Chapter 9
She sat brooding in the study with Gloria and Dawn and another girl named July. Gloria and Dawn watched television; July sat in an easy chair reading a book from the well-stocked shelves of the room. Daphne tried to think, but nothing would come to her. There seemed to be no way out.
The phone rang, and nobody answered it. The ringing distracted Daphne from her thoughts, and finally she walked across the room and picked it up. "Yes?" she said.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is Lester Morgan, and I represent the Capitol Hill Realty Company. Have you given any thought to selling your house?"
Somehow, somebody had gotten through from outside into the study. Suddenly, Daphne had her way out. "Yes, this is she," she said. The other girls looked up to see to whom she was speaking.
"I beg your pardon?" Lester Morgan said. "I'm calling to tell you I think we can make a fine offer for your home. How many bedrooms do you have?"
"Oh, thank you," Daphne said, ignoring the realtor. "I'd been wondering what happened to it."
Lester Morgan gave up, and hung up the phone. A dial tone invaded Daphne's ear, but she kept talking. "Oh, really? Tomorrow morning?" She bit her lip in consternation. "All right, I'll be there today. Yes, I remember. Thank you." She hung up.
"Today?" Gloria said. "Today ain't your day off, girl."
"I know," Daphne said, looking upset. "I'd lost my credit cards and identification back when I was at the hotel. It's been driving me crazy. That was the man in the room next to me. He found it, but he's checking out tomorrow."
"So have him leave it with the desk clerk."
"He said he tried. The desk clerk doesn't want anything to do with it. Something about getting burned before."
Goria shrugged. "Better talk to Jennifer."
Daphne walked to Jennifer's office, where she had been interviewed by the madam and tried out by her servant, Paul. She knocked on the door, and Jennifer beckoned her to enter.
"Yes, Candy. You did a fine job with the Secretary. What can I do for you?"
Daphne told her about her credit cards and ID. "I'd have told him to just mail it all here, but I didn't think you'd want me to give the address out to a stranger," she said.
"Very wise," Jennifer said. "You can go. Just be back by tonight."
"I will," Daphne said. She hurried to her room and dressed, then dashed from the house to her car, and sped toward Washington.
While Daphne drove hurriedly toward the Capitol, Greg sat with his feet on his desk, his arms crossed, a pencil stuffed behind his ear, his brow furrowed.
His editor, Catherine Pearson, watched him from the glass window of her private office, her anger increasing the more she watched him doing nothing. By God, he may be a Pulitzer Prize winner two times over, but I don't care if he's won it a dozen times. He works on my goddam newspaper, he goddam-well works like everybody else.
Unable to take it any more, she rose and went to her door. "Stafford!" she shouted. "Get your ass in here!"
Greg looked up at her from his desk, but did not move for a minute, deliberately. He admired her figure, if not her newspaper abilities. Even though she wore her hair in a severe bun, strained away from her face, she had delicate chiseled features, and a soft, desirable complexion. And her figure was a knockout. Huge, firm breasts strained against the confines of the businesslike clothes she wore, and her wool skirts hugged her long, tapering legs and served only to reveal their sensual shape.
A lot of the men who worked for the Trib wondered aloud amongst themselves if anybody on the paper had ever laid her, but nobody claimed to have been the one. As far as anybody knew, she had never fucked a reporter in her life. She was all business, pure and simple.
"Now, Stafford," she shouted, and Greg slowly eased his legs off his desk and stood up. He knew the eyes of the entire city room were on him, he knew by the decrease in the level of noise as he walked toward her.
When he was inside her office, she slammed the door shut and closed the Venetian blinds, shutting off the view from the rest of the office. If it had been anybody else, Greg knew, the city room would wonder if he was getting laid back there. But because it was Catherine Pearson, nobody thought that. They knew what was going on, exactly. Greg was getting his ass chewed out.
"I haven't seen a story of yours in over two weeks," Catherine said. "Don't you work here any more, or are you just drawing retirement benefits?"
"Living off my laurels," Greg grinned.
"Cut the crap, Stafford. I want to know if you work for the Washington Tribune, or if you've just been taking up space."
