Chapter 2

Once again, Vera Shipley had enjoyed a most productive and profitable day at Shipley Research Incorporated. He stretched, yawning, rose from his desk, gazed out his office window at the crisp October afternoon and impetuously decided to leave the office at four instead of five. Yes, he would drive a few buckets of golf balls before his usual mind-blowing bed session with Ellen Lanning at her condominium on Wilshire Boulevard.

He stepped into his private John, washed his hands and combed his thick black hair. Vern liked to look at himself in the mirror. At thirty-five, he was slim, handsome, in excellent physical condition and president of his own thriving market research firm here in Beverly Hills. Why shouldn't I leave the office early, he asked himself. I've earned the right. Hell, yes. "Make no mistake about it-I am the president of Shipley Research Incorporated!" he whispered.

Vern then savored the idea that he could drive as many buckets of balls as he pleased and arrive whenever he felt like arriving at Ellen's. He had bought her the luxurious condominium last month, she adored him and hungered for his body, and so she would forgive his lateness just as she tolerated his sarcasm, verbal abuse, nagging, criticism, whatever.

Vern winked at himself in the mirror, then stepped into the office adjacent to his. Stan Kettering, his associate, was scowling as he studied the latest computer reports on Wyatt Enterprises, a new client of the firm's. Stan was married, white-haired, almost fifty, and always worked late.

"See ya later, Stan," Vern said. "I'm gonna hit a few at the range before going on over to Ellen's."

Stan looked up, squinting his small, dark, tired-looking eyes behind his bifocals. "Uh-sure," he said. "Gotta few things I want to discuss with you, but they can wait. Give my best to Ellen. See you in the morning. Hit 'em straight, Chief."

Stan always called Vern "Chief." Vern pretended to dislike being called Chief, but he secretly loved it. He exited the spacious reception area without saying goodnight to secretary Vera Klett, then loafed down the hall and pushed the elevator button. He whistled idly as he waited, thinking about hitting the golf balls and about balling Ellen tonight.

Yes, Ellen was a lusty angel all right, he thought, even if she was a trifle too chubby and not much use to him socially with his business associates. Well, he would take care of that little matter tomorrow. Just last week, one of his golf partners at Montague Country Club had informed him about a successful new escort service here in Los Angeles called DREAM-DATE INC., a female escort service, and he had an appointment for the following afternoon to select a female "showpiece"-a rental girl he could display at parties and business affairs.

Vern grinned, scratching his scrotum. Soon he would have the best of all possible worlds: Ellen's earthy, incomparable screwing, plus a beautiful temptress from Dream Date Inc. who was skilled in all the social graces for wining and dining his business clients. What a great idea for a business, Vern thought. He could hardly wait for his appointment tomorrow. Hell, maybe he would even offer his firm's services to Dream-Date-for free! The possibilities were fascinating to ponder.

The elevator doors slid open, Vern entered and got out on the ground floor. Crossing the parking lot, he breathed deeply of the surprisingly smog-free air, got in his shiny black Lincoln Continental and drove to the driving range.

When he'd finished driving three buckets of balls, he had two martinis at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel bar, then drove to Ellen's. It was almost seven when he let himself in with his own key. Ellen kissed him at the door. She was wearing an apron and preparing a stew, she said. He loved her domesticity. He patted her plumpish derriere, sent her on back to the kitchen and sat down to watch the news on TV and read the evening paper at the same time. Whenever possible, Vern did two things at once: he read in the John, sometimes shaved in the shower, and he always read the paper while watching the news. He liked to think this heightened activity was the "key to his success."

The dinner was excellent, although Vern complained that the vegetables were undercooked. Before Ellen served the dessert-vanilla ice cream with creme de menthe-Vern insisted that she take her clothes off and sit naked at the table. She complied willingly, as always, and Vern made her get up from the table occasionally as they ate, and stroll the room for his inspection.

Her body turned him on as no other female's ever had, and this fact never ceased to amaze him. By most standards, Ellen was too plump and even slightly graceless lately, but there was some indefinable something to her walk, the way she smiled understandingly at him, the purr of her voice, the passivity of her stance and manner. He feasted his eyes on her buttocks, the incredibly smooth texture of her skin, the only slightly sagging breasts with their delicious-looking, large, dark nipples. And always she obeyed him....

Yes, her effect upon him was immediate and unmistakable. Even now his erection strained against his fly beneath the table and he could hardly wait for their lovemaking.

'You like?" she inquired, smiling, her lovely full eyebrows raised as she cupped her breasts with her delicate hands.

"Yes, I like," Vern breathed. "Come here and kiss it before you sit down. You know I like everything you do, love."

