"All Around Nurse", is the daring first novel of Daniel M. Miller. Although written from actual observations of certain types of sexual liberties and perversions indulged in by an average group of people, the book was banned as being "detrimental to the public morals" by the London Chief Censor. Prior to its banning, the book had enjoyed an unusually good sale in the London book shops. It was eagerly bought up by collectors of modern avant garde erotica and added to their libraries.
In reference to some of the psychosexual perversions encountered in "All Around Nurse" the prominent analyst, Dr. O. Berndorff, has made some very pertinent comments in his case histories. Their study will aid the reader in understanding some of the subconscious motivation of the sexual acts indulged in by various characters in the book.
He states: "Miss Lee was an extremely attractive, but neurotic registered nurse who worked in a very exclusive private clinic. She freely related some of her perverted sexual practices with patients, and doctors too, as follows: i don't mind giving a patient a mild blow job, if I feel he's strong enough to take it. I think that for a lonely man (or woman) it can be some of the best therapy in the world. And I'm very good at going down on it.
"The men patients like to have me sort of work up to it, not just swoop down and put their cocks in my mouth like a thermometer. I like to kiss it softly before I actually put it in my mouth. When I do take it in my mouth, I know the man likes it if I suck every inch of it. I pull in my cheeks and then let my tongue rest just beneath the head of the cock, licking it back and forth as I move it in and out. My cheeks thus form two sides against the dick, my tongue gives the third side, and the roof of my mouth gives the fourth side.
'I'm very careful not to strain the man's penis-especially if the patient seems strong enough to indulge in a little "sixty-nine". Women patients tend to be more of a problem, but those I "go down" on are always so grateful. Doctors are the biggest wolves of all where nurses are concerned. I could write a book about some of the really queer things doctors have asked me to do sexually.
The reader can benefit from the lessons to be learned from these accounts of sexual perversions in case histories and in the book itself. He can become more aware of what to look for in the realm of normal sex behavior.
It is from this viewpoint that Continental Classics presents the original unexpurgated version of this book. Recommended only for the graduate student and mature adult reader.
A. L. Saunders, M. A.
May, 1969 New York City
CHAPTER ONE
I don't think I'm an oversexed guy, even though some of my girl friends have told me after the third screw that I have rare fucking talent. They've even suggested I ought to make it pay off, but I always felt that would take the fun out of my favorite sport-escorting pussy in and out of bed.
I'm always daydreaming about broads and cunt too much. Like here I was, lying on the warm sands of the exclusive Hampton Beach Club, Phil Overton, twenty-three, real healthy and horny for a piece of ass. This was one of the real exclusive sections of Long Island's Southhampton area beaches. Even from 75 feet away, the lush, curvy loveliness of the bikini-clad blonde laying on her back in the sun, really was giving me a terrific hard-on. I could just see myself picking her up and being invited for a cool drink and maybe a piece of hot ass in the privacy of her cabana.
With a gorgeous, sexy blonde cunt like this, I'd have that bikini off in no time and getting a fast close-up of those full, firm, crimson-nip pled breasts, and feeling the yielding roundness of her superb buttocks. She'd lay that classy ass on the cabana cot and my tongue would begin on those crimson nipples. I would feel them harden and jut between my curling lips.
She shivered expectantly as my hands caressed her smooth back, cupping and kneading her asscheeks. Her curved belly and marvelous thighs were grinding expectantly as I decked her. She felt my throbbing, king-sized prick against her inner thighs, and parted them. She quickly brought me to the velvety, warm welcome of her cuntlips. As I thrust into her hot twat with a pile-driving intensity, her gleaming white buttocks kept pace with my cock.
Suddenly she moaned softly, her body stiffened and then shuddered violently, with her ass going into a wild, free-wheeling frenzy under me. As I felt her turn on and start to come bolts of hot sperm spurted through my prick as I joined her twitching cunt in a wow finish that practically brought the cabana down....
I couldn't believe my eyes as I crash-landed out of my playboy hump reverie. The blonde was looking straight at me, nodding and smiling. Then that lovely hussy got up and walked straight toward me. Was there something to mental telepathy?
"Aren't you Phil Overton?" the blonde vision in the red mini-bikini smiled as my cock practically wriggled in the sand.
"Don't you remember me, Babbs Hymer?" she continued sweetly.
And that was how Babbs and I met again after all those years.
She insisted that we have a drink together and a powwow for old time's sake. I was all for it. One glance at Babbs tits and ass in her abbreviated red bikini, and a man couldn't think of any word but yes.
Her lavishly furnished apartment in the swanky Lido Towers had a magnificent view of the ocean.
"Are you still a scotch baby, Phil?" she asked.
I told her I sure was, so she disappeared into her chrome kitchenette, returning a few minutes later with an unopened jug, glasses and a pitcher of ice water.
We perched on her deep, beige divan and proceeded to get joyously crocked while we brought each other up to date on what each of us had been doing since way back when.
Babbs hadn't changed in the four years since I had last seen her. Except for a bit of the "mores" in all directions especially her tits and ass. Her eyes still were that startling blue, with something intangible added. Experience, I suppose.
Her body had filled out breathtakingly. Her breasts were large enough and firm enough to quiver when she swung them toward you, and her legs, two tawny classics of yellow gold, gave you the sensation that you just had to bite something, preferably her cunt. Her hair was blonde, worn shoulder-length, if you could work your way far enough up from her gorgeous ass to notice. But in that bikini it was kind of difficult. About all I could concentrate on was how nice it would be to start pulling strings and shoving my cock in where it would do the most good.
But there was, I reminded myself, a hitch to my delectable hard-on droolings. A time problem. I was supposed to meet my betrothed, Gretchen Hammond on the beach at exactly three o'clock-twenty minutes ago. And that redheaded twat had a temper second to none. Except for her daddy, perhaps, who owned slightly over half the real estate here at Southhampton, and who was endeavoring to gain control of the rest as fast as possible.
Not that this magnitude of wealth and opportunity almost within my grasp was all that daunted me. I worked for the mean old bastard, a state of being which presents its own complications.
If Daddy, Conrad Phillmore Hammond, gets sore and fires you, it's not merely from Hammond Enterprises. He fires you clear out of town. The son-of-a-bitch blackballs you and bugs you relentlessly until you come to the realization that life in Southhampton is just not worth the effort. Yet, that's just normal procedure. For anyone hurting the pride or pussy of his darling daughter Gretchen, he naturally wouldn't be quite so easily appeased. He'd have you strung up; lynched, man. There was no doubt about it. He would be very much annoyed, maybe even to the point of having some goon cut off your balls.
So I had to make a choice. I could remain happily here, starting to fuck it up with Babbs, or I could run to meet Gretchen before my poor overworked prick was completely cooked.
Forcing myself to an attitude of common sense and reminding myself that pecker preservation is the first law of nature, I sorrowfully determined to get the hell out of the area of temptation.
Then I had a sudden change of mind. It came when Babbs laughingly swung those golden limbs across my hard-on and taunted: "Phil! What's happened to you? You haven't so much as made a pass! And I thought we were going to have a good old-fashioned frigging reunion. Have I changed that much? You used to think I was beautiful. Don't you still feel that way?"
"I most certainly do," I said, and I backed up my words with a quick hundred or so of kisses which caused her to squeal delightedly.
"Phil, you tickle!" she cried.
She broke loose and headed for the bedroom, with me at her heels, snatching at the strings of her bikini, my cock standing straight up and twitching.
Babbs always did have a real horny effect on me. She had, ever since the first time I had fucked her that afternoon years ago, when we were in high school and I had lugged her books home for her.
As long as I live, I will never forget that day. For her, it was that momentous time in a girl's life when she rises in the morning with her virginity intact, and goes to bed at night with that little cherry gone forever. And all because sneaky old yours truly had deprived her of it by fucking her silly to our mutual delight.
It happened in this way. When we arrived at her home with her books tucked under my arm, she asked me if I would like to come in and have a coke.
"Mother isn't home, or daddy either," she confided. 'They're both still at work."
The way she offered that information bore exciting implications, to my tingling, stiff prick, so I admitted that I was thirsting for a coke, then I followed her into the house.
That's when it started. The instant we were inside and had closed the door, Babbs put her arms up around my neck and said, "I want to thank you right now, first thing, just to be sure."
She kissed me. Her mouth, at first contact, was a bit firm. But then she leaned back against the door, and I automatically leaned against her. That's when her lips softened, parted, and became sweetly wet and warm and my cock practically burst out of my pants.
When we broke apart, I asked her what all the thanks were for. Not that it really mattered.
"For carrying my books, silly," she laughed. "Can you think of a better reason?"
I admitted that I couldn't, and I immediately leaned forward for some more of the same reward.
"The speller wasn't so bad," I told her, "but that history book weighed a ton. I didn't think I was going to make it all the way here without help."
She giggled and dodged, teasingly.
"Let's have a coke first," she said, heading for the kitchen.
I wondered what she meant by "first" and I was in a tizzy to find out. I found out all right. About thirty minutes later. We had finished our cokes and were playing records and dancing. To watch Babbs' wonderful ass twist and squirm away from you in a solo is a sensation all by itself. It gives you that panting, hounddog, feeling from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, as your blood gets hotter and hotter, and your prick gets stiffer and stiffer.
After, that, I got her on the sofa and she was something. Her mood changed abruptly from gayety to seriousness. So did mine. Mine already had, since that last wild sexy twirl she had made, her skirt swinging high and her thighs flashing just beautiful enough and temptingly enough to leave me a fiery itch in my balls.
"Let's get back to those heavy books," I insisted. "I exhausted myself carrying them for you. I won't be the same for weeks."
"Poor Phil," she said.
She took my face between her soft palms and pulled me down. "I do owe you an awful lot, don't I? You were a knight in shining armor."
"You can say that again."
We kissed and clung, and as our temperatures mounted, it started to get pretty hectic for both my cock and her cunt. Have you ever had the experience of tasting a sweetly-perfumed tongue-tip, darting around in your mouth? Kind of melting your brain? If you have, you'll know how the rest of the world whirled by!
Then my hands proceeded to take over of their own accord, just as though they had little eager minds of their own. One of them slid inside her blouse. There was no bra to get in my way, just warm luscious tit with the wild throbbing of her heart, making my own heart beat faster. Her breasts were hard and firm, like, sweet apples, not yet fully packed.
But they were fully sensitized; have no doubt about that. When my basketball toughened hands rubbed over their petal-soft tips, those nipples punched forth like hot, dull needles, trying to sear my palm.
Things got better and better with each dizzily passing moment. When I had her pushed back on the sofa with her blouse fully unbuttoned and was trying to decide which one of her delicious knockers to take the first growl and snap at, her little brother came bursting in.
"What kind of a wrestling game is that?" he asked sarcastically.
I sat up and breathed silent thanks for his dewy-eyed innocence.
I told him I was on the high school wrestling team and that Babbs was helping me practice.
"I have to get in shape for the big meet next month," I said.
"Heck, that wasn't much of a leg hold," the little bastard derided. "A midget could get away from it."
Babbs, still panting, rose wrathfully and shagged him out.
"Go play marbles with somebody," she ordered.
After he had gone, she locked the door. Then she went around locking all the other doors. I wondered if she were going to lock the windows, too. She didn't. She merely drew the Venetian blinds and returned to stand before me.
We glanced at each other and we had to laugh. When she finally managed to stop giggling, she put a finger to her lips.
"Let's see, where were we?" she snickered.
"At the leg hold," I reminded her. "Where I was going to bite off your nipple if you tried to jerk your leg away. Remember?"
"Oh. Of course!"
Wherewith, she resumed the position she had been in when we were so rudely interrupted, and I soon was again nibbling at those delicate little tidbits. While I was savoring those Grade A nipple delights, she made no effort to break the hold I had on her firm, smooth thigh. Instead, she moaned, and I immediately recognized the sound as one of enormous contentment. Then she grew wilder, and her sharp little fingernails started to flex into and across my tingling scalp.
Seething though I was, I was amazed to find myself moving along the torrid road of hump seduction with such ease of operation. Perhaps I was a born Don Juan, a prime example of irresistible masculinity, a lover whom no girl with a normal cunt could bring herself to refuse. Maybe I had just been too stupid up to now to be aware of this fascinating cunt-ability of mine.
If this were really true, I had missed at least a half dozen twat-opportunities within the last month. I consoled myself with the truism, better late than never. Shucks, I was young. I still had plenty of good years of healthy fucking left.
I made a mental note, just the same, to retrace some trails I had failed to scent which had wound up unnecessary dry hump runs. There was that hot little brunette piece of ass just a few nights ago who....
Just then Babbs spoke up and dissolved this brand-new lover image I was admiring in the mirror of my imagination. She pushed my face away from her kiss-inviting tits.
"Phil, will you do me a big favor?" she panted.
Here it comes, I thought ruefully. She's going to put on the brakes, dash the cold water on my cock!
"Do we have to bring it up now?" I asked.
"Yes we do," she said. "We most certainly do."
"Okay, what is it?" I asked with a scowl, as she tried to make me look directly into her bright, passionate eyes.
"Will you promise to do it, Phil?"
"Sure," I said. "Whatever job you have in mind, just name it. But I really do think it should wait."
"I must find out right now. This minute."
"I said okay, didn't I? All right, what's on your mind?"
"I want you to fuck me, Phil. I want you to really fuck me now! All the way ... do you understand?"
Now I did stare directly into her glowing orbs, asking myself, who's crazy this time?
Aloud I said, "For Pete's sake, Babbs, honey, what the hell do you think I'm trying to do?"
"Oh, I know, all right," she said. "But I was afraid you might get frightened off at the last minute and stop, and I wouldn't like you to do that, Phil. I really wouldn't. It would be so terribly disappointing."
"What makes you think I might stop?"
"When you find out," she said.
"Find out? Find out what, for heaven's sake?"
"That ... I'm ... a virgin. I never screwed or did anything like that before with a boy."
I blinked. Well what do you know? Babbs is a virgin; poor, backward kid. And she's doubtful as to whether or not I would want to change this situation. What kind of a saint did she take me for? Had somebody misinformed her that I had a conscience? Heaven forbid.
