65 comments/ 90451 views/ 15 favorites Unrelenting By: FrancisMacomber I picked up a rental car the other day, and when I turned on the radio, the last driver had it on some pop music channel. The first thing I heard was some rappers singing, "I'm sexy and I know it." I'd never heard that song before, but it might as well be my theme song. Let me introduce myself: I'm Larry Morrison, and I'm one of those guys you love to hate because I'm good looking and socially attractive. I knew by the time I was in my sophomore year in high school that I was better looking than the other boys in my school. You know how some kids are popular and some aren't? Well, I was always popular, and what impressed me was I didn't have to do anything to be that way. I wasn't a stand-out athlete or anything but guys just seemed to want to hang out with me. And as for the girls . . . well, let's just say that I never had a problem getting dates. And it wasn't just girls in my own class. Even girls in the upper classes started to pay attention, and it was a horny senior who took my cherry. She also gave me a great introductory lesson in sex, one that I was able to put to frequent use throughout my last two years of high school. I wasn't a particularly good student, but I sure learned a lot about girls during my four years at good old Harriman High. The first thing I learned was that there was no need to go steady with one girl when there were so many others out there. As a result, I became quite a player; whenever I dumped one girl, there always seemed to be another eager to take her place. The second thing I learned was always to take precautions. I got a hell of a scare once when one of the chicks I was poking told me she had missed her period. Suddenly, I had visions of my life changing drastically, and not in a good way. Fortunately, however, her mother didn't want her little darling to become another teenage mother any more than the girl did, and she arranged for her daughter to "go away" for a few days and get an abortion. Her Dad never even knew. Crisis alleviated, and lesson learned. After that, I never trusted a girl when she told me she was on birth control. If she wanted to give me a blowjob: fine, but anything else and I was wearing a condom, no exceptions. My freedom was precious to me, and I made up my mind never to risk it again. As I said, my grades were lackluster, so I wound up at a state college. That didn't bother me; I wasn't planning on relying on my education to get ahead in life anyway. Instead, I concentrated on the three P's: partying, pussy, and palling around with guys I thought might help me down the road. And it worked: I got rushed by the top fraternity on campus and was elected fraternity president both my junior and senior years. As for pussy, if high school was good, college was the mother lode. I didn't have to look for it; it came looking for me. The campus was filled with repressed, horny young women who were just dying to hook up with a hot-looking guy. Some days I'd just prowl through the student union. As soon as I saw a cute coed sitting alone having coffee, I'd plop down at her table and strike up a conversation. A lot of guys think you have to have a clever pick-up line to score, but that's not true. I'd just sit down, make some neutral comment about the weather or the coffee, and then start asking the chick questions about herself. Before you know it, we'd be deep in conversation. Just when things were going strong, I'd stand up abruptly and say, "I've really enjoyed talking with you, but I have to go now." When I'd see the look of disappointment cross her face, I'd add, "Why don't we continue things tomorrow night?" The girl would almost always give me her number, and when I'd call her, I'd tell her I wanted to find a quiet spot to resume our conversation, namely, my room at the fraternity house. Once I had her in my room, the outcome was almost certain. All it took was a glass or two of something alcoholic, a little conversation, a few compliments and she'd be spreading her legs like the parting of the Red Sea. I got so good at it that my fraternity brothers gave me the nickname "Hound," and it wasn't because I looked like a dog. "Damn, Larry," my friend Willie told me one day, "when it comes to pussy, you're not just persistent, you're fucking unrelenting." Another trick I liked to pull was to go to one of our frequent parties at the frat house without a date. I'd sit around sipping a beer and watching my brothers be getting drunker and drunker. When the time was right, I'd go up to some guy's date and tell her, "It looks like he's just about to pass out. Help me get him someplace safe where he can sleep it off." She'd put one of her date's arms around her shoulder while I took the other side. Together, we'd walk him down the stairs to the basement where we had a cot set up. Once the guy was safely laid out on the cot, I'd walk his date back upstairs. Since she was usually already half smashed herself, it was no trouble at all to lead her back to my room. Another drink or two and the frustrated coed would be lying back on my bed with her knees bent in the air and my cock in her pussy. Most of the time, the fraternity brother would wake up the next morning and never know anything had happened to his date. Occasionally, the word would get back that the Hound had made another conquest, and the guy would get pissed. But I figured if he wanted to keep his girl he should have been more careful with the beer. "Besides," I'd tell the guy, "I just made it a little easier for you the next time you take her out." After a while though, I found that the pussy was so easy and so plentiful that it kind of took the fun out of it. Don't get me wrong: I was still as horny as always. But there were so many girls who were so easy that there just wasn't any challenge to it. Basically, I could get laid any time I wanted. By my junior year I could call any one of half-a-dozen coeds and ask them if they wanted to hook up. They'd come right over to my room and be stripping before the door closed. Over time, what I came to realize was that the sex I enjoyed the most was the pussy I had to work for. Every now and then I'd run across some pretty little thing who wasn't ready to drop her panties at the first opportunity. These fell into three categories. The first was the natural beauties. Guys had always chased after them, so they could afford to be choosy. But I found that the way to get to them was through their vanity. All I had to do was to hint that something about them wasn't perfect and suddenly they would be falling all over themselves trying to get reassurance from me that they were as beautiful as everyone else was always telling them. Then I'd use my cock to pump their egos back up. The second category proved even more difficult to bed. Those were the girls who were extremely intelligent and driven to succeed. They were in college to learn, by heaven, and nothing would divert them from that path. Their weakness, of course, was their intelligence, and the pride they took in it. They were always eager to demonstrate their mental capabilities, to show off what they had learned. I'd listen to them prating on, nodding thoughtfully while not understanding half of what they were saying. But eventually I'd turn the conversation to social mores and societal norms, knowing that these girls thought themselves above such mundane constraints. From there I'd shift the discussion to marriage and sexual inhibitions, and they'd be so anxious to prove they were above such constraints that they'd soon find themselves on their knees sucking my cock with great ardor. After we were done and I was leaving, it was such a kick to see the expression on their faces: "What did I just do that for?" The biggest challenge of all, I found, were the dutiful daughters, the ones whom loving parents had instructed to save themselves for marriage, the religious rightwingers who made those silly pledges of chastity back in high school. They proved the most difficult, and for that reason I found myself eager to pursue them. There was one sweet young thing whom I dated for two whole months my last semester. She was not only pretty but I could tell she was also hot as a firecracker. Yet no matter how hot she got when I petted with her, she wouldn't let me in her panties. I tried everything I could think of, but she was adamant: no sex before marriage. The guys in the frat house began giving me a bad time about the situation. "Looks like the old Hound has lost his sense of smell," they teased me. Well, I couldn't let that go unanswered, so I decided it was time to pull out all the stops. I went to a costume jewelry store and bought a one carat cubic zirconium mounted in what looked like white gold. Then I went to a fancy jeweler and bought a box for the ring. On our next date, I took her to a nice restaurant, and after we had finished dessert, I got down on one knee and proposed. Everyone in the restaurant went wild, none more so than the chick: she was almost hyperventilating. By the time I got her back to the dorm, she was putty in my hands. It took almost nothing to persuade her that there was no reason to wait now that we were engaged. She cried a little when I popped her cherry, but the second time she turned into a wildcat, biting and clawing in her passion. When she dropped off in exhausted sleep, I got dressed and headed back to the frat house. Before I left, I made a point of picking up her panties and tucking them in my pocket. When I got to the house, I tacked the panties up on the mantle of the fireplace. The next morning, some wag had added a handmade sign: "The Hound is unrelenting." That afternoon, I caught up with little miss former virgin in the quadrangle and told her I was having second thoughts and the engagement was off. She began to weep and beg me to reconsider. I told her I couldn't do that, but she could keep the ring as a token of my feelings for her. I wish I could have been there when she found out it was fake. The next day, her roommate came to the frat house looking for me. I guess she was going to try to intercede on her friend's behalf. I wasn't there, but one of my frat brothers told me she spotted the panties on the mantelpiece, along with the sign. She turned around and stalked out of the