Chapter 8
"Yeeee-haawwww!" JJ cried gleefully as he thrashed Judy's bare buns with his belt.
Judy was hanging from the dowel in the clothes closet, her wrists bound together.
She was stark naked.
JJ was also stark naked, except for a ten gallon hat, cowboy boots and a bandanna he kept at the apartment for his weekly trysts.
"Oh, Christ, hurt me! Punish me!" Judy cried breathlessly.
He punished her.
He hurt her, too.
He lashed out with the belt, the sharp, cold buckle striking her pink, round buttocks.
She felt helpless and loved it.
"How do you handle a hungry man..." JJ sang, and lashed out again with the belt, "the MAN-HANDLERS!"
Frankie Laine he wasn't.
He struck her again.
"Get aloooong, little doggies!" he chirped, striking her again.
Judy started to sag. She was spent, physically and emotionally. Her arms were numb, as was her ass. The ropes cut off most of the circulation to her wrists.
JJ continued thrashing her.
"Oh, God, I love it when you abuse me," Judy gasped.
And she did.
Of course, she wouldn't be able to sit for a month. JJ always had the same effect on her.
She hung obediently, her toes skimming the floor.
Sweat rolled down her face and splattered onto her breasts.
JJ struck her again.
She felt the cold brass cut into her flesh. Pain shot through her loins. She hungered for more.
"Bad little hussy," JJ cackled. "Bad, bad little brazen hussy! Have you learned your lesson yet, little one?"
"N-No..." she replied breathlessly, her mouth dryer than the Sahara.
"You want more discipline?"
"Yes."
He gave it to her.
He thrashed her with the belt once more. She cried out in agony, savoring every bolt of pain.
"Aurgggghhhhh!" she moaned, waking up her neighbors, an elderly couple who'd lived in the building since the Depression and paid less than two hundred a month in rent.
Judy's butt looked like a roadmap of the Los Angeles freeway system as JJ continued thrashing her.
JJ tired before Judy did.
He dropped the belt on the floor and loosened the ropes around her wrists.
She fell to the floor in a heap.
JJ grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the bed.
She lay there motionless, perfectly docile.
JJ liked her that way.
He rolled her over onto her stomach and slid an arm around her waist, propping her up doggie style.
Still wearing his cowboy boots and ten gallon hat, he slid his cock into her sopping cunt and started drilling her.
He sank the sharp spurs on his boots into the tender flesh on her buttocks, his body draped over hers.
Judy said nothing. JJ always wore her out.
He rammed his throbbing boner in and out of her, every muscle on his chest and arms rippling.
"Sweet little filly," he crooned.
"Fuck me good, big boy!" she told him.
He did.
He bucked and lurched over her, slamming his thick nine inches in and out of her, relentlessly.
Her breasts rubbed against the silky bedsheets, making her nipples get hard.
He sank his spurs deeper into her cheeks.
And continued the thrilling drilling.
He had the stamina of a bull. He rammed his man's meat deeper and deeper into her, all the way to the base. His balls were swollen like rocks.
"Oooh, tumblin' tumbleweeds!" he cried, awakening the neighbors again, Fred and Ethel McMertz.
Fred, pushing ninety, reached under the bed and pulled out a baseball bat.
He leaped from the bed, pretty spry for a man his age, and started banging on the wall with it.
The bat was autographed by Ted Williams.
He knocked a chunk of plaster off the wall, but made his point.
"You shut up in there, dammit!" he bellowed. "You just woke my wife and myself!"
JJ slammed the opposite side of the wall with the. palm of his hand.
"Eat shit and die, sidewinder!" JJ bellowed back.
"JJ, shut up," Judy snapped. "You wanna get me thrown outta here?"
"You shut up, too," JJ replied, and slapped her rosy red tushy for good measure.
"But JJ..."
"I told you to shut up, woman!" JJ cried. "Just for that, I fuck you where the sun don't shine!"
He pulled his slithery pecker from her twat, spit in his hand and lubricated the tip of his manhood.
He plunged it into the tiny, puckered opening of her anus.
"It's time for Anus'n'Andy!" he chortled.
He slid his pecker deeply into her chocolate cunt and started pumping, digging the spurs into her butt.
Judy moaned in pain, but loved every second of it.
She felt the tip of his prick prodding her sphincter and immediately had the first in a series of orgasms.
"Eeeeeep," she cried.
Which was followed by another crack on the wall from Fred's autographed baseball bat.
"I ain't gonna tell you again!" Fred yelled. "Keep it down in there!"
JJ ignored the threats.
He continued ass-fucking her. It felt like being fucked by a horny sperm whale.
She gripped the bedsheets tightly until her knuckles turned white. The pain/pleasure was intense.
JJ started to come inside her asshole.
