Chapter 7

Judy was fiddling aimlessly with leftover paperwork. The first thing she had done when she had gotten to the office was check for the listing agreement. Her knees had begun shaking when she discovered that she had not locked her desk after all. But the Shein listing agreement was still safely hidden where she had left it.

Now she could only wait. She used the time to get caught up on her paperwork. Because interest rates were sky high, the real estate business was in a slump. Most people who wanted to buy couldn't get the loans they needed. And very few people wanted to sell. Anyone who could was grimly hanging on to what he had.

Which was what had driven Judy to take the desperate steps she had with Steven Shein. Now the die was cast. All she could do was wait. Mark's time on the kidney machine was drawing closer and closer to an end, making the waiting all the more difficult.

Judy jumped when the telephone rang, then grabbed it before the one other agent that was in could answer it.

"Mrs. Penncroft, this is Andrew McCarter," the voice on the other end said.

"Yes, sir," Judy responded, acutely conscious that the other salesman was listening to everything she said. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thanks."

"What can I do for you?" Judy asked, trying to make it sound like an ordinary inquiry.

"Mrs. Penneroft, we seem to have a problem" Mr. McCarter answered.

Judy's heart sank. "Oh?" she asked, trying to keep her fear from showing on either her face or in her voice.

"I've had a bit of a problem with the bank," McCarter continued. "They don't want to give me a mortgage."

"Why not?" Judy asked. She saw the other salesman eyeing her curiously, which made her even more cautious. She was searching for phrases and sentences that would give nothing away about the sale.

"They won't say, exactly."

"It's not you, is it?" Judy asked fearfully.

"No, definitely not," McCarter assured her "My credit is A- one. No, that's not the problem."

"Too expensive?" Judy pried.

"No. If they'd give me the mortgage they'd only want eight per cent. That's a bargain these days."

"Then I don't understand."

"They just don't seem to want to release the money," McCarter continued.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I told them that. How can they make money if they don't loan out money is my philosophy. They gave me a runaround about not wanting to put that much money into one project. They also made some comment about being able to get a better return on short-term paper, rather than a thirty-year mortgage. I think they are trying to pull a stall, on the theory that the ceiling on interest rates is going to be raised again."

"That makes sense," Judy agreed.

"The man who is the problem is Milton Caldwell," McCarter went on.

"Why tell me?" Judy asked. She was relieved to note that her colleague in the office had gone back to his paperwork, but knew he still might be listening.

"I think there is a solution to the log-jam," McCarter explained. "I think that if you were to go and see Mr. Caldwell, you could change his mind."

"Huh?" Judy asked suspiciously.

"I think that this is a situation where your - ah - unique sales approach could tip the balance in our favor."

"But..."

"Mrs. Penncroft, if I don't get the mortgage, the entire deal is off," McCarter pointed out coolly. "If that should happen, where would that leave you - and your husband?"

Judy felt sick. She didn't want to do this - she didn't!

"Now, I really want to buy that house. And Shein definitely wants to sell. But there is nothing I can do to get that mortgage, and there is a great deal you can do."

"Yes," Judy agreed softly, reluctantly, a sour knot forming in her stomach. Tangled in with that knot of dismay were tight, gleaming threads of excitement.

"Caldwell is the man's name - Milton Caldwell. He's vice president in charge of something - notes I think it is."

"I know him a bit," Judy admitted. She had spoken with him on the telephone a couple of times and remembered his thin voice and precise phrasing.

"If anyone can change his mind, you can, Mrs. Penncroft," McCarter told her.

"Thank you," Judy replied, squeezing the words out of her constricted throat.

"I'll be looking forward to a call from Mr. Caldwell. Good- bye, Mrs. Penncroft."

"Good-bye," Judy said softly, then hung up.

"What was that all about?" the other agent asked. "Trouble?"

Judy tried to hide her shaking by shuffling papers. She didn't trust her voice, and said nothing.

"Something to do with Mark?" the man pried.

