Bob Katt

Hot 'N Juicy Lucy

Chapter 1

I'd have no troubles if it wasn't for my big, fat prick. For twenty-three years it's caused me more grief than a wife. The troubles were small when I was a schoolboy: the cane on the seat of my pants for fingering up a little girl while she stroked my prick. But now I'm a big boy I'm in real hot trouble. My big, fat prick doesn't give me a moment's peace. Paradoxically, I wouldn't be without it for anything in the world!

But it's balled up my whole life. My prick has got personality and ideas of its own. It often refuses to obey me. Our plans are sometimes so divergent that we're in violent conflict. And I always lose out. My prick's so strong and vigorous, I get carried along by it like driftwood in a mill race. My present troubles were aggravated to explosion point by my prick's interest in Janet. Personally, I want no part of Janet. She's not a bad girl, but she's got grave defects. Although she's only twenty-two, with youth on her side, she's as ugly as a girl can get. She's brunette, with a good figure, but is as hairy as a bear. In a couple of years she'll be shaving every day. And as is so often the case with ugly girls, she's man-crazy. That makes her dangerous. If a man gives her a kindly smile she makes plans to walk him up the aisle. Shell make some man a good wife. But not me! If I met Janet socially I wouldn't dare speak a civil word to her. Anything less than an insult from a man she interprets as a come-on.

But I knew Janet in the worst way possible. She was the boss's daughter!

The Boss has been trying to marry her off since she was a teen-ager. He hasn't succeeded. A couple of weeks ago the Boss resigned himself to an unmarried daughter and decided she'd have to earn her living. The Boss made an appalling decision. He employed her in our office as his Personal Assistant!

The decision was calamitous. Our small business is highly specialized. I'm the Boss's right-hand man. We publish pop songs and make records. We manage to pay the rent, wages and entertainment expenses. I'm the hinge-pin of the set-up. I've been twanging a guitar since I was five, and have a flair for guessing public taste. Every day I look through piles of pop music and choose songs I believe will please.

I haven't been wrong yet. I've always selected pop tunes that have sold enough records to cover expenses. But I could be wrong one day. Then we'll have a warehouse stuffed with records we can't sell. But on the other hand; I might get lucky. I might choose a tune that gets into the top ten.

I'm happy at my work. It's the only job I know. But the moment Janet was ushered into the office by her father, my days in the business were numbered.

The Boss introduced us and I was too polite to look pained at Janet's ugliness. But I did notice the strong smell of cunt that began to pervade the office. When we shook hands Janet's hot fingers held mine so firmly I had to tug hard to break her grip. While the Boss told me that Janet would be learning the business;, I tried not to be repulsed by the sweaty black down on her upper lip, the hypnotic stare of her eyes through pebbled glasses, and the big mole on her left cheek that had a long hair sprouting from it.

The Boss set Janet to work in his own office entering items in the account books. Then he went out on business. He handles Production and Sales. I stay in the office searching for a winner among the submitted song-sheets.

He'd been gone ten minutes when Janet came through to my office to consult the files. It took only two minutes then for it to dawn on me how dangerous she was.

She was a sex-bomb. Every open pore of her dark skin oozed unquenchable desire. Every slight movement of her thighs wafted a thick cloud of cunt-fragrance across the officer Worse. When she had her back to me, and I couldn't see her face, her sexy allure hit me like a shell. She had a lovely, perfectly-proportioned figure, and was acutely aware of it. She wore very high heels, a wisp of a mini-skirt, skin-tight panties that showed under her skirt hem, and a blouse as delicate as tissue paper. She opened the lower drawer of the filing cabinet and stooped over to root through it. She had a beautiful, firm little ass. Her legs were parted and as straight and as stiff as ramrods. When she stooped and her mini-skirt rode up high, her tight panties displayed the creases -under her buttocks and a segment of bottom. Her pantie gusset was drawn so tight it looked painful. It also looked damp. From either side of it, luscious long cunt-hairs curled out. I stared as though hypnotized. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. No girl has ever stooped so long over a filing cabinet. My prick stood up in my trousers and gibbered.

From that moment onwards my prick and I waged a battle. There were a hundred good reasons to stay clear of Janet. I knew them all. I could set them out clearly on paper. Any man in his right senses would agree that Janet should be kept at arm's distance.

But my prick wouldn't agree. So long as Janet was around it gibbered, roared and rampaged. It wouldn't let me concentrate on my work. I spent most of my day in the office, sweating as though in a steam bath. I drooled so much anticipatory prick-juice I had to change my underpants twice a day. But I was fighting a losing battle. If my prick and I could have gone our separate ways, I could have kept out of trouble. But we were inseparable, and that was my downfall. No matter how clear-headed a man is, once his prick stimulates his glands until adrenalin is racing through him, he's a dead duck.

