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SEX AND THE BOSS - sex story


SEX AND THE BOSS



"Me thinks the layd doth protest too much," said Hamlet. This statement, or something like it, can be applied to anyone who complains too much about how exploited he is sexually.

Still, in certain situations, men and women are forced to engage in sexual acts in order to satisfy the lusts of someone else who has power over them. Prime example of this is the person who feels he or she must give sexual favors in order to maintain his or her job. Even though the individual making the advances may not be particularly desirable, unless the employee complies there can be trouble.

Scott Forsmo, young handsome, virile, is the night disc jockey at an all night radio station. Not only does he have to contend with the advances of his employer's wife, he has to fend off the suggestive telephone calls he receives from lonely and horny female listeners. He never refuses a call, and is notably unsuccessful in repelling the advances. Scott goes through life blissfully accepting most of what comes his way, especially when a sexual encounter is involved.

His friend and confidant, Rona Barnes, is the receptionist at the station. A girl from a rural community, she is the captive of the station manager, who treats her as his personal property and makes sexual demands upon her which go far beyond her job description. Rona complies, afraid of losing her job.

What happens to her and her friend, Scott, as a result of their situation is the basis of this novel, a book which explores the innermost workings of minds caught in the trap of having to please an outside force at the expense of personal pleasure and individual fulfillment.

Even though the story concerns those in the radio business, its message concerns everyone.

The Publishers

CHAPTER ONE

"This is Station KSZX, Indianapolis, broadcasting on 870 on your FM dial." Scott Forsmo repeated the station's logo, reading it from the copy taped to his console, and then turned up the volume on his theme music. It was a funky rock tune and was supposed to project the image of a swinging, free wheeling show. Scott had chosen it himself. He wished now he had not. He hated the music. It was strident, nerve wracking, and anything but what he was interested in listening to at one o'clock in the morning. He suspected the citizens of greater Indianapolis felt the same. At least it seemed so, if the response he was getting to his new show was any indication.

He faded the theme music and switched on his mike again. "Yes sir, guys and dolls, we're here to entertain you from midnight to eight in the A.M. every night of the week. It's Night Line, boys and girls. Call in and tell us what you think about whatever's on your mind tonight. What about the world? What about beautiful Indianapolis, the star of the Midwest, the Crossroads of the Nation, the Circle City." He almost threw up at having to call Indianapolis beautiful. It was anything but that. He would never have come here had he not needed the job so badly. One thing was true. Indianapolis was the Crossroads of the Nation. At least it had been once. Its two major thoroughfares, Washington and Meridian had been part of the principal North-South route and the main East-West route across the country. That had changed with the building of the freeways, and now the intersection, in the heart of downtown, was as sleepy as the rest of the Circle City.

From where he sat at his console, he could look down on that once famous intersection. It was totally devoid of traffic, and for all he could tell by looking out at one in the morning Indianapolis was a ghost town.

"On with the show, Folks!" Scott chirped, trying to sound jaunty. "The lines are open. While we're waiting for you to call in and tell us what's on your mind, let's listen to the Bee Gees' latest hit. Remember, our number is 447-4730, and we're waiting for your call."

He turned up the volume, and the sounds of the Bee Gees filled the air waves. Scott watched the buttons on the phone with a coldness in the pit of his stomach. No one would call. No one had called all week. The equipment was all set up and waiting to operate. As soon as he picked up the receiver, the recorder would come to life, faithfully noting the call and then replaying it one minute after the caller spoke. That way he could edit out any obscenity without problem. Since Indianapolis was the headquarters of the John Birch Society and the American Legion, its citizens were staunchly opposed to dirty talk. One violation would bring a flood of angry mail. The station manager, Hal Ransberg, had warned him of that his first day on the job.

Well, Scott thought to himself ruefully, maybe he should say fuck or cunt over the air. At least if people wrote in to complain he would have some evidence that somebody was out there listening to his voice. As it was, he felt as if he were operating under a bell jar, his lips moving soundlessly as he addressed a stone deaf audience.

The light on line one lit up, followed by the official buzz announcing that someone was calling. Scott grabbed at the receiver wildly, half afraid whoever it was would hang up before he could say hello. He heard the recorder whirl into action.

"Station KSZX, the voice of nighttime Indy. You're on the air."

"Yeah? I want a twelve inch with sausage and mushroom. Extra cheese and hold the onions," said a slurry voice.

"This is Radio Station KSZX," Scott answered, speaking very slowly and distinctly as the cold feeling returned to his stomach.

"Ain't this Shakey's?"

"No, it's not. You're on the air. Do you have something you want to tell our listeners about? What you think of pizza, maybe? Anything?"

The line went dead. Scott hung up the receiver and hurried to stop the recorder before the idiot wrong numbered conversation went out over the air. It would never do for his public to know he had lost his cool.

The Bee Gees wailed off into silence, and he began another record without comment. He was too discouraged to talk, so discouraged he was afraid his voice would break. How long would they keep him on, he wondered, if nobody seemed to be listening? The worst part of it was, this Night Line business had been his idea. He had proposed it enthusiastically in his final job interview, and station owners, plagued by their low ratings, had brought it. It worked everywhere else in the country. People loved to be heard on the air. Why didn't it work here? Because this was Indiana, that was why, and the tone was so conservative that everyone kept his opinion to himself, if he had an opinion at all. Scott began to suspect most people did not.

He caught the end of the record, made a few more comments, encouraging, practically begging his supposed audience to call in, and began another record, this time Strisand. Thank God, he thought, at least there was one thing he could do to make himself feel good. It did not matter that much that he did not know anybody in Indianapolis and that he found himself not much caring whether he did or not. He had his big, built in friend.

Scott leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the edge of his console. As they had so often in the past, his fingers found their way to the front of his pants. Slowly and teasingly, he caressed the large tube of flesh that was his penis. He grinned with satisfaction. It was already half hard, just because it knew he was going to use it to give himself pleasure.

Scott chuckled as he ran his fingers over his rapidly lengthening prick. He always thought of it as having a mind and a consciousness of its own. It certainly acted as though it did, turning to throbbing stone at the sight of a nicely rounded ass or a pair of long, tapering legs. There were times when it seemed to him that sex was the furthest thing from his mind, and, then, suddenly, his cock would rise up and remind him that sex was the symbol that held his little world together. Yes, his rapidly erecting penis was his best and closest buddy, no matter what. It had even agreed to move here to Indianapolis, which was more than anyone else had, even Celia. She had actually laughed in his face when he suggested it.

Scott cupped his fingers around the hardness of his shaft. He squeezed it caressingly, thrilling to the tingles of exciting sensation that traveled down his thighs and up into his belly.

Celia used to do that, squeeze his cock lightly in just this same way. She could take his mind off anything, no matter how depressing. All she had to do was cuddle up close beside him and run her fingers up his leg until she was hugging them around the meaty stalk of his big, pulsing prick. He shivered with lonely delight as he thought about it. There had been so many times, like the night they decided they should move in together.

Celia had cooked them an excellent dinner, and they were settling down on the white velvet couch to sip a last glass of wine.

