Barry Dorsey set his baby-blue eyes on the lower torso of his new secretary. He stared at her long and luscious legs. Her name was Lena and she was twenty-two or three, but already a very wise chick, he mused. Wanton and wise. She tugged at the miniskirt that rode up high over her tapered legs. He just couldn't get his mind on business, as usual Lena had been with bim only a week now, but she had been already mentally undressed and vicariously fucked by Barry.
She thought of him as' good old Barry; that's what everybody called him -- the life of the party. In the lingo of the swinging chicks in the secretarial pool, Barry knew where it was at. And he was looking squarely at "where it was at."
He trio hard snot to focus on the voluptuous ass just inches from his hand. What a saucy package to be frolicking after! But he knew he had to get his mind off her hourglass figure and onto the display project that was due in just six weeks. The display meant everything he had ever worked for during his years with McNullty Renawood Furniture Corporation -- the new vice presidency, at the top money bracket. But this secretary that old McNullty had sent him, this Lena chick, she was something else, too much. No way to concentrate with that set of boobs titillating the air, no way!
She glanced up from the drawing board, and he consciously flexed his shoulders. Ah, he had seen her gaze at his muscles admiringly. If she only knew what he did to keep those shoulders broad and firm, the stomach hard and smooth -- one hundred push-ups every morning, one hundred sit-ups every night. And that didn't include all the bedroom callisthenics, he chuckled to himself, ducking the staring photograph of his wife sitting on the desk. If both of them only knew!
The way Lena was suddenly making him feel, as he tried hopelessly to get on the working rack, was enough to make any red-blooded thirty year-old junior executive pump his prick. He had read all that stuff about how men who chased after broads were supposed to be trying to prove their manhood. But hell, he was sure of his manhood already -- he just liked good-looking women.
And Lena was no ordinary hip-swinging secretary;" oh, she had the usual figure and was well-endowed enough to be a showgirl. But she was also coolly feminine and had that career girl's attitude of business before pleasure. She was ambitious; he could tell that she desired more than the second-rate secretarial job once the figure started to go. She turned around, her curvy profile noncommittal grin. They were on a first-name basis -- everybody at McNullty Renawood was on a first name basis with Barry. Maybe, he pondered, old McNullty had known what he was doing by sending a type like Lena to be his troubleshooter during the crucial weeks coming up. Barry had a way of putting things off, both in business and pleasure. As the personnel directory at McNullty Renawood, he had come in contact with most of the company's workers, from the shop foremen to the office girls -- and he had acquired a reputation that furnished plenty of juicy topics for coffee breaks.
But Al, McNullty liked him, had brought him along from salesman to buyer to personnel director in just four years. He was McNullty's pet, everybody knew it. But the old man had put it to him right after the board meeting had concluded that Friday afternoon
Coming out of the uptight meeting, Al had drawn him aside and said. "Listen, Barry, you have the inside track. You know' I like you, son, the way you operate. I want guys on my team who know what it's all about. But you've got to come up with something outstanding neat month. You know the deadline for the vice presidency. I just can't give it to you. Your layout has got to have the core of the apple. I want the real soul, ut in its"
He had waited until he got back to his office, then he had broken out into raucous laughter. Al McNullty was the biggest flakeout since black and white television. But he was the boss and he had meant business. After Harry had calmed down, he fixed himself a scotch and soda and called in his new secretary, thinking he would get in an extra hour of planning on the new layout before the weekend set in. The truth was that Barry hadn't worked in a year-but hell, he didn't have to, not the way it worked in that corporation.
Lena had attacked the task with her usual full seriousness. That's what got him about that kind of career girl. He made a bet with himself that he could put the make on her within the month -- and she would be all woman when it got down to that. She was so serious and she looked so damned professional that he simply couldn't get his eyes off her erect breasts. Coconuts? Naw, more like 250-watt light bulbs. Cod, they were big!
She was just under five-six, and she wore her brown hair cut short in bangs. The glasses were a disguise, he had already figured that out. Underneath that facade was a vibrant woman who coldly held in check the hotness of her natural passions. He could tell that by the way her. boobs rose and fell as she breathed, and by the way her perfect little bottom tucked in as she walked.
She walked to him now in liquid-smooth strides. He changed the bet to a week, and with each of her strides he shortened it a day.
"I'm completely blank today, Lena." he half-moaned. "Why don't we knock off for the week?"
"It's only four, Mr. Dorsey."
"It's Barry. Barry, Lena "
"Barry," she replied, giving him her typical officious smile.
"That's better, sweetie."
"You do look a little tired," she murmured.
"In that stupid meeting since two. I'm bushed. Let me fix you a drink?"
"No, thank you. It's permissible for the executives to drink during hours, but the first rule of a sec ..."
"Never mind that crap," he scoffed. "Can't ever get an idea until you've had a relaxing shot or two. The first rule of the executive. Besides, it's Friday."
"I know."
"What do you do on weekends, Lena?"
"Oh, sleep, sun, go to the beach sometimes, or to a party."
The intercom buzzed, and Lena stepped over to the desk and picked up the receiver; it was the office secretary putting through a call from Barry's wife, Tricia. He frowned as he took the receiver and looked innocently at his wife's picture.
"Yes, yes ... on time tonight, dear," he mumbled.
"You'd better pick up an extra bottle of scotch," Tricia told him sternly-she sounded so wifely on the phone.
"How come? We just opened the case."
"Andy anti Cleo are bringing the new couple, you know."
"All right, all right. I gotta get back at it, sweetie."
Lena was back at the drawing board that he had had erected near the balcony windows. The view from the fourth floor of the McNullty Building was a panorama of the city, the downtown area. He remembered his first view from there four years ago, as old McNullty had taken him for the tour. He remembered looking out again as he had moved into his suite of offices -- he had scanned the big city below and had laid claim to it confidently. Now he looked out tiredly, but still he knew it was his. He was forever the optimist, and after all, he was two-thirds of the way home. He turned back to Lena. The affairs of the moment meant more to him than the far-reaching ambition of becoming vice president. He had always been a winner. All that and this too -- that was his motto. He heard the slogan resound in his head and then he felt better, soothed by the smell of that desirable dish next to him. All that and this too.
She certainly was cool. He wondered if he could ever pull it off. He, couldn't help thinking that, as she was arching over the drawing board; she was doing it that way just to tantalize him, revealing the perfect proportions of her curvy, groovy figure. For his benefit. He didn't know why he was so hung up on her today; maybe it was because today was Friday. He always turned on about four P.M. on Friday. If his wife Tricia could know what he was thinking now, she would start the divorce proceedings all over again. Once a year that mess came up. Ah, cram it. Old Tricia was all right, and still one of the choice lays around; she certainly knew her body holds. But she was getting to be such a straight-laced bitch the past few years. He couldn't help it that it was Friday and that he was a man who worshipped the fairer sex. And he had, been through an inferno of pressure today.
Now; Lena turned away from him. The legs, tapered to her feet in smooth, delectable, curvy lines; the cute little an was tucked in at that fatal parting as neatly as a parker-house roll. He drained off the ice and sauntered over to her, getting a little heady and more courageous. Instinctively he let his hand play lightly over her firm buttocks.
Hm, he mused, no girdle.
He knew then that she was posing. She did not look up, but moved her enticing rear away from his hand, almost too nonchalantly. He bent over and smelled the alluring perfume. Everything about her was perfect. Maybe, he thought, in sending her to him, old McNullty had offered that little extra incentive: Barry always put out when something sweet was dangled in front of his nose. In college he had run the sprints, and he had always finished with a big kick, smelling of roses of victory and the sweet rewards afterwards, the cute coeds that were there for the taking, dangling themselves in front of his nose. He reached out
"Get serious," Lens scolded him, gently this time.
He looked up at the Renawood wall clock it was a McNullty best seller last year. It was four-fifteen, only an, hour away from post time on Friday's typical mad race to bars and backyard patios throughout the land. He sighed; nothing could be accomplished in forty-five minutes -- but it was a McNullty rule, no knocking off unto five. And this Lena was going to be all business even though she was pretending. She couldn't hide those tingly boobs, no matter how she sucked them in.
He wondered suddenly if she were a spy; he wouldn't put anything past those other guys who were trying to fuck him out of his preordained position as vice president. McNullty had sent her over as his special assistant during the big push to the deadline. She was almost too perfect for a run-of-the-mill secretary. She was too cool-night be dangerous. He decided to work into her confidence, to knock those defenses down. The only way to do that was to get her hooked, make her love him, seduce her. It was a delicious challenge.
"Well," he said in mock earnest, "the whole campaign for next year should have some soul in it. The whole new Renawood ... hm, let me see ... hey, how about working an angle on the seasons. You know, the spring line could be ... the Rite of Spring ... all kinds of flames and explosions of Rena wood plastic furniture ... bright, burning colors blended into the furniture design.. Plastic furniture is so versatile, like the season. Get it? What do you think about that?"
"It's awful, Barry," she frowned. "If you ask me."
"You're right," he sighed. "McNullty wouldn't buy that in a hundred years."
He slumped onto the couch and studied her silky movements as she walked around to him. In that movement she smiled sympathetically. By god, he thought, she's really human. He had made a dent in her chaste armor by his pretense of frustration. He decided to work that angle. She was looking directly at him; he sighed deeply again and looked up in a deliberate gaze of defeat.
"Don't give up, Barry," she smiled.
"I've got a terrific headache," he moaned. "And it's time to knock off. Damn the wasted time ..."
He stood up and reached out an unsteady hand; her shoulder felt warm through the thin gauze of her blouse. He patted her shoulder and gave her a good-natured nudge beneath the chin. "We'll lick it," he said, grinning boyishly. "We'll beat all the others, won't we? We're going to be a team, you and me, Lena girl."
She smiled again; it was a fatal mistake. They were standing very close and her perfume wafted gently through his nostrils. Suddenly he felt the urge to make love to her right then and there, and the devil take the hindmost; he felt he had to, she was too ready and ripe and full-making of sensuality.
"By God, you're beautiful," he exclaimed, wondering if anybody had ever fucked in one of these offices during the daytime -- the night was another matter; he had had a few escapades there under the Renawood stars himself. And then she was lightly laughing.
"You're hopeless, Barry," she sighed.
"Well, it's true. At least I'm truthful. You are beautiful. It's not normal for a guy not to get excited., You're, hard to take as a robot secretary, you know. My God, what a cleavage ..."
"Another time, another place,", she said, lifting an eyebrow.
"It's my office, by damn," he muttered. "If I should want to just reach out and touch something beautiful, I don't see anything wrong in that ... if it's mutual ..."
"It's just not done ..." she said, a bit coyly.
"Who says it's not? I saw a guy do it in a movie not too long ago. I could lock the door."
"You're impossible," she laughed.
"And you're a tease." "You think so?"
"How about it, then?" he said boldly.
"What's it?
"To reach out and touch something ... lovely." He reached out to touch the loveliest thing he could see. She moved backward but not entirely away from him. In a moment, she was sitting beside him, pulled there by his insistent hand. He did not try to kiss her -- that might have ended it all right there. He put his right hand on her shoulder and sighed again.
"Just a little warmth," he said softly, soothingly.
"I know better..."
"Shh ..."
He wound her short-cropped hair between his fingers and stroked the smooth velvet of her neck; her boobs were rising and falling unevenly now, thrusting out a little farther each time. Slowly he took his hand away and flicked the wall switch just beside his head; the room became shadowed suddenly and she was startled again, trying to pull away.
He caught her, and they slumped over onto the soft couch. Still he did not try to kiss her lips; he let his hand play along the stockings above her knees. She was ticklish there on the knee -- all women were. She half-reclined now, looking up at him somberly. He moved the hand along the leg and up under the skirt. Her breasts were now heaving hard. Ah, the secret sin of it all! He was capturing her, and the bet he had with himself was coming true.
Again, she tried to resist; she moved her hips but only succeeded in opening her legs a bit, allowing his hand more room between her parted thighs. Ilis hand was there; on her pantied pussy. She lunged, either to ward him off or to clamp her hot thighs around his devfiish hand. He was firmly entrenched now in the gauze of her pantyhose.
"Oh ... my God ... what are you doing? ..." she gasped Her legs were truly beautiful and would be more beautiful when he got them bare. And around his lender waist!
He was thinking fast -- as always he thought best under such pressing conditions. Just outside the door were four office secretaries sitting at their desks near the entrances to other executive suites. At any minute the door might spring open-old McNullty might swagger right in, or even a bouncy secretary-one knock and damn what a scene there-would be! What the hell, he shrugged it off, live and love dangerously, the only exciting way to go.
"... that's enough ..." she pleaded weakly. "Someone will come in ..."
"It's all a matter of luck," he murmured and sealed her lips with his for the first time. Instantly her arms. went around him as she yielded. The magic of the forbidden moment had gotten to her; he had worked the old mood one more time. It was the delicious taste of the first kiss, the quickening of pulses and heartbeats that would turn immediately into a more heightened, needy desire.
His hand was still beneath the skirt and slowly he started tugging at the pantyhose. She lifter her flaring hips for him, to let the hose be drawn down and off her long, lithe legs. And their the mound of her furry crotch was exposed at last -- a reddish tint and so profuse that he could bury his face and be bearded in no time. It was too much, too much, he didn't know if he could last the intense - moment. He bent over and put his mouth to her sensuous navel,. pushed the skirt up around her pinched-in waist, then ran his tongue around in the pit of her warm vagina, pressing down hard until she moaned out once more. "Ah ... Barry ... what are you going to do to me?"
His hand went back to her liquidy warmth, in the hot core of her cunt. His hand was ex. pertly at work again, and, like a stubborn lock finally yielding to the insistence of a turning key, she clicked and opened unto his bidding.
"... I never thought ... I'd go this far ... with you ..." she murmured, clutching his sides now. She grew silent, closed her eyes, and he turned upon her boobs with a laugh. He had to see those monsters.
The pantyhose lay on the rich carpet; her shoes were kicked off the end of the couch. He was still completely clothed. He tried to draw his hand away from the deep clithold that it had gained, but she would not let his hand go. She clutched it with her thighs, hugged it, and clutched him harder. Slowly those wondrous hips started moving upon his hand; her eyes opened and were smoky and little beads of sweat appeared. on her lip. He kissed her again, long and pressing, and ran his tongue ecstatically against hers.
He had undone the front of her blouse and was in the process of getting the lovely boobs out of the bra. And there they were, seeming to be alive, the most lovely dark beauties he had ever seen. He sank his mouth on first one and then the other as she pushed them against his face. He got one of the large mounds halfway in his mouth and began to suck hard, until she was going crazy beneath him.
"Ah ... Barry ... come on ... you're a bastard! But come on, do it to me, do it to me, you bastard!"
Her slithering legs shot up and pinioned him, wound around his middle like a rope coiling around a stud stallion. She had already reached a peak, and he was afraid it was going to be over before he could even get started. lime was standing stark still in the shadowed chamber; they were past the point of no return -- no intrusion would have ,put them off their beating task.
"I'm coming ... Barry, you bastard ... I'm coming already!"
And after a few seconds she sprang wildly at him and worked with his belt, his shirt, his zipper, until she had the growing massive heaviness of his cock out and into her hands. She grasped at its bigness and squeezed it hard. And in the neat moment, he was ready for her. Gently now he was pushing into her, so gently that she moaned with impatience. Her breasts mashed hard against his bared chest. Her cunt-lips opened up to his penile intrusion, then they nibbled the flaring glans of Barry's prick.
"Hurry up ... hurry up ... God, I'm dying for it!" she cried.
And as they caught each other in 'that ancient position, she wound her legs about his hard waist and started a brusque movement with her hips. She began immediately at a high pitch, bounced his pelvis so hard that he was temporarily thrown off the mark. Then, ah, the inevitable matching of parts, that liquid sliding into the depths of her tight-fitting vagina. It was new, it was real, it was beyond caution. No one should ever deny themselves that feeling.
They were like two creatures long deprived of gratification; the force of his drive was matched by her hard-pushing hips, as though she were doing battle to see who could prove the stronger. She was a very strong young animal indeed. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened wantonly as she fucked hard and fast.
"Hard ... harder ... do it, do it, do it!"
Now the creamy legs came up and caught him about the neck and he shifted into a higher gear. It was not a perfect rhythm -- the time element and the circumstances prevented that -- that would come some time later, in a motel room, in her apartment with fine food and wine, after two or three trips to the love well. It was, this time, too fast and probing to be artistic. It took only moments for the mutual explosion that was all-consuming. She gave a little start of shock as she thrust all her weight upward one final time, clamped her head onto the side of the couch to muffle a scream: "Ohhh ... my God!" And then she felt heir coital release mingle with his fiery darts of sperm.
Barry was really surprised at himself, not only for having done it in the first place, but for the utter brevity of the feat. He lay back spent, but strangely vitalized. And almost instantly she was up and pulling on the hose again and straightening out the wrinkles in her skirt. She looked down at him and frowned as he smiled victoriously.
Yeah, he thought, they all do that, blame you for their own failing. She walked across the room slowly and unsteadily and looked at herself in the darkened mirror. He reached up, sighed, and flicked the light back on.
"Damn you," she muttered.
"What?" he asked in disbelief.
"Damn you for being ... so good ... damn you, you knew I would, didn't you? Barry, oh, Barry ..." She came to him and kissed him tenderly as he buttoned himself back up. "Oh, what you do to me ... I knew you would be that way ... I've been thinking about it since I first saw you ... Barry, please, when can we do it again?"
"Hold on, sweetie," he grinned. "Another time, another place. It's Friday, love day." "But it just isn't done in an office ... oh ..."
He staggered up, pulling his tie back in place. She was applying makeup, trying to make herself look presentable for her exit. Nobody would know the difference; see how simple it was, he thought. He looked around the office with a wry smile and out to the view of the city. AU this and that too, he said to himself again confidently.
"Monday morning," he said in a businesslike tone, "we'll get down to it. I mean we're really going to get after that layout."
"Yes," she said, her voice quavering. "We'll beat everybody."
"Lena?" he paused. "It didn't happen. You "No. It didn't happen," she replied, and a slight smile appeared on her pert face as she walked out. He glanced up at-the clock; five of five. Like hell it didn't happen, he laughed out loud. It was Friday and no time to think, about office projects. He looked down at the couch, noticing the indentation that their bodies had made and the smeared pool of love oils that had oozed out of her driveling cunt.
To Barry, it was a perfect way to start a swinging weekend.
Chapter Two
On late Friday, the plisse of the city beat like a gip ntic kettledrum; all across suburbia the tempo quickened with each shake of the martini mixer. All around Barry, and like himself, other men were headed home for drinks, for quick dips in the pool, for early parties starting before the week was officially laid to rest. It was Friday, love day, the day everyone lives for.
Barry raced homeward in- his Jag, feeling extremely free and independent. The thought of Lena was still making his balls buzz, and from time to time he grinned in amazement that he had been able to pull off such a stunt. It was a pleasant way to pass the forty-minute drive to Maple Grove, thinking about the syrupy legs that had wound around his waist, the throbbing breasts that had pierced his lips. He felt his groin stirring again, and the throbbing engine of the sleek sports car matched his own gross droning.
A juicy girl in a red convertible pulled alongside him on the freeway and they matched paces for several seconds; she looked over his way, no doubt impressed with his masculine figure -- the high cheekbones, the muscular-looking biceps over the car door. Their gazes locked and she gave him a seductive smile before gunning her motor.
All kinds of stuff, he laughed to himself. Just all kinds ... love, love, reach out for all that love ...
The summer day was warmly fading into dusk when he skipped off the freeway and headed into the exclusive residential section of Maple Grove. He was feeling even lighter and carefree and not at all uptight; he was turned on for sure, and there might not be an end in sight. Yes, he chuckled, there were plenty of ends in sight, old lover. He enjoyed his pet, the Jag, and at these times it was even better sitting in back of that throbbing engine; allowing the vision of a naked, luscious Lena to come back to him.
Get that vice presidency, take her on permanently. Having a chick like that could do wonders for him; he would never grow tired of her body. The droning motor made him think of that beautiful young thing's yielding, sleek-looking body just before he had climaxed in her oh-so-tight snatch. With such thoughts, he powered his way home, into the endless netherworld called a weekend.
Maple Grove was perhaps the most exclusive junior executive residential area of the city. The houses were mostly colonial in style but there were some contemporary ones, all ranging in price from $40,000 up. Barry gunned the motor and raced up the scenic skyline drive and around to his block on top of the hill. Other junior executives were already home; they walked around their manicured lawns, puttered in their greenhouses, loafed around their pools, and indulged in the first martini of the weekend. All those chicks were going to get it tonight, he thought exultantly, and he thought it a shame that he couldn't be many places at once.
Up ahead, Barry saw the teeny-bopper, Junie Cochran, on her patio. Instinctively he slowed -the- Jag and trained his eyes on the girl's thin, young, tanned body that was displayed in the tiniest of blue bikinis. She was bending over *a clump of shrubbery. He had an excellent vantage point as he brought the Jag to a halt in the middle of the street. He gunned the motor for her benefit, and she waved her tight little rear, not turning at first, but knowing full well he was there. Then she looked up and waved; her tits stretching the top of her bikini.
