'Are you a policeman?' she gasped in a frightened whisper.
'No, darling, I'm not a policeman. But I have a friend who is, and he told me all about it. I knew right from the start.'
To my consternation she began to weep in earnest. The tears streaked down her cheeks and fell on my hand. Touched and embarrassed, I drew her down on my lap and tried to console her.
'Now don't cry little one. There's no great harm done. There's still time to fix things up.'
'Is my husband in jail?' she asked, tremulously.
'Don't worry about him. He'll be back in the morning. Maybe I can fix it so he'll be back tonight.'
'Oh, will you, surely?'
'I will if I can, but if I do, you must promise me you won't let him put you in such a situation as this again.'
'I promise! I promise!' she exclaimed heartfeltly and then, as an afterthought struck her, she asked timidly:
'Will he know what you... what... I mean, we did?'
'Not unless you tell him, my dear. He has no way of knowing just what happened. You can tell him you sent me away when he didn't come. Heaven knows,' I added, smiling, 'you certainly tried hard enough!'
'Oh! you're a good man! I'm sorry I tried to fool you!' - and again she burst into tears. 'The others (sob) weren't (sob) like you; they were just (sob) fresh old men!'
'I expected maybe they had it coming to them all right, but they will make trouble for you sooner or later, sweet,' and as the tears continued to flow, I took my handkerchief and endeavoured to dry her cheeks, soothing her with what reassurances I could.
Suddenly she threw her arms about my neck and began to kiss me.
'You're a good man,' she repeated, and then, lowering her eyes, she whispered: 'If you want me to, I'll do it with you again before you go!'
Surprised and pleased, I glanced at my watch. It was getting later and every minute my stay was prolonged would increase my friend's anxiety. He might even, if I failed to appear soon, show up at the apartment. At the same time, the virginal aspect of that nude, shaven little cleft awakened powerful temptations. I placed the palm of my hand over it tentatively. Little electric-like shivers chased themselves up and down my spine at the touch, and my cock stiffened out in anticipation.
'Come on if you want to. One more won't make any difference now, anyway.'
'What do you know about psychic stimulation?' I asked, my thoughts reverting to Irma and her theories.
'Psychic stimulation?' she repeated, wonderingly, 'what do you mean by psychic stimulation?'
'Oh, nothing much,' I replied. 'Darling, I'm British but I like France and I like some of the French customs. I have little time left, but if you're really willing, I'd like to do it to you with my tongue.'
'All right!' she answered tensely, 'I'd rather have it that way. I'm terribly afraid of getting a baby!' and she slipped off my knees.
Placing herself on the bed she put a pillow under her hips, separated her legs and in less time than it takes to tell, my face was down between her thighs, and my lips united with another pair of lips, which ran up and down, instead of crosswise. Two soft little hands clasped my cheeks as my tongue penetrated and explored the secret depths. And when its activities were transferred to the tiny little protuberance in the upper extremity of the naked incision, she writhed and moaned with ecstasy, and the little hands gripped my cheeks convulsively.
'Oh!' she gasped, 'you're making me come again!'
The warm flesh against my mouth began to exude moisture. Her body stiffened out, maintaining its rigidity for a moment and then relaxed.
I got up and with the towel she had cast aside, wiped off my lips.
'Before I go, tell me your name, darling. Your right name, I mean!'
She flushed at the recollection of the false name previously given me, and replied:
'Georgina.'
'Georgina,' I said, 'if your number wasn't already drawn it would be easy to fall for you in a big way.' And my words were sincere.
'It looks like I already have fallen for you,' she responded pensively.
'Thank you, sweet. I'll go now and see about your husband.'
A feeling of sadness, almost of regret, that I would never see her again enveloped me as I walked rapidly down the street.
