Chapter 5

Amy was glad to find the house empty when she came home that night. Rick had left her a note saying that he had gone bowling with his friends, and wonder of wonders, he had left the house tidy and the kitchen spotlessly clean. Must be some sort of apology, Amy thought to herself. At first she felt vaguely guilty, realizing that Rick was trying to make what for him was a very difficult compromise, one that ran entirely contrary to his old-fashioned masculine nature, while all the time she had been busy screwing Harry Bledsoe. But she was too tired to feel anything for very long, and she was only glad that she didn't have to immediately face Rick and make meaningless conversation.

She thought over the day's events as she picked absently at a leftover roast. True, she had gotten Harry Bledsoe to agree to her offer, which gave her something to report to Mr. Robinson well within the three day deadline, but how was she to know that the rock star would keep his word? She had read about the legal hassles and back-stabbing that seemed endemic to the rock and roll business, and now, realizing that she still had absolutely nothing from Bledsoe in the way of a contractual commitment, she began to get nervous. What had seemed like a monumental accomplishment now showed itself to be nothing more than it was: an easily retractable promise made after a quick fuck. If all the promises made under those circumstances were actually fulfilled, she thought ruefully, there would be a lot more marriages and a lot more women driving Cadillacs.

She would have to get Bledsoe's signature on a contract, she decided, even if it took another session in his bedroom to guarantee it. The thought of compromising herself even further was not too appealing, but when she thought about Bledsoe's exciting foreplay and his enormous prick, her reluctance actually gave way to an amorous anticipation. It certainly could be worse, she decided, and calmed herself with the knowledge that Bledsoe would probably go for anything she offered him after he got another taste of her sweet young cunt.

She heard the door open and snapped back to reality at the sound of Rick's heavy footsteps echoing through the living room. Time to play the loving wife, she thought, immediately squelching her distaste and preparing herself for the role.

"Hi, honey," she called out cheerfully. "I'm in here, in the kitchen."

Rick didn't answer, but instead walked up to the kitchen and stood in the doorway looking at her. Even at a distance of ten feet she could smell the stale beer on his breath. Oh God, she thought. Not this.

"Did you have a good time," she said, trying to maintain her nonchalance. "Who won?"

"Who do you think won?" he bellowed drunk-enly. "I don't play to lose, you know."

Amy was determined not to argue. She knew that Rick had a tendency to get blustery when he was drunk, and she knew that he was also overcompensating for having cleaned the house, too proud to admit that he was beginning to see things her way.

"Good," she said, coming over to him, fending her way through the beer odor to offer him a chaste kiss. Then, breaking from his embrace, she turned to walk into the living room.

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her back toward him. "Where you think you're going?" he asked, his voice gruff and demanding.

"I had a hard day, baby," she said gently. "I just want to go to bed."

"You're not going anywhere until I'm through with you," he barked. He pulled her to him and pinned her in a bone-crushing bear hug, roughly running his handover her ass-cheeks at the same time.

"Ricky," she complained. "You're hurting me."

"Don't call me Ricky!" he shouted. "I'm not your little boy." He continued his brutal exploration of her body.

"Of course not," she soothed. "It's just that I'm tired." He paid no attention, but rather pulled her even closer, smashing her breasts against his chest.

"Rick," she pleaded. "Not here. At least let's go into the bedroom."

"You'll do it where I tell you and when I tell you," he snapped, bending her over half-back-wards and planting a soggy kiss on her mouth. He continued his back-breaking embrace, planting his already-hardened prick between her thighs and grinding it cruelly into her vaginal mound.

Amy realized that he intended to make love to her right there in the kitchen, on the cold linoleum floor. Rather than fight it and risk another big scene, she acquiesced, but she knew even as Rick was beginning to take her clothes off, that she felt nothing at all for him no desire, no passion, no love, nothing but a desolate and empty place in her numb heart.

When she stepped into her office on Monday, she was surprised to find among her mail a letter from Harry Bledsoe. She tore it open to find a handwritten note and a thick sheaf of papers.