house, cursing men in general and me in particular. What a laugh! I don't know what ever happened to my one-night fiancée; somebody said she might have dropped out. But I do know that I had a lot fewer dates in the last few weeks before graduation. Whenever I walked into the Student Union or the cafeteria, there were a lot of pointed stares in my direction and hushed conversations. I guess the word about what I'd done had gotten around. It didn't bother me. I figured all that easy pussy was going to dry up anyway once I left college, so I might as well get used to it. I already had a job lined up. I knew myself and my strengths and weaknesses, so there was never any doubt -- I was going into sales. See, here's the thing: success in sales is all about having the edge – better product, lower price, better delivery, whatever. But what happens when all those things are equal? The answer is that people like to do business with people they like, people they find attractive. And that's where I had the edge, and I knew it. Don't get me wrong: I wasn't appealing to any gays out there -- I don't swing that way. But even straight men prefer to work with guys who are both visually and personally attractive. Don't believe me? Try looking it up on the Internet; there've been lots of studies to prove it. The bottom line is that more attractive people have an edge over less attractive ones. Don't like it? Tough shit, that's the way the world works. Anyway, the father of one of my fraternity brothers owned a manufacturing business, and he was looking for a sales trainee. We met, and he wound up offering me a sales job when I graduated. At first I was reluctant to accept because the company was as dull as dishwater. They made road signs – not exactly your next Apple Computer. But the old man must have seen my reaction because he pressed me. "Listen, Larry, it may not sound very sexy to you, but stop and think about it. How many stop signs are there in this city? How many street signs? How many speed limits? Now think about how many of those have to be replaced every year because of normal wear and tear, or because Aunt Agnes backs her Cadillac out of the driveway too fast and knocks one down. Road signs may not be very exciting, but we sell a shit pile of them every year." His face was starting to redden; I could tell he was excited about his business. "Now think about our customers," he went on. "We sell to every state, county and municipal government in the region. Those are customers with deep pockets! And we're virtually recession-proof. After all, if a stop sign gets knocked down, it has to get replaced, regardless of how poorly the economy is doing." He stopped to wipe his brow. "It's a relationship game, Larry. If you're any good at all, you can make a lot of money." To make a long story short, I took the job, and I found out the old man was right: a guy with my attributes could do very well for himself. I know what you're thinking: aren't big contracts like that done based on standard Requests for Proposal and sealed bids? Sure they are, but the specifications in the proposals aren't the only consideration. You see, the people in government are just like everybody else: they prefer to do business with people they know, people with whom they have a relationship. Sometimes if all other things are equal, those relationships can be enough to swing the deal. And if all things aren't quite equal, there are always special inducements that can be added to sweeten the deal, if you know what I mean. So I set out to develop relationships with as many key players as I could find. At first, I concentrated on the State Commissioner of Transportation and his counterparts in the various cities and counties in the region. But I quickly realized that I was just one of many clamoring for attention. My looks helped me get my foot in the door, but there were so many other feet in there with me that I was just one of the crowd. After watching a few contracts go through the process from the bidding to the awards, I realized that the commissioners weren't actually the key people in the game. Oh, sure, they were the ones who announced the final awards and signed the contracts, but they didn't make those awards until their staffs had reviewed everything from every angle. The recommendations of those assistants, I discovered, carried a lot of weight. So I started to seek them out – the assistant commissioners, the traffic engineers, the planning directors– and I began developing relationships at that level as well. It didn't happen all at once, but after a year or two, we began to win a few more contracts than we had in the past. In baseball lingo, our batting average had gone up, and the boss quickly noticed that this was happening in the games in which I was playing. Pretty soon I had a nice bump in my salary with a hefty performance bonus on top. I also had a company car and an expense account that rivaled my salary. Right about now you've probably assumed that the old pussy hound had settled down and become just another working stiff striving for the great American dream. Well, you'd be wrong, and no one was more pleasantly surprised about it than me. Once I left the college campus, I'd assumed that my sybaritic lifestyle would be severely curtailed. I assumed wrong. It turned out that the city where I worked was filled with bars, clubs and lounges absolutely packed with nubile women looking for a good time. For the price of a few drinks and sometimes dinner, a good-looking guy like me could virtually have his pick of the available chicks. Soon my success rate was back up to my undergraduate levels, and the only times I went without a little poontang were the nights when I needed to catch up on my sleep. But here's the funny thing: it didn't take long for the thrill to wear off of my sexual sorties. It was so easy for a guy like me that there was no challenge. To make the situation worse, the bars and clubs weren't exactly stocked with the hard-to-get intellectual types and the wanna-stay-a-virgins who made my last years of college a little more interesting. But just when the world was too much with me, getting and fucking, as the poet might have said if he were writing today, I discovered a new prey rarely found on college campuses: married women. At first I thought I'd discovered a rich new vein of carnal intrigue. What fun to try to persuade a married woman to abandon her vows and have a fling between the sheets with a handsome stranger! But it didn't take me long to discover that a surprising number of the women in bars with rocks on their ring fingers were no challenge at all because they were actively looking for a lustful interlude with a hot guy. It turned out that in many ways these wives and mothers on the prowl were even easier than the single women preening at the bar. The singles wanted to be wooed before they were screwed, and there was always the possibility of unpleasantness when it was time to leave at the end of a hot, sweaty night. The wives, by contrast, knew they had only a limited time to get their rocks off, and they didn't want to waste a lot of it on preliminaries. Moreover, I never had to worry about what to say when our coupling was over. They were usually in a bigger hurry to get out of there than I was. But with ease and convenience came boredom. The pussy was still good (mostly), but there was no thrill to the chase. I could usually tell when a woman wanted me by the way she flipped her hair, licked her lips, or glanced at me from under hooded eyelids. Everything after that was just killing time until her legs were spread and I had breached her gates. Yet I did have one experience that suggested I might have found the answer after all. One night I spotted a group of three women sitting at a table. All of them were in their thirties, all were good-looking, and two of the three were wearing rings. On a whim, I sat down at their table and started a conversation. Initially, they were wary, but I soon had them laughing and chattering away. It quickly became clear that they were office mates on a girls' night out. The single one came on to me pretty strongly, slipping off one of her stilettos and rubbing my calf under the table. I politely but studiously ignored her, and after several failed efforts she gave up and headed over to the bar in search of other victims. Of the two married women, one was clearly there as chaperone. She had come along to relax with her gal pals, but that was it. The second wife was giving off a vibe that said she might just accept a ride home with me if I played my cards right. I decided I wasn't in a card-playing mood that night and concentrated all my attention on the chaperone. The second wife began to pout and finally left to look for her other friend. I kept it very low key with the remaining wife. We chatted and drank, and I kept her amused with little stories and funny incidents. After a while, I shifted the conversation and began to ask her about herself and her family. Soon she was telling me her whole life story, sharing a few intimacies along the way which she probably would have kept to herself if she hadn't had so much to drink. But I kept the conversation flowing until her friends were suddenly there, announcing that they were leaving. I jumped in before "my" wife could speak. "No problem, ladies. Sherry and I are going to have another drink and then I'll run her home." The other married one looked at her friend skeptically. "Well, if you're sure," she said. Unrelenting Just then our waiter came by, and I quickly ordered "one last round." As a good wife, Sherry, "my" wife, knew it was a sin to waste things, and she would have felt guilty about wasting those two drinks I had just ordered. So she sat back in her seat and just waved goodbye to her friends. After the waiter brought our drinks, I began to talk about some of the things Sherry had told me earlier about her life, using them to make compliments and flatter her. I told her how impressed I was by the way she had handled the challenges in her life. I remarked on what a strong, accomplished woman she was, and how unique it was to find someone as lovely as she was capable. Sherry just listened quietly, but I saw her blush once or twice, so I knew she was lapping it up. I could tell that she was beginning to think about herself in a different way, feeling a bit more confident and self-sufficient than she had earlier in the evening. Equally important, I could tell she was beginning to think about me in a different way. People always appreciate those who recognize their best features. I stood up and took her hand. "Let's get out of here," I said. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to ply you with too much liquor so I can take advantage of you." My grin told her that I was joking, but my words put the thought into her mind that her ardent admirer might actually be interested in her that way. My European car was brand new, and I knew she'd be impressed. I also knew the car would make her feel more comfortable with me. After all, perverts don't drive luxury cars, do they? "Hey, why don't we stop and get a cup of coffee?" I asked guilelessly. Since she had already gotten into my car and we were underway, there was little she could do but agree, and besides, a coffee shop was obviously a safe place. Only I didn't head to a coffee shop, I drove straight to my apartment. I was still chatting with her, so she wasn't paying attention until I pulled into the garage and parked. "Where are we?" she asked. "I thought we were going to stop for coffee." "We are, silly," I laughed. "I'm going to make you some really good coffee at my apartment," I said, as I smilingly tugged her out of the car. If the car made a favorable impression, my apartment really blew her away. Once I'd begun to be successful at sales, I'd sprung for an interior designer. He might have been gay, but he was good, and my place now looked like a spread in Architectural Digest. Of course she wanted to see it, so I led her from room to room, saving the master suite for last. After she'd looked around, she turned back to me and said, "Oh, Larry, this is so beautiful it must be wonderful to sleep here." I knew a cue when I heard one, and I gathered her into my arms and turned on the corn. "It is beautiful, Sherry, now that you're here." Before she could respond to such a cheesy line, I kissed her firmly on the mouth. And before she could react, I broke the kiss and slid my lips around to her ear, kissing that sensitive organ and whispering more compliments. Then I slid my lips lower and began kissing from her jaw line and down to her collar bone, lifting her chin between my thumb and forefinger to expose her throat. As I continued, I could feel her breathing accelerate. My fingers reached behind her back to her zipper, and as I eased it down, I continued running my lips down into her cleavage while my fingertips caressed her bare back. Then, before she even realized what was happening, I had her bra unclasped, which allowed me to kiss her breasts, moving slowly but inevitably toward her nipples. Her hands clasped the back of my head and pulled me into her bosom. As we'd stood there, I'd worked one of my legs between hers, and as I bent her back, she relaxed her thighs, allowing my leg to rub up against her clitoris. It must have felt really good to her, because she groaned and allowed her arms to fall back loosely until they hit the top of the bedspread. As she lay there with her eyes closed, I reached around to unfasten her skirt, and then it was an easy matter for me to slide it down her legs and off. As she lay there, I reached down to caress her legs, starting at her ankles and slowly working my fingers higher. As they reached her inner thighs, I saw her hips start to pump, and I lifted her legs up until they were over my shoulders. Then I grabbed the crotch of her pantyhose in my hands and gave a savage yank, ripping a wide hole in them. She startled at the sudden noise, but dropped her head back onto the bedspread as my lips and tongue began to make their way where my fingers had just been playing. I slid the crotch of her bikini panties to one side and began to lick the outer lips of her pussy. A moan escaped from her mouth. Using my fingers, I pulled her lips apart, revealing her snatch and, above it, her clitoris, straining to emerge from its hood. Using my tongue and then my fingers, I began to stimulate her, and her arousal level accelerated to a new level. When her moaning told me she was ready, I unbuckled and unzipped my pants, then quickly pulled down my boxer briefs, letting my cock out to play. It had been ready for quite some while. I reached out and pulled a condom out of the dresser drawer as I continued to lick and kiss her pussy. I swiftly rolled the condom down over my cock. I had become quite adept at doing that one-handed. Quickly, I rubbed my latex-sheathed cock all over her pussy to lubricate it, eliciting more moans from Sherry. Then I firmly and smoothly inserted myself into her pussy as deep as I could go. She sucked in her breath; then, as I began long-stroking her, she began to gasp and pant, moaning every time I bottomed out in her. I continued stroking into her, gradually increasing the pace until I was pounding her into the bed. Now her panting had changed to little screams that increased in volume and frequency until she shrieked loudly, went rigid all over and then collapsed helplessly. A few more thrusts were all I needed to get my rocks off, and then I flopped down on top of her. We both must have dozed off, because I woke up about an hour later. I reached over and jostled the sleeping woman. "Hey, Sherry, better wake up, it's late." She opened her eyes groggily and looked around, disoriented. I pointed at the clock on the nightstand, and she suddenly jerked upright. "Omigod, I've got to get home! My husband will be going crazy!" She quickly put her clothes back on and straightened them as best she could. I grabbed my car keys and walked her out to my car. The only conversation was her directions to her home, but I heard her muttering to herself, and when the headlights of one of the few oncoming cars illuminated her face, I thought I saw tears on her cheeks. She had me stop just short of her home and quickly got out of the car. Leaning back in the doorway, she stammered, "We shouldn't have done this. I mean . . . I can't see you again. I'm sorry. . ." Then she turned and fled up the driveway to her home. After pulling into a neighbor's driveway and turning around, I left her to her fate. I had no idea how she was going to explain herself to her husband, but that was her problem, not mine. I wasn't worried. If it came down to an issue, I doubted she could have found her way back to my place, and I hadn't given her my real name. As I drove home, I thought back to how much I had enjoyed the evening. It wasn't the sex – the truth was she was a passive lover -- and while she was pretty, she was nothing special. Nevertheless, tonight had been a bigger thrill than I'd had in a long time, and I realized that it was because of the seduction. Getting the broad to do something she hadn't intended to do proved a major turn-on for me, no doubt about it. My only regret was I couldn't be around to hear the conversation between her and her husband. After that encounter, I began to shift my focus to seducing married women. They became prized targets for me. I quickly found that while the process often took much longer than I'd been used to, the thrill of victory made the wait worthwhile. Besides, if I got horny I could always drop by a singles bar and find a piece of ass. Once I began to target married women, I had to evolve my tactics significantly. For starters, I had to change my hunting grounds. The wives I wanted normally didn't graze at the local pick-up bars. So I began to look in new habitats: the health club, the grocery store, the shopping mall and the office. The next change I made was to adopt protective camouflage. I went to a pawnshop and bought the cheapest gold wedding band I could find. Married women are on their guard when a single male comes prowling, but a ring, I found, would disarm them long enough for me to make my move. The ring also gave me an easy excuse when I was ready to end the affair: "We're going to have to break things off – my wife is getting suspicious." After a few safaris into the suburban jungle, I got pretty good at bagging my game. That pretty young housewife doing the grocery shopping was happy to advise a helpless married man on how to prepare a nice meal for his wife. The next time she saw me in the produce aisles, she was willing to accept my invitation to have a cup of coffee together. Soon she was looking forward to meeting me, and the meetings got longer and the conversation more intimate. The next thing she knew, her heels were reaching for the ceiling of a motel room, and her new friend was driving her to ecstasy. By the time that liaison ended, I already had my next target selected: a secretary who worked in the office at my company. Normally, I don't go hunting where I work because that can lead to some awkward confrontations. But I decided to make an exception in Lori's case. Lori Jones presented me with an enticing mix of qualities. She was in her late twenties and had recently moved to the city from some small town when her husband, who was some kind of an accountant, got a new job. As a result, she didn't have a lot of friends and family around, and seemed a bit lonely. That was a vulnerability I thought I could exploit. She was also quite pretty, and underneath the modest attire she always wore to the office, I could tell that she had a hot body. Her behavior was likewise modest. She never took part in the inevitable office gossip, nor did she join the little group that would head off to happy hour every Friday afternoon. Yet despite her appearance and demeanor, I sensed that there was a passionate woman locked inside just waiting to be unleashed. For example, I overheard her expressing strong disapproval of certain movie stars and their behavior, which she considered to be immoral. Most people would assume that such an attitude would make her seduction-proof, but I saw it as an indicator of her fascination with that lifestyle. She might not approve, but she was definitely reading about it. Have you ever watched one of those documentaries about lions hunting on the African veldt? Once the pride picks out a potential victim, the first move is to separate the animal from the rest of the herd. The first day of my hunt, I made it a point to