"Yeeeeeee-haaaaaaaa!" he wailed like a banshee, his cock exploding inside of her, erupting like Mount St. Helens, spewing his hot load deep into her anal passage.
He finished and collapsed against her.
They lay on the bed, panting breathlessly like two dogs in the heat.
Finally, he rolled off of her, his cock starting to shrink back to normal size.
He sighed, deeply and contentedly.
"You're really something," he said affectionately. "Lets get married."
"Bigamy is still illegal in the state of New York," Judy informed him.
"Then I'll divorce Velma," he replied.. "She don't let me do any of the stuff you do."
"Don't go divorcing your wife for me, JJ," Judy said. "You're great in the sack and all, but I'm not looking to get married. Not now, anyway. I'm a career girl, and that comes first."
"Huh," JJ snorted. "There ain't a girl alive what wouldn't toss away their so-called careers for a nice home, a loving husband and a passle of little ones."
"All the same," Judy said, "I've already been married once, and it damn near killed me."
"Marry me anyway," JJ said.
"I don't love you."
"What's love got to do with anything?" JJ asked. "I ain't askin' for your undyin' love, baby. It's like that old joke. One guy says, 'I got married so's I could get laid six or seven times a week.' And his buddy says, 'Hell, that's the same reason I got divorced.'"
"I'm no homewrecker, JJ," Judy said. "I'm flattered, though."
"She's flattered," JJ grunted, and hopped out of bed. He hit the showers and sang rather nicely as he cleansed the sweat from his trim body.
"Oh my darlin'/Oh my darlin'/Oh my darlin' Clementine...!" he warbled, sounding remarkably like Huckleberry Hound.
Judy drifted off to sleep before he was finished.
Tomorrow was going to be a busy day for her.
The shit was going to hit the fan.
"Have you got them?" Judy asked Nicki the following morning.
Nicki nodded and pulled three large brown envelopes out of her handbag.
Judy tucked them under her arm and started to head for the elevator.
"Judy..." Nicki called.
Judy spun around.
"Be careful up there," Nicki warned. "Those big boys will eat you alive. You sure you know what you're doing?"
"Trust me."
She smiled confidently.
She took the elevator up the two floors to the executive offices.
The receptionist there greeted her.
"Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.
"Miss McGruff to see Mr. Buckstretcher, Mr. Hyams, Mr. O'Connor, Mr. Shrewsbury and Mr. Sappington."
"I'm sorry," the snooty bitch replied, "but they're all in conference with Mr. Dewey and Mr. Howe."
"What about Mr. Cheatham?" Judy wanted to know. She wanted all three of the agency's founders present.
"Mr. Cheatham has been dead for five years now," the receptionist replied.
"Fine," Judy said, brushing by her desk into the conference room. "Then he's excused from this meeting."
"You can't go in there," she cried, trying to grab Judy.
Judy shook her hand away. "You wanna watch your ass around me, sweetheart. I'm dangerous when I get angry."
The receptionist, who had heard about Judy's full tilt boogie up the corporate ladder, stepped back.
Judy sauntered into the conference room, where her five sponsors and the company's remaining founders were discussing different accounts.
They all looked up when she entered.
JJ especially knew that something was up. He swallowed hard and waited.
O'Connor leaned over to Hyams.
"What the hell is she doing up here?" he whispered. Hyams shrugged.
"Don't get up, gentlemen," Judy announced. "I'll only be a few minutes."
"And just who the hell do you think you are?" Mr. Dewey, a short, seventyish, balding dumpy man asked.
"Uh...this is Miss Judy McGruff," JJ blurted. "She's our new copy chief..."
"Shut up, Buckstretcher," Dewey snapped. He turned to Judy. "This is a private meeting, Miss McGruff, and I'll have to ask you to leave at once or else..."
"Take it easy, buttbreath," Judy sneered, seating herself at the table.
"Buttbreath!" Dewey sputtered. "Just who the sam hill do you think you're talking to?"
Judy threw the brown envelopes onto the shiny table.
"You and your associates," she said confidently. "I have some photos in my possession that will definitely prove of great interest to every man in this room."
"Oh, shit," Hyams muttered.
Shrewsbury turned bone white.
O'Connor wanted a drink. A double.
JJ had to pee. Badly.
Judy opened the first envelope and pulled out some black and white enlargements.
One photo showed Hyams and Judy romping naked in the bathtub, which was filled with chocolate pudding.
Another showed Judy and O'Connor, who was dressed like a nun, cavorting wildly.
Still another showed Judy and JJ in one of their typical positions, he the cowboy, she the helpless school marm.
Then there was another with Judy and Shrewsbury, who was decked out in leather, engaging in a little healthy B&D.
The photos were taken by Nicki, who had hid in the closet on five separate occasions.