Hi, the note said. This is just to let you know that I don't say anything unless I mean it.

Dropping the note on her desk, she leafed through the legal documents that had come with it. Editing out the legalese, she discovered to her surprise that what she had in front of her was a contract committing the Primordial Ooze to do two shows for Robinson and Klein under exactly the terms she had proposed. The contract was dated, fully notarized, and signed by both Danny Richman and Bledsoe himself.

My God, she thought, he's really going to do it! Clutching the contract in her trembling hand, she immediately pressed the intercom buzzer for Mr. Robinson's office.

"Yes?" came the boss' voice. "What is it, Mrs. Barker?"

"I have to see you right away," Amy said, trying to keep her voice calm. "It's very important."

"All right," said Robinson. "Come on in."

She practically sprinted into her boss' office. Unable to control herself any longer, she blurted out, "I've got it! I've signed the Primordial Ooze! Here's the contract." She waved the documents under his nose.

"Hold still, Mrs. Barker, so I can read the damned thing," Mr. Robinson said. He took the papers from her and sat back behind his desk to read it, muttering to himself as he did.

Finally he looked up at her, his face grim. "Mrs. Barker," he said, "this contract is entirely unacceptable."

Amy felt her heart drop to her feet. "Why?" she stammered.

"Think about it," he said. "Candlestick Park seats 55,000 people. Even with two shows, at this price we'd have to charge twenty dollars a seat just to meet production costs. Nobody's ever charged that much for a rock concert."

"I know," said Amy. "But the Primordial

Ooze ... "

"The Primordial Ooze nothing!" Robinson barked. "We're taking enough of a gamble as it is by moving into concert promotion with no previous experience. I absolutely refuse to stack all the cards against us by doing it so expensively."

"Wait a minute," Amy said, thinking fast in her desperation. "I've got an idea. What if we seat people on the field itself? We should be able to bring in another 20,000 a show that way and bring the price down to around fifteen dollars. Why not try that?"

Robinson shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "Remember that Candlestick is first and foremost an athletic stadium. They're not going to let their field get ruined by 40,000 screaming teenagers."

"How do you know?" Amy countered. "Have you asked them?"

"No," Robinson admitted.

"Then let me ask them," she pleaded.

It's useless," Robinson said. "They've never done it before, and there's no reason they should start now just for us."

"Let me try," Amy said. "I've gotten us this far, haven't I?"

"Well," Robinson said, "I really don't know how far this is. You've got a contract, yes, but at what cost?"

"Mr. Robinson," Amy said, now beginning to recover her confidence. "The terms of that contract represent exactly half of what the Ooze normally gets for a concert. You may not know this, but those guys hate music. They try to deliberately price themselves out of the market. Now if I can get them to come down fifty percent, I shouldn't have too much trouble with the people at Candlestick."

"All right," said Mr. Robinson reluctantly. "Take a stab at it. But I want you to realize if you don't succeed, we are now by virtue of this contract committed to putting on the concert, either that or refuse to sign it and lose one hell of a lot of credibility. I don't want to be dramatic, but it's safe to say that the future expansion of this firm rests squarely on this deal and your ability to make it profitable. Now that's a lot of responsibility for someone who was a secretary two weeks ago."

"I realize that," Amy said. "And I feel I'm up to it." Robinson broke into a chuckle. "Yes," he said, "I can see you do." He pushed his chair back from the desk, leaned back, and put his hands behind his head. "All right, Mrs. Barker. Go to it. I want a report as soon as you have an answer from the Candlestick people."

"Of course," Amy said. "Is that all."

"That's enough," he said grimly.

Immediately after leaving her office, Amy called Candlestick Park and made an afternoon appointment with the director. Then she dialed Danny Richman.

"Hey," the young manager said when he came on the line. "Congratulations. That's quite a coup. But then I had a feeling you could handle it."

"Thanks," she said, "but I'm still not out of the woods. Robbie blew his top when he saw the price, so now I have to go to Candlestick and try to convince them to let us seat people on the field so we can bring the ticket prices down. What do you think?"

