Mary Jenkins - Innocent in Chicago Volume One
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- Название:Innocent in Chicago Volume One
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Innocent in Chicago Volume One: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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"Aaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaah!" She moaned, her head turning from side to side, her hair beating the ground hike a golden whip. The muscles of her hips and belly contracted in rolling waves of spasm, the pulsating walls of her hot, sperm-filled pussy sucking the last drops from his still spurting cock, until finally, weak and exhausted, she stopped and fell limply back onto the ground.
They lay for some time, panting and gasping, the smell of her wet orgasm and the odor of the perspiration which coated their bodies like a light film of dew overpowering the fresh scent of the forest around them. Finally he sat up and then helped her to her feet. With her torn panties he wiped the dirt and blood from her back and hips and then he got their suitcases from the car.
Without speaking, they changed their clothes, climbed back into the ear and started on for Chicago.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cynthia soon discovered finding another job was not as easy as she had expected. With no experience, she was limited to those which paid the least and seemed to be the least interesting.
"But why don't you take a secretarial course, Cynthia?" her aunt asked. "They have six-week courses here, and then you'd be much better qualified for a job."
"Yes I suppose I should." Cynthia sighed. "But I'd like to look a bit more, first."
"Well, I think you're foolish. You know you can stay here as long as you want, so it's not as if you absolutely had to get a job."
"I know Aunt Mary," she replied, "and thanks, but the idea of going to school again just leaves me cold."
"Did you see the ad this morning for a clerk at the Harris and Black Department Store? No experience required, it said."
"Yes, I saw it going in on the bus this morning."
"Did you go and see them?"
"Yes, but…"
"Well, what happened?"
"I had to take some tests, the usual rigmarole, and after an interview, they said they'd let me know. The hours would be awfully long."
"Did you go any place else?"
"Oh, yes, I went back to the Rogers Employment Agency and they sent me to a couple places… an advertising agency and a distributing outfit for household appliances."
"How were they?"
"The agency looks real good. A modern place and nice people."
"And?"
"And they're going to let me know. That's what they all say," she said impatiently, "we'll let you know. Really doesn't anybody just hire on the spot."
Her aunt laughed. "Well, that's the way it goes, dear. You'll just have to be patient. What kind of a job did they have open."
"Office girl… to open mail, carry copy around, learn the switchboard to help the girl they've get on it now, and things like that. Sounds a little more interesting, at least, than the other jobs I've looked into."
"What about the one at the distributing place?"
"I didn't like it at all. The job, nor the people, nor the place."
"Well, maybe you'll hear from the advertising people. I hope so. Try not to get discouraged, dear."
Cynthia refrained from telling her exactly how discouraging and exhausting her job hunting had been, for she knew her aunt would only press her the more strongly to take a secretarial course. But since she didn't want to delay earning her own living she wasn't going to give up yet, although she had already found that her interviewers had been interested in her for other reasons than giving her a job. At the distributing company she had finally learned what it was all about. And she had learned with a vengeance.
She had gone in, eager and hopeful, dressed in a neat summer suit and pert white hat which framed her tanned face and golden hair impeccably and had waited impatiently to be called in for the interview. The office had been bare and stark, not at all pleasant and not very clean. Back and forth past the open door hurried flashily-dressed cigar-smoking men, talking to each other in loud tones, and rough language. Probably salesmen, she thought, and not very attractive ones at that. She didn't like the appearance of either the office or the employees and when she had finally been summoned into the interviewer's office, she had liked it even less.
Its windows closed, the room smelled of sweat, old paper and stale cigars. Behind a massive desk, which was scarred and chipped, sat a gorilla of a man with a large, square head, black, bushy eyebrows and smoking a cigar. He didn't get up when she entered.
"You can sit down there, girlie," he said as he pointed with his cigar, held between nicotine-stained fingers, to a straight-hacked wooden chair.
She sat down and demurely crossed her ankles, her gloved hands folded on her lap while he looked at her for a few moments without speaking. He sucked deeply on his cigar, blew out a swirling cloud of blue smoke, cleared his throat wetly and loudly, and spat on the floor.
"You're not bad, girlie, not bad," he said in a gruff voice. "We could use someone like you around here. Do you want the job?"
"What is it exactly?" she said faintly. She already knew she didn't want it but thought she might as well go through with the interview now that she was here.
"Nothing you couldn't do, honey. Opening mail, delivering it and general errand work… going out to get us coffee and stuff like that. Wouldn't tax that beautiful head of yours." He tilted his chair hack and leered at her.
"So what about it?" he said.
"Well, I…" she faltered.
"Doesn't pay much, of course," he said, "but then you haven't to worry about that. The Cromwell Wholesale and Distributing Company always takes care of its employees and there's no doubt that with your looks, girlie, you'll be well taken care of around here." He laughed, got up and walked slowly around the desk. She sat quietly, twisting her fingers, and watched his hands; his thumbs were hooked on his belt and one hand held the cigar. They were large and chapped with crescents of dirt under the cracked nails.
"Well, I…" she started to say.
She didn't dare raise her eyes as he came toward her, but continued to stare at his hands and behind them his stomach which swelled out like a soft, over-ripe watermelon under the belt and shirt, stained with sweat and dirt, limp and wrinkled.
"What's the matter, honey, I won't bite you!" He laughed again as he stood in front of her. She saw his hands move. He flicked his cigar, the ashes falling onto her skirt and over her white gloves. He put his other hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.
"Well, what about it?" he said.
"I don't think I'll take the job," she said, she was tense and frightened. But what could happen to her here in his office? She glanced out of the corner of her eyes at the closed door.
He roared with laughter again and moved his hand to the nape of her neck and rubbed it with firm fingers.
"Honey, you better think again. There might be more money in it for you than just the job. You know, you're quite a looker."
"I don't think I want the job," she said again and started to get up, but his hand drew her toward him and he crushed her against his chest. His head bent toward hers; she saw his stained teeth and smelled the nauseating smell of his breath and his mouth sought her own. Turning her head, she struggled to free herself from his arms and kicked his shin.
"God-damn!" he said. "You're a real she-devil!"
He lifted her by the armpit and put her on the edge of the desk. Pushing her back against the hard wood and crumpled papers, he leaned over her, his crotch pressed against hers, his jutting stomach spread over her hips, and held her down, one hand clamped firmly on her breast while the other searched under her skirt and fumbled up over her thighs to where her panties met in a flimsy silken triangle over her soft pubic mount.
"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let go of me!" She twisted and writhed under his hands, feeling his short, stubby middle finger insinuating itself up under the elastic legband of her thin nylon panties. She gasped in sudden pain and humiliation as she suddenly felt it sink deep between the fleshy lips of her vagina and far up inside her. His other hand left her breast and clamped over her mouth, trying to drown out the cries of terror building there at the sudden and unexpected attack. Cynthia was almost out of her mind from the quick paralyzing fear of what the pudgy, fat man might do to her in his wild uncontrolled lust. She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes bulging wide in disbelief. Sweat was rolling in tiny rivulets from his forehead from the unaccustomed exertion he was forcing on his flaccid body and his eyes shone with twin sparks of madness she had seen before in the wild rolling eyes of the insane in some far distant horror movie she had seen as a child. There was nothing she could do. Her body was frozen and she felt as though she was some distant observer gazing down on the unbelievable scene of her own rape in the office of this horrible uncivilized creature that could not even he called human.
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