Brad Harris - Turned on secretary

She could meet him now! Tom would be boozing it at the tavern for three hours or longer. She had plenty of time to drive to his apartment. She could drive over, let him bring her to a slow, dreamy fulfillment, and be back home long before her husband ever staggered in. The mere thought of it sent a shudder through her body.

No, she couldn't. She just couldn't. Maybe it was because she wanted to so badly that she couldn't. If Walt were as good as she imagined, then how could she ever come back to the frustrations of this bedroom? No! It was just too much to handle. Besides, she didn't know where his apartment was located. Too bad, she told herself. She tried to get her breathing back to normal, then saw the telephone book on the nightstand.

Sheila stared at the book as though frightened by it. It seemed to glow before her. Her knees were weak and watery as she stepped to the bed and sat down. Her hands trembled as she pulled the volume across her legs. She was only satisfying her curiosity, she insisted. That's all it was, mere curiosity. Still, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted his name on the page. She felt a lump in her throat, a warmness in her breasts. Her eyes were drawn to the name and the address which accompanied it. Damn! He lived so close to her! She could be at his apartment in fifteen minutes.

This was stupid, she told herself. Sheila leaned back against the pillow, letting the phone book fall from her lap. She closed her eyes again and tried to picture the expression on Walt's face were he to open his door and see her standing there. What would she say?

"Hi! I've come for my fuck?" That would be why she was there, wouldn't it? He would know it, whatever she said. Her pussy quivered as she imagined him leading her inside and looking down over her heaving tits. She could imagine the way his cock would swell inside his pants as he led her to his couch. No, he wouldn't waste time, not since he would know exactly what she came for. He'd take her to his bedroom.

Stop this! Her conscience screwed at her. She had to stop thinking like this! This was a one-way street. This wouldn't do at all. Yet it was so pleasant to dream. The lovely redhead closed her eyes once more and breathed deeply, imagining Walt's hands running softly over her tits, his fingers turning her nipples into panting buttons of shimmering pleasure. She tingled at the thought of his hand caressing her pussy until he had her gushing like crazy. She pictured him pulling his big pecker from his pants and inviting her to fondle it. She mopped the perspiration from her forehead as her breath became suddenly rapid once again. Her heart pounded in excitement. Her breasts swelled luxuriously. Her pussy tingled and throbbed.

He would give a slow, thorough balling. He would screw her like they described it in the books. He would give her one of those fucks that Ruby always talked about. She would roll with him. Oh, would she ever rock and throb as they pumped frantically and completely against each other.

Sheila jumped up from the bed. She forced herself to stop thinking like that. She had to stop this. If she didn't, she would be unable to resist the nearness of that apartment where he was waiting. If he was waiting. She hadn't thought of that. Walt wouldn't be sitting there waiting to see if she might show up. She had made it all too clear that she'd never put out for him. He'd probably not even be home. If he was, he'd probably have some other girl there. He might have one of the younger girls from the office. He might have same other tenant of those apartments. He might even have Ruby. The brunette was older than girls Walt usually dated, but Ruby had bragged once about what a hell of a piece of meat the young executive had between his legs.

She could find out! She could dial his number and see if he was there. No! Sheila knew that she'd be unable to resist his voice. If she heard him over the phone, she'd be unable to turn him down again. She couldn't turn him down twice in the same day, not as horny as she felt right now.

She looked back at the telephone as she grabbed a coat from her closet. She paused at the door. The phone seemed to demand her to come to it, to pick it up. Sheila ran through the door, fighting the terrible impulse. She ran through the living room, pulling her coat over her shoulders as she stepped out into the evening air. The lovely young woman walked quickly to her car and drove away. She had to get to Tom. She had to escape the temptation to pick up the telephone. She drove rapidly to the tavern that her husband usually mentioned. She spotted it and pulled into the small parking lot next door. Sheila had almost gotten out of her car when she realized that Tom's car was not parked in the lot. She cranked her car again and drove slowly through the lot. No, there was no sign of Tom's old Chevy. It wasn't parked on the street out front, either.

The redhead was confused by the absence of his car. She turned into the street and drove on slowly, trying to remember any other taverns he might have mentioned. Nothing rang any bell in her memory. The girl fought back the immediate feeling of anger. She hadn't asked him where he was going and he hadn't told her. She couldn't accuse him of lying to her, not very well. Still, it rankled her that he wasn't where she had expected to find him.

She drove around the small town, checking on other bars. She had driven through those parking lots before she spotted his automobile. There it was! A sigh of relief escaped her as she pulled into the nearest available slot and climbed from her own small import. This didn't seem a likely place for Tom. The sound of live music came out from the door as a couple ahead of her entered. Above her was a brightly lit sign that read: Country Music Dancing.

She couldn't understand her Tom coming to a place like this. Sheila shrugged her shoulders and pushed through the door. Maybe Tom had to come here to meet some buddy of his. She stepped into the dimly lit interior and groped her way over to the bar. She found an empty stool and sat down while her eyes became accustomed to the light.

"Well!" a man on her right gasped. "You're the prettiest thing to step in here in years!"

Sheila ignored him, her eyes roaming about the bar, searching for Tom. He wasn't at the bar. She was sure of that. She looked back along the row of booths, interrupting her survey of them as she spatted two pool tables off to the side. He wasn't at the tables, to her disappointment. She returned to the booths, still not able to see him anywhere.

Then she saw him! He was standing beside one of the tables out around the dance floor. Tom was leaning down and talking to some girl. His back was toward Sheila so that she couldn't see his face. She could surely see the face of the slender brunette, though. She could see the clear expression of pleasure as the girl talked to Tom. The redhead kept warning herself against getting angry. Hell, the girl was probably the wife or girl friend of some buddy of Tom's. Sheila knew that wasn't so, but still she kept telling it to herself.

She tried to convince herself that it was all harmless. Even as Tom led the girl to the dance floor, she insisted there was nothing to get angry about. Besides, the girl was too skinny. When she stood up, it became apparent just how scrawny she really was. No, Tom couldn't be interested in that. But why, then, was he dancing so suggestively with her. Damn him! Damn Tom! He was rubbing his cock all over the girl as they danced. He had a hand planted firmly on her tiny little ass while he rubbed sensuously against her to the slow beat of the music. He had one leg between hers and was letting her pussy ride the top of his thigh.

Now Sheila could feel anger. She allowed herself that luxury. Damn right. She became furious as she watched. Her blood boiled as she wondered how many other nights Tom had been here with that little bitch or some other woman.