Nadine ran to the couch, turned, then let herself bounce onto it. Her miniskirt flared and the leather upholstery smacked loudly against her bare buttocks. Nadine giggled. She stood up, then dropped down again, listening for the sound of smooth leather meeting soft flesh with sensual anticipation. The smack came again and the warmth thrilled through her body. She smiled a secret smile, then swung her feet onto the couch, turned on her side and stroked her buttocks tenderly and thoughtfully. Her skin felt warm and the deliriously sweet tingling rippled through her flesh. Nadine shivered with delight, pursed her lips and a sound of pleasure oozed out. "Uuum ... nice."
She slithered to her feet and glided quickly to the doorway. "Wanda," she called, her voice sweet and young, "Wanda, come here. I want you."
She hummed to herself, wriggling her fifteen-year-old body and caressing the smooth swell of her small belly under her skirt as she slid her way back on the couch.
"Yes, Miss Nadine?"
The pretty girl, not much older than Nadine, waited at the door of the sunroom.
Nadine stared at the maid with a dreamy expression in her round, guileless eyes. "Come here, Wanda," she murmured very softly. She beckoned with her finger, as though they were playing a little girl game. Wanda moved forward with small, reluctant steps. She looked shy and embarrassed; inside the neat maid's uniform her body seemed to quiver.
"Lie down, Wanda," Nadine crooned, pointing to the couch.
Wanda tensed. Beneath the abbreviated dark skirt, she held her thighs tightly together as she hissed; "No! not now ... your mother! She might come in!"
Nadine shook her head. "No, she won't, Wanda," she smiled. "She's talking on the phone, upstairs in her room." She met the maid's eyes, then repeated resolutely; "Lie down, Wanda!"
"No!" The girl spoke quietly but fearfully.
Nadine drew herself up to her full four-foot-eleven. She still looked like a sweet little girl, but she was an angry little girl, too. "Get on the couch!" Nadine's voice was not soft this time.
Wanda shook her head, swallowing nervously.
Nadine's small hand moved in a short, vicious arc. It slapped hard on Wanda's face. The slim maid drew back with a whimper. There were red marks where the young but strong fingers had hit. "The couch!" Nadine spewed wetly.
Tremblingly, Wanda climbed onto the leather-upholstered couch and stretched herself out on her back. Her uniform worked itself up, showing a bare gleam of white thigh above her dark stockings. She pulled her skirt down modestly then cast a frightened glance at Nadine.
"That's right," lisped Nadine, sounding soft and sweet again, "that's so nice." Then her face seemed to tighten as she asked, "Are you ready?"
The sound that came from Wanda's lips could have been a moan or a whimper of protest, but ...
Nadine's eyes glistened; she turned her lithe young body, dragged her brief skirt up to her waist, baring the smooth buttocks and rounded belly with soft, blonde pubic hairs. Then she half-jumped, half-fell onto the couch ... and Wanda. One foot rested lightly on the floor, her legs straddled the maid and her fleshy little bottom landed heavily on Wanda's belly. The maid gasped in pain as the air was forced from her body. "Nice, Wanda," Nadine crooned, "nice!"
She wriggled her buttocks, using them as feet to walk her body upward. Each rocking movement pressed heavily on the breathless maid. Nadine's thighs flattened Wanda's small breasts as she worked herself over them and the girl moaned in protest. Nadine giggled. "I know you like it, really!" she whispered.
She eased herself higher and higher, then her small hands reached down, gripped Wanda's short, dark hair fiercely. "You're not moving A your face this time," Nadine mouthed softly but determinedly. Her thighs straddled Wanda's face and her buttocks pressed heavily on the girl's breasts as she squatted down, motionless, for a brief moment.
The light triangle of soft, blonde hair was below Wanda's chin as she stared with frightened eyes. She glanced up, saw the expression on Nadine's face, then watched as the little girl opened and closed her mouth with strangely obscene movements. Wanda understood. She could not move her head, Nadine's grip was too firm, but her mouth could move. She parted her lips, moistened them with a tense tongue, then waited while Nadine raised her body slightly, moving her vagina up and over her victim's frightened mouth. Wanda stared at the wet vagina lips, saw the small pink mound above her face, then watched the small slit ooze open as it slid down onto her mouth.
Nadine came down heavily, wetly and suffocatingly with a soft squelching sound. She gripped Wanda's cheeks with her inner thighs, her vulva blotted out the girl's small mouth. Nadine wriggled herself; felt her vaginal lips opening and closing spasmodically, then as Wanda's mouth opened below them, she thrust herself down deeper and deeper.
Like an obedient slave, Wanda's tongue licked out, searched for, then found the tiny but tensile clitoris and tickled it with trembling caresses.
"Uuuuum!" it was a purr of pleasure, "uum, Wanda, nice-so nice!" Nadine's eyes were closed; she rocked herself gently, whispered wetly and retained her strong grip on Wanda's hair. "Lick it, Wanda," she mouthed, "suck it." Small sloughs of sound spewed from her lips. "I'll suck you after," she panted, "I'll suck your little cunt." She made a quavering, breathless giggle, pressed herself down with a compulsive effort, chanting, "Suck, suck, suck, ooooh, Wanda!"
Her voice had risen, her eyes flickered wildly and her body writhed and twisted remorselessly.
She couldn't see or hear anything. All she was aware of was the exquisite thrill which was beginning to throb through her nubile flesh.
Neither of the girls saw the woman who was standing at the sunroom door. For a moment, the woman watched; silent, immobile. Only the clenching and unclenching of her fists and the expression of melanged anger, shame and fear on her face indicated her emotion. At length, she shook her head as if in an agony of indecision, then moved forward until she was a few scant feet from the couch, the hot, slurred sounds and the writhing, sweating flesh of her daughter.
Like the strike of a snake, the words slid out. "Nadine, you bitch, stop!" The words seemed to choke in her throat, then she swallowed with an effort and finished, "You filthy little bitch, get your dirty little ass off that girl's mouth right now"!
CHAPTER TWO
A telephone rang in the annex of a rambling old building fifty miles on the Mexican side of the California border. It was answered by a girl whose voice was alert, cool and professional. She listened for a moment then touched a button on her desk and spoke into the phone softly, discreetly. "I have Doctor Saxon on the line now, Mrs. Norden, you can go right ahead." She re-cradled her phone very gently.
Nadine's mother moistened her lips before she spoke.
"Doctor Saxon?" she waited, then when she spoke again, she made her voice low, calm and cool. Not frantically anxious and panicky like she actually felt. "This is Mrs. Norden, Angela Norden. A friend of mine mentioned your name to me-and-I thought-I wondered ... ?"
She stopped speaking, listened, then; "It was Mrs. Suzanne Summers of San Francisco. Yes, she's a friend. She said that her niece was at your place and ... "
Angela had been in the Star-Room Bar when Suzanne had told her. Told her about Rhoda, her sixteen-year-old niece.
"She got herself pregnant," Suzanne had said, "again!" Angela had watched as Suzanne drained her martini, then she had asked, "Who was it?"
"Rhoda said it was Bob, her sister Norma's husband." Suzanne had looked at her friend, then added, bitterly, "It probably was, too."
"Why, he must be-" Angela had began, but Suzanne cut in.
"He's two years older than Norma and Norma's ten years older than Rhoda!" She looked right at Angela as she added, "Why, Rhoda isn't much older than Nadine!"
"No," Angela had admitted, "she isn't."
Then she had thought to herself: But Nadine won't get pregnant with the things she does. Sweet little Nadine wouldn't let a nasty man get into her! Oh, no. She'd tried to stop her train of thought. She shouldn't think that way about her own daughter! Even if she was a ...
"The first time," Suzanne had gone on, "it was some young boy at school. Rhoda was about fourteen then and she stopped that one by falling off some vault horse in the gym."
The waiter had brought them fresh drinks, then Angela had asked, "And this time?"
"She went to some guy. Someone out of town, she said, who fixed her up!"
Angela had taken a deep breath.
"Rhoda said that Bob gave her the money to go." Suzanne looked into her glass. "Bob denied it, of course. Said that it wasn't him in the first place and that he didn't tell her to go anywhere in the second place and ... "
"And Norma?" Angela asked, "What did she say?"
"Oh, my God, Norma!" Suzanne lifted up her eyes. "She said that if they didn't send her bitch of a kid, blankety sister away, she'd ... !"
"It must have been pretty bad."
"You could say that," Suzanne gave a crazy laugh. "Norma said that Rhoda was making out with every boy in high school and ... "
"And Bob?" Angela put in, quietly.
"Yeah, Bob too. I believe that." Suzanne spoke slowly. "But I'd say that Rhoda got him into it. I remember once when I was at Norma's and Rhoda came in while Norma was talking to me," Suzanne sighed. "She told Bob that she'd strained herself and would he give her some liniment. Then they both went off to get it." Suzanne stopped talking and sipped at her drink.
"So?" Angela waited, then, "What's so bad about that?" She toyed with her glass.
"I'll tell you," Suzanne put her glass down hard, "When Norma was in the kitchen, I went to see what was going on, being a busy-bodying butter-inner and found that Bob was massaging Rhoda all right but he was using cold cream and the strain was right between dear little Rhoda's legs!" Suzanne looked at Angela, then added, "Rhoda was laughing her head off while Bob, he's such a conscientious guy, was so busy, busy, busy!"
"And Norma didn't know?"
Suzanne shrugged. "Not then I don't think."
"Well," Angela let her breath out. "And what're they going to do about Rhoda, if anything?"
"Oh, they've done something all right." Suzanne eyed her empty glass, waved to the waiter. "They've fixed little Rhoda up. They've sent her to the Saxon place."
Angela hadn't understood. "What is that? A home? A mental hospital?" Her eyes had been shocked.
"No," Suzanne reassured her, "it's a private place. Have you never heard of it?"
Angela shook her head.
"They take care of mixed-up adolescents. Doctor Saxon is a psychiatrist or psychologist, I think and there's a big staff. It's a beautiful place, like a holiday resort. They do what they want. Everyone there is a guest, so they say," Suzanne laughed. "I don't know if they could leave without permission, in fact I'm damn sure they couldn't. And the big thing is that they get them out of their parents' or relatives' hair."
Angela had never thought then that she would ever be personally interested in such a place, but now ...
"You see, Doctor," Angela Norden was saying on the phone, "it's my daughter. I-I don't know how to tell you this, but I have a maid, a young girl and my daughter makes her perform-perform a certain act ..."
Angela listened. Then, "Yes-yes, Doctor. It is a sex act. She makes the girl kiss-lick her on her-you know, Doctor. Between her legs-in her vagina. I don't like to use these words, but, she makes the maid suck her off! Wanda, the maid, has to suck her cunt until she comes, Doctor. I-I feel awful talking like this. I-oh, thank you, Doctor. I-I had to describe it. Yes, she has done it with other girls or made them do it to her. Really, she's very strong-willed, though she seems so sweet and she is sweet in a lot of ways, but I have to get rid of her for a while. I mean, I think it would be better for her to go away for a while and that's why I was calling. The reason? Did you say that there must be a reason? Yes, well there is a reason. You see, Doctor, I'm getting married again. I've been divorced from Nadine's father for eight years and-because the man that I am going to marry is-is twenty-five years old-and-and I am thirty-five!"
Angela felt her body trembling as she waited for the answer to her question, her plea-her cry of help!
"Don't worry, Mrs. Norden," said the smooth, reassuring voice on the phone, "we'll take your daughter as a guest. My associate, Marvin Hett, will call you in a few hours and-"
Angela cut in, relief and apprehension mixed in her words. "Thank you, Doctor, thank you so much. And Doctor, how much will it cost?"
"We'll let you know after your daughter is here with us, Mrs. Norden. Don't be alarmed, the fees are very reasonable. It depends upon the treatment and-and service that your daughter may require."
"I'm so relieved, Doctor." Angela was purring on the phone, "Shall I give my address and number to you?"
"Please, Mrs. Norden, give all the necessary details to my receptionist. Mr. Hett will call you very soon. Good-bye Mrs. Norden."
"Good-bye, Doctor and thank you," Angela purred on the phone as Doctor Saxon's receptionist came on the line to get the information.
It would be all right, Angela was whispering to herself, everything would be all right! Nadine would go to the Saxon place and everything would be all right ... !
CHAPTER THREE
Enid Langley began to feel scared. She stared apprehensively at the three guys in the room, then her eyes flickered over the dusty walls, shuttered windows and closed door. She'd been crazy to get in the car when they offered her a lift!
"How'd you like our club?" asked the biggest guy, a sneer in his words.
Enid shook her head. "It's kinda late," she tried, "you'd better drive me home."
"Later," he said, "take it easy. Here, I'll pour you a drink."
She didn't want a drink; all she wanted was to go home! But she took the glass ... she didn't want to make them mad ... not here ... all alone with three of them.
When they had told her that they'd drop in a club on the way back ... she hadn't worried. She'd thought they meant a real club, not a crummy, beat-up shack that they called their club.
She sipped at her glass and half-choked. It must be raw whisky! Enid knew all their names. They weren't strangers. The small one was Bart and the one with long, blond hair was Willis and Johnny was the big one, the tough one, the one who scared her.
Johnny spoke to her now. "Okay?" he asked, squatting down on the floor in front of her.
Enid wriggled uncomfortably on the old car seat that served as a chair, or couch. Or-was it-bed? "Yeah," she muttered, holding up her glass, "okay."
Johnny grinned; from where he was squatting he could see right up her skirt. She was sorry she wore a skirt and not shorts or slacks.
"You're sure cute, Enid," he said, "sure cute."
She glanced down, saw where his eyes were focused and began to move her legs.
"Don't move!" Johnny snapped out the words, "Stay just the way you are."
Enid froze. There was something about the way he spoke that ... Girls had told her that Johnny was crazy or wasn't quite normal.
"I like you like that, Enid," Johnny muttered.
"Johnny," she pleaded "take me home."
"Later," he moved his hand irritably. "Later-later I'll take you home. You wear pants, Enid?"
"Wha-?"
"You got pants on?" he asked. "I can't see from here."
Frantically, Enid glanced toward the other two. They were in a corner of the room, standing behind some old boxes that they used as a bar. She could hear them laughing together. They didn't seem to be taking any notice of her or Johnny.
"Don't worry about Bart and Willis," Johnny had seen where her eyes flickered, "they're too busy with each other. Say, didn't you know that Willis is gay?" He laughed, "and Bart is halfway!" He grinned at her, "I'm the only normal guy ... " Suddenly he stopped laughing. "You didn't answer me, Enid! What're you trying to do, make me mad?"
"No," she muttered, panicky, "I-I forgot what you asked."
"You got pants on?" His voice was hoarse.
"Yeah," she panted, "yeah, I've got pants on. Why?"
"What color are they?" His eyes were screwed up as he peered under her skirt.
"Pink," she said, trying not to tremble.
"Is that so?" Johnny sounded pleased. "I like pink. Show 'em to me!"
Enid sat very still.
"Show 'em to me!" There was an edge of impatience in Johnny's voice.
Slowly, Enid drew up her skirt. Her legs, long and slim, were enclosed in her best hose that she'd worn that night for some crazy reason. Her briefs were pink, silky and transparent.
Johnny drew in his breath. "Say, they're cute," he said appreciatively. Then he raised his voice. "Hey, you guys, come over here."
Enid felt her face pale.
"What d'you want, Johnny?" asked Willis.
"Look at that," said Johnny proudly, "d'you ever see a cuter pair of briefs?"
"Oh, I like them," said Willis, as though he were debating whether to buy a pair like them.
"They're okay," said Bart. He squatted down beside Johnny. Enid saw with a small shock that his pants were open at the front and as she stared, he groped at the opening, then thrust his hand inside. "Take them off," he said, not moving his eyes off her crotch and the brunette hairs that showed through the thin material.
"Yeah," said Johnny, "do that, Enid." his eyes were fixed on her hotly.
Enid took a shuddering breath, then as though she were in a horrible nightmare, she slid the thin silk over her hips, thighs and legs. She lifted the flimsy handful of silk thrusting it toward Johnny, saying, "Here, you can have them. Now, take me home please!" Her voice rose on the last word as her self-control neared the breaking point.
"Later," Johnny muttered, not taking his eyes from her legs, "later, Enid." He swallowed, then rasped, "Take your skirt off."
She stood up, her whole body rigid.
"Take it off!" Johnny sounded irritated.
Enid stared down at him. Johnny turned his eyes up to her face, he looked angry now. "I said take your skirt off, Enid," his voice was nearly a snarl. "Take it off! I wanna look at your belly and your hairs and your ass. I wanna see that-maybe I'll-" he broke off and licked his lips.
With shivering fingers, Enid slipped down the short zipper at her side and let her skirt slide down to her feet. She tried to curb the tremor in her knees as she stood in front of them waiting.
"Look at that hairy cunt!" Bart's eyes gleamed. He wriggled himself closer to the standing girl and his fingers groped inside his pants, emerging with something between them.
Enid stared down in horror. He'd pulled out his penis and it was enlarging before her eyes! She felt a shiver run along her flesh, a shiver of revulsion. Then she hated herself, hated her body, hated the warm trickle that had started to run down her legs ...
"She's all wet," Bart mouthed, rubbing his cock in front of her. He reached up with his free hand and she felt his fingers probe, grope at her vaginal lips, squeeze inside her and she wanted to scream.
"She's making me-making me ... " Bart's voice rose. "I'm coming!" he squealed like a girl.
Enid felt her eyes drawn down with an awful fascination and she saw the penis, huge, bloated with imminent semen, swell until the veins on its skin seemed about to burst. Bart's fingers encircled his monstrous organ and his hand suddenly began to move more quickly. As she watched she saw his body jerk; the slitted cock spurt and Enid saw the white, thick fluid squirt, then ooze from the spasmodically jerking tip.
Oh, my God! she wanted to scream, yet as her own knees, weak from emotion, trembled, she saw Bart, his strength spent, sprawl over backwards as he mouthed, "Oh, you fuckin' cunt, Enid. Oh, you lovely, hairy cunt, you!" He lay on his back with his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips.
"Turn around." It was Johnny, grunting out the words.
Oh, no! Would this never end? "Let me go, Johnny," she pleaded, the tears coming to her eyes, "please!"
"Later," he muttered. "Turn around-turn around, you goddamned bitch," and he moved toward her.
She squealed even though he didn't hit her, then she turned around, hearing Johnny say, "You don't have to be afraid, Enid." Then he laughed.
"I'm not going to fuck your cunt," he laughed again. Then asked, "Ain't that right, Willis? I don't fuck cunts, do I?"
"No," Willis answered very softly, "not cunts."
Johnny was slowly unfastening the front of his pants.
"What're you gonna do, Johnny?" Willis sounded anxious.
Johnny didn't answer him. He rested his penis, long and flaccid, on the palm of his hand. "Look at that ass," he muttered to Willis.
Willis was silent.
Johnny's cock twitched. "Ain't that somethin'?" his voice was hoarse.
Willis sniggered. "Like it better than mine, Johnny?"
Johnny didn't laugh. He pushed the smaller boy away roughly and moved close to Enid's naked, quivering buttocks. He touched the tender cleft delicately. Enid flinched. A small bubbling sound came from her lips.
"Don't be afraid, Enid," Johnny spoke softly. His cock swelled and twitched ominously; he gripped it more tightly. "I don't wanna hurt you," he murmured to Enid. His finger traced a line between her milky white cheeks.
Enid trembled again. His finger paused over the small orifice. She felt it probe gently, pry open the tiny, tight star.
"I won't hurt you," Johnny mouthed.
He stepped back, stared at the quivering cheeks, then looked down at his penis. It was jumping and jerking in his hand as if it had a life and will of its own. "I gotta do it," said Johnny, sounding almost sad, "I gotta ... " He looked at Willis, then nodded his head. He poked at Bart's prone body with his foot, then sent a message with his eyes. "I gotta," he said, gripping his cock as though he were restraining it. "Ain't anythin' else I can do!"
