Chapter 12

Remembering how he had always thought that Max McGillah had it easy, Brad smiled sourly as he sat in the big office. The past few weeks hadn't been a picnic. The hell of it was, he admitted to himself, a good deal of his trouble had been self-induced. Like his getting a little too overbearing with Mauricio Rubio, the bright young Mexican-American who had been moved into Brad's old job.

Like Tom Sorden and Larry Menas, he brought his ideas in to the director's office for a general discussion. Just as Brad had, not too long ago, when Max McGillah was the director. And for some reason, Brad had been much more critical of Rubio's ideas than of the others. Bill had commented on it.

"Let him make a few mistakes, Brad," Derwin had counseled him. "He's enthusiastic. Don't spoil his enthusiasm by picking his ideas apart. You're only going to be as good as the men under you. Encourage the kid!"

It had smarted for a while, but in his heart he knew that Bill had been right. And there was the matter of his appointing his new secretary. Maida had really brought him down when she declined the job. And he thought that he had been doing her a favor. Shit, it was pretty big of him, in a way, when he had a wide choice. Maybe it wasn't anything personal. Maybe Maida had lied about her ambitions and how she was afraid of new responsibilities. After their terrific fuck that day on the carpet and after the party at Bill's, it couldn't be that she didn't like him.

She certainly had seemed sincere enough when she had declined the job. At least he had thought so at the time. One can't always tell when people are really sincere.

"Thanks, Brad, but no thanks," she had said when he had given her what he thought would be good news. "I've found out something strange about myself-I think I'm reverting back to some of my middle-class ideas. I don't know if I like the feeling that I'm a piece of company property. You'd be better off with a different girl." And she had stuck to it, in spite of his urging, which, to be honest, had been only perfunctory, more out of courtesy and friendship than anything else.

She had made up for it by suggesting a girl she knew in the auditor's secretarial pool. Jeanne Flick, a cool-looking, self-possessed blonde. A younger edition of Alison, really, who hadn't batted an eyelash when he had looked her straight in the eye and asked her if she knew all that was expected of an executive secretary.

That was really one wonderful thing that had happened on the new job-the way she had answered the question. She had simply gotten up, gone to latch the door and had come back to stand before him, smiling warmly, casually reaching behind her to run the zipper of her dress down. "Now?" she had asked and the way she asked the question caused him to roar with laughter-the first good laugh he'd enjoyed for several days.

Her body was beautiful. And she was wonderful on the big couch, or on the carpet. Even on the desk. She made sex a matter of laughter and fun and no guilt or regrets. Of course, she was a damned efficient secretary, too.

And, strange for him, he prized her more as a secretary than as a piece of ass. After all, when he kept up his homework properly, he didn't come into the office with a hard-on. Donna had always been ready, but she was a whole lot more aggressive these days. She never seemed to get enough.

So, while it was nice to know that Jeanne and her startling beauty were always there for him to enjoy, he didn't feel that he had to fuck her if he didn't feel like it. Anyhow, things sometimes happened to take his mind off sex.

Like today. Brad had come in feeling great. Feeling that he was getting on top of his job, feeling that he was developing a sound relationship with young Rubio, feeling Jeanne's ass when she brought" him a cup of coffee. Not just a jovial pinch, either, but a good, long, wiping feel that started with his hand between her knees and wound up with him getting his fingers slippery-wet in the soft warmth between her cuntlips.

He had even begun to get the first stirrings of a hard-on, since Donnas' period was due and she was grumpy, as usual. Thinking of Jeanne, who was never out of sorts, he had deliberately been unsympathetic with Donna. That always turned her off. So Jeanne looked awfully good to him this morning.

And then the goddamned phone rang and it was Bill, on the warpath. He had tossed off a verbal report on a plan submitted by Tom Sorden the day before and Bill, after studying Tom's plan, had come to the conclusion that Brad had never even read it. That simply wasn't true. Brad had read it, maybe not as completely as he should and his error was evident.

At least that was Bill's idea. Brad couldn't believe he had been so careless. But Bill had really stung him.

"You're the director, Brad," Bill had said flatly. "How can you direct things if you don't even know what's going on?"

After you've swallowed a dose like that and swallowed your own angry explanation as a good company man should, you don't feel like eating a little pussy on top of it. Not even a pussy so pink and blonde and juicy and hot as Jeanne's. And your lunch doesn't sit too well, either.

