Chapter 2

All the big publishing houses are not located in New York City. One of the biggest, Findley House, has its offices in a much smaller city, Denton, because its founder and chief stockholder, Paul T. Findley, wanted to be able to get off to the mountains or the seashore, without spending all his time traveling. As the company became more successful, due to the fact that it printed a good many books of a sexual and erotic nature, Findley House soon took over the entire sixth floor of the Palmer Building in downtown Denton.

In Paul Findley's spacious and luxurious office, best-selling books were born. Usually a book began as a germ of an idea in the sexually obsessed mind of Findley himself. The privacy he needed to come up with such ideas was assured by his secretary, sexy and attractive Mrs. Walters - Margo, who guarded his door like it was the entrance to Fort Knox. The only way anyone could get past her and into Findley's sanctuary, was by invitation from the great man himself.

When the idea for a book sprang from Findley's mind, it was carefully nurtured, or as some of his staff inelegantly put it, kicked around to see what it would do. When the idea was proven sound, which meant that Findley decided to do it, research was begun. Then a writer was selected to put it all together.

Not all ideas came from Findley. Of his stable of writers, one of them, Laura Stevens, was unique. She didn't need to have Findley hand her a project. She had a lot of sexy ideas herself. These she presented to Findley and was always successful in getting him to let her go ahead with them. Her previous four books, all best-sellers, were proof to Findley and everyone else, that her ideas were sound.

Needless to say that whenever Laura called on Paul Findley, his secretary Margo Walters, understood that her employer's invitation, as far as Laura was concerned, was a standing one.

So on this particular summer morning that was already filled with warm sunshine, Brian Overton and his mother were still in bed furiously fucking, after which she would get up and start making breakfast. Two blocks over, at the Baker residence, Dorothy Baker was having difficulty preparing breakfast for her and her son. She was naked and young Mark was playfully chasing his mother around the kitchen, grabbing her tits and feeling her cunt. While that was going on, four hundred miles from there in the city of Denton, Paul Findley, looking fit and handsome for a man of his years, smoothed back his grey hair and pulled in his paunch, as his secretary ushered in a very attractive young woman and said, "Mrs. Stevens, sir."

"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Stevens? The couch here is the most comfortable," said Findley, smiling like a man who was contemplating getting into her panties.

The young woman seated herself on the couch and when the secretary departed, closing the door behind her, she smiled up at him and said, "Really, Paul, must you be so formal? I know it's for your secretary's benefit, but she's nobody's fool. If she was, you wouldn't have her working for you, even if she is a good lay. I'm sure she realizes that I know as well as she does, how comfortable this couch is. You've had me sprawled out on it often enough, with my panties on the floor and my dress up around my neck. And her too, I'm sure."

Findley grinned at her and seated himself beside her. His arms went around her and he kissed her fully on the mouth. The young woman's arms entwined about his neck and when one of Findley's hands moved up between her legs, she opened them wide. The gesture wasn't ladylike, but one that Findley appreciated.

"You don't have any panties on, Laura," he said in a near whisper.

"Panties only get in the way when I come to see you to discuss business," Laura replied.

"Your panties never get in my way," said Findley. "How do you find married life?"

"I'm not sure I ever did find it, thanks to you," said Laura with a mischievous smile. "I'm married to one of your valued photographers, whom you keep sending out on assignments that keeps him away for weeks, even months at a time, so that I'm alone in bed every night. But I'm never alone in bed, am I, you horny old devil? When I am alone in bed, you crawl into it with me, which is why you keep sending my husband off to Madagascar or some such place. In the three years I've been married, you've fucked me more than my husband has - a lot more!"

Findley grinned at her. "How can you say that? I haven't seen you in a whole month. Where in the hell have you been?"

"I told you, when I phoned."

"You told me you had a good idea for another book, that when you had it finished it would be another fabulous best-seller and make even more money than the previous one did. Does that have something to do with why you haven't been home, and I haven't seen you for a whole month?"

"Exactly," said Laura. "I've been looking into things, and I've come up with some great facts."

"Your last book had some pretty good facts," said Findley, looking quite pleased. "It's a good thing you were able to prove everything you said, with all those women's groups raising so much hell. I can't blame them though, the way you exposed their secrets. After everyone read the book, they had the feeling that every wife is getting laid when her husband isn't home."

"Well, why shouldn't they be getting laid?" asked Laura. "They're only doing the same thing their husbands are doing. Their husbands don't pass up any pussy that comes their way. Why shouldn't a wife enjoy a stiff cock whenever she gets the chance?"

"It's supposed to be her husband's stiff cock she's enjoying," said Findley.

"That's just the trouble," Laura replied. "Quite often her husband's cock isn't stiff, when she wants it. And after they've been married for some years, it's hardly ever stiff. It gets hard quick enough for some other man's wife, but not for her!"

"I know. I read your book. There aren't many wives who are being faithful to their husbands, are there?"

"And there aren't any husbands who are being faithful to their wives," Laura told him. "That's what equal rights for women is all about. A woman has as much right to fuck other guys, as her husband has to fuck other women."