"Enid," said Johnny, his voice sombre and serious, "I gotta fuck your ass."
"No!" Enid squealed the word out, then twisted her body forward. Johnny's big arms grabbed her body. She could feel her breasts being crushed as he held her. Her bare, shivering buttocks could feel a long, hard mass, jerking and throbbing against her skin. The sound came from her lips in a long, drawn out scream. "Eeeeeee! Let me goooo!"
"Grab her," Johnny muttered to the others, "bend her over this box."
Enid's back strained as she was forced over the top of a crude box.
"We always have to hold em," Bart muttered, sullenly.
"You never have to hold me," said Willis with a smirk.
Enid's buttocks protruded as her belly was pressed hard against the edge of the box. She could feel it cutting into her skin. "Johnny," she pleaded with despairing sobs, "please don't. If you've gotta-gotta have it-if you've got to fuck-fuck me-please fuck my-my cunt, Johnny! Please, not-not there-Please!"
Her voice went into a high octave as Johnny jabbed a stiff finger into the tiny, sensitive aperture between the snowy white cheeks.
His penis throbbed and vibrated as if there were an electric motor within its slithery skin. "I gotta, Enid," said Johnny again. "My cock does it by itself. I just can't stop it. I gotta," he groaned out the last word as his cock sprang forward, throbbed against Enid's shaking flesh.
"Open her legs up," Johnny muttered to the other two, "I gotta have room." Then he leaned over the trembling girl and murmured, "Bend your knees, Enid, that way it-it won't hurt so-so much."
She screamed again, higher but more hopelessly. It was no use, she knew. She was going to be raped, fucked, screwed up her ass! And she'd never had a man touch her there before! "Oooh," she moaned, "it'll tear me."
"Come over here, Willis," Johnny ordered. "Lick at her asshole. You know it's gonna be hard."
The fair-haired boy dropped down behind Enid. She felt his face pressed against her thighs, then her buttocks. Suddenly she felt the small, wet snake touch between her cheeks. Willis's tongue slithered onto the orifice, pried at the opening. Then he gripped the cheeks with his fingers, stretched them apart and gradually he inserted his tongue into the warm inner tissue.
Enid was quiet. This didn't hurt! She closed her eyes and prayed that this would last. That the other would be mercifully quick.
Willis probed gently with his educated tongue. Gradually, Enid felt some small pleasure. She let her flesh slacken a little from its tensed, tight control. She began to relax. Then the tongue was removed, she heard Johnny say, "I'll try now," and his breathing seemed to get deeper, louder as he came close to her flesh. She felt the tip touch it. Then the throbbing, writhing snake pressed against her small, wet ass. Suddenly, a searing pain enveloped her whole body as he tried to make an entrance. A squeal bubbled from her mouth. She tasted blood, felt pain and agony in her legs, thighs, buttocks as well as at the throbbing, tearing orifice.
"Stop!" she screamed, "I'm too small. You can't get in ... !" She felt the tearing, rending, agonizing spasms searing through her flesh as the gross organ strained at the tiny doorway. "Stop!" she squealed, the sweat pouring down her face, her breasts, her buttocks. "Stop! You can't get in," she screamed again.
Johnny pressed his throbbing shaft forward again; it eased inside the orifice very slightly. He felt elated.
"Don't move, Enid," he groaned.
The screams came from her throat in a continuous stream. The lips of her anal orifice closed on the forward tip of his penis. He prepared to lunge forward as Enid gave a last despairing cry, "Stop! You won't get in."
"Yes I will," said Johnny, holding his breath as his cock strained at the brink. "I always do," he muttered, then his thrust threw his body forward, his lips spewed out groans of desire and lust as his cock penetrated, then filled, the outer lips of her ass.
"You'll tear me. You'll split my ass wide open!" she spewed in a squeal.
Johnny drove forward, his penis went in deeper. Enid felt the blood dripping down her legs, sensed her mind losing control as she started to faint. Then she heard Johnny say, "I guess I will split you right open."
And as Enid fainted ... he did!
CHAPTER FOUR
Phoebe Kane swiveled up to the office door, tapped lightly and entered. The oak-paneled room was empty. Her eyebrows quivered upward, she turned, hurried to the switchboard girl in the small outer office. "Doctor Saxon out?" she asked.
The girl turned. "See Marianne," she said, jerking her head toward a small red haired girl who was lolling over a typewriter. "She'll know," then the girl added with a knowing smile, "she always knows."
"Doctor Saxon is on research right now," said Marianne.
Phoebe smiled; she knew the kind of research that Pat Saxon was doing. "Do you know anything about this-this guest who is arriving this afternoon," Phoebe glanced at a slip of paper in her hand, "named Johnny Belsen?"
Marianne twinkled. "Oh, yes indeedy," she smiled. "His file is in the Doctor's office. Shall I summarize it for you?"
"Please," Phoebe smiled back at the Doctor's secretary.
"Well," Marianne drew a deep breath, "Johnny is an anal compulsive." She glanced up at Phoebe's face, "He's just split a sweet little girl right up her cute little bottom!" She clicked her teeth at Phoebe, then added, "Split from six o'clock to twelve o'clock on her darling little dial!" She looked at Phoebe with her big, blue eyes wide open.
Phoebe laughed, "You're dreadful, Marianne. Be serious."
"Oh, but I am serious! That's what he did." She stared at Phoebe. "You know somethin'? I'm curious to see this guy's cock. It must be a whopper!"
"You're impossible, Marianne."
"Nothing's impossible," said the irrepressible redhead. "This poor little girl told Johnny that he couldn't get into her ... but good old Johnny did!"
Phoebe frowned. "It's surprising that he wasn't reported and ... "
"You mean the police?"
"Yes."
"Well," said Marianne confidentially, "this is off the record, but, reading between the lines I think that Johnny's father gave a little present to poor darling split-dial's father with certain understandings."
Phoebe nodded. "One of which was that Johnny be sent away somewhere ... which is why he's coming here this afternoon."
"My but you're so all smart!" Marianne smiled up at Phoebe in admiration.
"And you're so all sugary-phony-sweet, sugar-chile," murmured Phoebe as she moved away.
"Hey!" Marianne called after her, "You-all ought to talk like that all the time, Phoebe. On you, it sounds good!"
Phoebe leaned close to the switchboard girl's ear and whispered, "Has Marvin Hett called in?"
"Yes, Miss Kane, he'll be here this evening with a guest."
Phoebe nodded and was moving away when Marianne called, "Phoebe, your hotpants are showing! How are you and Marv making out? I said how," she added, "not if!"
Phoebe sighed and muttered, "You just never give up!" Then she swished out of the room.
"Say, Lucy," Marianne called to the switchboard girl, "d'you know where you can buy a strong rubber cock?"
Lucy slammed down a switch and spun round on her chair saying, "I had a line open! They must've heard you all over the building!"
Marianne shrugged, "So what?" Then she giggled, making her small breasts shiver, "Maybe someone'll tell me where I can get a little cock!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Doctor Pat Saxon leaned on the low parapet and stared over the grounds and distant mountains that curved before his eyes like a magnificent panorama. He was on the sunroof, the highest plateau of the main building, where guests could relax under the warm Mexican sun. It was deserted now; the Doctor had the sunroof to himself. He looked ten years younger than his age, thirty-seven and the blue eyes, set widely apart in the unlined face, were kind and strangely sad. His skin was smooth, tanned, healthy-looking and when he moved, the movements were lithe, easy and quick.
His five-foot-six frame was slender, boyish almost and the clothes that covered it were immaculate. His eyes roamed over the trees, water and grassland between him and the mountains and he thought again how fortunate he had been that this place was available five years before when he had opened his research center. He had given the center a name, Hillside and people were never quite sure if it was a hospital, convalescent home, institution or what. Someone had once suggested it was an asylum for mental patients!
A wry smile curved the doctor's mouth at the memory. Hillside was a little of everything, he reminded himself. But when he had started his project, he hadn't meant it to be any of those things. It was to be and actually was, a research center.
Hillside was specifically designed for research into the psychology of sex. It was a place where sex, normal and aberrant, could be observed, recorded and evaluated.
And this had been done. More than five hundred cases had been researched, documented and dispatched to various psychiatric bodies throughout the world. That part of Pat's project had paid well. That had been his objective, his only objective, in the beginning. Pat Saxon had not had any intention of effecting cures or rehabilitation. That was outside his qualifications. He was not a doctor of medicine! Even though patients, or guests and associates believed that! Pat Saxon was a doctor of psychology.
His only objective, his only interest, had been to observe and document. Then he had found that there were so many sidelines that his original project had developed side effects, lucrative side effects!
He had not known that there would be so many people who would want members of their families to become patients, or guests (as they called them) at Hillside! He still marveled at the number of people who would shudder at the idea of committing someone to a State institution, yet thought nothing of putting a member of their family in Hillside and sometimes leaving them there seemingly forgotten.
Doctor Saxon charged a fee, of course. A fee that varied (he thought grimly) according to the circumstances. That was one unexpected source of income. And there was another. He was thinking of the other at the moment.
Hillside was a nearly unique type of research center, but he hadn't expected an unasked for and exclusive clientele to contribute towards it! Doctor Saxon sighed. His success was responsible for some of his problems. The name of the place became well known in certain circles and when someone in the family became just too, too much ... well, then they'd send them away to Hillside or, as it was even better known, the Saxon place!
"Doctor Saxon!" A sweet, young voice uttered his name in pleasure and surprise.
He turned. "Phoebe, were you looking for me?"
"I was," she answered, then laughed, "but Marianne told me all I wanted to know."
Doctor Saxon looked thoughtful. "Oh, the new guests I suppose?"
"Yes. Will I have to do an analysis on them? The man, I mean the anal compulsive, as Marianne called him?"
He shrugged. "Who else?" he asked.
Phoebe frowned, then reached for the Doctor's pack of cigarettes and took one. "You know, Pat," she spoke quietly, intimately, "we've got too many guests here."
He lit her cigarette.
"They're not crowded," he said, "this is a big place; we could get twenty more in easily."
Phoebe shook her head. "I didn't mean that! Since Carson left a month ago, there's only you and me to do analysis."
He nodded, then sighed. "I know," he glanced at her face. "Are you tired? How many hours did you put in yesterday?"
She waved the question aside. "I'm not worried about that."
"You ought to get more money," he added quickly. "I'll tell Marianne to mark you down for an extra two hundred a month."
Phoebe laughed. "You're crazy, Pat. You can't go 'round giving two hundred dollar raises just like that."
"I don't," he smiled, "just to you."
She placed her hand on his arm in a strangely old-fashioned gesture. "I don't need more money, Pat, but we need another analyst. You're working about twenty hours a day."
"Where can I get an analyst, our kind of analyst just like that? It's not easy."
"I know," she nodded.
"Marvin is trying to locate one, but I don't know where the hell he's going to look."
"Marv'll find you one, Pat," she said confidently.
Pat Saxon looked at her. "Marv's a pretty lucky guy having you," he murmured.
The top button on the chaste, white blouse that Phoebe filled so delectably was unfastened. He stared down at the smooth, white mounds. "I hope Marv appreciates you," he said, reaching for her blouse and carefully buttoning it up. "You'd make quite an interesting piece of research," he murmured.
Phoebe giggled; the twin hills bounced. "Why don't you research me, Doctor?" she asked coyly.
"It's an idea," he said as if interested, then added, "but it'd be no good ... you know too much. Anyway I don't think that Marvin would approve. Or," he asked with a gleam in his eye, "did you want me to research you both together?"
Phoebe blushed red despite her profession. "You'd be wasting your time," she said very quietly.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he murmured. Then he moved towards the stairway after a glance at his watch. "It's close to five o'clock," he explained, "so I must go and see Jacqueline, our guest in room twenty-four."
"Observed?" she asked, "or?"
"Unobserved, of course," the doctor replied, "you see every day at five o'clock, Jacqueline becomes activated."
Phoebe drew in her breath sharply. "I see," she breathed.
"D'you want to come with me?"
She shook her head reluctantly. "Not today, but tomorrow?" She raised her eyebrows.
He nodded.
"I have to prepare for the new guests," she said.
He paused at the head of the stairway.
"You'll do an analysis tonight?"
"Yes," then she asked, "This girl that Marvin is bringing in; what is she like?"
"Physically? Emotionally?" he asked.
Phoebe blinked at him. "Both," she said softly, "both."
"Well," Doctor Saxon seemed to consider, "I don't know very much about her. Her mother spoke to me on the phone." He seemed to concentrate. "She's a sweet, lovable, fifteen-year-old girl."
"And?" prompted Phoebe.
"Cunnilingus is her thing!" he finished, as he started down the stairs.
Phoebe stared after him with color flooding her face. Then she moved towards the stairway with short, stiff steps. She tried not to press her thighs too tightly together as she squeezed down the stairs but the words kept repeating themselves in her head with every move that she made. She took a deep breath, tried to hold it. He'd said: Cunnilingus is her thing! Her thing, too, she whispered to herself, her, too?
CHAPTER SIX
Small tears trickled slowly down Nadine's baby cheeks. She sat on the edge of Wanda's bed and stared up at the girl. "I'll miss you, Wanda," she sobbed.
The maid looked frightened and upset. "Why?" she whispered. "Why are you being sent away?" Her lower lips trembled, then she asked hesitantly, "Is it-is it because of me? Because of what we were doing?"
Nadine reached for Wanda's hand and pulled her down beside her on the bed.
"No," she said, resting her blonde head against Wanda's shoulder, "that's not why ... not really why." She pulled Wanda's head down, rubbed her cheek against the girl's saying, "It's because my mother is a dirty bitch ... that's why!" she said with anger.
"Nadine," protested Wanda softly, "you mustn't say that about your mother."
Nadine sucked a piece of Wanda's cheek into her mouth, tickled it with her tongue, then asked, "Why not? It's not my fault if my mother happens to be a bitch!"
"Why do you say that?" Wanda's face became expressionless.
"Because it's true," said Nadine simply. "The reason my mother wants me out is because of her precious Vernon."
"The man she's going to marry?" Wanda asked.
"The punk she's going to grab," corrected Nadine.
Wanda looked puzzled. "I don't see why," she began, but Nadine interrupted her. The little girl's voice was vicious as she said, "She's afraid that Vernon would rather fuck a fresh piece of meat like me than a worn out bag like her!"
"Nadine!" The maid was shocked.
"It's true," Nadine gave a little girlish giggle. Then repeated, "true-true!" She squeezed at Wanda's fingers, then pressed the maid's hand down between her soft thighs. They were warm and smooth and beneath the moist skin Wanda could feel the hot blood pumping strongly. "Oh, Nadine," she sighed, "sometimes you frighten me. And sometimes ... " Her voice trailed off.
"Sometimes you like me a little bit?" Nadine asked.
"Oh, of course I do," Wanda's voice seemed to choke in her throat.
"Show me," said Nadine, her voice syrupy sweet. "Show me how much you like me."
"How?" asked Wanda quietly.
"Kiss my cunt!" lisped Nadine.
Wanda drew in her breath sharply. "Your mother?" she half-gasped.
"She's out," Nadine assured her. "Out with her friend, Suzanne. Kiss me, Wanda, please kiss me!"
"Ooh, Nadine!" The girl pressed her face against Nadine's, caressed the girl's lips with her tongue, then probed into her mouth.
Nadine dragged up her skirt, exposed the blonde hairs which nestled so snugly on the small rounded belly. "Kiss my cunt," she mouthed moistly, "I'm hot inside, Wanda, hot and wet and wriggly!" She tensed her thighs, gripping Wanda's hand with strong, young muscles. Then her hands moved onto the girl's head, she grasped the short dark hairs with fierce fingers and dragged downward. "Kiss it," she hissed, "I-I won't be here tomorrow."
Wanda felt her body tremble as she slid herself down the bed. Her fingers felt clumsy as she unfastened Nadine's skirt, dragged it out from under the rippling, rounded bottom. She leaned forward, parted the soft thighs with their small rolls of baby fat on the inner sides and she let her eyes look up. Up into Nadine's small center of sex where the blonde hairs bordered the narrow line of her closed vaginal lips. But, as Wanda's eyes focused on it, the cleft parted and from the top of the girl's vulva, the tiny pink mound began to swell. A deep sigh forced itself from Wanda's mouth as she bent downward, let her lips close on the small, pink slit. Her tongue flicked out and gently caressed the tip of the tiny clitoris.
Nadine moaned with pleasure. "Nice," she purred, "nice, Wanda." Her lashes fell, hiding the guileless eyes and the girlish body began to writhe with tensed, restrained excitement. "Don't stop," she lisped, "don't stop. Suck inside, oh, suck, suck, suck!" Her hips rotated, small buttocks jerked and the porous tissue inside the throbbing vulva seemed to draw Wanda's tongue inward with ever increasing strength.
For a moment, Wanda lifted her lips from Nadine's pulsing cunt. "After-" she whispered with a barely controlled sob in her words, "will you-" she choked, "will you-" she jerked, choked, "with me?"
Nadine opened her eyes. She still wriggled her buttocks into the softness of the bed as she stared at Wanda's face. "You want me to suck your cunt?" The words slid wetly from her mouth. "Is that what you want? You want your cunt sucked off?" she lisped like a ten-year-old innocent.
"Yes, oh yes." Her eyes were no longer cool as she panted the words.
"It's the first time you've asked me!" Nadine sounded surprised and dreamily pleased.
"Yes," Wanda's voice was very low, "it's the first time." Her face began to move down again, down to the small vagina, the clinging lips of the spasmodically opening and closing cunt. "Maybe it's the last time, too." The warm tears from her eyes blended with the hot glycerin of sex that oozed from her lover.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marvin Hett sat at the counter in the Star-Room Bar and stared into his glass. He knew it was still too early, but he glanced at his watch again compulsively. Another hour to wait! He murmured a small curse under his breath. If he didn't have to pick up this new guest, this girl, Nadine Norden, he could be back at Hillside now with Phoebe instead of killing time in a bar in San Francisco. He lifted his head and tried to catch the barman's eye.
Angela Norden's laugh was too high. "Doctor Saxon said that his associate, Marvin Hett, would call me and he did," she told her friend, Suzanne, as they sat in a booth of the Star-Room Bar.
"And he's coming to your house to pick up Nadine tonight?" Suzanne spoke very quietly.
"Yes," said Angela, "tonight." She lifted her glass and swallowed her drink quickly. "There isn't anything else I can do is there?" she asked her friend.
Suzanne shrugged.
"I told you what she was doing," Angela went on quickly. "The only thing to do was send her away!"
Suzanne looked into her glass in silence.
"Well?" Angela's voice was too high. "You recommended Doctor Saxon. I wouldn't have known about him if you hadn't told me about Rhoda."
"Rhoda was different," Suzanne's voice was flat. "Nadine isn't like Rhoda. She's not doing what Rhoda was doing."
Angela snapped her fingers at the waiter, ordered another drink. "No," she told Suzanne, "what Nadine was doing was worse. I mean Rhoda went with a man-but Nadine and Wanda!" She tried to sound shocked but didn't quite succeed.
"Oh, come on, Angela," Suzanne gave her companion a cold smile. "I remember when we were Nadine's age. I remember when you-"
"That's beside the point," Angela cut in loudly and quickly. "Anyway," she lowered her voice, "there's Vernon!" She kept her head down. "Don't forget I'm getting married to Vernon," she said.
The waiter lifted the empty glasses off their table, placed them on his tray, then moved away.
"I hadn't forgotten," said Suzanne very quietly when they were alone again.
"Don't you understand," Angela hissed almost fiercely. "If-if Vernon saw her. Saw her with Wanda! Don't you understand?"
"And Nadine's fifteen and you're thirty-five!" said Suzanne coldly.
