Lida Munson was twenty-four, with dark-brown hair cut in helmet style to frame an exquisitely insolent and lovely face. Her arrogantly large gray-green eyes and imperiously ripe mouth whose upper lip's prominence was in itself a sign of her superciliousness had bewitched many a man. And like the legendary Circe, that same beauty had made many a man despairingly lose his pride and self-esteem in attempting to win her, bed her and fuck her, all to no avail.
She gloried in her role of prickteaser. In this, she had perhaps been abetted by her mother, Alma Munson, who had been a vaunted debutante in her own heyday. Lida's father had divorced Alma about ten years ago, having become fed up with her extravagance, snobbery and utter selfishness. Even when Lida had been fourteen at the time of that separation, Daniel Munson had predicted, "Alma, your daughter is being brought up to be an exact copy of yourself, and it's going to hurt her. She's going to be a heartless bitch, who takes everything and gives nothing. She'll be beautiful, no doubt about it, more beautiful than you, and she'll certainly break more hearts than you ever did. God knows you broke mine. But I only hope that some day a man comes along and gives her her comeuppance."
To this day, however, Daniel Munson's prediction about his daughter had not yet come true. There was no doubt that many a man who had attempted to date Lida and who had tried his level best to woo her into disrobing and spreading her lovely long ivory skinned legs for a good fucking dreamed of taking the upper hand and making that dream come true. But no one yet had had the courage or the audacity to confront Lida with her own selfishness and to pull her down from her aristocratic pedestal.
At the time of the divorce, Daniel Munson had made a generous settlement on his wife, and since she had inherited a considerable amount of money from her own parents, Alma and her daughter were comfortably off. Alma was now fortythree, coquettishly silver-blonde, rather buxom and of medium height. Lida, on the contrary, was five feet seven inches in height, with long sculptured legs, high-perched pear-shaped titties, and an oval-cheeked bottom which undulated when she walked. Indeed, to see her walking was to have a furious erection if you were a red-blooded male.
Lida and her mother lived in a swanky Lake Shore Drive high-rise, whose doorman, Joe Kasper, often had wet dreams about both of these delectable females. On this particular bright May morning, as he tipped his cap to the mother and daughter and hurried out to the curb to blow his whistle to summon a cab, Joe was visualizing himself as the lord and master of a harem in which both Alma and Lida would be incarcerated. They would of course be wearing gauzy blouses and wide-filmy pantaloons, and dainty silver or gold cloth sandals and nothing else. Perhaps they would have slave bracelets on their wrists and ankles, and he would be lounging on a couch piled with perfumed pillows, stark naked and smoking a big black Upmann cigar. He would be deliberating on which one he would pick for the night, and found it a fascinating sport to conjure the pleasures which each in turn could give him. Alma was lush and built for plenty of browning, which Joe Kasper had secretly always yearned to do to a woman but to date never had. Perhaps she would be tied down over a domed cushion, blindfolded, with a Nubian executioner applying a manythonged leather whip over her big carnationtinted ass until she yelled out for mercy and promised to do anything he wanted. Then he would make her suck the Nubian's cock while the Nubian cupped her cheeks and forced her to that act of supreme self-degradation while he in turn, crouching behind her, gripping the cheeks of her well whipped ass, would force them asunder and thrust himself to the very balls inside her tight brownhole.
On the other hand, Lida, tall and haughty, seemed to promise more of a challenge for his rampant lusts. Joe Kasper in many ways was a highly imaginative man, though he was fifty, almost bald, and almost, alas, impotent. The fact was that he hadn't had a piece of pussy in a good ten years, so all of this was mere speculation. Nonetheless, it delighted him to weave erotic fantasies about the people who lived in the apartment building he so vigilantly guarded. And there was no doubt that the insolence of both Alma and her daughter Lida had often rankled in his easy-going, good-natured mind until he found himself dreaming almost nightly about the fulfillment of these erotic images in which Alma and Lida Munson played so vital a role.
The two women, to be sure, didn't have the slightest inclination of their doorman's feelings concerning them, and they couldn't have cared less, except that of course if Alma had known, she would have seen to it that he was fired without reference. In spite of the fact that Alma had done her share of fucking and indeed been somewhat unfaithful to her own unfaithful husband, she now regarded herself as a perfectly moral and proper matron. It was true that currently she was in the throes of a girl-loving affair, but she regarded that as inspirational and not at all immoral.
This particular morning, Alma was going to shop at Saks Fifth Avenue and then have lunch with her paramour, Brenda Stalway.
Brenda was a divorcee, thirtytwo, auburn-haired, tall and somewhat angular, though she had a magnificent pair of upstandingly rounded ass-cheeks and high-set closely spaced round titties. Her waist and legs were sleek and slim as Lida's, and her tawny skin was very soft and smooth-as Alma Munson had delightedly discovered about six months ago when the two women had out of sheer curiosity shared a bed for the first time.
Indeed, Alma looked forward impatiently to the end of her shopping so that she could meet Brenda for lunch at Maxim's in the Astor Towers, and thence rendezvous in Brenda's posh apartment on North Dearborn near Huron. As for Lida, exquisitely groomed in a suit coat-skirt combination that hugged her lithe hips and long legs in the most mouthwatering way, the supercilious virgin was on her way to work a few hours at a social welfare agency in Hyde Park. She drew a modest, token salary, but it wasn't the need for money which motivated her in doing this work. Having been graduated from Northeastern University two years ago, she had at once joined the Junior Leaguers, and when her rival, Eloise Prentice, had given a speech one day about how she was going to work with retarded children, Lida had jealously determined to go her one better. By taking this job, Lida had thus proclaimed her "tolerance" and her "humanitarianism," both qualities in which she was actually very seriously lacking. It was a front to present to the world, and it went hand in hand with her untouchable virgin act.
* * *
"Oh, darling, you're so good for me," Brenda Stalway cooed as she put her moist red mouth to one of Alma Munson's jutting round pink-sheened titties, her lips finding the stiffening bud of the nipple and taking it between them like a tasty tidbit. Her slim fingers were gliding down Alma's soft, deeply dimpled belly towards the black fronds which grew so luxuriantly at the very apex of Lida's mother's love core. Originally, Alma had been a mousy brown, and then had progressed from golden blonde to dark-brunette, then brunette and finally silver-blonde . . . but she had not dyed her pussy-hair and her paramour preferred it black and thick and curly as it was now. Brenda's slim fingers began to entwine with those tousled curls and to stir them about this way and that deliciously while Alma groaned and fondled Brenda's face between her soft palms. The two women lay on Brenda's bed, a huge low double-sized affair with no pillows and plenty of room for twisting and turning in the throes of pussy-passion.
Brenda wore only her garter belt and hose, while Alma more modestly had worn her slip, garter belt and hose to bed. The slip was now trussed up to her armpits, and she lay on her back with one knee drawn up and spread well apart to give Brenda's fingers access to the tenderest part of her anatomy. On her right side, turned to her lover, the auburn-haired divorcee continued to suck the rosy nipple till it grew hard and flinty and until Alma's bubbies began to rise and fall with a shuddering cadence which announced her arousal. Her left hand continued its playing with Alma's pussy-curls, while her right hand now moved behind Alma's neck, the fingertips gently massaging the cords and muscles of the round soft neck. It was a beatific prelude to their oncoming lusts.
"I really don't know how you could ever give yourself to a man, Alma," Brenda sighed. "They're so brutal, all they want is one thing. They just put it in and they don't have any conscience. They don't even care if you have pleasure. But I give you pleasure, don't I, Alma baby?"
As she spoke, her left forefinger slyly protruded inside the twitching pink lips of her lover's twat, finding the dainty clitoris and beginning to frig it delicately. Alma sobbed aloud in her joy, her upraised knees swinging even wider away to gape her crotch to Maximum, for the muscular tension of her groin and inner thighs seemed to intensify the furious sensitivity which this titillation was beginning to evoke.
"Darling?" Brenda huskily persisted as her fingertip pressed Alma's tickler back into the protective cowl of pink pussy flesh.
"Hmmmm? Ohh, don't stop, love me good, I need it so today. You've no idea the nervous tension I went through shopping this morning, lover," Alma Munson throatily replied. "Salesgirls are getting so insolent these days, it's just maddening to have to spend time shopping at all. They act as if they're doing you a favor waiting on you."
"Hush, baby," Brenda murmured, her lips now nuzzling the other nipple bud. "You're here to forget all this, remember? Mama is going to make you all comfy and relaxed, even if she has to spank your big baby-pink bottom."
"Brenda! You wouldn't do that," Alma giggled. She was pillowing her head on her arms now, closing her eyes and giving herself up to the sheer ecstasy of all this flattering attention. She could remember that her husband had been brusque and dominant with her, and that he had rarely brought her to climax. Of course the real reason was that she was as narrowly self-centered and selfish as her daughter. But in Alma Munson's own mind, there was never any question but what her husband had always been at fault.
"Wouldn't I just!" Brenda threatened teasingly. "You've got such a big wonderful bottom to spank, I would just love to tie you down and work on you with a hairbrush, you naughty girl you. But what I was saying, darling, was, what about Lida?"
"What about her, Brenda sweetheart?"
"I suppose she'll get married someday?"
"I hope not. She doesn't like men, and I think she's very wise."
"Do you think that maybe she is playing games the way we are, Alma dear?" the auburn-haired divorcee slyly inquired. Now, whispering something into her lover's ear, she wriggled astride Alma's shivering body, and at once Lida's beautiful mother spread her knees apart as far as she could to grant complete mounting privileges to the auburn-haired divorcee. As their titties frictioned together, as their cunts began to rub in the sweet rhythm of girl-loving, their mouths fused together, and now Alma locked her arms around Brenda's back and gave herself up to passion.
"Ohh-darling-oh it's so good-mmmmm! Ohhhh, love me good, I need it so bad today," Alma sighed wantonly.
"Tell me about Lida. Does she have any boyfriends at all?" Brenda pursued, halting her cunt-rubbing as she lay atop her paramour and staring down into Alma's widened dark-blue eyes which were now misty with rapture.
"Of course she doesn't! There are lots of people at the agency who would just love to date her, but she teases them. That's what all men deserve," Alma said, her voice beginning to shake and throb with her rising sensuality. "Oh please let's don't talk about men anymore, Brenda, do me, please do me!"
"I will, pet. Put your legs around mine, and hold on tight, I'm going to fuck you dry, you sweet bitch," Brenda whispered hoarsely.
"Brenda! How you talk!" Alma was scandalized but secretly delighted. From a man, she would never have tolerated such obscenities; from her divorcee paramour, she yearned to be dominated. Even the threat of that playful spanking which Brenda had just made sent waves of passion swirling through her system. What she and Lida both needed was the hand of the master, applied in the proper place. But it would be some time before that took place, and until then both mother and daughter were destined to agonize many a virile male who longed to fuck them and yet who could not understand their complete lack of interest in his powers.
"I feel the same way," Brenda continued. Lowering her head she put her lips to one of Alma's stiffened, darkened nipples and now began to flick it with the tip of her tongue. Alma Munson moaned and sobbed in rapture. Her legs were locked around Alma's bottom, and she was grinding her pussy impatiently, wanting to be girl-fucked the worst way. "Ohh, please, you're driving me crazy this way, Brenda lover, please give it to me!" she pleaded.
Brenda's right hand now moved under Alma's luscious ass-cheeks, and while her left forefinger returned to the moist and quaking love groove of her partner and began to frig Alma's clitoris again, her other forefinger found the wide crease between those jouncy, plump round bottom globes. Suddenly Alma squealed with tormented delight as she felt her bumhole goaded by her paramour's fingertip. "Ohh, what are you doing to me, you wicked thing! Ohh, it's lovely, oh it's so nice, oh yes, do it to me, do it to me hard!" she cried out stridently.
Brenda now began to grind pussy to pussy, both forefingers at work in the most sensitive zones of Alma Munson's palpitating body. Her right forefinger had probed almost to the hilt inside Alma's bumhole, and she could feel the walls contracting and gripping her finger and making it a prisoner as Alma's frantic ardors now began to seethe within her nervous system.
The combination of both forefingers together with Brenda's mouth and tongue paying homage to the erogenously stiffened nipples caused Alma Munson to jerk and weave and thresh about in a veritable erotic frenzy.
Now, imitating a man's prick, Brenda's forefinger began to move in and out of Alma's goosehole, until the silver-blonde mother of Lida was almost fainting with delirious passion.
Their simultaneous cries rang out and the bed creaked with their frenzied and embattled climax.
CHAPTER TWO
Last Friday night, haughty Lida Munson had scored a particularly satisfying triumph over handsome Jack Barton, a thirty-eight-year-old advertising executive who had met her at a cocktail party given by the wife of one of his co-workers and who herself was an honorary alumnus of the Junior League. Lida had been invited because of her social prominence and the humanitarian nature of her job, and Jack had taken one look and decided that here was pussy meant especially for his own virile prick. Jack Barton had been an only child and born to a millionaire father to boot, but it hadn't spoiled him. First of all, his uncle had swindled his father legally when he himself was only a minor, and his mother had died during the swindle so that he found himself at the age of eighteen on his uppers.
He had won a scholarship at Stanford, played a little football there though he had never made the first team. He had supported himself through college by working as a waiter and sometimes as a maintenance engineer. After graduation in Palo Alto, he had made his way to L.A., and there become an apprentice in a huge ad agency with branches in New York, Chicago, Denver, St. Louis, Boston and Philadelphia. Hard and unremitting work had earned him a supervisory job by the time he was thirty, and then he had been transferred to Chicago, his birthplace.
Jack had never married for several good reasons. In the first place, he had been so engrossed in his ambitious work to make himself financially independent and to enjoy what he was doing that he hadn't wanted the milestone of a wife. Secondly, most of the girls to whom he was introduced were too giddy, too sexy, or else too dowdy and intellectual. He hadn't yet met the perfect specimen, but when he had seen Lida at that cocktail party, both his mind and his prick had registered an immediate approval in her favor.
He had had, needless to say, many amorous experiences along the way, starting with a widow while he was going to college in Palo Alto who had taught him how to make a woman happy and the secret byplay of gamming her cunt to rouse her to feverish response. Consequently, he had grown up with the belief that any man who simply fucked a girl and didn't care about whether she had pleasure or not was an utter idiot. This belief had won him plenty of pussy and plenty of endorsements in the way that he treated it. He of course assumed that he would have the same success with Lida.
Near in g forty, Jack Barton was still ruggedly handsome. A lean jaw, intense blue eyes, curly dark-brown hair, and an athletic figure which he had retained since college with his six-foot-one-inch stature. He was a man's man so far as getting along with his co-workers was concerned, drinking with them-but not to excess-and he had personally brought in two half-million-dollar accounts last year which had made him the fair-haired boy at the Chicago agency branch.
Lida, for her part, found herself strangely attracted to this dynamic and forthright male, but she had never yet yielded her cherry and she wasn't about to do it just because she had a momentary twinge between her thighs on his account. However, she had allowed him to date her and take her to dinner and a show, and he had wisely refrained from trying to kiss her on that first date.
On the second date, however, he did kiss her, and she turned her mouth away at the last moment so that his lips met only her cheek.
But on this last Friday, on their third date, Jack Barton had tried to go just a little farther and he had been rudely rebuffed. He had taken her home, and in the lobby of the building, drawn her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth, pinning her arms so that she couldn't escape or resist. For a moment he had thought she was responding, as she went limp in his arms. As he released her, her right hand flew up and viciously slapped his face, and then she jabbed her heel on his toes.
As he swore in angry pain and surprise and stepped back, she remarked with a sneering smile, "You had that coming, Mr. Barton. I'm not used to being manhandled, and I'd just as soon we didn't see each other again. All you want is to go to bed with me."
"Why, you egotistic little bitch!" he had angrily countered. "Whatever gave you that notion? What you are is an iceberg, and you just don't want to be thawed out. If you want to know something, I was getting serious about you, even to the point of maybe seeing if we couldn't get married some day. But you think yourself so high and mighty, to hell with you, Princess!"
She had raised her hand to slap him again, but he had caught it with his left hand and given her a slap in turn which left her dazed and gasping as he strode out of the building and to his parked Thunderbird.
That night, in her bed, Lida had languidly tickled her pussy and pretended that she was being fucked. It was as close as she wanted to get to a man, and she was quite satisfied to enjoy erotic thoughts in this vicarious and non-involving way. She hadn't yet come to pussy rubbing, but Brenda Stalway had secret plans in that direction. Brenda was thinking to herself that it would be just wonderful to have both mother and daughter in her little bedtime harem.
Jack Barton, in his turn, discovered that he had got wildly excited by Lida's cool, poised beauty and that he was going to fuck her if it was the last thing that he ever did. But because he had a very erotic imagination besides having a stiff and very adequate cock, he began to plan ways and means of getting her alone with him so that he could give her a much deserved lesson in humility and submission. If Lida could have read his mind and seen the images that came crawling into it involving her kneeling at his feet naked and in chains with whip marks all over her lovely arms and shoulders and thighs and back and bottom, she might well have regretted her having led him on and then slapped his face so callously. But then, if she had had that much foresight, there would be no story to tell.. .
Jack Barton had done his fair share of reading erotic, and the notion of having a beautiful girl wait on him hand and foot in restraint fetters and bondage costume wasn't quite so way out to his nature as one might have thoughts first glance. Indeed, many a highly discriminating and passionate female over the past few years had discovered to her great delight that in spite of Jack Barton's rugged looks and very aggressive masculinity, he was capable of all the nuances of leading her up to swirling passion before inserting that mighty prick of his deep into her tender sheath. Many a girl, indeed, had squirmed and wriggled on the bed and pantingly sobbed, "Oh don't tease me like that, oh honey, give it to me, fuck me, shove it into me and cream me, I'm just dying for it!" And only when he was certain that his partner was on the threshold of come, did he at last, through masterful self-control, grant her that for which she asked . . . thereby insuring his own complete and shattering fulfillment.
Moreover, the idea of making a slave out of Lida Munson was not only just a figment of his imagination. It happened that he was on the best of terms with Dan Moroney, a black-haired, fortytwo-year-old bachelor like himself who happened to be the art director of the agency branch where he worked. And Dan had already managed to enslave luscious Isabelle Clarkson, golden-haired, ripe of form, heart-shaped of face and delectably twenty, whose soft pink skin was appetizing enough to make a man want to dine on her body and be quite content with that and nothing else.
Isabelle lived with a maiden aunt on the West Side of Chicago, and had gone to work for the agency about a year ago. She was a capable stenographer, but she had the distressing habit of being forgetful and rather irresponsible at times. Eventually she had been assigned by the office manager to Dan Moroney, and here she had met her Waterloo as well as her master.
This had occurred about three months ago, and after a month of Isabelle's inefficiency, mistakes in typing, forgetful in calling an engraver or printer to get plate proofs over to her boss, Dan Moroney decided that it was high time to take a literal hand in Isabelle's rehabilitation.
He knew that she needed a job very badly, because her parents had been killed many years before and had left her very little money. Her aunt had a small inheritance, and was now getting Social Security, so it was up to Isabelle to support herself as best she could, as she had no legacy to look forward to.
All her life, Isabelle had been adored, first by her parents and then by her aunt. Consequently, she had never known what it was to have her panties lowered and her ripely rounded pink-sheened ass subjected to the humiliating and painful correction of a good sound spanking.
And so on this one fatal Friday afternoon about two months ago, and about fifteen minutes before quitting time, Dan rang the buzzer for his private secretary. When she entered, deliciously clad in a blue pleated cotton dress which limned the glories of her round thighs, delectably dimpled knees and superbly full firm ass-cheeks, he gestured towards a chair opposite his desk, cleared his throat and said sternly, "Isabelle, I'm going to tell you something for your own good. You may have wondered why you've had so many bosses in the short time you've been here. They all like you, because you're sweet and good-natured and you try, and after all, help is hard to get. But you just don't cut the mustard, honey, and I've had it up to here-" he put his hand to his throat-"with your mistakes and general stupidity."
"Oh, Mr. Moroney, that's just awful-I didn't know you felt that way, I thought I was improving," Isabelle began to sniffle.
"You aren't, honey, and if anything, you're getting worse. I've come to the point of thinking that I'm going to have to fire you."
"Oh please don't do that, Mr. Moroney, I have to have this job so badly-I-I'd do just about anything if you'd give me another chance!" she groaned, clasping her lovely hands and leaning forward in an attitude of abject contrition and supplication.
Dan Moroney had already formed some secret desires concerning Isabelle Clarkson. When he had once seen her bending over a filing cabinet and noticed how her juicy ass thrust out tightly against the snug fit of her dress, he had had to exert all his mastery and willpower to keep from either spanking her violently or hoisting up her skirt and slip, lowering her panties, and giving her what she really needed. That thought was very much in his mind as he replied, "You've just made too many mistakes to be trustworthy, Isabelle. I'm art director here, and I have to keep everything on schedule. When you forget to call Joe Danvers about that Murray Brothers plate the way you did yesterday, you screw things up very badly. Then the agency gets hell, and if too many of those h things happen, the client decides to take his business elsewhere, and you and I might both be out in the street looking for jobs, get me?"
"Y-yes, s-sir," she quavered, and he saw two big tears glisten in her lovely blue eyes.
Dan Moroney lit a cigarette and scowled. He knew that Isabelle was impressed and in a particularly receptive mood, but yet he wasn't quite sure how far she would go. Still and all, things just couldn't go on this way. He gave her a steely look: "I tell you, Isabelle, I'm at the point of letting you go for good. I mean it."
"Oh please don't, Mr. Moroney!" The lovely golden-haired secretary rose, twisting her fingers anxiously in an attitude of prayerful supplication, and the tears began to course down her cheeks unchecked. "I'll work so hard, you'll see, oh please give me another chance! I'll do anything you want, I'll stay overtime and you won't have to pay me, but please don't fire me, just this once, please, Mr. Moroney!"