"I work here all right," he said, getting serious. "Right now I'm working on a story that'll blow the lid off this town."
"You always work with your feet on your desk?"
"I was thinking. I do a lot of that."
"About what?"
"A lot of things. At my desk I was thinking about the leaks that have been plaguing this city, and who's behind them."
Catherine's eyes lit up. "You're onto something?"
But Greg ignored her. "Right this minute, I'm thinking about you."
Catherine paused. "What about me?"
"About how gorgeous you are, and what I'd like to do with you."
She bristled. "This is a newspaper, Mr. Stafford, and I would thank you to remember that I'm your editor."
"Yes, but you're also a woman. All woman."
"That's enough of that," she said. "Tell me about the leaks."
"Nothing to tell right now," Greg said. "So let's talk about your tits."
"Mr. Stafford!" She was indignant now, but couldn't get over the feeling of being slightly thrilled. None of the men on the Tribune staff had so much as approached her, and she had always liked it that way. But she also knew Greg's reputation, and she told him so. "Everybody knows you get any girl you snap your fingers for. Isn't it a little bold of you to go after your boss?"
Greg started. It was the second time recently he had been told he could have any girl he wanted. Is it really true? It seems to be the general consensus, but I haven't found it to be so. Well, only one way to find out. There were two girls he wanted. One was Catherine, whom he had always taunted with sexual innuendo, just for his own amusement; the other was Daphne.
Here was Catherine in front of him. All these years of talking to her about her tits just to get a rise out of her, maybe it can come to something today, he thought.
"Like this?" he said, and he snapped his fingers.
"That's not funny," she said, rising and heading for the door. He stopped her by grasping her arm and whirling her around to face him.
"I'm not joking," he said in a low, husky voice, pulled her close and kissed her. She resisted at first, trying to push him away, but the longer the kiss lasted, his tongue lingering in the warmth of her mouth, the more her resistance faded and metamorphosed into passion.
He kissed her again, then kissed her throat, and his hand snaked under her breast and held it, molding its fingers to conform to the fleshy, pear-like shape of her tit. He squeezed it and kissed her throat again, and slowly sank to his knees.
"Oh, Greg," she moaned, and her hands bunched up some of his hair and pulled his face close to her body.
She wasn't aware that he was sinking lower, until he was on his knees and he had pushed her wool knee-length skirt up to reveal her delicate lace panties. Single strands of her velvety pubic hair peeked out from the crotch edges of her panties, and his nostrils picked up the scent of her sex. "No," she said, with her eyes closed and her head tipped back. "Don't, Greg, don't."
But he pressed his face against her panties and began to lick and nibble and he felt her knees weaken, spreading her thighs an extra inch apart as she stood there for him.
Her panties turned damp, then moist, then sopping wet from a mingling of Greg's mouth-wetness and Catherine's cunt-lubrication. His tongue pushed the lace up beyond the spread pussy lips and inside the crack of her vagina, and she groaned, almost loud enough to be heard outside the office. "Can't. . . can't do this," she said, but she made no effort to force Greg to stop.
The panty fabric had been pushed by the tip of Greg's tongue against her clitoris, and he pounded his tongue in and out, tasting her liquor-like juices through the material. She almost toppled backward from the millions of lightning bolt sensations charging through her, and Greg put his hands around her cheeky buttocks to hold her up. When he felt her begin to quiver, he pulled his face just an inch away and yanked her panties down, exposing her naked hairy triangle for his mouth. Her hair glistened from moisture, and he used one hand to pry her wet, pink lips apart, the other hand to hold her upright, both her cheeks crushed in his one giant paw.
With the interior of her dark cavern open to him, he thrust his tongue inside, as deep as he could stick it out, and began to curl and uncurl it as he jiggled it around. His hand returned to her ass and spread her cheeks, and his finger found her tight, clean asshole, and the finger, wet from her cunt juices, had no trouble opening her anus and burrowing in. Her grip on his hair was so tight he was sure she was going to tear some of it out, but he did not stop. Her legs were shaking, and her entire body jerked in time with the motion of his tongue. When she came, her thighs pressed hard against his face, almost crushing him, and she shook and moaned and bit her tongue hard to refrain from screaming, which would have certainly brought people rushing into her office from the city room to find out what was wrong.
