"I'm horny," Bill announced, and Judy could see the bulge in his pants as she slid to the floor. He would force himself on her once more as he did night after night during the course of their four year marriage.
Bill unzipped his fly and reached into his the pants of his uniform. His rapidly swelling cock pulsed excitedly in his massive hand. Drunk or sober, Patrolman Bill McGruff never had a problem getting it up.
He grabbed Judy's long blonde hair and forced her face into his crotch. She felt his hot cock, slick and slimy like a snake, slither against her cheek.
"Suck it, bitch," Bill roared, and Judy promptly obeyed, knowing the penalty if she refused.
She took her husband's mammoth organ between her lips and flicked the tip of her tongue against it. Bill held her head firmly now, shoving his hips back and forth, sliding his throbbing pecker deeply into her mouth.
Her lips closed around it. She lavished her tongue all over it, coating it with saliva. Bill was moving her head back and forth now, his pecker sliding in and out of her mouth as Judy lapped anxiously.
"Eat the bird, bitch!" Bill growled again, the effects of the hooch spurring him on to an even greater rage.
Judy sucked madly, lapping eagerly at her husband's pulsating organ. She brought her hands up and gripped the mighty pole at the base, tickling Bill's nuts with the other.
She tried to keep from trembling with fear. When Bill was in his cups, he was capable of anything.
Bill suddenly jerked Judy's head away from his crotch. She tumbled backwards against the sofa.
"You can't suck cock for shit, woman," Bill snapped drunkenly. "Looks like I'm gonna hafta teach you a lesson again." Judy began to quake with fear.
The Publisher
Chapter One
William McGruff cracked his bride of four years across the mouth with the back of his hand and sent her sprawling across the tiny living room in their fifth floor walkup in Flatbush.
Judith, McGruff's missus, flailed her arms uselessly as she hit the faded sofa backwards and promptly tumbled over it backwards, landing on the floor with an audible thud. Already she could feel the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
"Open yer yap to me like that again, woman," the beefy, ruddy faced cop thundered, reaching for a nearby fifth of Cutty Sark, "and you'll get worse. A whole hell of a lot worse."
Bill McGruff, a nine year veteran of New york's finest, settled his rapidly spreading girth into his favorite chair and paid his wife no more heed. He uncapped the bottle of Cutty and took a healthy swig.
Judith wiped the blood from her cut lip and rose to her feet. She was a pretty blonde of twenty with a smooth, white complexion, upturned button nose and high cheekboned face that invariably turned heads on the crowded Brooklyn streets. Neither the rigors of city living nor the verbal and physical tirades of her drunken husband seemed to ever effect her beauty.
"I didn't mean to piss you off, Bill," Judy said meekly. "I was just trying to tell you that Mrs. MacGruder was here today sniffing around for the rent. Said we was three weeks behind, and..."
"Next time, tell the old bitch she can stick the rent where the sun don't ever shine."
Judy fell silent, knowing from past experience that any continuation of this conversation was useless. Bill was already half drunk, and there was nothing to be gained by further nagging. The daughter of six generations of cops and the wife of another, Judy was no stranger to either their traditional irish tempers and perpetual boozing. She accepted the physical punishment as a matter of routine; how many times had she seen her own father, in the depths of a drunken rage, bloody her mother's lip?
Still, Judy persisted. Bill would be roaring drunk by the time Walter Cronkite flashed on the tube and of use to no one. And there was still the little matter of the rent. It was easy for Bill to dismiss the landlady's demands; he was out pounding his beat every day while she was left at home to deal with the old battle-ax.
"Mrs. MacGruder threatened to serve notice on us," Judy told her husband. "I think she's really serious this time, Bill. She says the value of this apartment has risen two hundred percent since we signed the lease, that she could get three times the rent we're paying. Says the neighborhood's changing for the better and we should be grateful for having a roof over our heads and pay the rent on time. Said we were two weeks behind last month and almost a month behind before that..."
"I don't give a rat's ass!" Bill thundered, hurling the empty Scotch bottle against the wall, where it shattered into shards inches from a framed picture of the Virgin Mary.
"Bill!" Judy gasped, and had time for no further reply as Bill descended on her.
"I spend ten hours a day kicking spic and nigger ass," Bill growled, his thick fingers curling around Judy's throat," and the last thing I wanna hear when I get home is shit outta you, woman!"
Judy made no effort to subdue her husband, knowing that any resistance on her part would spur Bill into an even greater violent rage.
As she felt his fingers squeezing around her gullet, Judy let her body go limp. One of Bill's hands came up from her throat and connected with her face.
Judy landed on the sofa, but not for long. Bill lifted her up by the lapels of her blouse and dragged the helpless housewife to her feet. The back of his hand connected with her cheek again and then, in rapid fire succession came a steady series of backhanded slaps that forced her head backwards and forwards.
"I'm horny," Bill announced, and Judy could see the bulge in his pants as she slid to the floor. He would force himself on her once more as he did night after night during the course of their four year marriage.
Bill unzipped his fly and reached into his the pants of his uniform. His rapidly swelling cock pulsed excitedly in his massive hand. Drunk or sober, Patrolman Bill McGruff never had a problem getting it up.
He grabbed Judy's long blonde hair and forced her face into his crotch. She felt his hot cock, slide and slimy like a snake, slither against her cheek.
"Suck it, bitch," Bill roared, and Judy promptly obeyed, knowing the penalty if she refused.
She took her husband's mammoth organ between her lips and flicked the tip of her tongue against it. Bill held her head firmly now, shoving his hips back and forth, sliding his throbbing pecker deeply into her mouth.
Her lips closed around it. She lavished her tongue all over it, coating it with saliva. Bill was moving her head back and forth now, his pecker sliding in and out of her mouth as Judy lapped anxiously.
"Eat the bird, bitch!" Bill growled again, the effects of the hooch spurring him on to an even greater rage.
Judy sucked madly, lapping eagerly at her husband's pulsating organ. She brought her hands up and gripped the mighty pole at the base, tickling Bill's nuts with the other.
She tried to keep from trembling with fear. When Bill was in his cups, he was capable of anything.
Bill suddenly jerked Judy's head away from his crotch. She tumbled backwards against the sofa.
"You can't suck cock for shit, woman," Bill snapped drunkenly. "Looks like I'm gonna hafta teach you a lesson again."
Judy began to quake with fear.
Bill quickly unbuttoned his blue shirt and yanked off the black tie he despised but was required to wear. He slipped out of the shirt, his belly sagging under the weight of his undershirt.
His hands dropped down to his pants. With swift efficiency, he slid the leather belt from around his waist and wrapped it around his hand.
"Crawl," Bill ordered. "I wanna see you crawl into the bedroom, you useless slut!"
"Bill..."
"Crawl!" he bellowed, and Judy knew that he meant business.
Judy obeyed.
On her hands and knees now, she crawled slowly across the carpet and suddenly felt the stinging lash of her husband's leather belt striking her buttocks, a faded pair of Levi's her only protection.
"No good slut," Bill muttered, following her along the floor. "Probably fucking every man in Flatbush when my back is turned. Aren't ya?"
Judy continued to crawl.
"Aren't ya?" he thundered again.
"Bill...I'd never..."
"Fuckin' lyin' bitch!" he roared, and struck her rump again with the belt. "Take off those jeans! I'm gonna teach you not to lie to me, ever!"
Bill kicked her in the butt with the tip of the shiny leather workshoes he wore and sent her sprawling flat on the floor, the piles of the carpet tickling her nose.
On the floor below the McGruff apartment, Chester Cheerstrap, a sixty year old sanitation worker, was slurping his wife Sadie's split pea soup. Above his head, the hanging light fixture began to tremble above the dining room table. Several chips of white plaster fell from the ceiling and landed in his soup. Chester ate on, unconcerned.
"Sounds like old Bill McGruff is kicking his wife again," Sadie commented, checking the lambchops as they sizzled in the oven. "Third time this week."
"Fourth," Chester said between slurps. "Wish he wouldn't bat the wife around so much. Makin' cracks in the ceiling."
"Think we should call the cops?" Sadie asked. "He may go and kill her one of these fine days."
"McGruff IS the cops," Chester replied. "Anyway, I don't wanna get involved. What a man does with his old lady is his business and nobody else's."
"Still," Sadie said, "it don't seem right his missus should suffer just 'cause the man's on a toot."
"Stay outta it, Sadie," Chester told his wife.
"It doesn't involve us."
Judy, of course, knew better than to expect any help from her neighbors. As was the New York custom, they ignored screams and later pretended to ignore the black eyes and welts when they saw her in the hallway or at the mailboxes in the building's foyer.
Bill McGruff continued kicking his wife's behind as she crawled painfully down the hall. She had wiggled out of her jeans, at Bill's command, and now winced as she felt the shag scraping against her bare knees.
Bill gave her butt another crack of the belt and chortled happily. That would keep the slut in line.
"Never give your wife an inch," Bill's father had always taught him. "If she gets outta line, beat her good. Sure, she'll go 'round sportin' a black eye or two, but remember: the second a broad gets you by the balls, she won't stop squeezin' 'em till the cows come home."
Bill remembered his father's words now as he watched his sexy wife crawl helplessly across the living room. He'd put the fear of God into her in the four years they'd been married; there was little doubt who was the boss. As Ralph Kramden was so fond of saying, "This is MY castle, Alice! You are nothing but a peasant."
Bill lashed out with the belt again, the shiny metal buckle striking the exposed flesh on her buttocks. Judy wailed in pain this time as she felt the warm trickle of blood running down her ass-cheeks.
"It's good enough for yer," Bill cackled.
"Please...Bill....no more," Judy gasped.
"Shuddup, slut," Bill snapped. He was out of control now, totally shitfaced and looking for trouble. "Fuck the mailman, willya?"
He struck her again with the belt. Judy lay wimpering on the floor, hot tears of pain streaming into the carpet.
Bill showed no mercy, he jerked her violently onto her back and in one swift motion ripped her blouse apart, her firm breasts heaving, the pointy nipples glistening with sweat and tears.
"Filthy slut," he growled and was atop her in seconds. He grabbed her left tit and began squeezing it. Judy howled in pain, which only seemed to increase Bill's uncontrollable rage.
He sank his choppers into her firm nipple and sucked it while squeezing the other. His fingers found the nipple and he pressed it between them, turning it a dark shade of red.
"Bill...stop!" Judy wailed.
"The fuck I will!" Bill replied, and rolled her over onto her stomach. That ass was too good to resist, Bill mused as he took his cock in his hand. Though he kicked the shit out of his pretty young wife every time he saw fit, he was still proud that she had kept her good looks and figure even though he had allowed his gut to sag down over his belt, which usually brought gales of laughter to any nigger purse snatcher he found himself chasing in the course of a workday.
Without bothering to lubricate his blood-engourged cock, he grabbed Judy by the hips and rammed his meat up her pooper. He slapped her asscheeks hard, leaving a huge red welt.
"Aurrrggghhh!" Judy cried in mortal agony. She felt her husband's nine incher plunging deep into her anal cavity, accompanied by slaps to her ass.
"Gooood girl," Bill moaned, sliding his dork deeper into her. Lord, but the woman was tight in the ass, the soft flesh of her anus caressing the underside of his cock. Brown velvet, his partner Schwartz called it.
Beads of sweat rolled down Judy's face as her husband continued to humiliate her. What she'd done to deserve this latest episode, she didn't know, not that it mattered. Of late, Bill didn't need much excuse.
"Tight....so fuckin" tight," Bill groaned. He swiveled his hips, his cock gyrating around inside of her.
And slapped her ass.
"So tight..." Slap.
"Fuck the mailman, willya?" Slap.
"Suck that asshole on the second floor's dick, willya?" Slap.
"Vote for Mondale, willya?" Slap.
Each slap was a new adventure in pain.
And how, Judy wondered as her husband continued slapping her asscheeks, did the bastard know she'd voted for Mondale?
As her ass turned the color of pickled beets, the pain increased twofold with each additional thrust of bill's hips.
His cock plunged deeper into her rectum, although the slaps were less and less on the mark as Bill's head started spinning from the half bottle of Cutty, not to mention the half dozen or so he'd had after his shift.
Judy knew from experience that Bill had enough left in him for one quick orgasm before passing out cold.
True to form, Bill grabbed her asscheeks and pressed them together, squeezing his throbbing cock between them. Hot jism barrelled out the tip of his pecker, spewing into her enflamed butt-hole.
"Eeeep!" Bill cried, pumping his load into her. Cum seemed to gush out of him in rivers. Bill McGruff fucked his share of fifty dollar hookers along his Times Square beat, but not even the most seasoned pros could make him come like his own wife.
As his wife's asshole sucked the last of his load, Bill patted her left cheek gently.
"Good girl, honey," he panted, and proceeded, true to form, top pass out, falling into a lifeless heap on the floor, his pants around his ankles.
Judy lifted herself sluggishly to her feet and made her way into the bathroom, where she examined the damage in the mirror.
Her cheeks were very red from the slapping, but at least those were not in view of the public. It was the cut on her lip, already swelling and puffy, that worried her, not to mention the black ring that was growing around her left eye.
Bill was in rare form, Judy thought as she stepped into the shower. Steam filled the tiny bathroom as she washed off Bill's love juice.
In the shower, Judy examined her nipples. There were matching sets of bite marks on either nipple.
It's my own fault, Judy thought. That's what I get for starting in with him when he's bending his elbow at McGinty's Bar.
No, there was no use even talking to Bill McGruff when he was in that condition. Booze, as it did with his father and brothers before him, turned him into a violent drunk.
Judy stepped from the shower and toweled off. Sitting wasn't going to be much fun for the next week, and the black eye would be explained away as another fall on the subway steps, though no one bothered to ask how it happened much anymore.
Judy padded into the chilly bedroom and dressed quickly and silently, not that the big slob would wake up. Bill, she knew, was out for the night and would, as he had half a dozen times in the last two months, wake up to a thumping hangover and an empty apartment.
Judy packed quickly, throwing a few needed items into the overnight bag she kept handy. Going home to Mother's was getting to be a routine.
Bill snored like a lumberjack on the living room floor as Judy stepped over him into the kitchen. She reached for the phone to call the local cab company, then decided to check her financial status first. She peeked inside her wallet; it contained only three dollars and some sticky change at the bottom among the unwrapped Lifesavers. Not enough for a cab ride to Bensonhurst. It was the subway or nothing.
Nearly two hours later, Judy walked along Bay Parkway up to the grimy apartment house where her parents lived. The roar of the elevated train filled her ears as she entered the building. Mr. Cannoli from the second floor was walking his dog, an aging poodle named Rembrandt who walked like he had jockitch.
"Hello, Judith," Mr. Cannoli greeted her, trying to avoid eye to eye contact. "Say hello, Rembrandt."
Rembrandt replied by piddling on the lobby floor. Mr. Cannoli grinned sheepishly and dragged the dog away.
Having surrendered the housekeys to her parents' apartment three years before, Judy was forced to buzz her way into the building.
"Whozit?" the screeching voice of her mother boomed over the tiny intercom. Judy pressed the "talk" button. "It's me, Ma," Judy replied. "Buzz me in." "What are you doing here?" Mrs. McPugh wanted to know. "It's after eleven."
"Bill beat me up again, Ma," Judy said back, "and this time I'm leaving for good." "Judith, how many times..." "Ma," Judy said, "buzz me in already. I don't wanna talk about this in the lobby, for Chris-sakes!"
"Your place is home with your husband," Mrs. McPugh screeched back. "For better or worse..."
"Ma, he gets loaded and knocks me around like a punching bag... will you buzz me in, dammit!"
"I can't, Judith," Mrs. McPugh said.
"Ma, this is my home, for Chrissakes!" Judy screamed.
"WAS ya'mean," Mrs. McPugh replied. "You can't keep running home every time you have a little fight with your husband."
"Little?" Judy asked incredulously. "Ma, he nearly killed me this time."
"Bill's a good man," Mrs. McPugh told her daughter. "Sure he takes to the bottle now and then, but what cop worth his salt don't? No, missy, you march right back to Flatbush and no more banana oil about yer husband." Having come from the old school, where abused wives suffered in silence, Mrs. McPugh had little sympathy for her daughter's plight.
"Ma, I can't take it anymore. Buzz me in, Ma, please."
"You go on home now, Judith...here, now you see what you've done? You've woked up your father..."
The intercom went dead, and Judy knew better than to try again, her mother was stubborn and Irish.
The lobby door flew open and a stocky, sixtyish lady breezed in. She had a blue beehive hairdo, wore skintight jeans, high heels and had dyed red hair. Heavy red lipstick was smeared across her mouth, and her makeup looked like it was applied with a cake decorator.
"Hello, Mrs. Rabinowitz," Judy said, her face turned away. "I can't seem to find my key..."
"Not to worry, I have one," Mrs. Rabinowitz said. "I know how it is. Murray says if I forget mine one more time, he's gonna staple 'em to my forehead." She cackled and whipped a key chain out of a suede purse the size of a kangaroo's pouch. As they rode up in the elevator, Judy tried to shield her face from view. Mrs. Rabinowitz however, missed nothing.
"Goodness, what happened, Judy?" she asked. "You look like you just kissed the headlights of a checker cab doing fifty."
"I fell on the subway steps," Judy mumbled. "I know how it is, believe me," Mrs. Rabinowitz replied, clucking her tongue. Having lived two flights above the McPugh's for nearly thirty years, she knew that Judy and her sisters fell down the subway steps a lot. Not surprisingly, all four McPugh girls, she remembered, all used the same excuse. Only Clarice, the oldest, ever used any imagination, once claiming that she'd fallen on the bus and hit the farebox with her eye.
"You got to watch it on the subway, all right," Mrs. Rabinowitz went on. "My Murray says it's a haven for filth and crime. Me, I wouldn't ride the train for all the tea in China, the last time I did, some crazy shlemiel opened his overcoat and showed me his poopek, like he was doing me a favor or something. It just goes to show you. When I was seventeen, I was afraid of poopeks. When I was thirty, I couldn't get enough of them, and now that I'm sixty-three, they're all over the place."
Judy nodded and escaped Mrs. Rabinowitz's fond memories, stepping into the hallway as the elevator doors opened on the third floor. Even as the doors closed again, Mrs. Rabinowitz droned on. Judy knocked on the door to the apartment she'd spent sixteen of her twenty years in. She heard her mother's footsteps stomping down the musty hallway toward the door.
"Judy, is that you? Who let you in?"
"Mrs. Rabinowitz," Judy called back. "Open up, Ma."
"I told you to go home," Mrs. McPugh said from behind the door. "I'll not be openin' this door just so's that husband of yours can come by tomorrow and rip it off the hinges like that last time, no ma'am."
"Ma, I'll be happy to argue any time, but not in the hallway, okay, so open up."
"Well..." Mrs. McPugh hesitated. "Yer can come in, but yer can't stay, Judith."
"Just open up, Ma."
Judy heard the deadbolt locks on the door tumble as her mother twisted them.
Judy stepped into the apartment quickly, before her mother decided to change her mind. The familiar smells of cooked cabbage, cigar smoke and cheap hooch assaulted her nostrils. She found them somewhat comforting.
Mrs. McPugh, short, squat and grey haired at fifty, examined her youngest daughter's face as she stepped inside.
"Humph," she grunted. "A shiner and a split lip. I seen worse, mostly on myself. For that you leave yer husband? What kind of a wife leaves her husband over a few left hooks?"
"The kind who like to live to a ripe old age," Judy replied.
She walked into the apartment and into the kitchen, where her father George McPugh, an older and fatter version of Bill, sat munching a bologna on Wonder Bread sandwich in his skivvies.
"Hi, Pop," Judy said.
"Don't 'hi' me, Judith," he grunted. "What'd you say to get Bill all pissy and the like? Musta been something bad if he done that to yer.".
"I didn't say anything to get him pissy!" Judy shot back. "And why the hell is it always MY fault when he beats me?"
"Cause yer always doin' shit to piss 'im off, that's why," Mr. McPugh bellowed, pieces of bread and Oscar Meyer's finest spewing from his mouth. Look at yer-married almost four years and no babies. Yer sister Muriel, God bless 'er, is only married six months and she has a baby."
"Babies are expensive nowadays," Judy replied, "and we can't afford one right now."
"And why not? It ain't like Bill's not making good money on the force."
"I didn't say he wasn't," Judy said. "Only we don't see any of it after Bill's finished with the three B's-booze, bimbos and betting."
"Man's gotta blow off some steam now and then," Mr. McPugh said. "You pound a beat on Forty-second and Broadway and see if yer don't. And if he gives you the back of his hand sometimes, well, it's probably comin' to yer. hell, I been knockin' around yer mither for damn near thirty years and she ain't never once complained, ain't that right Bridgett?"