The tone of her voice was choked with tears, and it gave Dan Moroney a hard-on. He stared at her, his eyes glinting with avarice as he contrasted the agitated rise and fall of those big round titties, and imagined what it would be like to get his hands on them as well as his lips and tongue.
"Frankly, Isabelle," he said at last, trying to control his voice from being too hoarse and thus giving away his excitement, "if you were my daughter, I wouldn't fire you, I'd spank you. Maybe you'd learn how to be efficient once you got some discipline."
And to his amazement, he heard his golden-haired secretary quaver, "Oh Mr. Moroney, if-if you won't fire me, I-I'd be glad to take a spanking-I know-I know I did wrong, and I tried so hard but I guess I do deserve it, so if you want to, I'll let you!"
CHAPTER THREE
Jack Barton was remembering all this as he thought of Lida, sitting in his office, smoking a cigarette and trying to keep his mind on the Cortenbrook Furniture account, which he himself had brought into the agency. He was thinking that maybe if he used the tactics Dan Moroney had used on Isabelle Clarkson, Lida might even by now be his personal bed bitch and humble slave. Because Dan had told him this over lunch and while it was confidential manto-man news, the kind of which he wasn't-likely to spread around the office, just the same he was envious as hell of his colleague. Now, whenever he saw golden-haired Isabelle walking down the hall, he couldn't help undressing her with his eyes and mentally seeing her bending over the desk with her big pink-skinned bottom turned up to the ruler for the hand or a belt, and then hastily gobbling cock in an effort to prove how humbly submissive she had become.
He remembered how he had asked Dan what had happened next, after Isabelle had plaintively and blushingly agreed, through her tears, to accept the spanking in lieu of being fired on the spot. And Dan had painted so vivid a word picture that even now it was still fresh in Jack Barton's mind.
"You know, Jack, I've fucked plenty of girls, but this Isabelle Clarkson is something else again. It's funny I never really went in much for the spanking game in my past affairs with gals, but if I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't take a girl to bed until I had fantailed her good and hard. It makes them passionate as hell, take it from me. Maybe that's what you ought to do with this snooty socialite you're stuck on," Dan had remarked with a teasing wink.
Just thinking about the paces which Dan had put Isabelle Clarkson through and trying to relate them to haughty Lida Munson made Jack's prick bulge now, practically tearing the buttons of his shorts. But first of all, Dan had had a kind of unfair advantage over him, because Isabelle was a virgin and naive and eager to hold her job, and Lida wasn't in that league at all. No, first he had to get Lida in a perilous position where she would just have to give or else. And that would take some doing, he knew.
He closed his eyes and puffed at his cigarette now, remembering what Dan had told him, how it had all happened, and how Dan had got himself not only one of the most efficient and obliging secretaries in the whole office, but also one of the sexiest pieces of cunt any man could dream about having in bed beside him on a cold winter's night.
First of all, Dan had shaken his head and told Isabelle, "Well, talking about this sort of thing is one thing, Isabelle, but you know perfectly well as an employee in a business office, it isn't possible. First of all, if I did take your offer at face value and give you a spanking right now, you could bring all sorts of civil suits against me and get me fired myself."
"Oh, no, I wouldn't ever do that, Mr. Moroney," she had gasped, her face furiously crimson with her blushes. "I-I'd sign any kind of paper you want, or anything, just to prove to you I mean it! Please don't fire me, please, if you'd rather spank me and give me another chance at my mob, please go ahead and do it, I mean it, really I do, Mr. Moroney!"
And so Dan Moroney after some deliberation and reflection had made her sit down at his own typewriter in the corner and type out a statement that of her own free will she, Isabelle Clarkson, did hereby agree to a sound spanking in consideration for which she would be retained on probation, the extent of her tenure of job to depend entirely upon her unfailingly good conduct and efficiency in future, and finally that she would bring no suits for damages against him on any ground of assault and battery or indecent behavior. When she had signed it, and come back and stood across from him and handed him the signed document which indicated her total capitulation, he had taken a long deep breath and then nodded: "All right. I'll give you that spanking. But remember, this is of your own free will. And I think we'd better wait first to make sure that everybody in the office has cleared out."
Everybody had, by then, as it turned out. So Dan Moroney had gone back to his office, locked the door, hung out a sign "Do Not Disturb!" and then, taking off his suit coat, hung it up on the rack in his closet and emerged to order Isabelle to prepare herself.
"First of all, young lady, pull your dress and slip well up past your waist!" had been his first command. As soon as Isabelle Clarkson had obeyed, his eyes blazed to see that her luscious round ass-cheeks were tightly snugged in a pale-pink lycra panty girdle, whose narrow tabs hooked to the tops of her charcoal-brown nylons. The gauzy sheaths of her stockings emphasized the beautiful rondures of her firmly resilient calves and thighs, and when he saw the glimpses of baby-pink skin at the stocking tops, his prick was monstrous and aching with a savage need for relief.
Isabelle hung her head and closed her eyes, continuing to stand there very meekly holding up her clothes and waiting for the next order.
Dan Moroney had hesitated for a moment, then, not certain whether he ought to take Isabelle over his lap on the couch. If he did, he reasoned, the feel of her tummy and loins and thighs wriggling over his lap plus the sight of her voluptuous ripe round young ass squirming under the spanks might very well unnerve him and make him go farther than he intended to. He hadn't, he told Jack Barton at the time, intended to go all the way with luscious golden-haired Isabelle. He just wanted to spank the hell out of her sweet ass and get her on the right track for a change. After that, he had planned to date her and try to console her in a more leisurely manner. But the way things happened turned out to be so fast and furious and so passionately exciting that no man, unless he were made of stone, would have held off.
So he had told Isabelle to bend across the top of his desk, and had taken a pillow from the couch and brought it over for her to put her cheek on. Shivering, her hands clutching her up-drawn skirt and slip, she had closed her eyes and abandoned herself. The sight of her magnificent big bottom, plump and round and yet without the slightest excess to the contours, looming up and waiting for its first corporal punishment had almost made him burst with lust. He had decided to divide her spanking into two parts, first by hand and then using a ruler which he had in the top drawer of his desk. He took the ruler out and laid it on one side, so she could see it when she opened her big blue eyes. Then, moving behind her and to the left, closing his left hand on the small of her back, he raised his hand and applied a vigorous smack on the right summit. Isabelle started and gasped, opened her eyes and stared back at him, then quickly closed them and prepared herself for the resumption of her spanking. The second slap flattened the ripest curve of the other cheek, and her hips executed an involuntary wriggle which almost made him spend in his pants.
He had never, he told Jack Barton, felt such elastic, springy young flesh, and it intoxicated him. Hardening his heart, and resolved to give Isabelle Clarkson a really sound thrashing which she would long remember and which would serve as a Damoclean sword for her future conduct as his private secretary, he resumed the spanking. His hand rose and fell, with deliberate severity, pausing about fifteen seconds between spanks, alternating on the cheeks of that voluptuously ripe ass of hers. After about a dozen, she began to sob and squirm frantically, and after the twentieth, she turned her face to look back at him, her eyes very wide and glistening with tears, her red mouth forming an exquisite of plaintive anguish.
It was all he could do to keep from falling on her, ripping off the panty girdle and fucking her. But once again he steeled himself to remain a kind of impartial executioner who had a job to do and wished to do it without interruption.
By the thirtieth spank, Isabelle was crying, and her fingers were twisting her skirt and slip and her hips were twisting and wriggling and weaving so violently that he decided to call a halt for the time being so she could regain her composure.
"I hope, young lady," he said as severely as he could, trying to sound paternal and professorial, "that this is teaching you a lesson."
"Oh yes, s-s-sir," she sobbed. "I know I deserve it, and it hurts my poor bottom, it really does, Mr. Moroney! I'll be a good girl, you'll see. But please, please give me what I deserve and don't fire me, that's all I ask of you, please!"
So in the same breath that she was complaining about her lovely bottom hurting her, yet she was asking for more. That was his inference, and so he took a daring step forward: "You know, young lady, you've got a big solid bottom, and that panty girdle of yours is some protection. My hand is starting to hurt. I've only given you about half your spanking, Isabelle, so now I'm going to take your panty girdle down and give it to you on the bare. Remember, you signed an agreement, I didn't force you into it."
"I know-oh please-please, can't you do it over-over that? I-I think I'd die of shame if you-if you took it down-please, Mr. Moroney?" she pleaded.
"Absolutely not. If you think you've had enough, you can get up and go now. Only I'm going to have to look for a new girl next week," was his curt reply.
"Oh my! Oh goodness! All right, then, if-if you have to-I-I'll try to be brave, Mr. Moroney," she sobbed again.
His fingers were trembling as they began to unfasten the sheath, and finally he yanked it down in a single tug to her lower thighs. Before him thus appeared the sumptuous naked ass of Isabelle Clarkson, and the jouncy cheeks, upstandingly rounded, with a fullness to their summits which was absolutely prick-hardening. The wide shadowy crease between the globes led to both her tender love-clefts, and by now he was almost mad with lust.
Picking up the ruler, he returned to put his left palm on the small of her back to pin her down, and then, tapping her flaming ass with the ruler, and asked, "I'm going to give you thirty good swats on the bare, Isabelle. I want you to count them out. Any you miss will be extras."
He lifted the ruler, watching her crimsoned naked bottom-cheeks tighten and huddle in an instinctive maneuver to diminish their all too vulnerable salients. Then the ruler fell with a noisy "Smackk" and Isabelle's hips jumped and she uttered a squealing cry of "Oww, it stings so, oh please, Mr. Moroney, I'll be a good-girl, I swear I will!"
A second spank fell, an inch lower down, and then a third, before Isabelle Clarkson remembered and called out "Oww, ahhhh, three!"
"No it isn't three, Isabelle, you didn't count the first two. And it won't start until you officially call out the very first spank!" As he spoke, he applied a fourth cut of the ruler over the base of both shuddering ass-cheeks. This time Isabelle yelled out "Ahrrr, one, then, oh please, it stings, it hurts so!"
From then on, as he laid the spanks on with about twenty seconds between them, she called out each one, in a voice that progressively trembled and shook and was choked with sobs. Her little squeals and frantic cries, her frantic twistings back and forth of her crimsoning inflamed bare hips, made him almost die a thousand deaths of lust. By the time she had yelled out, "Ahrrr, thirty, oh thank goodness it's over, oh I'm dying, it hurts so, oh Mr. Moroney, I'll never do it again, I won't, I promise!, " he knew that he couldn't keep up this pretense of being a father-confessor to this lovely golden-haired bitch any longer.
The ruler dropped from his nerveless fingers. He took her by the waist and righted her, and then the miracle of miracles happened. Twisting round sinuously, Isabelle Clarkson flung her arms around his neck and, burying her tearstained face against his chest, sobbed out in a muffled tone, "Oh Mr. Moroney, oh that was just what I needed, I'll be good, I'll do anything you want from now on, you'll see, I'll be the best secretary you want from now on, you'll see, I'll be the best secretary you ever had!"
As he held her, his hands slipped down to the red inflamed hillocks of her voluptuous naked ass, and as she wriggled against him, her cunt rubbed against his bulging prick. At that point he didn't care whether she was a virgin or a nymph; he had to fuck her. He cupped her chin with one hand then, tilted her mouth up and crushed his upon hers. Her arms tightened round him and with a little whimpering sigh of content, she abandoned herself. His left hand continued to squeeze her flaming naked ass-cheeks, reveling in the velvety softness of them, in the warmth, and in the agitated muscular tensions and flexions which visited those gorgeously opulent hemispheres.
Her mouth opened, and he thrust his tongue deeply inside. Now his right hand went back to her ass, so that both hands were luxuriatingly squeezing and palpitating. Isabelle Clarkson, virgin though she might be, didn't seem to resent this kind of treatment at all. If anything, she whimpered even more exquisitely, pressing herself tightly against him, locking her arms as snugly as she could around his sturdy back and abandoning her mouth. Then her own tongue began to respond to his, and the electrical currents which went through him made him almost burst with rut.
Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. He clutched the base of her ass with both hands, lifted her off her feet, and bore her over to the couch, then lay her down on it. She didn't protest at all, and she was panting and gasping as he suddenly dragged down his zipper, let his swollen prick emerge, and then got over her.
"I've got to have you, Isabelle, secretary or not, I've got to," he panted.
"Oh darling, oh Mr. Moroney, oh yes, I want you to have me, oh my, how you spanked my poor bottom, I'm so hot for you, if you want to know something, I've always wanted to be your girl-but I never had the nerve-oh darling Mr. Moroney, do it to me!" came feverishly from her lovely, trembling, tearstained, soft red mouth.
With a cry of joy, Dan Moroney pressed his prick between the soft pink twitching lips of Isabelle Clarkson's pussy. His fingers dug into the inflamed hillocks of her well-spanked ass, and her legs clamped round him as did her arms as, virgin though she was, intuition taught her how to please a man.
Her hymen wasn't quite so resilient and resistant as he had feared. After one or two thrusts, it yielded rather easily, and her cry of momentary pain was smothered by his draining, sucking kiss. After that first apprehension, Isabelle Clarkson gave herself up totally to being fucked. He felt himself thrust into her to the very balls, and her tight warm moist sheath gripped him with the contracting spasms of her agile love walls.
It was, he told Jack Barton, the most furious fuck he had ever had. He had to grind his teeth together to keep from going off too soon, because he wanted to prolong it to the utmost. But the feel of that tender tight cunt kissing and clipping and nipping and gripping his swollen ramrod was just too much.
So he did burst into her, and then he hurried to his private washroom and sponged them both off, and then he got back on the couch with her and began to kiss her and fondle her. By then he had got her to pull off her dress and slip entirely, and his hands had tremblingly removed her bra. Naked except for stockings and pumps, Isabelle Clarkson wantonly yielded the second time, and this time, thanks to his frigging of her tickler, she was drawn to as furious a climax as he himself.
Thus it was that now after a happy month of fucking, Dan Moroney and Isabelle Clarkson were not just boss and secretary but master and slave, and yet only he, Jack Barton, knew it beside those two. If only, he thought angrily to himself, he could find some way of getting Lida Munson into a similar situation so that he could lead her from that austere and pedestaled superiority of hers, that prick teasing denial of men which was her stock in trade, to as abject and humbled an estate as golden-haired Isabelle was now so happily enjoying. But how to bring that off, that was the question!
CHAPTER FOUR
Lida Munson leaned back in her swivel chair in the office of the Hyde Park Social Agency at Blackstone near 53rd Street and lazily smiled up at the angular-featured man who stood beside her. He was Mark Denby, the nominal head of the agency, and she knew that he hated her guts, for more than one reason. The most important, and the one that pleased her most, was that he had the hots for her pussy. Ever since she had come to work on a parttime basis, interviewing needy Hyde Park families who were applying for a modified kind of welfare or the agency's help in finding them jobs, Lida had gloried in discovering that Mark Denby was crazy for her. Of course, he hadn't said a word; he was too much of a gentleman. But his dark eyes glittered, and there were times when she looked quickly back over her shoulder to find him staring avidly at her with a look that practically took off everything except her panties, and didn't put them back on again.
Mark Denby was fifty, and his unfaithful wife had left him about ten years ago. He hadn't bothered to contest the divorce, so as to get rid of her and not have to pay alimony. His own needs for nooky were reasonably well taken care of by a bespectacled dark-brown-haired thirty-year-old aide named Phyllis Jorgensen. Phyllis had, out of sheer desperation on Mark Denby's part, become a kind of proxy substitute for luscious Lida.
The agency had been in existence about two years and was funded by wealthy merchants and private citizens of the area, their contributions being, of course, tax deductible. That was one reason why the agency paid very little money, but the real reason that Phyllis loved her job was that she herself in turn had a kind of shy admiration for his father-like image. She had never married, and some people thought her plain, with her dark-brown hair always done in a dowdy bun at the back of her head, with her glasses and lack of make-up. She was an only child, and her father had often taken down her little panties and spanked her bottom, up to the age of fourteen. Then he had had a heart attack, and Phyllis had mourned him more deeply than she had known. Unfortunately, these spankings and the handling of her nubile body had aroused her to the point where even at fourteen she was frigging her tender pussy with her delicate finger, alone in her bed late at night, and reliving the moments when her father had prepared her naked seat for a sound spanking. Towards the end of that relationship, she had even gone out of her way to invent misdemeanors for which she would be punished, and she was in a seventh heaven of delight when his hand began to fall upon her bare tingling ass. She would wriggle and twist and kick, showing him all she could of her pussy, which was beginning to sprout soft, curly brown hairs and which showed the dainty pink lips in all their crystalline purity.
Because of that relationship with her father, and because she really detested her mother, who was a gossipy socialite and who had little use for her in turn, Phyllis Jorgensen had kept herself faithful all through high school, though she had gone on occasional petting parties with boys who had brought her almost to the peak of passion. But she had kept her maidenhead, and it wasn't until she began to work for Mark Denby at his invitation that she at last became a woman.
She had been a secretary for a law firm, an then for an insurance company in the Loop, when Mark Denby had moved into Hyde Park, actually into the building next to the one in which she lived. Her mother had died two years previously, so Phyllis was completely independent, but still a virgin. One evening, as she was going to the corner for a newspaper, she espied tall, lanky Mark Denby walking on the other side of the street, and she had stopped with a gasp, for he had been almost the spitting image of her adored dead father.
When she saw him turn into the building next to hers, she knew with a burning certainty that she was going to have to meet him in a way that wouldn't be too forward. To that day, Phyllis Jorgensen had never used the four-letter words, much less thought of them. But all at once she wanted this thin, aloof man to do all sorts of things to her most intimate person. That night she went home and masturbated until she had two hot comes, and fell asleep dreaming that he was fucking her, after first giving her a good sound spanking for having been so naughty.
To her delight, the next evening he spoke to her pleasantly, and she was able to talk to him. She discovered that he was the newly appointed agency director. Her father had left her a trust fund with enough money in it so that she didn't have to starve, in the event she didn't have a job. To her own surprise, Phyllis Jorgensen found herself stammeringly and blushingly offering her services to the new director, and she nearly fainted from joy when he accepted her offer, though warning her that she couldn't expect much money.
But it wasn't until about a year ago that the advent of Lida Munson as the haughty socialite Lady Bountiful had brought about the circumstances which brought about for yearning Phyllis the opportunity to lose her cherry and to enjoy once more the burning ecstasies of being humiliated and then spanked on her naked ass.
She had done her work efficiently every day, sending burning thought-waves to him, but until then he hadn't paid much attention to her. Finally, in desperation, and after many a sleepless night after which she had had to frig herself to sleep to relieve the burning tensions which were consuming her pussy, Phyllis Jorgensen decided to get his attention, come what may. She used an artifice which perhaps Isabelle Clarkson unwittingly had employed to win Dan Moroney as her lover in turn.
A family had made application for a small loan, and it was just about ready to go through. All it needed was Mark's signature. Phyllis Jorgensen calmly and deliberately tore up the application and pretended to know nothing when, a week later, an irritated Mark Denby called her into his private office and wanted to know what had become of the Herbert application. Blithely she replied, "I really don't know, Mr. Denby. I vaguely remember seeing it, but I really don't know what became of it." He was horrified at her flippancy and lack of concern, and when at that very moment he had another call from the frantic applicant himself, he hung up and angrily told Phyllis, "That was Mr. Herbert on the phone, Miss Jorgensen. He tells me that he came in ten days or more ago and was at your desk when you typed it up, and you assured him it would be signed by me that very day. Now you just go back to your desk and look for it."
He had followed her back to her desk, and of course it wasn't there. It had been past quitting time and even luscious Lida had long since gone back to her Lake Shore Drive apartment. Part of Mark Denby's irritation was the way she had flounced out of the office, walking slowly and shaking those magnificent ass-cheeks so that she could be sure he would see them and lust for them-which of course he did. In fact, it was all he could do to keep from letting his erection show to virginal Phyllis as he stood over her desk and watched her rummage through the drawers of her desk.
"I can't understand such inefficiency, Miss Jorgensen," he at last exploded. "It's not like you at all! Really, I'm beginning to wonder if you're compatible with this job."
It was then, worried lest he fire her and that she wouldn't be around to bask in the father-image which had meant so much to her already, that Phyllis Jorgensen tremblingly and blushingly confessed the wicked thing she had done in tearing up the Herbert application.
He had stared at her, nonplussed, then gasped, "But for God's sake, why did you ever do a thing like that?"
Finally, truth had prevailed, and it was the best maneuver she could have invented. Sobbing, dabbing at her eyes with a perfumed handkerchief, she had stammered, "I-I wanted you to notice me, Mr. Denby. I-I-well, I admire you so, and I just couldn't stand it. You're always looking at that Lida Munson, and I wish it were at me instead. Oh dear, I know you must think me just dreadful, but I can't help it. I-I'm very fond of you, Mr. Denby, in a way that no employee should ever be of her boss. And if you want to fire me, I guess there's nothing I can do about it."
Then, to her thunderstruck delight, he hand chuckled, glanced back at the door through which Lida Munson had pranced so flirtatiously and provocatively, cleared his throat and said, "I think we ought to talk this over-over a good dinner, Miss Jorgensen, first."
And so they had, at Morton's, famous for its steaks. After that he had taken her back to his apartment, and to her overwhelmed ecstasy, said to her that she had acted just like a silly little girl who wanted to draw attention to herself, and that what she needed was a good sound spanking. She had heard herself admitting to the charge and agreeing that he was perfectly right. She had stood there numbed, her heart pounding madly, as he had suddenly sat down in an armchair, pulled her down in an armchair over his lap, pulled her skirt tight over her upturned bottom, and then began to spank her quite energetically.
