Chapter 9

It was almost quarter past three when Sally opened the heavy paneled door to the offices of Larson Wendell, Pitts and Murphy, crept solicitously to the reception desk to announce her name, then sat down, to huddle in one of the enormous leather chairs that graced the waiting room. She hoped Art wouldn't mind too much that she was late. She hadn't meant to be, but she'd had nothing to do, and she'd passed a run-down movie house where an old Gary Cooper film was showing, and she'd always loved Gary Cooper-the way he ambled nonchalantly down the street that way-and so she'd gone in, and the time had passed so quickly that she hadn't even noticed, and then, when the lights went on in the miserable little theater, she'd glanced at her watch and hurried up the aisle, panic-stricken to think she would be late for her appointment. Well, she was glad she'd gone to the movie, she thought defiantly. Even if it meant she'd be late, it had a least taken her mind off her troubles. The thought of those troubles, now, filled her eyes with tears, and she dabbed at them with a crumpled handkerchief as Miss Leland said, smilingly, "Mr. Pitts will see you now," and ushered her into the book-lined office.

Art was standing there, a look of deep sympathy on his face, and as soon as Miss Leland closed the door behind her, he stretched his hands out to Sally, put his arm around her shoulder in a friendly, even fatherly, gesture. "Oh, Sally, my dear," he said gently. "I hate to see you like this. So overwrought. So disturbed. I really hate to see you like this."

The hell I don't, he thought, as he settled her in a deep chair. Could anything fit in better with his plans?

He stared at her. Christ, but she was built! Even the little school-girl outfit she was wearing couldn't hide the shape of her voluptuously formed breasts, the magnificently undulating curves of her sensuous buttocks, the fullness of her hips. Sitting opposite him, relaxed and at ease for the moment, she unconsciously let her legs part slightly, giving Art a glimpse of the milk-white skin of her inner thighs, which showed just above the tops of her dark stockings, their snowy purity heightened by contrast both with the hosiery and the black garters holding it up. Sally shifted in the chair, and now he saw the thin strip of her black nylon panties caught, somehow, in the narrow cleft of her little pussy, saw the fringe of silky pubic fleece straggling out from the sides. Jesus! It sent boiling lava swirling through his loins, turned his balls into tender, throbbing appendages. Sally was a hot little number-yes, she was-and he'd always known it. And he knew, too, that Mike Hole wasn't the man to do justice to such a voluptuous woman.

He'd been aching to remedy that situation ever since he'd met her, and the only thing that had held him back was lack of opportunity.

Well, here was opportunity knocking at his door-or at least sitting in his office. Sally Hole, sobbing out her troubles to him, begging for help. Art Pitts knew just what she needed-and legal advice was only the half of it. Well, he'd give her a little of both.

He leaned forward, speaking softly, soothingly, as if she were a small child. I mustn't frighten her, he told himself. I'll have to win her confidence. He cleared his throat, donning an expression of profound interest, of deep concern, and said, "Now, my dear, perhaps you can tell me what has happened."

He sat back, hands folded piously together, fingertips touching, and Sally burst into fresh sobs. "There, there my dear. Just tell me." He nodded, to show that his heart was wrung by her predicament, then said softly, "I know how painful this is Sally, even how embarrassing for you. But I must know, after all, if I'm to help you. Now mustn't I?"

Sally nodded and wiped her tears away once more. Then in a low voice that was almost a whisper, she launched into an account of what had happened the night before.

Art leaned forward from time to time, to press her on some point she had brought up, to question her about some incident. "Do you mean to tell me that Mike was actually, well, actually ... " he paused, then, avoiding her eyes as if ashamed of what he must say, went on, " ... fucking-please forgive me for "being so blunt, Sally, but we must be frank, be honest with one another if I am to help you ... isn't that so?" And when Sally nodded, he repeated, "Mike was fucking this, this little au pair-what did you say her name was? Kirst?-was fucking her?"

Sally nodded, her face scarlet, her eyes downcast. "That's right," she whispered at last. "That was what he was doing."

Art Pitts got up slowly, walked towards Sally, took her two shoulders in both hands, stroked them gently, then released her. He went around her to the desk, picked up a pad of yellow-lined legal paper and a pencil, went back to his chair, sat down and began to take notes. "Sally," he apologized, "I'm sorry about all this. I know it isn't easy for you but ... " he waved his hand to show how helpless he was, " ... but I must, you know."