He felt something tangle inside his crotch; he knew it was foolish, what he had thought on occasion about Junie Cochran. She was only seventeen and the big teaser of Maple Grove. Her father was a big contractor in government defense work, and her mother was an alcoholic loner, lost in the doldrums of lost ambition, still a good-looking dish, like her teeny daughter. Junie jumped over the shrubbery and ran out to the street to. the purring Jag. One of these days, he thought, he was going to try that out.
She swung her hips lice a merry-go-round. God, he thought, where do they pick that up so soon? But they knew as much about it as the older chicks. In the tiny bikini and with that dark tan, she was succeeding in raising Barry's Friday pulse several throbs. She was coy and had always pretended to be in the know, but he couldn't help thinking that this well-developed young creature had never been initiated. Even as she had been filling out these last few years, she had turned him on. One of these days.
"Hi Barry," she said coquettishly, popping her gum.
"God, chick, are you trying to stop traffic?"
"Silly. I was just waiting for you to drive by."
She bent over and put her face close to his. Her full boobs flopped over the arm that he had on the side window. As she bent over, she moved her hips to an, imaginary rhythm and let her eyes couple with his. Man, she was full-grown and getting ripe.
"Barry, when are we going for that moon-light swim?"
"Listen, Junie, I'm going to take you up on that, if you don't stop teasing."
"You're chicken," she giggled.
"We'll see about that."
"Why don't you take me away for a weekend sometime? I know you've done it with other women. If you only knew the talk about you lover."
She leaned further over; the boobs were almost out of the tiny bra; a delicious little bead of sweat ran down into the cleavage of her mashed flesh. She pursed her virgin cock sucking lips and blew a bubble Impulsively he ticked her on the bra just above the covered nipple.
"Look who's a tease," she said, sucking the bubble gum back into her mouth.
"What would you do, if I really tried something?" he said slyly. "I bet you'd scream bloody murder and run home to your daddy."
"Try me," she answered, almost in a whisper.
He reached over and flicked at her bikini with a deft finger. All at once her massive young breasts tumbled out, about an inch from his face as she leaned far into the car. In broad daylight! he thought hotly. Damn but it was going to be a weekend. Her young firm tits were tanned and perfectly formed, like the bust of a classical love goddess. With a deep breath, she moved the juicy boobs to touch his face teasingly and then pulled the bra back up quickly. The whole process had only taken a few seconds.
"My God!" he drawled.
"You're a devil, Barry," she sang. "You bite that? How about more ... sometime?" She began retreating, gyrating her hips, popping her gum. He had to sit a moment to regain his composure before accelerating the Jag to his house, all the while malting a promise to himself.
* * *
There was a shaker of martinis on the bar as Barry came into his house. He saw that his wife Tricia was already getting soused; she sat on the love seat in the den, a McNullty Renawood love seat, and she was dressed in a blue lounging suit, all ready for the Friday night party. Barry walked past Tricia and over to the maid, Cindy, a pretty black girl who had been with the Dorseys for a year now. Cindy was a twenty-year-old coed, working her way through the university, studying psychology. Barry gypped her playfully on her neat-packaged rear as he walked toward the martini shaker. Cindy grinned at him, revealing a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes; her skin was no darker than the tan on Junie Cochran, and her figure was even more perfect than the teeny-bopper's youthfully curvaceous one. He winked at her and she smiled knowingly, then nodded toward his wife, as if to say, "She's drunk already, but I'll take care of things."
And he knew that she could take care of everything; she and . Barry understood each other, and Cindy seemed to take a strange delight in his antics with women. One of these days he was going to find out what made her tick too.
"You're late, dear," Tricia gurgled from the love seat. "They are coming in an hour, you know. Did you get the liquor?"
"Yeah," he half-moaned, approaching her from behind. "I had a hell of a day, Trish. Sometimes I think I'm losing it all. If I don't come up, with a good project, McNullty is going to give me the ax."
"Don't talk shop, dear, please. You'll have a fine project."
"There's no project at all, damn it," he frowned. "And all I've got is six weeks to come up with something. But I've got this great new secretary who thinks, for a change: Maybe she'll be a help ..."
"Oh? Is she pretty?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I didn't really notice, I've been so busy. Besides, you know how all secretaries look alike." He was biting his tongue. "Oh, to hell with it," he added, and took a long gulp of his dry martini.
Tricia smiled and got up to embrace him. She put her arms around him firmly and tilted her face up to be kissed. He gave her a little smack, then. a longer, probing one. He wondered suddenly if he had wiped off Lena's lipstick, but it didn't matter; Tricia's would blend in nicely. Tricia was too loaded already to notice the difference anyway. She ran her hands over his hard biceps and down his shoulders to his hard stomach.
"Oh, you feel so good," she cooed. "I've got something for you, old Barry one."
Tricia had really been a looker a few years ago, during the days of dedication to her husband's career. But Barry knew that she wasn't always so dedicated to him. More than once, he had seen her at those wild swap parties, which they used to attend, frolicking in different bedrooms; once he had even watched her getting it from a tall thin South American type -- it was at a New Year's Eve bash a couple of years after they were married. He had been involved with a cute wifely redhead at the time. He had fucked her early in the party,; then the two of them had turned out to be tie' life of the party; and late in the night, when everyone had the excuse of being drunk to cover up their raw passion, he had seen Tricia go into a bedroom with that Latin lover. He had sneaked around the house and stood at the window, peering in the half-lit room as his dedicated wife stripped and made passionate love to a stranger. And afterward, later in the wild night, she had come back to him, dripping with another man's ejaculation, and literally attacked him; she was better for it, and it had excited him tremendously.
Now her looks were fading as she approached thirty; too much early success and too much expensive booze had begun to tell on her now-getting-fat frame. She still had the figure -- no doubt about that, he mused, as he began to stroke her body. She was still one of the best numbers he had ever dialed.
"I feel raunchy," she whispered into his ear. She was trying to slip the cocktail outfit down and away from her demanding loins. Cindy stood a few feet away, seeing and hearing all that was about to happen. But the pretty little maid was pretending nonchalance again.
As Barry bent over Trivia there on the love seat, he saw Cindy watching curiously. on occasions he had made love to Tricia this way in front of Cindy. There was never any pretense about it, and it seemed to give them both a thrill to be lascivious before an audience of one.
"Oh, Barry, fuck it to me," Tricia whispered, getting free of her outfit. He looked down at the curvy woman, then grasped an abundance of her tingling ass flesh.
When Cindy heard Tricia's signal call, she went about her chores unconcerned, finishing what she was doing before walking out casually.
Tricia closed her eyes, closed out all the world, was oblivious to everything but her drunken need. Barry saw Cindy's eyes peeking from behind a door. He motioned the saucy maid over to him and held out the empty martini glass over the shoulder of the urgent woman who was sinking beneath him. As he did so, he bent Tricia backwards and sunk his teeth gently into her neck; she did not open her eyes, but moaned out loud, "God, Barry, get your cock out ... I want it inside me, now!"
Barry casually exposed her surging breasts and grappled for them with his mouth. She was oblivious to everything save this sudden but not uncommon impulse and he thought that she would never leave him, because he knew that only his nine-inch penis could fill the lonely void in her vagina.
He pushed her back deeper into the love seat, feeling a bit guilty for what he had done that afternoon with Lena, but thinking that he could make up for it here. Cindy stood over her employers, holding a glass and looking over Tricia's shoulder at Barry with a knowing smile. With one eye open, he winked at the darkly beautiful maid as he mashed himself down on the demanding figure beneath him.
"My ... oh, my ...Barry ... that's wonderful ... wonderful ... now ... put it to me ... there ... ah! There!"
As he opened his fly and brought out his big cock, the maid turned to go, but for a long, long moment she viewed his exposed tool and then sighed. As she started to leave, he reached out and grabbed her arm, got a firm grasp on it, and pulled her back close to hover over them, all unnoticed by the pumping figure beneath him.
The pretty girl stood acquiescently looking on, her smile gone, an intent gaze of curiosity tinged with longing coming onto her face. But the figure beneath him was demanding his all, and as he held on firmly to the dark girl, he began the assault. Just as he plunged to the foamy depths of her creamy cunt, Cindy began stroking the muscle of his extended arm. Almost immediately Tricia reached her summit and screamed out: "Harder, harder! Screw me, screw me! Deep deep!"
She went on uttering her piercing shrieks of passion that jolted him dizzily to his own highest point of tension and release. The dark girl continued to look on wide-eyed, to caress his arm, to fondle his bare elbow. And just as he was coming to the pinnacle of his climax, she bent over the wildly gyrating woman and took his face in her hands and melted her full lips hard onto his mouth, kissed him on and on until he was finished spewing his juices. Cindy's tongue probed as he withdrew his limp and slimy penis from the closing lips of his wife's cunt.
Cindy's lips departed from his mouth with a wet sound just as his penis withdrew from his wife.
Chapter Three
Hot Latin music pupated from the stereos .throughout the house and patio, down around the pool where half- nude couples laughed and sang and drank into the night of revelry. Andy and Cleo Haynes, the Dorseys' next door neighbors, were just coming through the patio archway. Already about ten couples were on the way to their weekend never-never land.
Barry was doing a tango with Mildred Ryder, the wife of Horace Ryder, the great sportsman of Maple Grove. Horace, cigar balanced between tight lips, eyed Cleo Haynes as she shimmied up to a group of men causing all the males to gaze upon her ultra-revealing cocktail gown. Her blond hair glistened in the sparkling light and she radiated an animal like sensuality.
The feminine motif for the party was the revealment of skin, the more mysterously revealed the better. Two young wives of subordinate executives at McNuUty Renawood had come dressed identically, in backless, sleeveless, bra-less gowps of Grecian imitation. They drifted together around the room, like a matched set, their cocktail glasses tilted up as delicately as their firm breasts were pointed beneath the thin silk bodice of their dresses. Hm, Barry thought as he. saw Janet and Dollie, the would-be twins; he wondered what they had going. He made a mental note to check into that twosome a bit later.
He began his evening campaign by whirling Mildred Ryder through a tempestuous tango. Mildred was a little woozy already and was decidedly uncautious in her flirtation with Barry; her husband Horace, who seemed not to mind at all, was concentrating his attention on the wife of the new man who was at the bar talking to Andy Haynes. The new couple was a new addition to the Maple Grove circle, and it looked as if Horace himself would be the first one to break new ground there. From across the room, Barry could hear the new woman laughing raucously as Horace pressed his case, whispering saucy little tidbits of rumors to her, all about the crazy people in the group that she and her innocent-looking husband were now a part of.
But Mildred was enough for Barry at the moment; he looked around suspiciously for Tricia; but she was off somewhere supervising the party food, or taking another slug of. straight gin while no one was looking. He knew that Tricia would be no threat tonight. He smiled to himself. He swung Mildred around and felt her loins grip him hard at the groin, felt her thin thighs bump him hard as her long arms came tight around him. She was a good lay all right; in times past, he had tried her out several times. She had been the first mistress of his new life in Maple Grove, but she had long faded from his affection.
Tonight there seemed to be a renewal of old sparks; she looked better than ever. Mildred was a bit older than he, about thirty-three, and was beginning to show crow's feet at the corners of her eyes; she was very thin and tall, almost as tall as Barry, but she was endowed with overlarge breasts that seemed to grow more firm with her passing years. And she was one of the hottest little numbers in bed that he had ever encountered.
"God, Barry," she whispered, keeping in rhythm with him, "you can get a girl hot. It's been such a long time, daring, I really feel the old yen ..."
"You and me both," he whispered, taking a nip of her globe. He whirled her around again and laughed as someone in the drinking crowd made a crude remark at them. But Barry and Mildred were too enamored with each other's body to even rebut the gross comment shouted at them.
"Please, Barry, promise you'll make love to me ... long, hot love, sometime tonight, soon ... somewhere ..."
"How about right now?" he mumbled, growing excited at the challenge.
"Now? Oh, God, Barry ... do we dare ... where could we go ... Oh, God. Barry, its been such a long time since you've done it to me ... I thought you'd forgotten all about the great times we've had ..."
"I could never forget how great a chick you are, baby," he answered. "Listen, you want to, really, right now?"
"Where, Barry? Oh, I want to. You know I want to. You've got me dripping with the giddies ... oh, but where?"
"After this dance, you go through the den and into the back of the house, back to the solarium -- no one's there. I'll cut out to the patio and circle around and meet you there ..."
"You think anybody'll notice?" she said anxiously.
"Hell, they're all too busy themselves. Look at your husband. He's trying to line up a score with that new chick. Go on, now."
And in a few minutes he met her in the darkness of the glassed-in solarium. He opened the door cautiously, lest another couple had thought of the rendezvous also.
But she was there, alone. She reached for him immediately, their mouths exploding into each other, their groping tongues pitching and tossing against the wetness of their mouths. She was ravaging him, nibbling his nose, munching gently on his earlobe.
"God, Barry, you've got to do me quick -- I'm burning up!"
"Hang on, doll, we'll both be there in a minute ..."
He unzipped his fly and exposed his heavy penis, pressing it hard against her middle; she was pulling up her dress, at the same time groping for him, mashing her wet mouth into his. They were both exploding with the pitch of livid desire for the oncoming moment. Pinioning her against the wall, he let his insistent cock dart into the moist core of her vagina. She locked one leg around his arched leg and clung to him with her arms, steadying herself against the wall with her other leg. Her hands came around and caught his hard buttocks and pulled in rhythm with his well-timed thrusts.
"Aw ... aw ... aw ..." she shrieked as he thrust, on and on; it was liquidy, it was the delicious feel of her moist pressure that her pussy exerted. She went crazy against him, standing up in a dark comer of the solarium.
"I've never done it standing up ..." she moaned heavily. "I could do it forever like that ... Oh, now ... there ... oh, oh, Barry ... it's time ... God, I'm coming now ... oh, do it to me like you used to, you used to, used to ... Ahhh ..."
And her fever pitch served to bring him once again to that old sweet rising. He was finished as quickly as she. His wet penis plopped out of her pussy grasp.
"That was wonderful." she cried, slumping against him. "Oh, what you can do to a woman, Barry ... and will you do it again ..."
"Sure, baby, sure," he said, getting cautious again.
"I mean right now. We've got time. I'm still hot, Barry."
"Later, baby. The evening is young."
And they went back to the party their separate ways, and a little later Mildred was dancing with her husband, Horace, laughing at his sporty jokes, as though nothing had happened.
* * *
The party rolled on into the night and, as the level of good booze consumed rose, the spirit of sport and permissiveness ascended. All about the rooms, the couples were flirting, openly embracing each other under the cover of dance music, fondling other partners, openly kissing now and then in half-jest, daring one another in the age-old flirt games. Recharging his batteries, Barry sipped a scotch and watched the proceedings with detached interest. It was a world of hard work and hard play, and anything was fair game; he decided not to worry at all about anything and to put faith only in himself.
Now the party was rolling at a cresting pitch. Over in a comer, Horace Ryder was making the big play for the new young chick; he was getting her to laugh a lot, Barry saw, and she wasn't pushing his hand off her bare shoulder anymore. 'And out in the middle of the dance area, Mildred was swinging with the new man. Well, Barry said to himself; Mildred and Horace were a team working for mutually exclusive benefits.
Cleo Haynes was doing an impromptu dance by herself, with several livid-eyed males watching her every movement. One of the men grabbed her and bent her over in a mock finish to the dance, but all could see that his hand slipped inside her low-cut dress, onto the rising beauty of her breast mounds. Everyone laughed at the man's antics, and Cleo came up for air bubbling like a long-distance swimmer. One of her tits had come out of her dress and she just threw her head back and laughed and pointed the conspicuous strawberry tip at all the ogling men.
Toward midnight, a few of the straight-laced couples had left, leaving the others to go after the hard core of the silk stocking echelon. They all lived in the silk stocking area and they were all bent on living up to the gossipy tales about town that less fortunate souls spread vindictively. Everyone was beyond drunkenness by the witching hour, and the party was just shifting into third gear.
Barry saw Tricia sitting alone in a corner with a tumbler of gin, slowly and silently drinking herself blind. He saw that she would be no problem for him tonight -- and,. he really felt like turning on. No more worries for Barry, he said to himself. He just didn't give a damn. A guy has got to get what he can, when he can, in this crazy world gone to the dogs. He went over to her, whispered a few sweet little phrases, and promised to make love to her when it was all over. He left her looking starry-eyed and content and so stoned she could hardly understand a word.
"Hey," one of the guys yelled, "Cleo is going to do her thing!" Immediately everyone made for the pool area, where Cleo, in all her blond glory, stood on the diving board frozen in a seductive pose. Someone had to explain to the new couple that Cleo had this spectacular routine. Everyone formed a ring around the pool, and Cleo began waving her arms slowly. She was drunk, but sober enough to control her movements.
"Take it off, take it off!" Barry yelled, then started to clap his hands. Everyone joined in, clapping in unison and beginning to chant in a blues rhythm. Now Cleo arched her back and rid herself of her outer garment, flinging her dress to one of the many admirers at pool-side. She stood in bikini panties the color of burgundy, and a very fragile and transparent bra. Now she was doing a go-go step, up and down, perfectly balanced on the narrow board, the springing causing her massive breasts to almost jump out of her diminutive bra. She turned away from the onlookers and began doing a shimmy, accompanied by many bumps and grinds; her round-tucked bottom dancing this way and that easily.
"More, more!" others were calling. It was a ritual that never failed to bring out the bestiality in the circle, even of the avid ladies. It was as though this would be the signal for everything wild to follow. Anything was permissible after Cleo's dance.
She unfastened her bra, turning slowly as the crowd slowed the beating rhythm for her. She cupped her beauties lovingly with her hands, turned full to the watchers, and then, with a deep breath, she dropped her hands and pointed her arching tits to the cogent moon, standing stately like a goddess, luxuriating in the glory of her magnificent physique as' she became frozen for all the admiring gazes. And then she was sliding the skimpy panties down, kicking them off into the water. She stood as some prehistoric god of love might have ordained her to be: beautiful and golden for this night of exotic love.
"Watch this now," someone whispered to the new man. And already Barry was stripping off his trousers and shirt. With the grace of an Athenian maiden, Cleo bounced upon the board, gaining momentum and height. She curled and spiralled swanlike, her glossy nakedness becoming more astounding to the wide-eyed admirers, before she knifed into the water.
"First one in gets the prize!" Barry bellowed and dove over the side of the pool. The crowd went wild as they saw the two figures meet beneath the water, meet and embrace in that watery position for a long moment before the strong man named Barry Dorsey emerged from the pool, carrying the magnificent creature of the deep. She was taut and immobile, and he carried her aloft, with one strong arm, her body arched over his head, amid the wild applause of the excited spectators.
"To the victor goes the spoiled ..." Andy Haynes, Cleo's husband, called out good-naturedly. And Barry carried her into the archway of the patio, pretending to be the supreme warrior carrying away his prize. A moment later they emerged, wrapped in Roman togas, and made a wild embrace for the finale.
Fun and games. Past midnight now, the noise in the house was settled to a turbulent muffled din. Barry had them assembled in the large inner chamber and was busy explaining the rules of the new game that he was about to invent. There were eight or ten couples left, with Barry-of-the-light-heart captaining the oncoming madness.
The lights were dimmed; soft oriental music played in the background. Barry stood in his Roman toga in the middle of the room as the participants quieted. A makeshift curtain had been hung across the end of the room, hiding a low love seat. "The game of kings," Barry piped regally. "The sport of oriental potentates ... here enacted for the edification of the mod-bods of. Maple Grove ... and first, the seduction of the fair damsel Susanna ..."
"What's all this?" the new man asked. Others looked curious also, but many of them had played variations of the game, and after a few preliminaries the stage was set. Using two hats, Barry put the names of the women present in one and the men's names in the other. After a short introduction, he reached into the lady's hat and pulled out a name.
"Playing the part of the beautiful Susanna ... will be Mildred Ryder!" Laughter, applause, catcalls. "And playing the part of the red-eyed elder ... Andy Haynes!" More of the same. The tinkling music of tambourines came up from the stereo and then the little drama commenced. The onlookers sat in a circle in front of the makeshift stage.
"Behold the fair Susanna," Barry carried it on. He drew back the curtain and there sat Mildred on the love seat, pretending she was at the baths, attended by servants. She mimed through the prelude, rising once to let her gown trail way off her shoulder. "More realism! Need more realism!" Barry called, and the crowd joined in Barry's exuberance. Whereupon Mildred casually disrobed herself and sat back down minus everything but panties and bra.
"Not real enough!" someone called. But she would go no further. Then there entered the red-eyed elder, ,the lustful churchman of the fabled tale, played with much mugging by Andy Haynes. His antics caused much laughter in the crowd, the way he darted around the mock bath, eyeing the naked woman, panting profusely, unable to hold himself in check; Andy wore one of Barry's togas and seemed to be raw underneath.
"And alas! The fair Susanna has seen the dirty old man looking at her naked innocence!" Barry boomed out. "What will she do?"
"Nothing I hope," Andy chortled, rushing at the fainting figure on the couch. And from that point, the scene played itself out. The, would-be violator and the damsel in distress fought a mighty battle, during which Mildred's bra was torn off and her panties shredded. The crowd hooted and screamed, calling for blood. And at last, the couple fell back onto the- couch in a pseudo-act of carnage, the lustful elder venting his passion on the defenseless damsel. They were in a wild clutch, really working for realsim, when Barry rushed up and pulled in tho curtain across to hide them. He stood a few minutes waiting for the applause to die down and then peeked through the curtain.
