Chapter 1
"What does he want?"
"I don't know."
Jim looked around the bank. It was late in the afternoon and there were few customers about. The boss was out, but he would be back in a little while and he wanted to see Jim. Not that Jim had anything to be worried about, but he always worried when the boss summoned him.
"How long will he be?"
"At least an hour," Sally murmured as they stood just behind the railing that enclosed her little space outside the bank president's office. She, too, looked across the main lobby of the bank. "We have a while," she said.
Jim knew what she meant, and at once his guard went up. Of course she was a desirable woman but he didn't want to continue with their games. Eventually they would be caught. Strangely enough, he believed that Sally's job was more secure than his own.
She had worked for-and probably under-Scott English for five years. Jim had been with the bank for three years, but he had never been allowed to feel secure. Sure, he'd risen to become cashier and he did his job well enough, but there was always that nagging doubt. Was he pleasing the right people? Was he rising fast enough? Who was behind him, ready to sit in his chair when he faltered?
He looked down at Sally Clifford. Sally of the black hair, the dark eyes and those pointed breasts that made male eyes bug. Customers and employees a-like enjoyed watching the tight bounce of those points when Sally glided across the big room. She was short but loaded, older than Jim by a few years but still under 30 and still smooth and sleek. And she knew how to use what she had.
She knew how only too well. She'd set her sights on Jim only recently, strangely enough after he'd married. It had been eight months since Jim and Joyce had left on their brief honeymoon and it wasn't many weeks after their return that Sally began to needle him.
Was he happy? How was his bride in the sack? Was he getting all he wanted? Did she do imaginative things for him?
It turned out that Sally was on target. She was a perceptive wench. She'd sensed that things were less than perfect in the Babcock household. Their suburban ranch style home was already something less than a honeymoon cottage.
He didn't know who to blame. It was simply that he and Joyce were so God-damned inhibited. They both enjoyed their sex, but they couldn't loosen up. They'd crawl between the sheets at the same old time, on the same side of the bed, and do the same thing every time. It wasn't long before his and her responses became expected, routine, almost automatic. Soon he wasn't making it every time and her orgasms were hardly regular.
Sally began to talk to him about it. She had to talk hard and long because Jim didn't believe in cheating on his wife. But Sally told him that outside experiences were valuable to a marriage. They added spice and variety, new ideas, new ways to please a mate.
Then there was that afternoon several weeks ago when Sally had car trouble. Jim had taken her home and he'd come inside her apartment for coffee. It turned out that she fed him a large drink and then another one. Then she was hovering over him and her hands were running down his crotch. Before he knew what was happening she was putting it in for him and he was coming like a shot.
He looked at her again as he licked his lips. "I've got some work to finish up."
"Bosh," Sally murmured. "You never get behind. You're mister neat. Come on. Scott won't be back and we know how to lock his door-from the inside."
Jim shook his head as she moved closer to him. Again her dark eyes swept the room under their long lashes. Apparently the coast was clear for her hand snaked out and grasped him directly on the crotch. He gasped as her fingers sank into his cock and balls. Immediately his prick was hard and heavy and she smiled like an evil cat.
"See? You're ready. So am I, believe me," she whispered.
He pulled away and hurried through the gate toward his desk, which was twenty feet away. There he sat down heavily and blew out his cheeks. He tried to work for several minutes, but each time he looked up he felt those eyes on him.
It wasn't long before he was back on his feet and returning to Sally's desk. She rose to meet him and her voice was rather loud and brisk. "Yes, Mr. Babcock, Mr. English left those papers on his desk for you to sign. Please come inside and I'll show you."
No one appeared to glance up as they headed for the bank president's private office. She opened the door and stood aside for him, playing the servile secretary who understood that bank officers were far above her station. He hurried past her, digging a ball point from his inside jacket pocket as he did so.
The door closed behind him and he turned. She stood, her back against the door, her hands still behind her on the knob. Her knockers jutted like twin cannon. She stood, one knee thrust forward like a fashion model and he flicked his glance down to her legs. She wore her skirts short and the thigh that he could see looked sleek and plump at the same time.
