Billy Jamison sat in his old car and checked the address. He was in the same up-scale neighborhood where he had met and made love to the young woman who called herself a trophy wife, the woman named Maria, Maria something. He smiled and shook his head. Too many women. After his frantic hour with the Tucker twins during which he had brought both of them to at least two orgasms and had come once himself, his penis had finally relaxed, and now he was going to put it back to work. And he was late.

All he knew was "Barbie" and this address on Chestnut Street. He got out, checked his zipper, walked to the back door and knocked. A long legged wet dream in a short, terry cloth robe answered and smiled at him. "Billy?" she asked musically, her dark red hair framing a youthful face, her dark eyes full of life, her oversized boobs almost falling out in his face.

He swallowed and nodded. She really did look like a Barbie doll with a huge mop of hair and a very impressive chest and legs that seemed to go all the way up. "Hi," he said cheerfully, "you called and said you had some little jobs that needed doing."

"Uh huh," she said, "come on in and I'll show you. I thought you'd be here an hour ago." She was wearing high-heeled slippers with what looked like bunny fur on them and her long auburn hair hung loosely around her shoulders and halfway down her slim back. "Now we'll have to hurry."

Billy nodded. "Sorry. Had a job to do right after school, took longer than I thought it would."

"Maria Tomlinson told me about you, all about you, so that's why I called you. You see those shelves way up there, the ones right at the top, all the way around this kitchen?"

She smelled wonderful, somehow romantic or something thought he, like a prom date; maybe it was her hair, an exciting smell. He had never seen a woman with so much hair. He wondered how old she was, but put that thought aside as he watched her globular breasts bobble within the barely closed robe.

"Well," she said, licking her lips, her voice sort of husky, "I want you to take everything from all of them, and then I will pack some things up to give away while you wash the rest." She exhaled. And smiled. "And then, if we have time, we'll put that stuff back up there. OK? I think that's all we have time for today, but I'll probably want you to come back." She licked her parted lips as they stood inches apart, her jutting chest touching his now and then; she was an inch or so shorter than Billy in her heels. Her short robe was falling open to her cinched waist, revealing the deep trench between her jiggling melons.

"Sure," Billy said. "Have you got a stool or a step ladder?"

"Um hm," she said, showing her dimples, "I've been using it upstairs, working on the bookshelves. That's another job for later. Come on." She crooked a finger at him and headed down the hall, her scent trailing behind her, her long legs flashing since her white robe barely covered her rounded buttocks.

Billy followed her up the long stairway, getting a good look at her bare ass and her puffy pink sex lips, a ripe peach. She led him to a back room that was piles of books and wooden shelves from floor to ceiling and dropped her robe to the floor with a wide smile and shrug of her shoulders. Ah!

She was, in truth, a Barbie doll. Billy's cock jumped. Barbie exhaled, bit her soft lower lip and squeezed her arms to her sides, bulging our her luscious breasts with their large nipples, her incredibly natural thirty-eight DDs that did make her look top heavy and made it necessary for her to have most of her dresses and suits altered. But she loved them because she knew they were stud magnets, and if there was anything Barbie liked more than an easy life, it was cocks; big, healthy, hot and hard cocks. Barbie had been enjoying men since she was nubile, and although she was only twenty years old, she was already married to her third husband.

She had wed balding Jim Conway when she was almost sixteen, and he was the widowed 58-year-old hardware store owner who had known her and her family since she was a baby. He had knocked her up on his office desk, so he thought, and they were married quietly at the courthouse soon after. Her parents were happy to give her a false birth certificate and their permission and get rid her and her dozens of overheated boyfriends. Barbie actually had no idea whose baby she was carrying so when she lost it in the first trimester after taking on four warehouse men back in the storeroom. She shed no tears.

Her overweight and hard-working husband died just before Christmas when he had been sweating twelve and fourteen-hour days and coming home to his wife's sexual demands eagerly even though he had to use Viagra and a cock ring to satisfy them. They had already coupled once that night, and, after she begged for more, Jim had gone to the bathroom on rubbery knees and taken another pill when suddenly his left arm went numb and his chest felt a great weight and he collapsed on his face, breaking his nose and front teeth. He was about half hard.

Barbie didn't hear him hit the floor because she was using her vibrator to get herself off, and it was only after she had climaxed and taken a short nap that she realized Jim was not lying next to her, found his sprawled and lifeless body and punched 911. She inherited everything since his first wife had produced no children. She sold the store and married his bookkeeper, a young man she had been fucking almost every week since he did the books at the hardware store on Saturdays when Jim was always busy out front.

John Miller, a relatively young and very well-hung bookkeeper, died violently when he tried to protect his wife's non-existent honor at the country club and the lawyer who had been leaning over her shoulder with his hand reaching for her gigantic breasts whacked him in the throat with his fist and collapsed his trachea and esophagus. He might have survived if he hadn't hit his head on the cement planter as he went down, fracturing his skull. He was insured for $250,000, and his bookkeeping business brought in almost a half-million from a competitor. No charges were filed against the well-known lawyer, and he and Barbie spent several weekends enjoying her inheritance and his sizeable manhood.

So at the age of 19 Barbie was a very wealthy young woman as well as the most attractive widow anybody every saw. She was a blonde at the time and looked extra good in black. She quickly fell in love with her smarmy financial advisor, utterly unaware that the man was bi-sexual and had very astute male companion. They cleaned her out in six months and disappeared in the direction of Nevada, leaving her owing several thousand to the IRS.

That was when the grieving Barbie gave in to the amorous pleas of a friend of her first husband and married Julius French, the sixty-year-old owner of four very successful men's clothing stores. Julius, who was paying alimony to two women, had bought her a BMW as a wedding present and lavished furs and jewels on her for Christmas, birthdays and Valentines Day. He had also warned her that he would not tolerate any dalliances on her part. She promised to be faithful, but after one night in his bed, trying her best to seem to enjoy his small, weak erection which lasted less than a minute, she knew she could not keep her promise.