Marsha Stewart was leaning back in her comfortable desk chair with her feet kicked up and a manuscript resting on her lap. She dragged luxuriously on her Virginia Slim, glancing at the typewritten pages in front of her. She muffled a laugh when she spotted the author's name. Manfield Munchclit. Shit, they were still using THOSE kind of names on these porno stories, were they? Ashamed that they were submitting smut to a porno magazine and still wanting to be paid for it. Marsha wondered how far one of those guys would get if she had made the check payable only to Manfield Munchclit and not Norman Schwartz, whose name was listed beneath in parentheses.
Marsha Stewart was not a bad-looking woman for someone pushing forty. She had auburn hair and an attractive face. Her legs were long and slender, as was the rest of her figure. Marsha removed her sunglasses and placed them on her desk, rubbing her sore eyes. She often wore sunglasses indoors, especially with those Goddamn bright fluorescent lights. She reached out and pressed the intercom button.
"Yes," came an unfamiliar voice.
"Isn't Miss Harris at her desk?" Marsha demanded to know.
"I'm sorry, Miss Stewart, Miss Harris is out," replied the sweet voice.
"Where did Miss Harris say she was going?" Marsha was annoyed.
"She… uh… she went to the drug store," said the woman at her desk. "She had to… purchase sanitary napkins."
"JESUS CHRIST, SHE'S ON THE RAG AGAIN!" Marsha shrieked loudly. "She's always running out for Kotex. That's all I hear! With all that money she's spending on Kotex, I hope she intends to claim it on her federal income tax return!"
"Yes, Miss Stewart," replied the voice.
"Tell her to get her ass in here first thing she gets back," Marsha ordered her.
"Yes, Miss Stewart."
Marsha scowled as she leaned back in her chair. That Carole Harris was good for shit, that's what she was! she fumed. She paid that girl seven hundred and fifty dollars a month to be her secretary, not to pretend she was Moses parting the Red Sea.
The manuscripts on her desk were scattered about recklessly. She snatched one up and started to read it, hoping to get her mind off her runaway secretary. The one she was reading was a love story about a nymphomaniac and a speedy-playing harmonica player, and how he was able to hit HER high notes. Oh, CHRIST! she grimaced, throwing it aside. What next!
A half-hour later, Carole Harris, tall, blonde and out of breath, came rushing into Marsha's office with a steno pad.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Miss Stewart…" she gasped.
Marsha indicated that she close the door. After she did so, her boss was at ease, leaning against the side of her desk. "What's all this 'Miss Stewart' crap? I thought that was only in front of the others."
Carole brushed a thick lock of hair from her face and looked down. "I'm sorry, Marsha, I…"
Marsha put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it.
"What is there to be sorry about, darling? Did the drug store have a run on Tampax?"
"Marsha, don't do this to me…" Carole begged her. "Please."
"I wouldn't dream of passing up the chance," Marsha snapped. "Tell me, Carole, is nil that office gossip true? Does the great Steven Hayes have a long dick? I mean, I've heard the rumors about how well-hung he is, so I've often been curious to find out."
"Marsha, please listen…"
"I'm not listening to any more bullshit from you!" she hissed. "I've let things go far enough. Christ, I don't even know who to believe."
"I don't even care for him," Carole tried to explain. "All we did was go out for lunch…"
Marsha slipped next to her and kissed her on the cheek. Her hand reached out and cupped Carole's tit. The nipple was hard and throbbing. Marsha smiled and kissed Carole again, this time giving the kiss a sucking sensation. Carole closed her eyes and groaned. "D-Don't stop… that feels good…"
Marsha's fingers slid down to Carole's crotch and rubbed. A wet warmness could be felt. "Tell me, darling, does Steven do this to you? Or this?"
Carole shook her head. "N-No, we don't… didn't do anything… nothing…"
Marsha sucked along her neck, stroking Carole's cunt-mound with tender movements. Carole became like putty in her hands, her possession once again. Foolish Steven Hayes, thinking he could go around and drop his load into all the girls in the office. She had heard that loud-mouth Dolly Ebert mentioning to one of the other girls that Steven had his hooks set on Carole. Well, that stud had another thing coming. If he thought he could take Carole away from her, he was plum out of his fucking mind. Marsha and Carole had been lovers for a long time. A very long time. Even though Marsha was her boss, Carole was the one that got most of the service.
"Uhhh…" Carole gasped as Marsha got on her knees and pushed her skirt up. Carole never wore panties. She grabbed at Marsha's head and writhed as the older woman shoved her tongue into her moist pussy and licked at her clit.
"Did Steven Hayes ever chew out your muff?" Marsha asked, lapping at the insides of her cunt. Carole had such a slimy hole, with juices just squirting out like tropical mists.
"Marsha… eat me… lick me… snort my box, baby, sniff out the cobwebs… Jesus!"
Marsha reached up on her desk and got a pencil. "I think it's time I pointed out a few things."
"Wh-What are you going to do, Marsha? Ohhh!" Carole moaned as she felt the eraser-end of the pencil shove into her snatch. Marsha pushed it up far, then slid it out. "Stop it, Marsha! Don't do… uhhh."
Marsha pulled it out and licked the sides of the pencil. "Mmm. Still tastes good. Knock on wood."
The pencil slithered up the hole, dribbling fuck-juice down the wooden shaft, then wetting Marsha's fingers. Marsha lapped up this moistness quickly, neatly.
Carole's face was screwed up in pain, her mouth gaping open as Marsha forced the pencil into her cunt. Her thighs shivered as the long shaft disappeared into her hair-pie and was later removed, dripping with sweet-smelling juice.
