Behind her now, Lance Gregory had become a madman. His hips ground and drove and slammed at her buttocks like a jackhammer. Obscenities flowed coarsely from his lips and his finger against her clit rubbed harder, harder.
Once again, she felt her orgasm approaching. From a long way off, she felt almost mystical waves begin to form and then ripple through her body. From the tips of her toes to her scalp the tingling sensations fluttered, cascaded, crashed crazily. She held onto the sofa hard to remain on her feet. But it was no use. She fell forward, nearly unconscious from the pleasure she was experiencing.
Lance did not miss a stroke. He held her firmly against him and continued fucking her even though she had collapsed.
"Ahhhhhhh!" she screamed, spasming. "Ohhhh, gawd! Fuck meeeeee!"
"Gonna blast you now, sugar!" Lance gasped. "II'm coming, too. Hold on, baby…Daddy's going off now…ahhh…ahhh…ahhhh…there! Take that, and that, and that…"
And then the full force of her orgasm struck. Her very spine seemed to collapse as the pleasure current wracked her body. She bucked involuntarily, seeing colors, all colors of the rainbow. There were golds, and greens, and lavenders, and purples-all of them blending as the tears streamed down her face from the pleasure-pain. "Agghhhh!" she babbled, drooling against the cushions.
She was barely aware of the last strokes Lance delivered as he raced to his own orgasm. And then she felt his full weight upon her and the agonizing rasp of his breathing against her back. She reached back, somehow, and gently cradled his balls, and then they both lay there for what seemed a long time.
Finally, Lance withdrew his semi-limp organ from her rectum. A minute later, he stood at the door fully dressed. "Just remember who does you best," he said smiling arrogantly. "Next time you're with that goddam Vern Shipley just remember who's the man and who's just a client."
Lance Gregory left then. He liked to do that. like a matador, he liked to leave his victim-drained, satiated, spasming-in a heap as a tribute to his masculinity.
Chapter 5
James Wyatt, sixty, president of Wyatt Enterprises, bad just left the offices of Shipley Research Incorporated. Vern Shipley sprang up from behind his desk and let out a victorious whoop. He extended both hands in front of him, cupping them for his partner's inspection. Stan Kettering was grinning, too.
"We got Wyatt right in the palms of our hands, Stan!" Vern said triumphantly. "You did a beautiful analysis of their competitors' advertising, Stan. Just beautiful. Hell, Westinghouse and GE are gonna eat their hearts out once Wyatt's new ad campaign gets underway." Stan Kettering had assembled Wyatt's competitors' magazine ads, and old man Wyatt had selected-with the assistance of the computer reports Stan had employed-an advertising approach which combined the best of both competing companies. It had been a conservative approach, since old man Wyatt was a conservative merchandiser, and so there hadn't really been any "innovation" involved. But that's the way the old man had wanted it, so that's what they had given him. And he had responded beautifully.
The account seemed secure now; Wyatt would be writing a check next week for the balance of the original contract, and Wyatt's appliances would be appearing-the products, that is-on national TV and in national magazines within a month.
"The question remains, however," Stan said, frowning. He didn't finish his sentence.
"What question remains?" Vern inquired.
"I mean, the question remains whether the ad approach is truly the best approach. Sure, Mr. Wyatt has approved it, but will it really sell stoves, refrigerators, all the smaller appliances?"
"Who gives a shit?" Vern said.
"I do," Stan said, "and so should you. We have to think of the long-range view. Personally, I think he should advertise in a radically different way from his competitors. What if Wyatt doesn't get the results he wants?"
"We'll worry about that later," Vern said, annoyed.
"Also, while we're on the subject," Stan said, "are you sure it's absolutely necessary to use this-this broad from Dream-Date with clients? I don't like it. Ethically, I think it stinks."
Vern dismissed his partner's objection with a wave of his hand. "Leave the social side of the business to me, Stan, will you? A good-looking chick never hurt anything and you know it. Christ, whether it's a massage parlor, a church social, a car, a plane, a tank, whatever-good-looking, sexy broads can't do anything but help you. Yeah, just leave the lighter side of the biz to me. You're the scholar. I concede that. But I'm the promoter, okay?"
Stan shook his head. He didn't answer.
Vern went over and stared out the window. He glanced at his wristwatch. Four-forty-five. Fifteen minutes from now, lovely Maria Reese was scheduled to show up for his dinner and cocktail affair at Montague Country Club tonight. Old man Wyatt and his wife would be there-along with Randolph Reardon, president of Reardon Systems Inc. and his wife, and Lloyd Hendricks, president of the new airline, Overseas Air Routes, and his wife. Vern was very glad it had gone so well with old man Wyatt. If Wyatt had been unhappy, he would have had to cancel the social engagement. Yes, he could not have risked letting a discontented client rub elbows with two new prospective clients.
Vern rubbed his hands together, pleased. But as it was, old man Wyatt would function as a kind of testimonial to the prowess of Shipley Research. Yes, Wyatt would praise Vern's firm and, hopefully, his praise would motivate Reardon and Hendricks to reach decisions favorable to Shipley Research. Most important, Vern would have lovely Maria Reese to display and help in winning over Reardon and Hendricks.
"Maria Reese," Vern whispered softly, smiling. Ever since his session, with Maria at Dream-Date's offices he had been waiting anxiously for a reunion with Maria. Now, at last, Friday had rolled around and Maria would be here in a few minutes. Vern had mentioned nothing to Stan about his hanky-panky with Maria, of course. As far as Stan was concerned Maria was merely a "date."
"I've got a lot of work to do," Stan said. He took a deep, impatient breath. "Must I stay and meet her? I mean, I'm sure she's beautiful-beyond comprehension-but why do I have to meet her?"
Vern was about to tell Stan to forget it, to go ahead and crawl into his office, when secretary Vera Klett announced that Maria Reese had arrived.
"Send her in," Vern said crisply into the intercom.
He winked at Stan. "She's here," Vern said. "You'll be glad you didn't miss her."
Maria appeared in the open doorway then and stood, posing, for Vern's inspection. She wore a full-length white gown-shoulderless and shimmering. Vern didn't know whether her jewelry was real or not, but the overall effect was stunning, unbelievable.
"Ready and available, sir, to do your bidding," she said, grinning.
Vern felt a tingling sensation in his groin. "You're early, Maria," he said, "and I'm delighted. Maria Reese, this is my partner, Mr. Stan Kettering."
Stan was impressed, despite himself. "How do you do, Miss Reese?" She offered her hand, and Stan instinctively-just as Vern had done-kissed it. "W-welL I-I must get back to my office," Stan stammered. "Have a nice time, you two."
When Stan had clumsily left Vern's office, Vern closed the door and held Maria in his arms. "I've waited for this moment with-well, with baited breath."
She smiled her special smile, revealing those flawless, white teeth. "And baited other things, too, I suspect," she cooed.
"You can read minds?" Vern inquired coolly, swallowing.
"Not at all," Maria replied, staring boldly at his crotch. "I read crotches!"
Vern stared down at his fly. Yes, his organ had stirred and stood semi-erect. He chuckled. "I don't think I ever got a hard-on that fast, or didn't realize I even had a hard-on!" he said. "You are amazing. Or perhaps you're accustomed to this kind of reaction to your arrivals?"