J H Long
The town sluts
CHAPTER ONE
Becky Jane Johnson hated taking dictation. She hated taking dictation because it meant that she had to stand in front of Wendell Rathers for at least half an hour while she jotted down orders to be filled, itineraries to make, greetings and salutations from the Rathers Wrench Company.
She never did understand why she had to take dictation standing up.
Wendell Rathers knew why he wanted his voluptuous secretary to stand up while taking dictation. Just like he knew he had to be sitting down, slumped in his executive chair, while he dictated to his voluptuous secretary.
Because Wendell liked to look at panties while he dictated the affairs of his wrench company. Like now, he could see that Miss Johnson was wearing lemon-yellow panties, very frilly around the edges, and there was just a tad bit of some kind of stain at the crotch. Wendell figured that she had gotten very hot and horny one night and couldn't get the stain out using Clorox; or she was very hot and horny now as she stood at the front of his desk taking dictation.
It was very amazing the way Wendell Rathers, president of the Rathers Wrench Company, could see his voluptuous secretary's panties. It was amazing in many respects. For one, it had taken a lot of money to pay for a custom-built desk that had all kinds of neat devices. For another, it was very expensive to have a mirror installed beneath the carpet and an electric door that would lift the rug like a trapdoor and allow the mirror to come up and out from beneath the desk.
Of course, the mirror could be tilted to many angles by the foot pedals beneath Wendell's desk.
He pushed the pedal and the mirror crept out from under the desk, almost hitting Becky Jane's ankles as she took dictation.
Ah, now Wendell could see up those miles of trim calves and sleek thighs all the way to her panties.
And double ah, because with another push on the pedal a magnifying mirror took the regular mirror's place, and allowed Wendell a very good close-up of those lemon-yellow panties with the cum or some kind of juice stain at the crotch.
Yes, that was a cunt-juice stain all right. Because it was very opaque-looking, yet still distinguishable.
Yes, that was pubic hair that made a shadow behind the cunt-juice stain at the crotch of those sexy lemon-yellow panties. Wendell knew it was pubic hair because it pooched out the crotch of those panties.
Becky Jane was very hairy around her pussy. Some of the strands of pubic hair had strayed beyond the tight elastic waistband, and Wendell could see that she had red pubic hair.
Wow!
Becky Jane Johnson was a true redhead. Wendell liked redheads.
He took his eyes off the mirror, and looked at the rest of the fuckable woman standing before him. What a beautiful, sensuous, edible woman.
As he dictated a letter to an irate customer that had complained that one of his monkey wrenches had split in half when he had hit his wife over the head with it, Wendell tried to imagine what those huge tits looked like on Becky Jane's chest.
It was hard to see her tits. Well, actually the outlines of her tits were easily made out. Shit, they had to be at least forty-inchers. Which naturally made her chest look outstanding to horny, blue-balled farts like Wendell Rathers.
But he wondered if she had big nipples. Wendell preferred his tits to be big with big nipples. Yeah, she had to have big nipples because girls with forty-inchers tend not to have small nipples.
Becky Jane felt very uncomfortable. She hated taking dictation. Not only because she had to stand up and take shorthand, but because her tits always made her shoulders slump forward with their cumbersome weight whenever she was in a perpendicular position.
She preferred the horizontal position. Like last night, when she had been very horizontal. Laid out flat by an ex-boxer named Buster "One Punch" Hyman.
Wow, what a cock. Wow, what a punch.
As she stood there listening to Wendell's sonorous voice, she remembered getting punched out by Buster Hyman and his big cock. His very big cock. The biggest cock that had ever fucked her.
And, for secretaries like Becky Jane Johnson, remembering how big a guy's cock was more important than asinine things like a guy's personality or his character. Yeah, he had a big cock all right.
Her cunt would never feel the same after getting fucked like she had last night. Christ, just thinking about that foot-and-a-half-long cock made her cunt-lips tingle, which produced more cunt-ooze, which naturally made a puddle at the crotch of her panties; which, of course, Wendell Rathers could see very obviously by tilting the mirror some more.
How could she know it was a foot-and-a-half-long cock that had fucked her last night? Because she had measured it – things like that were very important to secretaries who are very lonely and who search for the biggest cock in the world.
She had taken the yardstick out and measured Buster's fuck just before he had fucked her.
And Buster had felt like crap when she had measured his cock. People had always been measuring him throughout his career as a prizefighter. Always putting his vital stats in the newspaper whenever he fought. Like the time, the fucked-u newspaper had matched his stats against Georgie "Two-Punch" Pike.
Arm reach: 42 inches. Full extended: 48 inches. Biceps: 16 inches. Flexed: 18 inches.
Hat size: 9. Inflated: 91/2.
And row he couldn't believe that Becky Jane Johnson, the sweet-looking babe he had picked up at the park when he was supposed to be jogging, was more interested in the size of his cock instead of his personality or his character.
"Gee, Buster, look how big your cock is. Wow, it's about a foot long when it's soft. Wow, how big does it get when it's hard?"
Cock: 12 inches. Extended, flexed and inflated: 18 inches.
Buster didn't care, he didn't want to be treated like meat on the hoof. He was a boxer with a heart, with something else that he wanted to offer to a woman other than a foot-and-a-half long cock.
"Shit, Becky, I don't care how long my prick is…"
"I…"
"Why? Is that all you think of me? That I'm all cock?"
"No! Of course, you're not all cock, Buster. You gotta nice set of lips. And I bet you can really eat out a chick's cunt, can't you?"
Buster shook his head. "Look, so what if my cock's only a foot long when it's soft. I mean, I just don't give a shit…"
"I don't care."
"Why?"
"Because I can just see your cock getting all hard and stiff. And then when you fuck me with it, I want to feel your jizz shooting into my throat instead of in my womb-and with a cock as big as yours, it'll feel like it's in my throat instead of my womb."
"Jesus Christ, Becky! No man's got a cock big enough to fuck all the way into a chick's throat."
"Wanna bet?"
Before Buster could answer, or laugh, or shrug, or say: "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" Becky was devouring his soft cock. Not all of it, because she had never sucked on a foot-long cock when it was soft.
Buster gasped: "Ooooooooh Ggoodddddd!Christ, Wait a minute!"
"Huh-uh," Becky moaned, running her lips teasingly all around the shaft before gobbling on the rubbery cockhead.
Buster couldn't believe it. Christ, he had picked up some pretty wild chicks when he was supposed to be jogging through the park. But Becky Jane Johnson was the wildest.
Nobody had come on stronger than she had. But then again, when a voluptuous-looking chick is jogging through the park wearing crotchless tight ski pants and a tight sweater with no bra on and eating a huge hunk of salami, it's very easy to see that she's hungry for something more human than a hunk of Genoa.
Now Buster watched her eat his salami. Oooooohh, God! Her mouth looked so bloated with cock. Her lips were nibbling on his loose foreskin, trying to unloosen the loose skin around his prick and make the whole prick stand hard and erect.