After about twenty, she was crying, not out of shame but because his hand really stung her tender ass. Mark Denby himself was inflamed, not over Phyllis Jorgensen, but because he saw in his imagination Lida Munson on his lap submitting to the degradation and atonement which he had envisioned for her, instead of poor, pathetic Phyllis Jorgensen. In his excited, mounting frenzy, he had suddenly pulled up her skirt and petticoat and yanked down her panties, and to her absolute rapture, clutching her waist with his left arm, resumed the spanking, this time on her already vividly reddened naked bottom.
When it was over, she was breathless, panting, gasping, sobbing, and by then his prick was in a ferocious state of erection. When he finally released her and helped her stand, totteringly, before him, she couldn't help noticing the protuberance against his trouser's fly. And then suddenly intuition had told her what to do. She had flung herself on her knees, wrapped her arms around his legs, and with tears running down her cheeks had looked up at him and panted, "Oh darling Mr. Denby, I deserved that so much! Now, please, won't you love me a little bit the way I love you?"
And out of her own boldness, brought on by that burning father image and the traumatic passion it had created all these years, trim, prim, demure and certainly very mature Phyllis Jorgensen had boldly put her hand against his bulging cock and begun to fondle it through his trousers.
Then it was his turn to be thunderstruck. He yanked down the zipper and let her see in its full vigor and menacing rigidity the angrily redtipped weapon of his manhood, and Phyllis had kissed it wildly, sobbing in her mingled awareness of her own audacity and her own secret bliss at being at last allowed to profess her desire for this man who was the very image of her father, and thus his substitute by proxy.
He had lifted her up by the armpits, pulled her against him, kissed her hard on the mouth and muttered, "All right, Phyllis honey, you'll get what you want, and so will I. I'm going to make a woman of you tonight."
And oh! how he had! He carried her in his arms to his bedroom and there undressed her, down to her garter belt and stockings. And even though she lay there in glasses and that summary attire, for the first time he had seen her as she really was.
Five feet six inches tall, with small but perfect orange-shaped titties, a slim waist, lithe hips whose saucy round ass-cheeks which he had already chastised, long, nervously muscled thighs and high-set calves. She had a soft, warm olive skin, and the thick bush of her cunt made her look exceptionally provocative and wanton as she lay there on her reddened ass, waiting for him with a frantic eagerness.
He had stripped naked, fitted a condom to his massively swollen cock, then got atop her. He had been gentle with her cherry, so her pain had been momentary and very slight. But once she felt him plowing deep into her cunt, once her stockinged legs wrapped happily around him and her arms hugged him until she nearly choked the breath out of him, Phyllis Jorgensen knew at last that she had achieved her long pent-up desire.
Since then, whenever Lida Munson's antics roused Mark Denby to almost ungovernable sexual fury, it was Phyllis Jorgensen who could take off his edge and give him what he needed, at the same time satisfying her by now immoderate yearning to be spanked and then fucked. By now she was wise enough to understand that she served as Lida's substitute, but she would cheerfully have gone to the stake for Mark Denby, and was content to be his bed-bitch and his whipping-girl whenever he desired her as such.
The agency office was dark now, and only Mark Denby and Phyllis Jorgensen were left there. This time, exacerbated more than usual by Lida's exasperating prickteasing ways, Mark Denby knew that he was going to use Phyllis's cunt and ass to satisfy his frustrated lust for the beautiful young socialite.
"Don't go yet, Phyllis." he sternly commanded. He strode to the door of the agency and locked it, then went to the windows and drew down the blinds. There was a couch in the little reception room just off the agency, and it was here the sacrifice would take place. Seating himself on the couch, he beckoned to her.
"Take off everything except your bra, garter belt and stockings, even your shoes, Phyllis, and do it quickly or I'll give you an extra hard spanking on that big bottom of yours!" he ordered.
"Ooooooh, oh darling, oh Mark, yes!" Phyllis gasped, her cheeks reddening with a combination of delight and shame as she hastened to obey.
Reaching behind her to unhook her own bra and let it flutter to the floor, she blushed even more deeply when she saw that his eyes feasted on the orange rounds of her bubbies. And then he angrily demanded, "Don't you listen to me when I give you an order, young lady? I told you to keep your bra on, but to take your panties off. You're going to get extra for that, you know. Well, since you've taken it off, just leave it off. Now go over to my desk, look in the top drawer and bring me my ruler. After I spank your big bottom, I'm going to give it a few whacks with the ruler. Maybe that'll teach you that when I give you an order, you're to do what I say."
"Oh yes, darling," she had groaned in her masochistic anticipation.
He had watched her morosely as she moved quickly back to his office and bent to his desk. She had removed her panties first, so she was naked except for her garter belt and hose. He closed his eyes and pretended it was Lida being sentenced to a good bare-ass whipping, going there in tears to bring the instrument of correction back to him, going down on her knees to beg through her sobs to have mercy on her. He would make that bitch kneel down at his feet and hold up the ruler and beg him to give it to her on the bare ass until it really stung and made her cry. Then he would make her beg off by sucking him dry, for a starter.
She came back to him now, and the contrast between her voluptuous body and her prim face, streaked with tears and the red blushes though it was, almost made him forget his impossible and unattainable passion for Lida Munson. He could see the thick bush of her cunt hair, his prick swelling in joyous anticipation. She had a tight cunt, and she fucked like a mink now that she had been properly broken in. She also had begun to take the pill, so he didn't have to bother about those damned safes which cut down the sensation when your cock was deep inside a tight love-sheath like hers. He could feel all the nipping and gripping and clutching of that tight channel once he was bladed to the balls inside of her.
She stood contritely before him now, her head bowed, holding out the ruler in a trembling hand.
"Grip it in your teeth and get right across my lap, young lady," he said sternly. With this he zipped down his fly and exposed his rigidly swollen cock. "If you drop it before I've finished giving you your first warm-up spanking, you'll get double what I had planned for you. That'll be sixty, Phyllis, don't forget it."
She shook her head and promptly stretched herself across his lap. Her body rubbed against his prick-head, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from losing his juices. Tucking in her waist with his left hand, he began to caress her flanks with his right, the long, svelte, nervous thighs, the beautifully sleek calves. But it was when his hand was on her warm thighs, the bare skin of her voluptuously rounded ass, that Phyllis closed her eyes and moaned with bliss, wriggling and squirming, because she was so full of bliss she couldn't stand it. This evening she could have dispensed with the spanking, but of course she knew why he was punishing her. It was that bitch Lida's fault. Oh, how she would love to tie Lida up and whip hell out of her, until the bitch would say yes to her darling Mark. Maybe it would happen one day. What she wouldn't give to have it happen! So that finally her beloved Mark would know that she had imagination, too, and that she could be as good a lover as Lida ever had it in her to be for any man.
Now the spanking began. Phyllis had to concentrate with all her might on clutching the ruler between her teeth and controlling her gasps and moans as the spanking continued with exemplary vigor. Her bottom was flaming by the time he had finished the forty good hard spanks, but she hadn't dropped the ruler. Tears were flooding her cheeks and when he pulled the ruler away from her, she gasped, "Oh, that hurt! Oh please give me a minute!"
"Absolutely not! You've been bitchy all day, so now get yourself ready, Phyllis," was his curt rejoinder.
And then the ruler came down with a Crack and her hips jumped and lunged, and he tightened his grip around her waist, as her hips jumped and lunged. He counted out the spanks up to thirty, and this time Phyllis kicked her legs frantically, not caring whether she showed her cunt to him or not. While she still lay over his lap, sobbing as if her heart would break, he flung the ruler down on the floor and commanded, "Now go get the ruler and crawl back and hand it to me, and thank me for the spanking while you do it."
She had become so servile and so eager to please him that this demeaning command did not halt her or cause revolt in any way. Still sniffling and gasping, one hand comforting her burning behind, she got down on her knees and crawled over to the ruler, and then crawled back and handed it to him. Then, on her knees, she sobbingly thanked him for the good sound spanking he had given her.
Mark Denby flung himself onto his back on the couch, his prick standing straight into the air. "Now get over there and put it into your cunt, and you do the work tonight," he said coarsely.
"Ooooh, yes! Oh yes, Mark darling, my love!" she said excitedly. And then modest, prim, bespectacled Phyllis Jorgensen was kneeling astride her boss's prick and fitting it with one hand into her twitching cunt, the lips of which she forced open with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand. Then she sank down with a groan of delight, and then she began to arch up and sink down until at last she sank down over him and his arms held her rightly, mashing her round titties against his panting chest.
So Lida Munson had unwittingly aroused the savage passions of a mature grass-widower and of an over-mature spinster who came together in a kind of search for consolation from the arousals which the vain prickteasing socialite had caused. All these things were coming to bear upon the case of Lida Munson, and it wouldn't be long before she paid her dues!
CHAPTER FIVE
Jack Barton lit a cigar and leaned back on the couch in the living room of his South Shore Drive apartment. Thinking about Dan Maroney and the latter's luck with golden-haired Isabelle Clarkson, he was beginning to come to the conclusion that the only way to get through to Lida Munson was to confront her with force and violence. But of course to do that would be very risky, for she was exactly the sort of haughty bitch who would have him thrown in jail if he dared to lay a hand on her. And where he most wanted to lay his hand was on her gorgeous naked ass until she couldn't stand it anymore and broke down and begged for mercy and promised that she would do just everything she was told.
How to get her in a spot like that, that was really the question. He had already found out that she worked as a kind of condescending angel of mercy in the Hyde Park welfare agency. A scheme was fomenting in his clever mind. If he could have Lida kidnapped by a ruthless gang who would threaten her with all sorts of bodily harm and then come in and save her, just at the point where she was hysterically ready to do just about anything in the world to escape punishment, there would be a good chance for him to take advantage of her overwrought emotions.
He had no doubt that if she kept playing the part of prickteaser with all the relief clients she would have to interview on her job, she was bound to antagonize a couple of red-blooded studs who would really want to whip ass till she learned her lesson. So the trick would be to scout up round the neighborhood she was working, maybe talk to some of the jokers she dealt with, and see if he couldn't work out a cute little plot to give Miss Lida Munson a very long-overdue settlement on her account.
It had been a warm July day in Chicago, and the air conditioning was turned on full force. Jack Barton had a four-room apartment in a new building on the tenth floor with superb view of Lake Michigan. He also had an air conditioner in his bedroom, because occasionally he liked to fuck in summer just as he did in winter, and an air conditioner kept from getting the sheets too damp with sweat. He was expecting a cute little waitress, Cornelia Dodson, who worked every Tuesday and Thursday and Saturday night at Praxton's, a rather fashionable restaurant near the South Shore Country Club. Cornelia wasn't a pro at all, but the thing of it was that he had happened to go into Praxton's about two weeks ago on one of the nights she was working the table where he usually sat by the window, and he had been smitten by her charms. She was about twenty-seven, rather slim but with surprisingly ripe bottom-cheeks and high-perched, closely set round titties. She wore her black hair in a pony tail, and she also wore earrings which gave her a very sophisticated look.
She wasn't a virgin, he knew that already. In fact, she had been married when she was twenty to a jazz musician who had got the drug habit and whom she had finally divorced when he started believing that he could make enough money for his habit by peddling her pussy to some of his well-heeled friends. The divorce had taken place two years later, and Cornelia had been left on her uppers, so she had gone to work as a waitress, first at Morton's right in Hyde Park where Lida worked, and then here at Praxton's about two years later.
About a week ago, he'd been eating there rather late because there had been a big conference at the office, and the restaurant had been just about empty except for two or three other diners way over at the other end. So Cornelia had been able to give him plenty of good service and they had had a chance to talk quietly without the snoopy gray-haired fat woman manager thinking that anything was amiss.
Cornelia had had a little crisis, and she needed money very badly. Her mother was sick, living in a small Nebraska town, and Cornelia wanted to send her at least a hundred dollars so that she could have a doctor give her a good checkup and maybe send her to a hospital. Jack Barton had said, without even thinking, "I'll give you the hundred, Cornelia, don't worry about it. When you're done tonight, why don't you come up to my place and I'll give it to you right then and there."
So she had. She'd been very red in the face when she'd accepted the money, and she'd stood there expecting him to make a pass at her. But he'd surprised her by not doing anything except saying that he'd see her again and maybe after her mother was all right, they might have a date together. She'd been so grateful that she'd hugged him and kissed him.
And tonight she was paying off the debt. Her mother had had a checkup, and was going into the hospital for an operation. But the doctor that it was a benign tumor and not a serious one.
She had as much had told him that she was ready to fuck, because she'd said, "Mr. Barton, I don't know when I can pay you back that money, but I'll be nice to you if you'll write it off that way. I-I'm not a hustler, please don't get me wrong, but I do like you a lot, and if you'd be kind enough to let me settle my debt that way, I'm sure I could give you a good time."
Even though she wore rather cheap nylons, he'd already noticed what delightful legs she had. Besides, thinking about Lida Munson always gave him a hard-on, and he could perhaps pretend that Cornelia was the haughty socialite.
So all he wore tonight was his bathrobe and, under it, a pair of shorts, and sandals. He was puffing at his cigar when the door bell rang. He'd told her to come around after she'd finished her shift, which ended about tenthirty. It was now quarter of eleven, and he was all keyed up.
He got up and opened the door, and Cornelia came in quickly, lowering her eyes and blushing. She had a very nice pale white complexion, and she wore her waitress dress and a light cape over it and a turban of blue felt. He helped her take off the cape and took that and the turban and put them in the closet. She shivered a little as she stood facing him, arms at her sides, not quite sure of how to began.
"Now don't get the idea that I think you're cheap because of this, baby," he said roughly. Now that he looked at her and smelled her nice perfume, he really had the hots for her. It would be a long time before he could work out his scheme to involve Lida Munson, and meanwhile his prick needed action.
"I-I guess I've never done anything like this before, Mr. Barton-"
"That's very evident, baby. But why don't you start by calling me Jack? And let me get you a drink. What do you like, Cornelia?"
"If maybe you have some Scotch, I'd like that very much," she said softly.
"No sooner said than done." He put his arms around her shoulders, gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and then said, "Go sit down and relax on the couch, and I'll be back in a jiffy with our drinks."
A few minutes later, they were sitting side by side, and Cornelia was a little more at her ease. He had made it a good stiff drink, and it had done her a world of good. Color was coming back into her cheeks, and she was glancing at him and smiling a little nervously, but smiling anyway. He didn't want her to feel that she was a virgin martyr going off to the lions with all the crowd watching. He had a feeling that Cornelia could really fuck.
"Now don't be afraid of me, baby, I like you a lot and I'm not going to rough you up," he told her huskily as he moved closer, his arm around her waist, his right hand cupping her chin and putting his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss which would allay her fears.
Cornelia gave a little whimpering sigh, then put her arms around his shoulders, closed her eyes, and returned his kiss with interest. He began to feel quite interested in her. His prick was throbbing fit to kill, and it wasn't all Lida's doing. She was really a sexy little bitch, Cornelia was. Nice long legs, and a sweet butt and nice bubbies and a fine warm white complexion. A man couldn't really ask for more from a one-night stand.
Her black waitress dress hiked up above her dimpled knees, and he slipped his right hand down to one of her knees and began to caress it. Soon his hand was gently moving under the skirt, and he felt Cornelia suddenly tighten her thighs together, and whispered, "Relax, baby. I'm not going to rape you."
"I-I know. You-you are nice, Mr. Barton-I-I mean, J-Jack. It's only-well, since I got my divorce, I think I've only had one fellow and that was a couple of years ago. I'm not too experienced at this, but I want-I want you to like me."
"I do a great deal. I told you, relax. Now let's try kissing a little till we warm each other up," he suggested.
So saying, he put his mouth to hers, and both his hands went to her shoulders and pulled her gently to him. She closed her eyes again and surrendered her mouth. Delicately he flicked his tongue between her lips, and heard her gasp and felt her shiver and then felt the spasmodic clutch of her arms.
His hand was working up slowly. Now it was under her skirt halfway up her thigh. It was a lovely plump thigh, even though it looked long. It was firm and it was quivering. A little more, and he had reached her stocking top, and there the flesh was warm and just lightly moist. His prick was maddeningly swollen now, because he knew he was going to get cunt for the first time in a long while. He envied Dan's success with golden-haired Isabelle, and he almost felt like turning Cornelia over his lap, pulling down her panties and spanking her beautiful bare ass until she promised to do anything in the world, including giving him a good blow job. But he felt that Cornelia was perhaps even more sensitive and delicate than the haughty socialite bitch Lida for whom he really had an insatiable and incurable desire.
By now his right hand had attained the hem of her panties. Every so often, probably out of instinct, Cornelia would clench her thighs together very tightly, and he would leave his hand there and just caress the bare skin until she felt less apprehensive. Now she was opening her thighs a little, and his tongue was well inside her mouth and she was holding tightly to him. His left hand moved down to her hip and squeezed it gently, and then his right forefinger began to move against the crotch of her panties. He could feel her bush, feel the plump soft mound of her cunthole. And then he could make out the lips through the thin panties, and began to tickle them.
"Ohh-ahhhh-mmmmm-o Jack-Jack, thatthat feels so nice!" she blurted.
"I'm not hurting you, am I, honey?"
"Oh no, J-Jack! You-you're awfully gentle with me!" she breathed.
His tongue went back in her mouth to silence her now. His left hand was fondling her ass, and now his forefinger continued to prod against the soft twitching lips of her cunthole. He could feel them open and gape as they wakened to this titillation, and all of a sudden he felt that her panties were moist. What a sweet bitch she was! She was getting hot and randy for him.
"Now I think we're just about relaxed enough to get a little friendlier with each other, baby. I want to carry you to the bed," he muttered.
He took his hand out from under her skirt, thrust it under her knees, and lifted her in the air as he rose, and then masterfully strode to his bedroom. There the air conditioner had already turned the room pleasantly cool. He stood her on her feet, and then he stooped down and pulled up her dress and the slip she wore under it. This time, Cornelia helped him a little, almost giggling nervously as the dress stuck for a moment at her shoulders. Then she was there before him in a cheap pink cotton bra and matching panties, a garter belt and her stockings and work shoes. A waitress didn't usually wear pumps, not when she walked all night long. She wanted low-heeled shoes for comfort.
His fingers went behind her and unhooked the bra and let it fall. For a moment, Cornelia clapped her hands to her titties, but he gently pushed them aside, then bowed his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. He began to suck it gently, his hands squeezing her bottom through her panties. Cornelia groaned and sighed, "Ohh-ahhhh-oh, J-Jack-oh that's nice-oh Jack, what are you doing to me?"
"Making you remember what a wonderful woman you are, especially in bed, that's what," was his answer. She giggled again, and that was a good sign. She was losing her fright and she wasn't tightening up so much.
Now he had his hand inside her panties, and he was squeezing her round firm velvety ass. She was whimpering now, her arms clinging to him, and he felt her trembling. Her naked titties were mashed against his chest, and this time he opened up his robe and let her see that he was naked except for shorts and that there was a prodigious bulge at their crotch. He was really raring and ready to go!
Suddenly he yanked down her panties, and then, taking her quite by surprise, knelt down and, his hands grabbing the cheeks of her ass, plunged his mouth against her furry gash.
'Ohhhh! Oh Jack, what are you doing-oh Jack-ahhh-oh-mmmmm-oh my G-God!" she moaned. Her hands clutched his cheeks now, as if trying to shove him away. He was muff-diving her. He was sucking her cunt, then running his tongue over the lips, and then digging it deep inside till he found her clit.
Cornelia began to sob and her body began to quake and shiver. Her head tilted back, her eyes dreamy and wide and humid.
He could feel her clit throbbing and growing turgid, proving that she was ready to be fucked. And the time had really come to come!
Suddenly he rose, lifted her in his arms, and laid her on the bed. He whisked off her panties, so that she was clad in only garter belt and her cheap nylons. But even in that scanty attire, her body was magnificent. The thick black muff of pussy-hair stood out and made the pale whiteness of her belly and upper thighs that much more dazzling. Her hands were cupping her own titties now, her face turning restlessly from side to side, flushed and tremulous. He flung off his robe, yanked down his shorts, his prick bulging with lust. He got onto the bed and kneeled between her legs. He stared a moment at her panting titties, then his hands cupped them and squeezed them lovingly. Then gradually he lowered himself until the tip of his prick touched the pink wet gape of her cunt.
"Ann-oh now-oh darlingtake me-oh I want you, I need it, oh darling, oh Jack!" she burst out suddenly in a feverish and vehement babble of love words. Her body was twitching and quivering, her cunt was arching up at him as if to beg him to give it to her. He wondered if Lida Munson would ever be like this.
He felt his prick slip gently in, heard her gasp aloud, "Ahhhh-ohh!" and then felt the tight grip of her sheath as it engaged his cock and held it loving captive.
Slowly and luxuriously he pressed himself home to the balls, stretching out over her. Then his hands went under her behind to squeeze her ass-cheeks, and his mouth crushed her to silence as they began to fuck.
Cornelia began to respond. She uttered little whinnying sounds, gasps and moans and groans that thrilled him. Her body began to heave and twist and buck under him.
Finally, he felt her fingernails claw at him, felt her legs lock round him, and then her body quaked in tumult as he felt himself explode.
She uttered a shrill cry, and her body abandoned itself. She had told him rather blushingly when they made their date for tonight that he didn't have to wear anything, that she was taking pills. The poor sweet bitch was thinking of going out and peddling her pussy so as to raise money, a damn shame. He was just lucky he was first to take her. He could do worse than to make a mistress out of Cornelia. And maybe he just might.
They rocked and rolled together, and he felt himself finally lulled into that sweet black limbo of appeasement.
As he lay there panting, thrilling to her response, an idea came to him. Maybe he'd use Cornelia as a lure whereby to trap the haughty and aloof and untouchable Lida Munson.
