Chapter 3
Wayne Evans sat across the desk from Milton King in the quiet of the after-banking-hours closing time and watched the bank's executive vice-president scan a column of figures in connection with the Acme Printing Company's application for an industrial loan. Wayne's presence was a part of the additional apprenticeship he was serving prior to being appointed a branch manager, and she was the first to admit that he had learned a great deal from these after-hours conclaves in which he had had the opportunity to benefit from observation of Milton King's incisive, sharply honed business instincts.
There was a double tap on the office door and Gloria Carson entered. Gloria was a cool-looking blonde whose brief miniskirt disclosed attractive legs. Wayne had always had doubts about the naturalness of the coloring of Gloria's bouffant hairdo, but there was no doubting the attractiveness of the slender legs fairly begging for masculine attention in their snug-fitting pantyhose. The shortness of Gloria's skirt was an offense against the bank's conservative dress code, but no one was telling the current girl friend of the executive vice-president to go home and come back to work dressed more appropriately.
Milton King looked up from his worksheet as he sensed the additional presence. He was a handsome man whose sharply chiseled bronzed features, maintained even during the winter with a sunlamp, contrasted favorably with his graying hair. Jogging and regular exercise kept his figure trim enough to belie his thirty-eight years. His skin tone was such that it was the envy of the bank's stenographic pool. "Yes, Gloria?" he said absently, his mind still on the loan application.
But Wayne's unexpected presence in the vice-presidential office had flustered Gloria. "Oh, I'm so-it's nothing, Mr. King," the blonde said hastily. "It can-it can wait until tomorrow. You're busy."
"Yes," the gray-haired vice-president agreed. "Tomorrow, then."
Gloria hesitated, obviously not expecting the dismissal despite her disclaimer, but then turned on her heel and left the office. Wayne smothered a smile at the blonde's discomfiture.
His eyes followed the miniskirted hips until the closing door concealed them. He compared Gloria's figure mentally to Jessie's, and despite the blonde's obvious attractions she didn't fare well in the comparison. Wayne's mouth went dry as he recalled Jessie's fully displayed lust charms at the cabin near the farm pond in the aftermath of the skating misadventure. He was prepared to wager that if Jessie ever made a play for Milton King Gloria's current queen-of-the-office status was due for an abrupt decline.
"The amount of this fixed assets figure," Milton King began, then paused.
"Yes, Milt?" Wayne replied alertly. The vice-president insisted upon the common touch. At work and even at office parties he was Milt and his wife was Dolly.
"I seem to recall that it differs from the amount shown on the preliminary application," the gray-haired man said. He swiveled in his chair and opened a drawer in a file behind his desk. He ticked off several file folders rapidly, then leaned back in his chair, frowning. "That's right, I don't have it here. It's in a briefcase at home with the Cartwright application due to the interlocking directorships."
He hesitated, considering, then made up his mind. "I hate to prolong your day this way, Wayne, but we should really check out this apparent discrepancy. If I'm right about it, and I believe I am, we want to know it before we present this application to the directors. You'd better catch a cab and run out to my house, Wayne, and bring my briefcase back with you. Dolly will find it for you. Once we have that preliminary application for comparison purposes, we should be able to wrap this up rather quickly."
Wayne rose from his chair. "Certainly, Milt," he said.
"You may have a bit of trouble catching a cab at this hour," the vice-president continued, "but I'll have the rest of these figures analyzed by the time you get back."
Wayne left the office and went out back to the parking lot. He had driven to work that day, something he didn't always do, but he hadn't mentioned it to Milton King because he could now put in a petty cash voucher for the supposed round-trip cab ride. Bank salaries were conservative and opportunities to pad them, however slight, were never overlooked.
Wayne drove rapidly to Milton King's field-stone home on the outskirts of town. He turned into the circular crushed stone driveway and parked near the white colonial-style columns framing the front door. He had to sound the door chimes three times before anything happened.
