The Depraved Stockbroker

CHAPTER ONE-1

CHAPTER ONE

Priscilla had never developed large breasts, but what she had was large enough, and certainly firm enough. Her hips were not too large or round, but neither were they boyish. True, her behind was nicely shaped, as were her long, slender thighs and calves. Put together as she was, she made every male, from nine to ninety-nine, drool at the sight of her.

Her parents had warned her about fooling around with men, but Priscilla had no idea what they meant by "fooling around" since neither of her parents had gone into any specifics. But what her parents had failed to take into consideration was her inner development, her emotional growth. There were nights when Priscilla had been unable to sleep because of certain inner tensions. And there had been no way to relieve this tension. No one had ever discussed m**********n with her, and she had no idea what it was all about. So she continued suffering, at night.

She had gone to a two-year business college after leaving high school, studying stocks, bonds, and mutual funds, and by the time she had completed her course, she had also completed the New York Stock Exchange tests, as well as the National Association of Securities Dealers tests, thereby gaining a license to sell all kinds of stocks and bonds, as well as mutual funds.

Armed with these licenses, Priscilla had applied to the local branch of Jacobson & Co. for a job. The head of Jacobson, Ben Mallard, was in his late seventies. He'd already suffered one stroke, and he knew damn well that thinking about what he'd like to do to Priscilla could send his blood pressure soaring sky-high. Yet her apparent business abilities were too good for him to overlook. So he hired her, offering her a one hundred and fifty dollar draw against commission.

Mallard turned Priscilla over to his second-in-command, Mike Marcus, and for the first time in his life, Marcus was sorry he was a religious man. He knew he would never be able to get work done with this raven-haired goddess around, so he turned her over to the head of the trust department, Paul Fink. And it was Fink who displayed all the conscience of a rattlesnake in his training of both Priscilla Penard, and another, equally attractive young lady by the name of Stephanie "Steffie" Sanders. Steffie was as blonde as Priscilla was brunette, and though her face lacked the pure innocence written all over Priscilla's, her mind was even more innocent. Like Priscilla, Steffie took everything told to her at face value. So it was, that when Paul Fink explained the two girls should use their feminine attributes to make a man want to use either of them as a customer's woman, or stock broker, both girls accepted what he told them. He explained if they made a man feel good, he would always be relaxed around them, remaining calm when he heard their voices, no matter how adverse market conditions may appear.

Fink, himself, was unable to believe he had lucked into these two virgins. More, he found it increasingly difficult to believe both girls were indeed virginal. There was only one way to find out, and today, on this Monday in early October, he intended to discover the truth.

In order to do things a bit more easily, he felt it might be wiser to separate the two girls for a while, so he sent Steffie to the order department, where she was to learn how incoming and outgoing stock orders were handled. Alone with Priscilla now, he locked his small office door and sat on the vinyl sofa with her. He wanted her to give him a demonstration of how she could put a man at ease and make a better customer of him.

Priscilla kicked off her shoes and curled up beside him on the sofa. She had gotten over her distaste of him after awhile, and in spite of his immense nose, looking almost exactly like a proboscis attached to the late Charles DeGaulle, she had also been able to overlook his nauseating personality and accept the fact that he was, after all, a man.

Her fingers began lightly dancing up and down his back, from his neck to the base of his spine, then back again. Her tickling fingertips were a tender, feathery, gentle caress just lightly skimming across the shirt against his back, moving lower and lower, dipping below his waistline, and teasing the top of his coccyx.

Paul was a middle-aged man, and his experience, until now, had been limited to his wife. This was understandable, considering how ugly he was. And his wife, who was, herself, an extremely attractive woman, had sincerely believed a man as ugly as he had to have a vibrant personality. She was certain he was cloaking it under a veneer of dullness. It was only after eighteen years of marriage that she realized he was every bit as dull as he appeared. By then, it was too late to do anything, because he was earning a good living as the head of the Jacobson Trust Department, giving her all the good things money could buy. She had been wise enough to continue squirreling away a lot of the money, and one day soon, when she had enough saved up, she'd be able to leave him and live comfortably all by herself.

Already panting, Paul Fink found it difficult to believe a girl as sweet and lovely as Priscilla was as naive and innocent as she appeared. But just as he was as dull as he seemed, so was she, at that moment, as innocent as she appeared. Yet under his instruction, she was learning rapidly.

At his order, she moved her hand beneath his shirt, tugging it out from behind, yanking on it until it was totally free of his pants. Priscilla didn't think twice about doing it, though this was going farther than she had ever gone with Fink before. Even so, he seemed to know what would be best to help her get ahead in her job.

She seemed to know what to do, having done the same thing on top of his shirt, so often. Her fingers roamed through the thick forest of hair matting his chest. It seemed to make up for the lack of it on his head.

Paul instructed her to remove his shirt, and Priscilla did so, being careful not to wrinkle it. Now, for the first time, his hands were beginning to roam, and he could feel her small, firm, quivering breasts under the sheerness of her blouse and the softness of her cotton bra. God! She had nice, solid t**s. And she had enough sense not to stop him as his palms caressed them.

