The blast of the air horn brought Rod Hanratty out of his chair and over to his second floor window. There he got a fine view of tight denim stretching tighter still up the crack of Linda Patton's ass as she raised the side doors of her lunch wagon truck, and there he got another good view of her tits. She was one very beautiful twat. Take the best features of all twenty of the sewing machine operators at Hanratty Mills and roll them into one, and Linda would still look better.
She had long raven hair and a face whose radiant beauty came from more than just her perpetual cheerful smile. Her complexion was far better than the cream that went into the coffee she served, and her cheeks were as downy smooth as the fresh peaches she kept iced on her truck. She had a great set of tits, an absolutely fine young ass, and a long, willowy waist that made Rod's hands itch every time he looked at it. All this she showed off daily to supreme advantage through jeans and a t shirt or blouse. It drove Rod Hanratty further out of his mind to think about what she'd look like all dollied up in one of the gauzy nylon garments his company was currently contracted to fabricate for Hollywood Stars Originals.
She was wearing a blue tank top that day, and even from his second story window Rod could see the thrusting outline of her nipples and aureoles through it. There were very nice swells of that peaches and cream complexion of hers to be seen above the scoop neck of her flimsy little shirt, but her nips and her aureoles held his attention that day. He'd like to stick his dick in any part of her, he'd be satisfied just to rub himself up against her slim, lithe beauty, and given the opportunity, he'd give her an all-over tongue bath in exchange for just touching his cock to her cuntlips. But in spite of the warmth of her smile, the bitch was probably as cold as ice. He stood watching her, fondling the thickness of his cock through the pocket of his suit-pants, and now she looked even better as the twenty fat pigs who worked for him came waddling out to fill their guts with donuts and candy bars.
Rod's operators weren't all fat. Some were so skinny and old their tits had disappeared long ago. And some were black. There was only one worth looking at, the Collins tomato, and she came out of the door chattering away with the pigs like she always was. Beverly Collins was the only one in the herd worth screwing, but with a probation officer snooping around after her every month, Rod didn't feel free to force the issue with her. And for a frustrating change, she was one of those operators who turned up her goddammed nose at him every time the boss tried to play a little grab-ass. Rod had thought this business was going to be a lot more fun when he had taken it over from his father, but it had turned out to be more frustration than fun.
Linda Patton was making change and selling her garbage as fast as she could do it. They were all milling around her and her truck, including Bobby Stanton, the apprentice sewing machine mechanic who'd been hired for the summer. Normally Rod took no notice of the kid, but on this morning he did, for in his haste for his sweet roll and milk, Bobby dropped his wallet. And who should pick it up but Beverly Collins, on probation from a prison sentence for armed robbery. And what did she do with the wallet? Naturally, thief that she was, she grinned and quickly slipped it in the pocket of her slacks. Rod grinned, too, and gave his cock a final squeeze before going down to get his morning coffee and a closer look at Linda. He'd deal with little Beverly later.
At thirty-six years of age, Beverly Collins was a woman who'd seen fifty years of life. Before she became a convicted felon she'd been a topless dancer, and before that a singer with a band and a photographer's model and a beer maid and a bank teller and you name it. She'd been married three times and had had two kids, both of whom lived with their fathers somewhere. She would have been married a fourth time except that when the guy was busted for robbing the liquor store, he turned Beverly in, so they went their separate ways in their separate prisons. In her prison, already more than a little distrustful of men, she'd found that women make pretty good bedmates, too, and this was one reason she could put up with the working conditions at Hanratty Mills. Most of the white chicks there were either fat or old or both, but there were several spade chicks she'd been cozying up to without actually letting them know she was hot for their panties. One of these was a cute little brown-skinned gal named Glory, and it was she, Beverly decided, who would be the first to benefit from the find Beverly had made at the lunch wagon that morning.
There had only been eight dollars in Bobby's billfold, but far more important, there had been a school I.D. that clearly stated Bobby was only fifteen. And nobody, no one at all was allowed to work at Hanratty Mills unless they were sixteen. And from the look of Bobby's clothes and the meagerness of the lunches he brought to the job, he needed that job real bad. It felt nice to have some power over a man, even if he was only a fifteen year old one. It was particularly nice to have this power over young Bobby, for Glory had eyes for Bobby.
Half a dozen times a day, Glory would lean over from her machine to Beverly's as Bobby passed and say, "Mm-mm! That's the prettiest white boy I ever seen! Sure would like to have his pretty face up between my legs while I was sewin' on this imagine underwear."
At first Beverly had replied, "Shit. Men don't know how to lick cunt. If you want to get your cunt licked, honey, let me know and I'll fix you up with a chick who's got a tongue that'll straighten your hair."
Glory just grinned and rolled her black eyes in the direction of blond Bobby, quite tall and sturdy for his age, and said, "He's the one I want down there. I just don't know about those lezzies."
"You never do know till you try, honey."
Glory had looked at Beverly with suspicion-and with a glimmering of interest-and said, "Ain't no tellin' what I might do if somebody got him to straighten my hair."
Beverly had had no idea how she was going to bring that off, but she was determined to try. Bobby was so terrifically shy in the presence of all those women and all that frilly lingerie they worked on that he could hardly reply to a kind word as he oiled their machines. Seeing this, the women rode him even harder, teased him more and more unmercifully, and drove him further into his shell. Lately they'd come to openly propositioning him, waggling their asses in his face, and then howling with laughter as he retreated, red-faced and close to tears. With proper use of the wallet and its incriminating I.D., Beverly might become queen of the roost, and able to climb into the bed of any of the choicer chicks who came to work at Hanratty Mills. And wouldn't that be one helluva laugh she'd have on that lecherous bastard Hanratty.
Beverly caught Bobby alone in the bobbin room.
It was right next to that fetid stinkpot they called the Ladies Room, where Beverly appeared to be headed for the moment she saw Bobby go into the bobbin room. There she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, glowering darkly at him. Four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, Bobby cringed back against the shelves as if Beverly had a whip in her hands. It was his wallet she produced.
He started to reach for it and she snatched it away, snapping, "What the hell do you mean by lying about your age?? ? If the Labor Board finds out about this we'll all be fired and this place will be shut down for good, and all because of a little lying bastard like you!"
"I d-d-di.. . . I had to g-g-g-g.. . . "
"Shut up!" Beverly barked, and slapped him across the face, flashing tears into his eyes, but still not letting up on him. In fact she felt power surging through her like a snort of cocaine as she continued to browbeat the big blond boy before her. "There are women out there with kids! You want them to starve, just because of you? People like you ought to be sent to jail! And you know you can go to jail for lying about your employment. If not you, then your parents. But you don't give a damn about them, either! Do you? 0f course you don't! If you're not the rottenest piece of filth I ever looked at I'll kiss your ass!"
"But I had to have the job!" he said. He was weeping now, and Beverly found that delightful. "I didn't know I could get anybody else in trouble."
"Oh, kiss my ass," she sneered. "You knew very well."
"Cross my heart, I didn't!" he protested.
"Cross your heart? Christ, you sound more like twelve than fifteen. Crossing your heart won't do you any good. Kissing my ass just might," she said, and turned her back on him and thrust out her big round butt.
Bobby became quite paralyzed. Even before he'd come to work at Hanratty's he'd been plagued by sexy dreams. Not all of them of the night-time variety. But since he'd been working at the mill, every night as well as every day had been filled with women thrusting themselves at him from every position and posture. He knew very well these were pretty atrocious women he worked with, with the exception of Beverly and some of the dark-skinned women there, but nevertheless he'd been tortured with dreams that involved each and every one of them at one time or another. Mountainous breasts or skinny little flappers, flaccid fannies or gigantic ones, it made no difference when it came to making Bobby thrash his damp sheets into twisted ropes every night. Some of the ugliest faces in the mill could leer at him in the most exciting way during his dreams, and drive him helplessly on to yet another nocturnal emission, and there was not a thing he could do about it.
He was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He knew he was the world's worst sex freak, knew it so surely he couldn't even look at a pure and lovely girl like the one who drove the lunch wagon. He could hardly bear to look at Beverly, in his opinion the queen of the sewing machines, and he knew very well that the best thing for him to do would be to take up with the homeliest girl in the world, for if he ever got close to a really good-looking woman, he'd make a complete, everlasting fool of himself. He knew they all teased him deliberately. He didn't blame them for that because he deserved it, sex pervert that he was. And he knew that if he responded to that teasing by reaching out and grabbing one of those titties or buttocks that were thrust in his direction, he'd never stop. He would climb all over the woman whom he first touched, smother her with kisses, hug her to death, and drown her in an ocean of his jism. And here was Queen Beverly with her gorgeously round and compact fanny thrust out at him, not just teasing him about kissing it, but angrily demanding it of him. For her sake, and at great expense to his will power, he twisted his hands tightly behind his back and gritted his teeth and stayed where he was in the close little room.
It wasn't working out according to Beverly's plan. She was going to get him in a most compromising position, then open the door an inch and beckon o Glory, but he wasn't going for it. Not yet. "You'll go to jail," she said, and yanked down the zipper of her slacks.
The most spectacularly erotic dream Bobby had ever had now appeared, and it was no dream at all. White panties, purest white, and stretched so tautly over melon round flesh he could see that flesh through the panties. And the flesh he could see through those panties was no less fantastically beautiful than the flesh he saw above and below them. Kissing asses was not a sexual matter, he told himself, it was a matter of showing his abject apologies. But still and all, there was no telling what he might do if he touched his hot lips to those hot panties.
"Your parents can go to jail, too!" Beverly said, and fucked down her sweaty old panties. What the hell, she'd gone this far and it couldn't hurt to go a little farther. And kissing bare ass was so much more of a show of female superiority than kissing ass through slacks and panties. She wished she really could send the little bastard to jail. All men deserved to serve some time, and to get as horny as women in jail get. It might be enough, she thought, to summon Glory in and let her see Bobby backed against the wall by her bare ass. That might sway pretty Glory into getting closer to her. But what would really do the job would be Glory popping in and surprising her coveted little boy while he was down on his knees with his cupid's bow lips pressed against Beverly's bare ass. She reached back behind her, dug the point of her finger deep in her soft right buttock, and said in her last attempt, "Right here, you little liar, or I go straight to Mr. Hanratty with your I.D."
Bobby fell on his knees and kissed her, smeared his lips against perfect round flesh. He yearned with all his heart to grab her and hold her, lest she take this electrifyingly beautiful flesh away from him, but she hadn't said he could touch her. And then he wanted to touch her to push her away, for the smell of her made him gag when she pointed at her asshole or somewhere, and his lips went to there when she said, "Right here, baby. Right here."
Beverly found she was suddenly almost out of her gourd with raunchy sexual excitement, and she had to tell herself to slow down. Now was the time to call Glory in, with the kid right down on his knees. But when she felt his tongue plunge up her asshole, she turned about and grabbed his head and said, "Let's feel that tongue all over, honey."
Suddenly Bobby found that he was licking
Beverly's cunt. And really licking the heck out of it. He couldn't understand it. One moment he'd been enjoying the ecstatically contrite feeling of kissing this fantastically beautiful woman's ass, the next he'd smelled something bad enough to make him stick his tongue out before he got sick, and then she'd swung her leg over his head and turned around, and Bobby couldn't get enough of this wonderful triple distilled taste of what he'd just been trying to spit out. The hot slippery flesh of Beverly's rich wet succulent cunt heaved toward him convulsively, and Bobby started creaming in his jeans.
The convulsion in Beverly's cunt signaled the start of an orgasm of great proportions, as good as she'd had since she'd come out of prison. No way of holding back now, and no thought to sharing the kid with someone else, Beverly had already let go and let it happen. She spread her legs and grabbed the kid by the hair and jammed his hugely active mouth harder against her, and said, "Now pretend it's ice cream and you gotta get it before it all melts." And then she squalled and fell back on a shelf, driven there by a tongue that felt like a super-hot, slick cock had been plunged up her cunt. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out any more as Bobby's mouth slid up and down the length of her lividly hot cunt, one moment plunging his tongue up her cunt, or perhaps her asshole, the next moment sucking her exploding clit like a beautiful leech. She had to lock her arms and legs around his neck and hold on lest the next big thrust of his tongue send her on up through the ceiling.
Bobby couldn't stop cumming. And he couldn't get enough of Beverly's fantastic cunt. But the more he licked it, the wetter it got and the more he came. Long spurts of his jism were filling up his shorts, and as each of the spurting came, he held harder to Beverly's hips, sucked harder at her big, bare cunt. He was going to die from all this ecstasy. There wasn't any question about it. This utterly nasty, utterly beautiful thing he was doing to her had driven him out of his mind, and he wished it would never stop.
It was stopping for Beverly. The suddenness of it all had wrung an enormous orgasm out of her, but now that the first big blast of pleasure had swept through her she could come to her senses again. The pleasures were still very great, sweeping up and down through her body in time with sweepings of the kid's fumbling but very active mouth, but now she could handle those pleasures. She was able to hold back her moan of delight and stop her thrashings on the shelf she was sitting on, and able to loosen her hold in his hair. She could even think about Glory again, whose mouth should be where
Bobby's then was. This thought, coupled with the latest insertion of Bobby's tongue up her cunt, brought a final blast of orgasmic pleasure to Beverly that she knew would have to be her last for a while.
It was so wet and hot up her hole! It tasted just awful, but somehow Bobby couldn't get enough of it. His jerking cock was still filling his shorts with its jism as he reached for her heart with his tongue, then took it out of her wonderful body and smeared kisses all over the freakishly strange flesh of her cunt. The jism had ceased to flow but he still felt like he was cumming when she suddenly thrust him away and he sprawled back on his butt on the floor.
She was glaring angrily down at him, still the perfect vision of erotic delight in spite of his loss of control, and Bobby panted and muttered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . to get so.. . . "
Beverly slipped down off the shelf and jerked up her panties and slacks. The kid didn't have a damned thing in the world to apologize for, but he didn't know that. He was a natural born pussy-hound, like all men were, and with the right kind of guidance he could provide her with some of the kicks that were missing in this drab, dirty working place. She zipped up with hands that were still shaking and managed to maintain her look of righteous wrath as she said, "That's just a taste of what you're going to get for lying like you did. Before I'm done with you, you'll be on your knees like this apologizing to every woman inthis shop. Now get out of my sight. You make me sick."
CHAPTER TWO
It was a very miserable Bobby Stanton who washed off his face and gargled and gargled again in the men's John. What in the world had come over him to make him so eagerly put his mouth where he'd put it? Yes, Beverly was sexy and he was probably hopelessly in love with her, but that part of her body down between her legs was incredibly foul and dirty, and he'd gone after it as if it really had been ice cream. He washed his mouth out again, then leaned over the sink, shuddering like a wet dog and feeling sick at the thought of having to do that to every woman in the shop, as Beverly had threatened. He would never lie again in his life, of this he was certain, but he wasn't certain at all he could survive another session like that one. His eyes still looked wild in the cracked mirror above the sink and his shorts were still clotted with his awful jism as he shamefacedly returned to the buzz and clatter of the roomful of women whose jobs he had jeopardized. He should quit his job or commit suicide, but then again, there was hope that his punishment had ended and that never again would he be forced to his knees to lick like a dog at a woman's foul cunt.
"What were you doin' in there for so long with little Bobby?" Glory asked when the smug-faced Beverly returned to her sewing machine.
"Just having a little talk with him," Beverly said with a grin.
Glory wrinkled her pretty brown nose. "Smells like hot pussy around here. Just what was you two talkin' about?"
Beverly felt terrific. She reached over and patted Glory's ass, something that would have brought a slap at her hand and a scowl just a few days before, and she said, "He didn't have time to do much talking." She gave herself a squeeze on her still tingling cunt, rolled her eyes heavenward, and said, "That boy has got a mouth that isn't bad. All he needs is some practice and he could make a living with it."
Glory's black eyes widened. "You got him to go down on you in there? Bullshit!"
Beverly shrugged and took her hand from her crotch and wafted its fingers before Glory's nose, thrilling at the prospect of the time when the black girl would be doing more than just smelling her hot cunt. "I don't bullshit my friends," she said.
"Well, I sure as shit don't believe it," said Glory, regarding Bobby skeptically as he slunk past the front of the room.
Beverly grinned. "You will," she said.
If she played her cards right with Bobby, she'd be playing sixty-nine with Glory before long. The thought of that continued to be nearly as thrilling as the orgasms she'd just experienced in the bobbin room. The double thrill of looking back and looking forward kept her happily at work stitching frilly panties and nighties while she laid her further plans.
As much as possible, Bobby avoided the back of the room where Beverly was working. He was still badly shaken and thoroughly horrified at himself for what he'd done. All that wet and slithery flesh, like raw liver, and he'd sucked it and licked it with mad abandon. He realized now that Beverly was a terrible woman for making him do that to her. And he knew that, no matter what, he'd never permit himself to be forced into doing that again. The smell of her was still rank in his nostrils, and he couldn't bear to look in the direction of the woman he'd formerly thought was so hugely attractive.
But Bobby couldn't avoid Beverly forever. In addition to keeping the sewing machines oiled, it was his job to take away the garments as the women finished them, and Beverly's machine in the back of the room was still churning out lacy lingerie. It normally made Bobby most uncomfortable to pick up the armloads of panties and nighties and slips and bras and carry them out to the warehousing room, but now he scarcely noticed this, as concerned as he was with his actions and staying away from Beverly. At last, however, half an hour after the awful incident in the bobbin room, he had to respond to her loud call of, "Hey, boy! Over here!"
Her smile was the essence of evil as he trudged back toward her machine. He had always thought her small face, surrounded by a big puff of tight blonde curls, was a sweet face. Now he saw only evil in it, but he couldn't look away from it.
"I got a squeak in the pulley down there," she said, nodding down at the machine on its table before her. "Get under there and see if you can find it and fix it."
He wanted to throw the pile of her finished lingerie in her face and tell her to fix it herself, but instead he grimly set his jaw and knelt to look under her table. He couldn't see where the machine might be squeaking, but he could see her nasty old crotch. She had her legs open, the evil woman, and now as he watched in horror, she opened them wider still and ran her fingers down over the obscene bulge of her private parts. It made his stomach churn and it raised the hair on the back of his neck rise up to see her touch herself like that. And then he very nearly vomited when her hand turned about and one of the fingers that had just been touching her nasty old cunt beckoned at him.
He ignored it and went back to looking for the squeak in her machine. He should have gotten up and stalked off, but his darned prick had betrayed him by quickly thickening to a point where anyone could notice it if he started walking away. Her finger beckoned him again, her hand touched her crotch, and again she beckoned him closer under the table. He couldn't do that if he wanted to, not there in a roomful of people, and he certainly didn't want to. But touching his mouth to her cunt through her slacks wouldn't be nearly as bad as what he'd done before.
