Allure of Denise

Chapter ONE She let her right hand, holding her purse, brush against the c**k of a man beside her, making it seem like an accident. He looked at her strangely, and tried to inch his body away from her. Denise's cheeks flamed - not with shame, but with desire. She pressed her ass against the body of the man behind her. She felt his gradual response, and the slowly growing pressure of his hardening c**k through the fabric of his trousers, along the crack of her ass. In the fleeting moments before the elevator reached the floor she sought, she tried to imagine herself and these men, all naked, with their heavy c***s thrust pointedly toward her, all of them waiting to f**k her, one after the other. How many were there? she wondered. Her body ached with wanting, and she tried to divert her thoughts, but her heavy breathing and her high color - as well as the warm moistness of her cunt, which only she could feel - betrayed the compulsive passion that flooded her body. She got off alone at the floor she wanted, and walked to the center of the oblong foyer that divided the spacious office corridors. She hesitated as she peered, first to her right, then to her left. Her eyes fell upon a discreetly elegant gold-lettered sign revealing the direction of the "Tanner, Incorporated" suite. Denise took a deep breath, which lifted her t**s provocatively, thrust her hips forward, and started walking toward the door of the suite. Even the corridor reflected quiet opulence. The carpeting was lush and subtly toned to hide its true character. The walls were decorated with costly paper, bearing deeply etched designs of antique silver on a pastel background, implying extreme but discerning taste. Denise's breasts, large and firm, bounced lightly as she walked. Because they were covered by a simple blouse, their movement was less spectacular than they deserved. Her hips swiveled and danced rhythmically, but the skirt that held them tightly was black and unstylish, showing signs of wear. Her long legs were sleek and curvaceous, and distracted attention from her outmoded clothing. Her body and her face would always attract attention. She had clear, glowing skin, and dark, expressive eyes. Her mouth was wide, and a vivid red that slashed through the glow of her face and enlivened it. There was an urgency and tension about her body, as though she were seeking something; and there was a look in her eyes that gave a hint of what it was that she was seeking. She continued down the corridor, paused at an ebony door, read the name plate, then waited, as if still debating all the thoughts and motivations that had brought her to that very place. Then she pushed the door open, and stepped inside. The richness of the outer-office setting remained - even new grandeur being added to it by modernistic desks, couches and chairs. At the moment, there was no one sitting at the elegant reception desk. Denise looked around the room. The walls were covered with varied-sized photographs of boxers and wrestlers that almost brought the sweat-smell of a gymnasium to the office. Denise walked closer and examined some of the photographs. Most of them showed the athletes in professional stance, knees bent, arms stretched forward in fighting readiness. They were all naked from the waist up, dressed only in boxing trunks, tight-fitting trunks that bulged with c**k. Denise felt herself the center of a montage of piercing eyes, reaching arms, clutching fingers and half-naked, male bodies. A wave of heat suffused her body, and she ran her hands over her breasts, stepping closer to the photographs, fascinated by the overt sexuality of the pictured men. Again, she visualized the men naked, their c***s unrestrained by boxing trunks; their hands, ungloved, playing with her t**s, probing her cunt... At that moment, an inner door opened, and a young man stepped into the room. He stared at Denise. She had no time for surprise, nor even for any recovery from the excitement she had felt from the photographs. The young man's voice contained such shock of its own, that it reduced hers. "What in the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed with surprising familiarity. His eyes burrowed into hers. "I'm - well, I'm here-" She stopped, confused and suddenly without words. "I can see that. I know damned well you're here," he said. "But why?" Recovering some poise, Denise arched her body to present it more provocatively. "I'm Denise -" "Denise?" the young man interrupted. "Denise- hell! You're Marge. You're Tanner's wife. You're -" He paused abruptly and looked closer, taking a step nearer to Denise. "No, really," Denise said quickly. "I'm Denise Hutton. Marge was - is - my sister." Some of the rigidity of surprise went out of the man. He continued to look - almost unbelievingly - at Denise. Now his look was different. His eyes travelled over her body, lingering at the points of his greatest interest. He took a step toward her, then stopped. Denise did not speak. Nor did she hold her eyes steady to his. She glanced downward at the thick carpeting, letting her eyes rest there, while his appraised her body. Her mind registered the looks of the young man, his fairness, his lean, powerful body in well-fitting clothes, his pale, slightly misty blue eyes. Finally, Denise looked up at him. "Is Mr. Tanner in?" she asked. He shook his head and walked still closer to her. "No. And I'm Paul King. I'm his assistant. But I'll be tossed for the count if you're not Marge." He said the name with a tinge of amusement in his voice. "I'm not," Denise said simply. "I'm her sister." "All right, so I'm tossed." the young man smiled. He paused and his eyes examined her more nakedly. "I didn't even know she had a sister. I don't think even Tanner knows it." "He doesn't," Denise said. Almost shamefully, her eyes lowered to the