So that was what had made the moist stain on Becky Jane's lemon-yellow panties as she stood before her boss taking dictation, unaware that he was glancing at the electronic mirror and watching her cream her panties.
Wendell Rathers always had wet-dream thoughts when he looked at Becky Jane's panties. Panties like that – the way they hugged her ass, looking like they had been manufactured with a stain at the crotch – always sparked memories of the days when he used to fuck and suck every secretary that he had ever hired.
Of course, those were the days when he was a millionaire bachelor. When he was happy. When his only worries were: Would he catch syph or the crabs or the green weenie from a secretary who hadn't washed between her legs, or who had been fucking with a donkey, or worse, caught cooties from African-Americans?
And when that was the only worry that he had – shit, any man would love to have worries like that.
God, the good old days. When he was a young executive on the rise in his father's wrench company. When he was a young executive with a constant rise in the crotch of his pants. And when all those bosomy, meaty-thighed secretaries would take care of the rise in his pants.
Like Carlotta Bender. Now there was a secretary. Couldn't type worth shit. Had fingers made for playing with men's cocks instead of inanimate things named Remington, or Smith Corona. Had a mouth that when it didn't have bubble gum in it was always filled with prick.
Carlotta was blonde. Sometimes she was brunette. Sometimes it was dish-water, reddish brown with streaks of gray. It all depended on the wig she was wearing.
Carlotta also had big tits. Sometimes they looked like honeydew melons on her chest. Other times like pomegranates. Other times like grapefruits. It all depended on whether she was wearing a bra or not, or whether the bra had falsie foam-rubber implants in the cups, or whether the bra was a see-through, cupless type.
Sweaters and blouses made a difference, too. Bulky sweaters cut low on her bosom were very impressive. Made her tits look very touchable, like a pair of tits wrapped in mink, warm and furry to the touch. Or the tight cardigan that made spires out of her tits.
Carlotta also smelled good. All over. Chanel on her ears. Ambush beneath each thirty-eight-inch tittie. Midnight between her legs, sprinkled liberally the dark and forbidden-looking hair of her pussy.
Carlotta also had smooth legs. She shaved them smooth. Like most girls who shave the hairs off their legs, or under their arms so that the aroma of Ambush lingered there instead of B.O., or off their pussies so that the aroma of Midnight would camouflage the smell of a cunt in heat.
Yeah, she was like all girls who shave their legs. Except she did it in the office. Yanked her gains right up on her secretary/receptionist desk and started hacking off the hairs.
Never started at the ankles either. She always started at mid-crotch, had the gall to lift up her crepe miniskirt and start shaving where her thighs joined – which was a place most men called pussy, but women referred to as their money-maker (if they were a whore), or their baby-maker (if they were like the little old woman who lived in a shoe), or their forbidden paradise (if they were cloistered in a nunnery and weren't allowed to say four-letter words).
Carlotta referred to her pussy as a cunt. She knew what cunts were for. Cunts were for pissing when she felt like it and fucking when she felt like it. Both were natural urges.
And that was how Wendell Rathers had come to know Carlotta Bender. With her legs up on the reception desk, Gillette Track Two in one hand, and the other hand holding up a crepe miniskirt that looked more like a lei around her ass than a miniskirt she had bought in Oahu during her last secretary's vacation.
Wendell was shocked. Well, he had known that Carlotta was a hot-to-trot woman the day she had filled out her application form and wrote "meat-eater" under the category of hobbies. But he was shocked because this was the first day of work for her, the very first hour she had been on the job.
Wendell said: "Carlotta, may I talk to you, er, in my office?"
Carlotta spat out her Dentyne, put away the Gillette, stood up and straightened out the wrinkles in her crepe miniskirt and frizzy cardigan sweater.
"D'ya want me to take dictation?"
"Er, yeah. Bring your steno pad, please."
Fucking a pencil behind her Chanelish ear, Carlotta bent over and searched her desk for the steno pad.
Wendell liked the view of her bending over trying to find the steno pad. Because he had a very good mental image of her tits that looked like some gargantuan fruit, and he had already seen her cunt because the miniskirt covered her pussy about as adequately as a lei, and because she didn't own a pair of panties.