Judy clutched at that innocent explanation. "Yes, something to do with Mark," she answered. It wasn't really a lie, was it?

She knew what she had to do. She felt horror clutch at her as she contemplated the situation. The real horror was not that she was faced with whoring again. The true horror was the sick, vile, disgusting, perverted excitement she felt at the prospect. What was she becoming? Dear God, what kind of an animal was she becoming that she had the feeling that her prayers had been answered?

She checked her watch. Lunch time. "Are you going to be here this afternoon?" she asked.

The man nodded. "Damned if I know why, with business the way it is. But, I might as well sit here as sit at home. Maybe something will happen to break the monotony. You going out?"

Judy nodded. "I have to see Mark's specialist, after lunch," she lied, thinking quickly.

"Might as well take the whole afternoon, if you want it," the man told her. "I'll cover the phones."

"I'm not expecting any calls."

"See you tomorrow."

Judy hid her eyes behind her dark glasses once she was out on the sidewalk. Her heart was pounding hard as she turned toward the bank. She had no appetite for lunch at this point.

In the cool interior of the bank, Judy walked over to the low railing that set the offices apart. She had the hideous feeling that everyone knew what she was up to.

"I'd like to see Mr. Caldwall, please," she said softly.

"Certainly," the cool blonde receptionist replied. "Who shall I say is calling?"

"Penncroft, Mrs. Judy Penncroft." While the girl was on the phone, Judy watched the customers crossing the polished floor. She had the feeling they were all watching her.

"Mr. Caldwell will see you," the receptionist reported. "The third office from the end."

"Thank you." Passing through the gap in the railing, Judy made her way across the conservative gray carpeting to the indicated doorway. She had been relieved to find that Caldwell had an office. When she saw the solid, sturdy, opaque wooden door, she felt almost relaxed.

"Mr. Caldwell?" she asked from the doorway,

"Mrs. Penncroft." The man pushed his swivel chair back and stood up. "Won't you please come in? It is indeed a pleasure to meet you in person."

Judy kept her face expressionless as she studied the banker and shook his hand. The man's grip was so feeble she felt as if she had been handed a limp sack of soft gelatin. The rest of him matched his handshake. He was about as tall as Steven Shein, but where Shein was hard, Milton Caldwell was soft. Shein was broad across the shoulders, narrow across the waist. The bank vice president reversed it, and had the contours of a pear.

He was a study in pink and gray - gray hair, pink, round face, gray suit and vest. His tie and his hair seemed to have been color coordinated, gray with a thin pink stripe. His hair was combed across his pink bald spot in a series of gray slats. Even his eyes were gray, while the whites were bloodshot. His silver framed glasses perched on his round pink nose.

Judy's feeling of eager anticipation was fading rapidly.

"Please, have a seat, Mrs. Penneroft," Caldwell urged politely in his reedy voice. He closed the door behind her, then held the chair beside his desk for her to sit down in.

Judy was sure he was sneaking a careful look down her neckline. She carefully crossed her legs, so her skirt would ride up her thigh.

"Now, just what can I do for you?" the pink and gray man asked as he lowered himself into his chair.

Judy noticed he pushed back so the desk didn't cut off his view of her trim legs. She fiddled with the top button of her blouse. "I wanted to discuss the Andrew McCarter situation with you."

"McCarter - McCarter," Caldwell mused. "Ah, yes, of course, Andrew McCarter. Well now, it is a bit unusual to discuss confidential matters with an outsider."

"I'm here at Mr. McCarter's request," Judy explained. "Why, exactly, are you refusing to grant Mr. McCarter a mortgage?"

The bluntness of the question seemed to astonish the banker. He rocked back in his chair, and the springs protested with a thin squeak. When he rebounded forward again, he sought refuge in the papers on his desk, flipping through stack after stack.

It reminded Judy of a small gray mouse building a nest.

"Aaahhh, yes, here we are," Caldwell chirped, extracting a long form from the heap. "McCarter, Andrew A. Uhm hmm. Hmmmmm." He unfolded the application and looked it over carefully. "Yes, this all seems to be in order." He looked at Judy again.