She treaded softly on the thick carpet, knelt beside his chair, unzipped his fly, let his throbbing erection flop free, and planted hungry kisses all over his bulbous dribbling cockhead.

"More?" she asked, cupping his balls. "Want to come?"

"No, that's enough for now," he replied a bit gruffly. "Let's have our dessert now." Vern's heart was founding so hard against his rib cage he was embarrassed. Somehow, he didn't like letting Ellen know how much she really got to him.

"Please?" she asked.

"No, I said that's enough for now," Vern said, his voice very authoritative now.

Actually, they both knew these little rituals were "put-ons," but they both enjoyed them and so they indulged themselves. Occasionally, he also played "slave," reversing the roles.

When they had finished dessert, Vern returned to the couch and Ellen cleared the table. When the dishes were in the dishwasher, she came and sat down in the big chair next to Vern. As was their habit, they both read then. Ellen kept her legs apart and held her book low so that Vern could cease his reading and gaze at her vagina and breasts whenever he pleased.

Ellen was reading the latest fiction best seller and Vern was reading Newsweek magazine. Every ten minutes or so he would kneel before her, lick her nipples, tongue her pussy briefly, and then return to his reading.-likewise, Ellen would put her book aside periodically, remove her reading glasses and bury her face in his lap, showering his organ and balls with hungry kisses for perhaps a minute before returning to her reading.

Since Vern spent only two or three nights a week sleeping with Ellen, they were able to maintain this almost honeymoon pace of sexual activity whenever they were together. The truth was, Vern didn't wish to spend too many nights with Ellen each week because he feared the magic of their relationship might somehow vanish. It was just too delectable a thing, and he did not wish to tamper with something he had never before shared with a female. Ellen, of course, disagreed; she would have him believe this sort of sexual bliss would continue forever, and she wanted him all the time-all to herself. Married.

It was nearly 9:00 when Vern put his magazine aside firmly, and with determination, began kissing Ellen's full lips, biting her neck, tantalizing her erect nipples, fondling her wet, swollen, and inviting vagina. Ellen put her head back on the chair top, sighing and running her fingers through his hair. She knew Vern wanted to make her come.

This had also become a ritual between them. Vern would make Ellen come at least an hour before they retired to the bedroom, and then she would suck his prick to completion, too. In this way, they were able to enjoy one oral, preliminary orgasm each before their final, all-out, thundering orgasms in the bedroom before going to sleep. Two orgasms each...par for the course...a ritual.

Vern's prick was bone-hard now and stabbing at the front of the chair as he nursed on Ellen's big tits, ran his hands all over her delectable body, kept telling her that she was the only woman he wanted, needed, craved, adored. She breathed in rapid-fire bursts, tossing her head slowly from side to side as he drew each nipple gently but firmly deep into his mouth and swirled his tongue about their mushroom texture.

"Suck them," Ellen murmured. "Oh, suck them and play with my pussy, darling. Yes...oh, yes...gobble them!"

Before he made his final descent to Ellen's cunt, Vern stood and stabbed at the big, heaving tits with his engorged shaft. He placed his throbbing meat in the valley of her breasts and squeezed them over his prick and pumped, simulating fucking.

"Oh, yes," Ellen rasped, her voice harsh with lust at this point, "fuck my boobs, do everything and anything you want. Vern...Oh, Vern!"

Vern then gave her just a little foretaste of his rod. He placed one hand on the back of her neck-just the way she liked it-and let her lick his prick as he watched. As she lapped, he reached behind himself and lightly fingered her clit to spur her on. When he was certain she was truly ready, he then made a slow, almost torturous, licking descent to her waiting, molten pussy. Usually, at this point, it was all he could handle to keep Ellen from insisting on sixty-nining. Tonight was no exception. He managed to keep her head up on the chair top, though, and at last reached her silken-textured pubic mound. Her smooth inner thighs wagged from side to side, alternately hitting the padded arms of the chair and his ears as he nuzzled, inhaling deeply, letting his tongue dart and flick at her love nub while he kept on rippling his fingers across her erect nipples above. "Ohhhhh," Ellen sighed.

Her hips thrust at his face and she pleaded, moaning, for him to gobble her, to eat her up, not to stop, never to stop, to lick her pussy and make it feel better than "anything...than anything!"

Vern took each of her cunt lips deep into his mouth, just as he had dined on her nipples, and massaged them with his lips as he practically ingested them. Then, before she went mad with need, he concentrated his efforts solely on her clitoris.

