Chapter 1
Bob Miller leaned tensely over the big, polished desk in his office and put the finishing argument against the merger down on paper. The pen dragged heavily across the ruled yellow paper of the legal pad. His fingers ached, and his wrists were cramped. He hadn't done so much writing since he was in school.
He glanced at his watch, taking time to massage his aching head with his fingertips. Five minutes to four. He'd make it. Another burst of scribbling, and he was done. Then an hour for Janice to type it, and it would be in Mr. Crandall's hands for overnight study before the round of conferences began in the plush rooms upstairs and the crucial meeting on Friday.
Bob worked fast, feeling the closing paragraph coming to his mind with startling clarity like the last pieces of an angular, jumbled puzzle that showed a placid meadow full of butterflies instead of the Devil's sanctuary.
When he was finished, he leaned back in the swivel chair, propped his feet on the desk, and tossed the pen toward the pad with a loud groan of accomplishment. He stayed that way a moment with his eyes closed, letting the tension drain out of him. He dreamed of a cool martini, a steak, and a slow, lazy-wild fuck in bed that would knock him out and make him sleep like a baby for at least two weeks.
He dreamed of it, but he knew he wouldn't get it. Not from his wife.
He swung his legs, and his feet thumped to the floor. He scowled across the room, and his eyes focused on the picture of Barbara. Her face smiled up from the Florentine frame that didn't match anything else in his office.
Vacantly, his eyes lingered on her dark hair. Each strand was neatly in place for the most sophisticated effect. He saw the diamond choker and the mink stole around her shoulders-each rented for the occasion despite his half-hearted protests about putting on too much dog just for a damned picture.
"But it's for your new office, darling," she'd said. Antiseptic kiss on the cheek. "Aren't you proud of the way I look?"
The lips stretched thin over even teeth in an unnatural grimace that was supposed to be a smile. The dark eyes glinted in the photographer's lights like two stones misplaced from the choker. He suddenly remembered her victory cry when he'd told her of the promotion.
"Barbara, you've arrived!" And then the afterthought: "Thanks to you, of course, darling."
Bob thumbed the button that would summon his secretary, jabbing at it like a man locked in an elevator wanting to get out.
"Yes, Mr. Miller," Janice bubbled, coming through the door with a swish of her hips.
She approached his desk, her short skirt riding high and carefree on her thighs, and stood in front of him with one hip canted slightly in a relaxed pose. She smiled down at him prettily, waiting.
Bob looked up, studying her without meaning to. The contrast with Barbara was astonishing. He'd begun noticing it lately. It wasn't only the blonde hair. Nor the way it swung around her face and shoulders in a totally unsophisticated manner. It wasn't the jut of her firm tits under the tight blouse, nor the pert swell of her rounded ass. It was everything put together-everything that made her Janice Walters instead of Barbara Miller.
And she oozed and smelled of free, bubbly, uncomplicated sex every time Bob turned around and bothered to notice.
"I'm finished, Jan," he said, swallowing and averting his eyes. He handed the yellow pages to her and noticed the edges were trembling. "It's your baby now."
She looked at the paper and the shaking of his hand before taking them from him.
"You look like you need a good stiff drink, Mr. Miller," she said lightly. "I'll cover for you if you want to leave early. I know this has been a lot of work for you. It isn't the most popular position, you know. It seems like everybody is talking about the merger. Honestly, though, you'd think the girls knew more about this business than the President and the Board put together."
Bob laughed--an odd sound, full of tension. "Don't they always? Secretaries, wives ... what have you?"
She settled her buttock on the edge of the desk, holding the papers across her tits as if hiding them from him in a taunting way.
"I don't, Mr. Miller," she said. "Whatever Wally does at his office is strictly none of my business. I've seen too many wives and private secretaries and girl friends and all the rest of them push their men into things that aren't right- and they don't know the first thing about what they're doing when they do it, know what I mean?"
Bob couldn't look at her. "Yes," he said. "I know what you mean."
She lingered a moment longer, watching him, wanting him to respond a little more. When he didn't, she got off the front of his desk and smoothed the skirt over her hips with an abandoned motion calculated to make him watch. He did.