The photos were circulated around the conference room. Each man recognized his own anatomy.
Mssrs. Dewey and Howe also examined the photos.
The one of Sappington down on his hands and knees begging like an Irish setter actually brought a chuckle to Mr. Howe.
"What do you want, Miss McGruff?" Dewey asked wearily.He'd been this route once or twice before.
"I wanna be senior V.P.," Judy stated, "or else I release the negatives to the DAILY NEWS, the POST and the TIMES."
"An outrage!" Shewsbury bellowed.
"Shut up, Don," Dewey snapped. "You don't really think you'll get away with this, do you?"
"And why not?" Judy asked. "I see the way things work around here. I'm sure your clients— Berber Baby foods, not to mention two disposable diaper companies and others who cater to Middle America—will appreciate this. They'll pull their accounts out of here faster than you can spell boo."
That afternoon, Judy McGruff was named Senior Vice President of Dewey, Cheatham and Howe, the youngest in the agency's forty year history.
And the heads began to roll.
Leo in personnel was the first to go.
Dave Zapata was Number Two.
Bambi was Number Three.
Nicki was appointed Judy's personal assistant.
Aaron was promoted to copy chief, Judy's old job.
Judy was interviewed by all of the major advertising trade magazines,all of whom clamored for the story of her meteoric rise to the top, subordinate only to Mr. Dewey and Mr. Howe themselves.
"It was nothing but hard work, more hard work plus the determination to succeed," she was quoted as saying.
But the real story behind her sudden promotion was no secret to anyone on Madison Avenue. Those in the know knew.
In less than three months, Judy had made it to the top of the heap.
There was nowhere else to go but down.
Judy walked along Bay Parkway three months later, past all the places she had known as a child.
The schoolyard at P.S. one-three-nine was filled with kids, mostly Black and Puerto Rican.
The candy store was still there, only now it was owned and manned by Arabs.
Krausmeyer's Deli was owned by Iranians.
The old A&P was boarded up.
She reached her parents apartment building.
She had not seen them since moving to the city. Or even spoke, for that matter. She'd been much too busy for that.
She'd come a long way from the frightened, battered young wife who had begged her mother for shelter and refuge from her drunken husband.
The times, as Bob Dylan was so fond of saying, were a' changin'.
She was dressed in an expensive full length mink, expensive black leather boots and a matching pants suit, the entire combo costing more than Bill had made in a month.
"Well, well," Mrs. McPugh said, greeting her long lost daughter as she opened the door. "If it isn't the queen of Madison Avenue."
"Save it, Ma," Judy said impatiently. "I didn't come here to be insulted."
Judy noted that her mother had aged considerably, looking even yellower than the plastic on the living room furniture.
"And just what did you come here for?" Mrs. McPugh wanted to know.
"Where's Pa?"
"At work," her mother replied.
"Ma, I told you this morning when I called that Pa didn't have to work anymore. I can let you have all the money you need..."
"We don't want your money, Judith," Mrs. McPugh replied. "Not that kind of money."
"What are you talking about?"
"Bambi's Ma, Mrs. Lipshitz, called last month," Mrs. McPugh said. "Imagine, firing yer own best friend after she gets you the job in the first place. Disgraceful, that's what it is. She told me that Bambi told her how you got to be such a bigshot."
"Oh, and what did she say?" Judy wanted to know.
"I think you know, Judith."
"Tell me anyway."
"She said," Mrs. McPugh crossed herself, "that you used your feminine charms to get to the top. Course, she didn't exactly put it that way, but I got the gist of it. Is this true, Judith?"
"What difference does it make? You already passed judgement on me..."
"Answer my question, Missy!"
"Yes!" Judy thundered. "I fucked my way to the top, with a little blackmail thrown in for good measure, okay? That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? Well, it's true, all of it. I did fuck my way up. Shit, it was the only way a girl like me—uneducated, ignorant and naive—could get ahead."
Mrs. McPugh slapped her daughter's face.
"Even your sisters knew about it," she said, a tear rolling down her wrinkled face. "Oh, they didn't wanna tell me, but I made 'em. Still I didn't wanna believe it, not then, not now."
"So what if I did?" Judy asked hotly. "You think I wanna end up like my dear sisters, and you too? Married to a moron who gets drunk and beats me every chance he gets. Look what it did to you, Ma. You're only fifty and you look twice that!"
"Get out, Judith," Mrs. McPugh said evenly, opening the apartment door. "I didn't raise you to be a slut, girl. You're no daughter of mine anymore."
"Fine," Judy snapped, jumping to her feet. "That's fine. This place smells of cabbage....and blood!"
She walked out into the hallway, then spun around, tears in her eyes.
"Ma...I'm sorry...really..."
Mrs. McPugh slammed the door on her.