other wanted. And was going to get. After the ice was delivered, Mark hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the outside of the door. He turned on soft music and removed a bottle of expensive Scotch from a chest of drawers and went to Sally.
Slowly, he drew her to him, and, without saying a word, put his face to hers, his abdomen to hers, his legs against her legs, his lips to hers, and they kissed fiercely, their tongues waging a brutal war.
Sally was the first to break the tight, hot embrace.
"I want a big shot of whiskey," she said. "I'm going to get pleasantly and thoroughly intoxicated. Drunk is the word. And then you can do any damn thing you want to me. As long and as often as you like."
He laughed aloud, picked up the Scotch and broke the label.
"On the rocks or with water, doll?"
"Straight. I want it to jolt hell out of me very quickly."
She went to the divan and sat down, waiting for him to pour the drinks.
Mark joined her on the divan, watching her cross her legs, and the hem of her sheath rode high above her knees. He emptied his glass and set it down and put his arm around her and pulled her snugly against him.
She squirmed out of his grasp momentarily, removed his coat, tie, shirt and undershirt.
"I like to feel you against me," she said.
Mark reacted by finding the zipper at the back of her sheath, drew it down, and lifted the spaghetti-thin straps from her shoulders. The front of the sheath fell forward, and her full, erect breasts popped into view.
"I like to feel you against me, too, doll," Mark said, his fingers moving over the hardened tips of flesh.
His fingers felt like hot wires burning her. She knew now what a vast difference there was in having a man touch her breasts and having a woman touch them. As Ginger Melony had done only twenty-four hours previously.
As Sally finished her second drink, Mark suddenly drove his lips into hers, and his right hand left her breast and went to the pillowy flesh of her warm, tapering thighs. He heard her gasp and felt the heat rise from her body.
Suddenly, she spun out of his arms, stood up and removed the sheath, her knees weak from the great billow of desire grinding through her body.
"You're too damn slow, Mark. Take off your shoes!"
She flung her half-slip aside as she spoke. She would leave the rest for him to remove, thinking Mark or any man would get a helluva thrill out of taking off her nylons and panties, even though the sheer, black bikini panties she was wearing left little to the imagination.
She slumped down on the divan and waited impatiently while he removed his shoes and socks.
Mark reached for his belt, but Sally reached out and restrained him.
"I know how to do that," she said, loosening his belt and sliding his trousers down his legs. She wasted no time unsnapping his shorts and letting them fall to the floor.
He was nude, and she was little short of startled.
"My God!" she beamed. "What a night this is going to be!"
With that, she pulled him down to her.
He wasn't ready. Not quite. He wanted her naked, and fast. He rolled away from her and knelt in front of her, the pangs of desperate need sinking deep in his groin and mushrooming out over him. He took off her spike heels and rolled her nylons down her exciting and glamorous legs, and off. When he reached for her panties, she had already elevated her buttocks, and he yanked them off with a single motion.
Now she was nude, too.
Just as he realized she was about to say something, he swept her up in his arms and went staggering to the bedroom with her, his lips exploring the delicate contours of her breasts as he moved.
He eased her onto the bed and started to draw back to recover his breath, but he didn't have a chance. Sally drove her arms around his body and pulled him down.
Squarely on top of her.
"Now!" she demanded.
He felt her hands searching for him in the semi-darkness and finding him, and her legs swept around him, and he had no place to go but forward. He touched her.
Deeply.
Her warm arms went around his neck, and her fingernails became claws in his back, and she let out a little scream. He felt her swing into the rhythm. He buried his face in her breasts. For a moment, he tried desperately to postpone the inevitable, but he sensed that she wanted no delay. And he was helpless in the arms of this seductive package of sex.
THE END came with volcanic fury. She screamed again, this time much louder than the first time. For the next minute, only their breathing penetrated the stillness.
Sally lay there thinking that never again would five weeks pass without her experiencing the pleasure that comes from being in bed with a man. If it wasn't Mark, then it sure as hell would have to be somebody. This was a pleasure she wanted and needed, and she was going to get it.
Mark was lying beside her now. He was breathing slowly and contentedly.
"How'd you like it, doll?" he asked, running his hand over her smooth stomach.
"My God, what a question," she shot back. "I enjoyed every second of it."
"Anything you regret?"
"Yes," Sally replied rather teasingly. "I regret like the devil that it's over."
"There's more where that came from. That's one of the nice things about sex. You can do it over and over again and get more pleasure out of it each time. That is, if the boy and the girl are both willing."
"Hell, I'm willing," Sally purred. "All you have to do is let me catch my breath."
They both laughed aloud.
Sally took Mark's hand in hers and drew it over her breasts and felt his fingers begin to caress the twin peaks.
"Mark...." She paused.
"Yes?"
"Why is it that you've never gotten married?"
He didn't answer immediately. He searched for words, wanting to leave in his answer at least a trace of hope that he was hers if she wanted him.
"I guess the right girl never came along. You're the first girl I've known that ... that I couldn't get out of my thoughts. Day or night."
She was pleased with his reply. She believed now that he regarded her as more than just an easy girl to get into bed with him. Still, she wondered why he had waited so long to ask her for the second date. She decided not to question him further at the present.
"Sally, how do you like sharing an apartment with another girl?" Mark asked.
His question puzzled her momentarily. Finally, she answered:
"It's all right. Ginger Melony is a nice roommate. She doesn't mix in my business, and I don't mix in hers. With Ginger, sharing an apartment has proven a pretty good arrangement."
"Wouldn't you rather have an apartment that was all yours?"
"Well, I suppose I would," Sally returned, heat beginning to rise within her as he continued to fondle her breasts. "Really, I never had given it any thought. I knew that it was out of the question. I'd rather have a nice apartment and share it than to settle for much less and live alone."
"It would be nice if you had a place within a few blocks of the office."
"Mark, I couldn't get an apartment like I live in now and pay all of the rent," she argued. "It takes a fourth of my salary now to pay my share of the rent with Ginger."
He grinned.
"We'll have to give some more thought to it.
Later...." His voice trailed away. "Right now, I'd like to give some thought to something else."
"Like? ... "
"Like this!"
With that, he rolled against her and wound his arms around her body and crushed her to him, the erect tips of her breasts pressing against his chest, and kissed her. He felt her assume the initiative quickly, her tongue piercing his lips and setting him on fire inside.
Her arms swung around him tightly, and, with their lips still locked in violent embrace, Sally drove him over until he was flat on his back and rolled on top of him. Even in those brief moments, her passion was at its peak, uncoiling with mounting rapidity. She swallowed him as if it were the first time for both of them.
When the climax came this time, Sally lingered for long moments beside him and then realized he had fallen asleep. She had drained every ounce of strength from his body. She was beginning to think that she was quite a woman.
She climbed from the bed and looked down at him. He was relaxed and breathing peacefully, the picture of a man who had experienced complete satisfaction, abundant fulfillment.
Sally found a cigarette and lit it, then went into the large room adjoining the bedroom. Her panties lay on the floor, where Mark had tossed them during his moment of delirious haste to seduce her. A thin smile creased her face. She poured herself a stiff drink and consumed it and sat down on the divan, drew her exciting legs beneath her and lapsed into meditation.
This is the life, she was thinking. I've got a good job, a nice place to live, and a beautiful body.
And a man. Mark!
The thought of his name excited her. Mark Cartwright was the most exciting man she'd ever known. He was kind and generous, young and handsome. And he was good in bed, although she realized she had no basis for comparison, since he was the first and only man with whom she had been intimate.
She wanted to marry Mark. And nothing was going to stand in her way toward achieving her goal. She would do anything Mark asked her to do.
Anything.
Sally took another drink and felt the liquor fanning her desire to be with him again. She put out her cigarette and looked at her watch. It was two o'clock in the morning. Time was wasting away, and she didn't want to waste any more than was absolutely necessary.
She rushed into the bedroom and, without hesitation, reached over and ran her hand over Mark's stomach and watched his eyes open.
"Wake up! You've slept long enough!"
"What do you want, doll?" he asked drowsily, pulling her down to him.
"You know what I want!" she cooed.
Without saying another word, Mark Cartwright squared around and gave Sally what she wanted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The festival that is New York in summer was beginning to fade now. Autumn was taking over. The flowers were beginning to disappear, and the grass was turning brown.
Sally opened the door that had Mark Cartwright's name on it and went inside and closed the door behind her. She saw Mark engrossed in study behind his desk.
Scarcely looking up, he said:
"Well, good morning, doll."
"Good morning, Mark," Sally replied, pausing at his desk. "Did you know this is an anniversary?"
"What anniversary?" he returned, looking up at her.
"Three months since I started working for Cartwright Manufacturing." He grinned and said:
"Then it's also an anniversary of something else. It was that first night that you came to work that ... "
Sally was moving around the desk. She ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh!...."
Mark spun around and looked up at her. She was wearing a maroon skirt and a white turtle-neck blouse. Both garments displayed every curve of her body. The skirt was so tight he could see the faint outline of her panties, and the blouse protruded straight out from her chest, coming to two sharp points and making her breasts appear even larger than usual.
He thrust his hand beneath the hem of the short skirt and squeezed the soft, naked flesh above the top of her nylons.
"Ooooh, nice!" he said.
"Didn't you get enough last night?" she wanted to know.
"I never get enough, doll."
The telephone rang; Mark answered it, saying:
"Murray Schultz? Okay, send Mr. Schultz right in."
He turned to Sally and said:
"A very big customer is coming in to see me. I may land the biggest order we've had in weeks. I'll see you later in the morning. I have some very special plans for you today, Sally."
Schultz entered the office, and Sally walked quickly to the other end of the office and sat down at her desk. She heard Mark and Schultz exchanging greetings and concluded that they were old friends.
Sally lit a cigarette and pretended to be looking over some papers, but was actually getting a better look at Schultz. He was a well-groomed man of about thirty, average build and height. She could hear every word they were saying.
"How long are you going to be in town, Murray?" Mark was asking.
"Just overnight, Mark," Schultz answered. "And I hope to make it a helluva night. You know any good phone numbers?"
Mark studied his question momentarily.
"I just might have one or two," he replied.
Schultz laughed, his eyes suddenly becoming fixed on Sally. From his view, he could see only her face and the high rise of her breasts above the top of her desk, and her sexy legs, crossed with her skirt riding over her knees, as she faced the typewriter by her desk now.
"Who's the luscious sexpot in the corner?" he asked.
"My secretary ... Sally Logan," Mark explained.
Schultz lowered his voice as he spoke again: "What I wouldn't like to do with a playmate like that!"
Mark said nothing; he sat there watching Schultz's mouth water.
"Well, come on now, Mark, let old Murray in on things. Will she, or won't she?"
Mark had had experience previously with Murray Schultz. He knew that he might go the limit on buying if he thought Sally might spend the night with him. Or Schultz with Sally.
"I have a strong suspicion she will," he said finally.
"You ought to know, Mark," Schultz grinned. "Do you think there'd be a better chance if...." He hesitated.
"I'm listening, Murray," Mark said.
Schultz continued to let his eyes concentrate on Sally's beautiful legs.
"I was thinking that I just might be interested in buying five thousand sets of your better china if you could arrange things with Miss Logan. That's two hundred thousand dollars, roughly, Mark."
Mark was stunned at Schultz's proposal. He'd never been able to swing a single order for more than a thousand sets from Schultz in the past.
"Is it a deal, Mark?" Schultz pressed.
"If I were Sally Logan, I'd say yes immediately," Mark assured him. "I'll see what I can do with the young lady. Why don't you give me a buzz, say, about the middle of the afternoon?"
Sally wondered why Mark and Schultz were talking in low voices and sensed that they were talking about her. She lit a fresh cigarette and combed quietly through the papers on her desk. Really, though, her mind wasn't on the papers. She had suddenly realized that Mark had told her he had some very special plans concerning her for later in the day, and she was bubbling over now with curiosity.
She thought about her relationship with Mark, and smiled. After those first few weeks, when he had scarcely noticed her, he had asked her for many dates, and she had accepted all of them. She thought about the previous night, when they had gone to a Broadway play, and afterwards gone to the apartment she shared with Ginger, and made love. It had been the first time Mark had been inside her apartment for any length of time.
"Are you still certain you wouldn't like to live alone in your own apartment, Sally?" Mark had asked.
"Mark, I've told you a hundred times," she had replied. "I can't afford a nice apartment and live alone. The rent's too damn high. I'd be broke all of the time paying the rent."
Now she could hear Schultz and Mark telling each other goodbye.
"And I'll do my best to take care of that little matter," Mark said. "And thanks for the order. We'll give you the usual discount. You'll call me the middle of the afternoon?"
"That I will," Schultz returned, shaking hands with Mark.
Mark glanced over at Sally.
"I'll bet you will." He accompanied Schultz to the door. "Thanks for everything, Murray."
After Schultz was gone, Mark locked the door and went to Sally.
She exhaled a long stream of smoke and looked up at him.
"Well, did you get a big order?"
"I certainly did," Mark replied, walking slowly around the desk and taking her hand. "Up."
Sally rose, and Mark thrust his arm around her and crushed her to him and kissed her. It was a long, affectionate kiss, their tongues locked feverishly.
"Don't start anything you can't finish, Mark," she said, her breath short, after he drew away from her.
"I intend to finish it," he smiled. "Later in the day."
He released her and walked to the window, parted the drapes and looked down at the heavy traffic below.
"Sally...." he began.
"Yes...."
"You've told me a hundred times you'd do anything I asked you to do," Mark said, beginning to soften her for what was ahead. "Does that still go?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I'll explain later," Mark returned. "Right now, I have a little surprise for you. At least, I hope you'll regard it as a surprise." He turned and faced her. "Come on, let's take adrive."
The sudden mystery was too much for her, but she decided to do as Mark said, without any questions. She knew he was still reluctant to let other employees know she was dating him. She picked up her purse and went to him.
"I'll see you downstairs. I'll be waiting in the car." She started to leave, and paused. "You'd better get rid of the lipstick."
He laughed, removed his handkerchief, and wiped the lipstick from his lips. He watched the sway of Sally's hips, as she strode across the room to the door and disappeared.
For the next few minutes, he paced the floor, wandering from one side to the other and wondering whether or not Sally would accept a date with Schultz that night. He knew damn well she had come to think in terms of marriage, and he wasn't certain she'd even consider going out with another man. And he knew Schultz wanted to lay her, but good.
Moments later, Sally and Mark were seated close together in the rear seat of Mark's luxurious limousine, being driven, as usual, by the chauffeur. Mark lit two cigarettes and handed one to Sally.
Neither of them said much, as the car moved in and out of the heavy traffic. Sally kept wondering where Mark was taking her. Except for lunch, he had never previously taken her anywhere during office hours. Mark stared at the thriving busy people bustling along the sidewalks, put his hand on Sally's knee, and squeezed gently.
Sally was aware that they were on Park Avenue now, at about Fifty-seventh Street. The car came to a halt at the middle of the block in a plush section of the city.
"Here we are," Mark said, reaching over and opening the door and waiting until Sally climbed out.
He followed her, and they brushed past a uniformed guard at the entrance to the swank apartment.
Neither Mark nor Sally spoke a word, as they rode the elevator upward. Sally was still wondering where they were going, and Mark was wondering what Sally was going to say, when they got there.
