Laura's mouth flew open when she realized she was looking at a sketch of a penis. Her lips felt numb, and low in her stomach she felt a sensation that was somewhere between nausea and the feeling one gets on the first big dip of a roller coaster. She held up the paper on which it had been drawn and looked through it to confirm the obscenity-and it was there, even though it had been erased: A hard penis, fitted with testicles and wings, leaped across the circular chart, as if to attack her thumb.
How disgusting! People who doodled at all were idlers, and the people who doodled such obscenities as this were little better than animals. Perry Coleman should be locked in a cage for doing that, or better yet, he should never have been released from the cage that had once held him. The winged penis proved he was a sex pervert as well as a convicted criminal, and hopefully it would be enough to get him fired. The brazen insult had been done on company paper and on company time, and it should certainly be enough for Coleman's dismissal. Mr. Markham would probally keep him on, though. At times Mr. Markham was entirely too lenient, especially when it came to Perry Coleman, and he'd undoubtedly be just as lenient with other of the ex-convicts at Consolidated Chemicals who might go to work in Plant Engineering as laboratory technicians. Laura didn't believe In hiring supposedly rehabilitated criminals to begin with; and once they were hired, she certainly didn't believe in coddling them.
The eighteen-year-old secretary took off her glasses to look at the horrid vulgarity more closely, seeing it still more clearly without the spectacles she'd bought to give herself a more mature appearance. Defaced and erased though it was, she was still certain the drawing represented a penis. But Mr. Markham would dismiss it as something else, and Chuck would just laugh it off. She set her full lips grimly and took her eraser in hand to complete the job. She filed away the chart on which it had been drawn and forced the matter out of her mind.
It was Wednesday, the fat part of the week, and Laura Dandridge was having another in a long string of good days at work. With few exceptions, each of her two hundred twenty days spent working at Consolidated Chemicals had been good ones, and this one had been going particularly well until she'd been exposed to that dirty scrawl on the chart. She was all by herself in the office, handling the phone calls, typing the memos, bringing the data books up to date, and doing it all very well. She was confident that not many girls her age could be trusted with all the responsibilities she so capably handled, and also more modestly aware that this was largely because she'd been in training for her job ever since she could remember. Consolidated was her life, and she loved it. She had a long way to go before she would realize her ultimate ambition there, but she'd come a long way a1ready.
She had a desk of her own with a nameplate on it, the nicest boss in the whole big organization, the respect of her fellow employees, and from her window a grand view of the big, complex plant that turned out so many chemicals essential for industry. She had other fringe benefits even more rewarding, as well as the few irritants that went along, with any good thing. Well, there was only one real irritant, and it went by the name of Perry Coleman, and the less she thought about having to face him at the end of the day, the better that day would be.
Laura's training for her job had begun at the knees of her parents, both former employees of Consolidated, and both sadly gone and badly missed now. Her parents had had a company romance. Twenty years before, her mother, had been a librarian at the Sulfur City plant, and her father a young, ambitious mechanical engineer transferred in from the main plant in Michigan. His transfer had been a part of his training program. He was to spend a year at each of various key plants of Consolidated and in ten years or less, move into the upper echelons of Engineering Management. But love had blossomed there in the industrial environment, and before two months of his first year in training had passed, he was married to her mother. This was strictly against company policy at the time, and of course Consolidated had found out about it. Her father had been dropped from the engineering training program, but the benevolent company had bent the rules and allowed both her mother and her father to stay on at the Sulfur City plant.
Her mother bad worked her way up to the position of Chief Librarian, and her father had contented himself with reaching the top in plant engineering there, though that was a far cry from the goals he'd set for himself as an ambitious young college graduate. Through the years, work had been the favorite topic of discussion around the house, and even as a schoolgirl, Laura had known the various departments and problems at the Sulfur City plant. With this background, she'd had plans to work for a year or two at Consolidated, saving her money, and then attend a good engineering school with the help of the company's Educational Assistance program. The sweetest of her fringe benefits had come along then to try to alter those plans, and his name was Chuck Davids.