Aww, am I hurting her little pussy? thought Marsha sardonically. Good for the slut! I'll jack off Carole good and hard so that by the time she pops her pea, it'll burn. Next time she lets Steven Hayes slip that long whang of his into her cooze, she'll be in screaming agony.
"Marsha, don't push it in so far!" Carole cried, her hands shaking and fluttering at Marsha's soft head. "Oh, no… Christ…" Again, it drilled into her, her cunt giving it a great dose of spunk.
Marsha worked feverishly at her muff, plunging the writing instrument deep between Carole's long, tanned legs. Carole's pussy hair was moist, curled in ringlets, and made squishy sounds as the sliminess inside of her released the shaft.
"Fuck me! Ram it in! Jesus!" Carole cried, bouncing her ass roughly against the top of the desk. "I'm cumming, baby! Now! NOW!"
Marsha pounded the pencil far into Carole's cunt and left it sticking out as she shook and swayed. Just as Carole reached her last orgasm, she ripped it out of her hole in one violent movement.
Carole threw her arms around Marsha. "Oh, honey, that was so good. You're the best fucker around."
"Better than Steven Hayes?" Marsha asked coldly.
Carol turned from her. "I won't have you blowing things out of proportion. I didn't do anything with Steven Hayes. Why won't you believe me?"
"Then why the stories about the Kotex?" Marsha asked her. "What are you doing – taking up a collection?"
"Do I always have to tell you everything?" she roared back. "Even if it's nothing to begin with? Just lunch, Marsha. LUNCH. I'll even tell you what I ate."
"I can just imagine."
"MARSHA!" she cried. "You're not being fair. I could never do anything with any man, not even Steven Hayes. I couldn't." She reached timidly for Marsha's tight snatch and petted her. "Nobody could ever make me cum the way you make me, sweetheart."
Marsha pushed her back in an abrupt, sudden movement. "Get out of here, you liar! You expect me to believe some sex-hungry slut!"
"No, Marsha…" Carole sobbed.
"I said get out of here!" she snapped.
"Don't punish me, it's not fair," she pleaded. "I don't deserve this."
The older woman smacked her across the face with the back of her hand. The cracking sound alarmed Carole, who looked at Marsha's face through a stream of team.
"I don't need you," Marsha spat at her. "Get that through your fucking thick head! Just understand that! You need me more than anything in this Goddamn world, bitch!"
Meekly, Carole backed off and headed towards the door. "Please don't be mad at me, baby…"
She took one more look at the glowering woman, then left.
Mark Spaulding returned from his stockholder's meeting in a piss-poor mood. Jesus Christ, but it was a bitch to have to put up with them. Everybody was constantly worried about money. Including himself.
He smiled at his secretary, Sharon North, before he entered his office and shut the door. What a fucking waste that she didn't want to make it with anyone. Goddamn virgins, neurotic about "saving" themselves for marriage. Shit, he was married, about seven years now, and Jackie had made him wait until their wedding night before she let him stick it in. But when he did, that hot fucking cunt couldn't get enough cock. He turned her into a horny monster with a bottomless pit. It was like fucking a comet. She'd strap those legs around his waist and pump his dick until he could do nothing but squirt her full of cum. She'd siphon him drip-dry, ounce-by-ounce. If he hadn't gone around and humped some other chicks, he'd be damned tired of her by now.
He knew that Sharon North didn't fuck or suck. It was all around the office. Every one of those gum-chewing, big-mouthed secretaries had a little bit (or sometimes a lot) of slut in them, and when they began developing a taste for meat, not even the mailroom boys were safe! Why, last week, one of them – what was her name, Alice or Anne or something like that – locked herself in the john after typing copy for the December SNATCH STORIES section of Playpen and jacked off. The piece was about blow-jobs, and one of the girls somehow got into the bathroom and found her sticking a bottle of Ban roll-on deodorant (which is rather dick-shaped) into her pussy and reading the story at the same time.
Even the way Sharon acted, he could tell. The times she took dictation, she was careful the way she sat, pulling her skirt down over her knees and remaining in that position for the length of the letter. Or she would look twice before bending over to pick up something she dropped.
If only she could snap out of that world she was built into. He had so many fantasies about balling her that it was pitiful, compared to what she was really like.
Mark Spaulding knew that many of the girls in the steno pool had the hots for him. And wasn't it a shame, but they did absolutely nothing for him the way Sharon did. She was everything he had looked for in a fuck-partner. Her ass was just right, nice and plump, while her waist was small and her tits the size of cantaloupes. Christ, he was dying to ram his tool into her slit and bang her silly. She really turned him on, and yet he wasn't about to play all the virginal games she had in mind.
Hell, he was a handsome guy, straight black hair and a clean-shaven face, dark-brown eyes. He was tall and had a great built. Even in a bed match, he could hold his own. And being the associate editor of Playpen Magazine somehow radiated a special kind of sex appeal, one that gave him the kind of power to have any of the girls that worked there do what he wanted.
Except Sharon.
God help him, but he had to fuck her. It was the only thing worth praying for, now that he had everything that would make his life complete. Somehow, he had to think of a way to make Sharon give up this foolish game of "innocence" and show her the meaning of a good cock. He was willing to devote the needed time and effort.
He peeked at her sitting in front of the typewriter, grinding out the stream of letters he had dictated early this morning. Goddamn, but he'd stab her between those nice legs of hers with his peter yet. And once he left his impression on her, and she knew he was the Mark of Excellence, she would come to him willing for a fucking good time.
Yes, he had everything, and soon he'd have her begging to suck him off.