The elevator came to rest suddenly. Sally glanced up at the floor indicator. They were on the top floor, the twenty-second.
Mark escorted her off the elevator, a short distance down a hallway, and stopped in front of a door with the numbers 2209 on it. He removed a key, opened the door, and waited until she stepped inside.
Sally looked around. They were in a luxurious apartment, one which far exceeded in beauty the one she shared with Ginger, and which came very close to paralleling the penthouse where Mark lived.
Mark took her arm and guided her into the big kitchen, the dining room, and the bedrooms. Three bedrooms. Onto the sun porch.
Sally was stunned. She knew now what people meant by luxury apartments. This was luxury, but why was Mark showing it to her? They were standing on the sun porch, partially enclosed in heavy glass, where a girl could go and take a sun bath entirely in the nude without being seen.
Mark was standing beside her with a rather silly grin on his face.
"Well, how do you like this little joint, doll?" he asked.
"It's wonderful. What else can I say?"
"It's yours," Mark said.
She was speechless at first. Finally, she said: "Mine? You know I can't live here, Mark. Not even by sharing it with two other girls. I'll bet this place rents for at least a thousand dollars a month."
"It's still yours," Mark insisted. "You don't have to share it with anybody. You see, doll, I own this building, and I knew this couple was going to move out when their lease was up. So ... it's all yours. Rent free."
He paused and then added:
"Everything is free, in fact. And I do mean everything."
Sally couldn't believe her ears. Finally, his words sank deeply into her brain, and she knew she wasn't dreaming. She turned around and drew close to him, put her arms around his neck, and ran her lips very close to his.
"It's all yours ... on one condition," he continued.
"And what is that condition, Mark?" she asked, her lips almost directly over his.
"Well, you know I have a lot of customers who come to New York on a buying trip and occasionally for a convention," Mark explained. "At night, some of them want a girl. They're away from home, and they want to raise hell while they're here. It's good for Cartwright Manufacturing's business if I can provide the girl, and some customers not only ask but expect me to come through. I want you to entertain them here, Sally."
"Entertain them?" Sally repeated. "Yes. Give them any goddamn thing they want," he said.
She pulled away from him, walked slowly to the railing of the porch, and looked down. She lit a cigarette and heard Mark coming up behind her. She felt his arms circle her body, looked down, and saw him clasp his hands together beneath her breasts. She twisted her head around until she was face to face with him.
"Give them any goddamn thing they want? Including me?"
"That's right," he mumbled. "Pour the booze down 'em and take 'em to bed."
Anger shot in Sally's eyes.
"What do you think I am ... a damn whore?"
He curled his arms around her and felt her body stiffen, as if suddenly she couldn't stand the sight of him.
"Baby, it's for us," he told her. "It'll be a tremendous business booster. Don't you understand?"
"Hell, I know it'll boost business, but...." She hesitated. "What do you mean 'It's for us'?"
"That's exactly what I mean," Mark returned. "You know how I feel about you, Sally. I've got a lot now, doll, but I want to get rich. Really rich. The men who get to come here will have to place big orders. Fantastic orders."
She remained silent.
"Meanwhile, your salary will be doubled. Two hundred dollars a week. I'll see to it that you have all of the clothes you can possibly wear, plenty of booze, and fancy food. You won't have to come near the office. You can save most of your salary. Sleep all day. Why, you'd be living like a queen!"
She was pondering silently over his words. The one thing that made an impression on her was his implication that she was really his.
"We'll set aside one night a week," Mark continued, "just for us. At least one night a week. What do you say, doll?"
Everything he had said danced through her thoughts ... two hundred dollars a week ... a luxury apartment ... fancy food and plenty of booze ... one night a week just for us. For us!
All of the anger disappeared from her eyes.
"How long would this go on, Mark?"
He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew now that she was giving his proposal serious consideration.
"That's hard to tell, but with a set-up like this, we could make a million dollars in profit awfully quick. In a year or two."
She took quick note of his reference to "we."
"We" could make a million dollars awfully quick.
"What do I need with three bedrooms?"
"Oh, occasionally, there might be more than one customer at a time," he answered. "With three bedrooms, you'll have room enough to throw a big party for all of them."
"Hell, I can't take on three guys at the same time," Sally argued.
"Of course not," Mark agreed, "but you know other girls, don't you, who'd like all the liquor they can drink and a night in the sack with a strange man once in a while? You could invite them over when you need an extra girl or two."
She studied his proposition. The more she studied it the more she liked it.
"What about it?" he prompted.
"I'll do it," Sally answered without further hesitation. She kissed him, then quickly drew away. "You won't think I'm a whore, will you, Mark?"
"Of course not," he said. "Plenty of big firms over the city have set-ups like this one. I don't want you ever to take a nickel from any of these men. That certainly would classify you as a whore. If you don't take any money from them, you'll merely be a hostess."
She backed away from him and looked off into space.
"Yes, I'll do it, Mark. I'll dine them and wine them...." she closed her eyes " ... and go to bed with them. Do anything they want me to do. I'll put on a good show, but I'll always be thinking of you, Mark. Of us ... "
"That's my girl," he grinned.
Suddenly, Sally became very excited.
"When do I start?" she asked.
He went to her and pulled her to him.
"Tonight."
"Murray Schultz?"
"Murray Schultz," Mark replied. "He's really got it hot for you, doll. When he thought there was a chance of a date with you, he placed an order for five thousand sets of china. That represents two hundred thousand dollars. That ain't hay."
She let out a little sigh.
"No, it isn't."
"I've got a lot of work to do, Sally," Mark said. "Right after lunch, I'm going to have this place filled with liquor and food and a whole wardrobe of new clothes for you, doll. How do you like that?"
"I like it."
Mark looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven o'clock.
"Before lunch, I have a date with a girl."
"And just who is this girl?"
"You," Mark returned. "You have a new apartment, and I'm going to be the first to ... "
"To take me to bed, Mark?" she said teasingly.
"That's right. We're going to christen the place. Right now."
"I can't think of any better time, can you?"
"No."
With that, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the apartment.
And into one of the three big bedrooms.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a little past mid-afternoon. Things had really happened since Sally and Mark had thoroughly tested one of the beds in Sally's new luxury apartment.
Mark's chauffeur had already delivered a case of Scotch, a case of bourbon, and a case of dry martinis, a case of soda, and everything needed to do a lot of drinking. Sally had already set up the bar in the living room.
Likewise, the chauffeur had moved all of Sally's personal belongings from the apartment she shared with Ginger Melony, and these things had been put in their proper places. The kitchen had been filled with more food than Sally had ever seen at one time outside a grocery store.
Only the wardrobe which Mark had promised her remained to be delivered.
Except for that, Sally Logan was ready for business. Things had moved very quickly, and Sally was glad. Now it appeared there was going to be a lull most of the remainder of the afternoon and Sally was going to enjoy it.
By herself.
She was going to take a long sunbath in the spacious glass enclosure designed for that purpose. Sally blew a long stream of smoke at her reflection in the mirror in the bedroom she had decided to take as her bedroom, and laughed. She was going to live like the rich girls live for a while, and it wasn't going to cost her a damn cent.
Not only that, she was going to get two hundred dollars a week to go along with her life of luxury.
She was wearing her black baby doll pajamas and spike heels. That was all. No bra and panties. The baby dolls were so sheer that even the mirror picked up the reflection of her much-more-than-ample breasts and everything beneath them.
Sally Logan ... this can't be you, she thought.
Quickly now, she went to the kitchen and got a tray of ice from the refrigerator, then to the bar, and got a bottle of dry martinis and picked up a package of cigarettes. She returned to the kitchen and went through the special door that led to the glass enclosure on the sun porch. She returned to the kitchen and went through the special door that led to the glass enclosure on the sun porch. She looked up and saw nothing except the blue sky dotted with white spirals of clouds.
Sally felt good. Her dreams for the future never included a place like this one. She poured herself a martini, lit a cigarette, and whisked off the baby dolls. She reached down and removed the spike heels.
She was entirely nude.
She sipped the martini, took a long drag from her cigarette and sprawled out on the built-in lounge. She was facing the sky, the twin cones formed by her breasts extending high. She spread her legs far apart and closed her eyes.
This was the first time Sally had ever had complete privacy for sunbathing. She'd gone to various beaches around Long Island during the summer, but she'd never been able to take a sunbath entirely naked.
As she was now.
As a result, if she got too much tan, there was a wide streak of white around her buttocks and another white streak around her breasts where her scanty bikini suit covered her most glamorous features.
Today, though, she was going to get tanned all over.
She drank two martinis, while she lay on her back. The sun was warming her body, and the liquor was warming her internally. She was certainly going to be ready for Murray Schultz.
During the afternoon, she had decided that she was going to enjoy her rendezvous with Murray Schultz, to the hilt. After all, only one man had ever made love to her, and for all she knew making love with another man might even be better than Mark Cartwright's love making. If that was possible.
In a few hours, she'd be able to make a comparison.
Mark ... she was wildly in love with him. Whether or not he was better or worse in bed than Schultz wasn't going to make any difference to her. She'd still be just as madly in love with Mark. Still, it was going to be fun feeling the warmth of another man and seeing how he reacted to her charms.
Sally emptied her third martini, turned over on her stomach, folded her arms beneath her chin and lay there, anxious now to get a good tan on her backside.
While she lay there, she told herself that she was going to have to be very careful.
For two reasons.
First, she didn't want to get herself pregnant. Mark had always taken every precaution in this respect, but she wasn't so certain a man away from home would give a damn one way or the other. Especially when he was certain to know that he wasn't the only one who was rolling in the hay with her. So ... she would have to take the precautions herself, and that was something she was going to take care of before Schultz arrived on the scene.
Second, she didn't want to lose her youth or beauty more rapidly than normal. She couldn't get drunk every night, and she couldn't get in the habit of throwing down a few drinks every day when she was alone, just because the booze in the bar was plentiful and free. She'd do what was normal with a man, but no man would ever beat her or engage in any of the other practices of physical violence she had heard about.
And never again would a woman get her all steamed up as Ginger Melony had done.
She liked sex as well as the next girl, but it would always have to be with a man.
And a gentleman at that.
Sally knew it was time now to get out of the sun. She didn't want to get too much and perhaps blister, although she knew she didn't blister very easily.
She raised up and put her baby dolls on, just as the buzzer at the door in the hallway sounded.
Quickly, she picked up the martini bottle, glass and pan, and ran into the kitchen.
The buzzer sounded again.
She hurried into the living room. Suddenly, she stopped, realizing she wasn't dressed for company or whoever it was who was outside. Unless, of course, it might be Mark.
Hard pounding on the door followed.
Sally was seized with panic and was doing nothing about it. She went to the door and stood there, while the knock echoed loudly again. Carefully, she opened the door, cracking it only slightly, and saw a man standing outside.
"Miss Logan?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'm delivering a lot of clothes to you," he said.
"Oh! But I'm not dressed," she said.
"That's okay with me, lady," the man laughed. "I'm used to women running around without much on. When you deliver expensive clothes in apartment houses like this one, you see a lot of sights."
Sally laughed. He had put her completely at ease. She certainly didn't have a thing to be ashamed of, undoubtedly a whole lot more than most of the rich dames who had clothes delivered for the purpose of selecting those they liked and returning the ones they didn't want.
So she opened the door and told him to come in. He rolled the long container of clothes into the room and looked at Sally for the first time.
He was a handsome youth of about twenty-one, and his face paled as he stared at her, his eyes concentrating first on her legs and moving upward until he caught a good look at the sharp-tipped bulges formed by her breasts in the filmy baby dolls.
"Good God!" he blurted.
"What's the matter?" Sally asked.
He shook his head.
"Nothing." He took a deep breath and grinned. "Not anything."
"You can bring the clothes into that bedroom down the hall, if you will," Sally instructed him. "Do you want me to take them off the racks?"
He started to roll the clothes toward the hall, but his eyes were still fixed solidly on Sally. As she walked along in front of him, he could see the rise of her buttocks swelling out from beneath the bottom of the baby dolls as she walked.
"No, you don't need to bother about removing them now," he said, finally remembering that she had asked a question. "Women always want to return a lot of junk, and I'll pick up the rack when I pick up the returns."
"It's warm outside, isn't it?" Sally said, more in the form of a statement than a question.
"Yes," the youth replied.
"Would you like a drink before you leave?" she wanted to know.
He stood in the bedroom door looking at her and felt a wave of desire curling through him like electric current shooting through a wire.
"Sure. I never refuse to drink with a lady or to accept a lady's invitation to have a drink," he said politely.
"Follow me," Sally said.
She walked back through the hall, knowing he was closely following her. She stopped at the bar.
"What'll it be ... Scotch, bourbon, or a martini?"
"A shot of bourbon will be fine," he answered. "You can skip the ice and soda."
She broke open a new bottle of bourbon, poured him a generous drink, and handed it to him. She stood there watching him gulp down the whiskey.
The liquor really charged into him, as he emptied the small tumbler, burning his throat and ripping into his belly.
"Another one?" Sally asked.
"No, thanks," he replied, his eyes peeling the baby dolls from her body and imagining that she was completely nude. Not that he had a helluva lot of imagination. "I suppose you're a married gal."
"Nope," she laughed. "I'm free, white, and almost twenty-one."
He drew closer to her.
"That's me, too. Except that I'm just past twenty-one. Do you live alone in this ... this mansion?"
"That's right."
He felt the whiskey urging him on, filling his mind with questions. "What's your name?"
Before she could answer, he realized he already knew her name and added quickly:
"How stupid of me. It's Sally Logan. I'm Bill Foster. Are you doing anything tonight you can put off until some other time?"
She was stunned by his sudden boldness. "Yes, I am doing something tonight I can't pu off...."
She saw the disappointment in his eyes and abruptly added:
"But I'm not doing anything right now." She decided she'd be just as bold as he was. She lit a cigarette. "You'd like to take me in the bedroom, wouldn't you, Bill?"
He let out a little chuckle that had a slight embarrassed cast to it.
"You can say that again, Sally! You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
"Well, if you asked me real nice," Sally said, tossing her head back and thrusting her excited bosom upward, "I just might let you do that very thing."
He felt like a damn fool, but said:
"Please, Sally, may I escort you into your bedroom?" He could hardly wait to get his hands on this lovely hunk of female humanity. "Better still, may I carry you into the bedroom?"
The three martinis she had consumed, while she was taking the sunbath, coupled with the youthful charm of this big, strapping young man, made her feel exceedingly gay. "If you don't," she said, "You'd better get the hell out of here, fast!"
That was all of the invitation Bill Foster needed. He grabbed her as if she were a mere feather, swept her into his arms, and carried her down the hallway to the bedroom, his pulse hammering away, all out of control as he moved.
Bill set her down on the floor and stood there looking at her, as if he couldn't believe she had really given him the green light.
"Now, what are you going to do, Bill?" she said impatiently, her hands on her hips.
"You want action or words, baby?"
"Action!"
He didn't say another word, his hands going to work immediately removing his shirt and undershirt. He unfastened his trousers, dropped them down his legs, and stepped out of them. He reached down and took off his shoes, his eyes focused directly on her naked legs.
As he again faced her, she kicked off her spike heels.