Working in the same engineering training program as her father, the young chemical engineer had been transferred in to the very office in which Laura worked, and they'd fallen in love. Now he was after her to quit her job and marry him, to share in his career as he moved from plant to plant, up the corporate ladder. His offer was tempting. She loved him and she wanted to share in his life, his ambitions, perhaps even at the expense of her own ambitions. He wanted her answer, and she'd promised it at the end of another ten days-days in which the two young people would largely be apart, first with Chuck at an engineering convention with their boss, Mr. Markham, then with Laura on her week's vacation, thinking things out. On that Wednesday, Laura was not certain what her decision would be. There'd be time to think of it during the next week, and now was the time for work, for she had a lot to do before she could properly leave the Plant Engineering office unattended.
She worked steadily. The only one who came into the office that day was Stanley Phipps, the mail boy, and he came in several times. Both Chuck and Mr. Markham took great joy in making her blush by saying that young Stanley was in love with her. She secretly admitted to herself that the diminutive, bashful boy did have a crush on her. At nineteen, he was a year older than Laura, but be looked ten years younger. He was perpetually grinning and stammering and trying to talk to her about the inane things that interested him, but at least he didn't try to ogle her like some of the men in the plant did-like Perry Coleman, for instance.
Although Laura's figure was well-developed-too much so, in her opinion-she gave the men little to ogle at. She wore no make-up other than a dab of pale lipstick, and she held her long, dark hair coiled on the back of her head with chromed barrettes. She wore a brassiere which minimized the jiggling of her breasts and covered this with a slip and a high-necked, long-sleeved blouse. Her skirts were hemmed an inch above her knee, and she wore flat shoes. She wore hose and a garter belt in addition to her panties, because she didn't like the intimacy of panty-hose against her upper thighs. Her skirts were usually dark blue, her blouses usually snow-white. She tried to set a quiet example for the other girls at Consolidated, but they persisted in attiring themselves as flamboyantly as company policy would permit.
Laura ate lunch in the office. It was a substantial lunch, made the night before in her little apartment and brought to work in a brown-paper bag,. She only left the office that afternoon to answer a call of nature, and she accomplished a great deal of work by four-fifteen. It was then time to perform her last task of the day, that of picking up the charts and data from the pilot plant, where Perry Coleman worked. The very thought of seeing the obscenely minded ex-convict gave her that unpleasant feeling in her stomach. She dawdled, and the clock ticked on, and at last she decided she'd work an hour late and pick them up when he was gone. That decision was a relief, and getting the daily information to the office an hour late would not be shirking her responsibilities. She worked on until precisely five-thirty, locked the office, then left.
The pilot plant was located at a far corner of the four-hundred-acre plant site, and Laura drove to it in her white VW bug, expecting Coleman to be gone. He worked there as a watchman for the data-taking instruments. His employment came as a part of the Manpower Rehabilitation program, and his job and good behavior were, a part of his parole from prison, where he'd served five years on a counterfeiting charge. On the surface he was a model employee, but Laura knew very well that this was only a facade, that the criminal had been far from rehabilitated. Now, approaching the little concrete building, the sinking feeling returned to her stomach as she saw his car still parked there. He was working late, probably trying to repair an instrument, and she'd have to face him after all. She was steeling herself for this ordeal as she rounded the bend in the road, and it was then that she saw the other car parked there.
It was a garish little sports car, one she'd seen parked in the main lot, and she knew it had no business being there, guessing it belonged to some other ex-convict who might be plotting a crime with Coleman. They could be making bogus hundred-dollar bills there each night after work. They might be planning a payroll robbery. It might be in elaborate embezzlement scheme. But that was foolish. It was her overactive imagination at work again. Mr. Markham was right, Perry Coleman was harmless, and the car might belong to a second-shift maintenance man, there to keep the pilot plant functioning. She parked and walked the last fifty feet over soft ground.
She realized she was all tensed up, on the balls of her feet, leaning forward to peer through the window before she reached it, and it took an effort to relax. She unclenched her fists and rubbed her hands over her thighs and made herself breathe more slowly. As she neared the window, however, she couldn't help but hope she'd be instrumental in averting a crime.