True, I had never broken in a babe, but it wasn't because I wasn't more than willing to do some cherry-busting that I hadn't dreamed many and many a time of performing this fascinating service. Those who knew said it was really something, that no girl ever quite gets over a certain special feeling of affection toward the first man whose prick happens to be fortunate enough to pluck the fresh, young, bursting fruit of her virgin cunt.
"I won't back down on you Babbs baby. Don't worry. Cross my heart and hope to die. No matter at what great personal sacrifice, I absolutely guarantee to shove my cock in and break your cherry!"
She kissed me, and the kiss was long and hot.
"Can I depend on that, Phil? Honest Injun?"
I nodded soulfully. "Honest Injun," I said. "You have my solemn promise that I will fuck you all the way past your maidenhead!"
"Then let's go into the bedroom," she said. "I want it to be just ... right. Especially this first time. They say it's by far the most important moment in any girl's life. I don't want it loused up, understand?"
"You can count on my cock's complete cooperation," I said over her shoulder, walking so close behind her that I could feel her special quiver. Her asscheeks were very firm, very tempting.
In the bedroom, since her blouse already was unbuttoned, she simply shrugged it off. I'll never forget the lovely way it slipped down her bare white arms. Then she stared at me.
"Don't be disgusted with me, Phil, please. I know I'm supposed to be covered with maidenly embarrassment. But I'm not, not in the least, so why pretend? I don't feel guilty, either ... I ... I just feel hot for your cock!"
"I do too," I admitted. "Gosh, you're pretty, Babbs. You're the loveliest and the sweetest girl I've ever seen in my entire life."
"Thank you, Phil. You're so romantic. I like that in a boy. You know all the complimentary things a girl loves to hear. It makes getting my pussy broken in so much easier."
"But I am telling the truth," I pointed out.
"Aren't you going to take off your clothes?" she asked.
"Oh, sure I am." Holy smoke, I was embarrassed.
As I untied the laces of my sneakers, I looked up. "Say, Babbs. There's no danger of your mother or father coming home sooner than you figured they would and catching us humping away, is there?"
No, so don't worry about it. Daddy isn't due for hours yet, and neither is mother. Daddy has a union meeting to attend, and Mother is at P.T.A. That never breaks up till dark."
"Good. I would sure hate for us to get caught screwing. Especially since I never have met your folks. I don't think they would understand that I was fucking you as a favor!"
Babbs sat on the bed and leaned back on her hands. She looked utterly irresistible.
"Would you like to take my skirt off?" she asked. "You can if you want to."
"I sure would baby," I enthused, despite lingering uneasiness.
Having already shed my shirt and unbuckled my belt, I hastened to let my pants fall about my feet. I stepped out of them, picked them up, and draped them carelessly over the top of a chair. Who cared about creases at a time like this?
Babbs, now silently staring ceilingward, apparently was lost in thought. I suppose she was wondering how, good, bad, or otherwise, the first time in bed with a stiff male prick would prove to be.
As for my sensations, she certainly looked good, lying there in a state of anticipation. She reminded me of something half angel and half devil, and I wasn't sure which of the two I found more desirable. Her knees, just below the hem of her skirt, glowed enticingly as I gulped and approached her.
At this point her lashes drifted downward and a smile turned up the corners of her luscious lips.
I bent and ran a hand up her thighs, feeling the tingle clear to my shoulders. She lifted her lithe, sweetly-curved body, and I pulled her panties down over her silken buttocks, then hurried to remove them completely. I dropped them beside the bed. By the time I reached for the zipper at the side of her skirt, I was trembling as though with a fever ... which I most assuredly had.
She didn't open her eyes to look as I took away her skirt. All she did was to insert the knuckle of her right index finger between her teeth and bite, still smiling tremulously.
I lifted her further up on the bed, swinging her legs about so that the entire mouth-watering sight of her bush-hair and pussy lay slap-dab in the center. At this point in the hump proceedings, I completely lost my head and kissed her a thousand times, one frantic kiss right after the other, hoping all the while that such crazy impulses came under the heading of what is called Normal Sex Behavior.
I wasn't an experienced fucked by any means. You can't possibly learn about screwing at a really tender age. Oh hell, to each his own. I did what my fevered blood and stiff prick demanded. What could be a better teacher?
Babbs, with what remnants of modesty she still possessed, covered her eyes with her hands as my kisses teased over her entire delectable self.
When I finally gained control and forced myself to lift my hungering, thirsting lips, I looked into her face for possible signs of distaste but she uncovered her eyes and beamed at me.
"Oh, Phil!" she breathed. "You are a real hot lover! That was wonderful! Do it again!"
I hesitated, but only for a moment, as much to catch my breath as for any other reason. Babbs fairly throbbed with ecstasy. Her lovely tits rose and fell in short, jiggling jerks. The world was heady wine and faintingly, fragrant roses, as I traveled the sweetly perfumed route once more, just as eagerly the second time even kissing her bush-hair and letting my tongue tickle her cuntlips.
Heck, I thought, this is more fun than basketball, any old day.
Babbs became softer, warmer, in a state of greater palpitation by the minute. When I climbed up on her for the last time, her nipples had hardened and she again had inserted her knuckle between her teeth. For a moment, I thought she would bite clear through the bone. I hoped not, for Babbs had lovely hands. I would hate to see them disfigured.
I put my fingers on her chin, gave a steady downward pull and extracted the trapped, tortured knuckle. She had a wild, terrible expression in her blue eyes, as I lowered my mouth to hers. Once our lips fused, she gave an excited, muffled cry and her arms flew around my neck in a stranglehold amazingly powerful in one so young and so tender.
My hands went slowly down along her sides as we held the brain-reeling kiss. I turned palms upward and slid them under her to cup smooth, firm, trembling asscheeks. Ahh ... such a perfect fit. Neat little hand thrillers and fillers. All aquiver and anxious.
Her heels thudded dully against the bed's softness as though another moment of waiting for the big push of my stiff prick was just too hideous to bear.
I kind of felt likewise.
There was some furious cock and cunt-fumbling, at first; hectic, probing, frantic maneuverings. Whoops, almost but not quite ... If at first you don't succeed try, try again.
"Phil ... please!" Babbs thrashed around and sobbed as my cock parted her hot, wet cuntlips.
"Try to keep it still," I suggested, my voice trembling. "I never was good at wing shots."
"Oh...! Oh...! Oh!" she wailed. "Please do something! I'm going crazy. I ... yikes! Oh, Phil, hold on to your cock ... wait ... wait just a minute till I get used to it. Oh ... I don't know if I'm going to like this or not."
"Make up your mind," I said. "Cause I do like it!"
I made another slight movement into her cunt with my stiff dick ... close quarters. She winced, and I forced myself to stop.
"Well," I said. "What's it going to be?"
I didn't go so far as to take my hot, hungry dong out.
"I ... Oh, I believe I am going to like it, Phil. Yes, the hurt is going away now. Oh, yes. I do believe I'm going to like it. Make just one more easy move up my pussy with your lovely cock Phil, will you please, and let me see for sure."
I did. But it was kind of hard to keep it easy. I managed, but I wanted to thrust, to build up that rising sensation pervading my entire prick and balls.
"How's it going now, Babbs?" I asked, champing at the bit.
"It's very good, Phil. Yes, it's very good indeed. I didn't hurt at all that time. If just felt ... well ... good. No, I don't mean that exactly; what I really mean is that your cock felt ... well ... you know ... Wow!"
"Shall we get on with it?" I asked, shoving my dick in further and knowing now that she would say yes.
She did. "Oh, yes, Phil, yes. But ... maybe ... not quite so fast, at first."
"Okay," I agreed.
The way I was feeling, it took all my will power to slow my pecker down ... but it was good training.
We eased back into rhythmic frigging motion, taking it slowly and carefully. I suppose the proper word it would be "gingerly."
Whenever I would forget for a few seconds and give a hard, down-to-business thrust into her tight cunt with my cock, Babbs would hiss in my ear, reminding me not to let my eagerness get the best of me.
The next few minutes really were rough on my nervous system, to say nothing of my pecker! Here I was, in a hot cunt and I couldn't shove my cock all the way in and really screw. With bliss teasing me to come and get it, I had to hold off. I bet I lost five pounds in as many minutes.
I was like in a fret to burn that pecker of mine into the furthest reaches of her pussy. I was most eager to get the show on the road. A man's stiff prick can take just so much. I trembled on that hot, sweet brink ... waiting.
At long last, Babbs emitted a blissfully happy sigh. She made a movement all on her own accord, though once more the word to describe it would be "gingerly." After that, she really began to respond, her movements actually matching mine ... which was going some!
Oh, happy day, I thought.
Within moments, her mental capacities seemed to transfer from her head to her cunt and ass. Those lush curves suddenly came frantically alive. They rose, twisted, twitched, gyrated.
Oh, double happy day, I enthused.
This time I didn't mind sweating. Her soaring pussy was fucking to the exploding point. Thrills were hitting my dick now, hard, sharp, fast, like pellets of hail flung against a window glass. I wasn't sure how long I could last without shooting my load at this delicious rate. I couldn't even think clearly. I only knew that there was a hot cunt, wonderfully wild and sweet under me and that I was being called upon to drive harder and harder with my stiff dong up into her vagina.
When she went rigid, straining upward, head arched back, with little shrieks issuing between clenched teeth, I thought the end of the world had slipped up on me, that I was being catapulted off into outer space. I shut my eyes tight and soared off into orbit as my cock shot jet after jet of hot creamy scum into her twitching cunt-hole. For brilliant seconds, the earth spun madly way off down there below ... kaleidoscope of fantastically colored lights.
Then I floated, ever so peaceful and calm ... sperm still dribbling from my cock into her pussy.
But, I reflected, dragging myself up out of reverie, all that happened in the dim past. That was then, and this is now. Right at this moment, I am on a high deck of the fabulous Lido Towers Hotel, in Babbs' apartment, delightfully stoned on Babbs's top-drawer scotch, and utterly overcome with the splendor of Babbs' sun-goldened body encased in those ridiculous red strings provocatively referred to as a bikini.
So on into the bedroom I followed dear long-time-no see Babbs, anticipating the what's and wherefores our cock and cunt reunion held in store.
By the time she hit the bed, I already was grappling with her bikini. She laughed.
"You were always such an eager beaver, Phil!" she giggled. "You haven't changed."
"Let's get to reunionizing," I urged hoarsely. "You've got me in a turmoil." I tore out of my swim trunks.
"My pet!" she giggled, she caressed my naked cock and balls and I nearly swooned. Then reaching for my neck with her golden hands, she looked up and down the length of my naked, impatient body. Her glance fixed on my stiff throbbing, straining prick, for a moment.
"My goodness, Phil! You've certainly grown up to be a real man!" she exclaimed with a pleased smile.
I really began to burn when her bare breasts brushed tantalizingly against me. Desire to fuck her practically jumped out of my eyeballs as her sensous lips cruised up and down my manly torso. When her talented tongue ----rimmed my navel, and flicking the curly black hairs aside, darted moistly down on that ultra-sensitive spot, I practically went into a male belly dance routine. I caressed her lush tits as they swung against me, my fingers gently tweaking her big, crimson nipples.
I could see her eyes widen expectantly as she fondled my palpitating king-sized cock. Her sensous red lips zeroed in before I could stop her. My stiff pecker was suddenly luxuriating in the silky, gliding warmth of her passionate mouth. Her blonde head bobbed and weaved with a lewd cock-sucking rhythm of such unbearable intensity that I knew I couldn't keep from shooting my wad in a way I'd never experienced before, and with a groan, my loins shuddered as about 20,000 volts of sheer ecstasy seemed to hurtle through me, and I spurted globs of hot creamy scum right into her mouth and down her throat. When I came down out of the stratosphere, Babbs was smiling at me sweetly.
"Next time it won't be a quickie blow-job Phil dear! But you did say something about having an appointment...." her voice trailed off.
I was sorry I mentioned it. Beautiful Babbs had learned a thing or two about handling a man's cock since we were together last. It would have been wonderful to stay on and let her run through all of her latest fucking routine.
CHAPTER TWO
Babbs was so appealing in her naked, blonde glory, that it was really hard for me to tear myself away from her lush tits and steaming cunt. A certain portion of my anatomy namely, my still-stiff pecker, also found it hard to leave, and Babbs giggled charmingly as I found it somewhat awkward to slip my cock and balls into my suit. But I finally made it.
"Reunion to be continued," she said as she kissed me goodbye at the door.
"What are you doing for a living these days?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm sort of a private nurse," she smiled as she closed the door....
I dashed to the beach. I was late and the lovely Gretchen would give me merry hell. This could turn out to be serious. Not only was the fetching Gretchen my intended, but also the daughter of my employer, Conrad P. Hammond-the crankiest, richest ball-busting real-estate man in the Hamptons.
He had a reputation for firing people and running them clear out of town, should they happen to raise his ire.
Lady Luck, the fickle wench, seemed to have deserted me. When I arrived at the appointed place, out of breath and with my toes smarting from my mad dash over hot, gritty sand, Gretchen had departed. I was sunk.
I flopped on the sand, studied it carefully, let it drift through my fingers, and wondered if a deep enough hole in it would form a cozy grave for the doomed.
"Yoo-hoo!" a voice sang out, behind me. "Hi there, Phil! Yoo-hoo!"
Unable to trust my ears, I swiveled for a look and what do you know? It was Gretchen ... and she appeared in the best of spirits.
"Have you been waiting long, honey? I'm so sorry to be late. But that stupid peon at the hairdressers had me looking like a goon. I made her do it all over. I'm terribly sorry, Phil. But it really wasn't my fault. Are you horribly angry?"
"Well," I said. "I'm not exactly happy. Sitting here for hours waiting, under the blazing sun, may be a joy to some, but I don't particularly care for blisters."
Pretending a highly vexed and sullen mood, I erected the orange and green umbrella she had brought, twisting it in the sand. Hell of a note, her showing up at this late hour. Just who did she imagine she was? Cleopatra? Just because her old man held clear title to all of the acreage bordering on the Atlantic Ocean didn't give her the right to keep me hanging around waiting for her like a common slave!