"Now," she said, "we're about even. Your shorts against my baby dolls."
Bill caught hold of her arm, yanked at the bow that held the pajamas together, and took them off. Almost in the same motion, he wound his arms around her, crushed her to him, and started to kiss her, only to find her hand blocking her lips.
"If I'm going to be nude," she said, "then you're going to be nude also. Entirely nude!" Her hand flashed to the snaps of his shorts, unfastened them and raked them down. "Now, kiss me, Bill! Kiss me like you've never kissed a girl before!"
He again seized her.
"You're reading my mind!"
He sank his lips tightly into hers and felt her tongue dance into his mouth. He could feel her arms tightening around his neck, her fingernails digging into his back. His breath came in spasmodic jerks. With their lips and bodies locked tightly together, he stumbled to the bed with her and fell across it.
Everything was accomplished with that single, staggering move. In one motion, he had collapsed on top of her, and her legs surrounded him.
And he was there. All the way.
"Make it good!" she gasped. "Give it to me good!"
He gave everything, and they scaled the heights together and came crashing down together like a couple of school kids who couldn't get enough.
Now they were limp and spent on the bed. Now Sally Logan had a basis for making a comparison, and she found there was no real comparison. Bill and Mark were different. Bill had excited her with his youth. Mark excited her with maturity. She regarded Bill as more or less a wild mule-young, eager and hot natured. Mark was more settled and didn't let his eagerness show.
She rolled over and raised her head over Bill and looked down into his eyes, her breasts resting heavily on his chest.
"Well, how'd you like it, Bill?"
"It was like ... like being in heaven," Bill answered, desire already beginning to stab him again. "I haven't had too much experience, but you were head and shoulders above any of the others."
Sally laughed and said:
"Thanks, Bill. You were pretty wonderful yourself. I guess I'm a little like you. I haven't had too much experience, either."
Bill clasped his arms around her and drew his lips very close to hers.
"How come you let me do it, Sally? I'm just a delivery boy making sixty bucks a week, and you could have any man in this city."
"I guess I'm more or less a delivery boy at heart, too, Bill," Sally said.
"Like hell," he mumbled. "Look at this place. This is as close as I'll ever come to a place like this. I guess there wouldn't be a chance that I could see you again."
She kicked his words around in her thoughts. Too, she was comparing again Bill's eager approach with Mark's matter-of-fact maturity.
"I'll give you my telephone number, when you come back to pick up the dresses I don't want, and you can give me a ring some time." She saw the anxiety springing into his eyes again. "I want you again, Bill."
"Now?"
"Yes, now, dammit!" She guided his lips to the tip of one of her breasts. "Bite it. Not hard, but bite it!"
Bill sank his teeth into the hard nipple, gently at first. He gasped, and his strong arms shot around her. He rolled her over on her back, aware that her fiery passion paralleled his own, and buried himself deep within her.
Like he'd told her, this was a little bit of heaven.
For both of them.
CHAPTER NINE
The following morning Sally slept late. It was the first morning in weeks and weeks she had still been in bed at eleven o'clock. She had awakened now and was rubbing her sleepy eyes.
She had a helluva hangover. A hangover from too much Scotch and too much sex. Three men in less than twenty-four hours: Mark Cartwright, Bill Foster, and Murray Schultz.
That Murray Schultz was a real pistol, she was thinking, now that her head was beginning to clear and she had a chance to look back over the escapades of the past night. Schultz had taken her to dine and then brought her directly to the apartment.
Sally remembered how they had arrived at the apartment, and how he had quickly removed his coat and necktie, without saying a word, and then taken her into his arms. She had worn one of the new sheaths Mark had had delivered. It was moss green lurex with gold buttons, and it left absolutely nothing to Schultz's imagination.
As he kissed her for the first time, his hand released the tiny shoulder straps and peeled it down, barely baring her breasts.
"Oooh, God!" he'd groaned with the sight of her tremendous bosom. "You're an angel, Sally. An honest-to-God angel."
"Why don't you see what the rest of me looks like?" Sally had asked, knowing damn well that's what he intended to do, anyway. "It's all yours, you know. Compliments of Cartwright Manufacturing. "
He smiled and said nothing, being content for the moment with testing her breasts with his hands for size and pliability. He felt the nipples slowly rise and harden.
"You like those, don't you, Murray?"
"God, yes," Schultz returned, continuing to caress them briskly. "I've seen a lot of tits in my life, but these take the blue ribbon."
Sally felt like a fool standing in the center of the floor with him. From her brief experience, she'd concluded that the first thing a man always did was get a girl" on a divan or a bed and then start to work. Not Murray Schultz. He may've had a lot of experience, but he was slightly crude in his approach.
She felt the ache deep within her as a result of his continued fondling of her breasts, and now was becoming impatient. She decided to try a little initiative of her own, caught hold of his shirt, loosened the buttons and removed the shirt, then lifted his undershirt over his head and off. Gently, she raised her lips to his and kissed him, driving her breasts hard into his chest.
This display of passion on her part really set him on fire. He could feel her tongue lashing against his, and her hands fumbling with his trousers. He was aware now of how badly she wanted him, realizing that she had suddenly become desperate. He knew her passion was surpassing his rather slow advances.
He eased his lips away from hers and guided her toward the divan. As she started to sit down, he restrained her.
"Now I want to see what the rest of you looks like."
He raised the sheath over her head and took it off.
She was standing there now, clad only in spike heels, nylons, and a pair of jet black panties that were nothing more than a narrow strip of fringe dotted with rhinestones.
"Beautiful," he said. "Very, very beautiful."
Sally decided the next move was hers. She loosened his belt and slid his trousers down his legs and removed them. She knelt down in front of him to remove his shoes and socks, and sensed that, while Schultz might be too damn slow in some respects, he was certainly ready for her now, in the way that counted most.
Schultz made the next move, wasting no time rolling her nylons down her legs. He removed one shoe and took off the sheer hose and then the other. He put her spike heels back on her feet.
"I like nude women wearing high heels," he said, rising and taking her into his arms and kissing her for a long time.
This slow, gradual build-up of grinding passion had both of them staggering with desire now. Schultz swept his lips away from hers, reached down and caught hold of the teasing piece of fringe around her buttocks, and drew it away.
Sally was nude now.
She reacted by raking his shorts off and found out immediately that her earlier prediction was right. Schultz was ready for action. Boy, was he ready!
They were both naked now.
For an instant, they merely stood there facing each other, only a few inches separating them, both of them drooling with anticipation.
Then he moved into her, his hands surrounding her, gripping her buttocks, forcing her against him. He lifted her into his arms.
"Over that way and down the hall," Sally directed.
Schultz staggered down the hall and started to enter the bedroom, where Sally and Bill Foster had made love a few hours earlier, but she motioned for him to go farther down to one of the bedrooms she hadn't used yet.
He entered the bedroom, wondering whether he was going to make it or not. He stumbled across the room to the bed and fell across it, rolling quickly up against her as a new wave of desire mounted and fanned out within him.
"Make love to me!" she screamed. "Now! Before it's too late!"
He felt her hand slide down his legs and her body open for him. He thrust into her and felt her close around him, her arms tightening and her hips beginning to grind with reckless and passionate precision.
It didn't last long. The slow, deliberate preliminaries had worked them both up to the fever pitch until their bodies were so sensitive that any thought of trying to prolong it was out of the question.
THE END came with drenching force.
Unlike Mark and Bill, Schultz was talkative almost from the second it was over. As they lay on their sides and faced each other, inches apart, Schultz asked her:
"Sally, why don't you give up your job with Cartwright and move to Chicago? I own a nationwide chain of stores. I do all my own buying-the major lines, that is, and you and I could have a helluva time flying all over the country together."
Sally knew immediately that she wasn't interested, but she decided for Mark's sake she would not reject his offer right off.
"But aren't you a married man, Murray?"
"I won't deny that," he admitted, "but my wife and I haven't gotten along for the last two years. She doesn't give a damn what I do, and I don't care what she does. She's probably sacked up with some guy right now." He reached over and ran his hand over her breasts. "What about it? I'll pay you more just to be my companion than Cartwright pays you as his secretary."
She was amused at his use of the word "companion." Mistress would be a better word, and she had no intention of becoming a mistress to any man. Not even Mark.
"You're very generous," she said, "but I'd have to have some time to think it over. Your offer came so unexpectedly."
"I realize that," Schultz agreed. "But you think it over. I'll be back in New York in a couple ol weeks. Can I see you again then?"
"Yes."
"Then you can give me your answer, when we see each other again," he said. "Think about it, Sally. Seriously."
"Okay."
Sally and Schultz made love four times during the night and finally fell asleep.
Schultz had long departed now. Sally had a faint recollection of him kissing her goodbye and reiterating that he'd see her in two weeks. She had no idea what time it was when he left, but he had told her he had a plane reservation for nine-thirty, so she assumed he must've left her about dawn. She wondered how he managed to wake up at that ghastly hour.
She crawled out of bed, nude as usual, when she awakened. She searched for a cigarette, found one and lit it, took a hard puff and put it out. It didn't taste good. She concluded she had smoked too many cigarettes during the night.
Sally stretched her arms over her head and took a deep breath. This was another day, and she wondered what the day would bring. Or the night. Each day now was going to produce a surprise-a new man, a new experience, a new thrill or a disappointment.
She'd had three conquests in her young sex life now, and all three men were as vastly different in their love making as night and day. The difference was difficult for her to explain, but they were different.
She knew that many of Mark's customers were older men. Rich, older men, who owned half of the earth. They, too, would be coming to New York and, no doubt, would be on the make just as much as the younger ones. They ought to shell out plenty in orders to get a crack at a young, shapely tomato like Sally Logan. So far, she had been seduced only by comparatively young men, and she wondered what the older ones would be like.
She thought about Mark. They had agreed that every Saturday night was going to be reserved as their night together. No if's or and's about it. They had decided on Saturday nights because it was very rare when a buyer remained in the city overnight, since Cartwright Manufacturing was closed on Saturdays. The buyers would come and leave during the week and would be all out of the city by noon on Saturday. Sally liked the idea, too, because her Saturday night dates with Mark could run on over into Sunday.
And Sunday night if they wanted it that way.
It was on these big weekends that she was really going to work on Mark. She wasn't exactly in love with the idea of operating a high-class whore house, and she knew damn well that's what it was, even though the men didn't pay her and she wouldn't accept money or gifts from them if they came up with the offer. And she figured the quicker she could land Mark and get the wedding knot tied, the quicker it would all be over. Mark had a lot of class, and he certainly wouldn't want his wife being loved by every Tom, Dick, and Harry who came along. Not even for a juicy order of china.
She couldn't deny that she was enjoying herself. It was a new and exciting experience now, but, as time went along, she knew she would get pretty damn tired of drinking and spreading her legs every night. Perhaps it wouldn't be every night, she thought suddenly. Certainly, when the office had closed for the night, and she hadn't heard from Mark, nobody was going to be coming around that night.
Sally felt lazy and lonesome. She wasn't used to having all of this time on her hands. The apartment had maid service, and she wasn't even going to have to make up the beds. She was strictly a girl living a life of ease and luxury, but she was pretty much restricted to staying in the apartment until five o'clock, since she never knew when Mark might call.
She was amazed once more at the quick action Mark had gotten on everything. She had been in the apartment only twenty-four hours now, and everything was in order, just as if she'd been living there all of her life. Luckily, the apartment had been a furnished one, and no furniture had to be delivered.
Sally went to the big step-in closet in her bedroom and once more looked over her many new clothes. One by one, she drew out the gay evening dresses. She could wear a different one every night. Because of Mark's expert selections, not a single one had to be returned.
There was a sapphire blue taffeta sheath covered with sparkling sequins. She'd tried it on, and it was cut almost to the rise of her buttocks in back and scooped low in front and fit her like a second skin.
And that red wool jersey was just what the doctor ordered to display her charms. It was a long-sleeved sheath with a square neckline that left almost all of the upper halves of her breasts exposed. When she sat down in it, there was nothing she could do about the hem. It pulled up far above her knees and put them on dazzling display.
The crepe sheath was squared off at the neckline. It was pure black and laced down the front like shoestrings from the top of the neckline to her navel, and she could let as much or as little of her breasts and stomach show as she desired. It was slightly tight across the hips, but, what the hell, why not give the men a thrill?
An even dozen new sheaths in all. A wide variety of colors and shapes, all expertly designed to bring out all of her finer points.
And Sally had some very fine points.
The sheaths weren't all that was new. She had an abundance of new panties, some of which seemed just the thing for a striptease artist, and four new pairs of spike heels, jewelry galore, and some new lounging unmentionables, such as the saucy skin-tight royal blue leotard, which covered her body from neck to toe but was mere lace from very high on her legs to her ankles. The lace, permitting her bareness to peek through, also covered her arms and from a point just above her nipples to her neck.
The back was lace all the way.
The telephone rang, breaking the monotony of the long stillness.
Sally hurried to the phone.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello, doll." Mark's voice echoed in her ears. "How did old Schultzy come out?"
"Well, hello, Mark." The sound of his voice thrilled Sally. She decided to do what she could to make him a little jealous. "Oh, you mean Murray? Well, he did all right. Take it from me. He's coming back in two weeks."
"That's the way to take care of my customers," Mark said.
CHAPTER TEN
"And that's the story, Ginger," Sally was saying. "I need two girls, and they must be pretty
"What's up?" Sally asked.
"This...." Mark replied. "I don't expect anyone today who would be in need of your services, but tomorrow, three very distinguished and very rich customers are flying in from the West Coast. They'll arrive about four o'clock at the airport, and they've got the night wide open. I gave them your address and told them three young babes would be waiting for them. So...."
"So you want me to round up a couple of other girls. Is that right, Mark?"
"That is right, precisely," Mark said, "and hit these guys right on the button, doll, because I'll be seeing them Thursday morning, and I expect to rake in a third of a million dollars in orders from these three gents."
"I'll do my best, Mark."
"That's my girl," he said. "Find two really stacked dames, and tell them we'll send them checks for fifty bucks apiece. You've got tonight to line them up. So get busy."
After she hung up the receiver, she could hear Mark's voice echoing in her ears ... You've got to line them up tonight ... so get busy.
And she was going to get busy immediately. If she pleased Mark on this assignment, she figured she'd be one step closer to writing her own ticket with him.
Her ticket was a wedding ring. hot numbers to take care of the guys they'll be with. Real party girls."
Ginger drew on her cigarette.
"I wish I were off tomorrow night, honey," she said. "But tonight's my night off. I sure could use the fifty bucks, and you know I'd like to help you out."
Sally sat there in Ginger's living room debating what she was going to do. She'd worn one of her most provocative sheaths, thinking that, if worst came to worst, she could make a tour of the bars and contact a likely prospect or two there. In her mind, she thought about some of the girls she'd met at Cartwright Manufacturing, but she could think of none who had all of the necessary requirements. Besides, she didn't want any of those girls to find out about her relationship with Mark. And Mark didn't want anyone else in the company to know about it.
"It's real tough just to pick up the kind of girl you want," Ginger said. "Tough as hell. You don't want an out-and-out whore, and still you want a girl who doesn't mind letting a guy go all the way with her. Isn't that right?"