'Sentimental fool!' I said to myself, endeavouring to shake off the gloomy sentiments which had invaded my thoughts. I had got what I went after, but in my heart I knew I was taking something away with me which I had not calculated on, and that the memory of a little figure, with its disordered curls and wet cheeks against my face, its breasts, firm and white, pressed to my heart while I looked down over her shoulder at the softly rounded curve of a naked bottom and the lissom swell of daintily sculptured legs, glistening through the black sheen of her hose, would haunt me throughout the years to come.
Fifteen minutes later I was at a telephone, and when the call was connected, the uneasy voice of my detective friend inquired:
'What in the world happened? I was about to take a man and go out there. Thought maybe that little witch had stuck a knife in your ribs. She stalled you off, didn't she?'
'No, she didn't stall me off. I'll tell you later.'
'Well... I'll be... did you really...?'
'Yes, yes; I'll tell you all about it when I see you. But that fellow... where is he?'
'Detained for investigation.'
'Could you get him out tonight, if you wanted to?'
'Tonight! Why... I could, I expect, but what's the rush?'
'Get him out, if you want to do me a favour. It's important to me. I've given my word, and I want to make it good. I'll get a cab and be down soon. Try and have him loose by the time I get there.'
And I hung up the receiver.
The Devil's Advocate
She draws her chair around the corner of your desk. It is very important to her that you get a good view of her excellent legs, and she says 'Mister Garnett...' Her red hair spreads around her head like a halo, and her voice is that of an angel. 'I'm in terrible trouble, and you're the only person who can get me out of it.' She allows two big tears to well up in those innocent green eyes. 'You see, I know this man - Abie the Goat they call him - and right now he and some of his friends are in jail on a counterfeiting rap-charge, and they're afraid the district attorney is going to throw the book at them. They told me to get the best criminal lawyer in town to get them off. Of course I came straight to you.'
'Of course,' you echo softly.'
'For an ordinary lawyer, it would be a real tough case. But for you, it'll be a breeze. I just know you can get them off without half trying.'
She draws her skirt a bit higher and crosses her legs, showing a generous portion of white meat. The fan which you have set in action against the mid-afternoon heat ruffles the frills on her blouse, drawing your attention to them. She leans forward encouragingly, and her breasts strain maturely against the black gossamer fabric of her shirtwaist, so cool and soft against the crisp white tailored suit. You have to give her credit, she has a quick eye for the direction of your gaze, and she's anxious to be as obliging as she can. You look far into her blouse through the transparent material. The two melons on display are really ripe. These well-kept molls have what it takes and know how to dress it up.
Slowly, deliberately, you light a cigarette. You don't offer angel-face one. If she wants a cigarette, she can smoke her own. Garnett's Law: 'Never do anything for anybody unless you're sure that the profit derived from your generosity will far exceed the expenditure.'
You lean back in your chair and assume a business-like expression. 'Of course,' you say, 'I'll have to speak to your pals before I can agree to defend them. Then, if I decide to take the case, I'll want a ten thousand dollar retainer plus two hundred a day and expenses for every day I spend in court. And, no matter what I decide to do, I'll want another hundred for today's conference, and for my visit with your boyfriend.'
The tears are back, for real this time. Her lower lip quivers and h
er voice trembles as she says: 'He's not my boyfriend, and I haven't got that kind of dough. Not now. Once you get Abie off, I can pay you whatever you want. But now... a hundred bills is all I've got in the world.'
You study her face for a minute, watching the silence grating on her nerves. Then you say, 'If he's not your boyfriend, just what is your relationship to Abie the Goat?'
'Relationship?' she echoes, like she's never heard the word before. 'Why there is no relationship between me and Abie. He's just somebody I know, like an acquaintance. You don't think that I'd get involved with anybody like a counterfeiter, do you?'
What you are thinking about her right now would melt even this little ice cube's composure. But you're in a kindly mood, so you don't say anything; you just smile.
'Please, Mr Garnett, you must believe me. My friends are all very high class types. I don't ordinarily have anything to do with people such as Abie the Goat. I certainly wouldn't have even spoken to him if I had known what kind of person he was. But I must get him off. I just must. It's a matter of life and death!' Her eyes widen as she realises she's said too much.