"I understand," Sally whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Now you say ... oh, my dear; I hate to press you on this ... but you say Mike was actually sucking this girl up between her thighs, sucking her vagina, sucking her clitoris?"

Sally nodded, too ashamed to speak. But Art noticed with satisfaction that she was becoming slightly itchy, too, as he forced her to describe, in lewd, obscene language, the perverted acts she had witnessed. Well, that was fine, he thought. Just fine. And as his tongue darted out to lick his lips lasciviously, he told himself that this, too, would fit in perfectly with his plans. "And then she ... this girl, Kirst ... she sucked Mike?" he continued.

Sally nodded, eyes closed, too embarrassed to look at the man. "Yes," she whispered. She leaned back in her chair. She felt little sparks, like fire-crackers, exploding in her blood, making her twitch and tingle. Her own pussy seemed to grow warm and moist, to quiver with an odd, unwanted anticipation. Oh, dear God! What was the matter with her? She opened her eyes, and looked up listening to Art.

"Can you tell me about it? Tell me exactly what you saw?"

Sally shook her head. No, I can't she thought. I just can't go on. Surely Art could understand without her having to go into such sordid detail.

Art-it seemed to Sally he must be psychic-suddenly reassured her. "No, you can't. It's too painful for you, Sally. And I have no right to ask it of you." His eyes met hers, and she felt immeasurable gratitude well up within her. Art was a fine, decent, wonderful man! Oh, she had been right to come to him! She'd known it all along.

He placed his hands on her shoulders again, and spoke to her in a calm, soothing tone. "Sally, I'm sure I can help you. But you must trust me. Can you? Will you? After what you've been through, you poor child, I know it must be hard to trust any man. But will you trust me?"

Tears of relief flooded Sally's eyes. "I trust you, Art," she breathed, "I do."

"Very well, then," Art said, brisk and business like now. "We'll have to be practical about some things. First, where are you staying?" And when Sally shook her head he said, "I'll ask Miss Leland to get you a room at the Hadley Arms. It's quiet and comfortable and no one will bother you. You'd better get some rest, my dear, and I'll get to work on your case." He got up, helped Sally up, and ushered her to the door. "And I'll be in touch with you soon," he said. "Very soon."

Sally checked into the hotel, went to her room, and drew a warm bath. After she dressed herself, she called room service and ordered dinner sent up. She was just finishing the lemon tart she'd ordered for dessert, and was sipping a second cup of coffee when the telephone rang. Startled, she picked it up, and was relieved to hear Art Pitts' voice. "Sally, I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all, Art." In fact, she thought, it was comforting to hear from him so soon.

"Are you busy?"

"No. Just having coffee."

"Great. Can you come over here? We could have brandy together, and talk over what's happened since I saw you."

Sally felt a surge of affection for this man. He was so good, she thought. So good. "Of course, Art," she said.

"Fine. I'll be waiting for you at my apartment." Sally put the telephone down, called the desk to order a taxi, and closed the door behind her.

Art was waiting for her when Sally knocked on the door, and he led her into the spacious living room. The lights were low, and there were logs burning in the fireplace and music-some sentimental ballad that Sally vaguely remembered-on the hi-fi. There was a silver tray with bottles and crystal glasses, too, on the marble table in front of the couch, and Art poured them each a stiff drink.

Sally sank back on the couch, relaxed, happier than she'd been in days. She felt comfortable with Art, that was it. And when she finished her drink, and he poured her another, she sipped at that one, too.

She began to feel a little giddy-it must have been the fire, along with the brandy, she thought-and things seemed to melt into one another; the room, the fire, the warmth and comfort, and the relief she felt at having Art Pitts there. Good old Art Pitts; she could trust Art, and Art was going to help her, too. It was funny, Sally reflected; everything had seemed so God awful that morning, and now her world was rosy again. And when Art poured another drink for her, she didn't protest at all, although she knew she was getting a little bit drunk. But it would be all right. Wasn't Art Pitts there to take care of her as her lawyer?

He poured her still another drink, and then he said, diffidently, "Sally dear, I'm going to ask you to do something for me. It's going to be painful, I'm afraid, but it's something that's really quite, quite necessary." He held out his hands to her, helped her to her feet. "You will do it, won't you?" he pleaded.