"That's exactly right, Ginger," Sally agreed. "Mark wants these girls hand picked so that there can't be any slip up. Giving these customers the royal treatment means everything to him. And, I might add, to me."
"Do you really think that you'll wind up marrying Cartwright, Sally?"
"I'd marry Mark in a second if he'd ask me," Sally replied. "Of course, I don't know whether he'll ever ask me or not, but I'm sure going to give it one helluva try." She'd learned enough about Ginger during the three months they'd shared the apartment to know that she could trust the girl. "I'm in love with Mark. Madly in love with him."
"God, I hope you don't build up a lot of dreams and then have them all blow up in your face," Ginger said. "I went through that myself a couple of years ago, and it's pure hell."
The buzzer at the door interrupted their conversation. Ginger, who was wearing a chenille robe that covered her body almost completely for a change, jumped up and went to the door and opened it.
Standing in front of her was a clean-cut looking redhead. She was slender and rather tall, a short, tight skirt clinging snugly to her hips and buttocks and an Arnel Jersey blouse with a scooped neck sweeping out suddenly over her big breasts.
"You ran an ad in the paper this morning for a girl to share an apartment with you?" the girl asked.
"Yes," Ginger returned.
"I'm very much interested," the girl said, her eyes having drawn a quick appraisal of Ginger. "My name's Stella Preston."
"Come in, Stella," Ginger said, doing some appraising herself as Stella stepped inside. She introduced herself and introduced Stella to Sally. "Now, I'll show you around the apartment," Ginger added.
Stella paused.
"First, why don't I ask you a couple of questions before you go to a lot of trouble," she said.
"Sure, go right ahead," Ginger said.
Stella pulled out a package of cigarettes and lit one, and offered the package to both Ginger and Sally. Each took a cigarette.
"Okay," Stella began, "I might as well be very frank and hope that I don't offend anyone. First, I like to drink. I might even add that I get drunk occasionally." She hesitated. "Any objections?"
"No," Ginger said. "I do some drinking myself, and I have been known to get drunk once in a while."
"All right, that's settled," Stella continued. "Now, the big question. I like to live it up. In bed. With a man. I've got a weakness for what a man can give me, when I go to bed with him. What's your reaction to that?"
"No reaction," Ginger answered nonchalantly. "I might as well confess that I have that same weakness."
"Don't we all?" Sally cut in, laughing aloud.
"Good," Stella beamed. "All right, now you can show me around the apartment."
While Ginger was showing Stella through the apartment, Sally sat there smoking and thinking. She had a problem, and she didn't really know how to solve it. Or even how to approach solving it. She had believed that when she came to visit Ginger that the brunette girl would have the answer, having been employed for a good while in a ritzy supper club that hired several girls. Ginger, though, hadn't been any help.
"That's just about it," Ginger was telling Stella as they returned to the living room. "The fifty-fifty part of the rent is ninety dollars a month, and what you do is your business and what I do is my business."
"I'll take it!" Stella said.
This was just the kind of a set-up she wanted. "You can move in any time," Ginger told her. "Now, why don't we all have a drink?"
"Sounds like a good idea to me," Stella said. "Sounds like a helluva good idea," Sally chimed
"I'll bring out the booze," Ginger volunteered. "Sit down and make yourself at home, Stella."
Sally began to size up the redhead closely. She estimated Stella was a little older than either her or Ginger. Twenty-three, perhaps. Stella was a sexy girl, to say the least. She possessed plenty of curves and no traces of fat. She had a beautiful face; long, graceful legs; glamorous lips and soft, silky red hair. She appeared to be a natural redhead.
"What do you do, Stella?" Sally asked.
"I work for an advertising agency on Madison Avenue," Stella replied. "I have done some modeling for agency ads in addition to other duties. It's a job." She paused and glanced up at Sally. "And you?"
Sally wondered what she should say. Finally, she replied:
"I'm personal secretary to the president of a manufacturing concern."
Ginger returned with the drinks and passed them around and sat down on the divan. She continued to watch the actions of the new girl closely and suddenly said:
"I have an idea. Now, Stella, if you don't like what I'm going to say, all you have to do is say so. My good friend Sally here, has a problem, and you might be able to help her out."
Ginger wondered whether or not she should continue.
"Go right ahead, Ginger," Stella prompted.
"Well, Sally's boss has some very good customers coming to town tomorrow, and he wants Sally to line up three dates for them for tomorrow night. Sally's going to be one date, but she needs two other girls for the other men. Would you be interested, Stella?"
"Hell, yes," Stella answered. "I don't have anything planned," Sally thought immediately that Stella just might be the type of girl she needed.
"It's a little more than a date," she explained. "It very likely will turn out to be a pretty wild party, and these men are expecting the girls to spend the night with them."
"You mean I'd probably wind up getting laid?" Stella asked.
"Not probably," Sally corrected. "You very definitely would get laid."
"Well, I'm certainly no virgin. It wouldn't be the first time."
"To use my boss' expression," Sally continued, "the girls are supposed to give these guys any goddamn thing they want. It just might be the wildest party you've ever seen. Are you still interested, Stella?"
Stella was lighting a fresh cigarette.
"I've been to some wild ones. Sure, you can count me in."
"My boss would send you fifty bucks for your trouble," Sally said, wondering now if those big breasts beneath the girl's blouse were the real thing or not. "There's only one hitch. My boss insists that each of the girls I invite is pure flesh all the way. He doesn't want one of his guests to be disappointed."
Stella was beginning to feel the effects of the whiskey now.
"In other words, you want to know whether my tits are all real or not?"
Sally and Ginger both laughed.
"That's the idea," Ginger said.
"Well, I can assure you they are real," Stella shot back. "But if you want proof, here goes...."
She jumped up and removed her blouse. Quickly, she unfastened her bra and yanked it away. Her big, tapered breasts sprawled nude on her chest. They were flawless, sweeping out to sharp points, the nipples standing out rigidly from each brilliant areola the size of a quarter.
Stella slipped out of her skirt, took off her half-slip, and was standing there in pale pink panties. She removed the panties and was clad only in garter belt, nylons and high heels. She struck a statuesque pose.
"Do I pass the test, girls?"
Stella was a natural redhead.
"My God, I'll say you do," Sally gasped, admiring Stella's charms. "It's all real, all right!"
"Sally's right!" Ginger agreed. "There's a helluva lot of woman superbly packaged there!"
"Then I can count on that fifty bucks?" Stella asked, looking at Sally.
"That you can, Stella," Sally returned.
Stella started to dress.
"I think I deserve another drink, girls," she said, winding her bra around her breasts and fastening it.
"We'll all have another drink," Ginger said, picking up the glasses and going back to the kitchen.
Stella continued to dress.
"I could sure take on one of those guys right now. Tomorrow night ought to be a real ball. I've been to blowouts like that, where the guys wore themselves out with one girl and then changed partners and started all over again."
Ginger returned with the fresh drinks and passed them around.
"It was lucky for me you came along, Stella," Sally said. "Now I just need one more girl and everything would be set for tomorrow night." She looked directly at Ginger. "Why don't you call in sick tomorrow, Ginger, and come over and spend the night at my place?"
"I can't, kid," Ginger said. "Really, I can't. I've done that a few times, and it always makes my boss mad as hell."
"Wait a minute," Stella interrupted. "Wait a minute. I know a girl who just might fill the bill. She's a hot little brunette. I've never seen her in the nude, but if she doesn't wear falsies, she's got plenty. Would you like for me to try to get her on the phone, Sally?"
"I'll say I would!" Sally replied excitedly.
Stella got up and went to the telephone.
"She doesn't live too far from here ... if I can just get her."
"It looks like you may be in business," Ginger told Sally, while they waited for Stella to make the call.
"It sure does," Sally agreed.
"Arline?" Stella said over the phone. "This is Stella. What are you doing tonight?"
Ginger winked at Sally. They listened silently while Stella engaged in the conversation.
Sally crossed her legs, her sheath pulling high above her knees, and lit another cigarette.
"I'm smoking too damn many cigarettes," she said. "This whole thing makes me sort of nervous."
Ginger smiled.
Stella hung up the receiver. "Well, girls," she said, facing Sally and Ginger, "Arline Bentley will be right over. She's a hot little number. You'll like her. I didn't tell her what's up, but I promised her a drink. So we'll see what develops."
"Thanks, Stella," Sally said. "I can never repay you. You coming along is the luckiest thing that's happened to me in a long while."
Ginger got up, went to the kitchen and returned carrying a bottle of whiskey and some ice and soda. She raised the bottle over her head.
"I figured I might as well bring the whole bottle, since everybody seems in the mood to get stiff."
Sally and Stella laughed aloud.
The three girls drank and smoked and talked while they awaited Arline's arrival. Nearly thirty minutes passed before the buzzer sounded. Ginger got up, went to the door, and opened it.
"I'm Arline Bentley," the girl at the door said.
"Come in, Arline," Ginger grinned. "We'vejust been sitting around waiting for you."
The girl stepped inside, and Stella jumped up and introduced everyone. Arline had bright red lips and was wearing a pair of orange corduroy slacks and a white stretch sweater that seemed a couple of sizes too small for her. The sweater was tucked into the slacks and had a scooped neck that bared the large crease between her large, weighty breasts.
Her eyes were heavy with mascara, and she had long pointed fingernails that extended nearly a half inch out over the tips of her fingers. She wore orange spike heels.
Sally thought immediately that Arline wore too much make-up and appeared to be the type who could raise plenty of hell once she got a couple of drinks inside of her. Still, she looks like she could give a man a good time, Sally concluded.
Stella handed Arline a drink and waited while she touched a match to a cigarette. Then she explained all of the details regarding Sally's need for another girl to entertain one of the men who would be arriving the following day from the West Coast.
"For fifty dollars a night," Arline responded after the explanation, "I'd sleep with the devil himself. Good God, yes, I'll do it!"
"Sally would like to take a look at the merchandise before she decides, honey," Stella explained. "How about a little strip show?"
"Hell, yes!" Arline said. "I'll take it off if that's all you want. I spend half my time after dark stripping or letting some guy do it for me."
She gulped her drink, put down her cigarette, jumped up and began to struggle with the tight slacks. She worked them off and tossed them over a chair. She had a nice, shapely bottom, well-rounded hips and beautifully tapered thighs.
Arline took a deep breath.
"This is unusual for me," she said, "stripping for girls."
She reaised the white sweater upward, her bare breasts springing free, and over her head and off. Her soft, pliable bosom formed two great mounds of flesh, each one superbly tipped with a pale red rosebud.
"Great God!" Ginger exclaimed. "She certainly puts me to shame up front where it counts!"
"Arline puts all of us to shame," Sally cut in, speaking for both herself and Stella.
Arline laughed aloud.
"It takes a size forty-four bra to put those babies to bed. A 'D' cup at that."
"Those three guys will fight over you, Arline," Sally said.
"Then you want me tomorrow night?" Arline asked.
"The job's all yours," Sally replied without hesitation.
"Hell, I don't figure what I'll be doing tomorrow night's work, honey," Arline said. "It'll all be pure old pleasure."
Ginger was staring wildly at the delicate contours of the brunette's bosom and was sadly disappointed when Arline started to pull her sweater back over her head.
"If you ever have another night when you're not doing anything, drop around," she suggested, "and you and I'll have a helluva lot of fun."
Arline shook her head.
"Not this girl, honey. It's all reserved for the male species."
The girls all laughed aloud.
"What time do you want Arline and me to show up tomorrow night, Sally?" Stella asked.
"I have to work until five," Arline said. "I could make it by six-thirty or seven."
"Good," Sally returned. "I'll tell my boss to set the dates for seven-thirty."
Sally glanced at Stella and then at Arline. She figured she and the other two girls were just right for satisfying the appetities of three men away from home and out for a good time.
Mark Cartwright would be proud of her, she was certain.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Now remember, girls, you don't say no to anything these guys ask for," Sally was telling Stella and Arline as the three girls lounged lazily around the living room waiting for their three dates to arrive. "Give them whatever they want any way they want it."
"How are we going to decide which girl gets which guy?" Arline asked.
"Leave that to the men," Sally replied.
"Yeah, men have a way of pairing off with girls," Stella agreed.
The three girls each wore a daring sheath with a plunging neckline. All were bare-legged and wore high spike heels, long earrings, and an abundance of make-up.
Sally's sheath was black crepe with no sleeves, and lace ruffles for shoulder straps. It was cut extremely low in front with an added inset of sheer lace that left her breasts practically nude.
The sheath being worn by Arline was even more daring. It was flesh colored and made of clinging jersey that tapered low over her bosom, the neckline cut deep between the two high mounds of flesh and formed two points that barely hid her nipples. The sheath matched Arline's skin so closely you could hardly tell where the sheath ended and the flesh began.
Stella's sheath was far different from the other two. It was sapphire blue, sweeping in low over her breasts, and had full-length sleeves. The feature that made it so different was that it had an adjustable slit up the right side, and Stella could completely close the slit or open it as far up her legs as she desired. Right now, she had it open all the way up to her hips, and her naked leg was on full display.
The buzzer rang. It was seven-thirty right on the dot.
Sally got up and started to the door. "Well, happy landing, girls," she said in a low but excited voice.
"We're gonna land on our backs," Arline shot back slightly above a whisper. "That's for damn sure."
Sally opened the door. The three men were; standing in front of her.
"I'm Bruce Fairfax," the man closest to Sally said. "You're Sally?"
"Yes."
"Mark Cartwright sent us," Fairfax grinned.
"I know," Sally said. "Won't you come in?"
The three men stepped inside, their eyes quickly taking inventory of three lovely girls. Fairfax introduced the other men as Warner Ellers and Mort Bannister.
Fairfax was a short, pot-bellied man of about fifty, with piercing eyes. He was slightly bald around the temples.
Ellers appeared the youngest of the three, about thirty-seven or-eight and had a pencil-thin mustache. He was tall, at least six-feet-four and skinny as a rail.
Bannister was a husky man who must've weighed two hundred pounds, but he wasn't fat. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and had a wide grin on his face.
Sally introduced herself, Arline and Stella.
"Find places to sit, everybody," she said. "Name your drinks, and I'll get them."
Arline sat down on the divan, and Ellers promptly joined her there.
There was a moment of silence. Suddenly, Stella spoke up and said:
"Make mine a double Scotch-on-the-rocks."
"That's good for me, too," Fairfax said.
Bannister had his eyes on that slit extending over Stella's bare thigh.
"I don't care what I have as long as there's lots of it," he said.
: "Arline?" Sally prompted.
"I'm like Mort," Arline replied. "I don't give a damn what it is as long as it makes me drunk."
Arline's remark drew a gale of laughter.
Sally turned to Ellers and asked:
"Warner?"
Ellers' eyes were on the generous cleavage formed by Arline's breasts. "Whatever you bring Arline is good for me."
"Mark Cartwright said Sally has all kinds of food-that everything we need is right here in the apartment," said Fairfax, who seemed to be the spokesman for the men. "Is that right, Sally?"
"That's right," Sally said, standing at the bar and mixing the drinks.
During the next hour, the three couples told each other all about themselves, nibbled on buffet-style plates of food from the kitchen, smoked and guzzled Sally's liquor with amazing rapidity.
Nobody was feeling any pain now.
