"Tammy and the Boss Man" Part one 

 Tammy and I were very happy in the first few months of
 our marriage.  Hers was the love I had always looked
 for. Tammy was such a sweet young girl, a virgin of 20
 when we married. She was flat out gorgeous, but you
 wouldn't know it to look at her in the street. She hid
 her shapely body and legs in loose, long cut dresses,
 and kept her thick black hair pinned back.   She was a
 lady, a beautiful angel. She was a minister's daughter,
 raised in a deeply Christian household, and her strong
 religious convictions made her very conscious to not
 dress provocatively.  I'd come to know over the few
 months what a spectacular body she had.  I felt
 privileged to have seen it all, and to have been the
 first man to feel the inside of her lovely young pussy.

 In contrast to her, I was much more adventurous sexual-
 ly.  Certainly no virgin, by the time I was her age I
 had had many women.  Sex was the most important thing
 in my life.  You might even consider me a sex addict;
 I spent many hours in strip clubs and adult bookstores,
 enjoying pornography and the pleasures of feeling up
 strippers.  In fact, I continued to do this even after
 we were married, because while Tammy was the love of my
 life, there were feelings and urges that she didn't
 satisfy.  There was no way I could tell her about this,
 she wouldn't understand, so it remained a secret I kept
 from her.

 Marriage so far had been a compromise.  I brought her
 along slowly; She was very resistant to do anything she
 considered "kinky", and to her that included blowjobs
 and any kind of ass play.  I was crazy enough about her
 to hold myself back.  It was tough for me.  Birth con-
 trol was out of the question because of her religion,
 so early in our marriage, before we wanted children,
 there were long periods when I didn't get anything at
 all. But as tough as it was, I did love her, and I even
 treated it like a tease. Slowly, over the months, she
 was loosening up, and with each new boundary we crossed
 I felt encouraged. Just small things, things like kiss-
 ing my cock or letting me talk dirty to her while we
 "made love" really got me off, they felt to me like
 conquests, because she was so resistant.  And oh, so
 beautiful.  I longed for the future, because I knew
 that someday I'd have her doing anything I wanted.
 Someday I'd have her kneeling before me, and looking up
 at me, waiting for me to blow my load all over her
 pretty face.

 But, you know, woman of a certain age start thinking of
 babies, and Tammy was that age.  So after we were
 married almost a year she decided we'd try for one.
 And it was like a switch was thrown in her head - all
 of a sudden she craved sex.  She had no problem doing
 what I wanted to get started - lots of nights I'd come
 home to find her in the slutwear she refused to wear
 for me when we were first married. There was a part of
 me that felt resentful, used, because she wasn't doing
 these things for me, just to use my urges to get what
 she wanted: a baby.  So there she'd be when I got home
 from work, all dolled up like a groupie, with a bikini
 top, skimpy cotton dress high enough to show the tops
 of her thigh-highs, and the "fuck me" pumps I loved so
 much. Yeah, she had the look, she knew what I liked and
 how to tease, but she wouldn't really act the part.  I
 wanted to get head; I wanted her eyes looking up at me
 from down there. That was all I thought about, but she
 just wouldn't do it. It was the same excuse she used
 all along: "In the eyes of God it was unnatural". Still
 the "nice girl" inside. But I knew the real reason -
 She wasn't about to waste any of my precious baby seed
 that way.  So straight sex was all she'd allow.  And
 from my end, straight sex 10 or so times a week is more
 work than I bargained for.  I wasn't 18 anymore. A few
 times we'd get started, she'd be under me, egging me
 on, tickling my ass with her long nails, and all of a
 sudden something would happen to me. I'd lose it, just
 go soft.  I'd be ashamed, she'd say "That's OK."

 Months went on, there was no sign of a baby, and I knew
 she was unhappy.

 As if that wasn't enough, money started becoming a pro-
 blem - I just didn't make enough. I was going to school
 at night, but was stuck in a low paying day job until I
 finished school. Things were real tight.   We lived in
 a small apartment, and never had enough money for sim-
 ple pleasures like vacations.  We couldn't even afford
 to go out to dinner when her friends invited us. It
 seemed like all our friends had much more than we did.
 Some of her girlfriends even had vacation homes. 