"Oh, yes," Sally said. Her speech seemed a little slurred, her words a little slushy. She staggered, too, just a little, and Art caught her and helped her across the room and into his study, where he led her to the desk. He took down a couple of large, leather-bound volumes that Sally thought at first were law books, and placed them in front of her.

"It was so difficult for you to talk about-well, about the things you saw last night," he said to Sally, as if apologizing for asking her to, "that I thought it might be easier if I just showed you some pictures of various acts and you can tell me if you saw them doing any of them. We must be very precise when we present our case."

Sally's brain seemed to swim a little. What kind of pictures, for Heaven's sake? And why? They must be legal exhibits, she decided-pictures from the divorce cases Art had handled before. Well maybe it would be easier than her having to describe everything in complete detail.

He put his arm around her, as if to give her courage, and flipped the book open to a photograph of a young girl with her legs spread wide, exposing the full plane of her open young vagina to the gleefully smiling face of a man just inches above it. Sally's breath choked in her throat, and her heart began to race, as Art's arm tightened around her shoulder. "Was this what you saw last night?", he asked.

Sally nodded. "Yes," she whispered. It was lewd, disgusting, and it made her stomach churn, her very bones seemed to melt. But also, in spite of its lewdness, it sent little pin pricks of excitement rippling slowly up between her legs, an excitement she had never known before.

Art felt the quiver that passed through her body, knew that it signaled the beginning tide of passion, one that would soon be beyond control. She's getting hot, he thought, and told himself, smugly, that it had been a whole lot easier than he had expected. His best friend, Mike Hole's wife, was almost ready to fuck, and God knows, he'd been ready since the moment she walked in.

He dug his fingers strongly into her shoulders now and Sally gasped at the sudden pressure as he forced her around to face him. His hands slid down over the gently curving mounds of her thighs, pulled inward against the sensuous half moons of her undulating buttocks, until he felt the throbbing warmth of her cunt pressing tightly against his pelvis.

Through the thin fabric of her skirt, Sally felt the growing hardness of Art Pitts' burgeoning, stiffening cock. She squirmed backward, knowing instinctively that she must somehow escape. Yet she was powerless to move, and when she opened her mouth to protest, she found she could form no words, and merely began to moan quietly.

Art pressed closer, stroking her thighs more insistently now, while his bulging cock, enclosed within his trousers, nevertheless pressed, twitching and jerking, against her legs. With a swift, sharp movement, he bent his face to Sally, fastened his mouth on hers, forced his tongue between her lips, on, deep inside, almost to her throat, and held her, gasping for breath now, in a long, wet kiss.

Little flickers of fire seemed to sputter up Sally's spine, spreading out through all her limbs in a new, wonderful thrill. Oh, it was wicked, this thing she was doing. But it was good, too. And how could she be blamed, after what Mike had done to that nakedly squirming little blonde girl last night? Relaxing, she began to respond to the maddening touch of Art's incessant caresses, began to tingle with delight as he continued to stroke her thighs as they stood pressed tightly together.

Almost unconsciously, she spread her legs a little, and in a moment, Art's hand moved expertly up under her skirt, to trace the smooth, softly trembling skin of her inner thighs, to caress, ever so gently, the narrow split of her vaginal passage, between her legs, running his finger over the thin nylon band of her panties that still shielded it. Nothing seemed real to her any more, nothing seemed important standing there, except the spine-tingling excitement of another man's burning hands and fingers exploring her body that was now as taut, as tight, as a violin string tuned too high.

And then, like just such a string, something snapped, and Sally came back to herself with a start. My God! What was she doing? What was she thinking of? She closed her eyes, shaking her head, and the terrible sight of Mike kneeling above the young fifteen-year old Danish girl's nakedly squirming body, his lust-swollen penis sunk deep into her hotly sucking mouth, came back to her. Well, whatever she was doing, it was nothing compared to the evil she had witnessed the night before. Decency is done and over with, her befuddled mind proclaimed; morality is no more. And if that's so-well, why not? She relaxed again, feeling all soft and warm and wonderful inside, and then she felt Art's fingers fumbling with the buttons on her dress, the zipper at the back. Well, why not? she asked herself again, and twisted around to make it that much easier for him.