"Yes!" she snapped out the word.
"And Vernon's twenty-five; right in between!" Suzanne looked at Angela with her eyebrows raised coolly.
"I don't want to think of it," Angela hissed.
Suzanne nodded. The slight smile on her face was more bitter than amused. You don't want to think of him in between, do you, Angela? she thought, You don't want to think of him in between Nadine's juicy little legs! Because that's where you might find him! "Come to think of it," she drawled, "if I were getting married to a man ten years younger than myself, I wouldn't want a sexy, little fifteen-year-old bouncing around either." Then she raised her voice and called "Waiter, bring us another."
The barman moved down the counter, stopped in front of Marvin. "Another drink, sir?" he asked. "Another one of our new mixture?"
"Yeah," Marvin spoke slowly. "What d'you call these specials?" he asked.
The barman smiled, placing the concoction on the bar. "It's a Golden X, sir," he grinned, "our very own!"
Marvin picked up his glass, sipped the highball thoughtfully. It was all right, he decided, but it was pretty strong! The name ran through his mind ... Golden X, Golden Sex, Sex-Sax-Pat Sax-Pat Saxon! Christ! He'd better take it easy. He didn't want to become ... He placed the glass on the bar slowly, carefully. He didn't want to be the way he was when Pat Saxon met him! As if the drink, or its name, had acted as a catalyst on his subconscious thoughts. He remembered the night five years before ... the night when he'd met Pat Saxon!
He'd been so damned drunk! So utterly, completely intoxicated! He'd been in Tijuana, drinking wine. It must have been good wine because he wasn't drinking it by the ounce or glass, but by the bottle! He didn't remember how many bottles he'd drunk and he couldn't remember why he was in Tijuana! How he'd got there. He'd been drunk too long. Too many days, weeks, maybe months! Ever since he'd lost his third job in a matter of weeks, he'd been drunk! And before that ... He knew that that was why-why he'd lost the jobs! One, two, three and shall we go round again?
So he'd gone round again and again and ended up in Tijuana. He'd blacked out in an alleyway and that was where Pat Saxon had found him and taken him to his rooms. That was how he'd met Pat! What a crazy way to meet your best friend. But he hadn't know that Sax was going to be his best friend then. He hadn't known a lot of things but Sax told them to him later.
"I found you in an alleyway," the quiet voice had said, "at first I thought you were dead ... I was half-right; you were dead drunk! So I brought you here."
Marvin had opened his eyes, seen the young fair-haired guy sitting on the edge of his bed. Bed! How did he get in bed? "How-how did I get here?" he asked, stupidly.
The young guy smiled. "Like I told you, I brought you here."
Marvin felt the cool, clean sheets on his nude skin. They felt good. Someone had undressed him! "I'm naked," he said as if it were very important. "How come I'm naked?"
"Your clothes were filthy so I sent them out to be cleaned."
Marvin just stared at him. This was crazy. The whole goddamned setup was crazy! "Why?" he asked. "I mean why did you bring me here?"
He'd shrugged. "I couldn't leave you in the street. I'd noticed you in the cafe before. You were pretty drunk then," he spoke reflectively.
Marvin felt his head spinning. "I don't get it," he muttered. "Why? Do you make a habit of bringing home bums that you find in the street drunk?"
"You're not a bum, are you?" he'd asked, calmly, trying to soothe the man.
Marvin shook his head, then closed his eyes. His head ached. He couldn't think straight. When he opened his eyes, the fair-haired guy was holding out a cigarette. He took it and accepted a light. "Who are you?" he asked, not meaning to sound as rude and abrupt as he did. "What do you do?"
"Pat Saxon," he'd said. "I'm a doctor of psychology."
Just like that! thought Marvin. Crazy!
He was grinning at him, looking younger than ever.
"You're too young to be a doctor," Marvin had blurted. "How old are you?"
"Older than you probably. I'm thirty-two!"
Marvin had stared at him. "Jesus Christ! I'm only thirty. How the hell do you look so young?"
For some reason, the question had seemed to embarrass him. Sax had stood up, strolled across the room.
"How the hell do you manage to look the way you do?" he'd asked. What a crazy way to meet anyone! Let alone your best friend!
That was something that had worried him at first. Still did, in fact. Why had he liked Sax right from the start? At first, he'd been afraid he was queer for him or something like that. But it wasn't that kind of liking, wanting. It was like, like-hell, the way you'd feel for a brother or a sister. But hell, he'd never felt like this toward his brother! Maybe if he'd had a sister, he would've! Funny that he could think of Sax as he would a woman sometimes. Funny? Like hell it was funny!
Sax had told him of his plans for Hillside. Though he hadn't decided on a name then. And when he, Marvin, had admitted that he used to work for a broker, selling stock, Sax said abruptly, "You've got yourself a job, Marv!"
So Marvin had started to work for Sax. At first he'd help raise some of the money he'd need to start the place ... the Saxon place. Then, after that he'd just sort of stayed on. Neither of them talked much about it until he'd found that he was Sax's Associate-Business Manager-Public Relations man all rolled into one impossible package. And he'd loved it! He hadn't wanted to leave Sax and he was damned sure that Pat didn't want him to go. So he'd stayed. Stayed year after year and now, Marvin thought with a sense of wonder that time could flash by so rapidly, it was five years! Five years was a long time to stay with one person ... so close to one person.
"Another Golden X, sir?"
Marvin blinked. It was the barman! Christ he had been a million miles away in time. Anxiously he glanced at his watch, then gave a small sigh of relief. It wasn't so late. "No, thanks," he told the barman, rising. "Got an appointment," he grinned at the guy, peeled off a bill from his ample roll and strolled to the door.
The doorman stopped a taxi for him. Marvin tipped him, got in the cab and sank back in the seat. The driver glanced at him questioningly and Marvin gave him Angela Norden's address.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marianne slid lower in her chair, letting her skirt slip up a little higher. "Anything else, Doctor?" she asked.
The soft glow from the light on Doctor Saxon's desk glimmered on the whiteness of Marianne's thighs above her dark hose. Pat Saxon stared at her absently. He was thinking of the guest in number twenty-four. Jacqueline! He wanted to write a full report on her. She was very unusual.
Marianne wriggled in her chair; she opened her legs slightly and eased her buttocks forward. What was the matter with him? Was he blind? Couldn't he see her? Damn him! She felt small beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Couldn't he tell?
"No," he said, "I think that's all, Marianne. It's pretty late. You must be tired!"
She wasn't tired! she wanted to tell him. She was all tensed up, a mass of agonized nerves pleading for release. You think you're a psychologist, she wanted to scream and you can't even tell when a woman wants to be fucked! But all she actually said, was: "I'm not tired, Doctor ... I-I think I'll sleep overnight in my room here. I don't feel like driving into town."
She got up from her chair jerkily, dropped her small notepad, then picked it up clumsily.
Pat Saxon became more alert. "Are you all right, Marianne?" he asked.
The eyes that she turned on him were feverish; they oscillated wildly from side to side. "Yes," she said thickly, "I'm all right." She turned to the door and groped at it blindly, "Good night, Doctor," she mumbled over her shoulder.
Pat Saxon stared at Marianne's back. Oh my God! he breathed soundlessly, Marianne, too! "Wait!" His voice stopped her as she was about to step through the doorway.
She half-turned, her cheeks red; a suspicious dampness beneath her eyes. "What-what is it?" her voice was ragged.
He walked up to her, placed his hand on her arm. Her flesh felt hot to his touch. She flinched.
"You'd better tell me," he said softly.
All at once, Marianne's eyes filled with tears. She pressed her head against Pat's shoulder, then jerked out the words between sobs. "Don't-don't you know?"
He held her very gently, closing his eyes and hoping she wouldn't say what she did.
"I need something, Pat. I need you," her voice was uneven.
He stroked her head gently, as if she was an animal in pain. "Not me," he murmured.
She nodded her head against his shoulder and he could feel the hot breath from her lips as she mouthed, "I need a man. I want to be loved. Pat, don't you understand?" she pressed her lips into his neck and groaned, "I want to be fucked, Pat. Please, Pat, fuck me!"
Again! Pat pressed his teeth into his lip, gently. How many more times? He concealed the small useless curse beneath his breath.
"Do you hate me, Pat?" Marianne's voice was very low.
He held her more firmly, touched her forehead with his lips. "No, Marianne, of course not!" He held her away from him, looked into her face, "You know better than that!"
She stared up at his face, hopelessly. "No," her voice was flat. "No, I don't know." She sobbed quietly against his chest. "What do I have to do?" she asked with a jagged break in her voice. "Do I have to go on my knees and beg?" She dropped down on the floor, squatted on her heels and stared up at him. "Don't you want me?" The tears streamed down her cheeks. She reached to her waist, released the clip on her skirt, then dragged the puny piece of material away from her body. "Is there something wrong with me?" she asked, staring down at her body, then slowly rising to her feet. She was nude from the waist down. Marianne didn't wear panties. She passed her hand gently through the light thatch of reddish blonde hair on her belly. She looked up at him, pressed her fingers between her thighs, moving them upwards. "Won't you help me, Pat?" her voice was dead, hopeless.
"Yes," he hissed out the words as though he hated them. "I'll help you."
Her eyes opened wide. "Pat," her voice was alive again, "you mean that you'll love me-you'll ... ?" She closed her eyes and breathed it out like a prayer, "You'll fuck me?"
Pat kept his voice quiet, even. "If that's what you want me to do, Marianne, yes." He held her shoulders firmly, felt her burning flesh through her flimsy blouse, then glanced down, saw the reddish blonde pubic hairs which seemed to crackle with the current that flowed from the thighs that she was rubbing together with a squirming, rolling movement ... "If you need it," he whispered, "I'll fuck you, Marianne!"
Pat Saxon was alone now. Marianne would meet him in his rooms in the north wing in a matter of minutes. Pat felt in his pocket, dragged out the key, then moved to the cabinet in the corner of his office. His eyes rested on the contents of the drawer. He reached in, took one of the shaped appliances out and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand. I wonder, he murmured under his breath, then he remembered something and a faint smile crossed his face as he shut the drawer and locked it.
Quickly, he unfastened his pants, letting them drop to the floor. Then carefully and with a sureness that came from long practice, he strapped the long, smooth, hard rubber penis onto himself. He drew up his silk shorts until the artifact made a comforting forward bulge. Then he fastened his pants, looked at himself in the mirror and moved to the door of his office.
Marianne stared at her reflection in the mirror in her room. She looked a mess! She reached for a tissue to try and repair some of the tear traces on her cheeks and saw her fingers tremble as she moved her hand. Oh, my God, she moaned silently, can't I control myself?
She stumbled to the cupboard where she kept her seldom used bottle of gin, poured a glass with unsteady hands. She gulped it, spilling some down the front of her blouse. Then clattered the bottle against the side of her glass as she poured herself another. She breathed deeply; feeling the liquor, finding some small return of self-control. Then she threw herself onto her bed and lay on her back for a blessed minute of peace.
Unfastening the skirt that she had dragged on so hastily, so awkwardly, before she left Pat's office, she then removed her garter belt and rolled off her stockings. She wouldn't need these things where she was going, she told herself breathlessly, not for what she was going there for. She stretched out her legs in front of her then pressed her thighs together, feeling the muscles strain tensely. A droplet of moistness slid from her vulva and Marianne clenched her hands tightly and screwed her eyes shut. Wait, she pleaded to her body. The small, smooth tip of her clitoris rose from its pink bed and instinctively her hand slid across her belly to meet it! It seemed to vibrate under her fingers. She pushed it down as if she were sending it back to its niche but it persisted, sliding under and between her fingers like a piece of wet, hungry quicksilver. Marianne felt her heart skip a beat. Her legs parted of their own accord and she knew that her lips, her warm, wet vaginal lips were opening. She clenched her teeth, then thrust a stiff forefinger quickly into her vulva. The hot, sweating tissue inside her vagina sucked at the intruding finger. She let her walls of inner flesh contract, gripping tightly, then subsiding. Her tensed finger began to move. At first, she made small exploratory circles inside the familiar cavity, caressing the well-known crannies, swooping into the small valleys of desire then emerging, quivering and wet only to plunge inside again, more deeply then again more deeply still and fast ... Marianne moved her other hand through the bristling labyrinth of reddish blonde hair, then pried open the inner lips of her cunt still further. She had room now to thrust two tensed, excited fingers inside. They moved in a blur, thrusting in strongly, then emerging with reluctant sucking sensations. Faster, she moaned to herself, deeper ... Her mouth chewed at an invisible morsel of satiation, her hips began to grind into the protesting mattress. Sweat poured down her face, trickled between her breasts and cascaded down her belly as her torso writhed spasmodically, painfully as she sought fiercely within herself for needed satiation. She could feel her buttocks working as she strained. The sheet felt damp against her excited skin. Air bubbled from her lips as she squirmed with the first beginning orgasm. Her thighs clenched shut, trapping her fingers inside her cunt, then she opened them, thrust in again and the delicious thrills began to run through her flesh. A frenzied hand fled up her body to her breast where eager fingers seized a tensing nipple. She tugged it painfully, biting her lips. Gripping the tip tightly she pulled it away from her body and squeezed the tip with pinching, hurting nips of her finger and thumb. Air escaped from her moving, working lips with an obscene sound, then her mouth moaned words: "Fuck, fuck, fuck me." Suddenly, she whirled her body over, buried her face in the pillow and groaned, "Pat, oh Pat, I'm so ready now. So ready ..."
With an intolerable effort, she rolled herself off the bed, lost her balance and sprawled on the floor. She dragged herself up and with quivering, hungry hands began to drape a skimpy peignoir over her body. She glanced at herself in the mirror, saw her flesh, mottled with the reddened hue of passion and quivering with unfulfilled desire. Then she seized a jar of cream, scooped out a greedy fingerful and smeared it, with loving lasciviousness on her vagina, her vulva, her cunt! Please be ready for me, she spewed to herself, be ready, Pat, don't fail me, just appease me, I'm ready. My vulva's wet, hot and creamed. We're ready, Pat, ready to be fucked and fucked! Pat, are you ready, too?
Pat Saxon sat in the chair beside his bed and glanced at the preliminary report on his guest in room twenty-four, Jacqueline; then he threw it down on the dresser, lit a cigarette and paced up and down nervously. He'd be glad when this was over! He didn't have to go through with this, he told himself, he could still-still brush her off with some flimsy, transparent excuse. Then he thought of what that would do to the already over-wrought girl and he sighed. He couldn't do that! Not to Marianne. He liked her too much. That was the whole damned trouble! He liked her as a person, as a secretary, as a friend, but ... That was all!
How far did a friend have to go? Comfort her when she was unhappy? Calm her when she was upset and laugh with her when she was happy? Maybe, he mused somberly, but did he have to make love to her because she wanted to be loved, or to be more semantically exact, did he have to fuck her because she wanted to be fucked? Because she felt the hot gusts of sexual desire flooding her glands? Was it his duty to screw her cunt? Fuck her pussy until she was satisfied? If she ever could be satisfied! He reached down to his crotch, felt his artificial cock and frowned in self-anger. But he had said he would do what she wanted and told her he'd fuck her cunt. So if he said it, then-
There was a gentle tap at his door and when he opened it, she stood there shyly and brazenly, her nipples shining redly. She had lipsticked them.
"Hello, Pat," she said tremulously. Then she looked at him as if he were a stranger.
"Come in, Marianne," he said softly.
She brushed a pointed nipple against his arm as she passed him at the door. He's just doing this to please me, she told herself with sudden, awful intuition. I shouldn't make him do it. Then she felt a sexually avaricious compulsion. I'll let him do it, she whispered to herself, I'll make him do it! And with unwanted insight, she realized that she didn't care whether he wanted to make love to her, fuck her, or not. All she cared was that he did! That he appeased her, fucked her and fucked her until her hungry flesh was satisfied ... until her lewd and lusting desire was quenched and her clutching, torturing cunt ceased its imperious demands. You're going to be screwed, she told her churning vulva as it throbbed inside her flesh. Be patient, she silently commanded as she squeezed her wet vagina between her thighs. And you, my little monster, she spewed to her cunt, you'll be fucked!
"I'm ready, Pat," she whispered, looking up at his face with her lips slightly parted.
He kept his eyes down for a moment. He could see right through her robe. Her raping robe, he thought. Her fucking robe, he thought. Then he looked up, saw her face, her mouth slightly open. Why, he drew back with sudden shock, her lips look like an opening vulva! Then strangely, the raw desire, the naked emotion that was etched so plainly on every inch of exposed flesh seemed to make her, in some bizarre way, achingly vulnerable, devastatingly defenseless. And he felt pity and with it ... a semblance of love. "I'm ready too, Marianne," he said, kissing her. He led her gently to his bed.
Marianne had felt the end of the hard cock pressing against her belly when Pat kissed her so gently and she felt a sudden uplifting of her spirits. He is aware of me, she wanted to sing, he wants me, he'll love me and fuck me and make-make me come. "Pat," she whispered when they were at the side of his bed, "am I so awful?"
He smiled down at her. "You're lovely, Marianne, beautiful," he gave her a gentle squeeze.
"I mean," she said, "the things I've been saying, like fuck me!" She looked up at him, her eyes seeming unnaturally bright.
"You can say whatever you like," he told her.
"You don't mind," her voice came out stickily wet, "fuck me and screw me and rape and beat me!"
"I don't mind," Pat's voice was low.
"Then do it," she hissed, tearing off her expensive silk peignoir, "do it. Do all of the things I tell you. Fuck me, Pat, fuck me now!" She spiraled herself onto his bed. "Now, Pat, now!" she spewed from between her slick, dribbling lips.
For a second he stared down at her writhing flesh, then he reached for the switch and clicked off the light.
"No!" she called. "The light! Does it have to be in the dark?"
"Yes," he rasped, his voice suddenly violent, "it has to be!" He dragged his pants down and tore off his shirt. Then with only the thin, silk briefs to cover his molded penis, he rolled himself onto the bed.
Marianne sighed when she felt the hardness of the cock touch her side through his shorts. "Make it good, Pat, hard and long," she mouthed into his ear as her hand glided down toward the penis.
"No!" he snapped out. "Don't touch me! Not there-not ever." He gripped her wrist, stayed her hand before it felt the artifact, then said, "It's one of those things," he muzzled his face into her hair, "you understand."
She didn't, but she nodded her head against his just the same. "You can have your quirks, too, Pat," she whispered into his ear.
"Yeah," he said with feeling, "yeah."
He reached down, eased the tip of the rubber penis out of the fly of his shorts. "You gotta lie still," he made his voice fierce. "Don't move, don't paw me-understand?"
Marianne squirmed her body in wonder and anticipation. She'd never heard Pat talk like this before! This new side of Pat kind of excited her. "Whatever you say, Pat," she mouthed into his ear. "You can do whatever you want. I'll do whatever you want." She wriggled her body, "If if you want ... you can spank me, beat me, if you want!"
"Just lie still," he muttered. "Put your arms around my back and don't touch me anywhere else or I'll-" his voice stopped abruptly.
"Or what, Pat," she asked, squirming excitedly, "or what?"
His hand slapped the side of her face. She moaned with pain and shock. "Pat!" her voice was frightened. "What?"
"I told you," he mouthed, "now I've shown you."
"Yes Pat," she said submissively, "Yes, you're right. I-I'm sorry, Pat." She felt her body trembling with this new, thrilling excitement. She hadn't known that Pat would be so, so- She could feel the love-sweat streaming from her cunt. She wanted to grab Pat's cock and push it into her cunt until he fucked her but she couldn't touch it because he'd told her. Oh, hurry, hurry, Pat, she pleaded inside her clenched lips, please hurry!
