Pat Adams, a statuesque brunette of thirty-eight, was backed up against the office wall, staring at her new boss. "You want WHAT?" Pat said incredulously. "I couldn't have heard you correctly, Mr. Spalding."
"Then I'll say it again," Brock Spalding said. "I want you to undress."
Pat couldn't mistake his words that time. Still she couldn't believe he'd ask anything so outrageous. She remained silent a moment, wondering just how she'd gotten herself into such a fix. It was only her first hour on the job, and already she was in trouble.
For five years, ever since her husband died, Pat had worked for long hours and poor wages at a dime store to support herself and her daughter Trish. Finally she'd made the break and taken a better-paying job at the Tango, a new nightclub run by Brock Spalding. But she was nervous about being a cocktail waitress, and Spalding's astonishing request certainly hadn't helped calm her down.
Finally she managed to speak again. "Mr. Spalding, you have my work application, and I think everything is in order. I don't see any reason for me to take off my clothes. I'm only going to wait tables, not do a striptease."
Brock Spalding, a handsome dark-haired man of twenty-eight, sighed impatiently. "Look, baby," he said, "you're not just a waitress. Not at my place. I only hire the best-looking chicks, because I want to attract customers. I have to make sure you've got what it takes. And I have to know how you're gonna look in your costume."
"Costume?" Pat asked. "Isn't an ordinary waitress' uniform good enough?"
"Not at the Tango," Brock replied. "Come on, Mrs. Adams, take it or leave it. I'm a busy man. What's it gonna be?"
Pat felt torn between modesty and greed. She didn't want to undress in front of a stranger, but on the other hand she needed the high wages and good lips this job would bring her. She needed the money for Trish. Now that her daughter was eighteen and thinking about college, Pat wanted to give her everything she might need for her future.
It was the thought of Trish that did it. Pat would do anything for her daughter. "Very well, Mr. Spalding," she sighed. "I want the job."
"Then get on with it," Brock said, lighting a cigarette. "Show me your stuff."
Blushing with embarrassment, Pat kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning her modest white cotton blouse. It had been five years since she'd undressed in front of a man, and even then it had been her husband John. She couldn't control her trembling hands as she fumbled with her buttons. Her conscience told her this was all wrong, that she ought to walk out – but, dammit, she needed the job.
Brock leaned back in his chair behind his desk, smoking, watching her intently. Pat removed her blouse and set it on his desk. She was wearing a dainty white lace bra that seemed to barely contain her large full tits. She saw Brock raise an eyebrow in obvious appreciation. That only made her feel more mortified.
On the other hand, as she fumbled with the zipper of her sensible tweed skirt, she couldn't help observing how attractive Brock Spalding was. Tall, lean, with coal-black hair, he was deeply tanned and expensively dressed. Pat had been deeply devoted to her husband, and it wasn't often that another man turned her on. She was surprised at how excited Spalding made her feel.
"Come on, honey," he said impatiently, "I don't have all day."
"Sorry," Pat muttered.
She quickly unzipped her skirt and let it drop before she could lose her nerve. In just her bra and her little white lace panties, she presented a spectacular sight. Brock's eyes widened. Pat Adams certainly didn't look thirty-eight years old, and no one would have guessed she was the mother of a teenage daughter.
Pat stood five-feet-eight in her bare feet, a long-legged big-breasted girl with a tiny firm waist and trim but curvy hips and ass. Her raven-black hair hung straight and gleaming below her shoulders. She had big brown eyes fringed with heavy natural black lashes, a delicate up-turned nose, and soft sensual mouth. She was the kind of woman who made men turn and stare in the sheets.
"Not bad," Brock said softly, "not bad at all."
"For an old lady," Pat added dryly.
"Honey, I read your age on the application," Brock said, "but nobody would ever guess. That's not gonna be a problem at all. Now I just wanta see how you'll look in the costume."
He reached into his desk and brought out a small box. He handed it to Pat but didn't get up from behind his desk, so that she was forced to walk up close to him. He eyed her spectacular figure as she moved, and Pat couldn't help blushing. The man both embarrassed her and excited her. She backed off and opened the box.
"Where's the rest of it?" she said, holding up a tiny piece of black cloth.
Brock chuckled. "That's it, baby," he said. "Try it on."
Pat gawked at the skimpy costume. It was a one-piece swimming suit of stretchy black cloth, designed to be skin-tight and very revealing. She could tell she wouldn't be able to wear a bra or panties with it. Maybe that was why Brock had wanted to check her figure. No woman with even an ounce of fat could have fitted into that little suit.
