WKRP was possibly the worst-sounding radio station in all of Cincinnati, but Jennifer was without a doubt the best- looking secretary at any radio station in the entire country. She had silky blond hair that billowed out around a smooth, oval face with the poutiest, most kissable lips you've ever seen. Her face, beautiful as it was, wasn't the best part. Her body was an absolute temple to sex appeal. She had huge breasts -- massive, but not so big as to be absurd -- that today, as usual, stretch to the maximum a form-fitting pink sweater. A tight, black leather skirt did very little to hide the obscene curve of her hips. The skirt did nothing at all to hide the sensuality of her legs, because it ended just about an inch below her crotch. From there down to her black leather pumps, the view was unobstructed of the smooth lines made even more titillating by being encased in black nylons. If you got lucky and were watching closely when Jennifer crossed her legs, you might be able to tell that she wasn't wearing pantyhose; these sheer stockings were held up by a black garter belt. What you wouldn't be able to tell unless you got really lucky -- and few men ever had -- was that she wasn't wearing panties, either. Jennifer believed in the feeling of freedom she got from not wearing underwear.

She also believed in the feeling of arousal she got from fingering herself as she sat behind her desk, her crotch hidden from view. She relied on that arousal frequently, because for all her sexiness Jennifer rarely got a man in bed. She tended to date older men -- much, much, much older men -- for the same reason guys rob banks: that's where the money is. They were rich, but they were almost dead, too.

So she was sitting behind her desk in the reception area of WKRP, answering phones with one hand ("WKRP in Cincinnati! May I help you?) while fingering herself with the other, probing through wet pussy lips until she found the small button of her clitoris with a shudder, rubbing and stroking and prodding underneath while above the desk she appeared to be just doing her job.

Despite appearances, however, she was quite lost in passion when she suddenly heard a familiar, although not welcome, voice.

"Hey, Jen-Jen! Think about me while I was gone?"

It was Herb Tarlik, the station's inept sales manager. Herb was married, but that didn't stop his awkward flirting; Herb dressed like a clown and acted like a clown without a clue, but that didn't stop him from thinking he actually had a chance with Jennifer. She quickly pulled her hand out of her cunt and looked up at him, eyes a-sparkle -- not for him, but because her eyes always sparkled.

"Were you gone, Herb? I hadn't noticed."

He ignored the comment and went on. "Doing anything after work today? I've got two tickets for the wrestling match."

"Herb," she said in her sweetest voice, "I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last man on Earth."

He might have had a comeback -- he usually did -- but before he could say anything the glass doors to the offices swung open and a big Russian wolfhound strolled in, followed by a small man. The sizes of animal and man were so close it wasn't immediately clear who was walking whom.

It was the man who spoke, however, so he was probably in charge. "Mr. Tarlik! I'm Roy Jones, we spoke on the phone. Jones Pet Stores? This here's Ralph. He's the dog we're going to use in the commercials, OK?"

Herb turned on his customer-pleasing smile, which looked disconcertingly like a sneer, and reached out to pat the dog. A low, menacing growl warned him away. Taking a step or two back, he welcomed Jones and walked him back to the studios.

Jennifer would have preferred to go back to her diddling, but her boss, Mr. Carlson, came out just then with some papers for her to type. She flew through them and was stapling them together when Herb and Mr. Jones came back. Herb looked flushed, and one sleeve of his tacky sport-coat was ragged. Mr. Jones was apologizing. "Gee, I'm sorry, Herb, Ralph never did anything like that before. He's usually really nice to folks. I don't know what got into him."

They stopped at Jennifer's desk as Les Nessman, the station's one-man news department, came up from behind. "I'm going out to a hog farm, Jennifer," he said. "Oh, nice doggie!" He took a step toward Ralph. In a flash of brown fur the animal leaped up, clamping his bowtie between the dog's powerful jaws. Mr. Jones tried to pull him off, but that only made Les turn a bit purple around the neck. Jennifer reached out, tapped the dog on the shoulder, and said softly, "No, Ralph." In an instant, the dog released his grip and squatted at Jennifer's desk. Les left hurriedly.

"He really seems to take to you, Miss," Jones said. "Say, would you mind watching him while Herb and I go out to lunch? We'll only be an hour or so." Jennifer smiled in agreement, and Mr. Jones and Herb left.

Jennifer went back to her work, putting away some files. As she moved between her desk and the cabinets behind her, she noticed that Ralph kept his big, liquid brown eyes on her all the time, swinging his streamlined head back and forth like a fan at a tennis match. Every now and then, she petted his silky smooth fur, rubbing a hand from his neck down to his tail. He wagged it in appreciation and continued to stare at her.

Almost finished with the filing, she pulled the last slips of paper out of a drawer. "Oh, darn," she said to herself as one form slipped out of her hand and underneath the desk. She pulled her chair back and looked but couldn't see it. Getting down on her hands and knees, she crawled under the desk and saw it, just one corner of the paper barely visible underneath the bottom drawer. She reached out for it slowly, careful to protect her polished nails. Just a little bit further -- it was a tight squeeze between the floor and the drawer bottom, and there seemed to be some kind of metal rod in the way -- a little bit more... got it! She pulled her hand back. It wouldn't budge. She pulled some more. She could feel her fingers swell a bit and realized she was stuck. Reaching with her free left hand, she groped on the top of the desk for the intercom, found the cord, began to pull the base unit toward the edge -- and then realized that this was not quite the image she wanted to present to Mr. Carlson, who tended to think that Jennifer was perfect. "Oh, well," she told herself cheerfully, "if I just wait a minute, the swelling will go down and I'll be free again."

Even as she was saying that, she felt something against the back of her thighs. Something cold and wet quickly slid up her legs and landed right in her crotch. The touch surprised her and she jumped, bumping her head on the bottom of the desktop. The cold probing was quickly replaced with something even wetter but hot and scratchy. She heard a throaty growl. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Ralph's head buried under her skirt. His furry body was right behind her. She frantically tried to escape, but her maneuvering only increased the swelling in her hand and excited Ralph, who licked eagerly at her cunt. His thick, coarse tongue soon was covered with her pussy juices and she shivered when a particularly exuberant lick found her clit.

After several minutes, the licking stopped. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief -- only to turn into a gasp of shock when she felt the pressure of a hot, furry body pushing up her skirt and exposing her cunt, while she heard Ralph's forepaws scratching on the desktop above her. She held her breath, hoping the animal would falter, but the dog settled on top of her and she felt its hard rod prodding the entrance to her cunt. She reached back with her left hand to ward it off, but all she could do was brush the stiff cock with her fingertips, and that only got Ralph more excited. All at once he lunged forward and his slim but long cock plunged full-length into Jennifer's soaking wet pussy. She murmured protests as the dog drove in and out, ramming his cock further into her than any man had ever been. Juices poured out of her cunt and dribbled down her thighs as the dog fucked her harder and harder.