Chapter 1
Cucumber-cool -- as always -- Donna Valento did not flinch when Stan came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder.
It lingered there, so she knew he would do more with it.
Much more.
His advance was expected by her. The key question was, how would she respond?
It was early in the morning that Tuesday.
The working day had barely started, but already Stan was working hard on her.
Donna Valento sat in a chair at the long white table in Stan's office, a table now heaped high with reports, sketches, swatches of fabric, paper, paper, and more paper.
Donna was a very attractive young woman in her early twenties. She was a recently hired junior assistant here at Klenco Clothing.
The Klenco offices were located on the seventh floor of a building in the midtown area, located just off Seventh Avenue, Fashion Avenue.
Klenco, run by industry magnate Irving Klenetsky, was one of the biggest companies in the field, offering ambitious newcomers the chance to prosper.
But those newcomers must produce and deliver the goods.
To Donna Valento, it was obvious which goods Stan wanted her to deliver.
The "goods" of her beautiful body.
Donna Valento was a long tall brunette with a strikingly attractive heart-shaped face with carefully formed chiseled features.
She was tall and willowy, high-breasted and long-legged. She dressed for business, but not even her sensible outfit could hide her loveliness.
Her hair, long and thick and shadow-black, was worn pinned up neatly, leaving her finely formed and featured face prominently displayed.
Her face was made-up with subtle sophistication, the artful use of cosmetics.
She wore a gray blazer, white blouse, gray skirt, pantyhose, shoes.
She sat at the table, resting her arms on its top, with her knees pressed closed, and her feet firmly planted on the floor.
Stan squeezed her shoulder, kneading it through the blazer jacket's fabric.
"We're going to have to work closely on this project, Donna."
"Oh?" She kept her voice neutral, betraying nothing.
"Very, very closely. This is a big account, a big season coming up. It calls for a maximum effort, and I'm calling on you to give me all you've got."
"In a business sense, you mean?"
"Yes, that, of course ... and in other areas, besides."
She kept looking straight ahead, but she could see him in her mind's eye.
Stan Simmons, a middle-level manager, not particularly high on the corporate totem pole, but in a position vitally important to her.
For all intents and purposes, he was her superior, and was in a spot to help her advance upward, or to completely stall and even derail her.
He must be handled with care.
Donna Valento had a pretty good idea of just how and where he would like to be handled by her. That was what all this was leading up to, of course.
Stan was in his middle forties. He might have been handsome once, but he was starting to go a bit to seed.
His dark hair was marbled with gray. He wore it covering his ears, longish, but up on top it was thinning, showing a lot of shining forehead.
He had bushy eyebrows and a thick-featured, clean-shaven face.
Nests of wrinkled surrounded his dark eyes. His nose was snub, slightly upturned, giving him a piggish look-entirely appropriate and keeping in character, thought Donna Valento, who kept her face composed and blandly expressionless.
He was tall, bearish, with a wide head sitting on broad sloping shoulders. He was big all over, with a soft spreading middle.
He wore a conservative suit, button-down white shirt, tie, socks, black shoes.
Donna Valento glanced down at the hand which rested on her shoulder.
It was the left hand of Stan, a thick-fingered hand whose back was covered with crawling veins and bristly black hair.
A golden wedding band glinted on the ring finger of that hand.
The smallest of small smiles quirked Donna's wide lips upwards.
She asked, "What kind of work do you have in mind, Stan?"
That was part of the seeming informality of the company. Everybody addressed each other by first names a nice touch of casual hypocrisy.
Only the big boss, Irving Klenetsky, was not called by name, and even he was known and referred to as "Mr. K."
His son, Junior, also worked at the company, but no one would ever refer to him as "Mr. K." or mistake him for the big daddy.
Stan said, "This is a rush project, so you'll have to put in some time after five o'clock, working late to get this wrapped up."
"No problem."
"I'll be staying with you, of course, to see the project through."
"Of course."
Stan paused, his hand still lingering on her shoulder.
He said, "In fact, you'll have to stay tonight."
She nodded. "All right."
"Hope you didn't have a date planned or anything. I know this is short notice."
"No, I'm free for tonight."
"Good...."
Stan squeezed her shoulder. He was reluctant to remove his hand, but he wasn't quite ready to make any more advances at this time.
He took his hand from her shoulder and said with bluff business-like firmness, "Now, the way I see it, the line can't afford to have any losers, any numbers that we're not perfectly satisfied with and one hundred per cent confident in, and-"
His voice rattled on, outlining the plan of attack for the seasonal showing that would be coming up all too soon.