"I'll type this and send it right to Mr. Crandall," she said, smiling brightly again. "Meanwhile, you'd better put your coat on and go on home."
"Why?"
He looked up, startled. He'd said it, but it wasn't his voice. It wasn't something he'd say--not with that kind of vehemence. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Bob swallowed again. Now she knew. He could see in her eyes that she knew, and she was pleased with the knowledge that he had nothing worthwhile to go home to.
"Maybe I'll buy you that drink after work myself," she said, her voice strangely low. "I'd be sure you got it."
He picked up the pen and fiddled with it, trying to laugh and sound casual.
"Maybe we should," he said. "I'd buy, of course-a reward for giving you this last-minute job. I hope I've given you enough time."
"Only for the typing, Mr. Miller," she bantered. "I'll call Wally and tell him I'm going to be late tonight--that my boss is keeping me overtime. He won't mind at all."
Bob raised his hand and opened his mouth to protest, but she'd already turned and was halfway to the door, and no sound came out. He watched the way his cock jumped in his pants at the sight of her slim waist and what the dress did to her full figure. The door closed, and he passed his hand over his forehead.
He could always back out; that wasn't the problem. He could always explain being late to Barbara; that wasn't the problem, either.
He got up from his desk and paced over to the window. He looked down into the street at the cars and people milling below. He breathed deeply and let his breath out in a long sigh.
What is the problem, Miller? he thought.
He turned his head and looked at his wife's picture again. Her eyes seemed to follow him about the office no matter where he stood in it. She was watching him through her goddamn picture. She was waiting for him to do something else so that she could turn the rheostat on her cunt down to deep-freeze for the next three weeks. Down from very-cold.
He strode over to the photograph angrily and slammed it onto its face, not caring if he broke the glass.
Guilt, Miller! That's the problem!
He poured ice-water from his Insulating Pitcher Designed For Important Executives that Barbara had also given him and gulped it down, feeling it hit his empty, tension-twisted stomach like a ball of lead that threatened to bounce back up.
He sat back down at his desk and put the pad of paper away. The pen followed. He chucked three rumpled sheets into the wastebasket and wound the Roman-faced clock sitting on one corner of the desk.
The actions were all performed mechanically. He didn't even know how much time stretched between each one. He sat in a stupor, his mind cranking out scenes from the past-imaginary, real... it didn't matter.
What did matter was the question, how long should the punishment last for a stupid, meaningless act that happened ages ago and would have stayed forgotten but for Barbara's constant reminding him of it?
Or did she even know? Maybe he was so strung up that he only suspected she knew when she really didn't. Maybe it was his own sense of guilt that was punishing him instead of her.
Then she was truly a bitch for the way she acted.
He dwelt on the thought. He elaborated on it and strengthened it in his mind. He sat with his chin in his hand and justified why, on this night, he would go out with his secretary and have a drink with her and maybe--if things worked out right all around--maybe even take her some place cozy and lie in bed with her and fuck her blind.
Janice would love it. He could tell by the way she moved, the way she talked to him. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted his cock to grow hard in her hands while she felt under his balls with her fingers and tickled his asshole and imprisoned the shaft of his prick between her lush, soft tits, running it up and down the silky valley between them and licking at the tip of his prick when it peeped out.
Janice would even suck him off--all the way, no letting go with her warm mouth and letting it spray over his belly!
Bob's prick stretched like a cat and roared in his pants like a tiger, throbbing, full, stiff, as it hadn't been in years with Barbara. He felt it bucking, wanting a soft, slick-tissued pussy to ram into--one that was wet and hot and ready for a good, hard round of fucking.
The thought of Barbara's dry cunt repulsed him. He always had to jab and push and strain to get his prick into her. Under the covers. Listening to her groan and bitch about the way it hurt, until his dick sagged and went limp and the desire to fuck floated off like a puff of smoke from spinning wheels on a gravel road.
Then came the long night of strained silence between them when he lay on his back and wondered what the hell this marriage was all about, but afraid to say anything for fear of what she would say in return, because she had to have a reason for the way she was acting toward him.