"What do you say we go out to a movie?" Scott asked, picking up the evening paper to see what was playing.

"If you want to," Celia answered indifferently. "I don't know if there's anything good on."

"You don't sound like you want to go. Got a better idea?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I was thinking we could have a fire in the fireplace and just sit and talk."

Scott grinned at her. "And maybe make love?"

Celia giggled. "Maybe, but let's not rush it. Let's be romantic, the way we were when we first met. Remember?"

He wrinkled his brow in mock concentration. "Let's see if I can. It's hard. After all, it's been a long time."

"Idiot," she screamed, poking him in the ribs. "It's been three months. If you weren't so busy fucking me all the time you'd remember. I make it too easy for you."

"Hey, relax. I was kidding." He took her into his arms and pressed her close to him, catching his breath as her firm, pointed breasts pushed into his chest. Hardly thinking what he was doing, he began running his hands up and down her back, feeling the softness of her skin through the fabric of her flimsy blouse, tracing the long, deep indentation of her spine that, for some perverse reason always put him in mind of the tenderly hairless crack of her lush buttocks.

He pressed closer to her, his lips finding hers and kissing them deeply as he thrilled to the gently yielding warmth of her body, the living richness of her mouth, the animal nature of her that lurked so close to the surface, always waiting to be turned loose by just such things as he was giving her now. Celia was a true sexual being, always amazing him with the depths of her sensual passion, taking his breath away with her squirming body and her burning soul.

"Aw, shit, Baby, I don't want to go out to a movie," he mumbled into the fragrance of her long, silky hair. "I want to stay here and screw."

She pushed him away suddenly. "There! That's what I mean. You've lost any feeling of romance. How do you think a girl likes to hear something like that? Can't you be a little more subtle?"

The anger rose suddenly within him. "No, Goddamn it!" he yelled, his face going red. "I can't! I haven't got it in me, and I haven't got the time."

She opened her mouth to scream at him, but he did not give her the chance. Grabbing her roughly and grappling her body with his strong arms, he threw her onto her back on the couch and covered her mouth with him, his full, sensuous lips demanding total compliance. His fully charged erection throbbed against her body.

"No," she mumbled. "No, Scott, not this way."

It was too late. He was bound to have her, and he would take her on his terms, savagely, unremittingly. Pinning her around the neck with one big hand, Scott drew back, his trunk and legs holding down the lower portion of her body. With his free hand, he grabbed the front of her blouse. One sudden, brutal yank tore the buttons loose. They went flying in all directions, and Celia let out a sharp cry of dismay.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth," Scott ordered. "I'll buy you a new one, better than this rag."

"Please, Scott. Please don't do it this way," Celia begged. There was less conviction in her voice than before, and he knew she was becoming aroused despite her fear and loathing of his rapacious action. His constantly thrusting pelvis against her vulnerable loins was having its effect, and she writhed salaciously beneath his sweating body.

"Fuck me!" she screamed. "Fuck meeeeeeeeeee now!"

Celia watched as Scott drew his long, vein covered penis out into the light. It was huge, and she caught her breath at the sight of it, just as she always did. Her eyes burned with hot desire, and she flared her nostrils, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of male sweat and pungent dried urine. Her mouth watered for the taste of that gigantic organ of his, and she licked her lips lewdly as she stared at it.

"You want it, don't you?" Scott whispered, his voice husky with lustful passion. "You want to suck it just like a calf after it's mother's tit."

She nodded her head dumbly, her eyes never leaving the hardening organ of lust. She had to have it or she would die.

"Maybe I'll let you eat on it, and maybe I won't. Before I decide, I want you naked, completely naked. Hurry up."

"Yes, Scott, oh, yeeeeeeeeeees!" she hissed, her body trembling with lewd excitement. She pulled up her short skirt and undid her garters. Pushing her stockings down over her long, tapering legs, she felt the sheer softness of the nylons caressing her sensitive flesh and pretended to herself that they had been made specifically to tease and excite her to further arousal. She pulled her stockings off over her toes. Next she turned her back to him. "Unhook my skirt for me," she whispered.

Celia giggled, turning to him and grinning down at him. "That's exactly what it is. It keeps me for you, Babe. Every time I see some guy I think is hunky, this little elastic pantie keeps me from spreading my legs for him. Don't you like that?"

"Shit no," Scott said, shaking his head. "You ought to be gettin' as much as you can. It's a new age. You're entitled. All women are. Believe me, I get what I can where I can, and you should do the same."

Hooking her thumbs under the top of the elastic pantie girdle, Celia began to worm it down over her wide, lush hips, twisting them from side to side seductively as she did so. As she moved the garment downward, she could see Scott's erection growing more and more pronounced. It jerked with lewd excitement. As her sizzling slit came into view, he gazed at it in open adoration.

"Man, oh man!" he whispered. "That is one beautiful pussy."

"I'm naked," Celia said. "What are you going to do about it now?"

Scott felt his pulse quicken at her saucy response. It was as if Celia had suddenly decided to take control of the situation. That was what he liked about her. They could start out with what was nearly a rape on his part and before long the woman was so turned on that the lewdness of her nature took control of the scene and turned it into a fresh adventure for him. The hardening in his loins was almost unbearable. His cock ached with engorgement, and he longed for climax. It was too soon. He wanted to make it last, to feel the divine tingling of passion as long as he possibly could.

Getting up, his huge erection sticking out of his pants at an abrupt upward angle, he reached into his pants again and scooped out the hugely bloated eggs that were his balls. They flopped lewdly below his cock in their puckered hair-studded sac, and he saw Celia's eyes widen at the sight of them.

"Oh, God," she mumbled in a half whisper, "they look like they're so full, and all of it's for me."

As though he were ignoring her, Scott strode over to the table and picked up a pack of cigarettes. He lit one, taking his time, sucking in on it, letting the match burn down before he shook it to death. He looked at her as though he were seeing her naked being for the first time, appraising her the way a sultan might a slave girl. Celia looked as if she were perturbed at his action, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Slowly, with sure fingers, he loosened the top of his pants. With one quick push he sent them downward to pool at his ankles. He stepped out of them and then reached down to remove his socks, all the time looking at her with the same leering glimmer in his eyes.

Celia shivered, feeling twice as naked because of his stare. It was almost clinical, as if he could see right into her body and as if he knew how her heart was beating, how her body was excited and aroused beyond all belief. She wanted him so badly she thought she might die. His cock was so gigantic, and she knew how wonderful it felt going into her, quenching the deepest thirsts of her passion riddled, boy-loving body.

"Pleeeeeeeeease..." she pleaded, whining to him, holding her arms out toward him imploringly.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked suddenly, the smoke of his cigarette wreathing about his body as if he were being caressed by a ghost.

"What do you think, Baby?" she whispered, her voice low.

He snubbed out his cigarette and moved toward her like a tawny jungle cat in pursuit of prey. "I've got a few ideas," he said, his voice breaking with passion.

Grabbing her by her naked shoulders, he pushed her down onto the sofa. Her legs opened wide of their own accord, and her eyes closed. "Eat me," she crooned softly. "Put your mouth to my twat and eat me out. Pilllllllleeeeeeeease!"

