Epilogue
Mavis Taylor was feeling bored again.
She had truly enjoyed her job for a while, when the manager, Brian Hammond, had been stuffing plenty of prick up her slot every day. But all that had come to an end now. Once Brian had been getting pussy at the office, he had stopped nagging his wife for it and-such is the perversity of a woman-as soon as he stopped begging for it, Mrs. Hammond became determined that Brian would screw her day and night. Hammond had done his best, but he was not accustomed to having sex with such frequency, whereas she was in training for feats of sustained screwing, having been in the habit of cuckolding Brian with great regularity. Soon enough, she wore him to a frazzle.
There was nothing left for Mavis.
Not an inch.
Not a drop.
The manager came slumping in, white as a ghost, his knees weak and his legs watery and his sperm-sacs drained to the bone. He managed a bleak smile at Mavis-for the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak-and then staggered into the privacy of his office, where he spent the day thinking about anything and everything except cunt.
Nothing .was going to arouse him now.
Mavis had done her best.
She had gone into his office and raised her skirt high, putting her juicy twat on display like a trophy mounted on a velvet wall. But even that inviting sight had inspired nary a quiver in his groin.
She had offered to suck his prick until it got hard.
He had declined, graciously but firmly.
Now Mavis, with her pussy unattended, neglected and frustrated, was standing at the counter feeling very sorry for herself. Her cunt felt like a glowing ember between her legs. When she shifted her weight from foot to foot, that incandescent crumpet sparked and fluttered. And to make matters worse, not a single customer had come in all day. Well, it was almost time to knock off and Mavis was trying to decide if she should rush straight home and give herself a finger-fucking, or stop off at a dating bar and hope some horny gentleman would pick her up with dispatch. The only trouble with that was that if she went out looking for a guy, while she was so horny, she was likely to jump at the first chance she had-and a gal could wind up with a real creep when she wasn't discriminating.
The only thing to do, she decided, was to frig herself off first, then go looking for a prick when she was not so desperate, and could afford to pick and choose and get a good one.
She had to do it at the counter.
It was no use to ask Mr. Hammond to watch the till while she went to the bathroom; the poor man could hardly walk and, anyhow, Mavis was about ready to quit this wretched job. If someone walked in and caught her and reported her for masturbating during working hours, so what? She felt quite daring in her determination.
She raised her skirt, pushed her panties down and began to rub her cunt. That moist handful was seething and pulsating. Juicy ribbons of pussy nectar trickled down her legs.
She pushed a few fingers up the vertical slot and began a rhythmic finger-fucking, enjoying it immensely. As her fingers pushed in, her thumb swept across her love button like a windshield wiper.
She was just getting into the build-up.
Then in walked a seedy-looking lout.
Mavis had no interest in the fellow, for he looked furtive and quite disreputable-nor did she give a damn if he noticed what she was doing or not. She continued to massage her crotch under the counter as the man looked around the room nervously.
Then he set his jaw in determination and marched up to the cage.
Scowling fiercely at her, he pushed a lottery ticket across.
"Hang on a minute," she snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
He squinted suspiciously at Mavis.
"What the hell you mean, busy? You ain't doin' nothin'."
Mavis had little respect for louts.
"I happen to be masturbating," she intoned.
"Oh, gee-excuse me, Miss," said Ray Griffen, who knew all about such matters and would never willfully interrupt autoeroticism in progress. He stepped back and waited patiently. Mavis stared at him and he grinned.
She found it rather exciting to be fingering herself while a man-even a loutish man-was standing right there in front of her and, inspired, she creamed quite efficiently, shuddering and moaning as the fiery thrill coursed through her loins.
She looked more kindly upon Ray.
"Oh, that feels ever so much better, now," she said. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
She daintily wiped her box with her lace handkerchief and drew her panties back up, squirming into them.
Then she looked at the lottery ticket.
It was upside down and someone had scribbled something on the back.
Ignoring that, she turned it over.
Ray had been quite willing to wait patiently while she jerked-off, but he had no patience with inefficiency.
"You got it the wrong way up, you dumb bitch," he snapped.
But Mavis was checking the number and her eyebrows went up. She even flashed him a big smile.
"Why, you lucky man!" she lauded. "Huh?"
"Handsome, too," she added-for she had gained respect for him now. Handsome? Ray wondered.
His jaw was hanging open so wide that he seemed to be gnawing at his own breastbone.
"Never mind that stuff-just hand over the dough."
"Certainly, sir-I'll write out a check."
"A check?" he gasped, incredulously. "Jesus, lady, what kind of dummy do you take me for? Gimme the cash, and quick!"
Mavis shrugged. She guessed that, being a low-born, ill-bred lout, he probably didn't have a bank account. He probably had a wife, though-damn it all. Mavis would have liked to share in his good fortune and, true to her nature, was speculating on the size of his prick. But he was looking impatient. She sighed and went to the safe.
Ray watched to make sure she didn't press an alarm buzzer.
When she actually handed the big stack of bills across the counter, he was amazed.
He really knew how to write an effective and ominous note, no doubt of that. Ray was flushed with success and swelling with pride as he turned and ran out to make good his escape-and left Mavis to wonder why a lucky and wealthy man should be in such a hurry.
Lenny threw the car in gear and the getaway commenced.
They were surprised when they heard no sirens wailing in their wake, and complimented one another on such a well-planned crime. Whooping with joy, they sped out of town. Ray handed the money to Belinda. She had been so clever in selecting a joint to rob that he reckoned she should be allowed to count the loot. She did so happily.
It was a lot of money and she was smiling when she had finished adding it up-but was frowning at the same time, and looking puzzled.
"What a remarkable coincidence," she mumbled.
"How's that?" Ray asked.
"Oh-nothing," she murmured.
But it was remarkable, indeed.
The robbery had netted, to the penny, exactly what her lost lottery ticket would have won.
Fate, thought Belinda, is sure strange....