Bob leaned his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands. He twisted his fingers all about his forehead and the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension in them.
There wasn't any point trying to play it straight any more. Not with her. This kind of torture could go on for years. The cycle had to be broken. If she didn't break it, then he would. And he would begin by fucking Janice Walters, the bubbly blonde who would fold him in her arms and suck his prick into her hot, watery cunt and let him blast her pussy with the pent-up load in his balls until his spine turned to jelly and he passed out with the force and release of it all.
His hands trembled and shook around his head. The door opened, and he looked up again to see Janice standing there, neat, typewritten pages in her hand.
She paused and stared at him, the expression on her face telling him that he must look a wreck. He tried to sit back nonchalantly, to grin, to settle his hands down over the rampant bulge of his cock as it strained forward trying to reach across the room toward her skirted cunt.
But his lips quivered, his hands shook, and he banged his knee on a drawer he'd left open. He didn't dare stand up.
"Finished?" he asked. "So soon?"
She came toward him again and put the papers on his desk. Her face showed concern.
"It's ten to five, Mr. Miller," she said. "Do you mean you've been sitting there behind that desk all this time?"
He could hardly believe it. It seemed like five minutes had gone by since she walked out.
"Could you--uh--I think these should go to Mr. Crandall's office right away, Janice," he said, stopping himself from getting up until his stiff prick got soft. He tried to make his voice brusque and businesslike, but it didn't come out that way. How could it when he was going to fuck her in just about two hours?
"I've already called," she said. "Betty said he had to leave the office and wouldn't be back until after six. I thought I'd better give the report back to you. Mr. Grafton was doing a little snooping around while I was typing it, and frankly, Mr. Miller, I'm afraid to leave it out there."
Bob frowned. "Yeah," he said, the thought of Barney Grafton making his dick soften and go down to normal. "Well, I'll run it over and tell Betty to put it on Mr. Crandall's desk. I don't think Barney will go in there to swipe it, do you?"
She looked at him and smiled as if about to giggle. But she was the model of office diplomacy.
"No, sir. I don't think Mr. Grafton will do it."
Bob laughed at her, the tension suddenly draining from him. How ironic it was! The worst part of the report wasn't writing it , but keeping it out of the hands of Barney Grafton to keep him from copying from it for his own supplementary report or to keep him from using it to write a counter-argument. Either way, the little bastard was trying his damnedest to curry Crandall's favor and get Bob's position. And he and Janice knew he'd stop at nothing. Neither would his secretary.
"I'll take the chance Wilma won't go in there, either." Bob finally said, grinning at her.
"She's pretty slick."
"I wouldn't know." he grinned, feeling his face flush. She caught the double meaning and threw it back at him without batting an eye.
"I'm glad to hear that. But I think you ought to take a look and find out just how slick I am, too. In more ways than one. I'd be happy to show you any time, Mr. Miller."
His heart pumped madly. What a sexy little tease she was! He was just going to suggest that tonight would be the time when his phone rang. He picked it up and heard Mary's voice on the other end.
"This call's for Janice, Mr. Miller, is she in there with you?"
"Yes, just a minute, Mary."
He handed the phone to her and got up, taking the papers and turning sideways quickly to hide the remains of his hard-on from showing. Janice spoke into the phone, waited until Mary pushed the right button, and watched Bob leave the room.
"Oh, Wally ... what's the matter?" he heard her say. He closed the door and proofread the report on the way to Mr. Crandall's office. As always, her typing was perfect. And the report sounded good to him. Good and solid. It would have to be good to be able to buck the majority opinion about merging.
He left the report with Mr. Crandall's secretary, warning Betty in quiet tones to put it somewhere safe. He kidded with her a moment and then went back to his office. He looked up and saw Janice still in the room. She was setting Barbara's picture back up on the table and studying it.
Once again, Bob saw the incredible difference between the two women. Barbara grimaced and glinted as if warning the soft-bodied, smooth-hipped blonde to get her prick-fingering hands off the elegant frame before her lip curled up another inch and spat.
