One night, Valerie arranged things so that she and Hank would have to work late. She also arranged it so that they would be alone at the office. She had every intention of getting some kind of reaction from this guy.
After everyone had left, she called him to her desk and she waited until he had gotten a chair. As they talked, he kept get whiffs of his intoxicating, male odor. It was driving her nuts.
She went over to a filing cabinet to get something and when she sat down again, she crossed her legs so that her skirt rode up and her legs were revealed. He didn't even look once, the bastard!
Next, she tried leaning over, so that her boobs swung before him, showing off the ample cleavage. He didn't bat an eyelash. Valerie was so angry she could spit. She remained bent over like that for a long moment, waiting for him to look up. He seemed, to know what she was doing and refused to give in. His eyes never once so much as glanced at her proffered breasts.
Finally, she sat down again. She was fuming. They kept working for while and then she got up again.
She didn't quite know why she rose, but she was restless and needed to move about for a minute. She crossed the room and looked out at the busy street in the growing dusk. From here, New York was safe, a glittering array of lights and stars. She turned back to Hank. His eyes were still on the work in front of him.
Walking back to the desk, she very carefully and deliberately came and stood beside him. She let her thigh rest up against the hard square of his shoulder for a few seconds, sure that he could smell the aroma from her pussy, which was dangerously near his face.
Not looking at her, he moved his shoulder away and continued to write. In a rage, she snatched the pen from his hand and grabbed the thick, strong wrist. "What's wrong with you? Why are you teasing me, you bastard? Why won't you look at me? Look at me! I said, LOOK AT ME!!!" she screamed.
"Why Miss Jones! You're raising your voice!" he said, calm and mocking.
"You're damn right! I'm sick of you! So aloof, so snotty! Who do you think you are?"
"And I could ask the very same of you, you narcissistic bitch! You think that because you show me your tits or your legs that I'm supposed to come running like a dog with its tail wagging! Yeah, don't think that I don't see you, you brazen little Jezebel, you! I've watched you strut and preen! Well, that wimp Eldridge might take that shit, but not me! I won't put up with that nonsense from anyone and certainly not from a little empty headed ninny like you! You're so stupid that I'll bet you can barely read! You work here because of your tits and ass bitch and when they go, so will you!"
Valerie was so stunned she could hardly speak. When she did, it was no more than a whisper.
"Why do you hate me so much?" she said, her lips trembling.
"I don't! I've simply told you what I think, which is something I should have done ages ago and you would have stopped pawing me. Now look, let's get to work, or I'm going home!"
Valerie struggled to control the tears. She had never been so humiliated in her whole life, not ever! She knew that she could tell Blair he had insulted her and get the bastard fired, but somehow, even that would not erase her stinging shame. No, it had to be something else.
Sitting down again and wiping her eyes hastily, she said, "Well, Mr. Stone, thank you for your candid opinion of me and my qualifications. Now, I think we should finish this project…"
After they were through, he bade her a curt good-night and quickly left. Alone at last, she indulged in the luxury of hot, scalding tears that rained down over her pretty face. No one had ever said such things to her, no one! She cried and cried, burying her head in her arms and feeling the shame wash over her again and again.
When she had calmed down enough to go out into the street, she stopped by a phone booth. Knowing that she was a fool, she looked up "Hank Stone" in the telephone book that was underneath the telephone.
She dialed the number and listened to the melancholy ring, five, six, seven times. She guessed that he wasn't in and was about to hang up when she heard the small, "Hello?" from the other end of the wire.
"Hank? It's Valerie. Valerie Jones."
"I was expecting you to call."
"You were?"
"Yes. After you finished crying, you call. Your kind always do."
"How did you know that I was crying?"
"I just knew."
"Hank, I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Oh… I don't know… couldn't we make it up somehow?"
"How?"
"We could have a drink together maybe. I'd buy it."
"When?"
"Now?"
"What about Eldridge?"
"What about him?"
"Aren't you seeing him tonight?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'd rather see you."
"Come on, the whole thing."
"I want to see you more than I want to see Blair."
"More than anyone?" he prompted.
"I want to see you more than anyone."
"That's good. Come over."
"Now?"
"Where do you live?"
"Look it up, cunt and hurry!" he said and hung up.
She did as he told her and hailed a taxi up to the East Eightieth Street address that she found. She rang the bell and waited. No answer. Could the bastard have gone out? She rang again. Still no answer. She grew upset and furious. Why had he done this? He invited her over and ten minutes later, he's out the door. She rang a third time. This time, he buzzed back. Relief flooded over her and she raced up the steps, not bothering with the elevator.
He was waiting at the door and let her in without a word. He had changed from his work clothes and was wearing a pair of very tight black jeans. No shirt covered his hairy chest and she was free to drink in the power of his massive arms and torso.
He still said nothing and sat on the couch. Somehow, she was afraid to sit down without permission. She said in a quaking voice, "May I sit down?"
"Not yet."
"Oh," she said and fell silent.
"First, you must fix me a drink. Then perhaps I will let you sit down."
"What sort of drink would you like?"
"A gin and tonic."
"Gin and tonic," she repeated and went over to the small bar in the corner.
"That's good," he said as she handed it to him.
"May I sit down now?"
"First, take off my shoes." Valerie bent down and did his bidding.
"Is that better?"
"Well, my feet are still hot. Lick them."
Valerie knelt on the floor next to the huge man and drew one of his feet up to her mouth. He kicked her sharply in the head. "Who said that you could do that? Get down on the floor and lick!"
Valerie out his foot down and pressed herself into the floor. Her tongue, moist and pink, slithered out of her mouth and began to lick his thick toes. She drove her tongue between them, sometimes taking the whole toe into her mouth and caressing it with her tongue. He moved his feet slightly so she could reach the soles, but only enough so she could barely get her face between them and the floor. Face pressed down, his foot virtually squashing her, she continued to lick.
He kicked her away sharply, saying, "Enough."
He stood up and said gruffly, "Strip, whore!"
Valerie stood too and her shaking hands peeled off her clothing. Her dress first and then her slip. Soon she was, in her panties and bra.
"More," he commanded. A single word was enough. She tossed off the flimsy under garments and stood there looking at him. He did not seem to be at all aroused by her body. Her milky flesh and long hair did nothing to make his cock rise. She was utterly shamed. Never had she stood naked before anyone who had not responded to her sheer physical beauty.