"How was your day?" she asked, pouring him another glass of red wine. He had more on his mind than red wine, she knew, and the playful caress of his hand on her bare leg proved Pam right. They might not even make it through THE BIONIC WOMAN this evening.
"Same as always. We're having trouble with one of the machines in Sector B. My last efficiency report recommended that we replace it, but nobody listened. Probably Sector B will be shut down first of next week so the mechanics can get at the problem."
Pam nodded. "I remember you telling me. What about the brass from New York? Has he arrived yet?"
Kerry shook his head. "Tomorrow, probably. The superintendent seems a little jealous because he knows that the head office is interested in me. Well, you can't blame him. He was about fifteen years on me, seniority-wise, and I'm just a fresh kid who's worked his way up from the mail room. And now, if things work out right, I'm gonna be up there, in line for his job if anything happens to him. Oh, I don't feel like talking about it. It's bad luck to wish and plan ahead of time. What kind of day did you have?"
"Oh," Pam yawned, "it was just a day, you know?"
"You look sleepy," he said.
She made a funny face.
"Well, maybe I'm the one who's sleepy, then. Why don't we go see if the box springs are living up to their guarantee, mmmm?"
"Mmmmmm."
CHAPTER FOUR
She hoped everything turned out well for Kerry on the job. He'd been working for the Company since his discharge from the Army and, though he had a college degree in business administration, he was still in the blue-collar ranks. And he was good, and he was efficient, too. He'd shown the plant managers a couple of ways to cut costs on simple day-to-day operations, and the least he deserved was a promotion to higher office. Not just for the money – he drew eighteen thousand a year now – but because he deserved it. Of course, Pam Wilson was just a little bit prejudiced. Kerry was her husband and she loved him very much.
She looked at him now, lying in the bed next to her, his body warm against hers. Warm? Not very long ago he'd been hot! Really hot! His cock standing up like a fencepost, ramming its way up her pussy from behind as he humped atop her and she groveled beneath him on the mattress, moaning, wailing, tearing at the sheets. He'd taken her deeply, savagely, possessively, and she loved it when he fucked her that way. It presaged even better things for the weekend, when Pam and Kerry could be together continuously from Friday evening until Monday morning, and she had a damned good idea how they were going to spend most of that time.
Mmmmm, she thought, snuggling closer. One of her hands moved low, under the comforter, and she clasped his sleeping cock in her warm fist. Even now, soft and completely fucked out, he was a fine figure of a man, his dick long and thick, bulky even in its soft state. She squeezed her husband's dong and felt a little pulse of blood in him, and she smiled, knowing just how easily that little pulsation could become an angry throbbing, the soft warm shaft erected into a veritable cunt splitter of a tool.
Using his cum for salad dressing – that had been pure inspiration. She'd do it again, and soon, but not so often that the act would lose its novelty and delight for her husband. Pam closed her eyes and, still fondling Kerry's dick, began to relive her day.
Sometimes she liked to think of herself elegantly, as a "call girl"; at other times, only the "whore" would set up a delicious tingling between her legs. It all depended on how Pam – or rather, on how Patricia – felt, for wasn't it Patricia, after all, who went out to meet and screw strange men in exchange for money three afternoons a week? Of course.
Just think – and think she did, lying in bed alongside her sleeping husband. Right now, somewhere in the USA, a couple of men were sitting over late drinks in a bar and one was asking the other about the action potential in this very city. "I'll be there on business next week. Anything good floating around?"
"Action?" the other man would say. "You want action? Grab something to write with and take down this number. Ask for Patricia Wright, tell her I sent you. She only works afternoons, and it costs a hundred bucks. Christ knows what she's drawing after dark! Or what she does! Anyway, Patti is good and clean and she's worth every cent of the hundred bills. If you have to steal an afternoon, steal it. I promise you, you won't regret it." And the number would change hands, scribbled onto a bar napkin or a slip of paper from a notebook, and the next time that man visited town he'd dial the number and make an appointment to get his ashes hauled but good by the girl who'd been built up so promisingly. Nor would he be disappointed.
Well, she supposed that was how numbers got around. It had taken about a week after her first trick for another man to call the Logan Answering Service, and she'd wondered if she had the nerve to go through with it, even after making the appointment.
But she had gone, met him at his hotel at the appointed time, and allowed him to fuck her in exchange for a crisp, brand-new hundred dollar bill. If anything, it was more exciting than the first time, and she'd come like a geyser. He'd gotten more than his money's worth, that second man, for she had fucked him like a mistress or a lover, not like a whore, and his swollen cock bunt, finally, deep inside her pulsating cunt with an appreciative fury that made her scream, made her climb up and down his supine body, most unprofessionally purring and mewing for MORE! Which he'd given her, of course, for he was a gentleman.
"I've dialed some wrong numbers in my time," the man said finally, lying next to Pam on the sex-rumpled bed, "but if I ever dialed a right number, baby, you're it! Are you free tonight? I have to eat dinner with a client, but afterwards I have an open schedule, and I can't think of any better way."
"Sorry," she apologized sincerely, "but it's not possible." She looked at his watch. It was after three, and she had dinner to fix at home. Pam slipped off the bed and started to dress.
"Well," he said philosophically, "if you can't, you can't. Here." He picked his trousers off the floor, took out his wallet. "This is a bonus, for being such a right number. Go ahead. Take it. You deserve a treat. Christ knows you gave me one!"
It was a fifty. So she was worth overtime rates. Pam took the money with a smile, added it to the hundred he'd already given her. And as she put the money in her purse, she knew that as soon as she got home she'd check with her answering service again, see if anyone wanted to book her for tomorrow afternoon. God, she hoped there was a call waiting!
Two weeks after taking on her first paying customer, Pam had visited at least a dozen different men, some of them more than once. And each of those men had rhapsodized over the dynamite intensity of her fucking, had marveled at the responsiveness of the pussy that seemed to find a joy in erupting orgasmically around the dick of a paying customer. And each of those men would be passing her name and number around, trading it back and forth among the community of traveling men, men happy to pay a hundred dollars for a fifty-minute hour in the arms of a whore named Patricia Wright who only worked afternoons but made up for the inconvenience with her enthusiasm.
She took care of herself. Every other week she visited a gynecologist downtown for a V.D. checkup. All her clients were clean – she made sure of that and she didn't anticipate catching any social diseases from them, but it didn't hurt to make sure. Her tests had always been negative, and that was very nice, but just as nice was the gynecologist, a Dr. Steinman, who quickly caught on to her profession and insisted on taking out his medical fees in trade. Each negative V.D. test entitled him to a sweaty bout on the large, plush sofa in his private office. That, too, was adventurous and exciting. Pam had never balled a doctor before, and certainly not a doctor whose stock in trade was the pussy and its delightful workings. Sometimes she wondered if she shouldn't pay him a hundred dollars.