Chapter 5
With Easter vacation closing down the school all this week, both Kristina and her brother had plenty of time to themselves. The charming blonde teenager, however, kept away from Donald as much as she could out of a furious embarrassment which made her blush and lower her eyes whenever she looked at him. It was, indeed, all she could do to hide these signs of intense self-consciousness when both of them were at the breakfast and supper table with their father. At times there was a strained silence between them during the usual family conversations. However, David Ainsley was far too preoccupied to observe this curious phenomenon. For one thing, he himself was still anxiously dismayed over his impulsive lustful usage of his thirteen-year-old daughter and tried as much as possible to efface her memory of it by a kind of withdrawal in their usual communications. He was also giving a good deal of thought to finding someone to take Helga's place. Her departure had imposed too torturing a continence on his vigorous male passions, and the shocking proof of that, which continued to loom in his mind, had been the playful spanking of Kristina which had snowballed into his nearly raping his own daughter.
Consequently he plunged himself into his work at the office, and his brooding self-analysis made him particularly glum and snappish with his attractive secretary Rita Henshaw. Irritated as he was by his domestic problem and by the daily proximity of a tempting long-legged young woman whose very presence in his office reminded him all too bitterly of his empty-bed woes, he had occasion to reprimand her rather sharply several times during the first part of the week for the slightest lapses, such as a single misspelled word or one of the letters he had dictated with his back turned towards her, ungenerously failing to realize that she had been extremely competent to transcribe his mumbled dictation at all.
In return, Rita Henshaw retaliated with an icy aloofness and a glacially polite acceptance of his orders which only served to widen the breach between them. Irked by the unsatisfactory fucking performance of her last lover as much as by her apparently ignored interest in her boss as an ideal replacement, Rita evidenced a studied hostility each time she answered the intercom buzzer from David Ainsley's office to come in with her steno pad. The frown on her sensual, oval-shaped face made her even more challengingly desirable and in its consequential turn whetted his sexual awareness of her as a fuckable female whom he had already vetoed as a sexual partner because she was his employee.
By four-thirty this Friday afternoon, only the art director and David Ainsley and his secretary remained in the office. His media research firm employed an even dozen employees, and his own working philosophy was easygoing so far as hours were concerned, just so the work was done. The work load had been lighter than usual this week, and so most of the staff had already left for the long weekend. He sat smoking, going through a sheaf of letters Rita Henshaw had just brought in for him to sign, wondering how he was going to get through another lonely, boring weekend and feeling particularly sorry for himself.
The phone rang and he picked it up. "Ainsley here. Oh, yes, Mr. Hebron, now about that prospectus-what's that? You-you what? A bill from us, is that what you're saying-to Markheim Inc. of St. Louis? My God, I'll bet the prospectus went to them. I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Hebron. Tell you what, I've got a carbon of the prospectus, I'll have it Xeroxed right now and bring it over-oh, you're leaving the office now? Well, suppose I send it special delivery to your home-fine-thanks for being so nice about it. The same to you, Mr. Hebron."
The lanky dark-brown-haired executive slammed down the phone, then, his lips tightening grimly, pressed the intercom buzzer.
Rita Henshaw entered, poised, her thin penciled brows arched with a kind of insolent expectancy. He glared at her, all the more angrily because she seemed more tantalizingly fuckable than ever. Five feet seven inches in height, her brown rayon dress outlining the svelte elegance of a mouthwatering figure, the gauzy charcoal-brown nylons caressing the sleek curves of high-set, sinuous calves and showing the suavely dimpled knees and just a hint of the lithe long willowy and very womanly thighs above. Her high-set cheekbones gave her oval face an exotic allure. She had a feline arrogance to her that was maddening to him, angered as he was by this unpardonable blunder.
"That was Ben Hebron, Miss Henshaw," he growled. "Remember that prospectus you typed up for him?"
"Yes, I do, Mr. Ainsley. What's wrong?"
"Oh, you typed it well enough, Miss Henshaw. But it seems you sent him the Markheim bill instead. Now how the hell could a stupid thing like that happen?"
