Simon Jillson - Driven To Depravity

Dear God, what kind of an animal was she becoming that she had the feeling that her prayers had been answered?

She checked her watch. Lunch time. "Are you going to be here this afternoon?" she asked.

The man nodded. "Damned if I know why, with business the way it is.

But, I might as well sit here as sit at home. Maybe something will happen to break the monotony. You going out?"

Judy nodded. "I have to see Mark's specialist, after lunch," she lied, thinking quickly.

"Might as well take the whole afternoon, if you want it," the man told her. "I'll cover the phones."

"I'm not expecting any calls."

"See you tomorrow."

Judy hid her eyes behind her dark glasses once she was out on the sidewalk. Her heart was pounding hard as she turned toward the bank.

She had no appetite for lunch at this point.

In the cool interior of the bank, Judy walked over to the low railing that set the offices apart. She had the hideous feeling that everyone knew what she was up to.

"I'd like to see Mr. Caldwall, please," she said softly.

"Certainly," the cool blonde receptionist replied. "Who shall I say is calling?"

"Penncroft, Mrs. Judy Penncroft." While the girl was on the phone, Judy watched the customers crossing the polished floor. She had the feeling they were all watching her.

"Mr. Caldwell will see you," the receptionist reported. "The third office from the end."

"Thank you." Passing through the gap in the railing, Judy made her way across the conservative gray carpeting to the indicated doorway. She had been relieved to find that Caldwell had an office. When she saw the solid, sturdy, opaque wooden door, she felt almost relaxed.

"Mr. Caldwell?" she asked from the doorway,

"Mrs. Penncroft." The man pushed his swivel chair back and stood up.

"Won't you please come in? It is indeed a pleasure to meet you in person."

Judy kept her face expressionless as she studied the banker and shook his hand. The man's grip was so feeble she felt as if she had been handed a limp sack of soft gelatin. The rest of him matched his handshake. He was about as tall as Steven Shein, but where Shein was hard, Milton Caldwell was soft. Shein was broad across the shoulders, narrow across the waist. The bank vice president reversed it, and had the contours of a pear.

He was a study in pink and gray – gray hair, pink, round face, gray suit and vest. His tie and his hair seemed to have been color coordinated, gray with a thin pink stripe. His hair was combed across his pink bald spot in a series of gray slats. Even his eyes were gray, while the whites were bloodshot. His silver framed glasses perched on his round pink nose.

Judy's feeling of eager anticipation was fading rapidly.

"Please, have a seat, Mrs. Penneroft," Caldwell urged politely in his reedy voice. He closed the door behind her, then held the chair beside his desk for her to sit down in.

Judy was sure he was sneaking a careful look down her neckline. She carefully crossed her legs, so her skirt would ride up her thigh.

"Now, just what can I do for you?" the pink and gray man asked as he lowered himself into his chair.

Judy noticed he pushed back so the desk didn't cut off his view of her trim legs. She fiddled with the top button of her blouse. "I wanted to discuss the Andrew McCarter situation with you."

"McCarter – McCarter," Caldwell mused. "Ah, yes, of course, Andrew McCarter. Well now, it is a bit unusual to discuss confidential matters with an outsider."

"I'm here at Mr. McCarter's request," Judy explained. "Why, exactly, are you refusing to grant Mr. McCarter a mortgage?"

The bluntness of the question seemed to astonish the banker. He rocked back in his chair, and the springs protested with a thin squeak. When he rebounded forward again, he sought refuge in the papers on his desk, flipping through stack after stack.

It reminded Judy of a small gray mouse building a nest.

"Aaahhh, yes, here we are," Caldwell chirped, extracting a long form from the heap. "McCarter, Andrew A. Uhm hmm. Hmmmmm." He unfolded the application and looked it over carefully. "Yes, this all seems to be in order." He looked at Judy again.

Judy's exasperation was increasing. She was beginning to think nothing was going to get through to this creature. She casually let the top button of her blouse slip through the hole.

"Why won't you give him the mortgage?" she asked again. "He has an excellent credit rating, there is no disagreement over the interest rate, and you have an appraisal of over one and a half million on the house in question."

Caldwell's necktie bobbed peculiarly as he swallowed hard. His eyes kept straying from Judy's face down to the vee of her unbuttoned shirt.

"Ahem, well, yes, indeed," he agreed. "But, you must admit we are discussing a very large sum of money."

Judy was toying with the second button now. "Certainly. But I was under the impression that the business of banks was to loan large sums of money. An eight percent return on your investment, especially an investment of this size, is hardly trivial." She could see a film of sweat forming on the man's pink forehead.

"Ahum, well, that is true," he wheezed. "However, with interest rates as high as they are, the return on eight percent is really minimal."

Judy decided to play dumb. "I don't understand. Perhaps if you worked it out for me on paper?"

"Well, um, it's really very simple," Caldwell explained, pulling a yellow pad over in front of him. "For the sake of simplicity, we'll take one million dollars. Now, we can either loan it out in one large lump, at eight percent," he explained, scribbling on the pad.

Judy wasn't listening. She got gracefully up from her chair and went around behind it. As she passed the door, she casually reached out and locked it. Then she went and stood behind Milton Caldwell. She unbuttoned the second button on her blouse.

"I see what you are driving at," she murmured softly, carefully pressing the soft warmth of one of her breasts against the man's head as she leaned over him. He turned his head, and for a moment Judy had the insane feeling he was searching for her tit to suckle on just the way a hungry baby does.

"Now," Caldwell squeaked, "if we break that million into smaller amounts, of, say, ten loans of one hundred thousand each, the picture changes radically."

Judy eased around beside him and leaned over, her hands on the desk.

Her breasts swayed enticingly inside her open blouse. "What are the exact figures on that?" she asked, one eye on the electronic calculator near her left hand.

"Well, now the problem gets more complex," Caldwell pointed out. He reached for the calculator.

Judy intercepted him, putting her hand on top of his and pinning it to the desk. She turned and looked him full in the face, noting how his color was shifting from pink to red, and washing out the stripe in his tie. "Why, I'm surprised that a man of your intellect can't do that in his head," she flattered him. His eyes were watering as his gaze bounced desperately from her face to her breasts. His flabby lips were shining.

"Well, yes, of course," he admitted. "I used to do it that way before I got the calculator."

"You know, Mr. Caldwell, you are a very interesting man," Judy informed him in a soft, sexy voice. She was still holding his hand.

"Oh, no," he protested softly.

"Why, you are, too," Judy insisted, letting his hand go and turning to sit on his desk. Crossing her legs, she kicked off her sandals. Then she folded her arms under her breasts and lifted and pressed them inward. "Why, I'm sure Mrs. Caldwell has a great deal of difficulty keeping her hands off you."

"There is – cough – there is no Mrs. Caldwell," the banker mumbled nervously. "Now, as I was saying, if we…"