Chapter 1

 

Doris awoke, horny as hell! With her sexy, long legs that seemed to go on forever, she kicked the restraining sheet and blankets away from her naked form. No doubt about it. Her cunt was sopping wet. The very healthy blonde arched her legs upward, flexing her arches and wiggling her toes as her fingers found the mark. In moments she was rubbing her clit with her thumb while first two and then four fingers got crammed into her urgent pussy. In moments her slow penetrations sped up to match the increasing volume of her moaning.

Quickly Doris was gasping hard as she strained on her hand, anxious for a very much needed tension relaxant known as a soul searing orgasm. She threw her head back, spreading her long blonde hair to either side and screamed. "Ed! You fucking stud! Ed! Ed! Yes~! Fuck my cunt! Aaaaagggghhhhh!"

Doris was fantasizing about the impetuous liaison that she'd had the evening before with Ed Morton, marketing analyst for Metacom Advertising Incorporated, courtesy of Manhattan, New York, New York.

Ed was a married man and it was for that reason, that Doris had selected him to be her occasional lover. No, Doris was not a home wrecker, nor did she have any intention of being one. Doris Dillan was a girl with a profession at stake. She didn't want commitment. She didn't want to get saddled with some little, whining brat. All she wanted at this point was the occasional tryst to attempt to satisfy that burning hunger between her very sexy legs. Her over riding ambition was to go up the corporate ladder and become a queen pin in the world of high rolling advertising. She was prepared to commit any sin, sleep with any person of influence and play the dirtiest games in order to achieve her object. If she could soar to the corporate heavens and remain virtuous, all the better. However she had the sneaking suspicion that her body as well as her intellectual talents would become the very expressive highway to her ultimate success. That was why she kept a generous supply of condoms available either in her hand bag or in the dresser drawer beside her queen sized bed. You couldn't be too careful and avoiding scandal as well as an unwanted pregnancy was paramount, especially when you were an underling for her formidable boss, Mildred Ballister.

Doris had the tools. She had a fancy degree from Vassar, a young firm body with all the right curves in all the right places and a very winning personality that had been able to successfully reach her boss, Mildred Robinson Ballister of the Boston Ballisters, no less. The very healthy blonde was twenty six, loved her job and enjoyed passionate sex sessions with healthy, red blooded males, well at least with men that dangled no strings. She figured Ed was much safer than grabbing some young stud fresh out of college. Morton was in his late thirties, had a lovely wife and three children to support and the last thing Ed wanted was a major scandal. As he'd told her it wasn't good for business. Doris had been a bit disappointed that he'd left before nine o'clock but she had to admit, his discretion was an essential bonus.

It was 1962 and the world was Doris Dillan's oyster, or at least she thought so. However, the fickle, finger of fanciful fate often arranges unexpected surprises for those who are ambitious, ruthless and beautiful.

Doris had to admit to herself that she cut a pleasing figure as she examined her curvaceous bare body in front of the full length, bedroom mirror. She'd shaved most of her pussy hair, leaving just enough to show, investigating males the way to her pink, pussy prize. Of course her legs were free of anything remotely resembling hair and she swayed her hips to accent the effect that practically made the reflective glass glow. She hummed to herself. "You are one bad little girl, Doris! You can have any guy you want and be a flaming success to. I want it all! Ooooo! How you feeling, pretty pussy? I know, you just love a big, thick cock to be shoved into you, all the way home. You wanton little slit! Well you just keep being hot, wet and nasty and we'll fuck our way to the summit! Ooowweeee!"

She jutted her perfectly shaped 36 C tits at the mirror and lifted her right leg to show off her juicy crotch. "I've got pussy power and by God, I'm gonna go up and up and up!"

***

Mildred Robinson Ballister was one of those no nonsense bitches that loved to rule the roost with a rod of iron and a constantly flicking verbal whip. Of course, she would never make literal use of such devices. She was far too well-mannered and cultured for such crude instruments of torture. But her adroit sarcasm and perpetually cynical tone could be just as frightening. Vassar was one thing, but Lady Mildred was from Vanderbilt and more importantly she traced her revolutionary pedigree along with well-established Boston money a long way back. Doris couldn't figure out if Mildred had a Bostonian accent or an acquired British one. She wasn't asking and Mildred sure as hell wasn't telling. All Doris knew was that even though Mildred was over fifty, she still was a looker and had a mind that resembled a steel trap. The supercilious bitch never forgot anything, including appointments. Doris was out of breath as she practically flew into the monster's lair.

Mildred raised her eyebrows ever so slightly as she motioned Doris to sit in the overstuffed chair that sat directly in front of the antique cherry desk. Her crisp, upper crust voice broke the momentary silence. "Five minutes late, again, I see. No, please don't tell me about the downtown traffic. Nor do I wish to hear about blundering elevator boys or incompetent doormen. I don't have time to listen to it. I'll cut right to the chase. You are a girl with a mission, my superb blonde bombshell. You graduated from Vassar which means there is a crafty little brain lurking somewhere in that delectable little head of yours. Well I've got a really tough job for you and it's in a new realm of the advertising world you probably aren't even aware of. It's referred to in our delectable little industry as advertising espionage."