"You want me to serve customers in THIS?" Pat said.
"Sure, all the girls wear them," Brock said. "It keeps customers coming back. But let's get going, baby. I got other girls to interview, and if you don't want the job, I bet they will."
Pat took the hint. She gathered up her clothes and started for the door, but Brock said, "Try it on here. I don't have time for you to go somewhere else and change."
"But Mr. Spalding," Pat wailed, "I'd hate to take off everything."
"Oh, Jesus," he said. "Look, I'm a big boy, I've seen it all. And I'm not recruiting nuns – I'm looking for sexy chicks to be cocktail waitresses. For the last time, baby, take it or leave it."
Pat wanted to run from the room and never come back. She knew she was way out of her league. She was a modest respectable woman, totally shocked by Spalding's way of carrying on business. But again she thought of Trish and how she and her daughter could use all that extra money. No matter how mortifying, she had to do this for Trish.
"All right, Mr. Spalding," she sighed.
Quickly, just to get it over with, Pat unhooked her bra and drew it off. Her full firm tits were a little larger than big grapefruits, lovely round melons of creamy-pale flesh. Her nipples were rosy and small, and as they contacted the cool air of the office, the little buds grew stiff and pointed. Brock stared hungrily at her gorgeous jugs.
Pat felt totally humiliated, but she was determined to get the job, so she quickly whisked off her little white lacy panties. Again Brock's lusty gaze seemed to burn right into her flesh. He eyed the dainty little triangle of her bush, a soft gleaming mound of raven-black curls. Blushing furiously, Pat seized the skimpy waitress' costume and slipped into it.
Brock leaned back in his chat, flushing slightly. Pat knew she must look fantastic in that outrageously skimpy costume. It fit snugly around her pert little ass, showing the lower rounds of her butt. It clung to her big thrusting tits, and she could see the hard little points of her stiff nipples. The costume left nothing at all to the imagination.
"You'll do," Brock sighed. "You'll do just fine."
"Thank you, Mr. Spalding," Pat said coolly. "When shall I report for work?"
"Tonight," He said. "There's just one other thing to remember, baby. The customer is always right. You're here to please the guys who come to my club, you got it?"
"Yes, sir," Pat said, skinning out of her tiny costume.
She stood there naked for a moment, looking around for her scattered clothes. Brock got up from behind his desk and walked around to her, so quickly and silently that she didn't notice him till he was putting his arms around her. Pat gasped, totally stunned, as he drew her tight against him and kissed her.
"Umph!" Pat cried.
Though Brock was lean, he was over six feet tall and very strong. He easily overpowered her, and she couldn't break away from his kiss. He jammed his mouth hungrily against hers, forcing her lips open, and she felt his slick hot tongue gliding into her mouth. There was a sudden and very unexpected melting sensation in her belly, a feeling she always got when she was horny.
My God, she thought, what's the matter with me?
After John's death she'd thought she'd never want another man. In fact no man had turned her on till now. She had been happy alone, without sex – or so she'd told herself. Sure, there'd been nights when she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, she wanted to get laid so badly. But it hadn't happened often, and she'd never been tempted to ball any of the men she'd met.
Not until now.
She couldn't explain the effect Brock Spalding had on her. Even as she pushed against his shoulders and gave muffled cries of protest, she was getting wildly turned on. Her whole pussy was swelling up and growing hot and moist. She didn't like the way he did his business, the way he'd humiliated her by making her strip in front of him. Yet she felt herself responding hungrily to his kiss.
She felt her bare breasts half crushed against his suit jacket, the nipples tickled and rubbed by the cool cloth. Her little black muff rubbed his crotch, and she felt an unmistakable hardness there, a rigid line that pushed against his fly. Brock had a hard-on for her, no doubt about it. Pat didn't know what to do.
Finally she managed to wrench her face away from his. But before she could speak, Brock said breathlessly, "You're here to please, remember? And that includes ME."
"Mr. Spalding," Pat gasped, "what do you think you're doing?"
"Let's cut that last names crap," he said with a grin. "Call me Brock. And remember, Pat, if you're gonna work for me, you gotta be nice to me. Very very nice."
