Chapter 6

Richard Garfield confidently tapped out the required code on the touch-tone telephone dial with his middle finger, his ugly mouth worrying the end of a huge unlit black cigar. Idly, he reached down to straighten the rising lump in his trousers, then cleared his throat to respond to the sexily whispered, "Good morning; Stafford Modeling Agency. Can I help you?" that followed the second ring at the other end of the line.

"You sure can, sweetheart," he chirped back at the unidentified feminine voice. "Lemmee speak to Elgin Stafford."

"Just a moment, sir, I'll see if Mr. Stafford is in ... May I tell him who's calling, please?"

"Yeah, sweetie, tell him it's Dick ... Dick Garfield."

There was a lengthy pause in which Garfield took the time to light the cock-sized stogie that decorated his hog-like face.

"Hello ... Dick?"

Garfield let the smoke out easily. "Elgin, ol' buddy, how's tricks?"

Stafford swallowed nervously. "Hey, this isn't about Vikki Haydon, is it? ... I mean, she showed up, didn't she?"

"No, it ain't about Vikki, Elgin ... But, I will admit she's every bit the cocksucker you said she was!"

Stafford issued a small sigh of relief. "You want her again?" he questioned.

"Naw, it ain't that, ol' buddy ... It's about the Brinkman account."

"Oh?" Elgin responded, his interest obviously piqued.

"Yeah, well, Tony Brinkman says he'll give the agency an exclusive six month contract on his line if you can provide him with another movie for his collection."

Stafford felt beads of nervous perspiration pop out on his upper lip. He'd dealt with Brinkman before, but never on an exclusive. That meant catalogue sales, the finest stores in the country, television coverage ... big money. Still, he felt a little squeamish about the movie angle. The first time he'd contributed to Brinkman's little "home movie" collection, the order had been for a "twelve-year-old girl fucking a monkey." The girl was easy enough to arrange, but it had taken him nearly a goddam month to find and train the monkey!

God only knew what he wanted this time.

"Elgin?"

"Here, Dick."

"I thought maybe I'd lost you for a minute there."

"No, I'm still here ... What kind of flick does that fucking faggot want this time?"

It was true. Tony Brinkman, for all his excellence as a ladies' fashion designer, was a flaming homosexual. Just what he did with the movies, Elgin Stafford didn't know and was scared to ask. Most likely, he used them to turn his "boyfriends" on with.

"He wants a mother-son thing this time," Richard Garfield continued. "A kid in his teens and a broad no older than forty ... You can fake it; that queer'll never know the difference."

"Jesus Christ, does that bastard think this is some kind of whorehouse!" He could hear Garfield snigger on the other end of the line. "I ain't got no fuckin' broads that look like somebody's mother!"

"We're talking fifty, sixty grand, Elgin."

"How much?"

"Could go as high as eighty if he thinks you got what it takes."

Again Stafford swallowed. "Gimmee 'til tomorrow to see what I can come up with, Dick."

"Now you're talking, ol' buddy!"

The instant he heard the line go dead, Elgin cradled the receiver and leaned forward to press the button on the intercom. "Peggy," he said, "come into my office for a minute."

Peggy Norcross was the newest and, at eighteen, the youngest of Elgin Stafford's employees. A little too "roundly-built" for high fashion, he had nonetheless kept her on in a secretarial capacity, primarily because of her unusual "gift" of being able to take his entire cock in her ass without complaint. But now, of course, there would be no time for that; he had to think-and he always thought better when he had the mouth of a pretty young girl wrapped around his cock.

"Did you call for me, Mr. Stafford?"

Elgin beamed broadly at the pretty blonde face peeking in around the edge of his office door. "Yes, Peggy, I was just thinking how lovely that shade of lip-gloss you're wearing would look smeared all over the head of my penis."

A thrill of trepidation rippling up the young secretary's spine, she still knew better than to refuse. She had her dress unzipped and over her head in a flash, her neatly styled coiffure coming slightly askew in the process to give her a devilishly disheveled appearance that Elgin liked. He felt his prick stir in his slacks, but he restrained himself until she finished her undressing.

As she stripped to the skin, Stafford let out an audible sigh, his devouring eyes taking in the smooth flat plane of her stomach, then up to the largest, firmest, most magnificent set of mammary glands he'd ever seen on a girl of her youth. Jesus! he sighed inwardly. What a fuckin' pair! The nipples were large and surrounded by enticingly dark circles, almost purplish. They had begun to tense as if the very idea of stripping naked before her boss in order to suck his cock was exciting to her. Her hips were equally well-rounded, but anything but flabby. Indeed, they were absolutely cherubic in appearance. Her pussy hair was as blonde as the crown atop her head, curly and as light as corn-silk. Across the bridge of her pertly upturned nose was the faintest smattering of freckles, placed there no doubt to accentuate the limpid pools of her calf-sized eyes.

"You're beautiful, bitch," Elgin complimented her. "A real fine addition to the company."

Peggy approached him slowly, her face blushing as she fell to her knees beneath his desk and reached forward to undo the zipper of his fly.

"Tell me, Peggy, do you know anybody who could pass for a teenager's mother? ... Someone who'd be willing to make a movie in consideration of a few hundred dollars?"

Intuitively, Peggy knew what kind of "movie" her employer had in mind. "No, Mr. Stafford, I don't," she replied apologetically. Then, haltingly, "M-Maybe one of the other girls might, though ... M-Maybe Vikki Haydon."

"Why, of course, Vikki!" Stafford agreed as Peggy's lush pink lips slipped over the leaking glands of his cock. I should've thought of Vikki in the first place!