"I told that little mouse of a boss of mine I couldn't come to work tomorrow," Arline said.
"Me, too," Stella chimed in. "I knew I'd never make it."
Soft music filtered from the record player across the room.
Fairfax jumped up from his chair.
"I've got an idea," he said through slitted eyes. "Let's get this show on the road! Why don't the girls do a little strip act for us? Then we'll pair off." He looked squarely at Bannister. "Mort, you'll get the girl with the biggest bosom, because you're the oldest. I'll get the girl in the middle bracket, and the girl with the leastest goes to Warner. Okay?"
Ellers stared at the breasts" of each of the three girls. "Sounds good to me. I don't think any of us is going to feel cheated." Everyone laughed.
"Well, of course, we may wind up sampling all of the girls before the night is over," Fairfax said drunkenly.
Bannister was getting anxious now, feeling his loins doing flip-flops.
"Which one of you girls wants to strip first?" he asked.
Sally knew everyone was plastered.
"I have a better idea," she said, jumping up. "Come on, girls, let's strip off their clothes first! Grab a man, and let's get to work!"
Arline reached for Ellers' coat.
"Come on, Warner! I'm going to strip you naked as a jaybird!"
Stella caught hold of Fairfax, took off his coat and tie. She was already aware that Fairfax was brimming over with passion and was not surprised when he put his hands on her breasts and seemed to be measuring them for size.
Sally was left with Bannister, the oldest of the three, but she knew damn well that she wasn't going to be bedding down with him if they followed Fairfax's suggestion. She already knew that Arline was going to end up with Bannister and she felt keen disappointment, because she thought Bannister was the most handsome man of the three, despite his age.
Moments later, the three men were nude.
And obviously ready for action.
"Now, girls, who goes first-Stella, Arline, or myself?" Sally asked.
"You, Stella!" Arline suggested.
"Okay, I'll go first," Stella agreed.
Arline moved to the divan and slumped into it. This time Fairfax sat down beside her, and his hand whisked back the slit in her sheath and cupped a handful of warm flesh directly over her knee.
Ellers sat down in an upholstered chair, and Sally slipped onto the arm and wound her arm around Ellers' neck.
Stella broke into a little dance to the rhythm of the music. She began to gyrate and twist, her lips forming a tiny seductive circle. She wasn't long displaying her charms, unzipping the sheath and raising it over her head. Her large, well-formed breasts sprang free.
There was nothing beneath that sheath, except Stella.
"That's a helluva hunk of woman!" Bannister said loudly.
Fairfax and Ellers agreed.
Each of the men silently wondered whether or not Stella was going to be his, but there was no way to tell. Not yet. Not until they got a glimpse of the other girls.
"All right," Stella cooed, "who's going next?"
There was silence.
Finally, Sally slid off the arm of Ellers' chair. Without saying a word, she moved to the center of the room.
Stella strode over to Ellers and sat down on his lap. She liked Ellers, but not having seen Sally in the nude, she wasn't certain whether she was going to get him or not. Ellers wound his arms around Stella's body, and his hands promptly covered her breasts.
Sally unzipped her sheath and took it off. She wore no bra, as usual, her taut, cone-shaped breasts glittering in the light. Her fingers found the elastic band of her sheer, white panties, and she removed them.
Now Sally was nude except for her spike heels.
"Nice!" Bannister yelled. "Very, very nice!"
Stella knew now that Ellers was going to get Sally, because the platinum blonde's breasts were slightly smaller than hers. Only slightly. She suddenly was aware that she was going to pair off with Fairfax.
"The real treat is yet to come," Sally said. "Arline, peel it off!"
Ariine walked to the center of the room, staggering as she moved.
Ellers momentarily forgot that he had a naked girl in his arms. He was all eyes for Arline.
Bannister's mouth was watering. He strongly suspected that the girl who was about to disrobe now would within a few minutes be snuggling up to him. In bed.
Fairfax was motionless. He wasn't even aware that Sally had dropped down on the divan beside him and that her hand was touching him.
"Take it off, Arline!" Bannister urged loudly and impatiently.
"You can't wait, can you, Mort?" Arline giggled.
She reached for the zipper at the back of the sheath and unzipped it. The front of the sheath fell forward, permitting her nipples to pop up over the neckline.
A wave of ooohs and aaahs erupted from the three men.
Arline laughed and said:
"There's more."
She dropped the sheath down her body, her luxurious breasts spilling forward into full view. She stepped out of the sheath and was clad only in her heels and a flesh-colored G-string with spaghetti-thin straps tied in bows on her thighs.
"My God!" Bannister gasped. "I guess everyone knows where I'll be spending the night. For once in a man's life, it pays to be old."
Arline pranced across the room and drew up in front of Bannister. She drove her hips forward.
"Yank the bows loose and take it off!" she said.
Bannister reached out with both hands, catching hold of the bows and gave them a jerk. The G-string fell from Arline's body and landed at his feet.
Arline collapsed into Bannister's arms as she sat sideways on his lap, her legs over his legs, her arms around his neck and her breasts in his face.
"I'm all yours, Mort," she purred. "Do you think you can handle the situation?"
"I'm going to give it a helluva try!" Bannister mumbled. "Where's the bedroom?"
"Right down the hall-second door to your right," Sally answered, getting up and going toward Ellers. She turned around and faced the others. "I have a suggestion to make. Every two hours, let's change partners. It's nearly ten o'clock. At midnight, I'll join Bruce, Stella can go into Mort's room, and Arline can join Warner. At two, we'll complete the circle. Everybody agree?"
Everybody agreed. "If anybody wants a bottle of booze to take to their rooms, drop by the bar," Sally added. She turned again toward Ellers. "I believe you have something for me, don't you, Warner?"
Ellers felt a fresh wave of desire burst into his groin and fan out swiftly throughout the rest of his body.
"That I do, baby," he said. "And I'm going to give it to you, but good!"
He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall to a bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.
Stella moved over to the divan beside Fairfax and put her arms around his neck. She felt his arms circle her. She pressed her breasts into his chest and rolled her lips into his and felt his tongue slide into her mouth. After a long embrace, she took his hand and jumped up.
"Let's pick up a bottle, Bruce, and find that empty bedroom," she said.
Bruce had never been one to disagree with a pretty girl in his life.
And he and Stella picked up a bottle and found the empty bedroom.
The party continued throughout the night.
On schedule.
Every two hours, the three girls went to different bedrooms.
It was nearly six o'clock in the morning now. Sally lay on her back and blew spirals of smoke toward the ceiling. She'd occupied her new apartment only a few days. She couldn't remember exactly how many days, but she did know that she had gone to bed with five different men, including Schultz, Ellers, Fairfax, Bannister, and Bill Foster.
She glanced over at Ellers with whom she'd spent four hours during the night. He was stretched out nude beside her and sound asleep. She wasn't thinking about Ellers, though. Or Schultz or Fairfax or Bannister.
Or Mark Cartwright.
She was thinking about Bill Foster. She didn't know why she suddenly couldn't get Bill Foster out of her thoughts. She had seen Bill only once, the day he delivered her new wardrobe of clothes.
Really, he's the nicest of them all, she was thinking. Including Mark Cartwright. And he was wonderful in bed. The best of them all. Including Mark Cartwright. Sally wondered why he'd never come back. She looked over in the corner. The dress rack was still there.
This was Saturday, and tonight would be her night with Mark. She wondered whether or not Mark would keep their first date under the new arrangement. She'd looked forward to it all week, and she became increasingly excited as the day had finally arrived.
The apartment was very still.
Sally lay there a long time. She lost track of the time, lapsing into a deep meditation. Somehow, she felt dirty. Dirty inside. Here she was a young girl with a beautiful face and beautiful figure, and she was letting every man who came along strip her stark naked and have her. Mark Cartwright could call it whatever he wanted to call it, but Sally Logan had become only one thing.
A whore.
A full-fledged whore.
The fact that she didn't take any money for it had nothing to do with it. Why, oh, why didn't she tell Mark to go to hell when he set her up in this fancy apartment? She didn't have the answer.
The telephone rang, and her deep concentration was broken. Sally jumped out of bed and ran naked to the living room.
She answered the telephone.
"Yes, Mark, everything went off on schedule." She paused. "Yes, they're all still here. Asleep. Those three guys got all they wanted for one night, and then some."
"Did they say what time they'd be over to the office?" Mark asked. "They have plane reservations for four o'clock."
"Fairfax told me they'd see you about eleven," she answered. "What time is it now?"
"Nine-thirty." Mark hesitated. "Okay. By the way, Sally, I've got a big man coming Monday from Boston. He'll expect the red carpet treatment. And Tuesday night, two customers from Detroit, Do you think one of those girls will be available for Tuesday night?"
"I'll see, Mark."
"All right," Mark returned. "Don't let me down now, Sally. You want to keep that nice apartment, don't you?"
She paused. Sure, she wanted to keep the nice apartment. In less than a week, it had become a big part of her life.
"You know I do, Mark. I'll take care of things." Again, she hesitated. "You can tell me all about Monday and Tuesday nights when you come over tonight. I'll have a good dinner ready, and we'll just stay in the apartment."
"Sally, that's one reason I called," Mark said, his voice apologetic. "I can't make it tonight. I've got an appointment I can't break. You understand, don't you?"
Disappointment swelled through her. No, she didn't understand. She didn't want to understand.
"It won't happen again," Mark promised.
"All right, Mark," Sally said, resigned to the fact he wasn't going to see her. "All right."
"Goodbye, Sally," Mark said. "I'll be in touch with you."
"Goodbye."
She hung up the receiver.
Her disappointment was crippling. She looked off into space and wondered. About Mark.
And the future.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saturday passed. And another Saturday. A third Saturday.
Mark Cartwright had given Sally Logan one excuse after another. Until today. She had expected this Saturday to be the same old story, but Mark telephoned her late Friday night that the two of them at long last were going to start keeping their week end dates. And on a regular basis. Nothing would interfere. Mark had apologized for the fact he was unable to keep their scheduled dates in the past, but starting tonight things were going to be different.
And Sally was excited.
She stood nude in front of the mirror in the bedroom she regarded as her bedroom and studied the reflection. Already, her big breasts were hard and erect, the nipples rising up proudly and eager for the touch of Mark's hands.
She'd lost track of the number of men who had caressed those breasts during the past month, but she knew there had been many. Tall and short men, young and old, skinny and fat, men with big pot bellies. Never had she refused to take care of one of Mark's customers. And Cartwright Manufacturing was thriving as a result.
Sally could recall only two nights when she hadn't entertained Mark's customers except for Saturdays and Sundays. She spent one of these nights getting drunk by herself and catching up on her sleep and the other with a man she liked tremendously. Bill Foster.
He had come to the apartment one afternoon to pick up the empty dress rack and ended his short stay by making love to her. As he left, he asked her for a date, and she promised to call him the very first night when she would be free.
That was nearly a week ago. Bill appeared almost shy when he appeared to pick her up. He stepped into the living room and couldn't take his eyes off of her. Sally had worn a wool jersey sheath especially for him.
The black sheath bared her knees and hugged her curves, dipping in at the waist and sweeping outward over her hips and buttocks. It had an exciting squared-off neckline that hid practically nothing, her dazzling breasts bulging high above the neckline.
"God, you look like a real angel," Bill said, his eyes glowing. "You look sexier in clothes than you do in the altogether, and that's saying a lot."
"Well, I don't feel like an angel, but we won't go into that," Sally replied. "Thanks for the compliment just the same."
He drew close to her, his arms curving around her waist. He could see her breasts rising and falling as she breathed.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you are the most beautiful girl on earth?"
She had heard those same words from every man who'd taken her to bed. She had heard them so often that at times she wanted to throw up when another strange man spoke them. Somehow, though, they sounded so different, so refreshing coming from Bill Foster. This was the first time she had seen Bill, except in working clothes, and she thought he was a very handsome man.
"You're nice, Bill. Very nice," she said.
Bill drove her body hard into his. Very hard. Their lips blended together in a long, tender embrace, her tongue sliding into his mouth. His knees buckled as hungry desire swept over his body, and he knew he had to turn loose of her and did.
He stood there looking at her, as if all of the world were on his shoulders.
"What're you thinking, Bill?" Sally wanted to know.
"You remember that first time I saw you?" Bill answered. "The day I brought all of those clothes here?"
"Yes."
"I've wondered a thousand times since that afternoon why you let me make love to you," he said.
Sally studied his words momentarily.
"Impulse, I suppose. Yes, it was a wild impulse that struck me."
"You don't make a habit of jumping into bed with every strange man who comes along, do you, Sally?"
"Of course not," she lied.
"I knew that," Bill said almost apologetically. "I don't know what made me ask."
She felt a little cheap for lying to him. To her, Bill Foster seemed so honest, so different from all of the men she'd ever known. He had the sparkle of youth in his eyes, and yet he was very much a man.
Now, as she continued to appraise herself in the mirror, Sally recalled how she had lied to Bill. She very definitely had been jumping into bed with every strange man who came along. She was a whore. A high-class whore. There was no other word for it.
The nearness of her approaching date with Mark Cartwright sprang into her thoughts again and excited her. Silently now, she was comparing Mark with Bill. They were entirely different.
Mark was rich, established, and had a definite goal in life. He was respected as a business man.
Bill was obviously poor but a man with pride. He lived from pay day to pay day and had never been accustomed to the finer things in life. He probably always would be a man who lived from one pay check to another, but he was a helluva lot of fun.
She weighed one way of life against the other.
Somewhere in the distance she suddenly heard the striking sound of a clock. Three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... her date with Mark was only thirty minutes away. She had already taken her bath, and she had everything in the oven and the refrigerator for a nice dinner right in the apartment. She hadn't been with Mark for a long while, and she damn sure wasn't going to spend half of the night traveling around the city and eating at some fancy restaurant.
She was going to stay home with Mark, and she was going to make him want her worse than he had ever wanted any woman in his life.
Sally had made her decision. She liked the luxury which Mark could provide for her. And she was going after him.
Hook, line and sinker.
Tonight.
She was going to take a different approach tonight. She wasn't going to offer Mark everything on a silver platter. He was going to have to fight for it. She was going to make certain that he'd never let another month pass without seeing her.
She reached for a bra, a special one she'd bought just for the occasion. It was a sexy French cut-out of pure black lace. She eased her breasts into the cups and fastened it in front. It fit squarely over her nipples, letting them protrude through the cut-outs no larger than the size of a nickel. Sally hated to wear brassieres and rarely did, but a bra tonight was part of her scheme of things to work Mark up to the hilt before she finally submitted to him.
She put on a pair of matching lace panties, if you wanted to call them panties. Actually, they were merely a small triangle that covered what she wanted covered with strips of lace that wound around her hips and clung tightly to her.
Sally stepped into a pair of spike heels, held onto her feet only by narrow rhinestone-covered straps that tapered gently over her instep. She fastened dazzling, long black earrings to her ears.
She drew a wispy sheer black robe, gathered slightly at the yoke and flowing out over her breasts, over her body. It was sleeveless with tiny puffs rising over her shoulders.
Like an artist, she painted her lips with an abundance of creamy soft orchid lipstick and applied mascara. She examined her fingernails and took a reassuring look at her toenails. They sparkled with rich orchid lacquer.