"And it works out great for us," said Findley. "We sold tons of books to men who wanted to find out what their wives are doing while they are at work, and tons more to women who wanted to find out what you told about them."

"This next book will cause an even bigger stir," Laura assured him. "It's another expose."

"On what?"

"Incest."

Findley looked at her intently. "You're kidding."

"Why would I be kidding?"

"Well hell, what's so fabulous about that? Incest isn't a shocker anymore," said Findley. "Everyone knows there's some of that going on, and has been all along."

"I didn't say it was something people just started doing," Laura informed him. "That's what the book will be about, letting people know there's a lot of it going on, and that it's been going on for ages. Not everybody realizes that. How did you find out it's been going on for a long time?"

Findley grinned. "Well, as a matter of fact, my first piece of ass was with one of my sisters. We fucked every chance we got, until one day my other sisters caught us doing it and they wanted in on it too. So from then on I was fucking all four of them and I was sure kept busy. As we got older we all got married, but that didn't stop the girls from letting their brother throw a fuck into them, whenever their husbands and my wife weren't around. And I'm fifty-eight, so you know how far back that goes!"

"And you think that wouldn't make a terrific book?" Laura gasped.

Findley shrugged. "Well, maybe it would!"

"Damned right it would," said Laura. "What if our research proves that one out of every five women got her first piece of ass at home with her brother?"

"Yeah. That would do it!"

"But brother and sister sex is only a part of it. What I plan to do is a series of books, sex between brother and sister, niece and uncle, nephew and aunt, and between teenage girls and their fathers. But the first book I want to do in the series, is about young men having sex with their mothers. You wouldn't believe how much of that is going on."

"You think so?"

"I know so," said Laura with enthusiasm, "and I've found a place, a small town, where mothers are really into it with their sons."

Findley looked interested. "Go on."

"The town is Tuttleville," said Laura, "and the women there seem like the most pure-minded, upright, righteous, high- principled, decent and moral people you could ever imagine. Like they never had an impure thought in their minds. You'd think there wasn't any extramarital sex going on at all, because these women, those between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five I mean, don't fool around with other men. A woman there doesn't have some guy sneaking into her house and giving her a little while hubby is at work, like women in other places do."

"Sounds great," said Findley. "But where's the material for a book?"

"I'm coming to that," said Laura, "and believe me, I'm not imagining it. I've seen some things while I was there, enough to know that the facts are there and I can get them."

"You've seen what things?" asked Findley.

"I've seen boys in that town, at least half of those in their senior year of high school, go straight home as soon as school is out in the afternoon," said Laura. "Each of those young men is fucking his mother for a good two hours, until she has to get up and get supper started, before her husband gets home from work. Those boys are fucking their mothers more than their fathers are. And now that school is out for the summer, each boy and his mother must be fucking like crazy, from the time the kid's father goes to work, until he gets back home at night. Is it any wonder that not one of these women is sneaking off with some guy to get laid? Why should she? She's getting all the cock she wants, right in her own home. And who would ever suspect that she has a hot thing going with her own son?"

"How'd you get on to this?" asked Findley.

"I was staying in a motel one night," said Laura, "and I met this traveling salesman in the bar. We went back to my room and he spent the night with me. We fucked and talked, then talked and fucked. The one thing we didn't do that night was sleep. And during one of the times when we were talking, instead of fucking, this salesman said something that really got me to thinking. A salesman always finds plenty of cunt when he's on the road, and so did this one. But not in Tuttleville. In that town he couldn't find a piece of ass to save his soul. In other places he could always search out some bored and lonely housewife who was hot and ready to screw, but not there. All the good-looking women in Tuttleville seemed to be well taken care of, were so satisfied they weren't about to make it with a stranger passing through town."

"Well, I'll be damned!" said Findley.

"You think that wouldn't make a good subject for a book?" asked Laura.

"Maybe," said Findley, "Depends on what else you've got."

"There's more," said Laura. "The next morning after the salesman left, I stayed on in that motel for another night, because the one thing I didn't get when that salesman was in bed with me, was sleep."

"Was that in Tuttleville?" asked Findley.

"No. The motel I was staying in was in a college town, about three hundred miles from Tuttleville," said Laura. "I slept until noon and when I was walking past the desk on my way to the restaurant they have there, an attractive dark-haired woman in her middle or late thirties, was checking in. I heard her tell the desk clerk she was from Tuttleville. That rang a bell with me, because of what the salesman had told me about the women in that small town."

"So what happened?" asked Findley.

"Well after she checked in, she came into the restaurant and I made it a point to get acquainted with her. We had lunch together," Laura told him. "She said she was Mrs. Hugo Overton and she asked me to call her Mary Anne. Her husband owns a business in Tuttleville that keeps him on the road a good deal of the time. Her twenty-year-old son Brian was attending college in town. Mary Anne had flown up from Tuttleville to spend the weekend with him."

"Then what?" said Findley.

"We sat there talking until it was around three o'clock," said Laura. "As discreetly as possible I was learning all I could about her, her husband, her son, and about others in Tuttleville. It was Friday and when it was about time for classes to be out, Mary Anne got into her car, a rental she'd got at the airport after she got off the plane, and went to pick up her son."