Chapter 2: Sandy

Greg was out at the crack of dawn, heading for the airport and an early flight to New York. There were managers' meetings scheduled for a week. No, I didn't wonder at the idea of having weekend days in the middle of a one week meeting; I knew it was bullshit. I just assumed that Greg would spend that time bedding his ex-wife. Or maybe one of the women from the home office. Possibly it might be some whore he found in the phone book, peddling 'outcalls', or even some slimy slut working the side streets off Times Square. I couldn't decide which idea I preferred, or which I hated worse. For sure I knew that Greg would not be happy with do-it-yourself orgasms, and would try every which way for a human receptacle. And I was getting really, really tired of his trying it with other women. Do as I say, Greg, not as I do.

I started the day with a shower, to rid my skin of the perspiration of my excitement and of the traces of Greg's lust still on my body after last night. I popped the top off the little squeeze bottle of shampoo that Greg had taken home from his last hotel visit. With just a little pressure, the creamy stuff oozed out of the small hole at the top. It looked just like the cum that shoots out of Greg's all-purpose slit when I give him a hand job or a tit fuck; when he uses a traditional orifice, I don't get to see it, just feel it and sometimes taste it. For the life of me, I can't figure why he takes those little bottles. After all, he makes in the high six figures, some years even hits seven, and he acts like a cheapskate. But still, the sight of the bottle acting out an orgasm gets me very hot. The color may be a little off, but I've got a good imagination.

On the other hand, possibly it was that one thing, the last straw, that annoyed me so, that made me begin to contemplate the idea that it might be time again for me to start looking for a fresh stud to share my apartment key with. Or maybe it was just that crap about a business meeting in New York lasting over the weekend.

As for me, I was taking Thursday off. If anything important came up, my assistant knew how to reach me. I was sitting in the kitchen, wearing only my peignoir again, sipping a cup of coffee — instant; I hate the bother of setting up the percolator. My eyes roamed the mess in the kitchen, symbolic of the mess all over the place. I was wondering how long it would take to seduce the cleaning woman — while it's not the norm for me, I thoroughly do enjoy muff diving - and how much time the sex would take. After all, I couldn't stand to have the mess with me for another week. It was 7:30 in the morning; Carolina wasn't due until later on. The phone rang.

Who the hell is that at this hour?

"Good morning, Mrs. Gregory. This is the doorman; I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Stupid bastard, can't you remember that Gregory is his first name, and we're not married?

"Yes, what is it?"

"Mr. Gregory's son is here to see him."

What could Sandy possibly want with Greg at this hour?

"Mr. Nelson isn't here now, but send his son up anyway. Didn't you check to see that he's on the permanent list?" If I sounded snappy, it's because I was.

Sandy works for the same firm as Greg and I do, a trainee in my branch. I presumed that he had some kind of brokerage business question or problem, more likely. I threw a chaste robe on over my see-through and went to the door to greet him. We kissed the air next to each other's cheeks and I noticed that Sandy gave my body a quick once-over, but nothing offensive. With him, it was routine to ogle. But after all, with that robe, there was nothing for him to see.

"Hi, Sandy. Didn't the doorman tell you that Greg left early this morning for New York?"

"Yes, he did. Thanks for having me up, but I really had to talk to him."

"Can I help?"

He hesitated. "Well, its kind of guy stuff."

I wouldn't take no for an answer. "Well, try me. Sit down and watch the Futures numbers while I boil up some water for coffee for you."

He didn't seem to be thrilled but he sat down and picked up the remote while I went into the kitchen. As I placed the pot on the stove, I heard the hauntingly familiar throbbing music of that video. I ran into the den. Sandy sat there transfixed, his mouth agape, but his body racked with sobs. A quick glance at the screen showed me flat on my back, my legs straight up in the air, my hands spreading my ass cheeks and Greg thrusting himself deep into my bowels. I looked back to see tears rolling down Sandy's face.

"What's the matter?"

"I must have hit the wrong button on the remote."

I tried to make light of it.

"But why are you crying? Doesn't my naked body turn you on?" I had no doubt that it did so.

My remark didn't help. He turned to me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen.

"Carol left me last night."

"Why?"

He hesitated. "It was about sex."

"Talk to me, damn it. I'm not a virgin."

"I keep asking her to let me... to let me... you know."

With that, his eyes traveled to the screen, and mine followed. I reached over and turned off the set.

"You mean anal sex?"

He nodded. "She never lets me do it to her that way. Then, last night, we both had a little too much to drink and I caught her by surprise and she told me to stop but I wouldn't and after I came, she got up and got dressed and left without a word."

"You used her rear end without lubrication?"

He began to cry again and I just shook my head. There was nothing I could say that would make him feel any better, nor any worse. He was stupid and he knew it. I pitied him but I wouldn't tell him that.

"But that's not the only reason I'm crying. It was the video too."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't my Dad ever tell you why my parents split up?"

"There was no need for me to know."

"My Mom never let him do her that way, but he was too much of a gentleman to let it affect the marriage. Then one day he caught her with a sixteen year old boy giving it to her up the old poop chute, and he threw her out."

I was shocked. "He told you that?"

Sandy took a deep breath, wiped his eyes and opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly, I knew what he was going to say before he said it. I held my breath.

"He didn't have to."

I let my breath out slowly.

"And that was the last time you had anal sex before last night?"

More tears; more sobbing. And his head shaking slowly.

"Whenever I go to New York to see her. That's the only was she'll do it now."

My anger let go.

"And that's why you were pressuring Carol so much? Is that the only way you like it too? Without lubrication? You're a real prick."