Pat got the message all too clearly. If she wanted to work at the Tango, she had to ball the boss. That seemed too much to ask, even for Trish's sake. She could live though stripping for him, she could wear that outrageously scanty costume, but she was damned if she'd be his unpaid whore – even if he did turn her on like crazy.
"Let me go," she said coldly. "I want to work for you, Brock, but I'm not going to bed with you."
"Jesus, what's your problem?" he snarled. "You frigid or something? I mean, what's a little roll in the hay nowadays, baby? Everybody does it."
"I don't," Pat replied icily. "I haven't looked at another man since my husband died five years ago."
She'd thought that might impress him, but all it did was make him more eager. He pulled her close again and ran his hands up and down her tall silky-skinned body. Pat couldn't help giving a lusty little shiver. It had been such a long time since a man had touched her naked body. But she still had her pride and her standards, and they didn't allow for hopping into bed with a total stranger.
"You mean you haven't been laid in five years?" Brock exclaimed, clearly turned on by the idea. "Well, sweetheart, we'd better take care of that right now."
There was a long leather couch against one wall of the office, and he began pulling her toward it. Pat gasped and fought, kicking at him with her bare feet, flailing him with her little fists. Brock just laughed and eyed her furiously wobbling big breasts. It was all a joke to him, and he was plainly excited by her struggles.
"Let me go," Pat sobbed. "I don't want to go to bed with you, Brock. For God's sake, just let me work here. I'll do a good job. There must be plenty of other girls who'll do what you want."
"Sure there are," Brock said, pulling her steadily toward the couch, "but you're the one who turns me on. I want you, baby, and if you wanta work here, you'll have to do what I want."
Pat still struggled, but she was no match for his superior strength. He got her over to the couch and pushed her down on her back, quickly scrambling on top of her and pinning her beneath him. Pat was angry and scared, but at the same time her pussy kept getting more hot and swollen and wet. It excited her to feel a man's body pressing her down.
"Brock, please," she whimpered.
He silenced her with a hard hungry kiss. His tongue sliced over hers, probing deep into her mouth, and then she felt his hot hands on her naked tits. She gasped as she experienced a hot burst of lust. Her big breasts were so sensitive. She couldn't help enjoying his eager caressing and squeezing.
For the first time in years she couldn't resist thinking about her love-making with John. She'd forced those thoughts out of her mind because they made her feel too lonely and horny, but now the memories came flooding back, vivid images of the fantastic nights she and John had had together, his strong hands running all over her sleek naked body.
For a moment, in her lust and confusion, Brock seemed to be John, hotly and hungrily caressing her tender naked tits. She arched her body upward to rub her swollen jugs against his palms and writhe her little black bush against the hard lump of his crotch. Then she remembered that John was dead – cruelly, prematurely dead of an accident five years ago.
"Noooo," Pat moaned, wrenching her face away from his. "Please, I don't want anybody but John."
"John?" Brock exclaimed. "But that's your husband, isn't it? Jesus Christ, Pat, wake up. The dude is dead. You can't go without a man the rest of your life. Come on, baby loosen up. It'd be a damned shame to waste this fantastic body."
He dipped his head down, stuck out his gleaming red tongue, and began licking her nipples, darting playfully from one rosy stiff bud to the other. Violent streaks of pleasure ran down her body, racing from nipple to pussy, and she shivered hard. She felt her long-deprived little cunt starting to leak hot sticky cream.
"Oh, God, no," she sobbed, "I shouldn't do this, Brock. I hardly know you."
"Then let's get better acquainted," he panted.
Pat struggled, trying to push him off – and then suddenly went still and breathless as she felt him slipping his hand into her crotch. He had an expert touch. He quickly located the moist little lump of her clit and began to rub the hot button with a fingertip. The pleasure was so sudden and dizzying that Pat gave a hoarse little moan and let her legs fall open just a bit.
Then she remembered where she was, who she was with, and she tried to clamp her thighs shut. Too late. Brock already had his whole hand on her moist steamy pussy, and she couldn't force him out. He rubbed her horny little clit steadily, teasingly, and Pat felt her treacherous cunt spewing a big load of hot cream all over his hand.
Brock felt it, too. "That's it, baby," he panted, "just let yourself go. We'll have a great time together, I promise. Just relax and let me get you off."
At that point Pat was embarrassingly tempted to take his advice. She hadn't realized till now how eager she was to get laid, how much she'd missed being with a man. She'd forced herself not to think about it for five long lonely years, but Brock Spalding had somehow unleashed all her repressed longing and lust. She simply couldn't control herself around this man.