 So she was unhappy enough about the money to go out to
 work. She found a job as an office girl.  Every day she
 rode the subway to her job downtown.  I felt terrible
 seeing her go to work.  She never complained openly,
 she really was a sweet girl, but there were times,
 especially when she was talking with her better off
 friends that I saw a hint of unhappiness, real
 jealousy.  The man in me knew this wasn't right.  If
 we could just hold on for a few years, things would be
 better.  I'd make more money after I finished school.
 She could quit, I'd have more time, more energy, and
 enough money to provide for her. Then maybe those baby
 juices would kick in again. I was determined to stick
 it out. I still loved her.

			-=*=-

 She had been working a few months when she started
 acting out about it.  She'd be silent, almost sullen
 when she came home, saying little about what went on.
 She worked for some company downtown - all I knew was
 its name, Invigra Inc., and that she spent her day
 doing some kind of clerical work.  I could sense a
 change in her.  She wasn't after me for sex anymore.
 She started being angry all the time.  She'd come home
 from work and not even talk to me, and I felt miser-
 able.  I felt like a failure.

 For a week or so I consoled myself by spending more
 time in the strip clubs after work. The girls there
 weren't so demanding, just a quick buck and they shook
 their ass for me. But after having the promise of her,
 the hope that she would turn into some dark angel in
 bed, these diversions didn't satisfy anymore.  

 So one day I confronted her.  "What's with you? Ever
 since you started this job you've changed.  I told you
 it would only be till I finished school, but you're
 acting like you're mad about it!"

 She just ran into the bedroom, tears in her eyes and
 closed the door.  "Fuck her!" I thought. I got my coat
 on and went out, out to the local titty bar.  I hadn't
 cheated on Tammy at all since we'd been married, unless
 you count feeling up strippers and sluts in these
 clubs.  My hands worked overtime that night, and a lot
 of the money that Tammy earned wound up laced through
 g-strings.

 She was sitting up in bed when I got home.  She said
 she was sorry, but her unhappiness these past few weeks
 had nothing to do with me. She wasn't mad about work-
 ing; she just hated the place she was in.  What she
 told me next changed my mood completely.  

 "There's a boss there, and he's always hitting on me.
 I have to go into his office, and he's always putting
 his hands on me, touching my bottom."  She was starting
 to sob as she said this, a tear falling in a slow roll
 down her beautiful cheek. "He says things to me, dirty
 things." My heart started beating faster.  Someone was
 going to get his ass kicked.

 "What's his name?"

 "Brock."  What kind of name was that, I thought?

 "We'll Tammy, tomorrow I'm going to work with you. And
 I can guarantee you this Brock asshole isn't ever going
 to bother you again." I wanted her to know I'd take
 care of this for her, I wanted her to feel safe, pro-
 tected.  I didn't tell her that I hadn't been in a
 fight since grammar school.  This guy Brock was pro-
 bably some old office guy, grown pudgy and soft around
 the middle. I told her I'd make this guy sorry he ever
 messed with her. I showed her my fist, and said,  "This
 guy will be one sorry motherfucker!"

 She just stared wide-eyed at me.  

 			-=*=-

 When we got into the elevator the next morning, she
 pressed floor 45.  I noticed that Invigra had floors
 39-45 in the building, and I pondered the meaning of
 her working on the top floor. I guessed that this Brock
 was some bigwig in the company.  I figured the guy was
 some old business fart, I'd make short work of him.

 The offices on the 45th floor seemed very prosperous
 indeed.  Very plush and dignified, our footsteps were
 silent in the thick carpeting.  The receptionist was
 an extraordinarily beautiful woman, a polished Nordic
 beauty, wearing a thin silk blouse.  I could see a hint
 of protruding nipples, and I felt myself stir.  