I was doomed from the start. I should have known it. I've never yet gotten the better of my prick. The miracle is that I held out so long. But even the delay helped soften my resistance. I got used to seeing Janet around the office, day after day, I grew accustomed to her ugliness and didn't blanch every time I saw her. There was even a fascination about that black down on her upper lip when she pouted. She had beautiful lips for pouting. And when she I took off those pebble-rimmed glasses her eyes were f quite attractive. I even began to find her black mole fascinating. The long hair that sprouted from it was delicately spiraled, like the hairspring of a watch.

When I finally succumbed it was complete capitulation. She was in the Boss's office. I had to go in there to get a drawing for a record sleeve. When I entered, Janet was standing with her back towards the door and stooping over her father's desk. Somehow, I always found her stooping over. My underpants were sopping wet with prick-juice, my cock was burning against my belly and I was drunk with the musky smell of cunt that steamed out from between her legs. It happened as I circled around the desk. She moved back slightly and my prick gave an eager, quivering leap towards her. It rushed across her buttocks. Just a touch. But that was all it needed. Then I was behind her, grinding the shaft of my prick in between her buttocks. She sprawled forward over the desk, braced her hands upon it to get leverage and then ground her cute little ass right back at me.

I'd been tantalized, teased and tortured by her tormenting ass for endless hours. Now I had it! Everything else was abruptly of no importance. Her beautiful straining ass had become my whole world!

She was hot for it Heat lashed out from her buttock cleavage like a blast furnace, scorching my prick even through my pants. At once she started snorting and panting as she frictioned her ass up and down against my prick. I pulled her blouse out of her skirt-waist, slid my hands up under it and around front of her. She didn't wear a bra. Her tits hung ripely, richly swollen and quivering. I cupped them and she whimpered. Her ass thrust back at my prick with increased fervour.

I forgot where I was, I forgot everything except this moment.

I wanted her naked. She wanted it too. I tore her blouse off, ripping away the buttons. Great tufts of black, underarm hair sprouted from her armpits, glistening with sweat and steeped in the smell of woman. The smell sent me a little crazy. I pulled down her skirt and panties together. They were a rolled-up wad when they slid down her calves. She stepped out of them without ceasing to grind her bare bottom against my prick. One urgent hand explored behind her for my belt buckle. But I didn't need her help. My trousers and sticky underpants were down around my ankles in a split-second. As I stepped out of them my eager prick was probing her crotch.

It was a smoking hot, stickily-clinging haven. My prick yelled delight as it probed into the thick, black bush and ferreted for her cunt. What a cunt! It grasped me greedily, sucked me in, basted me in cunt-juice and simmered me in hot, vaginal membranes.

She'd been stewing my prick from the day she'd stepped into the office. Her cunt had been waiting so long for this that when it grasped my prick and caressed its knob, it was frenzied. Its frenzy sent me. I gave a loud shout and pulled powerfully on her tits, using them for leverage to ram my cock into her.

She had a wide and knowledgeable cunt. It chuckled with delight as I spurted, but with each spurt it took a stronger grip upon my shaft, pulling on it and sucking the sperm out of me, making it jet high up inside her. Every time a dollop of hot spunk tore out through my knob and splattered over her cervix she gasped: "Lovely!" I shot and shot. She writhed, heaved and wailed. And when I could shoot no more I sprawled upon her wearily. My cheek rested upon her perspiring shoulders, her sweaty breasts filled my hands, and my prick was stuck so high up inside her I feared I'd never get it down.

The room rang with our labored breathing. After a time I said huskily: "I didn't know this was going to happen!"

She'd known all the time it was going to happen. She was practical. Although still recovering from one orgasm, she whispered, "It was lovely. Do it again up the front. I like that best!"

My prick was steeped in cunt-juice and simmering beautifully. I still had a semi-hard-on. I placed my hands upon the small of her back and levered away from her. My cock came out with a "PLOP", like a cork from a bottle. Trickles of our mingled love-juices ran down the inside of her thighs.

She pushed herself up and turned to face me. She wasn't wearing glasses and her eyes were swimmy with emotion. "It's lovely doing it on a table. There's all kinds of gorgeous stresses and tensions." Her hands went to my prick, fondling and caressing. "It's burning hot. Fuck me silly with it, Mike!" She gave me a brisk rub-up that got my prick quivering. Then she sat up on the desk and drew her legs up high until her heels were on the desk too. She held her knees and strained them wide apart. Then she smiled secretly as she watched me watching her.