You give her another minute of silence and then you ask, keeping your voice very low, 'Whose life... or death?'
'Mine.' Her own voice is scarcely audible above the whirring of the fan. It's her turn at the silence bit. She waits for more than a minute before she says: 'All right, I'll tell you the whole thing. You see, I met Abie through my room-mate. Of course, like I said before, I didn't know he was mixed up in the counterfeiting business, honest I didn't. Anyway, I went out with him a couple of times, just for drinks and laughs, that's all. This was about a month ago. The first time I saw him, I mean. Then, after the couple of times we went out together, he stopped calling. Well, I didn't think anything of it, except maybe he didn't think too much more of me than I did of him. He wasn't my type, you see.'
Her glance makes it very clear that you are her type. How flattering.
'Anyway,' she goes on, 'I'd actually forgotten all about him until yesterday, when this man came to see me. A man I'd never seen before. He said he was a friend of Abie the Goat's, and that Abie and some other guys were in jail on this counterfeiting rap.'
By now her high-class pretensions have fallen by the wayside, and you notice with inner amusement how easily she has slipped into a vernacular she claims to know nothing about. She is saying: 'He told me that Abie said to get him a lawyer, the best there is. If I didn't the man said, I'd be killed. So you see, Mr Garnett, my life is at stake. And you're the only person who can save it.' She gazes at you appealingly, and the skirt slips a little higher. 'I know what a mess I've got into. I should've been more careful about going out with a man I didn't know anything about. I've been a very foolish girl. You know, if my daddy were alive today, he'd probably spank me for my foolishness, big as I am.'
'So you think you ought to be spanked?' You take a final drag from your cigarette and glance along the line from her knee to her hip, the full line of her nicely rounded thigh. Her skirt is drawn tight along the upper part of it; it looks as though a hand applied there would cause a fine, resounding smack.
'Don't you?' she asks you coyly. She watches you grinding out your cigarette in the heavy glass ashtray, and a little smile comes to her lips. That smile would play hell with a jury... an all-male jury, of course.
'So you want me to be the big, understanding, gently reproving daddy, do you? You wouldn't by any chance be trying to arrange for my services on the promise of how warm that little fanny of yours can get, would you?'
You reach out suddenly and pinch her thigh. She doesn't move her leg, but she makes her eyes bigger. You can see her calculating whether to register coy surprise - or lascivious promise. Her purse drops to the floor and she reaches to pick it up, stretching her leg out towards you. You feel the silk clad muscles under your hand, and you run the hand under her skirt. 'Come here and sit on my lap.'
She's certainly prompt. Her buttocks spread comfortably on your thighs, and she puts one arm around your neck, pressing her breasts against your chest. Your hand fits around one of her buttocks and squeezes. She's pleasantly soft.
Next, you feel along her hip and down her thigh to the knee. You raise her skin and look at the milky prettiness of her legs, the laciness of her high-cut panties and the swelling temptation which they mask. You open her blouse and remove one of her breasts from the brassiere. You fondle it for a moment, then tuck it back into its cradle.
'I'm going to spank you just the way your daddy would,' you tell her. You remove her gently from your lap, and brush the papers from the desk into the top drawer. 'Come on, lift your skirt.'
You look at her standing there, placidly holding her skirt up, awaiting your pleasure. She isn't a bit frightened. When they put her together, they left out fright and put in a double portion of shrewd whorishness.
You make her turn around so that you can see your target. And quite a target it is. Just the way you like them. Two full, white globes. A beautifully matched set. This is going to be even more fun than you'd thought.
You lock the door. Then you flip on the intercom and tell Jackson that you don't want to be disturbed. You lean casually against the desk and watch her standing there, her skirt still up around her hips. You tell her to take her panties part-way down. You figure she'd take them off and hang them out the window if you asked her to. But there's no necessity for that. And you're a reasonable man.