"No way, Honey," he snapped suddenly. Grabbing her by the hair, he jerked her head. Her eyes flew open. She stared up at him fearfully. "What? What do you mean?"

"Not until you do it to me. You eat me, Bitch, and do it good." His lips were twisted in a cruel grin, and again he jerked at her hair sadistically.

Celia focused her eyes on the hugeness that was his cock. It was like ripe fruit, waiting for her soft, succulent mouth to taste it. She could see a large drop of clear precum oozing from its dark slit, and she longed for the earthy taste of it. Now she could really smell the hot muskiness of his crotch, and she was excited beyond all reasonable belief.

"Oh, yes," she mumbled. "Yes, I'll eat you. I'll eat you 'til I drink your cum, every drop of it. I'll suck your big balls dry, Babe. Wait and see."

She reached out and grappled her slim arms around his hips, pulling him to her face. Then she buried her head in his fragrant crotch, digging her face in between his low hanging balls and the hard muscles of his inner thigh. She pulled the air from between his legs, sensing the spicy odor of asshole. At the same time, her hands pulled him even closer to her, melting him into her, smothering her face with his muscular body. She flicked out her small, pink tongue, wiping it over the hairy flesh of his scrotum. Scott moaned, and his ball sac moved as if it had a life all its own. He knew the cum was churning inside it, preparing for its lightning-like journey up and out and deep into her throat or her vagina or wherever she chose to have it.

She licked him again, harder and more insistently this time, soft, low moans coming from her throat, and Scott spread his legs, inviting her on to further exploration. The heady flavor of his ball sweat was driving her mad. Opening her mouth wide, she pulled one of his huge gonads into it. At the same time, she whipped her tongue tip over the hot flesh, starting tremors of total excitement coursing through his body.

Scott's long, hard prick throbbed against her smooth neck, and she decided suddenly that it was time for her to take it. Letting his big, well sucked gonad drop from her mouth, she paused to feast her greedy eyes on his cock. It pointed upward, reaching nearly to his navel.

She took it in one hand, and pulled it down toward her mouth. It's dark pink, pulsating head was only an inch from her lips, and Scott could feel the hotness of her breath on it.

"Hurry," he whispered. "Suck it. Take it all the way."

Closing her eyes, she bent forward, her mouth open wide. The head of his penis slipped between her lush, full lips, and, always, the satiny smoothness of his flesh amazed her. It was by far the smoothest thing she had ever felt. She ran her tongue over it, savoring its texture, and growing in her awareness of its ultimately satisfying flavor.

She circled her tongue tip over the flange of his corona and heard him moan as she touched thousands of excited nerve endings. She began to milk him without mercy, frantically, insistently, literally begging him to shoot his hot cum into her mouth and down her greedy throat.

She took more and more of his long, heavy stalk to her, pushing it down into her gullet and driving him insane with passion. He was fighting to keep from coming, trying to hold off, to retain control.

Celia began worming her long middle finger into the crack of his buttocks, finding his tiny, puckered anus with the tip of it. Pressing against it with her long nail, she demanded entrance. With a grunt, Scott widened his stance, quivering salaciously at this newest perversion. Slowly, she parted his muscles and slipped her finger upward and into his hot, moist rectal opening. Her fingernail scraped into his soft interior, cutting him and bringing jolts of welcome pain. He felt alive, ready to experience it all and to love every lewd second of her ministrations.

The finger wiggled about inside his tube, and he felt as though a hot poker was being shoved into him. His anal muscles clutched tightly around the invader, trying involuntarily to keep it out, but it was no use.

"Oh, yeah, Baby," he cried, throwing his head back and tossing it from side to side. "Finger fuck me up the ass. Yeeeeeeeah! Oh, God, hurts! Hurts so goooooood!"

Suddenly, the tip of her nail touched his swollen prostate, and new, intense jolts of passion ripped through his sweating body.

Jabbing at the small gland repeatedly, she made him soar to new heights. Every nerve in his manly prick screamed out, and he was coming. Without warning in one long release he vomited out gallons of fresh, hot cum into her throat, as she kept poking at his prostate again and again, draining him of every drop and leaving him sobbing in relief.

Celia let his big, half deflated organ slip from her mouth. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "There," she whispered, easing her finger out of his well stretched rectum. "Now you eat me. Okay?"

By the time the evening was over, they had made the decision to move in together. They had hardly gotten settled when Scott received the unexpected telephone call from Indianapolis.

CHAPTER TWO

Scott Forsmo shook his head, pulling out of his reverie. Looking down at himself he discovered he had climaxed just thinking about those times with Celia. Why the hell had he not been able to convince her to move to Indianapolis with him?

The telephone was ringing. Probably another wrong number, he thought, as he reached out for the receiver. There was cum on his fingers, but he did not care. It would give the morning man something to ponder when he used the phone.

"KSZK Night Line. You're on the air."

"Hi, there," said a breathy female voice. "I've been listening to you. I like your voice."

"Thanks a lot," Scott answered enthusiastically. His heart was pounding. He had a live one. Quickly, he glanced at the tape recorder. It had clicked on properly. In less than a minute, everyone would see he was a success, that his idea would work, after all. He wondered if Ransberg and the other station officials were listening this late at night. It did not matter. He would have the tape as proof, and a hundred more like it. Once the ice was broken, everyone would be calling in.

The woman went on. "I was wondering about something," she whispered.

"What is it? On Night Line we're prepared to discuss anything, anything at all."

"Does it have to be broadcast?"

"Does what have to be broadcast?" Scott asked, his heart sinking. He already knew the answer to his question.

"What I say to you, of course, Silly Boy."

"Yes, Ma'am. It'll start hitting the air waves in just a few seconds from now. You'll be a star."

"Oh," the woman said, and she hung up.

Scott was furious, so angry he could hardly think straight. Before he could reach over to stop it, the conversation began to play out over the air, just as it had taken place.

"KSZX Night Line. You're on the air," he heard himself say. His voice sounded hollow, fake, a well trained radio announcer's rounded tones. If he let himself think about it, it almost made him sick. Therefore, he did not do so very often.

He listened to the woman's voice. It was low, seductive, full of promise. "Does it have to be broadcast?" it said, and Scott's heart sank all over again. Let everybody who knew the woman hear her. Let them all know what a slut she was. Her voice was full of promise, of voluptuous longing. Despite himself, he felt his libido rise just hearing her purring tones. That ought to wake up nighttime Indiana. Maybe the call had not been a waste after all, that is if Hoosiers responded to voices like that.

As the recording ended, Scott was struck with sudden inspiration. Why not play this out? He had precious little else to work with. He flipped on the switch of his microphone.

"Come on, now, Honey!" he said. "Let's play fair, shall we? It gets awfully lonesome here all alone. The last thing a hot blooded young guy like me needs is some beautiful chick hanging up on him. Call back and let's us have a little visit. The number is 447-4730. While I'm hanging onto the receiver waiting for your call, I'll play something to get us in the mood." He flipped on a slow ballad by Joan Collins and waited.