"My God! They really got carried away!" he shouted. And more applause resounded through the dimly lit chamber.
Presently the two of them came out, arm in arm, Mildred still bare to the waist. She seemed proud of her acting ability and even more proud of her physical attributes being displayed for the leering benefit of the anxious males. in the room.
The crowd wanted more dramatics-the little scene had just whetted their appetites. Two or three other little scenes were played out, the Romeo and Juliet motif, the Antony and Cleopatra confrontation. And each scene became bolder as the new participants took the lead from the previous couples. After a while a cry went up: "We want Cleo Haynes ... we want Cleo Haynes!"
And Barry rose to answer: "What scene shall she play?"
"How about Leda and the Swan?" the new chick said; evidently she had majored in literature in college.
"What the hell is that?" Barry asked.
"Oh, it's about a pretty maiden who is seduced by Zeus. He saw her bathing, and he came down in the disguise of a swan and made love to her."
"That's the damnedest thing I ever heard."
"Thinking of trying it out, Barry?" Andy Haynes quipped.
All right then, let's do it. Cleo Haynes will play the part of Leda ..."
"Not me," Cleo said. "I'm not having anything to do with a hoary swan." Everybody laughed, but Barry was smitten by the idea. The game was about to die for lack of enthusiasm, just at its peak. Then someone in the crowd, the innocent-looking husband of the girl who had suggested the scene, said, "Since you brought it up, Linda, you play Leda."
The girl, a honey-blonde of about twenty-five, demurred and seemed to blush, but the group rose up insistently and demanded that she assume the role, to keep the game going. After much protesting, the girl named Linda went behind the drawn curtain reluctantly.
"Now, who shall we get for the Swan?" Barry asked.
"You're dying to do it, Barry old kid," Andy said. "You be Zeus. Besides, some people think you are Zeus already." More laughter. And it was decided that Barry would take the part. Andy Haynes rose and took the part of scene-setter and narrator. He did not have Barry's flair, but most of the crowd was waiting only to see the action anyway.
Before Barry went behind the curtain, he ducked down the hall and came back carrying a feathery-looking shawl. He was going to play his role to the hilt. And the scene began: the curtain opened on Linda, sitting serenely at her leisure, pretending to bathe in some clear stream, with song birds all about. Then a shadow descended upon her lily-white figure. A look of horror spread across her face as she stared upward.
Barry made his entrance shrouded only by the transparent and feather cloak, then fell upon the girl immediately. -He grabbed her garment, a flimsy yellow cocktail dress, and met only token resistance from the somewhat timid girl.
"Atta boy, Barry, give her the old Zeus," someone catcalled.
The lights were dim so that the action, seemed only a shadowy silhouette to the onlookers. Barry pressed her for realism and she responded good-naturedly, but close to his ear he could hear her giggling embarrassedly.
And then it hit that she had too much class for this kind of activity; she smelled fresh and ever so clean. How could it have been, he wondered as he went through the playacting, that he had not even spoken to her all evening?
"Go to it, -Barry, more realism!" Andy Haynes demanded, and the others concurred.
"Let's give them a real show," he whispered. She didn't answer. He clasped her body, felt the full womanness of her, and immediately the old sweet rising hit him in the groin again. They were only ten or twelve feet from the circle of onlookers, but could it be possible to pull of -such a stunt? No, it was impossible, he decided. The girl's arms fought him off in the true spirit of the ancient myth, but at the same time she held close to him. He pressed his body down onto her, caressing her thighs with his own, pushing his face against hers, their lips meeting in such a way that they were hidden from full view of the crowd. She responded, opened her lips, and gave him a darting, teasing tongue.'
He rolled her curvy body over and back again, and they were making a real battle out of it now. Ah, just like a hayride in the tenth grade, he thought; she was having a lithe fun too, at the expense of a staged myth.
"That's the way, that's the way!" the crowd was yelling.
His hands gained her breasts in another hidden move; he ran the hands down her dress, pulled it off her hard full boobs, and rolled them over once more so that he could put his mouth to her delicious nipple. She was pushing against him all the more. They were heating up together in a different, real way, or so he thought. Yes, it might be possible, he thought quickly. And would everybody be fooled? There would be no way of proving anything, whether it happened or not.
Their bodies crushed together, in mock fight, and he got a hand inside her thigh once and into the creamy pit of her crotch. She seemed such a lovely, quiet, and sensitive girl Was it all just a lark? Was she not used to that much drink, and this headiness was proving too much for her? He would see.
From beneath the shawl, he worked his huge throbbing prick out and in against her warm, very warm, thigh, all hidden again from any real view of the onlookers. And then they tumbled once again. Barry had landed on top, and he had aimed his insistent cock perfectly. He had slipped the glans inside her tight juicy snatch without her realizing it, and indeed, without anyone in the room suspecting the hot truth of the tussle.
"That's it, old Zeus, now give it to her!" cried the onlookers.
"Don't let her get away!"
And he was not at all about to let her get away; it was the strangest position he had ever landed in. And instantly upon the completion of the last position, the girl felt the awful truth of that coupling. It was real, no matter how much playacting it looked like to the ones getting their second-hand thrills out of it.
"No, my God!" she screamed a whisper into his ear. "What? What are you doing! Stop! My God, what are you doing to me?"
And the crowing crowd took it all as part of the big finale. They would not have believed the truth anyway. They glared as the fantasy heroine was trapped.
Now Barry was working upon her, making the myth come true one more time. His feathered glory laid a rush of beating throbs onto her protesting thighs. The more he did the more she maintained the ancient rhythm of the fertile ritual sexual intercourse.
"Oh, God, Oh!" she screamed. And he didn't know for sure, but he thought he felt something snap in her cunt walls then. Her beating heart pounded into his ear as he pushed his beaked head against her neck. He held her thighs hard as he plummeted into her pussy. Finally he thought that he felt her loins and pussy begin to shudder. His prick throbbed to that final pouring peak. "Ah ... please ..."
He plowed on like a powerful bird of the air upon its prey. And he thought wildly that this was the strangest piece of cunt he had ever tangled with, and he wondered as he reached a final spasm whether she was protesting or demanding. Her hands clutched him, yet did not fight, though to the spellbound crowd it might have looked the opposite. Her dainty thighs surged once against him, and he felt her hit a peak and scream out: "Ah, my Lord!" And then he was coming to a final climax, rolling them roughly over again once, twice, three times as they reached the summit of their supreme madness.
"Now, that's realism!" someone yelled.
"Need the camera on that!"
"The best imitation ever!"
And Barry was up again and prowling the make-believe stage. The girl simply rolled into a ball and moaned as someone rushed up and pulled the curtain. The applause drowned out her last pitiable little utterances. And now Andy Haynes was calling for an encore, but Barry knew that he was finished. A few moments later the new girl ran crying from the room.
* * *
The party dwindled to extracurricular petting and good-natured jibes at the new game that Barry had invented. He had no chance to look at the girl later; she and her dumbfounded husband had taken their leave. Barry tossed it off philosophically, telling himself that at least he had beaten Horace Ryder to the punch. But he couldn't get the strange little creature, whom he had seduced on the couch out of his head She was somehow different from the other women at the party; and he couldn't figure out how or why. That husband of hers? What was his name? Barry knew that he was a recent sales appointee at McNullty Renawood, and that he had even shown the guy around the first day a month ago. But his young wife -- she was very strange and terribly appealing to him all of a sudden.
The party broke up at 4 A.M. and even as Barry fell into bed he was thinking of what he had done. He couldn't get the girl named Linda out of his dizzying thoughts. It was the dirtiest trick a man could play on a woman, he realized in a saner moment. Would she tell her husband what really happened? Probably not she would be too scared. But she would certainly hate good old lovable Barry, and he couldn't stand the thought that any woman could hate him. He tossed and turned in bed for a long time, and finally Tricia roused out of her drunken sleep.
"Good party, dear?" she yawned. She had sacked out hours before the new games were played.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Good party, like all the rest."
Then Tricia began clawing at him, rubbing her nakedness all over his cooling body. The thought of Linda was hot in his thoughts and what he was thinking made his dick limp. He turned and gave Tricia a little peck on the cheek in a husbandly manner and turned over. He went-to sleep immediately. For once he was fully spent and too exhausted for more.
Chapter Four
Days passed and still Barry could not get a good take-off for the project that was due to be presented at the propectus meeting a few weeks hence. He puttered around the office, talking nonsense with the luscious Lena, and she offered little more than moon-eyed sympathy now. She .seemed smitten with him, but he had not tried again since the last Friday afternoon quickie-game. One did not trust to fortune one's fate that often. Oh, they had a few lingering embraces from time to time, a few quick kisses and a stroking of bodies, but nothing more. Somehow, his heart wasn't in it. He was sinking into a depression that was not at all in character for him.
After a week or so, Lena finally came up with an idea that sounded halfway encouraging. One day, as she bent over the drawing board. and as he gently stroked her smooth-rounded ass, she said, "Hey, Barry, how about this:. Do you remember that idea you tossed off ... that day ... oh ... that day we ... ... you? Do you remember your idea about the seasons? You know what I mean?" "Yeah," he answered indifferently. "What about it?"
"Well, it might not be all that bad after all. We could juice it up a little, maybe bring in a promotional idea or two from year before last ... you know ... cross the stream, as the promo boss says ..."
"What did you have in mind?" he said, perking up a little.
Now she became animated; her body seemed to tingle as she talked on excitedly. He came close, held her trim waist with his broad hands as she talked on, their faces close.
"Instead of flaming colors, you see, we could introduce the mood of each season. Barry, don't You see? Color won't sell itself in a whole new line. But mood will, because it has style. Oh, Barry, what do you think?"
"Say. it just might work," he said excitedly. He bent her over and gave her a huge wet kiss, and they went dancing about the room. Now the ideas were coming fast and hot; she was already busy at the board making sketches, pretty good sketches -- she had been an artist in college and now she was about to put that old idealistic skill to work for Barry Dorsey. Yes, he mused as he studied her swirling curves as she scurried about the office, he would have to keep Lena with him; she was too much of an asset, in more ways than one.
They worked industriously past the quitting time, sent out for sandwiches and coffee, and didn't take a break until they had a rough draft of the whole concept. It was nearing ten o'clock when Barry fell back on the couch, as exhausted and exhilarated as if he had been scoring with the town's best nympho. Lena sighed, arching her back as she walked toward him exhaustedly; she looked even more appealing with her blouse a little crumpled, the skirt wrinkled, her shoes off. He reached out and pulled her onto his lap, looked deep into her smiling eyes, and kissed her long and tenderly.
"You're a sweet old thing," she murmured.
"And you're great, Lena girl. Just great. We're really a team now." And he kissed her again, turned her over and pressed down upon her. "I didn't know work could be so much fun," he laughed. And she was letting him undo the blouse to take out her huge firm breasts again. He fondled them tenderly, moving them about his face with his two deft hands, pressing the nipples, bending to kiss them and to see the fine points rise up hard against his cheek.
"Oh, Barry, you, drive me crazy," she sighed. And he was putting a hand down between her syrupy legs, pushing the fingers up and up into the pit of her tight, oh-so-tight snatch. Ah, the liquid warmth was always there; he dug the hand firmly into the matted triangle of her drippy desire, and she arched her hips up to his probing hand.
"Oh, Barry, please, what you do to me ... go on, don't stop, I'd die ..."
And he would have brought out the object of her desire right there except for some interior premonition of disaster. He probed deeper with the hand, felt her thighs locking hard and hunching against his full arm. He looked down to see her caught in the throes of a demanding drive toward fulfillment. "Ahhh ..." she moaned, as her coital fluids flowed over his hand, drenching his palm with the pungent odor of an excited nymph.
Just at that moment, there came a short knock on the door and footsteps as the door was swung open slowly. Lena was continuing her assault of the heights, hunching two or three last times at his driving arm and twitching fingers. Barry turned to see Andy Haynes standing there, watching the scene. They smiled at each other knowingly.
"Excuse me," Andy said. "I didn't know you were that busy, I saw your light and I thought I'd stop by to chat ..."
Very embarrassedly Lena arighted herself, stood up without looking at either man as she straightened her clothing, and said something unintelligible as she walked out. Andy looked at her all the way and emitted a low whistle as he saw her saucy rear disappear out the door.
"Nice overtime conditions, Barry lad," Andy chided.
"You wouldn't believe it, but we actually did work, work, work all day. And we're really pushing on the project now."
"So you've finally come up with an idea, huh, Barry?" Andy scoffed. "Listen, why don't you give up? You know I'm going to beat the pants off you with my own little project. I'm not telling anybody, but I've got a real little gem of a project. Old McNullty will be surprised when he has to give the vice presidency to me."
"You always were a big kidder, Haynes," Barry said good-naturedly, but deep down inside of him Andy's cockiness worried him a bit. But then old McNullty didn't like Andy very much -- Andy simply wasn't a go-getter and throat slasher. Still, it was enough to worry about.
"Let me tell 'you something, old hoss," Andy said. "I wouldn't mind losing the promotion to you. We've been through a lot of stuff together. But you better get your mind off that broad, all broads, or you might find some guy sneaking in the back door on you."
"What you mean is, Andy, there might be an outsider coming on strong? Who is it?"
"That fellow Nelson that McNullty brought in last month. He's ,already brought in three new accounts. How many have you brought in?"
"Never mind," Barry scoffed. "Who's this Nelson cat?"
"You ought to know, old chum. You were humping with his cute little wife at the party ..."
"Oh, that fellow ... You think he's got a chance at the prospectus?"
"All I know is McNullty invited him to submit a project for next year's promotion. Think about that." Andy walked slowly to the door, paused, took a sniff of the glandular odors that still lingered in the room, then smiled broadly. "Get your mind on the game, or you might find yourself warming the bench."
"No sweat," Barry laughed. But he began to think about it.
* * *
It was almost midnight by the time Barry let himself in his house in Maple Grove. All was silent and dark; he tiptoed to the hallway and listened, but he couldn't hear any stirring. He passed by the study and saw Cindy, the ebony-beautied maid, sitting with a bundle of books at the desk. He went on down the hall to his bedroom and peeked in. There was Tricia already sacked out, exhaling a heaving sigh of alcoholic breath; the dippy broad had drunk herself silly again today. He had begun to worry about her of late; she was hitting the bottle so regularly that it was monotonous even to try to cover up her imbibing actions. She was gone for the night, and he walked back toward the kitchen feeling depressed, the words of Andy Haynes still on his mind. It would be just like old McNullty to string him along all these years and then hand the goodies to some upstart freshman.
"Whatcha -doing?" he asked Cindy as he stopped at the door.
"Cramming for exams tomorrow. I'm staying over -- Mrs. Dorsey said it would be all right."
"All .right with me," he said, then broke off to go to the bar and fix a scotch and soda. He stopped, thought a minute, and then poured out a second scotch, dropping two ice cubes in each glass. He went back to the study. When he opened the door, she looked up quizzically and then smiled.
"How about a little break," he said. "Have a drink with me."
"Good, I'd like that," she said.
He sat down across from her and studied her demeanor. Cindy was a smooth gal all the way; tonight, after doing her house chores and putting Tricia to bed, she had slipped on a gown which clearly revealed her abundant brown figure underneath. She was not tall, about five-four, but she had very strong arms and legs; her chocolate-colored breasts pushed the gown out measurably and the brown nipples were hard against the flimsy bodice. She crossed her legs as she took the drink and gulped it hard at first, thirstily. She looked like a girl with plenty of thirsts, and Barry knew by instinct that she knew how to handle men. All men. All of, a sudden he got a yen to feel a little of her warmth; he had always wanted a little affection from one of those soul sisters. Slowly he rose out of his doldrums.
"God, it's quiet in here," Barry" said.
"Good for studying," she laughed.
"Or anything else, for that matter. You know, you're a great looker, Cindy. Did anybody ever tell you that?"
"All the time, Barry, all the time."
She stood up and stretched, and her protruding endowments were shadowed by the blue negligee. She did not seem at all embarrassed to expose herself that way. In times past, they had flirted, even petted around a little -- but there had been some unspoken agreement between them: whatever he did was all right; whatever she did was nobody's business. She had quickly finished the drink, and he offered her part of his. He needed no stimulant now. He reached out and stroked the smooth dark skin about her shoulder blades.
"What are you thinking, Barry," she asked coyly.
"The same thing you are, I hope."
"No, we better not get started in any of that foolishness. I want to keep this job ..."
"Who said anything about your job? You're safe. She's dead to the world . . " He pulled her over to him, stood up, then pressed his body against her, feeling her lithe body mold into his loins: She was firm all over, very firm; it would be the strangest experience yet, he thought anxiously. He tried to put his mouth on hers, but she dodged him and let her mouth fall on his neck; she put her strong arms around him and they squeezed each other tight. She sank her teeth hard into his neck.
"Hey, you little devil!" he yelled, pulling away. She laughed, her straining tits dancing enticingly before his eyes.
"You want to play, then, Barry, or you want to really try out one of those soul sisters?" She laughed again, rather mockingly.
"I'll show you," he cut back and grabbed for her. She eluded him. She swung around behind the desk, but he was in hot pursuit. Suddenly, he caught her, tumbling them both onto the carpet where they rolled and locked their limbs about each other. He was grabbing for her big boobs, had one in his hand and was marveling at the size and firmness of it. He pressed and prepped and she turned to him and uttered. "You can't hurt me, big man. Go on and try!"
So she, was one of those, he thought. She grasped at his sides and arms, daring him to match her in strength. He had suspected all along that she was the most vital woman around. As they tumbled, they were ridding themselves of their clothes, and now they rolled, black on fiery white, their mouths meeting. Her breasts scraped across his hairy chest. Barry felt her nipples elongate and grow rigid. Her sensuous mouth engulfed him, her tongue ran circles inside his mouth. Her fingers crawled along the muscles of his chest down to the fringe of hair that separated his stomach from his groin.
"You never saw a real woman before, lover man!" she cried out.
It was clear that she was out to beat him; he thought that he should have known that this was inevitable someday, with a hot guy like himself in the company of so strong a chick. He decided to do battle, grabbing her breasts hard, and started sucking them while she fought his every move with wild laughter and arching thighs.
"I'll show you! "he gritted his teeth and flipped her hard onto her belly. Holding her arms down, he grabbed her firm buttocks, bringing splotches of blood here and there on those fleshy rises. She brought an elbow around and caught him in the gut, but he only flinched and dove on top of her again, beginning to laugh uproariously with her.
She doubled up her fist and punched him in the belly, the chest, fought to get her claws into his groin. He got a hold of her underside, pushed a hand hard into the fleshy apex of her thighs and down into the mat of dark hair, into the cunt lips that closed squishingly around the first knuckle of his forefinger.
She had a hold of his waving penis then and was squeezing with all her might; her lips suddenly enveloped the sensitive tip of his cock. Her tongue snaked out to tantalize his balls. She began biting hips all over his inner thighs.
With a broad arm, he came full around and knocked her over, and as she tumbled she hooked his thighs with her trim ankles and brought him home to her waiting crotch.
He drove his prick into her wide-open cant. She screamed as his cock blustered across her clitoris, driving a flying wedge of flesh into her moist pussy. "You think you won!" she screamed. "Try it out now, daddy, try it out!"
And he tried with all his might; he was plunging and plunging, rising up and falling hard, harder, with each thrust, breathing in great gulps of hot breaths that matched the rhythm of her rasping, gasping voice.
"Kill me big man! I'm the strongest ... deeper, you devil! Yeah, man, yea! Owww! Now kill me! Now!"
All of a sudden both their churning bodies seemed to explode. Her cunt-oils cascaded around his glans, ran down the shaft and squirted out of her pussy that was being rapidly filled with a white viscous liquid that oozed out of her prick-filled cunt. His penis grew limp, plopping out of her pussy, trailing strands of semen. Her thighs closed and she rolled over, showing him where the stream of juices had finally reservoired -- in her ass.
* * *
And a little later he limped to the bedroom and into the spacious bath, sank into the sauna-bath, and let the warm liquid soothe his wounds. God, that Cindy girl! he mused contentedly . One time with that was enough. And to think she had been around all this time; but he didn't know if he could match her production schedule again. He sank back pleasantly and thought of her great capacity for love-punishment. She had seemed to be such a sad girl before, and after they had finished bruising each other, she had simply gone back to her book, and had even kissed him tenderly as he limped away. Very strange are the ways of the silent 'watchers of the world.
Chapter Five
Barry was just fooling around; he was no good at particulars in drawing up a prospectus lay-out in an ad campaign. And Lena girl had turned into a working demon for him; she was getting downright straight-laced about it all. Now she had little time for fooling around with him. Oh, he shill drew her away now and then -- a little old-fashioned smooching in the cloakroom, once he got her hot and bothered again. But it seemed too much of an effort. He just fooled around, taking care of little problem that came up with the company workers in his official capacity as personnel director.
The days were drifting swiftly by, but Lena assured him that the project that they had decided on would be ready and would be a sure-fire hit ate the prospectus meeting just three weeks, away. So Barry spent his time office-hopping and flirting with the sweet young things in the secretary pool. He stood in the outer office and openly made a good-natured pass at a cute little redhead with delicious-looking freckles on her nose.