Bobby located the cause of the squeak. It was a loose pulley. As he worked on it he tried to ignore the proximity of Beverly's knees, the openness of her crotch, and the awful things she was doing with her hand. He could smell her cunt and it was making him sick. Who needed women, anyway, when they made you do things like that? She did have beautiful legs, ever through her slacks, and the curving bulge of her crotch was more than a little fascinating, but he could ignore that. The tan material of her slacks was very tight over her crotch. The awful, evil woman was now rubbing herself with two fingers right where Bobby had been made to kiss her before, and now it was making him angry. What he ought to do was bite her there, right on her nasty old twat, and then get up and quit his job. But he sure did need that job. And the crotch of her slacks was so tight he could see the split of her cunt. Bobby glanced about him through the forest of women's legs and table legs and pulleys and belts, then leaned close to those beckoning fingers, where the scent of her was stronger, even more sickening. His eyelids felt heavy and his breathing was coming faster as he touched his lips to her fingers and then to her cunt.
"Mmmmm." Bobby could feel her purr of pleasure as well as hear it. The finger's he'd kissed now curled in his hair once again as he kissed up and down her cunt. Its heat and its smell were equally delicious, its softness was divine, and yet he wished with all his heart she was naked down there and he was kissing and sucking the real thing. "What did I tell you?" he heard her say, and he opened his eyes and looked up to see Glory Johnson grinning down at him too.
This can't be happening to me!, Bobby inwardly screamed at himself. He was not only down on his knees kissing cunt in a roomful of women, he was doing it while one of them watched and laughed at him! And he wasn't stopping!
Bobby's prick and balls hung heavy in his crusted shorts. He tried to keep his eyes closed as he pressed his fevered kisses up and down the length of the wonderful, awful bulge of Beverly's cunt, but this he couldn't do. He had to open his eyes and look hard to confirm the terrible situation he'd gotten himself into, and when he looked he saw Beverly point at Glory.
I'm only doing this to save my job, Bobby told himself, as he backed out from under Beverly's table and started in under Glory's. To touch his mouth between a black woman's legs was totally unthinkable, but there he was doing it, and even worse he was liking it.
Beverly was thin, and Glory was round and plump. Her slacks were very tight on her, outlining every curve and bulge of the flesh between her legs that Bobby was kissing and rubbing his mouth and nose against. He'd never had a drop of alcohol in his life, but now he knew exactly what it felt like to be drunk, out of control, doing something you didn't want to do but couldn't stop. He kissed and mugged his way up and down between her legs while she giggled and pulled at his ears, and he would have gone on doing it all day long if she hadn't pushed him away. He rose completely shaken, unable to look at either of them, and used the armload of finished lingerie to conceal the aching bulge in his pants. What could he do if Beverly made him kiss the crotch of every woman in the place? Suicide was the only answer.
Twice more that day Beverly got the kid to climb under the tables and kiss her and her girl friend's cunts. She and Glory were definitely becoming better friends, giggling over their secret and the pleasures it gave them. They'd be real close friends by evening, if Beverly's plans continued to go as well as they had so far. As the end of the working day approached, Beverly knew Glory was pretty hot. Beverly felt that good, fidgety heat in herself, even though it did come from the clumsy kisses of stupid little Bobby Stanton. Beverly was anxious for the day to end, for then she'd get Glory up to her room for a couple of glasses of wine, and it wouldn't be long then till she got the clothes off Glory's beautiful brown body and made her forget all about the under the table kisses that had been the start of getting her pussy wet. Beverly's pussy was sopped and throbbing as four-thirty approached, and with its approach came Rod Hanratty, swaggering down the aisle to stop beside Beverly's machine.
"I'd like to see you in my office for a few minutes after work," he said.
He was a big, phonily handsome bastard with a toothy smile, but his smile was absent as he looked down at Beverly. She smiled pleasantly up at him and said, "After work I go straight home."
"Fine," said he, starting away. "Go straight home then, and don't bother coming in in the morning."
"That sonofabitch," she said to Glory. "I don't want to stick around here and go to his office after work. I wanted to see if you wanted to come up to my place for a couple of drinks and some laughs."
Glory grinned and said, "I'm headin' for home as quick as I can. I got a fire my old man's got to work on. Phew! I do feel horny today!"
Beverly's wrath rose up at Bobby as well as at Hanratty. What a rotten way for things to turn out. She'd have to put up with some lecture from Hanratty, probably have to fight the bastard off, and then she'd have to go home and diddle herself instead of playing nice games with Glory. It wasn't right, but with her record she couldn't afford to get fired. She would have to put up with Hanratty's bullshit and just start out all over again with Glory and Bobby in the morning.
Beverly had been to Mr. Hanratty's office before, when she'd gotten hired. In contrast to the rest of his business, he had it fixed up very comfortably, with a big walnut desk and a padded swivel chair, a couch and a coffee table for his big deal businessman friends when they came visiting, and a thick carpet on the floor. He had a bar in his closet that she hadn't seen before, but she saw it now for he was mixing himself a drink as she knocked and entered. She didn't at all like the way he looked her up and down as he told her to come in and shut the door after her.
She wasn't as tender as Linda, Hanratty thought to himself, but she didn't look bad at all. She was about five foot one or two, with a cute little shape to her smallish body. What he could see of her tits through her cheap knit blouse wasn't bad, and her hips and her ass were very nicely shaped within the wrinkled tan slacks she had on. She didn't look bad at all, and she'd look a lot better soon. He ambled to his chair and sat down, and made her wait before his desk while he sipped his drink.
"How do you like working here, Beverly?" he said.
"I like it just fine, Mr. Hanratty," said she, smiling and wanting to spit in his face.
"Making enough money?"
"I could always use more. But it's enough," she quickly added, when she realized he might be leading up to offering her a raise in exchange for a screw.
"If you're making enough money, how come you stole Bobby Stanton's wallet?
The smile faltered on Beverly's face, but she managed to hold it there as she said, "Stole Bobby Stanton's wallet? I don't understand, Mr. Hanratty."
Rod Hanratty sipped his scotch and soda and said, "You can lie all you want to about it, Beverly, but I saw you pick it up when he dropped it at morning break. And when you put it in your pocket, that was just the same as stealing it. At least that's the way your probation officer would look at it."
"I couldn't give it back to him right then," said Beverly. "Everybody was crowded around the truck just then, and I.. . I was going to give it back to him later."
"But you didn't," said Rod, coolly smiling, wishing like hell it was Linda Patton standing there sweating it out in front of his desk.
"I got busy. I forgot." Beverly fumbled inside her purse for the wallet wishing she hadn't taken the eight bucks out of it, wishing she'd given the damned thing back. She dropped it on Hanratty's desk and said, "I'll take it over to his house tonight. But you've got to believe me, I didn't mean to steal it."
He looked inside it and smiled again. Then he leaned back in his chair, looked her up and down again, and said, "He can probably do without it till tomorrow. Or forever, for that matter. A kid like that loses things all the time. I'm not concerned about him. I'm concerned about, you, Beverly. You're an attractive woman, working at a job most good-looking women would turn up their nose at, all because of a ass break. I'd like to see you get ahead, and not be stuck behind that sewing machine all your life. You're too smart for that, just like you're too smart to break your probation by stealing the boy's wallet. Not that you did it, of course, but.. . . " He let his gaze rove very frankly over her while his words trailed off, licking his lips and sipping his drink.
Beverly was furious and she couldn't show it. She set her jaw grimly and, wanting to have it over with and hear the worst of it, she said, "What is it you have in mind, Mr. Hanratty?"
He shrugged and said, "I'd like to see you move up in the organization. Like I said, you're a good-looking woman. You might be able to improve yourself by doing a little modeling for me. These things we've been doing for Hollywood Stars Originals have got me to thinking. We might change our selling techniques."
Beverly's anger and her disgust clearly showed now as she said, "You want me to model that lingerie?"
"A gal doesn't have to be tall to be a lingerie model. She just has to have a good shape on her. And I think you do. I could be wrong, but I think you've got a very nice shape under those work clothes you wear. I think you ought to seriously consider doing some modeling for me. I think you ought to think about it very seriously."
"You need younger girls for that," said Beverly, close to panic. "And I'd be too shy to model."
"You'd just be modeling in front of me till you got used to it. And you'd just have to let me be the judge of whether or not you've got what it takes." Rod picked up the wallet and studied it, tossed it in his desk drawer. He was seething with nervous anticipation, but he thought he was handling it well. He gestured at Beverly with a nod of his head and said, "Why don't you take off those things now and let me make a decision about helping you out with your future career? I don't think your probation officer would object, especially if we didn't say anything to him about it."
CHAPTER THREE
It would almost be worth going back to prison just to spit in his eye and walk out, Beverly thought, but then she recalled that prison life and she reached for her blouse to remove it. She hadn't been this angry at a man since she'd been turned in to the police by her former lover. She yanked off her blouse and threw it on the floor, stripped off her slacks and cast them aside to stand quaking with rage in her brassiere and panties. Hanratty just grinned and sipped his drink and turned on the radio on his desk.
Even in her cheap bra and panties, she looked pretty good. He mentally put Linda Patton in her place, tall and young and brunette and maybe even a virgin, but this one was good enough for now. She was a little soft looking, but not as soft as he'd expected, and her bra was very full. "Looks like they kept you in pretty good shape in prison," he said. "Not much fun up there, though. No dances, for instance. Do you like to dance, Bev?"
"I've got no sense of rhythm at all," she said, standing at attention in her bra and her very damp panties.
"I bet you could model brassieres," he said. "Come on over here and let's see."
Beverly closed her eyes to shut out the hated sight of him for a moment, but when she opened them he was still there. He swiveled about in his chair as she stalked around his big desk, and when she drew up at his side he swung his feet up and crossed his ankles on the corner of his desk.
"Not bad," he said, as he reached up to feel very liberally of her breasts through her white cotton bra. His big, soft hand roved back and forth as it went down over Beverly's waist, and he patted her hip and then squeezed her buttock through her panties. "Not bad at all," he said, "but you sure are too tensed up about it all to be a model."
"I told you," said Beverly, suddenly filled with hope for her salvation. "I'm just too shy for modeling. I'm half scared to death right now. Can I just . . . go now?"
"You just need to relax, kid. Go fix yourself a drink. Make another one for me, too," he said, and handed her his glass. "Wait up," he said as she started to go, and Beverly had to stand there with her back to him while he unsnapped her bra clips.
Beverly proceeded stiffly to his bar. Rod Hanratty was surely the worst man she would ever know in her life. Her bra straps hung loosely about her, its cups barely cradling her tits as she mixed the drinks, a weak one for him, a strong one for her. She could feel every place on her body that he'd touched, and those places felt very unclean. Someday she'd kill him for this, or better yet, cut off his balls with an axe.
Rod's cock was good and stiff in his gabardine slacks. He frankly stroked it through his pants while he looked her over from every angle, a compact and trim woman, in the prime of her life and near naked. She took a big drink from her glass at the bar, and when she did one of her tits put in its naked appearance, nice and full, with a perfectly rounded underside and a noticeably stiff brown nippie. Right away she tucked it inside its dangling bra cup, and Rod reached out his hand for her.
Totally expressionless, feeling as cold within her as the ice in the glasses, Beverly started back toward the man at the desk. She held out his drink to his reaching hand, but the hand went past it and inside her loosened brassiere, making her flesh crawl all over as it squeezed and kneaded the soft, full cone of her breast and plucked and pulled at her nipple. "Nice tits. Real nice," he said, and pulled the brassiere away to leave Beverly with nothing but her panties to hide herself from his insolent gaze. He fondled her waist and squeezed her ass, felt her tits again and made her flinch when he ran his hand between her legs, and as he did this he said, "You'll never be a model if you don't learn how to smile. Smile, Beverly. You're not in prison now."
Beverly grinned like a hyena, and Rod laughed loudly and said, "That's terrific. You're really starting to relax. Now let's see about that sense of rhythm you think you don't have. I'll bet you can shake those nice titties in time to the pretty music."
Beverly tossed off her drink and backed off and shook her tits for the man. Why not? She had no choice at all, and it was better than having him paw her. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of his leering face, and in the darkness she remembered the pleasures she'd taken at being a topless dancer and getting a roomful of men real hot and bothered by moving her body. The music was good, dammit. It made her want to move her body. And the better she moved it, the hotter he'd get, and the quicker he'd screw her and the sooner she could leave. She opened her eyes to turn a sickly grin on him, and saw him rubbing his cock through his pants and eating her up with his eyes. Give the bastard his way. She knew a lesbian bar she could go to afterward that would help cleanse her body from his touch.
The little blonde bitch really knew how to shake it. She was getting Rod horny as hell. "Waltz it back over here, baby," he said, and she started toward him shimmying and shaking, undulating her hips and shoulders and swinging her tits like a pro. She had a terrifically sexy smile on her face when she stopped beside him, tits swinging rhythmically back and forth, hips twitching softly beside him. He kept her there with her motor running as he unzipped his fly and took out his big stiff dick so she could see what would soon be going into her cunt.
Hanratty's cock looked simply ridiculous. Beverly had never been one of those women who find a man's cock nice to look at. Before she'd discovered she was gay, Beverly had enjoyed the feeling of a hard cock filling up her wet cunt, but she'd always thought a man's cock looked plain stupid. Hanratty's cock was certainly no exception, but she continued to smile as he took it so proudly out.
From his cock Rod's hand went to Beverly's body. He slipped it between her legs, squeezing the softness of her inner thigh, and feeling the heat of her cunt. He was horny enough to go down on her, but he wanted to prolong it all for a little longer, for this scene was a dream he'd had for a long, long time. His hand rose higher up her thigh, right up against her cunt and the crotch band that covered it. He slipped his fingers inside that crotch band, and when he did he was shocked at how wet she was. "That, uh, dancing for me really turned you on, eh?"
Beverly had been hot almost all day long, and even Hanratty's fingers sliding through the swollen lips of her vulva was getting her even hotter. It could have been a snake touching her like that just then and she still would have had those terrific soaring feelings of deep sexual pleasure. She grinned like a fox, reached down and touched the tip of his cock, and said, "This is what turns me on. I could sit right down on that and do some real dancing for you, daddy."
Rod slapped her on the ass and said, "Why don't you dance over there and get us a couple more drinks first. And then dance over to the cabinet and do a little modeling for me."
Beverly couldn't have stopped the churnings of her hips now if she'd tried. Bobby going down on her, in the bobbin room and in the sewing room, had started her off that day. All the teasing and anticipation with Glory had added to her heat. And now as Rod Hanratty had touched her, just from the way he was looking at her, Beverly was as hot as she could be and getting hotter with each beat of the music. She was bursting with sexual excitement. She could simply not hold still. She even smiled in a genuinely warm and inviting way at Rod Hanratty, and gave his stiff cock a look as if to say it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life. Returning with his drink, she brushed her fingers over the tip of his cock, all wet and sticky, and he grinned and said, "Let's see how you look in the red."
Rod had laid out six sets of gauzy panties and bras in the cabinet that afternoon, hoping he'd get Beverly to some point like this after work, but not really believing he could. Now he knew why it had been so easy. She was a nymphomaniac, one of those chicks who went nuts at the sight of a cock. Of course, it might be him that was turning her on, but more likely any man could do it, and then screw her and give her the clap. Rod didn't need the clap. He needed the excitement, needed the release that could certainly be his very soon, but he didn't need the clap. He watched, grinning, while his little blonde seamstress with the perpetually hot panties stripped naked and put on some of the things she made for a living.
It was strictly costume lingerie, not the kind a decent gal would wear under her clothes. But Beverly was anything but a decent girl, and she was getting a kick out of sliding the gossamer thin red nylon panties up her legs and snugging them up about her beautifully throbbing cunt. She had to have that cock in her-or something like it-and soon, or she'd start climbing the walls. When she eased the thin red straps of the bra up her arms and snuggled her tits in its cups, her lecherous boss gave her such a lustful look that she wrinkled her nose and stuck out the point of her tongue at him. And then she began to dance in earnest, for as long as he'd let her.
Rod was greatly impressed with how Beverly could move it. And with all the goodies she'd managed to keep concealed from him under her work clothes for such a long time. She had a knockout of a body for a gal her age, very compact, very round in every department, and extremely active. Her buttocks, the size of volleyballs, were bouncing like volleyballs within the very thin seat of her bright red panties. Her tits, the size of soft-balls, were doing everything short of jumping right out of her briefly cut bra. In between, there wasn't an ounce of fat on her body, doubtless all worked off in her nymphomaniac's need to throw herself cunt-first at any available dick. Rod thought about lying back while she did a dance like this on the end of his cock, then thought about the disease germs she was surely carrying and sat back and watched the show.
As in days of old, when she was dancing for a living, the satiny friction of thigh against thigh was working Beverly up to an even giddier degree of sexual heat. She was getting so hot that the naked cock before her was starting to look more than a little good. It wouldn't matter if that cock belonged to a perfect stranger, in fact, it might have been still more attractive if it had, but what counted was that it was there, and it soon would be hers to provide quite a different sort of friction between her actively working thighs. It had been just over six years since she'd had anything but a dildo in her cunt, and now she was looking forward with real anticipation to feeling some solid, living flesh in there. It might even change her life, she thought, and get her involved with men once again, though she well knew the heartaches and frustrations that went along with that. But who could think about problems at a time like this, with a belly full of good booze and a pussy full of very slippery cunt juice? Beverly faced her boss in a half crouch, legs apart, knees out and arms out, and performed a series of gyrations with her hips that almost brought her to orgasm, and that was quite enough to get him up to the mood to stop ogling her and do her some real, live good.
"C'mere, baby," he said, and beckoned her over to him.
Beverly came, dancing all the way, shaking her very full tits and fucking the cock that wasn't yet in her, and when she was close enough to him, she swooped low with her face to blow a breath of hot air over the flaming red cockhead that soon would plunge deep in her body.
"Yeh, that's the way I like it," said Rod, and caught himself a handful of kinky blonde hair and brought her face down on his loins.
Beverly managed to sidestep his cock with her mouth, but then that part of her body and her nose was buried deep in his hairy black loins, where the smell of his sex and his working day was strong enough to gag her. She wrenched away, panting heavily, and tried to rise up to where she could straddle him, but he held her firm, smiled down at her very benignly, and said, "Let's see what you know about sucking cock."
"I don't do that," said Beverly, still panting and very flushed with her largely self-induced lusts. "I'll fuck, but I'll be damned if I'll suck."
"That's what you said about dancing, and look how good you did at that. Give us a suck, blondie, You'll be worse than damned if you don't. And I'm not about to cum in your pretty mouth."
Once again Beverly had no choice. And his cock was right there beside her, so close to her cheek she could feel its heat, and a quick taste of cock might be just the thing she needed to expand her sexual interests to a point where they had been before those years she's spent in the Women's Correctional Institute. She took his cock in her mouth, great bulbous thing that it was, and sucked on the satiny flesh, tasted its masculine falvor, and succeeded in not throwing up.
The flavor was awful! Six years was not nearly long enough to be away from sucking cock, but all Beverly could do about it was suck like a madman on it alid hope that her heavy salivation would quickly wash away the terrible taste. In moments it was nearly as juicy as a well-sucked cunt, and still he kept her kneeling on the floor beside him, his hand very strong in her hair, moaning and grunting softly while she performed this act of sexual supplication that she'd sworn she'd never again do for a man. The thought of prison kept her going. The thought that she'd soon have that cock in her badly burning cunt made her keep sucking and bobbing her feverish head. The thought of going sixty-nine with Glory was enough of a distraction to make her cunt start throbbing again, and to keep this going she reached down inside those stupid red panties and got a finger on her clit, pressed the button and worked it madly around, and the cock in her mouth began to erupt.
