Clarence Tydings - The unfaithful girlfriend

"No, Phillip, no!" she whispered angrily, aware now of the dangerous position she was in.

But his hand roamed caressingly over her body, gently over ribs and belly, stroking the fragrant, sparse fleece of her pubis so that she itched between her legs and squirmed to escape his teasing touch. But his hand soon found her treasures again and pushed aside the soft pink lips of her pussy as his tongue had pushed aside hers. She gasped, nearly choking from the surprised entry, squirming still, but now against his fingers rather than away.

"Oh, Phillip, please," she murmured, breathlessly now, "We can't… we can't."

In an instant, he was out of his shorts and Jessica could feel the huge, hot throbbing of his penis against her hip in the darkness. His ravishing fingers probed deeper and deeper in her tender virginal passage. Her neck arched off the mattress, her teeth gritted, as she managed a weak, rasping, "N-No, Phillip… p-please…"

Phillip took her hand and placed it on his prick; she recoiled at the initial touch. God, it was enormous… she'd never realized they were so huge! His own fingers over hers began a slow massaging motion and when he pulled away, her fingertips continued the gentle caressing movement on their own. As much from curiosity as from passion, Jessica allowed her fingers to drop down to the hairy swollen firmness of his balls, and she stroked them gently, holding their heavy weight in her open palm. Phillip was grinding his teeth noisily and grunting between breaths. She felt the first oozing drop of semen on her thigh as his immense cock rested there; for a moment, she wondered if that might be his ejaculation, but his prick was still as hard and rigid as a young sapling.

"Jessica, darling, please… we've got to, honey, or I'll go crazy!"

"Phillip, we've been through this before. I told you… no, no!"

And even as she mouthed her words, refused him, Jessica knew it wasn't right. Dear God, how can I refuse him? How can I refuse myself?!

She knew she couldn't stop him if he really wanted to; only yelling to Aunt Mildred for help could stop him, and she'd never do that. After all, this wasn't any villainous intruder. This was Phillip!

"Jesus, I've got to have you," he moaned and rolled onto her. She squirmed to get from beneath him, but was not strong enough to lift his weight.

"No, please, no!"

She clenched her thighs tight together snub felt the immensity of his throbbing, lust-inflated cock between them, long and hard in the vise-like grip of her bare legs. In one last effort to ward off his frightening advance, Jessica squeezed her legs even tighter together. It can't be like this! I've got to have time to think!

There was a gasp… Phillip moaned, holding his breath interminably, and suddenly Jessica felt his prick expand and shudder as if alive. He gasped a quick breath, then gasped again and again as Jessica felt the hot sticky flood of his climax splatter over her thighs and drip down between them.

His weight was like a dead man on her as he lay there very still his breath erratic and panting. She stroked his head tenderly, afraid now that his cries might have awakened Aunt Mildred. But there was no sound from down the hall if, indeed, she was awake.

He lay there a very long time, then climbed wearily to his feet, searching for his undershorts in the darkness. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to her face, kissing him warmly. There were no words… and there seethed no need for any.

Jessica closed her eyes as she heard the bedroom dour softly shut. And in a few minutes, she was asleep again, as though he'd never been there nakedly beside her…

Jessica identified herself to the uniformed night guard at Marty Felder's Madison Avenue agency address; the old man said nothing, but gave her a knowing wink as he motioned toward the elevators. Obviously, after-hours visitors were not out of the ordinary for Felder, something she could have guessed quite easily without the old man's help.

The agency door was open when she stepped from the elevator car at the thirteenth floor; down the long open central room she could see a couple of young men, most likely copywriters, at work at a large desk in the back. Behind them was a cork storyboard, with paste-up drawings of the television commercial frames yet to be filmed. They were using a small Sony tape recorder, and the peppy jingle sounded odd and out-of-place, somehow out of context. Marty's door was open, too – that was something she'd noticed about advertising agencies, people seldom worked behind closed doors. She didn't know whether to attribute that to a convivial sense of sharing, or if the well-known agency "pirating" was more likely the reason for giving no one cause to be suspicious.

Felder was up and out of his chair before Jessica reached the doorway. "Hello, luv'," he greeted her, "I was just finishing up. Let's go out through the parking garage and I'll get out of these work clothes." Jessica thought his outfit was more than adequate for anything going at this hour in New York, but she didn't question him.

"Sure. Anything you say." The two young men in the back of the main work room, their slightly-long hair over their expensive collars, glanced up, frozen in mid-stride, for a moment. The raucous, tiny jingle blared on; then after smiling knowingly they went back to their work.

Felder led the way down the darkened corridor, past the brightly-decorated offices of the creative staff of Hartfield and Marsh. Jessica tried to steal a quick glance into the empty offices as they hurried past; many of the walls were covered with color eight by ten's of models for the agencies various accounts-models like herself. Or like she wanted to be.

"My car's in the basement," said Felder, "Why don't you go on down. It's a Cadillac… Eldorado. It's safe down there, lots of lights, and a night attendant. Just tell him you're looking for my car. I've got to stop by the sixteenth floor and use the telex line. But only for a minute, okay? Be right there." And with that, he left the elevator and she was alone again. When the car reached its destination and the doors opened again, she discovered she was in a cavernous, neon-lit basement garage, all purple and humming from the thin tubes that lined the ceiling. Another guard, almost identical to the one she'd first encountered on coming in from Madison Avenue, stirred from his folding aluminum chair when the metal doors whirred open.

"Yes, Ma'am, can I help you," he offered politely, smiling rather mechanically.

"Mr. Felder told me to wait for him here… in his car."

"Yes, Ma'am," said the guard, "it's over there. The dark green one."

Jessica thanked him and followed his directions to a Forest Green Eldorado and climbed in. She nestled down in the luxurious interior, surrounded by yards of natural leather; even the smell of the car was rich. It felt oddly homey and familiar, as if a car like this was where she had belonged all along. She had turned the collar of her coat up and was sitting with her eyes closed when Felder arrived.

"Like it, baby?" he asked, standing in the splash of multi-colored lights that lit-up instantly when he opened the door.

"Yes, it's beautiful. But it must have cost a lot of money," she said rather innocently.

"Yeah, but it's worth it. When you've got a job like mine, first impressions mean a lot. You'd be surprised how many people judge a man by the car he drives."

"Yes… I suppose so."

After crossing town, knifing through the early evening traffic like an expensive cruiser cuts through water, they entered another underground garage, waiting for the gates to electrically open after Marty had pressed the button installed under the left side of the Cadillac's dash.

"Radio-controlled," he said by way of explanation.