CHAPTER SIX
Just as Jack Barton was planning to ensnare haughty, beautiful Lida Munson in a trap that would really make her put out pussy for the first time in her spoiled young life, the auburn-haired divorcee Brenda Stalway was dreaming up ways of getting that same spoiled virgin prickteaser into her own bed along with Lida's mother so she could have a lesbian harem. She had already got Alma Munson to agree that men were vile and selfish animals, and the next step would be to have Alma lead her daughter to the bed of seduction and perhaps even herself initiate her. Once again fate was about to take a hand and, in doing so, eliminate Brenda from the action which might otherwise have disturbed what the gods of chance had in store for both Alma and her pampered, selfish daughter.
Brenda Stalway had been married at the age of twenty to a brown-haired, virile young man of twenty-four, Joe Stalway. Brenda and Joe had grown up and gone to school together in East St. Louis, where her parents had been co-owners of two large grocery supermarts. Joe had lost his mother when he was twelve, but his hard-working, sober and thrifty father, a railroad executive, had brought him up on the straight and narrow path and made him work for a living as soon as he was out of high school. He had become a successful mechanic and was employed by the engineering shop of the railroad for which his father labored in the higher echelon.
Brenda, very much like both Alma Munson and her daughter Lida, had been spoiled bitch from the word go. Her parents had doted on her, especially when her mother had found that she couldn't have another child. Both of them had died about five years ago, and so Brenda had come into a considerable amount of money. She had negotiated with her father's lawyer to sell the two supermarts at a very handsome profit, and the money was in a Chicago bank. So she didn't have to work for a living, and of course during her marriage (which had lasted six years), none of that capital had been touched. Joe Stalway had adamantly refused to use a penny of it, and he did earn a pretty good living as a mechanic. However, Brenda wanted better things, and that was one of the reasons why they had broken up.
Another reason was that she had accused him of being just a selfish stud in bed. He worked long hours, and sometimes he would come home at midnight when she was half-asleep, crawl into bed, start fondling her titties and frigging her pussy, and then climb aboard without really waking her up to passion. If Brenda had been a wise girl, she could have cultivated Joe Stalway because he had all the virtues of the story books. He didn't look at other women, he didn't drink, he saved his money and brought home his paycheck, and yet after six years she had quarreled with him and called him a selfish brute and even accused him unjustly of screwing another girl.
Disillusioned, he had agreed to let her divorce him and not contest the suit. Now that six years had passed, Brenda had lost track of him. What she didn't know was that he had moved right here to Chicago and was at the present time the proud and financially successful owner of three car repair salons on the North and West sides of town.
Also, since he was the boss and didn't have to do all the hard work, his schedule had changed for the better. He worked a straight nineto-five routine at the office, spent an hour or two of that day visiting the three shops to make sure that everything was going smoothly, and contented himself with a five-day week. When he had been married to Brenda, he had put in six good hard days and sometimes twelve hours at a stretch per day.
He was six feet tall, wore glasses, had a friendly if somewhat homely face, but he was straightforward and not at all the selfish brute which Brenda had pictured him as being to her paramour Alma Munson. However, he had also, thanks to his less rigorous working schedule, had more time to himself and hence had been able to explore the delights of pussy.
Actually, he had come to Chicago in the vague hope of winning Brenda back, because he couldn't get her out of his system. There was something about her tall, almost angular and yet thrillingly sexy shape that gave him a hard-on late at night just thinking about her. The soft flurried little cries she had uttered when he was poking her, the squeal, and groans when his fingers tweaked her nipples or pinched her squirming ass, and the smell of her perfume and skin that had become moist after a good hard fucking, were all memories which burned still very brightly in Joe Stalway's lust-psyche. However, about four months after he had come to Chicago to take a job as a head mechanic in a huge wholesale car dealer's operation, his boss had quickly seen what a whiz-bang Joe Stalway was when it came to repairing cars and understanding all the mechanics of the industry. He had offered to stake Joe to his own car repair shop, with the understanding that any of the overage work which his own dealership couldn't handle would be sent over to Joe's place at a substantial discount.
That had been the beginning of a brand-new life for industrious Joe Stalway. So he hadn't had much time to think about looking Brenda up, and actually had lost track of her because she hadn't told him where she was going except that maybe she might go to Chicago. Also he felt that she might have changed her name back to her maiden name of Orling, which she hadn't.
Joe had already had several affairs and enjoyed them thoroughly. He had learned a great deal about pussy and how to satisfy it from a handsome young widow named Norma Anderson whom he had met when she had come in as a customer with a run-down Chevy to his North Side emporium. He had been visiting the shop on that particular afternoon three years ago, and the mechanic in charge hadn't been able to detect a flaw in the gasket. Joe had walked over, seen the trouble at once, taken over from the mechanic without bawling the latter out, and fixed the car in almost no time at all. Norma Anderson had been effusively grateful to him. The upshot of it was that she had intimated she would like to see him again. She was a woman of thirty-six, plump and utterly feminine, with a sweet heart-shaped face and a delicious little smile, big blue eyes, light-brown hair coiffed in a coronet braid atop her head. She had a soft carnation-pink skin and she looked at least ten years younger than her age.
So Joe Stalway had taken her out to dinner and a show, found her company delightful and relaxing, and there had followed two other dates until at last she had intimated that she would like him to come in for a nightcap. When he had, somewhat ill at ease, because he remembered Brenda's scathing accusations about a selfish animal he was, Norma Anderson had put him completely at his ease by coming out in a black lacetrimmed satin negligee and soft fluffy blue mules, handed him a stiff drink of Scotch, sat down beside him on the couch and then urged him to tell her all about himself. He found himself talking about Brenda and his unhappy marriage and his frustrations.
Norma was a good tonic for him. She sympathized, flattered his ego, and condemned Brenda for being an unfeeling and unsympathetic female who hadn't known when she had been well off. And finally she had said as she pressed closer to him, "Joe, I don't think you deserve to be called selfish at all. I think you're one of the most considerate men I ever knew. You remind me a lot of my own dear husband Harry. The poor darling worked so hard to make a go of it for us that he dropped dead of a heart attack when he was only thirty-six. I've been a widow for three years, and you're the first man I've met since then whom I've taken a imagine to. I'd just love to have you pay me some attention, if you don't think I'm being too much of a forward bitch."
The smell of her perfume and the feel of her round thigh against his had already given him a hard-on. Her amazing remarks and the potency of the Scotch she had given him made him cast caution to the winds, set down his glass on the coffee table, take her in his arms and give her a very satisfyingly long kiss.
She had whimpered and gasped with the intensity of it, and then her tongue had foraged between his lips, and his hands had come down to cup the sweet firm ripe cantaloupes of her titties. A few minutes later, she was leading him into the bedroom, and there she helped him undress and let him pull off her slip and see her as nature had meant her to be seen by a virile male.
The wide shallow cleft which made a dimpled mark in her soft belly, the thick dark-brown triangle of her pussy fur, the lovely rounds of her thighs and the dimpled knees, and most of all the thrusting globes of her bubbies with their wide brownish-coral areolae, had made his prick surge to massive erection. Then, to his utter consternation and delight, Norma Anderson had cupped his cock in both soft palms and kissed him on the mouth and whispered huskily, "Oh my God, darling, we're going to go crazy with each other tonight, you wait and see! You poor darling, I'll bet that wife of yours never really took any notice of you at all. What a wonderful thing she missed-and I'm going to prove it to you here and now."
She had done exactly that. She had made him crouch over her in reverse, and taken his cock between her lips-something Brenda would have died before thinking of doing-and delicately Frenched him, rubbing her tongue tip against the lips of his straining prickhead. Out of inspiration and intuition, he had gripped her hips, bent his head and begun to muff dive her. That was how he had learned the thrilling joys of sixty-nine. And when he felt her cunt twitch and gape and grow moist from the ticklings of his tongue, when he felt his tongue rub over her hardening clit, when he heard her sobs and groans, and when he felt her own tongue swirl madly back and forth over the straining shaft of his bulging prick, Joe Stalway knew that he had been given another chance to enter paradise.
She had begged him to fuck her, using all the words which would inflame a man who had really been denied in many ways the knowledge of what complex joys fucking can bring when it is accomplished between two eager and zestful partners. Using all his self-control, he had reversed himself and thrust himself to the balls inside her tight warm cunt, and her legs and arms had wrapped around him and her mouth had glued to his, and he had felt her fingernails scratch his neck as she urged him in the passion-hoarsened voice, "Oh my God, give it to me, give it to me hard and good, don't spare me, fuck me hard, darling!"
He hadn't known that he had such self-control. Grinding his teeth, tears in his eyes, he had kept thrusting in and out while his hands fondled her bubbies and then reached under her to grab the jouncy round satiny cheeks of her ass and hold on tight, until finally Norma Anderson had quaked and jerked and threshed about in the mad delirium of climax.
For two years their affair had burned brightly, until sadly one day Norma Anderson had told him that she was going to go back to Los Angeles to live with a married sister who had picked out a potential second husband for her. She knew that Joe wasn't the marrying kind, and she didn't want to stand in his way, and she would never forget their wonderful time together.
And so at this epoch, Joe Stalway was an accomplished cock smith. After Norma Anderson, he had had a six-month torrid affair with a pretty coppery-haired billing clerk in his West Side car repair shop. She had been twenty-four, oversexed and not at all interested in marriage but certainly interested in fucking. He had accommodated her until finally she had decided that what she really wanted was a husband who would give it to her regularly. Joe had given her a thousand-dollar wedding present and been best man at the wedding. The groom, of course, never knew that his best man and Sally's ex-employer had been passionate fucking partners. When last he heard, Joe found out that Sally had twins and was ecstatically happy, because her husband had turned out to be a insatiable a stud as she was a nymph.
So thus far the goddess Venus had smiled on Joe Stalway, trying to make up to him for the bitchy time Brenda Stalway had given him for six long arid years. How she was smiling again, and she was working with the three Fates, Atropos, Cloth is and Leandis, to re thread the skeins of the lives of Joe and Brenda Stalway.. . .
For the past three months, Joe had enjoyed the carnal favors of a beautiful mulattress, Nancy Espinosa. She was twenty-five, had had a brief and unsatisfactory marriage lasting a year, and kicked her husband out when she had caught him in bed with another woman when she had come home early from her work as a model in a fashionable North Michigan Avenue dress shop. That had been four years ago, and now Nancy was a partner in the dress shop, her fifty-year-old white employer relying on her so much that she often went off to Mexico or Baja California or Europe on overdue vacations and left Nancy in complete control of the salon.
She too had met Joe quite by chance when she had driven her Thunderbird into his North Side repair shop with a carburetor problem. Joe had been on duty inspecting the operation there when she had come in, and he had taken one look at Nancy and said to himself, "Here's a real dish and I'd just love to see her chocolatetan shape peeled down for action." Nancy was five feet eight inches in height, with high-set cheekbones, sparkling dark-brown eyes, a full sensual mouth, dainty uptilted nose, but the best part about her was her body. Her legs were long and sinuous, beautifully muscled, and her slim waist and flaring svelte hips were enough to make a man wish he had been born with a prick that would never lose its juice. Her magnificent ass was high-set, spacious and oval-cheeked, with a very narrow groove between the globes. She was feline, supple, agile as a panther, and capriciously imaginative in bed.
Her bubbies were big hard pears which jutted out against the tight blouse and bra she always wore, the nipples stiff and hard as if she were perennially tumescent. She wore her dark-brown hair in an upsweep, with a Psyche knot at the back of her head, and she wore long pendant earrings with turquoise stones, a present from her benevolent employer from last year when the shop had doubled its net.
Nancy and Joe had taken one look at each other, and Nancy had felt the insides of her thighs twitch with yearning. There was something very lovable about Joe Stalway's homely face and straightforward manner and resonant voice which set her off. Maybe in a way it had reminded her of her own ex-husband, who had certainly satisfied her in bed, except that he had been all too willing to show off his fucking prowess with other girls. She would never forgive him for having brought that black bitch home to screw on her very own twin bed. She might have been more tolerant had it been on the couch or in his bed, but he had hurt her pride and self-esteem by letting that woman replace her.
So, after Joe had fixed her car, she had given him her business card and hinted that she wouldn't mind having him call her some day. He had taken the hint and called her three days later, and that Saturday evening they had gone out dancing and dining. Joe was a superb dancer, something Brenda had never given him credit for. And it didn't take Nancy Espinosa long-exactly one dance-to tell herself that here was the man she wanted in bed to satisfy her almost primitive longings, for she had banked her fires much too long after kicking her unfaithful husband out of the apartment.
She made no bones about it, either. When their dancing was over, she whispered as she stood very close to Joe, "Honey, why don't you take me home and give me what we both need?"
Joe had driven her to her North Dearborn apartment, delightedly watched her pour him out a bourbon and ginger ale, and then vanish into the bedroom from which she emerged a few minutes later wearing just a filmy black nylon bra and matching panties, red leather high-heeled pumps, and a provocative come-fuck-me smile. He had gone to her, his prick already bulging against the fly of his pants, and his hands had wandered luxuriously over the spacious ovals of her jouncy ass. He had pressed himself tightly against her, and Nancy had moaned and bitten him on the neck as her fingernails dug into his back.
A minute later, her bra and panties discarded, she was standing there tugging down the zipper of his fly and with her other hand opening wide her pussy-lips to guide his prick home to its yearning sanctuary. His hands again gripping her ass and reveling in the satin, smoothly muscled contours he had slowly thrust himself to the balls and drawn out to the very brink of her quim. She had writhed and moaned, sobbing and cursing at him in her delirium and ecstasy. It had been one of the most thrilling fucks Joe Stalway had ever enjoyed.
And there were seconds, too. After they had both repaired to the biffy for their ablutions, she had forced Joe Stalway to undress naked, and then gone down on her knees on the tile floor of her bathroom to do a little Frenching to waken him back to a second bout which was even more exciting than the first had been.
But when she found that he was getting over her in reverse to muff-dive her, a trick he had learned from lovely Norma Anderson, her delight knew no bounds. "Oh you wonderful bastard, where in the world did you learn to do a sweet thing like that to a girl?" she had gurgled ecstatically. He didn't answer. His tongue was busy finding out her clit's locale, and then he began to prod and rub it and press it back down into the protective cowl of sweet soft sensitive pussy-flesh while Nancy's legs kicked up in the air wildly until her pumps flew off. Meanwhile, grabbing him by the ass, she pulled him down to her and began to French him delicately, sucking noisily, then pressing her tongue against the lips of his prick-head until he was almost frenzied.
He made her come twice before he at last reversed himself and thrust to the balls inside of her. Then, her legs wrapped around his behind, her fingernails gouging his armpits, her tongue slushing about between his lips, Nancy Espinosa had brought him to the brink of the most shattering hot come he had ever known in all his life.
On this hot July Saturday evening, about two weeks after Brenda and Alma Munson had enjoyed their tryst together in Brenda's apartment, which was exactly two blocks away from where Nancy lived, Joe and Nancy were lounging around in Nancy's bedroom naked as the day they were born. They were lying side by side exchanging a cigarette, Joe's other hand fondling one of her big pear-shaped bubbies, her other hand slyly tickling the insides of his thighs and balls. They had just enjoyed an explosive and long-drawn-out fucking, and Joy was feeling particularly at peace with the world.
"Honeylamb," Nancy purred in that sexy, husky voice of hers which always made a man think about bed, "however did you come to lose that wife of yours you've been telling me about? She really must have been a stupid bitch not to have known what a wonderful stud you are to a girl."
"She didn't think I was that good in bed, honey, if you want the truth. Maybe I wasn't then. I've learned a lot since. You see, I was working as a mechanic in those days, and I put in long hours. I'd come home around midnight sometimes, and I'd want to fuck the hell out of her, only she was sleepy and tired and she put me off. So I felt like a dirty dog, and I'd just do it like a jackrabbit and then pull out and go to sleep."
"Well, you know, that's not the way to make a girl happy."
"Of course I know that now. So I'm not blaming Brenda for it entirely. Only if she'd only put up with me a little longer, until I'd get this deal I have right here in town, I could have been making it up to her."
"Such talk!" Nancy giggled as she crushed out the cigarette on the little copper tray on the night table beside the bed. "I'm sure glad you didn't learn your lesson until after you shed her, lover-man. Otherwise little old Nancy sure wouldn't be getting the good times she's having, like right now. Do me, darling, do me good. I just can't get enough of that big hard dick of yours. And my, when I feel that tongue of yours up my snatch, I just want to float up to the clouds and scream, you know something?"
"We aim to please, baby," he chuckled hoarsely as he crawled between her thighs, slid his hands under her spacious oval ass-cheeks, gripped them hard and squeezed them, and then began to blow soft gusts of breath against her quim. Nancy arched her loins up from the bed, her face turning distractedly from side to side, her fingernails clawing the sheets. "Oohhh-mmmmm-ahhh, oh that's good, oh you darling, oh you big-dicked bastard you, oh give it to little Nancy, oh my Gawd, it's heaven, lover man!" she moaned.
He tantalized her. His tongue foraged around the thick crisp hairs, at times frigging the rims of the soft pink pussylips, without once touching her clit. She wriggled and arched herself, trying to mash her cunt against his mouth to get even deeper pillaging by his tongue, but he wasn't to be tricked. This time, he wanted to make her beg for it, he wanted to show her-since she had already reminded him of his painful nights with Brenda-that he was the master of the action, not she. And finally his tongue did touch her clit, and Nancy almost exploded, sobbing and whimpering, begging him, "Ohhh, Gawd, stick it into me, oh Gawd, I need it now, you devil, you big ofay bastard you, I want that prick of yours where I need it most!"
With a single shove, he obliged her. Nancy let out a shriek of ecstasy, swung her legs well over his hips, tilting up her pelvic basin as much as she could to take every inch of his offertory. He began to fuck her vigorously now, and she could hear the soft squish of his prick slipping into her moist churning twat and coming out to the very brink, nudging her clit along the way each time. She sobbed and moaned, squirming her bottom this way and that, her face twisted away from him, her eyes wide and shining and humid, her nostrils twitching and shrinking, as passion gripped her.
Then he halted himself, halfway inside her cunt. He could feel the walls of her sheath contracting as the spasms began to come over her.
"Oh you bastard, don't do a girl like that, oh you mean wicked sonofabitch, oh darling, fuck me, I'm dying, oh make me cream, oh please, Joe lover!" she entreated.
After they had come to and were enjoying the blissful aftermath of a ferocious relief, Nancy lay back on the rumpled pillow and sighed ecstatically, "Oh lover man, I don't think anybody could fuck me any better than you just did! And to think that ex-wife of yours didn't know what she had in bed-I feel sorry for the poor bitch, I really do, honey-lover!"
"I'm sort of sorry too. But she's probably found some other guy by now. Let's see now, I'm thirty-six, that would make her about thirty-two. She ought to be in her prime."
"Well just you remember something, lover-man," Nancy Espinosa said fiercely as she rolled over onto her left side towards him and poked him in the navel with a forefinger, her eyes gleaming wickedly, "Till you stake a claim to some other piece of quim, I'm your girl and don't you ever forget it. You do something behind my back and let that big dick of yours roam around the way my ex-hubby did with his, I'll cut it right off at the root, you hear Nancy?"
"I sure do, you lovely sweetheart. But it's not-likely I'm going to see Brenda again. I've got a hunch she's somewhere in Chicago, but I don't think I could care less."
"Tell me what she looked like anyhow, huh?"
"Well, let's see now." Joe Stalway reached over to the night table, picked up a rumpled pack of Pall Malls, lit one for each of them, and then lay back with a sigh of reminiscence, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, she's about as tall as you are, and she gives you the impression of being a tiny bit bony. You know what I mean, the Vogue look. But boy, what an ass she has, and big round tits. She's got a nice tawny skin, and she'd got slim long legs like yours, too."
"What color is her hair?"
"Auburn."
"Hey now!" Nancy sat upright, her eyes narrowed, her hands cupping her titties, the cigarette dangling from between the corner of her lips. "Seems like to me I ran into a bitch like that just the other day. There's a girl that fits that description living down the block, damned if there isn't."
"You're kidding!" Joe Stalway said incredulously.
"No I'm not, lover man. You take it from me, either that's a double of your bitch, or it's the bitch herself. She's down in the Tenton Apartments, and that's a real swanky place."
"Well, she had dough from her folks, I know that. Only I didn't want her to use it. I wanted to earn the living for us both."
Nancy smiled at him fondly, reaching over and gave his cock a squeeze. "That's because you're you, lover. But I'd sure like to find out if that isn't your ex-wifey. Mind if I do some snooping?"
"Well, if you want. You mean you're going to go up there and ask her if she's Brenda Stalway? She might even be using her maiden name, anyway."
"I'll just call out 'Hi Brenda,' and see what she does, that's all," Nancy promised.
"Well, go ahead. Wouldn't it be something, though, if she were living this close," Joe Stalway chuckled as he puffed at his cigarette.
He had no way of knowing that the girl whom Nancy Espinosa had seen was indeed his ex-wife, and that through the intervention of his passionate mulattress mistress, he was about to regain her and take her out of the competition for Alma and Lida Munson.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nancy Espinosa recognized the auburn-haired matron as soon as the latter left the lobby and started walking with a provocative, thrusting movement of her hips and loins. Hurrying up to her, Joe Stalways' mistress called out aloud, "Brenda!"
Brenda Stalway whirled, her eyes widening, her mouth wide with surprise. "Yes-did you call me?" she faltered, after the first hopeful note of recognition, when, turning as she did, she saw the lovely mulattress.
"Yes, I did," Nancy cheerfully admitted. "You are Brenda, aren't you?"