The lines lit up, two of them at once. He grabbed the receiver. "Hi, there. This is Night Line."

"Hi," said a woman's voice. She was speaking low, trying to sound like the woman who had called before. Her voice was much younger, though, not even a good imitation of the passion promising tones of the first caller. "I'm calling you back, just like you asked me to do."

"Thanks," Scott said. "If you'll just hold on a minute, I'll be right back." He punched the hold button and then keyed the other line.

"Night Line, KSZX," he said. "You're on the air."

"Hi, there," whispered another female voice. "I'm calling back, like you wanted." It was still not the first woman, he was sure.

"Hold on a second, and I'll be with you," Scott said. He returned to the first caller.

"Now," he said, in his friendly, on the air voice, "What can I do for you?"

The caller chuckled, sounding even younger than before. "It's more what I can do for you," she said.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Anything you like. I'll suck you off or let you fuck my hot little cunt, or..."

Scott stabbed the button, putting the woman on hold. He made a grab for the tape, but it was too late. "Hi," the voice repeated, and his own voice responded. He stopped the tape.

"You're doing it, Folks!" he fairly shouted, switching on his mike. "You're calling in! I've got two callers on the line, late night people with something to say. Let's listen to another of the latest hits while I finish the conversations." He cued the record and pushed the button.

Glancing at the phone, he saw that both lines were still lighted. He picked up the first one again. Without giving the girl at the other end a chance to speak, he said, "Hey, what do you mean, kidding around like that? Don't you know you can get me in trouble? What if that went out over the air?"

"I wouldn't care. I meant it. I love your voice, and I want the chance to love you, any time and any place you say." She sounded as though she meant it.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Oh, it's all right. I'm eighteen, over eighteen."

Something told Scott the girl was lying. He did not care.

"Well," she went on, "What do you say? Do I interest you?"

"I... well, I don't know." This was crazy. He should not be stringing her along. He should hang up. He should, he should, but he did not.

"What's the matter? You queer?"

"No! What makes you think that?" He tried to imagine what she might look like, young, fresh, a succulent, lithe little body, just wriggling with life and sexuality and ready to give it all to him.

"Oh," she said, "I just thought you might be gay because a lot of guys are nowadays. It's a drag. Want to hear about how some guys from my school got a queer the other night?" She had tipped her hand. She was a high school student. Jail bait, particularly in Indiana.

"No. Frankly, I don't, little girl. I advise you not to call again, unless you have something to say that we can put on the air."

"Okay, Queer!" the girl shouted into the phone and hung up.

Shaking with anger, Scott checked to see that the record still had time to go. Then he punched the second line. "Hi, and thanks for holding so long. You're on the air."

"I don't want this broadcast," the voice said.

With a sigh, Scott stopped the recorder. He was sick of fighting it. "Okay," he said. "We're alone."

"Good," the woman answered. Her voice definitely did not have the sensuality of the first woman, the one who had started this mess, but she did not sound like a high school kid either.

"What can I do for you?" Scott asked.

"It's more what I can do for you," she replied.

Oh, no, Scott thought. This one may not be a high school kid, but she surely talked like one. "And what's that?" he asked.

"Suppose I pick you up after work, and we talk about it?"

"Gee, I don't know. I mean..." His heart was pounding again, and the loneliness was welling up within him so hard it almost choked him.

"Just tell me the time, and I'll be there. You're downtown, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Washington and Meridian." He glanced over. The record was nearly over.

"What time then?"

"Eight or a little after," he said hurriedly and hung up the receiver.

As he gave a commercial, his mind was racing. What had he done? Picking up on a caller's proposition like that was certainly unethical. Still, who was to know? Her call had not been recorded. He had made sure of that. God, he was lonely and horny and scared all at the same time. He had not realized it fully until now. He had made a date with a stranger over the phone. What if she turned out to be sixty and weigh three hundred pounds? What if the back seat of her car was full of muggers, just waiting tightly to rip him off? If they did, they would not get much, he thought ruefully. It had taken most everything he had in the bank to make the move here, and then he had had to take an apartment that rented for more than he wanted to pay. At least he could walk to work. That was something. The Roley Towers, a three unit high rise was just past the edge of downtown.

He would meet the woman -- if she showed up. She was probably just some crank who called all the night disc jockeys, setting them up and then chickening out. If she did show up, he had no idea how he would know it. Washington and Meridian might be dead at night, but they were crawling with commerce during the daytime, and the rush started at about seven forty-five, just about the time he was making his way home to bed.

The night dragged on. No one else called in, and Scott ended his shift feeling gloomy.

"How you doing, Stud?" Barry Mann called out as he came into the control booth to relieve Scott.

"Okay, I guess. Quiet night."

"No callers, then?"

"A couple. Nothing I could put on the air." Scott gathered up his cigarettes and half empty coffee cup.

"That's a shame, Kid. Sorry to hear it. I know what you mean by nothing you can broadcast. I couldn't believe some of the calls I got when I worked nights, and I wasn't even inviting them to pick up the phone the way you do on Night Line. There are a lot of lonely women out there, a few men too. Boy, did I ever have some weird conversations." He slipped behind the console.

"You ever meet any of them? The women who called in, I mean."

"A couple." Barry was rummaging through the records.

"And?" Scott asked.

"And what?" Barry asked, glancing up at him.

"Never mind. Sorry I was nosing in where I don't belong." He put his hand on the door knob.

"Hey, just a second, Man. Look, I didn't mean to put you off. We'll have a drink real soon, and I'll tell you some stories. A couple of them will curl your hair."

"Thanks," Scott said, grinning at him.

"Oh, by the way, there's somebody waiting for you out in the reception area."

"There is? Who?"

"I don't know her name. She's a real looker, though. You're a foxy dude, Scotty Boy! Take care now. I gotta introduce my show."

Scott walked out to the reception area half afraid of what he might find. His idea of a looker and Barry's might be two different things. Station gossip had it that the daytime announcer was none too particular when it came to the opposite sex. He was more interested in ease of entry than he was in glamour or personality.

In the lobby sat a shapely blonde. She looked to be about twenty-one as she sat there reading a magazine, her long, slim legs crossed at the ankles.

"Hi," Scott said in a low voice. "You looking for me?"

She looked up at him, her green eyes shining. "I am if your the host of Night Line."

"I am. I'm flattered you know the name of the show. No one else seems to. My name's Scott Forsmo."

"I'm Monica James. Let's get out of here." She stood up, her movements reminding him of a panther. Cooly, she slipped her hand into his. "You live near here?" she asked, purring, and giving him a smile that dazzled him.

"Roley Towers."

"Hmmm, classy. Come on. My car's down in front."

"That's strictly a no parking zone, isn't it?"

"Don't worry. My husband's a cop. We never get ticketed."

"Oh," Scott said weakly, letting her propel him to the elevator.

"He works three to eleven in the morning. Besides that, he doesn't give a damn what I do as long as I stay out of trouble."

"You sound like a bitter woman," Scott said as they got into the elevator.

"Maybe I am, in a couple of ways. Mostly I get along all right, though. Do you have eggs in your refrigerator? I'll fix you breakfast."