The thing had been straightened out. Bill came down a little after two p.m., all smiles, dragging an apologetic Tom Sorden after him.

"I'm sorry I gigged you so hard, Brad," Bill said genially. "This bum just told me something I wish I'd known before I called you. Last night, after you had this report, Tom saw where it could be improved and he stayed after work to change it. So you were right and I was wrong. I'm sorry I blew up-truly sorry!"

It eased the hurt to his ego, but it still rankled.

Even after Bill had stopped at the door and come back to smile and say, "I've been working you too hard. Why don't you shut up shop and go home early? Take Donna out dancing; have some laughs. It's Friday anyhow. We never get too much done on Friday afternoons." He patted Brad on the shoulder. "You're my man, Brad, you know that! You're doing a great job. So get out of here and forget it until Monday!"

Now that he was on his way home, Brad began to feel a lot better. Bill's apology was genuine and so was Tom's. And surprising Donna would be a good thing to do, especially after he had been so mean to her that morning. He rubbed at his crotch, smiling ruefully. Probably just as well that he hadn't banged Jeanne. A good, slow, easy fuck, with all the lights on so he could enjoy Donnas' various cute little goodies... that would be a good way to make up.

Thinking of Donna, he frowned. She had been sort of odd lately. He always smelled whiskey on her breath when he came home and that was something new. And the house didn't seem as meticulously neat as it had before. Maybe she ought to have a full-time maid-they could afford it.

Well, hell, she was spending a lot of time at the beach. Her tan was great. "My little brown gal with white stripes," he had called her. And he certainly couldn't kick about their sex lives. No more reservations, no more inhibitions. He drove the Cadillac a little faster. A great car! The couple next door had come over the first evening he drove it home, ohhing and ahhing and visibly impressed. They were nice people.

There was a battered Volkswagen van in his driveway and it tugged at his temper. He hoped it wasn't someone from Citrus City. Maybe it was some handyman, come to repair something.

The front door was open and he heard the sound of male voices as he stepped inside. And Donnas' voice, sounding a bit drunk. Damn it! This was a little too much!

All the sound was coming from the bedroom and his feet made no sound on the thick shag carpet as he moved down the hall. A slow anger welled up in him.

"Watch it, baby-you're bending my prick!" a man's voice cried and Brad stopped at the door to check whatever he could before he made his furious entry.

The first thing he saw was his wife's pussy-pink, wet, glistening, wide-open. She was reflected in the tall mirror of her vanity and every light in the room was on, so that he saw every detail.

Donna was sitting upright on some stranger who was spread-eagled on the eight-dollar satin spread. It was obvious that his cock was buried in Donnas' asshole and she was leaning back, braced on her hands, her firm little breasts taut, the odd position stretching and opening her cunt.

"One of you guys get it in here!" she shouted, humping forward. "You-what's your name? Frank? Come on, Frank, sock it to me!"

Three or four others, with long hair and dirty feet, lounged on the bed, grinning. One was partly sitting, partly lying on Donnas' silk-upholstered chaise. One, a tall boy with a glass of Brad's booze in his hand, was laughingly jerking at his prick. He was the first one to see Brad.

"Hey, who the hell is that?" he asked, undisturbed. "Donna-baby, we've got company!"

Donna, focusing drunken eyes on his image in the mirror, cried gaily, "Hi, dear! Make yourself a drink! Meet the fellows-Frank here and Nick, under me and some other friends from the beach." She waved vaguely. "Say hello to my husband, you guys!" But she put her hands over her face and began to sob.

After some of the shock had ebbed and he could see what he was doing, Brad stopped and got out to look at his right rear fender. He remembered smashing down a young shade tree as he had ripped out of the drive. The car was okay. He would buy the neighbors a new, bigger tree.

He rolled up the on-ramp to the southbound lane of the freeway, his anger cooling. He drove slowly, trying to think his way out of this situation. It wouldn't do to throw Donna out, at least not now. Bill wouldn't like it if a stink were raised and he realized helplessly that Donna, the way she was now, would really enjoy making a stink. He shuddered.

God Almighty! Those filthy hippie bastards! No wonder the house never looked clean. He had raised Donnas' house allowance to seven hundred bucks-probably half of it was going for whiskey! Those stupid shits! Dirtying up my home, drinking up my booze. And fucking my wife, on top of everything else! And if this has been going on regularly, the neighbors are all talking about it.

