Dick Slide
The Business End Of Her
CHAPTER ONE
An overcast November sky ladled a chilling downpour, sending wave after dark green wave of white-capped water crashing against the jagged rocks of the deserted beach. And in a house high up on the bluff, looking out through a mist-shrouded window, Paulette Bodine allowed her mind to wander, thinking back to the first meeting with the naked and sleeping man on the wide rumpled bed behind her.
It had been mid-July in Malibu, she recalled, watching the timeless undulation of the sea far below her. Bobby Fender, the man sprawled in exhausted slumber, his features satisfied and innocent, had suggested they have a drink after work to celebrate his promotion to Divisional Sales Manager of the entire West Coast branch of Astro-Pile Incorporated, makers of the green artificial turf that carpeted most of the major football stadiums across the country.
She folded her arms across her ample chest, looking out into the velvet night as she remembered her surprise and ready agreement to his invitation, gushing with obvious delight, "Just let me put on fresh make-up and I'll be right with you."
A small smile tugged at her scarlet mouth as she again pictured his soft eyes on her as she got from behind her desk and crossed the spacious office to the hall leading to the ladies' room, remembered the familiar warming along her thighs as she hurried the make-up onto her face and brushed out her flowing brown hair to splay regally across her slender shoulders.
"I'm ready," she announced, coming back into the office and spinning prettily for his inspection.
"You look great," he told her, letting his eyes travel over her smooth curves before taking her arm and guiding her out the door.
Paulette turned from the window and stood watching Bobby's sleeping form. A tiny smile caressed the corners of her wide-set almond eyes as she studied the features of the man who had changed her entire life. From an eighteen-year-old girl from Nebraska, she thought, to an experienced woman of nineteen had been no easy transition. But thanks to Bobby and America's growing support of football as the national pastime, she had been afforded the opportunity of womanhood, and she had taken it, gobbled it up, in fact.
She stepped lightly to the bed and sat gently beside him, careful not to wake him, and looked down into his sleeping face, seeing his slightly parted lips, his sharp cheekbones, so prominent when awake yet soft and gently rounded in repose. Using one delicate finger she pushed an errant wisp of hair back from his forehead, easing the lonely strand back into place among his wavy brown curls. She enjoyed touching him, caring for him, seeing him like this, so defenseless, so hers to fondle and hold and know every inch of his slender body.
The thin sheet that covered him was draped across his middle, no real protection from the cold, and certainly no protection from her probing eyes. Her mouth watered at the thick shape of his tool so clearly outlined against his thigh. Huge even in sleep, the shaft lay smooth under the thin sheath of material, the head a plum-sized lump in the sheer linen, sending shivering chills of anticipation coursing through her.
The tip of her coral tongue wet her lips as she stared at it, willing it to life with silent pleading, knowing the hard, rampant strength of it. And quietly, afraid to wake him, she slipped softly from the bed and slid her silver housecoat off her shoulders, letting it drop in a tangled heap at her feet before moving to the foot of the bed and slowly pulling the sheet from his body, exposing his blue-veined root to her greedy eyes.