Pat screwed his eyes shut in the darkness. He'd had to hit her he told himself in pain. He had to! He couldn't let her find out that-that his cock wasn't real. He seized it angrily and pressed the tip against Marianne's pulsing cunt. "Open your legs," he hissed towards her face. He was holding his body up, not pressing down on her, but his thighs were in between hers and she was stretching her legs wider and wider apart. He glided the rubber cock forward and the tip of it probed at the wet vaginal lips. Then he moved it in slowly. This was one of the bigger penises, he thought. He hoped it wasn't too big. He'd only been guessing at the size of Marianne's vagina; but he'd figured that if she got so hot so fast, she'd probably had quite a few men, quite a few cocks and some of them would be big ones. It glided inward smoothly.
Marianne wanted to bite Pat's face but he was too far away, she chewed on her lip instead. The beautiful feeling, the fullness, the movement inside her was beginning. "Oh, Pat," she moaned rapturously. "It's so, so wonderful-ooh-" her voice trailed off as he jerked his hips, causing the cock to gyrate wildly inside her cunt. "Oh, fuck me, Pat," she moaned, "fuck-fuck!"
He made the penis press against the end of her vagina, she groaned with pleasure and he rotated it smoothly. He could feel her breathing steadily below him and worked himself carefully. Pat knew how long it usually took before the early orgasms began and he was patient. He was skilled and he wanted to please Marianne. Pat let his head go down onto hers, though he half-held his chest away. His lips pressed on hers and her hungry tongue teased at his lips, then probed into his mouth; it was hot, sticky and sharp. He sucked it inward. Small groans were smothered deep in her throat. He felt her abdomen heaving and increased the speed of his jabbing cock. He fucked more deeply now. Suddenly Marianne tore her mouth away from his, mouthed, "Go in deep, Pat, deeper and deeper. Fuck me right to the back. Fuck me 'til your cock spurts through my ass. Oh, please, Pat, screw me hard!"
He drove in angrily, thrusting the insensitive rubber penis against the limits of her vagina, feeling the hard grind when he hit the back of her tunnel, probing brutally as Marianne's moans of pleasure melanged into groans of pain, then cascaded into squeals of blended ecstasy and agony. "Oh, you brute, Pat, I'm bleeding," she cried, "You awful, fucking bastard!"
He started to withdraw.
"Don't stop," she spewed. "I love it you brute, I love it." She squirmed wickedly.
Pat could feel wet squirts of vaginal fluid being forced out of her cunt and over the synthetic cock onto his thighs and briefs. After what seemed like a long time to Pat, but only fleeting ecstasy-filled seconds to Marianne, she had her first full orgasm. The rumbles from her throat grated into groans, then graded into an obscene low squeal of lust as she twisted her still-hungry flesh incessantly upon the satiating instrument of sexual satisfaction ... the artificial, rubber cock.
Pat felt the waves undulate down her body; sensed the thrilling currents that raced through her veins, her tissue, her nerves. Her cunt shook and vibrated as if it were never going to stop ... and when it did, Marianne had come five times!
"Oh, Pat," she moaned at last, "I loved it! I love you."
He smiled in the darkness. "No, Marianne," he kissed her forehead gently, "you just love being fucked!"
She giggled. "Pat, maybe that's true," she giggled some more, "but you don't have to tell me."
Pat let his breath out in a sigh of relief. She sounded more like herself ... more normal. He eased himself away.
Her hands went out, grabbed him around the neck. "Don't go away," she whispered.
"Stay where you are," he told her softly. "I'll get you a drink." He slid off the bed and with the room still in darkness he picked up his pants and shirt and glided out of the bedroom. Carefully he closed the bedroom door behind him, then gave a long, deep sigh. He went to his private bathroom, quickly stripped off his silk shorts, then unstrapped the cock. It was dripping wet, saturated with the sticky vaginal fluid from dear, little Marianne's hot, sucking cunt! He smiled, opened an inconspicuous cupboard behind the bath and dropped the artifact in it. He was closing the door when he stopped, deep in thought. Pat was still for a minute, then very deliberately he reached in the cupboard, took out another dry, rubber penis and carefully strapped it on himself. He donned fresh shorts, then pulled on his pants, undershirt and shirt. He went into his small lounge, poured two glasses of bourbon from his bottle there, then he returned to his bedroom and Marianne.
The light was on when he opened the door. Marianne stared at him with a smile on her face. She looked relaxed, happy and so very satisfied. "Hello, Pat," she said, "remember me?" She smiled at him again. She was mopping at her thighs with one of Pat's handkerchiefs. It looked wet through already.
He put the glasses down, then spoke quickly. "I'll get a syringe," he said. "I mean-"
"It's all right," she looked up at him calmly. "No need to worry. I know me," she laughed at his expression, then pointed to the wetness on her thighs and belly. "All this is me," she said. "I'm all wet, inside and out." She looked up at him, "Nothing for you to worry about."
Pat grinned at her. "You're quite a Marianne-come-wetly, aren't you?"
Her belly shook with amusement. "Don't tease your secretary, Pat."
He sat down beside her. "I've always heard that secretaries were like that," he needled.
"Oh, come on, Pat," she said coyly.
He laughed at her. "You did enough coming for two," he cracked.
She stopped smiling suddenly. "Yes, I did, didn't I?" she said very softly. Marianne looked at Pat strangely for a moment, then she pointed to her thigh and said, "All this is me ... where's you, Pat?"
"What?" His voice was expressionless.
"You didn't, did you?" She looked at his face searchingly, then repeated, "You didn't come, did you, Pat?"
"Why do you say that?"
"I can tell," she said. "I know."
"You can tell what?" His voice was too tense.
"I can tell you didn't come." She touched the glistening flesh on her belly, "All this is my-my come. Where's yours?"
Pat seemed to sigh with relief, then he tapped the rubber penis thinking how damned lucky it was that he'd worn it and said, "Right here!"
Her hand shot out and she touched the hard, rubber tip through the covering cloth.
Pat flinched, but he didn't draw away.
Marianne's eyes widened. "You're still-" she began then stopped.
"Yes," said Pat, calmly, "I'm still ... "
She met his eyes, then asked, "You're not satisfied! Do you want to-" she opened her thighs suggestively.
"Do you?" he asked.
"I'm all right," she whispered, now sounding strangely shy, "but if you want ... "
He shook his head. "I'm okay. I want to be sure that you are."
She smiled, then took his hand and pressed it against her face. "I feel wonderful," she told him, her eyes shining confirmation of her words.
"So do I," he said in relief. "Here's a drink," he withdrew his hand gently and passed a glass to her.
"You like bourbon, don't you?"
"Uum," she nodded, "right now I'd like anything!"
Pat nodded approvingly. "You look better."
She giggled. "You're a good fucker." Then her face became serious as she added, "You only did it to please me ... to satisfy me, didn't you, Pat?"
He shook his head at her but she placed her finger in front of her lips, softly arguing, "You did, Pat, I know." She picked the glass off the bedside table and raised it to' her lips. "Thanks, Pat, thanks," she whispered, then gently sipped at her bourbon.
Pat sighed and raised his glass. But before he drained it, he smiled, winked, then answered, "You're welcome!"
CHAPTER NINE
Marvin walked into Pat Saxon's office and slumped down into a chair. "I'm tired," he muttered, staring through the window at the bright Mexican morning sunshine.
Pat Saxon took out a cigarette then threw the pack to Marvin. "What time did you get here last night?" he asked.
"Late." He lit a cigarette, blew out smoke and said, "It musta been close to midnight." He smoked silently for a moment, then added, "She's in number nineteen." He looked thoughtful, "A sweet looking kid."
"I haven't seen her yet," said Pat. "How did she take everything? Bitter? Resigned?"
"Pretty good," said Marvin thoughtfully. "She hates her mother. Said her mother's getting married to some young guy twenty-five or so. Much younger than her."
"I know," said Pat. "That's the main problem, I imagine."
"Says her mother's a bitch," Marvin said.
"You saw her," prompted Pat, "what's she like?"
"A sweet bitch," said Marvin softly.
"I see," Pat said slowly. He swung his chair around to the window, stared at the distant mountains, then changed the subject. "I never had a chance to ask you, Marv, how did everything go in Washington?"
Marvin had just gotten back to Hillside from a four-day trip to the capital when he had received the urgent call to pick up the Norden girl. "I saw Bancroft," he said. "He's coming out here with a couple of diplomats."
"What the hell for?" asked Pat, irritably.
"The usual thing," said Marvin smoothly, "to observe research."
"Research my ass," said Pat with unusual vehemence, "he's just a goddamn peeping tom!"
Marvin grinned. "And you're not?" He laughed out loud.
"You know damned well that it's scientific research as far as I'm concerned," snapped the Doctor.
"Oh, sure," Marvin was still grinning, "Some research! Some science. Watching a dame being screwed!"
Pat Saxon stared at Marvin, unsmilingly. He took his work very seriously.
Marvin stopped grinning. "Anyway, Pat, no matter what you think you've got to go along with Bancroft!"
"Give me one good reason why," Pat muttered.
"I can give you several thousand reasons why," Marvin said quietly. "One reason for each dollar that Bancroft will see is allocated to Hillside if you're nice to him and if you play ball with him."
"I'm no good at playing ball," Pat said flatly.
"The money-" Marvin began.
"I don't worry about the money."
"You're goddamn right you don't!" Marvin sounded angry, "I have to worry about it. You don't know how much you spend here. What everything costs."
"I leave that all to you," said Pat, his voice soothing and conciliating.
"Sure," Marvin breathed deeply. He seemed about to say something, then grinned instead. "You never change," he murmured.
"Neither do you," Pat smiled at his friend. "It's a pretty good partnership."
Marvin sighed. "I guess so," he looked at Pat, affectionately. "How's everything with you? I mean everything."
Pat moved uncomfortably. "Fine," he said, "fine."
Marvin stared at him.
"Last night," he said, hesitantly, "Marianne was-was-acting up again."
Marvin looked at Pat's face, keenly. "How'd you mean?" he asked, "In what way?"
Pat turned so that his back was to his friend. He stared at the mountains as he said, "She wanted to be loved ... to be loved up." He was silent for a moment, then he shot the words out like hard, sharp pebbles: "She wanted to be fucked!"
Marvin looked at the back of his friend's head. "And?" he asked quietly.
Pat stared at the mountains, not answering.
"Did you fuck her?" Marvin asked.
Doctor Saxon scraped his chair on the floor. "Sort of," he answered.
"Don't you like her?" Marvin's voice was curious.
Pat swung around. "As a secretary, yes. As a person, yes but not anything else!"
Marvin considered his friend in silence for a long minute. "You never go for girls, do you, Pat? I mean really go?" he said thoughtfully.
"I've been out with girls often enough," Pat spoke querulously, peevishly almost, "You know that! We've been out together with girls."
"Yeah," Marvin spoke slowly, "but it never means a damned thing to you. You just go through the motions."
Pat Saxon stared heatedly at his friend. "If you think that everyone has to be a randy stud like you ..."
Marvin laughed out loud. "I'm not so bad," he stopped and his voice was only half-serious when he said, "I know you're not queer. At least in the five years I've known you I've never noticed it, but ..."
"But you're full of bull today, Marv, I don't know what the hell's got into you, but ..."
"Don't get mad, Pat. Don't get mad," Marvin raised his hand placatingly, "I'm just thinking out loud." He grinned at Pat, "A dangerous habit, I know." He was quiet again, then, "D'you know that in all the years I've known you ... even when we lived in rooms together-right at the beginning-I've never seen you nude! I've never seen your cock, Pat, d'you know that?"
Pat flushed. His voice was sneering when he spoke. "D'you make a habit of examining a guy's cock, Marv?" He smiled coldly, "Are you going gay?"
Marvin answered seriously. "If I'd been going gay," he said very quietly, "I'd have flipped when I first knew you."
"Why do you say that?" Pat's voice was almost a whisper.
Marvin moved uncomfortably. "I felt so-so damned attracted to you! Hell, I don't know why. I've never been interested in any guy. I'm not made that way. But I felt kind of neurotic about you," he breathed deeply. "S'funny, this is the first time I told you after all these years. But I got over it. Guess that's why we've got on okay for so long."
Pat Saxon's face was pale, then he answered, "Yes, I guess-guess we were mutually attracted." He tried to make his words cool, medically cool. "That's why it's such a good partnership," his voice trailed off. How did they get on this subject? he asked himself. "Marianne would be the right girl for you," he was startled by his own words. What had possessed him to say that? Pat wondered wildly.
Marvin stared at him. "Marianne!" he repeated foolishly. "What about Phoebe?"
Phoebe! Marvin and Phoebe were-well, sort of a twosome but just how serious, how sincere, how deep their relationship was Pat didn't know! "Phoebe was asking about you yesterday," he said casually.
Marvin looked up, then rose to his feet. "I haven't seen her since I got back from Washington," he said. "Is she around?"
Doctor Saxon shrugged. "Probably. She has to make at least one analysis this morning. She could be with a guest right now."
Marvin moved to the door. "I'll see you, Pat," he grinned. "Thanks for the unilluminating conversation! I wanna talk to Phoebe. Maybe I'll run into her someplace."
Pat stared at the closed door after Marvin had left. Phoebe, he thought. Somehow, he had the feeling that Marianne would be much more suitable for Marv. He wrinkled his brow, trying to pin down the elusive reason for the random thought and then he remembered on one of the double-dates that he'd shared with Marvin when they first knew each other. Marv and his girl had been in the adjacent room and he'd heard Marvin's husky six-foot body rolling on the bed, then his voice had rumbled to his giggling girl, "I'm gonna fuck, fuck, fuck you until my cock goes out of your ass." And the girl had squealed with delight.
And last night, Marianne and her slick, sultry voice spewing into his ear, "Fuck me 'til your cock spurts through my ass ..."
They'd make a good pair. But Phoebe? He just couldn't imagine Phoebe talking like that. It wouldn't seem natural, it wouldn't seem right! Phoebe wouldn't talk like that anymore than I would, Pat concluded soundlessly, we don't think or feel that way at all!
CHAPTER TEN
Phoebe glanced up and down the corridor, then opened the inconspicuous door quickly; she stepped through, closed the door carefully behind her. The inky darkness surrounded her. She reached out to the invisible wall with confidence, touched the switch and a long, heavily carpeted passageway became visible. Phoebe walked down a few yards, stopped, drew back a panel on the wall then stared through curiously. She was looking into room number fifteen, the private chamber of one of their guests. Every guest room at Hillside was equipped with a two-way mirror, which facilitated the in-depth research.
Room number fifteen was occupied by Joel, who was, Phoebe remembered, a compulsive masturbator. Doctor Saxon had done the initial research but Phoebe was familiar with the circumstances. Joel was eighteen, the eldest of four children. The other three were girls, aged fourteen, twelve and eleven. His parents had managed to tolerate his compulsion until it had increased in frequency to such an extent that they could never be sure when or where he would unzip his pants, drag out his penis and masturbate violently and repeatedly. He had humiliated his parents on several occasions in front of their guests and it was impossible for them to employ any servants in the household. His last refinement had been to make use of his sisters and it was this particular form of his self-satisfaction which had finally decided his parents to send him to Hillside.
They had discovered that Joel was in the habit of having his youngest sister, eleven years old, bend over the bed; whereupon he would squeeze his penis between the cheeks of her chubby, young bottom and work himself upon his sister's flesh until his cock spurted its fluid onto her. He had not attempted anal penetration, nor had he tried to thrust his penis into any one of his sister's vulvas. (Though his parents feared that that would be the next probable development.) The latter mode of behavior was discovered quite accidentally when his mother entered the young girl's room unexpectedly. She was shocked to learn that this particular act had been going on for a considerable length of time. Her daughter had not complained to either of her parents and at the time she was discovered lying face down on the bed, pillows propped under her girlish belly, with Joel gliding his excited penis between the blushing cheeks, she had not seemed frightened or unwilling to participate in her brother's sexual rite.
After this shocking discovery, Joel's parents had questioned the other two girls at length and finally made other frightening discoveries. The fourteen-year-old creamed her inner thighs nightly, because Joel often visited her bed. Whether she was awake or asleep didn't seem to matter to him and he lay down under the covers behind her. After lifting her short gown, he would press himself against her bare back thrusting his cock between her thighs and using the friction of her skin to masturbate his penis. This had apparently become such a regular occurrence that she prepared herself for it with the creamed thighs. The mother also discovered that her daughter's clitoris was in a constant state of excitement during her questioning and the small muscle was erect, enlarged and in an extremely well-developed stage. There was no doubt that the friction of Joel's cock must have excited her each time he thrust between her thighs, touching the tip of her clitoris and probably ploughing through the peripheral edges of her vaginal lips. The surprising point in this instance was that he had not already actually effected a penetration of her vulva. But this was not the case. The girl was still hymenally intact.
The other girl in the family, the middle sister, aged twelve, was not excluded from his sexual activities. This modus operandi was the most bizarre of the three. Joel was teaching her wrestling and it was a common sight to see them sprawling on the rug. It was only later that it was discovered that these wrestling lessons also took place when the two participants were alone, or thought they were alone and that on these occasions the girl invariably removed her panties before starting and Joel unfastened his pants. During the course of the wrestling a point was always reached where she would be pinned on top of Joel. At this point, Joel would drag up her skirt and press his exposed penis against her belly and the pubic hairs, which were very luxuriant for a girl of this age and vibrate his body against her. His hands, meanwhile, would grope under her skirt at the back, pry between her buttocks and reach her vagina. Joel's finger would tickle her clitoris, vaginal lips and probably touch inside her vulva while he worked himself to a climax upon her soft belly and abdomen. The bizarre part was that Joel did not bring the girl to her orgasm. He stopped short of that point; releasing her, letting her twist herself around until her vagina was close to his face and consequently, his penis close to her face and he would watch while she massaged her own vagina and clitoris until the orgasm came and caused her to rock excitedly. At this moment, Joel commenced his full masturbation watching the little girl's finger as he manipulated his cock and getting added pleasure from seeing her very wet orgasm taking place so close to his face.
There was no doubt that she was a very willing partner in his sex act. It was also quite certain that she had become an ardent devotee of masturbation herself. For, arriving home unexpectedly one evening, the parents had found their daughter reclining in an armchair in front of the blaring television set with her legs dangling over each of the arms of the chair and her thighs parted widely as her hand probed and thrust at her stretched-open cunt on the cushion of the chair.
The accumulation of episodes had culminated in the parents deciding that it would be better to send Joel to the Saxon place!
Phoebe did not stay at Joel's observation window long. He was naked, lying face down on the floor. Under his belly was a satin cushion and his excessively large cock was thrusting spasmodically into the softness of the satin. The damp stains on the cushion testified that he had already enjoyed several orgasms.
Maybe he liked the cushion as much as he had liked his sisters, Phoebe thought unsympathetically as she passed by. She did not like to view the male sex organ. It was a severe disadvantage for the type of research she was engaged in but the distaste remained despite her mental efforts to overcome it. She didn't like to look at penises, or testicles or even a man's buttocks. She sighed now as she thought of it. It was too bad for Marvin! All she had ever let him do was kiss her and fondle her a few times. She didn't mind him touching her cunt with his hand but she hadn't reconciled herself to having a cock thrust up it yet. She didn't really think she ever would but Marvin didn't know that!
But to her eyes, the female body was the most beautiful and exciting creation ever ...
There was nothing-but nothing-that ever would or could compare with it. Phoebe even loved to stand and stare at her own naked flesh in the mirror in her room. She had a deep pile rug on her bedroom floor and at times she rolled her body on it, savoring the sweetness of the contact of soft material against softer flesh. She had actually had orgasms by just rolling herself over! She sighed now, feeling an unbidden tingle inside her velvety skin. Not yet, she murmured to her own sensuous body. Poor Marvin, she thought with real sorrow. She liked him as a friend but- She thought wryly that Marianne had been so wrong when she had said, "How're you making out with Marv? I know you are making out." She wasn't making out, not in that way at least. But she did like him, she kept telling herself that she liked him!
