"Do-do you w-want to f-fuck now?" she asked.
"In a minute," he muttered, gasping. "No rush, sugar." He knew she loved very lengthy preliminaries. He was enjoying bringing her to the peak of desire, too, so he decided to linger before actually imbedding his swollen meat into the depths of her.
He did all her favorite things. He bit the back of her neck and nibbled along her jugular vein, he fingered her navel and teased her rectum. No part of her quivering body went unattended. Her ear lobes, armpits, all of her, received tantalizing attention.
Finally, he knew she was ready-completely ready. A man would have to be both blind and deaf not to knowl She writhed, pleading with him to "put it in
… all the way in…I want to feel you inside me…
He placed a pillow beneath her buttocks, making a platform of the cunt he was about to spear with his pulsing rod, then placed himself with his elbows against her rib cage and, bending down so he could nurse on her tits as he fucked, he began easing his prick into the slick, wet-hot pie of her seething cunt. Actually, the insertion did not require much easing. Quick as a cock entry could be, his organ slid in up to the hilt, striking to the core of her with one slick stroke. It was no difficult or occult happening, because after all it had been going on for centuries-and then they were fucking.
Words through clenched teeth…a direction this way or that for more or less pressure here or there…a steady, grinding rhythm…just fucking…good fucking…fucking as good as any fucking could be-at least-better than any fucking he had ever known, anyway.
He did not know how long it lasted. He had never cared about time, nor had she. The minutes didn't matter, no. Just the feelings all along the way and at the end as they climaxed together.
Vern guessed he was just as wet as when he had exited from his shower. He was sopping wet with perspiration and so was she. They lay together, clasped, for a long time, with him still on top, inside her, and then they were apart and Ellen was asleep.
Usually, he fell instantly asleep, too, but tonight he lay there for a long time staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he was visiting Dream-Date tomorrow to seek a female "showpiece" for business reasons. In a way, it was insane. Ellen was all the woman he would ever want. Still, he was going there and he was going to select some shallow, mannequin-like woman for reasons he did not entirely understand. Or maybe he did.
For whatever reason he was visiting Dream-Date, he sincerely hoped it wouldn't adversely affect his relationship with Ellen. But deep inside of him, he knew it would. It had to.
Ellen was snoring softly now. He kissed her cheek, turned off the low-watt light, gave her mouse-brown hair a final loving pat and turned onto his side to go to sleep.
Chapter 3
The offices of Dream-Date Incorporated were located on the west end of the Sunset Strip, a ten minute drive from Vern's own office. A relatively new firm, Dream-Date occupied only two suites on the tenth floor of the high-rise building. Vern arrived promptly at 2:00 pm and sat reading a magazine in the luxurious, hyper-modem reception room. After about ten minutes, the middle-aged, conservative-looking receptionist said, "Mr. Gregory will see you now, sir." Then she led him down the short hallway to an open office door and stood gesturing at an enormous desk, behind which sat a handsome, distinguished-looking, well-dressed man of about forty.
"Mr. Vernon Shipley," the receptionist said with much pomp, "our president, Mr. Lance Gregory." Lance Gregory stood, and they shook hands. Vern noted that Gregory's smile was forced, and his gray-green eyes were without animation.
"Please call me Lance," Lance Gregory said, his voice a radio announcer purr. "Our relationship should be as relaxed as possible."
"Fine," Vern said, smiling. "I'm Vern."
Lance Gregory sat down, and Vern sat in the leather chair directly in front of the huge desk. Lance Gregory leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his neck. "Soooo," he intoned, "just how might we be of service to you, Vern?"
Vern told him of his desire for a "showpiece" in connection with his business social affairs. He told Lance Gregory he wanted a beautiful female who could not only further his career by her very presence at social functions, but that he wanted a woman who knew the right things to say and not to say-a woman who could make everything from "small talk" with clients' wives, when necessary, to deeper discussions when it seemed appropriate. He was embarrassed at first, but Gregory's nodding reassured him as he spoke, and he felt certain he had explained his needs fully by the time he finished.
"I guess I'm the original chauvinist," Vern said, finally, "but that's the sort of woman I'm looking for. Is such a woman available?"
Lance Gregory raised his steel-gray eyebrows, grinning almost evilly. "Chauvinist?" he said. "Vern, we're all chauvinists. Yes, you've come to the right place. What you are seeking is precisely what Dream-Date is all about. Your requirements, however, will require our very top lady." Lance's sapphire pinkie ring and lacquered nails twinkled. He paused, and Vern decided to get the essentials out of the way immediately.
"How much?" Vern asked.
"Our fees, of course, vary from job to job, Vern. Tell you what. Why don't I let you interview the lady I have in mind for you?" He winked, but still his eyes remained expressionless. "After our preliminary discussion-brief as it was on the phone-I took the liberty of arranging for Miss Maria Reese to be present today."
Vern was impressed with the efficiency of Dream-Date. He smelled an exorbitant fee in the wind, however. Still, he had proceeded this far…
"Let me introduce Miss Reese to you, Vern. See if you think she'll fill your needs. Discuss anything you wish with her. I don't think you'll be disappointed."
"Very well," Vern said.
Smiling his non-smile, Lance Gregory pressed a button on the panel on his desk. Pretty slick, Vern thought, and almost immediately one of the most striking females he had ever seen entered the room. Maria Reese literally took his breath away. Her make-up, attire, everything, were conservative, but she oozed class and sex-appeal. She was green-eyed, with shiny raven-black hair, and as she stood there, holding her hand out after Gregory's introduction, Vern found himself kissing her hand. Instinctively, he had done her bidding! There was no trace of "the street" in her melodious, well-modulated voice, and none of the phony "sorority house drawl" either. Her smile was sincere, revealing perfect white teeth, and she wore a lightweight, white knit-suit with blue trim. She held white gloves, too.
When Lance Gregory diplomatically left the office, Maria sat on the denim-and-leather sofa, crossing her legs and revealing an expanse of inner thigh that took Vern's breath away. He feasted his eyes on her ample bosom, the curve of her hips for perhaps too long before he cleared his throat and said, "Well, uh, you seem to be pretty much what I had in mind, Miss Reese. Do you mind if-"
"Please call me Maria," Maria Reese said.
"All right, Maria," Vern said. "Do you mind if we just discuss assorted subjects at random? I have a special reason for this."
"Not at all," Maria said. "Fire away, sir."
The girl was truly amazing. First, Vern led her through discussions of music, literature, painting. Then he queried her on her political knowledge and views. She was incredible! Not only did she know far more than he on these topics, but she remained feminine, diplomatic and inoffensive while, at the same time, avoiding fence-straddling.
Finally, blushing, he said, "You seem to be just what I had in mind, Maria. You see, I need someone who will bolster my image, appeal to both my male clients and their watchful wives. Yes, I think you're fine in every respect."