Instantly she flared back at him, "We have a mail boy, remember, Mr. Ainsley? I take out all your mail-except your last-minute letters, which I handle myself-out to the mailroom desk. I don't stand there to make sure Elmer puts the right piece into the right envelope, you know. And I resent your swearing at me and blaming me for someone else's mistake."
"Swearing at you? All I said was hell. Damn it, Miss Henshaw, you're getting just a little too impertinent, and I don't especially care for it."
She stared coolly at him. "I can't say I enjoy your browbeating me either, Mr. Ainsley. Or taking it out on me because your wife left you."
"God damn it, that remark was uncalled for! I've a good mind to fire you. But first, you're going to take this Hebron prospectus carbon, Xerox it, type out the label for an envelope to his home address and take it yourself to the main post office so it'll go out special delivery."
"Of course I'll do that, Mr. Ainsley." She turned to go. "I've got the carbon in my files."
"And you'll apologize for that unnecessary and offensive remark of yours too, young lady!"
She turned back to face him, slowly shook her head. "No, I won't. Because it's true and you know it."
David Ainsley swore under his breath, then declared in a hoarse, angry voice, "I've had just about enough of your sarcasm, Miss Henshaw. You're acting the way my thirteen-year-old daughter might, and the remedy for her if she behaved that way is a good sound spanking!"
Rita Henshaw tossed her head with a triumphantly mocking little smile. "Oh, of course, Mr. Ainsley," she countered with disdainful politeness, "violence is always the last resort of people who can't cope with situations."
"It is, eh?" his voice throbbed with unleashed fury. "Then put me down as one of those, Miss Henshaw, because that's exactly what I'm going to prescribe for you!" And with this, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her towards the leather-padded couch towards the back of his spacious private office.
"Take your hands off me-how dare you treat me this way, Mr. Ainsley-stop it-you're hurting my wrist-" Rita Henshaw indignantly protested as she tried to jerk her wrist loose, then struck at him ineffectually with her closed left fist, at the same time trying to kick at his shins with the toe of her brown suede pump.
Agilely evading both kick and blow, the dark-brown-haired executive seated himself on the couch, then unceremoniously yanked her down across his lap, keeping hold of her wrist with his left hand and bending it up high on her back to hamper her resistance. 'With a cry of raging humiliation, the svelte brunette kicked her legs to and fro wildly and tried to twist herself off his lap. Deftly, he slid his right leg out from under her, only to lock it over her sleek nylon-sheathed calves and thus immobilize her. "And now, Miss Henshaw, you're going to get what's coming to you!" he declared.
"Damn you, let me up-I quit, I don't want your rotten job, you're just a lousy sport, that's all you are!" she cried, twisting her lovely, contorted face back round to him and, awkwardly, with her free hand, trying to break his hold on her right wrist.
Ignoring her vehement struggles and tirades, David Ainsley gripped the hem of her brown rayon skirt and lofted it high above her slim waist, drawing a furious shriek of indignation and a redoubled wriggling effort to get loose. A peach-hued nylon petticoat veiled the spectacularly ripe, firm oval-shaped cheeks of her magnificent bottom, all the more accentuated by the supple slimness of her waist and her long sleek thighs. Unerringly, his right hand grasped the hem of that veil too and pulled it up to join her skirt high on her gracefully hollowed back.
"Nooooo! Stop it, Goddamn you anyway!" she shouted, tears of fierce humiliation glistened in her dilated gray-green eyes. Once again she twisted her hips this way and that and struck out at him with her left fist.
"Now who's using profanity?" he chuckled sarcastically as he stared with undisguised lustful admiration at Rita Henshaw's upturned, spacious, oval ass cheeks, snugly and provocatively displayed in a pair of peach-tinted nylon panties, while, under the waistband could be seen the tight cling of a very narrow, fragile flesh-colored, satin-elastic garter belt whose tabs hugged her long, shapely, nervously muscled tawny-sheened thighs.
"Let me go! Ohh, you've got no right to manhandle me this way, Mr. Ainsley, you're just taking your spite out on me, it's not fair!" she stormed as she kept looking round at him, futilely twisting and wriggling her hips as she kept trying to escape.