"Pretty tough," he said. "Those guys treat that field as if it was the Royal Botanical Society. I know they've never let anyone but the football and baseball teams use it, and they've never allowed customer seating."

"Even with a tarp?" she asked.

"Even with a tarp."

"Well," she sighed, "I can't do anything but try. We'll just have to see."

"You might make it," he said. "After all, you've got some pretty heavy guns. Speaking of which ... "

"I'll call you later," Amy said.

Miles Vachon, the director of Candlestick Park, was a tall, gaunt man in his mid-forties who looked more like the lifelong concierge of a degenerate aristocrat than like a public official. He wore black business clothes and had a detached look about him, as if he had just sniffed a pinch of snuff and was waiting for the sneeze. All in all, Amy thought, a rather formidable target.

His first response to her proposal was an emphatic "no," so emphatic, in fact, that he seemed to be offended at the mere suggestion.

"Fine," Amy said. "I'll accept that, for the moment at least, but I'd like to hear your reasons."

"It's absurdly simple," Vachon began. "In the first place ... "

Amy wasn't listening. She got gracefully up from her chair and went around behind it. As she passed his office door, she casually reached out and locked it. Then she went and stood behind Vachon, who was making a crude sketch of the park on a piece of paper. She unbuttoned the second button of her blouse.

"I see what you're saying," she murmured softly, carefully pressing the soft warmth of one of her breasts against the man's head as she leaned over him. He turned his head, and for a moment Amy had the insane feeling he was searching for her tit to suckle on just the way a hungry baby does.

"Now," Vachon was saying, "we do have a section here where we can bring in portable bleachers, but that only adds about a thousand seats."

Amy eased around beside him and leaned over, her hands on his desk. Her breasts swayed enticingly inside her half-opened blouse. "How many seats exactly," she asked, one eye on his sketch.

"Hold on a moment," Vachon said. He reached for an electronic calculator.

Amy intercepted him, putting her hand on top of his and pinning it to the desk. She turned and looked him full in the face, noting how his color was shifting from pale white to red. "Why," she said, "I'm surprised that a man of your obvious intelligence needs a calculator to work that out." His eyes were watering as his gaze bounced desperately from her face to her breasts. His thin lips where shining.

"It's helpful," he stammered. "Although I certainly could do it in my head if I had to, and probably just as fast."

"You know, Mr. Vachon, you're a very interesting man," Amy informed him in a soft, sexy voice. She was still holding his hand.

"Oh, no," he protested softly.

"Why, you certainly are," Amy insisted, letting his hand go and turning to sit on his desk.

Crossing her legs, she kicked off her sandals. Then she folded her arms under her breasts and lifted and pressed them inward. "Why, I'm sure Mrs. Vachon has a lot of trouble keeping her hands off of you."

"There is ... no Mrs. Vachon," the director mumbled nervously. "Now as I was saying, if we ... "

"No Mrs. Vachon!" Amy exclaimed. "Why, that's unbelievable! Oh, but wait, I understand. A man of your qualities and talents doesn't want to be tied down to just one woman. That's why you're a bachelor."

"Well, I urn, I ... ah, that is ... Yes, I'm a bachelor, as you say," he admitted.

Amy had the feeling that the director was suddenly finding his pants a bit too tight. She wondered if he still lived with his mother. She unbuttoned still another button.

"Now I've got to keep my mind on business," she insisted. "You were saying about the bleachers?" She twisted sideways and leaned forward, giving him a totally unobstructed view of her pale breasts and their pink tips.

Vachon's hand shook as he picked up a pencil. The numbers on the pad were a meaningless jumble. He kept seeing Amy Barker's bare breasts inside her blouse. They were practically in front of his nose, tantalizing soft mounds with pink tips as delectable and exciting as anything he had ever seen in his life. There was a subtle pain in his chest from the sight of this small woman's graceful, feminine torso within her blouse. Any why were his pants suddenly so tight and uncomfortable?