"I'll bet you've got freckles all over you."
"You never can tell," she giggled.
"Oh, I could tell all right -- I'm very perceptive, sweetie. Did you know that girls with freckles are by far the most sexually attractive to males?"
"I didn't know that."
"Well, you certainly are attractive, my dear. One of these days I'd like to conduct an experiment about freckles ..."
"What kind of experiment?" she egged him on.
"Oh, just to prove my point," he grinned.
"What point is that?"
"That would be part of the experiment, of course. The point is, are you interested in ... er... scientific probing?"
"Oh, Mr. Dorsey," she blushed.
"Think about it," he said boyishly. "I'll be back."
He was meeting Andy Haynes for drinks at the corner cocktail lounge that afternoon; lately Andy had been the catalyst and collector of much corridor scuttle-butt about the upcoming board meeting: who had the inside track on the presidency, who-was the dark horse, who was going to get the old proverbial ax. Barry strolled out of the McNullty building, feeling exuberant and vital; as he marched along, he felt his old college athletic prowess oozing up, and he indulged in a pleasant daydream of his days on the old cinder trails, when he won long-distance races and was cheered by throngs of lovely lasses on the old ivory-towered campus. Barry lad, he said to himself, it's the same right here, down these canyons o f commerce. You've got to put out all the way, for the spoils are there to be reaped. Just keep the body in taut shape and your legs pumping high.
Inside the cocktail lounge a pretty waitress showed him to a booth far in the back, where Andy Haynes was already working on his second martini. Barry said something saucy to the chick and she giggled; he patted her on her neat little rear as he sat down.
"Get your mind on the game," Andy said, frowning.
"What's up, old kidder? Somebody steal a client from you?"
"Hell, no. That's the least of my worries. Barry, listen to this sad song: we're in trouble, old son."
Sipping his martini now, Barry could not let Andy's moroseness bother him; he let the warm bite of the gin waft him serenly into a calm mood. But Andy seemed overly concerned, was ordering his third martini even though the second martini remained half-full.
"Listen, Barry. Did you know that old McNullty :left today on an inspection tour of the Midwest factories?"
"Yeah, I know that. I've made that boring trip with him a time or two. So have you. Is that what's bothering you?"
"But did you know who the old man took him this time?"
"No, who?"
That new guy, Nelson. You know what that means? McNullty uses those trips to size you up for a promotion. It scares me & little bit. I'm telling you. Some new guy, green from the ears up, might steal the whole cake."
"Knock it off, Andy. McNullty just wants to scare us a little. And you know those trips? Old lecherous McNullty sniffing around new territory trying to line up the chicks. I don't think that guy Nelson is the type and McNullty will find that out."
"Maybe so, but I wish I was as cocky as You."
"Dream on," Barry laughed, drowning the gin and-looking around the dimly lit room. There, up there in the front, he saw some-. thing that looked promising. Speak of the devil: he saw the blond hair of the new girl, the Nelson woman herself. This lounge was a gathering place for wives. Barry sat quietly a few minutes listening to Andy run on, while he planned his frontal attack. And then he remembered what he had done to the girl that night of the wild party. Hell, he thought, she would probably slap him if he tried to approach her. But in his memory he made an instant replay of that episode. And he wondered what she had been thinking all those days since.
"See you later, Andy."
"Where you going?"
"I see something."
"I'm telling you, old stud, you better watch that. You may just screw yourself right out of the scene."
"Yeah, but what a way to go!"
He walked up through the lounge confidently, stopping to say a word to one of his McNullty colleagues sitting with his secretary. Yes, he nodded to himself, they all did it, and why should everybody be so critical of him? He just wasn't a hypocrite, that was all. With the added rationalization to his ego, Barry stopped abruptly at the Nelson woman's booth. She had been sitting with two or three other McNullty wives, but she was now alone, finishing her drink and preparing to leave.
"Do you mind?" he asked courteously.
"Oh ... it's you. I'm just leaving; Mr. Dorsey."
"Would you stay just a moment? Please? I've got something I really need to say to you."
"Mr. Dorsey, we have nothing at all to say to each other."
"Please, just for a moment."
She hesitated and, as she did, he took the opportunity to crowd in next to her. He held up a hand to order another drink, then lit a cigarette. He plastered a very serious expression on his face, almost pained, as he turned to face her.
"I know you think I'm the brute of all time ..."
"Yes, I do. But I'm not blaming anybody ..."
"I take it we're both talking about the same thing ... what happened at the party. I know an apology won't get it ..."
"It's best that we never mention it again, Mr. Dorsey. I was as drunk as you were, I guess. I just don't want to talk about it.
"Never do it. But I can't get it off my mind, the horrible thing I did to you, the terrible thing I let happen. I don't know what happened to me. Honest, I don't."
"Please, I've got to go. I'm catching the 5:45 train and I'll be late. I accept your ... explanation ... let's drop it at that."
"Stay a minute longer, please. I've got my car -- I'll give you a lift, save you from having to ride that long train ..."
"No, thank you. Please, let's just remain cordial and leave it at that"
"That's all I want too," he lied. "To remain cordial. That's why you've got to listen to me. I don't know what kind of bastard you must think I am -- but please believe that I can be human too."
"Oh, I believe that." She almost smiled.
"Then let me give you a lift."
"All right, then. If you will leave right now."
They finished their drinks hurriedly, and Barry was thinking that he had already accomplished the impossible with her. She was a different kind of looker: oh, she had all the requirements -- she was tall enough and pretty enough and well-endowed in the right places. But there was something about the freshness and honesty of her demeanor as she looked at him in that pained way. Honestly, he tried to tell himself, he would not have ever pulled that stunt with her that night if he hadn't been so drunk.
And later as they were riding comfortably in his Jag, he talked freely, and she seemed to relax herself-perhaps it was the afternoon cocktail, but he couldn't help thinking that he had made a dent in her chaste armor.
"You know," he said airily, "I got out my old college lit book and read some poetry the other night And I came across that poem about the girl and the swan. My Cod, that's a pretty wild little poem, you know."
"I can't fancy you reading poetry, Mr. Dorsey.
"Call me Barry, please. Sure I read poetry. I even majored in literature for two years in college," he lied again. In college he had majored in business and finance and set the curve on the objective tests -- he had a pipeline to the professor's cute little secretary, and for an extra love session she gave him copies of the tests. But for the moment, as he drove along, he actually saw himself as a reader and maker of poetry.
"You actually studied literature?" she said. That smile was wonderful; he had succeeded fully in breaking through her crust.
"Oh, I've been through some strange experiences. I was a nut for that existential crap for a while, then I learned that there are more celebrations to live than just momentary essences." He had picked that line up once at a cocktail party, got it from a juicy broad who was an artist, and later she had given him more than quotes.
"I agree," Linda Nelson said. "There is such a thing as simple joy in the world." "Happiness is being slapped in the face with joy," he quoted from the artistic chick of the past.
"You're really remarkable," she smiled for him again.
"Jesus, Linda, I wish it hadn't happened. I wish we could be real friends. If only I hadn't ... well, it's useless. You'll always think of me as a brute. But if it hadn't happened, then we could be real friends ... I could kill myself ...
"Barry, please. Forget it. I told you I was as much at fault as you. I was the one who brought up the whole some of the ... swan ... oh ... But Barry, we can be friends, if you really want to ... I'm a great talker, I guess. It's just that there is nobody around who speaks my language ..."
"You're lonely, aren't you, Linda?', he led in with his best approach. Jesus, he thought hotly, he was getting to her quick. The old techniques are the best techniques.
"Well, Dan is in the middle of his career now ... and I'm simply left ... I just shop and have a drink with some of the silly ladies ... and read. You're the first person who's even mentioned poetry to me."
"Do you really think we could forget that madness, then?" he asked, knowing full well her reply.
"You're really a different person," he said sweetly. "I am really amazed."
"I'm also a very hungry person. Do you have dinner waiting for you?"
"No. Dan has gone out of town. I'm pretty much at loose ends today. But I suppose you should take me home ..."
"In good time. I know a little restaurant up Skyline Drive that has good Italian food: And great wine. How about dropping off for a little -- wouldn't take very long?"
"Well, it would save me from having to eat alone ..."
A little later, they were drinking wine and talking and laughing intimately in a cozy corner of the little Italian restaurant. He ordered a bottle of wine, they finished it, and ordered another after the meal. He was feeling heady himself, and she grew more animated with each sip of the vin rose. He just sat back and looked at her; she was completely refreshing. She made him think of the lively college coeds years ago. When she talked, her blue eyes sparkled and she had a way of reaching out with a finger to touch his arm every time she got excited with her words. -
And much later, with both of them quite tipsy, they came out of the restaurant into darkness and laughter. "You know," he mused as they got into his Jag, "this has been the most refreshing time of my life ... in years. You do something to me, you know that?"
"It's been fun," she smiled. "I haven't had so much fun ..."
"How can it be?" he persisted, letting his hand rest on her back as he pulled the car onto the street. "How can it be -- for good or bad, Linda, we're matched together. What I did to you ..."
"We weren't going to mention that ..."
"But we can't ever forget it."
"I feel I've known you a long time, Barry,," she cooed. "I feel so free and light ... floating ... floating ... God, you do something to a person with that sparkle of yours ... you just radiate it, dear sweet Barry ..."
"Got to get you now, lady," he swaggered.
"I'm drunk, Barry," she giggled. "And right now, I don't even care what has happened before ... Barry, I'm glad it happened I will be honest ... I was horrified, killed when it happened ... but now I'm glad it happened ... oh, Barry, I've been so lonesome ..."
"Got to get you home before I lose my head," he uttered.
"I don't care, Barry. Anything. I don't care. I've been so lonesome and you're so ... good ". . and so much fun ... Barry ..." She lost herself in a fit of giggling, and he drove faster than he should have in getting her to a nearby motel.
* * *
The motel was safely dark for two illicit lovers becoming introduced drunkenly with the tryst of love. She was giddy all the way, and he absolutely loved her for the moment-he felt ten feet tall and heady on wine and like a college kid once more. They were hungry college kids reaching out for the true meeting of minds ... and bodies. Once inside the room, he caught her in a fierce grip and kissed her hard at first and then kept on, prolonging the fresh liquidy exchange of souls.
Her lips were small and tight, but she opened them sweetly and accepted the tip of . his tongue with hers, all the while sighing her lovely breath. And after they finally broke away, she staggered and fell against him again, laughing as he covered her mouth with his.
"I want to see you naked," she said shockingly. "I want to really see you! I'm drunk, Barry, but I dreamed about you ... after that night. Oh, what you did to me, you devil. Never have I felt that way before. You really got to me. I was living such a prim and proper life . . nice and safe ... with a sweet and innocent and ambitious goodie-goodie, husband. And it took you, Barry, to make me come alive. Oh, Barry, I think I loved you then ... isn't that horrible? We were just like ... animals! Why shouldn't people exult in the physical? Why shouldn't they? I want to see you naked ... yes, you must ... for me ..."
"If you insist," he grinned, then began to disrobe. On the way out of the restaurant, he had bought a bottle of domestic champagne and now he popped the cork and poured out two glasses of the bubbly. She began to drink, to talk more, and to watch exultantly.
First he stripped oft the trousers, then the shirt, the tie, and then the under-shorts. He stood naked a moment, holding his stomach muscles taut, and just looked at her. She gazed at him, ran her eyes over the stiff muscle of his cock, then drank down a glass of wine. She then began to gurgle, to laugh, to reach out for him. "Ah, Barry, I love you," she said. "It is a very strange and fantastic thing that's happened to us ... have you ever really loved a woman..."
"Never," he said honestly. "I never have ... and I don't really love you ... the way that poetry of yours-says ... but I want to snake love to you ... then we'll see ... don't try to mess around with my life, Linda, don't try ..."
"Come on, Barry. Undress me ... see me, too."
"You sure you want to do this?" he asked truthfully. "After all, I was the one who raped you."
"Shut up, shy, and come here."
Great, just great it was! He felt like a kid with the fast look at womanly beauty. They were children playing blind games of skin and look. As he touched her quivering breast, she shuddered, and as he drew off her clothes, she laughed and. clutched his huge prick.
She was lovely, this first real view of her. The boobs were not huge like the other dolls he diddled, but were firm and beautifully proportioned, the nipples rosy, touches of pink touch-me-note. And the hair of her crotch was profuse, much more so than he had ever dreamed; it rose up from the mount in curls and sways and reddish-blond, and he put his mouth to it to savor the taste of her carnation cunt hole. He drank of the milk of her breasts, as she arched against him. Goose bumps appeared all over her body; she froze for him and he guided her to the bed in a drunken path, both laughing all the way.
"What are we going to do, Barry?" she asked in a laugh.
"Work on a groovy thing, baby," he sighed.
And she was holding his prick staff with both hands. She brought it to her mouth once to kiss it tenderly. She ran her liquid tongue over the sensitive tissues of his blood-engorged glans. Her right hand caressed the base of his shaft. Her left-hand fondled his hairy balls.
And he bent over and put his face into that foamy blond gnat of her loins and worked her into a high pitch of madness.
"Please; now, darling, now," she said urgently.
And he turned around and spread her legs, opened her creamy-white warm thighs, to look down into the meat of her inner body. He moved steadily into position. She guided his erect penis to her curt-lips. She arched her hips up and her cunt-lips opened, allowing Barry's circumcised glans to enter. Barry revolved his hips, his penis touching all sides of her vagina. Then he slid in gently, her warm vaginal walls collapsing around his plunging cock, surrounding his taut penis with a scorching heat, bathing his rigid cock in a steaming wetness.
"Ah," she muttered as he came full-blown to her juiced up cunt. "Ah, Barry, it's wonderful ... it's so full and wonderful ... and now ... darling ... do me, like you've done all those others ... give me that sweet love, old Barry, darling ... I want you to treat me like you treat all those women you've had ... I've heard it all about you, lover, I've heard how much the greatest lover you are ... I'm jealous of them all, Barry. I love you, desperately, and I want to blot them all out with one great surge down the core of me ... and, oh, do it to me the way you would do all the horrible women who've had that in them the same way ... I want to - blot them out ... to make you forget it all ... ah, Barry, I'm going crazy this moment ... I've never done anything so horrible ... and so right ..."
And he was beginning, but in a new way; the old tricks would not work with this woman. And indeed it seemed he was making love to the first woman of his life; she made more demands on him than any other woman he'd ever had; she made the others, the hundreds of others in his life, seem only an erotic dream that she was blotting out so innocently. She did not know how the professionals did it; she was hopelessly amateurish in the way she pushed her abundant hips to meet his plunging drives; she was not at all the wanton whore in bed that some excited males would have wished she was. But for him, it was the cure-all for all his lessening desires for the new and the strange in women.
"Is that all right?" he asked.
"Wonderful ... perfect," she cried. She lifted her legs and tried to twine them around his waist. Instead, he put them upon his shoulders and lunged further into her, watching the firm breasts jiggle as he bounced them both in a new rhythm. And soon she was beginning to pick up his rhythm, was learning the technique of intercourse without instruction, and they were matched in an imperfect balance above and beyond any sin of permitting views of the naked body, of looking at the excess of human desire.
"Oh, I've never felt that way before ..." she moaned. "Am I doing it right? Oh, that's magnificent! What should I do?"
"Just that ... raise your hips a little ... yes ... like that ..."
And then it became perfect;.-he felt he was making love to all the vestal virgins of the world. Never had he been permitted such an exhilarating feeling, the perfect meeting of mind and body -- he caught himself growing dizzy from the matchless look in her innocent eyes as she stared up at him. And then her eyes were closing, her peak arriving, and instantly it was so for him too.
"Oh ... God ..." she uttered weakly as she experienced the climax with him.
Chapter Six
Barry knew he was a changed man. For days he thought of nothing except the beautiful blond woman of his dreams, that new spirit of a girl who had given her body to him that weird summer night. He moped around his office, being little help to Lena as she worked on his project; he lost his usual flirtatious spirit, passing up many opportunities. He just didn't feel the old surge anymore; all his thoughts were of the sweet and simple young girl who belonged to another man. He thought on many occasions that he would give it all up, the vice presidency, the house in the silk stocking district the money and position, all of it -- just to be with that one girl forever.
Time was drawing short on the project, but still he didn't enter into the pressure-game at McNullty Renawood; he did not try to find out the latest standings on the front runner; he shunned office gossip. He stayed out of the coffee shop. Ever returning to his dreamy head was the vision of those innocent eyes staring up at him as he made love to her. He had even begun to wish that he had studied literature back in college after all. To be a nice respected college professor in some small town somewhere, with Linda there with him, books to digest, nice intellectual conversations, trips abroad with her, ah, it would be wonderful.
He picked up the phone and dialed her number late one afternoon; it rang and rang and she didn't answer. Where was she? Was she out with another guy? And could he really feel jealousy for another man? Ridiculous -- she was shopping with some of her friends. He stayed on past quitting time, pretending to make corrections in the building file of the project; he dialed the number again and she answered. Ah, that voice, it was killing him.
"Linda? This is Barry. Baby, I need..."
"I can't talk now ... he's here ..." And she hung up.
He drove home in a dejected mood, didn't feel any stirring at all over the chicks buzzing along the freeway in convertibles. They just didn't appeal to him any longer. It must be love, he concluded.
Days of the same. Some of the office girls were beginning to talk about the strain that old Barry Dorsey was under; they were amazed that the pressure could get to him; he was the last one they would have ever suspected of breaking under promotion tension.
It had been almost two weeks since he had met her that day, since they had shared that stolen time of magic. He persisted, tried to catch a glmpse of her as he drove by the house, phoned again and again, but he was always put off. Finally he discovered that she was really avoiding him. He burned with anger and jealousy. Truly Barry Dorsey was a changed man
A party -- a small inner circle for a casual affair -- the Ryders and the Haynes and a couple of other longtime friends met for drinks on a Saturday afternoon. The party wore into the evening, and Barry fiddled with his first drink for an hour, pouting and pondering his loveless fate. Cleo Haynes captured him alone beside the pool once, and they necked for several minutes, but the only thing he got out of it was a longing for his lost lady.
"What's the matter with you?" Cleo asked. "Don't you love me anymore, old Barry one? Listen, you've been avoiding me ..."
"Be careful, babe, they're watching from inside. Your husband will maul me."
"Oh, bosh. Since when did you start being cautious, Barry? Listen, if I don't turn you on anymore, just say so." And she snapped around and walked off in a huff, not paying attention to him as he rose and tried to placate her.
"I'll be all right, Cleo," he called. "Later, baby."
* * *
The small party droned on into the night, and he grew miserable in his thoughts as others about them went on with the fake merriment. For the first time, he took a long look at their way of life in silk stocking hill. It was really monotonous; the same old people and the same ,old bodies doing the same trashy things to each other. He decided to get drunk, absolutely drunk.
Within the tight circle of friends they began playing the old conscience-killing games; Cleo Haynes was making up to Horace Ryder and even Tricia had her head lovey-dovey with a guy over in the corner.
After he was five-fourths tight, Barry stood up and announced, rather belligerently: "What do you people think you're doing? I swear I think you've all gone out of your rabid-ass minds."
After a pronouncement like that, he felt that he had better get out of their presence for a little while. He marched grandly, but somewhat shakily, through the house and out into the night. He ran up and down the street until he was out of breath. He paused, sighted a clump of hedges down the block, and made for it swiftly, like a high hurdler. He cleared it easily and kept going. He was covering block after block, not knowing where he was headed, until he wound up at the Nelson house. Slowly he crept around the shadowed house to the bedroom, stood mute and stupid for several minutes, imagining all kinds of crazy thoughts. He could see his love in that house, in that bedroom, getting it from the guy who had first claim on her. It sickened him, and he couldn't move for several minutes. Inside the house, with his head beneath the window, he heard voices, a man talking slow-sweet stuff to a woman.
He tore away, dodged down an alleyway once, when he saw a cruising cop car. Now he was coming back to his block; up there ahead was the Cochran house. He walked along the silent street slowly, tense and lonely. He was sure his new-found love' was now lost, so quickly, to him forever. And it was fumy because he had always been the one to retreat first. Now he was standing in the Cochran yard, looking at the sloping lawn that ran downhill for a hundred yards. A party was going on down at the pool in the far corner of the property; he toyed with the idea of crashing it maybe Linda Nelson would be there -- but no, she didn't even know the Cochrans.
"Hey, what'cha doing?" came a lispy voice from a balcony above his line of vision. "Past." He squinted and saw a figure at a window, a hand waving at him. It was the teeny-bopper, Junie Cochran, and he wondered why she was at home on a swinging Saturday night. "Is that you, Barry, baby?" she called.
"It's just the night crawler," he called up.
"Shhh. The old folks are having a bash in the backyard. Hey, Barry, don't run away. Talk to me. Boy, am I lonesome ..."
"What are you doing locked up?"
"Grounded. Old sour Dad caught me sneaking in the other night past two. So I'm grounded for a month. Say, Barry, why don't you sneak in here and talk to me for awhile?" "Nothing doing," he laughed. "You're jail bait."
"Aw, come on, sweetie. Nobody would ever know. They're all getting stoned. Just a little while, Barry, darling, please ..."
"I can't do it. You want to ruin me, chick?"
"I just want somebody to talk to, that's all."
"Call somebody up:'
"Aw, that's no fun. Come on, Barry. I'll scream rape if you don't."