"I don't usually eat breakfast."

"Make an exception, okay? I like my men to have plenty of stamina."

They jumped into her car, a red Camaro, and she pulled away from the curb. Scott thought how lucky he was to be off work at eight instead of at nine, when the receptionist, the other station personnel, and Hal Ransberg, the manager would be in. It would not do for them to see him leaving with a strange woman, even though what he did on his off time was his own business.

Monica pulled into the parking lot of the Roley Towers and parked the car. "Is this all right?" she asked. "I mean, they won't tow me, will they?"

Scott grinned at her. "I thought you were the lady whose husband was a cop?"

"These people hire their own security guards, and they tow anybody they feel like. If I got towed out of here, there'd be a lot of questions to answer."

"I thought he didn't care what you did. That's what you said." He held the door open for her, and they walked into the small lobby of his building.

"I also said as long as I stay out of trouble."

"And you think this is trouble?" he asked, pushing the button for the elevator.

"I hope so," she replied, giving him a broad wink and the same warm smile he had seen earlier. The doors slid back and they got onto the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, Monica fell into his arms. He bent to her, and they kissed, deeply, their mouths open, their lips bruising each other in their ardor. Her body pressed against his, and he could feel the hard, yielding flesh of her breasts pushing into his chest. His hands moved slowly down her back, feeling her body, and coming to rest at last on the lushly rounded cheeks of her buttocks.

"I love the way you touch me," she murmured. "It's as if you're taking possession, demanding me, wanting me completely."

Before Scott could reply, the doors slid open, and they stepped into the hall outside his small apartment. He fitted the key into the lock and open the door, then stepped back and let Monica enter.

"Nice place," she said. "Nice view."

"Not as nice as higher up, but this floor was all I could afford. It goes up as you do, the rent, I mean."

"Oh, yeah, I suppose so. Can I use the bathroom? You got me so hot and bothered in the elevator that I have to use it or I'll die."

"It's that door to the left. Sorry the place isn't cleaner."

"Don't worry about it. Maybe I'll pick up a little for you if there's time." She disappeared into the bathroom.

"It's lonely being the only one with no clothes on," Monica said, her vocal quality that of a seductive lioness. "Won't you join me, Scott?"

He tore open his belt and fumbled for his zipper. Once he pulled it down, he pushed his pants to the floor and kicked them aside. Monica stared at him now, just as he had done to her.

"Christ," she mumbled, "You're a real man. I love all that hair. I can't wait to run my fingers over your furry chest."

"Is that all?" Scott asked, smirking at her and letting his cock jerk wildly to show how excited he was.

Monica giggled, her eyes riveted to his huge male organ. "No. That's just the beginning. What I really want is that." She pointed a long, slim finger at his burgeoning erection.

"Is it as big as your husband's?" Scott asked, reaching down to cup his giant balls, lifting them to draw attention to their size and heavy weight.

Monica threw back her head and laughed. "Are you kidding? The turd's got next to nothing. Sometimes I think that's why he became a cop. As long as he's in uniform, he can act like a big man, and nobody has to know he's hung like a ten year old."

"Not only that, it gives him a chance to pack a gun, even if it is made of steel."

Monica grinned at him, showing her dazzling white teeth. "That's a good line. I'll remember it." Her hands moved down to cup her breasts. She lifted them as though she were offering them to him.

"Shall we go into the bedroom?" Scott asked, his voice husky with passion.

She shook her head. "I said I'd fix your breakfast, remember?"

"Later. Right now I'm too hungry for something else."

"No!" Monica answered resolutely. "I promised, and I always keep my promises." She marched toward the small, alley kitchen.

"Have a heart, Monica. I'm so horny for you I'm about to come just looking at that spectacular body of yours."

She turned and smiled at him coquettishly. "Then the longer you wait, the better it'll be. I won't take long. I promise." She began rummaging in the refrigerator, and Scott stood watching the soft curve of her buttocks, trying to decide what to do. Here he was, stripped for action, and so was she. Now she was suddenly playing hard to get. He contemplated jumping her from behind and raping her dog fashion if necessary.

She straightened up and turned to face him. "First," she said, sounding like a home economics teacher, "You need some fruit." In her hand she held a ripe banana.

"I don't care much for bananas," Scott said, wrinkling his nose.

"I bet you'll like this one, especially when you see howl plan to serve it." She peeled the banana, her fingers moving quickly and efficiently. When she had skinned it, she leaned back against the door of the refrigerator, spread her long legs wide, and, to Scott's amazement, pushed it gently between the moist lips of her swollen pussy.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

She giggled childishly. "Serving you the banana, like I said." She stood before him in the tiny kitchen, arching her pelvis forward, the banana protruding lewdly from her groin as though it were a man's ball-less cock.

The salaciousness of it all was overwhelming, and Scott found himself actually shocked with the perversity of the scene. Still, he knew at the same time that he was incredibly aroused, more aroused than he could ever remember being. This beautiful, desirable creature was abusing her own body in the lewdest possible manner, and she was doing it for him.

Mindlessly, he fell to his knees before her, his eyes on her writhing hips and the tubular, delicious looking banana.

"Go on," Monica whispered, her voice so low he could hardly understand her, "Take it. Just take the end of it in your mouth and suck it a little, the way you would if it were..." she trailed off.

"Oh, yesssss!" she hissed, grimacing down at him. "Suck it, Baby. Make it feel real nice. Ouuuuuuuu, yeah!"

Scott ate, mouthing the banana, taking it into him and chewing it up, swallowing greedily as though he were eating the most expensively prepared steak in the world. His nostrils were filled with the musky smell of female crotch, and he knew he would never eat or even see a banana again without knowing that wonderful scent.

Monica threw her head back and rested it on the door of the refrigerator, soft mewling cries escaping her half open lips. It was easy to imagine that it was a real cock and that it really was being destroyed inch by inch, mutilating her superb boy's body for life. She loved it, and the extreme lewdness of the symbolism made it overwhelming exciting to her.

Grunting like a starving dog, he pulled the last of the banana out with his teeth. He could taste her cunt juice on its surface, and he chewed it up, savoring the flavor of woman and banana combined.

"Now," Monica announced, "You can have what I promised. Take it. Take as much as you want." With her long fingers, she pulled open the hair studded lips of her cunt. Scott saw that they were reddened and swollen with fresh blood, pumped into them by her excited, totally aroused body. Taking a deep breath and opening his mouth wide to create immense suction, he shot his head forward, closing his lips over the moist, leaking halves of her hotly alive pussy.

CHAPTER THREE

"Fuck me! Fuck meeeeeeee!" Monica James shouted, her voice blurring with passion. Bracing her feet and lower back against the mattress, she shoved her pelvis into Scott Forsmo's groin, grinding her hips and forcing his burgeoning cock as far up into her vagina as it would go.

They had been at it for hours now, and Scott was beginning to feel as though she were burning out. Still, the woman's complete, rabid sexual hunger inspired him to new, ball-blowing efforts. Monica was insatiable. It seemed to Scott that no matter how violently he rammed his rigid penis into her soft, wet vagina she did not get enough of.