She complies with your request, and you tell her to bend over the desk. She places her head on her purse and grasps the edges of the desk with her hands, so that her buttocks rise until they're well within your reach. You fondle them in turn, then slap them briskly with your whole palm.
'Ooooooh!'
'Not coyness, but shock. You didn't hurt her, but you did surprise the hell out of her. You point out to her the impracticality of yelling in an attorney's office, and right away she's apologetic. She promises to be quiet. She won't make the slightest sound, she says. She knows that she deserves a spanking, she says. You resume.
The lace panties flutter. Her heels fly up. She reacts very nicely to the spanking. You give it to her mildly, not really hurting her. But the slaps do sting a bit - you can tell from the bright red splotches that are appearing on her white, satiny skin.
You spank her for a long time because, you tell her, she has been a very bad girl this time. Fun for the feebleminded, you think. And then you notice that your penis is rapidly hardening. Funny that it should be sexually exciting to paddle a girl's bottom. But you like the idea of having a girl whom you've known less than twenty minutes so much under your power that you can slap her bare bottom.
She has stopped yelling, just as she said she would. But she sucks her breath in hard each time your hand makes contact with her flesh. She doesn't particularly care for spanking, but she's far too old a hand at high-class whoring to complain, especially since she's extremely anxious to please you.
You don't disappoint the lady. You unbutton your trousers and take out what's inside. The large, up-thrust instrument looks a little ridiculous against your well-creased trousers and fitted jacket.
She looks at it and at you. You tell her to lie down again. She does, and you come up behind her, slapping your rigid tool gently against her buttocks. She seems to like the feel of it, for she twists her head back and gives you a nice, lewd wink. What a sweet little tart she is.
You look at the delightful cavern between her legs and insert a finger in it. She appears to like that, too. She wriggles and clutches the edges of the desk wildly. Well, this is a day of new experiences. You've heated up a pro.
You rub the tip of your organ between her buttocks, then slide it gently between her legs. Now she really wants it. She shoves her buttocks back towards you, reaching for it with gaping lips. You slide the tip of the organ between them and it disappears practically before you know what's happening. Well, what do you know? An educated vagina. Verily, there's nothing like professional work... all too
rare these days.
She lets out her breath in a lascivious gasp. Suddenly she giggles. 'Daddy would never have done anything like this to me.'
You're not so sure about that, but you don't see any reason to insult the memory of the dead, so you keep your lip buttoned and concentrate on what you're doing. You don't really have to concentrate, though; just relax and enjoy it. She's doing enough work for both of you. She's rotating those buttocks as though they were made of rubber, giving it to you wide open. She isn't holding back a thing. You're in her as far as anybody has ever been, and if you go much further you'll probably come out her throat.
'If you want me to do anything else,' she gasps, 'just tell me, and I'll do it. Do you want to see me again tonight? Or any other time? You can have me like this, or give it to me any way you like.'
She means it literally - any way. Snap it up, chum, it's a bona fide offer. Spank her, make love to her, wipe your feet on her if you want to. Her life is on the line and she'll pay to the best of her ability in the only coin she's got. And the best of her ability is damn good.
You draw her buttocks against you, and you feel yourself going even farther inside her than you'd thought you could. You hold her hips with one hand and reach around with the other to tickle her. She's really giving you her all now. She rolls and groans. It might be an act, but if so, it's an excellent one. Rotate your weapon inside its lovely, warm, wet sheath, and watch the fan blow the hair across the back of her neck.
Suddenly everything gets hazy and dark. You stop noticing things. In... in... IN!! That did it! The warmth wells up inside you. This time you're going to explode for sure. Your fluid floods her... it's all over.
You drop into a chair. Somehow you don't feel much like standing - or doing anything else, for that matter. She looks at you as though asking permission to let her skirt drop. You nod.
The telephone rings.
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