Donna Valento nodded her head and made encouraging responses in all the right places, to show that she was hanging on his every word.
But in truth, her thoughts were far away....
As Stan bustled around the table and spoke a mile a minute, she permitted herself to allow a small sigh to escape her lips.
A sigh too soft for Stan to overhear. But there was little worry of that.
like so many executives, he was in love with the sound of his own voice, and once he started speaking, could go on and on and on.
So the approach had been made.
Donna Valento had graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology over a year ago, with the highest honors in her field.
Since graduation, she had held a succession of poorly paid jobs in the industry.
She could say in all fairness that, based on her own observations of the industry, only two sorts of men worked on Seventh Avenue:
Gays, and cunt-crazy married men.
Gays generally gave her no problem, since they had not the least interest in her lithe and silky female physique.
As for gay women, well Donna Valento herself was bi-sexual.
But when it came to pure pleasure, she took her lovers from outside the industry, generally, be they male or female.
And, where business was concerned, men held the power.
Those ! men who weren't gay were concentrated more in the hard-assed purely business part of the operation, as opposed to the creative departments.
Virtually all those men were married, or, if not, were recently divorced.
They were cunt-crazy, and would go after just about anything in skirts.
Donna Valento looked sweet-faced and lady-like but she was nobody's fool. And she was gifted with a large share of grit, spunk, and all-consuming ambition.
She had been dumped from her last job-fired!
She had come across for the executive who was her immediate supervisor in that last company, and had let him use her.
For a few weeks, their affair was hot and heavy so hot and heavy, that it tipped off his wife to what was going on.
The wife handed the exec an ultimatum--either the girlfriend went, or she would.
The unhappy exec had to have Donna terminated in her employment. This was her reward for allowing him the free and full use of her body!
Once burned, twice shy and she was determined not to be burned again.
Donna Valento was done taking it.
It was her turn to dish it out!
Accordingly, when the lunch hour rolled around, she went shopping. Within walking distance of the building were many stereo and camera stores.
Donna Valento found what she wanted, and she had the salesman in the store demonstrate the use of the device to her satisfaction.
Not until she was sure that she had mastered its workings, did she agree to buy it. She paid for the purchase by credit card.
The package was little larger than the size of a mass market paperback book, and easily fit inside her pocketbook.
Returning to work, she threw herself into the mounds of paperwork piled up on the desk in her tiny cubicle of an office.
In this fashion, the day wore on, and the five o'clock closing time came around.
As the office, and the building, was emptied of its crowds of workers, Donna Valento went into the ladies room.
She went into a toilet stall, closed and locked the door, sat down fully dressed on the plastic toilet seat, and opened her pocketbook.
She unwrapped the package she had bought at the camera/stereo store.
Taking it from its box, it was revealed to be a portable cassette tape recorder.
It was small and simple to operate. Batteries were bought at the time of purchase, as was a blank cassette tape.
The tape recorder had a powerful condenser microphone built into its side.
Adjusting the RECORD button, Donna Valento spoke in a husky whisper.
"Testing 1-2-3, testing 1-2-3...."
When the tape was rewound and played back, her whispered voice was reproduced with fidelity and surprising clarity.
Donna Valento played with the sound levels, adjusting the volume so that the recorder would easily pick up the sounds of normal conversation.
She was careful, since she didn't want to betray her purpose.
Satisfied that it was properly adjusted, she set it so that it could be activated and recorded at the touch of a button.
This done, with all in readiness, she slipped the recorder into a pouch on the inside of her pocketbook.
Despite her confidence and determination, she was anxious, and sitting on the toilet seat while working with the recorder had made her have to go.
She set down her bag, hiked her skirt up to her waist, and peeled her flesh colored pantyhose down to her knees.
When she was done, she studied herself in the lavatory mirror.
In the armor of her tweedy business suit and skirt and sensible shoes, Donna Valento was as ready for combat as any knight of old.
Carnal combat.
Stan waited for her in his office.
As the business day had worn on, he had grown progressively more unkempt.
Now, his jacket was off, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, his tie was loosened, and dark sweaty stains showed under his arms.
He got up from his desk and walked around it, crossing his office floor.
A middle level executive, he rated a medium-sized office.
"Come in, come in," he greeted her at his office door.
Virtually all of the staff had cleared out when five o'clock rolled around, although a handful of late workers remained.
But they were all closeted in their offices, while the halls were empty.
All the same, after Stan ushered Donna Valento into his office, he closed his door and locked it.
"So we won't be interrupted when we're in the middle of something," he explained.
