CHAPTER THREE
"Shit!"
George gave vent to his anger at being disturbed, while Cindy only closed her eyes, uttering a silent curse as he started to climb over her legs.
"Don't! Don't answer it, George! Let them wait…"
"Shit, I gotta answer," he said, disgusted. "It's probably Fleckheimer wantin' me for somethin' stupid."
A battered metal desk with a broken-backed steno chair served as George's office. He grabbed the phone, his cock and balls swinging wildly between the dangling tails of his shirt.
"Yeah, this's George. Yeah, Mr. Fleckheimer. Look, can it wait thirty minutes? Yeah. Yes sir, I'll come right up an' take care of it."
George wiped his nose as he hung up, then moved to pick up his pants. Cindy saw the massive cock-stick disappear as he tucked in his shirt, zipped up the fly, and didn't know whether to cry or to laugh. She wanted it – but now the passion was ebbing, and she knew that this was not the time, not the place. Her first cock should come in a more romantic situation, and from a man more attractive than the rather stupid janitor.
"I guess I'd better get back to my office, George," she said, reaching for her skirt. "Mr. Jordan will be looking for…"
"Oh no you don't!"
George grabbed the skirt, and then scooped up the discarded blouse and bra as well, crumpling them into a ball in his arms.
"You ain't goin' no place, Missy – I won't be gone more'n fifteen minutes, an' then we can finish what we started. You stay right here."
"No!" Cindy shook her head. "I can't, George! If I don't get back I'll be fired!"
"If you don't stay right here you'll get somethin' a lot worse'n bein' fired!" he said ominously, eyes narrowed. "You got me all hot'n bothered an' now you're gonna cool my pecker off. Stay here!"
He glanced around – and then moved to a metal locker, opening it to stuff Cindy's clothing inside. A second later he snapped a padlock shut through the hasp, grinning again as he turned back to Cindy.
"Now I know you're gonna stay put, Missy. You just think on how good of George's pecker's gonna feel in your pussy, an' 'fore you know it the real thing will be pushin' between your legs."
Cindy stared in horror as the janitor left. She heard the elevator operating, and ran to the locker, tugging on the door. But it was no use; the lock was a good one, would not budge.
What was she going to do? She couldn't stay here naked – what if someone came? Oh God, she was going to lose her job over this, she knew it! She could kiss goodbye her daydreams of making it with her handsome young boss. When Larry found out what George was planning… Larry! He could help her, he would help her, once Cindy explained how George had tried to rape her, had stolen her clothes. All she had to do was call him!
She hurried to the desk, dialed the three digits of her boss' extension. It rang three times; why wasn't Larry picking up? He must know that she was away from her desk, other wise she would have answered herself by now. Four rings – five – eight! Oh, God! He wasn't there!
Closing her eyes and uttering a silent prayer, Cindy let the phone ring two more times, and then another two, before she reluctantly hung up. She sagged against the edge of the desk, wiping her mouth as her eyes moved around the clutter of junk George had accumulated and moved past an open tool box.
Tools! There must be something that would break the lock, let her get her clothes.
Excited again, she knelt to take the tray out of the box, rummaging through the assortment of junk. She didn't really know what she was looking for – came back to a long-barreled screwdriver. It was thick, it might be heavy enough to break the lock.
Fear sweat running down her body, through the crack of her ass and between the mounds of her tits, Cindy hurried to the locker, pushed the screwdriver through the hasp. Then she began to twist…
"George? Where the fuck are you?"
Someone was coming! Cindy let go the screwdriver, turning around to look for someplace to hide. But there was nothing, not even a chair to get behind, the sofa shoved against the concrete wall. She could hear the man coming, he was almost here… "Goddamn it, George, I ain't got all fuckin' day! You gonna take this shit offa my hands."
He rounded the corner and stopped dead as he saw the naked girl Cindy's hands went to her crotch, her arms trying futilely to cover her breasts as she stared at the truck driver. He was in his mid-thirties, a stocky man with a bristling red mustache that almost completely concealed his upper lip. His eyes lit up as he took in Cindy's complete nudity, and he grinned.
"Well, hello! George got a new special service for the buildin', honey? How long you been here?"
"Please!" she said. "Help me – George is trying to rape me! He stole my clothes!"
"Is that a fact?" He laughed. "I never thought the old bastard had it in him. Sure, I'll help you, honey – let's see now, I guess I better give you my shirt to cover up with."
He was coming toward her as he unbuttoned his shirt, tugging the tails out of his trousers. He wore no undershirt, his pectorals swelling heavily over the bulge of his paunch. His belly and chest seemed strangely pale against the color of his lower arms and his neck, and a heavy patch of fur covered his chest.
"Here, you put this on…"
Cindy reached for the shirt – and he grabbed her wrist, spinning her around as the shirt fell to the floor. Suddenly she was in his arms, that terrible hairy chest rubbing against her breasts, his mouth covering hers. The mustache filled her nostrils, scratching and tickling.
"No! Let me go…" His lips smothered her cry as he pushed her back toward the sofa. Cindy could feel his cock stiffening in his pants as he ground his groin against her naked cunt. He was strong, too strong for her to resist… "Ohhhhhhhh!" He broke the kiss as she bit down against his stagging tongue.
"Bitch!"
His hand cracked against her jaw, bringing stars to Cindy's eyes. She cried out in pain, staggering back – and sat down as her legs hit the sofa.
"Goddamn cunt, who the fuck you think you're bitchin'?"
He was ready to swing at her again. Cindy held up her hands to fend him off – and then he captured her wrists, twisting her arms back on themselves.
"You want to lose those pretty teeth, bitch?"
"No!" She shook her head. "Please-s…"
"Open my pants! Let's see how good a job you do takin' out my pecker."
He held to her a moment longer as Cindy shuddered; then he released her when there were no further signs of right. The girl's hands dropped to her knees as he moved closer, until his legs were pressing against hers, trapping her on the sofa.
"Open my pants, cunt!"
Sobbing, she moved her fingers to his belt, working the strap awkwardly as she pulled it through the buckle, then tugged to make the little tongue come out of the hole. His hairy belly sagged over the waistband of the trousers, the elastic of bright-colored boxer shorts showing above it.
Cindy caught the button holding the top of the fly together and worked it free, then swallowed as she caught the tab of the zipper. All thoughts of pleasurable fucking were gone as she worked the thing down, the trousers peeling apart against the pressure of the man's gut. The driver reached out to grab her shoulders in both hands, then kicked off his shoes, leaning against her.
"Okay, pull 'em down."
Cindy clenched her knees together as she bent forward to do as the man demanded. He lifted a foot for her to tug off the pants, and then the other, the girl conscious of his swelling cock pushing against the front of his shorts. When she straightened again she could see its dark color through the gap in the fly.
"Okay, it's Christmas – open your present!"
His hands went to his hips as the girl reached reluctantly for the shorts, began to pull them down. More of the belly came into view, the cock bending down as it followed, the pulling of the fabric. Now his thick pubic patch was in full view, much heavier than the fur on the rest of his body. The curling strands seemed long enough to comb out.