"From yer mouth to God's ears," Mrs. McPugh replied, and crossed herself for good measure.
Chapter Two
"Dammit," Judy said. "Why the hell do you keep defending him?"
"A fine broth of a boy such as William McGruff comes along once in a lifetime," Mrs. McPugh replied.
"Thank Jesus," Judy muttered. "Linus," Mrs. McPugh said to her husband, "give your daughter taxi fare back to Flatbush. That subway ain't fit for man nor beast at this hour of the night." .
"I'm not going back there," Judy insisted. "I know what'll happen. He'll wake up tomorrow and remember nothing, we'll kiss and make up and tomorrow night it'll be round four."
"Have it your own way then," Mrs. McPugh sighed wearily. "Lord knows yer sisters don't come running home every time their husbands take a poke at them, but I guess I can't deny me own daughter a place to sleep when she needs it. Yer can take yer old bedroom. I just changed the linens last week."
She shuffled off down the hallway and disappeared into the bedroom.
Mr. McPugh shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth and drained the last of the Carling Black Label beer from the can, then crushed it for good measure, forgetting that it was a deposit can. He had retired from the force two years earlier and now worked as a security guard in the city on a part time basis, just to keep busy.
He rose from the chair and belched loudly. "Guess I'll be shufflin' along meself, Judith," he said to his daughter. "There's some stew in the icebox if you're hungry."
He started out of the kitchen, then stopped and kissed his daughter on the cheek.
"I know married life ain't all beer and skittles," Linus McPugh told her, "but try an" see it through all the same. Bill's still just a kid himself really, and the beatin' and hittin'll stop someday when he's older and not so angry at the world like he is now. 'Night, Judith." "Goodnite, Pop."
*****
Two hours later, Judy lay awake on the bed she'd slept in most of her life and wondered what had gone wrong.
They'd married young. Perhaps too young. Judy had been a mere child of sixteen on their wedding day, while Bill had been barely twenty and a rookie on the force.
She'd known him practically all of her life, his family having lived in the same Brooklyn neighborhood. Indeed, their fathers had been cops together since God only knew when.
The prettiest of the four McPugh sisters, Bill McGruff had been attracted to Judy ever since their high school days, and they'd been married, at the request of both sets of parents, two days after Bill had joined the force. Judy hadn't even bothered finishing high school, as housewives weren't required to think, but to have babies, clean house and perform other wifely duties.
Judy certainly hadn't any clue to her husband's mean streak. That had come less than a week after the wedding, two nights after they'd returned from their honeymoon in the Catskills. He'd come home drunk. He'd come home angry. And violent.
Judy, no stranger to drunken husbands, [her own father and grandfather, for starters] tried at first to sober him up, but to no avail. Moments later, she felt the back of his hand, complete with high school ring and wedding band, strike her across the face.
But the worst was yet to come. Before she could react, or even open her mouth to protest, Bill was slapping her silly all over the cramped apartment they shared.
Moments later he was talking her over his knee, yanking her jeans down her shapely legs.
"Gotta be punished," he'd mumbled drunkenly, "gotta put you in yer place." And so he did.
The slaps against her firm asscheeks hadn't so much hurt as they had bewildered her; when her old man was on a toot and going after her mother, it was punches flying, never slaps, and certainly not on the bottom.
Whack! came the first one, making the spare flesh on her buttocks sting with pain.
Whack! came the second, then another, until her behind was numb.
She could feel Bill's erection against her belly as he pressed her torso down against him as he slapped her.
"Bill, stop it!" she had moaned, but to no avail. Bill was just warming up.
"Gonna whoop yer ass just like my Ma done to mine," Bill informed her, and followed it up with another round and harder, quicker strikes to her behind.
Bill's hand struck exposed flesh again and again, the sounds of rippling flesh filling the already noisy tenement.
Hot blood coursed through her behind as Judy felt the stinging slaps of Bill's powerful hands against her rump.
"Owwwwwwww! "Judy bellowed, but her screams of pain and protest only spurred her husband on to greater action.
"This one's fer Aunt Tillie," he cackled, and struck her butt again.
"This one's for Cousin Mike in the Bronx!" "This one's for my brudda Pete!" "This one's for my ...my..." "How about your sister Emily?" Judy offered, hoping it might appease him. It didn't.
"Shaddap!" Bill snapped, and stood up abruptly. Judy tumbled to the floor and noticed the huge bulge in her husband's pants.
Seconds later Bill McGruff was dragging his wife of one week down the hallway by her silky blonde hair, where he flung her onto the bed and descended on her.
The rest was a nightmare.
Judy lay passive as her handsome but violent husband stripped his clothes off and attacked her young, trim body greedily. She felt his massive, strong hairy legs rubbing against hers, his muscular body engulfing her completely, smothering her as he started humping away.
He pierced her twat with his mammoth schlong, ramming it deep into her quivering pussy, his huge testicles swollen and harder than two meatballs.
Bill grabbed her still developing breasts and squeezed them to the point where Judy was howling with pain.
Bill ignored her cries of anguish and continued pounding his mighty meat into her, banging away with everything he had.
She could not bring herself to face him, much less look into his eyes. When she finally did, she | saw a man she did not recognize, certainly not the young handsome Irish stud she'd known as a kid, the same one who hung out on the corner in front of the newsstand with his buddies and leered suggestively at her.
No, this Bill McGruff, the one who could polish off a bottle of hooch at one sitting, was a complete and total stranger to her, one she didn't want to meet again.
"Jesus help me," she'd moaned as Bill continued slamming his pulsating rod deep into her.
"Nobody can help you now," Bill managed to gasp, and came with such force that Judy's thighs quivered, her insides quaking like a plate of jello.
Bill rolled off of her and seconds later began snoring.
Her pussy was swollen for two days after that first episode, one in a series of many that were to follow, sometimes on a nightly basis.
Somehow, after that first incident, Judy had known the honeymoon was definitely over.
Afterwards, the attacks came more frequently and with more ferocity. He'd come close to breaking her arm on more than one occasion, and no amount of makeup could conceal the black eyes, split lips and welts that accompanied the beatings.
Still, there were the good times when Bill went on the wagon, but they never lasted for more than a week at a single stretch. When he was sober, Bill McGruff was capable of being tender, sometimes romantic and never violent. The last time he'd fallen off the wagon however, some sixteen months ago, he'd never gotten back on, and was rarely sober for more than the time his shift lasted.
As sleep finally overcome her, sometime around three in the A.M., Judy wondered what had gone wrong and even more, wondered if life had anything better to offer than a husband who walloped her and a cramped Brooklyn apartment.
*****
"Judith, wake up."
Judy stirred slightly, trying to ignore her mother, who was attempting, with little success, to arouse her. In that brief moment between sleep and the first stirrings of consciousness, Judy was sure her mom was trying to wake her up for school.
"Wake up, girl," Mrs. McPugh ordered, shaking her more firmly now.
"Mummpphh," Judy gurgled, opening her eyes to a room bathed in sunshine. "What time is it?"
"It's after one in the afternoon, and time to wake up," Mrs. McPugh told her."There's someone on the phone from the precinct wants to talk to you."
"Has Bill been here?" Judy asked.
"He came by early this morning, sheepish as a first time sex offender," Mrs.McPugh explained. "Yer father sent him on his way, said you be back by the time he finished his shift."
"Pop was lying," Judy said, stretching.
"Yer Pa don't never lie," Mrs. McPugh said.
"Now hurry and get the lead out and answer the phone."
Judy slipped on her faded terrycloth robe and padded into the kitchen, where the receiver lay on the table.
"Hello?" she said, picking it up.
"Mrs. McGruff?" said a strange voice. "Mrs. Judith McGruff?"
"Speaking."
"My name is O'Bannon from N.Y.P.D. Public Affairs office," said the harsh sounding voice on the other end of the phone.
"Yes?"
"Um...Mrs. McGruff, it is my sad duty to inform you that your husband, Patrolman William McGruff, was killed in the line of duty at approximately nine-forty-nine this morning..."
Judy's mouth hung open, but no words would come. She felt the same way she had when she'd bit whacked on the back of the head by a frisbee in eighth grade.
"What...how...."Judy stammered.
"Apparently," O'Bannon continued, trying to keep his voice steady, "your husband and his partner were in pursuit of a purse snatcher on West fifty-first street..."
"My husband was killed by a purse snatcher?" Judy managed to ask, her throat dryer than sandpaper.
"Well, not exactly," O'Bannon said. "The purse snatcher got away after your husband ran into the bus."
"Bus?" Judy croaked.
"I believe it was the M-104, or perhaps the M-106 Broadway local."
"My husband was killed by a bus?"
"Well, that and the three taxicabs he bounced off of," O'Bannon replied.
"Dead..." Judy muttered. "My husband is dead..."
"Mrs. McGruff, it is with the deepest regret that..." O'Bannon droned on, but Judy wasn't there to hear the rest as the floor came up to greet her and she stretched out on it for an hour or two.
*****
"So what are your plans, darling?" Mrs. Rabinowitz asked Judy at the wake three days later.
The McPugh apartment was wall to wall people, friends, relatives and fellow officers filled the place, drinking, eating cold cuts and generally having a good time despite the tragedy.
Judy sat on the living room sofa, dabbing her eyes and nose with a soiled Kleenex. To her right sat Mrs. Rabinowitz, munching on a roast beef sandwich, while her older sister Beth sat on her left.
"Judy's still in the mourning period," Beth offered, sensing her sister didn't feel much like talking. "She hasn't really decided what she's going to do next."
"I understand completely," Mrs. Rabinowitz gushed, "it's like my Murray always says, 'you only go around once, so grab for all the gusto you can.'"
"Isn't that what they used to say on the beer commercial?" Beth wanted to know. "Could be," Mrs. Rabinowitz replied. "My Murray never had an original thought in his entire life."
"Excuse me," Judy said, rising from the couch. She made her way into the bathroom, where she splashed some cold water on her face. Her left eye was still slightly blackened from Bill's last beating, which seemed to ease her grief every time she looked at it. He was no angel, her late husband, but to Judy, better than no husband at all.
The funeral had been something else. Nearly a thousand of New York's finest had turned out at Our Lady Sings the Blues for the service, and Bill was given a twenty-one gun salute, which inadvertently brought down a dozen bullet-riddled pigeons all over the casket. Father McGuire had delivered a stirring eulogy, praising Officer William McGruff to the hilt. Of course the good Father, Judy thought with a tinge of irony, had never been on the receiving end of one of Bill's left hooks.
Now, with the apartment filled with people, many of whom Judy had never even met, she sat down on the toilet for a little peace and quiet and reflected on her life.
She had no idea what the future held, but she did know that it was time for a change. She would get a job. There was rent to be paid, food to be bought, a stack of bills higher than the Chrysler Building and best of all, a two thousand dollar tab from Bill's bookie, Louie the Gook, who despite his expressed sympathies at Bill's demise still expected to be paid.
Judy's sister Beth knocked on the bathroom door and stepped inside. She was two years older than Judy and not quite as pretty but had hooked a husband at seventeen nonetheless. She and Judy had been close once, but the strains of married life and children had separated them. "How ya' doin'?" Beth inquired. "Alright, I guess," Judy replied. "Quite a turnout, huh?"
"You said a mouthful," Beth replied. "Half the people here I've never seen before. I think they crawl out of the woodwork whenever there's free booze and food flowing around."
"You always were a cynic," Judy said, managing a small grin.
"So what happens now?" Beth wanted to know.
"I dunno," Judy murmured. "Find some gainful employment, pay some bills. Louie the Gook wants his money, said he was sorry Bill got himself dead but life goes on. He said he would pray for Bill's soul and that if I didn't pay up, I'd be wearing a cement overcoat."
"Don't worry about that sleazeball Chinaman," Beth soothed. "Some of Bill's buddies are gonna try to persuade him to erase the debt."
"That's a relief."
"Did he beat you a lot?" Beth asked suddenly.
"Well," Judy mused, "it seems like only once, now that I think about it, starting in July of 1981 and stopping in February of 1985."
"I'm sorry Bill's dead," Beth replied, "but try and look at all of this as a new beginning for yourself. You're footlose and fancy free. I mean, shit, you're only twenty, you're hot looking. You can go out and find yourself a rich stockbroker, or a doctor maybe. You can go to discos and parties and have yourself a great time."
*****
Two nights later, despite the protests of her parents, Judy did just that.
"Imagine," Mrs. McPugh snorted as she watched her daughter primping herself in the bedroom mirror, "goin' out on the town two nights after yer late husband's wake! It's disgraceful, that's what it is, downright disgraceful."
"Oh, Ma," Judy sighed, spritzing a little Chanel No. 9 behind her ears. "It's just a little party, a few friends."
I don't give a tinker's cuss what it is," Mrs. McPugh retorted, her Irish brogue becoming heavier as she grew angrier. "It don't look right, yer goin' out this soon after Bill's death. What are the neighbors to think, for the love of Mike, and for that matter, what'll Bill's family think when yer too tired to show up at Mass tomorrow morning. What'll I tell them?"
"Tell them I'm too grief-stricken," Judy replied. "Or tell them I didn't feel well."
"I'll do nothing of the kind," Mrs. Mcpugh replied, grimacing as she watched her daughter squeeze into a pair of skintight designer jeans. "You'll never be able to sit down in those pants."
"Don't worry," Judy told her. "Bill beat my butt so hard last time I couldn't sit down if I wanted to."
"Still an' all," Mrs. McPugh said. "It don't look right, 'specially the way yer dressed. Lord knows I tried to raise my girls as good girls."
"Life goes on, Ma," Judy told her. "I can't spend the rest of my life sitting shiva." "Sitting what?"
"Sitting shiva," Judy replied. "That's what Mrs. Rabinowitz did when her first husband died. She said that's what Jewish people do when someone close dies. You sit around and feel bad for the deceased and say some prayers."
"Thought the only thing THAT tribe prayed for was money," Mrs. McPugh sniffed.
Minutes later, Judy was on the Manhattan bound B train on her way to the Village, where her friend Bambi Lipshitz lived with her boyfriend, an older dude Bambi'd met at her job.
She and Bambi went back to the second grade together at P.S. 114 and were undoubtedly the prettiest chicks there. Bambi, Judy thought as the train lurched and screeched down the tracks, had done pretty well for herself, but then, she'd always been the smart one.
She'd graduated at the top of her class at Midwood High and had gone to Brooklyn College for two years following that, managing to get her BA in half the time. Now she worked at some hotshot advertising agency on Madison Avenue, though Judy was unsure as to just what she did there.
Bambi, who like other young Manhattan hopefuls, moved around a lot. her latest address was somewhere in a neighborhood known as SoHo, where all the trendy people lived. To Judy's surprise, it was a somewhat dilapidated former warehouse on an equally dilapidated street somewhere very south of the neighborhood she'd known as the Village.
The party was in full swing as Bambi met Judy at the door of the spacious loft she shared with her boyfriend Steve, a fashion photographer whose work was plastered all over the walls among the hanging plants and artsy-fartsy paintings.
"Judy, Judy, Judy," Bambi said, throwing her arms around her friend and doing a God-awful Cary Grant. 'Tm so glad to see you!" "Ditto," Judy said, hugging her back. "I'm really sorry about Bill," Bambi said, swaying a bit. Obviously, she'd been partying for some time. "Sorry I couldn't make the funeral. I saw it on the news."
Judy's eyes widened. "It was one the news? What channel?"
"Eleven, I think," Bambi said above the booming Springsteen.
"Shit, and I didn't even know the news people were there," Judy fumed. "Did you get to see me?"
"Shit, yeah," Bambi squealed delightedly. "You looked like a million."
"Did you like the dress? I got it at Bloomies. One hundred percent polyester-slash-cotton."
"It was super," Bambi told her. "Shit, but's it good to see you. Jesus, get in here."
She dragged Judy in the door, where some strange looking people and a lot of Yuppie types were milling around with drinks in their hands and smoking some very sweet smelling marijuana. Judy hadn't smoked that stuff in years, and the aroma conjured memories of early teenhood that seemed a million miles away.
"You know," Bambi said, leading Judy through the maze of people toward the kitchen table that was now doubling for a bar, "it's a damn shame we never got together much once you tied the knot. I mean, shit, you were a baby faced little kid when you got married. Too young, Judy."
"I knew that two weeks after the wedding," Judy agreed.
She smiled at Bambi, who looked younger and prettier than ever. A shaggy haired brunette, Bambi had a beautifully rounded pair of boobs and a tight, fully packed ass that drove men into instant heat. The horn rimmed glasses she wore only seemed to enhance her beautiful brown eyes.
"Steve Crapanzano," Bambi said to a handsome dark haired dude standing at the bar, "I would like you to meet my very bestest friend in the whole fuckin' world, Judy Alice Margaret Ann McPugh McGruff, and Judy Alice Margaret Ann, this is my bestest boyfriend in the whole fuckin' world, Steve...what's your last name again?"
"The pleasure's all mine," Steve smiled, displaying the cleanest, straightest teeth Judy had ever seen. "Bambi told me about your husband.
I'm very sorry."
"Don't be," Bambi said, pouring wine. "He was an asshole."
"Bambi!" Steve snapped.
"Well he was," Bambi said."He was a Brooklyn melonhead with an I.Q. below that of a smoked salmon. I'm sorry to make all these terrible food jokes about your dead husband, Jude, but you're better off. You realize of course, I had to get drunk to say this to you and you may hate me forever for saying it but...fuck it, sure, it would've been easier to divorce him instead offending up a widow, even with all that religious guilt they lay on you, but now that it's over, I'm glad you're free."
"I don't hate you for saying what I've been thinking for four years, Bambi," Judy said, hugging her friend.
"Great," Bambi said, hugging her back, a little tightly than Judy remembered. "Now that we got that shit out of the way, let's party."
"I'm with you!"
Chapter Three
Judy was on her third glass of Gallo Tawny Port when she first noticed a tall, sandy haired guy staring intently at her. He was well over six feet tall, slim and had a pair of shiny black leather pants on.
Judy avoided his burning gaze at first, trying to look nonchallant, until Bambi wandered by, a fine ring of white-Judy guessed it to be coke- circling the edge of either nostril. Her eyes were like red slits. Judy grinned. Bambi always did know how to party.
"Enjoying yourself, kid?" Bambi wanted to know.
"You bet," Judy replied. "Although I'd enjoy it a lot more if that guy wasn't staring at me."
Bambi swiveled her head around.
"That guy there?" she asked, pointing to the starer in question.
Judy nodded.
"Ain't he cute?" Bambi asked her friend.
"He sure is, "Judy agreed. "Who is he?"
"He's hot for you, that's who," Bambi said. "He already asked me who you were and if you were married or with someone. His name is Dave Zapata, he's the head of the creative department down at the agency, makes upwards of about fifty G's a year and best of all, he's straight, at least, that's what two of the secretaries told me. Wanna meet him?"
"Oh, no, I couldn't, "Judy stammmered."I mean, I wouldn't know what to say to him...we're from two different worlds. He'd probably find me boring or shallow or both..
"Oh, quit shakin' your tamborine, for Chrissakes," Bambi said, taking Judy by the arm and dragging her across the loft to where Dave was standing.
"Dave, this is Judy," Bambi said to the handsome dude.
"I know," Dave said simply, and whisked Judy off to a secluded part of the loft.
"I've been watching you," Dave said with a confidence that made Judy a little uneasy, as though he'd recited the line to a million other girls. "You looked like you felt out of place here."
"A little, I guess,"Judy admitted."Everybody's so different here than the kind of people I'm used to."
"Don't let these plastic people faze you," Dave assured her." They squat when they shit, just like everyone else."
Judy laughed and began to relax a little.
"What's that you're drinking?"
"Some kind of wine. Gallo, I think."
Dave wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"I thought so," he said, sniffing the contents of her glass. "I bet Sid Highsmith brought it, the cheap fink. The man pulls in two hundred G's a year and buys the cheapest wine on the market. Jesus. Your tastebuds will die a slow and painful death from that shit. Let's get you something that'll put hair on your chest."
He lead her over to the bar, stepped behind it and started mixing about six different kinds of booze together in a martini shaker.He shook it up and poured it into a big glass.
"Drink up," he smiled.
"What is it?"
"My own creation," Dave explained."It's called a Viva Zapata. Two sips and you try to invade Mexico."
"With a recommendation like that," Judy giggled,"how can I refuse?"
She downed it in two quick gulps.
Dave was right there with another, which Judy also downed, although not as quickly as the first one.
