Chapter 3
Edmund Stevenson couldn't believe his good luck.
This was the sort of thing men talk about in bars, when they lie through their teeth. The young girl was eighteen years old and she was ready. She looked exactly like a young Liz Taylor but her shape was better. A small waist, fantastic tits, well-rounded hips, beautiful and smooth legs. His hands were sweating and he wanted to pounce on her and rip her clothes off. A rape would be fun, but impossible. He had the idea she was ready.
He called down for a bottle of bourbon, a pitcher of water, a half-dozen Seven-Ups and a bucket of ice. After all, he reasoned, I've rented the room for three days-I may as well use it.
The bar had sent the room-service boy up and Stevenson noticed the superior smirk on the hop's face as the young man silently surveyed the situation. A fifty-year-old and an eighteen-year-old. Plenty of drinks. Stevenson told him to put the bill on 1420 and sent the snoopy young man packing without a tip.
He poured two strong drinks out for them and returned, pulling a chair up opposite the young girl. He handed her one drink, his eyes fixed on her deep cleavage. His imagination was going mad as he tried to envision what the tits would look like. He was going to find out if he had to hit her over the head with a chair. She was in the room and the door was once again locked. Locked and bolted.
He smiled as he thought about Sandy. She'd never know.
Stevenson sat down in his chair, slouching slightly to get a better shot of her secret place. Her legs were crossed, and since she was not skinny, he could only just see. The room was very cool, but a film of perspiration had sprung out on his forehead and his hand trembled as he raised his glass for a toast. He'd have sworn she wasn't wearing panties. But he couldn't believe it. All girls wear panties. Especially when they wear such short skirts.
"Skol, Monica." He raised his glass and she toasted him back. Her legs shifted slightly and the sparse hair on Stevenson's head tingled. By God, he said to himself, almost choking on his drink, she isn't wearing panties! I just saw her, plain as day! His hand was trembling violently now and he finished the drink in three continuous gulps. "Drink up, Monica," he said. "That first is only an ice breaker."
"You Northern gentlemen are so quaint," Monica laughed. "We don't have ice down in these parts. Only in our drinks."
"Well, then we break the ice in our drinks, eh? Anyway, drink up. We'll celebrate your application to join the friendly folks at good old MML-but mind you, your application will have to be processed."
"But aren't you the president, Mr. Stevenson?" Monica shifted her legs once again, seductively, but entirely too quickly. She also looked at her fingernails while she did it. She knew what her new boss was looking at. Her cunt was starting to itch and become wet. Yet, she loved bourbon and had nothing against a bit of drinking during a job interview.
"Er, well, yes, of course, Monica," Stevenson replied. He was looking at something he couldn't believe as he said it. "But, well, perhaps we can conclude everything here. It will take a while longer, but maybe we can do an end-run around personnel."
"Oh, Mr. Stevenson," she smiled, "you play football! I knew it. I just knew it! I said to myself the first time I saw you this morning, 'that man,' I said, 'plays football. Those large shoulders, that massive chest, that strong jaw, those steady eyes.' Yes, sir, Mr. Stevenson, I just knew you play football."
"It's nothing ... college and a bit of semi-pro...."
"Professional? Ooohhh, Mr. Stevenson, I just know you were great!" She wriggled in her seat and looked up at the ceiling. "You must tell me about your games some night, Mr. Stevenson-at my apartment. Of course I'll tell you just how to get there...."
As she talked Stevenson was having fits. She wriggled like an eel, her legs rubbing each other and her tits doing mind-wrecking things inside her tailored coat. He didn't miss a thing and was caught peeking at her as she looked at him and smiled. "May I have another drink, Mr. Stevenson? A bit stronger? I'm a Texan, you know."
Stevenson leaped forward and took her glass. He then mixed them both a bourbon on the rocks and returned. He handed her one of the glasses and turned his back to hide his embarrassment. His cock was twitching nervously, raising a large lump in his slacks.
"Mr. Stevenson?"
"Yes?" He didn't want to turn around until he was in control.
"Skol," she laughed.
