The Cock Happy Seductress - Adult Erotica - Sand Wayne - ebook
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A Vintage Erotic Novel Involving a Sexy and Seductive Girl, Full of Sexual Adventures, Surprises and Twists.

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The Cock Happy Seductress

CHAPTER ONEMike Jackson thought of himself a liberal guy. There was nothing he wouldn't do if the opportunity presented itself as long as it was legal. Legal, hell-as long as he didn't get caught. "Life," Mike was fond of saying to everyone except his wife, "Life is an experiment, an adventure."He'd balled his way through high school and smoked grass, hash, coke, you-name-it better and more often than the other guys. He bet himself he'd lay all eight high school cheerleaders before mid-term his senior year and he did-even though one of the cheerleaders was a guy. It wasn't was tough as Mike thought it might be-all he had to do was hang around the locker room until he was alone with the guy. Mike knew the boy had a crush on him and one look at Mike's erect cock was all the boy needed to drop to his knees and wrap a hungry mouth around the throbbing penis. The girls on the cheerleading squad had not been quite so easy, Mike remembered. He had to court them, take them to the movies and a dance or two before they let him strip their shirts and bras off in the back seat of his Chevy convertible and ram his probing fingers into their cunts. Five of the seven were still virgins and the sore cock Mike endured was not as irritating as their overwhelming emotions for the man who broke their cherries. "I love you," all five of them said in their own clutching way and Mike let them know that nobody could tie him down. "Love," he thought, "what's love, anyway?"He met Marcia, his doting wife, several years after he graduated, summa cum laude, with a degree in Business Administration. Mike knew he never wanted to give up the free life that he lived as a bachelor but he also knew that he wanted to take some gambles, build up a business, and he needed some security. Marcia was a top-notch secretary and her skills were always in demand. She made a steady income and Mike liked knowing he was free to hustle business here and there until he hit it big. Besides, Marcia was a good-looking woman, long-legged, broad-hipped, the way Mike liked his women. She was good enough in bed so long as Mike stayed in the missionary position.Mike had grown up in Kansas, the only son of a fiercely religious farm family. He appreciated a woman who knew her place and kept it. He expected his wife to make a comfortable home, attend to meals and make it possible for him to pursue his dream of corporate success. So long as she was available for Mike's sexual pleasure once or twice a week, it was cool with him. He had plenty of opportunity for other varied pleasures as he tried to conquer the big business world of The Big Apple, New York City.A typical day for Mike was to awaken to a steaming cup of coffee, brought to his bedside by Marcia, dressed and ready to go to her very proper secretarial job in downtown Wall Street. Once she had kissed him a fond and wifely goodbye, Mike would rise and take a long, warm shower. He hated cold water in the mornings. It reminded him of his boyhood, when his father found him at the sheep pen, his adolescent cock at ready.He remembered his father's muscular way of lifting him off his feet, propelling him back to the farm house where young Mike was ordered to take a cold shower. He must have taken fifteen showers a week in those early days, Mike thought. Never again. Every morning, he let warm water run over his body and dreamed about the day he'd be so successful that his home town would hold a parade when he came back to visit."You ought to be a farmer like your Papa," his mother said time and again. "A respectable profession." She was a good woman, his mother, chaste, respectable, predictable. Like Mike's own wife, Marcia. "I'm a lucky man," Mike thought, "to have such a wife-a good, old-fashioned girl."This morning, under the warm shower, Mike thought about the day ahead. A job appointment in the garment district. He didn't want to go. He was sure already that the job had no future-not the kind of future Mike wanted, anyway. Mike was twenty- six and he fully expected to have made a million by his thirtieth year.Yesterday, he'd been offered a job with a New Jersey firm. "Start as a salesman," they advised him, "and work your way up. A smart young man like you." But Mike had no time for working his way up. He wanted to start at the top. This afternoon he had a meeting-another pipe dream, his father would say with two young men who'd discovered a new and faster method of imprinting t-shirts. T-shirts were the rage with all the kids, Mike thought, maybe this was the way to make his fortune.Dressed in a shirt freshly ironed by Marcia and his new suit, bought on sale last fall, Mike strutted down the hall of the tenement building where he and Marcia lived. He was a little early, he thought, glancing at his watch. It's not good to arrive early