Laura was immediately sorry she'd looked, for there before her, not ten feet away, was the most shocking, the most disgusting spectacle she'd ever seen in her life. Perry Coleman was naked, sifting in a straight-backed chair, and astraddle his lap, facing him, was an even more shamelessly naked woman. She had artificial red hair, and her skin looked almost blue-white in comparison to Coleman's olive complexion, gleaming with a thin film of perspiration now from their odious exertions. He looked lean and hard, like burnished oak, and she looked soft and flabby, like a gross, obscene marshmallow-but animated. The woman was obviously in agony, and rightly so, for he had one long hand clamped over her left breast and was twisting it as if to screw it off her body. And far, far worse, he had her impaled on his penis. The amazingly thick thing, gleaming wet, was stuck right in the center of the woman's thatch of brown, matted hair, the stout shaft splitting labia that were swollen and inflamed by the torment being put to her. He was adding to that torment by inflicting her vulva with the moving fingers of his other hand, as well as with his mercifully motionless penis.
Laura's' first impulse was to crash through the window and save her, but then the woman did something so foul and desecrating that she proved herself beyond redemption.
With her arms about his neck and her red-smeared mouth agape, she leaned forward with her bright-pink tongue stuck out and wriggling like some awful worm. He met it with his, and as they hung there with their lips not touching, furiously tangling tongues, she began to work her big hips vigorously on his lap.
Laura had to leave before she became ill. She had to get out of there before she witnessed even one more second of the awful invasion of a female's most delicate parts by that man's grotesquely huge pole. She walked away stiff-legged and straight-backed, her face burning with shame for the female of her species, and even then she couldn't escape them entirely.
"Oh, fuck! Fuck me! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
It could have been either or both of their voices; it could have been a cry from hell, but whatever its source it made Laura break into a headlong run, hands over her ears, not caring how much noise she made in escaping them. Nearing her car, she tripped and fell, and even before she hit the ground she knew they'd catch her. She lost more precious seconds in clutching at her crotch to keep from wetting her pants in her sheer panic.
When she chanced to look behind her, the pilot plant was as she'd left it, the window looking properly barren again as, behind it, the sex-crazed degenerates went about their dirty business without even knowing someone had witnessed their shame. With great calm, Laura picked herself up, brushed her clothing and proceeded on to her car. She observed all the traffic laws driving home, walked up the stairs to her apartment with decorum. It wasn't until she had her back against the locked door that she allowed herself to break down for a moment and heave several heavy sighs of relief. She washed her hands and face and had a small glass of her cooking sherry, and then she felt better.
Her appetite had failed her, but the ritual of cooking dinner was good for her. She methodically ate it. It was after dark when she went to take her second shower of the day. Undressing in her bathroom, she caught sight of her face in the mirror. Her deep-blue eyes looked even larger than usual and her heavy lips more crimson, and in the frame of her glossy black hair, her face was almost dead white, a testament to the fear that still dwelt in her. She looked as white as that awful woman.
The hunger, the animal lust on her face. Nostrils flared and eyes heavy-lidded but bright, so very bright. Red mouth agape, panting directly into his. And his face, cruelly handsome, sinisterly luring the slut on, and somehow able to grin even through the lust that showed on it.
The errant thoughts brought spots of rosy color to Laura's cheeks, and she spun away from the mirror. Taking off her bra, she consoled herself with the knowledge that Coleman would be fired on the morrow. Her breasts felt full and slightly sore from the tight brassiere, and as she massaged away the indented strap marks, she looked down and confirmed the fact that her breasts were much better shaped than the woman's, though not so large.
The woman had known ecstasy when he was mauling her there. Her big, pink-tan nipples had beckoned to him as surely as her tongue had. And his nipples, much smaller, much darker, and standing stiff like the woman's.
Laura's nipples, bright pink, were standing at attention, and she looked away from them as she kicked off her shoes and rolled off her hose. She sincerely hoped Personnel wouldn't merely transfer Coleman to another plant. Taking off her skirt, she wondered whatever had attracted the woman to him to begin with. She started off with her prim, white panties and when their crotch stuck to her she thought for a moment that she had indeed wet her pants in her first terror. But when she touched her black-thatched vulva she realized with a shock that it was a sexual secretion that was so warm and slimy there.
That brown crotch, saturated with moisture, matting the hairs and undoubtedly reeking far more pungently than what Laura's nostrils were then detecting. The red, red lips, swollen to bursting, yet clasping and sucking at that huge shaft. And the shaft itself, incredibly big, glistening wet from the woman's juices. His hair as black as Laura's but standing stiff, like the penis that jutted from it to seek a hole, any hole.