"I believe you, I believe * you. But I'm not coming in that house. No ways"
"Then I'll come out."
"No, no, don't do that. That's just as bad. Listen, I'm going to cut out, hear? Take care of yourself and be good ..."
"Come back, Barry. Barry, you're a tease ..."
And that got him. To much depression was bad for his heart; he was wasting away and he hadn't felt so winded and exhausted since the first months of his marriage. None of that again: hell, he was beginning to think like a married man. Had to get out of that sad bag. He stood and thought about Linda Nelson one last time, found it completely hopeless, then felt a tingling surge of relief all of a sudden. He felt like the old Barry.
"Okay, you win," he whispered. "Open the door."
"It's not locked. Let yourself in and come up the stairs."
And he did. He felt a tinge of fear as he closed himself in the house. As he crept up the stairs, the fear tightened on him, but at the same time he felt the old body juices going to work. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was chained to the simple and pure beauty of that woman he had so recently come to love; and he found himself equating her youth with this even younger vixen whom he was creeping up to see. It was just all right.
"Hi, Barry," she purred as he came into her room. And God, did she knock his eyes out. She wore a transparent pink bikini pajama set that revealed all the curves and folds of her young body. the boobs seemed to light the way for him into that suddenly smoky chamber.
"By golly," he exclaimed. "Look at you."
"Yes, Barry, please do. Come here to me, sweetheart."
He sat down on the edge of the bed and she let her long flowing hair drape about him as he bent over for a first kiss. He kissed her, and she responded not at all like a young girl ; she already knew the wanton ways of mature lovemaking.
"Are we going to talk?" he asked blandly. "Barry, hold me, please. I've been so lonely cooped up in here. Damn that old daddy of mine. He never wants me to have any fun ... Barry, give me a little attention, for God's sakes"
"Do you realize how foolish this is?"
"What's so foolish about it? What does age matter? Isn't that what you used to tell me? I'm grown-up, Barry, and I know you've noticed. But I'll prove it."
She stepped off the bed and pranced around the room, humming to herself and doing a little Latin step. She raised the thin gauze off her boobs for him to see, giggled deliciously, and flipped the bra to him Then she circled around two or three times, edged down the brief bottom of her pajamas and came to a halt a foot from him, displaying all her naked youthfulness. He gulped.
"See how I've grown, Barry? You always said you were going to tackle me someday. Do it now, Barry. I won't disappoint you.
And, by God, he thought quickly, he didn't believe she would disappoint him. She fell on top of him then, pushing him back into the bed, rubbing the heavy young mounds into his face and eyes. He gripped them hard and pulled her down to him and began to tongue. kiss her right breast, making it wet and turgid. Then he mouthed her left nipple, feeling the taut bud quiver in his throat.
She was working on his clothes like an expert, leading him to believe that not all her time spent with young punks was just in adolescent games. She pulled his shirt off his hard shoulders, then, and kissed him. She jerked his trousers free and began fondling his awakening cock deftly.
Her young legs wrapped about him. He ran his hands over and over her tight skin, into the mound of dark hair about her nymphet crotch, into the moistness that spoke for her womanhood. And she was pulling him above her then with his rod, pulling him up and over anxiously.
"Not so fast," he said. But she was in full control; he had a fleeting thought that he might be completely ruined by one of these moments of folly, and the irony would be that she was the one who had enticed and seduced him. All the way.
"Do it to me now, Barry. Don't worry. I'm not a virgin. Don't feel you have to spare anything. I want to know a real man for the first time ... I've wanted to know a real man with a real cock ... and you are that man, Barry ... do it to me the way you do it to all your women ... I know you have had hundreds, Barry. Add me to your list."
Strange that she should say almost the same thing that his dark lady had uttered in the motel room. He knew that he was fated then. And he began the attack.
"Oooh, mercy!" she moaned as he entered her vagina. She was juicily ready for him, however, and was beginning many expert little tricks in a way that Linda Nelson had never known. Her fine tight pelvis surged up hard to his every lunging; she was a perfect match for him in every way. And again it was different for him; the young body giving itself willfully to him-it was too much to believe; he imagined himself plowing his way through a throng of young girls, selecting one, getting her ready in the back seat of a car, doing it the old tingling way of the high school heroes.
His tempo increased. "Yes ... yes ... yes ..." she muttered in a staccato voice. "Please ... more ... Please ... more ... Oh, I was born for this ... do it to me more ... do it to me more ... pour it on... I can take it!"
And he took her up to the youthful peak of ecstasy. Her firm buttocks bounced him high; her young girl's boobs jostled about heavily as he pressed into her and lifted off time and time again. And then she was there, all the way there with him. He could feel the young loins beneath him ride up once and lock in the tightest coupling that he had ever felt.
"There! There!" she cried out. "There again! Ah!"
And it was over just as tumultuously. He patched forward on her and she held him in the tight young grip of her legs and arms. It was the greatest feeling in the world-to know that this young beauty had reached the summit with him. He heaved and heaved and fought off her devouring mouth in order to breathe.
And seconds later, she was demanding. "Again, Barry. We've done it once and there's no stopping us now!"
And he would, indeed, have tried again, but for a commotion below. The house was being lit up by the light of firecrackers, and there were rumbling voices beneath them. Frantically he jumped up, grabbing his clothes, and making for the door.
"No!" she cried out. "It's Daddy. I think he heard! Barry, he'll catch you. Out the balcony ..."
And he was jerking at the balcony door, trying vainly to jerk it open. "The latch," she said desperately. "Then along the low roof and off the other side. It's a short drop. I've made it lots of times! Hurry, Barry!"
And he was pulling on his trousers while he finally got the door open.
"Barry, I loved it! I'm your girl now, remember. I'll find you again later, Barry, you sweetheart!"
But he wasn't listening. Just as he went out the door and crept across the balcony, he heard voices in the front yard. The cruising cop car was there and Mrs. Cochran was talking urgently to the officers in it. Barry crept unseen along the ledge and around to the shadowed part of the house. He could hear them talking below.
"I tell you it was a Peeping Tom," Mrs. Cochran was saying.
"Hell!" hooted old Cochran. "It was a burglar. I knew I saw him sneak into the house. What's the matter with you cops? Can't you keep this place patrolled? A fine thing, by damn! The mayor will hear about this, I tell you ..."
Barry reached the lower part of the house, crept down to the edge of the eave,, then listened for a moment. Throwing caution away, he leaped off the balcony and landed in a clump of hedges, scratching his face as he landed. And then there were footsteps coming around the house.
"There he goes!" old Cochran yelled. "Get him, you bum! Use that gun! Shoot the son of a bitch!"
And Barry was running the greatest race of his life. He flew past the lawn and across a backyard; the pursuers were losing ground on him. He heard someone yelling: "Run, you bastard, we'll get you!" And from further back, he heard a frantic male voice screaming: "Somebody has raped my daughter!"
No doubt, he was thinking just as fast as he ran, the cops were going to be making a house-to-house canvas in just a few minutes. He had to make it unseen down to his house and somehow get in without the others noticing that he had been gone. He ran on, setting forever the 220-yard dash record of Maple Grove. And the last obstacle was the street. There a hundred yards away was his house, but the street was well fit, and he didn't know whether the cops had already come around the drive. He trusted to fate that one last time, dashed across the street and kept running, through the Haynes's backyard, into his, where he stood panting, thinking fast, discarding his shirt and pants. As he heard voices coming up, the cop car circling around his block, he dived very gracefully into his pool.
A few minutes later a crowd had gathered outside. What was it? Somebody's house broken into? The old Cochran fool was raving like a maniac -- some peeping Tom, that's all it was. Barry stayed in the pool, and now a few of them were drifting out onto the patio. A cop appeared, looking around very cautiously as though he suspected the trees themselves.
"We thought we saw somebody run through your yard, Mrs. Dorsey," the cop was saying.
"What is it, officer?" Barry called from the edge of the pool.
"A prowler, Mr. Dorsey. Have you seen-anybody in the last few minutes?"
"Who me? Why, no, I didn't see anybody," he answered innocently. "You mean we've had a prowler in Maple Grove? I can't believe it."
"Let us know if you see anybody," the officer said, going away. The others stood chattering about the patio.
"He sure was a fast runner," the cop said to somebody at the driveway.
"Well, I hope you catch him," came the answering voice. "We don't want that sort of thing starting here in Maple Grove."
And so it was that Barry Dorsey learned to sweat under water.
Chapter Seven
A week or so before the prospectus staff meeting, it was the custom at McNullty Renawood for the boss, Old McNullty himself, to entertain his staff. The affair was held at McNullty's rolling country estate, called humbly, "Peaceful Valley." Some two hundred acres filled the estate, and right in the middle of it sat an old Spanish-looking castle, McNullty's domain.
There were hanging gardens and terraces and tennis courts and indoor and outdoor swimming pools. Big graceful oaks surrounded the grounds and the courtyard where the party would take place. A six-piece combo played music as the party-goers entered the courtyard through the carriage house; table upon table of delicacies were positioned throughout the `grounds, and many of the McNullty employees were already drinking and taking dips in the horseshoe-shaped pool.
Barry was dancing with Cleo Haynes, already on his way to dizzy boozeville. Lately he had learned some things about himself and had decided that the old Barry was preferable to the new morose character he had taken on, Strangely enough, he had many sympathizers coming to him, inquiring about his sudden change this summer. They all thought it was due to the push for the new position. But he swirled the lovely Cleo about the darkening courtyard in his old mood, stopping occasionally to call out something jovial to a latecomer. As he danced, he pressed his case against Cleo insistently and she responded just like old times.
"Barry, you've come back to the land of the livid," she sang in his ear, and he nibbled her warm neck.
"Maybe I was just getting a tune-up," he said.
"Oh, Barry, it's been so long. When, darling, when?"
"When for what?"
"Stop kidding with me, Barry. I mean it. If I don't get to fuck you soon, I'll die ..."
"Later, baby, later. We've got all night. Tricia won't be zonking out till about midnight."
"Promise me, Barry."
"I promise, sweetie. You're going to have your time coming."
Surprisingly, it was a bland party for the first few hours; Barry even danced with his wife occasionally. She was stirred up and wanted him to. It was good to be back in the old bag. The party seemed to drag on forever.
Then he saw the dark lady, Linda, and his mind dizzied. But his new-found fortitude gave him a different persepctive on the mysterious lady. He thought of dancing with her once, but he couldn't get through to her -- her husband was hogging her completely. Lovebirds, he thought scornfully.
The party atmosphere shifted into high gear around midnight; it would run on well into daylight, with the typical splashings in the pool before rolling homeward. A couple of secretaries in his office pool were up doing a cha-cha-cha with two of the junior executives. One girl decided to go skinny in the pool, and one or two other spriteful young things joined in. And a little later, there was the inevitable coupling off of wayward spouses.
Barry stood drunkenly by the pool and watched Linda Nelson dancing with her husband again. It rankled his blood, 'but the booze was helping him calm down. Once she had looked his way and smiled, but that was little help. He was just going to have to give her up.
Old McNullty himself came up to Barry and stood with a scotch and water, looking at the party going wild. "Barry, lad," McNullty said, "what you got lined up for tonight?"
"Never can tell, A.C., never can tell," Barry said calmly. "Just have to see what comes up. P.
"Har, bar,. Barry. You're a great kidder. Barry, I like you, old goof-off. I should have fired you a year or two ago, but, hell, I'm used to you being around."
Old McNullty gazed across at the dancing couples. McNullty was getting past his prime, but he didn't know it. His wife was ten years older looking, and A.C. realized it, but the old geezer would never give up the skin game. His gray locks fell into his eyes and he stared bestially at the Nelson woman.
"Man, Barry, take a look at that one. Ain't she something? I wouldn't mind having a little bit of that."
"Oh, I don't know, A.C.," Barry said, carrying the conversational ball. "She looks a little green to me. Too square for you."
"Hell. Listen, old tool, I heard some nasty scuttle about you and that Nelson chick. Now, I wouldn't put any stock in rumors, but I know you too well. Tell me, did you get that?"
"Whatever gave you that idea? Me? Gracious."
"Listen, Barry, I'm serious. I want that young thing. You know what I mean. If you've got to it yet, you let me in on it, you hear?"
"Can't help you, A.C. Hardly know the lady." And Barry walked off before he got mad. So that was the old geezer's game. That was why he was playing Nelson the favorite of late. Had his eye on the doll all the time. No fool-like an old ghoul. McNullty was truly a nasty old man, but then, that's how he made all that money, being nasty. And now the old devil wanted the rewards, just like everybody else. In college they talk about free competition and ethics. Bull manure, Barry swore, walking away from the woman and trying to appear indifferent.
And down around the tennis courts, he ran into Cleo Haynes once more; she was ogling at a couple of young studs capering on the courts. But she saw Barry and quickly diverted her attention to him.
"Gee, Barry, I thought .you'd left," she said anxiously. "Barry, will you do what you promised?"
"What? Oh, yeah, sure. Come on. Let's meander on down to the carriage house-I hear they've got some soft hay down there."
Arm in arm in the darkness, they walked down around the tennis courts and along the bridle path to the carriage house. The door squeaked loudly as he opened it. Coming out as they were going in were a couple of sweaty, sated lovers. Someone had beat them to the punch, but it didn't matter. Blindly Barry led Cleo in, found a big roomy antique carriage and opened the door cavalierly for her.
"Oooh, this is nice," she said.
"Don't pretend you've never been in here before," he said blandly. "Remember last year? Same place, same face."
"Barry, you don't have to be so callous about it. What's come over ,you, darling?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing. Come here, chick."
And the old game began again. It had been months since he had made love to Cleo -- at one time she had been a pretty steady thing, and, he had even entertained the idea of making her a full-time mistress. But Andy was too good a pal, and that was always nasty. So it came down to being just an on-again, off-again affair. She had plenty of other takers, he knew.
He found some stimulation in massaging her lily-white boobs. She oohed and ahhed as he stripped off her clothing methodically and began to massage her warm belly with his mouth. Lord, he breathed, she used to be the best body around; and she hadn't lost anything. What was wrong with him?
He decided to put a little spice into it by trying something new. He kept his trousers on, unzipped his fly, and pulled her on top of him, then lay back with the big boobs mashing his face. With slow, stroking movements down her flanks, he got her ready; he cupped her buttocks with his big hands and massaged them until she started begging, Then with one pushing movement, he adjusted his waving penis and inserted it inside her cunt.
"Ooooh, it's been so long, Barry," she moaned.
Hands on her hips now, he began to lift and drop her down upon his ballooning cock. Her great breasts jiggled as she propped herself above him and began a downward hip-hunching with his thrusts. Her eyes were going wild; he could tell she was already at the peak, even after the first few fuck movements.
"Faster! Faster!" she screamed. "It's coming, oh, it's comingl Damn you for making me wait so long!"
And that was just the beginning; she was ready again almost immediately; and he moved her off . him and turned her around so that they were facing the same direction. Holding solidly onto her very warm flesh, he entered. her again, dog-fashion, and began to slap her rich buttocks with his pelvis. It was driving her crazy once more. "Again! Again! It's there again!" she cried out. And this time she would down slowly, hunching backwards with all her strength, her boobs dangling beneath her. He pulled and pulled against her thighs until she was finished. They slowly chugged to a halt.
Walking back nonchalantly, she looked over at him and said, "Barry, what's wrong? You didn't do anything there ... don't I excite you anymore?"
"Sure, baby, sure," he murmured, feigning fatigue. "It was great, just great!" But he knew that he wasn't fooling her. They walked on in silence until they reached the courts. "You better find your husband before he misses you," he said blandly, then went off by himself.
* * *
He wandered around the rolling acres, carrying a bottle of champagne, stopping periodically to turn it up to the moon. He was finding it hard to get drunk; he had tried scotch and martinis and now champagne. He thought once of running hard down the well-manicured green, but that scene of a few days ago came to him, when he had had to run for his life. And the idea passed from him as a sterile one.
He came upon an oblong building that used to be a creamery, but now served as a greenhouse. Sidling along the back wall, he hard low murmurs inside, and going cautiously then, he came to the door and listened. There within he heard female voices. He waited longer, a mystery to solve, and did not open the door. Finally he knew who they were: the two wives of the junior execs, the two girls named Janet and Dollie; and he remembered seeing their husbands down by the pool lining up a couple of the secretaries. What ho! And what sort of perverted hanky-panky was going on here. He was just drunk enough to be interested, curious. Had Janet and Dollie found them a couple of studs, come down to the greenhouse to have a little double-harmony?
Slowly he opened the door and the moonlight coned across the two naked figures, reclining on the carpeted aisles. A fragrance of apple-blossom and spice hit him as he entered the low building. The naked girls were scurrying to get up then, unwrapping their limbs from each other.
"What are you two girls doing?" he asked in a laugh.
"Oh, it's Barry Dorsey," one of them said.
"Thank God it's Barry," the other uttered.
He strolled up to them, swinging the half-full champagne bottle around boisterously. They stood clutching their clothes to their nakedness. "What the hell were you doing?" he laughed.
"Nothing, Barry. Nothing, really," Janet pleaded.
"Don't give me that. Well, it takes all kinds, I guess. But I got to draw the line there, girls. I mean, I just don't see it. Don't men turn you on at all?"
"Please, Mr. Dorsey, don't tell anybody ..." Dollie pleaded.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm no tattletale. Frankly, I don't give a damn, one way or the other. But it seems like such a waste. Such a goddamn waste."
He turned the bottle up and drank two big gulps, brought it back down, then laughed out loud. "Want some?" he asked.
"Yes," Janet replied, smiling, dropping her covering and stepping toward him. She was taller than Dollie and thinner, with her boobs a little on the flat side, the figure boyishly graceful. Dollie followed Janet's suit, took the bottle and turned it un also. Dollie was a bit stocky, but curvy as hell, with a small waist and overlarge breasts. They had really been getting down to the old skinny, he chuckled to himself.
"Hell, we might as well have a party," he swaggered.- `Two is company, three is group therapy..."
He sprawled on the downy carpet and turned the bottle up once more. Looking at their naked, voluptuous bodies, he put his head hack and laughed uproariously. And then they were sinking down with him, one on each side, giggling and heady and ready to play his version of the game.
They began to undress him; one worked on the top, the other on the bottom. They were silent little lesbians taking an offbeat trial. One gets kicks where he can, he mused philosophically. And then the tall one, Janet, was nuzzling his side, pinching his bare muscles. The short one, Dollie, was kissing the ridges of his rib cage.
He bent over, grappled with Janet a moment, then smothered her mouth. She yielded easily, pushing her snaky tongue in and against him. And then it was Dollie's turn, bringing her mouth up to push Janet's away, kissing him in the same manner. The girls were taking turn-about, and he just settled back to let their madness engulf his passive body. They were massaging his body all over, as well as their own; occasionally they stopped and kissed each other, rubbing their blistering breasts hard upon the other, and then back to him.
"It's like Three on a Match," Dollie giggled. "Remember that old Bette Davis movie? Hey, Janet, do you think Barry would look good in drag?"
"Barry looks good," Janet , sighed, then brought his hand down to her pulsating crotch. Dollie arose, fondled Janet a moment more before sinking down to place her month over Barry's uprising cock; she took the tingling tool lovingly into her mouth and tongue-massaged him until he was quite ready. Then she was helping him move into position; she took Janet's legs and spread them .wide apart and held them thus while she guided Barry's spittle-wet penis into her wide-open cunt. And as the battle commenced Dollie held Janet's legs firmly and arched herself over the man's back, helping him plunge and plunge as the woman beneath cried out, "Up and down! Damn! Damn! It's better this way! Fuck me deep!"
Dollie and Barry assaulted the third participant in the strangest of erotic triangles. With the help of the strong woman above him, Barry drove on and on with a double power far beyond the strength that he could have mustered himself. "I'll get by with a little help from my friends," he sang out stupidly, coming down the home stretch.
And as the gyrating Janet finished, Dollie fondled his body all over, lifted his head and kissed him hard, rubbing her big boobs across his back as though she were annointing him with love-loam.
They let out a chorus of moans. Soon they untangled themselves. The girls admired Barry's glistening cock-hardness. Janet forced Dollie dawn. Janet was guiding Barry's penis this time, holding apart the shorter girl's thighs, forcing him to fuck yet again with a new partner. It was complete madness -- soon the three of them were tangled in a Gordian knot of insatiable lust; they had become one monster of livid bestiality.
And afterward, as Barry pulled on his clothes again, the two women fawned over him, kissing his balls, his anus, his sperm and cunt-wet cock. He knew that he had to get out before they killed him. His head was swimming; he felt he had been to the highest point of carousing sin.
"Barry you're the greatest!" Dollie said proudly.
"That's just the beginning, lover," Janet cooed. "You've got to do us again sometime, Barry. It's too good a thing and you're too good to be strapped to just one woman ..."
"Hang tight, girls," he laughed. "You never can tell when we'll meet again in a greenhouse." And he limped away from the creatures of diversified sin-playing.
Far into the night, he felt the grip of fatigue. The party was boiling on. Already Tricia had drunk herself blind and had sacked out in their car. He was wandering about, trying to avoid further entanglements, lest his old image be damaged. Still there were dancing couples in the courtyard. He stood around toying with his drink, not wanting the flight of inebriation any more.
