Tomorrow is an Illusion

Author's Note: This is edited text from a 1976-1978 interview series entitled, "Conversations with the Class of 1936." The show was on the radio and played after the National Lampoon Radio Hour on Sunday nights, mostly on the East Coast and California. Its material recently entered the public domain. To avoid legal issues, significant names have been changed. -M

It's time I told somebody about this. My name is Frazier Sennott. Back in 1957, I was a Vice Manager at Jette Age Textiles, New Mexico. I sold JAT products throughout the southwest. My secretary was named Piper Doyle. She was thirty-one at the time, tall, tanned, always pretty, well dressed, and had a stunning head of shiny black hair. I have thought about her at the end of every day since that evening.

Everybody dressed well in the 50s. I had on my dark grey suit, a slender, black tie, with a white, button down shirt. My black Nunn-Bush shoes shined like mirrors. Piper always dressed appropriately and never flirted. But as she busied herself, she often staged a personal exhibition. Piper had a habit of examining the book shelf for much longer than was necessary, claiming to be looking for a particular edition of the many fashion magazines we kept for reference and ideas. She would shift her weight from one foot to the other while looking, moving her round posterior from side to side. I could not stop staring.

She'd never do something crass, like give me a peek down her shirt or up her skirt. Instead, she would silhouette herself in the window with the sun behind her, standing like Jayne Mansfield. She always worked hard, but when she moved around my office, she would very naturally fall into poses that made her appear to be a Vogue model. On this day, she wore a black business suit, a white blouse, with a red and black striped scarf, and low black heels. On her head was a black pillbox hat. She wore a black choker with a round, silver locket every day.

It was 6:10, on a Friday evening, right before a three-day weekend for Independence Day. We had stayed late so that we could complete a sales plan for a new fabric we were to gein marketing on the following Monday (brushed acrylic--great for hats, gloves, and scarves!).

I was relieved that the plan was done, but I was not ready to go home. Everybody else at JAT had left by that time. Piper was clearing my desk. I looked at her slender hand with her pretty French manicure as she picked up my coffee cup. She then erased the small chalkboard we used for brain storming. Her pretty bottom shook from side to side as she erased it. No, ma'am, we were NOT ready to leave.

I reached into my desk and took out a bottle of Tullamore Dew and two glasses, pouring us each a drink. She smiled slightly. She took the glasses and walked to the sideboard, her hips effortlessly swinging. She added ice and a little seltzer to each drink and returned. She gave me my drink. She opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something. Instead, she just smiled, keeping that something to herself.

She reached over to the Westinghouse on my desk and turned it on, She dialed through a few stations and stopped on one playing Patsy Cline's Walking After Midnight.

She sat down and sipped her drink. We were falling into a familiar conversation about dull topics. She then abruptly downed her drink. She turned on the two track lights above the sideboard, turned off our main office light, and began a riveting dance around my office.

She combined coquettish charm with obscene exhibitionism, as she kicked her pretty legs, wiggled her behind and captivated me with her simmering expression. She obscenely put one foot upon my desk, showing me her covered little pussy. She held her tits, holding them obscenely, as if she was presenting them to me for inspection. In time with Ms. Cline's gentle song, she unbuttoned three buttons on her blouse, exposing her bra-covered tits. She opened her blouse brazenly, showing the world her breasts.

Then she turned around and showed me her behind, slowly inching up her dress, showing me her thighs, stocking tops, garter straps, and then her ass, covered by her white underwear. Then she pulled them down her legs, and completely off. She folded them neatly, walked over to me, and put them into my breast pocket. She also gave me a quick ear nibble.

I stood after she nuzzled my ear. I took off my jacket. She then got onto her knees, undid my belt, and opened my pants and reached inside my boxers. My cock has never been harder. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked at my penis. She looked at me intensely, and then swallowed it. After withdrawing it, she he gazed at it again, glistening with her saliva. She tugged on it skillfully, after taking it out, making me catch my breath, and almost prematurely come. Then, she swallowed it again, savoring it as she withdrew. She continued to possessively clutch it as she stood up.

We embraced and kissed, searching each other's mouths, tasting scotch and cigarette smoke. She continued to hold my cock and playfully tug on it. I put my hands on her ass and lifted her onto the corner of my desk. She opened her legs and I stood between them, my penis pointing at her. We grabbed lustily at each other's bodies. I embraced her tits, handling them possessively. I teasingly pulled on her nipples as we kissed. I kept doing so, because she began to thrust her hips as I tweaked and teased them. I greedily held her ass, which I had been thinking about doing since she began working for me a year earlier. I kissed her neck. She whispered in my ear.

"Fuck me in my hot cunt, Mr. Sennott!"

I told her, "Now, Piper!" As I said that, she pulled my dick into her eager pussy. I thrust hard into her, feeling her sopping, hungry hole yield to me and become mine. I withdrew then, and thrust hard inside again, feeling every inch of her wet, swollen flesh.. I continued to fuck her hard, getting all of that pent up tension out of my system. I withdrew, just touching her entrance with my cock head. I inserted again, slowly this time. We both felt the friction, of my cock touching her every sensitive place inside her. She nipped my cock with her pussy, something I had never felt before or since. Honestly, I'm not sure how she did it. She kept doing it., as if she didn't realize she had the power to fuck me back. I sped up my thrusts. Piper was in a seeming trance. Her eyes were closed, she reached back and squeezed my buttocks, her legs pulled on me, drawing me deeper inside her.

She muttered profane encouragement while we fucked. "Deeper in my cunt, Mr. Sennott. Fuck my hole. PLEASE. Take what you want. Take everything, Take me. Deeper, More, PLEASE. shove your dick in my wet puss, Sir,. HARDER, please." I felt myself moving toward my inevitable orgasm.

She said suddenly, "Take me from behind, Mr. Sennott!" I pulled out and she quickly turned over on my desk. She put one thigh on it, so that her cunt was perfectly positioned. I lined my penis up with her hole, took her by the hips, and began to thrust into her hard, plowing her tight pussy. She began to chant, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," first in a low voice. Then she managed to reach and touch her hard clitoris, prompting her to shout "Fuck me!" until my seed splashed into her. She violently thrust back at me as her own come overtook her. She used the desk for leverage as she fucked me back.

Eventually, this deliciously sordid scene ended, because of exhaustion and pragmatic reality. With the tension from the long day gone, we spoke easily. She knew I had a wife, our first child, a dog, cat, and two gerbils waiting for me. I was still relatively young and dumb then, and thought at the time this would not affect our working relationship.

Of course it did. She took Monday and Tuesday off. She left a pleasant note saying that she didn't think we could keep working together. I did not regret the scene, but I should have realized I'd lose a great secretary as a result. We ran into each other at a professional conference two years later. She pretended like this scene didn't happen. By that time, she had a husband and had settled into her own life. I tried, foolishly, to discuss our THAT Friday. She used a line I used when she made a minor mistake early on. She insisted, "That didn't happen, Mr. Sennott. You'll be amazed at how much that didn't happen."

Tomorrow is an Illusion by manysinnz

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