The way she was sitting, with her legs splayed wide open, starkly displayed all her hairy crotch. Hairy is inadequate to describe the great, thick, black bush she wore between her legs. It looked as though one of the Beatles was down there having a nibble. She might have been wearing a rug between her legs. I don't usually go for hairy women. But this excessive hairiness was strangely moving. And frustrating too. I'd have to forage deep in that jungle for its sweet meats. She sat braced back on her arms and watched me with tender, wistful eyes. My hand went to her crotch. The hairs weren't springy. They were soft, smooth and long. They were so long most of them had been rammed up inside her cunt along with my prick. She was hot there, with a glycerine stickiness. She gave a dreamy sigh as I fumbled around, running my fingers along the valley of her cunt and drawing down the hairs from inside her vagina. If I'd had a comb, I could have made a neat parting. But I had to do it with my fingers. I burrowed into the hairy wilderness, straightened out tangles, made a parting and smoothed the hairs flat. Her glistening, wide-open cunt looked very red when seen through the parting in her raven-black hairiness.

She was impatient. Tuck me again, Mike!"

I was impatient myself. I held my prick and steered it's knob into the heart of that glistening, mushy redness. She grabbed my shirt and peeled it up over my head. I was as naked as she was then. "Do it slowly, Mike," she panted. "Put it in and then let it soak. Make it last!"

She had a way of talking about fucking that could make a man come without even touching her. I stroked my knob slowly up and down inside her cunt-crevice. She whimpered and strained her knees apart. Presently she gave an experienced little loin-wriggle and then thrust. The thrust lodged my knob neatly into her vagina dimple. "Slide it in slowly," she panted. "Very slowly!"

I slid in slowly. The sweat stood out on my forehead. Her cunt was so tight it was like forcing my prick into an undersized rubber, full of Vaseline. But I got it in. Right in up to the hilt. The hot constriction of her vagina strapped my prick into a strait jacket. Her furry crotch was so wet that cunt-juice coated my thighs and belly with icy stickiness.

"Do it my way, Mike!" she whispered in my ear. She lay back on the desk, thrust her groin up powerfully against mine, and then raised one leg high and draped it over my shoulder. She took a deep breath and draped her other leg over my other shoulder. Her heels pressed into the small of my back.

"This is lovely, Mike!" she breathed ecstatically. "Now fuck me gently. Slowly in and out. Make it last!"

I made it last. It was so enjoyable I wanted it to go on forever. When I went up on tiptoe I could get wonderful leverage. When I leaned forward, and the undersides of her thighs bore my weight, it caused a cunt-stretching tension that sent her. While I was frictioning steadily, using long, slow strokes, she had two or three little orgasms. Her loins writhed and seethed around my prick. I frictioned on steadily while bubbling cunt-juice made gurgling, squishy sounds. She was drooling so much cunt-juice that when my dangling balls rubbed upon her Brownie it was as though they were soaked in oil. They were hot, slippery and steeped in the thick juices.

This was one of those rare moments when me and my prick were in perfect accord and harmony. We both fucked Janet. We fucked her beautifully, and we fucked ourselves. There was a blissful eternity of time while my prick and I tiptoed hand in hand through blissful clouds of joy. Then ecstatically, we surrendered ourselves to the peacefulness of aftermath.

Janet still had her legs draped over my shoulders. My flappy prick was still firmly clenched by her cunt But we were both happily exhausted. She smiled up into my eyes. "Lovely, Mike. Lovely!"

"Well! Well! Well!" said a loud, brisk voice behind me.

I cringed.

The office door closed. "Sorry to interrupt," said the Boss happily. "I had no idea you two were so close."

The world tumbled down around my ears. I withdrew, leaped for my underclothes, and drew on my jockey-shorts and my pants with trembling hands.

The Boss watched me, smiling benignly. Janet was neither surprised nor disconcerted. She slid off the table and stooped for her panties.

"I'm delighted," thrilled the Boss heartily. "I'm overjoyed!" He rubbed his hands gleefully. Then he went around behind his desk, sank down in his chair, pulled out the bottom drawer and produced a box of cigars. He politely waited until I'd pulled my shirt down over my head and then offered me one. "Good Havana cigars!" he told me. "To celebrate," he added, as he held a match.

I drew in smoke and coughed. I gave him a sickly smile.

Janet was oblivious to both of us. She'd pulled on her skirt and panties and was completely absorbed in buttoning her blouse with the threads of the ripped-off buttons.

"Sit down, Mike," said the Boss. He gestured grandly to the client's chair.

I sank down into it unhappily. I was glassy-eyed. I could have murdered my prick.

"Well! Well! Well!" said the Boss again. The words afforded him immense satisfaction. "I've been blind," he said happily. "Just think. It was happening right under my nose and I didn't know!"

I stared hard at a book on his desk. Once again my big, fat prick had landed me in the shit.

