"Sex and the Boss Wife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reedly Jackie)

Chapter 2

Scott Forsmo shook his head, pulling out of his reverie. Looking down at himself he discovered he had climaxed just thinking about those times with Celia. Why the hell had he not been able to convince her to move to Indianapolis with him?

The telephone was ringing. Probably another wrong number, he thought, as he reached out for the receiver. There was cum on his fingers, but he did not care. It would give the morning man something to ponder when he used the phone.

"KSZK Night Line. You're on the air."

"Hi, there," said a breathy female voice. "I've been listening to you. I like your voice."

"Thanks a lot," Scott answered enthusiastically. His heart was pounding. He had a live one. Quickly, he glanced at the tape recorder. It had clicked on properly. In less than a minute, everyone would see he was a success, that his idea would work, after all. He wondered if Ransberg and the other station officials were listening this late at night. It did not matter. He would have the tape as proof, and a hundred more like it. Once the ice was broken, everyone would be calling in.

The woman went on. "I was wondering about something," she whispered.

"What is it? On Night Line we're prepared to discuss anything, anything at all."

"Does it have to be broadcast?"

"Does what have to be broadcast?" Scott asked, his heart sinking. He already knew the answer to his question.

"What I say to you, of course, Silly Boy."

"Yes, Ma'am. It'll start hitting the air waves in just a few seconds from now. You'll be a star."

"Oh," the woman said, and she hung up.

Scott was furious, so angry he could hardly think straight. Before he could reach over to stop it, the conversation began to play out over the air, just as it had taken place.

"KSZX Night Line. You're on the air," he heard himself say. His voice sounded hollow, fake, a well trained radio announcer's rounded tones. If he let himself think about it, it almost made him sick. Therefore, he did not do so very often.

He listened to the woman's voice. It was low, seductive, full of promise. "Does it have to be broadcast?" it said, and Scott's heart sank all over again. Let everybody who knew the woman hear her. Let them all know what a slut she was. Her voice was full of promise, of voluptuous longing. Despite himself, he felt his libido rise just hearing her purring tones. That ought to wake up nighttime Indiana. Maybe the call had not been a waste after all, that is if Hoosiers responded to voices like that.

As the recording ended, Scott was struck with sudden inspiration. Why not play this out? He had precious little else to work with. He flipped on the switch of his microphone.

"Come on, now, Honey!" he said. "Let's play fair, shall we? It gets awfully lonesome here all alone. The last thing a hot blooded young guy like me needs is some beautiful chick hanging up on him. Call back and let's us have a little visit. The number is 447-4730. While I'm hanging onto the receiver waiting for your call, I'll play something to get us in the mood." He flipped on a slow ballad by Joan Collins and waited.

The lines lit up, two of them at once. He grabbed the receiver. "Hi, there. This is Night Line."

"Hi," said a woman's voice. She was speaking low, trying to sound like the woman who had called before. Her voice was much younger, though, not even a good imitation of the passion promising tones of the first caller. "I'm calling you back, just like you asked me to do."

"Thanks," Scott said. "If you'll just hold on a minute, I'll be right back." He punched the hold button and then keyed the other line.

"Night Line, KSZX," he said. "You're on the air."

"Hi, there," whispered another female voice. "I'm calling back, like you wanted." It was still not the first woman, he was sure.

"Hold on a second, and I'll be with you," Scott said. He returned to the first caller.

"Now," he said, in his friendly, on the air voice, "What can I do for you?"

The caller chuckled, sounding even younger than before. "It's more what I can do for you," she said.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"Anything you like. I'll suck you off or let you fuck my hot little cunt, or…"

Scott stabbed the button, putting the woman on hold. He made a grab for the tape, but it was too late. "Hi," the voice repeated, and his own voice responded. He stopped the tape.

"You're doing it, Folks!" he fairly shouted, switching on his mike. "You're calling in! I've got two callers on the line, late night people with something to say. Let's listen to another of the latest hits while I finish the conversations." He cued the record and pushed the button.

Glancing at the phone, he saw that both lines were still lighted. He picked up the first one again. Without giving the girl at the other end a chance to speak, he said, "Hey, what do you mean, kidding around like that? Don't you know you can get me in trouble? What if that went out over the air?"