keep an eye on the break room. When she went to get a cup of coffee, I followed shortly afterwards and asked if I could join her. I made a few innocuous comments about the office and then headed back to my desk. I didn't want to do anything to get her defenses up. I had noticed that she tended to eat lunch by herself, so a couple of days later I took a sandwich I had purchased earlier and brought it into the break room. Seeing her sitting alone, I asked if I could join her. It would have been awkward for her to refuse me --- which I was counting on – so she invited me to join her. I asked her why she was eating alone and she confided that she really didn't know many people at work all that well. I commiserated with her on the difficulty of moving to a new city and told her that my wife and I had gone through the same thing after college. She had been just a little uneasy when I first sat down with her, but at the mention of my wife I could see her relax. Now she knew that I wasn't some single guy trying to put the moves on her. I made it a point not to encounter her every day, and I was careful to alternate between lunch and coffee breaks. That served to allay her suspicions on the one hand, while keeping her uncertain when her "new friend" might show up. I also hoped it might build a little anticipation. Not all my absences were part of a careful plan. The fact was that there was a lot of work to do in the office because the state government had just released a major Request for Proposals for highway signs worth tens of millions. If we could win the job, the company would have a banner year and the lead salesman would get a spectacular bonus. That salesman just happened to be me. So while my plan to seduce Lori slowly unfolded, I was also busy pumping all my contacts, looking for the one thing that could give us the edge we needed to win. You see, with a Request for Proposal, all of the competitors had the same information and specifications. Likewise, all of us had the capacity to fulfill the contract at a comparable level of quality and on the required timeline. Furthermore, past experience had shown that the prices we quoted were likely to be so close to one another as to make them virtually equal. So the question was: what was the X factor that would make the difference to the Commission? If I could sniff that out, it might just give us enough of an advantage to win. All the lions could smell big game in the air, and the anticipation just fed the hunger we all felt. A similar hunger fed my eagerness to carry out my conquest of Mrs. Lori Jones, so I decided it was time to move to the next phase of my plan. Accordingly, the next day I was waiting empty-handed in the break room when Lori came in with her sandwich. "My wife forgot to make me a sandwich for lunch today," I told her, "and I don't really want to eat alone. If you'll keep me company, I'll treat you to lunch." When she hesitated, I reached over and, with a big grin on my face, grabbed her sandwich and casually tossed it in the trash. "Now you have to eat with me," I laughed. She might have been a bit surprised by my bold action, but she laughed with me, and since she no longer had anything to eat, she really had no option but to accept my offer. So I led her down the block to a quiet little sandwich shop, close enough not to be threatening but away from the rest of the office so we could talk more freely. While we ate, I used the opportunity to get her to talk more about herself, her husband, her family and her dreams. I've never met a woman who didn't love to talk about herself and her feelings. In the process, they usually wind up revealing a lot more about themselves than a man ever would. Lori was no exception. I soon learned that she loved her husband dearly, but their marriage seemed to me to be a rather dull affair. They had been high school sweethearts who had married while still in college some seven years ago. They were so busy getting settled in their new city and working at their new jobs that they hadn't had much time to develop a circle of friends. I learned she wanted to start a family but her CPA hubby pragmatically wanted to wait until they were more financially secure. As I listened, I made a number of mental notes to myself: Unrelenting I leaned closer to her across the table. "Then is there anything special that your husband does for you, something that perhaps I could try with my wife?" She reddened again, but she didn't object because she wanted to help me. "No, it's pretty much the same thing with us every time." Then, perhaps feeling that she'd said something negative about her marriage, she quickly added, "But I still really enjoy it." Then she blushed again as she realized what she was saying. "Well, does he try different positions or special techniques during foreplay?" I pressed her. "No," she said, "we just stick with the standard . . . you know, like we've always done." When I didn't respond, she went on, "I mean, I wouldn't mind trying something new, but I guess we're just not that adventurous." She wouldn't look at me, but I thought the pulse at the base of her throat had quickened just a little from the mental pictures our conversation was prompting. I felt I could work on that. "I've tried everything I can think of," I went on, "taking her from behind, having her on top, you name it. I've given her back rubs and oral sex for hours, but nothing seems to turn her on," I lamented. As she listened to me describing my efforts, her eyes got a faraway look, and I could tell she was picturing the things I was describing. "We've never really tried any of those things" she replied. "My husband comes from a pretty strict upbringing, and he isn't very interested in all that exotic stuff." I was amused at her naivete, but I kept it to myself. "Well, I'm at my wits' end," I told her sadly. "I've even read some of those magazine articles about how to drive your woman wild, but nothing works with her. I thought every woman wanted to be pampered and teased and seduced, but not her." "Well I know I would," she said consolingly, and then blushed for the third time at her unguarded admission. I gently squeezed her hand. "You've really encouraged me, Lori. After talking with you, I'm going to continue my efforts. I'm sure I can find some way to rekindle the passion in our marriage." Lori was relieved that I had shifted the focus away from her, and even more gratified that she had encouraged me. Any unease she might have felt about the somewhat intimate nature of our conversation was forgotten in the afterglow of having helped a friend. And, I hoped, another kind of glow would remain with her as she remembered some of the images I'd painted for her. The ride back from lunch was uneventful, but before I let her out of the car, I took her hand again and told her, "Thanks so much for coming with me. It really helps to have a friend I can share things with." To my delight, she actually leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm so glad I could help," she told me sincerely. As I walked with her into the building, mentally I was rubbing my hands in glee: things were progressing nicely. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for the big state contract. The deadline for the RFP was fast approaching, and despite working every channel and exploring every inroad I had in the Transportation Department, I had yet to come up with any way we might gain the advantage in the bidding process. When the boss called me into his office for a progress report, I was forced to confess my lack of success. "Listen, Larry," he growled at me, "this will be the biggest contract we'll have a shot at for the next three years. It's going to be a long dry spell if we don't get it." "Don't worry," I told him, with far more confidence than I actually felt, "we'll get it." "We'd better," he said menacingly, "or there'll have to be some pretty drastic cutbacks around here." I got the hint. I went back to my team and urged them to redouble their efforts. There had to be some way to get the upper hand on the contract. The next Monday I sent Lori an email. "Any chance we could have lunch again this week? I need some more advice." I was delighted when she replied almost immediately, "I could do it today, if you'd like." I like it when a woman is eager. I took her back to the same bistro where we'd gone the last time because I wanted her to feel comfortable being on familiar ground. But this time when we had placed our orders, I asked the waitress to bring us two glasses of wine. Lori looked at me with a smile. "Are we drinking to your success?" she asked playfully. I gave her a sour look. "No, I'm drinking to forget." Instantly her expression turned to concern. "Oh, no, Larry, what happened?" "I'll tell you in a second," I told her. "First let me have some of this." I took a big sip of wine, and she automatically did the same. "I decided to go all out last Saturday," I told Lori, "so while my wife was out shopping, I got everything ready. I put a bottle of her favorite wine in an ice bucket, I drew her a hot bath and put bath oils in it, and I laid a clean sheet on top of the bed. I even sprayed a little perfume on it. When she got home, I led her upstairs into the master bathroom, undressed her and helped her into the tub. Then I poured her a glass of wine, and while she drank it I washed her back." "When she had finished bathing and drained her glass of wine, I wrapped her in a big fluffy towel and led her to the bed. Then I gave her a massage using scented oil. And when I had finished that, I began to kiss her, starting at her ankles and working my way up." The whole scenario I was describing was copied almost word for word from a romance novel an old girlfriend had left in my dorm room back in college, I had read it while waiting for a booty call to arrive, but, of course, Lori didn't know that. As I had been spinning my erotic little tale, she seemed to be holding her breath, picturing the action in her mind. "And then do you know what happened?" I asked. Lori just shook her head, clearly eager to hear. "She looked up at me and asked how much longer I was going to take, because she was getting hungry!" My shoulders slumped and my head sank in despair as I spat out the words. Immediately, Lori shifted to the chair beside