When she was done, her head was spinning and her inhibitions lowered with each sip, which did not go unnoticed.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked, her speech thick.
"Do you want an honest answer?"
"Yes."
"I am trying my utmost to get you drunk," he admitted,"in the hope that you'll spend the night with me."
"You don't waste any words, do you?"
"I don't waste any time, either," he said, taking her arm gently and leading her away. "So how about it? Wanna go back to my place for a spot of heavy breathing?"
"I dunno," Judy said nervously."I mean, my husband hasn't even been gone a month yet, and I'd feel,I dunno, kind of funny.
"I can't bring him back," Dave said, his big blue eyes gazing intently into hers,"but I'll try my damndest to help you forget him."
Before Judy could reply, Dave was helping her on with her coat and ushering her toward the door.
"I didn't say goodbye to Bambi and Steve,"Judy said, feeling giddy now.
"Don't worry,"Dave assured her. "Bambi understands these things. Anyway, you'll be seeing her Monday."
"I will?"
"Sure," Dave said."When you start work at the agency."
"When I what?"
"Look," Dave said. "Bambi explained the situation to me, about how you were all alone now and needed a job. So, starting Monday morning, you'll be playing receptionist at the agency, and don't argue, because it's all been arranged."
"But I have no experience," Judy protested as Dave guided her down the stairs and onto the deserted SoHo street. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and emitted a shrill whistle. A yellow Checker cab materialized from nowhere and pulled up in front of them. Dave opened the door for her. Judy climbed inside.
"Maybe you don't," he said to her. To the driver, a skinny Black guy with an Afro, he said, "Montague Street and Court in the Heights."
"Okay to take the bridge?" the driver asked.
"Take the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel," Dave advised."It's quicker. I'll take care of the toll.
"You're the boss," the driver said agreeably, and sped off.
"So it's all settled, then?" Dave asked her as the taxi careened down the Bowery.
"But I have no experience being a receptionist.!'
"I already told you it's okay," Dave said,putting an arm around her and pulling her close. "You've got a brain that works, and sometimes that's more important than experience. Christ, I only met you an hour ago and already I can tell that you got more on the ball than most of the brainless bimbos we got working down there. You'll do fine.
He leaned in closer to her and kissed her gently on the mouth.
"I like you a lot, Judy," he said sincerely, his hand coming to rest on her left boob. He kissed her again."You're the genuine article, not one of these tough, gum snapping heavily made-up Upper East Side cunts you see all over the city. I like that."
He pressed his lips against hers again, embracing her tightly but gently, totally different from the way Bill had in their better days. To her surprise, Judy found herself kissing him back.
She was slightly uncomfortable smooching in the backseat of a cab though. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the cabbie checking out the action in the rear view mirror, which made her a trifle uneasy.
When Dave snaked his tongue into her mouth, however, her unease trickled away and she surrendered herself to his embrace completely.
Moments later, the cab pulled up in front of a gorgeous brownstone.
Dave's lips never leaving hers, he deftly handed the cabbie a ten-spot and waved his hand, indicating to the cabbie that he could keep the change.
The Checker zoomed away, leaving them standing there, still kissing passionately. Finally, they broke apart, and Dave lead her up the stoop to his spacious apartment.
The furniture was tasteful, but somewhat worn. Clothes - clean and dirty - were strewn all over the apartment. A real bachelor pad.
"Sorry the place is such a mess," he apologized." My maid just got married."
"When?"
"Seven years ago," he replied, "to my cousin Miguel. Care for a nightcap.
"A Tab would be nice,"Judy replied.
Dave disappeared into the tiny kitchenette and opened the fridge. Inside were three rotten eggs, a burned out light bulb and one filthy tennis sneaker, but no Tab, or for that matter, nothing fit for consumption, human or otherwise.
"Urn, I'm all out of Tab," Dave called from the kitchen as Judy settled onto the sofa. "I could run out to the all-night deli if you're really thirsty though. It's only seventeen blocks away."
"Not necessary," Judy called back,and pulled a pair of sheer black panties out from between the cushions. She held them up for inspection as Dave returned.
Dave grinned weakly, gazing at the panties and totally unable to remember who they belonged to.
"Yours?" Judy asked, and Dave was relieved to note that she seemed not the least bit angry.
"Um...I think my grandmother left those here," he stammered.
"She has good taste," Judy commented, and tossed them aside as Dave settled down next to her.
She immediately noticed the huge bulge in his shiny leather pants and tried not to.
Dave's arms were around her before she could say boo.
"I love you," he whispered in her ear. "Love me?" she asked incredulously." You just met me two hours ago."
"Sue me," he replied." I'm an incurable romantic."
And he was.
"Do you wanna make love to me?" he asked softly. "I know you've been through a lot and may not be ready yet."
Judy was impressed. Most of the guys she'd known, her own late husband most notably, never asked. They just grabbed and started pumping away with little regard for her feelings. She liked this Dave Zapata a lot more now.
"I'd like it a lot," Judy admitted. "I...I just hope you won't be disappointed with me. I mean, I've only been with one man other than my husband and I'm not very experienced."
Dave was tempted to say something like, "Don't worry, I've had enough experience for the both of us," but didn't.
Instead, he eased Judy onto her back and smothered her body with his.
"Trust me," he whispered in her ear,nibbling on it.
She trusted him.
*****
"Mummmppphhh," Judy grunted.
Dave was fully atop her now, his hand snaking under her blouse and bra. The tips of his fingers prodded her firm nipples. Taking one between the tips of his fingers, he squeezed it gently.
"Eep," Judy gasped.
"Did you like that?" he asked in a whisper.
"Oh, yes," she moaned.
Dave repeated the process on the alternate nipple. At the same time, he resumed kissing her passionately.He slid his tongue into her waiting mouth, and she rose to the occasion, throwing her arms around him and pulling him down against her more tightly.
For that moment, she was his.
And Dave Zapata knew it. From past experience.
He started to scramble out of his clothes. He was wearing a leather zip-down shirt that matched his pants.
Down went the zipper on his shirt. Judy marveled at his flat, hard stomach and hairy chest. She brought her hands up and started rubbing, feeling the scratchy hair between her fingers. Something inside of her started to flutter.
"I showed you mine, chickie," Dave said with a grin. "Now show me yours."
With Dave still straddling her on the couch, Judy began to unbutton her blouse slowly, her hands trembling with excitement.
"Don't be nervous," Dave soothed. "Believe me, once we get the ball rolling, it'll be heaven." He didn't disappoint her. He finished unbuttoning her blouse and skillfully reached behind her and unsnapped her bra strap with a deft move of his fingers. He pulled the bra off of her. Her tits spilled out, her nipples erect with excitement.
He lowered his lips down onto them, taking the firm, brown knob gently between his teeth and sucking it into his mouth. He lapped hungrily at the firm nipple and massaged the other breast at the same time.
His hand slid down to her jeans and then under them, his fingers probing for the hairy bush that lied beneath the tight pants.
He found what he was looking for. He began to stroke her hot twat slowly, his fingers searching, searching.
His forefinger found the little man in the boat. Dave tickled his ear and Judy flinched under him as his tongue continued sliding over the ever-swelling nipple.
"Did your husband ever do this to you?" he wanted to know.
"Never...never..." she gasped. He slid his tongue across her chest until his lips found the opposite nipple. He repeated the process on the other nipple, slowly lapping and biting it gently until Judy began to writhe sensuously under him.
She ran her fingers through his jet black hair as he continued sucking her tender nipples.
Judy was still writhing as Dave unsnapped her jeans and started yanking them down her long sleek legs.
He whistled softly. This bitch was hot looking.
She was wearing skimpy panties and nothing else.
His cock was about to rip clear through his pants.
Dave couldn't have that happening. Those pants cost him a bundle, and the last thing he needed were his throbbing ten inches bursting through them. It was enough to send any girl screaming into the night.
He rose from the couch, Judy's arms slipping away from him. He wiggled out of his shirt and tossed it across the room, where it landed on a globe of the world he'd gotten for his tenth birthday.
He hopped around comically on one foot, trying to squirm out of his pants. He wore nothing underneath except a skimpy black jock strap. Judy's heart began to accelerate as she caught her first glimpse of his trim, muscled body and hairy physique.
Dave bent and lifted Judy naked into his arms. He carried her across the room.
"I've always wanted someone to carry me into the bedroom," she said with a grin.
"I don't have a bedroom," he apologized. "I was gonna carry you over to the fold out couch."
Which he did, and which was already folded out. Dave liked to plan ahead, and knew he'd score that night. It was good to be prepared.
He lowered her onto the couch, then lowered her panties down to her ankles, where Judy kicked them off. He ripped off his jock and collapsed on the bed next to her.
"Come to papa," he cooed.
She went.
She rolled into his waiting arms, winding up on top of him.
She immediately felt his hardness against her thigh, which excited her to no end. He was much gentler with her than Bill had ever been, and for the very first time, she found herself looking forward to having sex without being kicked around the house beforehand, which was Bill's version of foreplay.
They began to suck face, rubbing their tongues together, their mouths wide open as they tasted one another.
Dave loved feeling Judy's hard nipples rubbing against him. They were the part of a woman's body that excited him the most.
He debated on whether or not to force her down on him. Most chicks he'd been with who'd been (or were currently) married had not been into oral sex, usually because their husbands had forced them into it, which often turned them off.
He decided on Plan B. Go down on her and see what happened.
He rolled her over onto her back and began to plant hot kisses all over her stomach, working his way down to her navel, and then even further south.
Judy knew what was coming. Bill had gone down on her once and found it, in his words, "like Frenching a kippered herring."
Which had been just as well. On that one occasion that he'd tried it, Judy found it a turn-off, though it had been due mostly to her late husband's sloppy technique.
She opened one eye and saw Dave's head disappear between her legs. A second later she felt something cold and wet lapping at her twat.
She gripped the side of the mattress and licked her parched lips as she felt his talented tongue slobbering eagerly at her enflamed pussy.
He started dabbing at her clitoris with the tip of his tongue.
She moaned deeply, still not sure whether she liked it or not.
Dave continued to lick eagerly at her little red clit. The hairs on the back of her neck began to flutter as every nerve ending in her body came to life.
She found herself pushing his face down deeper into her furry snatch.
"Oh, yes...yes..." she moaned. "It feels so good."
Dave hoped so. His jaw was beginning to ache.
Nonetheless, he kept at it, making broad strokes with his tongue, lapping at her clit. He parted the swollen lips of her vagina with his fingers and darted his tongue deeper into her bottomless cunt.
She tasted sweet, like honey and pepper and several other spices whose names he could not remember.
Judy ran her hands over his firm backside as he continued making oral love to her. She was oblivious to the honking horns and wailing sirens from the street below, the blood pounding in her ears.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. A trickle of sweat rolled down her face as Dave's oral caress became more intense, each stroke of his tongue sending her into ecstasy.
Dave had had enough. He lifted his face from her snatch and started climbing on top of her.
Once more, Judy could feel his throbbing erection against her, sliding along her legs and thighs as he mounted her.
When he was fully atop her, she instinctively wrapped her long legs around his and threw her arms around his neck, drawing him down tightly against her.
Their lips met again and they began to kiss passionately.
Judy could never remember feeling so turned on, so sexually stimulated. With Bill it had been a few random bumps, grinds and gyrations and then good night, Gracie. Dave was opening up a whole other world for her now, and she wanted to savor every last moment of it.
She felt the tip of his huge penis prodding her pussy lips and automatically parted her legs to allow him entry.
Dave hoisted himself up and entered her slowly. A low pitched moan escaped from Judy's lips as she felt his pulsating rod slide neatly and gently into her waiting snatch.
He slid all the way into her, his cock deep inside of her all the way up to the base.
Judy sank her sharp fingernails into the firm flesh on Dave's back as she felt his hard tool fill her completely. Her breath came in quick gulps as Dave started pumping away, sliding his cock in and out of her with even strokes.
"Oh, baby, you're so nice and tight," he commented as he felt the fiery friction of his cock scraping against her.
He increased the speed of his strokes, pumping her quickly now. Judy's hands slid down to his ass. She pushed his groin down into hers and at the same time, Dave slid his hands under her rump and pushed her torso up so that his cock was slamming deep into her.
They continued thumping and gyrating all over the bed, their bodies in perfect rhythm and glistening with sweat despite the chilly air in the apartment. The landlord, who lived two flights up, was a cheap bastard who killed the heat promptly at ten P.M. No matter. They made their own heat, the kind that Con Ed could never bill for.
Dave's gyrations continued with ever growing intensity, his swollen balls slamming against Judy's asscheeks as he rammed his throbbing love hammer in and out of her.
His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her buttocks as he felt himself approaching climax. He had no way of telling what Judy was getting out of this, as she made nary a peep thus far. He suspected that she was one of those silent types who was too shy to respond vocally to his lovemak-ing. He'd had them before.
At any rate, he was too wrapped up in his own pleasure to care much about hers. Still, he would have appreciated some sort of reaction from her, as he had had many girls in his lifetime and never sent one away hungry. His pride was on the line.
At that particular moment though, it was his swollen nuts that mattered the most. He could feel the tingling in his groin and knew that his climax was not far behind.
He slammed his cock into her one last time and stopped pumping abruptly. A huge load of jism barreled through his pulsing rod and jet-
tisoned out the tip of his pecker, gushing freely deep into Judy's oral cavity.
"Arughhhhhhh," he groaned gutterally as he came.
Judy's entire body seemed to quake as she felt his violent eruption inside of her. She gripped him as tightly as she could and held on for dear life.
He came in buckets, spewing his hot, milky seed into her. Sweat dripped off of his forehead and splattered onto her breasts as he continued coming.
Judy lay silently under him, feeling his pecker lurch uncontrollably inside of her.
His sphincter muscle contracted and relaxed, contracted and relaxed with each new wave of come.
Dave's orgasm dwindled down to a few lonely drops of jizz.
His penis remained erect even after he'd finished coming, but he knew it wasn't for long. He withdrew from her, slowly, and rolled over onto his back, wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Whew," he commented. "That was intense. Did you come?"
Judy wasn't sure.
"I...I think so," she said, uncertain. "I'm not sure."
"Not sure?" he asked, his eyebrows raising up an inch. He looked like a pussy-whipped Groucho Marx. "How can you not be sure? Either you come or you don't."
"I think I did," she replied, the warm post-coital afterglow fading away like rain down a drainpipe.
"Look, dear," he said, a growing edge to his voice. "When a chick has an orgasm, she knows it. It's like getting a left hook to the jaw, only it doesn't hurt. Did you feel anything along those lines?"
"It felt nice," she said weakly.
"It felt NICE?" he asked, astonished. "It's supposed to feel great, like fireworks exploding in your head or Han Solo kicking the Milenium Falcon into hyperspace."
"I don't know anything about firecrackers in hyperspace," Judy said defensively. "All I know is that it felt nice, like pleasant sort of. I liked it a lot, I really did."
"Humph," Dave grunted, jumping off the bed and padding into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him.
Judy could hear the sounds of piss hitting water as he urinated. Bill had never closed the door either.
"Jesus," he muttered, stepping out of the John and killing the light as he left. "I bring you home, fuck your brains out, and mine too, for that matter, and all you can say is it felt nice?"
"I'm sorry," Judy stammered."Do you want me to lie?"
"Sure, why the hell not?"
"I was taught not to," Judy said, suddenly aware of her nakedness. She folded her arms over her breasts.
"Look, Dollface," Dave said, hopping back onto the bed. "There ain't a chick alive who wouldn't have an orgasm with me at the helm. There must be something wrong with you, cause it sure as shit ain't my fault if you didn't come."
"Did I say it was?" Judy asked, growing angry. "My husband never had any complaints."
"Did he ever make you come?"
"I dunno," Judy replied. "Maybe. I don't remember."
"Lets try again," Dave offered, climbing back on top of her. "Maybe this time..."
Judy pushed him away.
"I don't think so," she said, sliding out from under him. "I think I wanna go home now."
"Sure, whatever you say," Dave said, fuming now. "There's some subway tokens on the kitchen table. Help yourself."
"You want me to take the train at this time of night?"
"You can hitch your left tit to the tailpipe of a Mercedes for all I care," Dave said brusquely.
"I thought you were a nice guy," Judy sniffed, gathering up her clothes from the floor, all except her panties, which were nowhere to be found. "I thought you were different, so different from the kinds of guys I'd known all my life. But you're not. You're just another macho dickhead, just like my husband and every other asshole in Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx."
"Hey, chill out, bitch," Dave spat."Or else I'll loosen a few of your teeth."
"Sure, that's right," Judy shot back, deciding to chalk up the panties to experience and dress without them. "Belt me a couple, knock me around, make me eat a knuckle sandwich. You and my husband. Violence. That's the only word you understand."
She struggled into her jeans and reached for her blouse.
Dave grabbed a pair of dirty boxer shorts from a nearby chair and slid them on.
"Sure, and maybe a few upper cuts is what you needed, ever think of that?" Dave wanted to know. "I ain't never hit a broad in my life, and it's a miracle I don't. I may look like hot shit to you now, baby, but I'm just a Puerto Rican shitkicker from East Harlem who made good. I seen plenty of dudes beat their old lady's's asses, my old man included, and a hell of a lot worse, too."
"Spare me your sob stories," Judy told him.
"You know what your problem is?" Dave asked sharply.
"No, and I don't give a shit, either, especially if it's your opinion!"
"You little cunt," Dave seethed, and grabbed her by the arm. He threw her down on the lacquer covered wood floor. Her shins scraped bloody against the splintered wood and made her cry out loud.
Dave was upon her instantly, grabbing her around the waist so that she was sitting doggie style. He entered her from behind, his cock fully erect and ready for action. He heaved his groin at her, ramming his dripping tool back into her.
"I'll make you come, bitch," he muttered, and started slapping her supple asscheeks with each thrust. "I'll make you come good!"
He thrusted, withdrew, and thrusted again, each time giving her tush a healthy slap and then some.
Judy pressed her forehead against the cool smooth floor as she felt his cock, which seemed another six inches longer from this position, plowing deeper and deeper into her.
She moaned in pain as she felt his calloused hands striking her buttocks from either side. That, plus the sensual intensity of his cock ramming into her brought a strange but not unpleasant feeling over her.
"Oh, God!" she bellowed as the force of his blows against her ass grew stronger.
"Great book, flawed movie," Dave muttered.
"Slap me harder!" Judy said without realizing it.
Dave happily complied.
He gave her asscheeks something to sting about.
Without withdrawing from her, he reached over and grabbed a paddle ball racket from under the sofa. It was covered with dust, but he didn't think Judy would mind too much.
He smacked her with it on the butt.
She wailed.
And asked for another.
He gave it to her with gusto.
FWAAAAPPP went the paddle against her bare, rosy asscheeks.
OOOHHHHH! went Judy.
"You love it," Dave muttered. "You love being abused."
Judy was too wrapped up in pain-pleasure to comment on Dave's observations. She lowered herself down even closer to the floor, her pert, stimulated nipples rubbing against the smoothly sanded wood as Dave continued his fucking and slapping.
His cock felt enormous inside of her, longer than a stickball bat. Her asscheeks with ruby red as Dave delivered one blow after another that left her breathless.
And aroused. She could never remember being turned on when Bill slapped her ass like Dave was doing now. Probably, she reasoned, because of the anger and hatred that was behind it. Dave was doing it for fun, if it could be called that, and it seemed to make a difference.
These thoughts however, were the furthest thing from Judy's mind as Dave continued his tirade. "Ooooohhhh," she groaned, the cries of pain slowly turning into cries of pleasure.
"Yeeeeehhhaaaaaa!" Dave wailed at the top of his lungs as he approached his second and infinitely more pleasurable orgasm of the evening. He continued to thwack her with the hard wooden paddle, faster now, keeping time with his cascading orgasmic waves.
Judy cried out like a banshee in heat, her breasts heaving as her entire body was filled with the sweet sensations of an overwhelming orgasm.
"Let me hear you bellow, bitch!" Dave gurgled happily as his orgasm record remained unbroken. The way to a woman's heart was through her pussy.
"Ohyeahohyeahohyeahohyeah!" Judy cried, her entire body a raging torrent of orgasmic sensations.
Dave shot his wad quickly this time, enough to choke Mr. Ed. He crumpled to the floor and panted.
Judy crumpled right alongside him, spent both physically and emotionally, her body still tingling.
"I told you I'd make you come," Dave said, and they both started to laugh.
*****
"It was wonderful," Judy told Bambi on the phone the following day.
Nearby in the kitchen, hunched over a pot of peeled potatoes, Mrs. McPugh listened to her daughter talk and clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
"So what happened then?" Bambi asked, loving every minute of it.