"I wouldn't care. I meant it. I love your voice, and I want the chance to love you, any time and any place you say." She sounded as though she meant it.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Oh, it's all right. I'm eighteen, over eighteen."

Something told Scott the girl was lying. He did not care.

"Well," she went on, "What do you say? Do I interest you?"

"I… well, I don't know." This was crazy. He should not be stringing her along. He should hang up. He should, he should, but he did not.

"What's the matter? You queer?"

"No! What makes you think that?" He tried to imagine what she might look like, young, fresh, a succulent, lithe little body, just wriggling with life and sexuality and ready to give it all to him.

"Oh," she said, "I just thought you might be gay because a lot of guys are nowadays. It's a drag. Want to hear about how some guys from my school got a queer the other night?" She had tipped her hand. She was a high school student. Jail bait, particularly in Indiana.

"No. Frankly, I don't, little girl. I advise you not to call again, unless you have something to say that we can put on the air."

"Okay, Queer!" the girl shouted into the phone and hung up.

Shaking with anger, Scott checked to see that the record still had time to go. Then he punched the second line. "Hi, and thanks for holding so long. You're on the air."

"I don't want this broadcast," the voice said.

With a sigh, Scott stopped the recorder. He was sick of fighting it. "Okay," he said. "We're alone."

"Good," the woman answered. Her voice definitely did not have the sensuality of the first woman, the one who had started this mess, but she did not sound like a high school kid either.

"What can I do for you?" Scott asked.

"It's more what I can do for you," she replied.

Oh, no, Scott thought. This one may not be a high school kid, but she surely talked like one. "And what's that?" he asked.

"Suppose I pick you up after work, and we talk about it?"

"Gee, I don't know. I mean… " His heart was pounding again, and the loneliness was welling up within him so hard it almost choked him.

"Just tell me the time, and I'll be there. You're downtown, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Washington and Meridian." He glanced over. The record was nearly over.

"What time then?"

"Eight or a little after," he said hurriedly and hung up the receiver.

As he gave a commercial, his mind was racing. What had he done? Picking up on a caller's proposition like that was certainly unethical. Still, who was to know? Her call had not been recorded. He had made sure of that. God, he was lonely and horny and scared all at the same time. He had not realized it fully until now. He had made a date with a stranger over the phone. What if she turned out to be sixty and weigh three hundred pounds? What if the back seat of her car was full of muggers, just waiting tightly to rip him off? If they did, they would not get much, he thought ruefully. It had taken most everything he had in the bank to make the move here, and then he had had to take an apartment that rented for more than he wanted to pay. At least he could walk to work. That was something. The Roley Towers, a three unit high rise was just past the edge of downtown.

He would meet the woman-if she showed up. She was probably just some crank who called all the night disc jockeys, setting them up and then chickening out. If she did show up, he had no idea how he would know it. Washington and Meridian might be dead at night, but they were crawling with commerce during the daytime, and the rush started at about seven forty-five, just about the time he was making his way home to bed.

The night dragged on. No one else called in, and Scott ended his shift feeling gloomy.

"How you doing, Stud?" Barry Mann called out as he came into the control booth to relieve Scott.

"Okay, I guess. Quiet night."

"No callers, then?"

"A couple. Nothing I could put on the air." Scott gathered up his cigarettes and half empty coffee cup.

"That's a shame, Kid. Sorry to hear it. I know what you mean by nothing you can broadcast. I couldn't believe some of the calls I got when I worked nights, and I wasn't even inviting them to pick up the phone the way you do on Night Line. There are a lot of lonely women out there, a few men too. Boy, did I ever have some weird conversations." He slipped behind the console.

"You ever meet any of them? The women who called in, I mean."

"A couple." Barry was rummaging through the records.

"And?" Scott asked.

"And what?" Barry asked, glancing up at him.

"Never mind. Sorry I was nosing in where I don't belong." He put his hand on the door knob.

"Hey, just a second, Man. Look, I didn't mean to put you off. We'll have a drink real soon, and I'll tell you some stories. A couple of them will curl your hair."