When her blanket was spread and we were on it, she tried to become real cute so she could con me out of my unforgiving state.
"Tell you what, darling," she said leaning close. "Don't be mad at me now and I'll do something special for you tonight. It's a promise."
I condescended to look at her. "Like what, for instance?"
I had to admit, though grudgingly at the moment, that Gretchen possessed some real female attributes in her own right far above and beyond a father who owned this beachfront footage of the universe.
Getting down to those delectable assets, she had the whitest arms and legs I ever have seen. Her skin was a sheer, delicate substance, without blemish. Gretchen had a nice, voluptuous figure, and every movement was one of regal grace. Top this off with the loveliest red hair this side of the Mason-Dixon line, and you begin to get the picture.
"Wait and see," she said.
She dropped her fingers on my arm and gave me a mysterious hazel-eyed glance. "I think you'll find it to your liking, Phil."
"Do you have to keep me in suspense?" I complained. "Can't you lay it on the line? Mysteries drive me nuts."
"Oh, be patient!" she said. "Can't you guess?" Gretchen slung back her abundant red hair. The perfume she affected was distracting. I stared, hopefully. "You mean?...."
She smiled, but she wouldn't say any more. But if she meant what her words hinted, I was going to find myself one cunt-happy lad, come this nightfall.
To date, in the torrid game of dilly-dally, I had never reached home plate with the desirable Gretchen Hammond. She had insisted that screwing before marriage displayed a weakness of character, a sordidness of nature, and that she intended to remain aloof from such base animalism as a good hot fuck!
"If such degrading thoughts occupy your mind completely, Phil, then I suspect you had better look for some other girl to become engaged to," she would point out on the numerous occasions when I became overwhelmed with the sinful desire to shove my cock up her tantalizing cunt.
"You may kiss me," she would say. "We're engaged, so naturally you're entitled to some privileges, but I certainly do not appreciate your getting sloppy about my titties and, er, other things!"
"But Gretchen, honey, you're so desirable! I need you so much!"
"A mere matter of biology," she insisted. "What you need, Phil, instead of humping me is more will power, more self-control. A person who allows himself to be dragged down by base emotions can only be called a weakling. I do not want a creature of lust for a husband."
All of which left me frustrated to say the least. Though I hesitated to admit it to Gretchen, I was forced to admit to myself that, as far as being a creature of lust was concerned, I was strictly from Honryville. But what's a guy to do with his stiff dick in a case like this? So many women ... most of them ... want it that way!
I wanted to really fuck Gretchen the most. But I couldn't afford to overplay my hand, I could not take a chance of queering my chance of marriage to the delectable Gretchen. Because there are other sides to marriage, besides shoving your prick up the girl's twat. Position and money, for instance. Especially money. And Gretchen presented the pathway to these attainments, the desire for which had been a thorn in my breast for, lo, these many years, ever since the day that my own family fortune had gone down the drain.
I was an Overton, suh. A Philip Overton, to be more explicit. And to be an Overton is supposed to be a mark of distinction hereabouts, just as a crest is in England. All it meant, in these lean days, is that I was known as a "blue-blood". Moreover, I was a "blue-blood" without financial backing. Which meant that I possessed a very lower-bracket wallet, a highly embarrassing situation to a sensitive Overton.
My family had been in the chips for something like a hundred and fifty years ... maybe longer. I had been born to a background of the best. But by the time I had reached the age of ten, reverses had begun to set in.
Our holdings disappeared at an alarming downhill rate of speed, and within what seemed like a very short space of time, we awoke one morning with hardly a sou with which to bless ourselves.
My father, a man of great sensitivity, promptly shot himself. My mother, unable to face the embarrassment of a penniless future, took off with a traveling canned-milk salesman. Which left only my granddaddy, Cassius Overton, and me, to carry on the esteemed Overton name.
It is curious to note, I might comment, that the family fortune began to careen along its downward course to oblivion just about the time when Granddaddy Cassius, who was the self-appointed head of all our financial ventures, had fallen desperately in love with a sixteen-year old blonde piece of ass by the name of Inge.
Well, I won't delve too deeply into that. It's too embarrassing even to contemplate. Anyway, it's all in the past. Suffice to say that Granddaddy Cassius eventually regained his senses. But by this time the gong of doom had tolled. He sent Inge away and he attempted to get his mind back on business, but we all knew he didn't have a chance. His frenzied second-childhood hump playtime had washed us out.
So you can readily understand my uncomfortable position. A "society boy" without money is only half a man. Something had to be done. No Overton worth his salt could bear to continue floundering in the polluted waters of poverty for very long without plotting a course toward higher and firmer ground.
The day after I graduated from college, my Granddaddy Cassius requested that I be seated for a man-to-man powwow on the subject of finances.
"It's going to be up to you to re-establish the Overton resources, Phil," he pointed out. "I am too old, or I would tackle the problem, head-on."
I looked at my grandfather and nodded, solemnly.
"How would you suggest that I proceed?" I asked. "I don't know where to start."
Granddaddy stared at me through shiny black eyes. He was a tall, elegant man, with a shock of bushy, gray hair.
"I have been giving the matter a great deal of thought, my boy," he said. "While you were away at college, I examined the situation from all angles. I see only one hope for us."
"And what is that?" I asked, leaning forward.
Granddaddy was enthroned in his favorite rocker, with a fifth of Jack Daniels close at hand on the floor. He swallowed half a glass that he had been holding, reached for the bottle, and again filled the glass.
My grandfather could sure put away his booze. He was a two-fifths a day man, normally. But now and then, he was wont to forget moderation and go on a tear. When that happened he would become a three-or-four-fifths-a-day man, which is not good for anybody.
"I've decided that the logical solution is for you to get married, Phil."
This shook me. "Married?"
"Yes, and just as quickly as possible," Granddaddy Cassius said.
I threw up my hands, exasperated. "But I can't support a wife, Granddaddy Cassius! I've just finished school. I haven't got a job yet. I'm afraid Granddaddy, that you've been hitting that bourbon a little too hard. It's obvious that you're having hallucinations."
My grandfather leaned back and roared with laughter. Then, just as suddenly, he became serious.
"Phil, I wonder how in the world you managed to graduate," he opened. "It's a puzzle to me. You, boy, haven't got sense enough to come in out of the rain. I don't mean for one minute that you should marry some young lady whom you have to support. The sort of marriage I had in mind is one in which the girl will have sufficient means to do the supporting."
"Are you suggesting that I degrade myself by marrying purely for money, and not for love, Granddaddy?"
The old man took another swallow of his bourbon, then informed me, without mincing his words, that this was exactly what he had in mind.
I said, "I won't do it. I have too much pride."
"Then we'll be as poor as field mice for the rest of our days," Granddaddy said, miserably. "I'm disappointed in you, Phil. I had hoped you would see it my way. I am an old man, and I dread the idea of going to my grave with the Overton name still in the quandary. I suppose it's hopeless. Apparently you have been endowed with moral virtues. This is most unfortunate. No Overton with morals was ever worth a damn. Other members of the family had to carry his weight. I have earnestly hoped that you would not turn out like your father. He was entirely too honest for his own good, and also too sensitive. If he had been otherwise, he would have done something more constructive than merely shooting himself."
"Now, I don't know what they taught you in school, Phil, but whatever it was, I'm afraid you've been led astray from the true value of life. For instance, did you know, boy, that honesty is nothing more nor less than form of fear? A man is honest only to the extent that he is afraid of punishment. Therefore, you might keep in mind that the more honest a man is, the more scared he is. And you can believe what your old granddaddy tells you when I say that scared men never get anywhere in this world of grab."
I looked at my grandfather and felt impelled to express my horror at hearing him say such terrible things to me, his only living relative.
"I'm surprised at you, Granddaddy," I said. "Do you mean to tell me that you advocate greed and dishonesty as a way of life? Surely you're joking. At least, please tell me you are. I have never heard of anything quite so ridiculous, nor so uncalled for."
I waited painfully as Granddaddy shook his head and snorted in utter dismay. He took a quick swallow of his bourbon to quell his disgust.
"Oh, hell," he said. "What's the use? I might have known you'd be one of those honest Overtons. And what a shame it is! I had such grandiose plans for you, boy. But I may just as well have been saving my energy. You are a lost cause, and alas, the fine old honored name of Overton will never rise again. I blame your stupid daddy for this. He was the weak skunk in the woodpile. Morality! Bah! The only time a man can afford to be virtuous, boy, is after he is rich and sitting on top of the heap. Not before. Meantime, you have to be a regular bastard. But I can see I'm wasting my breath trying to convince you to make out big with your cock, Phil."
Listening to Granddaddy's words of doom dampened my spirit to an alarming degree. I always had been fond of Granddaddy. I had thought him such a great, fine man, a pillar of integrity. Now, for the first time, I was discovering his true character and I was shocked.
Finally I asked, "Just a matter of curiosity, Granddaddy, what sort of devious plans had you formulated for me? I mean, in regard to reestablishing the Overton fortune through marriage?"
My grandfather shrugged, staring at the floor between us. "What difference does it make now?" he inquired. "You are one of the scared Overtons ... you have no guts. So why should I waste my breath explaining the facts of life?"
"Please tell me anyway, Granddaddy. I'm very interested to know just what kind of a crooked scheme you've worked up in that wicked head of yours. I bet it's a dilly."
Granddaddy reached for his bottle, poured a waterglass full to brimming with the amber fluid, and immediately emptied it. He coughed, took a short sip directly from the bottle as a kind of a chaser, then set it aside.
"Well, if you must know, Phil," he said, shuddering the booze down deep inside him, "I had decided that the best thing you could possibly do after graduation would be to marry that redhead daughter of Conrad Hammond's. Hammond is the richest man in this state by far. Then, with any initiative at all on your part, worming your way to the top of any one of Hammond's enterprises should prove a simple feat. In six months, you'd be right on top. Then we'd be in like Flynn. You see what I mean, boy?"
"But Granddaddy," I gasped. "I don't understand. I thought you hated Conrad Hammond with passion. I thought it was he who brought about your ruin. Isn't it true that Conrad Hammond grabbed off all the Overton holdings while you were messing around with that teenaged piece of twat? What was her name? Inge?"
My grandfather looked away, coughed a couple of times, then turned back to me with fire blazing in his drunken, beady black eyes.
"That's right," he said. "That's absolutely right! Now I'll tell you something else, Phil boy. It was old man Hammond himself who sent that damned tasty little blonde cunt to set me up for the kill ... so he could grab off everything we had left. I tell you, Phil, it was a foul trick. Hammond is the crookedest, meanest, sneakingest son-of-a-bitch ever to draw breath. Believe me, he is. If I had my way, I would boil him in oil. And that's one of the very reasons I want you to marry his daughter, Phil. Can't you see? This would put us in a position to strike back. With you sitting at his right hand, we would soon discover his weaknesses, and when we knew enough, we'd jerk the props out from under his ass real fast. Before he knew what hit him, we would have him scooped. We would end up with everything he cheated us of, and a lot more to boot.
And then, I would personally enjoy kicking his ass right back in the gutter from whence he originated. Why I remember when Conrad Hammond was nothing but a gutter rat. He came up the ladder by the way of tooth and claw. He stomped on people, lied, cheated, stole, fought his way up by pure brute strength. He was an animal, that's all Hammond ever was and still is. A strong, ruthless, wild, mad dog. He didn't care who he hurt."
Staring at Granddaddy I could hardly believe my ears. I wondered if he had gone senile on me. Was all this he was telling me the truth about Conrad Hammond? Had this rich schemer really put a piece of blonde pussy on Granddaddy as a means to steal the Overton fortune, like a thief in the night? It seemed too wild a probability to swallow. But, on the other hand, why would Granddaddy tell me of his disgraceful actions with that female teenaged cock-sucker if it were not so?
Finally, I told my grandfather, "Even if what you say is true, Granddaddy, I don't think we should lower Overton standards of behavior for the purpose of retaliation. Just because Conrad Hammond is a dirty fighter gives us no excuse to stoop to his level. There should be more ethical means of overcoming Mr. Hammond. Personally, I prefer a clean fight, all open and above-board. Now in college they taught us...."
I have never seen Granddaddy look so disgusted, so abruptly.
"Phil, what was it you majored in at that nutty school?" he asked. "I never have known."
"Sociology," I told him.
Granddaddy shook his head slowly, looking sick. "What an awful waste of time and money," he said.
"Tell me, Phil, why did you pick such a worthless course? Do you plan to become one of those stupid social workers who always are sticking their noses in other peoples' business?"
"Not necessarily, Granddaddy."
"Then why, boy? Tell me, for goodness' sake, why you took such a silly course of study?"
"Well," I said. "If you must know, I majored in sociology because everyone said it was easy and that nobody ever flunked it."
"I might have known," Granddaddy snorted. "Well, at least I'm glad to see you had sense enough to choose a sure thing. But I still say it was all a big, fat waste."
"You may be right at that, Granddaddy. I don't say you aren't. But don't forget ... I never even wanted to go to college. And the only reason I did was because the family insisted that it is a prime requisite for any Overton to be a college graduate, whether he learned anything or not."
"I can see you sure didn't learn much, either," Granddaddy said. "Sociology! Bah! If they had given you training and a degree in dirty business tactics your education may have been of some value."
I left my grandfather then because I had had about all of his dirty old lip that I could take for one day. But during the week that followed our conversation, I couldn't quite shake off his words of condemnation.
I found myself trying to remember what Gretchen Hammond had looked like back in her school days. The only picture I could conjure up was that of a snaggle-tooth, freckle-faced, conceited girl with hair like the hide of strawberry roan. Nobody had particularly liked her. And now, I thought, Granddaddy wants me to marry an ugly cunt like that. He must really be off his rocker. Of course, I admitted to myself, Gretchen may have improved some since high school. I decided to check on it.
That very afternoon, I strolled down along the beach, and I managed to locate her. Imagine my surprise! She had just come in all shiny and dripping wet from the ocean, and when she took off her bathing cap and fluffed out that strawberry roan hair, I actually caught my breath. She was by far the loveliest hunk of pussy adorning these sandy shores.
