Jackie Reedly: Sex and the Boss Wife

"Then why didn't you just come down to the station and introduce yourself. As the boss' wife, you have certain privileges."

"And what would I have said? Among other things, my husband is jealous, the boob. No, this was better. As your Mystery Woman I could say anything I wanted to say, and as you said last night, it certainly has helped your rating."

"Why didn't you let me know who you were earlier than last night?" Scott sipped at his drink, his eyes on the dark haired woman.

Again she shrugged. "It just didn't seem right before. I guess I wouldn't have said anything last night if you hadn't recognized my voice."

"You could have denied that you were the Mystery Woman."

Dorry smiled at him. "Once I saw you standing there in front of me, I didn't want to. I wanted to let you know who I was. I wanted to see if you would do anything about what you and I talked about over the phone."

"And that's why you're here this morning, isn't it?" Scott whispered.

Looking at him with her deep violet eyes, the woman nodded her head slowly and began to unbutton her blouse. "Let's go into the bedroom," she whispered.

"You move fast, don't you?" Scott said.

Dorry reached down to undo the zipper at the side of her tight slacks. She slid it slowly down its track, her eyes on his crotch as she did so, watching his erection grow to its full, rigid size. She parted the halves of the zipper and pushed the slacks down over her lush, flaring hips.

With her toe, she kicked off one of her flat shoes, and with the now bare foot, the other. She wiggled her legs to allow her tight slacks to cascade down to her ankles and stepped toward him, leaving them in a heap on the bare floor. She held out her arms to him, inviting him to take her.

She eagerly unbuttoned his shirt, soft mewling cries escaping her throat as she saw the thick mat of curly hair on his broad chest. With nimble fingers, she pulled the shirt tails out of his pants and pushed his shirt off over his muscled shoulders. Quickly, the tips of her long fingers closed over his tiny, dark nipples, and she pinched them teasingly, making them stand erect. Scott was not used to this kind of treatment, even from women like Monica. It was almost as though he were a sex object for Dorry Ransberg. He resented the idea, and, yet, he found the sensation lewdly exciting. It was nice to be worshiped, especially by a woman as beautiful and desirable as this one.

Sliding the cool palm of her hand down along the washboard scallops of his stomach, Dorry ran her fingers down into the front of his pants. "Ouuuuuuu," she said. "You're not wearing any underpants!"

"I never do, just like you," Scott answered, his voice tight with passion.

"I have to sometimes. Hal insists on it, the shit. God, how I hate him sometimes." As she talked, her hands were busy. One continued to play with his erect nipples, the other curved around the shaft of his throbbing, hot erection. "God, you're big," she said, "Just like I knew you'd be. Oh, Baby, I can't wait to feel that big donger of yours stuffed all the way up my hole."

"Which one?" Scott asked playfully, flexing his hips as she began to manipulate his penis.

Dorry slapped him hard across the face. "There's only one, as far as you're concerned. My pig of a husband suggested once that I let him in the back, and I damn near ripped his balls off. Nobody screws me in the almighty ass. Understand?" She gave his penis a cruel twist.

Scott winced at the sudden pain. "Yes, Ma'am. Forget I brought it up."

"That's better," she replied, almost purring. Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and undid the snap at the waistband of his pants. "I want to get a look at you," she whispered.

"I've tried to imagine enough times how you were hung, and now I'm going to see for myself." She grasped the slide of his zipper between her thumb and forefinger and jerked it down. In the widening vee she could see a lush bushing of black curls. The sharp scent of male crotch assaulted her flaring nostrils. She could see the thick, fleshy root of his cock. With determination, the woman pushed Scott's pants down over his trim sinewy hips, and the slacks to the floor, bunching around his slim ankles.

"Oh, Christ," she whispered. "Oh, Christ, you're so beautiful."

Wrapping her fist securely around Scott's erection, she pulled him toward the bedroom.

"Hey," he said, laughing. "Wait a second. Let me get out of these ankle-grabbing pants, or I'll trip and break something."

"Well, hurry up, for chrissake! I can't wait much longer, or I'll be coming all over your kitchen floor."

Scott kicked off his shoes and managed to get out of his bunched up slacks and socks. All the time, Dorry held on tightly to his cock. He was her prisoner, and they both knew it. She would take everything she wanted from him, and she would do it for as long as she found it to her satisfaction.

"You're fired," Hal Ransberg said.

"Fired? What are you talking about? My ratings are higher than ever!"

"I know. At least that's what my wife told me." Ransberg scowled at Scott, his hands balling into fists.

"Dorry told you about us?" Scott and Dorry Ransberg had been having sex on a regular basis now for over a month. She had acted like she enjoyed it. He could not understand her telling her husband.

"She told me every word," Ransberg answered, his voice rumbling.

"But why, for Godsake? What could be gained by that except a lot of unhappiness for everybody concerned?"

"You pinpoint it exactly. Dorry loves to hurt people, people like you, people like me, any man with whom she comes in contact. That's just the way it is, and it has been for a long time. You don't need to flatter yourself that you're the first young prick that's attracted her."

"Then why fire me?" Scott asked flatly.

"Because your sniveling type of creep who takes advantage of other men's wives makes me sick."

"But you just said…"

"Don't tell me what I said or didn't say. Get the fuck out of here! Do your show tonight and then be on your way."

Scott stormed out into the reception area, his face purple with anger.

"What happened, Scott? what's wrong?" Rona asked.

"What's wrong? I just got fired. That's what's wrong."

"Fired? How could that happen?"

"If you really want to know, Rona, I'll tell you. I'll tell you all of it from beginning to end."

The red haired girl took his hand. "Yes, tell me. I want to know. I care about you, Scott, much more than you realize."

When Scott had finished his story, Rona sat silent for a moment. Then she said, "You go on home, I'll see what I can do."

"Do? What could you do?"

"I have something Ransberg wants. He's wanted it for a long time. Maybe it's time to give it to him." She pressed the intercom button.

"What is it he wants from you?" Scott asked.

"Never mind. Just go home and wait until you hear from me." She put her finger to her lips, hushing the disc jockey as the intercom crackled into action.

"Yes?" Ransberg's voice rumbled.

"Can I come in and see you for a moment, Sir?"

"I'm pretty busy."

"This won't take long, Sir, not any longer than you want it to."

"All right. Get someone to man your desk." Rona ran to another office, then returned to where Scott was still, standing, wondering what she was up to and how it could possibly help him. "Scott," she said, "you'll have to watch the desk for me."

"But I…"

"Trust me," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. She ran down the hail to Ransberg's office.

"What do you want, Rona?" Ransberg asked. Scott jumped a foot. It sounded as though the boss were right beside him. Suddenly he realized what was going on. Rona had left the intercom line open. Well, he thought, that was convenient. Now he would not have to guess at what the girl was trying to carry off, He could simply sit here at her desk and listen in. Quickly, he switched the intercom from the remote speaker to the telephone. This way he could listen privately, and anyone who came into the receptionist's area would never be the wiser.