me and put her arm around my shoulders, trying to comfort me. "I just can't believe that," she said sympathetically. "You've just been describing every woman's ultimate fantasy, and she blows it off like an annoyance!" I looked up into the face that was so close to me, much closer than it had ever been before. "Thank you, Lori. I think I'd go crazy if I didn't have someone to share this with." She continued to hover over me, concerned about my situation. I was enjoying the increased level of intimacy, but I knew that in a minute or two she would feel the need to pull back and re-establish a more appropriate relationship. Rather than let her come to that point, I reached up and gripped her arms, gently pushing her away from me. "Now you know why I wanted to see you today," I told her, "and now you can understand why I'd rather not talk about my wife any further. What I'd like to do now is talk about you." "What about me?" she asked, startled. "You've become very special to me over the last month or so, Lori, and the last time we talked, I was concerned because I thought I heard some warning signs in your marriage too." "What do you mean?" she said quickly. "I never said anything like that." I gave her a gentle smile. "No, not in so many words, but it was easy to read between the lines. For example, I'm sure your husband loved you deeply when you got married, but it sounds to me now as though he's putting his work before you in terms of what's more important in his life. What about the overtime hours he spends away from home working, and how he took you away from your family and friends for the sake of his job?" She began to deny my characterization of her marriage, but I cut her off. "And another thing: it sounds to me like he's not very attentive to you and your needs. I know you're adventuresome and love to try new things. It sounds to me like he just wants to keep to the same old routine. " I lowered my voice so that she needed to lean toward me to hear me. "You're also a passionate woman whose sex life has become predictable and boring. You'd like to be a little more adventurous, to get your freak on every now and then, but he's content to remain in the same old rut." She was both flustered and defensive now. "No, it's not like that at all. I mean, not really. I mean, every marriage gets old after a while; the honeymoon can't last forever. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love me!" "Of course he does," I soothed, "but that's no reason you have to come second all the time. You're sensitive to his needs and desires -- he should be sensitive to yours as well. You need to assert yourself a little: ask him for the things you want. And he should be more responsive to your needs." I could barely prevent myself from laughing as I said that. I could just imagine how it would be received if little Mrs. Meek-and-Mild suddenly began making demands for some strange shit in the bedroom. If I'd read the situation right, there were going to be some tense times in the Jones household. Lori didn't say much the rest of the lunch, and I figured she was thinking about what I'd said and comparing my take on her marriage with her own view. It's called sowing doubts, people. On the way back to the office, I made it a point to thank her again for being such a good listener. "You've become very special to me," I told her again. "If I didn't have you to talk to, I think I would have gone crazy. You've helped me so much." When I parked, I repeated my thanks and then quickly leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the lips. Once again she was startled, but once again it was apparent that she liked my boldness. Once I got back to my office, I closed the door to block out the noise and sat back to assess where I stood. It had taken two full months, but I felt I'd made a tremendous amount of progress. You probably wouldn't agree, because I hadn't even kissed the chick except for my friendly little peck just now. But you'd be wrong, and here's why. First, I'd managed to insinuate myself into her life, and had done it so slowly that it had all seemed innocent and unthreatening to her. Second, I'd managed to accustom her to slipping away from the office and get her comfortable being alone with me. Third, I'd established a level of intimacy between the two of us, not only sharing details of our marriages (hers real, mine fictional) but introducing the tricky subject of sex. In the process, I felt certain that I'd painted some erotic scenes and unearthed some vague longings that had to be working in the back of her mind. Finally, I'd built a bond between us based on the shared insensitivities of our respective spouses. I was just about ready to pounce. But first I had more important matters to which to attend, namely the state's RFP. There was only a week to go before the contract would be awarded. Our proposal had been submitted a week ago. All of us had been over every detail repeatedly, and despite our best efforts, we felt pretty certain that our bid would come in within a few dollars of our closest competitor. That meant we weren't bringing anything special to the table, giving the Transportation Commission no obvious reason why it should pick our bid over the competition's. With the stakes so high, even odds just weren't good enough. It was time to take a chance. I walked into the boss's office and closed the door behind me. "I think I know how we can guarantee the big contract with the state, but I don't know if you'll agree with what I'm about to propose." He just looked at me expectantly. "The way I read it, the bids are all going to come in basically equal, so the only way we can be sure to win is if we have an advocate on the court. I think we can get the Director of Civil Engineering to back us, but we'll have to put him on the payroll to get him." "Are you talking about bribing a state official?" he asked me bluntly. "That's exactly what I'm proposing. It's the only way to be sure." He sat there in silence for a minute, scratching his chin absently. "Do you think he'd take it?" he asked. I knew I had him. "The guy is living in a house he can't afford and trying to send two kids to private school. If we sweeten the pot enough, he'll definitely take it." He stood up and began to walk back and forth behind his desk. "We've already cut our margins on the bid to the bone. How are we gonna make any profit on the deal if we have to give this guy a kickback?" I grinned at him. "Simple: we just go phantom for whatever it takes to buy him." He thought a few seconds more and then grinned back at me. "I always knew you were a smart kid, Larry. Do it." In our industry, the term "phantoms" essentially means a short shipment. For example we might only install ninety-five signs but bill the customer for a hundred. The savings on the phantom signs would be enough to cover the "commission" I'd just proposed we pay the director. And there was little risk of getting caught. It would be easy to spot the shortage if we were shipping a fixed amount to a warehouse, but verifying the number of signs installed all around the state would be a daunting challenge even if somebody became suspicious. That afternoon, I drove over to the Little League field. The game was already under way when I climbed up the bleachers and sat down next to the director. "Who's winning?" I asked. "My son's team is behind," he told me ruefully. "No," I said, "if things go the right way next week, you're son is going to be a big winner." He looked at me cautiously. I reached over and took the printed team roster out of his hands, scribbled a four-digit number on it and passed it back to him. Once he'd had a chance to look at it, I took it out of his hands. Under the number I wrote "per month" and handed it back to him. His eyes widened. I winked at him and said, "With a little teamwork on your part, I think we can both be winners." As I stood up to leave, there was a crack of the bat from the field. He glanced out at the action, and then looked back at me with a smile on his face. "I think our team's going to do alright this year," he said. There were a lot of nervous faces the morning that the contract award was announced, but mine wasn't one of them. When the cheers rang out around the office, I just stood to one side with a satisfied smile and let everyone else celebrate. The boss came over and shook my hand fervently. "You came through for us, Larry. I won't forget this." Then he turned to the rest of the crowd. "Listen, everyone, you all know how big a win this is for us. To celebrate, I'm taking everyone to dinner tonight at the Ritz-Carlton. Bring your spouse or 'significant other.' The last few weeks have been a real pressure cooker; tonight's the night we can all let off a little steam." As the cheers and applause rang out again, I made my way to Lori's cubicle. She came around her desk and gave me a little hug. "Congratulations, Larry, I'm so happy for you." "Thanks, Lori, but it was team effort," I said with false modesty. Then I added, "I hope you and your hubby are planning to come to the celebration the boss is throwing tonight." Her face fell. "We won't be able to come," she said. "He's out of town on business, so I'll just have to pass." Instantly I knew I had a chance to score twice in the same day. "What a coincidence: my wife is out of town too. But there's no reason for the both of us to sit around home tonight. Let's go celebrate with everyone else. Come on – it would mean a lot to me." She hesitated a second, and then smiled at me. "I guess that would be OK. It would be fun to get out of the house." "Perfect," I said. "I'll see you tonight." One of the secrets to success in hunting is to know when to make your move. I'd stalked her for a long time; tonight she would be alone and vulnerable. It was time to move in for the kill. When I got back to my office, I made a quick call to the Ritz-Carlton to reserve a penthouse room for the night. The celebration that evening was pretty rowdy. The Ritz-Carlton had managed to put us all in a separate room, which was fortunate because we were noisy and excited, not to mention pretty loose from the wine that flowed freely during dinner. After a number of toasts and a speech by the boss that went on a little too long, the party finally began to wind down. It looked