But this was the first time that he had seen her ass. Very nice ass. The type of ass that gay guys wish their macho partners had. The cheeks looked very ripe and firm. The meat on those asscheeks looked more like cushions that God had blessed her with so she could absorb all those ass-pounding fucks she enjoyed.
Then Carlotta said: "Ah, here's the little fucking bugger. Right on my desk. Shit, that's really dumb of me, don't you think, Mr. Rathers?"
Wendell didn't know if he was capable of thinking then. He had been so enraptured by that cushiony ass that thinking was beyond him. Just like his cock – it was already beyond him, beyond the elastic of his shorts and making a very big wad-like bulge at his crotch.
Carlotta noticed his bulge. Because she always looked at men's crotches.
"Ya gotta hard-on, don't you, Mr. Rathers?"
"Huh?"
"Ya gotta hard-on, I said. Probably 'cause you saw me shaving my cunt and bending over and taking a real gander at my ass. Isn't that right, Mr. Rathers?"
Was that fight? Or was it wrong? Well, she was right that he had a hard-on. And she was right about shaving her pussy in the office and bending over and exposing her cushiony ass. But somehow things didn't feel right to Wendell. He felt wrong – like she shouldn't be talking like that, or shaving her pussy in the office, or showing off her ass to the boss. Right?
"You're wrong if you think you gotta hard-on 'cause of my showing you my ass and shaving my cunt in the office."
"Huh?" Jesus, something was wrong here. "I don't know what to say. I think you're wrong about…"
"I'm fight. You're wrong. You have a hard-on 'cause you wanna fuck me. Or because you wanna see me chew your cock like I chew my gum. Isn't that fight, Mr. Rathers?"
Wendell was ready to say wrong; he was ready to shake his head.
He shook his head, but he said: "Right, but…"
"See, I'm right, Mr. Rathers. I knew I was right. It wasn't because of you seeing my ass or cunt that gave you a hard-on. It was because you wanted to fuck me, or you wanted me to blow your cock."
"But wait a minute, here. I'm…"
"Wrong," Carlotta cut in, adjusting one of her see-through bra straps. "So what's wrong with wanting to fuck or have me suck your cock? Right?"
"But…"
"Hey," Carlotta interjected. "I know what it is now!"
"I got it!" Carlotta blurted. "You wanted to fuck my ass! You're an ass man! So my ass did turn you on. Right?"
"You know how I figured you to be an ass man?" Carlotta interrupted again. "'Cause you're always saying 'but' a lot. Jesus, you don't have to be afraid that you're queer or something because you want to fuck my ass."
"But…"
"Come on," Carlotta said, taking him by the hand and leading him to his office. "No more buts. Put your mouth where your cock is. Let's hit the dirt road! Up the chocolate mountain! Shit, I haven't been buggered since my brother fucked my ass."
"What? Who fucked your ass?"
"My brother. What's wrong with letting your brother fuck you in the ass? At least I can't get pregnant that way. Right?"
"Yeah… er, I think so."
Now they were in Wendell's plush office. They were on the couch. Well, most of Carlotta Bender was on the couch because she had slipped out of the lei miniskirt and she had shucked the cardigan sweater.
Wendell was half on the couch and half off. He was also half hard and half soft, and he also thought he was half crazy – or maybe she was half crazy. He had never met a woman like Carlotta, never seen a girl so blatantly truthful in all his life.
To a reverend, Carlotta would have been considered a very gross girl. For wearing perfume all over her body, and shaving her cunt hairs in public, and letting her boss see her asshole.
To a welfare worker, Carlotta would have been classified as one of those poor-white-trash mothers who greet welfare workers at the door in expensive Magnin dresses while her twelve kids live in a sloppy shoebox of a home.
To a rising executive like Wendell Rathers, Carlotta looked divinely delicious, grossly overrated as a secretary and grossly underrated as a whore.