Her juices gushed onto Greg's waiting face, and he swallowed them as they poured into his open mouth. His tongue remained inside her pussy, despite all the jerking and shaking she did, until she was done. Then he settled her down into the chair in which he had been sitting, and she slouched down in it, her head hanging back and her legs turned to jelly, spread open obscenely. Greg moved back and looked at her cunt, and felt his erection bursting to escape the confines of his clothing.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he said.
Her eyes snapped open. "No. Maybe.. . maybe some other time."
"Oh, no," he said. "You're not going to have me eat you so you can have a fantastic orgasm, and then just leave me unsatisfied and horny. I'm going to fuck you."
There was no question but that Catherine did not want Greg to ball her, but there was equally no question in Greg's mind that he would. She tried to get out of the chair, but he pushed her back in it and held her there, his hand pushing her in against her breasts.
She whimpered, but she did not struggle. Holding her down with one hand, he used the other to unloose his stiff penis, and she looked at it with a combined fear and desire she had never felt. He saw the flesh outside her pussy jump with excitement, ripple with anticipation, even though her eyes only watched with trepidation.
Kneeling, he was at an eye-to-eye level with the sitting editor. He crawled on his knees until he was directly in front of her, and he looked directly in her eyes.
"Take it in your hand," he said.
She shook her head, whimpering and mewing like an abused kitten. "No, please.. . . " she said.
"I said take it in your hand, now."
This time she obeyed, her trembling hand reaching out and wrapping around his thick, hot meatiness. It seemed to have a heart of its own, and it beat in her palm, and she felt the rush of blood streaming through its length. She tightened her grip and moaned.
"You like it, don't you?" he said.
She nodded, and wiped her finger over the head of his cock where a single drop of seminal fluid had bubbled up. Her touch on his spongy cock head sent shivers through him. "Guide it in," he said.
She nodded, and pulled the cock toward her own turgid flesh, where her sizzling pink lips were spread as far as she could spread them by parting her knees above his shoulders from her position seated in the chair.
Through the blood-red crown of his penis he felt the warm wetness of her outer pussy, the rim of her pussy lips, as she settled the cock-head in the crack of her cunt. She gasped at the sensation, and slid her fist farther down the meaty shaft of his cock so she could pull it in deeper.
He advanced toward her on his knees, and his prick slipped another inch inside, and his crown was devoured by her gaping crack. She released his cock and slipped her hands under his dangling, bloated testicles, and squeezed them gently. With the direction of his penis already established, he pushed forward, and her tight little hole swallowed the entire length of his monstrous shaft.
She raised off the chair as she felt the thing go in,. pulling on her pubic hairs and invading the sanctity of her vagina, filling her and arousing a heat and an itch that drove her near mad. She tried to grab him by the shoulders, then by the ass, but he was too far away, and she had to content herself with digging her long, painted nails into the wood armrests of the chair. Her legs rested on his shoulders, and he felt the tingle of her nylons against his skin, and he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it back so he could absorb even more of the sensation.
Her juicy hot cunt surrounding his stiff, throbbing shaft, held it tight against the moist folds of its never-seen skin and rubbed it. His cock, in turn, was stuffed into her, filling her, becoming the center of her consciousness as she wriggled in her chair and he thrust in and out, his hands holding her knees, just above his shoulders.
Once when he withdrew, he did not thrust back in, and she uttered a strangled cry. "Now do you want it?" Greg said.
"Oh, God, yes, please!" she cried. "Put it back in, Greg, oh, Christ, now, now!"
"How bad do you want it?" he said, looking down at his shaft, the crown still tucked neatly away between her lips, red from the friction of Greg's hard-driven fucking. His shaft gleamed and glistened from her wetness, and he ran his finger along it and put it in his mouth, tasting her cuntal flavors.