"Oh! Jesus Christ!" Rod exclaimed, for between his thoughts of Linda Patton and his little modeling session with Beverly, he had a load in his nuts that was huge. "Yeah! My Go-o-od!" he said from between gritted teeth, making his swivel chair creak, shooting up like a Roman candle into a most receptive, soft mouth.
Beverly's mouth was anything but receptive. She was trying to get it off that huge thing spurting foulness inside her head. But his hand was very strong and she was very weak, caught by her own greedy lusts in an orgasm of her own making. As awful as this experience was, it wasn't bad enough to stop her orgasms. She couldn't even take her finger from her clit as the big explosions wracked her time and again, in a weird sort of tempo with those heavy gushings of goaty male semen in her mouth. In her mouth? It was going up inside her throat to snot down through her nostrils, up inside her brain to prevent her from ever forgetting this oral rape she'd been subjected to, and still she had to suck and cum, suck and cum, and at last to swallow the ropy goo that he'd forced in her mouth. Then, to add the most disgusting insult to her injury, she had to weakly smile and wilt like a grateful maiden when he let her hair go, saying as he did, "Yeah, just like I thought, you're one helluva good blow job. You might even get a bonus out of this, kid."
CHAPTER FOUR
Rod Hanratty withdrew to his executive washroom for a long, hot shower after his kicks with one of his operators, and there he smiled as he dwelt most fondly on the minute recollections of every minute of the time he'd spent after work that day. And he dwelt further still on how much sweeter and more thrilling it would have been if his model had been young Linda Patton.
Beverly Collins went out and got drunk.
She went to the lesbian bar she knew, poured beer and whiskey and wine down her throat, anything to wash that awful, humiliating taste of cum from her mouth, and set out to reaffirm her natural tendencies toward sex with her own willing gender. Men were selfish brutes, men were cruel rapists, and these views of hers were heartily agreed upon by all the other women who patronized the bar that night. Beverly left with two of them, as well as she could later remember, but in the morning, when she awoke with a grinding hangover, it felt as if there might have been considerably more of her pick-up friends in her sleazy room with her, because her cunt was so sore she doubted she could wear any panties that day. Her own modest-sized dildo was there in the rumpled bed with her, but they must have brought their own, and those things must have been whoppers, for Beverly felt stretched out of shape. She also felt like staying home from work that day, but probation officers didn't like that sort of thing on a work record, and she'd be damned if she'd do anything but show up after work as if nothing at all had changed after that fucker Hanratty had taken such bad advantage of her.
One change was made, however, and that was that she wore a skirt to work that day. Her cunt was just too sore to be contained in a pair of pants all day long.
Rod Hanratty noticed it. He spotted the skirt and the sunglasses on Beverly from his second story window, as she came to get coffee from Linda Pat-ton's truck some five minutes before the working day started. Still ogling the shapely young Linda, Rod smiled to himself at the small change in Beverly. One little trip to the boss's office after work, and she was taking on airs, trying to make herself look sexier, more feminine. He didn't mind that. He found it rather flattering. But he'd be right there to put a stop to it if she ever got any notion about acting even a little possessive about him. He'd let her know that even though she might be an erotic dancer of professional caliber and a really superb blow job, she was just an hourly shop girl and that's all she would ever be. This he displayed with his usual cool nod at her, and at any of the girls who were around, when he went down to buy the last cup of coffee Linda Patton would sell at Hanratty Mills until their ten o'clock break. He was smiling and supremely pleasant but still very businesslike as he bought the coffee, and mentally sizing the shapefully slender young brunette up for her debut as his own private lingerie model as he gave her a dollar and got coins from her changer.
Beverly's stomach felt filled with molten lava and her cunt felt as if it had been dusted with chili powder as she took her place at her sewing machine. Glory hadn't shown up yet, and that was just as well, for Beverly knew her breath stunk of stale booze, and besides, she had no interest at all in sex that day. Beverly had no interest in anything at all beyond the end of that working day, but young Bobby Stanton obviously did. He mooned at her, cast calve's eyes at her from clear across the room, bringing forth a response from Beverly that consisted of a middle finger raised up and jabbed once in the air in his direction.
Bobby didn't know whether to take that gesture as an insult or as some sort of a sexual proposition. He knew very little about girls, and even less about women. All he knew for sure was that he'd very literally gotten a taste of sex the day before, and that he'd never get over the experience. In every way, Bobby knew sex was a dirty, disgusting thing, and that there could be nothing at all good to say about a guy who stuck his face between women's legs and kissed them and licked them where they pooped and peed and did all sorts of other strange things. But still and all, he'd been unable to think about anything else at all since leaving work the day before. He didn't know if he was in love with Beverly, in love with pussy, or out of his mind. He did know that everything he saw or did reminded him of that disgustingly gorgeous part of Beverly's anatomy that he'd kissed and sucked, both naked and covered with sexy clothing, and that if he could do it one more time in his life he would die a happy man.
On the way to work on his bicycle, Bobby had vowed to quit thinking about Beverly. And about Glory. He had tried not to even look at the blonde, the sexiest, the most beautiful woman in the world, but the moment he saw her clad in that agonizingly sexy short skirt, he was gone, hopelessly lost in his marvelous love for her. And the second moment after she gave him the finger, he knew it was an invitation and not an insult. As quickly as he could, with his mouth watering and his prick and balls tingling, he made his way to Beverly's machine.
"How's your . . . pulleys today?" he said. "Any squeaks or anything? Anything at all I can, you know, fix or anything?"
She shook her head and went on sewing, working on a white satin slip that looked so much like a bridal dress that Bobby's heart twisted up in his chest.
"I better check it," he said, and got on his knees on the floor on the other side of her work table from her.
Her machine was working just fine, darn it. Her foot was working just fine on the pedal, too, and what a cunning little foot it was. Her knees, quite bare beneath the hem of her little brown skirt, were quite enough to declare her the winner in any beauty contest, even though they were held so modestly close together a playing card could not have been inserted between them. Nevertheless Bobby's adoration for her was such that he crawled further beneath her table to place a tender kiss upon each dimpled darling of a knee, and when her dear hand came down to push him away, he crouched lower in her presence and touched his hot lips to each of her sweet little feet. And when he arose, poignantly proud of his display of pure love for her, she only sneered and flipped him the bird again.
No matter, he thought, as he walked off. After their cataclysmically sexy introduction to love, it was only natural that she'd want to cool things a bit and start anew on a more even keel with them. And after all, it wasn't as if he was her age or she was his. With Beverly so ancient and with him so young, theirs would be a difficult love affair and perhaps a difficult marriage, but he knew that their love would prevail and he trusted Beverly to guide it along from its new start, even if that start came from an obscene gesture.
Beverly wasn't thinking very straight that day. It was the hangover that did it. That and the fact that without Glory to gab with and scheme over, she had too much time to think that day. But in her confused thoughts she blamed Bobby for her problems, from her disgusting session with Hanratty to her wild excesses with the bull dykes of the night before, even to Glory's absence that day. All of it, it seemed, had started with the stupid kid losing his stupid wallet, a kid so stupid he'd get down on his knees and kiss her feet for breakfast. Beverly wanted nothing more to do with him. All she wanted in life was to work at this stupid job till she had a nest egg and a clean bill of health from her probation officer, then move on to a job as a lighthouse keeper. Those were her future desires that morning; her more immediate desire was to find some relief for her badly chafed pussy.
Had those gay gals she'd picked up the night before had sandpaper for tongues? In her groin, the seams of her crotch band felt made of barbed wire, and after suffering from this for half an hour, Beverly got up from her machine and took care of it by taking her panties off in the women's john, and by dusting her aching twat with talcum powder. As might have been expected, Bobby was lurking outside the door with vast hope in his eyes as she exited. Beverly sneered in a vile way at him and shoved her discarded panties in his face before returning to her work.
Of course Bobby took it as an invitation, as a promise of their future love. Straightaway he went to the warehouse, and there amid the bales and boxes of fresh new lingerie, he held the old pair of his Beverly's panties to his face, kissed them and wept a tear into their threadbare old stretch lace, and reaffirmed his love for her. The panties went into his pocket as a lasting token of love, and he went straightaway to Beverly once again.
There beside her humming machine, he cast her the shiest, yet boldest look of love, pulled a corner of her panties out of his pocket, and nodded and smiled down on her.
"Beat it," she muttered, and went on sewing.
"I don't do that," he told her. "I'll show you what I do do."
Down under her table he went, and past the pulleys and belts, to cover her clasped knees with the sweetest of kisses, though no kisses could be as sweet as the flowery scent of the pussy he longed to kiss. Again she wouldn't let him do it. He had to content himself with the touch of her silken knees and shins against his love-stricken lips, and still he was smiling with longing as once again he arose from his knees. Once again he got the finger for his troubles, and once again he returned in a dazzle of love to his work.
At break time Beverly's cunt was feeling some better, but not really very much. Eschewing the lunch wagon, she went to the women's John, and there she used a paper towel to blot cooling water on her twat before talcuming it once again. She had just finished with this temporary relief when the door opened up and Bobby Stanton slipped inside the mean little cubicle.
"Get the hell out of here," she said. "I ought to turn you in to Hanratty for barging in the women's crapper!"
His lovesick grin remained on his face as he said, "I only came in to kiss you down there again, just like I kissed you there yesterday. Have me fired if you want. I don't care. I'll just get another job making more money, enough so I can take you out to imagine places and kiss you down there all the time."
"Oh, shit," said Beverly, fending him off as he tried to lay hands on her. "Get away, cunt-hound. God damn it, get away!" she said. And when he still persisted, grinning like the fool that he was, down on his knees now to reach for her retreating hips, Beverly in all exasperation said, "Okay, if you want pussy, I'll give it to you. But when it's offered, you better eat it all gone, baby, or you'll really be in trouble with me."
"Any time, any place," Bobby proudly said, and rose up feeing ten feet tall.
There were still a few minutes of break time left, enough to make a quick deal with Darlene, quite an overweight black girl who loved to laugh and tell stories about all the wild times she'd enjoyed with her boyfriends when she was still in the blossom of her youth. The deal wasn't completely consummated between Beverly and Darlene, but Darlene promised to pay the ten dollars involved if young Bobby indeed fulfilled what Beverly promised of him. When all the machines were running once again, it was the easiest task in the world to summon Bobby to Beverly's side, this time with a twisted but nevertheless fetching smile.
"So you like to eat pussy, do you?" said she. "Any time and any place."
"Let my tongue speak silently of my love for you," said he.
"Let it speak underneath machine number twelve," she told him, "or I'll never speak to you again."
He turned to look. There were tears in his eyes when he faced Beverly to say, "D-Darlene?"
Suppressing laughter with tightly compressed lips, Beverly nodded and returned to her work. She got up and left her machine when Bobby knelt down to get under its table and she took great satisfaction when she returned from the John to see him slinking about the sewing room in great dejection and gazing at her with eyes the size of silver dollars.
Lovers had to suffer. This Bobby knew from reading about King Arthur and his Knights and from seeing so many movies on television. True lovers met and passed every trial placed before them, and each of these trials strengthened their love for the person of their choice. And perhaps this test wouldn't be all that bad. After all, he'd already passed the test of kissing Glory's pussy, something he couldn't ever understand, but something Beverly had wanted him to do. That test hadn't been all that bad, though it was nothing at all compared to the immensity of the test that now faced him. Really there was no sense in even thinking about it. If he ever wanted to hear Beverly's raspily sexy voice once again, he simply had to place his down-turned mouth against the crotch of the black behemoth on machine number twelve. He braced his shoulders, beamed a brave smile in the direction of his Lady Love, and moved on to machine number twelve.
"You got a squeaky pulley?" he said to the broad, grinning black face.
"If that's what you call it, I got it," Darlene said, and giggled and nudged the girl beside her.
Bobby cast a proud martyr's look at Beverly in the back of the room, saw her wink and nod at him, and with lips that were tightly compressed ducked down under Darlene's table.
Her legs seemed to fill up the space there, great thick black elephantine legs they were, but still she had room left to open them. And when she did, Bobby saw to his horror that her black slacks had been pushed down to mid-thigh, they were now being pushed even lower, and her panties were being pushed with them. He might have backed off right then and forgotten about the whole thing, but a sharp jab from a needle propelled him deeper still under the table.
The smell was just terrible, but still it was somehow reminiscent of the scent of his Beverly, and now Bobby tried to think only of her as, with tightly pursed lips, he reached his face forward to meet this terrible test. A powerful hand in his hair yanked him on, and at once his mouth, the whole lower half of his face was being mashed against big, bare pussy.
He pushed out his tongue to thrust it away. What a terrible nightmare of sex! And as he did this he encountered that same little fascinating button of flesh he'd discovered in Beverly's cherished cunt, and his tongue stabbed again and again at this while the big black legs came farther open still and the big pink pussy shoved harder against his face.
Yes, it was pink! Through all of his tortured emotions, Bobby saw that a black's cunt was pink, just like the inside of a black girl's mouth was pink, and this made the thing he was doing more tolerable. It helped too that she was no longer mashing his face against her cunt, and he quickly learned that he was permitted this small degree of freedom, this tiny breathing space, as long as he held her at bay with the point of his tongue.
And a very agile tongue he found that he had, able to flash and dart and fence and stab with it, usually directly against that button-like part of her broad pink gash, while she writhed her heavy hips in her chair and kept him at his task with strong fingers in his hair. The smell, the taste of big Darlene's cunt wasn't all that bad anymore. More and more, it reminded him of Beverly's sweet honey-pot. And if big was beautiful, Darlene's cunt was surely the most beautiful in the world, all rosy in the middle of all that black flesh as it was, all spread out between the fingers of her hands.
She wasn't even holding him by the hair anymore, he realized. He realized he was being further tested, to see if he could do it on his own, and this test he met with flying colors, taking handfuls of her beautifully soft velvety thighs and buttocks and tonguing her rich pinkness more ardently. He kissed it, too. He'd said he wanted to kiss pussy, it was there to be kissed, and he was ready to do it. His kisses he placed all around her tickle button, and right on top of it. Ardent kisses they were, too, for this was a task to do right, so there'd be no need to prove himself again. He circled that spot with his lips, felt every part of that button with his flashing tongue, and sucked on the juicy pink flesh to give his tongue still more to tickle and fence with.
Darlene was grunting and heaving about so Bobby thought she was in deep distress. He hardly cared. He'd been told to kiss her cunt, he was doing that lovely thing, and he'd continue to do so till he was told to quit. He laid his hands on Darlene's soft, luscious flesh, spread out her black lips wider, and kissed and sucked and licked her terrifically succulent pink tenderness with warmly renewing ardor. The prick in his pants was now fully hard, and patiently waiting till Bobby's mouth could be fastened thusly to Beverly's cunt before it gushed and spurted semen that would fill his shorts. He sucked her till she got all relaxed in her chair, so relaxed she had trouble pushing him back from her thoroughly kissed cunt.
Bobby wiped his face on his sleeve and rose with a vapid grin on his face. All around him, the operators were smirking and buzzing, and as he started groggily back toward Beverly's machine, more than a few hands came out to grope at the big hard bulge in his pants. The grin was still there on his face as he drew up beside Beverly and said, "Okay?"
She could only regard him with interest. From the rear she had seen big Darlene's orgasmic contortions, of such abandoned ecstasy that they simply could not have been baked. Now, with the head of every female in the shop turned toward her, she smiled and reached up and pinched Bobby's damp cheek, and told him she'd see him later. As he walked stiffly off, Darlene came lumbering and sighing up to Beverly, laid a ten dollar bill beside her, and said, "Hey, okay!"
CHAPTER FIVE
That same day Bobby Stanton took on a new status at Hanratty Mills. He was still the butt of the jokes of all those crude, coarse working women, but now there was a certain degree of dead seriousness in those jokes, and now Bobby bore them with a grin. He could hardly help but grin. He was totally in love with Beverly Collins, even though he couldn't begin to ever understand her, and this strange thing called love was such that he was finding great pleasure in the awful, dirty things she made him do to prove his love. His labors were like the Seven Labors of Hercules that he'd read about, where the strong man received great rewards, in the end, for accomplishing difficult tasks that were easy for Hercules. Eating pussy wasn't easy, but after having eaten big Darlene's cunt, the rest of them weren't exactly hard.
And there were more to be eaten. Twice more that day Beverly directed Bobby to one of the other operators' work tables, where he went forthwith and crawled under to find a naked cunt waiting for him. The first of these two was another black girl, a diminutive thing named Joyce who would have been pretty, for a black girl, except for the long slanted scar on her face. He skin was the color of coffee with cream, and while under the table Bobby found its texture so taut and smooth that it felt almost artificial. Unlike Darlene, Joyce had no excess fat on her body, so when her legs were spread for the touch of his tongue and lips, he could intimately see the very feminine contours of her thighs and groins, contours he'd most guiltily and secretly admired through various pairs of jeans and slacks since he'd come to work at Hanratty's. And against her lighter skin he could see and appreciate her intriguing pattern of her close, kinky, black pubic hair, spreading out in a symmetrical fanlike pattern from that long, puffy-lipped slit he'd been sent there to kiss. Even in the shadows and dust underneath her Work table the sight of her opened crotch was so intriguing, so lovely, in fact, that Bobby paused there on his hands and knees and simply stared. The scent of Darlene, still clogging his nostrils, was only barely penetrated by the almost flowerlike smell emanating from Joyce's far smaller cunt as she sat there with legs apart and fingers snapping between them to hurry him on to this task. The lips of her cunt were darker than the rest of her skin, though not black like her cunt hair, and from between the uppermost part of those lips he could see a tiny tip of pink protruding. When her fingers stopped their snapping and spread her lips aside from that tip, there was so much more soft, glossy pink flesh to be seen that Bobby couldn't look at it. All he could do was lean forward with an extended and wriggling tongue and tickle her everywhere in that pink flesh, tasting her special flavor and delighting in the fact that her nubilely rounded thighs were still small enough to give him room to breathe between them. It was hardly a test at all to kiss and suck and tongue-tickle flesh like this, but the next of his labors wasn't quite that easy.
Late in the afternoon he was sent to Betty's table. For most of the day, while he worked, the operators bantered back and forth about which of them should receive the next visit from Bobby. One of those who protested the most, and therefore was urged on the most, was Betty. She was old and she was thin, with pipe-stem legs and narrow hips, hardly any titties at all, and hair that was turning to gray around a sharp and hawk-like face. But late in the day Bobby knew it was she whom he'd have to administer next, for old Betty walked back to young Beverly's machine and exchanged a few words to her while the other operators cat-called, and on her return to her machine, Bobby got a nod in her direction from his love, his life, his Beverly, and it was to Betty's machine he next went.
