missing."
"That's right," Whitten returned. "I have that on film, too, by the way. Don put it away in the top drawer of his credenza on Wednesday afternoon, just before he left work. That proves he must have been planning to bring her here all along."
"It doesn't prove anything," I corrected, "although it may suggest that he was planning to bring someone here with him."
By now, the necking had escalated into a series of sexually aroused groans and whispers. I'm no Peeping Tom. Listening to or even watching somebody else make out isn't my idea of a good time.
"Look," I said impatiently. "Is there any point to all this?"
"Just wait," Bill Whitten replied. "You'll see."
Latty suddenly reappeared on the screen. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair in disarray. "Donnie, we've got to stop now while we still can," she said breathlessly.
"But I want you."
"I know you do. And I want you, too. But not like this. I already told you that, and we agreed. Let's quit now, please," she begged. "Take me home before we end up doing something we'll both regret."
Don Wolf followed Latty into camera range, his arms outstretched. "Oh, baby, don't do this to me. Don't tell me to stop, not now. Please. Just let me hold you."
Trying to pat her hair back in place, she slipped away from him and headed for the door. Don Wolf caught her by one arm and yanked her back to him.
"Ouch!" she cried out in surprise. "Donnie, that hurt. Let me go!"
But he gave no sign of having heard. "Please, baby," he murmured again, clasping her in his arms and pressing her against his chest. "Please don't leave me like this. I want you so much it hurts—so much that it's driving me crazy. I want—"
"No!" she said firmly, placing both hands on his shoulders and bodily prying herself away from him. "Let's don't get carried away. I don't—"
A demanding kiss cut off Latty's objection in midsentence. Don's encircling arms tightened around her once more, pinioning her against him. When she struggled to get loose, the two of them weaved back and forth, swaying jerkily like a pair of awkward dancers.
"Please, Don, don't," she said again, once she finally succeeded in freeing her lips from his. "That's enough now. No more."
There was a clear note of annoyance in her objection, but no alarm, no panic. Not yet, although there certainly should have been.
"Don!" This objection was firmer than the previous one, but she still wasn't actually fighting him. "Donnie, what are you doing? Stop it!"
But he didn't stop. Catching her off balance, Wolf effortlessly shoved Latty backward between the two captain's chairs in front of the desk. Latty's backward movement stopped abruptly when her hip slammed into the edge of the desk behind her. Yelping in pain, she sank back against the desk, trying to steady herself while at the same time attempting to separate herself from Don Wolf's overpowering embrace.
For a moment, it almost worked. In fact, he seemed to back off. He thrust her away from him. Further unbalanced by this unexpected shove, Latty fell back on the surface of the desk with a head-cracking thump. As she fell, he reached out and caught the bodice of her dress in one knotty fist. What followed was a terrible rip as the fragile material tore down the middle.
"Don!" she shrieked. "What have you done to my dress?"
I found myself gripping the arms of my chair. I felt like I did when I was a terrified little kid, sitting in a darkened theater next to my mother, watching Snow White about to take a bite of that terrible poisoned apple.
Don't take it, don't take it! I had willed silently to the lovely cartoon figure on the screen, while my tiny fingers had clutched the sticky armrests in helpless desperation. But no amount of little-boy urging had saved Snow White from her fate back then. And now, my adult gut-wrenching horror did nothing to save Latty from what was coming.
Don Wolf fell on her like an enraged beast, slapping her into submission, tearing off her panty hose
"That's right," Whitten returned. "I have that on film, too, by the way. Don put it away in the top drawer of his credenza on Wednesday afternoon, just before he left work. That proves he must have been planning to bring her here all along."
"It doesn't prove anything," I corrected, "although it may suggest that he was planning to bring someone here with him."
By now, the necking had escalated into a series of sexually aroused groans and whispers. I'm no Peeping Tom. Listening to or even watching somebody else make out isn't my idea of a good time.
"Look," I said impatiently. "Is there any point to all this?"
"Just wait," Bill Whitten replied. "You'll see."
Latty suddenly reappeared on the screen. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair in disarray. "Donnie, we've got to stop now while we still can," she said breathlessly.
"But I want you."
"I know you do. And I want you, too. But not like this. I already told you that, and we agreed. Let's quit now, please," she begged. "Take me home before we end up doing something we'll both regret."
Don Wolf followed Latty into camera range, his arms outstretched. "Oh, baby, don't do this to me. Don't tell me to stop, not now. Please. Just let me hold you."
Trying to pat her hair back in place, she slipped away from him and headed for the door. Don Wolf caught her by one arm and yanked her back to him.
"Ouch!" she cried out in surprise. "Donnie, that hurt. Let me go!"
But he gave no sign of having heard. "Please, baby," he murmured again, clasping her in his arms and pressing her against his chest. "Please don't leave me like this. I want you so much it hurts—so much that it's driving me crazy. I want—"
"No!" she said firmly, placing both hands on his shoulders and bodily prying herself away from him. "Let's don't get carried away. I don't—"
A demanding kiss cut off Latty's objection in midsentence. Don's encircling arms tightened around her once more, pinioning her against him. When she struggled to get loose, the two of them weaved back and forth, swaying jerkily like a pair of awkward dancers.
"Please, Don, don't," she said again, once she finally succeeded in freeing her lips from his. "That's enough now. No more."
There was a clear note of annoyance in her objection, but no alarm, no panic. Not yet, although there certainly should have been.
"Don!" This objection was firmer than the previous one, but she still wasn't actually fighting him. "Donnie, what are you doing? Stop it!"
But he didn't stop. Catching her off balance, Wolf effortlessly shoved Latty backward between the two captain's chairs in front of the desk. Latty's backward movement stopped abruptly when her hip slammed into the edge of the desk behind her. Yelping in pain, she sank back against the desk, trying to steady herself while at the same time attempting to separate herself from Don Wolf's overpowering embrace.
For a moment, it almost worked. In fact, he seemed to back off. He thrust her away from him. Further unbalanced by this unexpected shove, Latty fell back on the surface of the desk with a head-cracking thump. As she fell, he reached out and caught the bodice of her dress in one knotty fist. What followed was a terrible rip as the fragile material tore down the middle.
"Don!" she shrieked. "What have you done to my dress?"
I found myself gripping the arms of my chair. I felt like I did when I was a terrified little kid, sitting in a darkened theater next to my mother, watching Snow White about to take a bite of that terrible poisoned apple.
Don't take it, don't take it! I had willed silently to the lovely cartoon figure on the screen, while my tiny fingers had clutched the sticky armrests in helpless desperation. But no amount of little-boy urging had saved Snow White from her fate back then. And now, my adult gut-wrenching horror did nothing to save Latty from what was coming.
Don Wolf fell on her like an enraged beast, slapping her into submission, tearing off her panty hose
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