"Don't play games," she said, kicking a little now against his shoulders, "just do it, baby, just fuck me, please."
He waited another instant, then slammed it back into her, farther than he had gone yet. He felt the flesh of her thighs warming his crotch, and he felt his balls resting gently against the very bottom of her buttocks. She inhaled deeply, suddenly, unexpectedly as he filled her and filled her some more with his erection, and almost forgot to let the air out in a mixed exhalation and groan of ecstasy.
"Come inside me," she said, and a small part of her mind could not believe what she was saying, what she was doing. Yet there was no controlling it. She was overtaken by wanton arousal, his skewering thickness had impaled her and filled her and driven her to agonizing desire; her inflamed pussy could bear no more, and she knew she would climax soon, and she wanted to feel the hot jet of his slippery, sloshing cum. , He pounded her sadistically, using his cock almost like a weapon, and he felt his inner shaft swell with semen ready to burst forth from his blue-veined hardness.
They climaxed at exactly the same moment. He felt it coming and he stuffed his penis as far up her cunt as he could make it go, and let the sticky, hot sperm jet out, filling her. She felt it shoot against her cervix, warming even more the interior of her red-hot cunt, and she also knew she was shaking, trembling, quivering in the spasms of her own orgasm.
Spent, Greg pulled his still-stiff cock from her battered pussy and fell with a plop to the floor, landing smack on his ass. Catherine let her legs gently down, and waited for her breathing to normalize before standing and pulling her panties back up from her ankles, and smoothing her dress out. She stood in front of a wall mirror and smoothed her hair, and made sure she looked presentable. It took a couple of minutes.
Then she looked at Greg, still with his now-limp cock hanging out, sitting on the floor with a thoroughly pleased expression filling his face.
"Get up, Stafford, and make yourself decent," she said.
"What is this?" he asked. "Back to business?"
"We may have had something there, and for all I know we may do it again," she said. "I liked it. No. I loved it. But you're still a reporter on this newspaper and I'm still the editor. And if one word of this gets breathed around the newsroom, you'll be looking for work. Now get up and put your pants on."
He knew she was serious, and did what he was told. Then she sat back down in the same chair she had been seated in while he had been fucking her feverishly.
"Now then," she said. "About those leaks."
"Like I said," Greg said, standing and striding toward the door, feeling weak and exhausted. "When I have something solid, you'll be the first to know."
He pulled the door open and looked into the city room. A few heads turned to see how severe a tongue-lashing he had taken, but mostly work continued as usual. With one noticeable difference. Daphne Rogers was seated in the visitor's chair beside his desk.
"And I may have something very solid very soon," he muttered, and closed Catherine's door behind him. The exhaustion left him, replaced by a vigor and a horniness that made him strong and virile. He had conquered one woman, giving him half the confidence he needed in order to believe all those things that were said about him. And now, just moments later, was the other. What a stroke of luck!
But when he saw her face he knew there would be no way to interest her in sexual activity. The leaks! Of course! She wasn't even supposed to have a day off until next week. She must be on to something!
"Sorry," he mumbled as he fell into his seat, "I was tied up with my editor. Been here long?"
"Just a few minutes," she said.
"How'd you get out?" he asked. She explained her ruse to him, and then told him about the U.S. Secretary of Defense.
"Amazing," he said.
"Is that enough?" she wanted to know. "Is that all you need."
"No. I want you to go back."
"Again?"
"Please," he said. "You don't have to do anything. Just find out what room they take these people to."
"Why?"
"If they're smart as they seem to be, they'll have a fast exit in mind if they get caught. When I bring the FBI out there, I want to be able to lead them immediately and directly to the room where they conduct their interrogations."
She nodded. It made sense.
"The next time they drug somebody-anybody-you get the hell out of there and call me from the first place you can find a phone. Got it?"
She nodded again. "Good girl," he said, and she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked from the city room, happy that this would be her last trip to the whorehouse. More eyes than Greg's followed her out of the room, watching her seductively swiveling ass.
Greg leaned back in his chair, feeling immensely satisfied. He would stick by his phone day and night, until she called.
Things were going just fine.