Doris leaned forward. "What?"

Mildred gave her employee a mild snort. "Oh, don't be naïve, my dear. Metacom Advertising Incorporated is like running a small country. We have to know what the opposition is up to. I've heard a rumor or perhaps it's more accurate to say I've heard a hint of a rumor. I need someone to insinuate themselves into the agency known as Tucker, Weston and Thrush. Someone close to the vest mentioned something about some new product that will take the country by storm. We have to find out more about this product if we are going to have any chance of snagging the advertising contracts for this mysterious, new innovation."

Doris gave her boss a blank look. "But wouldn't they know me over there?"

Mildred became thoughtful. "I don't believe so. You've only been with us for a year and a half. You haven't shown up in very many commercials yet and most of them were designed for out West. No, I suspect you'll slip through the cracks. Tomorrow, I want you to go over to Tucker, Weston and Thrush. I want you to apply for an advertising position. You've got Vassar and some advertising experience behind you. I'll make sure you get a great letter of reference from one of our subsidiaries. Naturally, you'll still be working for us. You'll be on full salary while you are conducting your investigative work over there. I'll expect regular reports and I'll give you my private phone number for that purpose. Keep your ears and eyes open and for heaven's sake, stop fucking Ed Morton!"

Doris's mouth fell open with her patented shocked O. "What? How..."

Mildred waved her hand dismissively. "Don't bother to deny it. I've kept track of your activities much closer than you realize, young lady and I hasten to add that I use the term lady quite loosely. You're a climber. You want that magic bobble called success. Well you don't get it by sleeping around. You get it by producing results. If you succeed, you will go high, very high. Fail me and you'll end up selling magazines in bloody Boise, Idaho. Do you comprehend my drift? Am I getting through those fancy, blonde curls? Hmmmm?"

Doris nodded while her cheeks flushed a guilty crimson. The power of speech had temporarily departed from her voice box. Mildred gave her employee a very knowing grin but it lacked any trace of humor. "I happen to like Ed's wife. She's got class and I've already told Ed to bugger off his latest hot, blonde conquest. I didn't tell him I knew it was you. He only knows that I know something. If you continue to conduct your illicit affair with Ed Morton, I'll see to it that you end up in sodding Siberia, am I making myself perfectly clear?" The boss pronounced the word clear as if it contained 3 syllables. The affectation annoyed Doris but she was in no position to comment on anything.

Doris was angry. This super bitch was prying into her private life. However, this bitch had balls bigger than Ed's. This bitch ruled the advertising world or at least a large chunk of it. That was certainly a major achievement in what was still a man's world. Doris's eyes flashed with hidden passion but her voice was cool and collected. "I understand, Misses Ballister. I won't see him privately anymore."

Mildred leaned back in her seat. Her long, died brown hair lay on her shoulders resembling the headdress of some intimidating, mythical sphinx. Her gray eyes were cold and calculating as she studied her young employee. "Intelligent answer, my dear. See that you don't change your mind. Ed has been here over fifteen years and I love his wife a lot more than I love you, young lady." She chuckled, "That's not hard because I don't love you at all. You're a conniving, little Vassar bitch with a pair of big boobs and the morals of an alley cat, no doubt. You will make the perfect spy when you investigate Tucker, Weston and Thrush. Perhaps if you sleep with the strategically placed bull over there you'll make us millions. If you do well, you'll receive a big promotion and a small percentage of the commission. Don't look at me that way. We're talking over a hundred thousand delicious dollars that just might end up in your flimsy, little bank account. Do you want the assignment or do you keep chugging away at $175 per week, hmmmm?"

Doris sat up straighter. The old mazoola was like holding out a red flag to that strategically placed bull. "I'll take the assignment, Misses Ballister. You can count on me."

Ballister raised her eye brows even higher. "I certainly hope so. I understand that Boise Idaho gets damned cold in winter. Stop by about four and my secretary will give you a list of employees that you might need to know about over at Tuckers. It's probably not complete but it will give you a starting point. I'll also include a schedule and proper procedure for making your reports."

Doris was fuming but what could she do? On one hand she yearned to push the bitch off the thirty fifth floor and watch the arrogant she-devil descend into a puddle of splattered protoplasm. On the other hand, that $100,000 commish called to her like an irresistible demon. It was as if the smooth, sinister voice of Vincent Price was coaxing her to her doom and she was helpless to resist. What couldn't she do with all that money? Hell, she could even start her own agency, in another city of course. She would be able to buy the home of her dreams and God knew what else. All she had to do was sneak over to Tucker, Weston and Thrush, sway her hips a little and get that all important info.

Doris Dillan gritted her teeth with determination as she made her preparations. She'd show that arrogant bitch a thing or two before she got through fucking some idiot at Tucker's for the scoop on this new product. Hell, for a hundred thousand, she'd fuck every male in the place if she had to. Whore, schmore! A hundred grand was serious hay and she wanted it all in her perky, blonde barn!