The cold water in the shower strengthened her resolve to rid the company of the former criminal. Perhaps his conduct might end the entire foolish criminal rehabilitation program. But as long as Coleman was gone, that was all that mattered. She emerged from the shower shivering and goosefleshed, and the thick towel felt good as she briskly rubbed herself dry. She wondered how they could possibly have done it in a chair, in that brightly lit instrument room, instead of in the proper fashion, face to face, heart to heart, in the warm darkness of a marital bed.
Her pale softness and his dark hardness, and how well the contrasts had merged! Lean legs twined around softly curved ones. Long, slow, breathless kisses. A hard, pulsing chest to mash the woman's breasts flat and at the same time fill them with life. The feeling of a man so close he was actually inside her, and strong arms pulling her even closer. And lights turned so low that the face before her was an unidentifiable blur.
Laura dropped the towel on the floor and went into her bedroom. Her legs felt as weak as when they'd failed her at the pilot plant, and her entire body felt heavy and full. She felt lying down but she knew she couldn't sleep yet. She'd never be able to sleep soundly again as long as Coleman lived in Sulfur City. A man like him could even break in on her.
On her way to the closet she stopped before the mirror and assessed herself. Very objectively, she decided she had an excellent figure for an eighteen-year-old girl. Nice high breasts, not really too full, with generously large aureoles and nipples that were, at the moment, still quite prominent. A slender waist, and just the merest hint of a soft bulge at her tummy. Her hips did not flare too widely and there were no pads of fat hinging them to her admittedly flawless legs. Her complexion was fine everywhere, her muscle tone excellent, and her coloration a healthy pink and white. But she felt she should be two inches taller than her five-foot-five, and she knew that in profile her shape was not all that good. Her fanny stuck out too much, and looking at it like this made her think of the girl in the steno pool that had made the crass joke about putting a pillow under her behind prior to having sexual intercourse. And then there was the jarring effect of the triangle of hair that nestled too intimately in the juncture of her loins. She couldn't ignore that, though she tried.
Chuck would appreciate her body when they were married. Of course, he already did with his eyes and, to an extent, with his hands. She liked the way he looked at her at the office, and it felt so good when he stroked her back while they kissed, so passionately and so well. He'd appreciate her completely if they wed, for she was a normal, lovely, responsive woman. Her breasts felt good to the touch of her hands, and Chuck would enjoy touching and kissing them. Her vagina was normal, not big enough to take a member as ridiculously thick as Coleman's, but it would stretch enough so that in time she'd be able to accept Chuck's penis with comfort. She'd fleetingly felt the bulge of him when they were kissing and had at times glimpsed it in his trousers, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him in his patient waiting for her. But good things were worth waiting for, and it would be good with them. Even the intercourse. It would be more than merely comfortable, and she would get used to it, exercising with her fingers as she did.
Not that Laura masturbated any more. She'd quit that years ago, when she'd almost been caught by her mother. Now she used her fingers in her vagina to stretch it somewhat in preparation for successful coitus. To do this properly, she had to be well-lubricated, and for this reason she had to draw back the sheath and manipulate her clitoris. Then her two fingers slid easily into her vagina and she could very satisfyingly stretch that familiar but mysterious orifice, always very careful to preserve that little tissue of her hymen. She parted her legs and flexed her knees to do the exercise there, instead of in bed as she normally did.
She was so wet! She'd just toweled herself there very thoroughly and already the puffy lips of her vulva were brimming with juices. She was hot, and she didn't care. God, she could see it in the mirror without even having to feel the warm waves rippling through her. There was no need to draw back the sheath, for her clitoris was poking out of its own accord, and she mashed it and rubbed it as she worked two, then three fingers in her vagina, and it felt so good, so very good.
That other woman's vulva, redder than hers, and bigger. Coleman's penis ripping through it. Their tongues tangling. His tongue where her moving fingers were, right down there, in her cunt. His prick, nearly a foot long and as big around as her wrist, girdled by her hand, imbedded in her open crotch. Pricks and cunts and fucking. Kissing pricks and lapping cunts. Coleman's strong, white teeth sunk into her tittie. Writhing in ecstasy as he squirted his cum in her hot, hot cunt. Begging him for more, more! Working her ass fast and furiously, desperate to get all she could of the delicious friction and equally desperate to please him. And coming. Oh yes, coming!