"So then," Judy said, reaching for a carrot stick, "he took me home in a taxi, and..."
"He took you home? You mean he actually rode in a cab with you all the way to Flatbush?"
"Sure, why not?" Judy asked.
"He NEVER does that," Bambi said incredulously. "Most of his dates aren't even lucky enough to get subway fare."
Judy had to grin.
"He's wonderful," Judy sighed. "I think I'm in love."
"That's nice," Bambi said, although not at enthusiastically as Judy would have liked. "I'm really happy for you, Jude, I really am. Just keep one thing in mind, okay?"
"Like what?"
"Like he's a cunthound, a real pussy chaser," Bambi said darkly. "I know he's gorgeous and all, and really great in the sack, but...try not to get too hung up on him, okay? I can name you ten girls who did and ended up with nothing to show for it."
"Maybe it'll be different this time," Judy said somewhat tightly. "He told me he loved me."
"Maybe he does, maybe he does, and I'm not saying he might not, but all the same, watch your ass."
Judy was suddenly furious with her friend for bursting her happy balloon. She assumed Bambi was jealous.
Then dismissed the thought. She had a neat guy who loved her, and that made her a little angrier.
Bambi, sensing she'd gone a little farther than was necessary at that juncture, quickly changed the subject. Judy would find out soon enough.
"So you excited about starting at the agency tomorrow?" Bambi asked.
"You better believe it," Judy replied. "I'm so excited I could shit!"
"Judith!" her mother snapped. "Don't be fouling the language in this apartment.
"Oh, Ma!" Judy said, exasperated.
"Well, Steve's calling," Bambi said. "I think he's got his fingers stuck in the garbage disposal again, so let me get going here. When you get to the office tomorrow, ask for Leo Nocedo. He's the personnel director or something like that. He'll get you all set up at a desk and fill you in on all the happy horseshit that is advertising. See ya'."
"Bye," Judy said, "and thanks."
She hung up.
"In love she says," Mrs. McPugh snorted. "Her husband ain't even cold yet and she's out gallavan-tin' around like strumpet."
"Oh, Ma," Judy said.
"'Oh Ma' nothing," Mrs. McPugh said. "I suppose this Prince Charmin' is anything but Irish."
"You suppose right," Judy replied. "He's Puerto Rican."
"Puerto Rican," Mrs. McPugh moaned, shaking her head. "I'm only glad your father's at work and can't hear what I'm hearin' now. Puerto Rican! Even a Jew would have been better! At least he'd let you have a maid. With a Puerto Rican, you'll be the maid. He'll probably steal the money right out of your purse when yer ain't lookin'."
"Ma," Judy said calmly, "he makes something like fifty thou a year."
"You have my permission to marry him," Mrs. McPugh said in a tiny voice, and shuffled out.
*****
Sunday evening.
After subwaying home to the Flatbush apartment she'd shared with Bill, Judy had never felt so alone in her life.
She'd spent the last weeks since the funeral with her folks and was now faced with an eerily silent apartment. Growing up with all those sisters, plus two parents and an endless assortment of relatives who stayed on from time to time, Judy had never known the meaning of the word privacy.
Even turning on the cracked radio in the kitchen and the TV simultaneously did not help. She decided that an activity, keeping busy was the key. She went into the bedroom and opened the closet door. Bill's clothes were hanging there, although he wouldn't need them where he was headed, if he wasn't there already.
She decided to do her Spring cleaning a little early.
She scooped up all of Bill's clothes from the closet and tossed them on the bed. They consisted mostly of bits and pieces of uniforms that were too small, a lot of work pants and some faded flannel shirts. His one suit was buried along with him.
Judy dragged a big brown box from the kitchen,
one she'd been saving for returnable bottles, and tossed the clothes into it.
Then she did the same in his underwear and sock drawer. Next went the shoes, though there weren't many. Bill would never have gotten any best dressed awards.
She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She tossed his toothbrush and shaving gear into the garbage, poured his stinky after shave down the drain and generally erased Bill McGruff's memory from the apartment in the space of an hour.
She felt better.
She felt free for the first time in her life.
*****
Monday morning.
The day had broken dark, rainy and cold.
To make matters worse, Judy was traveling a rush hour subway for the very first time, which in itself was enough to make her long for the bland security of Flatbush.
Now, wedged in between a smelly Arab who was reading a newspaper with some oddball scribbling on it and a young Black dude who looked to be a potential ass-pincher, Judy struggled to breathe. She felt hot breath on her neck and fifty pounds worth of Tom McCann'd feet on her big toe.
The train lurched along slowly, often stopping in the middle of the damned tunnel, which made Judy nervous but seemed to have little effect on her co-riders.
Somewhere in the deepest depths of the subway car, a shopping bag lady went into a bizarre monologue.
"Anybody who wears a long sleeved shirt is a dope addict," the bag lady declared in a shrill voice that sounded like chalk on a blackboard. "Gimme a break, what the hell do I care? Gimme a break, see if I give a tin shit. Tomorrow, when Ray Milland comes by for tea and Danish, we'll see who's right, ain't that so, Ida?"
"Shuddup, you old cunt," someone called out. "You're ALL dope addicts!" the bag lady screamed. "You should all get a cancer where the sun don't shine! And that goes double for you, Marvin, so there!"
The train pulled sluggishly into another station. Forty-five minutes on this smelly old train and they still weren't out of Brooklyn. Judy began to curse the Transit Authority under her breath. How the hell did they expect her to get to work on time? How did anyone who took the fuckin' subway get to work on time?
The bag lady droned on, which at least broke the monotony.
"Don't be such a horse's ass, Ida," the bag lady continued, lost in her little world. The old broad, Judy decided, was really whacko. She'd never seen anything like this in Flatbush. Sure, there were crazies and all, but this lady was really out to lunch. Listening to a few more of the bag lady's incoherent ramblings made Judy realize how sheltered her life had really been. "I seen the way things work alright, you bet I have. So gimme a fuckin' break already and leave me alone. You don't know nothin', Ida, and Mayor LaGuardia, he don't know nothin'. President Truman, he don't know nothin', either. Me, I don't know shit, but at least I got the good taste to keep my mouth shut about it. So there."
The bag lady fell mercifully silent. Judy remembered reading somewhere that crazy people- this bag lady was a prime example - never got mugged or anything like that. The article said that muggers and stuff were afraid of crazies and usually left them alone.
Twenty minutes later, the rickety D train lumbered into the Fiftieth Street station. Judy was swept out the doors, like it or not, along with what seemed like twenty million other people, all of whom ate garlic for breakfast.
She walked the several blocks across town until she hit Madison Avenue. Half a block ahead was her destination, a sixty story office building that housed the Dewey, Cheatham and Howe advertising agency, with billings in the zillions, or so Bambi had claimed.
She crowded into an elevator up to the forty-ninth floor. D, C & H was on almost ten floors alone.
She was greeted by huge glass doors that sported the agency's logo and name. Inside were a bunch of desks staffed by some of the most beautiful women Judy had ever seen. One in particular was especially striking, tall with long jet black hair down to her ass and perfect uplifted boobs. She was easily six feet tall and wore three inch black spiked heels, sort of a cross between Vampira and a Playboy bunny.
Judy strode up to one of the desks, where a bosomy blonde with the bluest eyes east of St. Louis was chatting into a phone. She hung up and smiled pleasantly at Judy.
"Can I help you?" she asked, batting the baby blues. Judy wondered why.
"Um...my name's Judy McGruff, and I'm here to see Mr. Leo Nerdcedo..."
"You mean Mr. Nocedo?" the blonde asked. "Yes, that's him," Judy stammered, fumbling in her purse for the paper with the names Bambi had given her. "Bambi Lipshitz referred me, and..."
"So you're Judy," Blondie exclaimed, offering a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm Suzie Whitbred. Bambi told us to go easy on you because you're a personal friend. You're six minutes late but don't worry; Leo's late, too. That's one thing you got to keep track of, who's late and who's not. That way, you lie to the ones who aren't late and tell them the people that are late aren't late."
Judy nodded.
"Let me introduce you to the others," Suzie offered, leading Judy to the other desks. Behind it sat a cute trick of a redhead with a slim waist, slim thighs and zeppelins for breasts. She was filing her nails, reading the POST.
"Laurie McLarry, this is Judy McGruff. She'll be working with us."
"Does that mean Cecily isn't coming back?" Laurie asked, her eyes never leaving her fingers.
"No, Cecily won't be back," Suzie said. "She's in Boston."
"They can have her," Laurie said.
"Over here we have Millie Gomez De La Rosa Rodriguez Mendoza," Suzie said, leading Judy over to a stunning raven haired Latin bombshell. "This is Judy McGruff."
"I beddy pleezed to meetchu," Millie chirped.
"Over here we have Anita Queen," Suzie said, indicating a foxy Black chick who looked like Diana Ross.
"Hi," Anita said cheerfully, and returned to talking with one of her numerous boyfriends on the phone.
"And last but not least," Suzie said, leading Judy over to the striking brunette, "we have Ga Ga LePew."
"Hi, darling," Ga Ga said in a deep voice. "Ga Ga's just ga ga about meeting you. Don't be a stranger, sweetheart."
"Ga Ga sounds like a man," Judy said as they walked away.
"Ga Ga IS a man," Suzie explained. "When they say 'equal opportunity employer,' they mean it."
Chapter Four
"A transvestite working in an advertising agency?" Judy wanted to know.
"Sure," Suzie replied, nonplussed. "Gives the agency a liberal image sort of. The boys upstairs like that."
She lead Judy over to an empty reception desk, bare except for a phone and a desk calender.
"This will be your desk," Suzie explained. "When Leo gets here, he'll go over all the paper-work and stuff with you."
She turned and walked back to her own desk. Judy sat down, putting her purse in the bottom drawer.
At nine-thirty, the place started hopping. The reception area filled with all types of people, freelance artists, writers, salespeople, clients, messengers and dozens of others. Almost as if it had been timed, the phone started ringing simultaneously.
"Hello?" Judy asked, answering.
"You're supposed to say, 'Good morning, Dewey, Cheatham and Howe,'" Anita corrected her.
"Oh," Judy replied. Into the phone: "Good morning, Dewey, Cheatham and Howe."
"Sorry, wrong number," the anonymous caller said, and hung up.
A youngish, somewhat stocky Latin dude sashayed into the office. He was well dressed with a long fur coat, expensive Italian shoes and a wide fedora which he wore cocked to one side.
"You the new trick?" he asked Judy.
"The new what?"
"Yes or no, doll?" the dude wanted to know. "You the babe Lipshitz sent over?"
"You mean Bambi?" Judy asked. "Yes, she recommended me."
"Follow," he ordered, motioning with his finger for her to follow as he walked into the inner offices.
Judy leaped up and trailed behind obediently. Laurie grabbed her arm on the way out.
"That's Leo Nocedo," Laurie warned. "He's a regular pussy-posse. Just answer all the questions and don't take any shit from him or else you'll wind up being chased around his desk, and believe me, the guy can do the fifty yard dash faster than a fart in a tailwind."
"Thanks," Judy replied gratefully.
She followed Leo down a long corridor with offices on either side. Most had spectacular views of the skyline, while the others faced New Jersey. Judy guessed (and correctly) that those facing Jersey made less than those facing Manhattan.
Leo turned into an office that had his name and job title (personnel liaison) on the door. He ushered Judy in and closed the door behind her, discreetly locking it.
"Have a seat, gorgeous," he told her. Judy sat so quickly that she jarred her spine. She winced in pain and hoped Leo hadn't noticed.
"So you're a friend of Bambi's, huh?" he asked, settling behind a huge desk covered with papers and manilla folders. He slid out of his coat and tossed it up in the air, where it landed neatly onto a nearby coat rack.
He leafed through the mess on his desk and found some application forms.
"We usually fill these out before someone gets hired," he explained, his beady eyes never leaving hers, "but since you come so highly recommended, we'll forego all the red tape and get down to brass tacks. I need you to answer some questions for me."
"Okay," Judy replied, thinking that the guy wasn't so bad.
"One," Leo asked, writing stuff on the form. "Did you go to college, and if so, where?"
"No," Judy explained. "I wanted to, but my late husband..."
"Two," Leo proceeded, "did you graduate from high school, and if so, which one?"
"Well, I attended Midwood High in Flatbush but I dropped out to get married and..."
"Never finished high school, huh?" he asked, sounding concerned. "That's bad."
"It is?"
"Yeah," Leo replied dubiously. "Doesn't look good in Payroll or to the boys upstairs, for that matter. No college is one thing, but no high school diploma, well, that doesn't look too good. Not good at all. I don't know if I can approve your application. Might make me look bad, you know?"
"I'm taking my GED," Judy said anxiously. "I really want this job, Mr. Nocedo..."
"Call me Leo," he smiled.
"I really want this job, Leo," Judy stammered.
"If you don't hire me, then I'll have to work at MacDonalds or sling hash somewhere. And I know I can do a good job, that you won't be sorry you hired me."
"Well...." Leo said, deep in thought. "I have a friend upstairs...he might be able to put your application through no problem. We could lie a little about that high school business and my friend could just forget he saw it on the application."
Judy saw light at the end of the tunnel.
"I'd be really grateful if you did that, Leo," she gushed. "Really grateful."
"How grateful?"
"Well," Judy said, "I could do some of your typing, or I could maybe..."
"You're missing my point completely, Judy," Leo said, rising from behind the desk and coming around behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I do you a favor and you do me a favor, savvy?"
Judy's mouth went dry.
"Do I make myself understood, sweetie? Your ass is mine. Without my say-so, it's goodbye Madison Avenue and hello Egg McMuffin."
Bastard, Judy thought.
"So?"
"Where?" Judy asked. "Not here, in this office."
"Why not?" Leo asked, and with a swift wave of his arm, pushed all the junk on the desk off onto the floor."Good a place as any."
Judy found herself pulling down the straps of her dress. She kicked off her shoes and stepped out of the dress, standing there in her bra and panties.
Unbeknownst to her, Leo flicked a switch under his desk which activated a series of video monitors all over the agency, from the mailroom all the way on up to the executive offices. Everyone from mail clerks to senior vice presidents turned to watch the sizzling scene about to unfold in Leo's office.
"Looks like Nocedo's bagged another cutie," an account manager commented two floors above.
"The smart money was on the broad," his associate replied. "Nobody thought she'd tumble for him."
"The bastard knows his stuff," the A.M. said with a trace of envy in his voice.
*****
"How do like it, from the front or doggie style?" Leo asked as she unsnapped her bra. Leo licked his lips anxiously. One look at those gorgeous knockers and his cock stood up and saluted.
"Nice tits," he said admiringly.
"Thanks," Judy said, wondering if all the other girls in the front office had been hired the same way.
Judy laid back on the table, her legs dangling over the edge.
Leo dropped his pants.
He was wearing Gucci boxer shorts. He whipped his shlong out of them, which was already semi-erect, and stroked it lovingly.
"Ever had any Puerto Rican cock?" he asked.
Yes, the night before last, she thought, and it was bigger than yours!
"No," Judy said, deciding to play along, "but I've always wanted to try some."
She stroked her twat sensuously.
"Oooh, mama!" Leo cried happily, and descended on her. He started rubbing her breasts as he climbed atop her.
"Sure hope you're tight, babe," he said, and laid on top of her. The position was awkward at best.
Leo rearranged their position so that he was laying on his back with Judy squatting over him. She slowly lowered herself down, his cock sliding neatly into her snatch.
He reached up and latched onto her boobs, playing with her nipples. Judy remained stationary on top of him.
"C'mon, woman,": Leo cried. "Do something creative."
Judy began to thump her hips up and down, doing all the work.
"Faster!" Leo commanded, and she stepped up the pace. He may have not been hung like a horse, but he made the best of what he had. Judy felt like there was a submarine inside of her.
She continued thumping up and down on him, gripping his thighs for balance. She felt nothing even remotely sensual.
"Don't look like you're enjoying it much," Leo observed. "Sex is supposed to be fun."
"I'm doing my best."
"Tell me what you want," Leo said. "Tell me what you like."
"Hurt me," Judy told him.
"Are you serious?"
She nodded.
Leo shrugged, not easy to do when laying on the back, and started squeezing her boobs.
"Harder."
He squeezed them harder.
"Oh, yeah," Judy moaned. "That's more like it."
The bitch was kinky, Leo thought.
"Call me names," Judy gasped as she felt his firm fingers pinching her supple breasts, digging deep into the soft, doughy mounds.
It hurt like hell.
And she loved every minute of it.
"You slut!" Leo said, playing along as she humped his brains out. "You worthless piece of slime!"
"Yeah...yeah..." Judy cried.
"White trash bitch!" Leo gurgled. "Lowdown honky sleaze queen!"
"More...more!"
He squeezed and degraded simultaneously.
"Gutter trash...you eat shit, bitch, and your mama is easy!"
He sank his fingers even deeper into her fleshy mounds. She cried out in agony and orgasmic bliss. Leo was glad the offices were soundproofed, not that it mattered. Everyone at the agency knew what was happening.
"Bitches like you ain't good for nothing but sucking big cocks and stuffing them in their big tight twats!"
She loved it, every syllable. Bill had talked to her the same way.
He started pinching her nipples until they were almost purple. Judy groaned orgasmically.
"Mama Mia!" exclaimed a mail clerk, watching the video monitor along with his co-workers. It was better than an Eighth Avenue porn flick. "Lookit what he's doing to her! Shit, my old lady would gimme the back of her hand for doin' that shit!"
"The bitch is loving it, too!" squealed a co-worker.
Meanwhile, Leo continued.
"Bitch slut," he seethed, drawing up every insult he could think of. The bitch was really getting off on it. He'd never had one who'd been into pain. It was a nice change of pace.
"Your father eats kitty litter!" he yelled, "and your mother watches reruns of MY MOTHER THE CAR! Your sister sells her ass for nickels and dimes on Forty-Second Street and gives blow-jobs to nigger bums!"
"Oh, yeah, I love it," Judy gasped breathlessly.
She began to slam her hips up and down on him, squeezing his pecker like a Florida orange. He inserted his forefinger up her poop-chute and twisted it around in little circles. Judy moaned even deeper.
Try as he might, Leo could not hold back his climax any longer. He shot his wad savagely, his steamy seed spurting bucketfulls as he erupted inside of her.
Judy came shortly thereafter and dismounted him. Leo lay on his back and wiped his brow. The bitch had really tired him out.
Judy dressed quickly.
"Have I got the job?" she asked.
"Baby, you can have any job you want!" he said. "That was really terrific. Wanna have lunch?"
"Eat shit and die, asshole," she said to him, and went back to work.
Leo laughed until he was almost blue in the face.
Chapter Five
"He what?" Bambi asked as she and Judy finished lunch in the company cafeteria.
"He said that if I didn't...have sex with him, that I wouldn't get the job."
"That little bastard," Bambi seethed angrily."You were officially on the payroll as of nine this morning. He was totally full of shit! You should have told him to go to hell!"
"I wanted to," Judy murmured.
"Jesus," Bambi said, growing angrier by the minute. "That fuckin' Leo makes me wanna blow my groceries all over the place."
"It's no big deal," Judy offered.
"No big deal?" Bambi asked. "Lemme tell you just how big a deal it really is. For starters, everyone in the office probably had money on whether you'd put out or not, and secondly, the prick has a hidden video camera stashed somewhere in the office, so I hope you showed your best side when you did it, because you more than likely had an audience. Shit!"
Judy's face turned a variety of colors, ranging from a dark purple to pickle green, all in the space of five seconds.
"He seemed so sincere," Judy said after an eternity.
"Sincere, shit," Bambi muttered.
"How will I ever face anyone here again?" Judy asked, wanting to cry.
"Don't worry about that too much," Bambi said. "Tomorrow or the next day they'll be someone else who'll fall for the same thing. It happens a lot."
"Did...did it happen to you?"
"Almost," Bambi admitted, "but Leo's method was alot cruder in those days, so I didn't bite."
"Jesus Mary God," Judy groaned. "I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't sweat it," Bambi said, knowing Judy was in for a rough time.
"I'll quit," Judy said. "That's what I'll do, quit. It's all so humiliating."
"No, don't do that," Bambi said, "it's the worst thing you can do. It'll prove that you can't take it. No, it would be better if you just acted like you didn't give a tin shit. In a day or two, no one will remember."
But they did.
*****
"How would you like to be a secretary?" asked a man with bushy eyebrows.
"I beg your pardon? Judy asked.
"I was asking you if you wanted to be a secretary," the man asked. He looked like W.C. Fields. "It pays another fifty over and above what you're making now.