"Yes-I'm Brenda Stalway. But I don't seem to know you-Miss-Miss--? " the auburn-haired divorcee paused as she searched Nancy's piquant face for some sign that would identify this unknown greeter.
"I think we can clear this all up, Brenda, if you'll come back with me to my building and have a drink with you. There's someone who wants to know you an awful lot." Nancy's voice was light. It was just two days after Nancy and Joe had experienced their cataclysmic reunion, during which time the subject of Joe's ex-wife had come up. Nancy Espinosa had a curious fatalism to her make-up, part of it coming from her Negro blood. She definitely believed that she was in a way fated to have Joe be reunited with his faithless wife for the purpose of rehabilitating the latter. Maybe it would mean she would lose Joe. Well, if that was in the cards, let it be. She had some wonderful months to remember of that big, hard, hammering cock of his and the way he could muff-dive a girl.
Brenda looked suspicious. "Who are you-and who's this friend who wants to meet me so much?"
"My name's Nancy Espinosa. You say you're Brenda Stalway? Well, this fellow knows you very well. He's just dying to see you, take it from me. You're all he ever talks about in bed."
A grimace of distaste flicked across Brenda's lovely features. "Men!" she disgustedly spat.
"Don't knock them. They've got something we girls don't between our legs, honey. Come along. Tell you what-I'll even fix supper for you. You were going out for it, weren't you?" Nancy pursued.
Brenda had indeed been about to walk a few blocks away to a little restaurant of which she was particularly fond. She now hesitated. But her wariness still persisted.
"I never heard of you in all my life. Why don't you tell me the name of this man who seems to know me?"
"That was supposed to be a surprise, Brenda. Come along. I'll even cook you a nice filet mignon," Nancy giggled in her soft, husky voice.
"And where do you live?" Brenda, after a moment's hesitation, countered.
"Only a few doors away. Come along-I'm not going to lure you into a white-slave ring, if that's what you're afraid of," the lovely mulattress giggled again. Brenda hesitated, clearly undecided. Then she shrugged. Actually, she was going to have dinner, then call Alma Munson and see if maybe the two of them could spend a lovely night together. But a woman's curiosity is a devious thing, and Nancy's words had already piqued Brenda's curiosity. So she followed Nancy Espinosa back to the latter's apartment, and into the apartment itself. Nancy snowed her into the kitchen, showed her a chair and, opening the refrigerator, drew out two magnificent filets mignon, which actually Joe Stalway had brought the night before with the expectation of seeing his beautiful mistress this very night.
She put them in the broiler and began to make a tossed salad, then went on to prepare a shrimp cocktail with a can of very tangy sauce. "Watch the steaks for me, Brenda honey," she prompted, and hurried out of the kitchen to the phone in the hallway of the little foyer of her apartment. There she hastily dialed Joe's number, and when his resonant voice came to her from the other end of the line, she hastily murmured, "Come over right away! I've got a terrific surprise for you!" Then she hung up.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, she found Brenda peering at the steaks. "They're just about done. Boy, they look good," the auburn-haired divorcee enthused.
"Fine! I'm half-starved myself. By the time we finish eating, unless I miss my guess, this fellow who's dying to see you ought to be over," Nancy guilefully hinted.
A few minutes later they were eating the steaks and salad, and Nancy had opened a bottle of excellent Clos de Vougeot, vintage 1967, another present from her lover who had once been Brenda Stalway's hardworking but neglectful husband. Nancy felt her pussy twitch and moisten with anticipation. It was going to be just a terrific scene, once the two of them got together. And now in the back of her scheming mind came the thought that she could perhaps be the catalyst in helping that reunion along and still have a little pleasure for her own burning cunt. Even if Brenda did take Joe back, she had a feeling that he wouldn't forget her entirely. There were still tricks she could show him in bed, tricks this haughty, auburn-haired bitch would never really get the hang of. She didn't think Brenda Stalway was the kind who would go down on her knees and stick her fingers in a man's bumhole while she breathed life into his cock and then took the tip of it into her mouth and sucked it delicately until she felt him regain all his vigor and be filled with spunk for a good plowing in her torrid twat.
"That was a terrific steak, Nancy, and you're a wonderful cook," Brenda sighed happily as she pushed away her plate. Nancy Espinosa got up.
"We'll wait just a minute for dessert, but we can both have a cup of coffee now," she decided. She went to the range and turned up the heat under the little metal pan she used for coffee-warming. Just then the buzzer rang.
"Watch the coffee, Brenda honey. I'll get it," she exclaimed eagerly. Wondering a little, Brenda Stalway went to the range and watched the coffee simmer. A moment later she uttered a stifled cry as she heard the door open and Nancy's husky bedroom voice exclaim, "Joe darling, come right in! We've been expecting you."
"We?" he echoed.
"Sure. Come right into the kitchen, honey.
Boy, have you got a surprise waiting for you," the mulattress giggled.
Brenda had come out of the kitchen and halted in her tracks, her eyes wide with surprise. Then she glared at Nancy.
"That was a lousy dirty trick! Why didn't you tell me the name of this fellow?"
"You know him?" Nancy innocently asked.
"I do indeed." Brenda's voice was icy as she drew herself up like a haughty princess restoring order in her court. "That man happens to be my ex-husband. I'm not really very obliged to you, Nancy, for bringing us together again."
"Hey, Brenda, you look terrific. You haven't changed a bit. If anything, you've become lovelier," Joe Stalway said gallantly. Indeed, he was already feeling the beginning of a hard-on.
"I'm not the least bit interested in what you think of me, Joe Stalway. What I ought to have done was change my name and go back to my maiden name."
"I know why you didn't, Brenda honey," he chuckled as he lit a cigarette. Nancy came over to stand beside him, her arm around his waist and looking up at him seductively. "It's because you can't forget what a good thing you once had and how you lost it."
"You selfish pig!" Brenda hissed, turning crimson with indignation. "That's just like a man, thinking that a woman can't live without him. Why, I've got along very well!"
"I'll bet I know how she has, Joe darling," Nancy cut in. "I'll bet she's learned to play little pussy-games with other girls. Isn't that right, Brenda honey?"
Brenda Stalway's cheeks turned more crimson than ever. "You close your filthy little mouth, you!" she gasped.
"You know," Nancy went on as if she hadn't said a word, "I think your mistake was in not putting your foot down and treating her the way a bitch deserves sometimes."
"You mean putting my hand down, don't you," he corrected, with a grin.
"Same thing," Nancy giggled. "Want me to help you with her?"
"That's a damn good idea!"
"Now wait a minute-what are you two going to do-stay away from me-no, I warn you-I'll call for help-" Brenda Stalway gasped as she backed away. But the wall bumped against her back and she found herself trapped as Joe Stalway and Nancy Espinosa came toward her.
She knew she was really cut off when Nancy quickly put her palm over her mouth and her other arm around Brenda's waist. Then Brenda felt Nancy put an arm around her waist, and the next thing she knew, Joe and Nancy were bearing the fuming divorcee between them toward the bedroom. There on the bed, Brenda's face was buried into a pillow, while Nancy sat on her shoulders facing her. Together they lofted
Brenda's dress and petticoat and then began dragging down the white nylon panty girdle.
"No! Stop it! What are you going to do? I'll send you to jail for life, Joe-stop it-stop it!" Brenda wailed into the pillow.
But Nancy was now gripping Brenda's wrists and keeping them close at the small of her back, bearing down with her bottom's full brunt on Brenda's shoulders, and now Brenda's magnificent ass was laid bare. Joe Stalway neatly rolled down the charcoal-brown nylons to Brenda's ankles, exposing the lovely legs in all their tawny-sheened beauty. He felt his prick bulge with anticipation and desire.
Then, kneeling on the bed at Brenda's left, posing his left palm at Brenda's chink bone, he raised his right hand and gave her the first husbandly spank he had ever given her. Brenda squealed like a stuck pig, and began to kick and thresh about.
"That's what she's needed all along, I'll bet, Joe. Give it to her hard," Nancy urged him.
Joe Stalway didn't need any encouraging. The sight of his beautiful wife's ass and thighs had inflamed him furiously. He began to smack her plunging, thrashing, wriggling bottom with increasing vigor in each stroke, until his hand stung, and until Brenda's tawny skin was a violent dark red. Her wails and shrieks and appeals for mercy were half-smothered by the pillow as Nancy forced her down, just gripping
Brenda's wrist with her right hand and using the left to reach back and push Brenda's face into the pillow.
"Now do you think you can be good?" Joe Stalway panted at last as he paused for breath, ruefully eyeing his stinging hand.
"You brute! I hate you-I hate you-I'll put you in jail for this, you wait and see! You've killed me-let me go! And you, you awful girl, you'll pay for this, too, you wait and see!" Brenda moaned.
At a given signal, Joe rolled Brenda over onto her bottom. The thick auburn fleece of her cunthole drew their gaze, at the very apex of those long, sinuous thighs of hers. Then Nancy flung herself down on the bed beside Brenda, still holding the divorcee's hands gripped hard in hers, and kissed her hard on the mouth.
"Give it to her, Joe!" she panted.
"No! Stop it! What are you going to do? Oh no-not that-I hate men-I don't want you to-stop it-Nancy, he's going to rape me-help me-help me!" The wail went up from Brenda as she squirmed free of the mulattress's firm kiss.
But Joe Stalway had already zipped down his fly and released his massive prong, and now he crouched between his ex-wife's thigh and, gripping her by the hips, he thrust his weapon manfully against the portals of her twitching portals.
In vain she struggled and squirmed, and then suddenly she felt his prick tip press against the soft lips of her quim and enter. She had become quite tight since the end of their marriage, but the spanking had made her warm and feverish. As she felt herself penetrated by his ramrod, she uttered a sobbing groan, rolling her eyes back to the whites. Nancy again took advantage of her by kissing her hard, forcing her tongue between Brenda's lips. Then Joe Stalway began to fuck his wife, slowly and deliberately, his hands under her spanked bottom-cheeks, one forefinger edging toward her bumhole.
Brenda Stalway was defeated. All her passionate urgencies had been channeled toward Alma Munson and were now swept along in the feverish ecstasy of being fucked after first having been bare-bottom spanked until all her emotions demanded surcease.
Soon she had forgotten that she was going to throw her ex-husband in jail, and his mulattress mistress with him. Soon she was whimpering and groaning, begging him, "Oh darling, ahhhh-oh my God-it's so wonderful-oh please, please, make it last-oh Joe, you devil-oh, what you're doing-Oh Joe, I love you! Why didn't you do this to me before? Oh Joe, Joe! Ahhhhh!"
"Because you never gave me time to, you stuck-up redheaded slut you," Joe Stalway good-humoredly retorted. He stretched himself over her now, mashing down her titties with his heaving chest and his fingers still digging into her reddened ass. Now his forefinger dug to the hilt in her asshole, and he could feel the contractions of her rectal walls just as surely as he could those of her cuntwalls against his imbedded cock.
"Take care of little Nancy! I'm getting left out of all this," the lovely mulattress giggled. Hoisting up her skirt and petticoat, she revealed the fact that she had no panties on. Indeed, when Joe was going to visit her of an evening, she always went without panties all day long to get the thrilling sensation of what is was going to be like when she shucked down for him without a moment's delay.
Then suddenly straddling Brenda's tear-stained face, she lowered her muff to Brenda's mouth and panted, "Gam me, you sweet ofay bitch! I'll make a woman of you yet, so Joe can enjoy you."
Joe Stalway believed he had died and gone to a Mohammedan paradise with two lovely houri here to attend his every physical need. He could see Nancy's squirming thighs and the thick dark outline of her muff, while she bore down on Brenda's face, muffling Brenda's gasps and moans with her pussy. Then he could see Brenda's tongue dart out and flick around the dark labia of his mistress' guim. Also, at the same time, he could feel his ex-wife cuntwalls grinding and crunching against his digging tool.
And soon all three of them uttered shrieks of simultaneous delight as they tasted the delirious fury of passionate climax.
From now on in, Brenda Stalway wasn't going to see Alma Munson very much any more, and still less her pampered daughter Lida. Indeed, Brenda Stalway within a few months was going to say a very ready and passionate "yes" when Joe asked her if she would like to try it again legally. Only with the stipulation that Nancy was going to be their lovely maid . . . a threesome that would grant all of them harmonious fulfillment, and, into the bargain make certain that Joe Stalway's prick was going to be kept extremely busy of a cold winter's night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alma Munson was quite piqued with annoyance when her paramour Brenda Stalway failed to call her all of the following week. Of course, Alma had no way of knowing that Brenda was otherwise quite happily occupied-with her former husband Joe. Indeed, virile Joe and his beautiful mulattress mistress Nancy Espinosa had involved Brenda in a threesome, and she was now making up for lost time and learning more facts of life than even Alma could have ever taught her.
There were happy evenings now for Brenda. The auburn-haired matron would passionately undress down to garter belt and hose and join Nancy on the bed who was wearing nothing more. Then the two beauties would pussy-rub and French-kiss, their hands fondling each other's titties and bottoms, while Joe stood by with a hairbrush, lightly spanking first one beauty and then the other as they wriggled back and forth. Finally, when Nancy, who was stronger and more ingenious, managed to get the upper hand and force Brenda onto her back and then began to cunt-rub, Joe would apply the brunt of the spanking to Nancy's chocolate tan-sheened spacious bottom-ovals until, under the stinging pain, the beautiful mulattress would rub so frantically that both she and Brenda had climaxed.
Then Joe would be so violently inflamed that he would fling the hairbrush away, get onto the bed, pull Nancy off and mount atop his ex-wife, who by now was frantically eager to be fucked. And Nancy would kneel over him, opening up the cheeks of his behind and applying her pert pink tongue to his anal orifice. There were variations of this, but the fact was that Brenda from now on would be quite busy and have little time if any at all for Alma Munson.
And so, lacking sexual relief herself, Lida's arrogant mother began to take out her spleen on her pampered daughter. Mother and daughter had several quarrels, and Lida always went out of the house fuming and furious. Neither she nor her mother could have guessed that it was exactly this attitude which was to lead to the final catastrophe which would turn Lida into a slave-bitch who would learn to take degradation and humiliation and suffering in return for the painful lesson of becoming a woman capable of giving and not taking all the time.. . .
Just a week after Brenda Stalway had been reunited with her stalwart husband, Lida had a particularly angry tiff with her mother. Consequently, she stormed out of the apartment and drove her Pontiac to the Hyde Park Agency where she was supposed to spend three hours in the afternoon. Her mind was filled with angry thoughts, and so when she turned off at 53rd Street, she wasn't paying particular attention. As it was, an angry yell from the curbside brought her to glance hastily about, and she saw a bearded middle-aged Negro shaking his fists at her and saying things which were hardly complimentary. Her face crimsoned as she drove on toward Blackstone and parked her car in a vacant space along the curb, got out and walked up the steps to the second floor of the building where the agency was housed. Mark Denby was in the midst of dictating to his yearningly submissive secretary Phyllis Jorgensen. When he saw Lida walk in with a nasty expression on her lovely face, he chuckled softly and said to Phyllis, "Her Ladyship seems to be in a very bad mood this afternoon."
"Oh, her!" his lovely acquiescent mature secretary-mistress sniffed. "You know what I'd like to do, Mark darling? I'd like to take her down to a basement and lock us both up and just leave me with her for half an hour. I'd teach her to mind her manners and not lord it over everybody just because she thinks she's a imagine society piece."
"Why, Phyllis Jorgensen," he laughed, reaching out and patting her dimpled knee, "a few months ago, you wouldn't have dared even to think a thing like that, you were just a little mouse."
Her eyes showed a humid ardor as they fixed on him, and her lips formed a tremulous smile. "It's all because of you, Mark. You don't know what you've done for me. I just want to go on being your slave, I don't care if anything ever happens beyond that. Even if you don't marry me, I'm so glad for what you've given me already."
"I see. Apparently you're just itching for another spanking, aren't you, young lady?" he teased her.
Phyllis gasped, turned a vivid red, and immediately began to make scrawls in her steno notebook to hide her confusion. The fact was, she hadn't had a good sound spanking or fucking for a week, and she was beginning to feel the urge. The way she squirmed on her chair and crossed her legs and then uncrossed them, told him exactly what he needed to know. "Very good," he said softly. "Suppose you come around to my place around eight o'clock tonight. I'll give you exactly what you need, young lady. And now you'd better type up those letters, darling. I've got to go off and see Her Ladyship."
Lida Munson had seated herself at her desk and was languidly drawing off her black kid gloves.
She still had her blue felt turban perched atilt her lovely head, and her face had that sulky expression it always wore when she hadn't got her way.
"Good afternoon, Lida," Mark Denby said affably as he walked up to her desk and extended a pack of Pall Malls.
"No thanks. What's on the agenda this afternoon, Mr. Denby? And if you don't mind, I'd rather you call me Miss Munson. After all, I'm just working here part time, and I'm not one of your employees or one of your close friends either, for that matter. If you will please remember that, I'll be grateful."
His face didn't change its bland expression, but inwardly he was thinking that Phyllis ought really to get her wish. He himself would enjoy very much taking imagine Lida Munson down into a basement, locking the door, blindfolding her, tying her up by the wrists, and then taking off all her clothes slowly while she begged to know what was going to happen to her. Then she would get the hardest spanking any girl ever had on her bare ass, until she came around and began to beg for mercy. And then he had a long list of lovely things he would make her do to prove her newly found obedience. The mere thought of this made his cock stir and twitch, and he knew that Phyllis was really going to get it tonight at his apartment.
"I'm sorry, Miss Munson. Of course I'll remember. Now, I'd be very grateful if you'd go call on a family by the name of Berriman. They'll want to give you a little trouble and it isn't all their fault."
"It never is," Lida Munson sniffed as she slowly took off her turban, patted her head to make sure that not a wisp of hair was out of place. "They are all just lazy niggers and I really don't know why we go through all this trouble to keep them in spending money when they'll only go out and get drunk or try to carouse around with cheap women."
Mark Denby's face again kept its cool, but inwardly again he was raging this time. What a snotty, uppity bitch she really was! How he would love to have Henry Berriman tie her up and take a leather strap to her imagine ass and make her beg his pardon for calling him a nigger! He would give a month's pay to see such a thing, if the truth be known. Henry Berriman was thirty, had been drafted and sent to Viet Nam, even though his was a hardship case with an elderly and ailing mother to support and a new wife and child. But he had gone and done his duty, and now after eighteen months he had had a slight hip wound and been sent back home. The Chicago base had sent through orders which had just come through, and so his commanding officer had decided to give him an honorable discharge together with a Purple Heart and a recommendation for the Silver Star for bravery under fire.
In the meantime, because of the mixed-up mail situation, some of Henry Berriman's paychecks hadn't come through yet, and so the Berriman family was in dire straits. It was to be Lida Munson's job to go interview the Berrimans, and to make an urgent recommendation, if she agreed with what she saw, which Mark Denby could then act upon. He thought he could get about three hundred dollars for the Berrimans inside of ten days. But first a caseworker had to interview the family and fill out the application and make a full report because of all the red tape of a welfare agency.
However, he controlled himself and said simply, "Henry Berriman happens to be a discharged veteran who was wounded in action and did his country a great deal of service. It's just red tape that is keeping his Army paycheck back, and all I'm going to do is ask you to make a report and then I'll take some action and then get the family some money."
Lida sniffed. The explanation didn't satisfy her insolent nature this afternoon. She still considered the Berrimans, just as she did all the other welfare clients, utter trash. It suited her to pretend to be a kindhearted humanitarian because it gave her social standing among her closest friends and all the other snobs who fawned around her. Personally, she was thinking that one of these days she was going to call it quits because she was bored to tears. Imagine having to waste time sitting in a squalid kitchen and listen to some nigger woman telling about all the hard luck she had, when there were parties to go to, men to take her out and wine and dine her and make a fuss over her and whom she would flout!
"Oh, very well, I'll go see this family if you think it's so important, Mr. Denby," she said with a tart tone as she rose and put her turban back on. "Do you want it back before quitting time or will tomorrow be all right?"
"I'd really appreciate it if you could stop here on your way back. I know it's asking a good deal of you, and I'm very grateful that you contribute the time you do to our agency, L-I-I mean, Miss Munson. But I would really would like to get this claim put through."
"All right. Yes, it is an imposition. I wanted to go out tonight to dinner and it's out of my way to stop here first. However, I suppose I can do it this one time. Just give me the address of the people I'm supposed to see, if you please," she said icily.
He wrote down the address, handed her a report sheet, and watched her leave. He felt his prick harden at the sight of those undulating hips, those long sleek legs, and more than ever he wished that he could help Phyllis realize her dream and maybe both of them could give snotty Lida Munson exactly what she had been needing for so very long.. . .
Henry Berriman had discovered that his factory job had been taken by a white man when he had come back from Viet Nam. He had gone before the Labor Board and got a hearing and he was about to be taken back. But in the meantime, what with the government's delay on his Army checks back home, the family was in need. He had a twenty-five-year-old handsome ebony-skinned wife named Eulalia, there was a two-year-old son thriving, and perhaps another on the way, from Eulalia's latest reports. His elderly mother, who was crippled with arthritis, lived in the apartment on West 53rd Street. As the doorbell rang, Henry Berriman was sitting on the couch with his handsome wife, and they were exchanging a long and passionate kiss. He was enthused about the fact that he would be going back to work very shortly and at a good rate of pay, and maybe they could find an even better apartment. The janitor didn't take care of this one, the buzzer didn't ring on the doorbell and there weren't any lights in the lobby. The absentee landlord didn't really give a damn. But things were going to be different now.
"Hey, lemme go, baby," he grumbled affectionately as he extricated himself from Eulalia's embrace. "That's the door. Wonder who it can be this time of afternoon?"