He saw the Nelson girl coining across the lawn, straight for him, and his blood surged. She came up to him, smiling, but with a worried expression behind her grin.
"Oh, Barry, I've been looking all over for you. My dear, my dear. You don't know how I've missed you. I've simply got to see you soon ..."
"Linda," he uttered. "Linda ..."
"Come to my house tomorrow afternoon. Please. I've got to see you, darling."
He didn't have a chance to reply; there was her husband coming up behind them. Barry was annoyed at the presence of the harsh intruder. She gave him one last promising smile and turned away, saying, "Perhaps it will rain tomorrow. Goodnight, Mr. Dorsey ..."
And Barry turned to see Dan Nelson eyeing him suspiciously.
Chapter Eight
Before sneaking out of his office in the middle of the afternoon, Barry checked by Dan Nelson's office to see if he was still in the budding. Yes, all safe, and then he was off to keep the illicit appointment with the love of his life.
The Jag seemed to sing a finer melody as he cruised along; he felt himself being lifted up and away from the humdrum and depressing world of offices and projects. Everything was going to work out; he could sense it by the way the-very air stirred with a youthful electricity.
He parked the Jag on an isolated side street, a block away from her house. He strolled along nonchalantly, feeling butterflies in the pit of his stomach, and then ducked quickly up her drive and into the side entrance. She was waiting for him. She was lovely, she was real; for- a long while he just stood holding her and smelling her vital fragrance.
"Oh, Barry, it's been such a long time," she whispered. "I've missed you terribly ..."
"Aw, God, babe, I don't think I can take these separations," Barry moaned, beginning to let his hungry hands roam all over her willing body.
"What are we going to do?" she said forlornly.
"Love each other," he sighed.
"Oh, Barry, make love to me now. Will you? I've thought of nothing else."
"Are you sure that guy won't come breaking in here?" he asked as he picked up the willowy girl and headed for the bedroom.
"No, no. We have hours. He's working on that stupid project and then he'll be golfing late ... we've got hours, dear..."
And after he undressed her, he stood looking at her young-girl beauty; he didn't actually know how old she was, perhaps twenty-five or six. But she was ageless, and she would always be in his eyes. She stood there with her eyes closed, letting him drink in her natural beauty. He had forgotten how well endowed she was -- her breasts rose and fell steadily with her heavy and even breaths; they were uplifted, pure, and completely in proportion to her sweeping thighs and tapering fine legs. A light tan gave her blondness a golden hue; the pubic hair was a coiffure to her lower sensitive region.
"And now, love me," she whispered, beckoning him to her bed. "Be gentle at first ... oh, I feel I could make love for hours without stopping darling ..."
He had never known that mature kind of love before. He came to her timid, like an innocent boy reaching for the regions of youthful intoxication. She watched admiringly as he shed his clothes and came to her, to embrace first and exchange a tender kiss before falling with her onto the downy bed.
And it was as if he had never made love before. Her hands on his body were as hot as coals and each touch enflamed him all the more. She was kissing all his nakedness, running her moist tongue along the hard grain of his belly and lower, onto his insistent throbbing cock. And he in turn began caressing her with his mouth, all over, along the fine down that her skin was covered with, into the moist triangle of her half-hidden cuntlips. There, ah, there-,she was beginning to shake all over as he probed with his tongue, as she continued to work his rod into a fury of craving.
"I've never done this before ... all the way," she gasped. "I want to do this way first ... all the way ... Oh, Barry, don't stop ... do that! Do that!"
And they were ascending together, and exactly at the same moment came the mutual release. She grasped his hard thighs and moaned his name over and over again. Her words trembled over his hard penis, her working tongue licking half his shaft.
And after a few minutes of reprieve, she was beginning to massage him again, kissing his hot belly, his sides, then she brought her mouth up to his, to probe ceaselessy. The fires were quickly rekindled; she was ready yet again for another trip with him through the never-never land of desire, and the fire grew steadily inside his loins.
"My God! I never knew I could be so ... wanton!" she cried out as he mounted her. "Ah, that's what I've dreamed of!" she uttered as he entered her, his cock invading the warm, tight-gripping hole of her inner cunt.
And now she was the expert lover with him, as he began to assault the core of her. They became wild lovers, and for an instant he thought of the erotic little brown girl, Cindy, and the violent ways of her lovemaking. But this blond girl was more than a match for him. She hunched against him insistently, even cruelly as he plummeted time and again against that sweet mound of her pubis.
"'What do the others say ..." she stuttered, "to you ... when you're ... doing it... to them ..."
"There are no others," he lisped.
"Screw me! Hard, you devil! Is that what they say? Come on, Barry, do it to me the way you would one of them ... down deep, deeper ... ah... ah ... ah ..."
* * *
Lazily lounging his cock in her pussy, time and again she demanded, and he could not help but rise to the occasion. In between bouts of lovemaking they talked; she was an insatiable talker as well as a lover. She told him all about herself, how she had thought for years she was frigid, just because her husband had never really excited her. And she had Barry to thank for making her feel like a real woman. She was forever grateful; she would always love him -- it was a statement of fact, she said happily.
They talked on of their dreams and frustrations, and became as true lovers: confidantes of long-held secrets. Barry told her things he would never have told another woman. Soon they came to the most crucial question of ail: what did the future hold? Surely they couldn't stay apart; they concluded that their years ahead must be spent together. They would simply wait for the proper time. Not now, she said, and he agreed -- the times were too unsettled. But soon, both promised. Meanwhile they would see each other as much as possible; she vowed to rid herself of cowardly acts and make more efforts to meet him. It was beautiful, just beautiful. Barry dreamed as he lay there in a trance with her naked body pressed close. There was nothing in the world like real love between two people.
"Do you love your husband?" he teased.
"Ugh. God, no, Barry, dear. I've never loved a man before. And now there is dear, sweet you ..."
"Why did you marry him?"
"Because I 'didn't know any better. We were young and it seemed the thing to do."
"It was the same with me," he said honestly. He had just discovered that he could be truthful with a girl. It was the most wonderful of the discoveries that he had made about himself.
"You know that he and I are competing for the new promotion," he said. "What if he gets it and I don't?"
"Will it matter to you?" she said, half-frowning.
"Yes, I suppose it will. A man has to do his thing. You can't live on love all the time, sweetheart. I've worked hard for that chance."
"Well, then, I hope you get it," she smiled.
That is true loyalty," he laughed. "Sinful, I guess, but very loyal to me. You are some chick, you know that?"
"I just know that I love you."
"Tell me, then, do you know anything about his project?"
"Oh, you mean that thing he brings home every night and works on till the wee. hours? No, I don't understand a -bit of it. You men, you're such boys playing your games. Barry, why don't you just give it up and trust to chance? Luck has the last say so in everything anyway."
"I don't suppose he leaves any notes or scribbles around the house?" Barry asked hesitantly.
"Why, Barry Dorsey! Are you trying to get me to betray my husband?" she giggled. "Listen, I would if it would do you any good. But I don't know a thing about it. I think he's got it finished. He keeps it locked up in his desk."
"You mean he left his project here?" he said quickly.
"Sure. It's in the study."
"Could I see it?"
"Oh, Barry, don't, please."
"I just want to take a look at it. It won't matter either way, sweetheart. The board meeting is next Monday anyway, just a week away. I couldn't ... wouldn't do anything dishonest, really. But it wouldn't hurt for me to have a peek at it ..."
"I don't know, Barry ..."
"Please, sugar."
"It's locked."
"But you know where he keeps the keys, don't you?"
"Well, I shouldn't do this ... but there's an extra set of keys in the hutch ... down the hall. Oh, Barry, why bother 'with it all?"
But he was up off the bed in a flash, and didn't even try to appear calm as he went down the hall, got the keys, and went into the study. One small key, another -- and finally he found the one that fit. There were other papers in the big drawer -- some bonds and certificates. And there on the bottom, in an official McNullty slick brochure folder, was the project entitled: "Prospectus: An Advertising Campaign in the Classic Tradition."
It was very fat, well-researched, the sketches professional, the footnotes and explanations in great depth. Just the sort of thing that impressed old McNullty. As Barry thumbed through the project rapidly, he began to feel an old tinge of fear welling up in the pit of his stomach. Damn, it was a good project, no doubt about it. That Nelson guy was on the ball, all right; but hell, that's all he did anyway -- stay right on the pulse of things. For several minutes Barry looked on, and with each turn of the page he saw how hopeless his project would be stacked up against this. "I could have done this," he muttered aloud, "If I had had enough time." But it was futile.
And what to do? God, could he steal it? No, that wouldn't work -- too risky, and then the whole stink of his playing around with Linda would probably come out. He felt trapped, pinned down for the knock-out count. What to do? Then he hit an idea. He wouldn't steal all of it, no, that would be too obvious. He would simply take out certain pages, a certain sketch here, a lay-out explanation there. Just enough to make the project skinny, just enough to leave a few telling loopholes so that when the board of directors took a close look they would see that the project was incomplete, no matter how ambitious-looking. Better luck next year, Nelson, old McNullty would say. You came mighty close, but we've got to have the real core of the apple.
Barry took out a dozen sheets from the project; he would trust to luck that Nelson wouldn't bother to recheck the whole folder completely. It might just work; that Nelson was a cocky bastard, just cocky enough to be a little careless when it came down to the old nitty gritty.
Feeling exhilarated once more, Barry went back to the bedroom, pausing by the hall table to hide the stolen sheets beneath a newspaper, where he could pick them up on his way out. It was going to be beautiful. And then there was that luscious doll waiting for another round of the old skin game. He just had to compliment himself as he went back to his lady love.
"Barry, I don't think you should have looked at that," she said in frustration. "Did it really help you?"
"No," he lied. "Not at all. I was just curious, that's all, sweetie. I would have let him see mine, if he'd wanted to. Really. May the best man win. I always say."
"You've won me," she smiled, grabbing for him yet again. "And in all the world, you're the best man."
"Aw, shucks, darling," he joked, then roiled over onto her.
Chapter Nine
One week to go before the big payload. Barry was feeling no pain; his love was strong, he was as pure as ever; he was sure he was a winner. Around the offices in McNullty Renawood, he was his old jovial, womanizing self. He flirted with all the secretaries, even those who had grown beyond the chasing state. It was just for fun; he was not serious about anything. In one week the world would be his; he even dreamed of a country estate like old McNullty's. He sat during clockloads of time just dreaming: he would call his rolling estate "Olympia Acres."
He felt a little sorry for the Lena chick; she was work-working her sweet little rear off these days, and all for him. But, hell, he thought, she knew a good thing when she saw it. .If she could latch on to a new vice president, she would eventually get into the executive bracket herself. He would do things for her, pull the old sweet strings. He would take care of darling Lena, all right.
His first inkling that something was wrong came the afternoon after he had come back from meeting Linda at the same motel that they had first gone to. He was feeling chipper, on top of the world, and he bounced into his office and caught Andy Haynes there with Lena; they were doing less than the law would arrest them for, but a considerable amount more than what duty called for. Andy lacked away, tried to appear businesslike, and Lena flushed, going out of the room quickly.
"What's up here?" Barry asked caustically.
"Oh, nothing, Barry." Andy smiled. "Just a little nibble now and then, you know. Don't think you're the only one around here who's got an appreciation for a great body ..."
"All's fair in sales and sex," Barry laughed, as Andy left the room. In a little while Lena came back, looking rather sheepish. She went to work again on the final phase of their project.
It wasn't that Barry was jealous; he knew old Andy was a lusty soul who had dipped into the secretarial well a time or two. But it was a curious thing the way they looked so guilty. And if Andy had been inside the office, he could also have had a couple of, peeks at the project. Could it be that there was a little collusion between the sugary Lena and his good-buddy-turned-cutthroat-competitor? Nonsense, he told himself, but then he knew he wouldn't put anything past himself -- and Andy was cut from the same cloth.
All day long the doubts and suspicions would not leave him alone. He tried to test Lena out, but she remained noncommittal, and worked even more diligently. It was the day during which the project was to be finished. By late afternoon the finishing touches had been made, and a bustle of activity spun in his suite. Finally it was done, except for the making of copies for the Board of Trustees, and Lena was to handle that later.
"Well, that should get the whole bundle," Barry said proudly.
"I hope so," she answered, smiling officiously.
"What do you mean, hope?" he questioned.. "Aren't you as sure of it as you used to be?"
"Well, anything can happen, Barry," she said. "You know how strange things happen in those meetings. But I think you've got a great chance. It's a good piece of work."
And after she left, he sat in doubt. Could it be that she was a spy after all? And whose? McNullty's? That Nelson guy? No, that guy was too square to resort to such a thing. Then it had to be Andy Haynes.
"Why, that son of a bitch!" Barry swore aloud. "He's had his spy in here all the time. Why, she even went so far as to let me score with her ... "
And putting it all together, he made up his mind about it. What do do? He pondered and pondered. At such times his mind worked excellently; he let his instincts guide him. When in doubt, go to the skinny itself. He found himself driving through the city, putting together a plan, and by the time he had arrived at Lena's apartment house he knew exactly what to do. The truth would come out, one way or another. Old Barry Dorsey still packed a powerful punch in the clinches.
Lena answered the door, wearing a pair of pink short-shorts, her legs still as beautifully sensuous and tapered as ever. No matter what trickery the chick might have been up to, she was still the best-looking piece ever to hit McNullty Renawood. .
"Why, Barry!" she exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise! I hope this is a social call? Is it?"
"You know me, chick," he answered glibly, walking in. She lived in a swinging singles setup, complete with bar and carpets and a swimming pool just off the patio area. Luckily for his purpose, Lena's roommate was out on a date.
"I thought you'd been neglecting me, Barry," she purred. "I'm so pleased you came."
"We're gonna be a team, aren't we?" he stated.
"I certainly hope so."
"I didn't exactly look that way with you and Haynes this afternoon? Is he moving in on you for a score, doll?"
"You know better than that, Barry, dear. I've been crazy about you since ... sine that first time ... "Yeah, that," he said blandly. "That was one of the finest moments in the history of McNullty Renawood."
He walked around the apartment, waited for her to fix him a drink, then he settled down for a comfortable chat. Zero hour for Lena girl. was approaching.
"So you think we've got a good chance on the project." he mused. "You certainly worked chard enough on it, and I'd hate to see all that effort wasted ..."
"Oh, it won't be wasted, Barry. I'm sure we'll win." But she didn't sound convincing at all. He was almost positive from that point on that she was guilty of playing both ends against the middle; whichever way. the decision went would find her a sweet perch on the top. if Andy Haynes won, then she would simply change sides. A neat little schemer. He decided to pour on the charm.
Putting his arm around her, letting it fall to her side to squeeze her curved-in hip, he began. "You're one of the greatest co-workers a man could have. You've got everything, baby, looks, brains, personality. Did you know you're probably the most beautiful girl in town?"
"Ah. Barry, you're sweet," she cooed, lapping it up.
"No, I mean it. Just where could a man go to find a greater-looking chick than you. And that figure, wow! I'm telling you, sometimes I actually think I'd just like to run away with you, fund some island somewhere, live in the raw, eat fruit and make love and just worship you ..."
She melted onto him, finding his lips, the lips parting for a long and lingering kiss. As he began to feel her tits, he could tell that she was being affected by his line; it wasn't so much the way he complimented her, but his effectiveness was in the boyishly sincere manner in which he could ply a girl. He went on with it, finding himself getting a little hokey even for him. But the old game had begun.
As he sat with her, now cradled on his lap, he drew out her large breasts and fondled them gently. He bent over and kissed each breast, moistened each pink tip, seeing that she was becoming quite stimulated.
"Barry . .. umm ... oh, Barry ... you do that so nice ... so nice ..."
And he continued, varying old techniques, bringing in a few new ones. With no awkwardness at all, he pulled off her short-shorts, having her raise her delicious-looking hips to take them off. And then he toyed with the gauze of the panty briefs before he rode them off her syrupy thighs. He had her naked, but the process took a long time, as he continued to ply her with compliments. After a while she was flushed, and didn't even know that he was playing a game with her.
He stood up, leaving her breathless after a series of long and probing kisses, and began to undress in front of her. His driving cock was stimulated not so much by the desirous girl but by the game he was playing. And when he let his shorts fall away, she gasped out, unable to contain her building desire.
"Come on now, Barry," she panted. "I want that monster!"
"In a minute, baby, in a minute. Don't rush things. You'll spoil the timing."
She ached for it, just as he wanted her to. He went back to her, tumbled them over and over now, off the couch, onto the carpet, underneath the coffee table. But still he would make no move to quiet the inner stirring of her pussy. He rubbed his rawness all over her, kneaded her great breasts until she cried out again and again for him to satisfy her.
"My God, Barry, I can't stand it! Come on, you bastard!" Don't leave a girl dangling!"
"In good time, in good time," he chuckled. He rolled her over once more-on the carpet and came to rest atop her hot loins. Her saucy crotch was arching up hungrily, but still he withheld his meat. With his strong arms, he pinned her down, spread her juicy legs wide, and entered her with his hot turgid cock. He entered her only halfway, then held her fast so she couldn't move against him. He just stared down at her as she groped to be fulfilled.
"Now, then, bitch!" he snapped. "Let's make ends meet. I want some straight talk ,out of you ..."
"Anything you say, but please, fuck me! Do it to me first! I'll do anything you say ..."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he scoffed. "Well, you won't get it. You hear? You won't get it!"
"Please, oh, God, please! I'm on fire! If you don't fuck me, I'll die!"
"Now you know what it's like, chick," he smirked. "Now you know what it's like to really get screwed!"
"Please, Barry! Oh, God! I need it! You bastard! Get me all hot and then stop. You bastard! I'll do anything, IT tell you anything, only fuck me quick!"
"Just one question, then, Lens girl. What's your connection with Andy Haynes? Are you working for him -- trying to spy on me? Tell me the truth now!"
"Oh, Bang, please ..."
He withdrew his cock a heated inch. She screamed at the loss of his additional meat. Her hungry pussy lips nibbled and munched at the three remaining inches in her vagina. Her juices dribbled over his shaft. She tried to thrust up at him. But he kept her pinned down.
Slowly, he withdrew another inch. She was going crazy trying to bring his cock back, but he was the stronger and he prevailed against her desperate driving.
"Oh, no, Barry! Please! Don't take it away! Please!"
"Then tell me the truth, damn it!"
"All right, all right," she panted. "I did agree to spy on you. I was Andy's girl for a long time, didn't you know? I told him some of your project ... Oh, Barry, I'm sorry. I told him only a little bit. But he doesn't know enough ... and lately he's been wanting to know more, and I'm always putting him off. Honest. That's the truth, all of it. You don't need to worry about Andy ..."
"You're right, Lena chick. I don't need to worry about him. Or you or anybody. Did you think I was that dumb? And all I want to know is: are you with me or against me?"
"I'm with you all the way, Barry. All the way ..."
"All right then!" he barked and shoved his red-hot cock home.
Immediately she was flying through an orgiastic heat. He had never seen a woman become so wild so quickly. After :only two or three drives, she was screaming in his ear, reaching one climax and then another. Her ramming pelvis was punishing him, but he simply held on as she bellowed out, "All the way! All the way! It's there, Barry! Only you, only you! Oh, you're fucking me all the way!"
And he reached a semi-peak himself, but with some detachment. As his cock retreated from her grasping cunt, he thought of Linda and seemed to go limp for a moment; but then he told himself that this was a game he had to play, for his survival. This one didn't count at all, he told himself as he finished and dismounted the still tossing girl. But Lena was some babe, all right. The hottest little number he had ever seen at McNullty Renawood. And she would be his private secretary after he got the grab-bag full of goodies. That was not an unpleasant thought. And a little later, after she had had time to restore some energy, he went back to her, suspended any idea of true love for the moment, and really gave this Lena chick a time she would never forget. She was still moaning and rubbing her thighs together as he walked cockily out her door.
Chapter Ten
By golly, he daydreamed, someday they would change the name of the firm to the McNullty-Dorsey Corporation. It was a pleasant way to spend the last few days before he would be crowned the new kingpin. He strutted around the offices with confidence; he began to take on the air of a major executive.
"You really think. you've got it in the bag?" Andy Haynes ribbed him that day.
"Why not?" Barry laughed. "I know your best, Andy old pal, and it's not good enough to compete with old Dorsey. You've tried your best shot, Andy."
"What do you mean?" Andy asked innocently.
"What's for you to wonder about," Barry smiled slyly.
But he couldn't hold a grudge against Andy; they had been through too much together, and he expected to make Andy his chief trouble shooter in years to come. Ah, yes, he thought leisurely, it was a great world for the fit. And Lena was hard at work, very dutifully, each time he came near her, she just shivered and reached out to stroke his bulging cock.
The buzzer sounded and the grabby girl hurried over to answer it. The call was from old McNullty himself, summoning Barry to the tower. Hm, he wondered, suppose the old man is just going to call off the competition and give the trophy to me by default?
He breezed into the old man's office with his usual air of cockiness and swagger. "Hi'ya, A.C., how's the plastic furniture business?" Old A.C. laughed; he was in a good mood today, a lusty glint in his glassy old eyes.
"Sit down, Barry," he drawled. "Got something on my mind that I know you'll appreciate.)
"What's that, A.C.?"
"Barry, you're some cockhound, old boss," the head man breathed out with a gust of cigar smoke.