"Harder. Fuck me harder! Screw me to deeee eeath!" She orgasmed again. Scott had lost track of how many times it had been. His prick was suddenly bathed in a fresh supply of Monica's syrupy, thick woman's juice. He wondered if it still smelled of banana. "Oh, Scotty... Scotty, you do it so good. What, a man you are! Better than all the others."

"Better than your husband, the cop?" he asked, gasping for breath as he speeded up the action of his hips, his slim buttocks dimpling and flexing as he shoved his penis into her again.

"A hundred times, a thousand times. You're even harder than his nightstick." She broke off into soft, urgent mewling cries, her hot, perspiring body undulating beneath him on the narrow bed.

"You've tried his nightstick?" Scott asked jokingly.

"Yes, oh, yes. He used it on me once when he couldn't get hard. It was wonnnnnderful, but not as wonderful as you are. I can feel your heartbeat throbbing inside me. You're so huge and strong and thick. I love it! Love it. I want it in me forever."

"Oh, yesssss," she hissed, tossing her blonde head from side to side. "Hurt me. Make my titties ache with your big, hard hands. Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"

Suddenly the tingling sensations in his nuts intensified again, and his belly swirled with warmness. He was going to come. He did not believe it was possible to come this much or this often. He was killing himself, turning himself into a drained, sexual cripple, but he loved every second of it. It was all worth whatever price it cost him. Monica twisted about, writhing like a wild animal, as she felt his cock swell larger than before. He was coming together again, uniting all his forces for her to spew a fresh, hot load of his steamy semen far up into her needing body. "Give it to me," she shouted, "give me all of it. I want your manjuice. Nooooooow!"

Scott climaxed. With a wild cry of startled pleasure, he came, twisting on top of her as he poured a gallon of white hot sperm rammingly up into her vaginal opening. It came in waves from his testicles, up his swelling urethra, out through the deep slit in his glans, and into her body. He choked and gulped for breath, explosions of violet light going off behind his eyes. He might have been suspended in midair, unable to tell up from down, spinning in a sexual void. He might be dying, completely cut off from living reality, but he did not care. If this death, he had gone to heaven. He lay across the woman's body, gasping and trying to force his being to return to something near normal.

Slowly and carefully he drew his deflating phallus from her body, groaning with exhaustion as he fell beside her.

"What time is it?" Monica asked after a long moment.

"About ten-thirty," he answered, looking at the clock radio.

"Jesus Christ, I gotta get home," Monica cried, jumping up. "He'll be home from his shift in less than an hour." She hurried to the bathroom.

"I'll get you some fresh towels," Scott called after her, resentfully rousing himself to sit groggily at the edge of the mattress.

"No time for a shower. I'll just comb my hair."

"But what about...?"

"How I smell? Never mind that. He won't come close enough to notice." She began pulling on her clothing.

Scott came to stand in the bathroom doorway, watching her dress. "Can I call you?"

She shook her head resolutely. "It's best if I call you. He works different shifts. I can always reach you at the station, can't I?"

"At night, yes."

"You don't mind if I call, do you? At the station, I mean?"

"Christ, no. I wish you would. I wish a lot of people would."

The telephone rang, waking Scott out of a deep, exhausted sleep. As soon as Monica left his apartment, he fell back in bed, this time to get some rest. Goddamn, he thought, let it ring. He covered his head with a pillow and tried to blot out the jangling sound. It continued.

Finally he had no choice but to get up and answer it. He padded to the kitchen and picked up the receiver of the wall phone. "Hello?" he said, mumbling.

"Oh, dear. I didn't wake you up, did I?" asked a female voice.

"Yeah. It's okay," he answered, rubbing his head, trying to make the ache go away.

"This is Rona Barnes, the receptionist at KSZX."

"Oh, yeah?" He wanted to add, "so what?" but decided he had better not. It never paid to get on the wrong side of a secretary.

"We've never met, because I work days and you don't."

"I know that," Scott said, trying to maintain his patience. "Is that what you called to tell me?"

"No, not really. I called to say Mr. Ransberg wants to see you."

"The manager? What for?" Scott asked, afraid he already knew.

"I'm sorry. I don't know that. I'm only the receptionist, after all. He wants to see you right away."

"Why doesn't he come in to see me on my shift?"

"Mr. Ransberg is not on duty from midnight to eight in the morning," the receptionist answered flatly.

"And I'm not on duty from nine, or ten, or whenever he does get there to whenever it is he cuts out for his afternoon golf game."

There, was a silence at the other end of the line. Finally the receptionist said, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault. I'll get dressed and be right down."

Scott walked into the outer office. Behind the desk sat a very young redhead, her hair arranged casually around a girlish, good looking face.

"Hi," Scott said. "You the receptionist who called me?"

"Yes. I'm Rona Barnes. You must be Mr. Forsmo." She smiled warmly.

"It's Scott, Rona. I don't remember seeing you when I came in the first day, or when I came for my interview."

"I'm new, just started this week."

"Nice to see somebody's newer than I am around this place. Is the boss ready for me?"

"Just have a seat, Scott, and I'll buzz his office." She gestured toward the couch, her eyes flickering up and down the length of his body.

Scott wondered briefly whether her look meant what he thought it did, but he was so tired out from his marathon session with Monica that he did not want to think about if. Besides, she was young, hardly more than eighteen. Even though the girl was intriguing, he was not sure he wanted to take a chance with a kid. It was too bad, though, that they worked at different times from one another. If anything were to pappen under normal circumstances, it never would the way things were now.

"Mr. Ransberg will see you now," Rona said as she put down the telephone. "You know how to get to his office, don't you?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Rona. It's a pleasure meeting you."

Scott was again aware of the girl's dark eyes traveling up and down the length of his muscular body. He wended his way back through the studios to Ransberg's large, corner office.

"Come in, My Boy, come in!" Hal Ransberg said, jumping up from behind his long, walnut veneer desk. "Take a seat."

Scott sat down uneasily opposite the desk, uncomfortable in the straight backed chair. The manager was too jovial. As he had suspected, this was not going to be a pleasant meeting.

"How is your show going, Son?" Ransberg asked, settling back in his high backed chair. He crossed his pudgy hands across his bulging belly and smiled at Scott paternally.

"Okay, I guess," Scott mumbled.

"Okay? Is that all? Okay?" Ransberg rumbled, the smile still on his puffy lips. "We're expecting big things from you, Son. That's why I sought you out. That's why I saw to it you were hired. Yes, Sir, we expect big things." He said big things as though he were describing a whale. His tone made Scott more uncomfortable than ever.

"Yes, Mr. Ransberg," he replied, trying not to squirm.

"Yes, Sir. When Myra and I were driving along through your part of the country, Myra's the little Missus, you know, we were listening to the radio in the car. Little station from some hick town, and then your voice came over the speaker."

Scott nodded. He had heard the story twice before, once in his first interview and again right after he was hired. He smiled docilely, wishing once more he had stayed right where he was. It was not as much money, not nearly as much, but he had no hassles, and he had Celia.

"Celia," he had said as soon as he walked into the apartment, "Sit down, okay? We need to talk."