"Hurry back, sugar. Boy, it's sure good to have you back from the Army," Eulalia giggled. She ran her hand down over the crotch of his trousers, fondling the bulge. He slapped her hand away and chuckled, "Cut that out now, honeygal or you'll plumb embarrass me in front of strangers."
When he opened the door, his eyes narrowed. Unless he was very much mistaken, there was the silly ofay bitch who had nearly run him down in her imagine car earlier this afternoon. "Yeah?" he belligerently demanded. "What do you want?"
"I'm from the social agency, Mr. Berriman. You are Mr. Berriman, aren't you?"
"That's me, ma'am. Come on in."
Lida Munson sniffed contemptuously as she entered the apartment. She saw at once the rundown old couch, the rickety chairs, Eulalia on the couch, sprawled, her legs bare and wearing a cheap blue cotton dress which was hiked up to her lower thighs. A grimace of distaste crossed her arrogant lovely face, and Henry Berriman noticed it at once. He pulled at his beard, which was a thick Van Dyke, and followed her into the living room.
"You'll have to fill out this form, Mr. Berriman. I understand you're asking for relief," Lida said arrogantly.
"That's not exactly right, ma'am. I'm asking for a loan till I get reinstated on my job. Also, my Army paychecks haven't come through yet. Otherwise I wouldn't be beholden to you white folks," he growled.
"There is really no need to get huffy, Mr. Berriman," Lida Munson drew herself up indignantly.
"Nobody's getting huffy, ma'am. All I want is a fair shake. Now I expect you to see I get one."
"I know. You people always want your rights. So let's sit down and fill this out together, and I'll take it back to the office."
He gave her a look of hatred as he sat down on the couch beside his wife, and Lida Munson began to ask him questions and write in the answers with her ballpoint pen.
By the time she had left, half an hour later, Henry Berriman wanted nothing better than to be alone with Lida Munson in a locked room with no holds barred. He was going to realize his desire, and from a very unexpected source!
CHAPTER NINE
Jack Barton had three weeks of vacation coming, and this was exactly the time to take them. All his accounts were running smoothly, there was a prospect of a big new account on which he had worked and which would be ready about the time the three weeks would be up, and finally he wanted to devote his time to the pursuit of Lida Munson. He thought he had found a way.
On this particular Monday morning, the first day of his vacation, he had driven down to the Hyde Park welfare agency and had a little chat with its director, Mark Denby. He had professed to be a potential contributor to the agency, though living in the South Shore, and he wanted to know something about the agency personnel. Mark Denby obligingly gave him a rundown on all the people who worked under his jurisdiction, including Lida Munson.
Much of Mark Denby's surprise, Jack Barton seemed to know a good deal about Lida. "As it happens, Mr. Denby," the handsome advertising executive volunteered, "I met her at a cocktail party in the Loop some time ago. She strikes me as being a very selfish and self-centered person, hardly the type I should expect working in social welfare, particularly with minority groups."
"You know, Mr. Barton, it's amazing you should say that. That's been my feeling all along. But after all, we can't get too many volunteers, we don't have much money to pay help, and she asked to do work for us at such a low figure that I really couldn't turn her down. I will agree that she isn't always the most tactful person in the world."
"You can say that again and double it in spades, brother," Jack Barton fervently declared. There was a look of understanding between the two men, and then Jack Barton leaned down, put his palms on the director's desk and said boldly, "In my opinion, somebody ought to take that young lady across his lap and spank hell out of her imagine ass."
"You're a man after my own heart, Mr. Barton. I've had that fantasy for a good long time now."
"Really? Well, maybe we can pool our resources and make fantasy fact," was Jack Barton's shrewd, insinuating answer. And once again the look exchanged between them boded no good for Lida Munson's virgin behind.
But fate was working even more closely in their behalf than they could suspect, because just as Jack Barton was ready to leave the agency, Henry Berriman entered the office, his handsome black face twisted in a scowl.
Lida had returned with the form he and his wife had filled out before her, but he hadn't heard from her as to whether it was acceptable. She had flounced off without so much as a goodbye, and here it was a long weekend and no money yet. Was he going to get it or wasn't he?
Jack Barton had lit a cigarette and was about to say goodbye to Mark Denby when he heard Henry Barriman break in with his complaint. He raised his eyebrows, took a long puff at his cigarette, and eyed the Negro. "Excuse me for butting in, Mr. Berriman," he said suavely, "but didn't I hear you just now say you had had a problem with Miss Munson?"
"Man, that's the understatement of the year!" the Negro irritatedly retorted. "That ofay bitch thinks hers doesn't smell. The airs she puts on, you'd think she was a princess come down from heaven to us poor black folks and we ought to get down on our knees and kiss the ground she walks on."
"I'm quite familiar with her attitude, Mr. Berriman. You might say I'm a sort of friend of hers. I'd like to give her a helping hand-and I think we both know where."
The bearded Negro chuckled. "Are you kidding, man?" he asked with a dubious grin. "Talking is one thing, action is something else. Now you plain know we both of us hasn't got any chance with an uppity piece like that there Lida Munson."
"Oh, I don't know," Jack Barton blithely countered. "Between the two of us, we might cook up something. You see, Mr. Berriman-"
"Why don't you just call me Henry?"
"Fine. Well, Henry, as I was saying, my theory is that if we get that little stuck-up piece off somewhere and teach her a good lesson, she might just learn to be a woman fulltime."
"Now that's a prime good idea, Mr. Barton-isn't that what you said your name was?"
"And you can call me Jack. Yes, that's the basic idea, Henry. Of course, neither of us wants to go to jail. I wonder just how Mr. Denby would feel. He seems to be fed up with our little heroine too."
"Well now, I'd sure like to be in on this. Only me, I don't imagine spending any time in the pen. I had enough in Viet Nam, you can figure that."
"I'm thinking," Jack Barton mused, "that maybe we could hire a couple of boys with masks or something and take her to a deserted house or something like that, and really go to work on her. She wouldn't recognize who we were, and then maybe I'd come in and save her."
"I get it. You want to be the big hero. Well, man, I don't mind that. Me, I've got little old Eulalia, and she's pussy enough for any man. Not that I wouldn't mind getting a crack at that imagine ofay twat, you understand," the bearded Negro grinned.
"Henry, you talk like a man after my own heart. Let me have a little chat with Mr. Denby, and then maybe we can all go out and have a beer or something and talk this over."
It actually worked better than even Jack Barton and Henry Berriman had hoped, because Mark Denby, after telling his doting secretary-bed bitch Phyllis that he would take about half an hour off, proved to be an enthusiastic collaborator.
"Maybe we could stage a sort of kidnapping, without any danger to the little bitch," gray-haired Mark Denby mused aloud over coffee and Danish at the Unique Delicatessen where the trio had their refreshments. "Of course, you can't let her escape and know the identity of anybody. So I would suggest stocking masks."
"Would you be one of us, buddy?" Jack Barton chuckled. "I think I can find an abandoned house with a nice basement somewhere. There's one out in the South Shore near where I live. Fact is, the realtor is a friend of mine. He'd lend me the key. And he wouldn't even know what's happening, because he's going out of town for about a month to deep-sea fish off the coast of Florida. One nice evening alone with haughty Miss Prickteaser and I think little Lida will learn her lesson. Wouldn't you like to be along for the ride?"
"I certainly would," Mark Denby shook his head ruefully. "But I don't dare. I happen to be head of this agency, and if it ever should get out that I did anything-well, it's really criminal, you know, what you're proposing. Not that I don't privately agree with you that that little bitch needs the thrashing of her life."
"All right, just give us your blessing. Why don't you send imagine Miss Munson out on a call, say, by this Friday, to the address I give you," Jack Barton proposed. "Henry and I and maybe a couple of Henry's good friends, soul brothers, will be waiting for our heroine. I think we can convince her that it is high time she stopped wriggling her ass in front of every man and thinking she can get away with murder without paying the consequences. Then I'll come in and save her, and I'll be the big hero."
"That suits me fine, man," Henry Berriman chuckled as he finished his coffee. "Let's go. Me, I gotta get back to Eulalia and love her up some, just to prime myself for our little Friday-night affair. Here's my phone number, Mr. Barton-I mean, Jack. Boy, am I glad I met you!"
"-likewise," the advertising executive chuckled. "Here, I'll pay the checks. Say, Mark old man, are you going to get Henry's money for him?"
"I've already called downtown, and they tell me the check ought to be out in a day or so."
"Great work! Well, lemme hear from you when you're ready. I got a couple of my brothers together and we'll really make Miss Munson take notice," the bearded Negro grinned.
* * *
At last the memorable Friday afternoon had come, and all the preparations had been made for the reeducation of luscious Lida Munson. Jack Barton had conferred with three of Henry Berriman's closest cronies and they had all enthusiastically agreed to help out of the rehabilitation of this snooty ofay socialite. Meanwhile Jack Barton had procured the keys to the deserted house which was isolated at the end of a dead end street a couple of miles from where he lived, and made all the arrangements to use that is a training center for a weekend that the aloof beauty would never forget.
But as it was to turn out, fate, as so often occurs, decided to deal Lida's mother into the game. So, about two o'clock that Friday afternoon, Alma Munson, chafing from the unexplained neglect by her former paramour Brenda Stalway, decided to accompany her daughter to the Hyde Park welfare agency just to see what went on there and to keep from being utterly bored.
Mark Denby, who had decided to give Jack Barton all the help he needed without he himself taking part, had already concocted a scheme that would send the unsuspecting socialite out to the address of the deserted house. In that way, as he told Jack Barton who of course readily agreed as to the wisdom of the idea, there would be no possible abduction. Lida would go there herself, ring the doorbell of the house, be admitted by her captors, and then the fun would start!
Alma Munson walked into the agency office and her eyes immediately fell on Mark Denby, who was sitting at his desk dictating to Phyllis Jorgensen. His angular, tall, maleness made an indelible impression, but at the moment she wasn't conscious of it. What Alma Munson needed was a master, just as her daughter did. It was true that Daniel Munson had told her off a number of times, but he had never taken her over his lap and fantailed her opulent bottom. As a kind of resigned compensation, instead, he had done a little cheating. This was what Alma had used to force him to give her a divorce that would have been far better for him to have walloped some sense into her via her rear end, but then, perhaps, this story would never have taken place.
The silver-blonde matron was resplendent in a clinging blue acetate dress whose hem descended just to her dimpled knees. Her ripely curved legs were sheathed in charo-brown nylons, extremely sheer and gauzy, she wore an expensive fur stole, though the weather was humid and hot; this was just another of her foibles to show off her wealth and arrogance. But as she moved behind Lida, in trim high-heeled brown suede pumps, Mark Denby looked up and his eyes widened at the sight of her.
For at forty-three, Alma Munson was still an extremely fuckable piece of cunt, and his dominant maleness recognized this at the very first glimpse.
He broke off dictation, excused himself to Phyllis, and came out to greet the two stunning women. "Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Munson. I take it this is your sister?" he said with a sly flattery aimed at Alma, who did not miss it at all.
She dimpled and blushed, then giggled. "Why, Lida darling, isn't he nice! This must be your boss, I take it."
"Yes, Mother. This is Mark Denby, head of the agency. Mr. Denby, I would like for you to meet my mother Alma," Lida made the introductions with her usual disdainful manner.
"It's a real pleasure, Mrs. Munson. You've a very talented and beautiful daughter," he said as he took her hand, then put it to his lips in a Continental kiss. Alma Munson was, despite her current interest in her own sex, delightfully flattered by this male attention. Mark Denby radiated a virility and assertiveness which had never been shown to her, even by her own husband. At the moment, to be sure, she had no sexual yearnings towards him, but she was certainly smitten by his manners and his appearance.
"Isn't he a darling!" she cooed. "I just dropped in here, Mr. Denby, to see the sort of work my daughter does for you."
"Well, you came at a very opportune time, Mrs.
Munson. I was just about to ask Miss Munson if she could go out to 7437 Ingleby. There's a very needy family there, and they're supposed to fill out an application for aid, then you'll bring it back before closing time. Would that be convenient, Miss Munson?" his tone had hidden sarcasm, but Lida was deaf to it, as she always was when something really didn't concern her.
"That will be all right. Mother, you brought your car, which is a good thing. We can drive out there right away and get it over with. Why don't you come along with me and see how the other half lives?"
Mark Denby shot her a glance of distaste which she didn't see. That last remark of hers was just typical of her snottiness. Well, in a way he was beginning to feel sorry he wouldn't be going along for the ride and watching Lida get it. Then the thought occurred to him that if Alma went along, she might be a victim too. Well, that would be all right. like mother, like daughter, and there was no doubt that Alma Munson had bequeathed her daughter much of her snobbery and belief that she belonged to the elite and shouldn't have to touch shoulders with the hoi polloi.
As soon as Lida and her mother had left the agency to drive out to the address Mark Denby had given him, the latter telephoned Jack Barton at his apartment. "They're on the way, Mr. Barton. Good luck. Let me know how it all comes out."
"Great work, Mark old man. I can hardly wait to save Lida from a fate worse than death," the advertising executive chuckled.
"You might have to save two people, Mr. Barton."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that her mother came along for the ride. Her mother is certainly a looker. Silver-blonde probably in her early forties, but she looks ten years younger. What a dish!" Mark Denby enthusiastically described.
Jack Barton gulped. This was something he hadn't counted on. And yet it might work out beautifully. "I suppose you like her style, she's about your age bracket, Mark," he ventured.
"I'd like nothing better than a crack at her. But you know, we decided, I'm staying out of this just in case."
"Why the hell don't you come by and save the mother, then? Say maybe Saturday night, by the time they've both had a good taste of what's been coming to them and overdue for years?" Jack Barton proposed.
Mark Denby felt his prick hardened, and it wasn't just because Phyllis Jorgensen was sitting admiringly staring at him, her very heart in her eyes and her pussy twitching in need of another fuck. He really had a yen for Alma Munson.
"All right, then," he impulsively decided. "I'll meet you there Saturday night, then. What time?"
"Make it about ten. Henry and his little crew are going to be very busy until then, so you and I will break in and disarm them, and really both be heroes. You can have Alma, the mother, and of course I'll take Lida."
"Alma. I like that name. It sounds nice," Mark Denby said thoughtfully. Phyllis Jorgensen had started to sniffle. She had a feeling that her pussy was going to be out in the cold once her virile boss realized his sudden passionate desire to make Alma Munson a bed bitch instead of her.
But she needn't have worried. When quitting time came, Mark Denby waited until the two other volunteers working there had left, then said, "Go lock the door, Phyllis. I didn't like the way you typed my last letter. It's been a while since I gave you a good sound spanking, young lady. But I think I'm going to make up for it right now."
"Oh darling, oh Mark, yes, I want you to!" she panted as she hurried to lock the door and draw the window shades.
Mark Denby decided to spank her in his private office. Seating himself in his swivel chair, he waited while Phyllis Jorgensen, blushing demurely like a young schoolgirl, hoisted up skirt and slip, and then of her own accord unfastened her panty-girdle and snugged it down to her knees. Then she flung herself across his lap, touching the base of the chair with both hands and closing her eyes, but turning up her voluptuous ass with the eager anticipation of a masochistic martyr.
His left hand caressed her bare hips and lower back, and then found its way under her to press against her belly while his right hand resumed the stroking of her velvety bare behind. Then suddenly he gave her a good hard smack on the right buttock, and followed instantly with one on the left cheek, both of which made her squeal and kick up her legs in startled surprise.
"I'm really going to give it to you, young lady. I detected just a little jealousy there when I was talking to Jack Barton. I suppose you think I'm going to drop you in favor of that swanky silver-blonde who just walked in a few hours ago, hmm?"
"I was afraid, oh darling, ouch-that stings-oh please, I'll be a good girl-I didn't mean to be jealous-it's only that I love you so much, my darling, darling lover! Oouuuuuuu! Please, not on the same place all the time, darling-owwboo-hoo, I'll be good, I'll be so good, I'll be the best girl you ever had in bed, I promise!" Phyllis fervently sobbed as his hand rose and fell repeatedly with hardly a pause. Her magnificent naked ass had begun to redden, and her hips could not control the swerving, twisting and squirming maneuvers to escape the fiery deluge of spanks.
Finally, after he had given her about sixty, he said, "Now then, get down and say you're sorry, and also thank me for the spanking."
Phyllis Jorgensen didn't hesitate at all. Still sniffling and sobbing, she awkwardly got up off his lap, then suddenly sunk down on her knees, pulling up her skirt and slip to her armpits and wadding them up so they wouldn't fall back down. Her bubbies were heaving wildly against her bra. He could see the thick fleece of her cunt, and see that her face was tearstained but adoring.
He spread his legs, understanding what she meant to do. Eagerly, deftly now, from the long practice she had had, Phyllis Jorgensen pulled down the zipper of his fly, delved into his shorts, took out his prick and began to suck it. The sweet slurping sounds, together with her stifled sobs and gasps from the hard spanking he had just given her beautiful naked ass, soon made him come to pitch. Plunging his fingers into her hair and twisting it, he mouthed, "Drink it down, you sweet bitch, you jealous little slut, I love that big ass of yours, Phyllis-here it comes, now drink it!"
Moaning in ecstasy, the mature secretary adoringly swallowed her boss's spunk, and even though her bottom smarted furiously, her pussy was itching wildly. She knew happily that even if he did have a momentary lust for that over-dressed silver-blonde bitch, he would still want her, if only to turn her over his lap and fantail her big bottom and then give her what she needed.
A few minutes later, she was even more enraptured. He had ordered her to lie down on the floor and to keep her clothes well pulled up and to take her panty girdle off entirely. As she lay, squirming because her tingling, smarting bottom rubbed against the coarse rug on the floor, he crouched down over her, ripped off her bra, and then began to rub his limp cock over her heaving bubbies. It wasn't long before he was hard again, and then to her sobbing delight, he thrust himself to the very balls inside of her.
Instantly her stockinged legs clamped round him, her arms drew him down, while their mouths met, and even as Lida and Alma Munson were just beginning their retribution for the insolence they had shown their less fortunate fellows, Mark Denby and Phyllis Jorgensen were reveling in the joys of an uninhibited and glorious fuck.
CHAPTER TEN
"My goodness," Alma Munson exclaimed as she stopped the car at the curb opposite the address of the house which Mark Denby had given her arrogant daughter. "Are these people really on relief, dear? I mean it's such a grand, big house, even if it does look run-down."
"Well, that's the trouble with these niggers," Lida Munson contemptuously sniffed as she approached the stone steps leading to the wide porch of the old house. "They like to give themselves a front. They drive old Cadillacs around, when they can't afford the next meal. But they've always got money for a pint of whisky. I really tell you, Mother, that the world would be better off without parasites like those."
"I do agree, dear. Of course, in the South, they know how to keep them in their place. But once they get up here, it's just a shambles," Alma Munson declared as if she were uttering the weightiest sentiment in all the world, one which stamped her as being quite as bigoted and isolated as her own spoiled daughter.
The latter had put her gloved finger to the doorbell and was pressing it. Lida was exceptionally lovely today. Despite the heat, she had worn her favorite ensemble of a beige-colored linen suit-coat-skirt combination, with a sheer white nylon slip, garter belt, matching bra and panty set, and sheer smoke-colored nylons, together with blue suede pumps. Also, she wore her blue turban, perched at an insolent angle on her lovely head. But the contrast between the svelte younger Lida and her buxom silver-blonde mother was delicious enough to rouse the passions of any red-blooded male who appreciates pussy, and there was a virtual harem in these two females, both so different and yet both so a-like in essence.
"Is anybody coming?" Alma Munson anxiously declared, glancing back at her car. "I do hope we don't have to stay here too long. It looks like a very isolated neighborhood, and I shouldn't like to be around here at dark."
"I'll ring again. I hope Mr. Denby gave me the right address," Lida irritably exclaimed as again her gloved finger pressed the bell.
Suddenly the door opened without warning. Lida uttered a startled cry, but then it was too late. Three tall Negroes each wearing a stocking mask, had seized the two women and dragged them in side the house, and closed the door and locked it.
"Stop it-let go of me-who are you-why are you doing this to us? Stop, I say, you're hurting my arms-Linda, tell that awful brute to stop!" the silver blonde divorcee cried as two of the men grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her arms behind her back and promptly tied her wrists together with a strong cord. Lida meanwhile was left to fight off one assailant, who laughingly evaded her attempts to kick him in the shins, got behind her, pulled her wrists high up on her back and made her cry out and bend over with the pain to relieve the tension. Then he too corded her wrists as tightly as he could till she groaned in pain, and, stooping, lifted her up by the hips and threw her over his shoulder so that she was carried unceremoniously like a trussed-up rug down the corridor that led just behind the broad winding stairway to the second floor, and on to the back of the house.
There was an old door in the pantry, and the Negro who had flung her over his shoulder, his left arm clutched round her waist, reached for the knob with his right hand, opened it, reached inside to flick on the lights witch, then proceeded to go slowly down. Lida wasn't passive all this while. She screamed aloud, kicked her stockinged legs frantically until both pumps flew off. The Negro reached up and gave her firm bottom a smack through her skirt, and she cried out angrily, "You let go of me, or they'll hang you for this you dirty bastard!"
"Temper, temper, honeygal," he replied in a thick Mississippi accent. Behind him, his two cronies cackled amused laughter. They were forcing Alma down the steps, each holding an elbow, and when she held back and screamed that she wouldn't go any further, one of them brought up his knee right against her buxom ass, thudding painfully. With a wail of pain and shame, Lida's mother stumbled downwards, both men holding her tightly so she wouldn't fall.
Now they were in the basement, and everything was in readiness for a weekend that would teach not only Lida but also her mother that flouting and denigrating people all one's life is bound to catch up with one in the end-which was exactly where both beauties were destined to get it!