Amy knew she almost had him. She let her arms slide the length of his desk, bulldozing a drift of papers along. The telephone toppled off the desk and bounced on the carpet with a soft ring.

"Yes, Mr. Vachon," the receptionist said tinnily from the receiver.

Vachon scrambled for the phone, picked it up and muttered something, then hung up.

Amy was lying on his desk, on her side. She stroked one leg sensuously against the other. "I'm sorry," she groaned. "I just can't keep my mind on business in your presence. I'm just too hot!"

She unbuttoned the last button on her blouse and spread it open to reveal one heaving breast.

"Mrs. Bark ... Mrs. Barker, wh ... what in the world are you doing?" he stuttered.

Amy was holding her head propped up with one hand. With the other, she reached over and eased the director's suit jacket back off one shoulder and then the other. "Aren't you terribly warm in all those clothes?" she asked softly. It's very warm in here. Why, you're even perspiring!"

"Yes, yes, I guess it is rather warm. The air conditioning must have broken down," Vachon agreed. He shed his jacket with Amy's help.

"I am just so warm," she purred, rolling on her back on the desk. She felt the calendar digging into her shoulder and shoved it aside. Then she sensuously wriggled out of her blouse.

Miles Vachon was at a total loss. He had never, never encountered anything like this! Why, the woman was practically naked! Right in the middle of his desk! And her breasts, they looked so soft and exciting, like mounds of ice cream. They were delicious gentle white hills, with sharp pink points. What would happen if he touched them? They were just too inviting not to. He reached out with shaking fingers and gently brushed the erect pink buds and jerked his hand back when he felt an electric charge streak up his arm. He had never before touched anything so incredibly hot and exciting.

"Oh, yes," Amy hissed. Her passion was by now becoming real. Something about seducing this gaunt innocent was incredibly exciting. The gentle, shy touch of his fingers on her tits made her breasts burn with excitement. She reached down unfastened her skirt. Then she lifted her hips off the desk and eased her skirt down over her thighs, let it slide down her legs and kicked it off.

The wood of the desk was cool against her buttocks, even through her panties. Nearly naked, Amy writhed sensuously on the director's desk. She rubbed the insides of her thighs together, thrilling to the feel of satin skin against satin skin. Vachon's shaking fingers were playing delicately with her aroused tits, making her nipples burn with lust. When he finally engulfed her small breasts with both of his sweating hands, Amy's eyes glazed with passion. God, she loved having her body caressed by a man. It just felt so incredibly wonderfully good to have his hands anybody's hands touching her.

"Aren't you wearing too many clothes?" she whispered softly.

"Yes," Miles Vachon squeaked. "I am, I am wearing too many clothes." Jerking his hands off Amy's sensuous breasts, he lurched up from his chair, sending it banging back against the wall. He tore frantically at his vest. A gold pocket watch popped out of its pocket and swung wildly on the end of its chain as he hurriedly stripped off his vest. Then he was tearing at his pants, his shirt.

His sleeveless undershirt revealed two hopelessly thin arms, and his legs, protruding from the bottom of his boxer shorts, were skinny and knobby. But there was something lurking inside those shorts that was enough to make Amy's mouth and pussy both water. Then the director stripped off his underwear, and Amy gulped. Hanging below the man's skinny belly was the most titanic, incredibly delicious-looking cock she had even seen in her entire life. It dangled obscenely downward, a monstrous pillar of blood-engorged flesh, pallid white with a pink knob. A shining drool of lubricant swung pendulum-like toward the floor from the slit at the tip.

"My panties," Amy croaked. "Take off my panties."