The door opened suddenly then, and Wayne blinked in surprise at Dolly King standing there in elaborate deshabille, a lacy negligee carelessly atop what appeared to be equally gossamer underwear. Wayne averted his glance nervously.
"Shorry," Milton King's wife said in slurred accents. "Had t' fin' something t' put on." She tittered like a schoolgirl. "Come in, come in." She backed away from the open door, teetering precariously in high-heeled rhinestoned bedroom slippers.
Wayne followed her cautiously, closing the door. He had heard the office stories about Dolly King's drinking problem but he had always discounted them. "I'm here for a briefcase of Milt's, Mrs. King," he began, still pursuing Dolly King's somewhat erratic passage through the formal entrance hall into a delightfully cozy-looking sitting room. On a coffee table before the low-banked fire in the marbled fireplace were a half-empty box of chocolates and a half-empty bottle of vodka.
"Got t' have li'l drinkie first," Dolly King said, facing about to confront Wayne. She swayed slightly as she spoke. "Nothing like li'l drinkie t' make everyone good friends, right, Wayne?"
"I really don't have time, Mrs. King," Wayne said hurriedly. His nervousness was increasing. Standing before the fireplace as she was, Dolly King's figure was spectacularly silhouetted by the leaping flames. A short woman, her large bust, small waist, and wide-bottomed hips contributed to a womanly ensemble that increased Wayne's saliva-flow. The lacy underwear and negligee concealed little of the bountiful prospects beneath.
"Call me Dolly," the plump little woman insisted. "Got t' have one li'l drinkie, Wayne. Hate t' drink alone."
She wavered uncertainly to the coffee table and poured a stiff three fingers into an empty glass. She tottered on her high heels to a cabinet from which she removed another glass into which she poured another three fingers. She advanced upon Wayne and thrust the second glass into his unwilling hand. "There!" she said in triumphantly blurred accents. She went back to the coffee table for her own glass. "Here's t' never havin' t' drink alone," she proposed a toast.
Wayne smiled uneasily and took a quick sip of the straight vodka as Dolly King lowered the level in her glass substantially. "I really do appreciate this, Mrs. Ki-Dolly," he said, "but I've got to get back to the office with Milt's briefcase."
Dolly greeted this announcement by replacing her glass on the coffee table and once more approaching Wayne. With no warning she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth, standing on tiptoe to accomplish it. Wayne's startled reflexive jerk spilled a dollop of vodka from his glass down Dolly's ample front.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Wayne blurted.
Dolly ignored her alcoholic baptism. "Good frien's, hmmm, Wayne?" she purred throatily. She appeared to notice her dampened bosom for the first time. "Might's well get out've this rag." She unfastened a tie and stripped the sheer negligee from herself. Wayne's nervous eye-blink increased almost to tic proportions as Dolly's portly but shapely curves fairly leaped at him from the tenuous confines of see-through babydoll bra and panties. The choice of underwear would have been ridiculous in a woman Dolly's age had it not been for her round, childish, kewpie-doll features which made the underwear seem oddly appropriate. Her fluffy, natural-blonde hair framed her innocent-looking face.
"Milt's briefcase," Wayne stammered. "He said-he said you'd find it."
"Shertainly," Dolly replied with alcoholic dignity. "Inna minute." Wayne looked away and then looked back again at an embonpoint crested by roseate nipples and a deeply curved lower belly adorned with a golden fleece. "Y' like my new und'wear?"
"I'm sure Milt will find it most attractive," Wayne said tactfully. "Now if you'll find-"
"Never shee it," Dolly interrupted. "He never looks." She took a step forward-forward-half a step and half a lunge-and grabbed Wayne again. "Never looks." Her right hand fumbled for his zipper, found it, and drew it downward.
"Mrs. King!" Wayne's soaring protestation cracked tremolo-fashion. "I mean Dolly!" He bent almost double trying to remove his groin from his boss' wife's prying fingers. The vodka glass in his hand helped to render ineffective his efforts to fend her off. "This is-I mean you -Mrs. King! Dolly!"