"I'll be frank, Mike," said the Boss. "Janet has dozens of wealthy suitors. But I'm happy her heart rules her head. We both know that money talks. But money isn't everything. And I wouldn't have it any other way, Mike. I trust you. You know the business, and as my son-in-law you'll build it up over the years into a flourishing, prosperous enterprise."

I nodded glumly. I took a quick glance at Janet. Her face was impassive. She was entirely absorbed with her blouse.

"Exactly when are you thinking of getting married, Mike?" asked the Boss. "Have you fixed a date?"

"Not yet," I said hollowly.

He frowned. Then his face cleared. "What about it, Janet? It's the woman who decides these things. What are your plans? When will you take the big step?"

Janet seemed more interested in her blouse than in marriage. She said disinterestedly, "I'm in no hurry. We can leave it until next month, if Mike wants."

"Mike won't want to drag on and on," said the Boss. He beamed at me with fatherly understanding. "You don't want to waste time, do you, Mike? I know just how a young man feels."

"No," I said hollowly.

"You don't want a lot of bother or ceremony?" he suggested.

"No."

"Well. That's settled then. It'll be a very quiet affair. I'll fix it all up tomorrow. It's ten days for a Registry Office marriage, but three days with a special license." He eyed me sharply. "You're not in that much of a hurry, are you, Mike?"

"No."

"Then, that's settled," he said contentedly. "A quiet Registry Office marriage, and then off on your honeymoon. I'll take care of costs. My wedding present to you both. All expenses paid wherever you want to go. Have the honeymoon of your lives. Then, we'll see about putting you on the Board of Directors, Mike. How's that?"

"Fine," I said hollowly. 'Tine."

Janet had got her blouse adjusted. She sat on the edge of the desk and combed-her hair. "Where will we live, Father?"

The hem of Janet's mini-skirt was in her lap. He frowned. "Pull your skirt down, Janet. You're a big girl now." Then he relaxed back in his chair. "Mike can live with us until you find a little love-nest."

"You're sweet, Father," cooed Janet.

The Boss looked at me. He expected me to coo gratefully.

"Thanks," I said.

"Don't mention it, Mike, You're one of the family now!"

I got to my feet. "If you'll excuse me," I said huskily. "There are urgent things I must attend to."

"All right, Mike. Off you go, I'm sure Janet has plenty of little secrets she wants to tell Daddy."

I wandered back to my office like a man in a trance. I sank down into my chair trying to believe this had really happened! I could hear splintering wood, the rending of metal and the crumbling of masonry. My world was still falling down around my ears.

It was all the fault of my big, fat prick! Such fury overwhelmed me I was tempted to drag it from its lair, lay it upon the desk and beat it to a pulp!

Perhaps some men would want to marry the Boss's daughter and take over the business, even if the girl was Janet. But they wouldn't have my problems!

I was already engaged to marry Lillian on the twenty-fifth of the month!

Lillian was a dish, and very sexy. We'd been sweethearts since we were teenagers. Our parents were friends from way back and our families were marrying us. Any rupture between Lillian and me could only cause a big family upset.

I was trapped. If I didn't marry Lillian I'd hurt my parents. If I didn't marry Janet I'd be out of a job. That was serious. Music is the only business I know. The Boss could throw me out and ruin me in the pop world forever by saying I'd lost my touch.

There was a knock. Janet sidled in, locked the door and ran to me. She dumped herself on my lap, flung one arm around my neck and burrowed her teasing tongue into my ear. "We're lucky, Mike," she breathed. "Dad's had to go out. He won't be back for a couple of hours." Her hand went to my groin, rubbed up my prick, unbuttoned my fly and groped inside. "We've two hours!" she thrilled, wriggling around until the wet gusset of her panties found my fingers.

"Let's do it with you lying on the desk and with me on top," she thrilled.

I met Lillian in Piccadilly Circus and we had a few drinks in a Shaftesbury Avenue tavern before we went on to an Italian restaurant in Soho for spaghetti.

"You look tired, Mike," she said sympathetically. The waiter poured wine and discreetly retreated, leaving young lovers in intimate conversation.

"I am tired," I said. "A very busy day at the office!"

She nodded understandingly. Her hand rested tenderly upon mine. "How is business, Mike?"

"Up and down."

"After we've married you'll have to work harder and ask for an increase, Mike. I've got my job but basically everything depends upon the man. I mean, if we're going to have children…?"

I nodded glumly.

"And we do want children, don't we?"

Again I nodded.

Lillian was perfect in bed, and I enjoyed going places with her. But mostly I enjoyed her in bed. This marriage business had crept up on me craftily over the years. I'd never thought of marriage. I'd never said one word about it. But everyone took it for granted and our parents had made all the plans. There I was, sitting in a restaurant with my future wife and feeling trapped. Lillian was a fine girl. I loved fucking her. But this business about babies, working hard and accepting responsibilities had nothing to do with fucking!