He turned and raised his glass to her. Her eyes were like two jewels and twinkled merrily at him. Then the lids lowered slightly as she drank down the entire old-fashioned glass of bourbon. Stevenson couldn't believe his eyes.
She held the glass in her lap and thrust her head back, her eyes shut. The heaving breasts caught his attention and he gazed at the delicious mounds, captured under all those clothes. "Oh, Mr. Stevenson, it is so close in here, I just don't know what I'm going to do. Could I have one more little drink-just like this-then I'll have to go back to my room and get out of all these sticky old clothes. I have to stretch out. My body has to breathe! I need air!" Her arms were stretched up and back, and her tits were about to pop the seams on her coat. Her shapely legs were still crossed.
Stevenson traded glasses with her and sat down. "Can your body breathe if you're in your slip?" he asked.
"Oh, heavens," she said, "I never wear slips. They're so confining."
"Well, gee, urn, ah...."
"Mr. Stevenson," Monica began, her violet eyes regarding the older man earnestly, "may I ask you a question and will you give me an honest answer? Please?"
"Certainly, child."
"You're such a nice man, Mr. Stevenson. Would you mind very much if I removed my top and just stretched out here on the sofa in my bra and skirt? The heat seems to be gettin' to me."
Stevenson gulped. "The heat is awful, isn't it? Of course I wouldn't mind, Monica. Make yourself comfortable." He watched as she stood. "Thank you, sir," she said.
He couldn't believe it. An eighteen year old and a doll at that! She stood, legs slightly spread, and unbuttoned her short suit coat. Her face was lowered, but she was watching him, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes sparkling. He gulped as she removed the garment and flung it onto a chair. Her tits were-they were fantastic! They were struggling to escape from the thin bikini bra, and her nipples showed through the material. She smiled at him and sat on the sofa. Then she turned slightly, pivoting on her rump, and stretched out on her back. Her tits rose like twin mountains and she closed her eyes.
"Mr. Stevenson?"
"Yes, Monica?"
"Mr. Stevenson, would you come and sit beside me? I think I'm going to go to sleep and I'm afraid to-alone. Please come and touch me, put your hand on my forehead, or something...."
Stevenson moved swiftly to the sofa and stared down at the girl. He'd never in his life seen such a body. The hem of her miniskirt was just above the tops of her nylons, and the whitness of her smooth thighs was accentuated by the black garter straps.
Her eyes opened slightly and she smiled up at him. "Thank you, Mr. Stevenson. You're such a nice man." Her eyes closed again and she seemed to fall asleep with a smile playing on her face.
Stevenson took a sip of his drink which he had given to her only two minutes before. And what a two minutes! He lowered himself onto the sofa beside her and began to stroke her forehead and temples. She didn't move. He called to her softly but she didn't respond. His hand came slowly down her cheek, down her neck, over her collarbone and down to her chest. Her breathing was steady, unbroken and he nervously moved down farther, his hands touching the soft swelling of the top of her breasts.
"Oooohhh, yes," she cooed, squirming slightly. "Be nice, Mr. Stevenson. I have to go to sleep for a few minutes. Don't let me sleep more than a half-hour, please?"
Stevenson's hands coursed over the soft skin of the top of her tits, then it all became too much. He gently pushed his hand into one of the cups and began to fondle the white breast, and his finger began to tease the nipple. Her smile stayed, and he slowly raised himself and then knelt on the floor beside her, touching one of her tits and looking intently at the bulge in her skirt where he knew her pussy was.
He continued to rub her breast as his head moved slowly down to the hem of her skirt. Then he was there, and he looked up. He'd been right: she wasn't wearing panties! Her cunt was like a work of art, a pleasant valley nestled between her smooth legs. A sparse covering of dark silk covered the pussy, and Stevenson began to shake violently. He had to have it, come hell or high water! That cunt was the most delicious thing he'd ever seen!
Building up his nerve, Stevenson straightened and removed his hand from the girl's brassiere. Then he pushed her gently onto her side and unhooked the brassiere in the back. The tits seemed to spring out, and he lowered her onto her back again, removing the thin, flesh-colored garment. The tits were masterpieces. Even when she was lying on her back they stood out firmly, proudly, capped by two pale pink wild strawberry nipples.