Dolly's persistence placed Wayne's prick firmly in her hand after she wormed it out of his shorts. "Stout fella," she said approvingly, patting it with her free hand. She took that hand and seized Wayne's, which she transferred to the warm contours of her luscious bottom. "Y' like t' feel my ass?"
Wayne's breath was caught somewhere deep in the confines of his dry throat. The feel of the soft, warm flesh under his palm combined with the pressure of Dolly's hand on his penis contributed to an erection so sudden, so hard, and so complete that it hurt him to move. His demoralization was furthered when Dolly surged up against him again, covering his mouth with wet kisses.
"Fuck Milton," Dolly said breathily. "Got t' fuck you t' fuck Milton." She dropped on her knees and took Wayne's rampant rigidity inside her soft mouth.
The hinges of Wayne's knees fluttered. The vodka glass fell from his lax grasp, bouncing unbroken on the thick Oriental rug while the remaining vodka darkened a patch of colorful carpeting. The sucking pull of Dolly's lips on his cock had Wayne in such a state he wouldn't have cared if Milton King appeared beside them that instant.
He reached downward and with his hands under Dolly's armpits raised her to her feet despite her murmured protests at losing her mouth-grip on Wayne's robust prick. In a series of fierce tugs he removed Dolly's see-through babydoll panties and plunged his hand into the sweetmeat at her golden-fleeced thigh juncture. Dolly moaned softly as Wayne cupped her entire nest on his palm.
Wayne had never felt so horny. He capsized his boss' wife with arm and leg pressure and rolled her over on her back on the lush carpeting. He dropped down on his knees and hurriedly applied his purplish prick-head to the disclosed salmon-pink cunt-slit with its dimpled entrance-hole. In a series of quick jabs that had Dolly's round white thighs vibrating he forced his way into the fleshy slot.
Haste was still foremost in his mind despite his sex-frenzy, and he began a rapid fucking movement in and out of Dolly's moist cunt. She remained beneath him placidly for a moment before reaching up and stilling his body-movement with a double-handgrip upon his waist. "No!" she said loudly. "'S not right. You boys with th' big ones always think you have to ride the rails." She squirmed beneath Wayne. "Get down lower n' drag your cock over my clitoris."
Wayne shifted his knees and impatiently humped his rear again. Dolly responded at once to the new position. Her breath whistled in teakettle fashion and her eyes bulged with pleasure. Wayne was surprised to feel the deeper penetration he achieved along with a new titillation as the roughened underside of his quick-plunging big prick rubbed against the bright pink bud of Dolly's clit. Dolly ooooh'd and ahhhhh'd and mmmmmm'd as she correlated the movements of her corpulent smooth belly and wide-flaring bottom with Wayne's prick-stabbing of her pussy whose sheath-walls grabbed ecstatically at the fleshy intruder.
"Ohhhhhh!" Dolly sighed. "'S so good! But slow-it down, y'hear me? There's no prize-for a track record. Oooooooh! Ohh! That's-better! Ahhhhhhh! Now you're-getting it-in gear! Ohhh! Oooh, yesssss!"
Despite his apprehension at what he was doing with his boss' wife, Wayne thought he had never before had such a hardon. Dolly's delicious female rotund amplitudes seemed to inspire his cock-screwing cunt-penetration. The chubby blonde's soft little moans and wails caused him to powerdive her depths ever harder.
"Ai eeee eeee!" Dolly's voice soared. "Oooooooh, it's-wunnerful! It's-gorgeous! Ohhhh!" Her hands gripped his shoulders. "Oh, Jesus, I'm coming! AhhhhHHHHHH! OOOOOOoooooh! I'm-COMING!!"