for business appointments, makes you look too anxious. He thought he'd better kill a little time.After several knocks, a sleepy voice came from behind the metal apartment door. "Who is it?" Mike grinned at the sound. She'd be warm and cuddly, half-awake, half-asleep, he liked her that way. "It's your friendly neighborhood mugger," he called through the door.Janice opened it and peered at him through the chain. She'd been the Jackson's next-door neighbor for two years now and Mike's morning visits had been frequent. She unhooked the chain and let him in."You should have called first," she mumbled and yawned. "I was out late last night."Mike peeked around the archway into the alcove bedroom. "But you're alone?" Better safe than sorry, he thought. He'd had his share of irate boyfriends and husbands."Yeah," Janice said and wandered sleepily back toward the bed. Mike followed, carefully taking off his tie and folding it. He unbuttoned his shirt carefully and hung it on the back of a chair. He stepped high to take off his pants, trying to preserve the crease. He laid them across the chair seat.Janice's black and white mongrel cat immediately lept onto the pants."Get off!" Mike swung half-heartedly at the cat with his fist."Don't you hurt Samson," Janice called from the bed. "And come on, if you're coming. Otherwise, I'm going back to sleep.""Oh, no you're not," Mike grinned and stripped off his jockey shorts. His cock was still flaccid. It embarrassed Mike for Janice to see it when it was soft. It looked so goddam small. Hell, she knew what it could do.Janice took one long, slender finger and flicked at Mike's soft cock. "Say," she smiled, "you planning to do something with this thing?""Depends," Mike teased her, "on how well you do your job.""You used to get it up just by looking at me," Janice pouted. "Am I losing my touch or is your tight-assed wife giving you more at home?""Cool it," Mike said fiercely. He wasn't kidding. Nobody talked about his wife. Marcia was a good woman, his woman and he protected her just as he would have protected his mother. They were a different breed, Mike thought, from Janice. Janice was, for Mike, a broad. So were most women. Marcia and his mother were rare, the kind of women a man dreamed about and protected when he found them. "My wife's none of your business.""But this," ' Janice wiggled his soft cock again, "is my business, I suppose?"Mike felt like slapping her, like pulling on his clothes and leaving her there. Then she'd be sorry, he thought, then she'd come crawling around. "Suck it, honey," he ordered, and took her head in his hands. He pushed her mouth toward his sleeping organ. "Suck it, baby, make it big enough to fuck you with."Janice took the cock in her mouth, so soft it didn't excite her much at all. She often wondered why she put up with Mike. He was a bastard, he used her, if she got in his way, he'd drop her so hard she'd splinter all over the lower East Side. She continued to suck, to run her tongue around the tip of his prick, down the shaft, feeling it grow larger, stiffer in her mouth."That's it, baby," Mike mumbled, "Keep it up."But Janice was listening. Her head was full of her own thoughts. She came to New York to be an actress. Voted Most Likely To Succeed of her high school graduating class, she'd played the leading role in the high school play and she dreamed of her name in lights on the marquee of a Broadway Theatre. Two years later, she knew now that it wasn't that easy. It wasn't easy at all. She waited tables at a Village restaurant in the evenings and studied acting in the afternoons. Once a week, she sat down with the trade papers and sent out her expensive pictures and resumes in hopes that someone would call her for an audition. She couldn't find an agent who would handle her career. "Call me when you're in a play," agents said to her. But if she didn't have an agent to get her a part in a play, how could she....? It was a vicious circle. Meanwhile, she continued to study, to keep trying, and most of all, to hold onto the dream. The constant rejection of trying to get work as an actress and being turned down seemed to make her need a lot more sex than she had needed before she came to New York. The local high school boys had never interested her although she necked and petted with them in the drive-in movies and on the night of the Junior-Senior Prom she'd let the local jock put his cock up in her with the promise he'd pull out before he came. He broke his promise but Janice pushed him off in time.In New York City, every man that Janice met seemed to expect her to put out. She never really enjoyed it but it made the men happy-and for that period of time, while a man was fucking her and crying out her name, she felt that she was wanted, she was important. For that moment, she was somebody.That was the reason she'd started letting Mike into her apartment every morning. He'd eyed her in the hallway and one day they waited together at the bus stop and he told her about his goal: hit it big, make a million. It could be done, Janice knew, because a boy from her home town had