"Gee," Judy said as the other receptionists stared at her, waiting for her decision. "I dunno..."
"I need a secretary," the man said. "I'm Bernard Rowbottom, junior V.P. in charge of creative affairs."
"Hi," Judy said. "I'm Judy McGruff."
"I know," Rowbottom replied. "I caught your debut this morning."
A little light bulb lit up over Judy's head.
"And that's why you want me to be your secretary?" Judy asked tightly. "So the VP of creative affairs can have a few creative affairs of his own?"
"Not exactly," Rowbottom grinned. "But I like your spunk. Sleep on it, if you like. Let me know tomorrow."
He turned and walked back into the office area. The other secretaries were all over Judy in a minute.
"Shit, I just don't believe your luck," Laurie fumed. "Here one day and already climbing the first rung on the ladder to success. Hell, I put out for Leo and got nothing."
"I don't know what to do..." Judy said vaguely. "I've never done secretary work before."
"Two thirds of the secretaries in this place can't fart and type at the same time," Ga Ga said. "Go for it baby. Fuck your way to the top. That's the only way to get anywhere nowadays. God, if only I could fuck my way up."
"Keep in mind, Judy," Suzie said, jealous of Judy's sudden success, "that should you accept the position Mr. Rowbottom is offering, that most of your days will be spent on your back."
"Lay off, Suze," Laurie interjected. "Not everyone is as uptight about sex as you are. Shit, your idea of foreplay is a pillow fight."
"Ees wonderful opportunity," Millie put in, "but I am afraid that Suzie is beddy correct. All they want is your body."
"Sure," Anita agreed, "but look what happened to that Vicky Carillo, remember? The one who started out in the research department filing reports. She fucked her way up to exec V.P., then turned around and fired everyone she had to fuck on her way up. That's what I call just desserts. It can happen for you too, Judy."
"Well..." Judy started to say.
"Honey," Ga Ga said, "you've got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Do it, sweetheart."
"Just don't give old dickface Rowbottom an answer 'till tomorrow," Laurie suggested.
"Why?"
"Look," Laurie explained. "Rowbottom's been trying forever to land a babe like you. Make it work for you, bust his hump for all it's worth, give sex only on your terms and as rarely as possible. Hell, Rowbottom'll be grateful for anything he gets. Trust me kiddo, and in six months to a year you'll be sitting pretty."
*****
"Come in, Miss McGruff," Rowbottom said. "Have a seat."
Judy sat in a huge velvet armchair. Rowbottom's office was pretty staid compared to most of the others she'd seen, complete with framed family photos and a solid gold desk set.
"Can I get you some coffee? Perhaps something stronger?"
"Nothing, thanks," Judy said.
"Been mulling over my offer?" Rowbottom wanted to know.
"I guess you could say that," Judy smiled seductively.
Rowbottom started to drool. "Maybe I'll have that drink. Sure you don't care for one?"
"Not right now, thanks," Judy said.
"And I trust," he said, going to the bar and pouring a healthy one, "that you have made a decision."
"Yes," Judy replied, and swallowed.
The night before, Laurie had called her at home and had coached her, going over every last detail on what to say, how to dress, act, etc. Judy had been impressed at Laurie's vast knowledge.
"Above all," Laurie had instructed, "always keep in mind that you're talking business and not his pleasure. Always keep it on a business level. Don't come right out and say you'll sleep with him. Make him think it's already understood that it's part of the bargain and you're in like Flynn."
"And?"
"I've decided to accept your offer, Mr. Rowbottom," Judy said, choosing her words as carefully as she knew how.
"Fine," Rowbottom said, beaming happily.
"However," Judy forged on, "Before I can accept, there are a few things I must insist..."
"No," Rowbottom jumped in. "Never insist. Request all you want, but never insist."
"Right," Judy replied, losing round one. Rowbottom wasn't quite the pushover everyone thought. "I just wanted to in...request that as your secretary, I will in addition to the usual secretarial chores also take part in creative and other work related functions."
"I see no problem there," Rowbottom replied. "We could use some new talent around here."
*****
"Hurt me...abuse me, you cockeyed son of a bitch!" Judy cried as Mr. Rowbottom took her from behind on her desk.
"Hurt you?" he asked, slightly bewildered. "Why in heaven's name would I..."
"Hit me, I said," Judy begged. "Otherwise I won't come until next Christmas, or maybe never!"
Rowbottom gave her fanny a love tap. She was on her knees, dress pulled up to her hips and panties around her ankles. Rowbottom stood behind her, shoving his loveloaf in and out of her.
"You call that a slap?" Judy wanted to know.
"Hit me the way you'd hit your kids when they've been bad."
"I'm a firm non-believer in corporal punishment," he replied. "I never hit my kids."
"Never?" Judy asked.
"Never," Rowbottom confessed. "My wife would never permit it."
Judy sighed.
"Then hit me the way you'd LIKE to hit your kids," she said.
She felt a huge swack on her buttock. It stung like twelve yellow jackets.
"That's more like it," she moaned.
The phone tinkled softly on her desk. Still bending over, she answered it.
"Mr. Rowbottom's office," she said politely.
It was Bambi.
"Jude?" she asked. "Bambi. Look, kid, we gotta talk, and I mean pronto."
"Can I call you back?" Judy asked breathlessly. Mr. Rowbottom was starting to get into the spirit of things, slapping her fanny and grunting and thrusting harder with each slap.
"No," Bambi said. "This is important. Listen to me, Judy. Lunch. Twelve-thirty. The cafeteria. Be there, and I mean be there."
She hung up.
So did Judy. She winced in pain as Rowbottom started striking her ass with a clipboard. That was" a new one.
"Call me names..." Judy panted. "Call me terrible names!"
Rowbottom was getting used to his new secretary's unusual sexual requests and promptly complied.
"Inferior species," he snarled as best he could. "Urban slum dweller...low class Brooklyn resident...."
"Get nasty, dammit!" Judy snapped. "Get your mind in the gutter, real down and dirty!"
Rowbottom had never been comfortable using cusswords but gave it the old Harvard Class of Sixty-Four try.
"Shit...fuck...peepee....doody....smelly farts....." he squealed in a high pitched voice.
"Sounds like Rowbottom's having a fit!" commented an exec in the neighboring office.
"Yeah," replied his secretary, "and a tight one at that."
Meanwhile, back at the raunch, Rowbottom was huffing and puffing and sweating profusely, the armpits of his white shirt soaking wet. Judy quickly grew tired of his feeble efforts to arouse her and started filing her nails.
Rowbottom started to come, his cock making little spasms inside of her. Despite Judy's indifference, he was happy. His wife only let him put it in halfway, if at all.
He withdrew from her, wiped his brow and sank into his chair.
"Hold my calls for the next twenty minutes," he said, disappearing into his office. "I need a drink."
Chapter Six
Lunch.
Twelve-thirty.
The cafeteria.
Judy was there.
So was Bambi, she noted, who was sitting alone at a table, her hands folded primly in front of her, a container of yogurt and a greenapple sitting untouched.
She looked pissed, for reasons Judy did not immediately understand.
She sat down at the table opposite Bambi and smiled.
Bambi did not smile back. "Hey, Bambi," Judy said cheerfully. "How's it hanging?"
"Sit," Bambi instructed. Judy sat.
Bambi's face was made of granite. "I heard about your promotion," Bambi said. "At first I was very happy for you, but then I heard through the grapevine how you got it." "And what did you hear?" "It doesn't matter," Bambi said."Anyway, I think you know already."
"I don't think I like your tone," Judy shot back."Okay, sure, I fucked a few people. So what?"
"So what?" Bambi asked incredulously. "Look, Judy, it might seem like the right thing to do, but believe me, you won't get anywhere using your twat like spare change."
Judy opened her mouth to protest, but Bambi went on.
"I've seen other girls fall into the same trap," Bambi said, grabbing the apple and nibbling on it, tasting nothing. "Myself, too, at the beginning. I would have made the same mistake you're making now if Steve hadn't come along and filled me in on the facts of life. Sure, you just might get a few steps up the ladder but it'll all come back to haunt you some day.
She reached out and took Judy's hand. She gave it a little squeeze.
"Believe me, Judy," she continued. "I care for you. In some ways, I feel responsible for everything that's happened to you..."
"You're just jealous!" Judy snapped, grabbing her hand away."That's what you are, jealous of my success!"
"Jealous? Is that what you think?"
"It sure looks that way to me," Judy said, her cheeks turning flushed red. "Well, I'm on my way now and nothing's gonna stop me."
She rose from the table and marched out of the cafeteria, never looking back.
*****
Judy walked down the hallway, headed back to her office. She fumed. How dare Bambi tell her what was best for her!
As she passed an open doorway, a disembodied arm appeared from the darkness and yanked her inside the room.
The lights went on.
It was Dave Zapata, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
"Hiya, sweet potato!" he purred.
Judy adjusted her eyes to the light, saw who her assailant was and tried to push aside him out the door.
"Outta my way," she said, trying to brush by him. Dave grabbed her arm. "Where you going, gorgeous?"
"Away from you," she snapped. "Preferably Afghanistan."
"Hey, don't be that way, Jude," Dave said. "I missed you."
"Sure," Judy said. "That's why I waited three days for you to call me. I sat by the phone night and day waiting.
"I meant to call," he said sincerely. "I got tied up."
"Uh huh," Judy replied sourly. "Look, Dave, you got what you wanted from me, so why don't you..."
"How about a drink after work?" Judy sighed.
"And maybe a little nightcap at your place afterwards, right? No thanks."
"I hear," he said, switching to another track, "that you've been doing pretty well for yourself. I saw your debut on our little office TV. You were great."
"Thanks," Judy replied, and tried to slip by him again.
"Not so fast," he said, dragging her back. "I really think it would be worth your while to have that drink with me."
"Why?"
"I can do you a lot of good," he told her." A hell of a lot of good. More than Rowbottom can do for you. Hell, now that you gave the old badger what he wanted, he'll never let you out of his sight."
Judy listened now.
Dave knew his fish-and this one was a barracuda-was well hooked.
He continued.
"I can make great things happen for you, Judy," he said, his hand resting on her left breast.
"Like what?"
"Why don't we discuss it over that drink this evening."
"Alright," Judy agreed, "but only one drink. And that's ALL."
At seven that evening, Dave Zapata was jumping Judy's bones.
They were at the Coste Plente Motor Hotel in Queens near Kennedy Airport.
The Coste Plente however, did not cater to air travelers. On the contrary, it was known to its guests as a "hot sheet" motel, a place where one went for a quickie affair in the middle of the afternoon.
The joint featured waterbeds and mirrors on the ceiling. Piped in Muzak filled the room with the sleepy strains of Ferrante and Teicher".
Dave was fucking Judy from behind. She was laying on her stomach. Dave was laying on top of her. Judy's legs were spread, her face buried in a pillow. Dave was neatly sliding his blood-engourged pecker in and out of her, grunting and sweating. Judy was seasick from the waterbed. Her stomach rolled in waves each time their body weight shifted on the bed.
Judy wanted to blow her groceries all over the tacky motel room.
She fought down the impulse as Dave continued taking her from behind. She struggled to stifle a yawn.
Dave sensed her ambivalence. He withdrew from her.
"Listen, if you wanna catch a few winks, don't let me disturb you," he said tightly. "You won't," Judy said with a yawn. He rolled off of her and picked up the red telephone by the bed.
"I know what you want," he said to her. Into the phone, he said: "Hello, room service? This is Two-three-five. Can I get something sent up?" "A hell of a time to order dinner, "Judy said, lighting a cigarette.
"It isn't dinner," he told her. "Yes, room service. Could you send up a fifteen inch dildo, six feet of strong rope, a gag and a thing of KY Jelly? What, no KY? How about some Vicks Petroleum jelly then? None? Shit. Okay, then send me some Mazola oil from the kitchen."
He hung up.
"You wanna tell me what all that was about?" Judy asked.
"It's time to bring in the heavy artillery," Dave said with a shiteating grin. "Ever get into any heavy bondage?"
"Only my marriage."
"Funny," Dave mused."No, I think you'll like this a lot."
"That's what my late unlamented husband used to say before he beat the crap out of me," Judy replied.
"This is different," Dave told her.
"Since when do motels have ropes and dildos for guests?" Judy asked now. "I thought they only supplied free ice and clean towels."
"This is no ordinary motel," Dave said.
There was a knock on the door.
"C'mon in, it's open," Dave called out.
Judy pulled the sheets over herself.
An elderly black man toddled into the room carrying a boxed dildo, some rope and a bottle of corn oil. He dropped them on a chair.
"Anythin' else?" he asked with a grin, revealing many missing teeth.
"No, thanks," Dave replied, and reached for his pants. He fished out a dollar and handed it to the old man.
"You'all have fun now," the old pisser commented, and left.
"Do you always leave motel doors unlocked?" Judy asked angrily.
"Sorry."
He examined the rope carefully, then examined the dildo. It was thick, rubbery and looked remarkably like the genuine article. He was impressed.
"Ever get fucked with one of these?"
"I think I'd remember if I had," Judy said. "What's the rope for?"
"You'll see."
And she did.
With the finesse of a man who'd done this a million times before, Dave started tying Judy up with the rope, his three months as a Boy Scout coming in very handy.
He tied her ankles and wrists to the bedposts.
She was his prisoner.
"You wanna tell me what this is all about?" she asked impatiently.
"Bondage," he explained. "As of this moment, your ass is mine to do whatever I want to do with it."
"I'm not sure I understand," she said, her face buried in the pillow, muffling her voice.
The ropes were cutting into the flesh on her wrists and ankles.It was starting to hurt.
"I saw your performance on Leo's video," Dave said, rubbing some Mazola on the dildo. "You're into pain, am I correct?"
"Into what???"
"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, babe," Dave said. "I knew it the first night we were together. All that crap about what a prick your old man was, beating you every which way from Sunday. What you didn't know and probably still don't is that you love being abused. It's the only thing that makes you come."
"That's the silliest thing I ever heard," Judy said, struggling to breathe through the stiffly starched pillowcase.
"Maybe, but I don't think so," Dave said.
"You wanna untie me now?"
"No," he replied, reaching into his briefcase.
He pulled out a black leather whip.On the ends of each strand was a shiny white enamel pearl.
"Ain't it beautiful?" he asked, admiring the fine craftsmanship of the whip. "I got it special at Frederick's of Forty-Second Street."
Judy craned her neck to see it. The strands were two feet long.
"Were you planning to use that thing on me?"
"Actually, yes," Dave replied.
"Well, I don't think..." Judy started.
CRACK!
The black leather strands struck her buttocks.
"Ouch!" she snapped."Hey, that hur..."
CRACK!
"Are you nuts?" she moaned. "Cut that ou..."
CRACK!
Dave tittered with delight as he thrashed her fanny.
CRACK! went the whip against her ass.
The whip hurt, but the pearls on the ends hurt even more.
Judy wailed in agony, fueling Dave's fire.
He thrashed her again and again. Judy bellowed in pain.
And loved it.
She struggled to free herself from the rope's grasp, but couldn't. Dave had tied her up well.
He inserted the dildo up her Hershey Highway, left it there and continued whipping her behind.
"Mine," he croaked hoarsely. "You're ass is mine and all mine!"
"Well, take it easy then" Judy replied. "I'm not done with it yet."
The huge dildo felt enormous inside of her.
He lashed out again with the whip, the harsh leather strands leaving finger-sized red marks on her asscheeks.
Sweat dripped from his brow as he brought the whip down onto her exposed flesh. The pearls made a slapping sound against her.
She continued to struggle, then gave in to her Master's punishment.
"It hurrrtttsss!"
"I should hope so," Dave said. "It cost enough."
"Stoppp!"
"Beg me to stop, bitch!"
"Please...please stop," she begged, finding herself more aroused than she had ever been before.
CRACK! went the whip once more. A tiny bead of blood bubbled up through the broken flesh on her butt.
Dave pushed the dildo in deeper with his foot, pressing down on it.
Judy groaned in pain.
She'd taken it from behind before-it had been one of Bill's favorite bedgames, but Bill's pecker had been nowhere the size of Mr. Dildo. It hurt.
"You must be punished severely," Dave boomed. "You have been a very naughty girl and you must pay the penalty!"
Judy wondered where the fantasy ended and reality began. Dave was in never-never land.
Judy had never felt so helpless in her life. She was indeed his prisoner and was along for the ride to the very last stop.
He continued to whip her.
Her buttocks felt numb. There was very little feeling in them now. Still the lashes came.
Judy rubbed her creaming twat against the waterbed, writhing in ecstasy and pain simultaneously.
She could feel the stiffly starched sheets rub against her pussy, stimulating her clitoris as Dave continued whipping her.
He played the game for all it was worth.
"Filthy slut!" he roared. "You're nothing but a seminal spittoon, a cunt-for-hire! A cheap little cock-sucking piglet!"
"Oh, yeah," Judy gasped."Tell me more! Talk dirty to me!"
He dropped the whip, grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face into his naked crotch.
"Suck my weewee!" he gurgled."Suck it down to the root, you slutty dicksucker! Suck me dry!"
She sucked, taking his pulsing shaft deeply into her mouth. Her lips formed an 'o' as Dave shoved his groin at her, his cock sliding neatly into her waiting mouth.
He yanked at her hair when she failed to please him. He'd have the bitch begging for either mercy or more before he was through.
Chapter Seven
"Mumphhh," Judy said. "Huh?"
Dave had stuffed his hanky in her mouth to keep her cries of pain and ecstasy from disturbing the other guests, who were more than likely doing similar things.
"Ta de gah ouwwa mah mouf," Judy mumbled.
"Oh, sorry," Dave said, realizing his error. He pulled the soggy cloth out of her mouth. Judy licked her dry lips gratefully.
"Thanks," she said. "Now would you take the dildo out, please? And then possibly untie me before I get a serious rope burn?"
"I dunno," Dave mused, riddling with his navel. "I kind of like you tied up. Leaves you at a safe disadvantage."
"It also leaves an incredible strain on the bladder," she shot back. "So either get me a bedpan or untie me so I can use the little girl's room."
"Oh, sure. Sorry," Dave retorted, and freed her from the ropes. She rubbed her ankles.
"Where'd you learn that kind of stuff?" she asked, pointing to the whip on the floor.
"At Catholic school," he replied. "The nuns first got me interested in it since they were so crazy about it themselves."
"Tell me about it," Judy said, hopping off the waterbed and disappearing into the bathroom. "We had one at Our Lady Sings the Blues, Sister Kate. Jesus, but could that old cunt dish out the pain. She said she was serving God, but it was more like the Marquis De Sade."
"Yeah, it really sucks," Dave called back. "But at least I got something out of it."
"AMEN," Judy gurgled from the toilet.
She returned and leaped back onto the bed. The seasickness wasn't so bad now. Her ass still stung but it was the kind of pain she was used to.
Dave attacked her but she pushed him away.
"We got some stuff to discuss," she said.
"Sure, babe, anything you want."
"You said something about a promotion," Judy informed him.
"Yeah, I guess I did at that," Dave mused. "I could get you into Creative no problem."
"What's Creative?"
"That's the department where the real work gets done," he explained. "It's where commercials are written and filmed and magazine ads are shot. It's where the real decisions get made, not upstairs where the burned out drunk-three-martini-lunch boys hang out, guys like the one you work for."
"What could I do there?" Judy wanted to know.
"You name it," Dave replied. "Wanna write copy, or be an art director? Maybe research."
"I wanna do something important with lots of dazzle," Judy said. "I wanna be able to tell people what to do. I wanna be a boss."
"Hold on, hold on," Dave cut in. "Not so fast. I mean, Christ, you gotta crawl before you can creep, right? Let me get you a job in copy or paste-up...something you can learn from the bottom up, where you can learn the business and get some experience..."
"And make less than I make now?" she asked. "No thanks. You owe me this one, Dave. You promised."
"Sure, no problem," Dave replied. "An entry level gig, no sweat. But I can't put you in a supervisory gig. Sit, then it's my ass on the line."
"Hummm, "Judy said thoughtfully. "Let me put it another way. How do you think your wife would feel, not to mention your two little ones at home."
Dave's mouth opened to roughly the size of the Grand Canyon. His mouth opened but the words refused to come.
"How...did you..." he stammered.
"How did I know about your wife and kids?" Judy asked. "I have my ways of knowing. That place you took me to after Bambi's party belonged to a friend who's always out of town."
"You wouldn't go to my wife...?"
"If necessary I would," Judy said simply.
Dave stared at her and shook his head sadly.
"Shit, two weeks ago you were just another Brooklyn housewife who didn't know her ass from a hole in the ground and now you're Superwoman. You sure learn fast, girl."