Vachon was licking his lips mindlessly. He was giddy with a lust he had never before felt in his life. He felt his swollen cock swinging ponderously between his scrawny thighs. As he moved around to the end of his desk, his cock rapped against it with a dull thud, sending a painful jolt through him. He reached for the lithe, graceful woman's panties, and hooked his bony fingers in the elastic. He fastened his eyes on her magnificent breasts as he hauled her panties off her, exposing more and more of her beautiful, rippling belly, then a thrilling light brown patch of hair. She lifted her hips up off her desk, and he pulled and tugged the lacy garment down, noting how the crotch seemed to cling up between her glorious thighs. The lace pulled away from her bush, and he could see two pouting lips and a dark, enticing slit between them far between her thighs. Ruffled pink folds protruded from her slit.

This was what the girlie magazines he had risked buying had concealed from him. This was what was really in that formless gray area they showed, or behind the artfully positioned thigh or towel or hand.

He felt as if he were about to explode with charged lust and passion.

Amy let her perfectly proportioned thighs spread, and dangled her slender legs over the end of the desk. She opened herself wide to the man, blatantly exposing the hot core of her sex.

"Touch me ... down there," she urged him. "Touch me! See what I have down there. All for you, just for you." She fondled her excited breasts, pressing and massaging them, rolling the pink erect nipples between her fingers.

Vachon stood between her open thighs, drooling at the sight of her wantonly exposed pussy. He heard her passionate request, and couldn't believe his good fortune. His bony hands trembled with a palsied lust as he reached for her dark, exciting bush. The hair was springy and wiry. He combed his fingers through it, combed the coils out straight and watched how they sprang back to embrace the pale flesh under them. He touched the already-moistened labia, exposing a flash of brilliant, shining pink underneath. He reached out a trembling finger to touch the sensitive bud.

Amy sucked in her breath at the fiery touch to her clitoris.

Vachon jerked his hand back as the woman flinched.

"Again," Amy urged. "Touch me there again. Please, oh please."

He did, and was amazed at her reaction, at the way the flat plane of her stomach heaved. He flicked the turgid button again, and watched

Amy writhe and jerk on top of the desk. Then he went exploring again. There was a deep, thrilling, mysterious looking hole down between her thighs. He probed it delicately, and felt hot juices soak his thumb. A warm, incredibly exciting smell filled his nose as he studied the pink, dripping orifice at closer range.

"Fuck me," Amy urged softly. She was burning up with lust. In her mind she held the picture of the director's mightly cock, poised and ready to thrust voraciously into her willing cunt. She wished he would stop probing her pussy with his hands and fill it with his massive rod of flesh.

Miles Vachon barely heard her impassioned plea. He was more interested in exploring the new territory spread before him. That tight, puckered brown bud between her buttocks had to be her anus!

The realization sent a shock through Vachon. He first felt a surge of disgust and revulsion, but his flaming lust quickly overcame it. Perverted curiosity urged him to explore that intriguing orifice. Delicately, he poked one finger at the tiny opening in the heart of the puckered ring.

"Jesus!" Amy erupted in shock at the unexpected touch. God that felt good!

Licking his lips with excitement, his eyes bulging, Miles Vachon probed that tight little hole again, probing his searching index finger into it with a twisting motion. Something about exploring that foul hole was unbelievably exciting.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh, Jesus!" Amy growled insanely. The finger, or whatever it was being worked into her virginal backside, felt unbelievably good! What in the world was happening with this weird little man? How was it that both of them were receiving an education? Amy had thought she knew it all, but the director's innocent curiosity was quickly disapproving of that.

The hole Vachon was probing felt tight and hot and greasy around his finger. But once he got beyond the tight closure, into her unexplored rectum itself, she opened out. He twisted and turned his finger in the hot little hole. When he drew his finger out, the little ring of muscle snapped tightly shut again.

Amy whimpered from the sudden extraction, suddenly missing something she had never known existed. "Fuck me," she pleaded again.

This time the man heard her, and cared, and wanted to. But the entire thing was so totally beyond his experience that he didn't know what to do, and so just stood there between her thighs, waiting for instructions before he made the next move.

Amy levered herself up on her arms. "It's all right, I'll show you, I'll show you," she told him quickly. She eased her ass to the edge of the desk.

"Come," she urged softly. "Come close."

Hesitantly, the skinny director stepped up between her widespread thighs.