He thought desperately of a way he might cover up the mess. Talk to Donna; get her to keep it to certain hours. Tell the neighbors she's giving classes in yoga or something. No chance, he thought bitterly.

Buy a little house at the beach then? Let her get it out of her system down there? He swore aloud. He would be damned if he would pay for a house for his wife to use as a fucking spot.

Feeling more lonely than ever in his life, he drove slowly, automatically, winding up in the company garage, under the Bonturat Building. He sat in the Cadillac for a long time.

The luxury of his office calmed him. It wasn't Bill's fault that his interest in Donnas' well-being had backfired. All that Bill had wanted was for Donna to realize her full sexual potential. She didn't have to go hog-wild.

As he sat there on the deserted floor-everyone had gone home by now-the quiet eased his squirming mind. Whatever happened, he wasn't going to let Donnas' aberrations mess up his life, his success. He'd never shove his cock into her again-that was for sure! Horsing around this way, she'd come home with a dose of clap, maybe worse. He'd put it to her straight-keep those pricks out of his home. Take them to a motel-she could afford it. Or go to their lousy pads.

He had a sudden vision of Donna-clean, cuddly, warm, tiny Donna-drunkenly fucking and sucking a gang of unwashed, long-haired punks. And he had a picture as she was in that orange grove, so many years ago-a skinny little kid with big eyes, boobs no bigger than an apricot, hardly any hair on her childish little pussy.

Damn it, if he had only stayed at the office! He could've had Jeanne, so warm and sweet, spread out on his desk as he sat in his big chair and ate her pussy. "The executive low-calorie special," she had called it the first time they had tried it that way. But Jeanne was off somewhere for the weekend. But he needed someone.

He thought of another juvenile pussy and dialed Bill's home, asking for Ellen. Oh, didn't he know? an impersonal male voice asked. Miss Ellen went back to school the day before.

Somehow, out of all the shocks of this day, out of all his frustrations and blows to his emotions, he had retained some trace of his manhood. At least that was the way he thought of it. Out of his feel of Jeanne and his aborted decision to fuck her, out of his recovered aplomb after Bill's apology, out of the sight of Donnas' lewdly wet, lewdly open cunt-even out of his futile call to Ellen-Brad's cock kept the faith. Miraculously, it was swelling and fattening, warm against his thigh. It gave him a new feeling of freedom.

His telephone ran stridently, raising him out of some crazy dream of going down to Tijuana and getting a group of whores to spend the weekend with him.

He was puzzled for a moment that someone could call him, since the switchboard was closed long ago. And then, with satisfaction, he recalled that his office was one of six that were always left plugged in on one of the company's trunk lines, so that, if he had to work late, he could still call outside without the operator's help. The phone whirred again and he picked it up, deciding that it was probably a wrong number. Donna was the only one, outside the company, who would know how to get him.

But it wasn't a wrong number after all!

"Hello, Brad, my dear," a smooth, warm voice said. "It's Alison. Aren't you surprised?"

Brad's heart jumped. She was perhaps the only person, anywhere, that he could talk to. He didn't need to make his voice warm and confident. Alison made him feel that way. "More than surprised," he said. "Knocked off my feet would be more like it. This may be my lucky day sifter all."

"Yeah, I know-part of it was a little rocky, wasn't it?" the smooth voice asked. "Bill made a hell of a boner on that Sorden report. I never saw him so shook up about a mistake. His mistake, I mean. He felt lousy about that. He really likes you, Brad."

"I know he does, Alison," Brad's happiest voice said. "He was great. But listen, this is after hours and I want to say something that I'd never say any other time. Okay?"

Alison laughed. "Fire away, Bradley," she said. "What did you want to say... in strictest confidence, of course."

"Sure, doll, in strictest confidence," Brad said. "I wanted to say, 'Fuck Bill!' How does that grab you?"

The blonde girl's laugh came loud and clear along the wire. "Brad, I never knew you cared!" she cried and they both went into a burst of choking laughter.

"So, okay, I feel better now," Brad said. "What I meant was that I didn't want to take up any time talking about Bill. What I want to know is, where are you and what are you doing and how did you know where to reach me?"