"I'm no sap," Judy said, quoting her father who often sounded like he'd stepped from the pages of a Damon Runyon story.
"What is it you want?" Dave asked.
"You tell me," Judy responded. "You have a vivid imagination."
"Okay," Dave bargained. "Let me think on this awhile."
*****
"I really wish you would reconsider this move, Judy," Mr. Rowbottom said mournfully as Judy packed her few belongings into a satchel.
"On to bigger and better things," Judy said. "Surely you couldn't expect me to pass up an offer like this one. After all, one doesn't get to be a copy chief every day."
"No, I suppose not," Rowbottom replied. "I didn't even know you had any copy experience."
"There's a lot of things about me you don't know," she replied.
With that, she finished the last of her packing and started out the door.
"Say hello to your family for me," Judy told him, departing. "Tell your wife to start putting out once in a while."
Rowbottom started to say something about also believing in the Easter Bunny but Judy didn't catch it.
She caught the elevator up to the Creative floor and ran into Bambi, who eyed her coolly.
"Onward and upward, huh?" she asked.
"Yes, one could say that," Judy sniffed.
"So now it's copy chief," Bambi said, more to herself than to Judy. "I don't know how you did it. I mean, I know how, but I can't believe they'd put a rookie in that job. They fired the old copy chief, Norm Peterson, to make room for you, did you know that? Norm was here for nearly fifteen years and always did a bang-up job. I guess if a girl just peddles her ass the right way..."
Bambi got no further as Judy's hand swept across her face like a mackerel hitting the deck of a fishing boat.
"One word from me," Judy said as the elevator door opened, "and you're on unemployment."
She vanished down the hall.
Bambi cried.
*****
"You must be Judy," Aaron the copywriter said to his new boss, who looked to be a few years younger than his own twenty-five years. "I'm Aaron Rabinitzki, one of the senior writers here and I'd just like to welcome you..."
"Aaron you say?" Judy asked.
"Yeah, Aaron," he agreed. "And I'd like to..."
"Well, Aaron, why isn't the senior writer writing instead of popping his bill?"
Aaron's grin faded slowly. Another writer, a cute little brunette named Nicki Nanciletti, popped her head out from her office door and smiled.
"Hi, I'm Nicki and I'm working even as we speak."
A real cutie, Judy thought.
"Come out here," Judy said to her.
Nicki appeared. She was a hot number with a perfect set of melons and an even more perfect rear end which rested comfortably inside her Sassoon jeans.
"You look a little young to be copy chief," Nicki told her.
"I may surprise you."
"Wanna have lunch?" Nicki asked.
Judy nodded.
"Sure," Judy agreed. "You can fill me in on everyone in the department. Maybe afterwards, we can check out this furnished place I'm thinking of renting on East Sixty-third."
"East Sixty-third, huh?" Nicki asked. "You must be making mucho bucks to afford that neighborhood."
Judy was now making six-fifty a week plus.
"I guess," she replied.
They had lunch at one of the thousands of Szechuan joints Manhattan has to offer.
Nicki ate moo shoo pork and filled her new boss in on her fellow copywriters.
"Well, besides Aaron there's Gene and Holly and Preston Stergis and about six or seven others. All pretty good, too. All hard workers."
"That means there's almost ten writers," Judy said out loud. "Couldn't five or six do the work?"
"Um...well, I suppose, but...they'd be bogged down, and there's different writers for different assignments, like some work on print ads and some just do copy for radio ads while others just write commercials..."
"Maybe," Judy said, "but if these writers are as good as you say, then they can write anything, not just one thing. If I can trim some fat from the department, it'll look good to the big boys upstairs."
"I don't know," Nicki said. "All the writers are pretty loaded down as it is."
"That's why I saw two out of the ten writers in the agency," Judy said. "Where were the rest? Don't tell me out to lunch, either, because it was only ten in the morning."
"Um..."
"Well, we'll discuss this later," Judy said, reaching for the check. "I wanna check out that apartment. Shit, I gotta get out of Brooklyn. It's nowhere."
They taxied uptown to East Sixty-third to a posh, doorman'd highrise, then took the elevator up to floor so high up Nicki thought her nose would start bleedings. The doorman had given Judy the key.
Inside they found a dull but adequately furnished studio with a small kitchen that went for two grand a month.
"Jeez," Nicki said, clearly impressed. "Pretty fancy. Pricey, too, I bet. I don't know how you can afford it."
Judy smiled but did not reply.
What Nicki had no way of knowing (but heavily suspected all the same) that Judy would be living -there rent-free, courtesy of four senior V.P.'s who pooled their money to rent the place. Judy would service each of them accordingly on a strictly scheduled basis.
Judy sat on the round bed and bounced up and down. Nicki did the same.
"Nice bed," Nicki commented.
"Wanna try it out?"
"I beg your pardon?" Nicki asked, wondering if she'd heard her boss correctly.
She had.
"I asked if you wanted to try it out," Judy repeated.
Nicki wasn't too sure how to reply. She knew what Judy was suggesting-she'd gotten several similar proposals from some of the office dykes, though none had been as attractive as Judy.
She'd never made it with another girl before, although her boyfriend had always wanted her to so he could take pictures. But he was a pervert.
Judy sensed Nicki's hesitation and decided to sweeten the pot. She wanted to roll in the hay with Nicki, for it was something she had never tried, either.
"If you say yes," Judy proposed, "you'll still have a job tomorrow. If not, well, one never knows, do one?"
Nicki started to unbutton her blouse, then reached behind and unhooked her bra. Her firm, lovely boobs were in full view. She had nice rounded nipples that grew erect as Judy's hands caressed them.
She eased Nicki onto her back.
Nicki could feel her pussy stirring with excitement.
Judy planted her lips on Nicki's left nipple and sucked deeply on it. Nicki ran her fingers through Judy's silky hair as she felt the warm, wet lips loving dabbing at her nipple.
"You have lovely breasts," Judy said hoarsely. This pixish brunette turned her on the way no man ever had.
"Let me see yours," Nicki whispered.
They squirmed out of their clothes and slid under the covers. The floor was strewn with jeans, blouses, stockings and shoes.
They embraced tightly.
Their lips met. They kissed passionately, lovingly, swapping spits.
Judy worked her way down Nicki's curvaceous body, kissing and licking up a storm. Judy prepared to muff-dive, something she eagerly anticipated.
She gently spread apart Nicki's pussy lips and dabbed hungrily at the sexy girl's enflamed clitoris.
Nicki began to relax, finding it hard to believe that the girl between her legs was her new boss and barely out of her teens.
Judy continued to lap at Nicki's twat. She probed the cherry-red clitoris. Nicki started to cream, a fine drizzle of liquid oozing from her cunt.
"Eat me, eat me," Nicki begged as something awakened deep inside of her.
Judy pigged out.
She lapped at Nicki's burning bush until the sexy bitch flinched under her and started moaning orgasmically.
Nicki shrieked, turned red and came a second time. Not even Larry, her boyfriend, had ever made her come so fast and furiously.
"Did I do something right?" Judy asked, her voice muffled under the covers. "I'm kinda new at this."
"You catch on quick then," Nicki panted.
Judy made her way back up Nicki's svelte body. It was Nicki's turn to disappear under the covers.
She settled on Judy's breasts and liked what she found.
She kissed the nipples tenderly and was somewhat surprised when Judy moaned, "make it hurt, baby"
"What?"
"Make it hurt," Judy gasped. "Please."
Nicki shrugged and bit gently into Judy's plump nipple, her teeth leaving bite marks.
Judy wailed and kicked into overdrive. Nicki responded by grabbing the opposite boob and squeezing it like a lemon.
She continued biting the nipple.
"Oh yeah," Judy groaned. "Make it hurt more..."
Nicki did so obligingly. She did the same to the other nipple and pinched the other between her thumb and forefinger.
Judy thought she would go insane with wanton lust. She forced Nicki's face down on her melons with one hand and squeezed the girl's ass cheeks with the other. She liked to keep busy.
Nicki finished in the breast department. They embraced again and undulated their groins, their hot twats rubbing sensuously, arms and legs a tangle of firm, young flesh.
They kissed and bumped pussies passionately. Judy worked her fingers into Nicki's twat and diddled her clit furiously.
Nicki picked up Judy's cue and did the same. They stroked each other steadily and in perfect rhythm.
They climaxed simultaneously, still embracing tightly, and then relaxed. It was almost five P.M.
"How much do you make a week?" Judy asked.
"Three-fifty," Nicki replied.
"You make five bills now," Judy told her.
*****
The following day, Judy canned three writers and cut the salaries of two others.
"This is just AWFUL," said Gene Lazibell, one of the ones who survived. Aaron sit at his desk and stared at a cup of cold coffee. "Just who does this girl think she is, firing the others like that? It's deplorable. She'll never get away with it."
"She already did," Aaron said glumly. His salary had been cut by fifty bills a week. He was not pleased.
"What do you mean?" Gene asked. He was a tall, slightly balding dude who wrote the best direct mail copy in New York.
"The boys upstairs are behind her all the way," Aaron said. "They're kissing her ass on everything."
"I'm not surprised," Gene replied. "I've seen her type before. Suck the right dicks and the next day you're a V.P. But they never last. They always find a way to trip themselves up. You'll see, it'll happen to this Judy person and I'll lay you twenty to one it happens before the month is out."
"I'll take a piece of that bet," Judy said, coming into the office with a stack of papers.
Gene's complexion quickly turned from a healthy pink to an unhealthy shade closely resembling feta cheese.
"You really have watch your ass in this place," Judy told him, enjoying his torment. "You never know who may be listening."
"Yes," he croaked, and left. Judy was alone with Aaron.
"You don't like me, do you?" she asked him.
"N-No," Aaron replied nervously. "Why should I?"
"Are you mad because I cut your pay?"
"No."
"You're a liar," Judy told him, "but I don't blame you."
Aaron said nothing.
"I need a favor," Judy said, sitting at his desk.
"A favor?" Aaron asked. "What could I possibly do for you?"
"I need a date for some advertising dinner at the Waldorf," she explained, "one who won't make demands, the sexual kind."
"Why me?"
"You're available, are you not?" she asked.
"Sure, I guess," Aaron replied. "When?"
"Tonight at eight," she said, writing her new address down on a blotter. "Seven-thirty tonight. Be there, and on time."
*****
"Ahem... harumpphhh... and in conclusion," droned the old geezer on the podium, "I would just like to say that this has been a banner year for everyone concerned..."
Judy sat at the table in the Waldorf ballroom and wished she was somewhere else. Like Ecuador.
The guest speaker, a tuxedo'd man who looked to be about three hundred, rambled on about the advertising business back in the Roaring Twenties, though most of the folks attending the banquet were getting restless, especially since the bar was closed.
Judy's presence had been requested at this banquet by one of her sponsors, a ruggedly handsome V.P. named J J. Buckstretcher, whose weekly visit to Judy's new pad usually fell on a Wednesday night.
JJ was seated on Judy's left. Aaron was seated on her right. J.J., Judy noted, was with his wife, a heavily made up blonde with a huge bust named Velma. She looked like a real steamroller.
Judy wondered how such a hunk like JJ could have married such a frowsy bimbo like Velma.
Under the table, JJ squeezed her leg. Velma did not notice.
Finally, the aging guest speaker, who looked like he had a few years on Obi wan Kenobi, was escorted off the stage by two ushers.
With that, Velma excused herself and went to the ladies room.
JJ leaned over to Judy.
"Who's your date?" he asked with his Texas drawl.
"You don't know him?" Judy asked.
"No."
"You should," Judy said. "He's one of your writers."
"So sue me," JJ grinned. "Can you get rid of him so's you and me can rendezvous later at your place?"
"What about your wife?"
"I'll tell her we got a meeting afterwards," JJ told her. "Believe me, she'll go for it. She always does."
"What time?" Judy asked.
"A little after midnight," JJ said, then clammed up as he saw his wife return to the table.
Judy turned to Aaron, he also wished he was someplace else, preferably Yankee Stadium where a double header with Baltimore was in full swing.
"Let's leave," Judy said. "This place is dullsville."
They left.
JJ shot her a wink as they departed.
Outside, the Waldorf doorman hailed them a cab. Judy got in first. Aaron started to climb in after her, but she pushed him away.
"I won't be needing your services anymore, Aaron," Judy sniffed. "You can go home if you want."
"Don't you want me to take you home?" he asked, looking hurt. He'd hoped to jump her bones that night, feeling it was owed to him for eating the stale chicken and listening to a bunch of stale speakers.
"I'll be fine," Judy replied. "You run on home now, okay?"
Aaron opened his mouth to reply but Judy slammed the taxi door before he could speak.
*****
"A Mr. Buckstretcher to see you, Miss," said the concierge over the house phone.
"Send him up," Judy instructed.
She went to the fridge and pulled out a few plates filled with JJ's favorite snacks: Polish kielbasa on Ritz crackers. He was a man of simple tastes, unlike her other sponsors, who preferred the more expensive delicasies like caviar and shit of that ilk.
No matter. JJ and the other V.P.'s were footing the bill. They could afford it.
JJ knocked three times.
"It's open," Judy called from the kitchen.
JJ sauntered in, already half naked. Those Texans didn't fool around.
He was wearing only his pants and shoes. His shirt and sports jacket were tucked under his arm. Of all of Judy's sponsors, JJ was definitely the best looking and best built of the bunch.
"Hey, darlin'," he drawled, dropping his clothes on the floor and taking her in his arms.
He kissed her passionately, his hefty arms engulfing her.
"You kiss the others like that?" he asked when they broke apart.
"Are you jealous?" she asked back as he led her to the bed.
"Insanely," he replied, pushing her down. "I may have to fire the others so's I can have you all to myself."
"If they don't all fire you first," Judy replied.
Judy, clad only in the skimpiest of negligees, slid her hand into JJ's pants and started fondling his Texas longhorn.
"Oooh," she squealed. "I feel something hard here."
He squeezed her tit.
"And I feel something soft," he chuckled.
He pinched her nipple. Judy moaned.
JJ knew her type. She was like a young filly who needed discipline.
And JJ was just the man to administer it.
"I been hearin' that you've been a bad little girl," he said.
"Oh, I have, I have," Judy said, getting into the swing of things. "A very naughty little girl."
"And do you think you should be punished?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I've been naughty, and worse."
"How much worse?" JJ asked.
"I've been a slut," Judy replied in a husky voice. "I fucked a stranger last week. He punished me good."
"Better than me?" JJ asked.
Judy nodded.
JJ started getting mad. She loved it when he got mad and punished her.
He stood and pulled his belt out from around his waist. At the end was a brass buckle in the shape of a steer.
Judy liked that belt the best.
"Bend over, you wanton little hussy," JJ commanded.
Chapter Eight
"Yeeee-haawwww!" JJ cried gleefully as he thrashed Judy's bare buns with his belt.
Judy was hanging from the dowel in the clothes closet, her wrists bound together.
She was stark naked.
JJ was also stark naked, except for a ten gallon hat, cowboy boots and a bandanna he kept at the apartment for his weekly trysts.
He lashed out with the belt, the sharp, cold buckle striking her pink, round buttocks.
She felt helpless and loved it.
"How do you handle a hungry man..." JJ sang, and lashed out again with the belt, "the MAN-HANDLERS!"
Frankie Laine he wasn't.
He struck her again.
"Get aloooong, little doggies!" he chirped, striking her again.
Judy started to sag. She was spent, physically and emotionally. Her arms were numb, as was her ass. The ropes cut off most of the circulation to her wrists.
JJ continued thrashing her.
"Oh, God, I love it when you abuse me," Judy gasped.
And she did.
Of course, she wouldn't be able to sit for a month. JJ always had the same effect on her.
She hung obediently, her toes skimming the floor.
Sweat rolled down her face and splattered onto her breasts.
JJ struck her again.
She felt the cold brass cut into her flesh. Pain shot through her loins. She hungered for more.
"Bad little hussy," JJ cackled. "Bad, bad little brazen hussy! Have you learned your lesson yet, little one?"
"N-No..." she replied breathlessly, her mouth dryer than the Sahara.
"You want more discipline?"
"Yes."
He gave it to her.
He thrashed her with the belt once more. She cried out in agony, savoring every bolt of pain.
"Aurgggghhhhh!" she moaned, waking up her neighbors, an elderly couple who'd lived in the building since the Depression and paid less than two hundred a month in rent.
Judy's butt looked like a roadmap of the Los Angeles freeway system as JJ continued thrashing her.
JJ tired before Judy did.
He dropped the belt on the floor and loosened the ropes around her wrists.
She fell to the floor in a heap.
JJ grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the bed.
She lay there motionless, perfectly docile.
JJ liked her that way.
He rolled her over onto her stomach and slid an arm around her waist, propping her up doggie style.
Still wearing his cowboy boots and ten gallon hat, he slid his cock into her sopping cunt and started drilling her.
He sank the sharp spurs on his boots into the tender flesh on her buttocks, his body draped over hers.
Judy said nothing. JJ always wore her out.
He rammed his throbbing boner in and out of her, every muscle on his chest and arms rippling.
"Sweet little filly," he crooned.
"Fuck me good, big boy!" she told him.
He did.
He bucked and lurched over her, slamming his thick nine inches in and out of her, relentlessly.
Her breasts rubbed against the silky bedsheets, making her nipples get hard.
He sank his spurs deeper into her cheeks.
And continued the thrilling drilling.
He had the stamina of a bull. He rammed his man's meat deeper and deeper into her, all the way to the base. His balls were swollen like rocks.
"Oooh, tumblin' tumbleweeds!" he cried, awakening the neighbors again, Fred and Ethel McMertz.
Fred, pushing ninety, reached under the bed and pulled out a baseball bat.
He leaped from the bed, pretty spry for a man his age, and started banging on the wall with it.
The bat was autographed by Ted Williams.
He knocked a chunk of plaster off the wall, but made his point.
"You shut up in there, dammit!" he bellowed. "You just woke my wife and myself!"
JJ slammed the opposite side of the wall with the. palm of his hand.
"Eat shit and die, sidewinder!" JJ bellowed back.
"JJ, shut up," Judy snapped. "You wanna get me thrown outta here?"
"You shut up, too," JJ replied, and slapped her rosy red tushy for good measure.
"But JJ..."
"I told you to shut up, woman!" JJ cried. "Just for that, I fuck you where the sun don't shine!"
He pulled his slithery pecker from her twat, spit in his hand and lubricated the tip of his manhood.
He plunged it into the tiny, puckered opening of her anus.
"It's time for Anus'n'Andy!" he chortled.
He slid his pecker deeply into her chocolate cunt and started pumping, digging the spurs into her butt.
Judy moaned in pain, but loved every second of it.
She felt the tip of his prick prodding her sphincter and immediately had the first in a series of orgasms.
"Eeeeeep," she cried.
Which was followed by another crack on the wall from Fred's autographed baseball bat.
"I ain't gonna tell you again!" Fred yelled. "Keep it down in there!"
JJ ignored the threats.
He continued ass-fucking her. It felt like being fucked by a horny sperm whale.
She gripped the bedsheets tightly until her knuckles turned white. The pain/pleasure was intense.
JJ started to come inside her asshole.
"Yeeeeeee-haaaaaaaa!" he wailed like a banshee, his cock exploding inside of her, erupting like Mount St. Helens, spewing his hot load deep into her anal passage.
He finished and collapsed against her.
They lay on the bed, panting breathlessly like two dogs in the heat.
Finally, he rolled off of her, his cock starting to shrink back to normal size.
He sighed, deeply and contentedly.
"You're really something," he said affectionately. "Lets get married."
"Bigamy is still illegal in the state of New York," Judy informed him.
"Then I'll divorce Velma," he replied.. "She don't let me do any of the stuff you do."
"Don't go divorcing your wife for me, JJ," Judy said. "You're great in the sack and all, but I'm not looking to get married. Not now, anyway. I'm a career girl, and that comes first."
"Huh," JJ snorted. "There ain't a girl alive what wouldn't toss away their so-called careers for a nice home, a loving husband and a passle of little ones."
"All the same," Judy said, "I've already been married once, and it damn near killed me."
"Marry me anyway," JJ said.
"I don't love you."
"What's love got to do with anything?" JJ asked. "I ain't askin' for your undyin' love, baby. It's like that old joke. One guy says, 'I got married so's I could get laid six or seven times a week.' And his buddy says, 'Hell, that's the same reason I got divorced.'"
"I'm no homewrecker, JJ," Judy said. "I'm flattered, though."
"She's flattered," JJ grunted, and hopped out of bed. He hit the showers and sang rather nicely as he cleansed the sweat from his trim body.