done it. He'd saved a couple of thousand dollars, bought some push-carts, hired some kids to sell bouquets of flowers from the carts and before you knew it, he had franchises in every big city in the mid-West.Her father had sent a clipping from her home-town paper that told the whole story:Boy Makes Good. It was possible for an ordinary guy to become a millionaire, a guy who was determined, smart and knew how to hustle, how to con. Mike looked like that kind of guy to her. Believing Mike would make it big, Janice felt important herself when he knocked on her door, his cock up and ready to fuck her. He wanted her. His desire for her, his need, gave her power.He was up now and big. She took his cock in her hand and felt its throbbing as she shifted into position for him to fuck her. He liked to do it different ways. His wife, Janice suspected, was attached to the missionary position. She threw her legs over his shoulders and he mounted her, breathing hard."Tighten it for me," he mumbled, 'Squeeze it, baby."She contracted the walls of her vagina, squeezing him, milking him as he pushed in, pulled out, pushed in, pulled out.Her mind was wandering again. Maybe she should have stayed in her home-town, married the local heir to the hardware store, raised a pack of babies....In and out, in and out, in and out.Mike, even in his passion, sensed that she was wandering. Nothing made him angrier than a woman just-letting herself be fucked. Goddamit, the broad ought to be working at it, too. He pulled out suddenly.Janice looked up at him, startled.He smiled benevolently and took his cock in hand, rubbing it against the lips of her wet cunt, then sliding it down, between her buttocks, finding her tight asshole, pressing into it."Ow!"He continued to smile and push. "That hurts, Mike!""Too bad, baby," Mike said, still grinning, "I want a tighter fit. Your cunt feels like the Holland Tunnel."She cried out as he plunged with a forceful stroke into her bottom, the muscle giving way to accommodate him but providing a tight passage for his angry rod."You like it, baby?" He rammed his cock in and out, her soft buttocks slapping against it, providing a soft cushion for his hips. He held her legs tightly around his neck. There was little contact between them now, except for the battering rod slamming in and out her tender anus. If Mike closed his eyes, he could be back in the Army, sticking his cock through the glory hole of a latrine. He liked the anonymity of glory holes. He liked guessing who the fag was On the other side of the booth, never knowing for sure but guessing who of all his buddies was sucking his cock, greedily swallowing his jissum. All the guys in barracks D claimed to be tough guys-but everybody knew that someone was sucking off his buddies through the glory hole. Strangely, nobody ever tried to find out who. Having somebody on the other side of the glory hole, ready and eager to suck them off, was far more important than knowing who in the company was a fag. If they knew, they'd have to give the guy a hard time. Nobody wanted to do that."Keep sucking, buddy," Mike had said aloud before he realized that he wasn't at the glory hole in a latrine, he was fucking Janice, his neighbor's, lovely asshole. Mike didn't apologize. He never apologized for anything. He fucked harder, his hips and knees jerking at an incredible rate, so out of control that he couldn't fight Janice as she shoved him off.He shot across the bed, his semen thick and milky across her blue-flowered sheets."Goddam, woman," he shouted, "what'd do that for?""Nobody," Janice said firmly, "is going to shoot off in my ass. Not even you, you egotistical sadist.""Sonofabitch," he muttered and sat up, facing her, deciding whether to hit her or to make her suck him again and get it up. He hadn't come outside a cunt or a mouth since he was a boy. Oh, he masturbated now and then but to pull out early?-that was kid stuff.'Get out of here," Janice said and stood up beside the bed. "Get your clothes on and get the hell out of here."Mike was stunned. "What for?""Nobody," Janice said, asserting herself for the first time in a long time, "pushes me around like that. Nobody hurts me.""Hurt you? You loved it." But Mike got up and went into the bathroom. He checked his watch. He'd have to rush to make the appointment. He doused his cock with water from the sink. That was the one thing he hated about ass-fucking, it was so damned messy. He wiped it dry on a hand towel and strutted back into the bedroom.Janice sat in the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin, staring at him.Mike considered the situation. He'd like to belt her one but, what the hell, he liked knowing she was just next-door and available when he wanted her. Marcia, his wife, never wanted to do it in the morning and she got up too early, anyway. Be smart, he advised himself, keep on her good side."I didn't mean to hurt you," he said. It wasn't really an apology, he told himself. It was just a statement. And it was true. He wasn't the kind of man who went around bruising women for the fun of it. Only when he thought