"Thanks," Scott said, grinning at him.

"Oh, by the way, there's somebody waiting for you out in the reception area."

"There is? Who?"

"I don't know her name. She's a real looker, though. You're a foxy dude, Scotty Boy! Take care now. I gotta introduce my show."

Scott walked out to the reception area half afraid of what he might find. His idea of a looker and Barry's might be two different things. Station gossip had it that the daytime announcer was none too particular when it came to the opposite sex. He was more interested in ease of entry than he was in glamour or personality.

In the lobby sat a shapely blonde. She looked to be about twenty-one as she sat there reading a magazine, her long, slim legs crossed at the ankles.

"Hi," Scott said in a low voice. "You looking for me?"

She looked up at him, her green eyes shining. "I am if your the host of Night Line."

"I am. I'm flattered you know the name of the show. No one else seems to. My name's Scott Forsmo."

"I'm Monica James. Let's get out of here." She stood up, her movements reminding him of a panther. Cooly, she slipped her hand into his. "You live near here?" she asked, purring, and giving him a smile that dazzled him.

"Roley Towers."

"Hmmm, classy. Come on. My car's down in front."

"That's strictly a no parking zone, isn't it?"

"Don't worry. My husband's a cop. We never get ticketed."

"Oh," Scott said weakly, letting her propel him to the elevator.

"He works three to eleven in the morning. Besides that, he doesn't give a damn what I do as long as I stay out of trouble."

"You sound like a bitter woman," Scott said as they got into the elevator.

"Maybe I am, in a couple of ways. Mostly I get along all right, though. Do you have eggs in your refrigerator? I'll fix you breakfast."

"I don't usually eat breakfast."

"Make an exception, okay? I like my men to have plenty of stamina."

They jumped into her car, a red Camaro, and she pulled away from the curb. Scott thought how lucky he was to be off work at eight instead of at nine, when the receptionist, the other station personnel, and Hal Ransberg, the manager would be in. It would not do for them to see him leaving with a strange woman, even though what he did on his off time was his own business.

Monica pulled into the parking lot of the Roley Towers and parked the car. "Is this all right?" she asked. "I mean, they won't tow me, will they?"

Scott grinned at her. "I thought you were the lady whose husband was a cop?"

"These people hire their own security guards, and they tow anybody they feel like. If I got towed out of here, there'd be a lot of questions to answer."

"I thought he didn't care what you did. That's what you said." He held the door open for her, and they walked into the small lobby of his building.

"I also said as long as I stay out of trouble."

"And you think this is trouble?" he asked, pushing the button for the elevator.

"I hope so," she replied, giving him a broad wink and the same warm smile he had seen earlier. The doors slid back and they got onto the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed, Monica fell into his arms. He bent to her, and they kissed, deeply, their mouths open, their lips bruising each other in their ardor. Her body pressed against his, and he could feel the hard, yielding flesh of her breasts pushing into his chest. His hands moved slowly down her back, feeling her body, and coming to rest at last on the lushly rounded cheeks of her buttocks.

"I love the way you touch me," she murmured. "It's as if you're taking possession, demanding me, wanting me completely."

Before Scott could reply, the doors slid open, and they stepped into the hail outside his small apartment. He fitted the key into the lock and open the door, then stepped back and let Monica enter.

"Nice place," she said. "Nice view."

"Not as nice as higher up, but this floor was all I could afford. It goes up as you do, the rent, I mean."

"Oh, yeah, I suppose so. Can I use the bathroom? You got me so hot and bothered in the elevator that I have to use it or I'll die."

"It's that door to the left. Sorry the place isn't cleaner."

"Don't worry about it. Maybe I'll pick up a little for you if there's time." She disappeared into the bathroom.

"It's lonely being the only one with no clothes on," Monica said, her vocal quality that of a seductive lioness. "Won't you join me, Scott?"

He tore open his belt and fumbled for his zipper. Once he pulled it down, he pushed his pants to the floor and kicked them aside. Monica stared at him now, just as he had done to her.

"Christ," she mumbled, "You're a real man. I love all that hair. I can't wait to run my fingers over your furry chest."