"Just how do you mean that, sir?" Barry asked innocently.
"Oh, hell, Barry," the age-old devil laughed. "I know you've put the make on everything in skirts around here. Now, damn it, don't try to play the green punk with me. In my day, I was a lot like you, Barry lad. Yes, sir. That's why I like you, that's why I tolerate a lot of your goldbricking. Hell, I appreciate a good lay as much as anybody. That's why, Barry, I got you up here."
"I don't understand," Barry replied.
The old geezer leaned over his desk, his eyes twinkling diabolically. Then he seemed to whisper a secret. "Barry. Barry, I want you to line me up a little number. I've had my eye on this broad now for some time. Now the scuttlebutt about it is that you've been laving, it regularly. I don't think you'd mind me horning in just once, now would you, Barry?" He squinted and puffed big balloons of smoke.
"I don't know what rumors you've heard, sir, but I can as�ure you that ..."
"Can that, Barry!" McNullty said gruffly. "Don't try to put me on. You know what broad I'm talking about."
"Which one is that, sir?" Barry stuttered, growing tense. He felt trapped again; he almost knew what was homing next.
"Listen, I'm telling you, that chick would set any man on fire. She's no ordinary broad. Been driving me up the goddamn wall, Barry. Fix it up for me, you hear?"
"I don't think I'm following you ..."
"Hell, you don't. That Nelson chick. What's her name? Linda. You know who I mean. Dan Nelson's wife.. I want her, Barry. I want to get into that. And you'll set it up for me, I know."
"Why don't you ask Nelson himself?" Barry said a bit angrily.
"Don't be stupid, Barry. You know the score. I don't have to remind you about the prospectus next Monday. Now I'm not saying who's in the lead right now. But you never can tell. It doesn't hurt to have a little trump card, just in case. You know what I mean, don't you?"
"I understand perfectly," Barry answered belligerently. "But you've picked on the wrong boy this time."
"That's all for now, Barry," McNullty winked. "Let me know when you've got it set up."
"Goodbye, Mr. McNullty," Barry retorted, striding out furiously.
"I can count on you, Barry," McNullty called after him. "Can't I, Barry? I mean it, now."
After many hours of pondering, Barry came to the conclusion that the McNulltys of the world really were there to ruin any chance for straight action. It didn't make a damn bit of difference what you know or what you could do ... the McNulltys sooner or later corrupted everything. And he knew that old A.C. would get whatever he wanted. Whatever. All afternoon he tried to figure a way out for himself; but there was no answer. In complete frustration, he called Linda and made a date, thinking all the while that it would be finished between them. No man could ask a woman to do that.
* * *
Two days later, he went back to McNullty; he walked steadily into the office, spoke one simple sentence: "Tonight at nine, in your mountain lodge." And he walked out, shutting out McNullty's excited voice.
Barry was sickened as he went to meet her that evening. With every passing minute, he resolved not to go through with it.
He drove with his loved one through the somber countryside, hardly able to keep up his usual cheery front. But she sensed nothing, keeping close to him, stroking his broad arm and purring into his ear. Once he started to tell her, but the words couldn't take form
"I want you to know that I love you," he said simply as he turned up the winding road to the mountain retreat.
"I know that," she smiled, then leaned over to kiss him.
"And do you love me, no matter what?" he asked
"For always," she nodded.
"Words kill us sometimes," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing."
It was a few minutes before nine and the lodge was seemingly deserted; Barry walked with her up the stone steps and took out' the key. Heaving a deep sigh, he unlocked the door and walked in, leading' her by the arm. She looked around curiously.
"How did you get such a place, Barry?" she asked "It's so elegant and rustic at the same time. Lovely. Wouldn't it be grand to have such a place to live in, always."
"Yes, indeed;" he muttered.
"Oh, Barry, I'm glad you brought me here. It's so beautiful, that view. Let's make love all night. I can call and say I am spending the night in town with this friend of mine ..."
"Linda," he said sternly. "We can't make love ... not tonight."
"What?"
"We can't. Tonight. Oh, sweetheart ... my God ..."
And then a shadow appeared, a figure came from behind the . staircase. It was old McNullty himself, in all his horny splendor. He just stood there smiling broadly and confidently.
"That will be all, . Dorsey. I can manage from here." The head man snapped out the order.
"Why, it's Mr. McNullty!" Linda said in complete surprise. "What is he doing here, Barry?"
"Never mind, my dear," McNullty drawled, coming close. "I take it that Barry hasn't told you of the arrangement. Tut, tut, Barry. That makes it difficult for me."
"Barry, please ..." she was pleading, her face taking on a terrifying demeanor. "Let's go, Barry. Please ..."
"No, no my dear," McNullty smiled. "It's Barry who will go. But you and I ... hm ... I'm sure we can find some pleasant things to ... chat about."
And then she was crying, softly, without noise, a weeping of defeat and understanding. She closed her eyes a long moment, and then opened them, looking at Barry tearfully. "Barry, did you bring me here ... for him?"
"My God, Linda ... my God ..." was all he could utter.
"And you want me to ... let him ... oh ..."
Barry turned, his every step labored. He felt that if he could just make it to the door, he would survive. Surely, he thought, he hadn't gone through with it; surely it was merely a nightmare.
"Barry?" she called weakly. "You'd do that to me?"
"Now, my dear," McNullty broke in. "I'm not as bad as all that. I might even surprise you. After all, what's a little affection between friends ... well keep it in the family ..." And he was laughing at his gross little joke.
Barry was at the door, standing ghostlike at the door without looking back. He saw the girl reflected in the glass window of the cabin door. She stood as though in a trance. The lecherous old devil was trying to take her hand, and she was pulling away from him at first. Barry turned then and saw her begin to walk, hypnotized and pulled by the old fool; she was moving as though spellbound, completely in shock, making motions lake a robot.
And still he couldn't bring himself to leave. He stood frozen in that position for what seemed ages, hearing the sounds of the degenerate old man pawing at the lovely young girl. He had taken her into a bedroom just off the, spacious lobby; he could hear his boss clucking and cooing about the girl. It sickened Barry; he thought he would never be able to move. And then that satanic voice came to him dearly.
"Ah, my dear ... my beautiful young creature ... don't be afraid ... no, that's it ... don't fight me ... I'm going to be good to you ... yes, that's it ... keep calm ... ah, that's too beautiful a body to keep covered that way ... yes, well take off that ... now, isn't that better ... why, my dear ... you have lovely breasts ... it can't hurt for an appreciative man to see them ... see, there's nothing wrong ... that doesn't feel too bad, now, does it ... and now we must rid you of that ... yes ... that's better ... oh, you can't know how lovely you are like that ... yes, lie back, my darling girl, let me do everything for you . . what lovely hips you have, yes, the hips of a beautiful woman ... beauty like that must be shared ... no, don't be afraid, it's only a gentle man and his very needy creature ... now, that doesn't hurt, does it ... I would never hurt you ... see how gentle it goes ... I am older, my dear, and much wiser about the needs of a lovely woman like you ... see, I can do it gently ... now, let me help you ... and, now, isn't that good . . you needn't have been so hurt ... I am kind ... and now you will trust me to do this ... see, I told you it would be good ... you're so tight ... and so virginal ... so good, my dear ... so good ... yes, you 'are making me stronger ... can you feel me grow bigger ... I am a young man again, my dear ... see in it goes ... out it goes ... I am young, and strong ... why do you need younger men when you have me ... I am very strong ... see, see ... I am the strongest ... ahhhh ..."
Barry heard the tight, warm wetness of sm He could hear the wheezing breaths of McNullty, interrupted by muffled -sobbing noises. Again the sounds --like someone slurping jello -- pierced his ears.
For the first time in his sweet life, Barry Dorsey grew to hate himself.
Chapter Eleven
Into the exquisitely appointed board room, in the tower of the McNullty building, trooped the legion of backslappers and throat cutters. Old McNullty positioned himself at the head of the long walnut table and made
his usual opening speech which no one listened to. It would be an all-day meeting -- and at the end of it a new hero of commerce would emerge, to be set loose on the rich world of stocks and massive capital resources. The members of the board flanked old McNullty, all vice presidents who would parrot anything
the old head man would applaud.
And one by one, the competitors filed in, ready to sit nervously and listen not at all to the speeches, anxious for their turn to pull the curtain. The line-up had been decided that morning: two of the vyers for the crown would come from the sales ranks, to fill out the field even though they were given little chance. Then Andy Haynes would present his project, followed by Barry. Last would be Dan Nelson. The last three were considered the pre-race favorites. Barry calculated his odds at approximately eight-to-five. He gave Andy Haynes six-to-one odds, but Andy was carrying too much weight; and he figured that Nelson would be supported by a three-to-one spread. And how would you like to have a burr in your saddle down the home stretch, he mused.
The first guy took only three-quarters of an hour; Barry hardly knew him, recognizing only that he was the husband of one of the lesbians of the greenhouse, either Janet or Dollie, he couldn't remember which. The second guy ran on past an hour and McNullty had to interrupt him said ask to have the presentation cut short.
Then Andy Haynes was up and hogging the floor. Andy always talked too much, was too openly optimistic. Still, his project had some merit; it no doubt would have been accepted by an inferior competitor, but it clearly was not good enough for McNullty unless it won by default. Andy went on and on, pulling a rabbits out of the hat-he had pitched his project toward the sex gimmick, and it would have been all right for a stag smoker. Some of the board members laughed at Andy's play on words and puns and the all-too-graphic illustrations.
"Of course our engineers would be able to straighten out the wrinkles," Andy boasted. "This is just the skeleton, you see. We could capitalize on the auto industries -- the way they pitch sales toward status and sex symbols." Some of the board members liked that idea too. But Barry was keeping his eyes on McNullty himself; he could tell the old devil didn't approve, did not like imitations. Andy was running a pretty good race, had even stuck his nose out front once, but was fading badly in the backstretch. He might finish in the money, but he would not have enough horse to catch the real winner.
They broke for lunch before Barry's turn, which gave him time, to run in and confer with Lena on a few points that had been brought up; a good thing, for only Lena had answers to questions that were sure to come from the board. By one o'clock, Barry was ready and waiting to assault the pack, sweep around on the outside and take the lead. Just as he left his office, Lena caught his arm and pulled him back..
"This. is for luck," she said, then kissed him hard. "And Barry, when you come back the winner, I'II have something better than that waiting for you -- right here." She patted her crotch.
He was getting to feel like his old self again; of late he had been unable to sleep, eat, or think. Linda had been on his mind all the hours since the terrible ordeal on the mountain. But Barry was not one to have prolonged bouts of conscience. An old surge of confidence and optimism had swept him. If he won this race, he would be able to bring her back to him. He was sure of it. In the daylight it didn't seem so bad at all; McNullty was just an old fool that had to be tolerated. Surely she would understand and in time be able to forgive him. He knew he would be able to turn his old charm on again and she simply would have to yield; oh, it might take her a long time, but eventually he would win her back.
And so he strutted into the conference room with full confidence, the brace of illustrations and lay-outs under his arm. In front of each board member now was placed a duplicate of his project. During the past few nights, he had poured over the project, memorizing each page almost as if it. were his own work. He began with the assurance of a prosecuting attorney who knows his case is already won.
"Gentlemen, I give you a campaign not just for-the coming fall season, not just for the spring season, not for any season in itself. I present herewith a complete campaign encompassing the entire year's project ..."
And on it went, into details and particulars. He was doing a pretty good job selling the idea itself, and that was the hardest part. When he got down to minute details he was superb; Lena had done an excellent job indeed.
As questions came from the board members, he dismissed them quickly and with little room for further doubt. Lena had taken every question into consideration. The four seasons motif was a catchy and original concept; from time to time Barry could see old McNullty nodding approvingly. It was working, by God, he could sense it. It was not earthshaking, but it was successful. And earthshaking ideas were the hardest to win approval of.
For two hours he held the floor; at one point he hqd the board members comparing notes, trying to catch him in any little slip-up, but there was not a flaw. It was a most professional project. A feeling of good-nature and uplift swept the room; he was winning. He was back on the cinder track of his college days, running the great race, about to break the tape. And at the end the board members were nodding to each other.
He sat down, sighed deeply to show his humility, then set his eyes on Nelson. It was bad to be last in any case. He even felt a little sorry for the young man; his project would have to be spectacular in order to court the board away from their already preconceived notions.
And Nelson was not a good speaker; he was a bit too businesslike and his voice trailed off into a monotone at times. Clearly one or two of the board members were bored by his style. But old McNullty was listening and watching closely. Barry would have 'to give McNullty credit for one thing; he was a sharp horse trader.
The project was equally good; any person there would have admitted it later. The presentation of a campaign based on classical originals was appealing, because in the furniture business, even in the new hybrid form of plastic furniture, old traditional ideas were the most appealing. Buyers liked the old and the archaic -- it gave them a link with the long past. And Nelson was basing his whole project on that concept. He was going to employ the methods of the Greeks in furniture line and style. A very interesting concept, everyone
And then the questions began to come, and Nelson was hard put to answer some of them. One board member asked, "Now, Mr. Nelson, on page 21 of your prospectus you mention a certain set pf graphs that are explanatory of your proposal for the outdoor furniture ... but, Mr. Nelson, I don't find those graphs in MY COPY ..."
"Neither do I," old McNullty said grumpily.
"What?" Nelson was taken completely by surprise. "Why, yes, right there on page ... let me see ... why ... they're not here either ... I don't understand ..."
"Go on, Mr. Nelson. Go on to the nest example," McNullty directed. And after that Nelson was flustered, losing his tempo, hobbling off stride. Barry just sat and looked at the crumbling of a project. He felt nothing at all; his mind was very clear and his eyes keen.
"And again, Mr. Nelson ... I don't find the illustrations," another board member said a little later.
It was pathetic. Barry even dropped his gaze in embarrassment for the beleaguered man. It was such a fine project, too. McNullty became irritable and instructed Nelson to continue in a brusque tone.
Nelson finally had to cut his presentation short. He simply wandered o$ the subject and couldn't find his way back to his original concept. Toward the end, his monotone voice even grew weaker. The board members weren't even following his presentation in their copies of the project. Finally the young man breathed deeply and spoke out with some conviction.
"I beg the indulgence of the board. But those charts and illustrations were in my project. I can't explain their absence. Perhaps an error by the secretary ... if you would permit me, I could furnish them..."
"You know we can't allow that," McNullty snapped. "This meeting has been in the works for several weeks, Nelson. It was your responsibility to have your project ready and correct. I'm sorry, but it will have to stand as presented."
"But, sir ..."
"Are you finished, Nelson?"
"I don't understand this!" Nelson barked back. "I've a feeling someone tampered with my project ..."
"Oh, come now!" a board member chimed in. "Let's be gentlemen about this. No excuses, please."
"But I tell you this project was complete!"
"Are you finished, Mr. Nelson?" McNullty insisted.
"If you put it that way, I suppose I am," Nelson said very bitterly.
"Unfortunate, I'm sure," McNullty said. "It was a good project. Or, I might say, a good blueprint of a project. But you know we wanted a full lay-out. This idea, no matter how promising, will never do. Am I right, gentlemen?" Many nods of accord. "Sorry, Nelson. Better luck nest year. Fine ideas there; get them into shape and try again ..."
* * *
The whole building was buzzing by late afternoon. Even before the -meeting broke up, before the final caucus and decision was reached, word had leaked out that Barry Dorsey had won. It was customary for the winning executive at promotion time to be feted with champagne and caviar by his staff and associates, Already the iced tubs were being wheeled in.
Out of the smoky board room in the tower of the building trooped the legion of backslappers and throat cutters. The members of the board flanked McNullty as he strode through the suite of executive offices, all the vice presidents parroting the head man's every nod, every word. And one by one the competitors filed out, back to their security holes, except for the victor, who paraded through the office grandly. And the secretaries were lining up, paper cups in hand, full of the bubbly, ready to form the reception line for good old Barry.
And they were kissing him, one at a time, giving him kisses of congratulation that were more than sisterly pecks. The party was beginning to roar, and all the losers joined in good-naturedly, all except young Nelson, who had long ago tucked his tail and retreated from the building.
The party wheeled on past the quitting hour, and Barry drank freely, thought surely that he had won the great battle, had drawn the sword from the stone. The only missing ingredient was his true love -- but he told himself that he would begin on that campaign tomorrow. Tonight he would celebrate in the old way.
And much later, after the party broke off, he went tipsily into his office and there he found the luscious Lena, who had stayed behind after all the other secretaries had left.
We made it, Barry," she exclaimed deliriously. "How does it feel to win the World Series?"
"Great, doll, just great. I'm speechless."
"I hope you're not breathless," she cooed. "Because you're going to need all you've got ..."
She began to wrap herself around him then, right there in the office with the door open wide. "I told you that I'd have something better for you after you won, Barry," she breathed. "I'm going to show you how much of a close-knit team we really are ..."
And, as he began to run his hands over her breasts, he thought of it as merely a reward for her services. It would be all right, and anyway, a hero needed gratification at the end of a race, and this was the only outlet. And what an outlet at that.
She was opening his pmts, bringing out the cock of many a victory while she rid herself of her undergarments. She was kissing him hungrily, while her hands reached up and brought out her huge breasts for him to caress, to suck, to vanquish.
"Barry, we've won! We've won! And now you can win me the way only you can do it! Who cares if the door is open! Who cares what they see? They can't touch us now! We're the champs! You and I, Barry. Nothing can stop us, nothing can stop this!"
And she was pulling him over, guiding his fiery blood-filled cock into her snatch. They sank onto the familiar couch. And she was thrusting against him in that old-time rhythm, moaning as she got the fucking that she needed most. "Ah ... Barry ... you're winning again ... I can feel it ... you're rounding the corner ... You're coming down the stretch ... You're way out in front ... ah ... you're crossing the finish line!"
Chapter Twelve
It would be several days before the official confirmation of his promotion to vice president was announced by the board of directors. But it was 'most assuredly in the bag. For days, Barry did nothing but sit in his office and daydream of the future. He could never get over the prolonged sweetness of victory. With luck, he visualized, it could last forever.
His secretary Lena was busy sorting out scraps of information needed for the official prospectus, before it went to the factory engineers; he himself cleared away old business, putting the job of personnel director behind him. In due time, Andy Haynes would be moving into his old office to assume the personnel director's role. Barry would be moving upstairs with the big shots, where he rightly belonged. In all the world, he felt that nothing could go wrong.
The buzzer sounded and the outer-office secretary announced that a Mr. Cochran wished to see him. Hm, he wondered, what does old Cochran want way uptown? "Show him in," he snapped officially.
As soon as the door closed, old squat Cochran shook a fist at him and bellowed: "You sorry, no-good bastard! I ought to kill you, that's what I ought to do!"
"Hold on a minute," Barry protested, taken aback. "What's this all about, Cochran?"
"You know what it's all about, you goddamn child molester! You raped my daughter, that's what you did. Man, do you know how close I came to bringing a gun in here with me! Why, you no-good, low-down, rotten "I don't know what you're talking about," Barry mumbled.
"Don't give me that!"
"All right, all right. Now, let's be sensible about this. I think you've got things a little confused, Cochran ..."
"No, I don't! You know what I'm talking about. That night that prowler was in the neighborhood! It was you, Dorsey! Up there in my daughter's room, taking advantage of a child lice that! In my own house! Goddamn you!"
"All right, All right. So you think I was there ..."
"I don't only think ... by God I know! I got it out of her finally. She told me everything, Dorsey, the way you forced yourself into the house and on her! Listen, punk, you might just wind up in jail for that little stunt..."
"I doubt that, Cochran. Since you forced your way in here and bad-mouthed me, now you listen to me a little. Sure I was there. But I didn't force anything. That so-called child of yours damned near assaulted me! That's the truth. And I don't have to lie to you about your own daughter. She may be young, but she's certainly no innocent babe ..."
"Listen, goon, you're taping about my daughter!"
"I'm also talking about a chick that knows her way around men. Wise up, Cochran, we're not living in the Victorian age anymore. She sees what's going on around her -- she sees all the grown-ups getting it all over the place, so she just decided to join in the game ..."
"All I know," the enraged man cooled a bit, "is that you were in my house, in my daughter's room. And I had to beat hell out of her to get the truth. Now, then, we don't want a maniac like you around. I'm warning you. I've got some influence in this town. I can make it rough on you. And I just might."
"Sure you will, Mr. Cochran. I'm sure you want all that publicity, just at the time your innocent daughter is being presented at the Country Club Deb Ball. Now wouldn't that be peachy?"
"Goddamn you!" the man seethed. "I'll get you, one way or the other. If you ever so much as look at my daughter, I'll come and break your neck."
"Goodbye, Mr. Cochran'" Barry said calmly, though beneath the surface of his calm he was shaking. The enraged father steamed out of Barry's office. Barry just sat for a long time, thinking. He was confused; no one was supposed to talk to such a highly appointed person that way. His new rank preempted it, he thought.
* * *
And indeed he gained a measure of respect in the ensuing days; the office help greeted him cordially, some even kept up the old kidding line, but he caught two or three of the secretaries calling him "sir" and "Mr. Dorsey." What was this? he pondered. Were they all of a sudden afraid of him in his new position?