Judy's exasperation was increasing. She was beginning to think nothing was going to get through to this creature. She casually let the top button of her blouse slip through the hole.

"Why won't you give him the mortgage?" she asked again. "He has an excellent credit rating, there is no disagreement over the interest rate, and you have an appraisal of over one and a half million on the house in question."

Caldwell's necktie bobbed peculiarly as he swallowed hard. His eyes kept straying from Judy's face down to the vee of her unbuttoned shirt. "Ahem, well, yes, indeed," he agreed. "But, you must admit we are discussing a very large sum of money."

Judy was toying with the second button now. "Certainly. But I was under the impression that the business of banks was to loan large sums of money. An eight percent return on your investment, especially an investment of this size, is hardly trivial." She could see a film of sweat forming on the man's pink forehead.

"Ahum, well, that is true," he wheezed. "However, with interest rates as high as they are, the return on eight percent is really minimal."

Judy decided to play dumb. "I don't understand. Perhaps if you worked it out for me on paper?"

"Well, um, it's really very simple," Caldwell explained, pulling a yellow pad over in front of him. "For the sake of simplicity, we'll take one million dollars. Now, we can either loan it out in one large lump, at eight percent," he explained, scribbling on the pad.

Judy wasn't listening. She got gracefully up from her chair and went around behind it. As she passed the door, she casually reached out and locked it. Then she went and stood behind Milton Caldwell. She unbuttoned the second button on her blouse.

"I see what you are driving at," she murmured softly, carefully pressing the soft warmth of one of her breasts against the man's head as she leaned over him. He turned his head, and for a moment Judy had the insane feeling he was searching for her tit to suckle on just the way a hungry baby does.

"Now," Caldwell squeaked, "if we break that million into smaller amounts, of, say, ten loans of one hundred thousand each, the picture changes radically."

Judy eased around beside him and leaned over, her hands on the desk. Her breasts swayed enticingly inside her open blouse. "What are the exact figures on that?" she asked, one eye on the electronic calculator near her left hand.

"Well, now the problem gets more complex," Caldwell pointed out. He reached for the calculator.

Judy intercepted him, putting her hand on top of his and pinning it to the desk. She turned and looked him full in the face, noting how his color was shifting from pink to red, and washing out the stripe in his tie. "Why, I'm surprised that a man of your intellect can't do that in his head," she flattered him. His eyes were watering as his gaze bounced desperately from her face to her breasts. His flabby lips were shining.

"Well, yes, of course," he admitted. "I used to do it that way before I got the calculator."

"You know, Mr. Caldwell, you are a very interesting man," Judy informed him in a soft, sexy voice. She was still holding his hand.

"Oh, no," he protested softly.

"Why, you are, too," Judy insisted, letting his hand go and turning to sit on his desk. Crossing her legs, she kicked off her sandals. Then she folded her arms under her breasts and lifted and pressed them inward. "Why, I'm sure Mrs. Caldwell has a great deal of difficulty keeping her hands off you."

"There is - cough - there is no Mrs. Caldwell," the banker mumbled nervously. "Now, as I was saying, if we..."

"No Mrs. Caldwell!" Judy exclaimed. "Why, that's unbelieveable! Oh, but wait, I understand. A man of your qualities and talents doesn't want to be tied down to just one woman. Mr. Caldwell, you are a devil, aren't you - the gay bachelor."

Not really "gay" Judy prayed softly.

"Well, I, uhm, I - aaahhhh. Yes, I am a bachelor," he admitted.

Judy had the feeling the banker was suddenly finding his pants a little too tight. She wondered if he still lived with his mother. She unbuttoned still another button.

"Now, I've got to keep my mind on business." she insisted. "You were saying about the loan?" She twisted sideways and leaned forward, giving him a totally unobstructed view of her pale breasts and their pink tips.