The man who had Lida in tow was none other than Henry Berriman. His two cronies, who were forcing Alma Munson forward despite her protests and threats, were his two best friends, Jeff Harding, a lanky twenty-seven-year-old Negro from St. Louis, who was visiting his cousin in Chicago and was about to take a job as a garage mechanic. Henry Berriman had met him about five months ago and they had become drinking buddies at the corner tavern. The other Negro was Bob Wittmer, forty, fat, stocky and nearly bald, who worked in policy in the South Shore and who was reputed to run a couple of girls in prostitution on the side. Henry Berriman had met Bob at the same tavern, and they had become drinking buddies. At times, when Henry's desire to forget the horrors of Viet Nam got too much to take, Bob Wittmer would let him fuck one of his three pretty young Negro and mulatress chippies "on the house."
Now Henry Berriman was paying Bob Wittmer back by allowing him to sample the wares of two ofay socialites.
There was a Negro girl in the basement already waiting for them. She was Bob Wittmer's steady girl, Lulubelle Januss, a quadroon of twenty-eight, tall as an Amazon (five feet nine,) dusky skin, and an absolutely breathtaking figure. Her long legs, closely spaced high-set pear titties, shapely, ample, tightly spaced oval ass-cheeks and sensual, easygoing nature, had made Bob Wittmer just about ready to put a ring on her finger so that some other black stud wouldn't take her away from him.
Lulubelle had just a hint of sadism in her makeup, and she had had some bad experiences from white employers who had hired her as a maid, then found out that she had a little black blood in her. This was why he had urged her to come along and have some fun with the two white captives that his friend Henry was going to round up this weekend, and Lulubelle was looking forward to paying back the debts which a white society had impinged upon her.
A year ago, while working as a maid in a imagine Beverly house on the Southwest Side, the husband of the woman who had hired her, tried to fuck her. When Lulubelle slapped his face and warned him not to try that trick again, he went to his wife and accused Lulubelle of being a thieving bitch. He planted one of his sets of jeweled cufflinks in one of the drawers of the dresser in her room-for she lived in at the time.
Naturally, when a search was made, Lulubelle was found to have the "stolen" property. In spite of her protests, the woman threatened to have her sent to jail. Then she called in a private detective and, being a sadist herself, watched Lulubelle being tied up in the basement by the wrists, blindfolded, stripped from the waist to her toes, and first belted by the detective's heavy brass-buckled belt and then both buggered and fucked.
So Lulubelle was seething over the injustice done her by whites, and when Bob Wittmer had told her that Henry Berriman was bringing along a snooty socialite who thought that hers was mink-lined, the lovely quadroon could hardly wait to get at Lida. Now, as it appeared to the delighted quadroon, there would be two women to work on, both whites.
"What's the meaning of this? I came here to talk to a family on relief!" Linda cried out indignantly as Henry Berriman finally set her down on her feet. Furious with rage, she kicked out at his shin, but he had already anticipated it. Wheeling to one side, he drew back his right hand and delivered a ferocious swat squarely against the ripest curves of her virgin ass, propelling her forward with a cry of pain and indignation till she almost stumbled and fell flat on her face. "Oh you dirty nigger bastard, you just wait, you wait till we get out of here, they'll fry you in the electric chair!" she screamed at the top of her voice.
"We got a real racist here, boys," Lulubelle Januss giggled delightedly. She was wearing a tight pink sleeveless cotton sweater, a black cotton skirt that descended only as far as two inches above her knees, and sandals. Her magnificent long legs were bare, and under the skirt and sweater it was all Lulubelle. Her magnificent pear titties thrust out boldly as if to tear through the material of the sweater, the hard nuggets of her nipples plainly visible. Henry Berriman stared admiringly at her. Lulubelle hadn't bothered to put a stocking mask on. She wasn't known to either of these women, they would never see her again after this weekend, and besides she didn't much care. She had just had an offer from Bob Wittmer to make it legal, and he had proposed that they set up housekeeping in Gary, where he had a cousin who was willing to let him share the policy take for a price.
"Don't you fret, Lulubelle," Henry Berriman called out. "This little ofay bitch is gonna learn her lesson before she leaves this place, depend on that. Now let's see here, you guys, how're we gonna work this thing? I didn't count on two broads, but I ain't kickin' either one of them outa bed."
The other two men guffawed salaciously as they forced their victims towards the apparatuses which Jack Barton had already arranged to be placed in the basement to welcome mother and daughter. He hadn't of course, like the Negroes, figured that Alma would come along, but neither had Mark Denby. But fate, as is so often noticed, plays her own hand and often slips in a joker. This was one of those instances.
"I demand to know who you are and why you're doing these things to us!" Lida cried out, stamping her stockinged foot, only to wince and groan in pain, having forgotten that her pumps had flown off during her frantic kicks over Henry Berriman's lap as he trundled her down the steps to the basement. The hard stone floor hurt her dainty heel and sole, and she hobbled a bit, to the amusement of the three stocking-masked Negroes and Lulubelle as well.
"Well, we'll get better acquainted as we go along, honeygal," Henry Berriman assured her. "Anyway, we wanna see just how nice and humble you can learn to be. The first thing off, I think we oughta start with a good sound ass whaling, don't you guys agree?"
"Sure do," both of the other Negroes chorused, winking at each other. The stocking masks made them look grotesque, and of course completely concealed their identities from the fuming dark-brown-haired socialite.
"Lemme handle this, you guys," Lulubelle stepped forward. "You just take it easy, smoke yourselves a cigar, and lemme do the work. I got something special in mind for an uppity ofay snot-nose like this one here. Why, I never met her till right now, but I can already now see she thinks she's so superior. Come along, little old whitey-gal, Lulubelle is gonna teach you a couple of tricks."
With this, she seized Lida by the elbow and dragged her towards a sawhorse, which had originally been a construction sign on a dead end street a few miles away and which Henry Berriman himself had neatly pilfered just last night. It had a narrow horizontal plane about three inches in width, the legs at both ends angled. It very much resembled the torture sawhorse of the dungeons of antiquity except that to be sure, the top piece was not triangulated nor sharp so that it would press cruelly against the victim's tender cunt.
Nonetheless, especially with Lulubelle presiding, it constituted a very formidable weapon of torment, which was precisely what was intended for the haughty white prick teaser.
"Hold her good by the hips, boys, so's I can get this skirt off," Lulubelle counseled. Bob and Jeff hastened to obey, while Lida Munson screamed and tried to run, but in vain. A moment later, twisting and jerking, she was rendered helpless by the two men while Lulubelle calmly unfastened the waistband of the skirt and let it slip down to her ankles. The two men obligingly pulled it off, and now Lida was shown in her sheer nylon slip. This Lulubelle promptly rolled up above Lida's satiny waist, and, putting a hand into the pocket of her skirt, came out with a safety pin with which she proceeded to attach the slip to the material of the suit coat.
Then Lida was forced down on her belly along the top plank of the sawhorse, and at Lulubelle's gesture, both men swiftly took out lengths of cord from their jeans pockets, and looped them round her slim ankles so that in a moment she found herself effectively fettered, another rope going around her waist and under the top piece along which she lay in this most provocative and helplessly vulnerable posture.
Her wrists were left corded behind her back, and now a final cord was passed loosely around her neck and under the top piece. In this way, if she tried to twist herself off, she could very easily strangle herself. Thus she would be compelled to endure what was in store for her.
The two men straightened and moved to one side, while Henry Berriman stood guarding Alma Munson. The silver-blonde matron, speechless with horror and shame and terror, stood with her mouth gaping, her eyes bulging, at the unceremonious and obscene treatment to which her beautiful virginal daughter was being subjected.
"You better tie Mummy up good so she won't git in the way when she sees her poah lil' daughter fantailed," Lulubelle now proposed.
Jeff and Bob needed no second cue. They hurried over to the horrified silver-blonde matron, seized her by the elbows and quick marched her over to a stone column in the old basement, against which they made her stand so that she faced Lida and could watch Lida's face from the front end of the sawhorse. A rope was tied round her waist and the post, and she was put hors de concours until it would be her turn to taste the vengeance of the outraged blacks whom her daughter had so brazenly insulted and demeaned.
"What are you going to do to my poor little girl? You stop it, you horrible people! Oh God, Lida, I'm afraid, I'm afraid!" she cried out at once.
"If she makes too much noise, gag the bitch," Lulubelle callously suggested as she strolled over to the struggling Lida. Although the horizontal plank over which she was placed was not particularly sharp, it nonetheless pressed against her straddled thighs, and each movement she made her cunt rub against the hard wood. But most agonizing of all to the haughty young beauty was the fact that she was posed here before these three masked Negroes and this nigger-looking woman with her white nylon panties tightly stretched like a second skin over the magnificently ample sinuously creased ovals of her virgin ass. The panties threatened to burst because of the straddle of her legs, and long shivering spasms rippled through her calves and thighs as she tried ineffectively to jerk her ankles loose as well as her waist from the sawhorse.
"Somebody git me a pail of water," Lulubelle now commanded.
Henry Berriman chuckled, understanding the quadroon's sadistic intent. Bobbing his head, he hurried over to the old laundry tubs, took a dirty pail from the floor and filled it. Returning, he nodded again as Lulubelle made an abrupt gesture with her forefinger. Then, to her utter consternation, Lida Munson was doused fully against her jutting ass, soaking the panties till they clung even more like her own bare skin and revealed the creamy, velvety smoothness of it.
Lulubelle now tugged off her sweater, and the three Negroes gasped with admiration as she stood naked to the waist. Her big full pear titties jiggled as she moved behind and to the left of the dark, brown-haired white captive. "Don't you want a paddle or something, honey?" Bob huskily demanded, licking his lips as he stared greedily at his mistress' bubbies with their large areolae and full, dark-tinted nipples which he had so often lovingly sucked in the act of fucking.
"Nossuh, honey, I think mah hand will dry off this here ofay bitch's ass real good. 'Course, if I wears my hand out on her ass, I kin always use a belt or a two-by-four," Lulubelle promised.
"Don't you dare! You let me go this minute, do you hear me? Mother, tell them they can go to jail for life or even get the electric chair for kidnapping us and harming us this way-tell them, Mother-ohowwww! You stop that, you horrid bitch!"
This last was wrung from Lida's sulky mouth as suddenly Lulubelle's hand smacked wickedly against her right ass-cheek, just above the summit, making her lunge forward along the sawhorse. The wet smack was lascivious to the ear, but the pain of the blow radiated through Lida's tender pampered, satiny behind, for in all her life she had never known before the ignominy of corporal punishment.
"That was a real good one, babe," Jeff cackled, taking out his jackknife, pulling his stocking mask a little off his mouth and making a slit so that he could enjoy a cigarette. Taking out a pack of Chesterfields, he lit one, and watched with blazing eyes, the stocking mask effectually disguising him.
Lulubelle grinned, spat on her right hand, drew it back, and then launched it with a full and vigorous sweep of her strong, beautiful arm. The left cheek felt the brunt this time, and once again the wet Smack rang out in the basement, punctuated at once by Lida Munson's shrill "Eeoww! Stop that, you bitch, you stop it, I tell you! I'm warning you, you let me go or you'll all be sorry!"
"She talks real high and mighty, don't she, boys?" Lulubelle sniggered. She leaned forward and applied a vicious pinch to each of Lida's ass-cheeks. Cries of pain and indignation responded to this humiliating treatment, and once again Lida tried to wriggle herself loose. But this time, as she tried to lift her face, the loose noose about her neck tightened, and she was made to realize the very danger of her position.
Her fingers clawed, trying to reach the cords binding her wrists. Her maneuvers arched and twisted and weaved her voluptuous ass in the most provocative way. The clinging wet panties were now transparent and showed the bright pink splotches left by Lulubelle's two hard slaps. Decidedly Lida Munson was learning the lesson she should have learned so many years ago, in a way, she would rather not have learned it. And yet it was only the very beginning of the full degradation and shame she was destined to endure before being "saved!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lida Munson struggled vainly over the saw-horse, her bottom burning from the two energetic smacks which the handsome Amazonian quadroon had just administered to her jutting ass, rendered all the more vulnerable by the soaked nylon panties which clung lovingly to the ripe oval contours, even welding into the shadowy groove of her bumhole crease. Her face flaming, tears of rage sparkling in her dilated eyes, the lovely haughty socialite again protested the ignominious treatment to which her captors were subjecting her.
Her mother, bound facing her at a stone post just beyond the sawhorse, was also struggling to get loose, to no avail. Now the three Negroes, anticipating their pleasure with the helpless white captives, began to take off their jeans and shoes, and stood in their shorts and tee-shirts, their pricks massively bulging against the flies of the cotton shorts. It was Alma who perceived the three savagely erect ramrods, and with a horrified shriek, guessed all to well what was in store for both her and her virginal daughter: "Ohhh, my God! Oh, please, for God's sake, not that, don't rape us!"
Lida turned her congested face back over her shoulder and she too caught sight of those violent erections, just as Lulubelle Januss with a mocking laugh stepped forward and swept her right hand across both ass-cheeks, bridging the crease and pinching the edges of the oval bottom globes together painfully. Lida uttered a shrill cry of distress: "Owwoouuu! Stop it, stop it, you black bitch!"
"Oh ho! Listen. Listen to that dirty little ofay cunt downgrade you, Lulubelle honey," fat Bob Wittmer guffawed as he unbuttoned his fly and let his obscenely turgid whang emerge, the lips puckering in ferocious rut. "Are you gonna stand there and take snot like that from that white cunt, honey?"
"I sure is not, lover man," the Amazon giggled. Again spitting on her hand, she drew it back and regaled Lida with a tremendous, noisy spank on the upper left hip, followed by one to the other hip which fairly made the captive lunge forward on the sawhorse. Thus she chafed and rubbed her pussy, so scantily shielded by the soaking wet nylon panties, and she uttered another wail of anger and pain: "Goddamn you, stop it, stop it, I told you! You wait till I get loose, I'll have you thrown in jail for life, I'll have you put to death in the electric chair!"
"She sure talks mighty big for an ofay cunt," Jeff sneered, puffing at a cigarette. He too emulated his older crony by unbuttoning his shorts and letting his longer, bonier cock stick out in all its throbbing vibrancy. Alma Munson uttered another cry of consternation: "Oh God, please, not that, we'll pay you, we'll do anything you want, but don't rape us, please, my little girl's never had a man!"
"Is that a fact!" Bob Wittmer jeered, walking over to the post and putting both hands on Alma's ripe titties, squeezing them through her dress till she twisted her face away, scarlet with shame, whimpering, "well, honey that sort of poontang is the best kind, didn't you know that? And I bet you ain't had it regular for a long time, either. Fact is, you're stacked the way I like cunts. A nice big ass and bubbies, and I bet you've got a plump sweet little twat that's just itching to have a good black cock stuck into it, huh?"
"Oh no! Oh dear God in heaven, don't do that me, I'll pay you anything you want, oh please don't, take your hands away-oh Lida, Lida, for God's sake, make him stop!" her mother cried hysterically. It was ludicrous, because Lida was hardly in a position to help anyone, least of all herself. Her bottom was stinging painfully, and as she tried to squirm and ease her position over the sawhorse, she only succeeded in rubbing her tender cunt against the hard wooden horizontal plank the more.
Now the Amazonian quadroon moved closer to her victim, and suddenly ripped the soaked panties off, exposing Lida Munson's jutting oval ass-cheeks brightly splotched from the preliminary spanking and exposed to the eyes of the three stocking-masked Negroes. The shadowy groove which led to her bumhole was visible, and as she arched and squirmed herself frantically, trying to diminish herself, they could see also the twitching lips of her soft virgin cunt. Framed by the dark-brown curls of pussy hair, that tender nook was for the first time in her life exposed to the view of lecherous man!
"Now there's a butt that can take plenty of fantailing," Lulubelle snickered as she ran her right hand over the cringing globes, while Lida uttered cry after cry of raging indignation and shame, once again crying uselessly to jerk her bound ankles and wrists free and to escape the humiliation.
"So you ain't feeling quite so high 'n mighty now, is you, white gal?" Lulubelle taunted, now applying a sadistic pinch right along the inner edge of those luscious ass-cheeks which fairly made the socialite lunge forward uncontrollably.
"Stop it! My God, I did anything to you, why are you treating me this way? Oh you wait, you just wait, you'll go to prison for life, all of you-you better let me go, my mother and me, or you'll really be sorry!" Lida continued her storming protest.
"I'm gonna give you something to yell about, ofay cunt," Lulubelle promised. Taking a deep breath, and once again spitting on her right palm, she began to spank those voluptuous, juttingly proffered bottom-cheeks with all her might, hardly stopping between spanks. The flesh flattened, then sprang up again resiliently, and now Lida forgot all of her shame and pride. She was conscious only of the bruising shock, the growing heat, and her tender flesh, tautened and stretched as it was in this obscene posture. She tried to raise her head, but the effort made the noose tighten round her neck, warning her of the danger. Her bound wrists jerked, her fingers clawed the edge, and long spasms seized her beautifully stockinged thighs and calves. Each time Lulubelle's hand landed on the flaming, shuddering, velvety globes of Lida Munson's naked ass, the latter was unable to control her convulsive jerking, which again continued to chafe her cunt and make her cruelly aware of her intolerable situation.
After about twenty-five of such furious smacks, Lida broke down and began to cry, and finally beg for mercy: "Arrrr! Eeeyeowwwwouu! Oh my God, you're killing me-stop it, stop it, what do you want of me, oh my God stop it, I can't stand it any more!"
"Now that's the way I like to hear a snooty ofay cunt talk," the Amazon jeered, pausing, her magnificent naked pear-shaped titties heaving with exertion, globules of sweat running down the valley between the hard satiny turrets. "You is gonna do a lot of things, whitey, before we lets you go, jist make up you mind to that. First off, you is gonna to apologize for all the nasty things you said about me, you hear?" And without waiting for Lida to reply, Lulubelle Januss applied a last savage spank with all her might which flattened the lower summit of Lida Munson's already inflamed and throbbing right ass-cheek.
"Owwohhhaiii!! ! Oh please, no more, I can't stand it, whatever you want, I'll do anything, only stop!" Lida shrieked.
"Oh my poor baby, how could they treat you so brutally-oh God, won't anyone help us?" Alma Munson cried from her post of captivity.
Lulubelle now moved forward around the saw-horse to face the sobbing, distraught socialite. She cupped Lida's trembling chin with her left hand and forced up the young woman's face until the improvised noose tightened painfully. Staring down greedily at the congested, tearstained face of her captive, the quadroon demanded: "now then, you apologize to me, you hear? Make it real nice and humble, or I'll whup ass till you're raw, and I mean it!"
"Oh please-I-I'm sorry-I didn't mean to in-in-insult you-but oh please, let my mother and me go, please!" Lida moaned.
"That's a little better, but it ain't quite good enough. Honey, lover man, lend me your belt!"
Bob Wittmer, though he wore jeans and a tee-shirt, had folded a black leather belt into the pocket of the jeans, and he now retrieved it and tossed it to Lulubelle who caught it deftly in the air. Then moving back, she dangled it in front of the horrified socialite. "See this? I'm gonna dust your ass off proper. It's wet from the dousing, but I reckon I can really dry you off good, Miss Fancy Cunt!"
"Ohhh no, oh God, don't hit me with that, oh please don't, oh what do you want of me, oh my God, just tell me!" Lida cried hysterically.
"You really want to know, bitch?" the quadroon grinned, squatted down and once again cupped Lida's chin with her left hand, then brought her own leering face very close to the agonized visage of her white captive. "I'll tell you then. You is gonna gam me. You know what that is, bitch?"
"N-n-no-oh please, please, untie me, it hurts me so here-oh please!" Lida whimpered.
"I know what hurts. Your ass and your twat. Well, you is jist gonna stay where you are, baby, till you say jist what I want you to say, get me? So you don't know what gamming is. I'm gonna tell you."
With this, the beautiful quadroon unfastened her skirt and let it fall. Thus she stood naked, the thick black patch of cunt hair almost concealing the plump fig of her voluptuous quim. Then, her left forefinger pointing to her cunt, she continued: "You is gonna put your mouth to my cunny and you is gonna kiss and lick and suck it real loving-like, hear me?"
"Oh no! You filthy, horrible creature, I'd die before I'd do a thing like that! Oh Mother, for God's sake, try to get loose, get the police-oh this is horrible!" Lida Munson cried, beside herself with shame and revulsion.
"Suit yourself, honey. When you have had enough, jist holler out. Maybe I'll let up, and maybe again, I won't," Lulubelle decreed. And with this, she moved behind the horrified captive again, this time swinging the belt in the air, and stook her stance at Lida left.
Lida tensed all her muscles, as the belt slowly rose up over her already blazing naked ass. Then it swooshed down and with a loud "Crackkk!", cut diagonally from the top of Lida's right hip down over the cheeks and towards the base of her left globe. Under the lash, Lida's hips jerked wildly, thrashing about from side to side without control, and a wild, piercing shriek was wrested from her: "Ahrrrowwwouuuuueeee!! Oh stop, oh don't beat me like that, stop it, stop it!"
"I still don't hear what I wanna, whitey," Lula-belle sneered. "You gets it till I does!" With this, she raised her arm again, sent the belt whistling down to slash horizontally over the tops of Lida's hips. Once again the half-naked captive executed a frantic, convulsive wriggling of her bare, striped and flaming hips, and tried to lift her face up to emit the wild, prolonged cry of torment which burst from her panting throat: "Ohho-owwwahrrrreeeyeoww!! ! ! "
"She's got a good pair of lungs on her, that cunt has," Jeff declared. "Go to it, Lulubelle, make the little whitey snot nose 'fess up she ain't noways got the guts we soul folks has!"