He told her to make herself comfortable: "We'll be here for a while, a few hours at least, until we get all squared away.
"When we get hungry, later, we can send out for some sandwiches. There's a good deli down the block that delivers.
"So, make yourself comfortable. Take off that jacket of yours, relax."
Donna Valento took off her gray blazer and hung it up on a wardrobe rack.
The front of her long-sleeved white blouse was lifted by the twin mounds of her breasts, pear-shaped breasts with sharply pointed nipples.
Through the white blouse could be seen the outline of the lacy white bra which cupped those breasts.
A bra worn not for support since Donna Valento's bosom was high and firm without the lift of a supporting bra but for the sake of modesty.
A lady in business had to dress like a lady. When Donna Valento went braless, the guys openly ogled her, staring at her tits.
That had happened at her last job. She would not repeat the mistake here.
Stan ogled her breasts.
Donna Valento was acquainted with the expression, "undressed with his eyes," an expression which was an accurate description here.
Stan stared at her, seeing the shape of her body under her clothes, seeing her naked in his mind's eye, as he undoubtedly desired to see her in the flesh.
"Have some coffee, Donna. And bring me a cup while you're at it."
She took hers black. He liked his with lots of cream and plenty of sugar.
"That must be because you're so sweet," she said.
"You don't know how sweet-but you will!"
If he had even the slightest sensitivity or sense of irony, he would have known that she was goofing on him.
But he was happily oblivious to all save his own lusts.
Hardly had she taken the first few tentative sips of her coffee, when he put down his cup and came around his desk.
He perched casually on the corner of his desk, close to where she sat.
He looked down at her, at the globes of her bosom pressing the blouse.
"I've had my eye on you for some time, Donna."
"Yes...."
"I'm, uh, very pleased with your work, what I've seen of it."
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me you've earned it. I think that you could go places in this company, Donna ... with some help from the right people."
"I never say no to a helping hand."
"Yes, Donna, I think you could go far."
"You'd be surprised by how far I go," she said.
That wasn't quite the answer he expected, and it threw off his timing by a beat or two, so that she sensed him mentally changing gears.
"You know the old saying, Donna: 'you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.'"
"I know it.' "I can be a good friend for you to have, Donna."
"I'm sure ... I hope that we can be very good friends."
"That depends on how, er, ah, friendly you are."
"I think that you'll find me more than friendly, Stan."
"I'm glad to hear it...."
"You did say that we'd have to work very closely."
"Yes...."
He shifted his weight, squirmed on the desk, and she knew he was readying himself to make his move. She was ready, too.
She had butterflies in her belly, but that was nothing she couldn't deal with, just the excitement of the moment of confrontation.
Stan took a new tactic.
"You're a great looking, Donna, that when I first saw you, I thought you were a model and not an employee!"
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Beautiful hair...."
He reached out and touched it.
This is it, Donna Valento thought. Here we go-She steeled herself to sit perfectly still. Her face was frozen in the same blandly pleasant expression she had walked in with.
He touched her hair lightly, then, when she didn't pull away or repulse his advance, he fondled it openly.
His thick fingers, greasy with sweat, pawed the fine smooth black hair.
It was worn all pinned up, in a kind of bun, leaving her neck bare and her face unframed, giving her a prim look.
He patted her head, a master teaching his dog new tricks.
Donna Valento knew tricks he had never even heard of or dreamed of!
As he would discover, soon enough.
For now, let him have his innings.
He fondled her face, stroking her cheek-
"You're a beautiful girl ... just beautiful...."
Donna Valento lifted her hand and put it on his.
He froze in place, unsure of her reaction.
She pressed his hand to her face. Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her face against the hand, squeezing it invitingly.
She chewed her lips and puckered them out, then pressed his palm, kissing it.
Her body, her manner, both indicated she was open to him.
He reached for her.
She stood up and he embraced her. Tall as she was, he was half a head taller.
She wore her flat-heeled loafers. When she wore heels any higher, she was sure to stand taller than some of the men in the company.
Many men disliked a female taller than themselves, or another male, either. She would not provoke their enmity until she was ready to deal properly with it.
Power was all.
Power, not confidence in his sexual appeal and allure, permitted Stan Simmons to embrace a female young enough to be his daughter.
It was power which enabled him to wrap his arms around her warm, slender form and move his face to hers for a kiss.
Power, the confidence that she would yield, was in fact yielding.
He kissed her.
Kisses were bad. They were difficult for Donna Valento to do, when she must kiss someone she did not care for.
She could offer up her body for many more sexual uses than kissing, but there was something in kissing on the mouth that was unpleasant to her.