She had a vague notion that Art was leading her across the room to the couch, that he was telling her she seemed a little upset, a little unsteady, and that it would be better if she were to lie down, and she told herself that that was true, and anyway, there was nothing to worry about, was there? Not with good ol' Art Pitts. She could trust Art Pitts. Hadn't she and her husband known him all these years? And then she was dimly aware that he had eased the frilly little dress she'd been wearing down over her hips, and tossed it somewhere behind the couch in his terrible urgency to clap his huge hands over the firmly rounded mounds of her heaving breasts, to knead them roughly, to take the two red buds of her nipples between thumbs and forefingers and roll and tease and taunt them into stiff little erections. With a wild motion, he flung his head forward, and with a strange, weird groan, he clamped his mouth over one pointed, hard little knob and began to suck on it, while white hot flames seemed to lick at Sally's loins, turning her body into a molten mass of pleasure. She moaned, lying limp against the couch, eyes closed and body afire while Art's tongue traced along the narrow furrow between her lovely breasts, moved slowly, deliciously, along the smooth white skin, the little line of fuzz on her belly.' His hands slipped down, making her tingle, slipped under the elastic waistband of her black nylon panties, struggling to pull them off. He mustn't, she told herself! Oh, no! He mustn't. But she seemed unable to speak her thoughts and listened with amazement to her own voice urging "Hurry! Hurry!"

Art pulled the wisp of cloth down over the whitely rounded curves of her hips, over her slim legs, eased it along until it fell into a little heap at her feet, and all the time Sally was urging "Hurry, hurry!" Then, as the hot air of the over-heated library wafted across her exposed vagina, a ripple of delight ran through her. This, this was going to be so wonderful, she thought. She arched her naked loins upwards as Art began to caress her pubic area, to twine his fingers in the soft, silken strands of golden hair that covered her pubic mound. "God, but you're a luscious woman!" he muttered, admiringly, raising his head to rake her entire body with a lewd stare. His eyes roved over her again, and then Sally felt still different thrills pound through her as he parted the sensitive lips of her cunt and slowly, teasingly, slipped his middle finger up into its smooth liquid wetness.

As he wormed his finger further around up inside her moist, throbbing vagina, Sally quivered again, half in fear and half in anticipation. An image of herself as a vile, wanton woman, abandoning herself to animal lust, made her cringe and try to draw away from Art. The thought of her evilness seared her mind! Why, why was she submitting to this obscene touching of her by another man? Wasn't she Sally Hole, respectable housewife, devoted wife of Mike Hole, loving mother of Vern and Jean?

Yes, she acknowledged with a shudder, she was. But she was also, she knew, a woman, and a woman fully aroused for perhaps the first time in her life, and when she opened her mouth to protest, the words she'd planned to say were stifled, and she could only moan "Art, Art," over and over, in ecstatic whispers, while she ground her hips hungrily up against his probing fingers.

Then, with a soft, wet sucking sound, Art withdrew his finger from her cunt, and, as Sally lay helpless beneath him, he placed his hands on her firm white thighs, spread them apart until the fleshy lips of her pink little pussy pouted nakedly up at him. He knelt now between her ankles, his eyes endlessly exploring the sight of her throbbing, moist cunt, his fingers exploring the golden, softly curling pubic hair that fringed the wetly glistening edges of it. The memory of the picture he had shown to Sally such a short time before suddenly flashed through his mind. God, he'd like, to do that to her-bury his face up between her thighs, burrow against the soft golden cunt hair, flick his tongue over the little pink bud of her clitoris, then sink it deep within the throbbing little cuntal channel. He glanced at Sally and their eyes met, and in a flash, Sally understood what he intended to do to her!

Oh, he couldn't! Not that! She'd been willing to let him do all those other awful things to her. But this! "No," she whimpered, recoiling in fear and revulsion. "My God, Art!"

"Why not?" he asked, and she caught a glimpse of sheer open lust in his eyes.

"Because it's wicked," Sally said, the words expelled breathlessly upon the air. "It's wicked, and evil, and ... " tears of shame and humiliation flooded her eyes, and then, as he slipped from the couch, moved away from her, tears of relief replaced them. Oh, dear Art! He was a good man. He wasn't going to do this awful thing to her. She'd been right to trust him.

