Clint Murdock: Naked Nikki

Nikki bounded off the bed and carefully tugged the contracts from their resting place. Immediately the name on the top one leaped out at her: Franco Finnelli, one of the most visible rising stars in the fashion industry.

"Oh, my God!" Nikki squealed. "Franco Finnelli! You've got to be kidding!"

Friedman's lips twisted sardonically. "I thought you might like that."

"Oh, my God! Why, that's almost too good to be true!" Suddenly she stopped and the girlish delight froze on her face, her eyes narrowing abruptly. "That is too good to be true! Why the hell would you give me something like this, Howie, baby?"

Now a genuine smile broke across the talent agent's weather-beaten face. "Jesus, are you suspicious! It's the only thing I've got, that's all. The only thing that's going off any time soon, anyway, and I figure if I suggest something more than five minutes in the future, you'll probably make me lie here waiting, just like this, until you fucking get back or something!"

"Now it was Nikki's turn to smile. "Well, when is it going off, Howard?" she asked, leafing through the documents as she crossed to the bed. "There isn't any date on any of them."

"Your wonder-boy there is why there isn't a date on any of them," Howard said, taking them from her hand and pulling out a blank one. "We're waiting on Mr. Magic Finnelli to get his goddam schedule cleared up, and then as soon as I hear from him, they're leaving right away. The bastard should've already called me by now, and I'm expecting to hear from him in the next five to seven days."

He pulled the pen from her fingers and paused dramatically. "I presume you don't have any ironclad commitments that will cause a conflict during that time?"

Nikki regarded him with a wry smile. "Very funny, Howie. Just make the contract out, baby, and I want mine to look exactly like Franco Finnelli's!"

"Sit down here, bitch," Friedman commanded, then placed the papers against Nikki's bare back and began writing. The brown-haired girl reached around with her right hand and started working on his erection again. Howard moaned a little bit in spite of himself, then cleared his throat.

"God, you make for a lousy business atmosphere," he said.

"That's okay, Howie, I'm not applying for secretary."

"It'll be okay, I trust, if I insert your name here instead of Franco Finnelli's.-What did you say it was, again?"

"Nicolle Newman," she told him smartly. "Nikki for short. And don't you ever forget it, Big Boy!"

"Nikki Newman… Nikki Newman… Nikki Newman… "

Howard Friedman was murmuring the name over and over to himself as he lay on his back on the succulent bed in his high-rise apartment. The girl who belonged to the name was seated on her haunches beside him, her mouth sliding enthusiastically up and down his long, hard penis. Loud slurping sounds came from her busy lips and the shaft of Friedman's steel-still pecker was slathered with a mixture of his thick, leaking cum and Nikki Newman's glistening saliva.

Howard Friedman's eyes were closed as the brown-haired girl energetically sucked his cock, her big, soft 36-DD boobs dangling heavily forward and swaying with the rhythmic motion of her torso. Occasionally his left hand reached out and hefted one of the full, white globes, teasing the nipple and pushing the yielding flesh back up into her chest. Howard's other hand remained concealed, tucked underneath the sexy curve of Nikki's ass and thigh. His fingers were busily engaged in digging repeatedly into the hot, juicy folds of her clinging cunt. He probed into her dripping channel as deeply as he could reach, producing an occasional grunt that he could almost feel on the head of his prick as it rammed up into her throat. Then he changed his tactics and pinched and rolled the burning flesh around her hard, bulging clitoris, rolling and worrying the fiery little bud until she moaned and moved her hips, trying to get away from the stinging stimulation.

Behind the two figures on the bed lay the rest of Howard Friedman's lavish living quarters; a spacious day room with a huge black-and-white llama-skin shag carpet; a wall-size picture window which, when the gold herringbone curtains were opened, looked out over one of the richer neighborhoods in the city; a pink-and-gray tiled bathroom with a sunken tub convertible into a shower stall when desired; a small but functional kitchen with a microwave, garbage disposal, dishwasher, refrigerator-freezer, mixer, blender, toaster and coffee-maker; an auxiliary bedroom which contained no bed but held a large circular pile of foam rubber pads in the center of the floor, bound with several strands of twine and covered with three leopard-skin sheets.

And finally, there was the master bedroom and office, where Nikki Newman was working diligently on the 58-year-old talent agent's straining cock. One half was clearly a working area, strewn with books and papers and pens and pencils, a typewriter, several scheduling calendars; the motley paraphernalia of the talent agent's trade. On the walls, behind and beside Friedman's desk, was a patchwork pattern of certificate, awards and licenses pertaining to the business; atop the small bookcase which flanked his desk were several plaques and statuettes bearing witness to his fairly noteworthy standing in the industry, in several industries, in fact.

And in the very center of his desk, clearly distant from the surrounding rubble of other smaller, vaguer, remoter deals, standing out like a beacon amidst the match glows of lesser matters, was the photo contract of Nikki Newman. It rested beneath the solid weight 'of an eight-ball-shaped paperweight, the topmost of the related sheaf of documents which would send Nikki off in several days to. the scenic beaches of Baja, off in the company of such luminaries as Franco Finnelli and Amanda Trafalgar, off on the first exciting step of her starburst career.

The contract was anchored firmly in Nikki's mind as she rode her mouth up and down, up and down, up and down on Howard Friedman's prick. Her lips were stretched wide apart, her cheeks pulled taut by the strain of swallowing the talent agent's towering meat. She didn't mind. Not with that contract behind her. The taste of his salty cum had turned her off a little at first, but she had diluted it quickly with her own saliva, and now it wasn't bad at all.

She tightened her lips reflexively as she slid them from the hairy root of Howard's tool up to the hot, throbbing helmet, then forced her mouth back down again, letting the gradual thickening of his shaft spread her lips further apart. With one hand she fondled the agent's large, hairy ball-sac, pressing and cupping it gently, occasionally allowing her impudent forefinger to dart underneath and jab at his sensitive perineum.

Nikki has been giving Friedman fantastic head for more than five minutes now, she determined with a surreptitious glance at her watch. She wondered when he was going to cum. At first she'd thought he would blow his load straight into her face, then she'd expected a mouthful of sperm within the first dozen strokes, but the old bastard had fooled her. Somehow he seemed to have adjusted to the flow of pleasurable sensations from her sucking mouth into his huge hard-on and now, although he was still wheezing excitedly and lifting his ass up off the bed every few strokes, Nikki had the feeling he could go on like this for quite awhile.

It was like the old sonofabitch might be trying to hold back. Like he might be trying to get over on her, lying there thinking about barbed wire and dismembered babies or some goddam thing, with a stiffer as big as a lead pipe Like this way he could get back at her a little bit because she'd pulled the contract out of him, letting her suck herself into a dizzy spell while he lay there laughing at her inwardly, pulling every mental trick he-could think of to keep from blasting off in her mouth!