The hair between her legs was incredibly long, and it, too, was turning gray. She had a musty scent to her, which Bobby smelled each time she opened her old, thin, legs, and she opened them often, for she was giggling about it and protesting one moment, then urging him on the next. Bobby had no time for delaying. Machine number seven had a badly frayed belt. At last, rather angry, he grabbed her old legs and pulled them apart, then parted that scraggly long hair of hers and pressed his mouth to her flaccid old lips. It was awful. It was a task even Hercules might have failed. The only decent thing about it was the extreme softness of her thighs as he held them in her hand, the surprising fresh taste of her juices as they at last began to flow, and the look of almost worshipful gratitude she bestowed upon him when at last he rose out from under the table. After that, Bobby figured, Beverly should ask nothing more from him but his presence.
It was the most enjoyable day Beverly had yet spent working at Hanratty Mills. She'd gotten a huge kick out of making such a fool of the stalwart young blond man and at the same time she'd elevated her status considerably with the gals she worked with. She'd even gotten some vicarious pleasure from watching the churnings of the girls in their chairs while Bobby was out of sight. She'd gotten a kick out of seeing Bobby walking around with an aching lump in his pants and a stupid grin on his face, seeing the cunt hairs on his chin, smelling his rankness as he came mooning by her machine. Add to this the thirty dollars she'd picked up, and it could almost make her forget about the soreness of her cunt. A week or so of this, when Bobby was completely worn out and she had some extra bucks in her pocket, and she could for sure take over as the queen of the roost.
The prospect of this made it almost worth sticking around Hanratty Mills, but the prospect of having Rod Hanratty in control of her ruined it all. She was thinking about taking Bobby up to her apartment after work, just to see what he'd learned while under the tables that day. She was debating whether her sore, but definitely moistened pussy could stand even the gentlest touch of a tongue when Mr. Hanratty, the sonofabitch, came strutting down the stairs and across the room to her machine.
Rod disdained even looking at the other drudges in the room, or at the doltish blond boy slinking about the perimeter. He didn't even want to look at Beverly, for his thoughts were all filled up with Linda, but he needed Beverly's help to get Linda. So he cast her a lofty smile, dropped an envelope on the pile of lace panties beside her, and said, "Here's that W-4 form you wanted. Better take a look at it before you leave here tonight."
"Yessir," she said, managing not to glare at him, and opened the envelope before he'd left the room. Inside it was half of a fifty dollar bill, and a typewritten note that said, 'Please see me in my office after work regarding your workmen's compensation policy.'
The smart-ass bastard wasn't leaving any evidence that he was carrying on with her. And now he was making a whore out of her by paying her for her blow-jobs, but that was nothing new. She'd sucked cocks for pay before, as a part of the overall experience that had turned her to the gay world. She'd meet him, she'd blow him, she'd get the rest of the fifty, an then she'd take out her wrath on little Bobby in a way he'd never forget. Beverly settled down to finish the pair of panties she was working on. At four-thirty she got calf-eyes Bobby aside from the small clot of women around him and told him to wait for her for at least an hour. Then she trudged up the stairs to Hanratty's office and the trick she'd have to turn that afternoon.
Beverly's dark scowl had softened a trace when Rod Hanratty answered her knock with a glass of champagne in his hand. It further softened when she entered into an office filled with music, bouquets of roses in vases here and there, a silver champagne bucket filled with ice beside his desk, and the lord and master of it all in a perfectly charming mood.
"So good to see you alone," he said as she suspiciously sipped the cold wine. "Sorry I had to make this a command performance, but it was very important I get you up here for an hour tonight."
It won't take me an hour to give you a blow job," said Beverly.
"That's an entirely different matter between us," said Hanratty. "What I've asked you up here for today is to do a little modeling for me. I'm thinking of changing out whole marketing approach, and to do so I need a really stunning advertising program, an exciting one." He paused while her skepticism deepened, and while she emptied her glass. And as he refilled it, he said, "And I can't think of a more exciting lady for modeling lingerie and swim wear."
"Bullshit," she said, and drained away half the champagne.
He turned and went to his desk, took out the two thousand dollar Hasselblad camera his wife had bought the year before when she was interested in bird watching, and the photoflash equipment he'd bought at lunch that day. Laying all on his desk, he said, "Does this look like bullshit? If you don't want to have a try at it, I'll get a professional model. I'll probably do that anyway, but offhand I've never seen one as exciting to look at as you. I've seen some with better figures," he said stepping closer to her and boldly cupping one of her tits. Then he turned away to his desk to study her again as he said, "but I've never seen anyone really move what she has like you do. If I can capture that movement on film, the future of Hanratty Mills-and perhaps of Miss Beverly Collins-is a very bright future indeed. Are you interested in modeling for me? If so, please sign this release."
Beverly stood there as if jolted to paralysis by an electric current. Visions of herself on the cover of a high fashion magazine, or on the cover of any kind of a magazine, were flying around in her head. Hollywood, television, flashy cars and clothes, all these things seemed for a moment just as sure and as thrilling as that quick caress of her breast as she stared at that obviously very expensive photographic equipment on his desk. But then when she looked at his very familiar face once again she once again muttered, "Bullshit."
Hanratty raised his eyebrows, shrugged and said, "If that's how you feel about it. Thank you for stopping in. Here's the other half of that fifty dollar bill," he said, and took it out and gave it to her and turned his back on her to start putting his beautiful camera away.
Beverly gnawed at her lip for a moment, and said, "This isn't some kind of a joke?"
"With all the plans I have to make this company into something to be reckoned with, I don't have time for jokes. That will be all, Miss Collins. I'll see you in the morning, I trust. And your unwillingness to cooperate in this project won't have any effect at all on your work record."
She finished her champagne, glanced down at the slip of paper on his huge, expensive, walnut desk, and said, "I've gotta sign a release?"
"Standard form," he said, just like they'd said at the camera store that day when he'd been buying the stuff for this dress rehearsal. "All models sign them, whether they model for free, whether they're making five dollars an hour, fifty dollars an hour, hundred dollars an hour, a thousand dollars an hour. . . . "
Beverly was scribbling her name while the cash register bells were clanging like fire alarms in her head, and while Mr. Hanratty was refilling her glass. She wanted to writhe to the feeling of imaginary furs and silks on her body, clinging to her as warmly as Hanratty's hand now smoothed over her hips in a most reassuring way. She knew it was all pure bullshit, it couldn't be anything else, but the notion of rising from rags to riches was so sudden and strong she could not resist it. And what did she have to lose?
"What do you want me to wear?" she said, when the little white form that might be a ticket to heaven had been signed.
"I want to catch you in motion," said Hanratty in a businesslike manner, as he examined the fairly unfamiliar workings of the camera. "I want you to dance more or less as you did yesterday, but today I want you to take all your clothes off as you do so, and then continue to dance as you put on some of our lingerie. And while you're doing your dance, I'll be taking pictures and you'll be thinking about the lover you're going to be meeting soon, a very handsome, very wealthy, very exciting man. Someone you think a lot of," he said as he looked through the view-finder of the camera at her.
Inside, Beverly was already dancing. Her heart and her guts were going thump, thump, thump to the tune of the radio music even before she began to move her hips and shoulders and feet. She knew it was highly improbable, but that at least it was possible, and going on just the possibility, she let herself go all out.
Rod's eyeball bulged out against the view-finder the moment he saw she had no panties on.
The say before he'd been pleasantly surprised at how nice an ass she had, but today it looked twice as good as the skirt of her shabby brown dress flipped up over it with the agile twistings of her hips. It was a perfectly round, white ass, with a complexion that all blondes should have, and it had a good deep cleft separating the busily jouncing loaves of it.
Rod squatted to get a good shot of it, just as she turned and showed him she was just as bare before as behind. She had a nice little cunt, too. Nice and blonde, it was, with all that sweetly curly hair hiding any number of germs that would love to be taken home with Rod. He waited with bated breath for that fine-looking ass of hers to show up again before he pressed the shutter release.
Beverly felt the jolt each time the camera went off. She felt it deep in her guts, lifting her up one notch higher on the ladder of super success. The champagne had been good on her hangover parched throat, and now she danced over and partook of more of it, with Rod's nodding approval, and then began to unbutton her dress.
She thought about Glory as she did so, as Rod had suggested she think about a real, hot lover. But, no. Glory wasn't enough. She thought instead about the best features of all her past husbands, with all her most memorable male lovers thrown in, including Bobby and his tongue, and on top of all these she put Rod Hanratty and his riches, and his naked cock that she's seen but hadn't yet felt in her cunt. The look she gave to the camera lens was intended to melt it and its operator as she peeled down the top of her dress, feeling a cock inside her, feeling Hanratty's cock inside her, and very thoroughly fucking it with each new beat of the music.
Rod was now sure Beverly was a nympho. He'd never seen anything like this. Maybe it was the privacy of the moment, maybe it was the way she peeled down the top of her dress and let it hang down over its skirt, and maybe it was the way she danced. But really, he knew, it was because she was a nymphomaniac and he was thinking ahead to Linda. Linda with the long black hair and long, shapely body. Linda with the high, firm tits and the tight, clean cunt. Lina, who might even still be a virgin.
Beverly was starting to sweat, either from excitement or just exertion. But whatever, the little cool beads of sweat were tickling everywhere down her dancing, twisting body, and she danced and twisted more to relieve the myriad itches brought on by the trickling, tickling perspiration. The moisture in her slit wasn't perspiration. She was getting herself hot, hotter than hell, so hot her cunt didn't hurt a bit any more. She made the face of a lusting, drunken whore and looked right down at Rod Hanratty's cock-bulge, hoping he'd take her picture that way, and getting her wish. She remembered his cock very vividly now, and she knew if she could see it right now, it wouldn't be ugly at all to her.
His sewing machine operator's body was glistening with sweat. Rod tried again and again to catch its sheen on the film he was burning up at a faster rate than he'd intended. He'd only allocated four rolls of film for Beverly, the rest of the ten for Linda, and now he had to go to the second roll as the first one ran out.
Just seeing him load that camera was a turn-on to Beverly. It proved he really was taking pictures of her, it strengthened the faint possibility that tomorrow she'd be rich and famous. Beverly didn't stop dancing during the film-changing, didn't stop fucking that imaginary cock so hot in her slippery cunt. "Now loosen your bra," said Rod, and this she did, to dance for the film once again, now with her lust swollen tits swinging loose against white cotton cups. Her nipples, already turgid, became rock-hard, and she stopped her dancing to feel of them, to pinch them and pull them to still greater hardness while the shutter snapped again and again and Rod said, "Hey, that's great, just great."
It was going to be a great photo session, if Rod had been working the camera right. If he could get Linda just half this far, he'd be a happy man. But he was happy enough to see this nympho bitch doing her crazy thing, and in doing it raise his cock to such a state he was liable to throw caution to the winds and screw her. He thought of his wife, Rhoda, and the decades of hell she'd raise if he brought her home a present of clap and decided a blow job would be good enough.
Beverly slithered out of dress and bra. They were suffocating her, and it felt so glorious to dance in the raw, running her hands up and down over the luscious curves of her sweat slickened body, appreciating its tits and hips and buns and pube as much as she'd appreciated those on any of the chicks she had balled with in prison. She shook and shimmied her hips in going to the cabinet which held Hanratty Mills latest products, and there she found a few other things. Black hose came out first, slithery long web-like things which she trailed about her as she went on with her gleeful dance, then draped over her lovely white shoulders while she mused on the greatest, richest lover in the world, looking all the while at her boss, at Mr. Hanratty, at Rod. She continued to look at him through smoldering eyes as she sat on the couch to wriggle the stockings up her legs, opening them as indecently wide as could be as she put on the silks. He was having trouble with the camera during this part of the modeling session which had gotten quite out of hand by then, but it seemed to be cleared up when she was up on her feet again and bending over to straighten the seams of her hose while her back was turned toward him.
Rod just couldn't get over her ass! He knew it couldn't be as good as it looked, that the champagne they kept drinking all along was getting to him. But still it continued to fascinate him and his camera with its perfect round spheres, softly ajiggle, its deep cleft, the coyly hiding orifice of her anus, and that tuft of hair that showed down between her legs. "Hold it," he said. "Damned film's run out. Just hold it right there while I reload."
Beverly held her ankles. She held her ankles and waggled her hot little butt and looked back through her parted legs at him, and upside-down, he didn't look bad at all. Her inverted tits lolled down almost to her chin. She thought about sucking on their nipples, as she'd done with so many chicks in the joint, and how that would shock him and turn him on. She thought about what kind of a cock the richest man in the world would have, and she grinned through her parted legs and waggled her ass and saw him snap the camera back closed and move on in for some close-ups.
Rod only took one shot of her ass from close up. That one filled the whole field of vision. Then he put the camera on the carpet, glanced at his watch as he slipped his hand between her thighs, and said, "You've got a very nice ass."
Beverly giggled, all upside-down, with her tits jiggling against her chin, and said, "Can I get a job modeling my ass?"
Her legs, her inner thighs, were all just nicely moist with her perspiration, and in Rod's horny state of mind, her sweat didn't smell bad at all. He squeezed the very soft flesh of her inner thigh harder, making her wince, then slipped his palm up higher and pushed his thumb inside her asshole.
"Hey! God damn it!" said Beverly. The unexpected intrusion of his thumb filled her so thoroughly she could hardly straighten up, and the moment she did, he hooked the thumb within her painfully hard, and he said, "Just relax, take a break, take it easy."
Rod had never had any part of himself inside a person's asshole, but now he found it was the simplest thing in the world to do, and not just a little amusing. He almost winced himself as he thought of what it would feel like to have a twisting thumb inside his own asshole, but then again, the asshole his thumb was in belonged to him. Beverly Collins was his chattel, his employee and much more, and he could do as he wished with her. With her and her fascinating ass. "Just bend over again and relax," he said. "You've had worse than this done to you."
In fact, Beverly had had a few chick's fingers up her ass while she was in prison, but those were only the tips and this was a whole thick thumb. All of her husbands had at various times wanted to butt-fuck her, but she'd never wanted anything to do with that, and she'd made that perfectly clear to them in spite of all their entreaties. Now she gritted her teeth and bent over again, as he wanted of her, and tried to think of all the fame and riches that had made her pussy so unbearably wet and itchy.
It helped a lot. The pain all but disappeared, but still the sickening feeling of perversity was there within her, far deeper than his thumb was within her. She found that it helped to relax.
Up close, in person, her ass was even more fascinating. Rod cupped the heavy roundness of her left buttock in his left hand, while with his right he moved his thumb in and out of her ass and simultaneously felt of her ass-cheek with his fingers. And he watched, close up, as the movements of his thumb moved the lips of her tight pink asshole. He'd never realized assholes had lips before, but now he saw them quite clearly, clasping softly at his moving thumb, as if they were sucking on it.
Beverly was busy hating Rod Hanratty with all her might, but this took a mighty effort in the aftermath of all her lusting, even loving, thoughts about him and the riches and wealth he could bring her. He could still bring her those things, she reminded herself, and this helped her relax still further. The awful pain was gone from her rear end. That had been more shock than pain, and now that she was used to that thick digit in her rear, she found she could tolerate it well. Reminding herself of that faint possibility of a career on magazine covers, Beverly waggled her ass and grinned upside down, as if she enjoyed what he was doing. In his encouragement, Rod reached deeper with his twisting thumb, touched something strange in there, and the sudden feeling of heavenly sexual goodness pervading Beverly so weakened her knees that she had to sag forward against the couch.
"You like that, eh?" he said.
Tits mashed against black Naugahyde, cheek mashed against it too, and wonderfully different surges of distinctly sexual pleasure coursing through her, Beverly nodded and said, "Uh-huh."
She was clutching helplessly at his couch, rolling her hips quite aimlessly, her stockings had sagged down, and she was absolutely obscenely beautiful in this totally awkward posture. Rod took his left hand from her upturned ass to work at his zipper fly, as he said, "You want a little bit more now, don't you, Miss Backdoor Beauty?"
"Please. Please, Mr. Hanratty," said Beverly, her voice a moan of torment, not knowing what she was begging for.
Rod rose up to his feet, chuckled at her anguished moan as he withdrew his thumb from her asshole, and took out his big, fat cock. Its ruddy red knob was all slick and wet from his pre-seminal fluid. He further wet it with the sweat running down through the crack of her ass, still chuckling softly at the way she moved and reached with her asshole for his cock. Chances were she was not diseased there. At least he'd never heard of a clapped up butt. But that didn't matter one way or another just now, for Rod was so lusting for something brand new that he'd forgotten all about Linda Patton. He steered the big knob of his cock against Beverly's asshole, and then he shoved it on it.
"Eek!" Beverly hadn't screamed in years, but the insertion of that huge thing in her nether hole changed that. And, as before, she didn't know if it was pain or shock that brought it out of her, for the pain vanished ever so quickly. In its place came a weird stretching feeling, so transitory it could not be described, and in place of this came ecstasy, total ecstasy, that ran up and down her spine, that spread through hips and thighs, that permeated her whole body and made it all soft and submissive, but wanting for more and more.
"Okay?" said Rod, easing more of it in, though of course, he needed no permission for that from this little shop girl of his.
"Just fine," Beverly purred, though of course those small words could never express all she felt. She really was a queen now, or at least feeling something no queen ever felt. Even gay men who fuck each other in the ass could never feel anything like this, for if they could they'd be doing it all the time. Only women like her, bold and utterly sexually fearless, could know the deep pleasures of having a cock up their ass. It wasn't anything at all like fucking cunt. Or like getting eaten. Those things brought only orgasms, while this was an orgasm of itself, continuous, as long as that big, long, greasy slick thing was moving inside her. But then it moved more quickly and all of it changed again.
"Oh . . . Baby . . . here it comes!" Rod exclaimed, as the admiration of Beverly's upturned ass was suddenly swept away by the eruption of his balls. He was surging and spurting inside her, pistoning his cock like a man gone mad, and for what might have been the first time in his life, able to watch his big cock as it spurted. And what a background he had for the jerking and throbbing of his glistening big organ, that perfect white moon of the nympho's round ass, deeply split before, even more deeply split just now, as his cock was the wedge that threatened to split it for good. He surged and pushed and pulled and came, wanting to shout out loud with this most supreme pleasures and shootings, while below him the brainless shop girl showed where her brains had gone.
"OH! YOW! JESUS! CAN'T STAND ANY MORE! DON'T STOP!" Beverly hadn't any idea what she was saying. She had lost control of her body and was orgasming in spite of all she'd thought about that, rasping her tits' ends against the couch, scrabbling her clit with her fingers, arching and snapping her ass back for more and still more of the utterly fantastic internal cock massage she was getting in her ass.
"OH-H-H-H! UR-R-R-RGH! GAH-H-H-H-H-H" she was saying, quite incomprehensible, even to herself, but her only means of venting the total explosion that went on within her and would still have been going on had not Rod, her wonderful Rod, rudely withdrawn his cock and left her collapsed on the couch.
CHAPTER SIX
Beverly had just been butt-fucked, and she'd never felt so good in her life. She'd been butt-fucked by a man she didn't even like, and still she felt glorious, basking in the residual physical good feelings and still all aglow with the visions of her fantastic future. She knew it was all pure fantasy, but she also knew, from years in prison, how to keep such fantasies going in her mind. And here, outside prison, with a little help from the people and the things available to her, she knew how to exploit that continuing fantasy to the fullest. She looked forward to getting the most out of it as she shakily descended the stairs from her boss's office, clothing and hair mussed, sweat drying on her body, crotch all a tingle and tightly puckered asshole still oozing Rod's slippery cum.