His lips tightened, and his right hand impulsively inserted itself beneath the waistband of the skimpy, gossamer panties. "Ohh nooo, don't you dare do that! Do you hear me? Stop it this minute-ohhh, you big brute you!" Rita Henshaw wailed despairingly as she tried to flatten herself on his lap to prevent the ultimate catastrophe.
With a vigorous tug, he yanked the filmy panties down to her knee hollows, and could not suppress a gasp of excitement at the mouthwatering, prick-hardening sight of the plump, jutting oval-shaped globes of her naked ass, the ambery-rosy cleft between the cheeks salaciously broadening as it neared the base. The smooth, satiny, warm skin with its tawny tintings shivered and palpitated as Rita, frantic with humiliation, contracted all her muscles to attempt to diminish the lewd spectacle she was so unwillingly according her angry employer.
Impulsively again, before beginning her spanking, David Ainsley could not suppress an expression of his lustful appreciation of his brunette secretary's quivering bare ass. His right palm moved to the huddling cheeks and lingeringly grazed them, delectating in the warm smooth palpitating satin of her superb flesh as well as appraising its marvelous resilience and boldly contoured symmetries.
"Nooooo! Ohhh, don't do that to me-you've no right, it's indecent!" the black-haired young woman shrilly denounced him, her voice throbbing with tearful intonations, as with all her strength she arched and twisted, trying uselessly to extricate her nylon-sheathed legs out from under his pinioning right leg. "I-I'll sue you for this, Mr. Ainsley, you-you've attacked me-I warn you, I-Owwwwww!! "
In the midst of her furiously indignant protests, he had lifted his right hand and brought it down sonorously across the crevice of her squirming butt cheeks, just above the base. Rita Henshaw's body stiffened, then writhed convulsively this way and that, her eyes bulging with horror and shame to realize that he was actually carrying out his audacious threat of spanking her.
Now, finding that her frantic jerking of her captive wrist was impeding him, David Ainsley locked his left arm tightly round her slim bare waist, and energetically resumed spanking his rebellious brunette secretary. Methodically, his right hand rising and falling about every five seconds, and alternating on the jutting, ripely curvaceous oval cheeks of her tawny-skinned bare ass, he proceeded to color her writhing, tossing behind a furious crimson after some thirty-five noisy, stinging slaps which progressively descended from the tops of her wriggling hips to the welts of her charcoal-brown nylons.
Rita Henshaw cursed, sobbed, threatened, thrust both hands back to dig her lacquered sharp fingernails at his pinioning arm, flexed her clamped down legs frenziedly and swerved her reddening ass in the most salacious gyrations throughout the spanking. Her face was as scarlet as her behind when he paused for breath, pressing his throbbing palm down over the sinuous shadowy groove that separated her resilient ass-cheeks. By then he had a prodigious hard-on, which she certainly must have felt as she writhed and ground her furry cunt against his lap in her desperate attempts to evade the scalding, burning pangs of his vigorously smiting palm.
Trembling violently with sexual reaction, he turned to stare at her contorted, tear-drenched face. Her glossy black hair was styled in a prim bun at the back of her head, which left her nape deliciously bare, and it was combed away from her high-arching forehead, making her look very sophisticated and mature. But in her present pose, her face as red as her incessantly squirming, inflamed naked ass, the muscles of her long lithe thighs spasming visibly through the diaphanous cling of her gauzy nylons, and the peach-hued narrow tabs of the garter belt which hugged her thighs emphasizing all the more lewdly the blazing red coloration imparted by the spanking, she took on the aura of a subjugated, helpless female slave, and the effect on sexually deprived David Ainsley was gigantic.
"Ohh ... oww ... ouuuuu, my God, you ... you just about killed me," she moaned, still thrusting her hands back against his restraining, clamping arm, "Let me go now, I want to get out of her, you-you horrid brute!"
"I'm waiting for you to apologize for that wisecrack about my wife, Miss Henshaw. Then you're quite free to leave my employ."
