The Devil's Sperm Is Cold Read Online Free PDF

the thick cock that descended to her face.”
    Joan looked up from the manuscript to see Lou smiling down at her. “What do you think?” he asked.
    “It’s like a soap opera with sex,” she said.
    He clucked his tongue against his palate. “That’s right,” he said. “And that’s the sort of thing we want. You catch on fast.” He squinted and stared at her. “Don’t you?” he added. And after a pause, “Well, do you want the job?” he went on and glanced down at his crotch.
    She leaned forward. “If I take the job,” she said, “how often do I have to be available for these private consultations?” Her breath was hot against his thighs and he swayed where he stood. Her mouth was slightly open and her tongue was a pink shadow in its depths.
    “I’m a busy man,” he told her, “and my main interest is money. I love sex, but not if it distracts me from my most important direction. And quite frankly, once I satisfy my initial curiosity about a woman, she doesn’t hold too many charms for me. I don’t know. I may want you again a month from now, or six months from now, or never again. No, what I’ll enjoy is knowing that you are available to me. I’ll enjoy watching you walk around the office, all corseted and clean, knowing that whenever I want I can have you rolling naked on my rug, spreading your pussy wide for me, licking my balls, letting me fuck you up that pretty little ass of yours.”
    He sat down next to her, and like an actor switching costumes he said in a gentle voice, “I hope you don’t mind my being direct. I mean, I think you’re an intelligent woman and you understand the way the world works. If you’re looking for romance, do it on your own time; if you’re looking for freedom, go live in the woods. In the office, you belong to me. I’m an old-fashioned kind of capitalist. I don’t hold with euphemisms. People who work for me are wage slaves. I pay the wage; they are my slaves. When I buy you I buy your skills and your body. Because I don’t beat about the bush, you always know where you stand, or…” he smiled, “where you kneel.”
    “Well,” she said, emboldened by his honesty, “then I might as well be a whore on the street.”
    He chuckled. “No,” he said, “that kind of life is too rough for a nice middle-class girl like you. The competition would kill you, or the cops would get you, or you’d wind up working for a pimp. I’m offering you a respectable job, with good pay, and regular hours. It’s not asking you to do anything that will permanently fuck up your life.”
    “Except to act as your sexual plaything.”
    He laughed, a deep, resounding baritone laugh, much like that used by men who play Santa Claus in department stores at Christmas. “No,” he said, “we’re doing that because you enjoy it. And because I don’t like to run an office rife with sexual hypocrisy. If you worked there and I didn’t try to fuck you, I would be lying to myself and to you, and the tension would mount. This way, we stay clear with one another.” He put one hand on her breasts, and the sudden warmth made her lean back against the arm of the couch. “Besides, it’s just perverse enough to titillate you.”
    She lay back and her lids lowered as she watched him through the prism of her oddly mounting desire. He loomed over her, huge and indistinct. Her eyes went to where his right hand moved, and she could see his erection already outlining itself against the fabric of his pants. He stroked his cock slowly, and she watched like one hypnotized. Her breathing became shallow and, to her amazement, she could smell the secretions from her cunt as her ass dug into the leather couch. A strange lassitude crept over her and her mouth dropped open even wider than it had been. Her tongue wet her lips, leaving a thin glistening of saliva over the red lipstick she still wore, against the advice she received about its being out of style. He laughed again.
    “Yes, I know all