"Oh my darlin'/Oh my darlin'/Oh my darlin' Clementine...!" he warbled, sounding remarkably like Huckleberry Hound.
Judy drifted off to sleep before he was finished.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day for her.
The shit was going to hit the fan.
"Have you got them?" Judy asked Nicki the following morning.
Nicki nodded and pulled three large brown envelopes out of her handbag.
Judy tucked them under her arm and started to head for the elevator.
"Judy..." Nicki called.
Judy spun around.
"Be careful up there," Nicki warned. "Those big boys will eat you alive. You sure you know what you're doing?"
"Trust me."
She smiled confidently.
She took the elevator up the two floors to the executive offices.
The receptionist there greeted her.
"Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.
"Miss McGruff to see Mr. Buckstretcher, Mr. Hyams, Mr. O'Connor, Mr. Shrewsbury and Mr. Sappington."
"I'm sorry," the snooty bitch replied, "but they're all in conference with Mr. Dewey and Mr. Howe."
"What about Mr. Cheatham?" Judy wanted to know. She wanted all three of the agency's founders present.
"Mr. Cheatham has been dead for five years now," the receptionist replied.
"Fine," Judy said, brushing by her desk into the conference room. "Then he's excused from this meeting."
"You can't go in there," she cried, trying to grab Judy.
Judy shook her hand away. "You wanna watch your ass around me, sweetheart. I'm dangerous when I get angry."
The receptionist, who had heard about Judy's full tilt boogie up the corporate ladder, stepped back.
Judy sauntered into the conference room, where her five sponsors and the company's remaining founders were discussing different accounts.
They all looked up when she entered.
JJ especially knew that something was up. He swallowed hard and waited.
O'Connor leaned over to Hyams.
"What the hell is she doing up here?" he whispered. Hyams shrugged.
"Don't get up, gentlemen," Judy announced. "I'll only be a few minutes."
"And just who the hell do you think you are?" Mr. Dewey, a short, seventyish, balding dumpy man asked.
"Uh...this is Miss Judy McGruff," JJ blurted. "She's our new copy chief..."
"Shut up, Buckstretcher," Dewey snapped. He turned to Judy. "This is a private meeting, Miss McGruff, and I'll have to ask you to leave at once or else..."
"Take it easy, buttbreath," Judy sneered, seating herself at the table.
"Buttbreath!" Dewey sputtered. "Just who the sam hill do you think you're talking to?"
Judy threw the brown envelopes onto the shiny table.
"You and your associates," she said confidently. "I have some photos in my possession that will definitely prove of great interest to every man in this room."
"Oh, shit," Hyams muttered.
Shrewsbury turned bone white.
O'Connor wanted a drink. A double.
JJ had to pee. Badly.
Judy opened the first envelope and pulled out some black and white enlargements.
One photo showed Hyams and Judy romping naked in the bathtub, which was filled with chocolate pudding.
Another showed Judy and O'Connor, who was dressed like a nun, cavorting wildly.
Still another showed Judy and JJ in one of their typical positions, he the cowboy, she the helpless school marm.
Then there was another with Judy and Shrewsbury, who was decked out in leather, engaging in a little healthy B&D.
The photos were taken by Nicki, who had hid in the closet on five separate occasions.
The photos were circulated around the conference room. Each man recognized his own anatomy.
Mssrs. Dewey and Howe also examined the photos.
The one of Sappington down on his hands and knees begging like an Irish setter actually brought a chuckle to Mr. Howe.
"What do you want, Miss McGruff?" Dewey asked wearily.He'd been this route once or twice before.
"I wanna be senior V.P.," Judy stated, "or else I release the negatives to the DAILY NEWS, the POST and the TIMES."
"An outrage!" Shewsbury bellowed.
"Shut up, Don," Dewey snapped. "You don't really think you'll get away with this, do you?"
"And why not?" Judy asked. "I see the way things work around here. I'm sure your clients- Berber Baby foods, not to mention two disposable diaper companies and others who cater to Middle America-will appreciate this. They'll pull their accounts out of here faster than you can spell boo."
That afternoon, Judy McGruff was named Senior Vice President of Dewey, Cheatham and Howe, the youngest in the agency's forty year history.
And the heads began to roll.
Leo in personnel was the first to go.
Dave Zapata was Number Two.
Bambi was Number Three.
Nicki was appointed Judy's personal assistant.
Aaron was promoted to copy chief, Judy's old job.
Judy was interviewed by all of the major advertising trade magazines,all of whom clamored for the story of her meteoric rise to the top, subordinate only to Mr. Dewey and Mr. Howe themselves.
"It was nothing but hard work, more hard work plus the determination to succeed," she was quoted as saying.
But the real story behind her sudden promotion was no secret to anyone on Madison Avenue. Those in the know knew.
In less than three months, Judy had made it to the top of the heap.
There was nowhere else to go but down.
*****
Judy walked along Bay Parkway three months later, past all the places she had known as a child.
The schoolyard at P.S. one-three-nine was filled with kids, mostly Black and Puerto Rican.
The candy store was still there, only now it was owned and manned by Arabs.
Krausmeyer's Deli was owned by Iranians.
The old A&P was boarded up.
She reached her parents apartment building.
She had not seen them since moving to the city. Or even spoke, for that matter. She'd been much too busy for that.
She'd come a long way from the frightened, battered young wife who had begged her mother for shelter and refuge from her drunken husband.
The times, as Bob Dylan was so fond of saying, were a' changin'.
She was dressed in an expensive full length mink, expensive black leather boots and a matching pants suit, the entire combo costing more than Bill had made in a month.
"Well, well," Mrs. McPugh said, greeting her long lost daughter as she opened the door. "If it isn't the queen of Madison Avenue."
"Save it, Ma," Judy said impatiently. "I didn't come here to be insulted."
Judy noted that her mother had aged considerably, looking even yellower than the plastic on the living room furniture.
"And just what did you come here for?" Mrs. McPugh wanted to know.
"Where's Pa?"
"At work," her mother replied.
"Ma, I told you this morning when I called that Pa didn't have to work anymore. I can let you have all the money you need..."
"We don't want your money, Judith," Mrs. McPugh replied. "Not that kind of money."
"What are you talking about?"
"Bambi's Ma, Mrs. Lipshitz, called last month," Mrs. McPugh said. "Imagine, firing yer own best friend after she gets you the job in the first place. Disgraceful, that's what it is. She told me that Bambi told her how you got to be such a bigshot."
"Oh, and what did she say?" Judy wanted to know.
"I think you know, Judith."
"Tell me anyway."
"She said," Mrs. McPugh crossed herself, "that you used your feminine charms to get to the top. Course, she didn't exactly put it that way, but I got the gist of it. Is this true, Judith?"
"What difference does it make? You already passed judgement on me..."
"Answer my question, Missy!"
"Yes!" Judy thundered. "I fucked my way to the top, with a little blackmail thrown in for good measure, okay? That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? Well, it's true, all of it. I did fuck my way up. Shit, it was the only way a girl like me-uneducated, ignorant and naive-could get ahead."
Mrs. McPugh slapped her daughter's face.
"Even your sisters knew about it," she said, a tear rolling down her wrinkled face. "Oh, they didn't wanna tell me, but I made 'em. Still I didn't wanna believe it, not then, not now."
"So what if I did?" Judy asked hotly. "You think I wanna end up like my dear sisters, and you too? Married to a moron who gets drunk and beats me every chance he gets. Look what it did to you, Ma. You're only fifty and you look twice that!"
"Get out, Judith," Mrs. McPugh said evenly, opening the apartment door. "I didn't raise you to be a slut, girl. You're no daughter of mine anymore."
"Fine," Judy snapped, jumping to her feet. "That's fine. This place smells of cabbage....and blood!"
She walked out into the hallway, then spun around, tears in her eyes.
"Ma...I'm sorry...really..."
Mrs. McPugh slammed the door on her.
Chapter Nine
Judy walked aimlessly through the streets of Bensonhurst.
She strolled past Mchardie's saloon, where Bill was usually to be found bending an elbow with his buddies after work.
On an impulse, she went inside.
It was only a little after two in the afternoon, and the place was nearly empty except for a few rummies who sat apathetically at the bar and sucked down Budweisers.
The barkeep-a beefy Irishman named Flannery-stared intently at Judy as if he'd seen her somewhere before.
"Can I help you, Miss?" he asked politely, his brogue thicker than a slab of back bacon.
"Uh...maybe a screwdriver," Judy replied.
Flannery went to work preparing the concoction, his eyes never leaving Judy. It wasn't every afternoon that a pretty young thing dressed to the teeth sauntered into his bar.
He brought the screwdriver over to the table where Judy sat, looking glum.
He set it down silently.
Judy sipped listlessly at the drink.
Was she any happier now than she'd been six months ago, before Bill was killed?
She honestly didn't know.
"Excuse me, Miss," Flannery said, eyeing her intently, "but aren't you Bill McGruff's widow?"
"Yes, that's right," she replied.
"Was a dirty shame about Bill, yes indeed," Flannery said. "A finer man there never was than Bill McGruff."
He never slapped you around, Judy thought.
Flannery started wiping the bar with a filthy cloth, reminding Judy of Jackie Gleason's Joe the Bartender.
"Used to come in here all the time, Bill did. Sometimes with his Jewish partner, Schwartz. Liked his whiskey alright."
"Yes, he did," Judy replied.
"His old man, too," Flannery reminiced. "Many's the night I watched McGruff Senior and Junior both suck down a coupla cases of beer or a quart of Clan MacGregor or two. Still, drunk or sober, they was both the berries. Dirty shame, alright, Bill Junior passin' on so young. How's that drink?"
"Fine."
"Have all you want," Flannery offered. "They're on the house. Wouldn't seem proper chargin' you, what with all the business the McGruff's did here. I must say, Missy, that you're looking well. Prosperous, too, if you don't mind me sayin' so."
"Thanks," Judy said, wondering why the hell she'd come in at all.
"Not living in the neighborhood anymore, I'd guess," Flannery observed. "Not dressed like that."
"No," Judy said. "I live in Manhattan now."
"I might have known," Flannery mused, drawing a draft for one of the regulars. "And why not, I ask you? You're young, can't expect you to spend the rest of your life mournin' old Bill Junior, no ma'am. Find yourself a rich husband, that's my advice. Marry a Jew if you can find one.
They'll let you have a colored maid and they never cheat with other women."
Judy nodded sagely.
"Maybe I will," she said, managing a small smile.
Finishing her drink, Judy rose and thanked Flannery.
She left.
She walked down Bay Parkway until she hit Eighty-sixth Street, the heart and soul of Bensonhurst. On the corner was Epstein's Luncheonette.
Judy smiled. She'd sucked down many of Epstein's malteds as a child.
She went inside to see if the place had changed.
It hadn't.
The counter was still long, still was covered with the familiar green formica. The swiveling stools were still there, as were the booths. Even the advertisements of the buxom Coke and Pepsi sweater girls smiling were there. It was like being in a time warp.
She didn't recognize the guy behind the counter. It wasn't Epstein, anyway. More like a younger version, only this guy was tall and thin. Not bad looking, either, Judy noted.
She sat down on one of the stools, bringing back a flood of memories.
The young guy behind the counter smiled at her.
"Good to see you again, Judy," he said.
"Do I know you?" she asked,
"I hope so," he replied with a boyish grin. "I'm Jeffrey Epstein. We went to school together. My dad used to run this place."
"Jeffrey Epstein!" Judy cried. "I remember you! Your face cleared up nicely."
"Thanks," he laughed. "What are you doing around here?"
"Just visiting," she said, remembering that Jeffrey had been little more than a scrawny zitface the last time she'd seen him.
"Bambi Lipshitz was in here last week," he went on. "Told me you were a hotshot advertising executive now."
"Something like that," Judy replied.
"I'm sorry about your husband," Jeffrey said. "I didn't know him or anything, but I'm sorry anyway. Must have been a drag."
"Yeah."
"You want a soda or something?"
"A cherry Coke," Judy replied, once her favorite.
"A cherry Coke it is," Jeffrey said, and set to work making it.
"Is your father retired now?" Judy asked.
"You could say that," Jeffrey said, "he's dead."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Judy apologized.
"Thanks," he said, sliding the cherry Coke down the counter, where it stopped on a dime directly in front of her.
Judy suddenly remembered Flannery's advice on marrying a Jew. She smiled. Jeffrey was about as Jewish as they came, and pretty hot looking to boot.
She decided that a nice mid-afternoon fuck would be just the thing to chase away the blues. Maybe she could even teach him a few things.
"You married now, Jeff?" Judy asked.
"Divorced," he said, cleaning a glass. "After high school, I went on to NYU and got my degree in finance. Got me a high paying job on Wall Street, married a JAP and bought a house out on the Island. In Westbury."
"What are you doing here?"
"That's the good part," Jeffrey replied. "My JAP wife wouldn't put out, I hated my work and hated the burbs. I dumped all three and took over this place when my old man got sick and here I am. Let me tell you-people put this neighborhood down, say it's old fashioned and shit, but there's more life in one square block of Bensonhurst than there is in twelve square miles of suburbia. I wouldn't have it any other way."
"You live around here?"
"Yeah," he replied, not unaware of how nicely the skinny Irish girl had turned out. "Over on Bay Fifteenth and Cropsey."
"I'm thinking of getting a place around here," she lied, "and I'd like to see what you're getting for your money."
"Um...okay," Jeffrey said slowly, not believing a word of it. Could she possibly want to roll in the hay with him? Possibly. Didn't Bambi say she'd fucked half the agency she worked for?
Fortunately, the place was empty. Jeffrey locked the place up and together they headed for his apartment.
Ten minutes later they were in bed.
*****
"I don't usually do this with married men," Judy gasped as Jeff, on top of her, rammed his mighty meat in and out of her.
"As a married man," Jeff replied in the heat of passion, "I didn't do it much, either. Don't worry. My divorce will be final in a month or two, just as soon as Lydia gets back from Curacao."
Judy held onto the guy for dear life, her arms wrapped firmly around his back.
She liked his no-nonsense approach to lovemaking.
She also knew that she would want something more and wondered how Jeffrey would react.
Judy wrapped her leg, shapely legs around his buttocks as they continued bucking and lurching all over Jeffs brass bed.
She clung to him as tightly as she could. She felt his swollen testicles slapping against her ass cheeks as he whipped his shlong in and out of her.
Jeffrey couldn't believe his good fortune. Less than an hour ago he was jerking lime fizzes and chocolate sodas for old ladies and now he was banging his brains out with a foxy lady he'd secretly had a crush on in third grade.
Growing more excited by the moment, he jammed his mouth down on hers and darted his slithery tongue deep into her throat.
Judy acknowledged the kiss gratefully and returned it threefold.
Their mouths glued together, their bodies a tangle of arms and legs, they continued thrashing on the bed with wild abandon.
Judy had a pussy as smooth as velvet and tighter than one of those Chinese handcuffs he'd played with as a youth.
Judy brought her legs further up his body, the soles of her feet rubbing against his ass.
Jeff slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her groin up, slamming it into his.
Judy could stand it no longer.
"Hurt me," she moaned. "Make it hurt..."
"Make what hurt?" he gasped, still banging his brains out.
"The sex..." she replied. "Make...make the sex hurt. Make me hurt, baby!"
"Oh, so that's your game, is it?" Jeffrey wanted to know. "You're into pain."
"Yes," Judy hissed. "I like to get down and dirty."
"All in good time," Jeff shot back.
For the moment though, he wanted to finish what he had started.
He continued plunging, her pussy a bottomless pit.
Her breasts heaved back and forth from the ferocity of his thrusts, jiggling invitingly.
Jeff helped himself.
He treated himself to one luscious, fully erect nipple, taking the little rosebud under his tongue and lapping eagerly at it.
He gave it a little bite.
Judy squealed in delight.
"Do it again!" she gasped. "Make me come!"
He did it again. She squealed a little louder this time.
They continued lurching all over the king sized bed until Judy's head was hanging over the side, her lovely neck in full view, her long hair flowing onto the Oriental rug on the floor.
He kissed her neck deeply, leaving a telltale hickey in his wake.
His eyes bulged wildly, reminding Judy of a guppie.
He could feel his groin tingling, his balls getting swollen and tender.
His cock erupted violently inside of her, making her entire body tingle with raw physical pleasure.
Jeff came like Old Faithful.
The truth be known, he hadn't had sex in nearly six months, a year if one included his marriage.
He wanted to make the most of this opportunity.
He continued spewing his load into her steamy twat.
Judy emitted a series of low pitched grunts as she felt his pecker erupting inside of her.
She could actually feel his semen squirting deep inside. His orgasm seemed to last forever.
He finished, wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed her deeply on the mouth.
"Did you come?" he asked.
"Yes," she lied.
"Well, as Al Jolson said, 'You ain't seen nothing yet.'"
He got up and fetched two cans of Pepsi from the ancient fridge. He cracked them both and handed her one.
"I guess it would be too much to hope for," he said to her as they lay comfortably sipping soda, "if I asked you to do the town with me some night."
She didn't reply right away, unsure of her feelings.
She liked him. He wasn't flashy like most of the men she encountered. And he wasn't some brainless macho shmuck like some of the other dudes at the agency who tried to date her.
No, Jeffrey Epstein seemed to be genuinely at peace with himself and the world around him. Judy envied him.
And liked him a little more for it.
"You never know," she replied noncomittally. "Ask me later."
"Sure," Jeff said, downing the rest of his Pepsi. "There's just one thing I wanna know."
"What's that?"
"What do you want? Why are you in my bed now? Are you looking for a quick lay, or maybe something concrete?"
"I don't really know why I'm here," Judy said truthfully. "You looked good. No, you looked great. You don't blowdry your hair or wear the latest fashions or seem to give a shit about what people think. It's not easy being yourself."
"And how about you?" Jeff wanted to know. "Are you happy, with your Upper East Side studio and your high paying job and zillion dollar wardrobe? Are you any happier now than you were when you lived here with an abusive husband?"
"How did you know about that?" she asked, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"About your husband beating you up?" he asked back. "I have my sources. If you must know, Bambi told me."
"I suppose she also told you that I had her canned?"
He nodded.
"She did. Is it true?"
It was Judy's turn to nod.
"Yes, it's true," she confessed. "Did she tell you anything else, like how I fucked my way to the top?"
"Yes," Jeffrey said evenly, "I believe that subject came up in the course of the discussion."
"And do you believe it?"
"When you tell me it's true, I'll believe it," he replied. "It's always best to hear both sides of any story. It's like my Aunt Meema from far Rockaway used to say: 'You can't ride two horses with one uchas'"
"Your Aunt Meema was wonderfully wise," Judy sighed.
He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth watering body.
"Stop gaping at me," she giggled. "How can you be interested in a girl who, in Bambi's words, 'uses her twat like spare change'?"
"Those were her words, not yours," Jeffrey replied.
"It doesn't matter," Judy told him, her grin fading again. "It's true. Every last word of it. I did fuck my way up the ladder."
Jeff leaned over and took her in his arms.
"If it makes any difference," he whispered, "I don't care what you did or thought you had to do. Like Walt Whitman said, 'we contain multitudes.'"
Judy wasn't too sure what that meant but liked the sound of it all the same.
"You're sweet, Jeffrey," Judy said. "Really. I wish I'd met you before all this shit started happening."
"It's not too late."
"Yes, it is," she replied.
"But it's never..." he started to say.
Judy put her hand over his mouth.
"Don't talk," she said softly. "Just make love to me again."
"I...I can't do what you want," he stammered. "I can't hurt you. If you were Lydia, my soon-to-be-ex, maybe, but..."
"Do whatever you want," she said, and kissed him.
Somehow, with Jeffrey, she didn't feel the need to be abused or treated roughly. That particular urge-fetish, some would call it-seemed far away now.
They made love a little slower this time.
Judy kissed his chest and his navel.
Her fingers curled around his semi-erect member. She massaged it skillfully, manipulating it between her long, thin fingers.
She kept massaging it until it was rock-hard.
Her cheek resting on his belly, the throbbing penis towered above her like a flesh colored monument.
She gripped it firmly and wrapped her ruby red lips around the purple tip, sliding it ever so slowly into her mouth.
Jeff massaged her back as he felt her warm, loving lips paying him the most expert lip service.
He felt her moist tongue sliding up and down his huge shaft, now slick with her saliva.
She cupped his balls in her hand and squeezed them gently, making him flinch under her.
"Lydia would never do THAT!" he muttered.
Her head started bobbing up and down as she took every last inch of his pulsating pecker into her hungry mouth.
She started jerking him off as she continued slurping.