"I'm upstairs, in my office," Alison said calmly. "I'm sitting here with nothing to do and nobody to do it with. And when I drove into the garage a few minutes ago, Frank-you know Frank, the night man in the garage?- Frank said he saw you come in and he never saw a man that looked more in need of a sympathetic friend. And Brad, listen... I've got sympathy just oozing out of me. In fact, if I don't get out of these wet panties, I could catch cold!"

The couch in Bill's office was infinitely better than the one in his, Brad decided. For example, it became a big bed at the touch of a button. It was fitted with clean, crisp sheets and huge pillows. But best of all, it was fitted with Alison. For once in his life, Brad was truly grateful to a woman and because his emotion was completely honest, he had no subtleties of flattery to use.

His cock was hard, filled with good feeling, as he slowly lifted his loins above Alison's hospitable pussy. He could've come at any time after the first few minutes he had it in... or rather, after Alison, kind and clever, had whispered, "No, darling, let me put it in!"

There was real artistry in her gentle movements. She had held it with such a gentle grip. "It's nice and big, Brad," she said with a smile.

"Not as big as Bill's," he had said, half-hoping that she would lie. But she had laughed tenderly, giving it a shake.

"That's true, Brad," she had said, holding the big red glands just at the warm entry. "But did you know this? Size has very little to do with a woman's pleasure from sex."

She let him into her slowly and easily and laughed again as he pulled out and gave a mighty shove. "Don't hurry, Brad," she whispered. "You don't have anything to prove-not with me!"

He kissed her fiercely, his lips working, his head turning, his tongue seeking hers. She pushed him away.

"Don't be an actor," she admonished him. "If you want to kiss, forget the bad movies you've seen. Fucking is better when it's plain and simple. And honest. Just put your mouth on mine, if you feel really affectionate. You don't have to be a tiger. A little tenderness makes fucking even nicer."

He slowed his movements, fucking gently, surprised that this was such a different pleasure from what he had expected.

"I guess I haven't really grown up, Alison," he said. "Maybe I don't know as much as I thought I did."

The softness of her breasts, the warm smoothness of her skin, the warmth and gentle life around his cock lifted his spirits. Just as her simple welcome had, when he first walked in. The couch was down, ready for them, but Alison had mixed him a drink first and talked quietly as she slowly undressed them both. When they were both nude and she sat on the edge of the couch, holding his hand and looking up at him with a questioning smile, the warm and intimate perfume that rose from her loins brought him down on his knees between her spread thighs and as she lay back, raising her legs to place her feet on his shoulders, it brought her cunt up to his face.

It's blonde-haired lips were not so fat as Maida's, but longer, like soft flaps which folded to cover and protect the tender rosette of pink convolutions inside. Only when they reached the dark little concavity which was the entrance to her vagina did they disappear and he could see the source of what she called "sympathy" oozing out.

The inner lips were warm and moist, for the thick juice which had been gathering there had been held in by the hairy folds, slowly turning to the consistency of a thick syrup. The taste, as he licked them, was pure delight to his senses.

Afterward, when he had risen above her with a rampant hard-on, she had rolled to the center of the couch and held him in her arms, forcing him to wait, to content himself with kissing her breasts and giving his hands the soft experience of stroking her smooth belly, her flanks, the live heat in the depression between her thighs. And she had made him talk.

"Don't worry about Donna," she told him. "And don't worry about Bill's attitude. He'll be sorry to hear that she reacted so badly, but he's a realist. And he values you too much to let her actions damage you."

She let her legs come apart so that Brad's hand could reach down, parting the lips which his tongue had so recently cleaned. They were already wet again and he parted them carefully, the big, soft flaps seeming to close around his fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled as his finger went into her, touching the softly grained lumps of glandular tissue just inside, turning to caress the muscular slickness of the firm interior. Engrossed in the minor delight of searching her out, he put another finger in, surprised that two fingers went in so easily. His hard-on was now tremendous, pushing against her hip. He had never worked so slowly on Donna-nor on any other woman-and was mentally intrigued by his self-control.

As a part of this exercise in languorous love play, he kissed her nearest nipple. A thought of what she'd just said stuck in his mind and he asked, "But what's the answer-between me and Donna, I mean? Do I just tell Bill? Ask for advice?"

She squeezed her thighs on his hand, rolling her hips so that her steaming cunt rotated against his fingers.