In a floodtide of heat himself, Wayne savaged the prick-clasping cunt rigorously, working up to a stage where the tingling tip of his straining cock announced his own imminent deluge. Heedless of Dolly's renewed effort to slow him down, Wayne plowed the blonde's sex-furrow until its pinkness turned first cerise and then maroon. He grunted furiously and bellowed involuntarily in Dolly's ear as a quick-heaving liquefied boilover shot through his fleshy linchpin and inundated its hideaway.
Dolly stared up at the ceiling as Wayne's movements upon her slowed to a slight jogging motion. "Ohhhhh, Christ!" her voice rose clearly. "I needed that!"
With partial recovery of his senses after the draining of his sex fury, Wayne's fears about the position in which he found himself redoubled. Suppose the woman took a notion to talk? He was about to speak when Dolly cut in ahead of him.
"Don' you tell Milton I had a drink, y'hear?" she demanded. "He'd turn my poor butt sky-blue-pink."
Wayne had pulled out of her although he was still on his knees in front of her. Her disheveled but appealing brimful nudity was still fascinating to him. The scarlet, slow-dripping cunt stirred a faint renewal of interest in his withered staff. He marveled at her remark. She was afraid he'd tell Milton that she'd been drinking, but she didn't have a word to say about their other activity. And activity there had been. Dolly's behind and Wayne's knees were both reddened from friction despite the soft Oriental carpeting.
"Listen, I've got to get back to the bank," Wayne said hurriedly. "Where's his briefcase?"
"Hall closet," Dolly mumbled.
Wayne surged to his feet. He was surprised to find that he still had his clothes on; he had never felt more naked than when performing with the chubby blonde. He tucked in his diminished rod and sipped himself up while he walked into the front hall. He found the briefcase and set it on a chair.
Dolly was struggling to regain her feet when he re-entered the sitting room. Wayne took her arm and assisted her. She seemed much more sober but still in a languid mood. He felt absurdly proud that he had been able to bring this mature woman to such a rousing climax, and he patted her bare seat gently. Dolly smiled at him mistily. "God, I needed that!" she said huskily, heedless of her own disheveled nudity.
It surprised Wayne. He would have thought Milton King more than capable of taking care of his wife. But then the explanation came to him: his boss was too busy taking care of all the hot little female asses he hired at the bank. Wayne had always felt jealous when the door of Milton's office closed behind a newly hired girl of one of Milton's "instructional" talks. He had seen some girls emerging from such talks red-faced and wobbly kneed. He had often wondered how Milton dared to be so bold in a field where boldness was usually conspicuous by its absence, but his boss pulled few sexual punches.
"Whyn't you drop around some evening?" Dolly suggested coyly.
"Oh, I couldn't!" Wayne's immediate reaction was near-panic; here he wasn't safely away yet and the woman was already talking about the next time.
"Never anyone here but me," Dolly continued with some of her former bitterness back in her voice. "You come. Any time."
"I'll-I'll call you," Wayne improvised, sidling toward the hallway and the briefcase. "And-and thanks. Really."
"He's thankin' me!" Dolly marveled. She had stooped to retrieve her negligee, and the whole of her ample, nakedly gleaming white buttocks flowered fruitily from her absurdly tiny waist as Wayne lingered for a final look. He had never experienced such female abundance, and he tore himself away with the greatest reluctance, but he just had to get the briefcase to the bank. "Th-thanks," he stammered again. "It was-it was great."
"You've got a bunch to learn, Wayne," Dolly said from the other room when he stood with his hand on the door. She giggled, a high-pitched tinkling sound. "But I'd say you're a learner." Still nude, she blew him an archly girlish kiss.
Wayne snatched up the briefcase, opened the door, and trotted down the walk and across the crushed stone to his car.
Dolly's promise of more of the same had reheated his blood, but he couldn't afford to even think about it right now.
Why, if Milton King ever learned that Wayne Evans had been fucking Dolly King, well-
But Wayne's quick shiver as he started his car was at least as much anticipatory relish as it was fear.
Jessie Irwin woke in the morning with her mind made up.