Caldwell's hand shook as he picked up a pencil. The numbers on the pad were a meaningless jumble. He kept seeing Mrs. Penncroft's bare breasts inside her blouse. They were practically in front of his nose, tantalizing soft mounds with pink tips as delectable and exciting as anything he had ever seen in his life. There was a subtle pain in his chest from the sight of this small woman's graceful, feminine torso within her blouse. And why were his pants suddenly so tight and uncomfortable?

Judy knew she almost had him. She let her arms slide the length of his desk, bulldozing a drift of papers along. The telephone toppled off the desk and bounced on the carpet with a soft ring.

"Yes, Mr. Caldwell," the receptionist said tinnily from the receiver.

Caldwell scrabbled for the phone, picked it up and muttered something, then hung up.

Judy was lying on his desk, on her side. She stroked one leg sensuously against the other. "I'm sorry," she groaned, "I just can't keep my mind on business in your presence. I am just too hot!"

She unbuttoned the last button of her blouse and spread it open to reveal one delicate breast.

"Mrs. Penn - Mrs. Penncroft, wh-what in the world are you doing?" he stuttered in a strangled voice.

Judy was holding her head propped up with one hand. With the other, she reached over and eased the banker's suit jacket back off one shoulder and then the other. "Aren't you terribly warm in all those clothes?" she asked softly. "It is very warm in here. Why, you're even perspiring!"

"Yes, yes, I guess it is rather warm. The air conditioning must have broken down," Caldwell agreed. He shed his jacket with Judy's help.

"I am just so warm," Judy purred, rolling on her back on the desk. She felt the calendar digging into her shoulder and shoved it aside. Then she sensuously wriggled out of her blouse.

Milton Caldwell was at a total loss. He had never, ever encountered anything like this. Why, the woman was practically naked! Right in the middle of his desk! And her breasts, they looked so soft and exciting, like mounds of ice cream. They were delicious gentle white hills, with sharp pink points. What would happen if he touched them? They were just too inviting not to. He reached out with shaking fingers and gently brushed the pink points - and jerked his hand back when he felt an electric charge streak up his arm. He had never before touched anything so incredibly hot and exciting.

"Oh, yes," Judy hissed. Her passion was becoming real. Something about seducing this balding innocent was incredibly exciting. The gentle, shy touch of his fingers on her tits made her breasts burn with excitement. She reached down and unfastened her skirt. Then she lifted her hips off the desk and eased her skirt down over her thighs, let it slide down her legs and kicked it off.

The wood of the desk was cool against her buttocks, even through her panties. Nearly naked, Judy writhed sensuously on the banker's desk. She rubbed the insides of her thighs together, thrilling to the feel of satin skin against satin skin. Caldwell's shaking fingers were playing delicately with her tits, making her nipples burn. When he finally engulfed her small breasts with both of his sweating hands, Judy's eyes glazed with passion. God, she loved having her body caressed by a man - or a woman for that matter. It just felt so incredibly, wonderfully good to have hands touching her.

"Aren't you wearing too many clothes?" she whispered softly.

"Yes," Milton Caldwell squeaked. "I am, I am wearing too many clothes." Jerking his hands off Judy's breasts, he lurched up from his chair, sending it banging back into the wall. He tore frantically at his vest. A gold pocket watch popped out of its pocket and swung wildly on the end of its chain as he hurriedly stripped off his vest. Then he was tearing at his pants, his shirt.

His sleeveless undershirt was bulged out by his potbelly, and his legs, protruding from the bottom of his boxer shorts, were skinny and knobby and ludicrous. But there was something lurking inside those shorts that was enough to make Judy's mouth and pussy both water. Then the banker stripped off his underwear, and Judy gulped. Hanging below the man's potbelly was the most titanic, incredibly delicious-looking cock she had ever seen in her entire life. It dangled obscenely downward, a monstrous pillar of blood- engorged flesh, pallid white with a pink knob. A shining drool of lubricant swung pendulum-like toward the floor from the slit at the tip.