There were three guest rooms which could be observed from this particular passageway, fifteen, seventeen and nineteen. Leaving Joel to his joyous masturbatory techniques, Phoebe passed number seventeen, where the Malcolm twins, two of the sweetest sixteen-year-old nymphomaniacs in captivity, passed their never-very-lonely days and nights, especially nights and moved on to room number nineteen. She stopped, breathing hard, then stared down at her legs in shock. Her knees were trembling! Oh, my God, she moaned. I must keep control-I must!
She slid back the panel with a trembling hand and stared into the warmly furnished room and saw her!
Nadine was sitting by the window staring out with her guileless, blue eyes wide, her moist lips parted and a slight, pleased smile on her well-formed, still slightly chubby face.
"Oh, the dear, darling little girl!" The spontaneous endearment came audibly from Phoebe's melting lips. Then she looked around her guiltily, as if afraid that she had been overheard.
Nadine jumped lightly to her feet her miniskirt flaring and showing a tantalizing glimpse of rounded, bare thigh above the hose. Phoebe's lips pursed in a whisper, "How sweet!"
The girl ran to the swinging door which connected with her private bathroom. Phoebe could see the small, wet lips moving-realizing that Nadine was murmuring to herself and groped for the microswitch. She switched it on as Nadine pushed open the door. Then instead of going into the bathroom, the girl turned around, lifted her brief skirt above her buttocks and bent slightly forward. The door swung back and hit Nadine's buttocks with a tiny slap. As the small mouth pursed, Phoebe heard the young, lisping voice through the speaker, "Nice!"
She switched off the sound with a stabbing finger, Oh, my God, she moaned again, then leaned back against the wall, her face white, her hands clutching at her crotch. After a moment she lifted her skirt and stared at the trickle of moisture which ran down her thighs, "I must see her myself, talk to her. Just touch her to be sure that anything so sweet is really real!" Phoebe half-ran down the passageway, hearing Pat's voice talking in her ear repeating so casually, again and again, the words that had shocked her, excited her and caused her to come to this place today to see the little fifteen-year-old girl who Pat said was so sweet and added so nonchalantly, "Cunnilingus is her thing ... cunnilingus is her thing ... cunnilingus is her ..." Phoebe ran into the corridor in an agony of impatience. Then, with an effort, slowed her steps and tried to look cool, calm and collected as she tapped at the door of number nineteen!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pat Saxon strolled into the cubbyhole which served as a public relations office as Marvin was finishing a conversation on the phone. "Did you see Phoebe?" Pat asked casually.
Marvin seemed preoccupied. "No," he murmured, "but I haven't checked her room. That was Bancroft," he added, irrelevantly, nodding at the phone.
"You called him?" Pat's eyebrows lifted.
Marvin shook his head. "Hell no," he said piously, "the s.o.b. called me. He wants to bring those two creeps here tonight!" He leaned back in his chair, waited for Pat's reaction. Pat just stared at him.
"He called from Washington," Marvin added, taking a cigarette from his pack. "He just happened to mention, like casually, that he thinks he can put Hillside down for a fifty thousand subsidy for research into behavior patterns, that is, patterns of behaviorism." Marvin lit his cigarette and looked at Pat.
The young-looking doctor sank into a chair. "What did you say?" he asked quietly.
"About tonight?" Marvin looked at Pat questioningly. "I told him okay. Bring 'em down."
"I don't want to see Bancroft," Pat spoke abruptly.
"You don't have to," said Marvin, "I'll see him," then he added, "as usual!"
Pat, ignoring the mild rebuke, asked, "What're you going to do with them? What do they think this place is? A damned sideshow ... a peep show?"
"Pretty expensive show," Marvin commented quietly. "I'll let 'em take a look at the Malcolm girls," Marvin murmured as if he were talking to himself. "Ruth on the switchboard tells me that they're entertaining their boyfriends tonight." He grinned, "They may as well entertain Bancroft and his two friends at the same time."
Pat stared at him coldly. "You make it sound so damned crude," he muttered.
Marvin grinned. "But it's not crude the way the Malcolm twins perform. Christ, those kids are real artistes."
"They're such nice girls," Pat began, then he changed his trend of conversation, "I don't like Bancroft and any Tom, Dick, or Harry knowing about our observation passages. You know how careful I am about that. There's only you and Phoebe and myself who have keys!"
"Marianne knows about the passageways," put in Marvin.
"But she doesn't have a key! Anyway, I'm not worried about Marianne, but these people that Bancroft brings. What if they talked? It wouldn't be good, Marv!"
"Bancroft is the one who'd get it in the neck, Pat, not you! That's why he's not liable to shoot off his mouth. And he wouldn't bring anyone here that he didn't think is okay."
Pat seemed to be thinking about what Marvin had said when the public relations man added, "Another thing you may be forgetting, we're not under any State law or regulation here! This is Mexico and we own all this land!" He smiled. "I should know, I raised the money for the purchase." He looked at Pat's face then added, "All those years ago ..."
"That's true," Pat was thoughtful. "About this subsidy ... It's always been a straight allocation before. Isn't there something which says that the department making the subsidy can send inspectors or something like that to check on the project whenever they feel like it?"
"Only when the location is under State jurisdiction," Marvin spoke as if he'd been studying up on the subject. "Like I was saying, we're not. We're outside their area of control." He glanced through the window at the vast grounds, then said, "They wouldn't let anyone in at the gate if we vetoed them. And I can't see them climbing over that ten-foot fence!" he grinned.
Pat winced. Just the thought of the fence offended him. The thick, high fence which completely surrounded Hillside.
"The guards wouldn't let 'em in," said Marvin, irritating Pat even more.
"They're not guards," Pat snapped, "they're gatemen!"
Marvin laughed out loud. "Sure, very subtle difference!" He grinned at Pat's expression. "I know how you hate that fence, Pat, but you know that we had to have it. We couldn't have guests wandering out whenever they felt like it. We're responsible for them!"
"This isn't a jail or detention institute," Pat muttered.
"No, but even so, most of our guests are here because of suspected antisocial tendencies ..." Marvin let his voice trail off.
Pat stared at Marvin in annoyance. He didn't like to even think of Hillside as anything but a research center. "Well," he got to his feet, "I'll leave it to you." He walked to the door, adding before he left, "Let me know when Bancroft and his friends arrive. I want to be out of the way!"
Marvin stared at the doorway after Pat had left, then shook his head and grinned wryly. He sure got a lot of appreciation for getting an extra fifty thousand dollars for operating expenses!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nadine stared down at the water in the artificial lake that Pat Saxon had had created two years before. "The water's so clear," she said, "you can see right down to the bottom." She turned her wide, childlike eyes on Phoebe, then blinked and smiled.
"Yes," Phoebe felt her heart race, "you can," she whispered then turned her eyes away from this girl-child whose every small movement enticed her with an agonizing intensity. She had offered to show Nadine around Hillside, telling the young girl that she, Phoebe, was a counselor and was ready to show or tell her anything she wanted to know or see. They had walked through the grounds together and Nadine had taken hold of Phoebe's hand with a natural, spontaneous gesture that made Phoebe catch her breath. Like two little girls on an afternoon stroll they had wandered past flowers and through bushes until they had arrived at the lake.
But Phoebe hadn't shown Nadine the inside of Hillside yet. "I'll show you the halls and lounges and rooms inside now," said Phoebe, her voice strangely unsteady.
"Yes, Phoebe," Nadine had lisped, smiling at her. She had told Nadine to call her Phoebe when she had introduced herself at the door of the girl's room and every time she lisped her name a thrill ran through Phoebe's body.
"The main hall," Phoebe explained as they walked toward the wide staircase and Nadine nodded, smiled and minced along beside her. They walked toward the east wing. "My room's down that corridor," said Phoebe with elaborate casualness as they passed.
"Ooh, Phoebe, may I see it?"
Nadine stopped, gripping Phoebe's hand like a child pleading with its mother.
Phoebe forced herself to hesitate. "Well," she sounded more breathless than doubtful, "if you really want to."
"Yes, Phoebe," Nadine lisped, "yes, please."
She took a small shuddering breath. "All right," she whispered. "Come," and she led the way down the corridor to her suite.
"Ooh, Phoebe! I like it in here." Nadine ran to the window, leaned over the sill, peering down.
Phoebe's eyes fastened on the girl's figure. When Nadine leaned forward like that her skimpy, little skirt dragged up exposing the smooth, white cheeks which snuggled together at the top of chubby, rounded thighs.
"You have a beautiful view, Phoebe," Nadine's sweet little voice came lilting through the air.
Phoebe moved beside her and leaned over the sill. Casually, seemingly by accident, her hand dropped onto Nadine's hip, slid onto the soft, pliable buttocks. "You like it?" Phoebe murmured, nodding towards the landscape.
"Ooh, yes," she lisped.
Phoebe felt her body shiver with pleasure. She moved her hand gently on the smooth, warm flesh. "I hope you'll like it here," she said softly.
Nadine straightened up, looked Phoebe in the face. "I like you," she said, "I like you very much, Phoebe."
"I'm so glad," Phoebe smiled at her, placed her arm round the girl's shoulders and coaxed her into the room. They sat down on the settee. Phoebe let herself lean back and relax for a blessed moment. Her legs felt weak from emotion.
"My mother's a dirty bitch!" said Nadine, unexpectedly.
Phoebe felt momentary shock at this. "You shouldn't-" she began, then asked, "Why do you say that?"
Nadine pouted her lips. "She sent me here because of Vernon," she said.
"Vernon?"
"She's getting married to Vernon," Nadine explained, "and she doesn't want me around."
"Why?" Phoebe asked.
"Because he's a twenty-five and she's an old bag," explained Nadine.
"Was that the reason she sent you here?" Phoebe sounded surprised.
"Yes," Nadine lisped prettily, "the real reason."
Phoebe looked at her. Nadine sat still, small hands clasped in her lap. Like a little angel! thought Phoebe. "Was that the only reason?" Phoebe probed.
Suddenly Nadine's face flushed red, then she giggled. "She pretended it was Wanda," she said.
"Wanda," Phoebe repeated, "who's Wanda?"
"Wanda's our maid," explained Nadine. "She's got the cutest slit of a cunt that you ever saw!"
"What?" Phoebe could hardly believe her ears.
"She's got a cute slit of a cunt," said Nadine, not sounding like an angel.
"You mustn't talk like that!" said Phoebe sounding like the counselor she claimed to be.
Nadine turned those big eyes on her. "Well you asked me!" she reproached Phoebe.
What a blend of sweet, yet crude and lewd naivet�! thought Phoebe. Yet she felt strangely excited in a new kind of way. "Why did your mother send you away because of Wanda?" she asked. "What did Wanda have to do with it?"
"Ooh, Phoebe," Nadine put her hand on Phoebe's. "She was kissing my cunt!" she lisped.
Phoebe stared down at her tarnished angel.
"She liked doing that," said Nadine sincerely. "She liked kissing it even though sometimes she pretended she didn't." She looked up at Phoebe and lisped, "She did-really!"
"Did she?" Phoebe's voice was weak.
"Ooh, yes," Nadine sighed, she rested her head against Phoebe's shoulder. "She said I was so soft and warm inside."
Phoebe took a deep breath; felt a wetness on her thighs again and tried to squeeze her legs close together. "Did you like it?" she whispered.
"Yes," Nadine breathed out the word. She seized Phoebe's hand, thrust it under her short skirt, pressed it between her smooth, soft thighs and deeper. "Feel me," she murmured moistly, "I'm all hot and wet inside!"
Phoebe's fingers trembled inside the soft, porous tissue. "Yes," she breathed, "you're nice." Her fingers moved cleverly, knowingly.
Nadine gave a small purr of pleasure. "You do that so nice, Phoebe!" She muzzled her face against Phoebe's shoulder.
Phoebe caressed the small vulva with gentle, loving fingers. She was so soft and delicate. She could feel the excited tip of a clitoris rise under her finger. She teased it lightly.
"I like that," Nadine's voice was breathless.
She went on stroking with the gentle movement that she knew so well. The soft, vaginal walls moved in sympathy with her hand.
Suddenly, Nadine twisted away and threw herself onto Phoebe, straddling her, facing her, small knees doubled against the back of the settee. "Kiss me there, Phoebe, kiss me there," the girl moaned with a fierce intensity.
Phoebe looked down. Nadine's thighs were stretched widely apart and her crotch was on Phoebe's lap and the blonde hairs glistened on the bare, rounded belly. Below the delicious fringe of hair, small, red lips oozed open.
"Kiss my cunt, Phoebe, kiss it!"
She could feel the small body trembling and writhing with a barely restrained fever.
"Kiss it," she moaned. Then squealed, "Kiss me, you bitch, now!" Small hands dragged at Phoebe's shoulders, pulling her down onto the settee. She fell on her back, startled and frightened. Then Nadine straddled her with unexpectedly strong thighs, working her rump upward until her vulva was poised above Phoebe's mouth.
Nadine gripped Phoebe's throat, lifted her small buttocks, knees prodding into the settee, then spewed into Phoebe's face, "You'll kiss it now," and her vagina came down on Phoebe's mouth. She felt the wet, vaginal lips opening and closing on her own lips. "Suck it, Phoebe," mouthed the small demoniacal angel, "suck my cunt, lick it." She began to writhe her strong, inner thigh muscles and Phoebe's tongue began to move.
She frightens me, Phoebe thought and yet-she licked eagerly at the soft, mobile tissue-I love it, I'll make her come ... make her come and then after ...
"Lick, lick." said Nadine, sounding like a very small child, "lick my clit."
Phoebe teased the tip of the small clitoris with the end of her weaving tongue. She felt the tremors running through the warm flesh and moved her hands onto the small buttocks, drew the soft body in toward her. Nadine moaned very softly to herself. Tentatively, Phoebe slid a finger to the smooth cleft. The delicious twin mounds parted like putty in her hands. Phoebe probed into the small star.
Nadine stirred and moaned higher. The finger thrust in firmly and Nadine gave a low, muted squeal, "Eeeee-Phoebe!"
Was she hurting her? Phoebe thrust hard, her finger penetrating deeply and causing the little girl's bottom to tremble as the squeal pierced into the air. Phoebe felt her own body tremble. Was it a squeal of pain? "Eeeee-Phoebe!" or "Eeeee!" Again the screaming squeal, the small bubbled gasps and then the words "So nice, oooh, Phoebe, so nice!"
She liked it!
Gradually, the small rocking body began to move more quickly. The moaned, lisped and gasped out sounds came more frequently. Phoebe felt the wetness soaking her legs. She speeded up the rhythmic sucking and teasing movements of her tongue. She drew small mouth full's of vibrous, sweating tissue between her lips, sucked them into her mouth, chewing, licking, eating Nadine's hungry little cunt. And all the time her own urgency increased. Her vagina contracted painfully, then opened wetly. The trickle down her thighs was becoming a torrent. At last, Nadine became a writhing, twisting mass of jerking, spewing, sobbing flesh. Her cries echoed off the walls of the suite; her body rolled wildly and then slipped out of Phoebe's nerveless hands and slid onto the floor with a soft, moist thud. She lay on her back, thighs parted, fingers pressed over her open cunt and smiled at Phoebe. "Nice," she smiled, "nice, Phoebe!"
Phoebe gave her a tired smile, stretched her well-warmed body on the settee, then dragged up her skirt with suddenly trembling hands, tore down her briefs and flung them on the floor, then turned to Nadine, pried open her vulva with stiff, tense fingers and mouthed, "Now, Nadine, I want cunnilingus-on-my-cunt!" The words slithered out like small sex-soaked sponges and Nadine crawled over on her hands and knees, small, bare bottom wriggling as she hurried to obey.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Marianne sat at her desk and stared at her fingernails. She had done absolutely nothing of importance since she came into the office that morning. After she had finished with Pat, or he had finished with her, she had spent the rest of the night in the small room that was hers whenever she wanted, or had, to spend the night at Hillside instead of in her own well-furnished apartment in the nearest town.
She had slept well! Pat, no matter what his real feelings were toward her, had satisfied the biting urge which had driven her to practically beg him to fuck, rape, or screw her when she had humiliated herself in his office. But she had not really humiliated herself, she realized. If it had been someone other than Pat maybe it would have been humiliating but Pat had understood. Good, kind Pat! She tried to tell herself that he was the kind of man she should want but couldn't convince herself. What kind of a man did she want? As if in answer to her mental question Marvin strode out of his office looking worried and came straight across to her.
He was big! she thought as she waited for him to speak. Funny, she'd never noticed just how big he was! Instinctively her eyes went down to his crotch. She stared at the comforting bulge there.
"Marianne," said Marvin, "are you busy right now?"
She brought her eyes up guiltily, as if he had read her thoughts and there was a tinge of red in her cheeks as she drawled, "Why no, Marv, did you want something?" She moved her lips suggestively at him.
He grinned down at her from his six-foot height. "If I do," he murmured, staring at the fringe of white thigh which showed under the shortest miniskirt at Hillside, "I'll-" Then he stopped and started again. "As I was about to say before those slick legs of yours interrupted me," he grinned into her face, "will you go and see if Phoebe is in her room? I haven't seen her all day."
Marianne gave him a dirty look. "You're a bastard, Marvin," she said levelly. "Not content with undressing me with your eyes, you ask me to go and see if your damn frozen girl friend is out of the deep-freeze!"
"Aw, she's not so cold," he kept his voice calm but the remark had touched a raw nerve.
"Who's kiddin' who?" asked Marianne as she rose from her desk, flung him a wicked stare, then moved to do his bidding.
Marvin stared after her. How the hell could women tell about those things? he asked himself, irritably. Phoebe's lack of response had been beginning to really bug him!
He blinked, still seeing Marianne's swiveling hips as she'd wiggled to the door. Why did she wear her skirt so damned short? he wondered with unreasonable irritation. If it was any shorter he'd have seen the cheeks of her bottom! Marvin found the thought unexpectedly interesting and found pleasure in muttering to himself obscenely "I bet you've got a nice, fucking, little cunt, Marianne! Just voicing the thought made him feel so much better that he said it again, half-aloud.
Ruth, at the switchboard, jerked her head as he went by.
Marianne glided her sex-starved body toward Phoebe's room. Marvin was a s.o.b., she told herself, no damn good at all! She slid steadily onward. Then why was she getting herself worked up just thinking about the slob? She turned into the east wing, swung around the corner into the corridor then stopped at Phoebe's door. Marianne raised her hand to knock then hesitated. There was an odd rustling sound coming through the door. She bent her head and listened as Phoebe said, "Now, Nadine, I want cunnilingus-on-my-cunt!" she cried out weakly.
Marianne leaned weakly against the wall. Oh, no! She blinked her eyes. It couldn't be real! But it was Phoebe's voice and she'd said Nadine. Nadine? Nadine was the name of the young girl who had just arrived! And she remembered hearing Pat Saxon saying, "Cunnilingus is her thing!" Marianne turned, started to walk back to the office to tell Marvin that- She stopped. What the hell could she tell Marvin? Because it was real, all right. It was true! Phoebe was in her room with Nadine and she had just told the young girl to suck her cunt! How could she tell that to Marvin?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A deep groan was forced from Phoebe's lips. Her throat jerked and a trickle of saliva slid from the corner of her mouth. Oh, Nadine! She gripped the girl's face between her well-fleshed thighs and felt the small, pointed tongue flicker tantalizingly on her enlarged clitoris. How did she know so much? "Deeper," she groaned and felt the tongue probe inside her. That damned cunt-slitted maid taught her plenty! "Open it with your fingers," she hissed to Nadine, writhing in frustration, "open my cunt, you stupid bitch!" It had been so long, she told herself. That was why she was so worked up, so nervy, so agonizingly unsatisfied. How long was it since she had been satisfied, really satisfied? She tried to work it out as she twisted her body. It must be four months. Four months! It was with the girl who used to be in forty-one, she remembered. She could feel the small thrills beginning now. Nadine was doing as she was told. "Press it," she gritted, "press the lips open, Nadine. Oh, darling, that's right ... deeper, Nadine! Deeper you little fool!" She bit her lip with her frenzy of near but incomplete release. She squeezed tightly with her thighs until Nadine moaned softly and tried to wriggle her head free. "Do it right," Phoebe grated, "or I'll-I'll, Nadine, I'm coming ... hold there-suck-suck harder, you darling ... oh, suck me you little fool, Nadine, suck, you bitch-deeper! Ooh, deeper-Aagh ... !"