"Is that all?" Scott asked, smirking at her and letting his cock jerk wildly to show how excited he was.

Monica giggled, her eyes riveted to his huge male organ. "No. That's just the beginning. What I really want is that." She pointed a long, slim finger at his burgeoning erection.

"Is it as big as your husband's?" Scott asked, reaching down to cup his giant balls, lifting them to draw attention to their size and heavy weight.

Monica threw back her head and laughed. "Are you kidding? The turd's got next to nothing. Sometimes I think that's why he became a cop. As long as he's in uniform, he can act like a big man, and nobody has to know he's hung like a ten year old."

"Not only that, it gives him a chance to pack a gun, even if it is made of steel."

Monica grinned at him, showing her dazzling white teeth. "That's a good line. I'll remember it." Her hands moved down to cup her breasts. She lifted them as though she were offering them to him.

"Shall we go into the bedroom?" Scott asked, his voice husky with passion.

She shook her head. "I said I'd fix your breakfast, remember?"

"Later. Right now I'm too hungry for something else."

"No!" Monica answered resolutely. "I promised, and I always keep my promises." She marched toward the small, alley kitchen.

"Have a heart, Monica. I'm so horny for you I'm about to come just looking at that spectacular body of yours."

She turned and smiled at him coquettishly. "Then the longer you wait, the better it'll be. I won't take long. I promise." She began rummaging in the refrigerator, and Scott stood watching the soft curve of her buttocks, trying to decide what to do. Here he was, stripped for action, and so was she. Now she was suddenly playing hard to get. He contemplated jumping her from behind and raping her dog fashion if necessary.

She straightened up and turned to face him. "First," she said, sounding like a home economics teacher, "You need some fruit." In her hand she held a ripe banana.

"I don't care much for bananas," Scott said, wrinkling his nose.

"I bet you'll like this one, especially when you see howl plan to serve it." She peeled the banana, her fingers moving quickly and efficiently. When she had skinned it, she leaned back against the door of the refrigerator, spread her long legs wide, and, to Scott's amazement, pushed it gently between the moist lips of her swollen pussy.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

She giggled childishly. "Serving you the banana, like I said." She stood before him in the tiny kitchen, arching her pelvis forward, the banana protruding lewdly from her groin as though it were a man's ball-less cock.

The salaciousness of it all was overwhelming, and Scott found himself actually shocked with the perversity of the scene. Still, he knew at the same time that he was incredibly aroused, more aroused than he could ever remember being. This beautiful, desirable creature was abusing her own body in the lewdest possible manner, and she was doing it for him.

Mindlessly, he fell to his knees before her, his eyes on her writhing hips and the tubular, delicious looking banana.

"Go on," Monica whispered, her voice so low he could hardly understand her, "Take it. Just take the end of it in your mouth and suck it a little, the way you would if it were… she trailed off.

"Oh, yesssss!" she hissed, grimacing down at him. "Suck it, Baby. Make it feel real nice. Ouuuuuuuu, yeah!"

Scott ate, mouthing the banana, taking it into him and chewing it up, swallowing greedily as though he were eating the most expensively prepared steak in the world. His nostrils were filled with the musky smell of female crotch, and he knew he would never eat or even see a banana again without knowing that wonderful scent.

Monica threw her head back and rested it on the door of the refrigerator, soft mewling cries escaping her half open lips. It was easy to imagine that it was a real cock and that it really was being destroyed inch by inch, mutilating her superb boy's body for life. She loved it, and the extreme lewdness of the symbolism made it overwhelming exciting to her.

Grunting like a starving dog, he pulled the last of the banana out with his teeth. He could taste her cunt juice on its surface, and he chewed it up, savoring the flavor of woman and banana combined.

"Now," Monica announced, "You can have what I promised. Take it. Take as much as you want." With her long fingers, she pulled open the hair studded lips of her cunt. Scott saw that they were reddened and swollen with fresh blood, pumped into them by her excited, totally aroused body. Taking a deep breath and opening his mouth wide to create immense suction, he shot his head forward, closing his lips over the moist, leaking halves of her hotly alive pussy.