They were a pushover for Hank. Before long came the promotions, and the tougher customers. He handled them also. Before long, Hank had his beautiful home in the exclusive part of the suburbs. Two cars, two children. Membership to the best clubs in town. And everyone liked him.
He was a winner. He looked like a winner.
He talked like a winner. He walked like a winner. And everyone likes a winner. People hang around, brushing up against you, always trying to move closer and closer in from the fringe circle to the center, as if by some miracle his winning would rub off onto them, making them winners, too.
Even the fringe group was happy. Happy to be a part of the outer circle where somehow they might benefit from the magic fall-out of his success.
His wife, Cathy, had been happy in those early days of success, also. She basked in the reflected glory of his conquests in business. She loved it when people smiled admiringly and called them the perfect couple.
It wasn't difficult having his children. They were beautiful kids. Hank provided Cathy with all of the domestic help she needed to make her days go smoothly with a minimum of strain. She had her own bank account, and Hank never asked for an accounting of the money he deposited in it every month.
They lived as though it would last forever.
But Hank, even though he didn't show it at first, was under pressure 24 hours a day. They created a legend about him… and he soon found himself struggling to live up to it.
It was a lot of pressure, causing him to develop new needs, emotional ones. Needless to say, drinking went with the territory.
At what point in time do you know you are drinking too much? Is it when your wife starts telling you about it? Is it when you wake up one morning not being able to remember what had happened after midnight or so? Or is it when everyone starts slapping you on the back and congratulating you for being a guy who can really hold his liquor. Or maybe its when people start admiring you for the fact that they can never tell when you've been drinking: "God, Hank, you really don't show it!"
Well, the truth is, you know you've been drinking too hard, too steadily, when you've rumbled around three nights in a row, trying to get a limp mushy cock into your wife's cunt, your mind hot and hungering for sex, your dick cold, begging to be left alone.
That's when panic sets in. The week it happened, Hank couldn't believe it. His wife, Cathy, was pregnant with their second child. Shortly after the embarrassing episode, which she played down, blaming it on overwork, the doctor told Cathy no more sex.
Hank had it worked out in his own mind that it.was Cathy's bloated condition. It just didn't turn him on. That's what the trouble was. But his mind was assailed by a thousand and one doubts.
He had to find out. He just couldn't leave it like that. Three failures in a row and no chance to do anything, or try anything again for five months! Five months! The thought brought a chill to Hank's brain that worked its way up his spine from his toes.
He knew there was no way he could wait five minutes to discover whether or not he was still in possession of his manhood. Besides it was all Cathy's fault in the first place, wasn't it? He was totally vague on exactly how or why it was her fault, but that didn't matter. Thinking it was her fault laid the groundwork for the later rationalizations that would permit him to explore, without conscience, the effects of strange pussy on his manhood.
His first adventure had been one evening in the office with Laurie, the babe with the big bosoms who had been giving him the come-on ever since she had come to work there. His cock had risen to the occasion and he had banged her good. She had loved it.
But that wasn't good enough. He had not made any real conquest. You don't really prove anything, he told himself, when you ball someone who has the hots for you and makes no bones about it.
No, if he wanted to prove he still had it, he had to ball a girl who had not demonstrated any really big interest in him. Someone young and fresh. Yes, that was it. Let's see if he could perform with some little thing who had never given him the eye, with someone who hardly knew he existed… Sure, that was it! And he knew just the girl.
Her name was Peggy. She worked in the typing pool on the third floor. She had never worked directly for Hank, but he had heard admiring comments about her from the other guys. When he perchance had seen her one day, he had added his comments of admiration to theirs.
She was petite, well formed, with lovely auburn hair cut short around a pair of pink, oyster-shell ears. Her hazel eyes looked like they were laughing, even when they were doing nothing but reading the copy she was typing from.
Her breasts were small but not too small. She never wore a bra, and when she moved, her little breasts juggled around in a very tantalizing, but also very happy, innocent way.
She didn't wear much make-up. In fact, she looked as though she didn't wear any at all, except for a tawny colored lipstick that gave her lips a very natural color and shimmer.
Her clear complexion required no grease or powder. Her cheeks usually wore a healthy glow that couldn't be duplicated by make-up at any price. Her beautifully molded figure was tight knit. She was limber, yet seemed to have the control of an athlete over every bone and muscle. Totally unaware of the picture she presented, she didn't know the men used to say she walked down the halls with the grace of a young leopard. They would go out of their way to watch.