to me like there were going to be a lot of aching heads at work the next day, but I had purposefully restrained myself because I wanted to be sharp. However, I'd made sure that Lori's glass stayed full. I walked around to Lori's side and took her hand. "Come with me," I said assertively, and she meekly followed me into the lounge. "I'm not ready to call it a night yet," I told her, and ordered liqueurs for us. After they'd arrived and she'd sipped most of hers, I pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor, where a jazz trio was playing. As we swayed together to the music, I was careful not to make any overt moves that might put her on her guard, but I did pull her to me closely enough to feel her body against mine. I knew she had to feel my erection, but she didn't pull back, which increased my optimism. She had accepted each new level of intimacy without protest, and I felt certain she was ready for the killing stroke. When the dance ended, I took her by the hand and once again said, "Come with me." She dutifully followed as I led her out of the lounge and to the elevator. Once we were rising, she looked at me in confusion and asked, "Where are we going?" "There's something in my room I want to show you," I told her. "Oh," was all she said. I think she was a little tipsy. When we reached the top floor, I led her to the room and used the card key to open the door. Once inside the roomI didn't bother to turn on a lamp, so the only illumination was from the light coming in through the window. "It's so pretty up here that I wanted you to see it," I told her, and she obediently followed as I led her to the window. We gazed out silently; then I took her by the shoulders and turned her to face me. "And I also wanted to see your beauty by starlight," I said. She looked at me with wide eyes. I reached my hand to out to touch her face and brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. Then I slipped my fingers behind her neck and slowly pulled her face towards mine. She instinctively raised her hands to my chest to ward me off, but I ignored her halfhearted efforts and kissed her, gently at first, then using my tongue to penetrate her lips and explore her mouth. Before she could give any further resistance, I slid my mouth along her jaw line and began to kiss her ear and neck. At the same time I slid my arms around her and pulled her body tightly to mine. Instinctively, she arched her neck to allow my lips and tongue to play, and I heard her breathing accelerate. But then some part of her brain tried to regain control over her rapidly heating libido, and she gasped, "I shouldn't be doing this. I'm married." "So am I," I whispered, "but tonight none of that matters. You know how we feel about each other, and tonight may be our only chance." With that, I pulled her to me and began to kiss her again. At the same time, I ran my right hand up over her ribcage until I was caressing her breast. Even through her dress and her bra, I could feel her heart pounding. When I felt her hands slide around my back to hold me to her, I knew that I had her. Quickly I undid her dress and slid it off her shoulders, kissing them and murmuring compliments to her. Her head fell back as though she were swooning, and I gathered her in my arms and laid her back on the bed with her legs hanging over the side. Fortunately, her bra opened in the front, and once I'd unclasped it, I used my mouth and tongue to tease her nipples while I used my hands to shed my coat, tie and shirt. Then I began to kiss my way down her flat belly, heading for her navel. At the same time I managed to kick off my shoes and undo my pants. Unrelenting Kneeling at the bedside, I slipped my fingers into the top of her pantyhose and quickly peeled them down her legs. She lifted her hips to help me, and when I had pulled them off her feet, I also skinned out of my boxer briefs and began kissing the insides of her legs, starting at her knees. As I made my way higher, her thighs seemed to spread of their own accord, and by the time I had nearly reached her bikini panties, her hips had begun to gyrate and pump in undisguised desire. I slid her panties off without difficulty, and then resumed kissing her. Her hands pushing on my head told me she was unused to cunnilingus, and I could hear her protesting, "No, I've never . . . he doesn't do that. . ." But when my tongue reached her outer lips and began to probe inside, her words turned into gasps, and then her hands were grabbing my head to hold it in place. I could tell she was extremely aroused: her pussy was lubricating so heavily that the juice dripped onto the bedspread. I circled her clitoris with my tongue, starting slowly and then gradually increasing the pace, taking her arousal ever higher. When her gasps and moans told me she was close to her climax, I suddenly stopped and lifted her legs up onto my shoulders while sliding her back further onto the bed. She lay there open and helpless before me, her eyes closed, her hand to her mouth as though to stifle a cry, and her hips straining to receive what they knew I had to give her. I had already rolled a condom on, and now I took my sheathed cock and brought it to her pussy. She seemed to hold her breath, and as I began to slide it into her, it all came out in one long "Ohhhh." Once I was fully inside her, I immediately began to withdraw, and her body came up instinctively to try to hold me inside her. When I was almost out, I smoothly reversed course and again slid all the way into her hot, moist pussy. She had already been speeding toward an orgasm when I stopped tonguing her, and now her body quickly resumed its pace. I continued to stroke in and out of her, sometimes changing the angle of penetration, sometimes pushing her knees back further to increase the depth of penetration, but always increasing the pace of repetition. On every downstroke now she was grunting, and as I accelerated, her grunts turned into one continuous guttural sound that built in pitch and intensity. Then her orgasm hit her, and she twisted her head to one side and actually bit the pillow to stifle the sounds coming out of her mouth. Her body stayed rigid for a full ten seconds, then all her muscles seemed to lose their strength at the same time and she slumped on the bed as though unconscious. I had stopped when she peaked, looming motionless over her. But then I began to resume my strokes, starting at the slowest pace. After a minute her eyes flew open in amazement when she realized what I was doing. "Oh my god," she gasped, "I thought you were finished." I just smiled at her and continued to pump. "Oh, no, stop," she pleaded, "I'm too sensitive, I can't take any more." She brought her hands up to push me away, but I grabbed her wrists and stretched them over her head so that she was helpless. When I did so, I could hear her breath quicken and feel her hips begin to twitch and then to respond in kind to my own. She closed her eyes and began to grunt again involuntarily. Even when I let her wrists go, she left them where they lay in a pose of helpless surrender. "Aha!" I thought, "she likes to be forced." That realization only heightened my own excitement, and I began to pound into her faster and harder. She groaned desperately and rocked her hips as fast as she could move them. "Oh," she moaned, "it's happening again, it's happening again. I've never . . . I can feel it now. Oh, yes, I'm going to cum again, I'm going to . . ." This time, when it hit her, she made no attempt to muffle her voice. Instead her body arched up against me like some Greco-Roman wrestler, and she screamed out loud as she came. I had no intention of holding back now, and I pounded into her until I felt that exquisite feeling building in my cock, and then I was spewing into the condom in ecstasy mixed with deep satisfaction at my second conquest of the day. When I awoke, the dim light of morning was just beginning to come through the window, but it was enough to let me see the shape of her body outlined under the sheet. I pulled it back and began to run my fingers lightly over her breasts. Almost instantly her nipples popped erect, so I leaned over and began to lick them while running my fingers down to her pussy. I was surprised to find she was beginning to lubricate even though she was still asleep. As I continued to work on her, her eyes popped open and she looked around in confusion. Then she must have remembered what had happened because she began to protest, "No, Larry, stop. We can't do this again. I shouldn't . . ." But I was in no mood to stop and, remembering how submissive she had been last night, I swung my leg over her torso to sit on her ribcage. Grabbing her wrists, I pinned her to the bed. As she stared at me with wide eyes, I pushed my cock against her lips. "Suck me," I commanded. She started to protest but I cut her off quickly. "I didn't ask you, I gave you an order. Do it, and you'd better not scrape me with your teeth or I'll punish you." My words jolted her, and as she meekly opened her mouth to comply with my orders, I could feel her breathing beginning to accelerate. Licking and kissing, she began to moan around my cock, which excited me even more. "She loves it," I thought. "She loves being dominated and forced to do my will." When I felt myself beginning to get close, I jerked my cock out of her mouth and lifted off of her. "Turn over," I commanded, and while she was doing so, I quickly rolled a new condom onto my cock. As she lay there on her stomach, I grabbed her hips and lifted her so she was on her knees. Without hesitation, I plunged my cock into her pussy and began doggy-fucking her. She grunted like some animal. This time there was no finesse, no subtlety; I took my pleasure as I wanted it. Yet my brutal, selfish assault seemed to push her to ever higher levels of arousal, and she began to chant, "Yes. Do it. Take me. Use me. Oh, yes. It's happening, it's coming, yes, yes, yes!" With that she screamed, and it only took a few more hard thrusts before I was cumming myself. After resting for a few minutes, I pulled her up and we showered together. I was tempted to take her again, but it was getting late and I needed to get to the office. After we'd dressed, I went with her down to her car so she could go home and change. When she'd unlocked her