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Amy reached down and took his gigantic, lust-hardened cock in her fingers. It was hot, heavy, and pulsating. She lifted and weighed it wonderingly. "God, it's so big," she sighed softly, massaging it with her practiced fingers.

She tugged him closer to her, nestling the blood-engorged purple tip in between her stimulated labia, wedging them open with the gigantic rounded head of his throbbing cock.

"Oooooooohhh," Vachon sighed. "You feel so hot, so good."

"Now in," Amy urged in a choked voice, tugging at the exposed shaft of flesh. She felt her vagina slowly stretching to accommodate the director's massive phallus. The towering pale column that connected her with Vachon gleamed and pulsed as he worked it deeper and deeper into her hungry hole, the distance between them diminishing slowly. "In," she whispered.

"My God!" Miles Vachon gasped. "Oh, my God!" It was unbelievable, the feeling of his engorged, enraged penis being engulfed by her hot, clinging flesh. Nerves he had never known existed were carrying incredible messages of burning pleasure to his dazed mind. Rivers of flame were zooming along his ganglia, making his flabby muscles quiver and tremble.

It was incredible, phenomenal, the way this hot little woman's body took his flaming rod of flesh deeper and deeper in. She felt hot inside, slippery and velvety. He had never know it was possible for two things to embrace as closely as the moist flesh of her vagina was embracing his quivering cock. He could feel every tremor of her muscular tube, every fiber and ripple of the clinging walls.

A hot pool was gathering deep in his guts, a steaming, impatient, too long suppressed wad of semen.

"In," Amy rasped sharpy, releasing the sliver of monster prick still showing and feeling the pulsing head of his blood-engorged phallus butt mindlessly against the end of her lubricated vagina. She leaned back on her arms, her mouth hanging open as she enjoyed the feeling of being so wonderfully full of hot, throbbing cock. She felt as if she had a telephone pole in her, stretching her clinging vagina in every direction. Her hands slid slowly out from under her and she lay back on the desk. Her sharp nipples, rigid with lust, jutted straight up toward the ceiling. The tower in her guts demanded rigidity of its socket, so she arched her back to keep the angle of penetration right.

Miles Vachon's cock was getting used to being held so warmly and tightly, and that was only adding to the searing pleasure of the act. The arching pale tummy and gloriously naked body on his desk beckoned to him. He reached out and stroked his soft hands over her tender skin, over her luscious breasts and her flat belly. Amy shifted, and he felt the walls of her vagina slide around his thundering cock. That was it! That was the feeling!

Experimentally, the director drew back, sliding his monstrous cock out of her. His prick blazed with renewed life from the friction. He pushed back into the hot gripping glove of flesh, and his penis erupted in incredible flames of pleasure.

"Aaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhh," Amy moaned at the feeling of being emptied and then restuffed with the huge, pile driving organ. It was unbelievable!

Vachon drew out again, sliding his now-glistening prick completely out of her voracious hole. Then be rocked forward, ramming his massive rod of flesh deep inside again. Flames rose higher in his groin. It was like the pressure and fires of a volcano building higher and higher. There was an eruption building there, an explosive convulsion that would bathe his entire being in wanton pleasure. All it would take was a bit more of her incredible, salacious stimulation of his raging cock.

He drew out and felt the first pre-tremors of a major blast. Quickly, desperately, instinctively, he rammed his enormous cock deep into the searing tunnel and felt it happening, an indescribable convulsing and pumping of muscles and reservoirs he had barely known existed. Something marvelous seared the length of his trembling cock and exploded from the fiery tip to spatter against the clutching end of Amy's lust-crazed vagina. Bolt after searing bolt of lightning electrified the entire length of his massive phallus, and the backlash seared his nerves with ecstasy. His hips thrust forward, buried the bulbous head of his spewing cock against the end of Amy's fleshy socket. His come pressured through the space, hydraulically separating his flesh from hers.