Priscilla thought she ought to say something about his intimate touching, but then she figured other men might want to touch her there, and if it would help her sell more securities, well then, why not. Besides, it felt very nice. She gasped and rotated her lithe, slender body against his hands, feeling the way he pressed his palms into her studlike n*****s. The more he rubbed, the more her n*****s lengthened, and when he instructed her to remove her blouse, she heatedly responded, pressing her bra-filled cups more solidly into his palms as the blouse slithered off. Oh God! He might be ugly, but he sure knew how to use his hands.

And then she was kissing him, just as she kissed the boys with whom she went out on dates. Her thin, tasty lips were pressing against his large, swollen lips, and her mouth was open, welcoming his exploring tongue inside. She responded with her own tongue, licking and touching his teeth. Kissing a man seemed like such a nice way to make him do something. Pris enjoyed it.

She felt the warmth of his chest against hers as he pulled her closer, and for a moment she missed the way his hands had caressed her breasts. Then she felt his fingers behind her, at the snaps of her bra, and suddenly he was loosening it, undoing it, and she felt it slide from her shoulders. Her warm, firm, small breasts were being titillated by the jungle of hair on his chest, and being kept warm, too. Her n*****s felt the kinky hairs curl around them, teasing them, making them swell and grow even longer. God! The man had a way about him.

Paul pulled her body away from his so he could glance down at her firm, white boobs. He admired their firmness, not caring in the least they weren't boulder-sized. On a girl like Priscilla, huge mammarial development would have looked out of place. They were beautifully round and shaped perfectly, and he could see light blue veins tracing their way through her marble-white flesh. He liked the rich pinkness of her aureolae, each larger than a silver dollar and surrounding a vibrant n****e of equal pinkness.

His fingers reached out and, between his forefinger and thumb, he was able to grip the enlarged n****e, marveling at how thick it was, considering how small her round breasts were. His fingers found it spongy and thickly resilient, and he squeezed it. Then he pushed the n****e into the round pap, almost as if he were pushing in a doorbell button. And like the button on a doorbell, it popped out the moment he released it.

His heavy lips began kissing the smooth whiteness of her throat, though his right hand was constantly massaging each breast in turn.

"Move your hands lower and start rubbing my thighs," he told her.

Priscilla shrugged and did as she was instructed, letting her fingers move along his pants, pressing his thighflesh underneath. His left hand guided her fingers to his inner thighs, leading them into his groin. Unused to touching a man there, Priscilla moved her hand back to his outer thighs.

Taking his lips from hers, Paul said, "Pris, I'm doing this for your own good. You have to learn everything to charm a customer. Remember, this isn't like mutual funds, where once you make the sale, it's over. You have to sell him again and again. As long as a man has money to invest, you must be the one through whom he invests."

"Look," she answered, "I'm grateful for all this, but tell me, what do you get from all this?"

Paul swallowed the obvious answer. He said, "Well, many of the people who will be investing will want to start trusts, and that's where I come in. We set up investment accounts for them of great magnitude, and both you and I share in the commissions. Actually, I get an override on your commission, and you, in turn, will be getting a fat slice of the pie. But in order for you to convince these people to trust you, you have to show you trust them."

"How do I do that?"

"By allowing them to do as they please with you, so long as there is no pain. You'd be surprised how much you'll enjoy it, yourself. Actually, you have to do more than let them do things. You have to help them. Am I clear?"

"I suppose," Pris nodded.

Paul had no worries about making the girl pregnant. He had had a vasectomy only a year earlier, and it was virtually impossible for him to impregnate any girl. He also had a doctor who was a friend and who would prescribe the Pill for Priscilla, making her think they were special vitamins so she wouldn't think of herself as being in any kind of danger. By the time she lost her naivete, she would be grateful to him for making her take the Pill. Besides, the doctor was no less horny than Paul, and before prescribing the Pill, would also assure her he would like to invest in a trust fund. As it was, Paul Fink was the doctor's regular broker, and the doctor had no intention of giving any girl some of his business. The mere fact that Paul sent him a girl now and again assured Paul of continually receiving business from the doctor.

Pris, as naive as ever, had no idea Paul Fink would screw her in more than one way. Highly impressionable, she sincerely believed what she was doing would help improve her business relationship with male clients. She felt grateful Paul Fink was taking the time to teach it all to her.

Now, anxious to obey him, she moved her hands inward again, this time allowing them to linger a bit longer before sliding them outward. And each time her fingers moved inward, they touched against the long, hard, cylindrical swelling of his pulsating prick. Never having seen a man's p***s, she had no idea what it was she was touching, and she was almost afraid to hold onto it. But when Paul assured her that what she was doing made him feel good, she seemed more delighted than ever, rubbing her hands against his phallic rod repeatedly, feeling the heat burning through the pants.