Sally Logan was ready for Mark Cartwright.
No sooner had she declared herself ready for action than the door bell sounded. She started to run toward the living room door, stopped, and waited.
A full minute.
The door bell rang again and again.
This was one time when she wasn't going to seem too anxious. She was going to play hard to get. She was going to make Mark realize that she wasn't just a girl he could run to every time he wanted a little sex. She might be an easy touch for Mark's customers, but she wasn't going to be easy for Mark.
Finally, she went to the door and opened it. Mark stood before her. He stepped inside, started looking around and almost ignored her.
"I don't know why I didn't think of a set-up like this a long time ago," Mark said. "There's nothing like a beautiful girl, and a safe place to shack up with her, to lure fat orders out of tired old business men."
Sally was stunned. Mark had nothing on his ; mind except business.
"Well, is that all you've got to say, Mark?" Sally asked, disappointment rolling through her a mile a second.
A thin grin came over his face.
"For God's sake, what did you want me to say?"
"I haven't seen you for almost a month, Mark," Sally answered. "I thought...." She paused.
She didn't know what to say. She walked across the room to the coffee table, picked up a cigarette and lit it. She was seeing a side of Mark's character she had never seen before.
From across the room, he could see the nude lines of her graceful legs silhouetted beneath the sheer black robe, her narrow hips, the curves of her thighs, and the magnificent splendor of her rounded buttocks. He had detected a trace of anger intermingled with disappointment on her face as she had passed him, and he knew that he must keep her happy.
He moved toward her, drew up behind her, and extended his arms around her, hooking his hands together beneath the ripe hillocks of her breasts. He felt her body relax against him.
"You've got something I want, doll."
For an instant, she was tempted to tell him that he had something she wanted, too, but she said:
"How about a drink and then dinner?"
"How about a little appetizer first?"
His voice was very soft and gentle.
"Like a kiss?" Sally asked.
He shook his head. "No, doll." His hands dropped down to her thighs. "This...."
"That's not an appetizer," she countered. "That's the dessert." She spun out of his arms. "Come on. A drink and then dinner."
"Okay," he agreed.
Sally went to the bar and started measuring the drinks, making her own light with whiskey. This was one night she wasn't going to drink too much. She wanted to know exactly what she was doing at all times. If she hit the bottle too hard, she wouldn't give a damn what she did, and instead of making Mark beg for it she'd find herself begging him to give . it to her. And that wasn't going to happen.
They didn't waste much time eating dinner. Twenty minutes later, they emerged from the kitchen, paused by the bar for two fresh drinks and went directly to the divan and sat down.
Sally crossed her legs, allowing the thin robe to fall away from her knees and reveal the shapeliness of her thighs.
Mark's eyes, however, weren't too concerned at the moment with her legs or thighs. They were fixed on her rather unique bra and her taut nipples which pierced through the cut-outs in the center of the cups.
"That's quite a brassiere, doll."
"You like that, Mark?"
"It's certainly different," he returned, a seductive smile racing over his face.
"Yes, quite different," she agreed.
"I didn't think you bothered with bras. That's the first one I've ever seen on you."
"I don't," Sally laughed. "Not usually, but you know what they say. Variety is the spice of life."
Mark drained his glass and set it down. The liquor was producing fire in his body, and Sally was pouring more fuel on that fire. He angled his arm around her and loosened the bow-tie that held her robe together. The robe was open all the way down the front now.
Mark cupped one big breast in his hand and felt a strong wave of overwhelming desire rip into him. He raked his lips slowly over hers and then kissed her, hard. He drove his tongue past her lips in a wild, passionate embrace. His hand fumbled for the snap on her bra, but as he searched for it, Sally pushed his hand away.
Without a pause, he returned his hand to the soft lace between her breasts. Just as his fingers came in contact with the snap, he felt her hand fighting him off, clinging tightly to his hand and thrusting it back once more.
Still, he continued to kiss her, their hot tongues lashing against one another. This time his hand fled downward over her smooth stomach.
Down.
To the narrow strip of cloth stretching around her thighs. He started to work his hand beneath it only to feel her catch hold of his wrist and pull his hand back.
"Sally!" he said, taking his lips away from hers. "What's the matter? You've never acted this way before! Not even the first time!"
She giggled and said:
"You're looking at the new Sally Logan."
"How in the hell can you say that when you've been putting out for every customer I've sent over here?" Mark argued. "I've had some very excellent reports on you."
"I'll bet you have," Sally returned, "but that was business. This is supposed to be pleasure, Mark. Not another business proposition. Not cut and dried. I want to be loved, Mark."
He jumped up.
"Well, I'll be damned! You dress like that and expect me to sit around and twiddle my thumbs! Well, I don't intend to beg you for it!"
Sally realized that she must do something. Very quickly. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he was on the verge of telling her to go to hell and leaving. She got up and went to him.
"I'm sorry, Mark." She put her arms around him. "I might just as well confess that I've been in love with you from that first night you took me to your penthouse. I just didn't want you to think that because I've been entertaining your friends that I'm nothing but a whore."
The anger faded from his eyes. He crushed her to him and kissed her for a long while. Passion rose inside of him again.
After the long kiss, he released her and mumbled excitedly:
"Undress me, doll!"
Sally undressed him while they stood in the center of the room, leaving his shorts until the last, as usual. He was nude, and she knew now just how anxious he was to have her.
"Now I'm going to undress you," he grinned. "What little undressing there is to do."
"Be my guest, but hurry!" Sally urged.
He flicked off her robe with a single sweep of his hands. He could see her bare nipples peeking through the cut-outs. They were stiff and eager for his touch. He touched them, and she went wild.
"Take it off, Mark! Take it off!"
He had no trouble with the bra this time, drawing it off, and her breasts heaved free.
She leveled her hands beneath them and raised them toward him.
"Kiss them!" she demanded.
Mark kissed the silken mounds of flesh and heard the deep sounds of satisfaction stir from her throat.
Sally grabbed his hands and directed them to her panties.
"Get them off! Now!" she said.
He swept her panties down her legs and off.
Even more impatient now, she pulled him to her, grinding her body into his, moulding her curves into his curves and kissed him passionately. It was a hot, fiery kiss that sent a tingling sensation spiraling through her thighs. She had abandoned all thought from her mind now of not begging Mark. She had discarded everything from her thoughts except to have him. She collapsed in his arms.
"Take me into the bedroom, Mark! Please take me into the bedroom!"
Mark lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. Her body was limp and relaxed. As he carried her, he heard her spike heels hit the floor. He was still angry deep inside, because she had rejected his advances the first time he was ready to take her.
He put her down in the center of the bed and started to draw back away from her, momentarily, but she caught hold of him and pulled him down on top of her.
"Now!" Sally screamed.
Her body thrashed and twisted beneath him.
He knew she wanted him worse than she had ever wanted any man. The anger stemming from her earlier rejection of him crashed through his brain once again. Suddenly, he rolled away from her.
Sally reached for him, but he wasn't there.
"Forget it!" he said bitterly.
"What's the matter, Mark?"
He backed toward the door and broke out in sarcastic laughter.
"Now you know what it's like to get all worked up and find out there's nothing there for you!" He kept on laughing. "Suffer, dammit!"
"Mark, I need you!" Her voice was pleading. "God, how I need you!"
"Of course, you need me!" he countered. "Just like I needed you an hour ago, but it didn't make any difference!"
Sally held out her hands again for him, but he was gone. She jumped out of the bed and ran to the living room. She had expected him to say he was only joking, but he was putting on his clothes, and she knew he was dead serious. She ran over to him.
"Mark! Mark!"
He pushed her away.
"You won't pull that little trick the next time I come around to make love to you," he said, continuing to dress. "And if you want to keep this apartment and continue to draw that two hundred bucks a week, you won't take out your spite on the customers I send around during the week."
Mark was dressed now, and he started toward the door, twisting around watching Sally as he moved.
"Remember that, doll! Just remember everything I've told you!"
Tears were streaming from her eyes and running down her cheeks. Once more she started in Mark's direction and then paused. She knew it was no use. She stared toward the floor and bit her lip. She heard the door close.
Mark was gone.
Slowly, she walked back to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. The room was still except for her deep sobbing.
She tried to evaluate Mark. He doesn't really love me, she concluded silently. He has never loved me. He wants only what he can get out of me. I've got a body that men can't resist, a beautiful face and a figure that attracts men. I'm strictly one of Mark's business gimmicks. Nothing else as far as he is concerned.
Mark's last few parting words echoed in her ears ... "If you want to keep this apartment and continue to draw that two hundred bucks a week, you won't take out your spite on the customers I send around during the week."
She did want to keep the apartment, and where else could she make two hundred dollars a week? Nowhere. She resolved to go ahead as if nothing had ever happened and perhaps she could smooth things over with Mark and eventually maybe he'd fall in love with her.
Maybe.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Depression surged through Sally as she continued to lay there on the bed. She rolled over on her back and stared up at the ceiling. The familiar ache that gnawed at her body every nigh!; she didn't have a man had again seized her. She ran her hands over her breasts and felt her nipples swell and grow hard.
She could almost feel the warmth of a man's body against hers. Mark Cartwright's body. Bill Foster's body.
She knew she had to have a man.
Tonight.
Bill Foster ... His name jolted her. She jumped from the bed and ran into the living room. She knew Bill's telephone number. She would invite him over to spend the night.
The week end.
She went to the bar and took a long, stinging drink of raw Scotch, the whiskey barreling into her belly and fanning her desire more than ever for Bill Foster.
Sally went to the telephone and dialed Bill's number. She waited impatiently. There was no answer. Damn! She walked to the window and looked down on the street far below. The neon lights on the outside of a bar flickered on and off. The desire within her recoiled and sprang in all directions.
She'd never gone out looking for a man. Until now.
She hurried back to the bedroom and slipped into her most seductive sheath. It was black with tiny gold buttons all the way down the front and had a daring, plunging neckline that was certain to attract the attention of all roving male eyes.
That was all she was going to wear except high spike heels, long earrings and a white stole around her almost nude shoulders.
She looked at her watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty. She predicted that by midnight she would be back in the apartment.
With a man.
Any man.
She didn't give a damn who he was as long as he could satisfy her burning desire for love.
Ten minutes later, Sally removed the stole, slid into a booth in the bar, lit a cigarette, and ordered a drink from the bleached blonde who came up to wait on her. She crossed her legs, making certain the hem of the sheath rode well over her knees. She swung one leg back and forth to attract attention.
She looked like a hundred-dollar-a-night whore and felt like one, but she didn't care. She needed a man, and she was going all out to get one.
She sipped her drink. Drinking was only a front, an excuse for being in the bar. She had no intention of getting drunk. That could come later when she got her man and had him safely back in her apartment. She took a drag from her cigarette, blowing a long flow of smoke from her smooth red lips.
Now she heard approaching footsteps, the firm, husky footsteps of a man. Suddenly, there was no sound. She could see the legs of a man almost directly beside her. She noted the fresh crease in the trousers and followed it upward to the belt line, up to where the man's tie tapered off to a point and formed a sharp, dark contrast to his white shirt. "Hello."
The man's voice was gentle and soft.
"I knew that sooner or later you'd come into this bar," he said. "I've come here many nights hoping you would, and here your are."
Quickly, Sally's eyes rose up over the tie to the man's face, and her face grew red.
"Bill ... Bill Foster."
Bill slid into the booth opposite her.
"Sally ... I knew if I came here often enough, I'd find you again."
"But why haven't you called me again, Bill?" she asked, taking his hand in hers.
"I wanted to," he explained, "but somehow I always felt I wasn't in your class, Sally."
"Class? I'm just a normal girl, Bill. You shouldn't be misled by that apartment and these fancy dresses."
He beamed.
"Thanks. This is a dream come true." She squeezed his hand.
"Why don't we get out of here and go over to my apartment?" She smiled and was aware that his eyes were fixed solidly on the big rolls of flesh rising from the sheath. "No use to pay good money for booze here, when I've got cases of it stacked away."
"I've got a different idea," Bill said. "Now if you don't want to, all you have to do is say so. How'd you like to come over to my dreary little place and see how the other half lives? Nothing fancy. Only one room. How about it?"
"Does it have a bed in it?" Sally asked.
He nodded in the affirmative.
"And I've got a brand new bottle of Scotch."
"Let's go!" she said excitedly, emptying her glass.
Bill got up and wrapped her stole around her shoulders, his hand sweeping over the contours of her breasts as he moved.
"You're in for a real surprise."
"All I ask is plenty of cigarettes and whiskey and a nice, soft bed."
She let out a little laugh and added:
"And you. I tried to phone you tonight."
They both laughed aloud as they left the bar.
Bill escorted her to his nineteen-fifty-nine-model Ford, and they wound across Manhattan to a dimly lighted area on the lower East side. He took her up two floors of stairs and they went inside his modest room, a little less humble than Sally had expected.
"This is it," Bill said.
Sally looked around. There was a wash basin in one corner, a poor excuse for a dresser with a broken mirror and two or three pieces of other furniture.
Including a bed.
Bill locked the door, then changed his mind and unlocked it.
"There's a community refrigerator down the hall. If we're lucky, there'll be some ice left."
"That's okay," Sally said.
He got the pitcher from the dresser and went out into the hall.
Sally lit a cigarette. The dull room reminded her of her home in Brooklyn, but she didn't care. She was going to live it up with Bill, and that was all that mattered.
Bill returned with the ice, removed the new bottle of Scotch from a dresser drawer and poured two drinks. He handed one to Sally, and they start-ed drinking.
"You know what I'm going to do pretty quick?" Sally asked. "What?"
He felt strong desire stabbing at his loins.
"I'm going to tuck you into bed with me."
"I can't think of anything I'd like better."
She emptied her glass, set it down, and then took Bill's glass. She spun around and drew close to him, winding her arms around him and driving her body hard into his.
"Kiss me!"
He kissed her, felt her tongue slide into his mouth. His breath came in little jerks.
After long moments, she released him and began to unbutton his shirt after removing his coat and tie. She took off his shirt and undershirt.
Bill's hands caught hold of the zipper to her sheath and zipped it down. The sheath fell forward, permitting her lovely breasts to surge forward. He reached down and lifted the sheath over her head and off.
"God, you're beautiful," he said, "the most beautiful girl in the world."
"Thank you." She dropped to her knees and started to remove his shoes and socks. "In a moment, you're going to make me the happiest girl in the world."
He let out a little chuckle, and the passion within him was mounting by leaps and bounds.
"I'll do my best not to disappoint you."
Sally raised up and, without hesitation, she loosened his trousers and let them fall down his legs.
"Now we're getting somewhere." In the distance, she heard a clock strike twelve-thirty. "I'm pretty much on schedule."
"What?" Bill asked.
She laughed. "Nothing. I was just thinking out loud." She reached for the snaps on his shorts, unfastened them and watched the shorts tumble down his legs. "Offhand, I'd say you have a girl on your mind."
"How'd you guess?" He took her into his arms. "And in a very few minutes, I'm going to have her somewhere else." He pulled her closer to him but it wasn't close enough. "Stand between my legs."
She moved in closer, following his instructions closely. "Okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, kiss me!" Sally purred. "Kiss me like you've never kissed a girl before. Make me...."