Sally wore a sweater and wool skirt, the sweater tight, the skirt one that clung to the plump cheeks of her bottom. There was a lot to look at and appreciate. He again licked his lips as he put the pen back in his pocket.
'I've changed my mind."
"Like shit." Her voice had gone back to its seductive murmur. "You've already put your pen away."
He turned his back to her and went to the window. There he could look down several levels to the busy downtown street below. Once again Jim wished he could have an office like this. Someday, if he did his work well and the bank continued to grow, perhaps he would. This reminded him of Scott English.
He spoke without looking back at her. "You really don't know what he wants to talk to me about?" Sally knew what went on at the bank, thanks to her proximity to the president. She could be a valuable ally.
"I'm not sure," she replied, her voice still soft. "But you realize that it was only last week that he met her for the first time."
He frowned. "Met Joyce, you mean? So what?"
Her laugh was low. "You're not the only man in the bank who's turned on by beautiful women. And your wife, dear heart, is a gorgeous piece of flesh."
Jim was mixed up. It was true, Scott had met Joyce only the week before, at the small reception the president had given for old Ben Menninger when he'd retired after twenty-eight years. And, it was true, Scott had been quite interested and attentive when he'd learned who Joyce was. Jim had been flattered and he was pleased for more reasons than one. He enjoyed having other men approve of his taste in a wife and it wouldn't hurt his career if the boss approved, too.
But what could that have to do with Scott wanting to see him? "I don't understand," Jim said.
"I suspect our beloved president may have some social invitation in mind," Sally replied.
Jim still frowned, but he was pleased that such a contact could be established. Playing bridge or going to the theater with the boss and his wife couldn't hurt. He felt a small glow start in his chest, so he wasn't ready when Sally touched him.
He jerked when her hands rested lightly on his waist. She was still behind him and he felt her breath on his neck. Then she was on her toes and her chin was tucked between his neck and shoulder. Her moist lips dragged across the tender skin just below his ear.
"Let's do something about us. To hell with the boss." She was whispering and her heat made his skin pucker. He again pulled away and retreated several steps until he bumped into the large president's desk.
"Cut it out, Sally. What if he walked in here?"
She giggled. 'Is that all you're worried about, getting caught? You once gave me morality lectures. Now I assume you'd do it anytime you felt safe." She clucked at him with her tongue. "Not much character there, Babcock."
He was suddenly ashamed. She was right, of course. He was gutless, a cheater who was afraid of getting caught. He was no prize for anybody. "I'm getting out of here."
"You keep saying that" she teased, "but you don't mean it. Christ, if you weren't the most handsome hunk of man who ever walked into this God-damned bank I wouldn't have anything to do with you. Lord knows Scott English is no beauty, but he's all man. He lets me know he's in charge ... and I love it. Come on, tiger, snarl at me. Claw me. Mess me up."
Jim kept his eyes on her as she came toward him again. He leaned against the desk, his hands gripping the edge, his feet planted. Soon she was before him and, gently, her fingers touched his necktie, straightening it. She flicked at his lapel and smiled.
"So neat, so proper, so chicken."
"Sally, I'm married. Why didn't you get this out of your system when I was single?"
She lifted her face and laughed as he gazed at her white throat and those pointed breasts. He could almost see the outline of her nipples and he knew damned well that if she didn't work in a bank she wouldn't go anywhere near a bra. Even so, her breasts jiggled in invitation.
"Touche, darling. Don't you know by now? I'm afraid of being trapped into marriage, so I don't play games with single boys. I wait until they're safely in the fold and then I toy with them. That way they have something to lose and that makes them discreet, careful, attentive-just like you. Except that you are carrying caution to a ridiculous level."
She opened the button of his coat and slipped her hands inside. Fingers ran over the smoothness of his shirt and under his arms, where she tickled his ribs.