"L-leave your employ indeed! Ohh, you haven't heard the last of this, Mr. David Ainsley-I'm going to get a lawyer and sue you for every cent you've got-and what I said was true-it didn't give you grounds to just about beat me to death-now let me up-ohh, this is awful," Rita Henshaw sobbingly avowed.
"Since you're going to sue me, I might as well do a good job once and for all, Miss Henshaw," he hoarsely retorted. "It seems the spanking hasn't had sufficient effect, you're still insolent! So let's see if another dose will get me that apology!" With this, flexing his right hand, then blowing on it, he lifted it high, hovered it a long moment, and even as the half-nude young woman cried out frantically, "Oh noo, my God, no more, stop it!" he brought it down with an emphatic Whackk on the already inflamed base of her firm ripe oval right ass-cheek.
A second even harsher spank, which flattened the lower inner curve of her left buttock, drew a sobbing wail from the struggling victim and a rueful grimace from her executioner, whose hand was beginning to sting. Flexing his fingers again, he improvised by descending his hand with his fingers limp, flicking her swollen bottom-cheek as with the thongs of a whip, and a shrill cry of distress rewarded him? "Aiiii, ohh please, please stop, Mr. Ainsley! That's enough, for God's sake!"
"You're ready to apologize, then?" he gently flicked his fingertips against the shadowy groove separating her swollen hindquarters. Rita Henshaw's svelte hips jerked and wriggled feverishly, but, bowing her head, she gasped out in a chokingly muffled voice, "No, no, I won't ever give you that satisfaction, you brute you!"
Tightening the crook of his left arm round her bare waist and shifting his right leg up over her knee hollows, David Ainsley ground his teeth and now began to apply quick little flicks of his fingers all over her angrily reddened naked ass, attacking the tender insides of the globes along the gradually widening crevice, as well as the sensitive insides of her upper thighs. Rita Henshaw moaned and sobbed, writhing even more salaciously, her angrily flaming behind sometimes lurching upwards, then wildly swerving from side to side, and her fingers clawed at his restraining arm as she tried to free herself. A particularly stinging flick of his limp fingers whisked between the cheeks of her weaving ass and as he felt them make contract with the thick black silky curls of her cuntal fleece and the fleshy lips it concealed, he felt a frenzied jerking of his rigid prick.
"Eeeeeeouuuu, please, stop, stop, oh you're hurting me so-all right-all right-I'll do anything you say-only stop," she wailed.
He patted her bottom meaningfully. "Start by apologizing for that crack about my wife, then."
"Y ... yes ... s ... sir ... I-I'm-ouu-I-I'm sorry I said that-oh, please! No more!" she sobbed distractedly, her shoulders shaking.
"That's better," he grumbled, shifting his leg off hers and lifting his left arm from its compressing grip of her bare quivering waist. Rita Henshaw burst into hysterical sobs, bowing her head, abandoning herself over his lap, her hands feverishly thrusting back as they could to attempt to soothe the fiery pangs of her swollen, well-spanked ass. As her body squirmed and shifted over his lap, he was agonizedly conscious of the tremendous throbbing of his prick, which her soft fleshy cunt continued to rub against in this aftermath of the chastisement.
Finally, with a gasp of distress, she slipped down off his lap and stumbled onto her knees, both hands unabashedly rubbing her dark-reddened ass, tears running unchecked down her flushed, contorted face. Her upswept skirt and petticoat seemed to cling about her waist for a long moment, and his eyes devoured the bewitching sight of her exposed cunt, the thick, shaggy triangular fleece nearly concealing the twitching, succulently fleshy lips of the labia majora, and in the center the suave, pouting, more delicate petals of her vulva, a black-and-pink jewel of lascivious allure at the apex of her sinuous, long, stockinged thighs.
