Robert Vickers - Spread Wide Secretary

"More, you ignorant cocksucker. Fuck me more!" she begged. "I need it!

God, do I need more fucking! Your cock, gimme your fucking cock.

Please, oh, please…"

Veronica relaxed on the sofa, sobbing. She turned her head to one side so she wouldn't have to see Mr. Marshall straighten. His prick limply slid from her cunt amid a flow of her own oils and his spent come.

"Good," the man said. "I approve of a woman who knows how to be a team player. Do you want the job? If you do – and you know the rules around here now – it's yours."

Veronica didn't speak to him as he snipped her wrists and ankles free of their bonds. She rolled over on the sofa, crying. But she was confused. The blue-eyed blonde didn't know exactly what she was crying about.

Was it because the man had raped her? Or was it because she had gotten off on it? She had enjoyed this bizarre fucking as much as she had enjoyed more sedate fucking when she'd first gotten married. She felt alive inside, in spite of the humiliation and degradation of the rape.

"I… I'll take the job," she gasped out. It sounded like a stranger's voice. But the warmth in her loins was familiar. It was the same lovely feeling in her guts that she'd always had after a hard fucking back in the good old days. The days before she'd become frigid.

"Good. Report to work tomorrow morning at eight. You'll be under Karl Bennet in the purchasing department."

Mr. Marshall went back to his desk, already dressed and looking bored.

Veronica slowly sat up and rubbed her wrists. The buttons on her blouse were all gone. She didn't bother looking for them. She pulled the front of her tweet jacket tightly around her, pulled down the wrinkled brown tweed shirt and walked out of the office on shaky legs.

But she'd gotten the job!

And the spark of fire inside her had been rekindled in a bizarre, outrageously degrading way.

Veronica worried a lot about what had happened to her at Acme Manufacturing Company as she sat and tried to set on new buttons down the front of her torn blouse. She had enjoyed the rape.

Actually enjoyed it.

The warmth still glowed inside her loins from the feel of Mr.

Marshall's steely cock. That bothered her more than she could put into words. With Stan, there wasn't any thrill like that. And he was gentle, kind, considerate. He always seemed to know what she wanted – or had wanted until about a year ago. That was when the boredom of her existence had really started getting to her.

But why respond to Mr. Marshall and not to her very own husband's rigid prick?

The gorgeous blonde had no answer for that one.

Maybe she wasn't frigid at all. The intensity of her climax with Mr.

Marshall had proven that. Maybe all the cobwebs in her mind had been burned away. She might be able to experience full orgasm with Stan now.

And she knew she'd have to try it the instant he got home.

The sound of the car door slamming sent the blue-eyed girl running to the front room. Stan was just coming in when Veronica launched herself at him.

"Stan, darling!" she sobbed, her arms going around his neck.

"Hey, doll, what's wrong? You haven't greeted me like this in months and months. You haven't dented a fender on your car, have you?"

"No, Stan, nothing like that. I… I've been thinking about you.

Thinking about what we did last night. And I… I mean, I want to do it again."

"Sure, why not?" he said, his voice light and airy. "Let's have some supper and then we can go and -"

"No, Stan, not later. I want you. Now." The gorgeous blonde's hand slithered down his body and pressed against his crotch.

Stan's eyes widened in surprise. "Why the sudden change? Lately, I've been thinking you haven't wanted to screw around. I figured a little fantasy – like last night – might spark things up for you. But I never thought you'd get this horny this fast."

"Don't talk, Stan. Kiss me!"

She crushed her lips against his, her tongue snaking out to erotically duel with his. She needed to prove to herself that Mr. Marshall's fucking didn't mean a damn thing to her, that only her own husband's steel-hard cock could cause her to come.

He broke off the kiss. "Damn, but you did get turned on by last night.

Fan-fucking-tastic!" He scooped her up and carried her off to the darkened bedroom. He dumped her onto the bed. She lifted herself up onto her elbows and watched as Stan's eyes widened in surprise.

Twitching again and wiggling down a little in the hard bed, she let her legs drift wider apart to give her husband a better view of her cunt.

"See anything you like?" she taunted.

"Damn straight!"

"I hope it is," she answered.

He couldn't take his eyes off her naked, churning cunt. She hadn't put on any panties in the hope that he'd fuck her right away. His hands worked feverishly at his zipper to let his hard cock come racing out.

She tugged at his rigid prick. "Yeah, it's damned straight. And hard.

And just a teeny bit cold. I know a nice, warm, damp place for it."

She pulled him hard enough to make him yelp, but he moved his long prick, his lovely, steel-hard fucking prick closer to her twat.

She felt his cock bucking like a wild bronco in her grip. Stan was going to cream all over her like a teenager getting his first piece of ass. Stan was an experienced cocksman, after all, and should have been in better control of himself.

Like Mr. Marshall would have been.

Veronica shivered. No matter what happened, she kept thinking about the abuse that Mr. Marshall had given her. And how much she had gotten off on it. She doubted Stan would understand; he certainly wouldn't tie her up before fucking her. She knew him well enough for that.

This would have to be a straight, plain, ordinary fucking.

Veronica sighed as he began exploring her lush body. His mouth closed on one upturned tit and he sucked hard. The pressure of his tongue on the nipple sent a spike of joy into her chest. His tongue teased her nipple until it was a hard, red pebble of pulsating lust.

When he began nibbling on her tit, she abandoned herself to the feelings rampaging through her. Maybe she could get off on the way he was sucking her tits, feeling her legs, pressing his hairy chest down against her softly yielding body.

She reached out and pulled his head down firmly against her tits. Stan got the message that she wanted more of his mouth all over her luscious tits. He began licking and kissing and lightly nipping at her tender flesh.

The rough wetness of his tongue sent shudders into her that pushed her slowly up the pinnacle toward orgasm. It wasn't like having a rigid prick deep in her churning cunt fucking her, pleasuring her, but it was better than nothing.

He rolled his tongue around in a broad circular pattern. His tongue pressed the rock-hard nipple down into the firm flesh of her tit before starting a spiral down the slope of her boob. When he finally reached the base of her tit, he buried his face in the deep canyon between those luscious mounds of titflesh. The motion of his tongue back and forth between her tits caused her breath to quicken.

Veronica felt now that Stan was inept as a lover. She had thought he was pretty good until she'd found Mr. Marshall. That man stimulated her and made her come alive. But not this man – this child! She wanted and needed a real man to command her, to dominate her, to make her feel like a real woman.

But still there was the aching emptiness between her thighs. A hand stroking her leg wasn't good enough. There had to be more. And that "more" was steely cock.

She wiggled under him again and managed to position herself so her churning cunt was wide open. He crushed down on top of her, his cock far away from the blood-engorged, dripping pussy lips so hungrily awaiting his prick.