She pushed at his shoulders and whimpered in protest, but her struggles were getting more and more feeble. The more hot and swollen her pussy became, the longer he rubbed her greedy little love-bud, the less she felt like fighting him. After all, five years was a long time to be faithful to a dead husband. She was still young, she still had normal female needs. Didn't she have a right to sex?
Pat struggled with her conscience while Brock played with her pussy. She couldn't deny that it felt delicious to have her clit stroked. Her horny little joy button was going stiff and wet and throbbing from his touch. Then he added to her excitement by using more stroking fingers in her lush red gash. He tickled the plump rosy lips of her pussy, rimmed the oozing hot mouth of her cunt.
"Oh, God," Pat whimpered.
She felt torn in half. Her conscience kept screaming that it was all wrong to let herself go with a man she'd met just half and hour ago. But her body wanted to submit to him, to let go completely, to make up for five long years without sex. She couldn't make up her mind, didn't know what to do – and all the while Brock went on caressing and teasing her hot little slit, making her wildly lusty.
Then she felt his stiff middle finger sliding right up her hot horny little twat. It poked into her stiffly, like a miniature cock, and the rigid probing felt delicious to her. Helplessly she felt her powerful cunt muscles gripping his finger, pulling it deeper. She creamed hugely around his finger, and her cunt became boiling-hot.
"Ooooo," Pat squealed.
"That's it, honey, dig it," Brock panted.
He began jerking his finger swiftly up and down in her red-hot pulpy little hole, and Pat simply couldn't control herself. She squealed with pleasure and arched her pussy up to get all the hot friction she could from his probing finger. Her hot sticky cunt-juice gushed around him, and she felt herself spinning rapidly toward a desperately needed orgasm.
Abruptly Brock jerked his finger out of her seething little cunt and started to undress. Pat knew she should seize the chance to run out of the office, to get away from him forever – but all she did was lie there with her legs slightly parted, showing the lush red flesh of her gash. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. She felt paralyzed with need.
Brock was out of his clothes very fast, and she found herself gawking at his handsome seven-inch cock. The thick pole of pale blue-veined flesh hugged his belly, springing from a nest of thick black hairs and ending in a hugely swollen purple knob. It was the sight of his cock that finally did her in. It reminded her so much of John's big thick prick and all the dizzying pleasure it had given her.
She didn't protest when Brock eased his naked body onto hers. Moaning softly, she opened her legs, opened them wide, and allowed him to sink between her silky hot thighs. He pressed the hard swollen head of his cock against the juicy little mouth of her cunt, then began gliding into her.
"Oooooo," Pat wailed. "My God, yes! Yes, do it to me."
"That's more like it," Brock chuckled. "I figured you wanted it, baby."
His words embarrassed her, but they were true. She'd had no idea how starved she was for a good thick cock. His swollen prick stuffed and filled her red-hot gripping cunt, gliding all the way to her womb, and she almost fainted with pleasure. She wondered how in God's name she'd gone for five years without fucking.
Brock started balling her hard and fast and deep. "Good for you?" he panted. "You like it this way?"
"Yesss," Pat whined. "Oh, God, yes, Brock. Fuck me, fuck me HARD."
She knew she was being shameless, but she couldn't help herself, she was so wildly excited. Every deep hard lunge of his cock made her groan with ecstasy, and in less than a minute she was coming – coming for the first time in five years. All her pent-up need went into that explosive climax, and her lovely body jerked and rocked violently.
"Ohhhhhhh," Pat wailed, "Ohhhhh."
Brock just barely managed to keep from coming himself as her fiery-hot cunt gripped his meat and creamed hugely all around him. Panting, gasping, he managed to hold out a few more minutes till he brought Pat off again. Then as her deliciously snug box squeezed and milked his cock again, he yelped and shot his load.
The moment he rolled off her, Pat was overcome with shame and guilt. She hurried into her clothes and was heading for the door, blushing furiously, when Brock caught her in his arms and gave her an appreciative squeeze.
"I'll see you tonight, Pat," he said. "I know you're going to work out just fine."
"Thank you, Mr. Spalding – I mean Brock," she said, then hurried out the door.
Driving home, she still felt ashamed of her wanton behavior, but there was another thought, too. Brock Spalding was obviously attracted to her. Wouldn't it be a wonderful thing for her and Trish if she were married to her handsome wealthy boss? THAT was certainly something to think about.