"I'll take care of it, Brad," she whispered. "There's no problem. Bill has an attorney in Tijuana-his name is Jorge Leyes and he's the best there is. A Mexican divorce is so simple, so easy-no more trouble than getting a fishing license. You won't even have to talk to Donna if you don't want to."

She opened her legs even wider and whispered in his ear, "Let me suck it for just a minute or two."

He rolled on his back, but she said laughingly, tugging at his prick, "No, move around and turn on your side. There, that's it!" Her face was at his crotch, her breasts softly bunched at his belly. "Now, raise this leg and put it over my shoulder."

He did as she ordered and felt his ass cheeks open, felt her soft hand go around his balls as well as the thick root of his cock. With her cunt at his face, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the richness of the deeply feminine odor that rose to him. She had put his hard prick under her cheek and he felt his balls being sucked slowly, warmly, into her mouth.

She rolled the big tender testicles, encased in their hairy bag, against her tongue and cheeks and his cock throbbed as she pulled at them. It was lying against her neck and he imagined that he felt her own heartbeat where the swollen glands pressed against the big artery in her throat.

She moved her head again, letting his balls out from her lips and now he felt the expert mouth close over the jerking head of his cock, sliding down so that the entire column went out of sight. He trembled at the soft shock as the head, striking the closure of her throat, compressed and bent slightly.

As men have always done to fight off premature ejaculation, he determinedly forced his mind to another subject.

His job. Where did he go from here? Was he as high as he could go in Bonturat? Without a college education, without specialized technical knowledge or experience in administration, could he attain a vice-presidency?

Alison's lips and tongue were still, for she had sensed how near he was to coming. His face, pressed into the crisp and fragrant mop of cunt hair, felt a tremor of movement in her thighs and belly.

Outside of the vice-presidents, Alison had the best job in the firm. He knew that she was, in many respects, more valuable to Bill than anyone in the organization. Her salary, it was common knowledge, totaled more than fifty thousand a year and her closeness to Bill gave her more inside knowledge for investments than anyone.

It was at this point that she had rolled away from him, lying on her back and spreading her legs in woman's age-old welcome, smiling up at him with parted lips, her face tender.

Now, as she rolled gently under him, showing him how to kiss without the faked fury he had always wasted, licking his teeth, his gums, the inside of his lips, holding his face in gentle hands, he thought only of this heightened pleasure he was learning.

She pushed his face away to smile at him, wrinkling her nose delightfully. "If you're not as big as Bill," she said softly, "you can also see that I'm maybe not as tight as Donna. Or Maida or Verna."

He shook his head in quick denial of the thought he'd been holding. She wasn't so tight, but there was a new pleasure in feeling his sensitive cock gently churning in the hot interior, rubbing against her cervix, lightly caressed by the living warmth of her rather roomy pussy. It was wonderful. He could fuck for an hour, holding back his orgasm, letting the explosive itch grow gradually, slowly, stopping when it came too near, letting his cock rest happily in the softly moving kiss of muscle and membrane.

"Tightness isn't the most important thing in a fuck, Alison," he said, smiling and remembering her kindness, her woman's knowledge, as she had assured him that a man's size had little to do with a woman's pleasure.

She pulled his face down for a long kiss, then held him in her arms, whispering in his ear, "Sex is never so wonderful as when there is love, Brad, or even the imitation of love."

The awareness of how much of his passion had always been play-acting made him grateful for her sweet humility. As far back as he could remember, he couldn't be sure that he had ever said, honestly and simply, "I love you!" To have love for a woman-no, not really. He loved his mother, his father. Love without sex. And perhaps he had felt love for Donna, back in their first beautiful weeks and months of discovery.

In spite of his resolve to fuck all night, the thought of what Alison had said and his mental response, caused him to drive his loins against her, to probe more deeply with his prick, to try to raise her to a greater height of-what?

Heat? Passion? Coming, popping her nuts, shooting her wad, crumbling her cookies, blowing her load, dumping her ashes-all the other non-tender synonyms for the sweetness a woman experienced at climax?

"Love!" He said the word aloud, distorted by the girl's fat, hard tongue in his mouth. "Love!" he said it again, clearly and his body was straining now, driving his cock into her in fierce rhythm. And suddenly Alison's cunt, so comfortably slack with its syrupy heat, changed to a hard-gripping set of muscles which writhed around him like a warm, strong fist.

