He was breathing hard now, from exertion; but he peeled off his dark businessman’s vest, loosened his cufflinks, and took off his shirt. Underneath, his body was huge, with sloping breasts that were almost as big as Della’s, and a belly that swung with its own ponderous weight. He leaned forward, panting, and took down his pants, and then his undershorts.

Della said, ‘Now? You want to do it now?’

He kicked aside his discarded clothes with his feet. He was naked now – a vast bulky Buddha – pale and hairy and imposing. He stood with his thighs apart, his fists on his hips, and the erection that rose from between his legs was dark crimson and challengingly thick. Unlike many fat men, whose sexual functions declined as their weight increased, Shearson Jones had kept up a greedy interest in women, and the size of his penis was renowned amongst more than a few Washington hostesses whose husbands occasionally found themselves posted abroad on State Department business.

Mrs Gene Bolsover had called it ‘the only pole I’d salute whether they ran a flag up it or not.’

Shearson took hold of Della’s arm, and pulled her towards him. Her wrap was hanging around her waist now, and he tugged it right off, so that she, too, was naked, except for her panties. He kissed her mouth, and pressed her close to his big pillowy belly, and squeezed her breasts until they hurt.

‘You’re a bitch, you see,’ he panted. His face was laced with shining sweat. ‘You’re a bitch who has to be taught to be appreciative.’

She had seen him in this mood before, but never so fiercely. He had never actually hurt her before, despite his bulk, but now it seemed as if he was going to try to force her to do whatever he wanted, both in bed and at work. She arched her back to get away from his thick-lipped kisses, but he wrapped his arms around her in a massive, spine-cracking bear-hug from which she just couldn’t break herself free. Apart from being huge, Shearson was also overwhelmingly strong.

‘I’m offering you everything a woman could want,’ he whispered, close to her ear. It was a harsh, uncompromising whisper that frightened her. ‘Everything you ever desired. Money, fur coats, pleasure, popularity. You can’t tell me that you’re going to say no.’

‘Shearson—’ she said, but he gripped her even tighter. Her lumbar vertebrae felt as if they were being compressed in a vice.

‘Come on, Della, you can’t say no! A million dollars, maybe more than a million dollars, and me, too!’

‘Shearson – I can’t—’ she gasped. ‘Shearson – I can’t – breathe properly—’