"You said it, man," Lulubelle giggled. And for the third time the belt swept down, this time lashing straight across the lower curves of Lida Munson's jutting, swollen ass. Once again the half-naked captive lunged and twisted, fighting her bonds, and once again a prolonged scream was torn from her throat.
Her body was now dripping with agony-sweat, and long rippling shudders raced up and down her stockinged thighs and calves. Her fingernails were clawing into her own fingers and palms, as restlessly she tried to tighten all her muscles, tried to fight off and to disperse the blazing heat engendered into her shuddering jutting ass.
Two more lashes followed, each straight across the ripest curves of those oval cheeks. Each drew a wild yell of pain, and finally Lida began to babble hysterically, "Ohh-aahhrrrr-oh God-oh what do you want of me-please-not so hard-you're killing me-oh stop, give me a minute-what do you want?"
"You know what I want, bitch. You is gonna gam me, you is gonna put your lips and tongue right up against my twat and you is gonna suck and lick good, you hear, white bitch?" Thwackkk! Again the belt sang its song of agony striping Lida's upper buttocks in a backhanded surge of the leather belt which cut from left to right. Once again Lida arched and jerked fretfully, trying to kick, then burst into plaintive, whimpering sobs.
"You gonna do what I tells you to, or does you want me to take the skin of your big ass, ofay cunt?" Lulubelle pursued. And once again the belt clacked wickedly and noisily over the base of the captive's shuddering, inflamed, burning ass-globes.
"Ohhhhaiii!! Oh don't, oh stop, I'll do anything, only stop, anything!" Lida finally capitulated, bursting into hysterical tears she could no longer control, her entire body shaking on the horse.
"I'm gonna give you jist one chance, bitch. If you don't do it right, me and the boys will take turns until you ain't got no skin left on that big fat heinie of yours," Lulubelle warned. So saying, she moved over to the front of the horse, once again put out her left hand to cup the trembling, tear-wet chin of the victim, and lifted up Lida's face. Then she moved forward, till her thick, muff of black pussy-hair was almost up against Lida's trembling mouth. "Do what I said," she uttered angrily.
And for the first time in her life, haughty Lida Munson, virgin prick teaser, found herself doing something against her will--the very first, the hardest of all, but it was only the beginning of her long ordeal!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dark-brown-haired Lida Munson shuddered with revulsion as she found her mouth close against the quadroon's quim. And Lulubelle savoring her triumph over this haughty and aloof white victim, understood precisely what agonizing thoughts were going through Lida's mind. "Here, Bob," she called, "she ain't cooperating yet. Give her another couple whacks, and don't spare the leather on that big ofay ass of hers!"
"Oh God, please help, won't someone save my poor darling?" Alma Munson cried from the post to which she was tethered as she saw the stockinged-masked squat Negro lift the leather belt, poise it in the air for a moment, then bring it down with a sickening Thwackk diagonally over her daughter's flaming, squirming bottom lobes.
With a frenzied cry, Lida capitulated at last. She plunged her mouth against Lulubelle's cunt-bush and pantingly began to mouth it. But this did not satisfy the sadistic Amazon: "I told you, bitch, suck and lick and kiss my twat, you hear me? Go ahead, give her a couple of more swats on her big fat pale ass to liven her up.. . . She sure is slow to learn, but that figgers fer an ofay bitch like her."
This supreme insult mortified the lovely dark-brown-haired patrician virgin. She was about to protest indignantly when suddenly the belt bit cruelly, once, twice, and thrice over the ripest curves of her shuddering striped and jutting ass-cheeks. The pain was so excruciating that she could not catch her breath, and she moaned and sighed and writhed helplessly, while Lulubelle, now shifting her left hand to the captive's tresses, yanked at her hair and forced her face upward and then mashed it against her cunt with a cruel grin.
The burning, throbbing pain of first the spanking and then the belting, made haughty Lida succumb to this the most degrading of sexual acts-or at least so far as she was concerned at the moment. She, who had always gloried in her ability to lead a man on to the very point of rape and then coldly turn him aside with a withering and sarcastic comment, now found herself obliged to gamahuch this quadroon whom she had so vilely insulted, in order to save her burning naked behind from even more devastating agony.
Twisting her fingers in Lida's helmet-styled hair, the quadroon again yanked pitilessly to compel her victim to grant her the full measure of servile oral and lingual tribute. Whimpering, Lida Munson could think only of obeying, despite the revulsion which this act caused her. The tangy smell of the quadroon's cunt, the moistening juices, the twitching lips, the feel of her tongue at last against the buddingly swelling clit, all these sensations she was aware of and yet had no time to protest against. All she could feel was the scorching agony of her whipped bottom, and the knowledge that these cruel tormentors would ruthlessly resume punishment if she failed to satisfy this cruel and despotic half-naked dominatress.
"That's better," Lulubelle purred in a mollified tone, grinning at the three masked Negroes who stood watching. Their cocks emerged through the open flies of their shorts, and they were all in prodigious states of rut, awaiting their time with luscious Lida. "Alright white girl, now just lick my clit good and hard till I cream, then you can lap me up," the Amazon commanded.
Lida was trying to get her breath back, then her face was mashed against the quadroon's crotch, and her position was torturing indeed. Her wrists were by now raw from twisting and chafing against the cords which bound them, and she had broken her fingernails scratching into her palms and trying to reach the cords to free herself. Straddled over the sawhorse, her ankles tied tightly to the lower legs, a rope around her waist and the noose still grimly tight around her slim throat, she was unable to alter the awkwardness and painfulness of her posture. And the narrow plank along which she lay continued to press cruelly into her own tender virgin cunthole.
Her tongue at last perorated against the turgid button that lodestone of life, and Lulubelle moaned with pleasure, giving occasional little yanks to the victim's hair. Meanwhile Bob Wittmer amused himself by flipping the belt so that the tip would sting Lida's stockinged calves, and sobbing gasps and inarticulate moans of protest and pain emerged constantly as the frantic half-naked young socialite performed her debut into carnal degradation.
Suddenly with a moan of ecstasy, the Amazon stiffened and then mashed her loins against Lida's mouth, howling, "I'm coming, you little ofay bitch, drink me, drink me! Ahahaahhhhhhhh, here it is, get it every drop, you white cunt!" and spent.
Lida's tongue gorged and gouged feverishly so as to spare her burning, swollen bottom more of the same, and at last the quadroon released her hair and stepped back, with a moan of contentment.
"Not bad for an ofay virgin," she declared. "But all we heard that she's cherry. I'd like to know if she really is or if that's just talk. Whyn't you find for us, honey man?" she demanded of her lover.
Bob Wittmer cackled and nodded his head. He moved forward, grotesquely masked with the stocking still around his moon-face. He put out his right forefinger towards the pink labia of Lida Munson's cunthole, and then deftly engaged it between the gaping labia.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh noooooooooo! Take your filthy hand away, you dirty nigger, don't you dare do that to me, stop it-oh God, I did what you wanted, make them stop, make them stop!" Lida shrieked. She arched and squirmed, and tried to press herself down hard against the narrow horizontal plank she straddled, to protect her maiden cunt.
But Bob Wittmer had already delved deeply, and he had come up against the virgin seal of hymen. "She's cherry, all right," he announced, amid cackling laughter from Jeff Harding and Henry Berriman.
"Well, what do you know? So this poor little pussy virgin ofay cunt ain't never had none," Lulubelle salaciously commented. "Seems like to me she ought to get some, don't you think, boys?"
"Sure do," Jeff Harding gutturally panted, for he was ready to burst.
"First, I think we ought to make Mummy and her little girl get together and love it up, don't you? It would be a real nice sight to see two white cunts pussy rubbing," Lulubelle continued, she having taken it on herself to be mistress of ceremonies.
"Suits me fine," Henry Berriman guffawed. "I ain't never seen no two snatches rubbing together. Maybe they can light a fire."
"And if they do, we'll put it out for them!" Jeff Harming contributed, and there was a general roar of laughter. , Alma Munson uttered a scream of fright and revulsion as she understood what the captors were discussing. "Oh God, don't touch us, don't hurt my little girl, please, I'll pay you, I'll pay you anything you want, let us out of here!" she entreated.
But at Lulubelle's sign, Jeff and Henry moved forward and now untied the frightened silver-blonde matron. Then they proceeded to rip off her dress and slip, and yank down her panty girdle after first unfastening it, though she tried her best to twist and clutch her legs together so they couldn't get at it.
In a few moments, luscious mature Alma Munson, her body pink-sheened like a baby's, stood clad in only sagging hose and tight-cuirassing bra, her pumps also having been removed. She tried to hide the black bush of her cunt, amid the lewd jokes of her tormentors! "Hey, you forgot to dye it the same color as the hair on top of your head, Alma honey," Henry Berriman pointed at her muff.
Her wrists were still kept tied behind her, and now Jeff and Bob marched her by the elbows over to the center of the basement. A pair of gymnasium rings had been fixed from the ceiling to lower, and they untied Alma's wrists, only to lift them up and secure them to the rings. Then Lulubelle and Henry Berriman untied Lida Munson, and stripped her stark naked except for her bra and stockings, dragged her, feverishly pleading ofr mercy, over to face her mother, and lifted her hands above her head and made them fast to the rings.
Thus both beauties faced each other, their bodies pressing against each other, clad in only bra and hose. The rings were then hoisted a little so that they dangled just on tiptoe, their stockinged feet scarcely touching the cold stone floor of the basement of this abandoned house.
Then Henry Berriman took the belt, while Lulubelle walked around the basement and found a slat of thin pinewood, about 18 inches long and two inches wide and about a quarter of an inch thick. It would be an ideal spanker for Alma Munson's big round bottom.
Planting herself behind the mother, she directed Henry to whip Lida with the belt and then told Alma, "Now listen here, Mummy, we're going to fantail both of you until you start pussy rubbing, understand me? And whoever creams first, she gets let off the fucking. The one who doesn't cream, she gets fucked good, you hear? Now get together and love it up, it's only right, seeing as how you're the same flesh and blood!"
With this, drawing back her lath, she regaled poor Alma with a wicked, smacking spank across the ripest curves of those opulent ass-cheeks. With a shriek, Alma Munson lunged forward, and her thick black muff rubbed against the dark-brown pussy fur of her daughter's loins. And when Lida tried to arch back from this salacious cohesion, the belt once again slashed over her naked ass, making her plunge forward with a wailing shriek of pain and they babbled entreaty, "Oh no more, don't whip me anymore, I'm so sore, I can't stand it, please, oh have mercy!"
"Then rub against Mummy's twat, honey girl, that's the only way you're going to get your ass eased off," Lulubelle jeered, as she applied a particularly wicked slash of the thin flexible lath across the top of Alma Munson's straining, wriggling thighs. The silver-blonde matron turned her tearstained face back to her tormentress and wailed, "Oh please don't hit me so hard, please don't, Miss, I'm trying to do what you want, oh please be kind to me!"
"That's a hot one," Lulubelle jeered, applying two more stinging cuts in the very same place which fairly made poor Alma yell and grind herself frantically against her naked daughter's cunt. "You never did no kind thing for no soul folks in your life, I can plainly tell you that without even knowing you, you ofay bitch! Now shake that kinetta and grind pussy, or you're going to be the one that gets fucked by these black studs, you hear me? And not only that. If I have to myself, I'll strap an artificial prick and ream you out, Alma baby!"
Meanwhile, Henry Berriman was applying the belt to Lida's creamy shoulders and back, and the sobbing, frantic socialite abandoned all her shame and modesty, and began to rub herself lasciviously against her mother. Lida, the pure prick teasing virgin, was now enacting the role of tribadistic Lesbian with a vengeance, her only thought being to save her tender creamy skin from more torment.
But since it was Alma who had the Lesbian experience with her former paramour Brenda Stalway, it was only natural and inevitable that it should be Alma who first began to respond to Lida's feverish if ingenious and inexperienced pussy rubbing. Her bubbies began to rise and fall violently against the tight bra, her body shivering and trembling fitfully as spasms of hot fire swirled through her erogenous system. Her head tilting back, her eyes humid and dilating, Alma Munson portrayed indeed the very picture of a female growing into heat thanks to Sapphic titillation.
"Lay it on Lida's ass, boy," Lulubelle called out triumphantly, sensing at once what was happening to her own mature victim. "I think Alma here is ready to spill her wad! Aren't you, bitch?" And with this, she applied a diagonal smack with the lath to the top of Alma's right hip down across both shuddering and striped ass-cheeks to the outer edge of the lower summit of the other globe, flattening the plump flesh, and drawing a wailing scream from the beleaguered, almost naked matron.
Lida turned her face back to implore mercy, but there was none to be seen with that stockinged mask covering the face of each of the three men. Jeff, who had cut away a piece for his mouth so that he could smoke cigarettes and enjoy the stimulant, looked even more grotesque, and even as she looked back, Henry Berriman brought up the belt and slashed it straight down, the tip whisking against her chinbone, driving her forward with a piercing cry of torment: "Ohowww ohhh arrrrr!! ! Ohhhh God, stop it, I'll do anything you want, only don't whip me anymore, I can't beat anymore, for God's sake, I can't, I can't!"
"Then pussy rub Mummy," Lulubelle taunted, pitilessly laying three more good hard smacks across the big firm round cheeks of Alma Munson's bottom, already violently discolored and swelling from the cruel spanking thus far administered.
The two women cast all inhibitions to the wind now. Dangling by their wrists and their stockinged toes just touching the damp stone floor, they rubbed and twisted, grinding pussy, rubbing titties and bellies, their only thought being to hasten the end of this merciless, devilish flagellation.
Alma, concentrating with all her will and flesh upon the exquisite friction of Lida's thick dark muff against her own tender and attuned cunt-hole, began now to achieve the nearness of climax. Whimpering groans, shuddering gasps, convulsive jerking of her entire body proclaimed this nearness. With all her might, she began to rub her cunt against her daughter's, until suddenly her head tilted back and uttered a groaning sound. "Ahaahaahhhhhhhrrrrrr-ohhhh, I'm coming!"
"Good! About time too, you ofay bitch," Lulubelle mocked her. Then the Amazon drew back the lath and applied half a dozen quick stinging smacks all over the big striped bottom, and Lida felt her mother's loins grind and twist and coalesce to hers; then felt her mother's body sag as the spasm shook Alma Munson and brought her over the brink and hurled her down into the abyss of pussy passion.
As she sagged, fainting with the ecstasy of pleasure through her pain, Lulubelle held up the lath and called out, "Let Lida off, now, Mummy just came. So you boys can fuck Lida all you want. Tie her down there on that bench and get her ready for losing her cherry. Me, I'm gonna pussy love Mummy here."
Lida, her body blazing with stripes from the belt, livid from the spanking and belting, began to cry like a baby, begging in articulately to be spared as they untied her wrists and dragged her over to a low wide wooden bench. In vain she entreated; they flung her down on her back, ripped off the bra, made her wrists tight with ropes to the heavy pegs that were hammered into the ends of the bench, as well as her ankles, straddling her fully a foot wide. There she was presented in all her virginal, tempting, creamy skinned glory, the thick dark-brown muff framing her virgin pink cunt-hole, her stockings sagging down to her knees, her face flushed and tearstained and congested, her eyes enormous as she lifted her head to see the three stockinged-masked Negroes standing there, their pricks stiffly emerging out of their open shorts, and she knew at last the abysmal horror of imminent cherry-loss.
"Oh no!" she whimpered, "don't do it to me, don't, I'll pay you anything, I promise, oh please let me go, you hurt me so much!"
"If I don't fuck, bitch, you gotta do something else for my dong," Henry Berriman roughly answered. "How's about it?"
"Oh yes, anything, only please don't do it to me, don't ruin me!" Lida wailed.
Meanwhile, her mother had been taken to a bench to the right of where Lida lay, and similarly flung down on her back, with her wrists and ankles corded to the pegs set into the bench at each end. Now it was Lulubelle who mounted her, as a man might, grinning down at the horrified matron, her hands cupping Alma's big titties, as she crooned "You and me is gonna have a little fun now, Alma baby. You can watch and help Lida and tell her how to become a woman, and it's about time."
"Oh don't let them hurt her, don't, please, Lulubelle, I'll do anything you want, anything, if you'll only let my poor daughter go!" the matron begged.
"What do you say, bitch," Henry Berriman demanded as he moved around to the head of the bench on which Lida was stretched, greedily staring down at her pear-shaped bubbies, reaching down his hands to squeeze them. "You want to do me off good so I don't fuck you, huh, ofay cunt?"
"Oh yes, whatever you want, anything!" she wailed.
"Then you gotta suck my dong off and blow me, bitch," was his rough answer. Cupping her face with both hands, he straddled the bench and crouched down over her, aiming his stiff prick against her panting mouth.
Lida uttered a shriek of revulsion. "It's that, or you get reamed by all three of us guys, baby, and then we'll turn you over and brownhole you good!" he snarled.
In her greater fear of being raped, Lida finally conquered her horrific loathing. Closing her eyes, her mouth trembling pitiably, she panted. "All right, if you promise not to do the other thing, all right, oh my God, I want to die of shame!"
"First you gotta blow me, baby," he reminded her. And then he introduced his prick against her trembling mouth, and, slipping his fingers up to her tumbled helmet-coiffed hair, began to yank it to remind her of her obligation.
Thus it was that Lida Munson for the first time in her life Frenched a man. Worst of all, it was a Negro to whom she paid this salacious homage, thus destroying all her pride and self-esteem. But the torment of her whipped bottom and the terror of being fucked by these three and then perhaps given over to the whims of Lulubelle proved to be a greater menace than even this nauseating act which she now performed ineptly. Whimpering and gasping, wretching and gagging, she accepted his prick and began awkwardly to suck at it. His lust was so great that within a few minutes he suddenly uttered a cry and shot his drench into her mouth.
Lida gagged and swallowed, and then in turn she had to take care of Jeff and Bob as well.
All this while, Alma watched with fascinated horror while Lulubelle began to grind cunt to cunt, tweaking Alma's nipples. She exchanged passionate French kisses, and suddenly the matron again was drawn into her Lesbian attunement and began to respond.
After Lida had finished sucking off all three men, she lay panting and half-fainting. Lulubelle rose from the bench now, and moved over to the naked girl. "Now I'm gonna have some fun with you, honey, and you can suck me off again good, just to see how much you have learned," she playfully declared. . . .
But Jack Barton hadn't been able to wait until Sunday as planned. He had paced the living room of his apartment all this while, seeing in his mind's eye the luscious body of Lida Munson, stripped naked under the whip, held by the Negroes to do their bidding. And he wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman before. He was going to see her now. So he drove his car to the abandoned house, parked it on a side street, and then rang the doorbell of the house.
Just as Lulubelle was presenting her muff to Lida's gasping mouth, Bob Wittmer cocked his head and called, "Hey there, someone is at the door. Someone had better go see, or the cops might get suspicious or something!"
"I'll go," Henry Berriman snarled, reluctant to leave this delicious orgy. He put back on his jeans and tee shirt, and then hurried up the steps to admit Jack Barton.
"Hey man, you wasn't supposed to come for a couple days," he grumbled.
"I have to have that bitch now, how far have you gone with her," Jack Barton panted.
"We just whipped her ass, and made her blow us, that's all. She's still cherry. You want to have her now, I suppose?"
"Yeah, Henry. I'll pay you off good, you and the other guys. You did me a real favor, but please let me have her cunt."
"Well, man, I can't blame you for trying. All right, I guess we've had enough fun with the white bitches. Although I would've like to have fucked both of them. Hey, who's that with you?"
Another car had driven up, and it was Mark Denby who got out of it.
"What the hell are you doing here, Mark?" Jack Barton demanded.
"I've got to see Alma Munson. I hope you fellows haven't roughed her up too much?" the agency director anxiously exclaimed.
"Well, strike me pink," Jack Barton chuckled, slapping his thigh. Looks to me as though we've got another case of unrequited love here. All right, let's go be little heroes!"
A few minutes later, Mark Denby and Jack Barton burst into the basement, and called out, "All right, you guys, get your hands up in the air and step away from those poor women!"
And so the three Negroes and Lulubelle were "driven off" and Lida and Alma Munson found themselves tied down naked on their backs on the fucking benches, clad in only their stockings, looking up with disbelief at Jack Barton and Mark Denby.
"Oh God, you've saved us, Jack," Lida whimpered, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I came over to see Mark and he told me he'd sent you to an address to do some welfare checking. You didn't come back, so he got worried. I decided to come over with him," Jack Barton glibly lied, giving Mark a look of conspiratorial urging. The gray-haired Hyde Park agency director got the idea and nodded, "That's exactly what happened," he said to Alma.
"Oh thank God you're here, Mr. Denby," Alma whimpered. "But I'm so ashamed, oh please cover me up!"
"Not so fast, honey," Mark Denby murmured as he squatted down beside Alma. "I'm hot for you, and now that I see you naked, I'm hotter than ever. How'd you like to try to be my girl for a time? It might even lead to marriage. I'm still a bachelor, you know."
"Oh my-oh my goodness-Lida-did you hear that?"
"Of course, I'm going to try you out first. So let's see how good you are, baby," Mark Denby remarked as he opened the zipper of his fly and emerged his prick. Then before the astonished silver-haired buxom matron could protest, he mounted her and thrust deeply into her tight moist cunt.
A moment later, Lida's mother had forgotten all about her Lesbian joys. She was being fucked by a vigorous man who knew how to bring her to the brink of bliss.
And Lida, seeing her mother, turned scarlet as she saw Jack Barton also open his fly and get on top of her.
"I'm going to marry you, you haughty little bitch, and I'm going to whip your ass every time you get huffy, you understand? You're going to learn to be a good wife, and you're going to be good in bed, or else," he muttered.
"Yes, darling," Lida had changed. For the leopard can sometimes change its spots, and passion can have its way, and the conquest of Lida had finally come to its happy end-or perhaps, the beginning!