Her vulva jerked spasmodically, the lips of her vagina opened, shut, sucked, clutched at Nadine's lips. Then her cunt spewed fluid, the wet stickiness sliding onto Nadine's lips.
The little girl tried to draw her face away, but-
"No, Nadine, stay." Phoebe's body jerked as she reached down with an intense effort, clutched Nadine's head, twined her fingers in the soft, blonde hair, thrust Nadine's mouth hard against her spewing cunt and mouthed, "Keep your lips parted, Nadine, darling. I'm coming, dear, you sweet, little bitch. Keep your mouth open. It's me, darling, it's me. You can feel me oozing into you, darling. Ooh, Nadine-I-I love you, you bitch, I love you!" The jerking, spurting cunt twitched upward. Phoebe released her thigh grip upon Nadine's face and her body twisted over, rolled off the settee onto the floor. Then Phoebe lay, face down and Nadine stared at the undulating blobs of Phoebe's fleshy buttocks as she spewed the last dregs of her love-lust juice onto the expensive pile.
Nadine stroked her face where it had been gripped so fiercely; her skin felt bruised and sore. She looked down, watched Phoebe's bottom writhing, saw the cleft between the white mountains appearing then disappearing. Suddenly, she stealthily dropped onto the floor, crawled behind Phoebe, waited until the massive cheeks had risen, parted, then thrust her small forefinger deeply into Phoebe's rising star. Phoebe gave a penetrating squeal, her thighs vibrated wildly and her feet beat upon the floor. Then deep, guttural groans welled from her throat. Nadine lay beside her. Phoebe turned her head, "Oh, you sweet, dear, little bitch! How did you know that I'd love that?"
Nadine thrust her educated finger deeply into Phoebe's tight anal canal and murmured gently, "Wanda liked it and I like it." She kissed the side of Phoebe's face and finished, "I thought you'd like it too!"
Phoebe grunted with pleasure, thrust her cunt against the carpet, pushed her anus up to meet the small, plunging finger again and murmured, "I-I like it Nadine because it's so different, it's so-" she sighed.
Nadine smiled, pressed her stiff finger in again then suggested, "Because it's so nice?"
Phoebe gave a deep sigh, then admitted. "Uuum, Nadine, it is ... nice!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marianne walked slowly towards the public relations office. The door was closed. She opened it silently and entered. Marvin was talking on the phone. He stopped as the door opened, then when he saw it was Marianne, he clapped his hand over the phone saying, "Come in and close the door," then went back to his conversation. "So it's all okay, Bancroft," Marvin said.
Marianne sat down in the chair beside Marvin's desk and listened.
"Yeah," Marvin was saying, "like rabbits!" He laughed, met Marianne's eyes and winked. "Okay, I'll have someone meet you. See you," and the call was over.
"Bancroft in Washington?" asked Marianne.
"Yeah," said Marvin, staring at her legs. He swung his chair to face her so he could get a better look. "You've got nice legs, Marianne," he remarked.
She smiled. "You're so all kind." She wriggled, letting her skirt ride a little higher and show a little more. God, she told herself, was she that hungry for a compliment!
"You musta read too many historical novels when you were a kid," said Marvin.
"Why?" her eyebrows went up.
"You're all so Southern belle! Why d'you use that phony accent?" he asked, grinning.
She looked at him seriously. "It's supposed to make me sexy!" she said sweetly.
Marvin laughed. "You don't need an accent. You do all right bein' yourself."
She took a deep breath and crossed her legs. Her skirt went up higher. Her garter straps showed darkly against her white thigh. "Thanks," she said, softly.
"Thank you," said Marvin, staring at the small, dark space between her thighs.
"Like what you're looking at?" she asked.
He jerked his head up, breathed through his nose, then said, "Yeah, I do, Marianne, I like it very much!"
She stood up suddenly, lifted her skirt to her waist. Her belly was soft and rounded. It undulated gently with each small breath. The reddish blonde pubic hairs glistened and shone in the light from Marvin's window because Marianne wasn't wearing briefs that day either.
"Why are you doing this?" asked Marvin, his voice tight.
She jerked her crotch towards his face then dropped her skirt and slumped down into her chair. "Maybe it's because I like to be appreciated," she drawled.
"I appreciate you," he said.
She laughed without mirth. "Oh, sure." She took a cigarette from his pack on the desk. He leaned forward, lit it for her and smelled the musky, sex scent of her. "I'm not a prude either," she said, looking at him through the smoke from her cigarette, "like Phoebe!"
He started at the name; then remembered. "Did you find her?"
"I didn't see her," she said flatly. Marvin frowned. "Not in her room?" he asked
"I just told you, I didn't see her!" Marianne breathed deeply.
"Okay-okay," Marvin lifted his hand to quiet her.
Marianne smoked fiercely. "Phoebe's about as exciting as a cold, soggy, mashed potato!" she remarked.
Marvin looked at her strangely. "I thought that you and Phoebe got on all right," he said, puzzled.
"Sure we do!"
"Then why ... ? You had a fight with her?" he asked.
"Oh, forget her," snapped Marianne. She felt like saying "fuck her," but restrained herself. "I haven't seen her since yesterday and I don't care if-" she stopped herself with an effort. "If you want to find your frozen jellyfish," she had to add, "go look for her yourself. I've no time for her!"
Marvin looked at Marianne in silence, "Okay, we'll forget her," he said evenly.
Marianne tried to control her temper. Why did she have to be born with red hair? she asked herself. "Is-is Bancroft coming here?" she asked to change the subject.
"Yeah," Marvin tried a grin, "bringing two friends with him." He looked up, then put in, "This is between you and me, Marianne, you know," then he went on normally. "They're going to do some research, which is a nice way of saying-" He stopped.
Marianne smiled. "Well, go on say it, you know me, uninhibited!"
"Which is a polite way of saying that they're coming to watch those Malcolm girls getting screwed!"
"No!" Marianne leaned forward on the edge of her chair. "Are-are you going to watch too?"
Marvin grinned. "Just in the line of duty."
"You bastard," said Marianne. "Can I come, too?"
Marvin looked at her. "You hot bitch, you probably would."
"Would what?" she asked innocently.
"Come too," Marvin cracked.
Marianne giggled. "You are a bastard!" she said again.
"So you tell me."
"Well, can I?" she persisted.
Marvin looked serious. "Pat wouldn't like it."
"Why not?"
Marvin shrugged. "He hates having anyone go in the passages, you know that."
"Will he be there tonight?"
"No, he's keeping out of the way. Won't have anything to do with Bancroft or anyone from Washington if he can help it."
Marianne looked at Marvin. "Well then," she said.
Marvin chewed on a pen. "Well-maybe," he conceded.
She flashed him a big smile. "Maybe you're not such a bastard after all."
"Don't be too sure," he grinned at her. "I might rape you in the dark for all you know."
She looked at him, forcing the smile on her face. "You're too chicken," she said at last, rising to her feet.
"Don't dare me," he cautioned, staring at the expanse of leg below her brief skirt.
"Maybe I will at that," she whispered.
His hand moved forward quickly, slid between her legs and his fingers felt the warm moistness. He swallowed and let his fingers move. "I might just take you up on that."
Marianne closed her eyes, gave a small pelvic jerk, then stepped back and met Marvin's eyes. "I'll see you," she murmured.
Marvin was breathing hard. "I'll let you know what time and where to meet us," he said.
"Do that." Marianne slid silently out of his office.
She was quite a girl, thought Marvin when the door had closed behind her. He liked being with her. It was fun! He stirred uncomfortably, aware that he had been comparing her with Phoebe. That wasn't really fair, he told himself, Phoebe was different. Then he began to wonder. Did he want a girl who was so very different from Marianne? ... Or did he ... ? Marvin tapped his pen on the desk nervously, while he tried to figure it all out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They lay on the bed now. Their sex-satiated bodies still naked. Phoebe's arms were entwined around her small sex partner's body and Nadine rested her blonde head on Phoebe's comforting breast. "I love you, Phoebe," Nadine lisped softly.
"Uuum," murmured Phoebe, drowsily. She patted the warm little bottom, then gave it a gentle pinch.
Nadine slid a small, rounded thigh between Phoebe's, then purred, "That doesn't hurt."
"I didn't want it to hurt," said Phoebe. She leaned her mouth down, touched Nadine's slick lips; let the young nymph's tongue probe into her mouth and savored it, drew it in deeper, then moved her face away. "You're the sweetest little morsel."
Nadine let her small tongue flick over Phoebe's nipple. Phoebe made low sounds of pleasure, then the young girl startled her by asking, "Have you ever been fucked, Phoebe?"
"Nadine," she remonstrated, "you mustn't say that!"
"But you said things to me. You said some awful things, Phoebe," she protested.
Phoebe stroked Nadine's hair, then told her. "That's different. I was excited-worked up! You know what I mean."
"Yes," Nadine answered, "I know." She was silent for a few seconds. "But have you ever been fucked?"
Phoebe's body tensed. "No," she answered shortly. She fondled the small body beside her absently for a moment. "I-I don't like to think of a-a man getting into me," she said softly as though she had to explain something. "I can't stand the idea of him pushing his-his-" she stopped.
"His cock," said Nadine.
Phoebe gave a small shudder, then fingered the small star between Nadine's warm cheeks, probing into her soft bottom as though she derived comfort from the feel of her. "I hate to even think of that," she said.
"I was; just once," Nadine lisped.
"What?" Phoebe's hand stopped its lulling motion.
"I was fucked once," Nadine said clearly. "Not properly though."
"How? Who?" Phoebe was shocked.
"Oh, Vernon, of course," Nadine giggled, "I was sitting on his knee. You know, kind of straddling him with my legs on either side of his and he slipped his hand inside my panties." She sighed, "My French panties ... and he tickled my cunt!" She giggled again.
"Then he didn't-didn't touch you with his cock," said Phoebe with embarrassment and relief.
"Oh, yes. He touched me," Nadine lisped, "after he stuck his cock up my leg and it pressed against my cunt. But he didn't go in very far because I heard my mother coming." Then she added, "The bitch!"
"I-I'm glad he didn't really-really rape you."
"It wasn't rape," Nadine giggled, sliding her hand between Phoebe's thighs. "I'd have liked to have known what it felt like to have a big, long thing in me."
Phoebe sighed. "He never tried again?"
"In the bathroom once," Nadine murmured, "when I was washing something in the tub. He just came in very quiet, lifted my skirt and I felt the round end of it. His cock, you know," she explained, "just touching my cunt. It was all ready to go in when I heard Wanda yelling, so," she sighed, "Vernon got all scared, pulled it out and ran out of the bathroom, so," she finished, "I wasn't fucked!"
"I'm glad," Phoebe whispered, kissing Nadine's face. "That means that we're both the same. We-we're just for each other. We won't let men touch us."
"D'you love me, Phoebe?"
"Uuum."
"Will you love me up every day?"
"Uum."
Nadine bent her small head over Phoebe's breast, drew the nipple into her mouth and gently teased the tip.
"Uuuum," Phoebe smiled in contentment.
Nadine drew her lips back for a moment. "Like it?" she asked in a small whisper.
"Uuum," Phoebe sighed, "I like it."
"Tell me like you meant it," Nadine said in her small, sweet voice. "Tell me properly."
"Like-like," said Phoebe like a child, "nice!"
"That's right," lisped Nadine, then she went back to her delicious little task.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Pat Saxon noticed something different about Phoebe as soon as she walked into his office at four-thirty in the afternoon. He had not seen her all day and that in itself was unusual, for normally she spent as much time writing up her reports in the office as she did on her actual research.
"Hello, Pat," she said, much more casually than was her wont, then picked up a report off his desk and sank down in an easy chair to read it.
Pat studied her, covertly but carefully. She was not nervous anymore! That was the first thing he noticed. Used as he was to her quick movements, jerky sentences and constant eye flicker, it seemed almost unreal to watch her reading so calmly. Her face seemed relaxed, younger than it had appeared the previous day, her eyes followed the print on the report without their usual peripheral flickers. The hand which held the paper was tranquil. She had stretched her legs out languidly and one foot was resting above the other. She could have been going to sleep, Pat thought-if her eyes had not been so alert.
She looked up at him now, placing the report back on his desk without comment, then she asked and the drawl in her voice made her sound more like Marianne than herself, "I'd like to do the documentation of the guest in room nineteen by myself, Pat," she paused, fractionally, "if you don't mind."
Pat's eyebrows raised, then he smiled. "It's all yours!"
"Thanks, Pat," she said as if she meant it and that was unusual, too!
"I looked in number nineteen a couple of times this afternoon," Pat remarked casually. "She was out each time. I don't know where she was."
"She might have been with me," Phoebe spoke as fast as she ever did. "I-I was getting some-some details from her."
"Oh, that explains it," said Pat smoothly.
"She's a-a very sweet person," said Phoebe, looking at her feet.
"Did you get a clue as to-" Pat began, but Phoebe cut in quickly. "No, oh-no. But I will," she seemed to take a deep breath, "in time. It may take quite awhile."
"It always does," Pat agreed with a smile.
Phoebe seemed to give a sigh of relief.
"Well, now that that's settled," Pat spoke alertly, briskly, as though he were dismissing the subject because he had something more important to discuss. He could almost feel Phoebe going back into her languid, relaxed state. "I'd like you to come to room twenty-four with me before five o'clock."
She frowned for a moment before she remembered, then said, "Oh, Jacqueline! The one who becomes-how did you put it? activated at five o'clock?"
"Quite right," the Doctor nodded. "I want you to come with me and observe her."
"From the passage?"
"Yes." Pat looked at her keenly, "I want to get your reactions to her!"
* * *
She was a woman of twenty-five, well-built and too heavy for her height of five-foot-three. Her features were pleasant without being beautiful.
"Unmarried, technical virgin," said Pat, his voice devoid of emotion.
Phoebe stared at Jacqueline through the open panel.
"Easy going disposition," said Pat, "but nervous, very frustrated sexually."
The woman was seated in an armchair reading a book.
"She doesn't look nervous now," Phoebe murmured.
"It's not five o'clock!" Pat showed the luminous dial of his wristwatch to Phoebe. "Wait five minutes!" he finished tersely.
Phoebe shot a glance at the faint blur of his face in the darkness, then turned back to the woman in room twenty-four. Jacqueline was still reading. Phoebe glanced around the room, searching with her eyes for a clock. There was none in sight. And Jacqueline's wrist was devoid of a watch. "How does she know when it's five?" Phoebe asked.
"Just watch," Pat said.
The seconds seemed to drag by and Phoebe found her attention flickering back to the luscious girl that she had returned to her room just minutes before. She was still thinking of Nadine when Pat gripped her arm, held his watch before her eyes with the fingers fringing on five o'clock and hissed, "Look!"
Jacqueline had dropped the book beside the chair. Her lips trembled, then she bit down with her teeth and her eyes screwed shut. She twisted her hands in her lap ceaselessly, then her mouth opened and Pat switched on the sound as small, bubbling moans came from Jacqueline's mouth. Suddenly, Jacqueline covered her face with her hands. Her body shook, then she reached down with one hand, tore at her skirt, dragging it up to her waist. She was naked beneath her skirt. Phoebe stared at the thick foliage on her abdomen, saw the meaty thighs shivering, then watched as Jacqueline parted her thighs, showing a dark, opening vulva and thrust her hand inward.
Phoebe restrained a gasp as she saw the fingers sinking inside the wet, black hole. She must be huge! The thought impinged her mind, then she watched as Jacqueline's hand moved urgently, frenziedly in and out of her massive cunt. She had ripped open her blouse with her other hand and her breasts were clearly, nudely visible. One breast was much larger than the other and the woman's fingers had fastened on the nipple of this one. She pulled it with an agonizing intensity further and further away from her body.
Jacqueline's face was twisted as if with pain. Her whole body was writhing, squirming as her hand thrust inside her vulva deeper and deeper. Her fingers and hand were saturated with the thick vaginal fluid which flowed so freely and the sound from her lips had changed to a high, wavering scream!
Pat snapped shut the panel. "I'll discuss this guest with you in my office, Phoebe," he said coldly and led the way down the dark passage to the door.
* * *
"The interesting factor," said Pat, "was the time element!" He looked at Phoebe significantly.
Phoebe stared back at Pat. He was a better analyst than she was! she was thinking. He didn't get emotionally involved with guests!
"You said it was the interesting factor," she said slowly. "Does that mean-"
"It means," Pat cut in, "I had a talk with her this afternoon. A very revealing talk. I researched her thoroughly, there was a glint in his eye as he added, "while you were researching Nadine."
Phoebe felt her face heat with blood. Did he know ? Was it a stab in the dark or was she getting a guilt complex? Was it just a harmless remark? "What," she began, trying to ignore his comment, "was Jacqueline's occupation?"
"Clothing factory-G.I. supplies," Pat knew the case history by heart, Phoebe realized.
Phoebe frowned. "It's the time!" she muttered. "What's so special about five o'clock?"
Pat smiled. "I want to hear your conclusion first."
Phoebe jerked her head up. "Is it-is it just in the afternoon?" she asked, "not in the morning?"
"Morning and afternoon," Pat murmured.
Phoebe shook her head. "Five o'clock is such an odd time, if it were say, eleven o'clock," she went on as if she was talking to herself, "it'd be easier to explain because a lot of girls masturbate themselves to sleep."
"That's true," Pat nodded.
Phoebe looked at Pat, then gave a short laugh. "You know too damn much about women, Pat!"
He shrugged. "How can I help it!"
"How did she come to be here?" asked Phoebe. "I mean did someone send her here?"
"She came in voluntarily, paying for herself!"
"That's strange, too," murmured Phoebe. "You'd better tell me what you know, Pat."
Pat flipped open a notebook, though Phoebe had the feeling that he didn't need to read it. He knew the case well enough. "Jacqueline worked in this factory for eight years. She started at seventeen and is twenty-five now. She lives alone. Her parents are a couple of thousand miles away. She hasn't seen them for years. The item of clothing which she handles all day," Pat looked up at Phoebe, "is men's underwear. More precisely, trunks-shorts. She has to fold them, then someone else packs them. Jacqueline places a tissue in the support, the part which holds a man's crotch, his penis, his testicles," Pat explained precisely, "then folds them over and that's it!" He looked at Phoebe expectantly.
"It's enough," said Pat grimly. "All day long she's handling something which covers a man's penis. She sees the models they have for fitting the samples on; not real men, just torsos, just an exaggerated crotch! Then she goes home to her room by herself. She got obsessed with a penis image. She says, 'AH I could think of was cocks, nothing else. As soon as I got to my room, I'd lock the door and masturbate, touch myself off, then later I began to put things in ...' She doesn't have a boyfriend. She's all alone. A very lonely person."
"What does she mean by, 'began to put things in'?" asked Phoebe.
Pat sighed. "Well, she got hold of a phallic symbol, naturally. She found a piece of wood, long enough and smooth enough, so she used to insert it and get the full sensation instead of just the clitoral stimulus which she started with."
"And why five o'clock?"