He jerked her hands away from him but they came right back to his lapels. Then they slid up around his neck and she pulled herself against him.
Her body was shaking slightly and he could feel her knees bump his shins, her thighs against his, her crotch warm and snuggling against his groin. Her belly was wonderfully soft and heated against his own lower belly and those thrusting knockers were pushing holes in his ribs. She kissed him under the chin and then she freed a hand to tilt his head down.
Her mouth was large, her lips full and they closed over his mouth. The lips were also open and he at once felt her tongue dart across his mouth, looking for a way inside. He kept his lips together, tightly, not wanting to let her have her way so easily. He wasn't going to get caught, not now when it seemed there might be a chance to get somewhere.
It took all of his power-because he did want Sally-but he pushed hard on her shoulders and she was thrust back heavily. She almost fell.
"What the hell!"
"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "No more, Sally. I'm getting off this kick."
She put her hands on her hips as her body still shook with excitement. Those breasts were like Jello. "So, all of a sudden you're too good for me. You think you might have something going between the Babcocks and the Englishes, so you're going to dump me."
"Sally, you were the one who said you didn't want to get involved. So you pick married men, like me. That means that sooner or later you always come up the loser."
She snorted like an angry heifer. "You used me, you son of a bitch. When you needed inside dope, you pumped me. When I gave you tips about the boss and how he wanted things done, you scooped them up like a hot-fielding second baseman. Now you think you've moved to the next plateau, but you haven't. I'll always have inside information that will be useful. You'd better not drop me too quickly, James Babcock."
He stiffened. She was right, of course. He couldn't make her too angry. She could ruin him. She could say things to Scott, even to Joyce. She could bring him down much more easily than he could harm her.
"Sally."
"Fuck you, prick."
It was her turn to march to the window, where she stood, feet planted wide, arms folded over those marvelous breasts. At once she was very desirable and he wanted her. He would show her how much of a man he could be. He would take her.
As he came close he thought about her early advice. Shacking up with her could help his marriage. But it hadn't worked so far. Sure, Sally had taught him a few things, but he hadn't found it easy to transfer his new skills to Joyce. It could be because Joyce wasn't taking part. At times he almost wished she could watch him with another woman, so that she could learn to respond like Sally responded. That way they'd learn new things together. No, it didn't help his sex life at home to carry on a secret one-on-one affair.
But he was going to make her again anyhow, right now. For two reasons. He was hot and it had been a while since he'd gotten any at home. And he wanted Sally to remain his friend. The boss' secretary could make things very rough or very smooth for an ambitious man.
He came up to her and she still stood, like a statue, looking down into the street. He followed her glare. The traffic was heavy. Already people were emerging from work, heading home. But he wasn't really watching with interest and he knew she wasn't, either.
He touched her shoulders, just as she'd touched his. But she didn't move. Instead she snapped angry words. "Go on, beat it. That nasty man might come back and catch you touching his private stock. That could hurt our little career, couldn't it?"
"Sally...."
He touched her neck and slowly his hands crept around it to meet at her throat. He tightened his grip just enough to let her know he wanted her, enough to show her that he was going to take charge.
At last her head came back and she leaned it against his chest. "You are a bastard, Babcock," she murmured, a certain despair in her voice. "I never fool around with men I don't like, but you're such a living collar ad type I can't help myself. I wish I had more taste for men with character instead of guys who attract me because they've got a profile or a cock hanging halfway to their knees."
He chuckled in her ear. "Which part of me attracted you, Sally?"
"Your profile, of course. Christ knows I've seen cocks that could overpower yours. Half of the time I can't even find where you keep it."
Again he laughed. "Except at times like now. Times when it gets hard and comes out eight inches or more to stab into the seat of your pants. Tell me you don't know where it is now."
He moved his hips back and forth and the heavy prick dragged its knob across her ass. It was a wonderful ass and the seat of much of her passion. He heard her gasp.
"You bastard," she breathed. "You'll always be able to use me any way you please."