But she could stand it.
Donna Valento could stand just about anything.
Kissing her mouth, Stan pressed his front against hers.
His chest pressed her bosom, the mounds springily resisting.
His mouth was open and attached to hers. It was a thin-lipped steamy greedy mouth that crushed her lips and invaded hers with a tongue.
He shoved his big fat tongue in her mouth, probing, tasting.
He rubbed her back, tracing out the fine line of her spine.
His hands traced out the rounded curve of her rump.
Generally lithe and lean, she possessed a perfect ass, round, heart-shaped, luscious. It was one of her greatest assets.
Stan clutched her assets, one hand on each rounded buttock. He squeezed and kneaded them through the skirt.
He pressed his crotch against hers. Movement stirred in the soft bulge of his groin as it rubbed against her hips.
His penis grew in spasming jerks, stiffening against her, standing tall.
He broke off the kisses, leaving his saliva smeared on her mouth.
His face was flushed red under a shining coating of sweat. Now that he hadended the kiss, he could fondle her breasts.
He put his hand on her bosom and groped her through her blouse.
His sweaty palms smeared moist blotches on the fabric of the blouse. He handled her breasts like he was milking them.
"Make myself comfortable, you said," Donna Valento murmured.
"Yes...."
Smiling with her lips, her gaze sultry, she unbuttoned her blouse down the front. She pulled the tails from her skirt and took the blouse off.
The bra's lacy white cups gripped her breasts. The creamy breast tops were ivory white, smooth, shining over the bra cups.
He squeezed her breasts and rubbed their tops.
She reached behind her back, unhooked it, took it off.
Her breasts jiggled when freed from the confining cups, but she was well toned and fit, and the breasts stayed in position.
Her nipples, flattened by the pressing cups, expanded outward, throbbing.
Stan moaned with lust and fumbled with her breasts. He pressed them together and squeezed them, grunting while he did so.
He reached for her hip, squeezed it, worked his hand to her crotch.
He rubbed her thigh, his sweaty palm rustling over the nyloned flesh.
He started to reach between her legs-
"No."
Donna Valento took hold of his hand and moved it away from her pussy.
He started to get really mad.
"What kind of a game are you playing here-"
She pressed her finger over his lips.
"Shhhh ... don't be angry. Let me explain. I can't let you touch me there because, well, it's that time of the month for me."
She lied with a kind of shy hesitancy that was ultimately convincing.
"You know what I mean that time of the month! I'm having my period!"
The message finally got through to him.
"Oh! Oh, that's it! I get it!"
She went on, "I'll be over it in a day or two ... but in the meantime, even though you can't do it to me down there, there's still plenty I can do for you!"
Donna Valento knew that Stan, like most males, would have a deep, near-superstitious fear and dislike of a woman's menstrual blood.
Of course, she had gambled that Stan would not be one of that fractional minority of men who would not be turned off.
And she had judged correctly.
Besides, she had so much else to offer ... she leaned into him, so that the tips of her breasts nuzzled his chest.
Her nipples were dark brown, pertly pointed, and were ringed with aureoles which were the size of a twenty-five cent piece in diameter.
The nipples were stiff now, and throbbed as they glided over Stan's chest.
She reached for his crotch, pressing her hand against-his genitals.
"Oh ummmm!" he murmured, as she fondled him through his pants.
She stopped fondling him and took a step back. She unclipped the earrings she wore, taking both of them off.
"What are you doing, Donna?"
"I don't want these to fall off when I'm busy."
"Busy doing what?"
"Doing you ... with my mouth."
"You're a sweetheart, Donna, heh heh heh ... you're a prize package, a honey."
"Yes."
She picked up her pocketbook, opened it, reached inside to drop the earrings in.
Before she took her hand back Out, she pressed the RECORD button and looked to see the tape advancing in the cassette window.
From the way she held the pocketbook, Stan hadn't seen inside and would never have thought to look inside, either.
To do so, he would have had to look away from her bare, beautiful breasts.
Donna Valento's stiff-nippled breasts dangled deliciously as she leaned over and safely tucked her pocketbook under the chair, out of the way.
Then she got down on her knees.
She turned her face up to him. A pink tongue tip glided over parted lips, wetting them, making them glisten.
"I know you're big," she murmured, "I could feel it."
She pressed the side of her face against his member, which bulged in his pants.
He pressed her head against his groin while she nuzzled it.
Donna Valento reached for his zipper.
"I'll do that," he said.
He unbuckled his belt and opened his pants and pulled down his fly.
When his undershorts came down, his erection flopped down in front of her face.