The girl came out of the kitchen, wiping he hands on a towel. She kissed him, and his hands automatically began roaming over her back. She pushed her body against his, her pelvis pressing on his already aroused penis. He took a deep breath and held her at arm's length.

"What is it, Scotty?" she asked.

"Come on and sit down." He led her to the white velvet couch. When the two of them were settled, he said, "I got a call today, from Indianapolis."

"Who do you know there?"

"Nobody, at least I didn't think I did. Actually, I still don't, or that is, I do now, but I didn't before the call came today."

Celia giggled at his confused explanation. "So, who called?"

"A guy named Hal Ransberg. He's manager of a radio station, FM."

"So?" Celia's hand was on his knee, the fingertips of it massaging him slightly. Soon, he knew, she would begin to move upward along his inner thigh, until she could cup his rapidly erecting cock.

"So he was driving through here, and he happened to hear me on the car radio."

"Interesting. What else?" Her hand stopped moving. It was as if she suspected what was coming next.

"He asked me to come to Indianapolis for an interview."

"Interview for what?"

He put his hand on hers. "For a job. They need a new voice for their night programming."

"A job? In Indianapolis? You've got to be kidding."

"You act like you can't believe anybody'd offer me a job."

"No, it's not that, not at all. You know that. It's just that... well, Indianapolis is such an awful place."

"For one thing, I came through there with my folks a couple of times on the way to Florida. It's ugly, and the land all around it is flat. If you built a hill, you could charge people a dollar to climb it and get rich. Besides that, the people there are real rednecks, conservatives."

"Don't you think you're generalizing a little?" Scott was growing angry, and he was not sure why. He had no commitment to Indianapolis. Yet he suddenly felt called upon to defend the place.

"Maybe I am generalizing. All I know is I read it's the headquarters of the John Birch Society, the Klu Klux Klan, and the American Legion. I don't know how much more conservative you can get than that."

"And so, My Boy, Myra agreed with me," Hal Ransberg went on. "It's not everybody KSZX offers to interview. This is your big break. Don't screw it up. I went out on a limb to hire an unknown."

"Yes, Sir," Scott answered mechanically. "It's just that..."

"Just that what?" Ransberg countered, the smile fading.

"I don't know how to make people call in if they don't feel like it."

Ransberg coughed. "That calling in idea's kind of a loser, anyway, don't you think?"

"You seemed to like it fine in the interview," Scott said, flaring. "So did everybody else. Besides that, it works everywhere else in the country but Indianapolis."

Ransberg shrugged his beefy shoulders. "It's your baby. It's up to you to make it work."

Scott jumped to his feet and headed for the door. "Gee, thanks!" he snapped. "Thanks for your support. I really appreciate it." He slammed the door behind him.

"Through with your meeting already?" Rona Barnes chirped as he passed her desk.

"You damn right!" Scott growled.

"Oh, dear, it sounds like things didn't go well. Mr. Ransberg can be aggravating all right. I know how it is. Anything I can do to help?"

"You can call me on the program tonight if you're up that late. I don't know why you should be, though. Nobody else is." He pushed open the double doors and strode down the hall toward the elevators. Jabbing the button, he waited a few seconds until the doors slid back and strode into the car. As it descended he thought again what he had been thinking in Ransberg's office, that he should have stayed in that little town with Celia.

"What do you say, Celia?" he asked that night, already afraid he knew her answer.

"I can't, Scott. I just can't go." She looked as if she were about to cry.

"But, Celia, Honey, what about you and me?"

"I can't help that," she whispered brokenly, shrugging her shoulders. "Don't you see, Scott? My plant store is just starting to make money. If I leave it now, I'll lose all the hard work I've put in. It's mine, Scott, my own business. If I had some kind of secretarial job I could leave here and pick up something there with no problem. I'd go then, even if it is Indianapolis."

"Buy a plant store there," Scott said.

Celia stared at him, the tears streaming down her face. "A plant store? In Indianapolis? I don't know why, but that's one of the craziest things I've ever heard in my life." She began to laugh, urgently, raucously, the tears still coming. She sniffled, and laughed, and grew weak, and fell into his arms, her despair wracking her entire body and turning her into an hysterical, sobbing child.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Here we are again, KSZX Night Line, where you let the world know how you feel." Scott began his program again, trying to sound excited and enthusiastic, despite the loneliness and despite the fact that he was still receiving very few calls.

He gave the telephone number and put on a record. The telephone rang.

"Good evening, Night Line, you're on the air!" he said.

"Do I have to be?" asked a breathy female voice.

Scott reached over and turned off the tape. "Aw, for Pete's sake, Monica, come off it."

There was a pause. "This isn't Monica, whoever she is," said the voice quietly.

"It's not? I could have sworn..."

"Well, you're wrong. I'm not one of your cheap whores. I'm a professional woman."

"I could make a reply to that, but I won't. What's on your mind?" He reached over and clicked on the tape recorder again.

"I'd like to meet you somewhere, you know, when you get off work. Eight in the morning, is it?"

"Yeah, I get off at eight." He started to turn off the recorder again and then noticed the record was ending. This took priority. "Just a second," he said quickly, dropped the receiver, and made a dive for the turntables. He cued the next record and started the machine. Fading down the previous record and fading up the next, he made the transition smoothly. God, he thought to himself, he was a professional. He picked up the phone again.

"That was very professional," said the voice. "Now, about what we were discussing, why don't you meet me at Sam's Subway at Sixteenth and Meridian when you get off work? We can have breakfast or something."

"Tell you what. If I did that, I'd have to leave here, walk home, get my car, and drive up to Sixteenth. If you're so interested in meeting me, why don't you come down here to the station at eight?"

"No!" the voice said quickly. "I can't do that." She hung up.

Cursing under his breath, Scott got ready for the next commercial. He had no sooner delivered it when the telephone rang again. This time the caller was Monica.

"Hi. Did you miss me today?"

"Right, Baby, every minute of the time. Funny thing. I kept smelling bananas."

Monica giggled prettily. "I can imagine."

"Let's just say this. You cook a mean breakfast, Woman."

"How are chances of a return engagement? My husband's still on the same shift."

"Sure. Pick me up at eight?" Again, his eye was on the record that was playing at the moment. He was going to have to cut this conversation short. Besides that, the recorder was humming away, getting down every word he and Monica were exchanging. While none of it was openly salacious, the conversation was filled with enough double meanings so he did not want to be in a position to have to explain it, especially to someone like Ransberg.

"Okay," Monica said. "I'll pick you up then. I'll be waiting down in front of the building. So long, Baby."

At eight-ten, Scott jumped into Monica's sporty car. She smiled across at him, dazzling him once again with her very white teeth. "How did it go?" she asked.

"Not so bad. You know something? A couple people actually called in, I mean with conversations I could play on the air."

She laughed. "Hey, you're a success." She reached over and squeezed his thigh playfully.

"Not nearly. It'll take a lot more calls than that to get the situation to the place where it ought to be. There have to be enough calls to cause controversy, you know, to get people talking about the show."