A thin, faint sound caught her ear, and Sally opened her eyes wide, turning to stare at Art. Good God! He was unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly, hurriedly pushing his pants down around his ankles, stepping out of them. Sally moaned in helpless frustration as Art straightened up, and she saw his thick, fleshy cock, stiff as a rod beneath his shorts. He eased them down over his hips, and she gazed in fascinated horror at his heavily jutting penis. My God! It was huge! Was he really going to try-oh, God, no-he would stretch her terribly! No, she would never let him-she couldn't! There was still time for her to get away. She tried to pull herself up, to get to her feet, but her body was frozen with fear, paralyzed, and she sank back, trembling, completely at his mercy.

Art knelt above the nakedly stripped woman's palpitating body, again thrust his head forward as he ordered "Spread your legs wide, Sally, I want to look at that sweet little pussy of yours." Whimpering, Sally managed to do as she was told, then stifled a low groan of rising shame as her husband's friend's face dropped forward and his tongue flicked out to probe hotly at the wet pink lips of her quivering vagina. She ground her hips hard into the leather-covered couch, trying desperately to escape his long, sinuously worming tongue. But the maddening torture, the vile ravishment of her now aching loins continued, and Sally could only gasp, "My God! ... oh, my God! ... oh, dear God, stop ... stop!" But Art's relentlessly snaking tongue continued to lick lewdly at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, to lap at the tiny bud of her clitoris, to dart deep up inside her throbbing, moist cuntal passage. Oh, God! It couldn't be happening. It couldn't be! And then little showers of sparks began to explode at the very center of Sally's being, sending waves of unwanted pleasure through her whole body. The knowledge that she was enjoying-was actually enjoying-this horrible debasement of her flesh made Sally moan in shame; the knowledge that she would not stop it, even if she'd had the power to, increased her steadily mounting humiliation.

Art slipped his hands under her nakedly quivering buttocks, cupping them, squeezing them hotly in his palms, while his tongue lashed out, flicking at the fleshy pink lips of her cunt which lay open to him like a flowering rose-bud ready for the picking. He grinned triumphantly and ground his hot tongue deeper and deeper into her now clasping vagina. Sally squirmed and thrashed beneath him, and now little mewls of pleasure escaped, unbidden, from her lips. She was as vile, as depraved as all the other men in the world, she told herself, and yet her body was wracked with a delight she had never even dreamed of.

Her pussy was drenched now with the vaginal fluids that seeped from it, flowered down onto her open thighs, moistened her pubic fleece. Oh, dear God! It was so horrible! And yet Sally wanted the delicious sucking of her vagina to go on forever.

Suddenly, though, Art pulled his head away from her hotly pulsating pussy to glare at her with now victorious eyes. Sally let out an involuntary groan, and then, beyond all control, began to beg, "Don't stop, Art. Oh, for God's sake. Don't stop!"

Art leered above her sadistically. "What do you want me to do, Sally?" he asked.

"That!"

"What's that? Tell me!" And when Sally remained silent, the words cleaving to her tongue, he shook her roughly. "Tell me what you want me to do to you," he ordered.

"I want you to do what you were doing," she whimpered helplessly.

"Well, I'm not going to. Not now. I'm going to do something different. Tell me what it is, Sally!" His voice was hard and frightening. "Tell me!" he ordered again.

"I want you to ... to ... " Oh, God! She couldn't say it, couldn't utter the foul word. Yet the sight of Art's mean, evil eyes boring into her terrified her. "I want you to fuck me," she whimpered at last.

She watched as Art's hand reached for his massive penis, extending from his loins like a brandished sword, saw him lewdly draw the foreskin back and forth, massaging the fleshy instrument while a few drops of lubricating fluid oozed from the hole at the tip. "Fuck you how?" he snarled.

Sally shook her head, mesmerized by the sight of Art's cock, unable to speak. "Fuck you how?" he repeated angrily. "Tell me how! And beg, too!"

A tremor shook Sally's helpless body. "I want you to ... to ... "

"To fuck me, Art. To fuck me with your ... your cock ... I want you to. Oh, please, Art! Please fuck me ... fuck me!"