Miles Vachon gurgled senselessly, his body arching, his eyes bulging as he unloaded ten years of suppressed come into the lithe body on his desk. His muscles squeezed and convulsed and pumped and pumped and pumped until he ached with exhaustion. Then their convulsing faded to a mild quivering. Panting, flushed and sweaty, the director fell over Amy, practically smothering her.

"Noooooo," Amy whimpered. "Not so soon, not already." But it was hopeless. She felt the director's organ shrinking in her still-hungry vagina, leaving her hanging on the brink of her own shattering orgasm. Pleasure faded and was replaced with misery, a hungry ache deep in her guts. "Aaaaaaaaa, shit," she swore miserably, beating on the director's skinny back with her ineffectual fists.

Aroused, he pushed up off her and backed away, his shrinking prick slipping free of her avaricious pussy. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Oh dear God, I'm sorry."

"So am I," Amy muttered.

"I shouldn't have ... I don't know what happened to me. I don't know what came ove me," the bewildered man babbled senselessly.

"Mr. Vachon," Amy said sharply.

"Yes? What?" he stuttered, holding his boxer shorts vaguely in front of himself.

"About the field ... " Amy said.

"What about the field?" Vachon echoed stupidly.

"You'll agree to our proposal?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Amy was still seated on the desk. Deliberately, she posed for him, giving him the best possible view of her deliciously naked body, all skin and curves and exciting softness. "You've had a sample, M r. Vachon. There might be a bonus in it for you if you were to approve our seating plan," she informed him huskily. He had damn well better come through, she thought. She was burning up with unsatisfied lust!

The man got a crafty look. "You mean ... "

Amy didn't say a word. Instead, she slid one hand down her belly to her aching pussy, and slid her fingers into the dripping, soggy swamp of pubic hair. She licked her lips as she played with herself.

Vachon dropped his underpants and scrambled wildly through the papers that had spilled from his desk. His buttocks bobbed comically as he pawed through the litter. Finally he lurched to his feet, waving the agreement Amy had brought triumphantly like a flag.

Turning, Amy reached for the desk set and took the pen from its socket. She offered it to him delicately. She hovered over him, one breast nearly in his face as he scrawled his signature on the contract.

The instant he was done, Amy pulled the pen out of his hand and speared it back in its hole. Then she picked up the form and carefully blew the ink dry. She could see the skinny man's marvelous organ rising slowly to attention as she blew. Flipping the contract casually aside, she rolled from the desk and launched herself at the director. Pressing the full length of her warm, womanly body against his, she kissed and nibbled salaciously at his mouth. She pressed him backward and downward on the gray carpet until he lay in front of her. Licking her lips with excitement, she fondled his hardening phallus. She had to do it, she just had to see what the incredible column of meat would taste like. She lowered her head and took the bulbous cap in her mouth, amazed at how wide her jaw had to gape to take it.

It was warm and pulsing with life. It tasted of fresh come, his come, mingled with her pungent juices. She slurped up the mixed flavors with gusto. Her vagina was squeezing, searching blindly for the monumental meal that had been so unceremoniously snatched away from it.

Holding the mammoth shaft in her hand, Amy straddled the director's hips and lifted herself up over his raging tower. Nestling the blood-filled head in her opening, she lowered herself onto it driving it up into her hungry belly in one steady thrust. She felt as if she was being split open by the huge organ.

"Uhhh," she grunted, dropping the last inch.

"Oh my!" Miles Vachon gasped. It was there again, that wonderful gripping embrace around his penis. He shifted his hips and felt that marvelous hot friction of flesh against searing flesh. The simmering pool was already building deep in his lust-filled groin.

Leaning forward, Amy braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted and dropped, pistoning the marvelous shaft deep into her burning guts. She was close to an orgasm already, rapidly re gaining the fiery peak she had left just minutes before. She loved the slapping squishing sound of her body meeting Vachon's, thrilled to the thick stench of sex. And now there was something else she wanted to try. She took one of Vachon's trembling hands and dragged it around to her globe-like ass. She began working his fingers into the inviting crack between her ass-cheeks.