Thanks to Rod's eagerness to get going on the developing of the pictures, young Bobby would still be waiting for her outside. Beverly ducked into the John for a quick brush of her hair and the fast application of a little lipstick. Then she proceeded outside to find the poor sap waiting there by his bicycle. She went to him with swinging hips, kissed his cheek and told him her address. "I'll take the bus and you take your bike, honey-boy. We'll get to know each other better while we have a little fun. You start now. Here comes my bus."
Boarding the bus, Beverly didn't even notice the arrival of Linda Patton at Hanratty Mills, for Beverly was deeply involved in her own little private dreamworld. Bobby was the perfect foil for keeping it going. Just the look in his limpid eyes as he'd kissed her cheek promised a most entertaining evening ahead for her. She closed her eyes fully as the bus bore her onward to the mean little upstairs apartment that would be the penthouse of a hugely successful and sexy film star that night.
Back at the Mill, Rod Hanratty was greeting Linda Patton in a warm but business-like fashion. If he hadn't just screwed his little blonde shop girl, he couldn't have brought off this business-like demeanor, for Linda was stunning that day.
Her raven dark hair was thick and glossy, falling down past her very straight shoulders in back, and sweeping down over her forehead in front in the shape of an ocean swell. She was wearing a plain blouse of pale blue, long sleeved and high-necked, and nicely thrust out with her perkily high young titties. Her sveltely sweeping hips and her cunningly contoured young bottom were covered with a straight skirt of darker blue, just short enough to show her dimpled knees, primly encased in panty-house, as she sat with her ankles and knees together on his couch while from behind his desk he gave her essentially the same spiel about modeling he'd just practiced with street-wise little Beverly. Linda wasn't as smart a Beverly, and though his delivery of the modeling proposition was more subdued with her, he could see her falling for it, hard.
As he spoke in the practiced tones of the businessman, he saw her wide blue eyes, set under long dark lashes and delicately arched brows, grow wider still and become kissed with a softly shining dew. And her lips, pink and sweet and without a trace of lipstick, but primly taut on her arrival, had slowly parted, softly trembling until she caught the plump one below between fantastically even, sparkling white teeth. Even her sweet little nose had almost twitched as he droned on about her possible future as a model, a film star, another Mary Tyler Moore. By the time he was done with that part of his pitch, pink roses showed through the soft tan on her cheeks and her titties, surely all aflutter, seemed to draw her up off the couch to meet him as he rose to show her exactly what he had in mind for the future of Hanratty Mills and of Linda Patton.
"Gloves," he said, taking a box from the cabinet, and opening it to show her the ones he'd bought on his shopping tour that day. "I have it on an inside source that gloves will be the fashion for the fall, and I know we can make the best. I've watched you work, watched you make change and dispense your wares every day and, frankly speaking, you've got the sexiest hands I've ever seen. Sex sells anything, your hands are the sexiest, and I can't think of a more exciting lady for modeling our future line of gloves."
"R-Really?" she said, examining her hands as if they'd just been given to her.
As before, Rod chose that time to take out his wife's expensive camera equipment. These things, and another blank model's release, he placed on his desk as he said, "Really. If you don't want to have a try at it, I'll get a professional model. I'll probably do that anyway, just for comparison, but offhand I've never seen one with hands as exciting as yours. Perhaps I've seen some with sexier hands," he said, stepping closer and taking one of her lily-whites in his paws, looking forward with hot excitement to the time when it would be wrapped around his stiffening cock, "but I've never seen one with hands like these and the arms and the body to go with them. If I can capture these hands and what go with them on film, the future of Hanratty Mills-and perhaps of Miss Linda Patton-is a very bright future indeed. Are you interested in modeling for me? If so, please sign this release."
"What does it say?" said she, signing her neat, sweet name, so starry-eyed now it might have been a murder confession for all she knew.
"The usual stuff," said Rod. "Now take off that blouse, if you please, and we'll begin."
"My b-blouse?" she said, her rosy color deepening, bringing forth another upward twinging of Rod's quickly renewing cock. "T-Take off my blouse?"
He smiled like a father and said, "We've got to get your arms in it, dear. You're not willing to bare your arms as other models do when they're making five dollars an hour, fifty dollars an hour, a hundred dollars an hour, a thousand dollars an hour . . . ? "
Rod discreetly went to his refrigerator to fill two glasses with chilled grapefruit juice while Linda, blushing deeply now, cringed and shivered her way out of her blouse. He knew very well if he stood there and watched while she did it it the lust in his eyes and the bulge in his pants would give him away and send her scooting off before this, the first of what he hoped would be many most interesting modeling sessions, got under way.
Beverly debarked from her bus in time to buy a jug of wine at the grocery store under her apartment, and in time to take a shower with fragrant soap before Bobby knocked at her door. She greeted him in an old green chenille robe, which she wore as if it were the sheerest, sexiest negligee ever imported from Paris. From the look on Bobby's face, it might have been.
"Come in, darling," she said, gesturing with the hand that held a jelly glass full of wine, and brushing a kiss on his very hot and pussy-smelling cheek as he stumbled inside. Just the smell of pussy was enough, as a rule, to get Beverly going. But she was going already with her fantasies, and this night she only wanted him, Bobby Stanton, for he was her only, her greatest fan. She wrinkled her nose as he tried, in his doltish way, to reach out for her thinly clad body, and she said, "You're all sweaty from work and your bide ride. Take a shower before we have our talk . . . and our fun."
He looked around through wide eyes at the old apartment with its sleazy furnishings and said, "Take a shower? Here?"
"No, downstairs in the fucking grocery store," she replied, and when he turned to look at her door, she propelled him toward her bathroom, saying, "In there!"
Bobby stumbled inside the small, cosmetic scented room with its cracked tile and fixtures, and its torn plastic shower curtain. If she wanted him to take a shower, he would, for he only wanted to please her, and at fifteen, he knew he knew very little about pleasing women, especially this one with whom he was so totally in love. He'd take a shower, he'd take a bath, he'd take a mud bath if she wanted that, but could he do it with her standing watching him?
There she was in the bathroom doorway, not four feet away, smiling at him crookedly, watching like a mother to see that he took his bath. She held an elbow in one hand and her drink in the other, and her ankles were crossed and one perfectly naked, perfectly dimpled knee was thrust coyly out through the folds of her elegant gown. Bobby tried not to look directly at her as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, stalling as long as he could before taking it off, in hopes that she might leave.
He didn't have a hair on his chest, Beverly saw. He almost had muscles like man, but his chest was as free of hair as a woman's chest, and it had little pink nipples, like a girl's. A man's body in a girl's skin? She could afford to buy and sell that kind of person when she was rich and famous. "Go ahead," she said in her sultry TV voice, as he paused with his hands on his belt buckle, and she sipped her fine vintage wine and slipped the sash on her bathrobe.
Bobby couldn't help but gape at her as he opened his pants and pushed them down. How could anyone be so sexy and beautiful and still be interested in him? He tried to think about some college career so he could support her, but it was hard to think about things like that with more of the flat satiny flesh between her breasts showing, and now with her knee and her leg thrusting not so coyly out of her negligee. It was barely closed now, from a point just below her breasts that he'd dreamed of so often to a point just below her cunt that he'd actually kissed. If he was good, if he took his shower without doing something awful, she might let him kiss that wickedly wonderful, beautifully stinky part of herself once again. Bobby tore his gaze from his adored one to turn his back while he shucked down his old jockeys and slunk on into the bathtub with his raging hot pecker concealed as well as it could be by his crouch. He drew what was left of the shower curtain and turned on both the taps.
He had an adorable little ass, as smooth and free of hair as his chest had been, deeply cleft, nicely muscular, with a tiny pink pair of balls just peeping out from between his fuzzy, blonde-haired legs. An ass like that would have started a riot back in prison, and without a pair of balls and a prick connected in front to it. Beverly reached her hand inside her robe and squeezed and felt of her tits as she watched him enter her tub. They were nice, full tits, barely sagged out of upright shape at all by her thirty-two hard years. They were tits that, with a little help from a good bra or even a surgeon, could make a stunningly good impression when seen on a TV screen. And they were tits that felt good when she, or when anyone, felt of them. And their nipples, thanks in large part to her wonderful fantasies, were still up nice and hard. When Bobby shakily drew the torn curtain, Beverly knocked off her wine, set the glass on the back of the John, and went over to knock the kid out with her tits.
The shower curtain being whipped aside made Bobby whirl about to face his near nude lady love with very wide eyes and with hands that flew to his loins. He could see more than half of her breasts, and one of her nipples entirely, plus the soft round swell of her tummy and the triangular furry patch he had kissed with his heart in his mouth and his shorts filling with jism. He could see all of this, but he tried just to look at the loveliness of her grinning face as she stood there so close that his water was spattering on her. It didn't seem to bother her. She just stood there caressing her tummy, caressing the biggest, most beautiful breasts in the world, while Bobby gaped on and on and held the bar of soap against a cock that was trying to reach up and look at her too.
"Well, don't just stand there," said Beverly. "Wash, if you want to come out and play."
Bobby started to wash, almost frantically, at the same time trying quite unsuccessfully to conceal his prick and the state of it. It was a nice little prick, a sweet little prick, not mature by any means and not large, but just as stiff as it would ever be in the sixty or so years that were left to him. And the moment Beverly saw it, small and white and un-circumcised, not marked by any blue veins yet, she thought about its perfect antithesis, Rod Hanratty's big old cock, and a surge of electric feeling swelled outward from her asshole to her cunt and to all of her. And her cunt, so recently soaped, rinsed, dried, and powdered, as suddenly swollen and moist. Beverly took her quaking hand from her palpitating belly and reached out for the boy's stiff cock.
"Wait!! ! " he said, all in a panic, in total confusion from the sight of all her beauty and the touch of all her hand.
"I'm not a woman for waiting," she said, stroking his steely hard cock, pulling and pushing on it and feeling its flaming young heat through the warm water flowing over it.
Bobby fought against the shame of cumming, strove as hard as he could not to make a fool of himself, but her hand and her beauty and her closeness were just too much for him. With a shuddering, almost a painful wrench, his jism came spurting on out of him, while he arched and twisted against the slick tile wall, fantastically torn by hugest ecstasy, and seeing her beauty completely now. Her breasts could be seen in their entirety, swinging with the movement of her fantastic hand, all kissed and speckled with the diamonds that were his shower water. Her deep, horizontal navel winked at him as her tummy went in and out with her breathing, and there below this cunning orifice was her cunt, its hairs also jeweled with wet diamonds, and now badly flawed with the ropey white jism that spurted and might spurt forever from his aching, ecstatic bare cock.
It was still leaking jism when Beverly backed off, opened her robe to look down at herself, and said, "Just look what you've gone and done. Talk about a hair trigger. It's all over me! But I'll forgive you," she said, reaching in with him again, this time to turn off the faucets, "if you come out and clean me off."
Bobby almost fell getting out of the tub, weak and shaken as he was from the climax that still felt like it was going on, though no more of his shameful white jism was erupting from his tingling cock. He climbed out still gaping, for she was if anything more lovely than ever as she stood back with her robe swept back from her like the wings of an angel while she looked down at the offending gobbers of his jism that drooled down from her blonde cunt hair and from her closely shaven thighs.
"C-Clean you off?" said Bobby, shivering, almost jerking about in the aftermath of his ejaculation and in the vast and glorious sight of her.
"Yes, clean off your cum," she said, and sat down on the toilet seat, leaning back, robe fully open now, legs apart and fully exposing the lovely wild patch of blonde hair and the deep split of pink down through it. "Clean me off and we'll have some more fun. But first fill up my wineglass."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bobby scampered obediently off, and Beverly deeply exhaled and reached down to touch her cunt. Talk about a star's greatest fan, this boy was surely it. He was dumb, he was stupid, he was young, he was naive, but so were the fans of Mary Tyler Moore and Farrah Fawcett Majors, and what, exactly, did they have that Beverly Collins hadn't? They certainly didn't have wetter or creamier pussies than
Beverly Collins had, she decided, as she felt of that pussy with a slim middle finger and thought about Hollywood while she waited for the start of her fan club to return. Some day he would be the President of the Beverly Collins Fan Club, and though he might boast on and on for hours of what he'd done with ***BEVERLY COLLINS*** before she was discovered, no one would ever believe him. No one but Beverly Collins, who might, when she had the time, toss him some pussy again.
He came back with the wine spilling over the edge of the glass, which Beverly took from him with the elegant grace of a queen. He stood naked before her as she sat comfortably back on the toilet seat, sipping wine, then setting the glass down beside her. In the exuberance of his youth, his prick was still up hard, but now he seemed to have forgotten its existence as he gazed down at her, ready to answer whatever request she might make of him just as long as he could stay there with her.
"Use that Kleenex," she said, gesturing. "Wipe it off before it dries, hon."
Bobby got down between Beverly's naked legs in a crouch to do it. Completely addled by the cataclysmic welcome he'd had at Beverly's apartment, and still wholly awed by her vast, naked beauty, he dabbed at the streak of white goo his erupting pecker had left on her pubic hair. His semen looked doubly repugnant against the background of the beautiful mound of pink, thinly covered with short blonde hairs. He wiped it up carefully and gingerly, while Beverly lay back smiling down on him and running her middle finger up and down through her slit. Bobby was so confused and excited and in love that his teeth were chattering.
Beverly took her hand from her luscious pink flesh to ruffle his hair, as she said, "What's the matter, lover?"
Bobby was almost too excited to speak. He shrugged and said, "Nothing." Then he stared down at her cunt again, less that a foot away from his face, and seen in very good light now, very pink, looking quite swollen, and with its long lips out-turned and glistening wet. The smell of it now was sweet, pure, clean, and Bobby might have dived head first at it if Beverly hadn't covered it up with her hand once again.
He watched, trying to catch his breath, while her fingers delved warmly inside the pink lips. She continued to languidly stroke herself there and to lazily feel of her tits as she said, "You've eaten a lot of pussy today. Did you like it?"
Bobby shrugged and squirmed on the floor before her. "I don't know," he said.
"Do you think it's nice to kiss all those other chicks' pussies with me right there in the same room with you?"
"You wanted me to," he protested. "I never would've done it if you hadn't told me to."
Beverly laughed and said, "I know, baby. I was just teasing you," she said, taking her fingers from her cunt and brushing them over his lips. "Whose pussy tasted best to you, Bobby?" she asked.
"Yours," he said, as her fingers went into his mouth, and he sucked them and licked in between them while she lay back chuckling and fondling her tits.
The fingers were taken away so that she could point down at her thigh as she said, "There's more of it, Bobby. Wipe it all off before it dries."
It was already drying there in her inner thigh, and Bobby wiped it carefully away, amazed as well as fascinated by the softness and the texture of her inner thighs. She kept diddling her fingers in her slit as he did his work, toying about in the top of it, where he'd learned women like best to be kissed and sucked. He longed with all his soul to kiss her there now, but didn't have nearly the confidence in himself to take this initiative.
"Am I all clean now?" she said, looking down past her big naked tits with their huge, brown, upright nipples.
Bobby nodded, breathing in lungful after lungful of her intoxicating scent, while she brushed his lips once again with her fragrant, wet fingers.
Now she touched one of those fingers to the spot on her thigh he'd just cleaned, and she said, 'Then you may kiss me. Here."
Bobby had no appreciation at all of the texture of her skin there till he'd touched it with his lips. And when he did, he had to touch it with them over and over, grazing it with his nose and chin. While in the corner of his eye, her pussy loomed large and pink and frighteningly inviting.
"Don't you know anything about French kisses?" she said.
"I don't know. I don't know if I do or not," he replied.
"Then come here and I'll teach you," said she, and sat upright on the stool.
She had him get upright on his knees for his lesson in kissing, holding his cheeks in her hands to instruct him in this. She stuck out her long pink tongue, and his came out slowly to meet it, to touch it in a way that electrified him. She silently showed him how to fence with it, each of them breathing hotly into the other's mouth, while Bobby's hands trembled on her hips. Closer they came, until their lips were touching, then their mouths were fully merged and still the fencing and the electrification went on. He thought he was going to faint with the joy of it, the sheer ecstasy of being mouth to mouth with this woman who chose to give so much of herself to him, while his hands quaked and clutched at her satinly smooth warm hips.
"That's the way to French a gal," she murmured, nose to nose and chin to chin with him. "Now do it here," she purred, and leaned back just a little, and lifted her full round breast up at him.
He did it right on the nipple, exactly what was wanted of him, if her purr of contentment was any indication. Its tip was like the tongue he'd just been sucking and lashing with his, and this he continued to do, feeling every softly rough texture of it and sucking more and more of it in his hot mouth.
"Mmmmm. You're learning," she said and lifted his face to kiss his trembling mouth. "And now here," she went on, and gave him her other brown nipple to suck on and kiss and love to her heart's content. He was glowing with pride at a beautiful job well done as she leaned back again on the toilet seat, smiling in the warmest of ways, and Bobby was able to smile weakly back at her. She kissed his face and raked her fingernails softly up his sides, then murmured into his mouth, "Now you know how to kiss my cunt, darling. Are you ready to do that for me?"
"Yes," said Bobby, with no hesitation at all. "Yes."
Beverly spread out her cuntlips with her fingertips, fully exposing a clitoris that was more than ready for the boy's mouth. That mouth was on it at once as she watched, as thrilled at the adoring look in his eyes as much as she was by the loving contact between her legs.
"Right on my love bump," she said, already starting to cum, all over her lovely body. "Your tongue on my clitoris, your tongue on my love bump, I love it," she said, thrusting him more of it, cumming still deeper, and wishing a TV camera was there so the whole world could see how Beverly Collins, superstar, responded to sex and love.
Closing her eyes and baring her teeth, she flew over Hollywood in her own private Learjet while Robert Redford ate her luscious box, with Paul Newman, Cary Grant, and all four of the Beatles anxiously waited their turn. Soon she was cumming out of control, just like she liked it best, rocking and rolling on the toilet seat and urging them all to eat her from asshole to clit and back and forth again, for by then all her crotch felt like one big clit.
"Oh! Yes! More!" she was crying out, and Bobby was giving her all he had. His face was cunt-wet from nose to chin and his tongue was sore to its root, but there was her cunt right there to be eaten and he ate it, squeezing hot handfuls of her soft, convulsing buttocks, while he sucked and lapped just as ardently as any man could.
"Kiss my tits again! Suck 'em!" she commanded, and young Bobby did as she said. They were so wonderfully big, so fantastically soft, and their nipples fit into his mouth as if they'd been created for it. He kissed them and sucked them in a maelstrom of hottest emotions while she clutched hard at his hip with the fingernails of one hand, pressing him harder still against her other hand, which was now rubbing hard at the cunt she had just let him kiss. Bobby's cock, upright once again, was brushing and jabbing against the resiliently soft underswells of her buttocks in a way that was both driving him mad and embarrassing him horribly, but there was nothing at all he could do about that or about anything, for he'd been told to kiss tittie and this was what he was doing.