"Gretchen...." I called, dashing forward, "Gretchen Hammond! Remember me?"
She favored me with a condescending glance. Then recognition brightened her hazel eyes.
"Oh. Yes ... of course. Philip Overton, isn't it? How are you?"
"Fine, Gretchen, Just fine. We haven't seen each other in a long time, have we?" I gushed eagerly, noting her perfect figure and her unblemished ivory hide. "I just graduated from college, you know."
"How nice," she said. "You'll have to excuse me, Phil. I have friends waiting. Good to see you again."
"Great to see you, too, Gretchen. How about getting together sometime?"
"I don't know, Phil. I stay pretty busy. But call me, why don't you?"
"I'll do that, Gretchen; I certainly will!"
She walked away, then. Watching her go, noting the way her skin glowed, enjoying the elegant movements of her classic ass, the sweet contours of arms, legs and throat, and the proud way she held her head, all of this made a lovely, desirable hump-image in the back of my mind. I concluded that my sharp old grandfather had been right, after all. I really should make an all-out effort to marry Gretchen Hammond. Every doubt on that score had been dispeled.
An intense passion, combined of greed for loot and anticipated hot possession of that gorgeous cunt gripped at my heart as with octopus tentacles.
This beautiful creature, this glorious Gretchen Hammond, whose twat out-lined with the sweet shine of gold, would be mine!
Once having made up my mind, however, I ran into unexpected snags. Though I pursued my beautiful objective with relentless determination, with unflagging purpose, I got absolutely nowhere fast. She always had some excuse for not seeing me. Over the telephone, her words of refusal were polite, but coolly aloof.
"I have other plans for this weekend, Phil," she explain, liltingly, but with the gleam of ice on the lilt. "I'm awfully sorry, but please do call me again ... won't you?"
This was all I could get from her. In the meantime, I made a habit of showing up wherever she happened to be, at the beach, at a social affair, at a dance, at any one of the dazzling night clubs she frequented; anywhere. This, likewise, gained me nothing.
When I spoke of my failure to Granddaddy Cassius, he just scoffed and shook his head sadly.
"Do you mean to sit here and tell me, Phil, that you graduated with a degree in sociology and didn't learn enough to socialize a female out of a simple little piece of tail? Why, boy, if I was your age, that Hammond cunt wouldn't stand a chance. I would have her panties off and my pecker in her pussy so quick she wouldn't know what happened."
My conceited grandfather infuriated me to no end. He had a way of making me feel like the most incompetent dunce who had ever lived. He played havoc with my ego.
Under my breath, I cursed him roudly and swore I would show him a thing or two before I would up this deal.
"If you had one iota of red blood in your veins, boy, you would drag that Hammond babe off by the hair on her head and rape hell out of her." Granddaddy continued to chide.
"Oh, don't be absurd," I flung back. "You're drunk. If I did anything half so foolish as that, Gretchen would never forgive me ... never speak to me again. Then what chance would I have?"
My grandfather laughed in my face.
"Man, you're an ignorant fool, Phil," he scoffed. "I'm amazed at your stupidity. I honestly am. Didn't you know that every female who ever lived secretly harboured in her breast the hope of some day being thoroughly and utterly raped by some strong, handsome, devil with a big cock?"
"No kidding, it's true. It all stems back to the caveman days when a man was violent enough to take what he wanted from a piece of ass without even bothering to ask. But ... "
The smug old cunt-lapper held up his hand in mock defense. "Never mind. I know you won't believe me. How to really fuck a broad they didn't teach you in college."
Right then I could gladly have strangled my dear, old, depraved grandparent. Instead, I hopped up, eyes blazing, a fired anew.
"You disgraceful old bastard!" I shouted heading for the door. "I'll show you!"
Behind me, Granddaddy Cassius laughed drunkenly.
That's when the telephone rang. I grabbed it in passing and slammed the receiver to my ear.
"Hello, and what do you want?" I blurted angrily into the instrument.
"May I speak to Philip Overton, please?"
I nearly fell over. It was Gretchen Hammond. I recognized her voice instantly. "Uh ... I ... this is Philip."
"It is? Philip, I didn't recognize you. Is anything the matter? This is Gretchen."
"Oh, hello, Gretchen. No, nothing's the matter."
Then Gretchen was talking just as sweet as you please, as though we were buddy-buddy sweethearts from way back.
"By a lucky coincidence, Phil, I am going to be free tonight. I was wondering if you would care to come over."
I somehow managed not to drop dead with shock at this sudden turn of events.
Keep your cool, Phil boy. You've got to keep your cool! I kept telling myself.
Contrary to what Grandpa Cass thought, I did have something besides empty space under my plentiful brown hair. Thoughts went whirring around so rapidly that my head began to feel like an over heated computer.
Now Gretchen Hammond had matured into a very attractive piece of ass. How come she was calling me, like all of a sudden? She's either knocked up, or had a fight with her regular prick-pushing boyfriend, or both, I thought. Either way, I was going to be damn careful not to be made a patsy by Gretchen or anyone else.
I turned toward Grandpa Cass to make sure that he'd see that his bloodlines still had class.
Then, I nonchalantly said, "Eight o'clock? Okay, I'll drop around, Gretchen."
CHAPTER THREE
Gretchen's svelte body, her curved up-tilted breasts, her lithe legs and desirable asscheeks, kept dancing in front of me as I drove. I headed our worn jalopy for the Conrad P. Hammond imposing mansion, seeing Gretchen's red hair, hazel eyes and wide, inviting mouth, beckoning me through the windshield. She was a very desirable broad even without all that moola.
Now, as I neared the Hammond house, I was overcome by doubt. Maybe I was too pushy in coming directly to this mansion in my old rattletrap and some too-fancy clothes. If the first impression the tempera mental Conrad P. got rubbed him the wrong way, my goose, to say nothing of my aching cock and balls, would be cooked.
Why, I wondered, disconsolately, hadn't I considered this gruesome possibility before this late date. I never should have agreed to go to her house tonight. I should have asked her to meet me somewhere. But it was to late, I realized glumly, as I drove the family heap in the general direction of the Hammond beach mansion.
If Conrad Hammond was determined to kick me out of his house, that would be his privilege. I would make a try, regardless. He couldn't do any more than shoot me.
Now that I was getting my first break with Gretchen after so much fruitless endeavor in the past weeks, I was not going to pass up this first golden opportunity to be with her.
I wondered what had caused her to change her mird so abruptly and to give me a date. The whole thing was clouded in mystery. One minute I had been getting exactly nowhere, and the next, she had practically flung her arms and maybe her twat as well, open to me. I couldn't help asking myself why.
What had come about in the meantime? Unable to find an answer, I drove on. This was no time to stew over whys and wherefores, I reminded myself happily. It was a time to drool and to dream of holding the lovely Gretchen in my arms, of making mad love to her, of my cock thrusting into her glorious cunt!
The Hammond mansion had been constructed on a high point of sand flanking the ocean. It was one of the most garish places I had ever seen. It actually was too much of a good thing, like an over-painted whore with an overload of jewelry glittering wherever there was room. But you had to admit the place was imposing. It occupied a couple of acres of prime beachfront, complete with a private pier, alongside of which majestically floated the million-dollar Hammond yacht.
Not knowing what to expect, I parked in the drive and headed for the entrance. I was hoping that Gretchen hadn't mentioned my name to her father, in which event I might last a good ten minutes under his roof. One thing was certain, as far as I was concerned; if she had told him to expect an Overton, there was going to be hell to pay. I hoped it wouldn't prove too embarrassing for all concerned, especially for me.
Imagine my utter surprise then, when it was Conrad Hammond who met me at the door and invited me in.
"You must be Philip Overton," he beamed, poking out a stubby hand. "Come in, son, come in! Gretchen will be right with us."
Mr. Hammond's handshake was a tight, warm squeeze. He was a medium height, stocky man, with thinning grey hair and a ruddy complexion.
"How does a drink sound while we're waiting for Gretchen to come down?" he suggested, then laughed and laid his hand on my shoulder in comradely fashion.
"Women, you know!" he winked. "They seem to feel it a special privilege never to be quite ready."
I laughed in an effort to appear casual.
"I would enjoy a drink with you very much, Mr. Hammond," I said.
He took my arm, steered me to the patio overlooking the Atlantic. I saw a portable bar complete with all accessories.
"Have a seat, Philip, have a seat. Scotch and soda suit you?"
"That will be fine."
I sat and watched Conrad Hammond curiously as he went about the business of concocting the drinks. He wore bright yellow slacks and a checked sport shirt. I could not comfortably trust and accept his warm, friendly attitude.
I had expected him to be ready to shoot me on sight when he learned who I was. Instead, he was bending over backwards to treat me with princely attention. I couldn't fathom it. I failed to grasp it at all. He walked over and handed me my drink, then he lowered his slightly bulky body into an adjacent deck lounge.
"Overton...."he said as though tasting the word and finding it mellow, like good wine. "A fine, time-honored, aristocratic name."
"Thank you, sir. I am rather proud to be an Overton, I must admit."
"I should think so!" Conrad Hammond exulted. "You have every right to be proud. Why, the Overton family pioneered and developed this section of Long Island. The entire community owes to the Overton name a debt of undying gratitude. If it hadn't been for the original Overtons and their genius for values, you and I might not be sitting here this very minute, do you realize that, young man? Great people they were. Mighty fine family. What this country needs is more like them."
Just as I was beginning to wonder if he planned to get downright sickening in his admiration of the Overton name, Gretchen made her appearnace.
"Hello there!" she sang out sweetly. "I see you two have met."
"Yes, Phil and I are getting along famously," her father said as we rose. "Phil was just telling me about his family, but of course, I knew the Overtons before Phil did ... before he was even born."
Conrad Hammond cackled at his own joke. Gretchen beamed at me and I smiled politely.
"You look ravishing, Gretchen," I complimented her.
"Doesn't she now," her father added. "Well, I suppose you youngsters want to be running along."
He turned and grasped my hand in a shake undoubtedly meant to impress me with his good fellowship. "Now young man, I want to see more of you around this house. Do come back, won't you? I'll be sadly disappointed if you don't."
"It'll be a pleasure, Mr. Hammond. Thank you for inviting me."
As Gretchen and I drove away, I still was in a state of confusion. This thing had me going. What was up? Gretchen and I spent the better part of the evening dancing at the Lido Beach Club. I found her to be as adorable as she looked, and my hard-on was aching for her pussy like a throbbing thumb. Holding that stately body close, was a wonderful experience. Her skin was cool and fragrant. Her breath was warm and sweet. It was such a simple thing to fall immediately and madly in love with her. But I had sense enough to refrain from making any serious passes this early in the game. I wanted to screw her so badly that I could feel desire eating away like busy ants at the marrow of my bones. I am positive Gretchen knew this, for my hot want was bound to be evident in my eyes.
Yet, in queenly elegance, she apparently accepted my avid horny, state as her just due. After that first date, Gretchen and I were together almost constantly. Instead of this displeasing her father as I orginally had assumed it would, he seemed happy about the whole thing.
It was my grandfather who finally clued me in on the mystery surrounding my easy acceptance into the Hammond home and the Hammond heart.
"If you had sense enough to come in out of the rain, my boy, you would know without any strain on your mentality why that low-brow, Conrad Hammond, is so pleased to welcome you into his castle." Granddaddy Cass told me. "Think again, boy, think hard. It doesn't take a genius to see through it. Are you actually too stupid to realize his motive?"
"If that's being stupid, I plead guilty," I said, somewhat stiffly. "I'm afraid I don't see any motive, other than friendliness on his part. From all the accounts I have heard of the long feud Mr. Hammond has had with our family, especially with you, he should hate me. So you tell me why, Granddaddy. Why is he treating me like the prodigal son, just coming up the road?"
Granddaddy Cassius gulped a huge slug of bourbon straight from the bottle, burped, and laughed shortly.
"You've got something he wants, Phil. Can't you see that?"
I raised my brow so. "I have something Mr. Hammond wants? Don't be absurd! Mr. Hammond has everything-I have nothing. I can see you've been drinking too much again. It's beginning to affect your mind. What do I possibly have to offer Mr. Hammond?"
My grandfather snorted. "He wants your cock and your blood, stupid. Any fool can see that."
I stared at Granddaddy Cass, my mouth falling open. "My-blood?"
"That's right. Your blood ... the one commodity that money can't buy. The Overton blood ... it's our last remaining tangible, you young fool, the only last priceless asset which Conrad Hammond hasn't been able to steal. Conrad Hammond was born a guttersnipe, as I've told you before. But he's an ambitious guttersnipe, and an envious guttersnipe. And he's old enough to know by now that even if he made all the money in the world, buying the blood of aristocrats to flow through his own veins is impossible. Yet he wants this desperately."
"It's the one blight in his life he can't overcome. And what does this mean? It means his only recourse is to have it transfused into his guttersnipe family tree through marriage ... by a merger of his offspring with an Overton offspring. It's the only way left open to him if he is to accomplish his purpose. So, dear boy, do you see now why Conrad Hammond glows on you with such warm and touching affection? His hope is to marry his daughter off to you."
I stared at me erstwhile illustrious grandsire for a long moment, trying to make up my mind if his reasoning could possibly be correct. It seemed incredible. Yet what other reason could Mr. Hammond possibly have. Eventually, I had to conclude that Granddaddy must be right in his logic, drunkenly arrived at or not.
The time came, of course, for me to attempt my desperate best to claim Gretchen's senses-reeling body. I mean, I wanted to fuck her something awful. Up to now, I'd had to content myself with no more than a few lukewarm kisses, small insignificant appetizers. And I must admit, these tidbits of affection which she allowed were incongruous to my overwrought and hot-blooded pecker.
I made my play late one evening on her patio. It was a lovely night. There was a full moon. A refreshing breeze drifted in from the ocean.
Next to me on the divan, with the moonlight doing wonders for her skin, Gretchen was immediately more tempting, more desirable than I had ever seen her. I felt I would go absolutely nuts if I didn't get my prick in her soon.