they deserved it."Forget it," Janice said and stared at the wall.Mike dressed quickly and started toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow." He purposely said it as a statement, not a question. Never let a woman know you need her."Yeah," Janice said half-heartedly. "Make sure the door's locked when you leave."She heard the door shut and the sound of the metal striking metal-the lock clicked closed. You couldn't be too careful in this neighborhood, she thought. There had been a battery of muggings, thefts and rapes.Janice sat for a long time, staring out the window at the brick wall of the building next door, wondering why she didn't enjoy making it with Mike, wondering why she didn't enjoy making it with any of the men she'd met in New York City. And why did she keep trying it? Why did she keep needing the sound of someone wanting her, needing her. Something was wrong in Janice's life, something was terribly wrong. But Janice didn't know what-or what to do about it. She lay back in the back, wet with Mike's sweat and semen, and slept, dreaming fitfully about a place that warm, secure, happy-and nameless. A place where Janice was somebody important, a place where she belonged.Mike walked cross-town, it was always faster than a bus. His long legs covered a block rapidly and he liked the exercise. Even the muddy air of New York City felt good in his lungs. He caught the Seventh Avenue Subway uptown.Swinging from a strap on the crowded train, he saw an old man in a tattered grey suit look surreptiously around him, then carefully unzip his fly and expose his pitiful shriveled penis to a matronly and well-dressed little lady who was by the crowd in lose proximity."My god," thought Mike, "the damn thing's grey, grey like his hair." He almost touched his own pink cock beneath his properly creased trousers for reassurance. "I hope my cock doesn't get grey when I'm old." In fact, Mike had no intention of growing old. "Live fast," he frequently said, "die young and leave a handsome corpse."The matron squealed and most heads turned toward her.The old man grinned toothlessly and looked back at the crowd.The matron continued to squeal."You'd think she never saw a cock before," Mike said to himself. "Maybe she didn't.Maybe she's an old maid." Mike sized up the matron as respectable, the "right" kind of woman. He pushed his way toward her."Put it away, old man," Mike said, wedging himself between the "flasher" and the matron. "Put it away." He felt sorry for the old fellow."Thank you," the matron said gratefully, "thank you, sir."Mike continued to stand between the old man and the matron as the subway pulled toward the 34th Street stop. He smiled like an any proper hero should but he looked at the matron's sturdy body, thick shoulders, heavy breasts and wondered what it would be like to make love to a fifty-five year old virgin. That was something he hadn't tried yet. Well, he didn't have time to try to make out with this one. He was late for his garment district appointment.The man was Vice President of the firm. Mike knew he must be making fifty or a hundred grand a year but he was baffled by the shabby clothing, the "ordinary worker" attitude. As they toured the factory, the Vice President pointed out the cutting room, the designer's laboratory, the racks of discount "seconds" and he spoke to every working man as though he were a buddy. "Hi, Mac," he'd say and slap a Spanish rack-man on the shoulder, "How's it going?""Everybody," the Vice President said to Mike, "starts from the ground up. We want you to really know the business. You'll work a week on the racks, loading the trucks. You'll work a week sorting out the "seconds" and another week in the cutting room. You'll the business from the bottom up before you move into the accounting office.""Fuck that," Mike said to himself, "Fat chance. You won't catch me out on the streets, sweating, pushing a rack of clothes." Out loud, he said, "I'm afraid I'm not interested. I'm really looking for something with more of a future."The Vice President looked startled. "More future? There's plenty of future here. But you have to earn it."The look on Mike's face must have told the Vice President that this young man had no intention of earning it-not in the long, hard way that this firm had in mind. "All right," the Vice President said formally, "Good day."Mike had an hour to kill before he met the young men who'd invented a faster, cheaper way to imprint t-shirts. He walked down Seventh Avenue to Twenty-Second Street and took an elevator in an ornate office building up to the fifteenth floor.The law firm, Ruggles, Ruggles, Rheingold and Ritter, was top-notch, high class, old world money. It was easy to tell that from the ornate gold-gilt lettering on the door, the deeply carpeted waiting room and the real leather lounge chairs that farted comfortably when you sat down in them."I'll tell Mrs. Jackson you're here," the receptionist said formally. Mike's wife was secretary to the senior lawyer of the firm and was treated with the respect due that position. "Please make yourself comfortable."