carpeting again. "Marge never told her husband about her. His expression turned thoughtful as he rubbed his chin with his hand. Then he said, "I can see it new, though. You're the same, especially the voice, but you're different too. Different around the edges, if you know what I mean." Denise smiled and her eyes brightened a bit. "I don't know exactly what that means, but it sounds nice. Anyway, it's because of Marge that I'm here." "You know where she is?" he asked quickly. Her smile vanished and her eyes went solemn. "No, I don't. I had hoped that Mr. Tanner could tell me something about her." His lips lifted in a crooked grin, and he said, "I could tell you plenty about her! But not where she is." "Oh," Denise said sadly. "I have to find her. It's terribly important to me." "I can imagine." He motioned to the door leading into the private office. "Come on. Let's go inside. Christ, you've hit me like a flying mare! You've set me thinking, baby. Real deep thoughts." He turned and walked through the door. Denise waited a moment, glanced again at the wall covered with the photographs of half-naked men, and then followed King into his office. "Sit down," King said when she reached his desk. She did. Carefully, in a chair pulled close to his. "Suppose you tell me your story," he suggested. "I still can't get over it! You and Marge - twins." "Not twins. Just sisters. I'm about a year younger than Marge." "That must make you about 24, eh?" "Yes." "You could pass for twins, you know. The voice, the build, coloring, almost everything." "I know. I've been told that all my life." She hesitated, then added, "Sometimes it's been a problem for me, maybe for both of us." "And you don't know where she is?" he asked again. "No." "You're sure? You're not bullshitting me, are you?" "Why should I do that?" "I don't know. Guess I'm just careful. I have to be, in this business." "I suppose so," Denise said. "Well, I came here to see Tanner. I've never met him. All I know is that Marge married him while I was - well, while I was away. I've been out of touch with things. I haven't seen Marge in over two years. I've had letters, of course. A few. Right after she married, I had a letter from her, saying that she wasn't going to tell Tanner about me - not yet. Her last letter to me just said that she was leaving Tanner - going away." King looked her over speculatively. "Why do you want to find Marge?" he asked. "That's none of your damned business," Denise said. She inched her body forward in her chair so that her skirt hiked well up her thighs. "Can't I just see Mr. Tanner?" "No," he said flatly. "Not unless I say so. Besides, he's not here. He's rarely in the city. Tanner usually stays at the ranch - the training camp, in the country." Denise was beginning to resent King, the way his eyes appraised her, the way his hands kept rubbing his crotch. If he wanted to f**k her, why didn't he start some action? The way she was sitting, he could practically reach out and touch her t**t! Irritatedly, she asked, "Tell me something more about Marge." "Marge and Turner spent most of their time at the camp, and seemed happy there. Then she left and disappeared. That was just before Tanner went blind." "Blind!" "Yes. It was pretty sudden. The result of some old fight injuries, I guess. He had one operation. No luck. He may have another one some day." Denise felt a wave of pity at the thought of a blind Tanner. She recalled the stories she had heard about Tanner - his giant size, his massive strength, his daring and quickness, first in the ring, and later as the ruler of a syndicate of wrestlers and boxers. To think of such power and strength weakened by blindness, made her sad. King broke into her thoughts. "Where have you been, Denise?" Very quietly, Denise replied. "I've been in a mental institution." "I see," King said. "That pretty well explains why Marge didn't mention you to Tanner... Lots of weird s*x go on in places like that?" Behind his desk, he rubbed his crotch suggestively. Denise watched his hand, and hiked her skirt a little higher. "I'd rather not talk about that," she said. "My feelings about Marge, maybe a jealousy feeling, were behind many of my problems. I don't think I'll be completely well until I find Marge and learn about myself, through her." "Through her?" King asked. "Or as her?" "What are you talking about?" Denise asked. "We'll talk about that later," King said. "Well, anyway," Denise said. "Please make an appointment for me with Tanner. I'll be going now." "Not so soon," King said, placing a hand on the inside of her thigh. With his other hand he gave her a memo pad and pencil. "Give me your phone number. Maybe I'll have a job for you." Denise scribbled her phone number on the pad and handed it back to him. His fingers were creeping toward her snatch. "I have lots of influence with Tanner," King said. "I run his whole operation. He depends on me, and trusts me. Marge's leaving hit him pretty hard. He was crazy about her. Everybody was," he added with a grin. "Tanner is a generous man. If I could arrange to bring Marge back to him, can you begin to guess what that would mean to me - to us!" Denise watched him silently, waiting for him to go on. "You could be Marge!" he said. "You could fool Tanner, you could fool anyone." "Any why would you want to fool Tanner?" Denise asked. "I thought you were his friend." "I didn't say I was his friend," King said. "I said he needed me." "Besides, aren't you afraid to trust me-a stranger - with this plan of yours?" I might give you away, go to Tanner and spill the whole thing to him." "You won't," King smiled. He got up from behind the desk and stood behind Denise's chair, rubbing his crotch into her shoulder. She could feel the lengthening hardness of his c**k. She began to get hot all over. He reached over and began playing with her t**s.