"Ahhhh!" she wailed, shivering as he set up a steady cadence, moving his head from side to side, up and down, all around and all over the expanded clit From time to time, he brought one hand down from her breasts and lightly let his finger rim her puckered anus-just for a moment-and then he would stroke her pubic mound vigorously as he sucked before returning the hand again to her eager breast.

He went on that way, working lovingly and thoroughly, until Ellen arched her back and dug her fingernails into his scalp. "Now! Now! It's coming!" she cried, and then she shivered and shuddered to completion, her orgasm a marvelous thing to behold as he gulped greedily, swallowing her juices before she became too sensitive for further stimulation.

He let her spasm out the aftermath of her orgasm, hugging her close and rubbing her back until she had returned to reality, and then he returned to his place on the couch and read for a few minutes until she was ready to mouth him.

It was perhaps ten minutes later that she knelt on the floor before him and began the preliminaries for the sucking of his cock. Just as she had done, he put his magazine aside and let his head rest on the back of the sofa as her fluttering fingers ran up and down his thighs, teased his nipples, moved closer and closer to his aching shaft that stood full and ready and gushing. She kissed his feet, his ankles, his knees and, finally, his balls.

He gazed down at her lust-crazed face at this point. She was not too much the actress, he knew. She enjoyed mouthing him as much as he enjoyed mouthing her. They had known each other for almost two years, and there was no fooling each other. In a way, true, their oral lovemaking was a "service," but there was excitation-much excitation-in the "servicing."

Her tongue tip rimmed his swollen cockhead now and she was kneading his flesh sack gently, reverently, adoringly. She took a bit more of his rod then, and he tugged at the back of her neck, pulling her so that she took the entire purplish-brown head between her full lips. Her lips caressed, nursed, tickled, teased, sucked. It was beautiful to watch her loving expertise. And then his cock was in her mouth as far as it would go. He studied the in-thrust and out-pull, the worrying of the inner folds of her lips as she worked, mewing, sighing, whining-knowing that this pleased him.

Finally, he clutched her cheeks with both handsthe signal that he was about to fire his scalding load. Her mewing rose and the bobbing tempo of her head became a frenzied accelerando. From the tips of his toes he felt his orgasm begin, surge, then explode as his spend crashed upward through his hard-on into Ellen's waiting throat His hands were in her hair as he spasmed....

She, too, hugged him until he had calmed down, and then they both made trips to the bathroom to cleanse themselves before returning to their reading. Vern didn't bother to put his suit pants back on. He just sat there, his shirt collar open, his tie uncinched, his pants draped neatly over the arm of the sofa.

"Honey," Ellen said after a while, "why don't you just move in and stay with me? Not marriage now, but just move in permanently." Her hand lay persuasively on his arm. "Huh? Won't you?"

They had discussed this perhaps a hundred times before. "Soon maybe," Vern said. "Well see. You know you mean more to me than anything, but not yet, okay? Let's not get into that tonight." He thought of Dream-Date Inc. and wished he could discuss it with Ellen. They were very close, and Vern discussed practically everything with her. He did not like deceiving her. It made him feel bad. Still, of course, he could not discuss Dream-Date with her. Absolutely not. No way.

"Maybe soon," he repeated. "There are special reasons why it isn't practical right now."

They both knew his remark said absolutely nothing, that it was just another excuse for delay.

"Is everything going all right at the office?" Ellen asked.

"Well, it is and it isn't," Vern said. "Tell me about it?"

Vern stretched, looked at his watch and yawned. "Do you want to go to bed now, honey?" Ellen asked.

He shook his head. "No, not yet," he replied. There was a long pause, and then Vern said, "I suppose what I was saying," he began, "is-is that there's an awful lot on my mind right now. Besides several new clients, which could represent an awful lot of money, we're still racking our brains over Wyatt Enterprises."

"Wyatt Enterprises," Ellen repeated. "That's the appliance manufacturer, isn't it? What are you working on for them?"

"We're evaluating their competitors' advertising, their whole merchandising approach," Vern said. "We think we know the best route for them to take, but we have quite a bit more research and conferring with them yet. We have to be thorough. We don't want to be wrong. I mean, when you're bucking G.E. and Westinghouse you better know what you're doing."

"I see," Ellen said, nodding. "What else is cooking?" She grimaced. "Uh-pardon the pun."

Vern patted her knee, smiling indulgently. "Well, there's Reardon Systems International and O. A. R."

"Yes, I know about Reardon-they make computers-but what's O.A.R.?"

"Well, despite what you might deduce from its name, OAR isn't the name of a shipping firm. O.A.R. stands for Overseas Air Routes. It's a brand new airline-or will be a brand new airline six months from now. They want lots of advice and figures on their competitors and comparative data from us before they go into operation. It could be the biggest thing we've handled thus far. I mean, big. Literally, I could retire a rich man from O.A.R. alone if all goes well."