"It will be a pleasure," Art said, his lips curling in a conquering sneer. "A real pleasure!" he repeated. He grasped his throbbing shaft firmly in his hand and guided it to Sally's excitement drenched pussy, using the thick, bulbous head to part the soft fleshy lips. A little shiver of ecstasy shot through her at the electrifying contact, and then she gasped in pain as the swollen tip pressed into the tight little opening, stretching it unbearably.

"Don't! No, don't! You're hurting me!" she screamed in anguish, then fell silent as Art continued to thrust his throbbing penis into the narrow sheath of her cunt, inching it slowly, relentlessly in until it sank deep into her belly, filling her excruciatingly stretched vagina almost to the bursting point. "Oh, God!" she grunted again, as he flexed his cock inside her vagina. And then, as she grew accustomed to the alien presence there, her groans tapered off into little sighs of pleasure.

Art began to rotate his hips, grinding deep up into her open cunt mouth, until he felt the lust-swollen head press tight back against her cervix. Then, he began a slow, rhythmic rocking above her, fucking into her now warmly absorbing pussy walls in a long, easy rhythm, while Sally moved her hips in a similar rhythm, grinding her buttocks deep into the coffee-colored leather of the couch, twisting and writhing erotically about as she struggled to meet his ever lengthening thrusts. She'd never known anything like this, never known that this was what fucking was like, that this intense, overwhelming pleasure was what was hers by right. Yes, by right! She was not the whore she'd considered herself such a short time before when she had submitted to Art's first tonguing of her vagina. Not a wanton, abandoned creature. Not vile, not depraved. No, she told herself again, she was no whore-she was just suddenly becoming a real woman at last!

Art's rampaging rod fucked in and out of her widespread cuntal lips with ever-increasing force as he lengthened his stroke, then drove the lust-hardened shaft all the way up between her thighs to the hilt. His aching, sperm-filled balls smacked nakedly against the upturned cheeks of her buttocks, and her legs jerked out to quiver and jerk obscenely on either side of his pounding hips. Now he slipped his hand beneath her buttocks, slid it around to the long, narrow crevice between the cheeks of her ass, ran it up and down, searching, until he found the tiny puckered hole of her anus.

He stroked it gently, caressing it, sending little shocks of exquisite pleasure surging like tropical storms through her passion drenched body. Then, with a sudden quick movement, he thrust a finger into the soft, rubbery opening of the spongy orifice, while Sally cried out in pain. But as her tight rectal passage became used to the invading digit, the pain melted and Sally again felt a wonderful pleasure sweep through her body. She screwed her rectum back on his hotly probing middle finger, and under this new and exquisite sensation of being impaled by the heavy cock that fucked in and out of her vagina and the finger sunk to the second knuckle in her tight little anus, she began to lurch from side to side. Her face was contorted with her wild, passionate abandon, and suddenly she began to chant, "Oh ... ooohhhh ... ooohhhh."

Art quickened his strokes once more, and then felt the warm sticky fluid Of her beginning climax gush forth from the walls of her vagina, enveloping his pistoning cock. "Oh ... oooh! Oh, God!!' she screamed now. "Aaaaaaaagh! My God! I'm cumming! I'm cummmmmmmmmmmg! Aaaaaaaagh!"

As Sally's frenzied cry split the air. Art felt the boiling sperm in his swollen, aching balls churn and bubble, and then spurt the length of his rigid penis to shoot far up into her soft, quivering belly. His juices mingled with his friend's wife's own hot ones in a deep, passionate pool of sheer bliss, sheer joy that she had never known existed.

She lay back against the couch now, her limply fallen legs splayed obscenely out to the sides, as Art slowly eased his deflating penis from her still rhythmically quivering cunt. He rolled over beside her, and stared at her heaving breasts, her voluptuous, spent body with a smile of satisfaction. Well, he thought smugly, he'd given her the fuck she'd needed so badly, and now for the other? It was about time for that, now. He slipped from the bed and began to pull on his clothes, reaching over to hand Sally hers with a laconic," Here!"

At the sound of his voice, a sudden wave of consciousness suffused Sally with shame. My God! What had she done! Embarrassed to meet her husband's friend's eyes after what she had let him to to her naked body, she snatched her clothes from his outstretched hand, while she struggled into them. As she smoothed her skirt, she turned to meet his hard, cold eyes, "Sally, my dear," he said in his usual suave, charming voice, while his mouth twitched with a scornful smile, "you came to see me about something important, I think. Can you remember what it was?"