"What I need!" said Beverly, still cumming beautifully, and yanked him up higher and mashed her mouth against his, tasting cunt and tasting him, and feeling his cock as miraculously hard as ever jabbing into her groin. She thrust him back gasping and said, "Now kiss me all the way down to my cunt and give me a bath with your tongue."
Bobby discovered even more facets of Beverly's beauty. Her pulsing, twisting throat, her yawned open armpits, the shape of her ribs on her side, that lovely flat spot between her tits, and he rediscovered her tits. He covered every square inch of her rapidly panting soft belly with his lips and his tongue, and he kissed and licked down over her squirming soft hips to the edge of the toilet seat, then up over each of her thighs, one by one, to the center of his universe. She had to love him as much as he loved her, for she was talking as insanely as he was feeling as he sucked and gorged and licked and kissed her dear cunt once again.
"Rolls Royces! Filet mignon every night! London! Paris! Madrid! Fans all over me!" Beverly cried, seeing all of those as surely as she was feeling the orgasms swell and burst in her with every new touch of the boy's lips and hands. Her clit, now being heavily sucked on, had expanded beyond her crotch so it now comprised all her body, and it was responding just as it should to each smallest touch of his hands. "OR-R-RGH! UNNG! GAH-H!" Though Beverly could no longer articulate all of those things she was dreaming so actively about, she did find, as a super orgasm swelled over her, that she could say at least two words. "Kiss me!" she said, and he did right away, mashing his mouth on hers in a way so prompt and sweet and hot and right that it showed her a nice little secret point on the highest pleasure peak in the universe. More by instinct from the past than from any design, she took Bobby's prick in her hand and popped its little knob inside her throbbing cuntlips.
"OooooooOO-O-O-H-H-H-H-H!! ! " Bobby said, for as he found the most supremely sensitive and loving part of him completely, totally enveloped by the hottest, softest, squirmiest flesh in the world, he began to cum. "I'm sor. . . EEK! I didn't mean t.. . OORGH! I just can't hel.. . GAH-H-H-H! I LOVE YOU! PLEASE HELP ME! BEVERLE-E-E-E-E-E!! ! " Bobby cried, not knowing if he was trying to stick in farther or pull it on out, not knowing if he had it in the right hole, not knowing anything at all beyond the hot, wonderful squirmings of her naked body against his and the far hotter, far more wonderful squirmings of her cunt all around his enormously big and sensitive cock. His eyes were bulging out and he was clenching his teeth so hard their crowns might have broken off, and now his voice was no more than a series of heart-wrenching groans as he clumsily shoved himself harder between her legs, his hands sweating against her writhing sides, his balls erupting and erupting and at last, nearly empty, trying to heave themselves up and squirt out the end of his prick with the last of his jism.
"All of it! I'm going to have every bit of it!" Beverly promised, clinging to Superfan Bobby as she would cling to all her riches and fame, when it was hers, with her nails and her legs and her mouth and her cunt, squeezing and wringing the world and its riches from all she held in her arms and legs. She held it all, saw it all below her as she shot up off the peak of pleasure on a rocket, entirely free, entirely powerful, having everything she'd ever deserved. And when she saw it all, the whole world, by day and by night as it spun all around under her, she relaxed and let it go, knowing it had been hers and would be hers whenever she chose to find it.
Bobby was too weak to mutter an apology as he slipped to the bathroom floor. His ribs and the back of his neck felt cracked, his lips split from her teeth. His badly compressed lungs were now heaving for air and his back against the tile floor burned in streaks from where her nails had raked him. His eyeballs felt strained from their sockets, and down below him, down under his prick as it sagged lower with his every fast heartbeat, his balls felt as tender and swollen and far bigger than his eyeballs in the aftermath of their attempt to follow his jism out of his prick. If this was love, he wondered how did anyone live through twenty-five years of married love?
The last of the harsh, cheap wine in the glass brought Beverly to her senses. She certainly hadn't expected to be fucked, but now she was rather glad it had happened, for it showed that her years in prison hadn't altered her all the way. She was still able to enjoy a flesh and blood cock in her cunt, and able to enjoy it in a rather large way. Her regard for men and her prison made vows of rejection of them had been so strong that this rediscovery of the pleasures to be found with a cock proved that anything was possible. But nothing would be possible unless she helped herself along with it all.
"Get up," she said, though she herself wanted only to lie there on the John and sleep the night away. "Get up and hit the road, kid," she said, rising with no little effort to stand leaking and towering over the supine boy.
But he was more of a man than a boy, and she in her total conquest of him was more of a lady than she was some slut who'd say, 'Hit the road.' She primly closed her robe around her sweating body, nudged him with her foot and said, "Dahling, it's all been great wonderful but you really should be toddling off now."
Uh-h-h. Uh-huh," he muttered, feebly nodding his head, but quite stricken with paralysis everywhere else in his wholly spent body. Beverly's laughter tinkled, and she bent and stroked his damp hair, touched his slack cheek, and said, "Arise, my hero, and leave me now that I may dwell upon what we have known together, for now, for all eternity."
He managed to open his eyes, saw her beaming angelically wicked beauty down on him, and down below, his balls gave a feeble twinge at the sight of her tits trying to swing out through her negligee. "W-Why do I have to go right away?" he said, licking his parched lips, and looking more boldly inside her robe.
"Because now I must be alone," Beverly told him, and brushed back a lock of his hair.
"Couldn't I just stay and look?" he said, and reached up and found her ass in his hand, and grinned as he gave it a squeeze.
"No, goddammit!" said Beverly, slapping his hand away, and grabbing him by the ear and yanking him to his feet with her. "When I say split, I mean split! Now get your ass out of here, goddammit, before I kick it out. And don't play any more grab-ass with me until I goddam tell you to! You fuckin' men are all alike," she muttered, shoving him and his stupid, hurt eyes aside, and finishing off her wine in one gulp. But that, she decided, would be the last of her drinking, wine or anything alcoholic. If her fantastic and fantastically sexy body was going to take her to The Top, she was obliged to refrain from putting any poisons into it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Beverly awoke to her alarm clock and within the hottest, most luxurious dream she'd ever had in her life. She was riding down Colorado Boulevard, the Queen of the Rose Bowl Parade, on a float on which her Oscar and her Emmy were portrayed in gold and white orchids. A pandemonium of cheers and applause from the curbs were drowning out the TV announcers' ability to communicate with all the
Beverly Collins fans in their homes, but it was enough to see her in color, on screen, in the parade whose theme was Beverly Collins Hits.
Some of those fans were screaming for the two Stars with Beverly on the float with her, Telly Savalas and David Frost, each of them too busy with one of her naked tits to be able to wave to the crowds on the curbs. Beverly's bosom was exposed by the Queen Victoria dress she had on, and under the very full skirt of that dress, also made of orchids, were the two men responsible more than any others for the emergence of her talents. Ron Hanratty was under there, his lovely big cock squirming all about inside her asshole, and Bobby Stanton was there with their former boss, jabbing and fucking and cumming continually with his hard little prick in her cunt.
Beverly lay there writhing in ecstasy on her bed, helping Telly and David and Rod and Bobby along with her hands until the clock's bell ran down to tiny tinklings with reduction of her orgasms. She lay there basking in the aftermath of the adulation and the pleasures till the clock had ticked two minutes past, and then she briskly rose to prepare herself for this, the second day of her life.
Rod was watching from his second floor office window as the excruciatingly lovely Linda began this business day. He scarcely noticed that more than a third of his operators were wearing skirts that day, and that, for a change, Beverly Collins was wearing some make-up.
His focus was all on Linda, in a blouse and pants now, but hardly less perfectly lovely and young as she'd been in his office the evening before, stripped to her chaste pink brassiere and moving her gloved hands in any suggestive way he suggested for him and his camera lens. Phew! That evening-and she'd said she'd be back that evening-he'd capture still more of her nearly nude upper torso and her exquisitely beautiful face on film.
With prudence, with patience, with businesslike maturity, he might in a few weeks or months have her up there posing for him naked, gloriously naked from her pink little toes to her totally kissable lips. And slowly, and carefully, in a year or two he might be fucking that perfectly dew-kissed darling virgin right there in his office every night, every night! and, who could tell, he might even make a model out of her somehow.
Anything was possible for a man like himself. All he needed for his patience was a little help, right at the moment, from Beverly Collins, who really didn't look all that bad today. In fact, she looked so good that the kid who kept the sewing machines oiled was looking at her with his lower jaw sagging open. Rod turned his gaze at once from Beverly to
Linda as she gave him a tiny wave of her hand, a tiny smile that promised she'd be there, as scheduled, to go on with her modeling career. "It's all for her own good," Rod muttered, grinning wolfishly down at her timid smile, and squeezing through his pants pocket at the large piece of meat that throbbed impatiently in his pants.
"No. No, I'm sorry. Bobby won't be performing today," Beverly said, as the gals crowded round her at the lunch wagon, trying to press ten dollar bills in her hand. "I need him all for myself today," she explained to some of the more insistent, almost irate shop girls, for on the bus Beverly had made another step in her plans. Her fans would number in the millions. Of this she was quite sure. And while Bobby would always continue to be her greatest fan, her future demanded more from him than this. He would become-or had become, since her bus ride to work-Beverly Collins bodyguard.
She'd start off with a Home Muscle Improvement course and send him to a body building gym as soon as she could afford it, but he would be her bodyguard, guarding that body against Beverly's sometimes incontrollable passions as well as against her future hysterical fans. And he'd start at his job today. And so it was Beverly said to the gals, "Nope. Not even for twenty. I need him all for myself today."
In accordance with all he'd heard hinted about it, Bobby was a man very much in love. Exhausted when he'd left Beverly's flat, he'd only been able to sleep that night after hours of tossing and turning. He had dreamt about her all night long, and of himself doing terribly perverted things to her. His first waking thought had been of her, just as his first waking action had been to reach for the stiff, aching prick in his twisted pajamas.
"No-o-o! No, you promised yourself you wouldn't!" he moaned, frantically masturbating, helplessly reliving all the hot, dirty dreams that had tortured him through the night. And then he'd lay there in his bed, panting and sweating, still feeling exhausted, vowing to call up and quit his job as soon as the mill opened up the morning.
But here he was, right there at eight o'clock and gaping at Beverly like the love-sick fool he was as she stood by the lunch wagon, lining him up for any number of sloppy old cunts that he'd have to eat. He couldn't stand to look at them, and he gazed instead at the lunch wagon girl, Linda. And, bleary-eyed and rubbing his stiff cock through his pants pocket, he said to himself, 'Shucks, I'd even do it to that dumb girl if Beverly said so.' He was grinning again as he looked back at Beverly and at the angrily lustful faces of the sewing machine operators whose tables he would soon be under, all day long.
Those sagging old bags, black and white, old and not-so-old, all looked pretty good to him, but none of them looked anywhere near as good as his Beverly. A lot of them were wearing skirts, more easily enabling him to climb down between their gnarled or fat or veined legs and be further tested by eating their nasty old cunts, but none had a skirt on like Beverly did. It was a wraparound skirt on a wraparound dress, and the dress was made of soft white material and printed with spring flowers, and the legs and the bosom and arms it revealed were made of pure satin and would be printed with Bobby's kisses that night after work if he passed all his tests that day. But the first of those tests, he learned to his utter delight, would not be a test at all.
"Come see me at my table," Beverly said from the side of her mouth to him as the employees lined up at the time clock.
Bobby was there at her table at five after eight, grinning like a fool, heart all aflutter in his belly and prick all hard in his pants. He stood before her, pointing first at himself, then at her, and when she nodded a sharp assent, he quickly glanced over his shoulder at the disgusted looks of the other operators and got down on his hands and knees.
'No panties on under her skirt! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!', Bobby said to himself, as he went about the luscious business of licking and sucking her cunt. He wanted to stay right there all day, but she, thinking about his possibly losing his job, held his mouth firm against her clitoris until in hardly any time at all he'd made her cum.
As he backed off, panting, lusting, loving, he saw her dear hand take tissue from her purse and blot off her livid red slit. His further reward, if he needed any at all, was a smile and a nod from Beverly, his Beverly, as he got up from under her table and went to work.
By four o'clock that day, Beverly had had Bobby go down on her four more times. Her plans for his helping her, guarding her, were working out just fine. Each time her thoughts strayed too far into the fantasy of her future, all she had to do was nod in his direction and he'd come trotting over to give her a nice, under-the-table thrill that served to get her thoughts back on an even keel.
Just after four o'clock, when Rod Hanratty stopped by her machine to tell her he had to see her after work about her group insurance plan, she summoned Bobby over to eat her again. She had not been entirely sure and she'd been getting more and more anxious about whether Rod wanted her to model some more that night after work, as he had suggested the night before.
Bobby's agile tongue and loving mouth now served to quell the last of Beverly's anxieties, so she could be professionally cool and calm during this session with Rod. It would be a most interesting challenge to sexily pose for him with all her sex sated, and a good time to discuss the business aspects of her budding career as a model and as a S*U*P*E*R* S*T*A*R*.
By that time of the day, there was a box of Kleenex on the floor beside Beverly's feet, which Bobby fastidiously used on her dreamily happy twat as soon as Beverly pushed his head away at the end of her lovely orgasm.
Even as he was blotting her dry, she realized she'd need him later that night. There was no way she could get through this really professional sitting with Rod without getting all worked up, and Bobby, as her faithful bodyguard, would be the one she would permit to lull her into restfulness with his cock. Beverly punched out, told Bobby to hang around for at least an hour, freshened up in the John, and mounted the stairs toward Rod's office and her future stardom with elegant, hip-swinging grace.
The lights he'd set up made her smile. They beamed down on the couch in his office to bathe it in professional brilliance. They probably cost more than she made in a week, and the tripod on which his camera was screwed might have cost him just as much. But, good businessman that he was, he knew this equipment was a good investment.
"Want a drink?" said Rod, already sweating lightly in anticipation of the end of this modeling session and the start of the next for the night.
Beverly shook her head. "Booze. . . alcohol is bad for the skin tone. And that would show up under these strong lights you got for me. But you go ahead," she said, and gave Rod's cheek a pinch, and pressed her leg warmly against his. It wouldn't hurt her a bit to get him all turned on and keep hom that way for as long as he was her manager. "I'll just have water or something," she said, her voice a husky purr, her hands a set of kittens' paws playing on his crisp white shirt.
"Make me a scotch and water," said Rod, terrifically anxious. "There's some grapefruit juice you can have if you want it."
On her highest platform shoes, Beverly slunk across the room to his bar, brushing her silky thighs one against the other, moving that very moveable ass he so loved with the grace of a snake in heat. She kept it in small but subtle motion as she poured out a big one for him and put juice in a glass for herself. Then with her lips, shining with lip gloss, working and pursing at him, she strolled back toward him with both hands full.
His shop girl looked pretty good to Rod, certainly good enough to take the edge off his lusts before Linda arrived. And the edge was a sharp one, honed each time he had gazed down from his office window at little Linda, re-honed each time he thought about her, which was all the time that day.
His lusts and his needs were so sharp that by the time of the afternoon break, the blat of her air horn had very nearly made him cream in his silk boxer shorts. And now here before him was the blonde-headed oversexed bitch whom he'd use and abuse all he chose to so that he could have some control of himself when Linda, little Linda, showed up for the next class in her education as his future mistress. Rod felt like knocking the drinks from Beverly's hands, tearing off her dress, and butt-raping her on the spot. But if that got started now, he ran the risk of losing control of his raging lusts and fucking himself into a wreck before Linda even got there. And so he took his scotch from her hand, gave her a thrill by nudging the end of her tit with his finger, and said, "Here's looking at you, kid."
Beverly sipped her fruit juice and said, "Yep. You and a lot of others. How are we gonna work this? A personal management contract to begin with, and then we incorporate me later?"
"Huh?"
"Lots of stars incorporate themselves. Mary Tyler Moore did it. It's probably a big tax break, Rod-honey."
"Don't you worry about that," said he, taking a good big handful of her abundantly firm, round ass. "You let me worry about the taxes, while you worry about keeping that ass on the move."
"And don't you worry about me keepin' this million dollar ass in motion, Roddy-Baby," said Beverly, and she wriggled herself up against him as she turned around, and she cocked up her hip at a beautifully sharp angle and flipped up her skirt and shook her ass at him.
She had on the panties they made at Rod's mill, but they looked different than they did in a box. Bright orange, they were, trimmed with a bit of lace about their leg holes, with their gloss nylon stretched so ultimately tight across her amazingly round, up-thrust bottom that the cloth had become quite sheer. Rod could see the deep cleft in her ass quite clearly, hardly at all flattened by the tightness of the panties she had on, but he couldn't see it quite closely enough from his standing position behind her.
Down on his knees he went. "Oh, baby, have you got an ass!" he exclaimed, holding that ass in his hands, and then as it shook once again, leaning forward to bite it and kiss it until she had squirmed it away. Rod was about to spit. What had come over him that he'd kiss a damned shop girl's ass?? ? And then there was the front panel of the glossy orange ruffled panties there in front of him and undulating so wildly he almost kissed that, and then as she bent over he was kissing her tits through her dress and panting for more when he found he was kissing her mouth. Rod felt totally dazed when she straightened up and fluffed out her hair. A big drink of his scotch brought him back to his senses. He smacked his lips, now looking straight ahead at the vulgar bitch's very effective twitching of her hip as she held her skirt up to her waist and asked him something.
"Huh? What did you say?" said Rod. She sure did have fine little legs, perhaps even more shapely than Linda's, though not nearly so young nor long.
"I said, will you have time to manage your business and little old me at the same time?" she asked.
"The two go together," he brusquely said, and got up from his knees to pour himself another drink. "If you make it as a lingerie model, the plant makes it, too, and I'll have a professional photographer taking the shots of you."
"And that could only be the beginning," she said, moving to music that wasn't yet playing, right between the floodlights with her skirt still up around her softly churning hips and her hands moving all over the taut gloss nylon of her panties. "I could be bigger than the mill, you know."
"And I could be King of Siam," said Rod, and freshened his drink and went to his wife's camera and tripod, flipping on the radio in passing. Pulling her into focus, framing in on her hot little butt, he gnashed his teeth and wondered how long it would be before he had Linda framed in just like that.
Beverly was moving easily and digging hell out of it, feeling warm, moist lips between her legs in spite of the lickings she'd had all day long. She was manipulating the bastard and doing it well, as was silently proved by the bulge in his suit pants and the flush on his cheeks as he worked. Today Hanratty, tomorrow any man she chose. She bumped and ground and let her hips fly, loosening her dress now, for her future career was dependent on Hanratty made bras as well as panties.
"Don't take it over any farther," Rod said, "but don't quit while I reload." Her dress hanging loosely open was sexier than if she'd had it off. He might even start an album of her as well as of Linda if he ever got around to developing the film. "Now go to it, kid," he said, as he snapped the camera shut and glanced at his watch to see that he still had half an hour of this modeling session left.
Beverly danced for a few minutes more before saying, "What about some kind of a contract now?"
She was down to her panties and bra, one bra strap hanging loose, the panties' waistband hooked down over one nubile hip, and still keeping it all on the move, and Rod replied, "God damn it, when it comes time for you to have a contract, I'll get you a goddammed contract!"