She didn't feel that it was Wayne's practical urgings or Irene's cynical comments that had brought it about; rather, her subconscious had been working upon the decision for some time now, and suddenly there appeared to be nothing more to think about.
She was going to make a deliberate play for Milton King in the hope of landing the cashier's job at the bank which had all but escaped her while she was acting so prissily in the face of the facts of life at the bank. It might be too late -Milton might already have committed himself to Gloria about the position-but Jessie was determined now to leave no stone unturned in her effort to achieve the status for which she knew she was qualified. She didn't like the decision at which she had arrived because it offended her sense of justice; after all, the job should have sought her, but since it hadn't, she was no longer going to be squeamish about rectifying the situation.
She showered quickly, then opened a fresh box of underwear that had been a birthday gift from Irene. The pale blue bra-and-panty set were so wispy that as the panties ascended Jessie's white thighs and encased her voluminous curves she could see her dark pubic thatch through the thin material. With the bra clasped snugly over her surging bubbies, the darker nipples and areolas were plainly in view. Jessie surveyed the ensemble with satisfaction in her full-length mirror.
She went to her closet and ran her hand along the line of hanging dresses thoughtfully. She took down a miniskirted little number, held it up against herself, then returned it to the closet. The skirt was mini enough, but the shirtwaist-style top was a bit too highnecked for this occasion. Jessie removed a light brown minidress which complemented her eye color. She folded the dress quickly and dropped it over her head, then took a deep breath and held it while she tugged it down over her flowing curves. I should really lose a few pounds, Jessie thought as she examined the result in her mirror. This is really a bit much.
The miniskirt was both short and tight, but Jessie's newfound determination kept her from chickening out. Ordinarily she would have worn pantyhose with such a revealing outfit, but she sensed instinctively that the time for such displays of modesty was past. She deliberately left the top button of the bodice unfastened, then partly concealed the dereliction by using a jeweled pin as a clasp. She stared into the mirror at the upper slopes of her white bosom and the more-than-hinted-at deep cleavage. There, she thought with satisfaction. That ought to give Milton King something to think about!
Irene had already left the apartment, and Jessie descended in the elevator to the street level. She took a cab instead of driving to work. A car could be an inconvenience at times if a man proposed to take a girl out to dinner. Wherever they went there was also the girl's car to be returned to afterward. Better to set up a situation where a taxi was an all-purpose instrument of transportation.
At the office she wasted no time. She searched her Out basket until she found something requiring Milton King's attention, then without giving herself time to think marched into the bank vice-president's office. "Have you made up your mind yet about the cashier's position, Milton?" she asked as she placed the file folder on Milton's desk.
Milton King looked up from the Bonds section of the Wall Street Journal just as Jessie brushed her hand casually across the folder. It fell to the floor, and she stooped quickly to pick it up. She wasn't quite following Irene's somewhat coarse advice of the previous evening, which had been "to bend down over the bastard's desk until your tit's in his ashtray," but when she straightened up the bank vice-president's eyes were still firmly centered upon her lush embonpoint.
Jessie had to speak again to recapture his attention from the nubile charms almost openly displayed. "I asked about the cashier's position," she said quietly.
"Oh, yes," Milton King said. "The cashier's position." His eyes instinctively took in Jessie's long-stemmed legs under the brief skirt. He had been seeking an opportunity to tell Jessie that she was going to be passed over in favor of Gloria; he opened his mouth to pass sentence immediately, then hesitated. Something-something, he couldn't quite put his finger on it; something was different about Jessica Irwin this morning. Milton King checked the words on the tip of his tongue; the situation would bear checking out.
"I've been meaning to speak to you about that," he broke the short silence which had ensued between them. "But you know how difficult it is to establish a moment's real privacy around here. And the cashier's slot is a position concerning which I need to satisfy myself about the candidates' attitudes as well as their qualifications." He was back in stride, his mellifluous voice gliding easily from syllable to syllable. "I'd suggest that we have lunch together today. I'd been intending to suggest it anyway."