She was wearing one of those two-piece-skirt and bandanna halter-affairs. The garments were dark blue, and when you glanced at her you got a stunning impression of white legs, a provocative white midriff, followed by devastatingly beautiful shoulders, arms, throat and face.
With a number of Scotch and sodas warming my naturally torrid Overton cock, I gathered her into my arms and began kissing her with avid intensity.
Her exquisite skin, cool and faintly perfumed, awoke the mad-hump urge. Before she had time to catch her breath, I had covered every exposed delicious inch of her adorable body with searing kisses.
I wasn't sure what her reaction might be, and frankly, at the moment, I couldn't have stopped of my own accord, regardless. At least she wasn't making an effort to stop me. This was success of sorts. I continued my hungry kissing for quite a happy while.
Naturally, I kept hoping that she would warm to the moment's madness and get nicely worked up and horny herself. She didn't. She seemed merely to be holding her own emotions in abeyance, allowing me to continue working my abused cock into a state of frantic want and hard-on.
Subconsciously, I received the impression that she was finding my horny hunger more fascinating than me touching her would be, a phenomenon of sex-more curiosity rousing than it was stimulating. It was as though her mind stood aloof, witnessing with catlike amusement, my frenzied cock and balls.
She displayed no outward show of sensous response, whatsoever. After a while, it began to grow embarrassing. It had always been my thought that, if a girl is willing to let you practically devour her from top to bottom, she is supposed to be deriving some kind of bang from the experience.
Eventually my lovemaking reached a point of utter frustration, and I found myself in an acute dilemma. I was too impassioned to bring myself to a halt, and my pride was too sorely wounded to allow me to keep making a fool of myself.
Thus I reached a determination. I would shake this delectable creature to the roots of her beautiful being, if it killed me.
With a sudden display of caveman brutishness, I tore the bandanna from her breasts and fell upon her tender, pointed tits with a fury akin to to cannibalism.
At this crucial point, she alerted and balked. She placed cool fingers against my face and pushed, separating my hot mouth from her left nipple with a noticeable "pop" sound.
Utterly dismayed, I implored in a tone of whipped-dog complaint, "Don't you love me, Gretchen?"
"Not when you act this way, Phil," she answered. "Now sit up and get hold of yourself. You are being adolescent, and it does not become you. We're adults and shouldn't allow ourselves to succumb so easily to horrid, animal lust."
"But I love you, Gretchen. I love you and I want to fuck you. Doesn't that mean anything?"
"Sex before marriage, Phil, is out of the question as far as I'm concerned. Oh, I know what you're going to say ... that in these modern times everybody goes in for some screwing, married or not. But I have higher standards, Phil, so you may as well reconcile yourself to them right now."
Then and there I altered my course of action and pleaded with Gretchen to marry me right away. That's how horny I was for her cunt! She grew very quiet, studying my face in the moonlight, while I held my breath awaiting her reply, distractedly aware, all the while, of those still bared and proudly tilted knockers, so near and yet so far from my chattering teeth.
It was a tense moment in my life. For the first time I suddenly realized the importance of it all. If she said "yes", I would have the world in the palm of my hand. For me Gretchen represented the epitome of wealth, of beauty and of position. What higher prizes can a man seek in his short period of residence on this good earth? And, in addition she looked like a swell lay!
Finally she said, "All right, Phil. I'll marry you. I think it will make father very happy."
I received this good news with such feeling of enthusiasm that I immediately attempted to force my way past her fingers to her breasts, assuming that now I had surely earned permission to enjoy them to the fullest.
But she fought me off. "No! No, Phil, no! Are you going to spoil our newfound happiness already? Before it has even taken root? Stop it, stop it, or I'll change my mind. You'll have to learn to control yourself."
So, I still got nowhere, and eventually I gave up the struggle to even kiss her titties. The idea came to me that patience on my part would, in time, bear the fruit of its own reward. I'd be frigging away in her luscious pussy sooner or later ... Meantime, I would have to wear the muzzle of prudence, saving my bites for later.
It was surprising how elated her father was the next day when he learned of our engagement. He threw several parties in quick celebration of the happy turn of events, then topped it off by installing me as a VIP to head up the rental division of his vast real estate-operation. The fact that I had no experience along this line was cast aside as a matter of no consequence.
"Those under you," my future father-in-law pointed out breezily, "will take care of the details. And you'll learn our procedures in time. Don't worry about it. I'll leave instructions for you to be taught what you don't know."
Needless to say, my dear old Granddaddy Cassius was highly elated, also.
"By damn, this is what I've been hoping for!" he cried as an evil glint sprang into his red-----rimmed drunken eyes. "I knew you'd come through for us, boy, yes sir, I just knew you'd come through like a true Overton."
He took a healthy swig of bourbon and rubbed his hands together, excitedly.
"Once you learn the ins and outs of Conrad Hammond's business, Phil, well be sitting in the driver's seat," he exulted. "And when the right time comes, we call all the turns. Phfl boy, I can hardly wait. I want you to get in there and learn everything you can about the Hammond operation. Learn the weak points and the strong points. Don't overlook anything. And when the time is right, well leap."
He threw back his head and cackled shrilly. "Won't Conrad Hammond be the surprised one when he wakes up to the truth! Will his face be red! And I want to be right there to witness the kill. Yes sir, before he knows it, Hammond will be right back in the gutter where he came from, and the Overtons will be sitting on top of the heap once more."
I wasn't quite certain how I felt regarding my Grandfather's nefarious plans which he was determined I should go along with. But I decided not to argue with him.
I would just take things as they came. Either way, as I saw it, I would come out on top. On top of the luscious Gretchen, fucking away for dear old glory....
All of which brings us back to the present, where Gretchen and I are sitting on the beach and she has just promised me that, if I wouldn't be angry at her for her tardiness, she would, this evening, reward me with something "very special."
I took this to mean she intended letting her hair down once and for all and we would fuck it up a bit ... oh, happy thought! And so it was with such drooly dreams of sweet pussy in my mind that I flung away my mad and became the personality kid once more.
Phil, boy, I kept telling myself, while stealing furtive glances at Gretchen's classic torso, at her smooth ivory skin, you're going to really give that dick of yours a treat tonight. You're going to have yourself a friggin' ball.
Gretchen wanted to go swimming, so we went swimming. We laughed and played and she was adorable. I never had seen her quite so temptingly beautiful, so excitingly warm. My senses reeled.
"Teach me to float, darling," she begged.
When I held my hands lightly under her supine body, with my chin practically resting on her pussy, I thought I would bust a gut just from pure wanting to shove my cock into her.
I bit her lightly just above the knee, but she immediately pushed me away, laughing. "Not here, silly!" she chided. "Too many people can see. Can't you wait for tonight?"
We came back to shore and noticed for the first time, a new presence. He was a tall, broad, bronze-skinned man with curly, jet-black hair. He watched our approach with a sardonic grin on his angular face and in his startling gray eyes.
Vince was a gambler by profession. Even back in high school, a deck of cards or a pair of dice was part of his regular equipment. He had earned his spending money winning our nickles, our dimes, and our quarters. He always had been a cunning kid, that was sure. Not what you would call a boy of unblemished character.
Then it came to me, suddenly, that he must be here on the beach on this particular day, for no worthy purpose. Looking back, I remembered that he always had been in love with Gretchen. He had been after her ever since we all were kids. But his trouble had been Papa Hammond.
Gretchen's father flatly refused to allow Vince to come messing around his precious daughter. Old man Hammond's plans for Gretchen didn't include such low life friends as Vince Bodine who had been reared on the proverbial wrong side of the tracks.
It had been ironic, back then. After all, Conrad Hammond himself before he became wealthy was, as Granddaddy Cass so often put it, a guttersnipe from the same wrong side of the tracks.
What worried me now was Vince happening to show up at this particular time. Further cause for worry was Gretchen's strange reaction at the sight of him.
I wondered if there was more behind this curious state of affairs than met the eye. Was it possible, that they had been seeing each other now and again, on the sly, behind her father's back? When they had been kids in high school they had been known to slip off and meet secretly.
Could it be possible, I asked myself, that Gretchen still was infatuated with the guy? But this was absurd. If she were, she certainly wouldn't be planning on marrying me.
On the other hand, why was she so obviously shaken? Just because he was sitting there on the sand, smirking at us? Something was amiss; of that I was sure.
Vince kept staring. I asked Gretchen what was with the guy. She flushed.
"Oh, you know how Vince is-he's always pestering me. I've never been able to get him to leave me alone."
"You were crazy about him once, weren't you?"
"That was a long time ago," she snapped. "I was too young and ignorant to know better."
"Have you dated him lately?" I could not help asking.
She gave me a disdainful glance. "Of course not. I forgot him years ago."
"Then why are you so nervous? He still must have some pronounced effect on you."
"Oh, please, Phil. Shut up and just drop the subject, will you? I'm not the least bit concerned about Vince Bodine. Or about anybody else. It's just that I don't appreciate having my body ogled. It upsets me. Come on, let's leave. I've had enough of both beach and sun for one day."
But before we could depart, Vince Bodine rose and came toward us.
"I understand congratulations are in order," he said, with a distinct sneer in his tone.
"That's right," I said. "Gretchen and I are engaged."
Vince looked from one to the other of us. He chuckled, low in his throat. '
"Phil, you lucky guy you," he said. "You have won the prize package of them all."
Gretchen flushed a deeper pink and turned to walk stiffly away.
"Are you coming, Phil, or aren't you?" she asked icily.
Vince laughed. "Say, your beautiful bride-to-be isn't very friendly today. What's the trouble? I thought engaged girls were supposed to be happy."
"She was, Vince ... until you showed up. I wonder why." I stared at him.
He looked away, still smiling. Then he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, a kind of sinister, threatening hiss. "You'll learn, buddy boy. You'll wake up one of these days and know the truth. Let's hope it's not too late, shall we?"
"What's that supposed to mean, Vince? I don't like your insinuations or your tone."
All I got from Vince Bodine was a broad wink and a snorting laugh, and nothing more. He turned and walked away, in the opposite direction.
I stared after him, then trotted to catch up with Gretchen. I didn't know what to think, walking beside her. There was a mystery in the air. Something definitely was between these two, whether Gretchen wanted to admit it or not. My natural instinct told me so.
But I knew I would get exactly nowhere quizzing Gretchen. Not right this minute, anyway. I would have to bide my time and hope the enigma would eventually come to light in its own way.
Gretchen, apparently, was going to fulfill her promise. The one made this afternoon on the beach. Her father wasn't home tonight, and we had the entire Hammond beach mansion to ourselves. We had several, long, cool ones and we danced. She clung to me like a leech as we moved to the music of somewhat erotic sounding records which she had previously selected for the hi-fi. I knew she must be feeling my hard-on.
She wore a sarong affair from which her white legs flashed, and her sexy perfume was out of this world. Finally, we were on the patio and the mood was just right. The divan welcomed us as she pulled me down beside her.
"Gretchen...." I breathed. "Gretchen ... you're fantastically lovely."
Her delicate fingers caressed my face, my eyes, my ears.
"Do you love me so much, Phil? Do you really?"
"I adore you," I said hoarsely. "Gretchen, honest to goodness, I worship you."
This strange turnabout in her sexual attitude sent my blood boiling.
"Prove it," she said simply, reclining full length. She lifted her knees, causing the sarong to fall from her legs. In the moonlight, her white thighs were so earth-shakingly beautiful it was difficult to breathe.
She wasn't going to have to ask me twice. My kisses swept her. At first she trembled, then she moaned.
"Fuck me," she said. " ... Fuck me for all you are worth."
My frantic fingers maneuvered her out of the sarong and the halter. Then she watched, curiously, as I flung away my own clothes.
I moved down on her exposed, golden-bushed pussy, then hesitated.
"Should I use something?" I remembered to ask.
Just this bit of waiting was driving me crazy. I didn't want to use anything while we were having our first fuck, yet I didn't want to take the chance of making her pregnant, either.
Gretchen shook her head. Her soft hands reached for me. "What's the need?" she said softly. "Well be married soon anyway, and it wouldn't make any difference."
My horny excitement knew no bounds. I gathered her supine body into my arms. She was lush, warm. Her mouth opened to mine. Slowly at first, then deliriously, my tongue crept through and was caressed by hers. She shuddered and held me tightly. Her flesh moved against the rigid hard-on of my cock. A sense of impending explosion pounded in my brain.
Then I found her cuntlips sinking into the sweet warm depths of her vagina. She caught her breath as our lips clung. Her nails commended to dig along my arms and my back. Her long legs trembled, her ass began to undulate and to grind. I could hardly contain myself as I thrust my prick into her cunt up to the hilt.
Gretchen was glorious to fuck. And what a surprising female she was! I had wondered if she were capable of enjoying getting fucked. I had suspected that she might be one of those frigid cunts you hear about.
Now I knew she was nothing like that, that she was a warm, loving, fiery, normally erotic girl, whose beauty was a crown to sensuous screwing.
Her fervor of passion mounted as I thrust my cock in and out of her hot, wet cunt. Her teeth commenced to bite, to nibble excitedly. The mounds of her breasts became resilient, firm and hot beneath my chest. Her perfumed breath was sweetly wild and gasping.
She became adorably frantic with hump-lust. Now little squeals of ecstasy emitted from her throat, her nails dug deeper. She tensed, rushed into successive orgasm, twice, one immediately following the other. I was amazed at this wanton display. Even so, she didn't relax for one instant, but kept working her cunt up and down my stiff dong her mouth begging hotly under mine for more, more, more.
Hell, I thought happily, this girl is a regular glutton for cock. She thrives on it.
The crescendo of our passion continued in this state of mad ecstasy, until, at last, I could no longer fight that cloud of heady mist sweeping across my brain.
Our bodies were moving perfect, rapid rhythm. Suddenly I caught my breath and shot spurts of hot scum right into her cunt, in a bursting storm of exquisite fury.
Afterwards, we talked. I asked her again about Vince Bodine.
"Now, Phil, don't tell me you're going to start out being jealous of him. I told you, he means absolutely nothing to me. I hate him."
"But you'll have to admit you were pretty hot for him at one time," I insisted.
"Not anymore," she said, quickly. I knew she wanted to avoid the subject.
