"Oh, Jesus Christ," Scott moaned. "Your asshole, it feels like it's sucking my cock. Oh, Christ, stop. Please stop." In self defense, he pulled his spent penis away from her, and Monica let out a tiny moan of disappointment.
"Oh, Monica, Baby, you are something else. How many times did you come, anyway?" Scott asked, looking up at the open legged woman from where he was sitting exhausted on the floor.
"Three or four times, I guess. I lost count. Will you fuck me? In front this time. My cunt feels all lonely because you spent so much time in the back. Look, it's juicing over." She splayed her legs even more widely and opened the moist pink lips of her quivering pussy to show him.
Scott shook his head wearily. "A little later, maybe. Right now, I gotta rest my prick. I feel like it's broken."
"Then eat me out. Will you do that for me? I need you, Scotty. My pussy needs you."
Scott smiled up at her, his eyes mirroring his exhaustion. "Sure, Honey, I'd love to eat you out." He got to his knees, moving into position, his eyes riveted to her lush, dripping slash, its blonde pubic bush gleaming with female wetness. As he bent his head the telephone rang.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Scott sat fidgeting in the outer office of KSZX. Hal Ransberg had demanded that he come down to the station at once, dragging him away from his superb session with Monica James, and now he was letting him cool his heels. It was a typical administrative technique to punish an employee who had done something displeasing, and Scott knew it.
Not only did he know it. He resented it deeply.
Rona Barnes glanced up from her typewriter and smiled at him. "Nervous?" she asked, her voice soft and musical.
Scott nodded. "A little. Does he always keep people waiting like this?"
"Sometimes. It all depends."
"On how much he wants them to sweat?" Scott asked cynically.
"Mr. Ransberg can be very cruel when he decides he wants to be," Rona said, her dark eyes showing him she was sincere. Suddenly, she said impulsively, "I'll be here when you finish seeing him. I mean… well… I don't know you that well, Scott, but I know how you feel. He's not easy to work for."
"Gee, that's nice of you, to be concerned about me, I mean."
"I'll do anything I can. I like you," the girl blurted.
"Hey, terrific. Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
"Well, I don't know. It's pretty short notice," the redhead answered, fumbling for an excuse. Then her face lit up in a broad grin. "Of course I'll have dinner with you. We'll decide what time when you come out of your meeting."
"Yeah," Scott said, chuckling, "if it goes badly enough, I may have all night."
"Oh, Scott, you shock me!" Rona giggled, and Scott could tell she was ready to share more with him than dinner.
The intercom buzzed, and Rona motioned him back to the manager's office. Scott's heart sank. Even the prospect of spending time with the beautiful young receptionist did little to cheer him. He was about to face his employer, and he had every reason in the world to believe Ransberg would fire him for what he had allowed to be broadcast last night.
He tapped at the door. "Come in," rumbled the voice from inside.
"I suppose you know why I called you in here," Ransberg growled, shifting his soaked cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.
Scott fought the urge to say, no, he had no inkling, and nodded his head "yes."
"What do you think I ought to do to you for what you let happen on the air last night?" There was silence. It was another technique designed to put him on the defensive, Scott realized. Ransberg was trying to trick him into designing his own punishment, the bastard.
"That, Sir, I suppose, is up to you. You're the station manager."
"Hmmmmmmph!" Ransberg grunted, waving his comment aside, as though he did not want to hear it. "The board president called me just now. You have one more chance. Unless you play it straight and upfront, you will be out. No more dirty talk on the air, and no more conversations about sex. You understand?"
Scott nodded his head slowly. Whoever the president of the station's board of directors was, he was a powerful man. Ransberg was obviously hating every word he had to say, and that he could do nothing about it. Suddenly, Scott felt an unreasoning surge of power. "I didn't talk dirty or say more than a little bit about sex. The callers did."
"You control that little tape monitor, and we both know it. Ride it from now on."
"Censor the calls, that's what you mean, isn't it?"
Again, Ransberg waved his comment aside impatiently. "Call it whatever you want, just do it."
"Can I quote you on that, on the air, I mean?"
Rising suddenly to his feet, Hal Ransberg struck the desk top with his heavy fist. The ashtray lifted a full inch above the surface and clattered back into place. "Don't you dare say anything!" Ransberg screamed, the veins in his neck standing out. His face was so red now it was nearly purple. "Get out of my office. Just do your damn job around here and don't make trouble."
Scott got up, only too glad to leave. He paused as he reached the door, fully aware that he had won the round. "There is one thing, Mr. Ransberg," he said quietly.
"What's that?" Ransberg snapped, wiping his florid brow with a white handkerchief.
"Last night, for the first time, we had some evidence that people are listening to me." He left the office, closing the door behind him.
"How did it go?" Rona asked eagerly as Scott rounded the corner into the reception area.
He shrugged his shoulders and winked at her casually. "I still have my job," he said.
"Wonderful!" Rona cried, clapping her hands.
"Now, what about dinner."
"Why don't you pick me up when I finish work at five?"
"Good. See you then."
As they finished their steaks, Scott said, "How about an after dinner drink?"
"Do you dare drink before you go on the air?"
He chuckled. "Sure. It makes no difference. From now on, after last night, everybody'll think I'm drunk half the time anyhow."
"In that case, how'd you like to have a drink at my place?" Rona said, her dark eyes focused on him, and her full, red lips forming a smile.
"Love it," Scott answered, his heart rising. Today was a fairly good day after all, all things considered.
Rona's apartment was less than a mile from the restaurant. They made small talk as she fitted the key into the lock and ushered him into the tiny. He looked around. All of the red haired girl's life was available for his glance. There was a small, blue covered love seat, an easy chair, a cheap walnut coffee table, and a braided rug thrown over the grayish wall to wall carpet.
"What are you smiling about?" Rona asked as she brought him a snifter full of brandy.
"Nothing. I'm just happy."
They clicked glasses. "Here's to your keeping your job," Rona said. "I still don't know how you did it, though. Mr. Ransberg was so mad when he came into the office this morning I thought he was going to have a heart attack."
"I'm glad you didn't tell me that before I went in to see him," Scott said, chuckling.
The girl shrugged. "There was no point. I tried to calm him down before you got there, but it was no use."
"Oh? Are you good at that. Calming him down, I mean."
Her cheeks went suddenly crimson, and she looked down into the swirling liquid in her glass. Scott realized all at once that he had teased about the wrong thing.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything by that."
She shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. You would have heard about it from somebody or other at the station before long, anyway. Mr. Ransberg and I have been the subject of a lot of gossip."