Yet, strangely enough, none of them ever approached her. Whether it was out of a sense of not wanting to defile the natural innocence she displayed, or whether they were afraid her limber dexterity and youthful vigor would be too much for them to handle, was a moot question.
The fact remained, no one Hank knew had ever put the make on her or even tried to. And if they had, they sure weren't talking about it.
Once he had picked out his quarry, Hank set about stalking it and running it to ground. She would be the one upon whom he would perform the acid test. He'd charm her into going out with him and then he'd charm her into bed. There he would slip out his man-hood and give her the fucking of her little life.
He worked it all out with the cunning and fervor of a great white hunter. It took him a couple of weeks to set it all up, but he had it all prepared. He had made the excuse to his wife ahead of time. Slowly building to the time when he casually mentioned, with a sigh of distress, that he would have to stay in the city that night. The big wigs from out-of-town bad called on all skull session, and he couldn't refuse, with the deadline being so near and all on their job.
He had prepared the groundwork carefully, and the announcement was a normal sounding culmination of all the trouble he had professed to have with these particular clients over the last ten days. His wife didn't bat an eyelash, just said she was sorry and checked to see that he had some clean socks to take with him.
Peggy, of course, had no idea all of this elaborate scheming was going on. When Hank "casually" bumped into her that evening after work and started chatting with her, she had no idea of what was up. When she accepted his offer of a friendly drink, she didn't realize she had fallen right into her part of this gran diose scheme of things.
Of course she had balked a bit, but Hank was prepared for that, too.
"Hey, aren't you married?" she had asked straight out.
"Sure I am," Hank answered straight back.
"Well, isn't this a bit funny… I mean, what will your wife think, you buying a young single girl a drink, instead of going home after work? Isn't she expecting you?"
"Look," Hank said with his winning smile, "my wife and I have an understanding."
"Oh, yeah," Peggy retorted a little sarcastically, "what kind?"
"A very simple one," Hank lied glibly, "I don't ask her what she does with all the money I give her, and she doesn't ask me what I do with my evenings. It's been like that for a long time."
"Oh," acknowledged Peggy. "Well, if that's the way it is… "
"That's the way it is," confirmed Hank.
"Then I guess it's all right," said Peggy, having made up her mind.
"Shall we have that drink now?" Hank asked again.
"Why not," Peggy agreed. Together they headed for a little bar Hank had chosen ahead of time.
He grinned from ear to ear as they walked along. His plan was going according to schedule. It wouldn't be too long before he had this chick in the sack, giving her the work out of her life and proving that his manly charm still worked, that his failure at home was his wife's fault, not his!
The evening swung beautifully. In addition to being a good looker, Peggy had a great sense of humor, and was an interesting person to talk with. She had brains. Not too much, but just enough to make the evening's conversation interesting. That little bonus made the whole seduction plan just that much more enjoyable. In fact, she had a lot of little mannerisms that could turn a guy on.
For instance, when she got excited talking about something, she would bring her hands back, shoulder high, poking her boobs out, almost right into your eye. Then when the conversation got quiet and low, she'd reach over, unconsciously and start dragging her fingers across the back of your hand and then trace the outline, over and over again, of the inside area of your thumb and first finger. It was a very sexy feeling.
So, all in all, aside from his deliberate plan of seduction, Hank was really getting turned on by this little girl. It never occurred to him at the time that any of her sexy little movements were done deliberately to arouse him. She did them so seemingly naturally and unconsciously.
Then too, she was so open, so refreshingly open. She had none of those coy expressions and little come-ons that he had watched night after night at the Country Club, watched and had then played on him, by all of those frustrated sleek housewives, looking for a little fun.
Yes, Hank was really enjoying his night out on the town with little auburn-haired Peggy. He was beginning to feel his way towards the big moment when he would get her to go to the little hotel room he had obtained for himself that day at lunch. It was a nice, clean, modest hotel. The key to his room hung heavy in his trouser pocket.
Hank fingered the key, then made his pitch, suggesting a nightcap at his place. Peggy hesitated, just one little delicious moment, before giving her OK.
As soon as they got inside the hotel room, Hank was surprised to find Peggy's left arm around his neck, her mouth on his and her right hand unzipping his fly. His body stiffened, and he pulled back.