"A fluke," Pat frowned. "Strange how it can happen like that! You see, Phoebe, she used to start work at seven o'clock and finish at three in the afternoon; so her alarm is set for five, which is when she gets up. When she started getting the compulsion to masturbate as soon as she got home and you know she's not the only girl in the world who does that, the alarm used to go off when she was in the middle of it! This was at the beginning when it hadn't really taken hold. Some days she wouldn't masturbate ... but as soon as the clock went off, it reminded her and the urge became overwhelming. After a time, when the alarm went off in the morning, she'd immediately start masturbating then again when she got home."
"And," said Phoebe, "during her lunch break, too!"
"Oh, no," said Pat, "never!"
Phoebe looked surprised. "Why not?"
"It wasn't five o'clock!" explained Pat.
Phoebe was silent for several minutes. Finally she asked, "Why did her alarm go off in the afternoon?"
"That could be revealing," said Pat. "It seems that before she left for work in the morning, that is, after she was up and after she'd had her orgasms in bed, she would rewind the clock so that it would be all ready."
"Ready for the morning or the afternoon?" asked Phoebe, still not comprehending.
Pat shrugged. "Ready. That's what she said."
"You mean that subconsciously she wanted to masturbate in the afternoon?"
"Is that your conclusion, Phoebe?"
"I don't know, it looks that way."
"Yet she's frightened enough to come to Hillside!"
"Frightened?"
"Yes! Frightened. That's why she came here!"
"What specifically frightened her?"
Pat leaned forward. "It was the time," he said seriously, "that was the reason. Physiologically, a girl can masturbate several times daily without doing any harm, isn't that right?"
"I suppose so," Phoebe murmured.
"But when she has to do it, then it's a compulsion and she gets frightened! What happened with Jacqueline is that she saw a clock one day in a store, the hands set at five o'clock and immediately she felt her vulva contract, become moist and she ran into a restaurant, went into the women's room and masturbated! That's just one thing. Do you know that she daren't be outside at five o'clock?"
"It's so-so strong?"
"It has to be sublimated. She's actually managed to have an orgasm, standing on a bus! Now, I know that women quite often have orgasms when something has excited them, some external event, but in Jacqueline's case it was merely because it happened to be five o'clock! Now do you see why she became frightened?"
Phoebe nodded.
"She told me," said Pat seriously, "and it's not really very funny, 'My whole life revolves round a clock, a cock and my own cunt!'"
"She said that?"
"Today."
"Did she think you'd help her?"
"She hoped ..."
"And did you, Pat?"
He shook his head and sighed. "I don't know, Phoebe. You know that I'm not a therapist, just an analyst, though I often recommend suitable psychiatrists for certain guests. But I felt that if Jacqueline could pinpoint the trigger, the original trigger for her daily compulsion for masturbation then maybe ..." Pat stared at Phoebe. "But you saw her today right after ..." Pat's shoulders slumped.
"Can she be helped?"
"Sure," Pat was emphatic. "Hypnosis might do the trick or," he looked at Phoebe, "if she got a man."
Phoebe stared straight at Pat as she said, "Or a woman."
Pat looked at her fixedly, then, "I must confess, Phoebe, I hadn't considered substituting one aberration for another."
Phoebe's body seemed to freeze. "You consider a woman with another woman as-as an aberration, Pat?" Her words were like ice drops.
"Medically speaking," said Pat heavily, "lesbianism, female homosexuality, is considered an aberration. Of course socially-"
"Yes, socially?" asked Phoebe, "How about that?"
"A matter of opinion," said Pat blandly.
"And yours is?" she asked.
"A private opinion?" said Pat smiling. "And your opinion I know!"
"An analyst should consider questions impersonally," Pat was laughing at her with words.
"You make me sick!" Phoebe snapped.
"Which has nothing to do with Jacqueline at all," said Pat with a wry smile.
Phoebe got up, her temper under control again. "I haven't been much help, have I?" she remarked as she walked to the door.
"Maybe you have," said Pat enigmatically.
She stopped at the door. "I hope you can help Jacqueline," she said sincerely. "The poor girl. Half an hour's masturbation in the morning and half an hour in the afternoon and the rest of the time just thinking about it. It must be hell!"
"Yes," said Pat slowly. Then before she went out, he asked Phoebe, "Half an hour! Is that how long it takes you, Phoebe?" He was grinning as she slammed the office door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Marianne!"
She turned when she heard her name called. It was Pat. It was the first time she'd had a chance to talk to him since-since the night before when he had winked then said, "You're welcome!"
"Pat!" she said now, her voice pleased. "Long time no ..."
"No, Marianne," he corrected, "Where have you been all day?"
He was standing at his office door and she moved up to him, then closed the door and stood with her back against it. She laughed when Pat moved behind his desk. "Don't be afraid, Pat," she giggled, "I'm a good girl today!"
Pat stared at her. She looked all flushed and hepped up! But not like the day before. This time she was hepped up happy not sad. "You were a good girl yesterday," he said, "last night, you were a-"
"Don't tell me," Marianne had slid behind his desk beside him. Now she whispered into his ear wetly.
He listened, then murmured, "Academically that's correct!"
Marianne shook her head. "I never knew you had a sense of humor, Pat."
"Doctors are not supposed to have," he intoned.
Marianne parked herself on a chair, took the pack of cigarettes from his desk and stuck one between her wet lips.
"Why aren't you on your way home?" Pat asked as he lit her cigarette. "It's late!"
She smoked in silence. "I wanted to thank you again," she said, not answering his question. "I know damn well that you were just being nice, but I do appreciate it, Pat, I do honest."
He looked at her, thoughtfully. "You're too good a person to waste yourself on me," he began.
"Because you don't want me," she put in quickly.
He waved the remark aside. "It's not that, Marianne. But I know you. I know the type you need and I'm not it!"
"So you're not it!" Marianne breathed deeply, reminding Pat of the color of her hair. "And just who is?" she asked, almost bitterly.
"For example," said Pat with over-elaborate casualness, "Marv!" He waited for her reaction.
"Marv?" Marianne's eyes seemed to be popping.
Pat nodded.
"Funny you should say that-" Marianne began, but Pat interrupted.
"I've known Marv a long time. If anyone knows his good and bad points, I do. And I know you pretty well too, Marianne! You've got to admit that!"
"Yes, I admit that," said Marianne quickly. "Now, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, funny you should say that because the same idea crossed my devious little mind just today!" She sat very still, breathing deeply. Maybe ... just maybe ...
Pat gave her a long, slow look. A doctor's look; a psychologist's look; then he murmured, so very softly, "Well now, isn't that something?"
What a deep devil! Marianne thought. You never knew exactly what was in his mind! "I-I'm going to-observe the twins tonight with Marv and Bancroft and his friends," she said it quickly before she could change her mind because she was frightened that it might be the wrong thing to say and yet it might be right.
"Is that so?"
Was he sarcastic? Marianne hoped so much that he wasn't! "Pat," she said urgently, "Pat, even if you're right about Marv being the type for me, it's no good, is it? I mean-Phoebe ..."
He smiled. "I think that I can handle Phoebe," he paused. "She probably knows that she's not the one for Marv." Pat saw the surprise in Marianne's eyes, then half-explained. "She's an analyst-too, don't forget!"
"I see," Marianne spoke slowly.
She doesn't see at all, Pat was thinking. And I can't tell her that what Phoebe wants is soft female flesh not hard, man meat! That's one of the things that I can't tell. He leaned forward and took one of Marianne's hands in his. "Believe me, Marianne and leave it to me!"
Marianne's face began to glow. "Oh, yes, Pat! I can't think of anyone I'd rather leave it to!" She squeezed his fingers warmly, appreciatively.
"And don't tell Marv!" he warned. "Not yet."
"All right," she said, "you're the doctor!"
He leaned back with what seemed like a sigh of relief, then asked, "Where is Marv?"
"He-he's meeting Bancroft in the town." She looked at Pat, worriedly. "He had to go himself."
"I see," said Pat, casually. "We'll tell him that one of the Malcolm girls won't be in his act tonight."
"Why, Pat? Is something wrong?"
"No, not really. But one of them, I can't remember which, has strained her back. She's in sick bay!"
Marianne started giggling.
Pat's eyebrows went up.
"I can imagine what she was doing when she strained it!" Marianne gurgled.
"Well, I don't know about that," he frowned, "I think it was the blonde one. Which one is that?"
"A or B, they're both the same. Angel's the blonde and Bunty's the brunette." Marianne looked at Pat, then asked, "Imagine calling a nympho twin, Angel?" She started laughing.
Pat watched her as she wiggled to the door. She was a different person from the sex-starved neurotic piece of female flesh that had groveled before him in this same office last night! Was it the idea of Marv that made her like that? "Maybe you could take the place of Angel in the lineup!" He suggested as she left.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"I still get a funny feeling in my tummy whenever I go down one of these passageways," Marianne whispered to Marvin.
He gripped her elbow reassuringly in the darkness. Marvin had not switched on the light. Pat said there wasn't a possible chance that a flicker of light would reflect through the two-way mirrors but Marv was taking no chances. In front of them, Bancroft and his two diplomats crept cautiously forward, murmuring together in low, excited whispers.
"Is that the only funny feeling you're getting?" Marvin whispered with his lips close to Marianne's ear.
She giggled nervously, feeling his hand go around her waist, then give her a squeeze; an affectionate squeeze. Her conversation with Pat; the wishful dream that his words made seemed more real, the nearness of Marvin and the darkness, the excitement, the anticipation of what they were about to see; all these combined to bring Marianne to a peak of emotion that she had never experienced before. "I'm frightened, Marv," she said.
He stopped walking, pulled her to him in the invisibility, then kissed her. "You don't need to be afraid anymore!" he said with a new, husky note in his voice. And crazily enough she wasn't!
Bancroft had drawn his friends to a stop. "Is this the one?" he asked Marvin as soon as they were close.
Marvin turned his penlight on the closed panel. Number Seventeen! "That's it," he said. Then silently, he drew the panel back.
Bunty Malcolm was waiting for her visitor. She sat on the edge of her bed, swaying her body in time with the music from her record player.
"She looks so good!" Marianne hissed in astonishment into Marvin's ear. "She looks like a little green angel!"
"Bunty's an eyeful all right," Marvin muttered.
They were leaning back against the wall of the passage, peering into the small but luxurious room over the heads of the three visitors, who were crouched at the panel like three hungry dogs.
The small but compact girl was wearing a light green mini. Her legs were encased in darker green silk hose and her green blouse was sheer transparency. Her flesh was the color of amber and her breasts, boldly thrusting, seemed to shimmer beneath the see-through top. The nipples shone icily green!
"Her eyelids are green too of course," murmured Marianne, "and her lips."
"Maybe she's Irish," Marvin muttered.
Marianne shook with amusement. "I wonder if she's green," she grabbed Marvin's hand, pressed it against her crotch, "down here?"
He laughed silently, then wondered if Phoebe would ever have said a thing like that! Wondered. Then felt so damned glad that it was Marianne beside him.
Bunty had got up, she spun herself around like a small, green top. Her skirt flared high and the green hose blurred into amber thighs and above were the flashing, white, bare buttocks.
Marvin caught his breath. The door of the room opened and the visitors entered. It was like watching a play, thought Marvin. Only better because this was real and the performers acted spontaneously.
"Here comes Craig and Wesley," murmured Marianne, who seemed to know as much about the guests and their visitors as Doctor Saxon did.
They were both young, healthy looking and eager. The taller one grabbed Bunty and kissed her with a display of passion and affection.
"That's Wes," commented Marianne.
Craig, the shorter and darker of the two, watched with a smile on his face. He glanced around the room curiously and obviously looking for his love, his Angel!
Bunty drew back, breathing deeply. But not releasing her arms from around her lover's neck, she spoke to Craig quickly, excitedly. The sound was not turned on, but it was easy to understand that Bunty was telling Craig about her sister, Angel. He murmured a few words, then smiled, moved to the door and exited.
Before the door was even shut, Bunty's small hand flashed down to Wesley's crotch and they could see her fingers gripping, feeling ...
"The little bitch," Marianne whispered.
Marvin felt her body tense against him. He crossed his hands over her belly, pulling her against him as he stood behind her. He was aware of her leaning back.
Bunty's fingers slid down the zipper on Wesley's pants and her hand bulged and twitched under his clothing.
His hand was around her waist, holding her to him as he continued to kiss her lips. His hand slipped down and gently dragged up the miniskirt until the white, glistening arcs were revealed. He squeezed the soft flesh steadily.
Bunty moved her mouth away from his, pressed her lips into his shoulder as she bent one knee, rubbed one thigh against the other as his fingers squeezed, pinched, then slid to the intimate cleft between the blushing cheeks. She turned her head up and they saw her mouth working as she spewed out words.
Marvin switched on the microphone.
"Stop teasing me, Wes, you bastard, give it to me." Her hand pushed into his clothing more deeply, then emerged triumphantly holding his penis. She twisted it viciously until a sound of pain was forced from his lips.
"All right, you hot bitch," he mouthed. His hand slid up to the waist of her cute, green skirt. There was a small rip as the holding button gave way, then he whipped it off her and Bunty's gorgeous flesh was revealed to the hungry, watching eyes. There was a sound like a long-drawn-out sigh from the three figures crouched at the panel. Bunty had turned away from Wesley for a moment; her hands went down to her thighs. She stroked upward with smooth, loving motions and then she twitched her hips as she hurried to a small table just below the observation mirror inside her room and picked up a small jar of cream and took a blob, then held open her small, moist vaginal lips as she creamed them, slowly at first, then jerkily as her vulva began to stir.
"The lips are pink." Marvin whispered into Marianne's ear. "She hasn't got a green cunt."
Marianne pressed herself back harder and Marvin felt his penis begin to stiffen as she mouthed wetly, "You're so right, Marvin. It's an educated little cunt."
Bunty turned her educated cunt to Wesley. He stared at her and a slight shiver ran through his body. In one hand, he still held the tiny skirt that he had ripped off Bunty's delectable body and in the other he gripped his cock. It was not a thick penis, but long. A good three inches extended over his clenched hand. The tip of it weaved like a hungry, but undecided snake. His hand dropped the green skirt. "Ready," he mouthed, "you ready to be fucked, Bunty?" He clawed off his clothes as Bunty sat down on the edge of the bed nearly nude. He slithered towards her. The small girl removed her transparent blouse with a quick, neat movement, then she let her shoulders drop back onto the bed. Her thighs, covered only by the dark green straps of her garter belt, reflected the light with a weird, amber shimmer. She drew up her knees with a lithe, smooth motion and as her thighs parted, her vulva opened between them until the watchers could see the clean, vaginal lips opening and closing with an exciting and enticing sucking gesture.
Marvin watched, then his hand moved involuntarily ...
Marianne did not repulse him as his fingers slipped under her skirt, slid round her hips, then stopped on her belly. She felt his fingers grope through her small, private forest, then they went down, thrust between her thighs, touched her wet, opening lips and her cunt began to throb. "Marv," she muttered, deep in her throat, "oh, Marv." She pressed her thighs together, tightly.
He kissed her ear gently. "D'you want me to stop?" he whispered.
"No," she breathed.
The men in front of them were engrossed in the tableau in the room before them.
"Look," Marianne stammered.
Marvin stared into the Malcolm girls' boudoir. Bunty had let her head drop down on the bed, her shoulders thrust into the deep mattress, her hands were poised between her positioned thighs, fingers parting the small, ready lips and a small pink tip appeared, disappeared, then emerged again. Bunty's clitoris was awakening. "Start now, Wes, now!" her words came wetly to their listening ears.
Wesley lurched forward. His penis, projecting forward of its own accord, seemed to swell and grow before their eyes. He leaned over Bunty, his face close to the green-hued nipples of her breasts and his cock poised at the soft, spreading lips of her cunt.
"Start, I said," she spewed, "don't fuck, just start."
A shiver ran through Wesley's body as he lifted himself.
"Mouth me," the words slicked from Bunty's lips. "Kiss it, suck it, you bastard. Then you can fuck me. When I'm ready not before. Get down, Wes, down!"
He dropped to his knees before the open thighs. His head moved forward, his face was buried in the soft amber flesh and they saw his cheeks drawn in as he sucked, exhaled, then sucked again.
Bunty had closed her eyes, her hands had moved up onto her green nipples, she squeezed, twisted them with slow, knowing manipulations.
"That little nympho knows her stuff," Marianne jerked out.
Marvin began a slow, sliding motion with his fingers. Her inner lips were like slithery satin. "How about this one?" he murmured into her ear. "Is this little nympho any good?"
"Sssh," she whispered. She turned her head and he felt her lips on his face. He moved his mouth onto hers, thrust his tongue between her lips, then made a muffled sound as she bit it!
"You bastard!" she mouthed softly.
He grinned in the darkness, kept his hands where they were and tried to turn a small part of his attention to Bunty.
The muscles in Bunty's thighs rippled delightfully. Wesley's cheeks were sucked in and out as Bunty's cunt was squeezed with his lips, stroked with his tongue. The small, tensile nipples had swollen. The green tips, teased and excited, projected towards the ceiling. "Now, Wes, now!" the muttered words came clearly over the speaker.
They watched as Wesley lifted his head, moved his body upward and forward, letting the tip of his elongated cock touch the wet, throbbing tip of Bunty's cunt. His face went down over her aroused breasts, his lips closed on the green, waiting tips and his cock slid in slowly.
"He's got a long, long penis," Marianne whispered. "How about you?" She thrust back with her buttocks and Marvin felt his cock squashed against her soft flesh.
Oh, my God, he thought, Phoebe was never like this! And probably never will be.
Wesley's nude body was arched like the naked span of a bridge. His lips were glued to Bunty's breasts and the end of his lean penis slipped in and out of the small, tight cunt with slow, practiced movements. Bunty stroked the back of Wesley's head as though he was a pet dog. She gave him instructions as he worked on her amazing body. "Bite my tits, Wes," she'd mutter. "Push in deeper, Wes." Or she'd spew, "move your cock, Wes, don't you know how to fuck?"
"Nice little girl," Marvin whispered.
"A bitch," Marianne replied softly.
With his mouth close to her ear, Marvin remarked, "A very fuckable little bitch." And he'd felt Marianne's body jerk with anger, or was it? He wondered. Was it desire?
Finally, Wesley had jerked his mouth away from the green, angry nipples, moved his body up, his long penis going in and in, then pressed his mouth on to Bunty's. They saw her legs entwine around his body, sucking him into her even more deeply. Then she drove him with her heels, as though she was astride a horse, urging him, as he worked frantically to satisfy this tiny monster of desire. She twisted her lips away from his. "You're too small, Wes, you're no damned good!" And he strived harder than ever, his movements becoming faster, more frenzied and more frightened! With a squirm that wriggled her body from under him, she withdrew her cunt from his cock, seized his hips and twisted him over with an unsuspected strength. Then she spewed, "Suck it again. I'll get on you." She panted as she sat up, her breasts heaving and the nipples standing out like two angry green lights. "Your cock gives me nothing, but nothing!" she gasped, her face no longer sweet but red with anger. "Suck my clit. Maybe you can do that right, you punk!"
"She's mad at him," Marvin whispered. And Marianne shook with amusement.
Bunty slithered off the bed, reached down to Wesley, slewed him around until he was lying on his back on the mattress. His penis, still unsatisfied, stood straight up as if appealing for kindness. Wesley's head was at the end of the bed close to the observer's panel. Bunty moved towards him with short, angry steps.
They stared at the whiteness of her buttocks where the amber skin melanged with pale, then she parted her legs, lifted her incredible little body and squashed her open cunt down onto his lips. "Suck good, Wes. Make it good," her voice was low and bitter, the words seemed coated with a film of slimy anger.
"Make me come, Bunty, please!" they heard Wesley gasp. His mouth worked on her wet lips, then slid down onto the tensed tip of her clitoris.
"Just suck my clit," she mouthed, "forget my cunt. Make my clit go."