"Well, on the beach today I got the impression he felt that he had some kind of claim on you."
"I can't help what he claims," she snapped. "Can I help it if he still carries a torch for me?"
"Doesn't he ever phone you? Or try to come by to see you?"
She was silent for a moment, then she nodded. "Yes, he pesters me, but I always refuse," she admitted.
"I've told him a thousand times to leave me alone. He's nothing but a cheap gambler and I do not want anything to do with him."
I sensed that she wasn't telling the whole truth, but the subject seemed so upsetting to her, I decided to drop it. I wondered why I was troubling myself about what wouldn't matter. If I had any sense, I would be leaving well enough alone.
Gretchen said abruptly, "I feel crazy tonight-let's go swimming."
I laughed and nipped at her shoulder. "Why not?"
We left the patio and rushed, hand in hand, down the sandy slope to the water. We plunged in and goofed around for a while. I caught her to me and her body felt like a cool, slick, squirming eel. I kissed her laughing mouth, and the desire to fuck her again surged back in a torrent of eager, racing blood.
I dragged her back to the water's edge, pulled her down and shoved my cock into that lovely, warm moist cunt of hers again, while the small waves rose high enough to tickle along our sides to our hips.
"Oh, your prick's delicious, Phil," she squealed.
"You're delicious to fuck!"
The smooth, wet packed sand was firm under her asscheeks. There was no give at all. It was all such an exciting hump and so right.
"Oh...." she gasped. " ... Oh! Oh! Oh!...."
I covered her salty lips with my own. My thrusting cock and her cunt writhed in ecstasy, the wavelets lapping at our torsos in tantalizing fashion. We fucked like mad until we reached that spasmodic zenith of delirium that you suddenly find tearing you to pieces both mentally and physically, and then we both came together as I shot my second load into her twat, just as a larger wave rolled over us a splash of joyous, shocking glory.
We returned to the house. I dressed and left. It was three in the morning.
I hadn't driven two blocks when I noticed the headlights of the car right behind me. The idea came I was being followed. My first thought was of Vince Bodine. He had been a young tough back in school, and there was no reason to assume he had changed. When he was a kid, he had used his fists to have his way. Now he probably had graduated to more lethal weapons.
Of course I may have been allowing my imagination to run away with me-it might not be Vince behind me. Nevertheless, the sensation of danger persisted. I speeded the car up as a test. The car following me did the same. I was forced to the ultimate conclusion that Vince Bodine or somebody certainly was on my tail.
I wondered what I should do. That shouldn't be too difficult to figure, I decided. Simply stop and find out what was what.
I drove until I reached a streetlight, applied the brakes, halted. I waited. The other car eased around and pulled beside me.
It was Vince, and in the glow from his dash, the evil expression on his face was distinct.
"Something on your mind, Vince?" I threw across to him.
"Yeah, Phil. You-you and Gretchen."
"What about Gretchen and me?"
"She belongs to me, Phil. No other man is gonna fuck her or marry her. I thought it was about time to let you know, before you get yourself in real trouble."
"I don't follow you, Vince. Are you threatening me?"
"That's right, buddy-boy. I sure am. Take it for what it's worth. If you don't you're liable to wake up one morning, dead. Now I ask you a simple question: have you got my message?"
"You've made yourself clear enough," I admitted.
Vince Bodine kept glaring at me with a big-toothed grin; his slick, pencil mustache and cold, gray eyes made me feel real jumpy. His smile was anything but warm, instead it intensified the cold, sinister menace he projected. I wondered how long he had been following me.
Could he possibly have seen us fucking away on the patio? Spotted our bodies writhing in the abandoned ecstasy of our naked embraces on the divan? Or did he see our gleaming bodies as we screwed on the beach? Gretchen and I had frigged away like crazy, like a couple of South Sea Islanders, secure in our feeling of privacy. Now I had to face the possibility that the jealous Vince had played the role of Peeping Tom at my first hump interlude with Gretchen.
I realized I'd have to watch out for him from now on. Gretchen and I would have to be careful when and where and how we screwed. Vince Bodine was a dirty fighter from way back.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was in bed when the phone rang and I jumped out clad only in my shorts to answer it. My cock stood up straight and almost went off the moment I heard Babbs' sultry tones. The vision of her swaying, abundant breasts, and her exciting, jiggling asscheeks, temporarily blotted out all my other worries.
"How come you're up this early-or haven't you been to bed yet," I quipped.
"Why not come up and see for yourself?" Babbs answered with an unmistakable frigging invitation in her voice.
"I'll be right over to catch up where we left off last time," I replied.
With my prick's radar eagerly directing me, I got to her place in record time.
When Babbs opened the door of her Lido Towers apartment, she looked breathtakingly fuckable in her pink bikini. I grinned in quick appreciation.
"Well, here I am, honeybunch-Johnny-on-the-spot."
"Come in, Phil," she said, turning to smile as I walked in past her. She closed the door and leaned against it, studying me.
I looked her up and down, said, "You know what?"
"What Phil?"
"You look kind of ravishing this morning. Why the bikini?"
"To give you a hard-on with, silly."
She laughed and came and pressed herself against me, putting her arm around my neck and kissing me warmly. She wriggled her twat against me, and I started to get weak all over. It was hard to remember what I had come for.
"Honey, what's the big mystery you mentioned?" I asked. "What's so important that you had to see me about right away?"
She kissed me again. "Maybe it was just a trick to get you here."
I studied her sardonically. "I don't think so. Something else is on your devilish little mind."
"You're right, darling-there's something you have got to know about."
"Like what?" I asked.
She had put her arms around my chest and my back, hugging me close. "Why?"
"Oh, let it wait a while," she murmured.
"Why?"
"Because when I tell you, you might get upset and want to run off, and I'm not ready for you to leave just yet."
"No? Why not?"
"Because I've been thinking about you, and missing you."
"Oh, is that so?"
"I keep remembering that you were the first man in my pussy, Phil. And you want to know a secret? A girl never really forgets the first man in her pussy. Did you know that?"
"Seems I've heard something of the sort, but I never put much stock in it."
"Well, darling, it's true-believe me it is."
"Hey sugar-what's all this leading up to?"
Babbs leaned back, her cunt and bush still deliciously pressed against my cock. She giggled and avoided the question.
"Let's make love," she said.
I looked at her. She was giving me a terrific hard-on already. I smiled and said, "Well, it's kind of early in the day for fucking, but I suppose I could manage it."
We bumped hips playfully, heading for her bedroom. Once there, she allowed me the pleasure of peeling her wonderful body out of the bikini. She became breathless when I kissed her sweet nipples and gorgeous tits.
Then, while she lay nakedly supine on the bed, I sampled every luscious, tempting inch of her. She wriggled, giggled, turned passionate. She begged me to take her as my tongue worked its way between her cuntlips and tickled her clitoris.
"I can't wait," she cried.
When I shoved my prick into her hot, wet cunt-hole she was breathlessly exciting to fuck. She was an expert now, too, which made it even better. Every twist, every little clutching movement of her vagina made me gasp with sensuous pleasure.
I closed my eyes, shutting off the least important ... for the moment ... of my senses, the better to enjoy the sense of feel in my hot dong. Minute by searing minute, she raised my temperature until the entire universe seemed beautifully hot and whirling and lost. When the lust heat, the intense friction, grew unbearable, we clutched each other, holding on tight for a wild, wild come which made her shriek with joy as my cock spurted its load of hot scum up her cunt.
"Now tell me the deep dark secret you've been holding me in suspense about," I demanded. "I've given you a real nice hump!"
She flung a leg across me, laid her head on my arm, and rubbed my chest with one hand.
"You're not going to like what I felt I ought to tell you, Phil," she demurred. "You're going to be shocked."
"Try me and see."
"Promise you won't hold it against me that I am the one who told you? It's something you really should know."
"I won't hold it against you. That's a promise."
Babbs remained silent a moment. Then, 'That girl you're going to marry ... Gretchen Hammond?"
"Yes? What about her?"
"I know something you apparently don't know." I was curious. "Like what, for instance?"
"You're not going to like this, Phil." 'Tell me anyway."
"Well, she's ... she's pulling a trick on you, Phil. A dirty trick-believe me, I know."
"What the devil are you getting at, Babbs? Trick? What kind of trick? What are you trying to say?"
"You might not even believe me-and I won't blame you if you don't. But I feel it my duty to reveal it to you, because it is the truth?"
"I'll believe you-what is it, this great mysterious secret you keep hedging around about?"
She sighed, deeply. "Well, here goes nothing. Hold onto your hat, Phil. This girl you are going to marry ... Gretchen ... is shacking up and screwing like crazy with another man."
"She what!" I sat bold upright, glaring at her.
Her lower lip trembled. "It's true, Phil. Whether you want to believe it or not, it's true. I happen to know."
"You're lying, Babbs! I don't know why, but you're lying. You don't even know Gretchen Hammond. I bet you never even met her."
"Oh, I've met her all right. We're not bosom friends, but I've met her. And I'm telling you there's another man fucking her!"
"Who? Who is he?"
"You remember Vince Bodine, don't you? He went to school with us."
"I remember," I stared dumbfounded. "But Gretchen can't stand him. She hates Vince Bodine ... has hated him for a long time."
Babbs shook her head, sadly, reached to touch my cheek. "Maybe she does hate him. Maybe she can't stand him, Phil, dear. But I'm telling you she meets him and very nicely sucks his cock for him and fucks with him."
"You're crazy! How can you be sure?"
"Very simply," she said. "Vince and I run in the same circle. He-he helps me locate ... customers. And sometimes I let him have the use of this apartment for his private humping. Do you know who he brings here mostly to screw?"
I held my breath. "You don't mean...?"
"Yes, I do mean...." she said. "None other than your virginal bride-to-be, Gretchen Hammond."
I couldn't find words to express my thoughts. Words dark enough or explosive enough.
"There's something else, Phil, while I'm at it. You want to be careful Vince Bodine has been in love with Gretchen Hammond all his life. He is a dangerous man. And he's sworn that he'll kill any m-n who comes between Gretchen and him."
I looked at Babbs and tried desperately to find untruth in her blue eyes. I couldn't, I grew weak.
I never felt so absolutely confused and stupid before in my life. Why was all this happening to me?
She reached her arms around my neck and held me tight.
"I'm sorry, darling," Babbs tried to soothe. "Honestly, I am."
Gretchen was furious when I told her of the accusations made by Babbs. She denied them, emphatically.
"There's no truth to it whatever!" she fumed. "I can't imagine you even listening to such lies from a dirty whore!"
I sincerely wanted to believe Gretchen. It did seem fantastic that she would be fucking Vince Bodine at Babbs apartment. It was incongruous with her social position, that she would take such a chance. To be caught and exposed would mean immediate disgrace to her and her father as well.
The wild idea came to me that Vince Bodine might possibly be blackmailing Gretchen, that he was forcing her to meet him and screw in the apartment. Then more questions arose. If this were so, could Babbs be mixed up in it somehow? In the blackmail scheme? If there was one at all?
But what could Vince and Babbs possibly have on Gretchen. I wracked my brain for an answer and came up with exactly zero. It simply didn't make sense. What else then?
How about Babbs? What cause would she have for lying? Was it possible she had some ulterior motive, that she hated Gretchen for some reason? I just didn't know couldn't even begin to figure it out.
Gretchen then asked me point-blank. "What were you doing at that awful girl's apartment anyway, Philip Overton? Answer me that, if you please! I know perfectly well what Babbs is ... nothing but a cheap prostitute who sells her body for money!"
I had to give this some quick thought. I explained that Babbs had sent me a message, had purported it to be of extreme importance, and had said that I should see her immediately if I knew what was good for me.
"I went to see her and she told me these things," I wound up.
Gretchen snorted. "Is that all you got from her? Just these silly accusations? Are you sure she didn't give you something else while you were threr? I always suspected, even when we were in school together, that she was crazy for you. I bet you went and fucked her while you had the opportunity."
"Don't be absurd," I told her. "There's nothing between Babbs and me and there never has been."
"I'll bet!" Then she added, "Well, we may as well get this straightened out right now, once and for all, Philip Overton ... are you going to believe that blonde prostitute Babbs, or me? Which?"
Before answering, I remembered a lot of things. I remembered that my forthcoming marriage to Gretchen would solve a lot of problems ... That my marriage into the Hammond family was what my Granddaddy Cass wanted, it was what Gretchen's father wanted, it was what Gretchen apparently wanted, and it was certainly what I wanted.
I not only felt that I love Gretchen, but I liked the bright prospect looming in the future. Not the least of which was money in addition to the gorgeous piece of ass Gretchen was.
The Overtons-Granddaddy Cass and I-had been poverty-stricken for much too long a time, as it was. I was sick of being broke. The Overton blood coursing through my veins called for a certain amount of finery, the luxuries which only a sufficient quantity of do-re-mi can supply.
As it was, I already had come to see myself practically heading up the entire Hammond Enterprises, living in Conrad Hammond's luxurious beach mansion and crawling into bed each night with Gretchen's exciting cunt, screwing it until I was blue in the face.
Since Gretchen was still awaiting an answer, I grabbed her and kissed her.
"Of course I believe you, sweetheart," I assured her. "I never doubted you for a minute. I just wanted to hear the truth from your own lips. Am I forgiven?"
She allowed me to cool her down ... and I finally had her purring. But after I left her that day, my doubts still troubled me. I knew I should not be giving the whole ugly business a second thought. Yet things like that keep eating away at a man's craw.
When I took my problem to wise old grandfather, he frowned and blurted, "Why, you crazy nut, what if she is meeting somebody else? Why should you care? You're not in love with her I hope! For heaven's sake, don't let that happen. All our plans would be spoiled! Our aim-just in case you've forgotten-is to destroy those friggin' Hammond's, not to love them."
"You're going to marry into the family, go to the top of the Hammond business, learn everything there is to know, and then well tear it down ... him and his daughter, both. Revenge-that's what I want. That man has been a pain in the ass to the Overton clan since the day he was born. He's got to be stopped, made to suffer. He's got to be pulled off that high horse of his and taught a thing or two."