"Maybe you should tape our conversation in the bedroom. That would get you some listeners."

He threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Shit, yes. It'd get me so many I'd be ridden out of town on a rail."

"You sure got the rail for it. I'll say that." She slipped her hand up his leg and cupped it over his boldly bulging crotch. "Ouuuuuuu, yes, you're so nice and warm there, Baby."

"Warm is right. I'm hot for you, Honey. Ever since you called, I been boiling over. I damn near came in my pants couple of times just thinking about all the things we're going to do." He spread his legs wider, letting her caress his genitals as she steered the car through the morning traffic.

"Even though that's a compliment, I'm glad you didn't come in your pants. You'd have wasted a couple loads that could have gone to me."

"Don't worry, Monica. There's plenty more." Scott lolled his head against the seat back, sliding down in the seat to relax while Monica continued to massage his burgeoning cock. "Christ, I'm so horny, I feel like I could keep on squirting forever and never run out of fuck juice."

She took her hand away. "I better quit, then, or you'll come before we ever get to your place."

He straightened up in the seat, his own fingers replacing hers at his crotch. "Don't worry. We're nearly there. If I can just manage to walk into the building without breaking something, I'll be fine. Good thing I didn't wear Levi's to work."

Monica wheeled into the Roley Towers parking lot, turned off the engine, and the two of them jumped out of the car. It was obvious that both Scott and Monica were in a hurry to get up to the apartment.

"What would you like to do today?" Monica asked coquettishly, as the elevator doors closed behind them.

"I want to fuck you till you're blue," Scott answered, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her to him.

As they kissed, their mouths open wide, Monica started running her hand down the back of his pants, pulling out his shirt tail as she went. She jammed her fingers down to tickle the small thatch of hair at the base of his spine. Scott let out an aroused grunt and pushed his rigid erection against her body.

"Oh, Baby," Monica mumbled, "you really are ready."

"You fuckin' bet I'm ready!" he said, fitting his lips over hers again and reaching with his tongue far into her wet, hotly alive mouth.

The doors slid back, and there stood a little old woman with a basket of laundry. Scott tried to break the clinch, but with Monica's hand shoved down into his pants, he could not get far. After considerable fumbling, he managed to stab the "close door" button, and the doors whirred closed again. The last thing he and Monica saw was the old woman, still standing there, her mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief.

"It's a good thing I didn't do what I was thinking about," Monica said, giggling.

"What was that?"

"Opening your zipper and pulling your cock out so I could play with it."

"Christ, the old girl would have had a heart attack right on the spot. Then we'd have had to cart her off to the emergency room, and we'd have missed out on fucking."

They were finally in the apartment. "Come on," Monica said as she pulled her thin sweater off over her head. "Let's get naked, both of us."

Stooping to remove her shoes, she let her melon shaped breasts swing freely. Scott paused to watch her.

"God," he said, "I'd like to just stand here and watch you strip. Shit, your tits are beautiful, so creamy and smooth, and those big, brown nipples just make my mouth water."

"Suit yourself," Monica answered. "I'll strip for you, but you have to promise to do the same thing for me. Sit down on the couch, and I'll give you a show."

Taking his hand, she led him to the sofa, her body wriggling sensuously as she walked. When he was settled, she stood before him, her arms extended above her head. She was naked to the waist, and she was in her stocking feet. Slowly and sexily, she began to undulate her lush hips, rotating them and making him think of how it would feel to have his cock planted deep inside them. She would milk the cum right out of him without his even having to exert himself.

Her hands moved. Her entire body moved in silent, sexual dancing. She manipulated her slim frame salaciously. Lowering her creamy arms, she hugged herself tightly, then played her hands over her body, touching herself as she continued to dance slowly before him.

Her palms came up beneath her breasts, and she held them out to him enticingly. Scott's prick throbbed with such excitement that again he thought he might climax before he even got his pants off. "Jesus," he whispered huskily, "you're great! Take off the rest of your things. Hurry."

Teasingly, smiling at him seductively, Monica moved her hands down over her rib cage, touching her smooth, satin flesh and worshiping it lovingly as she did so. Her fingers found the snaps at the waist of her skirt, and she undid them, never taking her eyes off Scott or his brutishly swollen crotch.

With deliberate slowness, she lowered the zipper and then sent her skirt cascading down her long, slim legs. She stepped out of it, wearing only her filmy pantyhose over tiny red bikini panties. Scott could see that there was already a small wet blotch at her crotch.

Monica was aroused, just as he was. His mouth watered as he imagined himself sucking the moisture out of those panties, savoring the fresh, tangy flavor on his tongue.

Monica's fingers curled under the elastic top of the pantyhose, and she began to push them down, never stopping her softly undulating dance as she did so. She rolled the top down and then pushed the transparent hose down her tapering legs to her trim ankles. Pushing with determination, she peeled the garment off over her feet and left it on the living room floor. Now only her red panties stood between Scott and her nudity.

As she made a move to rid herself of them, Scott reeled to his feet. "Not yet," he said. "Let me have them first." Quickly, he fell to his knees before the woman. With strong arms he pulled her to him, nestling his face in the soft warmth of her crotch. Inhaling deeply, he took in the wildly exciting sensation of her womanly odor, his fevered mind staggering at her heady scent.

"Oh, Babe, Babe," he murmured, his choking voice muffled by her steaming flesh. Holding her close, he burrowed his nose into the moist fabric of her bikini.

Trembling with excitement, Monica planted her hands firmly on Scott's broad shoulders. She arched her back, pushing her pelvis forward, offering herself to him completely. Quickly, she widened her stance, opening her body to

Keys: boss office sex stories

Mom and Son having sex

Mom and son finally make love, incest stories, My parents divorced while I was still in high school. I did go off to college and found a job after I graduated. I didn’t get home very often. My mother call me and asked if I could take a few days off ..continue reading

Shared my girl with half a movie theatre

It started as a normal day we woke up and had morning sex. My girlfriend got a notification on her phone that magic mike was at our local theatre. I didn't want to go but she did so we went. We got there and sat in the back. It was almost exclusively ..continue reading

Judy Penncroft is a bitch

Judy Penncroft lay on her back, savoring the soft, silent morning. The weight of Mark, her husband, pressed the double bed mattress down beside her, rolling her slightly towards him. She thought of that pressure and warmth being missing, of the bed b ..continue reading

The wedding night 1.

Tyler and his new bride Melissa approached the door of the Honeymoon suite. He unlocked the door and carried her over the threshold. Melissa giggled as she was lifted up and carried over. "Ummm, now we can enjoy the best part of our wedding, the wed ..continue reading

Sexy blowjobs

Jenny Lane sat in her window seat as the plane slowly descended to the Los Angeles airport. She wondered briefly "LAX?" How did they come up with that abbreviation??". After all she had just flown out of 'PHX' which kind of made more sense as it stoo ..continue reading

Holiday sex

It was hard to hear over the music, and Kelly thought she’d heard wrong. A Jager buzz verging on full-out drunk combined with the flashing lights, throbbing bass and cigarette smoke hanging in the air made the world feel as if it were turning upsid ..continue reading