"Go for broke," Stevenson declared softly, and lifted her rump slightly. She offered no resistance and he pulled the hem of her dress up until her beautiful cunt was exposed. Then he pulled it up farther until it was nothing more than a wide belt around her waist. Except for the garter belt and nylons-and the wide belt-she was completely nude. Nude, asleep, and lying right before his very eyes.
Able to resist no longer, he lowered his face onto her belly and fondled her tits with one hand while his other found the slit of her hot cunt. He brought his finger up and down in the crack, gently rubbing the tingling clitoris. He felt her hands come down and gently caress his neck and hair, and he knew she wasn't asleep; she'd only pretended to be asleep-that, or he'd waked her.
Stevenson couldn't believe it. The young girl was trying to pull him up onto the sofa with her, and she spread her legs.
Her eyes still closed, Monica sat up so her large tits swung softly. She pulled Stevenson up and placed her hands on his hips. Then with a quick movement, she unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out, stroking it with firm up-and-down movements. It was hard and ready to explode. She pulled him forward by the cock until he was straddling her body, his balls nestled between her tits as she lowered herself. Then in one quick gulp she took the head of his cock into her mouth and began to suck him off with slow, firm strokes of her mouth and tongue.
Stevenson had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth. The feeling of his prick in Monica's beautiful little mouth was so good that he couldn't believe it. His body was vibrating and tingling and he had to look down at the beautiful girl once again. He grabbed one tit in each hand and began caressing and massaging them until the nipples stuck out like little thumbs, but he was beginning to lose control. It was as though he were young again-what this girl was doing to his prick!
He looked down and watched his rod slide all the way inside the gorgeous red mouth, all the way until his body was snug against her perfect lips and his balls began to tingle and buzz. It was as if Monica knew, for her hand reached out and started to pump them and he reached forward and entwined his fingers in her hair, pulling her face forward as he thrust in. He was into her throat and her tongue was licking his shaft and her lips and teeth were savage.
Then it happened, starting way down deep. He held her close as the shot was released, filling her mouth and throat with his hot, sticky cum. He arched and she sucked wildly, trying to drink every last drop of his cum. Her hands pumped his heaving balls and she seemed to go completely crazy. Then, when he was finished and relaxed, she opened her eyes.
"Now, Mr. Stevenson, let me make you hard and please fuck me. I have to have you for the rest of the afternoon."
He knew they could go all afternoon. She was a genius.
Sandy thought about checking in with Edmund in the conference room but gave the idea up as a waste of time. She felt great but she was in the mood for another drink. She walked straight into the bar and ordered a gin and tonic, and Billy Jack's head bobbed as he heard the voice.
My God Almighty, he said to himself, old Mrs. Stevenson can't see me here like this, not with Pistol. Lordy, Lord! He embraced his new friend and snuggled down in the booth a few inches. But Mrs. Stevenson wasn't even looking their way. He didn't relax.
Sandy hadn't made it three times in one session for years. Ronnie was a real man, she thought. She remembered their final act and grinned. Nice thing nobody can read my mind, she thought. He'd told her he wanted to jam it up her ass just for good measure. She hadn't had a back-door man for years and remembered how good that was. So, without a word, she had pulled away from him. The slurping noise of his cock coming out from between the hot lips of her cunt brought another lewd grin to her face. A real fuck,, A triple header.
She'd had him lie on his back, his cock pointing straight up. Then she'd knelt over him and guided the head of his huge prick up against her tightly puckered ring. The cock was still wet and slippery and she lowered herself onto it until she felt the pop as the head went in. Then, with superhuman force, she sat down all the way, taking all twelve inches of the throbbing prick into her bunghole. She began to move up and down, going crazy all the while.
Her eyes were closed in a private ecstasy and she was thrusting up and down on the spear, clasping its entire length tightly with her seldom-fucked asshole. She loved it and began to twitch as she rammed down harder and harder.