They could see the small, weaving muscle throbbing as his lips closed on it. His mouth worked and he made low, panting sounds as he tried to appease his demanding mistress.
Almost reluctantly, Bunty let her face drop onto his crotch. Then she took his penis delicately into her mouth and they saw her cheeks begin to suck.
Unnoticed, the door of the room opened slowly. Craig had returned from his visit to Angel. He crept around the room, then stood by Wesley's head, looking down at him and Bunty's open cunt.
Wesley's eyes rolled upward as he saw him. He moved his mouth off the flickering clitoris, then grinned at his friend. Craig grinned back and as if it was a signal, he began to unfasten his pants.
Bunty, oblivious of Craig's presence, sucked on Wesley's cock.
His pants slid to the floor, then his penis rushed out. It was big and thick and wet. The slit at the top opened and closed as if in anger. Craig took a step forward.
Wesley's eyes rolled. His mouth sucked the edge of Bunty's cunt downward as his tongue tickled the throbbing tip. Craig positioned himself above Wesley's mouth, his penis at the ready, its slit open, gaping hungrily. At a silent signal Craig thrust forward. His penis forced itself into Bunty's vulva, pried open the lips and moved inside, deeper and deeper.
She made a small sound, lifted her mouth from Wesley's cock and spewed, "About time you came, Craig. Fuck me good. This cock sucking punk can't make me come!"
They moved down the passage slowly, tiredly, as though they had participated in the sexual scene instead of merely witnessing it. At the exit Marvin paused. "Go ahead," he murmured to Bancroft, "I'll join you later."
The Washington man gave him a quick look, his eyes flickered to Marianne, then he nodded knowingly, spoke naturally, "Sure, Marv. I know the way. I'll see you in the office." And he led his friends through the exit to the corridor, then let the door slide closed behind him.
Marianne breathed hard and leaned against the wall. "Well," she murmured, "well."
Marvin tried to curb the trembling in his body as he leaned close to her. "Don't you know?" His hands were around her, his flesh thrust fiercely against hers.
She let him kiss her and kissed him back, then, as she felt him lift the front of her skirt, felt his raw, naked organ against her own hot flesh, she stopped him. "Just one thing, Marv."
"What?" his body was tensed, throbbing.
"Phoebe!" she mouthed hesitantly. "What about Phoebe?"
Marvin panted, tried to pull himself together. His hands caressed her as he said, "That's ended. In fact, it never even started." He forced himself to remain still, waiting for her words.
When they came, Marianne sounded as though she was being released from a self-imposed jail. "I believe you, Marv," her voice was a small thankful moan. "I want to believe you and I do."
He licked her cheek, then her eyes, then her mouth. "I want you," he muttered. "I've been wanting you ..."
"I know," she whispered, "I know."
"Not just for now but for after and after and after," Marvin's words were hoarse with sincerity.
"Yes," she whispered. "Don't make me wait any longer, Marv. I've waited long enough."
And like a slicked, oiled drill that knew its own way to the well, his shaft probed to her, penetrated, then drove inside and soft, sexy sounds of satisfaction came from the intimate depths of their bodies.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"I-I'll give this to the doctor," Marvin muttered as he looked at the check for one thousand dollars that Bancroft had just handed to him.
"No, no," Bancroft started to expostulate, "it's for you and-and the young lady."
Marvin stared at him.
"My friends insisted," said Bancroft, smiling. His friends were waiting for him in the car. He had asked them to leave him alone with Marvin for a few moments because there were things that he wanted to discuss.
"You mean the girl in the room?" asked Marvin.
Bancroft smiled some more and shook his head. "The young lady that accompanied us," he looked at Marvin, then added, "the one that interests you so much." He gave a sound that could have been a snicker, "You were almost as busy as the-the participants in the guest room."
Marvin felt his face grow warm. Had it been so obvious? "But why?" he asked, embarrassed and angry.
Bancroft leaned forward. "For God's sake, take it Marv! They just want to show their appreciation. They had a ball," he laughed. He placed his face close to Marvin's, "Did you notice Alfredo's pants?"
Despite himself, Marvin smiled. He had noticed the telltale dampness on the front of the diplomat's virginally white trousers. "I guess it was a little too much," he murmured.
Bancroft laughed out loud. "Oh, he blew all right!"
"But, I can't take this," Marvin persisted.
"Alfredo will be hurt if you refuse," said Bancroft. "Hurt and embarrassed! Do what you want with it, but keep it. Anyway, there's something more important I've got to tell you. It's all arranged for the subsidy."
Marvin showed his relief. He hadn't expected to get confirmation so soon. "Thanks, Banny," he murmured, "the Doc'll be glad."
"We're always ready to help a worthy and worthwhile research program," said Bancroft smugly as he was leaving.
It had been a rewarding night Marvin was thinking. The subsidy was important, but the other thing, the Marianne thing, that was important, too. To him, Marvin, personally it was just about the most important thing ever. He glanced at his watch anxiously. He'd better get up there, she'd be waiting. He'd told Marianne that she couldn't sleep in the spare staff room that night. It wasn't the kind of place for a girl like her. A girl like her belonged in a place like-like his suite, for example and that was where she was waiting right now. He himself, couldn't wait to get up there!
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Doctor Saxon had not approved of the conducted "viewing" at number seventeen, but when he found the neatly typed report, signed by Marvin Hett, on his desk the following morning, he read it with his customary conscientious care. It was a complete account of Bunty Malcolm's activities before her audience. The report was well written, explicit yet concise. Pat nodded approvingly. Marv must have dictated this to Marianne, he thought, then smiled. They probably both enjoyed it! He left his office, moved toward the guest rooms, his mind filled with a myriad of minor matters. He turned into the passage, closed the door carefully behind him, then glanced in the first room. It was Joel's!
Pat stayed only a moment. Joel's routine varied very little. Both his and Phoebe's reports were very repetitious.
He stopped at number seventeen and slid back the panel. Pat was curious to see how Bunty appeared after her very strenuous evening. But the room was empty. She was probably visiting her twin in sick bay. Pat moved on.
The last few times that he had glanced in number nineteen, the room had been empty and as he slid back the panel and peered in, he thought that Nadine was out again, then the door opened.
She bounced in like a bright rubber ball. Vivacity, vitality and sex oozed out of every move that Nadine made. Pat clicked on the microphone and heard the small sounds of pleasure that purred from her mouth as she beckoned to someone in the corridor. He turned up the volume and the sounds turned into words.
"Phoebe, come in for a little while, just a little while, please!"
Pat peered at the doorway. He could see the faint outline of his analyst in the corridor. As he looked, Phoebe moved into the doorway, then stopped. "I won't come in," she murmured, "but this afternoon-" she lowered her voice and Pat couldn't catch the words she whispered into Nadine's ear. The words that made the small ball of excited flesh wriggle so deliciously. Suddenly, Nadine slid close to Phoebe and before the analyst could stop her she thrust her hand under Phoebe's skirt, lifted it and then her head went down like a blonde blur and Pat saw her sinking her face into the luxurious foliage on Phoebe's stomach.
"Just a last little kiss," Nadine lisped when she had removed her head. The young girl stood still, licking her lips as if she was savoring the taste on them.
Phoebe spoke urgently. "Nadine," she hissed and Pat imagined he saw her eyes flicker towards the mirror, "never do that!" Phoebe backed out of the room and Pat watched Nadine staring at the closed door with bewilderment written on her cute face. Then he closed the panel slowly, carefully and thoughtfully.
He had been right! Pat walked down the passage then paused at the exit to the corridor. He didn't want to run into Phoebe right now! He looked at his watch, decided to give Phoebe five minutes to get to her room or the office. He didn't want to embarrass his analyst ... not here!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Phoebe wondered why Pat had asked her to see him in his suite instead of his office as usual. Then she recalled the time and knew he must be tired. A small guilt nagged at her conscience as she reminded herself that he had been carrying more than his fair share of the work load during the last few days. The days since Nadine had arrived at Hillside!
He was sitting behind the small desk that he had in the living room of his suite for the overflow of work that he always seemed to carry from the office with him. Pat glanced up then smiled when she tapped at his door then entered. "Sit down, Phoebe," his voice sounded tired. And there was another, a subtle, indefinable difference in the tone of his words, the manner of his speaking.
"Are you tired, Pat?" she asked, seating herself in the low chair in front of his desk.
He gave a long sigh, "I guess I am."
She stared toward him. The room was so dark that she could barely make out his features. The dim desk light was the only illumination. It shone on the desk, Pat's hands, looking strangely small and fragile and the few papers that were strewn on the desk's top.
"Would you like a drink?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Well, maybe," she said indecisively.
"There's bourbon and gin in the cabinet behind you," Pat murmured. "Pour me a bourbon and have whatever you like."
She did as he asked, thinking that it was the first time that he'd offered her a drink, or had one in front of her. When she passed the glass across the desk to him she noticed that he was wearing a dark terry cloth bathrobe. It made him seem different-more-more human! Not so analytically austere.
"You're staring at me, Phoebe," he said with a trace of amusement in his voice.
She sat down quickly, a faint flush on her cheeks at his mild rebuke. "I'm sorry, Pat. I was just thinking-you-you seem different tonight. I don't know how, but-" she let her voice trail off.
"I feel different," he said very seriously. "I am different," he added enigmatically.
Phoebe flashed a worried glance across the desk. Was Pat sick? She'd never heard him talk this way before! She watched him lift his glass, swallow the bourbon as though he needed it, then he said, "I'm having hypnotherapy arranged for Jacqueline."
"Oh," Phoebe thought about it. Was that what he wanted to tell her? "I-I hope it's successful," she added.
"So do I." Pat held his glass out to her and she took it to the cabinet, replenished it. He was acting so strangely, Phoebe thought with a puzzled frown.
"D'you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
Phoebe flinched. Nadine! "No-no of course not! Go ahead," she tried to keep her voice even.
"You've been with me a long time, Phoebe and I like you," he said as though he were talking to himself.
"And-and I like you, Pat," she said softly, realizing as she said it how much she really did like him. And wondering at the same time why-why he was talking this way?
"I like Marvin, too," he said. "I wouldn't want to see either of you do something that would make you both, or either of you, unhappy," he paused.
Phoebe wanted to close her eyes and hide her face.
"That's why I wanted to ask you; how do you really feel about Marv?"
How did she feel? Oh, my God! Why did he have to ask her that question? Why did he have to bring into the open something that she had been trying to push into the back of her mind for so long ... even more so since Nadine! Oh, my sweet Nadine! "I-I think he's a wonderful person," she said weakly.
"But how do you really feel about him? "
"I-I just told you," she answered, her voice very small.
"D'you like it when he kisses you, Phoebe?" Pat's voice was cool.
"Yes," she stammered, "yes, of course."
"And do you like making love with him?"
"What d'you mean?"
"Do you like having intercourse with him? Sexual intercourse?"
"Pat!" she said, reproach in her voice and red spots on her cheeks, "how can you ask that! Why do you want to know?"
"Do you, Phoebe," he probed, "do you like it?"
She hid her face in her fingers, then blurted, "I've never had-had anything like that with Marvin."
Pat stared at her as she leaned on his desk, her face resting on her hands, her fingers latticed across her eyes. "Or any other man?" Pat asked.
Phoebe's head jerked up, her face was red and angry.
"Have you, Phoebe?" Pat persisted, cruelly. "You've never-never made out with a man, have you?"
"No-no-no," she blurted. "I haven't and I don't want to. I-I couldn't!" Then she let the sobs tear from her lips. "What're you trying to do to me, Pat?" The words were ragged.
"You'd rather have a woman, another girl, wouldn't you, Phoebe?" he asked the question softly.
"Yes," she admitted with a deep sigh, "yes, I would." She let a small sob bubble from her lips, then asked, "Why are you torturing me, Pat? What have I done?"
"I don't want to hurt you, Phoebe."
"You've found out about Nadine and me, haven't you?" she blurted. "Is that it? Is that what's bothering you?"
He was silent.
"Is it so wrong?" Her voice was too high. "Oh, Pat, is it so terrible?"
Pat shook his head. "It's not terrible at all, Phoebe. I understand how you feel," his voice was very soft.
"How can you? How can anyone understand? It's not-not possible for a man to understand how-" her voice broke off.
Phoebe felt dizzy, as though she had drank too much or not enough! She reached for her glass, the glass that she had not yet touched, lifted it and drained it. "I don't know what you're saying, Pat," her voice was dull.
"I know how you feel about Nadine," he said softly, rising to his feet, moving slowly round the desk until he was standing behind her.
She was only dimly aware of his words, his movements. The quick strong drink had deadened her perceptions. She kept her head down on her hands as he went on.
"It's easy for me to understand how-how Nadine feels about you because-" he broke off, took a deep breath, "-I-I feel the same way about you, too."
Phoebe felt as if the whole world had gone crazy. The desk seemed to be vibrating under her head. Pat's words seemed to bounce off the walls, the ceiling and then hit her mind. How could he understand! And-and what did he mean when he said that maybe-maybe he felt the same way about her?
"You can't," she muttered. "It's not possible," the breath rasped in her throat. "Only a-a woman could understand how I feel. Only a woman could-could feel that way about-about me!"
"I know," the voice was too soft, too sweet to be Doctor Saxon's.
Phoebe felt the hand touch her shoulder so very gently and she felt a new confusion. Dreamlike, she turned her head, stared and felt suddenly faint.
Pat held the dark bathrobe open and the bare skin shimmered into Phoebe's eyes. The slim waist, rounded hips and cluster of light pubic hairs on the base of the belly and-
Phoebe saw but didn't believe it.
Pat Saxon was a woman!
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Marvin Hett's face was pale. His hand shook as he raised the glass to his lips, then he blurted, "But why, Pat? Why?"
Pat Saxon smiled then crossed her legs. She still wore the terry cloth robe. It was wrapped casually around her slim, boyish body. "In the first place-" she began, then stopped.
Marvin jerked his head up from his glass. "Yeah, tell me," he slurred, "the first place and the second and the last-the living last," he added, almost sullenly.
"You feel as though I've been fooling you, making a fool of you, don't you, Marv?" said Pat.
"And you haven't, of course," Marvin spoke sarcastically.
"Well, maybe just a little bit," admitted Pat.
"You still can't really believe that I'm a woman, can you?"
"No," Marvin breathed out the word, "I just can't. It doesn't make sense-doesn't seem real!"
Pat got up, moved in front of Marvin, opened the robe.
His eyes bulged at the triangle of soft hairs in front of his face.
Pat parted her legs, reached down and pulled the inner flesh of her thighs up silently. "Feel for yourself, Marv," the voice was husky.
"No," Marvin drew back, "I-I can't!"
"Sure you can, Marv. It's a real honest-to-good-ness cunt!" Pat breathed deeply, "Touch it. It's not the first one you've touched."
"Don't, Pat, please don't," Marvin raised hurt eyes to Pat's face. "It makes me feel-feel-"
"Makes you feel queer?" asked Pat. "Or isn't that the word?"
Marvin hung his head. "No, it's not the word. Why didn't you tell me?" Marvin kept his voice level.
Pat sat down again, looked at Marvin with affection and regret in her eyes. "And what would have happened if I had?"
Marvin looked up bewildered. "I don't know," there was wonder in his voice, "but you didn't have to fool me! I never let you down."
"No," Pat's voice was wistful, "you've always been just one hundred percent, Marv."
"Then why?"
Pat looked very thoughtful, "D'you think there would be any of this?" she waved her hand around vaguely, "any Hillside? If you'd known I was a woman?"
Marvin didn't answer and Pat shook her head at him. "Oh no, Marv. You can say what you like but there's still prejudice against a woman's ability, in certain professions, in certain areas of-of enterprise!"
Marvin shook his head. "No, Pat-hell, I don't see what difference it makes."
"Maybe you don't now, Marv. Now that it's all happened. Now that we have Hillside and we have guests and money coming in, the subsidy-" She took a deep breath. "But at the beginning you might not have had confidence in me."
"I still say that you coulda done it as a woman."
"Marv," Pat raised her voice, "It was hard enough to start something like this without the added drawback of-of having a woman organize it."
"But even so," Marvin persisted, "why did you have to keep it up? After it was going okay-why?"
Pat interrupted him. "When? When, Marv?"
He just stared at her, beginning to see what she had had to contend with.
"Everyone had gotten used to Doctor Saxon, the male Doctor Saxon. How could I?"
Marvin interrupted her. "What made you do it now?"
Pat looked very thoughtful, very serious. "A lot of things, Marv, a lot of things just built up, built up until I just didn't want to go on the way I was anymore."
"A lotta things like-like what?" Marv's voice was tight.
"Like Marianne," said Pat very quietly.
"Yeah," Marvin's voice was loud. Then he spoke again hoarsely, "How'd you manage that, Pat? How'd you manage to fuck 'em, eh?"
Pat breathed hard. "I didn't!"
Marvin's head shot up. "Aw, come on I remember years back we used to double date. That's a laugh-"
Pat moved out of the room quickly, then returned in a moment with something in her hand. She threw it onto Marvin's lap.
"That!" she said with distaste in her voice, "I used that!"
Marvin looked at it, felt it and then stared up at Pat. "A rubber cock!" His voice was shocked.
"That's what I used," her voice was low.
"Pat! How could you?"
"D'you think I liked it?" she spewed. "What else was I supposed to do? Now do you see why I wanted out? Why I finally told it the way it was!"
"You gonna tell everyone?" he asked.
Pat shook her head. "No, just you and Phoebe and Marianne, I guess."
Marvin had a dazed expression on his face. "You'll go on as though you were a man?" his voice was incredulous.
"Yes," she said, then added dryly, "I'm used to it!" She gazed calmly into Marvin's eyes.
"Suppose-" Marvin began, hesitated, then went on boldly, "suppose you-you meet a guy that you like! What then, would you tell him?"
Pat smiled at Marvin very gently. "I already have told him," she said.
Marvin's face flushed then he felt a crazy gladness flowing through his body but with it confusion. "Phoebe," he muttered, "I thought you and Phoebe-"
"Yes," Pat nodded, "you thought right. You see, Marv, maybe you'll think I'm as mixed up as our guests but I'm bisexual!"
"Bisexual?" Marvin's mouth fell open.
"If I hadn't been I don't think I could've managed this--this deception so long."
"What d'you mean, Pat? You're confusing me. You've always confused me, ever since the first time I met you! What d'you mean bisexual?"
"I mean if a man liked me because-because I'm a woman, I can go for him," her voice was almost shy.
Marvin's eyes brightened. "I think I get you, Pat. Like-like the way I felt about you when I first met you. If you'd thought I was queer you'd-"
"I'd have hated it!" Her voice was sharp.
"But I wasn't," he said.
She smiled at him, "No and I was so damned glad!"
He was thoughtful. "I-I guess this sort of explains the way I felt towards you."
"I guess it does," she said softly.
"And-and the other thing," he said, an anxious note in his voice. "D'you mean you go for girls like Marianne?"
Pat shook her head again. "No, Marv, oh no!"
Marvin showed his relief.
"But-but Phoebe, yes! You-you see, Marv, Phoebe likes girls so-"
"So you go for her." He grinned. "You go for that, too!"
"But don't forget," her voice softened, "I go for you, Marv." She smiled at him and as Marvin looked at her, it seemed crazy, but Pat looked almost coquettish!"
He took a deep breath, "Marianne," he murmured, "there's Marianne," but his expression as he stared at Pat through new eyes was hungry.
"Yes," said Pat, moving to him, letting herself fall onto his lap, "there's Phoebe as well but," she kissed him on the lips for the first time, "in between times," she told him, "we have each other!"
"Yeah," he said deeply, thankfully. He held her tightly, let his hands do the things they'd wanted to do for five long years, "you're goddamn right we've got each other!" And he picked up his partner-associate and mistress-to-be then carried her to the bed.
"Marianne and Phoebe can wait," she murmured wetly into his ear.