car door, she turned to me with troubled eyes. "I'm so confused," she confessed. "I feel so guilty for cheating on my husband, but he's never made me feel like you did. I know we should go back to just being friends, but when I remember last night and this morning, I don't know if I can stop." Normally, this little confrontation would have been my cue to end things so I could move on to the next one. But I'd never run across a submissive like Lori, and, to be truthful, it really turned me on. "There's lots more I want to do to this one before I let her go," I thought, so I reached out and gripped her arms tightly. "I'll tell you exactly what you're going to do," I told her firmly. "You're going to go home and act like everything is normal when your husband returns. You're going to go to the office every day and act normal there too. But when I contact you, you'll go where I say and do exactly what I want. Do you understand?" Her eyes grew wide and I saw her suck in her breath. Then she cast her eyes down and said in a meek voice, "Yes, Larry, I understand." And so began our little sexual odyssey. For the next few days I studiously avoided her at the office and she tried to do the same with me, although I saw her eyes follow me whenever I walked by. Then one morning as I passed by her desk I dropped an envelope into her lap. When she opened it, she found a card key and a note that read, "Noon, Room 1113, Roadside Inn." I wasn't surprised when she inserted the card key precisely at noon as I had ordered, but she must have been surprised to find me lying on the bed naked because she gasped when she saw me. After a moment's pause, she walked over to the side of the bed, fell to her knees and began to worship my cock. That day we didn't do anything special, but the next time we got together I took her ass. Even though it was painful for her initially, I think the sense of being degraded and forced to do something she felt was so nasty was a huge turn-on for her. By the time we were done, she was howling into the pillow in ecstasy. From there I found all sorts of delightful things to force her to do. Over the next few months I made numerous changes to her wardrobe, compelling her to abandon pantyhose in exchange for stockings and garter belts. I had her shorten her skirts and wear blouses with several buttons undone. Sometimes I'd make her come to work without her bra or panties. Ironically, some of the other women in the office began complimenting her for coming out of her mousy shell. I don't know what her husband must have thought about the transformation of his innocent little high school sweetheart, and, frankly, I didn't care. "He may not understand why it's happening," I thought, "but I bet he loves the result." Next I introduced her to bondage. She loved the helpless feeling of having her hands and arms restrained, and when I added a sleeping mask to cover her eyes, she almost had a spontaneous orgasm. I commanded her to inform me whenever her husband had to travel, and I'd take her in their marital bed when he was gone. She always protested because she didn't want to dishonor her hubby, but I think she secretly got off on being forced to do it anyway. It was interesting to watch her during this whole process because she was deeply conflicted about our affair. She clearly loved her husband and felt terrible guilt for betraying him, but she just couldn't resist the emotions and sensations that I was giving her. Seeing her struggle against temptation and fail was as great a turn-on for me as the actual sex. During this whole period, our company was going like gangbusters. The new contract had our factory humming and our installation crews working full out. That's not to say there were no challenges. We were forced to create two different sets of records, one that we used to bill the State and one that we used to plan production and schedule our installers. The first set, of course, included all the "phantom" signage. Implementing our little scam turned out to be even more complicated than that. To make sure no one realized any signage was missing, we had to plan out carefully where the omissions would occur. We made sure to spread our phantoms geographically, so they wouldn't be obvious, and spread them over time, so it would be extremely difficult to match actual installations to billed installations. But all the effort was really paying off: our company's earnings were hitting new highs. In fact, we were doing so well that my buddy the director began to get nervous. Of course he was enjoying the cash we slipped him every month, but some of his staff were beginning to raise questions about how we could do so well when the bidding had been so tight. "Relax," I told him, explaining how we worked the deal to cover his pay-off and still make our profits. "We've got the 'phantoms' spread out so widely that our own installers aren't even aware of them," I reassured him. When he continued to fret, an idea popped into my mind that was so intoxicating I almost giggled. "Listen," I told him, "you need to relax and quit worrying so much. In fact, if you're interested, I've got an idea that will definitely take your mind off your worries." When I told him what I was thinking about, he got a sly smile on his face. Earlier that week, Lori had dutifully alerted me that her husband had another business trip planned. "He's always gone these days," she grumbled, but I knew she loved what we did when he was away. So the first night he was out of town, I rang the doorbell at her home. When she opened the front door, she was wearing a smile and the skimpy black bra and garter belt I'd specified, but no panties. Her smile turned to horror as I entered, followed by the grinning director. "Who is that?" she shrieked, frantically trying to hide her pussy with her hands. "Who he is doesn't matter," I told her coldly. "What does matter is that you go with him to your bedroom and give him the best fuck of his life." With that, I took her by the arm and marched her back to the bedroom with my buddy following behind, enjoying the view every step of the way. I thought at first that she was going to resist, but when I ordered her to suck his cock, something seemed to give way in her and she fell to her knees and began. Once she'd yielded, she seemed to catch fire, enjoying being used like some cheap prostitute. After she'd sucked him off, I made her do the same to me. By the time she'd finished me, my buddy had regained his erection, so I ordered her to ride him like a cowgirl. He loved that, and I could tell that she did as well. The sight got me so hot that I decided not to wait my turn. I stripped the rest of my clothes off, put on a well-lubed condom and knelt behind her. At first she was startled, but I nudged her to go on fucking him. As she resumed, I leaned over her and forced my cock into her ass. Her head came up like a shot and she howled. I ignored her discomfort and began to thrust slowly, allowing my friend to find a rhythm and do the same in her pussy. She was effectively pinned between the two of us, and she must have liked the feeling because she began to make animal sounds deep in her throat. "So full, so full," she cried out, and then began moaning loudly. By now we had coordinated our thrusting, and after a few more minutes she suddenly jerked her head up, screamed at the top of her lungs and collapsed on his chest. He came almost immediately, and I followed a few strokes later. After we had all recovered our breath, she lay there exhausted on the bed as the two of us got dressed. There was a haunted expression on her face, but I ignored it. "I think my friend here will be available for lunch sometime next week," I told her. "I'll let you know where to be." She stared at me a moment, then seemed to make up her mind. "Yes sir, I'll be there," she said. The three of us had one more session together, and then everything hit the fan. I had just pulled into my parking space in the garage at work one morning when Lori came running up with tears streaming down her face. "What's wrong, Lori?" I asked. "He found out," she said through her sobs. "My husband found out and I think he's going to divorce me." "Oh, crap," I thought. "I guess all good things have to come to an end." I looked at her. "I'm sorry about that, Lori," was all I said. She seemed surprised that I wasn't more upset. "But don't you understand?" she asked. "He'll probably tell your wife too!" I laughed out loud. "Well good luck with that!" I exclaimed. "He'll have a hard time getting in touch with her, since she doesn't exist!" She looked at me in shock; then, in one of those leaps of logic only women can make, a hopeful expression swept over her face. "Does that mean that you and I . . . I mean, if we're both free, maybe we can . . ." I could see where this was going and I wanted to head it off before it started. "No, Lori. We've had a lot of laughs together, but that's all it ever was. It's over now." The tears began to flow again, and I wanted to say something to make her feel better. "Listen, just go back to your husband and beg him to take you back. Hell, a lot of guys actually get off on their wives getting a little something on the side. He's probably dying to hear all the juicy details." She stared at me in shock; then she turned and walked away, covering her face in her hands and sobbing. I hated scenes like that, so I hurried up to the office. The whole day I was nervous, afraid that she'd show up in and make a fuss. But she never came by, and she didn't come to work the next day. Finally, I heard through the grapevine that she'd quit without notice and hadn't even come by for her last paycheck. "If hubby didn't take her back, she probably went home to mama," I figured. I was relieved to have that problem out of my life, but, if truth be told, I kind of missed her. Seeing her struggling with her passions and losing had been really hot. I tried to perk myself up by making a few strategic forays at the singles bars, but after Lori, bouncing some over-eager pick-up on my cock just didn't do it for me. "I'm going to have to find another faithful wife to seduce," I told myself. The last time I'd been over to the State Transportation Department, I'd spotted a sweet young thing with a great figure and a small rock on her ring finger. When