There was another silence, and Vern knew exactly what Ellen was thinking. She was wondering what these matters-important as they were businesswisehad to do with their living together. She was a very intelligent woman, and she was right. He was stalling and they both knew it. Still, it was his excuse this time-the only one he could think of at the momentand he knew she would accept it.

"But how was your day, dear?" Vern asked, changing the subject.

Ellen was a fourth-grade schoolteacher, a very good and conscientious one. "Oh, all right. I started teaching one of the classes for the 'gifted kids' yesterday. I think it's going to be very rewarding."

Vern reached out and patted her cheek. He loved Ellen; he really did. Especially, he loved the way she did not hold a grudge. Already her voice had become pleasant; she had made her pitch for their living together on a full-time basis, failed, and already she had put the matter out of her mind. She was a once in a lifetime woman all right, he thought. "Let's go to bed, honey," he said.

She sighed, and Vern wondered if, at last, he might not have pushed her too far. "Yes, darling," she said.

"Did I tire my sweetie out too much on orgasm number one?" he grinned, winking.

"No sir," she said with enthusiasm, her features softening into love, patience. "You know I always love the cuddly part." She rippled her fingernails along his inner thigh. "Orgasm number two has always been the climax of our evening together, dear."

They both stood up. Vern was excited, anticipating their session in bed. The oral lovemaking was good, but he loved the humping-the down-to-earth, hon-est-to-God screwing even more. Well, really, it was hard to say. He liked them both.

Vern showered hastily, brushed his teeth, then lay on the king-size bed waiting while Ellen showered.

At last, she entered the dimly-lit room and walked softly toward the bed. Before she could lie down, he scooted over to the edge of the bed and, sitting, kept her standing while he palmed her smooth buttocks and hungrily devoured her breasts. She never tired of having her breasts sucked. Once he had sucked on her nipples for over an hour and she could have taken more.

So he nursed for a long time before he leaned back, pulling her onto him so that he could rub his hard-on against her love nub while he continued ministering to her nipples. After several minutes of this, they lay on their sides, his prickhead still jabbing at her clit as he tugged at her tensing ass.

"Do-do you w-want to f-fuck now?" she asked.

"In a minute," he muttered, gasping. "No rush, sugar." He knew she loved very lengthy preliminaries. He was enjoying bringing her to the peak of desire, too, so he decided to linger before actually imbedding his swollen meat into the depths of her.

He did all her favorite things. He bit the back of her neck and nibbled along her jugular vein, he fingered her navel and teased her rectum. No part of her quivering body went unattended. Her ear lobes, armpits, all of her, received tantalizing attention.

Finally, he knew she was ready-completely ready. A man would have to be both blind and deaf not to knowl She writhed, pleading with him to "put it in

. . . all the way in...I want to feel you inside me....

He placed a pillow beneath her buttocks, making a platform of the cunt he was about to spear with his pulsing rod, then placed himself with his elbows against her rib cage and, bending down so he could nurse on her tits as he fucked, he began easing his prick into the slick, wet-hot pie of her seething cunt. Actually, the insertion did not require much easing. Quick as a cock entry could be, his organ slid in up to the hilt, striking to the core of her with one slick stroke. It was no difficult or occult happening, because after all it had been going on for centuries-and then they were fucking.

Words through clenched teeth...a direction this way or that for more or less pressure here or there...a steady, grinding rhythm...just fucking...good fucking...fucking as good as any fucking could be-at least-better than any fucking he had ever known, anyway.

He did not know how long it lasted. He had never cared about time, nor had she. The minutes didn't matter, no. Just the feelings all along the way and at the end as they climaxed together.

Vern guessed he was just as wet as when he had exited from his shower. He was sopping wet with perspiration and so was she. They lay together, clasped, for a long time, with him still on top, inside her, and then they were apart and Ellen was asleep.

Usually, he fell instantly asleep, too, but tonight he lay there for a long time staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he was visiting Dream-Date tomorrow to seek a female "showpiece" for business reasons. In a way, it was insane. Ellen was all the woman he would ever want. Still, he was going there and he was going to select some shallow, mannequin-like woman for reasons he did not entirely understand. Or maybe he did.

For whatever reason he was visiting Dream-Date, he sincerely hoped it wouldn't adversely affect his relationship with Ellen. But deep inside of him, he knew it would. It had to.

Ellen was snoring softly now. He kissed her cheek, turned off the low-watt light, gave her mouse-brown hair a final loving pat and turned onto his side to go to sleep.