My pay is more than good, she told herself. And in a couple of years, maybe sooner, I'll be in a position to dictate the lives of others. Maybe I'll do it just like Bobby, she mused, smiling over to him; a beach house at Malibu, a flashy red sports car, the best clothes, and all the elegant trimmings money can buy. After all, she added silently, I'm developing contacts now, learning to meet the right people. I've been told I'm pretty. I'm intelligent. And, she told herself with total conviction, I have the one necessary thing Bobby never had, nor never will have, to effectively close a deal.
Yes, she assured herself, primly adjusting the hem of her skirt across her knees, I have the ONE commodity the male-oriented world of business doesn't have-PUSSY!
She pushed in the dashboard lighter and rummaged through her pocket book for her cigarettes. Finding them, she extracted two, putting one in her mouth and lighting it from the cherry-red tip of the lighter, then passed it to Bobby. It's the little things in life that endear you to people, she thought calculatingly, lighting her own cigarette and replacing the lighter.
"You're a sweetheart," he said, dragging the smoke deep into his lungs.
"You make it easy for me to do things for you," she cooed lovingly, sitting closer to him and resting her hand on his thigh. "Tell me a little about Elliot Beaumont," she said, trying to picture the man that would be between her legs in a matter of minutes.
Bobby thought a moment, deftly leading the car into a wide sweeping turn leading to the valley below. "He's a big man," he said, remembering their last meeting. "About six-foot-five with a shock of unruly gray hair. He looks more like a professor than a football coach."
She smiled, picturing an absent-minded professor teaching the tactics of football to his students. Then with a grin, she thought: some students!
She remembered a purely personal date she had had with the quarterback for the Wildcats. Hell, she thought longingly, if they were all like him she would take a dozen!
"The players think he is a God," Bobby added. "He's brought the Tigers to five divisional playoffs in five years. He eats and sleeps football. He never even takes a vacation. The guy is so caught up in football that he even lives near the stadium!" He made a left turn onto the main drag, then continued. "He's got a condominium apartment that overlooks the playing field. Really swanky. He's got it fixed up real nice, and he's even got a gigantic den filled with all his trophies."
"He's not married?" she asked out of curiosity, trying to imagine a woman tolerant enough to cope with an obvious obsession.
"Nope. Maybe he never got around to it? Maybe he loves football too much? I don't know. Anyway, he's not the kind of guy you can ask questions like that. Every time I talk to him I find myself calling him Sir."
Paulette imagined him to be dictatoriaclass="underline" like her father. And through a series of childhood associations she recognized a familiar throbbing in her budding clitoris. She brought her knees together to increase the pressure on her aroused little nub, thinking a hard cock was what she needed to fill the empty space in her aching vagina.
Oral sex was great, she thought, and she loved it. But it couldn't compare with having her stomach filled with a pounding dick, feeling her yielding pussy stretched to breaking and her deeply buried cervix yawning open to the repeated attacks of a charging prick.
"Just remind him," Bobby interrupted her thoughts, "that having his players perform on Astro-Pile would help make his team Super Bowl champs." He turned into a long horseshoe-shaped driveway and stopped at the wide glass entrance to Elliot Beaumont's building.
He flicked at some imaginary lint on her short skirt, preening her for her debut. "Do you know what you are going in there for and what you have to do?" he asked her gruffly, his voice again showing concern about her ability to please Elliot Beaumont. But most of all his worry stemmed from the provincial attitudes she had displayed toward sex, refusing to go braless until just a few short months ago, having never sucked a dick until he had held her down and forced her.
"This guy's important," he said sternly, letting his eyes slip over her in final inspection. "Do whatever he asks," he added. "And I don't want any slip-ups!"
"He'll be begging for more," she promised, kissing him lightly on the cheek. She quickly got out of the car, closed the door, and bent to look in the window. She winked at him, then said in an imitation of Mae West, "I'll turn him every way but loose!"
He had to smile at her confidence.
"Go on. Get to work," he told her. "When you're finished take a cab home and charge it to the office."
She stood watching as the glare of his tail lights turned out onto the boulevard and merged into the onrushing traffic, leaving her staring blankly after him, nowhere near as sure of herself as she had pretended.
She stared this way for several seconds, then with a pert toss of her head she turned to the white stone building and stepped jauntily through the wide glass doors.
The door opened with a noiseless elegance at the thirty-first floor, revealing the subdued tan tones of the well-lit hallway leading both left and right.
"It's to the right, Ma'm," the elevator operator said, pointing along the carpeted hallway.
"Thank you," she said sweetly, knowing he was watching her as she turned and walked with long swinging strides to the highly polished oaken door halfway along the corridor. There she stopped and made sure her blouse was evenly tucked in and made a minute adjustment to the leather belt at her waist, feeling a delicious tingling along her inner thighs as she pressed the bell with a timid finger, knowing she was taking the irreversible step into professional prostitution.
Her panties dampened at the thought of standing naked before a strange man, doing for him what she had been taught all through her growing years was reserved for one man and one man alone-her husband.
The door opened and Mr. Beaumont, dressed in a long red smoking jacket, filled the doorway.
"Hello, young lady," he greeted smiling. "You must be Paulette. Come in-come in," he added, stepping back. "I've heard so much about you."
"Thank you," she said smiling, stepping past him and into the spotless foyer. "I hope what you have heard has been good," she added, shrugging out of her jacket.
"Excellent, I assure you," he said easily. "I've heard only the best about you. Here, let me take your coat." He eyed her full blouse with appreciation before hanging her jacket in the closet and escorting her into the vast living room.
"Oh, it's beautiful!" she gushed, going straight to the huge glass windows overlooking the sleeping city. "I've never been up this high before."
He smiled at her exuberance, enjoying her bouncy step and youthful body. He followed her to the windows, studying her slender legs and gently rounded bottom, mentally comparing her to the other women he had known, anticipating a long night of lovemaking.
"The dark area to the right is the empty stadium," he said pointing, suddenly proud of his financial achievements and glad he could impress the young girl beside him. He waited as she absorbed the panorama before her. Like a child at a carnival, he thought, and seeing her pretty profile and excited shining eyes, he added, "There's millions of people out there wishing they were up here. The masses, the little people who only dream of being at the top of the world." He paused, looking down at her with knowing eyes and open curiosity. "Of course it is none of my business," he assured her, "but I can't help wondering how a pretty girl like you got involved in a business like this."
She thought a moment, looking up at him with mild amusement, wondering what the right reply might be. Then, her mind made up, she answered absolute conviction, "I'm doing something about getting to the top of the world."
"Very good, my dear," he congratulated. "I had hoped you wouldn't tell me a sad tale of wretchedness, or worse yet, that you're doing it because your dear old mother needs an operation."