As usual, it may help to read the first chapter: The Secret Life of George Prufrock
*
It was a perfect autumn day when George Prufrock and his wife Janet attended Myra Lennon's outdoor potluck supper. As Janet chatted with her friends, George wandered across the flagstone patio and into the living room: a man ignored, virtually invisible. He was the sort that others, especially women, look past without seeing. If they spoke with him, the conversation was forgotten at once.
Ambling into the kitchen with its granite countertops and center island, he saw Della Jenkins making another batch of her mushroom canapés. The woman was in her early forties, a stout hausfrau possessed of lively brown eyes and a magnificent bosom.
"Need some help, Della?" George ventured.
The woman looked up. "What? Oh, it's you, George." She seemed to hardly recognize this man who had lived on her street for decades. "As a matter of fact," she went on, "you could open the oven door so I can put in these canapés to heat up."
George did so, stealing a peek at the generous cleavage revealed by Della's low-cut knit sweater. The woman inserted the tray of appetizers; then, said, "Hand me those dirty dishes and I'll put them in the sink."
He did as he was told. Settling onto a breakfast bar stool, he sat quietly for a moment; then, said, "Anything else?"
"No, you can go now. I just need ... a ..." Della paused as a blush came to her cheeks; she gazed intently at the man, her brown eyes now beginning to glow with a smoldering passion, "... a man like you, George! Oh, kiss me! Just kiss me!"
Chuckling in his baritone voice, George murmured, "I was hoping you'd say that." He rose and put one arm around Della's waist and roughly drew her to him; then, planted a passionate kiss on her lips.
The woman moaned in pleasure, wrapping her arms around him, melding her body into his. She brazenly thrust her tongue into his mouth and let it roam like a snake. Meanwhile George's hands slid down to Della's wide hips that were covered by tight sateen pants. He began to squeeze her soft butt.
"You don't know what it's like, George," she murmured between raw, sensual kisses, "to see you everyday; to ache for someone as manly as you to hold me, to take me!"
"Oh, you are a sexy minx, Della," he whispered as he slid a hand up under the back of her sweater and with a quick motion unsnapped her bra.
Della's huge breasts sagged a bit as she quickly pulled up the sweater and bra and offered her bosom to George. With his lips still locked to hers in a savage kiss, his hands roamed over her breasts, kneading the warm supple flesh there; now gliding over her thick hardening nipples.
"Ah, ah, I'm on fire!" Della gasped. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed George down to her breasts, crying, "Kiss them, George, love them the way I've dreamed so many times!"
George sat on the breakfast bar stool as he pressed his lips deep into the flesh of Della's bosom, savoring the rich perfumed essence of her body. Then, still gently squeezing her breasts, he took a long nipple into his mouth and sucked like an infant. Della, running her hands over his thick wavy hair, sighed in ecstasy, saying, "Mm, yes, this is heaven!"
"Oh my word!" George heard a familiar voice cry. "What in the hell is going on here!"
Still holding Della's nipple in his mouth, George looked over to see his wife Janet standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Her mouth agape, she had a look of complete and utter astonishment on her pasty face.
George stood up as Della stepped back. Her eyes flashing with anger, Janet cried, "Della Sue Jenkins, oh you shameless hussy! I always did think you were a man-hungry slut!"
The outcry attracted the other party guests, who now crowded the doorway to see what had happened. When Della noticed that the men's eyes were directed about a foot below her face, she hastily pulled down her bra and sweater to cover her bosom that was still damp with George's kisses.
Her face aflame, Della said defiantly, "I couldn't help it! It just hit me all at once, what a fine sexy hunk George is!" She gestured to the man, who stood there in his wire-rim glasses and worn cardigan sweater; his light brown hair becoming thin and gray; a paunch at his midsection.
"What woman could resist him?" Della cried passionately. "Can't you see that beneath it all he's a sexual tiger? A strong, virile love machine?"
For a few seconds, Janet and the others looked at her in stunned silence. "No, it's only George," they all cried in unison.
"George, you've embarrassed me enough!" hissed Janet, her face dark with fury. "Come, we're leaving at once. And Della, I'll never speak to you again!"
George took a step, then held up his hands as at last he began to realize what was unfolding. "Wait now, wait. Just hold on! You mean, this actually happened? Della and I really were kissing!"
"Oh yes, George," Della sighed. "Your kisses are as sweet as sugar plums."