My voice was raised, my brain was full of venom toward this loathsome creature, for that's what I thought of him at that moment, but at the same time, my pussy was leaking at the thought of this handsome young man imitating what his father does in back. My nipples hardened.

"No, it wasn't like that."

That sounds like one of the phony excuses that the killer gives to the cops on a TV show.

But then the real question popped into my head. Again, I knew the answer, yet, while I could believe it, still I couldn't believe it.

"Why are you really here, Sandy?"

He looked shocked. "I told you, to talk to my Dad about Carol."

"That's a crock and you know it."

"Huh?"

"Everybody in the company knows that all the managers in the region are going to New York for a meeting, your Dad included."

That was pure bluff; I hadn't known about it until the previous evening, but I was sure that Greg had told him previously. Sandy opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"What's the matter, Sandy? Can't you think of a good lie? You came up here to try and fuck me, didn't you? To fuck my ass, right?"

And you've been wanting to fuck me since the first day we met, when your eyes undressed me and your cock put a bump in your slacks. You didn't think I noticed, did you?

A hint of a smile crossed his face. "Can you blame me?"

"You know very well that I'm in love with your father."

"What does love have to do with fucking?"

I slapped his face, hard enough to raise a large red spot.

"There's more to it, isn't there?"

"What do you mean, Sue?"

"You already knew that I let him do it to me that way, didn't you?"

He hesitated. I knew that anything but a nod would be a lie.

He nodded.

"Your father told you, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Why the hell would he do that?"

"Guys talk."

"You mean they brag, don't you? Shit, he's as dumb as you are."

That fucking bastard. It's nobody's business what I'm willing to do in bed. Who else has he shot off his mouth to about my sexual proclivities? Fuck it, he's history. You may as well unzip, Sandy.

"If you ever fuck my ass without lubrication, I'll cut your balls off."

I watched his face as his brain tried to absorb the grammatical impact of my words, as he tried to understand that my act of omitting the 'ed' from the word 'fuck', and the use of the word 'will' instead of 'would' changed the statement from a hypothetical threat to a clear, and immediate, offer of the pleasures of a visit through my experienced back door. Then I opened my robe, let it fall to the floor and turned my back to him.

"Let's go into the bedroom."

I felt his eyes burning a hole in the fine silk of my peignoir, particularly in the area of my sashaying butt cheeks. He followed behind me, and when I made a detour toward the bathroom, he followed me.

"I'm going to pee, Sandy."

"That's OK, Sue; I'll just watch."

Is this guy kinky or what? He's as bad as his old man.

I pulled up my peignoir, sat down and began to empty my bladder. Rather than just standing there to watch, Sandy knelt right in front of the seat, his eyes focused on the yellow fluid pouring from my urethra. When the stream slowed to a trickle, I reached for some toilet paper.

"Don't bother, Sue. I'll dry you off."

And he did so, using his tongue in place of the TP, licking gently, tasting and enjoying those last few drops. I tried to imagine the sensation; I had never had anyone do that to me before, or maybe I should say do that for me before.

Oh, shit, I don't need a fucking toilet slave. Especially one working in the same office. But damn, it felt wild. Only I don't like the idea of kissing him now.

I sat on the bed, my back resting against the headboard, clad only in a garment whose sole function was to cause blood to flow rapidly into the tissues of a previously flaccid penis. Except of course for those occasions when the viewer of the garment was equipped with a vagina instead of a penis, but even then, the aim was to get her hot. My legs were straight out, chastely covered.

What the heck am I doing here with this kid? Am I just trying to establish that I need not be faithful to my lover by taking his son's cock up my ass, or am I just horny because Greg had to get to sleep early last night? This guy rapes his girlfriend's asshole, dry, and he likes the taste of my piss. He's a fucking pervert. Oh shit, I hope he's hung like his Dad.

Sandy stood at the foot of the bed, still fully dressed. I watched him strip, not exactly as slow as a strip-tease, but not fast either. He knew that there was no need for speed; I was ready and, based on the video he had just seen, also willing and able.

First came the jacket, folded neatly over a chair, so unlike the strewn clothing technique that his Dad uses. Then the tie and shirt, likewise treated with respect. His abs were nicer than Greg's, and he didn't have the slight paunch that Greg was developing. The large cross on his chest was diamond encrusted; the little prick was using his religion to show off his father's financial success.

Come on, Sandy, let's see what's making that bump in you slacks; let's see that package.

But first he kicked off his shoes and, leaning against the dresser, pulled off both socks. At least he didn't fold those, or roll them up. Instead, he dropped them somewhat near his shoes. His smile told me that he was deliberately delaying the exhibition of his weapon of pleasure. The bastard knew that I was hot for something hard.

Finally, he opened his belt and top button and, turning away from me, began to slide his slacks down his well-tanned and muscular legs, showing me a pair of tight bright red jockey shorts. I studied his buns as he folded the slacks over the same chair as his jacket.

Bright red shorts! This guy was pretty sure that he would get to show them off this morning. OK, turn around, Sandy.

He did so, dropping his shorts as he turned, leaving them crumpled where they fell. I think I was successful in concealing my shock. His joystick was long and fat, even larger than the one dangling between his Dad's legs. I wasn't afraid of being able to take it up there; I've had enough experience that the opening in back was always ready to spread and accept. But still, Wow!

It was time for me to pull my gown off over my head. My 34B breasts welcomed his lips, the nipples at attention for him. But he was not going to lose sight of his goal.

"Roll over, Sue."