"You want?"

"Stick your finger up my butt," she ordered harshly.

Vachon didn't have to be asked twice. Just the thought of that vile act filled him with lewd excitement. He sought and found her anus in the sweaty, steaming crevice of her bottom. Her flesh was already slimy with come, making entry easy. He bored his finger up into the tight, resisting opening, twisting and turning it as if he were screwing an awl into her.

Amy lay forward over the sweating director, bathed with searing pleasure from the thundering cock in her vagina and the probing finger in her ass-hole. She squirmed and writhed against him as the level of her pleasure rose higher, and still higher. She groaned and whimpered as the fires of passion roared through her from the itching friction of his finger in her virginal ass-hole and his monstrous prick pummeling her vagina.

Vachon was grunting and sweating as he twisted his salacious finger in the greasy opening. He could feel his cock through her flesh! He heaved, pistoning his pulsing cock in her clinging vagina. The increased frictional stimulation blistered along his nerves, bringing his raging climax still closer.

"Ahhh ... ahhhhh ... ahhhhhhhhh," Amy grunted as she worked and wriggled on the two invaders, grinding her palpitating clitoris to a fiery paste against Vachon's pubic bone. "Awww-wwwww ... I'm com ... I'm com ... I'm commmmmmmiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggg," she moaned insanely, clutching at the director with her arms and her legs and her shivering torso. She sank her teeth in the flesh of his torso as she came and came and came. She was vaguely aware of his hips jamming up against hers. She felt spurts of hot viscous semen slamming against the end of her hidden cervix. Her anus was clenching and squeezing the finger in its grasp as it doubled the pleasure of her shattering, mind-blasting orgasm.

Vachon continued pummeling his rapacious prick deep into the hidden well of her already-satisfied vagina. She never would have believed that the skinny official could have been capable of such wild, abandoned passion. His breath was coming in short gasps as he continued to brutally pound the full length of his desire-maddened cock into her helpless, aching vagina. She responded by raising her luscious hips high up in the air to allow him a more complete access, curling her legs around his chest and back, and answering every thrust with a thrust of her own. Soon, she knew, he would be coming again.

Then, just as she was beginning to wonder if he was going to hold on all afternoon, Miles Vachon began to feel the first fires of his orgasm building deep inside his tortured balls. Higher and higher the flames rose as he grunted out his passion. Then, just when he thought he would go mad with the pressure of it, he felt the steaming sperm begin to course through the full, length of his massive prick.

"Aaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhhh," she screamed. "Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhhhhhh!"

Then there was nothing but muscle-aching exhaustion. Wearily, Amy hauled off the director after his prick had shriveled to a feeble limp shadow of its former self.

"Ahhh, me," Miles Vachon sighed as he lay on his back, trying to gather his breath.

Amy dressed quickly, leaving the exhausted Vachon to lie on the floor and watch her. Picking up the signed contract, she made her way to the door.

"Mrs. Barker?" the director called after her.

"Yes?" said Amy coldly, wanting nothing else but to make her escape with the signed contract firmly in her possession.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

"I don't know how you did it," Mr. Robinson said, shaking his head as he read over the Candlestick Park contract. "One week on the job, and you've already brought off two entirely unprecedented signings. I can't figure it out." He continued reading the contract, going carefully over each clause until he was satisfied that there would be no escape route for the director of Candlestick Park. Then he pulled out the

Primordial Ooze contract and subjected it to the same careful examination. "Unbelievable," he said when he was finished. "Simply unbelievable.'"

"I guess I'm just the persuasive type," Amy said nervously.

"Very persuasive indeed, I'd say," was Mr. Robinson's reply. "Almost abnormally persuasive." He gave her a steady, mildly suspicious gaze.

Amy shifted in her chair. "Is there anything else we need to talk about right now?" she asked. "If not, I'm sort of tired."

"No, that's it," Mr. Robinson said. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

Amy nodded absently. She stood up and turned to go, but as she did she could feel Robinson's eye? burning into her from behind.