He sucked in his breath, his eyes taking in the rounded curve of her ass, the tilted swellings of her tits, the way her lips were so red and plush-looking. The miniskirt went high up the back of her legs, as if pointing the way to the silky, exciting cunt that would be underneath and between them.
He closed the door. Janice heard him, and turned quickly, startled. She stood a moment, one leg slightly in front of the other as if posing. Bob went toward her. She watched him come, an expectant look on her face. But her eyes looked sad.
"She ... she looks like a cold woman," Janice said.
Bob stopped. The remark was totally out of line. "She is," he said simply.
Janice smiled warmly. "I'm not, Mr. Miller."
He started to put out his arms, but she turned away from him, glancing back over her shoulder as she fingered the Roman clock on his desk.
"I don't want to start anything," she said.
He sighed heavily, feeling his soaring hopes punctured like an impossibly large balloon.
"No ... I suppose not."
She turned. "I mean, not tonight, Mr. Miller. I have to go home. I'm sorry." "What's the matter?"
Normally he wouldn't have asked that. It wasn't his business. But the circumstances were hardly normal. Not tonight, she'd said. That meant tomorrow night would be all right--the night after, and the one after that. Perhaps too many nights after that. Complications. Problems. A suffocating, hanging-on, scandalous affair. He suddenly wanted to leave because he was afraid. A quick fuck--that's all he wanted. Barbara would sue his ass blue otherwise . . .
"Wally's going out of town tonight," she said, turning on her bright, bubbly smile again and making his fears vanish into temporary hiding. "He's leaving at seven, and I've got to see him off."
"I understand," Bob said.
"No, you don't I want to see him off." she smiled again, teasing him. "You look so worried, Mr. Miller. Don't be. I love my husband. We have no problems whatsoever."
He frowned. "Then why ... ?"
She shrugged, making her tits bounce prettily. "Why not? You appeal to me. I like sex. To be very blunt, I like to fuck! Fuck and fuck!"
Bob swallowed hard. "Does Wally ... does he know about ..."
"Sure! I told you earlier, he wouldn't mind at all if I went out with you. It's true. He's going out of town for a week. He doesn't expect me to sit home every night and be chaste. That's old-fashioned, Mr. Miller. By the same token, I don't expect him to cuddle up with the next airline schedule and his expense vouchers and drift to sleep with the TV going. We're both young and normal and--" she shrugged again "--we like to fuck! What's the big deal?"
He passed his hand over his face again. It seemed awfully hot in the room. She laughed with a high and bubbly sound that wasn't a bit ridiculing of the bewildered expression on his face.
"You mean," he stammered, unsure of just how to put it, "you mean we could ... for a week?"
"Say fuck, Mr. Miller. I have a hunch that it would do you a hellofa lot of good."
Her eyes twinkled with challenge. "All right," he said. "Do you mean we could ... uh, fuck for a week ... and then it's all over?"
She laughed at his constricted voice. "Heavens no! We can go on as long as you like! Until I get tired of you, or you get tired of me. And then we can switch off; that's the way it works these days!"
"Switch off?"
"You know ... swap!"
Bob swallowed hard again and felt like he would have to piss in his pants in a second. He glanced at Barbara's picture. He'd heard about wife swapping.
But Barbara ... ? He shook his head, saying nothing.
"Don't worry about your wife," Janice said, waving her hand in the direction of the photograph. "Wally and I will take care of her. All you have to do is get her to one of our club meetings, and the rest will come naturally."
He kept shaking his head. "I don't ... it wouldn't ever ..."
I've got to get home now, Mr. Miller. Why don't you give it some thought, and we can talk about it tomorrow night when we have more time--lots more time." She rolled her eyes in a put-on lascivious gesture. "Tomorrow night?"
She blinked at him. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
He stood stupidly. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to grab her and push her skirt up to her waist and cram his prick through her panties into her naughty cunt right there. He wanted to press her soft ass against the edge of the desk and fuck his gigantic load of cum into her body until his balls dropped off and rolled on the floor. How, after this, could he wait until tomorrow night?