He slowly rose from the couch, and in that fleeting moment when conscience tries to overpower the forces of lust, glanced down at his savagely projecting prick, which threatened to burst through his fly. A she continued to kneel there, still rubbing her behind, still sobbing feverishly, he put out a propitiatory hand and ruefully stammered, "Look, Miss Henshaw, I'm sorry as hell-but you drove me to it-"
He wasn't prepared for her reaction. Her gray-green eyes, hugely dilated, swimming with tears that continued to drip down onto her flushed cheeks, fixed on his prick. Her mouth opened and a stifled, incoherent gasp escaped her. Then, crawling forward, she flung her arms round his wiry thighs and panted, "Oh God, don't just talk, fuck me-oh, God, I need to be fucked-please, please do it, I'm burning up for it!"
"Miss Henshaw-Rita-I assure you I-" again he tried for self-control. But the conquered brunette young woman, with a desperate groan, slipped one hand to his fly and wantonly dragged down his zipper, reached in and took out his heavy, dark-veined prick, then bent her head forward and closed her sensual red lips avidly over the swollen glans and applied a feverishly long, sucking kiss.
This done, she looked up at him, shivering fitfully, her right hand still clutching his aching shaft, and gasped, "What more do I have to do, Mr. Ainsley, for God's sake? Oh fuck me! You don't have to worry, if that's what's bothering you, I'm on the pill-please, oh please! You don't know how I need it!"
With a groan of frantic, lustful joy, he lifted her up by the armpits, and at once her arms locked round his shoulders as she crushed her moist, panting mouth on his, then delved her pert pink tongue deeply between his lips, her loins squirming and grinding lasciviously against his bared, stiff, swollen prick. Tiny whimpering moans exuded from her, and he could feel the hard pears of her tits flatten against his heaving chest.
As they stood locked in furious embrace, Rita Henshaw lifted one pump-shod foot and scuffed her tangled panties down to her ankles, stepped out of them, then pressed her cunt even more ardently against his aching prick. Trembling violently in the access of his violent rut for this unexpectedly submissive siren, David Ainsley stooped, pulled up her skirt and petticoat above her waist. "Oh yes, yes, darling!" she breathed, reaching for the up-trussed garments and gripping them a loft with her left hand as she circled his waist with her right arm, then arched her eager cunt to the fulminating weapon of his readied, throbbing prick.
With a groan of delight, he felt his glans press apart the deliciously moist, twitching, willingly yielding lips of her soft pink cunt and gouge into the wonderfully tight sheath. His hands gripped the inflamed, hot cheeks of her ass, mercilessly kneading and squeezing them as Rita Henshaw mewled with masochistic rapture and thrust herself furiously upon his impaling weapon till he could feel himself hilted to the balls in her torrid cuntal sheath. Their lips fused again, this time his own tongue taking the amorous initiative, and he could feel the indescribable torture-bliss of her vaginal contractions as they kissed and nibbled and took avid emprise of his scabbarded, hard prick.
Rita Henshaw sobbed with delight as she arched herself away from his prick, staring down between their bodies to see its glistening, tight skinned rigidity slowly emerge out of her moist, quivering cunt. Joyous now in his restoration of virile manhood, David Ainsley laughed huskily and squeezed her reddened ass cheeks hard as he pulled her back to him, his prick thrusting back into the tight warm volutes of her passionate cuntal sheath.
"Hard-give it to me really hard, darling-oh, how I've wanted you to do this to me ever since I came to work for you," she moaned.
"Oh, you sweet teasing bitch, you don't know how I've wanted to fuck you either-but I told myself it wasn't a good policy to get involved in my own office," he muttered, pressing her hard against him till he could feel himself delved into the balls and taste again the maddening, fluttering contractions of her womb walls squeezing and trying to drain his overloaded prick.
"And now how does my brute of a boss feel?" she tremulously teased, eyeing him wistfully, as tears still streaked her exquisitely sulky, sensual face.
"That's a silly question, Rita. Does that gorgeous rear end of yours still hurt?"
"That's an even sillier question, darling. Of course it does and that's exactly why I'm dying to be fucked-now please attend to me or I will sue you for driving a poor working girl up the wall," she breathed.