I looked at Granddaddy and didn't know what to think. His motives left me frustrated. His purposed and mine were not the same. But I knew it wouldn't do to tell him this. If I gave him my reasons for wanting to marry Gretchen Hammond, if I pointed out that I loved her and enjoyed fucking her, he might even have a stroke.
"All the better if she is fucking with some other man," Granddaddy pointed out. "When the right time comes, well expose them, disgrace her and at the same time jerk the rug from under her arrogant old man. Golly me, boy, I can hardly await the day! I've dreamed of it too long already!"
So my grandfather didn't turn out to be much of a solace to me at this time. I still wanted to believe that Gretchen was innocent of the accusations brought against her by Babbs. I hated to imagine her meeting Vince Bodine in Babbs' apartment, going to bed, fucking with him, letting his hands feel her body. I loathed the thought of Vince kissing her tits, caressing her cunt, being fucked by her, in return.
So I had to let the matter drop. I had to force myself to the decision that Gretchen was telling me the truth, and that Babbs had lied. I had made up my mind to marry Gretchen, come what might. I was going through with it. There was too much to lose by allowing myself to be swayed by unproven statements that claimed she was screwing on me.
To hell with Babbs. She was just a whore, and she was probably lying to me for her own reasons. What they were didn't matter. I could live without knowing. Why should anything regarding Babbs really mean anything to me anyhow?
The office in which my future father-in-law installed me was large and imposing. It was done in the latest modernistic style, heavy on pine paneling, hidden file cabinets, an intercom system on my massive desk, a three-hundred dollar swivel chair for my executive ass, and a well-stocked liquor cabinet for my convenience. Also, a well-stacked secretary, attractive and sexy enough to keep any young up-and-coming businessman from falling asleep on the job.
Faye Baker came equipped not only with a remarkable proficiency in shorthand and typing, but also with the most appealing pair of tits in the entire real estate industry, I was sure.
She obviously enjoyed displaying them to me. She knew the real estate business upside down and sideways, which made her a tremendous asset to the company.
She was married, but she didn't work hard at it. Being what any man would call a tempting piece of ass, she played it to the hilt. Whenever she faced me, taking dictation, she kept those enticing legs crossed for my benefit. I was forever on the edge of getting a big hard-on. She would look up and smile impishly, as though reading my mind. This kept me in a constant state of acute frustration, if it kept up I'd have to jerk off in the executive bathroom and waste a good load....
I wasn't sure whether or not I could take a chance of making a play for her. She had me hopping with the kind of itch that you can't scratch, but I had to keep in mind that she had been working for my prospective father-in-law for a long time. Going by the fabulous salary she was dragging down, she must either have cock-sucked the old boy regularly or she must stand very solidly in his good graces.
After a couple of weeks of this acute discomfort, one day it happened. She brought the subject up herself. Her approach practically startled me out of my pants.
"Mr. Overton," she asked, leaning forward, "would you mind too much if I called you Phil?"
"Of course not, Faye," I said warmly. "I wish you would."
"There's one more little thing," she persisted, tossing her mane of brunette hair and gazing at me coyly through narrowed green eyes. "When, if ever, are you going to make a pass?"
I gulped and stared. "I didn't know you expected me to."
"Well, my feminine pride is going to be sorely wounded if you don't," she said, with a rueful laugh. "You'll be the first boss I ever had who didn't. But I'll forgive you because I'm sure I can guess your reason. You're afraid I might talk, aren't you-that I might get you in Dutch with Mr. Hammond and with the charming Gretchen ... isn't that correct?"
I smiled sheepishly. "Could be. You could very easily upset my well loaded applecart in that little old orchard."
She hitched her skirt an inch or two higher, giving me a glimpse of creamy bare thighs practically up to her pussy. In another minute, my eyes would have to be pushed right back into their sockets.
"Have no fears, lover," she jibed, half seriously. "I would have just as much to lose as you. If Mr. Hammond suspected for one moment that I would even dream of having a hump with you ... his own daughter's fiancee ... he could tie the can to me as of right then. With a husband who would have to be told the reason for my dismissal, you don't think I would want that, do you?"
This made sense. I nodded.
"So where does that leave us, Faye?" I asked.
Her smile was teasing. "Right where we should have been weeks ago you on top of me! Shall I put the latch on the door so no one can interrupt our ... dictation?"
"Please do," I urged fervidly.
She did. When she returned, walking with that old Swiss movement, I swung my knees out from under the desk and patted my lap.
"Why don't we wind up the few letters I have left, with you sitting here?" I suggested. "I'm sure you will find it a lot more comfortable than that hard chair."
"Okay. Who needs a hard ... chair!" she giggled, coming toward me.
I pulled her ass down onto my lap. Then I took the dictation pad and the pencil from her and threw them onto the desk top.
The perfume she wore was intoxicating. It wafted exticingly from the area of her ample breasts. I kissed the valled between those soft, white titties. She let her head rest against my shoulder, that fiery red hair of hers teasing my throat.
"This is more fun than working any day, isn't it, Phil dear?" she cooed.
"Much, much more, Faye," I said with mock solemnity, feeling my prick getting stiffer with a tremendous hard-on. I kissed her full parted lips lingeringly, and she squirmed with delight.
Then my hand was following the smooth, sweet contours of her knees, the long, lush line of her thighs, until my fingers gently parted her cuntlips.
Surely, this was the kind of sex-life all good young executives were entilted to lead.
Beginning with that makeshift ... but highly satisfactory ... quickie screw on the narrow office couch, Faye and I hit it off like Romeo and Juliet ... even better. We took to spending our lunch hours together, fucking away in a neat little motel unit on the outskirts of town.
Since I was now considered an executive, however minor, at Hammond Enterprises, there was no one to reprimand either of us, however long we "lunched."
Since this meant that Faye didn't have to make excuses to her husband in order to slip out nights to meet me, this worked out very well. It worked out fine for me, too, in that I didn't have to explain to Gretchen whenever I found myself in the mood for the highly competent cunt of my versatile secretary.
Faye and her husband, Pete, had no children. Pete worked as a house detective at one of the larger beach hotels. The idea of fooling around with the wife of a professional snooper didn't set too well with my sense of self-preservation, but I brushed aside my qualms. What the hell? If you want to enjoy the smell, the velvety feel of roses, you have to brush aside a thorn or two now and then.
"Don't worry about Pete," Faye attempted to reassure me. "He's not very smart. And the last thing he would suspect is that I would be unfaithful."
She laughed, kicking her legs deliciously on the bed in the motel room and displaying her naked cunt. "Pete thinks I'm the only virtuous female in town."
"What kind of a man is he, otherwise?" I inquired, hurrying out of my clothes in anticipation of a frantic "lunch interval" here with Faye and her yummy tits, ass and cunt.
"You'd never guess," she said, holding her hands out toward me, wriggling one of her fingers for me to hurry. "Pete is one of those health fanatics. He's always taking exercises to build up his muscles. He's square ... in more ways than one ... and heavy set, but he really does have a marvelous physique. Still, it takes more than that to satisfy a girl like me."
I directed a mocking grin at that beautiful greedy face, that avid cunt.
"You mean he's got the build, but he lacks the prick to back it up, is that it?" I teased.
"Exactly, Phil," she said, seriously. "Pete doesn't care to fuck with me more than once or twice a month. He says it's destructive to a person's health. His attitude towards frigging is maddening! I was born too hot to trot! That's why there are two sexes ... so they can really hump together ... close together. That's nature in the raw, the way I love it. And as far as I'm concerned, I don't intend to let dear Mother Nature down. I made up my mind sometime back that if Pete wouldn't or couldn't keep me hump-happy, I would find other men who would be glad to help me out. Do you blame me, darling?"
The way she asked, and with her quivering tits and cunt asking for a lot more, there was only one possible answer.
"Not in the least," I said, emphatically.
Then I moved in beside her. I loved the warm feel of her satiny body in that air-conditioned room. Each delicious sensation in each sensational spot, made the next caress, the next move, further into her torrid cunt-zone even more exciting.
Boy, how that babe loved it! She loved to be, palpitating, while my hands moved over her bush-hair and parted her cuntlips slowly and sensuously. But it wasn't too long before her desire for stiff hot cock would soar way out of control. t
"Fuck me!" she always whimpered. "Please! Now!"
At this point in the delightful proceeding, I enjoyed torturing her just a little. I would continue to caress her clitoris until she was nearly out of her mind with passion. Finally, she climbed all over me like a hungry wildcat. I would laugh and simply lie there, my stiff prick throbbing in the air. Her whimpering lips would sweep fire all over my cock ... after which she would practically take it away from me and then shove it in her cunt.
Then we would play topsy-turvy. First she would be on top, then I. It was a great game humping her, with plenty of tumbling and wrestling, and the nicest part is that both players win.
All fucked out at last, we would take a shower together, grab a couple of candy bars before starting back to the office, and eat them for fast energy to carry us through the rest of the afternoon.
On one of these quickie hump-sessions Faye mentioned something that caught my interest immediately.
"Did you know that your grandfather and Mr. Hammond once were in a battle over a woman, Phil?" she asked.
"No, I didn't," I answered, perking up my ears. "How do you know this? Where did you hear it?"
"I didn't hear it. I read it."
"Read it? Where?"
Faye smiled and touched my lower lip. "Mr. Hammond keeps a diary in his private office safe. He forgot to put it away one time. I took the opportunity to steal a glimpse ... woman's unquenchable curiosity, you know."
I nodded reminding myself to keep a closer guard over my own private papers.
"What else did you find?" I asked.
"Not much. I only had a chance to read snatches here and there because Mr. Hammond remembered in a hurry that he had left it out and he came back to lock it up tight."
"Don't you recall anything else of the snatches you read?" I quizzed. 'Think, baby. You really have roused my curiosity now."
"Gosh, that's all I remember seeing," Faye said, frowning.
"Do you remember the woman's name?"
Faye gave that some thought. "I saw it, but I can't seem to bring it clearly to mind at the moment. Maybe it will come to me later."
"Keep trying. I would give a lot to know more about that woman. Who she was and anything else I can find out. As you probably know, my grandfather and Mr. Hammond have been enemies for years. My grandfather bitterly claims that Mr. Hammond tricked the Overton family out of all its real estate holdings ... but I have long suspected that there was more to their enmity than this. Is there any way in which we could get our hands on that damned diary?"
Faye shook her head, doubtfully. "I don't think so. Unless, of course, we got a professional safecracker to do the job for us. The only one who knows the combination is Mr. Hammond himself."
"He must have jotted down the combination somewhere, just in case he forgot it," I mused. "Couldn't you sneak a look around the office to try to find it?"
"He probably keeps it in his wallet," Faye said, sardonically. 'That's the natural place for a man such as he to keep a thing as important as that."
"I suppose you're right," I had to agree. "Well, doll, if you ever do get another chance at that diary, for my sake read fast and concentrate, then rush straight to daddy while you have it straight."
She kissed me, promising that she would. Then she wanted to drop the subject of the diary for another subject, more immediately intriguing. She put her arms around me, pushed me down, and climbed on my stiff prick.
With her lips brushing mine, she whispered, "Do you mind if I change the subject, Phil dear?"
I couldn't say anything. Faye was thrusting her pert, luscious breasts into my mouth. What a lunch, I thought as I kissed her appetizing nipples into ruby erection. As I mouthed her belly, I feel the heat waves from her shapely thighs as she straddled my cock.
She quickly enveloped my pulsing prick in the smooth, moist haven of her hot, wet cunt. Her thighs and buttocks swiveled as if they operated on ball-bearings, piling the thrills on my cock with every churning movement. As Faye wriggled into the home-stretch, my loins arched under her in a climaxing thrust into her twat as far as my pecker would go. As happy jets of scum fountained through my cock in torrential pleasure. Faye's cunt convulsed, wildly, pin-wheeling in the grip of mutual rapture.
"What a lovely lunch that was," she panted.
"That's because you never forget the waiter's tip!" I joked.
CHAPTER FIVE
These fabulous "Long Lunches" with my attractive, exciting secretary, Faye, were an exhilarating and satisfying pastime for my cunt-loving nature. But my thoughts kept reverting to the blonde Babbs. The utter femaleness of her body and her experienced fucking always sent me to prick heaven. In that department she was a top pro who really knew her business-screwing.
I found I couldn't shake the harpoon she had unwillingly stuck in my hide. The revelation she had made, about what Gretchen and Vince were pulling behind everyone's back, kept rankling me. I went to talk to her some more at the Lido Towers.
I sat and sipped the bourbon and water she had handed me.
"But it doesn't make sense, Babbs," I protested. "How can it possibly make sense?"
Babbs ran slim fingers through her blonde hair and shrugged. "How should I know?"
"How long have they been meeting and fucking here-if what you say is true? Very long?"
She considered my question while exhaling a puff of smoke from her cigarette.
"Oh ... at least a year, I would say offhand," she surmised. "Yes, I'm sure it's been all of that long."
I frowned. "Then, after all that time, surely you must know more about their screwing than what you have told me. If you're holding anything back, please cue me in on it. This thing worries me. I'm supposed to marry Gretchen Hammond ... and now I am being told she fucks regularly with Vince Bodine here at your place. How do you think that makes me feel?"
Babbs smiled sadly. "You're going to feel a whole lot worse than you do now, Phil, dear, if you wake up to the truth of what I have been telling you and find it out too late to rectify it ... after you and she are married, I mean. What would you be able to do about it then?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I still feel that there must be some explanation other than the obvious one. It's all so crazy, so unbelievable."
"All right, forget I ever mentioned it to you," Babbs conceded.
She crossed her legs and leaned back on the divan. She was wearing very brief red shorts and a wisp of a halter. She looked even more tempting to fuck than usual.
"I only told you what I did as a favor to you, Phil," she went on. "I thought you at least had a right to know. Well, now I've done my duty and you can take it from there or leave it, just as you choose. If you prefer not to believe me, if you consider me a liar, that's perfectly okay. My conscience is clear. Now why don't you just forget it? Why don't you march Gretchen to the altar, clinging to the belief that her cunt is as pure as the driven snow which has never even drifted? It doesn't matter a particle to me what you do. I just owed it to you to tell you what I know about how she's screwing behind your back! Now my job is done."