 Tammy asked for Brock, and we were asked to wait for
 a few minutes.  While we were waiting on the couch, I
 amused myself by checking out the people in the office
 as they walked through the corridor.  Almost everyone
 was female, and they were all knockouts, young woman
 in their early 20's, impeccably dressed and attractive-
 ly made up.  Even their voices were sexy.  I wondered
 if Invigra was some sort of modeling agency.  I was
 about to ask Tammy when a tall, shapely oriental woman
 told us the Mr. Brock would see us now.

 As we walked through the hall to his office, I got
 myself ready.  I was going to surprise the prick, get
 right in his face.  Just one word from him and I'd
 throw his sorry ass right through the fuckin window.
  
 The Asian girl opened the door, and for a moment, I
 just took in the surroundings.  Mr. Brock's office was
 the size of our apartment.  It was a corner office with
 two floor-to-ceiling, windows that looked out on the
 harbor. There was a sitting area with a couch and two
 easy chairs on the right as you walked in, a rich
 mahogany bar on the left, and a long expanse of thick
 red carpeting before Brock's desk.  

 He was standing there, and at the first sight of him
 all my plans of kicking his sorry ass through the
 window evaporated. I'd need to try something different.
 Brock was a huge black man, at least 6'7", and he pro-
 bably weighed about 250 pounds.  He was in his late
 twenties, there was an athletic grace to his movements
 as he rose from behind his big desk and sauntered over
 to us.  No way I'd last two seconds in a fight with
 him. He shook my hand:  "Tammy's told me all about
 you."  He looked down at me, and gave enough of a
 squeeze in his grip to make me grimace.  Somehow he
 knew what I was there for.
  
 I couldn't talk, couldn't get the words out of my
 throat.  He looked at me, with the light of a smirk
 in his eyes.  "What's on your mind?" he said with a
 bit of a challenge. There was something disorientating
 about him. In addition to his physical bulk, there was
 an air of settled power and prosperity about him.  His
 was dressed in a custom tailored pinstripe suit, a
 silk tie that probably itself cost my weeks wages. He
 had lots of expensive jewelry: A solid gold watch,
 several large rings, and his right ear had a 3 or 4
 carat diamond stud. He exuded power and confidence. 

 Guessing how he made it here, I had an image of him
 beating some drug dealer to death in a dark alley,
 winning his first piece of turf on his climb to the
 top.  But there was another image that fit also,
 because I had to admit the man had an air of intel-
 ligence, a winning combination of  ballsy wit and a
 cat-like alertness.  He could have made it here with
 his brains too, dealing on the trading floor of an
 exchange. 

 I had to say something.  Both he and Tammy were staring
 at me.  I started to look at Tammy, but I couldn't meet
 those beautiful green eyes that stared back at me. I
 knew she remembered how big and tough I'd sounded last
 night, how I ran my mouth about what I would do to
 Brock.  I realized she looked at me the same way last
 night and I realized she hadn't give me even a hint of
 what Brock was like.  I didn't like the feeling that
 gave me; She knew what I was getting myself into, and
 she let it happen. 

 "Well, Tammy, guess I'll just get back to work while
 your MAN here gets himself together." He gave Tammy a
 quick wink he turned and started back to his desk.  As
 he sat down he laughed: "Guess a cat's got his tongue!"
 He leaned back in his leather chair and studied me.
 Sizing me up with a cool hard stare.  I couldn't hold
 his gaze, I had to look past him at the boats in the
 harbor behind him.  The ball was in my court, and I
 felt helpless.

 He pressed a button and said, "Bring in some refresh-
 ments for my guests, please."  Still leaning back, the
 silence held the charge in the air.

 "Tammy tells me you kids are trying to have a child."
 He was starting, he knew he had an opening and would
 work on the wound. "Kids," even though he was a year
 or so younger than us. I had the sick sense of where
 he was going.

 "But it's been months now, and I don't see any change
 in her lovely figure."

 "But then again, it might take .... many years..." He
 was grinning from ear to ear, flashing his big white
 teeth, "...Considering what you have to work with!"

 He eased back in his chair, letting fly with a big,
 booming laugh.

 Finally, I forced some words out, "y-y-y-y-you know,
 y-y-y-you c-c-c-an't harass w-w-women that work for
 you!" I was gulping for air as I fought to get the
 words out.