"That will be fine," Jessie acknowledged, and left the vice-president's office. Her palms felt a little damp; she had never put herself in a man's way and asked to be screwed, which essentially was what she was doing today, and she still felt troubled about it. Not troubled enough, though, to change her mind.
The morning passed quickly although Jessie accomplished little. Twice she had to make extra trips to the ladies' room as her bladder and urethral tract refused to contain her urine. She encountered Wayne once near the safety deposit boxes, and he nodded to her absently. Jessie thought to herself that he looked pale and preoccupied. Could it be that Wayne was having pangs of penitential remorse about their coupling in the shack on Sunday? She'd have to talk to him and get that idea out of his mind.
During the morning, Milton King had time to change his mind several times about his upcoming luncheon engagement. His first reaction was to use the occasion simply to tell Jessie the decision had gone against her. The luncheon would serve to get her out of the office if she went to pieces. He could cope with feminine tears and hysterics-God knows he'd coped with enough of both in the case of his wife, Dolly- but that didn't have to mean he liked doing it.
And then there'd been something-well, different was the only word that seemed to fit the chance he'd sensed in Jessie that morning. Why not play it by ear and see what happened? Or better still, force the issue, as only he knew how to force it, and then arrive at a clear-cut negative decision if Jessie continued to act as standoffish with him as she had in the past? And if she didn't-well, time enough to jump that fence when he came to it.
He had never been fully enamored of giving Gloria Carson the cashier's position despite her on-her-back qualifications. There was a stupid streak in Gloria which could affect the bank's -and Milton King's-performance. Jessie was really much more able, of the pair, but Milton was simply following a longstanding practice of his never to advance anyone who wasn't beholden to him or to hire anyone whom he felt he couldn't control.
Noon arrived before Jessie felt herself ready for it. A couple of the girl tellers had commented upon her sudden flamboyant appearance, but Jessie had smilingly turned it aside. If it happened, everyone would know soon enough. The bank's little world was too tight an empire for everyone not to know. That was what had deterred her from making a move for so long; she shrank from the personal exposure of herself. But if the game was worth the candle, it was necessary to play for both game and candle, and she wasn't going to turn back now.
Milton King appeared beside her desk, smilingly urbane, fingering his graying mustache. "Lunch?" he suggested as though the idea had just popped into his mind.
"Surely," Jessie said quietly, although her pulse and heartbeat accelerated. She set her face into casual lines as she removed her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk and her high heels click-clacked across the grouted tile of the lobby floor. Just before they reached the street Jessie saw Gloria Carson staring after them, eyes narrowed and lips thinned, and she smiled inwardly.
"Most luncheon places you can't hear yourself think, let alone conduct a serious conversation," Milton said as he opened his car door for Jessie in the bank parking lot. His glance appraised the smooth sweep of bare white thigh as Jessie's miniskirt failed to cover her considerable assets as she slid into the front seat on the passenger's side. Why, the goddamn girl doesn't even have pantyhose on, he thought to himself, and his interest quickened. "But I've a little place across town we can be comfortable if you don't mind a sandwich from the fridge." He waited with his hand on the opened car door.
So there it is, Jessie thought. Go with Milton to his little hideaway and do something she'd always promised herself she never would do: screw someone she didn't care anything about. But there was the game and the candle. "I'm sure that will be very nice," she heard herself saying. But she didn't feel blase about it. The tiny pulse at the base of her throat throbbed steadily.
"Fine," Milton said, and closed the door. What did I do to punch the right button with this female after I'd given up on making it with her, he thought as he moved around the car and got under the wheel. It just goes to show you that you never can tell.
Milton's apartment was in a modest-looking building, not in the best part of town. He ushered Jessie aboard the self-service elevator, then led the way down a dimly lighted corridor to a door he opened with a flourish of the key. Inside, Jessie had a quick glimpse of bedroom and sitting room with Chinese-screened kitchenette, the furniture comfortable-looking but nondescript. Then Milton's two hands were reaching for hers and enfolding them. "I rather imagine even the martinis can wait," he said quietly, drawing her to him and tipping her face up toward his. In a second his lips were upon hers and his mustache was prickling Jessie's upper lip.