Her eyes opened as she heard Ronnie's voice. "Like that, baby?" he asked. A smile was playing on his face. He'd made it three times, too.
"Oooohhh, fuck but it's good," she said. "Uuuummm, I've got to have all of you up me, Ron. Fuck me good, fuck me hard. Oooohh, but you're beautiful." And she humped harder, wanting him to blow her very stomach out when he came. Then she did something she'd always wanted to do: she turned around on him so she was facing his feet. The pleasure of the cock churning up her asshole, rubbing against the inside of her back, was wonderful. Sandy loved to have cocks in her-she was glad she had talked to Ronnie earlier that day.
She thought about old Edmund, her business husband. What a dog he was in the sack!
Two floors above the bar Edmund was, in fact, being something of a dog.
Monica had struck a flame in him and he'd made it twice and was still going strong. What a girl!
Now she was on her hands and knees, her fantastic tits hanging slightly. Stevenson was behind her, fucking her dog-fashion as he held onto her smooth tits for dear life. Once in awhile he'd lean back only for the pleasure of watching his still-swollen prick sliding in and out of the young brunette's tight cunt. The cock was coated with a glistening accumulation of cum, and slid in and out easily, even though Monica had the tightest cunt he'd ever been in.
He was fucking her fast now, but she wanted him to go faster yet. Her pussy was not deep, and Stevenson could feel the end of his cock thrust up against her cervix. Then she'd jerk back at him and he'd jam her again. On every forward thrust he'd slam his throbbing cock all the way into her, right up to the balls. Her cunt was like a hot cave filled with electric liver, and he jammed faster and faster. Then he felt yet another climax coming. Leaning forward, he grabbed the two melon-like tits and, using them as handles, pulled her back while he arched against her once again. He shoved everything he had into her and let the pressure in his nervous nuts explode in another torrent of hot juice.
He was locked against her and pumped another round of sperm into the child. He hoped she took pills but he didn't really care. She was the wildest little fuck he'd ever seen.
Monica was clasping her cunt against his draining prick and moving her tail in a tantalizing circular movement. Then she stopped and fell forward, exhausted. "Mr. Stevenson, why don't you fix us a couple of nice little drinks while we catch our breath? I just don't want to let go of you, you keen man." She smiled.
Stevenson could hardly walk. His prick had fallen, but he knew he could count on Monica. She'd make one hell of a traveling secretary, he was thinking. He should spend much more time in the field, much more time.
He mixed the drinks and returned to Monica. She sat on the sofa, completely oblivious to the fact that they were both all hanging out. A smile played on her lips as she accepted the glass.
"Monica, you're hired. Can you live in Des Moines? Also, the job requires much travel, at least five nights-I mean days-a week. With me, of course."
Monica squirmed on the sofa and smiled. "Gee, Mr. Stevenson, that sounds wonderful! I can type and take shorthand and I know all the filing techniques...."
"None of that will be necessary, Monica. You can start Monday. One-fifty per week and I pay all expenses-food, clothes, booze, hotel, hairdresser-sound good?"
Monica pouted.
"Two-fifty a week."
"Gee, Mr. Stevenson, you're such a smart man. Skol!"
Four hours later Edmund Stevenson was watching his new traveling secretary. He sat in his room and gazed down at the pool. She was diving and swimming as though she hadn't had any exercise for months. Watching her in that bikini, he felt his prick throbbing to life. Sandy breezed through the room and he thought about having a quick romp with her, but gave it up as a bad idea. He continued to watch Monica. He didn't like the way the blond lifeguard was smiling at her. He had half a mind to go down and tell the lout to leave his woman alone. Everybody at the hotel knew who he was-they'd show him and his respect, or else.
Then Edmund was sound asleep. He'd made it five times-something he hadn't done since he was fifteen years old. He started to dream about that first time, that magical time, and all thoughts of lifeguards and fantastic Houston girls fled from his mind. He was exhausted.
Sandy wanted to go back to the bar, and as she crossed the living room she looked at the beat-out wreck of a husband she was stuck with. He thinks it's to pee out of, she sneered to herself, and was gone.