It wasn't what he said so much as the way he had said it. Beverly's tone, on the other hand, was as sweet as it could be as she turned her back on him, shucked down the seat of her panties, and said, "Better take care of my contract now, or I'm liable to tell you to kiss my ass."
Rod was down on his knees before he was halfway to her, all puckered up and reaching with both hands for her hips. Her ass, lily-white, could not have looked any cleaner or smelled any sweeter, as Rod snarled, "I'm liable to take you up on that, bitch."
"Bitch?" said she, with a bump of her ass against his face. "Watch out, Mr. Bastard, this bitch is just liable to make you rich," she said, bumping with her every word, jolting a big fat buttock against his panting mouth with each of her syllables.
Rod realized she was laughing, or at least sneering, at him. One of his shop girls laughing at him? Or any bitch of a woman, for that matter! He had to put her in her place, but not at the expense of running her off, because he still needed her for.. . . Rod had to think twice before recalling it was Linda whom he was really after, and that this bitch was only for rehearsals-and for relieving the ache in his nuts. Panting, furious, he yanked down her panties over the rest of her demoniacally beautiful ass, baring her puckered pink butt hole. He slobbered his saliva on his finger and screwed it up that hole before she could let out a yelp, snarling as he did so, and saying, "Right up the asshole, doggy style, you bitch!"
"WAIT!" Beverly cried, almost wetting her pants from the sudden, the unexpected, the altogether overwhelming sensation of insertion.
Rod wasn't waiting. "Call me a bastard, will you?" said he, reaming her out with his finger, gloating through clenched teeth at these new gyrations of the ass he held captive in the crook of his arm, the ass held impaled on his finger. "Contracts," he sneered. "Getting rich," he spat. "You might have a fantastic ass, but this is all that it's good for."
"Modeling! Hollywood! The Rose Parade!" Beverly babbled, half trying to explain just how he could share in her future career, half involved in the fantasy that now went hand in glove with her every sexual experience. And his finger moving in her asshole was definitely a sexual experience. What a butt-fucking he was giving her! What an ass reaming she was getting! His digit alone felt as big as his cock, holding her on the brink of an orgasm as well as on the brink of emptying her bladder. She tried once again to explain to him, through her pantings and twistings and moanings, and his only response was to laugh like a fiend and shove another finger up her ass.
"Hollywood?" he said. "Don't make me laugh. This is all you're good for, getting corn-holed by me, and make no mistake about that!"
"Yes! Yes, give it to me!" she cried, shaking all over her body, shaking an orgasm out of her.
"What do you want in you? Tell me, you dirty bitch!" he said, yanking his fingers out, licking them to lubricate them, and then when she screamed out, "Your cock!", shoving those fingers back into her.
"You gotta beg for my cock," he said, "and then you might not get it. I save my cock for ladies, and you're nothing but a tramp. You might have the greatest ass in the world, but you're no more than a jailbird tramp," said he, as she howled and wailed and groaned and showed him still newer gyrations of her really spectacular ass.
"I beg you," she sobbed from her ecstasy, "put your beautiful cock in my ass!"
"Oh, so it's beautiful, huh? It made you sick to suck on it yesterday, and now you think it's beautiful."
"I love it, it's beautiful, anyplace. Please shove it up my ass."
Rod smirked with fine cruelty, reamed his fingers more gently, almost lovingly through the pliable deep pink lips of her ass, and said in wheedling tones, "My cock, my big cock might be beautiful, but it's not as beautiful as this ass you've got, baby. Yeah. Mm," he said, kissing it once for emphasis, finding it sweeter than ever. "It's not enough to get you into pictures, maybe, but it's enough to make a man get it up. Do you want my cock in it? Do you really, Bev?"
"Baby, gimme," she wheedled, right back at him, and she wheedled some more with her ass. That initial surge of headlong, headstrong abandon was gone, replaced by an all over need to feel this man inside her, deep inside her, maybe hurting her at first, in the end only bringing her joy. Joy to the exclusion of all she might ever know in Hollywood. "Lover-man, shove that big beautiful cock of yours right up my nasty old ass."
"Not too nasty," Rod murmured, his lips against silken soft flesh, his fingers more deeply involved in it. "Might even make a model of you. Might even make you fam. . . . "
The knock at his door raised every hair on his head. It was Linda's knock, timid, unsure, but nevertheless determined to get inside to the lens, to the camera, to the man who was all behind it, that man who had vowed he would have her, himself. Out came his fingers from Beverly, and out of her mouth came another yelp.
He leapt to his feet and spun her about, slung her arms from about his neck and said, "That's my wife! Get out of here, fast! Run, with your dress, down the fire escape, or you and me and the modeling scam and Hollywood is right down the fucking drain!"
CHAPTER NINE
Rod bustled Beverly on out the window. He promised her nothing was over with. Then he flew about the room in a panic, concealing the bulge in his pants, brushing back his badly tousled hair, catching a whiff of his fingers and quickly going to the bar to wash them, first with water, then with scotch. His breath had to smell of perfume, too, and so he knocked back a belt from the bottle, again rearranged his flaming hard-on inside his pants, and went decorously to answer the door.
"Coming. I'm coming," he said, making an effort to get something like a yawn in the tone of his voice. His eyes bulged open, but only for a millisecond, when he saw Linda Patton there, for she was a lovely creation, created just for him.
She had on a red gingham blouse, farm girl style, but absolutely perfectly fitted to her, its sleeves halfway down her upper arms and fully packed, its little collar circling a swan-soft neck, its breast pockets bulging with titty. She had on denim jeans, washed perhaps twice, and perhaps the last time allowed to dry on her fine slender body, appearing for all the world, but for Rod in particular, as if someone had invented a spray gun that would shoot denim paint, complete with seams and pockets and little copper rivets, and Linda Patton had of course been selected to model the product of the spray gun.
She had little sandals on her feet, through which pink piggy toes peeked. She had stars in her blue eyes, pink primroses on her cheeks, her hair had been woven of ravens' wings, and on her lips was the softest, most timid, most yearning, most cushiony gleaming smile ever worn by a woman. "Yes, come in, dear," he said, and touched her elbow, and felt a searing new pain in his cockhead.
"Oo. Lights," she said, as her eyes caught the watts from the bulbs and reflected them back on Rod.
"The first shooting came out so good," said Rod, "that I decided to do this one right. It's gonna be hot under those lights. I'll fix you a nice cold drink while you get yourself ready, Linda."
He spilled a little scotch mixing his drink, busy as he was with his eyes watching Linda's blouse come off. Brassieres were a waste of time with her, for as soft as she was, she was resiliently firm all over, and no bra could provide a better lift to her titties than the natural lift of her youth. He watched too as she went to the cabinet for the long black gloves, pausing to look at the other things he'd placed there in subtle prelude to their future modeling sessions. And still at the bar, Rod made the decision to proceed a step faster than planned with her, and to this end he slipped an ounce and a half of vodka in Linda's grapefruit juice. She wouldn't taste it, but it might dull her sense of smell to the scotch that was on his breath. Bringing the drinks over to where they would work that evening, he could hardly keep his expression calm and professional.
She wasn't quite so shy that day. What the hell, he'd already seen her in her bra, and she trusted him fully, almost. There was only the smallest hint of trepidation in her eyes as she sipped the iced drink and said, "Mm. Good And I'm so thirsty tonight."
"Plenty more," said Rod, swallowing with her as she drained off the entire drink. Her brassiere was virginal, bridal white, chastely trimmed with lace, biting softly into shoulders and a torso of the softest shade of pink imaginable. As Rod took her glass back to refill it, she started on with her gloves, black satin, elbow length, in deliciously wicked contrast to the bra that she had on. She was smiling down at them, running her gloved fingers over her satin-shod forearms as he returned with her vodka-laced drink which she took from his hand to her lips at once. Rod stood back, studying her, frowning in spite of all the throbbing excitement within him.
"Is something. . . wrong?" she said, looking down at her perfect self.
Rod shook his head, on the brink of a decision to go still farther and faster with her that night, and then making that decision. "It's those pants," he said. "I showed the proofs of yesterday's shooting to some of my associates. They liked them. A lot. So much, in fact, that they think you should pose for our new line of hosiery, too. And just now I was thinking about what you'd look like in hose instead of those denim pants."
"Stockings?" she said, looking down at herself once again. "Just stockings?"
"Oh, you'd still have on your panties," he said.
"And this," he said, and taking another unscheduled leap forward, he touched the white strap of her bra, touching her skin in the doing, and feeling the vibrant life within her fair body. He sipped his drink to calm himself as she looked up at him through fawn-like frightened eyes, and he shrugged and said, "I told them you're only interested in modeling gloves. But they're businessmen and they want more from you. They think you've got great potential, Linda. They want me to sign you up with a contract right now, a personal management contract."
"Personal management contract?" said Linda, at just about the time Beverly and Bobby were arriving outside on the fire escape.
Bobby had been right there outside to meet Beverly when she'd come out of the alley a few minutes before, just barely back into her clothes, and still badly shaken by her near encounter with Mrs. Hanratty. She'd been about to send Bobby on to her apartment on his bicycle while she took the bus to meet him in that little place where she could go on with her fantasies of fame while he did his all to extinguish the flames that roared throughout her body. Just as they were leaving, the boy overcame his love-sick, tongue-tied adoration to wonder out loud what the lunch wagon girl was doing entering the mill at that hour.
"Who?" Beverly had said.
"You know. That tall, skinny girl with the black hair," Bobby had said. "She just went inside."
"Oh, yeah? I think I'll just take a look. Come on, bodyguard. She's probably there making arrangements for her stops here, and when she's gone, I might have to stick around and do some more of my business with the boss." That hopefulness altered quickly when Beverly, Bobby right behind her, arrived on the fire escape landing just as Rod was telling Linda about her future as a model.
"It's the usual thing to do," said Rod, taking yet another tiny step onward by touching Linda's glossy black hair as if to put it in place about her angelically wide-eyed face. "Personal management contract now, and if it all works out, a corporation built around you in the future."
"Corporation?" said Linda, sipping her drink again.
"It's frequently done," said Rod. "That's how Mary Tyler Moore worked it. But then, of course, my associates and I don't yet know if you have any other, er, assets beyond your most graceful and, well, frankly sexy hands." With this Rod turned away from her lest he lean forward and bury his nose in the soft and fully packed Y of her brassiere. And when he could turn back to face her, smiling coolly again, his heart gave a bound at the sight of her fingers toying hesitantly at the top snap of her tight but most obstructive denim pants.
"Those stockings I saw in the cabinet?" she murmured in a tiny voice.
Rod nodded, the snap came open, and he sipped his drink and said, "I'll have a rough draft of a contract up here next time you come, if you've got the legs I think you do."
Outside on the balcony, Beverly muttered, "That sonofabitch!" At her side, all but oblivious to what was going on beyond the Venetian blinds, Bobby had found the split in her wraparound dress and was feasting his eyes upon this.
And inside the room, Rod had set down his drink to fiddle with the camera on its tripod, actually framing Linda in its view-finder and taking some shots of the marvelously self-conscious strip tease she was doing, all for him. Her panties were made of heave white nylon, and they looked brand new. They were full cut, their waistband and leg holes fitting round her nubile young flesh very snugly, their front and back panels just a little loose, but not loose enough to conceal the slender young roundnesses of hip and buttock and pubis within. She kept her legs together as she wriggled out of the tight denim, keeping the treasure that lay between her silken thighs coyly out of view. Her long legs, shaven ultra smooth, were so ultra perfect in shape and in texture that Rod did indeed give a fleeting thought to making a model out of her.
"Try on those heavy black silk ones," he said in a strained, bored voice. "The ones with the elastic tops," he said, catching her full length on film in profile, with her hands fluttering protectively around her titties and her fanny bulging beautifully back at the white nylon rear of her panties. That rear panel filled up completely, and Rod caught that and her sacral dimples on film as she bent to reach inside the cabinet.
Outside, Beverly was thinking about how much money she could make managing a chick like Linda inside a women's prison. And she was thinking how much she'd like to see the stupid young bitch safely behind bars. Behind her, Bobby was happily nuzzling about at her fanny, having eased up the back of her skirt as she knelt on all fours on the iron grating.
And inside, Linda had straightened up and was timidly smiling as she held the two black silk stockings up against her near nude body, saying as she did, "They feel different than panty-hose. Real silk? How do they stay up?"
"By their very close fit," said Rod. "Sit down and slip them on, dear. And be careful not to snag them."
He got some shots of her crotch then, a prim little bulge between perfect long thighs, as with one knee elevated she worked the black silk up her leg. It was a very young cunt inside those panties, not at all yet the broad bulging twat of the model he'd had in his first after work session that day. It was a sweet cunt, a totally clean cunt, undoubtedly virginal and something he didn't at all deserve to despoil, but despoil it he would if the power was in him. His glass was empty and so was hers, but Rod waited till she'd worked both long stockings up to the middle of her delicately tapered thighs before taking himself and the glasses and his burning hard-on to the bar.
"They feel weird," she said as he returned. But she was smiling as she said it, and giving him a fine view inside her bra as she bent to smooth her wide black welts closer around her flawless white thighs.
He handed her her third vodka and grapefruit juice and saw that she took a healthy sip of it before saying, "You'll be experiencing a lot of what you call weird things in your career as a model. Working under hot lights like these, wearing pretty things, having someone put on your make-up for you and help you dress up. And of course, working with a photographer and being relaxed about it, not getting tense like you are right now. Tenseness is bad for the skin tone. It shows up under lights like these."
"I'll . . . try to relax," she said.
"Yes, you're among friends," he said with a smile. "Just stand there, get used to the lights, sip your drink to keep cool, and I'll put on a different hat and become your wardrobe attendant. Relax, Linda. There's nothing at all to worry about. Relax and think about the time when you're making your first movie in Hollywood."
Outside, Beverly was still muttering, "That sonofabitch." But she was too fascinated by the scene unfolding before her, and by the very pleasant sensations going on behind her, to make a move to put a stop to Rod's very obvious seduction of the stupid girl.
Inside, Rod was down on his knees before Linda, carefully tucking her sweet little feet into the black, high-heeled shoes he had bought in anticipation of seeing her in many weeks from this day. The silk feet of the stockings fit her perfectly as he buckled the tiny straps of the shoes. Never in his life had he seen calves more shapely than those which now were so close to him, the calves of a virgin clad in the hose of a whore.
"Not too tight?" he said, venturing to look up at her without taking a bite from her snatch, and kneading a sexily shod foot between his sweating hands.
"Feels fine," she said, beaming down at him past her drink.
"But your stockings are bagging a little," said Rod. "That's the trouble with silk. Hold still now, honeybunch," he said, and clasped an ankle in his shaking hands, tightening whispering silk about it and working slowly upward, while she stood high above him, softly giggling, murmuring, "Oo. That feels funny, too."
Rod giggled softly with her, heart in his mouth, hands round a sleekly lovely calf now, and said, "Yes, silk really does feel nice. It's just something you'll have to get used to. That and having men on their knees in front of you. Hold still now, Linda dear. We can't have these pretty stockings bunching up around your pretty knees."
Even her bones felt soft! Her knees reminded him of how her waist might feel, slim and firm between her titties and her hips. Still he knelt there, prick sticking up painfully hard in his pants, her adorable little cunt scantily hidden behind loose folds of white nylon right before his hungry eyes. He could smell its delicate, excruciatingly taunting scent as his hands worked the nylon smoother and smoother still over firm, sweetly contoured thighs that would someday be opened wide for him. She parted them a scant inch now and Rod's nasty old fingers touched naked angel's flesh as they tugged up the broad black welts of the gleaming black hose he had picked out for her.
He was taking so long about it that Linda's nervousness was disappearing. In its place was a warm, buzzing excitement at the very impossible thought of herself as a model, not as a lingerie model, of course, because that simply wasn't her thing. She couldn't picture herself modeling gloves and hose even in a Sears catalogue, but she could with some effort see herself on the cover of Family Circle magazine, smiling proudly, with an adorable little baby held in her arms. Babies and recipes and picture perfect cottages and flower beds, those were the things Linda Patton's dreams were made of, if she could be paid for being a part of that scene, she would be the happiest girl in the world. Modeling gloves, and these very strange silk stockings, might open the door to that world for her, and so she permitted this very nice, older man to help her along, even though it seemed very silly, even though it felt very funny to have him down there on the floor in front of her, playing at being a wardrobe mistress. She finished the last sip in her glass, sighing deeply, feeling very proud of herself for being so relaxed and at peace with it all, and hardly at all embarrassed anymore because of how little she had on in front of Mr. Hanratty. She felt so relaxed now, in fact, that she could silently hum with the radio music as she thought of herself on the cover of
Better Homes and Gardens.
"Turn around now, honey-girl, and let's check if those seams are straight." Rod had to say it twice before she responded, as drunk and as hot as she was. Between his vodka and his hands and his patience, he'd get a lot out of her this day, and more the next time and more the time after that. And when she left, she'd be so filled with hopes and dreams, she'd come back again and again. But why look to the future when there was so much of the present to be enjoyed?
Her seams were just about as straight as could be. Rod plucked and pulled and smoothed with his hot and grasping hands to make them still smoother over her ankles and calves, behind the warm hollows of the backs of her knees, on up over the thighs whose slender taper led on to her fine, fine young ass. Out of sight of her now, he could stare like the sex fiend he truly was at the very straight legs before him, more widely parted, less nervously-jumpy to the touch of his hands and his breath. He'd moved close enough to breathe against her now, and to inhale her hot young fragrance, and the girl was hot, no doubt about that, whether she knew it or not. She was swaying slightly to the music now and her legs were more and more pliable to the hands that encircled them, working and working through very thin silk against even silkier legs. And here behind her he could look right up at her ass, so thinly covered with nylon, so firm and quivery within the thin cloth.
A very warm shiver startled Linda, sweeping up from between her thighs, as it did, up through her innards and out through her brassiere via the route of her very hard nipples. Her nipples were hard from her nervousness, she decided, and, touching one and then the other with her fingers to confirm this, she caused more warm shivers to course through her body.
That body was getting increasingly warm under the very bright lights, not unpleasantly so, but warm enough so that she had to take deeper and deeper breaths while Mr. Hanratty went about the laborious business of making her just as perfect as he could for the pictures that were to come. She felt she was starting to perspire between her legs, and this she tried to ignore as she let the music and her thoughts of the future flow through her.
Rod puckered up, softly blew his breath up between Linda's legs this time, and felt his temples pound as once again she squirmed her hips in a small circle. His hands were still working on perfecting her already perfect seam lines as he softly exhaled, again and again, up under the seat of her panties, up against the crotch band of her undies. Each time he inhaled to caress her there with his breath again, he breathed more deeply of her perfumes, the rose sachet of her lingerie drawer, the lilac fragrance of her soap, the subtly penetrating scent of the virgin oil brimming now within her puffed out pussy lips. Back and forth he blew his soft breath, along the backs of the leg holes of her panties, over the lovely crescent bulges of her asscheeks peeping out at him, and again she squirmed her bottom in a circle.