Her eyes were closed, her lips clamped shut in fierce concentration-he saw it in a flash, almost subliminal, as the thundering heat in his cock came to a bursting point in the grip of her pussy, which milked him in an exact cadence with his thrusts.

As his hot seed began to pour into her, each spurt an agonized shock of pleasure, she held her hips arched high off the sheet, her strong back muscles holding him in the air as his jets filled her, the strong force of her inner muscles sucking him dry.

They were both near exhaustion as she fell back against the sheets, but their mouths found each other. Her tongue was fat and soft, now that the concentrated fever had burst in her, but on his wilting prick, still full of happy feeling, still giving a reflex throb from time to time, he felt the muscled sheath move gently, like a loving tongue.

They lay in affectionate relaxation several times that night. Brad truly learned what it meant not to hurry, not to prove anything, but only to love.

They snacked on wonderful tidbits from the refrigerator in Bill's well-stocked bar. They drank good wine. Alison smeared clam-and-cheese dip on the head of Brad's cock and licked it off slowly. She lay spread open while Brad put the neck of a bottle of yellow Chartreuse deep into her cunt and squatted over his mouth to let it drain out. He pulled her down to him to suck out the last drops and explained that it was the first time he'd ever gotten drunk on pussy.

"What do you know, the sun's coming up!" Brad exclaimed as they awoke from a nap to find the light from outside dimming the lamp by the couch.

Alison laughed sleepily, her face more beautiful than Brad had ever seen it. "I always sleep in on Saturdays," she said. "Oh, Brad, it was so wonderful!"

She buried her face in his crotch, kissing his soft and wrinkled cock tenderly. "I'm sure it's clean," she whispered. "If it's not, it's not my fault!"

He sat with her face against him, reaching under to play with those marvelous breasts. He moved one hand down into the cleft of her ass and Alison moved sharply as his finger touched the opening of her cunt. "Take it easy, lover," she said softly. "I'm as tender as a bride!"

Laughing quietly, Brad began to dress. Alison watched him as he tucked his shirt into his slacks.

"Where to now?" she asked, smiling.

For a moment, his face held a look she'd never seen before, tight and grim.

"I've got to go have a talk with Donna," he said firmly. "If she'll move out without a fight, okay-I'll take care of her. But you'll talk to Bill, won't you? And that attorney, Jorge Leyes?"

Her voice was low. "Maybe the shock of your being away all night will help her shape up, Brad," Alison said.

"Too late for that," Brad said briskly. He was smiling. "I'm going to spend more time on my job-I've got a lot to learn. I won't be at home very much and I'll be damned if I will leave her in that house, her and her hippie boyfriends." He bent down to kiss her. "You've taught me a lot about... well, other things tonight. When I get to spending more of my time down here, maybe you'll teach me some other things I ought to know... about the business."

"I'll teach you all I know," she said warmly, her breasts rising as she reached her arms up to him. "And not just about business. I'll teach you how sweet it can be to have both sex and love. Or its imitation!" Her laugh was light.

"You already have," Brad said, kissing her. "If you're going to be at your home, I'll call you tonight."

She watched him go out the door, young, determined.

"Good-bye, lover," she whispered.

The desk light in his office was still on and Brad turned it off. He was sleepy, but he enjoyed the thought of going home and having it out with Donna. No sweat, he thought. He'd always been able to dominate her. Pack her up, give her a check for five hundred, take her credit cards away from her, except maybe one oil company card and start her out for Citrus City in the old Chevrolet.

He sat in the half-light, thinking with fierce ambition of the future. He could see ahead to the day when Alison, having been moved out of her job without knowing exactly what hit her, would clean out her desk and he would move into her job. With all he had going for him, with her deeply in love with with-that would be only a matter of time, he was certain-he would know everything she knew by that time.

It was tough, of course. But business was business. He thought of how she would look on that day, her beautiful face sad and puzzled. A tear rolled down his cheeks and another. But after all, she could get a job anywhere. Tom Sorden had told him so. He wiped the tears away carefully and put the handkerchief back in his pocket. He turned his face up, in the general direction of the office where Alison lay in her exquisite nudity, his semen still sticky between her thighs, her pussy, in all probability, still throbbing a little.

"Tough shit, Alison-baby," he murmured and laughed.