With a groan, half of shame, half of bliss, Laura took her hands from her feverish body. As she staggered to the bathroom she told herself it was all right to masturbate now and then. She'd read that. She washed the stuff off her hands and crotch and carefully blotted herself dry. The towel was neatly hung on the rack before she went to her closet and selected a white-cotton, knee-length nightie. In it, she selected a chemistry book to read in bed, knowing that a novel would give her nightmares.
Safely in bed, she was still shaking, not from fear of Coleman now but from anger at him. In exposing his lust to her, he'd revealed a streak of the same weakness in herself, and she hated him for that. She hoped he'd resist his discharge and she'd get to see Chuck throw him bodily off the property. As tall as Coleman and heavier, Chuck could do it if Coleman didn't fight dirty. She'd see to it that the redheaded slut was fired too, for there was no room for people like that in the organization.
Perry Coleman and Helen Peterson hadn't even heard Laura's VW outside the pilot plant, and twenty minutes after its departure, Helen was snugging black lacy panties over her sex-drenched and slightly numbed loins. She was smiling at Perry, stretched out naked on a test bench, cigarette in one hand and cock in the other. He was a good man to have around, a good fuck, and a welcome change from Bobby Barker. Bobby was younger and more muscular, but at twenty-eight, Perry was young enough, and the lean muscles he had were all put into play when he was throwing a gal a fuck. Best of all, he was a man who knew what he was doing. She was glad she'd encouraged him to approach her at the cafeteria that noon. She'd been good to him, but still it was nice to bear, and so she asked him, "Have a good time, lover?"
He nodded, smiling, for he'd had a bail. She might, be an executive secretary, but she knew what it was all about when it came to fucking. It went to prove that all career women weren't hard-assed, snot-nosed twerps like Laura Dandridge. Helen knew how to throw a fuck like an oversexed stripper, and she looked like one, too. Nice big tits and an ass with just the right amount of fat on it, a soft belly and a red-hot cunt whose muscular control had both amazed and thrilled him. Top it off with an impudently pretty face and the lusty appetite for sex that was typical of a thirty-year-old woman, and you had yourself quite a broad. He wanted to have this one again-lots of times-and he therefore paid her a compliment designed to both please her and fascinate her. "Baby, you're the best piece of tail I've had in over five years."
"While you were in prison?" she asked, and his eyebrows went up.
"How'd you know about that?"
"I have access to the personnel records."
"And it don't make any difference to you?"
"No-especially not since you were a counterfeiter, the elite of the inmates, the high society of the cons. I suppose that gave you certain privileges in prison. I mean, you didn't go entirely without sex."
He looked at her with new respect. "How does a broad like you know what goes on in the joint?"
"I've been around," she said, and deliberately turned her back on him to bend over and reach her bra, presenting him with what she knew was a grand view of her black-clad bottom.
He drank it in. His prick further stiffened in his hand at the sight of those heavy ovals of flesh, straining to get free of the flimsy film of black satin. Her skin was very white against the black, and up between her legs where the flesh was warmer and softer, its tone grew subtly darker. He licked his lips and asked, "Were you a stripper? Or a hooker?"
Facing him again, she laughed and said, "Let's say there were times I didn't give it away. I'm not ashamed of anything I did, or of anything I do. Are you?" she asked, with a pointed look at his cock. It was amazingly reinvigorated, and the sight of it, stiff and strong, reminded her of the first attraction she'd had for him even before she'd seen him.
"I thought you were beat," he said.
"Between my boy friend and you, I've had enough here for today," she said, sliding pale fingers over the slick bulge of her crotch. "But not here," she said, and turned to pat her ass. "Know what I mean? Being a con, you should."
He grinned and said, "I sure as hell do. I like fucking ass almost as much as I like fucking cunt. And ever since I started working here, it's been on my mind."
"I don't blame you," she said, drawing her panties off again. "Not with Laura Dandridge showing hers off every day."
"You know her?"
"I've seen her. Are you making any headway with her?"
"I'm making it with you, baby. Bring it over here," he said, licking his lips with exaggerated gusto. "Bring it over here and let me warm it up before I slip you the meat."
"You know," she said, "I could get to like you."