His answer was to silence her with a hot French kiss, his tongue rubbing against her mouth walls as he drew slowly back, then crammed to the hilt inside her humid, quivering, churning cunt. Swaying, locked together, they began to quicken their passionate tempo as Rita, moaning in ecstasy at the harsh bite of his wiry fingers into her reddened, throbbing ass-flesh, squirmed and writhed, nostrils flaring and shrinking, till at last she let go of her up-trussed clothes and locked both arms to him, sobbing and shuddering, her head bowed on his left shoulder as he felt her feverish cuntal spasms proclaim her achievement of total, rapturous, hot cum. Then with a groan of agonized pleasure, he thrust home a last time and flooded her quaking cunt with his viscous jet as she twisted her face to fuse her lips to him again, her tongue darting furiously back and forth inside his gasping mouth.
"Oh, God, lover, that was just wonderful," she wanly murmured when the carnal storm had subsided, and her knees began to tremble and give way as she clung to him, her superb pear-tits rising and falling tumultuously.
His hands gently stroked and patted her still weaving, contracting oval ass-cheeks, as he felt his prick, for all its fiery libation poured into her avidly eager cuntal sheath, still stiff and aching. "Forget the damn Xerox, Rita honey," he muttered. "I want you again, only this time, take off everything and let's have more fun on the couch."
She giggled softly, kissed him hard, then moved away. "I'll use your biffy first, with your permission, boss. But I'll still do that Xerox-only lots later-that is, if you still want me to work for you after all this?"
He began to take off his clothes, grinning at her. "Just try to quit now, you black-haired, hot pussied bitch you, you'll get such a spanking the one I just gave you will feel like a love-tap!"
Rita wriggled out of dress and petticoat, reached back to unhook her bra and let it flutter to the floor. Then, excitingly provocative in just nylons, pumps and snug, narrow garter belt, she walked to the door of the private bathroom, turned back to him on the threshold, and, wiggling her hips suggestively, purred, "All right, boss man, this time I won't quit, because I don't think I could take seconds on that fantailing. But next time, when I give you a hard time, don't stand on ceremony. Give me what I need!
He sprawled on the couch, naked now but for socks, lit a cigarette and smilingly shook his head. It was so damn funny in a way; if he hadn't thought about Kristina's birthday spanking, he mightn't have had the stroke of genius to turn Rita Henshaw from a haughtily efficient secretary into the hottest piece of cunt he'd ever had. And maybe, if he'd done the same thing to Kristina's blonde mother, she might still be waiting for him to come to bed with her.
Rita emerged in just nylons and garter belt, hurried over to the couch, and bent down to him, her widely spaced ripe firm pear-tits dangling temptingly. He reached out to cup and fondle them, then impulsively reached up to unravel the prim thick bun of her glossy black hair and let it tumble to her smooth, dimpled shoulders. Rita Henshaw sighed with pleasure, furled out her tongue and began to lick his balls, her soft fingertips tickling his inner thighs. With a gasp, he cupped her cheeks and drew her on top of him, then agilely rolled her over onto her back and knelt up, playing with her tits as she reached for him.
"Not yet, baby," he muttered as he moved down her lithe tawny-sheened body till he bestrode her knees. Then, bending down, his fingers stroking her quivering sides and hips, he began to brush the twitching fleshy lips of her cunt with the tip of his tongue, then deftly prodded the well developed, stiffened love-bud of her clit.
"Ohh, Dave, oh my God, oh yes!" she moaned, writhing, arching up one knee and yawning it to the back of the couch, then lowering it and raising the other as her bottom squirmed restlessly, arching up her cunt to his gamming.
Seizing her knees, he forced them back up against her tits and with a sudden thrust, hilted his prick to the roots inside her moist contracting cuntal sheath. Rita Henshaw wailed aloud with ecstasy, her feet kicking sporadically, her toes twisting and curling, her fingernails clawing at the couch, her head turning from side to side. As he moved closer to her, thrusting and withdrawing with jerky, rapid strokes, the naked brunette secretary draped her stockinged legs over his shoulders and, moaning as her climax neared, cupped and squeezed her heaving dark-tipped tits to intensify the myriad excitements of this rapacious fuck.
David Ainsley had just solved one of his major domestic problems-but in a way that was destined to create quite another!