she caught me staring at her, she glanced away and then looked back for a second. I knew what that meant, and I made a mental note of her name. That afternoon, I called the director to try to get some more information on the little hottie. While we were chatting, the door to my office suddenly flew open and two men I'd never seen before entered. "Are you Larry Morrison?" one of them asked, and when I confirmed it he continued, "Mr. Morrison, you're under arrest for bribery and fraud." Before I knew what was happening, I was handcuffed and marched down to a state police car waiting by the curb. When they gave me my phone call, I immediately rang up my lawyer, William Thompson. Yes, it was my old fraternity buddy Willie. He'd gone on to law school, and was now practicing here in town. I felt like I could rely on him to get me out of this jam. I was pretty shook up at first, but after he'd gotten me out on bail and a couple of weeks had gone by, I began to feel better. Willie told me that the State's case looked pretty circumstantial, based on statistical evidence that showed a pattern of shortages. "We can make the case that those were just delayed installations or, at worst, oversights that can easily be remediated," he said confidently. Then he pulled out the State's list of witnesses for the prosecution. "Do you know any of these people?" he asked me. "Have you had any dealings with them that could jeopardize our defense?" I looked over the list and heaved a sigh of relief. "None of these names means a damn thing to me." "Good," he said. "I don't want any surprises." "Listen," I said, "all you have to do is make sure you get the most women possible selected for the jury." I winked at him. "I've always had a way with women." He just guffawed. When the case finally came to trial, I decided that getting Willie as my attorney had been a master stroke. In the first place, just as he'd predicted, the State's case was very complex, using lots of tables and statistical charts that were difficult to understand. Hell, I knew what we'd done and I still couldn't follow what the prosecution was saying. In the second place, Willie had filled the jury box with six women, and I had already begun making eye contact with them. One of them even blushed when she caught me! I knew they'd never vote to convict me. Just as I was about to tell Willie about this development, the prosecutor stood to summon the next witness. "The State calls Nathan Jones to the stand." A skinny young man wearing glasses and a cheap suit made his way to the witness stand. "I'll bet he causes a few hearts to skip a beat in the jury box," I whispered to Willie, and he had to stifle a chuckle. "Who the hell is he, anyway?" I asked. Unrelenting "He's some auditor from the State Comptroller's office," Willie replied, "probably armed with more statistical analyses." "All he needs is a green eyeshade to complete his outfit," I replied. After a few minutes of testimony, it appeared that Willie was right again. It turned out that the poor little bean-counter had been crisscrossing the state tirelessly to record every sign that we'd installed. Then he had painstakingly matched every installation he'd recorded against our billings. I couldn't help but be impressed at the effort he'd put into his quest. But as he was droning on and on about missing State Highway signs in the town of East Buttfuck, it was clear to me that the jury had lost all interest in his endless recitation. When the prosecutor finally said, "No further questions, your honor," I think everyone in the courtroom was relieved. Willie rose to polish him off. "Mr. Jones, you've led us through an incredibly long list of signs installed all around the State, and you seem to believe that some of them are missing. Is that correct?" "Yes sir," he replied. "And out of that long list of installations, what percentage do you calculate were missing?" Willie continued. "We calculate that approximately five percent of the reported installations were phantoms," the auditor replied. A shiver ran down my spine. "Phantom" was a term that hadn't been used in the case up to now; in fact, I'd never heard it used outside our company. Willie didn't pick up on it. "So out of all the thousands of signs installed to date, you found a discrepancy of only five percent. Isn't it possible that such a tiny percentage was a statistical error or a simple oversight?" "Ordinarily, I would agree with you," he said calmly, "but not in this case." There's an old saying in the legal profession that goes, "Never ask a question to which you don't already know the answer." I guess Willie didn't know that one, because he asked, "And why not, Mr. Jones?" "Because," the accountant said quietly, "Mr. Morrison said so." "That's a lie," I shouted, "I've never met this man in my life!" The judged pounded his gavel and instructed me to sit down and keep quiet. "I will not have another outburst like that again in this courtroom, Mr. Morrison. Do you understand?" "Yes sir," I said, pretending to be penitent. Willie must have been flustered, because he turned back to the little accountant and gave him another opening. "Admit it, Mr. Jones, you never heard my client say any such thing." "Oh, but I did," he responded. "I clearly heard Mr. Morrison discussing the phantom signs on the surveillance tape my detective made when Mr. Morrison and the Director of Civil Engineering had sex with my wife." "Oh, shit," I thought, "Nathan Jones! He must be Lori's husband!" The whole courtroom was in an uproar. Willie began objecting loudly, calling Jones' testimony irrelevant and prejudicial. The judge's gavel finally restored order, and he called Willie and the State Prosecutor to the bench. "Under other circumstances," the judge told them, "I'd order that last statement stricken from the record. But since counsel for the defense asked the witness the question directly, I'm going to let it stand." Willie returned to the table where I sat and put his mouth to my ear. "Why didn't you tell me you were banging his wife?" he snarled. "I didn't know it was his wife," I whispered back. "Hell, I didn't even know his name." "This looks really bad," he said. "It was a joke, Willy. 'Phantoms?' It's obvious we were just kidding around." Then I had a brainstorm. "Get Lori on the stand – she'll back me." He glared at me, but I guess he decided that was the best tack to take. He turned back to the witness stand where Nathan Jones sat staring at me with what I now realized was pure hatred. "You were not present when my client made his little comment about phantoms, is that correct?" Willie asked, hoping to put Jones on the defensive. Jones started to explain, but Willie cut him off. "Just answer the question yes or no, Mr. Jones." "The answer is no," the little accountant said with a scowl. It was then that Willie made his final, fatal mistake. "So you'd have to agree that your wife would have a better interpretation of the conversation than yourself." "She might," Nathan conceded, "if she were still alive, but after Mr. Morrison dumped her, she committed suicide." The court again broke out in pandemonium. I stared in disbelief at the little man, and he looked at me as though I were some filth he'd scraped off my shoes. I couldn't bear his gaze any longer, so I glanced over at the jury box. All twelve jurors were glaring at me with unrelieved hostility. Worse, it appeared to me that it was the female members who were the angriest. After that, the result was inevitable. Willie asked for a mistrial, and although one was granted, I was found guilty at the retrial. After the verdict was in, Willie filed appeals on a number of different grounds, but none of them worked. All his maneuvering accomplished was to drive my legal fees ever higher, and by the time all appeals were exhausted, so was my bank account. The State decided to make an example of me, and I was handed a sentence of fifteen to twenty years with the possibility of parole. I always thought that losing my freedom was the worst fate a man could suffer. I was wrong -- what happened after they took away my freedom was even worse. I won't describe it because I can't stand to think about it. Suffice it to say you don't ever want to be in prison, especially if you're a "pretty boy." There were many times when I contemplated suicide; only the hope of regaining my freedom kept me going. So I committed myself to being a model prisoner, always complying with the rules, never giving the guards any trouble. And though it was excruciating, I took the abuse from my tormenters behind bars without complaining. I didn't dare start a fight because I didn't want to jeopardize my chances for parole. For that matter, I didn't want to get a shiv stuck between my ribs either. As you might expect, no one came to see me during my incarceration. No one from my old company wanted anything to do with me, and there certainly weren't any girlfriends waiting faithfully for me to be released. So you can imagine my surprise when one day in my sixth year behind bars the guard told me I had a visitor. When I was led into the visitor's area, I was shocked to see Nathan Jones sitting there. At first, I wanted nothing to do with him, but then a combination of guilt and curiosity propelled me forward. Once I was seated, he just sat there staring at me, and I grew uneasy. "I'm really sorry about Lori," I finally said. "I never knew." He continued to stare at me, and I became more and more nervous. "Can you tell me what happened to her?" I asked. At first I thought he wasn't going to speak to me at all, but then he cleared his throat. "When I came home that night, I found her lying in the bathtub," he finally said. "She had slit her wrists." The image made me impossibly sad. "I'm so sorry," I repeated. "She really did love you all along." If possible, his eyes hardened even further. "Before she died, she wrote your name in blood on the tile wall," he said. I dropped my head to the desk in pain. Finally I looked up; he was still sitting there. "Why did you come, especially after all these years?" I asked him. "I just wanted you to know that when your parole hearing comes up this fall, I'll be there to testify against you," he said. Then he got up and walked away. "Damn," I thought ruefully, "that little guy is fucking unrelenting."