Her voice trailed away with the impact of his kiss. He felt her tongue drive forward, parting his lips, and her hard, young breasts stabbing his chest like a pair of daggers. He heard light sounds echo from her throat.
Suddenly, she threw back her head. Urgency filled her eyes.
"I can't wait any longer!" she said. "Take me over to the bed! Now, Bill!"
He swept her into his arms, his face finding the ripe lushness of her tremendous bosom. He heard her gasp and knew she was in desperate need.
"You lovely creature!"
"Please hurry, Bill!"
He stumbled to the bed with her, getting there just in time to let her down before his strength was completely gone. He tried to get his breath, but her hands were pulling him down to her.
Her long red fingernails cut into his back.
"Do it, Bill! Now!"
Bill eased forward, and he heard her gasp. Soft sounds of lust rose from her throat as his hands devoured her breasts and his lips found hers. Her amazing reflexes responded fantastically to every movement he made. He rose to the peak very quickly, and he knew she was there with him.
"Please, Bill!" Sally screamed. "Please!"
He knew what she meant. He knew she was ready, just as he was ready. He didn't keep her waiting any longer. It was impossible, both for him and for her.
THE END came simultaneously with her low cry of satisfaction.
It was all over.
For the first time that night, that is.
Neither of them moved for a long while, both of them soaking up the last trace of excitement. Finally, he left her, and they lay side by side in silence.
Bill was thinking Sally was so different from the Sally he'd known on the all too rare previous occasions. She had real poise now. Her response to love was spontaneous. There was a wild, yet precision-like savagery about her. When a man got through with her or her with him, depending upon how you looked at it, he was bordering on a state of unconsciousness.
The room reeked of perspiration, liquor, and perfume.
Sally once more was making the inevitable comparison of Bill's ability to make love, with Mark's ability. The comparison became a distorted blur in her mind. It had been so long since she'd been with Mark that she was unable to form any concrete conclusion.
Indeed, Bill had the stability of youth, the eager anxiety of a boy. She could not deny but that he had provided her with total satisfaction, so much so, that her immediate reaction was that she wanted more. Bill was powerful and handsome. There was nothing matter-of-fact about his love making.
Bill wanted to ask her more about herself. He looked over at her and concluded that she would do anything for him, tell him anything he wanted to know.
"Sally ... "
"Yes, Bill ... "
"Are you a wealthy girl?"
There was no answer.
"I mean ... well, you do live in a place that only the rich could afford," he prompted.
Sally decided silently that she might as well be truthful with him.
"No," she said. "Until a few months ago, I had nothing except a couple of nice dresses and a beautiful body."
"Then?...." he prompted again.
She twisted her head around toward him and came face to face with him. She reached over and touched him.
"During the summer, I got a job as a personal secretary to the president of a large manufacturing firm. I became, in fact, more than a personal secretary. The first day I knew my boss, I fell in love with him."
Bill said nothing, but his eyes told Sally he was waiting to hear more.
"After a short time, my boss got this fantastic idea that I should move into one of his luxury apartments," Sally continued, "and ... "
"Yes...."
"And entertain his customers ... in the apartment. My boss bought all of those clothes that you delivered for me. He set me up like a queen. He furnished everything ... whiskey, food, clothes, the works."
Bill bit deep into his lip.
"And you furnished the sex?"
"Yes," Sally answered without hesitation, although she didn't want to answer his question.
She saw the overwhelming disappointment on his face and in his eyes.
"Are you still in love with your boss?" Bill asked.
"I had to love him very much to do what I'm doing," she replied.
"That isn't what I asked you, Sally," he said. "I asked you whether or not you're still in love with him."
Sally didn't answer immediately. It was a question she couldn't answer immediately. The question was racing around in her thoughts.
Finally, she said:
"Let's put it this way. I must still be in love with him or I wouldn't continue to do what I'm doing."
He detected a soft mist in her eyes, but he wasn't certain whether the tears resulted from the fact she had revealed the uninhibited manner in which she was living to him or perhaps the fact she was sorry she had gotten herself tangled up in her present way of life. He pulled her to him.
"Have you ever taken money to go to bed with a man, Sally?"
"No. Never."
He felt relief with her answer. It was nice to know that she hadn't put money above everything else.
"Haven't you ever thought of settling down with a man and having kids and living like the majority of girls live?"
This was a question for which she had a quick answer.
"Of course I have, Bill. A lot of nights I've remained awake dreaming of a home and a husband and children."
"You don't really like meeting all kinds of men, do you, Sally?"
"No, really, I don't," she answered. "I must admit, though, that sex has become very much a part of my life. I can't get along without sex. Deep down inside, I crave it."
"Then why don't you marry me and get all you want?"
His question jolted her. It came so suddenly, bursting from his lips like a bolt of lightning shattering a clear sky.
"You and I would make a helluva couple," Bill added.
She knew he had spoken again, but his words didn't register with her. His words were blurred in her thoughts. Quickly, she had begun to consider his proposal, and just as quickly Mark Cartwright entered her thoughts. If only Mark hadn't treated her as if she were merely another of his business enterprises earlier that night.
Bill continued to hold her limp body close to him.
"Do you hear me, Sally?" His voice startled her. "What, Bill?"
"I asked if you heard me ... I asked you to marry me, Sally."
She didn't want to hurt him, but she knew she had to give this very nice young man some kind of an answer.
"Bill, I do appreciate your proposal, but I can't even think about accepting it right now."
"But you aren't rejecting it?" he wanted to know.
She hesitated only briefly.
"No, I'm not rejecting it. It came out of the blue. That was the last thing on earth I'd expected you to ask me. There I was laying all of my sinful way of life right on the line to you, and you react by asking me to marry you."
"I'm very serious, Sally."
He let his eyes wander up and down her incredible figure, and sweat broke out all over him.
"I know you're serious," Sally said, "but one thing I'm wondering is whether or not you're really in love with me or in love with my body."
"I love you, Sally," Bill reiterated. "Sure, you do have a wonderful body, but I love your smile, your delicate manner, your voice, and everything about you. I've known that from the first day I saw you."
She was impressed with his sincerity and with his presentation. His thinking was mature, and his eyes were desperate for her to say yes. Still, she couldn't say yes. Not right now. There were too many factors involved ... the main factor, Mark Cartwright.
"I'll have to think about it, Bill."
His eyes glowed now. She hadn't said yes, but more important, she hadn't said no.
"How long?" he asked excitedly.
She debated momentarily. She decided she was going to have it out with Mark right away. The way things stood now, there was no future for her as far as Mark was concerned. Sure, she could go ahead shacking up with the men Mark sent to her for an indefinite period. Indefinite, because there was no permanency to the kind of life she was living. Sooner or later, it was all going to carve its mark on her, and sooner or later when the men returned to New York, they'd want a different face, a different body, a different girl.
"I'll let you know a week from tonight," Sally said finally.
"Does that mean we'll have a date a week from tonight?" Bill asked.
"No," she answered, shaking her head. She reminded herself that she had reserved Saturday nights for Mark, and she wasn't going to commit herself to Bill until she had made an effort to straighten things out with Mark during the week. "One way or the other, you'll know by next Saturday night."
Bill felt good, despite the uncertainty. He had nursed a fear she'd reject him cold. He'd always been an optimistic man, and he was going to be optimistic about Sally.
"I'll be counting the days."
Sally smiled and was aware that he was coming to life again, that his need for her was mounting rapidly just as her need for him was mounting rapidly. She clasped her hands behind his head and eased it forward until his lips were less than an inch away from the nipples of her pointed breasts.
"Bite them and take me again, Bill!"
He sank his lips deep into her breasts, nipping gently but firmly. His hands gripped her warm buttocks and pressed her hard into him, and he felt her body quiver.
"Let's pretend this is the first time all over again," Sally mumbled. "That this was the only time."
Bill Foster was willing.
God, how he was willing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was late afternoon the following Thursday. Sally rubbed her sleepy eyes. She had slept all day, although she wasn't aware of the time. She had had the wildest experience of her life the last three nights, and she was completely exhausted. She'd had all of the sex any girl could possibly expect during those three nights, even though it wasn't with a single man she gave a damn about.
Monday night her guest, as she liked to call the men Mark sent to her, was a little old, bald-headed man who appeared to be pushing sixty. Nevertheless, he still had an amazingly lot of fire in the furnace, despite his age.
Tuesday night three men from Milwaukee spent the night with her, Arline, and Stella, and they took turns enjoying the charms of the three girls on much the same schedule that was followed with the three men from the west coast several weeks earlier.
Wednesday night Sally encountered a teenager for the first time in her comparatively short sex life. He was an eager one, experiencing the thrills of manhood for the first time. A native of Seattle, he had just inherited, at nineteen, his father's thriving business and was already out to live it up. His name was Craig Etheridge, and he had big, youthful stars in his eyes. Sally would always remember Craig Etheridge, particularly when he saw her nude.
"I've got a million bucks, and I'd like nothing better than to blow it on a girl like you," young Etheridge said cockily, relaxed now after his first session with Sally. "How would you like to fly back to Seattle with me, and we'll get married?"
Sally quickly concluded that this would surely be her big year. In five short days, she had had two proposals of marriage. One came from a boy who didn't have a dime, and who obviously was living from week to week on a small salary. And now, this bushy-eyed teenager from Seattle who had suddenly had a fortune dumped into his lap.
"Thanks for the offer," Sally said, "but I'm sorry. This is just a one-night stand, but half of the night remains if you want to make the most of it."
She had no real reason in mind for rejecting Craig Etheridge, but she never gave the slightest thought to accepting his proposal.
As she climbed from the bed now, stepping onto the floor, Sally was very proud of herself. She'd proven to herself that it wasn't money that interested her most or she would've jumped at the chance to pursue Craig's proposal further. Craig was a handsome youth and wore extremely expensive clothes.
Now, Sally faced another night. She lit a cigarette and walked nude to the window and looked outside. Night was approaching rapidly, and there was a threat of snow in the atmosphere.
As she stared at the bleak out-of-doors, she thought of Mark. She had talked with him over the telephone three times since Saturday night; each time he was strictly business. He did not mention the incident of Saturday night. Nor did he give any hint as to what he planned for future Saturday nights.
The last time she had talked with Mark was Tuesday afternoon, only a few minutes after Bill Foster had called her for a date, which she more or less unwillingly had had to turn down. As Mark started to hang up, he told her that Craig Etheridge would visit her Wednesday night and a middle-aged man named Carroll McDermott would be her date for Thursday night.
This was Thursday night, and Sally knew it was time for her to begin to get ready. McDermott was to arrive at eight o'clock, and already it was six-thirty. She deserted the cold window and went to the bathroom and turned on the water in the bathtub.
While she bathed in the perfumed water, her thoughts turned once more to Bill Foster and the fact that she had promised to give him her answer only forty-eight hours from now. Bill's a very nice boy, she thought. She thought that she probably gained more sexual satisfaction from Bill than all of the many others.
She climbed out of the tub and began to dry herself, rubbing her thighs hard and experiencing a familiar and exciting sensation. She applied bath powder all over her body and returned to the bedroom.
She gazed into the mirror and appraised her body closely. She wondered how long she could go on sharing her bed with strange men night after night. How long she could go on being a party girl, something she knew she wasn't cut out for in the first place.
Her meditation was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Mark, she thought. She hurried to the phone and answered it. She recognized Craig Etheridge's voice, and she was gripped with disappointment.
"I'm calling you from the airport before I leave for Seattle," Craig said. "You know that I proposed last night, don't you, Sally?"
"Yes."
"Well, I thought maybe you had reconsidered," Craig continued. "The offer's still open."
Anger knifed through her. These damn men who figure a proposal is only another business proposition, she thought.
"The offer's still open." His words rang through her ears and nauseated her. The cocky little bastard!
"Well, the offer may still be open, but the answer is still no!" She hung up the receiver.
She didn't give a damn whether Craig told Mark and Mark got mad or not. She had kept her part of the bargain, and now it was over.
For Craig Etheridge.
Not for Carroll McDermott, tonight's plum.
She went back to the bedroom and sorted through her dresses in the closet and took out the black one with sparkling sequins. She decided to wear panties and a bra for a change. Carroll McDermott was going to have to work a little before he got the full benefit of her charms.
Not that it was any great amount of work for a man to undress a girl no matter what she was wearing.
Sally removed a black nylon bra from a drawer and wound it around her bare breasts. It was a French-type bra that struck her just over her nipples and left nearly the upper half of her bosom fully exposed. The panties she selected were the briefest and scarcely concealed what was supposed to be concealed. She stepped into them, drew them up and over her thighs and buttocks.
She inserted her feet into a pair of black patent toeless shoes, with five-inch spike heels. The shoes accented the shimmering snow-white lacquer on her toenails and fingernails.
The sheath went on next and did everything it was supposed to do. It bared her knees, hugged her curves, left her bare back exposed to her waist and gave a man ample proof that that big bust of hers was the genuine thing. She applied an abundance of fresh lipstick and mascara and put on long rhinestone earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders.
Sally was ready for Carroll McDermott, whoever in the hell he was.
She looked at her watch. Ten minutes until eight. She paused and turned back the past few weeks in her mind. Her life had become one of dress and undress. Undress and dress. Put it on and take it off. Take it off and put it on. It was becoming monotonous, to say the least.
The door bell rang. McDermott was a little ahead of schedule, Sally concluded, but it didn't matter. Her eyes fell on the unmade bed. It didn't matter. There were two other bedrooms, and McDermott could have his choice.
She went to the door and drew it open. The sight of the man made her think her eyes were failing her.
The man standing before her was Mark Cartwright.
"Surprised?" Mark asked.
"Hell, yes, I'm surprised," she returned. "Why wouldn't I be surprised?" He stepped inside.
"There is no Carroll McDermott. I'm sorry about Saturday night, and tonight is ours if you'd like to have it that way."
Of course, Sally wanted it that way. She was overjoyed but too dumbfounded momentarily to say anything. This was the side of Mark Cartwright she knew the best.
Finally, she said:
"Tonight is ours...."
He took her into his arms.
"I suddenly realized what I've been missing by not seeing you."
She laughed aloud and brushed his lips lightly with hers.
"We'll make up for lost time. Kiss me!"
He kissed her. Hard. The odor of her perfume and lipstick reminded him of just how much he'd missed her. He drove his tongue past her lips, and he felt her body moving into him.
They held the passionate embrace for a long while. For the moment, she forgot all about Bill Foster and all of the others. She had Mark in her arms, and no one else mattered. Her breath was short and jerky, and passion rolled through her like water shooting from a spray.
When he released her, he said:
"Do you want to eat ... first?"
"To hell with food!" she hissed. "I want you, Mark. We can eat between rounds!"
Mark was aware that she was excited. He continued to hold her close, watching her heaving breasts raise up and down in perfect rhythm with her breathing.
"I'll let you in on a little secret-part of it, anyway. We're going to make up for lost time, a lot of lost time."
The excitement swelled within her.
"When, Mark?"
"Well, I've got to go to Boston the first thing in the morning, but I can't take you with me, because I want you to entertain a very good customer tomorrow afternoon. He promised me he'd leave you by four o'clock. After he leaves, you catch the five o'clock train to Connecticut. I've got a cabin up there, and I'll meet you about nine o'clock. We'll spend Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights together. How does that sound?"