Despite a fluttering in her stomach walls, she was glad he had taken the direct approach. She wouldn't have cared at all for the butter-fly-on-a-pin effect while being served a drink and a sandwich. Better to get it over with, to have it out in the open. Not that she felt anything might be settled on the spot even if Milton King were totally satisfied with his conquest. She had seen enough of his hard-eyed ruthlessness at the bank to know that he was perfectly capable of using her and then refusing her the position anyway. It was just that she had waited so long that this was the only gambit that remained open to her. That was the gamble.
Milton's lips cruised hers with casual competence, a hand rising to cup her brassiered breast. Jessie made her mind blank to anything except the affair at hand, then pressed her tongue between the male lips tasting faintly of tobacco. At once Milton's tongue plunged between her lips, hard-thrusting and, yes, exciting. His palm squeezed the captured tittie, and little tingling tremors raced through Jessie's plump thighs.
"Inside," he said thickly, and led her into the bedroom. He was already shedding jacket and tie. Jessie could see the thick bulge in his trousers as she unfastened the neck of her minidress. She had herself out of it by the time Milton King stood before her impatiently, clad only in jockey shorts and socks. He turned her around and filled his hands with the sleek flesh of her bottom as it strained the thin material of her new pale blue panties. Then he reached up and unfastened the clasp of her bra.
He pushed the straps from her shoulders and the bra collapsed on her stomach. Milton put his arms around her, took her bare, warm breasts in his palms and drew her backward against himself until his groin-bulge prodded Jessie's pantie-clad buttock-crease. "God, you're a well-teated female!" he breathed.
A bronze statue would have reacted to those kneading palms on her stiff-nippled breasts, Jessie told herself as additional tremors ignited quick response in her moist-feeling interior. Milton King was unhurried; he paid due tribute to each fluttering grape-nippled mound before his hands departed and she felt him pulling down her snug-fitting panties. She held her breath as she felt her gradual exposure and the masculine hands savoring her sweetly curved bare backside. The panties collapsed around her ankles, and she stepped out of them automatically. Her breath seemed caught somewhere deep in her throat.
Milton picked her up suddenly and deposited her on the bed. She had one quick glimpse of him stripping off his shorts before he rejoined her. She had a flashing impression of a stout white cock with a bulging coronal ring before it disappeared as Milton's upper body reared up over her. He kissed her on the mouth again, hard, and Jessie responded feverishly. Her blood seemed to be bubbling in her veins. Her breasts had always been one of her most erogenous zones, and Milton's knowledgeable handling of them had really lighted her fire.
He turned her onto her belly and played with her widesplayed handsome big behind, alternating nipping little pinches with stinging little palm-smacks, then tracing a finger along the course of Jessie's perspiration-dampened buttock-crease. Her bottom began to work with an independent life of its own under the stimulation, and the finger moved lower and caressed her pouting sex-slit as Jessie's breath was expelled in a long sigh and her thighs crawled upon the bedcover.
The palm-smacks became harder, and so did the pinches, but not intolerably so. Jessie's knees clawed for leverage as the mounting heat in her soft globes seemed to penetrate to her molten pussy. Her cunt felt so wet she was afraid she was oozing already. This man really knew how to set up a girl. She wriggled her hot-feeling hind cheeks as the pain-stimulating little slaps and pinches continued.
Milton King suddenly placed both hands beneath Jessie's smoothly curved belly and flipped her over on her back. She stared up at him from eyes that seemed three or four shades darker than he had ever noticed them to be in the office. "Well?" he demanded harshly. "What do you want?"
"You know what I want," Jessie whispered tremulously.
"Say it," he ordered.
She didn't hesitate. "I want you to fuck me, Milton."
She didn't even mind the triumphant-looking smile with which he bent down over her.