She continued jerkin' his gerkin as she dabbed playfully at the tip, running her smooth tongue up and down the sensitive underside of his manhood.
She had never enjoyed giving head this much, at least, not that she could remember. It had always been you-do-mine-and-I'll-do-yours with every guy she'd been with. Now however, she found herself loving every last inch of it, seeing how much pleasure Jeffrey was deriving from her oral efforts.
She could feel his balls tense in her palm and knew from experience he was on the brink.
She lifted her head from his crotch before he could come.
"God, what are you doing," he gasped. "Don't fucking stop, whatever you do."
She said nothing.
Instead, she turned around on the bed and raised her ass up into the air, so that her asshole pointed straight at him.
He said, "I want to fuck you in your hot, sweet, dripping pussy."
She shook her head.
He spit in his hand and rubbed it all over his cock.
"Have you ever done an ass-fuck?" she asked.
"No," he said, "but I was married to one."
She giggled.
He slowly inserted the tip of his pecker into her strawberry-shaped pucker hole.
He could feel her entire body tense as he worked his way into her pooper.
"Does it hurt?" he asked.
"No...yes...a little..." she whispered.
"Should I stop?"
"No."
He didn't.
He eased his way in deeper, wondering how any woman could find enjoyment in getting it up the end.
Lord, but it was tight in there. His cock felt like an orange on the Tropicana assembly line. The pressure on it was intense.
He buried it in her all the way to the base.
She remained motionless, savoring the pain and pleasure of being violated.
He grabbed her hips and held them firmly as he started pumping her.
Back and forth he went, in and out, the pressure on his rod growing with each additional thrust.
Judy groaned.
She reached behind and grabbed his ass, forcing him deeper into her, as he seemed reluctant to do so himself.
His cock was buried in her up to the base.
He could hold back his climax no longer. He started spurting his sizzling seed into her anal cavity .
She could feel Jeff's pecker contracting deep inside and started quaking with orgasmic delight.
She moaned, loudly and freely, not caring who heard, despite the fact that Jeff was being as gentle with her and seemed to genuinely concerned about her pleasure ratio.
"Come in me," she begged. "I love it when men come inside of my asshole!"
Jeffrey felt a tinge of jealousy but not for long. He was too wrapped up in orgasmic ecstasy to worry about it now.
He pulled his still-spurting cock out of her butt-hole and shot the remainder of his seed all over her back and ass-cheeks. '
His cock continued to pulse wildly as he shot out more and more of his hot load.
His orgasm finally dwindled down to a few lonely drops of jizz. His cock fainted from exhaustion.
"That was nice," Judy said, stroking his hair.
"Yeah, I guess it was," Jeff replied. "Do you do that sort of thing often?"
"What sort of thing?"
"You know..." he said haltingly. "Getting it...up the end like that."
"I've done it a few times," Judy said. She had an inkling as to where the conversation was headed.
"And it doesn't hurt?"
"Sure it hurts," she replied, "but..."
Suddenly, the apartment door flew open. A gray-haired, stout lady burst in carrying a Waldbaums shopping bag.
"Mom..." Jeffrey gasped.
"You should lock your door, shmendrick!" she cackled cheerfully. "You never know who might be lurking..."
Her words trailed off abruptly when she saw that her son was not alone.
"Oy vay!" she said. "You got company."
Judy scrambled under the covers and pulled them up over her face. Jeffrey did the same.
"Jesus Christ," Jeff muttered. "Mom, what are you doing here?"
"What, all of a sudden I'm not welcome in my own son's home?"
"Uh..sure, Mom, but..." Jeff tried to say.
"So who's your friend?" Mrs. Epstein wanted to know. "Is she Jewish?"
Uh..this is Judy McGruff," Jeff said to his mother. "Judy, this is my mother, Mrs. Epstein."
"Hi," Judy said from under the covers.
"McGruff?" Mrs. Epstein said. "That doesn't sound like a Jewish name to me."
"Well..."
Mrs. Epstein started to straighten up the apartment, oblivious to everyone's embarrassment. She gathered dirty clothes from the floor and piled them in a corner.
"Your father, may he rest in peace, would be happy to see his son having so much fun, but as your mother, Jeffrey, I gotta tell you..."
"Mom, can we talk about this later?" Jeff asked, reaching for his pants. His mother grabbed them away and examined them.
"Filthy," she snorted. "Jeffrey, you're a sweet boy, but oy are you a slob!"
"Mom, I really think we should talk later..."
"For your mother you can make time," Mrs. Epstein said. "Your sister Phyllis doesn't wanna know from me anymore. Always shopping, shopping, spending her husband's blood stained money! So help me God, when I die, I want you should have me cremated and scatter my ashes over Bloomingdales!"
"Why?" her son asked.
"It's the only way I'll ever get to see her!"
She pulled some Comet and other cleaning fluids out of the shopping bag and then pulled some rags out of her whale-sized purse. She went into the kitchen and started scrubbing the stove.
"Jeff...hand me my clothes," Judy whispered.
He reached down and handed Judy her stuff. In the kitchen, Mrs. Epstein talked to no one in particular as Judy dressed under the covers, not the easiest of tasks.
"I don't know why you ever broke with Lydia," Mrs. Epstein lamented. "Such a nice, quiet girl. A perfect wife. Even kept a kosher home. But no, my son doesn't want a nice girl. He only wants a tramp. Trust me, my son. This shiksa will break your heart."
"Mom, please.." Jeffrey pleaded.
"Tell her to leave, Jeffrey," Judy begged.
Jeffrey brushed his hair with his hand in frustration as his mother went about cleaning his kitchen.
"All anyone cares about these days is having stinky orgasms," Mrs. Epstein complained." In my day, we didn't know from such things. Everything was saved for the wedding night."
"Jesus, Jeffrey," Judy whispered. "Assert yourself. Get her out of here!"
"Let me handle this, okay?" he snapped back, and leaped out of bed. He wrapped a bedsheet around his lower torso and went into the kitchen.
Mrs. Epstein looked at her half naked son with amusement.
"Now he's ashamed," she said with a cluck of her tongue, "relax, darling. I've seen you naked many times."
Judy, fully dressed except for her panties and bra, threw the covers back and got out of bed.
Mrs. Epstein looked at her with contempt.
"For this you closed the place five hours early?" she asked, waving her hand in Judy's direction.
"Mom," Jeffrey said, unaware that the sheet was now down around his ankles. "I really think it would be best if you came back later."
Mrs. Epstein threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Sure, throw me out!" she guilt-tripped. "My own son doesn't want me in his house. You raise them up right, take them to your breast when they're hungry and they give you nothing but &nochas!"
"What's that?" Judy asked, curious.
"Grief," Jeffrey replied.
"It's all grief to me," Mrs. Epstein moaned, gathering up her dirty rags and cleaning stuff, throwing them back into the Waldbaum's bag. "I'll go, Jeffrey, but I want you to know that your mother is very hurt that you should ask her to leave."
"Maybe I'd better leave," Judy offered, going for her coat.
"Yes," Mrs. Epstein agreed. "This is all your fault! When my son was married to Lydia, she would never have dreamed of throwing me out!"
"Mom!" Jeffrey wailed. "You apologize to Judy right now!"
"Don't bother," Judy sniffed, brushing by them as she went to the door.
"Judy..." Jeffrey pleaded, but she was already gone. He could hear her footsteps on the stairs.
He jumped into some pants and ran after her, barefoot and naked from the waist up. His mother grabbed his arm.
"Let her go, Jeffrey," she said. "She'll give you nothing but heartache!"
"Dammit, Mom," he snapped. "You shouldn't have said that to her!"
He ran down the stairs after her and tore off down the street, where she was headed for the subway.
He caught up with her and grabbed her arm.
"Jeez," he panted, out of breath. "I'm really sorry, Judy, really I am. You gotta understand- my mother's from another era, another time..."
"I do understand," she replied."All too well I understand. She's right, you know. I am a tramp, and I WILL break your heart."
"No," Jeffrey replied, shaking his head wildly. "I think you're wrong, Judy. I wanna see you again, and again and maybe forever! I don't care about the past. It's history."
Judy smiled indulgently.
"You're a good person, Jeffrey," she sighed. "You deserve someone better than me. You should have the best."
"Hey, don't give me that singles' bar crap," he replied. "I really think we can make a go of it, you and me. Let's give it a try at least. Hell, you owe me that much."
His heart leaped as he watched her face; she seemed to consider it for a moment. Then she shook her head.
"No, Jeffrey," she said. "You'll remember all the bad things everyone's been saying about me.
It'll be there, tucked away in the back of your mind somewhere just waiting for the first time you get mad at me, or we have a fight or something."
"I won't!" he insisted. "I don't care about any of that! We'll wipe the slate clean, move out of town somewhere!"
She touched his face affectionately.
"You really are sweet, Jeffrey," she smiled. There was an edge of sadness to it.
"Then give me a chance, Judy. I know we can make it work."
"No," she said in a tone that Jeffrey knew was final.
She started down the subway steps, looking up at him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry I came here today and turned your head around, Jeffrey. I had no right. I guess I was just trying to find something that's lost forever."
"You sound like a soap opera," he said, leaning over the cold metal subway entrance wall. "It's all bullshit, Judy. All that matters is how you feel about me and vice versa."
"Take care, Jeffrey," she said at the bottom of the steps, looking more beautiful than ever. Jeffrey's heart began to do an Irish jig in his chest.
"Judy, please!" he pleaded.
"Find yourself a nice girl," she told him.
"I did, today!" he wailed, but she was gone. A little old lady passed him on the sidewalk.
"Do you always run around like that when it's thirty degrees out?" she asked him.
Jeffrey looked down and realized that he was, indeed, half naked.
"Shit on toast," he muttered, and went back upstairs where his mother was Mop'n'Glowing the kitchen floor.
Chapter Ten
Judy sat at her humongous desk and brooded.
Messages were stacked up left and right. There was work to be okay'd, ads to approve, video tapes to be viewed and about half a million other minor and major details to see to.
At that moment, she couldn't have cared less.
She drummed her fingers against the polished oak veneer absent-mindedly.
Nicki entered.
She looked extremely worried.
"Judy," she said, "we gotta talk, and I mean right now."
Judy sighed wearily. Nicki was a good kid, a hard worker and extremely ambitious.
Maybe too ambitious. Judy made a mental note to fire her at the end of the week.
"What is it?" she asked.
Nicki sat in a plush velvet chair opposite Judy's desk and crossed her shapely legs, exposing a lot of flesh.
Their one heated encounter had never led to another, Judy realized with some dismay as she looked at Nicki's sexy legs.
"Words out that the shit's gonna hit the fan any day now," Nicki said sagely.
"What are you talking about?"
"Those five dashing caballeros we so sweetly blackmailed, their heads are on the chopping block. It doesn't look good."
"So who cares if they get canned?" Judy wanted to know. "It's no skin off my nose."
"On the contrary," Nicki maintained, "it could mean a lot more than skin off your nose. We're talking about a total skinning here."
Judy looked at her, puzzled.
"I don't follow," she said.
"Look," Nicki said. "If they go, so do you. You got no more bargaining power. Old Man Dewey'll have your ass on the street in ten seconds flat." The harsh reality of the situation began to dawn slowly on Judy. She bit her lip. Nicki continued.
"It seems," she said, "that Dewey and Howe were both pissed as hell at those guys when you put them on the spot. Dewey said he wasn't running a high class whore house, something like that, and that their behavior was, in his words, 'reprehensible.' He further stated, 'if you wanna shtup, go right ahead, but just don't drag your personal garbage into work with you.' Word is, he's gonna fire the whole lot of them." "How do you know all this?" "Sappington's secretary brought him coffee this morning and didn't ask to be reimbursed," Nicki said. "That's usually a sure sign."
"How did she know what was going on?" Judy wanted to know.
"I don't know," Nicki said. "Secretaries always know what's going down even before it happens. Hell, they're the only ones with any goddamn job security around here."
"So in other words," Judy said slowly, trying to piece it all together, "my ass is on the line."
"No, not in other words," Nicki said. "Yours are perfect; they say it all. Your ass is on the line."
Whereas a week ago, she would have panicked, Judy now found her thoughts turning back to Jeffrey.
Judy picked up the phone.
"Give me JJ Buckstretcher's office," she told the operator.
There were two short rings. JJ picked up.
"Buckstretcher here," he said with the now tiresome texas drawl.
"Get in here, and now," Judy snapped at him. She'd cut him and the others off sexually the day after she'd been promoted and sensed that JJ and the others loathed her. Not that she could blame them.
JJ walked in, looking like something out of a Stephen King novel. He seemed to have aged ten years in less than a week.
He sat down next to Nicki.
"Is it true what I've been hearing?" Judy wanted to know.
"It don't look good, darlin'," JJ replied. "Shrewsbury's hittin' the Jack Daniels, Hyams is in the executive John putting two weeks' salary up his nose and the others are yanking out gray hairs by the carload. No, it don't look good at all."
"Anything we can do?" Judy asked.
JJ shrugged. "Dewey's pretty pissed, no two ways about it. The man's an animal when he's been crossed. Says he'd rather fire the whole shit-load of us than have some bimbo putting him over a barrel the way you did. If I was you, Judy darlin', I'd start lookin' for another job, and soon." Once more, despite the crisis, her thoughts returned to Jeffrey. She visualized him at the subway, half naked and proclaiming his undying love. She smiled.
"I'm glad you find this all so amusin'," JJ said. "Me, I'm high-tailin' it back to Dallas and kissin' this town off for good."
"Have a nice trip," Judy told him.
"Hey, Judy, darlin', maybe you can..."
"You can go, JJ," she said sternly.
He rose from the chair and stomped out of the office, muttering.
"Last time I trust a broad, that's for dang sure!"
He turned to the two women. "Coupla goddamn bitches, that's what you are!" he said. "Imagine, takin' pictures of me in a uncompromisin' position like that. All I can say to the both of you lezzie cunts is, never show your asses anywhere in Texas if you know what's good for ya'."
"Bye, JJ," Judy said.
"Eat the bird, bitch!" he snapped, slamming the door behind him.
"Who the hell wants to go to Texas anyway," Judy rationalized. "Nothing but tumbleweeds and shitkickers like him."
"Think they'll can me, too?" Nicki asked, worry scrawled all over her pretty face.
"I wouldn't be surprised," Judy replied.
"Don't you care what happens?" Nicki asked, hysteria slowly building in her voice.
"To be honest, no," Judy said. "Not really. Like my Dad always says, 'It's a damn sight harder to stay on the top of a greased pole than it is to climb it.'"
"No, not really. Serious, maybe, but not the end of the world."
"Maybe not for you," Nicki replied, "but it is for me. If I lose this job, I lose five bills a week and my boyfriend has to quit medical school. And if can't be a doctor, what good is he? I don't wanna marry a loser."
Nicki's face contorted into a mask of bitterness, reminding Judy of Jeffrey's ex, Lydia.
"So don't marry a loser," Judy stated.
Nicki bolted from her chair.
"I don't understand your attitude at all, Judy," she said. "After all the hard work and back-breaking sex you submitted to, just to sit by idly and watch it go down the toilet in a few hours...I just don't understand."
"Have you ever been in love, Nicki? I mean really, truly, head-over-heels in love?"
"What's that got to do with..." she started to ask.
"Just answer the question."
She sat back down.
"I'm not sure," she said, her mind elsewhere.
"Maybe."
"What about Larry, your boyfriend?" Judy inquired. "Don't you love him?"
"He's alright," Nicki said, gnawing on a fingernail. "He's got good husband potential."
"But do you love him?"
"I suppose so," Nicki said. "I try not to think about it."
"Why not?"
"He's boring, in the sack I mean. We've been together since college, so I guess the magic is kind of gone..."
The intercom on her desk buzzed. Judy depressed the button.
"McGruff here."
"Mr. Dewey would like to see you in his office immediately," his nasal sounding secretary announced. "Emphasis on immediately."
"Tell the old buzzard I'm in conference," Judy instructed. "I'll get there when I'm finished."
"But Mr. Dewey always insists on punctuality, Miss McGruff, and if he says immediately, he means immediately."
"Sit on it," Judy said casually, and released the button, cutting her off.
"Well, there's the last nail in the coffin," Nicki said with finality, getting up again. "The least you could have done was ask them to spare me. I mean, it's obvious you don't give two shits about yourself, but what about me? If he fires you, he'll fire me, too."
"I'll save him the trouble," Judy replied. "Nicki, you're fired."
"I'm...what?"
"Fired. Discharged, dismissed. Your employment is hereby terminated. Canned. Sacked. Booted out. You're history, baby."
Nicki stomped out much the same way JJ had.
"I hope," she said slowly, "you burn in hell!"
"Couldn't be any worse than Philadelphia," Judy cracked.
Judy, feeling a lot like Marie Antoinette, made her way to Dewey's office to meet her fate. She felt calm, cool and collected. And oddly apathetic.
*****
"Come in, Judith," Dewey said gently.
Judy went in and sat down.
"Would you care for a drink?" Dewey asked.
"No thank you," Judy replied. "Why don't we just get this over with."
"As you wish," Dewey said, seating himself. "I suppose you know why I've asked you here."
"Word does travel quickly here," she nodded.
"Your sponsors-Mssrs. Sappington, Buckstretcher, Hyams and the others, are no longer with the agency as of twelve noon tomorrow," Dewey said, "and I guess you know what that means."
"I guess I do," Judy said.
"I've waited long enough," he went on. "Much too long, actually." He leaned in closer to her, his eyes riveted to her cleavage. "I wanted you all for myself."
"I beg your pardon?" Judy asked incredulously.
"You heard me correctly," Dewey told her. "You're a smart girl, Judith. You don't know jack-shit about this business-your work record proves that beyond a shadow of a doubt-but you've got something better than experience. You've got a brain."
"I'm not sure I understand," Judy said.
Dewey popped a Havana cigar into his yap and chomped thoughtfully on it.
"I'm quite sure you expected to be discharged," he went on, "but that is not the case at all. Starting today, you will be my mistress and mine exclusively. No sharing. You will continue in the same capacity and reap all the rewards that go with it, financial and otherwise."
"Let me get this straight," Judy said. "I go down on you in exchange for keeping my job?"
"A rather harsh way of putting it," Dewey replied, "but yes, that's about the size of it."
"Surely," Judy said after a moment of thought, "there are better, prettier women around here you could have at the drop of a hat."
"Yes," Dewey agreed, "but none as vivacious and full of life, none like yourself."
He leaned in closer, blue cigar smoke clouding his face like a curtain.
"You've got balls, baby," he said with a lopsided grin.
"Fine," Judy said. "Then go find yourself a transvestite if that's what you're in to. As a matter of fact, there's one you'll love right down in reception. Name's Ga Ga."
With that, Judy rose from the chair and headed for the door.
Dewey clamped down on his cigar, his face livid with rage.
"Just where the hell do you think you're going, you cheap, cock sucking bitch! No one walks out on me, no one, do you hear? Just who in hell do you think..."
His words trailed off into nothingness as Judy opened the door and went out.
"...and I'll personally see to it that you never work in this business as long as you live..." Dewey thundered after her.
Without even bothering to clean out her desk, Judy grabbed her coat and left the wild and whacky world of advertising.
She never looked back.
*****
Jeffrey Epstein grabbed a glass, squirted three shots of FOXY'S U-BET chocolate syrup into it, added a dash of milk and stuck the glass under the seltzer dispenser.
He held the glass at an angle and stirred the brew rapidly at the same time so that the concoction foamed up at the top like a beer on tap.
He gave it one last stir for good measure and then set the glass down in front of a blue haired old lady. His father would have been proud.
"Here you go, Mrs. Mishkin," he said, tossing a straw alongside the glass. "The perfect egg cream."
"Thank you, Jeffrey," Mrs. Mishkin replied. "Such a nice boy."
"You're welcome," he replied, not noticing that Judy had slipped in the door behind three pimply teenaged girls, each of whom made a beeline for the magazine rack.
Jeffrey fumed.
Every day those girls came in, and every day they read all the magazines and never bought one.
"Hey, this ain't the lending library," he snapped at them, sounding remarkably like his father had. "Either buy it or put it back. And that goes for you too, Miss."
Judy spun around and smiled.
Jeffrey's mouth dropped open.
"Hi," she said shyly.
"What...what are you doing here?"
"I thought maybe you could close up a little early today," she said with a knowing grin.
Jeffrey skillfully hopped over the counter and embraced her.
"My place?" he asked.
"Sure," she said. "Does your mother come in on Wednesdays?"
"Not to worry," he said, tearing off his chocolate stained apron. "I changed all the locks on my door."