"Are you. . . Are they straight yet?" Linda asked, rousing herself back to why she was standing there letting him touch her like this.
"Not quite," he said. "They keep sagging. And this has got to be right. Bend over a little. Just bend over and lean your hands against the coffee table. I'll have your seams straight in just a minute, angel girl."
Angel girl, Linda mused. Had Charlie's Angels started out like this, those beautiful, sexy girls, making all that fantastic money? Ridiculous to think of herself as a future Charlie's Angel, but no more ridiculous than to think of herself as a model for Family Circle. Or just as a model for Hanratty Mills, and this wonderful man who might make it all possible. The warm shivers were coursing through her almost constantly now as he worked very patiently with her hose, so close to her now that she realized it was his breath that was touching her there in the back, cooling her and at the same time warming her up with a fresh wave of embarrassment. But how could she be embarrassed with this good man, so fatherly, so yearning to help her in a new and exciting career?
CHAPTER TEN
Beverly was so aroused she couldn't move. The girl was perfectly adorable, and Hanratty's lecherous look made her appear even more virginally sweet. Bobby was watching them now as well, still beside her on the iron balcony, now with his hand roving over her thinly clad and very nicely itchy bottom. She knew she should stop what was going on inside, but the fascination of the voyeur had always been inside her and so she watched, and she waited, and even from that distance she could see that Linda was unknowingly responding to Rod Hanratty's hard liquor and soft caresses.
Linda didn't know what was wrong with her, and she hardly cared. There was a wonderful rushing, roaring going on in her healthy young body, like being immersed in a lovely Jacuzzi with no fear of drowning unless one fell fast asleep. She did feel sleepy, for Mr. Hanratty's lights were quite warm, and he was taking a lot of time arranging her just so for the pictures.
All alone, she would have curled up and taken a nap on the couch that was right in front of her. But that would be terribly rude in front of Mr. Hanratty, who was being so very nice to her, and whose hands were occasionally touching her in a way that brought her wide awake for a moment or two. He knew what he was doing. She trusted him. And so she stayed where she was, bent over and leaning against the coffee table where she could look at the gloves she'd come there to model while Mr. Hanratty smoothed her hose into place and said nice things about her.
"You could model skin cream. That's a real nice complexion you have. Real nice," he purred, sliding his hand up the inside of this angel's thigh now, curling his fingers to fit the contour of that part of her.
She giggled and said, "You'll have me modeling all sorts of things."
"That's right," said he, chuckling with her. "Good thing you're not very ticklish. Models can't afford to be ticklish."
"I usually am," Linda said, her hips in continual restless motion now, though not in time to the music, and her titties feeling very full inside her bra.
"Good thing you're not ticklish here," he said, and ran the soft ball of his index finger right next to the lace-edged crotch band of her panties. Linda could scarcely gasp and protest at the startling sensation she felt before he was telling her why she shouldn't be ticklish there, or anywhere if she was going to be a model, with all sorts of strangers' hands putting her into poses. It was all she could do to hold still and control her breathing as his finger moved over that extremely sensitive part of her again and again while he spoke, droning on about the virtues of the aspiring model in a somehow soothing voice. She stood it as long as she could, until his finger touched her crotch through her panties, whereupon she heaved herself upright and turned, saying, "Please don't touch me like that."
He looked up at her with the blandest, most innocent expression in the world, and he said, "Why not?" He touched her there again from the front, making her almost leap out of her skin, and he said, "Suppose you're modeling bikinis, and you'll certainly be doing that. Your wardrobe mistress will have to make sure you're tucked inside the swim suit, that none of your little hairs show. You know?" he said, wide eyed and sober faced, while his fingers tickled terribly between Linda's legs, and she stood there gasping and trying to hold on.
She gave a sharp jump as he rose, slapped her fondly on her rump, slipped an arm about her waist, and said, "Thatta girl. It just takes some training, some self-control. You already have the beauty it takes to model. Wait. I'll get you another grapefruit juice."
Linda felt strangely alone and bereft as he left her, and terribly warm and fidgety. She could hardly hold still, squirming her thighs together over her very sweaty crotch, rubbing her itching nipples with the heels of her gloved hands. Her buttocks felt swollen inside the seat of her panties. The close fit of the hose, annoying at first, was now a comfort to her, as was the icy cold drink Rod Hanratty brought to her which she sipped as he clasped a steadying hand about her bare waist.
"You've got a model's breasts, too," he said, and Linda blushed very hotly. "Unless you're wearing falsies."
"Oh, I'm not," she quickly said, but not before he'd plucked a bra strap between thumb and forefinger and peeled it on down her shoulder.
"It's all right," he assured her. "I just want to see for myself."
She knew she should stop him. She knew very well she should stop him, but somehow she didn't, watching just as closely as he while her bra cup came down and her stiff-tipped right breast was exposed. "Yes, very nice," he said, in such a matter-of-fact way that Linda could do nothing more than gasp-and continue to watch the movements of his fingers on her breast. "Nice enough to model for a centerfold, and that's where some big money is. There's more in fashion modeling in the long run, of course, but center folding is good for a new model to break in at."
He went on to say how much money a model could make, astounding her with astronomical figures almost as much as he was astounding her with the soft manipulation of her titty. She didn't protest, not a word, when he peeled down her bra, saying, "We'll just see if you have a matched pair. Perfect. Yes, perfect," he said in reverent tones, cupping each one of her palpitating breasts in his hand in the gentlest, most tender of ways. "We must capture this on film."
"Nobody'll . . . . see 'em, will they?" Linda asked.
"Just you and I, darling," said Rod from behind the camera, as he quickly adjusted his hard-on again and focused in on her tits. He got several excellent shots, full front and profile, before straightening up, frowning, and saying, "You've got to smile. You've got to be enjoying whatever it is you're modeling. Now hold your hands under them so we can see the gloves, and smile, honey, smile."
"Is this how you . . . model gloves?" she said, a fixed smile on her face, the beginnings of fear in her eyes.
"It's how you make a million dollars," he said, and he let that sink in while he got some more shots of those sexy black gloves, each with an alabaster titty in it.
Rod strode briskly over to her then, while she looked up at him, black-gloved hands still cupping her full, cone-shaped tits. "You're doing fine," he said, and gave her a peck on the cheek, then unsnapped the bra that was dangling about her slim waist. "And you've sure got a fine pair of tits," he went on, and gave one of them a squeeze, such a rough one, in fact, that Linda was brought to her senses.
"Don't! You shouldn't do that! I've got to go now," said Linda, completely inflamed with embarrassment now, and with sharp resentment at Rod.
Rod just laughed and caught her about the waist and swept her up against him, chuckling down into her panic-wrought face, and saying, "Take it easy, kid. All this is for your own good. You're such a pretty thing it'd be a shame to keep it all covered up."
"But I want to be covered up. Rod! Mr. Hanratty! Please! You're hurting me!"
"Baloney," he said, hugging her so hard up against him it took the wind out of her for the moment. "Pretty girl like you. You're in good hands. Shame to cover it up. Pretty all over. Pretty tits, pretty ass, pretty mouth," he said, and quite suddenly he was kissing her-right on the mouth before she could reprimand him for saying such nasty old words. And then his tongue was pushed in her mouth, before she could shut her startled lips, and though the slithery feeling of it repulsed her at first, clear down to the pit of her stomach, in moments more she was clutching at his shirt lest she fall down with her very weak knees, and she was pushing back at his tongue.
Wonderful man! How could anyone make her feel this way? Linda's hand crept around his neck, so he wouldn't get away as she tasted his tongue, again and again and again. He was feeling freely of her titties now, closely pressed between them, and then slipping that hand down her waist in a way that made her senses roar as much as his tongue was doing.
'You like Frenching, eh?" he said with a smile. "Most of you girls do."
Before she could ask him what girls, he was Frenching her again, easing his stiff, thick tongue all around inside her mouth so she forgot all about the question. Her stiff-nippled titties felt marvelous against his soft cotton shirt. His hand felt marvelous, too, roving over her back-thrusting bottom in search of those nice places where her bottom itched the very most.
T bet you like Frenching all over," he murmured, with his warm lip brushed against hers, and down they went then, into the warmth of her throat.
"Oh, please. Oh, Rod. Oh, I'm so ticklish there," said Linda, though by then she felt every bit as ticklish everywhere.
"Got to have some of those tits," said Rod, and now he went after them, plenty more than a succulent mouthful, with nipples that fit him just right.
"Oh! Please! Please! Please!" Linda was saying, not at all knowing what it was she was pleading for, but unable to keep herself still. It was not only her vocal cords that were moving. Her hips were churning up against his chest, her buttocks were doing a dance, and her hands were rubbing the sides of his head while he kissed and sucked on her tits.
"Oh, baby, yeah," said Rod, holding her firm by the waist now, appreciating it much more than he had her knees, and trailing a path of saliva from her kiss-wetted tits to her navel.
"Oh, that does tickle!" said Linda, squirming near uncontrollably. "Do stop, Rod. You're tickling me half to death." He just went on kissing her there, thrusting his tongue in her navel so deeply she could almost feel it inside her. "Oh!" she said more sharply, as a tiny pain appeared there, and then quickly dissolved away into a delicious feeling of luxury. The luxury persisted, and Linda watched as if from afar, as Rod's long pink tongue snaked on down her tummy, following the course of her panties as his fingers eased them down. "No, no. Please. You really mustn't do that. Please, Mr. Hanratty, that's not nice," she said, but once again she did nothing at all to stop him.
Rod eased her delicately furred cuntlips aside with his thumbs quite quickly, before she got crazy about him quitting. He thrust out his tongue and found her clitoris at once, stiff and firm, fresh and young, and already most slippery and wet from the virgin oils she'd spread with the scissoring of her thighs. One touch was almost enough, for in moments she was huffing and puffing.
"Oh! Ohmigod! Oh heavens! Oh, it feels so good, so very GOOD!" she said, clutching his head in her hands, and tilting her shaking hips up at him.
"Not nice, eh? Rod murmured, slicking his creamy wet lips, and hunkering down for more. "Now you start to get an inkling of just how nice it is," he said, and he slipped his stiffly extended tongue out, right out and into the puffed out pink lips of her cunt, and he licked it, up and down.
"Uhoo-o-o-o-o-o," Linda moaned, squirming and thrusting for more. "Oh, yes!" she said, face gone slack, but all the rest of her in motion, tits swinging, hips thrusting forward, forward, buttocks actively quivering and legs flexing down just as far as her half-mast panties permitted. "YES!" she said, and a huge warm wave from the Jacuzzi completely inundated her, and she fell back on the couch screaming hoarsely, "YES-S-S-S-SSS!! ! "
"That lucky sonofabith," Beverly said at the window, and Bobby, beside her, said, "Did she have a heart attack?"
Rod lurched to his feet and looked down at the black-haired girl on his couch, tits quite naked and still up-thrusting, even slumped back against the back of the couch as she was. The gloves and the hose and the panties were all she had on, and the panties were down around her knees. This had gone much farther, and far better, than he'd planned or even hoped for. Her eyes were half closed and she was groping clumsily at her cunt, nicely open and pink, and so wet it glistened in the glare of the hot white lights. It was no time to stop now, Rod thought with an evil grin, and began to take off his shirt.
"Oh, please. Oh, yes. Oh, please," Linda was saying, as Rod shucked down his pants and shorts.
Her mouth was hanging open. With her own hand she was keeping herself hot, not doing as good a job as he might do, but getting the job done nevertheless. Rod continued to look at her cushiony pink lips, as glistening wet as her cuntlips, as he grinned and leaned forward, putting a knee on the couch, then putting his cock in her mouth.
"Easy, baby," he cautioned, with his heart pounding hard in his chest. "I'm liable to cum in your pretty mouth if you suck on me hard," he said, which was something he planned never to do, not if he could always help it. "That's right. Just taste it. Get the feel of it," he said, right on the verge of cumming, by seeing her do it to him just as much as by feeling the soft, timid touch of her tongue and of her lips. "Can' take any more of that," he groaned, and drew out his cock just in time, the moment before he would cum.
"I believe he's going to fuck her," said Beverly, and turned and kissed Bobby hard on the mouth before he could utter a word.
That was exactly what Rod had in mind. On his knees on the carpet, he guided his cock with his hand till its bulbously big pink knob had kissed the dewy wet lips of her cunt. Dewy? They had only looked dewy, and now, through the tactile nerves of the head of his cock, Rod Hanratty could feel just how overflowing brimful creamy wet his kisses had made this lovely girl's cunt, and he eased himself inside.
"Too tight!" he exclaimed, and immediately started thinking about payroll taxes, income taxes, property taxes, and employee's withholding tax, while a nerve in his brain kept pounding out signals that said. "She's fantastically tight!"
"OOOGH!" said Rod, and he shoved himself all the way in her, and grabbed both the cheeks of her ass.
"OW-W-W-W-W!" he exclaimed, cumming almost painfully hard, and heaving her up off the couch in his tremendous extremis of pleasure.
"OH-H! OH-H! OH-H!" Rod cried out, humping straight upward like mad, pouring torrents of jism into her as he held her hard by the ass, feeling her tits flopping against him and her arms dangling about his neck and her thighs against his hips, but most of all feeling the inside of her incredibly tight, hot cunt.
"No! Oh-H! Can't stop. OHH!" he groaned, staggering about his office now in the double burden of her weight and the excruciating pleasure.
In his staggering, he drove her up against the wall, pinioned her there with his pistoning prick. He continued to piston and moan, and to cum like a big prize bull, till he'd fucked her right down till her ass was flat on the floor, and he was lying there panting atop her.
"Come on, Bobby," said Beverly angrily, and entered over the sill saying, "Rod, you dirty sonofabitch!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Oh, no," Rod moaned, rolling off the girl, the virgin girl, whom he'd all but raped to unconsciousness.
Fists on her hips as she spoke, Beverly towered over him as she said, "What the hell do you mean, not telling me about her?"
"I couldn't help it," said Rod, too exhausted, too paralyzed to move from his naked, supine place on the floor. "Didn't expect it to go this far. Drunk," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the bar, with its scotch and its vodka and its grapefruit juice.
Beverly stalked over to it and poured herself a big scotch, knocked half of it back as she continued to glare at the panting, spent Rod Hanratty. Bobby was attending to the girl, rubbing her wrists in Boy Scout fashion, as Beverly stalked back to Rod.
"What are you running, a stable?" she said. "Why didn't you tell me I had to compete with her?" said she, gesturing disdainfully at the girl, spilling some scotch on her, then taking another drink of it before she went on. "Why didn't you tell me you were running auditions for lingerie models, dammit? I wouldn't have held myself back?"
"Huh?" said Rod. "Held yourself . . . back?"
"Sure!" she said, and; setting her drink aside, she hiked up her skirt and shucked down her panties. "Why didn't you tell me you liked eating pussy? Christ sake, that's my thing."
"Do I understand you right?" said Rod, still befogged by the booze and the beauty he'd partaken of, and struggling to sit up to clear his head.
"Yeah, I understand you," said Beverly. "And you understand this," she said, and spread out enormous fat cuntlips, and extruded a stunning big clit.
Its smell was rank. So much so that Rod recoiled back from it, then immediately leaning back.
At the first taste of it he was hooked. It wasn't as creamy as Linda's, and it definitely wasn't as firm and small. But who wanted creaminess in place of this wonderfully slippery nectar that was the triple distillation of what he'd gorged on in Linda's little cunt. And who wanted a cunt that was little and firm when he had a cock that was getting as large as Rod's was getting? And who wanted a clit so skimpy and sensitive its licking made the kid cum far too soon. "Mm. Not bad," he said, and got up on his knees to taste more of it.
Bobby, frowning at this lack of interest both Beverly and Mr. Hanratty had in poor Linda, was helping her to her feet. He was helping her to stagger to a place behind the bar where he could reach some water for her more easily and where she wouldn't be disturbed by what they were doing. There on the floor behind Mr. Hanratty's bar, he worked off her gloves and her hose, the better to ease her as she slept. She sure did have a nice young body on her.
"Not bad?" said Beverly, rotating her clit between Rod's lips, much in the same way she'd rotated her tits when she was a topless dancer, sensuously and slowly, getting full pleasure from it herself. "It's damn good and you know it, and I can tell by the way you do it just how good it is."
"Mm-hm," said Rod, nodding, nodding, licking, sucking on cunt that was in its prime.
"Are you going to bring my personal management contract along the same time you bring hers?" she said, as his sucking and licking, more and more voracious, started her love juice flowing down her inner thighs.
"Mm-hm," he nodded, still sucking, and Beverly started to cum.
"Personal contract!" she said, holding his head by its hair, and grinding her clit against that mouth that so far excelled any other's mouth she'd ever known.
Rod wrenched his mouth from Beverly's beautiful and beautifully convulsing cunt, dragged her down beside him and mashed it hard against her mouth. While they were kissing, sucking on each others' tongues, their hands were fumbling to fit his big cock inside her. And when it was fit, he backed off to say, "We'll incorporate you." And Beverly started to cum in earnest.
Rod started cumming as well. His balls, utterly empty just minutes before, found a new wellspring of jism to pour and spurt in heavy gouts up the cunt of this ex-con shop girl. He couldn't have stopped it if he'd tried. He was as enthralled by the sharply intense pleasure as she was as together they humped and screwed, heaved at each other and sweated, and grunted more words that drove them both on. "Centerfold girl," said Beverly. "Centerfold photog," said Rod. "TV!"
"Hollywood."
"New York!"
"Paris!" cried Rod, and Beverly took up the call, and both of those people, so deeply joined, shouted it over and over in this, their moment of climax.
"Is somebody . . . going on a trip?" said Linda from behind the bar, just waking up to the most delicious of feelings.
"I guess so," Bobby said. He was lying on top of Linda, between her legs, considerately relieving her of the burden of the weight of his body as he soaked his stiff prick in Linda's cunt. He was as naked as she, and he didn't know why. For some reason, just after he'd removed Linda's gloves and stockings, he'd felt compelled to undress as well. And then, just as naturally, it seemed, he'd been just as compelled to see how his prick felt in Linda's cunt. And it did feel good. "They're talking about modeling, or something," Bobby explained, and Linda reacted to this.
"I'm going to model for a living!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms and legs about Bobby's naked body in her exuberance, and feeling just wonderfully good. "Paris!" she said, all in motion. "And
New York and Hollywood, too! I'm so excited I could . . . Oh! OH! OH!" she said, hugging Bobby wonderfully hard, so hard that they both felt the wonder of it.
They were in ecstasy, those two kids, and the ecstasy paused for only a moment as Linda drew back her lovely, shining face to say, "And you were the one to share it with me like this. You were the one to make me feel so very good! I've noticed you by my lunch truck. I've wondered about you. Oh-h-h-h-h-, you made me feel so good! If only you could come with us to Hollywood, and New York, and France. If only you could come with me!" she said, with her whole lovely body.
And Bobby said, "I can!"
And from across the room, on the other side of the bar, Beverly was saying, "What do you think of a centerfold layout of Linda, nude, with her truck?"
And Rod thought for only a little while before replying, "I could teach you to use the camera. I'd be busy on the front seat of the truck with her."