Andy Haynes dropped by one afternoon, briefly. They sat and chatted for just a few minutes and then Andy arose to go. Barry thought he detected a change in attitude in good old Andy, too. He wondered if they were putting him on, giving him the cold shoulder for a few days, as a practical joke.
"What gives, Andy?" he asked. "People are sure acting funny around here."
"No, they're not," Andy smiled furtively. "It's the name of the game, Mr. Dorsey."
"Aw, come. on, Andy. Say, let's knock off now and grab a few beers at the old tavern. What do you say?"
"Sorry, Barry. Can't do it. I'm tied to the office. You know the rules. But you can go, kid. No rules for you, now. Sorry, you just got called up to the majors. I'm still minor league."
"For God's sake, Andy, cut it out. There's no difference."
"Take a look around, Barry. You've got to glide with the surf. There is a difference, kiddo. And you've got to change, too. I'm not in your league. Sorry."
"Well, IT be damned," Barry exclaimed, frustrated.
"Now you know what it's like to get to the top, Barry. And oh, I've been meaning to say something. I got it on the office grapevine what happened to Nelson. Barry, that was a pretty dirty trick you pulled. I know you had a hand in it. Pretty dirty."
"Don't give me that. You would have done the same thing," Barry twinkled. "All's fair in sales and sex, isn't that your motto?"
"Sure," Andy replied, smiling slyly. `But, Barry, it was the dirtiest trick anyone could have pulled. It may come home to haunt you. I'm. not saying I wouldn't trip a man if I got the chance, Barry. But I wouldn't cut off his legs before the race."
"I didn't ... I don't get this, Andy ..."
"So long, Barry. See you around. I hope you're able to make a. lot of nice new friends ..."
* * *
And so Barry grew lonely in his own old familiar surroundings. He simply didn't like the new respect afforded him, the protocol and ritual of respect. He resented the secretaries, who allowed him to flirt with them without responding naturally. They turned him off, and he cursed them now as he sat alone in his office. The old bag was losing its shape, he pondered; time to jump into a new one. But he felt out of place trying to muscle in up there; the secretaries were older; staid, and went about efficiently, like robots.
And finally he came face to face with the problem of Linda. During the bag push, he had been able to close out any depressing thoughts about her. But he knew that sooner or later he must cootie to grips with the problem, if ever he was going to save himself with her.
He called her one afternoon, half-expecting her to hang up on him. But on the contrary, she seemed rather glib and offhanded. Her voice was still as sweet and pure as ever; he simply exulted in the refreshing voice that he heard, and he was uplifted once again.
"Meet me at the lounge?" he asked hesitantly.
"You want me to meet you? Why, certainly, Barry. I will meet you. I'll be there ... no time..."
And the hours before the meeting were like ages to him; he sat watching the clock, wishing away each minute. He arrived at the bar a half-hour early and steadied-his nerves with a double martini. And at precisely the time she had mentioned, she walked elegantly into the dim lounge, going straight to his table, smiling serenely all the way.
"Hello again, Barry," she said calmly.
"My God, you're lovely," he exclaimed.
"You're such a compliment passer, Barry," she laughed.
"Baby, I've missed you fiercely. I don't know how I got along without you.. :'
"You manage, I hear," she said coyly. And that one strange tone in her voice announced doom for him. He steadied his gaze on her lovely face, would have given anything at that moment to be alone with her, to take her into his arms, to stroke that fine thin body, to feel those golden tresses flowing down on his thighs and across his surging body. He would have given anything-all trophies, all promotions, all laurels accorded to heroes.
"I love you," he said simply.
"Barry, you make me sick," she countered simply.
"Oh, baby, don't say that."
"Yes, Barry. I will say it. To think that I was so fooled by you. I admit that you were convincing. Very, very convincing. And I'll admit that you have a way of sweeping a girl off her feet. In many ways, it was what I really needed. You don't know how much you did for me, sexually ..."
"Linda, sweetheart ... how can I explain about that night ... what I made you do ... I can't find words to apologize ... if you knew what it did to me, though ... it hurt me worse ..."
"I'm sure it did, Barry," she smiled. "Oh, I'm over that now. Don't worry about that. I've grown up fast, darling. It wasn't bad at all. Even that man. Not bad at all." She smiled broadly for him and he flushed with pain. "And I helped you get what you wanted. Oh, let me offer my congratulations too. My husband knows who ruined his project. I told him. I've told him everything, Barry . . :'
"Why? Linda, .why?"
"You wouldn't understand, Barry dear. You wouldn't understand. I hope I have some little bit of decency left. I've discovered things about myself. I have you to thank for that. Love between one man and one woman. ha! It doesn't exist. You taught me that. It's been nice, Barry. See you around ..."
She stood up as if to go, but he reached out and restrained her. She looked down at him, and there was a gleam of pity in her eyes. Of all things, that was what he wanted least. She looked down at him, no love at all there anymore, only a deep, abiding pity.
"Where are you going?" he asked weakly.
"Oh, haven't you heard? We're leaving the city, My husband is resigning. It seems a competitor of McNullty's is very interested in the project ... the project that you so masterfully squelched. I suppose now that you and my husband will be real competitors for a change. I wonder how you'll do out in the open ..."
"That's it, them' he said hopelessy. "You're just walking away from me."
"Yes, Barry, I am. And you may watch me go with any feelings you desire. Look at my body as I go, Barry. It's the last illusion I have, that you'll see me and want me, really want me, as I walk away..."
And through the shadowed chamber, she walked, very slowly, not exaggerating her body movements, but gliding steadily, her beautiful body all the more heightened by the drunken shadows. He watched, the image of her body being hammered into his head, never to be forgotten. He just sat in a stupor, unable to move a muscle.
At night, he tried to. cerise the city. He went from bar to bar trying to find friends; he found' old acquaintances but they were occupied with other matters. Alone, he drank, going to old familiar haunts, not finding a release for the tight knot that had formed in his stomach.
And much later he stumbled drunkenly into Lena's apartment house. He had the key which she had given him and he fumbled with the lock for several minutes, not bothering to ring. Here, he hoped, he would find some old sparks; here he would be able to rekindle the old fires that had driven him on, the flames that kept the mothlike spirit of Barry, Barry of the younger times, flying ceaselessly toward the uppermost reaches of his desires.
The apartment was dark. As he stumbled in, he heard voices, a man and a woman moiling the sensual air. Drugged, he went toward the voices, into the satiny darkness of Lena's bedroom. And there on the bed, he saw two naked figures entwined, enthralled in that madness of ancient Copulation. He had intruded just at the wrong moment. He heard her moaning bestially the old familiar words, "You're great ... lover love me ... ah, I'm coming for you ... you're the greatest ... oh, I'm on fire!"
Unembarrassed, he sat down in the living room to wait. The lovers no doubt had noticed his appearance, but they had been caught up in the old pushing and pulling game and couldn't break it off until the inevitable conclusion. A little later, a young stud came out of the room, knotting his tie, buttoning his jacket. He walked right by Barry. Barry recognized the fellow as a young salesman from the company. The fellow was beefy and tall; he smiled as he passed Barry and seemed to shrug. And minutes later, Lena was standing at the door, a flimsy gown draped over her sensuous sweat-glistened body.
"What are you doing here, Barry?" she asked, a little embarrassed.
"Oh, I was just lonely ... thought I'd sea what you were doing."
"Barry, you should have called. You're not mad at me, are you, Barry, darling?"
"No. No, not at all. I have no real claim on you. A little shocked, I guess. I thought we had a thing going ..."
"We do," she said sweetly, coming to him and putting a sympathetic hand on his drooping shoulder. "But, Barry, you know how it is, don't you? I don't ask questions and neither do you. Isn't that the way it works?"
"Sure, baby, sure. I'm just a little depressed."
"Come on, Barry. Let me give you some comfort. I've still got plenty left."
"What do you mean?"
"Come on. Make love to me. It would be exciting, having two strong men the same night ..." She was busy disrobing again, prancing out into the middle of the room, dancing for him, letting her large white breasts jiggle up and down wantonly. She came closer and rubbed her flat sensuous belly against his side, letting a taut nipple tickle his face. But it was useless; he could find no stimulation at all.
"Come on, Barry. I'm hot. Fuck me ..."
"No," he shook his head. "I'm off my form Some other time."
"You mean you're turning me down, Barry?"
He paused, stood up and tried feebly to get the old blood surging into his flaccid nine-inch cock. He kissed her and she darted her tongue about in his mouth, pressing, teasing, trying out all the little tricks. He felt her body, let his numb hands rove over her thighs, into the mat of moist hair there at her deepest dividing, let the hands grip hard her saucy ass.
But it was simply no use. To him, she was simply an object that grew taut in his arms. He patted her shoulder and kissed her very tenderly, the way a man kisses his favorite daughter. She stepped back then and looked at him penetratingly.
"What's the matter, Barry? Are you losing yam' grip? Come on now, make love to me. I need it. Don't worry about that other guy; he was just a pastime. Everybody has to have a quickie now and then. Come on, Barry. You're the greatest ..."
"No use, doll," he sighed. You'll have to go out and find somebody else if you want more. I never was much of one for taking second-hand goods ..."
Chapter Thirteen
On a late Friday, after Barry's first official week as the new company vice president, the pulse of the city seemed to beat like a gigantic drum. All across suburbia the tempo quickened with each shake of the martini mixer. It was Friday, love day, the day everyone lives for.
Barry putted homeward in his Jag, feeling extremely depressed, out of tune with the day's tempo The car was missing, could not climb up to the high speed Barry was used to; it had been a long time since the last tune-up. The failing motor seemed to match his own feeble droning. Again a juicy-looking girl pulled alongside him on the freeway and matched paces with him for several seconds. But the Jag couldn't keep up, and she looked over his way with a shrug, then peeled off.
The summer days were fading into a dusky fall, cooling, fading, and bringing a nostalgic balm. And Barry fought against that gloomy feeling, sought in his buzzing mind some way to turn on again, some way to throw off this lingering depression.
He was going to miss Maple Grove; he had outgrown it too quickly, he thought. His house was not up for sale yet, but he would be moving within the year. Moving was inevitable, the system would force it; he understood that; he would be forced to move in the circles of higher executives. And that was a tougher league, he was finding out daily.
Feeling perhaps a tinge of the old surge as he skipped off the freeway into the Maple Grove district, Barry gunned the Jag and punished the motor for speed to climb Skyline Drive. He viewed the same old scene of junior execs out manicuring their lawns, working on the crab grass, walking casually about with drinks in hand, lounging by the pool.
And up ahead, he saw the Cochran house; his blood chilled as he idled past it. He wondered what old man Cochran would pull one of these days. One certainly made enemies on the way up, he concluded, and he had never believed that old business-ethic before. He turned the corner and saw the teeny-bopper, Junie Cochran, out near the street, clipping the hedge. Don't be such a coward, he said to himself. He stopped the Jag.
"Hi, Barry," she sang, popping her chewing gum. "Gee, Barry, I heard you had some trouble with my dad. Did he give you as much hell as he did me? Gee, Barry, I've missed seeing you around. I still have this tremendous urge for you ... and your real cock."
"Cool it, chick,"- he mumbled, thinking that he should tear out of there, before her old man came out and caught him again.
"Oh, Barry ... don't be mean to me ... I keep dreaming about that night ... it was so romantic. Barry, that was the best anyone has ever done to me. You know it?"
She bent over the Jag once more, the overgrown boobs hanging near his nose. She seemed to have aged a great deal that summer; she was a full-blown woman already and full wise. `Barry, when are you going to do it to me again? I can hardly wait. I want to spend a whole night with you. Wow! Take me away some weekend, Barry. It would be wonderful ..."
"We'll see if we can work it out," he sighed
"Don't keep me on the string, Barry. I'm mad for you." She bent over, pressed her young-girl mouth on his and forced his lips open to accept her darting tongue. He tried to pull away after a few seconds, but she was insistent; she pressed the kiss on, and he found the old surge fire within him. Finally she lifted her lips, took his hand and pressed it hard against her large breasts.
"Somebody will see," he cautioned.
"I don't care," she smiled. "I want it, Barry."
"Later, baby," he uttered, then drove away.
* * *
There was the same old shaker of martinis on the bar as he came in. Tricia was already soused; she sat on the McNullty Renawood love seat, dressed in a new gold lounging outfit, all ready for the Friday night party.
Tonight was the celebration for his promotion and all the old crowd would be there. Barry knew it would also be a farewell party of sorts, for there would be a ceasing of the old crowd connections soon; it was just understood.' It was the way of the old business world caste system. Well, he mused, he had wanted it, had pulled every string possible to get there. It just seemed a little sad.
"You're early, dear," she lisped, gurgling a mouthful of martini. She stretched her over-worn, overtired, overfat body for him.
Over in the kitchen area was the black girl, Cindy, working on party foods. She caught Barry's eye and winked, opened her mouth sensuously, then winked again.
"Come here, old Barry one," Tricia coaxed him. He sat down on the seat with her and immediately she smothered him, her gin breath filling up his nostrils as her wriggling mouth massaged his. She was loaded all right, and every time she got that way with him she grew demanding. She ran her hands over his hard body and down to his crotch.
"Oooh, you feel so good," she cooed. "I've got it waiting for you, Barry, darling..." There standing a few feet away was Cindy again, pretending not to notice, but taking it all in. The same old song, the same old dance. As Barry bent over Tricia, Cindy came even closer; this time there was not any pretense about it.
"Oh, Barry, fuck me ... it's been so long," Tricia murmured. It seemed to Barry that many women were saying that same thing to him lately. Tricia's eyes were closed, closing all the old encroaching world of age and coming loneliness. "God, Barry, get that thing inside me quick!" Sighing deeply, a bit regretfully, he pushed her deeper into the love seat. Cindy was there to watch it all; with one eye open, he winked at the beautiful black girl as he parted his zipper and plunged his penis into that waiting cavern of desire.
"My ... oh, my ... Barry ... that's wonderful ... so big ... now ... put it to me ... there!"
And the maid was closer, almost touching; the drunken woman beneath him was oblivious. Just as he plunged a final time, the girl reached out and touched his arm. Tricia was reading her summit yet again, screaming out, but the maid seemed not to hear; she stroked his arm lightly, tenderly, understandingly. There was no emotion in the dark girl's face; she reflected a wisdom beyond mere words. What was it? he asked himself frantically; what was it the girl knew? She seemed to know him completely. And as the piercing shrieks continued beneath him, the brown girl patted his arm sympathetically and then smiled and walked away nonchalantly.
* * *
Party time. Hot Latin music pulsated from the stereos around the house and patio, down around the pool where half-nude couples laughed and sang and drank into the night of revelry. Again Barry was doing a torrid tango with Mildred Ryder. Sometime tonight he would probably meet her in the solarium again. And all the others were there, the Haynes, the Ryders, the two lesbians dressed identically again, their cocktail glasses tilted up delicately like their firm breasts. Janet and Dollie, he mused, what a farce. Once he looked around wistfully, but there would be no new couple, no beautiful girl with long bland tresses.
"Please, Barry," Mildred was whispering. "Promise me that you'll make love to me tonight ..."
The party rolled on into the night. All about the rooms the couples were flirting, openly embracing under the cover of dance music, fondling other partners, openly exchanging kisses, daring one another to play the age-old games one more time. There were no straight laced couples tonight, and toward midnight they were all going after the hardcore Silk Stocking Hill version of erotica.
"Hey, Cleo is doing her thing!" somebody yelled. And there was a mad rush for the pool And again there was the clapping in unison as Cleo, stood naked on the diving board dancing the latest dance, letting her large round breasts flip up and down to the delight of all the males leering at her. "More, More!" they yelled. And at the end it was not Barry who dove into the pool to rescue the maiden; some other stud with more wind and energy went to her rescue; carried her inside the house, stayed and stayed while the crowd chanted expectantly at the door. And the two of them came back to the cheers of everybody, and Cleo was yelling, "He really did it! He really did!"
"He really got the prize!"
And Cleo stood there, naked, showing her beauty there. And she was going from one man to the other, caressing, mashing her surging breasts against groping hands, letting herself be fondled all over. "Go, girl, go!" her husband, Andy, yelled at her, all the while grabbing for Mildred Ryder.
And in a little while, the whole group was stripped nude and parading crazily around the pool, led by the luscious Cleo. Openly the couples were caressing, fondling, splashing into the pool. Lovemaking became rampant as Cleo led the battalion of sin-worshippers into the house. Even Tricia was joining in; and there inside, Barry saw crusty old Horace Ryder making it with the dark little maid. Barry watched curiously, watched them embrace, saw the burly man finally pick the dark maiden up and march with her to the back of the house, his hands seeking her bare thighs beneath the short maid's outfit as he went.
And later the boiling party did not let up; the name of the game was turnabout. Fun and games. Way past midnight now, the house seemed to shiver as the noise enfolded it turbulently. They were sprawling all about the spacious room, some ten or twelve couples, all disarranged lasciviously.
"Let's play the old historical re-enactment game!" Andy shouted. "Choose your partners, and tally-ho!"
And, again the makeshift stage was arranged, the curtain put in place, the love seat positioned. There would be costumes; all scenes to be done in the raw. And first was Midred Ryder and Andy Haynes doing the game of kings, potentate. The duple were fucking in minutes, and the watchers hooted their approval as the gyrating torsos shuddered madly as the curtain hid the mutual orgasm.
And on and on, one couple after another, using any historical excuse to display new techniques on the overworked love seat. They had acts of lust, mock rape, and pillage. The crowd wanted even more dramatics.
"We want the king, we want the king!" the chant started until all had taken it up. They were calling for Barry, the king of Silk Stocking Hill. All the other scenes had just whetted their appetites, the Romeos and willing Juliets, the Antony-types and the all too graphic Cleopatras.
"Barry, Barry!" they chanted
From behind it all, Barry watched; so far he had taken no part in the wild antics. He went around, drowsy with too little booze, drugged by the wistful air that only he seemed to breathe. To all others, it was still in the middle of a hot, passionate summer; but to Barry it seemed that autumn had come with a blinding swiftness.
"No, no," Barry called out weakly.
I just don't have the hard for it, he said to himself, chuckling even at his little pun. But the roar went on until he stepped out into the middle of the flesh-filled din and waved his arms. And then Cleo was making her way toward him, the huge, round, moonlike tits shining at him as she strutted.
"Come on, lover, let's show them how it's really done!"
He tried to pull away; she was jerking him along; they had to step over bare legs and bared thighs and tangled limbs. At the front of the room she stopped him and the crowd hooted and applauded.
"What'll it be?" someone called out.
"How about Adam and Eve?" came a catcall.
"No," Cleo tried to quite them. "Well do a speciality of the house. Do you remember Leda and the Swan!"
And they 'remembered well; the room rang with wild applause and catcalls. Cleo was pulling him behind the makeshift stage, getting out of the line of vision. Safely hidden, she put her month on his neck and bit him hard, then raised her lips and devoured his, all the while beginning to work on his clothes. Soon she had him stripped completely and was running her wild hands up and down his half-hard cock. She caught his half- aroused penis between her legs and squeezed hard with her warm thighs.
"We're ready," she whispered to him, pulling his head down to her breasts for one beginning massage. And then she threw back the curtain to expose them both. More and more applause. Barry stood out in all his splendor, holding himself erect, trying to envision a wild throng. of cheering people as he once again ran the fastest race. Yes, he felt the surging inside one time more, it was working again.
"Give us the wild Swan. Barry is Zeus!" they were shouting. "Barry is Zeus, the king!"
And then Cleo fell upon the couch, feigned surprise at her sudden intruder, then she gasped. Barry stood over her a moment, thinking of all things and nothing. It was madness, complete madness, he realized. He had know it all along. And who was it that set the rules for such demented games? Who was it that started it all? He didn't invent it, but he was the best at the game. It was madness, nothing made sense at all. What difference did it all make? You score with my wife, I'll score with yours. Nobody gives a damn tomorrow anyway.
"Come "Come on, Barry!" Cleo urged. She was spreading her long tapered legs for him, opening up the greatest treasure that that wild world of theirs could offer. And he sank into her, amid boiling noises of bestial approval. He fucked deeper than he had ever fucked before; the woman, the temptress beneath him, screamed so loud that the room seemed to shake. "AHHHHHH!" she screamed on and on in that mock assault, but all the while her expert legs encircled his body and made his plunging all the more dynamic.
"Give it to me. Fuck me, Barry!" she bellowed. "Let's give them something they will remember forever ... nobody was ever as strong as you ... and me ... we're the best ever ..."
And on he plunged, forgetting everything. And only as he climbed to the highest mount, only as the wild woman beneath him began to scream her confession of bestial fulfillment, did he get a strange and haunting scent in the room. It wafted about his head as he plumbed further the depths of carnal madness. On and on he plowed, and the crowd was up shouting and applauding insanely, pushing closer and closer into a tight little. circle around the thundering couple.
He caught the scent of fresh and clear young girls, of one particular girl, green and innocent. And as he completed his fuck cycle, he raised his head and seemed to see a face staring at him from across the boiling throng, -- the one girl he had loved, a girl named Linda, staring at him purely and innocently. No, it was impossible, he knew. He had seen only a ghost. But it was there, perhaps forever, and he looked at it with the deepest pain he had ever felt. She seemed to be saying something to him, but he could not hear over the crazed turbulence around him. What could it mean? he pondered. And then he thought of 'himself, saw himself for what he was, and said aloud, "What the hell?"