Glaring again at Della, Janet said to him in a steely voice, "Of course it happened, you nitwit! I saw it with my own eyes. You should both be ashamed of yourselves. Oh, I'll never live this down!"
A bewildered look on his face, George moved toward Janet and the door. He glanced back to Della, who made kissing motions with her lips, whispering, "Call me, hon. Any time."
Still thoroughly mystified, George followed his wife out the front door, past Myra's rose trellis and down the brick walkway to the street. Janet continued to rant nonstop. "George I've never been so humiliated that slithy tove Della must have been drunk to put her arms around you and let you kiss her and good grief to fondle those huge Tumtums of hers George what on earth were you thinking!"
"That's just it, Janet! I was only thinking about what it would be like to kiss her, honest! It never really happened ... did it?"
"Hah! What kind of beamish fool do you take me for! The way that frumious bandersnatch threw herself at you George it makes my blood burble what she sees in you I'll never know!"
Janet's voice, which after a while became a constant monotonous drone, could not distract George from the shock of it all. There could be no question. What had seemed another of his harmless sex fantasies was in fact reality. The faint aroma of Della's perfume lingered on his clothing; he could taste her lipstick on his own lips. It was a complete and inexplicable mystery.
Janet's icy glares the next morning confirmed that he had indeed played kissy-face with Della Jenkins. It truly happened. As baffled as ever, George left the house and went to his office at Prufrock Bookmarks, his own firm which manufactured quality bookmarks featuring great images from literature printed on them.
Unable to afford a permanent secretary, his temp this month was Anita Lovejoy, a pert blonde in her late twenties. Just after his morning coffee, she brought him several letters to sign, each a solicitation for new orders of bookmarks.
George glanced through them as he signed, noticing several typographical errors that the woman had failed to correct. He marked them with a red pen; then, said, "Miss Lovejoy, two of these need to be corrected and printed again. See the errors?"
The woman glanced at them, saying, "Yes sir, anything else?"
"Well, while we're at it," said George, "I'd like for you to ........ bend over my desk so I can spank your soft butt."
Miss Lovejoy's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh, have I been bad, Mr. Prufrock?"
"Yes," George smiled, giving her his patented Prufrock smile that would melt the coldest spinster's heart. "Very careless, Miss Lovejoy. And I consider it a boss's duty to remind his secretary to do her work correctly. Bend over, my dear."
Swallowing hard, the woman approached his desk. With a nervous smile, she reluctantly pulled up her A-line skirt and grasped the top of her nude pantyhose. She drew them down to her knees, then bent forward and placed her elbows on George's roll top desk.
Miss Lovejoy looked back at George, saying in a tremulous voice, "Are you going to spank me really hard, Mr. Prufrock?"
"Oh yes, Miss Lovejoy. A man must be firm with his secretary." He pushed her skirt up to her waist, now baring the woman's great round derriere. Her glorious cream-colored mounds seemed to glow in the office light.
"Oh my. Will it sting and turn my bottom a cherry red color, sir?"
"I'm afraid so, you little minx." With that George drew his arm back and gave Miss Lovejoy a sound smack on her right butt cheek. He followed this at once with an equally harsh whack on the left cheek.
"Oh! Aah!" gasped Miss Lovejoy, as she twisted her torso, yet arched her butt forward, awaiting the next smack. "Yes, I really am a naughty girl!" she cried.
For the next few moments the walls of the little office resounded with the sound of George's firm hand spanking Miss Lovejoy's soft butt. Soon her entire bottom was blushing red, heat radiating from it. George ran his hand over her warm flesh, squeezing and massaging her nether cheeks as he said, "Well, dear girl, have we learned our lesson?"
She looked back at him, gasping for breath, her eyes now aflame with passion. "I think so, Mr. Prufrock, but ..."
"Yes?"
"Maybe a few more smacks, just to be sure?"
"If you insist, Miss Lovejoy," he laughed in his rich baritone voice. What followed was another series of thorough whacks covering her butt; some hard, others light and stinging. From time to time came cries of "Oh, don't stop!" from the woman.
Finally George patted her rosy bottom, saying, "Now, shall we have those letters done properly, Miss Lovejoy?"
Breathing hard, her face as red as her butt cheeks, she turned and drew her pantyhose up over her hips. "Yes sir, of course sir." She gave him a warm smile, saying "It's nice to work for someone who knows what a secretary needs now and then. Especially a rugged handsome guy like you, Mr. Prufrock."