Carlotta was on the couch on all fours, her tits swinging like hanging lemons. Her fingers were in her cunt, moving very blurry-like over her clit and the lips and all that hair. Her cunt made very sloppy noises as she finger-fucked herself.
Squish. Squish. Squish.
Then she did something quite shocking. Or at least a man of the cloth would have found it to be very shocking. Her middle finger, which had been in her cunt, was moving up from the front hole to the back hole.
And, as Wendell watched in awe, her finger went into the back hole, disappeared up her rectum as if her asshole were a mouth and it was chewing on her middle finger.
But Wendell knew her asshole wasn't her mouth because he heard her voice come from the other end of her body: "Jesus, Mr. Rathers! You act like you never seen anybody finger their own asshole. It feels… uh, kind of horny. You know what I mean?"
Wendell's prick lurched. His body lurched. He felt like the Hulk meeting the Lurch. He lurched because he had never seen a woman go bowling with her ass – never saw a woman take a bowling-ball grip on her bottom.
The reason why she had a bowling-ball grip was very obvious to Carlotta. Because it felt kind of horny. And it also felt good to thumb-fuck her clit while her middle finger was in her asshole.
"Well, Mr. Rathers, aren't you ready to fuck yet? I see you still got your hard-on."
A chick would have to be Helen Keller to miss something as obvious as the tent that Wendell had erected at the crotch of his pants. Yeah, he had a hard-on all right. A big fat hard-on, the kind of hard-on made for fucking into something as tight as a hot chick's asshole.
While Carlotta maintained the bowling-ball grip on her two holes, her other hand found his zipper tab.
Zzzziiiiiiiiiipppppp!
Booooiiinnnnggggg!
The metal mouth of his zipper yawned open and out came something that did not look like a tongue. Unless tongues were now being made to look like blunt-headed spears with hair sprouting near the handle.
And speaking of handles, that's what Carlotta did with Wendell's erection. Handled it with care. Handled it as if his cock were made of china.
Then she became a man handler. Roughly stripping the loose foreskin up and over the meaty glans. Then re-stripping it again and again.
Wendell watched in amazement as her expert cock-handling manipulated all the loose flesh of his prick until none of the loose flesh was loose any more.
His prick was now brick hard, bone stiff, barrel big and ready to be blown.
Ready to be blown?
Yep, that's what Carlotta did. With amazing grace she was transformed from a man handler to a cock-cannibal.
Ooooooooh, that tongue! Those lips! That mouth! Those teeth!
Teeth? "Aaaaiiieeeeee! My cock! Please don't bite my cock so hard!"
Carlotta looked up at Wendell with her mouth full of prick. Then she didn't have the mouthful of prick, she had a mouthful of words: "All right, that'll teach you to quit fucking around and start fucking my asshole. You asshole-fucker – I know guys like you. Scared to fuck a chick's asshole because you're scared you're gay. I know lots of guys like you. You'll love fucking my asshole. Now come on and move around behind me and shove your cock up my ass!"
Wendell didn't know what to do other than to do what she had said. No woman had ever talked to him like that. So, he moved around her, his pants hobbling his efforts.
The bowling-ball hand felt around his crotch until it found his cock. Which took about two seconds search. Then it gave his prick a couple more of those frigging strokes to make sure it was hard and ready to fuck her ass.
God! He was going to fuck her in the ass! Wendell couldn't believe it until he actually saw her gripping his cock and leading him to the upper of the two holes. And the hole looked so tight and narrow.
What was he doing?! This was crazy!
Nobody fucked their secretaries in the ass on her first day on the job. Blow jobs, he could see, but buggering? Sticking his cock up that tight tube of her rectum?
Wendell broke out in a sweat. His cockhead was perched against her asshole, ready to move forward, ready to penetrate the first asshole he had ever fucked. Oh God! What delicious sensations he felt all around the head of his prick.
He was ready now. Ready to shove forward with all his might. Ready to cram that delicious-looking asshole full of his cock.