She was overcome. She'd like nothing better. Three nights alone with Mark. She'd have to call Bill Foster early the next morning and tell him she'd made her decision, and that she was sorry she was unable to accept his proposal.
"It sounds terrific to me, Mark!" she said finally.
"Good. I'll give you the key to the cabin, and you can be all ready for action when I get there. You'll really like that cabin. It even has a bathtub."
She laughed. Things were really shaping up for her now. She kissed him and removed his coat.
"You know what I'm going to do now? I'm going to undress you!"
"And I'm going to undress you!" he teased.
She took off his tie and shirt and raised his undershirt over his head. What a relief it was not to have to let a strange man make love to her tonight. Now she removed his briefs and he was nude, and no longer was there any doubt in her mind but that he wanted her. He wanted her the worst way.
"Now, keep your part of the bargain. Undress me!"
Mark was already undressing her, but he was having trouble with the tight sheath. Sally assisted him, working it over her hips and then turned the rest of the job over to him. He lifted the sheath over her head, and it was off. He was momentarily surprised that she was wearing a bra and panties.
"So that's the way you give it to my customers?"
She laughed.
"Sometimes. It all depends upon what mood I'm in."
Mark's hands caught hold of the snap on her bra and peeled the flimsy garment away from her breasts. He paused long enough to take them into his hands, a gesture which brought a fresh wave of want spiraling through his loins.
"Don't be so damn slow!" Sally urged.
His hands flashed to the elastic band of her panties and rolled them away from her well-rounded hips.
She let them slide down her legs and stepped out of them.
"Now make up for what you've been missing!" she said excitedly.
He couldn't wait any longer, jerking her to him roughly and sweeping her from the floor. He lifted her so high that her breasts were directly beneath his chin. He brushed the tips over and over again as he carried her to the nearest bedroom. He fell across the bed with her, and he felt her knee parting his legs.
"Don't wait, Mark!" she cooed. "Put all of the rest of them to shame! Please!"
He felt her long legs scissor him as she guided him to her and heard her gasp with the ensuing impact.
"Oh, God!" she moaned.
She became a mass of writhing, twisting flesh beneath him, and his body transformed suddenly into a hot flame with her every movement. His face was buried in the cone-like contours of her breasts, and he muttered:
"I love you, Sally."
Until then, Sally had been literally unconscious to everything except the deep, burning sensations igniting one after the other and ripping in all directions, but she heard what he had said and was too inwardly thrilled to react other than to seek increasing depth and increasing closeness. It was the first time Mark had ever told her that he was madly in love with her.
He was amazed at her polish, her experienced ways. No longer was she the rather shy and timid Sally from whom he himself had taken away her virginity during the summer. She knew everything there was to do and precisely how to do it.
The end came very suddenly, and it was like no other ending he had ever experienced. His body was depleted of all of its strength and he was unable to do anything except collapse against her. After long moments, he finally rolled away from her ... limp and exhausted.
Now as she was stirring back to reality, she thought about Bill Foster. Bill ... he was going to be terribly disappointed. She could almost vision the sincerity and the longing desire in his dreaming eyes as he had proposed to her. She tried desperately to get Bill out of her thoughts, but his voice and his simplicity of manner continued to haunt her.
Finally, she rolled closer to Mark and put her arms around him.
"Do you really love me?" she whispered.
"Yes," he answered.
She felt a letdown. There was no real enthusiasm in his voice, and she wondered now whether he really meant it.
He was face to face with her and saw the disappointment in her eyes.
"You have the most wonderful body I've ever seen."
She ran her hand over his chest.
"You didn't think so last Saturday night or you couldn't've practically reached the point of no return and then brushed me off."
"I did it on purpose," Mark revealed.
"On purpose?"
"Yes," he replied. "I had no intention of making love to you Saturday night. I wanted to see if you'd stick with me-my business arrangement, that is-even if you got very, very mad at me."
"You mean you were putting me through a test?" Sally asked.
"That's right, and you passed with flying colors," Mark returned.
She felt the anger sifting through her brain. Damn him, she thought. Damn him!
"And now you're telling me that you love me?"
"I do, Sally," he admitted again. "I love you very much. I'll let you in on the rest of my secret about the week end. I have every intention of asking you to marry me during our little trip to Connecticut. I'm telling you now, because I don't think you're really convinced that I mean it when I say that I love you."
She still wasn't convinced. His voice seemed to be filled with a kind of indecision, traces of uncertainty. Indeed, Mark was a strange man. She felt now that she had never really known the real Mark Cartwright and still didn't.
"Mark, if you did ask me to marry you and I accepted, would you expect me to still go on with our business arrangement? The men, I mean?...."
He touched the tips of her breasts and felt them spring to life.
"We'll talk about that over the week end. You just be in that cabin in Connecticut when I get there. Right now, I want you again ... "
He rolled her over on her back and vowed to make this round better than the last.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sally Logan drew her skirt up and released the catches which held her nylons in place, sat down on the edge of the bed, removed her spike heels, rolled her stockings down her legs, and took them off. She inserted her feet back into the spike heels and rose from the bed.
Next she took off her royal blue blouse, folded it neatly and draped it over the back of a nearby chair. She was wearing no bra or slip, and she was nude from the waist up, her curvaceous breasts seeming larger and more taut than ever before.
For a moment, Sally stood still long enough to ponder over the fact that she had had three proposals of marriage in a single week. Three of them! God, it's certainly true that when it rains, it pours.
Naturally, she couldn't marry all three men, but one thing she had decided for certain: She was going to get married. She knew of no better way to have all of the sex she wanted, when she wanted it, than to get married. Besides, she was very much in love. Until she had that session with Mark Thursday night, she hadn't realized how very much she was in love, but now she knew.
Sally thought about Mark's parting words when he left her apartment early that Friday morning.
"I'll see you in Connecticut tonight, doll," Mark had said, kissing her goodbye. "Be ready for action, and give me a big surprise when I get there, baby!"
Well, Mark Cartwright was in for that big surprise all right!
A helluva big surprise.
Sally had reached her big decision while she bathed after she got rid of Mark's customer who had spent the first half of the afternoon with her. The customer was in his mid-fifties and was a rather peculiar gentleman. He was strictly a one-shot guy. He played around with her for a little while, and after one time in the sack, he was ready to leave. He had shot his wad, and that was that.
Sally was glad that he had left her so suddenly, because the extra time gave her time to bathe and make final plans for the approaching night.
And week end.
Yes, she had decided to give Mark a surprise he'd always remember.
Sally removed her blue wool skirt, her garter belt, and now her panties. She was standing there naked. Except for the high heels. She withdrew a sheer black negligee from her suitcase and drew it over her arms.
The negligee was so sheer it hid absolutely nothing. It was open down the front, and her spectacular breasts forced it straight out and let it hang down.
She looked at her watch and knew she had at least another hour to wait.
Another long hour.
She moved to the mirror, applied fresh lipstick, and spent the next ten minutes lining her eyes with mascara and shaping her eyebrows. Everything had to be perfect, for this was an occasion she expected to remember all of the rest of her life.
Sally combed her hair, putting each little lock in its proper place. She picked up a pair of earrings and fastened them to her ears and took a reassuring glance into the mirror.
Excitement such as she'd never previously experienced stirred through her, and her afternoon romp with Mark's customer had done little if anything to deaden the ache that ground through her body.
She felt as if she had never gone to bed with a man and was anxiously anticipating sex for the first time.
Sally had brought along two quarts of whiskey, just to make certain there would be plenty. She opened one bottle now, poured herself a generous drink, and consumed it slowly. Each swallow of the whiskey burned as it hit her throat and felt like fire in her stomach, and each swallow bolstered her desire for the biggest night of sex of her life.
The many things that Mark had told her Thursday night kept stabbing into her thoughts, fading away and then returning like a neon light flickering on and off.
"I have every intention of asking you to marry me during our week end in Connecticut. We'll have Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights together," he had said.
Of course, it wasn't a direct proposal, but it was firm enough that Sally was willing to regard it as a proposal.
Her third in a week.
She remembered how she'd pleaded with Mark to tell her whether or not their business arrangement would come to an end if they decided to get married, but he evaded the question.
"We'll discuss that during the week end," Mark had insisted.
"Please tell me, Mark," Sally pleaded. "I need to know. Girls who can party around twenty-four hours a day are a dime a dozen. You can get another girl to carry on all of this bedroom stuff with your customers."
"Like I said, we'll discuss all of that while we're in Connecticut," he reiterated. "I'll see you in Connecticut tonight. Be ready for action, and give me a big surprise when I get there."
Mark had kissed her again and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him as he departed.
To Sally, Mark's refusal to come right out and tell her that with their marriage her charms would be reserved exclusively for him meant that he was hedging. That he had no intention of the bedroom scene with strange men ending with marriage. Otherwise, why in the hell wouldn't he say so. It was that simple.
Sally picked up a package of cigarettes and an ash tray and walked across the room. She looked at her watch again. Ten or fifteen minutes and he'd be there, perhaps.
She turned out the light. The room was very dark. She went to the bed, stretched out full length on her stomach, lit a cigarette and waited. Occasionally, she stared in the direction of the door which she could not see because of the darkness.
She waited impatiently, estimating that thirty minutes had passed since she turned out the light. Still he did not come. Her legs ached. She wanted love. I love this guy more than anything on earth, she thought silently. She smiled through the darkness and took a deep drag on her cigarette.
Marriage ... the thought of the word excited her. There comes a time in every girl's life when she must make that momentous decision. She had made hers, and she knew deep in her heart that it was the right one.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps and she knew that he had at long last arrived. Quickly, she raised up on her elbows, permitting her breasts to sweep into full view. She elevated her spike heels high over her back, bending her legs at the knees. She felt the negligee slide down her legs, leaving them bare.
The sound of a key in the door penetrated the stillness, and the door opened. She could see his figure silhouetted in the doorway for a split second before he closed the door behind him.
Sally took a hard puff on her cigarette, the bright fire illuminating her face.
There was a moment of stark stillness.
"What's going on? Who's there?"
Sally could hardly keep from bursting out in laughter.
"Why don't you turn on the light and find out?"
She heard the light switch click, and light flooded the room.
Bill Foster was standing near the door, a startled look on his face.
It was Bill Foster's room.
And Sally was there.
She wasn't thinking of Mark Cartwright now. Or Craig Etheridge. She was thinking of Bill Foster. There never would be anyone else in her life.
"Sally!" Bill beamed, excitement surging through his eyes. "I knew I recognized that voice, but I quickly told myself it couldn't be!" He could see the deep valley sprawling between her breasts, the outline of her body beneath the sheer negligee, her shapely, bare legs raised high over her. "I still can't believe my eyes!"
"Oh, it's me all right," Sally grinned.
Bill was still too stunned to move.
"Do you want to have a celebration ... a really big celebration?" Sally asked, passion racing through her.
Finally, he couldn't get to the bed quick enough. He sat down on the edge of it beside her and took her hand in his.
"And what's the occasion for a celebration?"
She tilted her lips toward him, pulled his hands to her breasts and felt him smother them.
"Why, I'm going to marry you, you crazy guy! Don't you remember?"
"Hell, yes, I remember!" he answered. "You were going to let me know by tomorrow night, but even in my wildest dreams, I never thought for a second you'd accept."
"Does that mean you weren't really serious when you proposed?" Sally wanted to know.
"My God, yes, I was serious! I'm madly in love with you, Sally!"
"All right, then," she purred. "So I accept, and I want to celebrate!"
He was overcome with excitement, both from her acceptance and from the nearness of her. Sally Logan was going to become his wife. He took her into his arms and kissed her wildly for a long time.
Afterwards, he helped her from the bed and guided her to the window, his hand beneath the negligee and gripping her rounded buttocks as they moved.
He drew back the window curtain, and they could see the bright lights of the city.
"You see that hotel over there, Sally?"
"Yes."
"Well, this is no place for a celebration-not the kind that we're going to have," Bill said. "We'll go over to that hotel and rent a suite for the week end and live in the luxury to which you are accustomed for three nights. I'll get Tuesday off, and we'll get married. How does that sound?"
"The part about getting married Tuesday, I like very much," she agreed. She turned his head around toward her and kissed him. "This room, though, is swell. I've lived in a room about like this one most of my life. Until the past few weeks. The Sally Logan you saw in that apartment wasn't the real Sally Logan by any means. We'll celebrate right here in this room."
Bill was impressed with her desire to be economical. He realized she was aware he'd spend a whole week's salary living three nights in a hotel.
"All right, if you insist," he said. "I insist."
There was one other matter he wanted to settle before he concentrated on any celebration. He was concerned about her job. The wife of Bill Foster wasn't going to be going to bed with another man for any amount of money.
"What about your job, Sally?" he asked bluntly.
She laughed.
"Right now, I'm among the unemployed," she replied. "The last thing I did before I came over here was to drop by Cartwright Manufacturing and leave an envelope for Mark Cartwright. The envelope contained the key to the apartment and a little note telling Mark to go to hell, that I never wanted to see him or his kind again. I've got fifteen hundred bucks in the bank, and I'll get another job ... strictly shorthand and typing."
He was proud of her. She had given him exactly the answer he'd wanted her to give. Sally Logan was going to make a wonderful wife, and he was going to spend the rest of his life making her happy.
"How did you get in my room ... our room?"
"That wasn't too difficult," Sally began to explain. "All I had to do was tell the guy downstairs that I was the girl you were going to marry, that I'd come over to tell you and that I'd arrived a little early. The guy's eyes wandered up and down a couple of times and then he said, 'Bill Foster's a lucky devil, Miss'. Then he picked up my suitcase and ... well, he let me in the room. Any other questions?"
"Yeah," he answered, guiding her toward the bed. "How fast can you undress a guy?"
"Pretty damn fast when he's my future husband!" she returned, her hands already busy.
Within a matter of seconds, she had stripped off all of his clothes except his briefs, and she was eyeing these anxiously. She paused and said:
"Don't you think you ought to reciprocate a little now?"
"That won't be difficult!" Bill grinned.
He ran his hands under the negligee, pushed it back and let it fall from her shoulders.
She stepped out of the spike heels, and she was nude.
He started to take her into his arms, but she drew back.
"Just a second, handsome," Sally teased. "There's a little unfinished business yet."
With that, she unsnapped his briefs and let them tumble down his legs and felt a wave of passion explode within her, touching every strategic point of her body.
Simultaneously, Bill felt his knees buckle with the impact of unparalleled lust that struck his groin and fanned out in every direction. Wildly, he swept her against him, the curves of their bodies blending together until they were almost one, and crashed onto the bed with her.
On top of her.
Sally pulled his face down to hers, driving her breasts into his chest. She clung to him, burying her fingernails in his back and clamping her legs around his body.
"Give it to me, Bill! Now!" she cried.
Her words were wasted. He was already there. He felt her body tremble and heard her gasp. Beneath him was a twisting, grinding, writhing woman, and she was all his.
All his forever.
He heard the soft sounds of lust rising from her throat as they traveled to majestic heights together, seeking and achieving everything there was to seek and achieve.
They were there.
All the way.
Together.
The end came suddenly and violently. For Sally Logan and Bill Foster. Really, though, it wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