She came in close to him, lifting her fresh, pretty face. She pursed her lips and waited. He growled finally and dove at her lips with his, mashing his mouth down on hers, kissing her wildly, until his head swam from the heady freshness of her wholesome sexuality.
He didn't care that they were in the office, that Crandall himself might walk through the door to say something about the report. He didn't care that his cock was lifting in his pants, digging its eager head into the soft vee between her thighs. And he could only gasp into her hot mouth when her fingers wrapped around the solid shaft of his prick and squeezed it firmly, making him threaten to come in her cupping hand.
"Oh, God!" he gasped. "Janice, Janice!"
She laughed easily, disengaging herself gently from his grasping arms.
"Easy, Mr. Miller," she said. "Don't waste it here. Save it for tomorrow."
"All right, all right," he panted, half out of his mind with need. How the hell could he wait after this?
"You go home and have that drink. Now you'll really need it. Have five of them, so you won't be tempted to give her that glorious prick full of cum. She doesn't want it, and she doesn't deserve it."
She pulled away from him and looked down at his raging cock, her eyes running over the way it tented up the front of his pants. A darkening stain was beginning to appear where the tip was leaking. He didn't try to hide his stiffness from her any more. He stood there and let her look, feeling very odd.
"Beautiful," she said softly. "Oh, Mr. Miller, I can hardly wait! Wally's going to wonder why I'm so hot tonight!"
"He'll know!"
"So what? He'll love you for it! He much prefers a big, hard come from me than a little one when he's going out of town. He'll be happy, and so will I. Think of us, Mr. Miller. Think of Wally plunging his prick into my slippery cunt. Think of how I'll be kicking my legs into the air and screaming for more of him to fill my bubbling pussy, wanting your cock in me at the same time!"
"God!" he gasped, feeling his pulse pound. "You goddamn little tease!"
She laughed brightly and brushed past him, patting her hand against the top of the tent at his front. She wriggled her ass obscenely and opened the door wide. He turned quickly, wanting to run after her, but not daring because there were some stragglers in the office still milling about, getting ready to leave. She closed the door, leaving him in the room to sweat and think and tremble.
He didn't believe what had just happened. He breathed and smelled the lingering odor of her perfume, trying to convince himself that it was simply another of his too-frequent daydreams.
The aroma was faint, but it was undeniably there. And he could still feel the softness of her lips against his. Soft and full and warm and open and willing.
He looked at his wife's picture and his: chest puffed out. One more chance, he thought. Barbara, tonight's your last fucking chance!
With much bravado, he wiped Janice's lipstick off his mouth with his handkerchief. He looked at the smear on the white cloth a moment, wondering what to do with the evidence. He stuffed it into his pocket.
Barbara would find it there when she went to do the laundry.
He didn't care, though; the rat was cornered, and his only avenue of escape lay in attack. Yes, he mused, it's time for a change, Miller.
Think of us, Mr. Miller. Think of Wally plunging his prick into my slippery cunt. Think of how I'll be kicking my legs into the air and screaming for more of him to fill my bubbling pussy, wanting your cock in me at the same time!"
"God!" he gasped, feeling his pulse pound. "You goddamn little tease!"
She laughed brightly and brushed past him, patting her hand against the top of the tent at his front. She wriggled her ass obscenely and opened the door wide. He turned quickly, wanting to run after her, but not daring because there were some stragglers in the office still milling about, getting ready to leave.
She closed the door, leaving him in the room to sweat and think and tremble.
He didn't believe what had just happened. He breathed and smelled the lingering odor of her perfume, trying to convince himself that it was simply another of his too-frequent daydreams.
The aroma was faint, but it was undeniably there. And he could still feel the softness of her lips against his. Soft and full and warm and open and willing.
He looked at his wife's picture and his chest puffed out. One more chance, he thought. Barbara, tonight's your last fucking chance!
With much bravado, he wiped Janice's lipstick off his mouth with his handkerchief. He looked at the smear on the white cloth a moment, wondering what to do with the evidence. He stuffed it into his pocket.
Barbara would find it there when she went to do the laundry.
He didn't care, though; the rat was cornered, and his only avenue of escape lay in attack. Yes, he mused, it's time for a change, Miller.