But Carlotta beat him to the punch. Took advantage of his cowardly hesitation by ramming her rear end against his loins, which caused the following delicious sensations. His cock felt like it was fucking a fleshy keyhole, but the keyhole expanded around the taut glans of his prick before it accepted the acorn-shaped head. Then her asshole bit down just behind the groove of his glans, ready to nibble on his cock-shaft. Then her asshole nibbled on his cock-shaft, all seven hot and hard inches, until her ass-crack was filled with the hairs of his crotch and her asshole was full of seven inches of ass-fucking prick.
"Oooooh, you bugger! You've done this before! You've fucked a lot of chicks in the asshole! You asshole! Jesus! You're pretty good at fucking asses!"
Crazy! Insane! Asinine! She had to be because Wendell hadn't done a fucking thing. He hadn't shoved his cock into her asshole, she had forced her asshole onto his cock. He wasn't shoving back and forth in her rectum, her rectum was jamming back and forth on his cock like a mare with her asshole in heat.
Wendell watched her ass moving back and forth on his cock. Wendell also sweated. Wendell was amazed. And to make things better, Wendell also heard erotic sounds and words as he watched and sweated and became even more amazed.
"Now, here's how an asshole can really fuck the shit out of a cock like yours. First, I'll muscle down and pretend your cock's a huge turd."
"Aaaaaiilieeee! Oh My God!"
"Then I'll relax and pretend I farted you out. But here comes another big turd! So I gotta force this one out too!"
"Oooooooh! My God! Please Walt! Oh God!"
"And another turd!"
"Aaaaaiiiheeeee! Oh stop! Your asshole feels so gggooooodddddddammmmmmnnnn good! Please don't grip my cock like that – I'll come to soon!"
"All right, all right. I understand. It's probably been a long lime between ass-fucks, right, Mr. Rathers?"
Wendell was as quiet as a statue. Because his body had become like a statue's. Stock still. Not wanting to move because he couldn't believe the incredible sensations that surrounded his cock. Couldn't believe that asshole-fucking was as good as cunt-fucking. Couldn't believe the way his balls felt as she played with them as if she owned them.
Playing with his balls?
While her ass fucked his cock?
"Ooooooh,nooooo! Easy! Please! God! Don't do that yet! I swear I'll come! I swear it!"
Then her ass took off into fourth gear and her buns went into overdrive. She was really hauling her ass while she played with his swaying balls, toying with the hairy orbs.
Carlotta moaned, then groaned, then went back to moans because she loved getting her ass fucked by an expert ass-fucker like Mr. Rathers. He was really good. Probably a nine on a scale of ten. Probably in the top ten percent of all the asshole-fuckers in class. Probably a B-plus in Ass-Fucking II, a lower-division course taught to liberal arts majors about the inner workings of man's anatomical structure.
"God! Mr. Rathers! You're so good at ass-fucking! Jesus Christ! I can feel all of your prick in my ass! And your balls are getting so fucking uptight! Are you ready to come?!"
Was he ready to come!
Shit, that mess leaking out of her ass wasn't the remains of some Ex-Lax she had eaten. The stuff leaking out of her asshole was very white, and gluey and sticky. So sticky that it stuck to the hairs on his balls before dripping to the carpet.
Was he ready to come!
When a man yells: "Aaarrrggghhhhh!" and his prick is going spurt, spurt, spurt, what other conclusion could be drawn?
"Ooooooohhhhhh! Jesus! Shoot that shit in my ass! Shoot it hard! Oh God! I can feel every inch with my ass! God, I'mgoing to use my ass muscles again!"
"Aaaaaiiiheeeee! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"
And the reason Wendell had said, "Oh God!" three times was because Carlotta's ass muscles had gripped his prick three times, and thee times his cock went spurt, spurt, spurt while he moaned, "Oh God!" three times.
Then the last spurt was squeezed out of his cock like the dregs from a tube of toothpaste. Only it wasn't a hand that was squeezing the tube of his cock but an asshole that was very good at fucking pricks.
Wendell collapsed backward, and his cock sprang out of her asshole, which then sealed itself up like a clam.
"ooooohhhhh! Jesus! It feels like my ass is full of air!" Ffffaaaarrrrrrtttttt!