She shrugged, beautifully and eloquently.
I turned her words over in my mind as though they had weight ... and heat.
"Do you think they'll be meeting here again?" I asked.
"I doubt it," Babbs said. "Now that you've told Gretchen of what I have accused her, and now that she has denied it, she would be a fool to take a chance on fucking Vince here again. For all she knows, you might watch the place in an effort to catch them while they're screwing. Isn't that so?"
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
Babbs pulled one leg under her and grinnned at me.
"But don't take this to mean that I don't think they will manage to find a way of getting together and humping," she continued.
I raised my brows. "Like how, for instance?"
"Well, this isn't the only place in town where a pair of lovers can meet. There are thousands of hotel rooms, motels and whatnot where a couple could find privacy to screw I shouldn't think it would be too difficult, do you?"
"Are you suggesting that I follow her? Well, you can save your breath. That's out. I wouldn't think of such a thing."
Babbs laughed. "I didn't suggest anything of the sort, but it wouldn't be a bad idea. I bet if you followed her close enough you would learn plenty. Maybe enough to cause your hair to stand on end! Why not try it for kicks, Phil, darling? What have you got to lose? If your sweetie-pie, Gretchen Hammond, is as innocent as she would have you believe she is, why should she mind if you go to a little trouble to satisfy your curiosity?"
I grimaced. "It's not an ethical thing to do."
"No? Why not? If I were in her shoes and I claimed to be innocent as a new-born Iamb, I wouldn't mind for a moment if my future husband did a little checking on me to make sure I was all I made myself out to be. Actually, if I had nothing to hide, I think I would welcome the opportunity. I would be proud that my fiance would not be able to locate any stains on my reputation or on my character. So why should Gretchen mind?"
"I don't know," I debated. "I don't like the idea of snooping on anybody, especially my fiancee."
Babbs giggled wickedly. "Oh, stop kidding yourself, Phil, baby. And for Pete's sake, don't try to kid me! We both know perfectly well why you're so reluctant to "snoop", as you call it. It's really very simple."
"What kind of cute remark is that?" I demanded, angrily.
"You're afraid lover," she jibed. "You're afraid to dig too deeply for fear you'll verify the very things you hope aren't so!"
"You're crazy!" I sputtered, feebly. "Of course I'm not afraid! I just don't believe in spying."
"Ho, ho, ho!" Babbs mocked. "Now, aren't we the naive one? Well, suit yourself, darling. It's your problem, not mine. And, oh, by the way ... will you promise to keep something else under your hat if I tell you a real funny joke?"
I looked at her glumly, and nodded.
"Did you know that the Big Man himself comes to visit little ole me now and then?" she asked, tauntingly.
"That he finds comfort for his troubled pecker within these everloving arms of mine?"
She caressed with her hands as if she was holding a stiff cock to accentuate her point.
Even though I knew without asking, with what dignity I could muster, I had to say, "Who are you talking about?"
She fell, laughing, to a supine position on the divan.
"Can't you guess?" she howled. "Your future daddy in-law, that's who! And you would never guess what he pays me to shove his dick in my cunt! Three hundred bucks, no less!"
I stared at Babbs. I felt like going to her and choking the laughter out of that lovely throat of hers, to shut the sound forever.
One hot afternoon, several days later, I sat sweltering in my car while I peered intently in the direction of a certain motel on the far outskirts of town. I was sweltering partly from the heat, but far more from the fuming I was doing because of a most unpleasant discovery I had just made.
Two cars were parked side by side before the hotel unit I had just passed. One of them belonged to Vince Bodine; the other, the sports roadster, was the red T-Bird in which Gretchen usually scooted about the beach.
I was pretty shook up. I was forced to admit that they really were meeting and fucking. Babbs had been right. She had known what she was talking about when she had said that Gretchen and Vince would find a way to screw in privacy. I had been a prize chump. I hadn't wanted to believe it, and I hadn't wanted to snoop, to follow Gretchen and to learn the bitter truth.
Maybe it was a good thing that I had decided, at long last, to investigate. The opportunity to do so had arisen by mere coincidence. I had been downtown earlier and I had seen Vince pull away from the curb in his high-powered car. An impulse to tail him, too powerful to resist, had impelled me.
Lagging far enough behind so he wouldn't know he was being followed. I kept him in sight until he turned in at the motel which I now had under surveillance. The T-Bird had arrived ahead of Vince's car.
Vince had pulled up right behind the T-Bird, hopped out, and marched into the motel unit without so much as bothering to knock. I stayed parked where I was, unable to drive off, while mixed emotions chased each other around in my skull.
I could take direct and violent action, but what would it profit me? I debated storming in and breaking up their little fuck-party. But why? Why should I even bother? Why should I torture myself by having to look at them, screwing away in bed, maybe too busy to notice I had opened the door?
If I tried that, there would be a battle for sure. Vince was a cinch to carry a gun. Somebody might get killed ... and wouldn't that be a hell of a note? Especially if it were me.
I finally decided to sit it out, just to wait and see what happened. Mainly, I wanted to see them with my own eyes, both of them together, coming through the doorway to that motel room after they were through humping. That would be it ... no more doubts. I would know all that I had to know.
But even that idea pained me. I lit a cigarette and got progressively more uncomfortable. A lot was about to go down the drain. Marriage to Gretchen could have been the answer to everything. Yet, there always is the element of pride. A man and his stupid pride. You simply do not marry a girl who slips around fucking with your mortal enemies, no matter what other inducements.
Once more, I thought of Babbs. I owed that kooky little broad a debt of gratitude. If it hadn't been for her, I would have walked blindly into what could have turned out to be a real crazy mess.
But there was still so much that I didn't understand. Why did Gretchen want to marry me in the first place, if she were crazy for Vince? And if Vince and she were really in love, why didn't they just go ahead and marry? Even if Papa Hammond had objections, there was nothing he could do to stop them if that was what they really wanted.
I puffed on my cigarette and continued to ponder. The word blackmail again popped into my mind. Could Vince really have something on Gretchen, something that he was holding over her head? Something so important to her that she was helpless to refuse Vince whatever he demanded, including fucking her luscious body? But if Vince were blackmailing her, what could he possibly have on a sweet doll like Gretchen?
I would have given a lot to know the answer to that, if blackmail happened to be what Vince was pulling. I kept staring moodily at the motel unit and at the two cars parked before it. Maybe I ought to crash the party after all. If Vince were blackmailing Gretchen, perhaps I could bring the whole ugly business out in the open, do something about it find a way to get Gretchen off the hook.
I couldn't make up my mind. I wiped the sweat off my face with an already damp handkerchief. Damn, it sure was hot sitting here roasting my balls even with the car windows wide open. The temperature must have reached all of a hundred and fifty.
It didn't help my discomfort to picture Vince fucking his head off with his dirty prick in the cunt of the girl I was supposed to marry.
I had the most irresistible urge to get my fingers wrapped around his throat and to strangle him. I could almost see Vince and Gretchen screwing in there on that bed together, with Vince enjoying the tits and cunt of Gretchen's body which were supposed to belong only to me.
I continued to fume. I flung my cigarette away angrily and made up my mind that I was going in there and raise hell, come what may. Whatever happened afterward, at least I would have had the satisfaction of breaking up their torrid, long-drawn out hump-session.
Maybe Vince carried a gun, and maybe he didn't. I soon would find out. What the hell; a man can die only once.
But just as I was slipping out of the car, the door to the motel unit opened and Vince came out. I froze, watching, hating the thought of seeing Gretchen's face when she followed him. I was curious to see if she would appear happy or maybe just a little ashamed. Then I was knocked for a complete loss. Gretchen did not come out.
But Faye Baker ... my secretary ... did.
I stared and gulped wildly, wondering if the whole world had gone completely nuts.
Faye, who I thought was at work back in the office, got into the T-Bird and departed. Then Vince got in his car and raced off in the opposite direction. Neither saw me.
I didn't bother to yell greetings of cheer.
Feeling shocked, but at the same time experiencing a vast sense of relief, I, too, drove away. It had never occurred to me that Vince and Faye shared an intimate hump-relationship. Life was proving to be full of startling revelations. More every day! This boy, Vince Bodine, sure as hell got around. You never knew where his cock was going to pop up next.
Wouldn't it be gruesome if I were to learn that he was fucking with Faye, my private secretary, and with Gretchen, my supposedly private fiancee, both? Yet, unless Babbs had lied to me, this is exactly what this whoremaster must be doing.
I headed for the office. I intended to quiz dear Faye Baker plenty. Maybe, I would come up with some answers that way. I would raise hell with her for not holding down the fort, for reneging on her duties in my absence.
I was curious to know how she would go about trying to explain.
Later, Faye straightened some papers on my desk and tried to laugh off my irate denunciations of her highly questionable loyalty.
"How did you know I had been away from the office?" she asked. "Phil, do you have spies watching me?"
"Maybe I have and maybe I haven't," I said, sarcastically.
"I didn't think you would mind if I ran out for a few minutes," she protested.
I raised my brows. "A few minutes! My dear young lady, how do you arrive at such a peculiar sense of time? You were gone for a couple of hours at least!"
"Oh. Was it really so long?"
"It was."
"Are you very mad at me, Phil? I'm sorry."
"One of us should be in the office at all times. I don't see why you had to leave while I was gone. If Mr. Hammond had dropped by he wouldn't like finding the office deserted. It's no way to run a business."
"Oh, Phil ... please don't scold ... I won't do it again and that's a promise. Anyway, there's something you don't know which makes it not so bad as you think."
"How so?"
"Mr. Hammond did come by. He asked where you were, and I told him you were out surveying some property. I asked his permission to vacate the office for a little while. I explained that I had to go to pay a bill. He told me it would be okay and offered me his car to save time. He had driven down in that cute T-Bird of Gretchen's. And it was such fun driving it I guess I did stay away longer than was necessary. I just adore those little sport roadsters, don't you? They're so fast and zippy. I sure would like to own one."
She laughed. "I'd like a green one to match my eyes. Wouldn't that be the end!"
I snorted. "Then, perhaps Faye, you'll clear up just one more small mystery that is really plaguing the hell out of me!"
She looked at me askance. "Yes?"
"If you were so fond of driving that T-Bird why did you leave it parked in front of that motel just out of town?"
She paused and the color fled her face.
"I didn't!" she denied. "I took a drive along the beach. And I sped to see just how fast I could go...."
"Oh, come off it. Look, I saw you and the car!"
She flared. "Then you were spying on me! Oh, I can't stand sneaky people, chasing me and watching everything I do! It's none of your business!"
"I saw you by accident," I explained. "I was driving along and I saw the T-Bird in front of the motel. I recognized it as Gretchen's car parked and naturally was curious since it was quite surprising to find my fiancee's car parked in such a hot bedsheet place. So I waited and watched, expecting her to come out. There was another car, too. Vince Bodine's. So you can guess what happened. I saw you and Vince come out, and I will have to admit I was quite puzzled. How long have you and Vince been so buddy-buddy? You were in that motel room one hell of a long time. You were playing tiddly-winks I suppose?"
Faye paled once more. "I-I'd rather not answer, if you don't mind, Mr. Overton. As a matter-of-fact, it's none of your concern what I do or with whom I do it. Outside of this office, my life is my own. And I'll do with it what I please!"
I frowned. "I beg to disagree, not during office hours you can't, not while you're drawing pay from Hammond Enterprises. From nine to five, your time belongs to this firm. After five you're on your own and can fuck and suck whom you like, not before."
"Mr. Hammond told me I could leave," she snapped. "I had his permission ... and unless I'm mistaken, his authority overrides yours, Mr. Bigshot!"
"Would you like for him to know what kind of "bill" he loaned you his car to go pay? Do you want me to inform him? He would fire you in a minute, and you know it!"
Faye stared a moment through her aquamarine eyes. Then, flashing a smile at me, she came and petted my cheek.
"Oh, you wouldn't do that, Phil, dear. I don't think you'd dare."
"And why wouldn't I?"
"Don't be silly. If you told on me and got me fired, then it would be only fair, wouldn't it, that I would have the right to tell on you."
I glared, but I was curious. "And, Miss Screwball, just what do you assume you could tell him about me?"
"Why, Phil! I would have to enlighten him about us, of course."
"Us?"
Faye laughed and teased my lip with a dainty finger.
"Natch, silly!" she lilted. "What would I have to lose if you caused my dismissal? What would I lose be telling Mr. Hammond how you and I have been fucking away our lunch times together? I can imagine how enormously he would appreciate it, can't you? His future son-in-law humping with his secretary? Can't you just picture dear Mr. Hammond's face when he hears about this? Mr. Hammond-if you haven't already learned it-can become quite a nasty and vengeful individual, Phil. He crucifies people who cross him!"
I gulped, feeling the blood drain from my cheeks.
"You wouldn't tell on yourself-I don't believe you!"
She pinched my ear. "I wouldn't? Why don't you try me and find out, Mr. Overton? You'd be surprised at how vindictive I can be. Do you know what-I think Mr. Hammond still is in the building, somewhere. Why don't we call and tell him all the delicious frigging secrets we know about each other? Would you like to do that?"
I looked at the cock-crazy, smiling female and couldn't think straight. Finally, I had to shake my head and laugh.
I conceded. "You may be just nutty enough to try to go through with it."
She wriggled, sat on my lap, and kissed me.
"That's being a nice boy, Phil. I thought you would prove sensible. Kiss me back and let's be friends again. I like the way you kiss, darling. It kinds of sends me. Do it now ... really goody-good-good!"
"Listen, we've got to get some work done around here for a change. This is no time for...."
Her finger followed the curve of my mouth, mischievously, and her voice turned coy.
"Darling, if you don't kiss me, I'll be very unhappy," she murmured. "And when I'm unhappy, I get the wildest notions. I might ever go so far as to call Mr. Hammond in and tell him about how we've been fucking, regardless. So won't you please be a good boy and kiss me, Phil?"
I didn't like her insinuating tone, but I liked the rest of what she was dishing out. Her red lips were close, slightly parted. Palpitating, she awaited my decision. I knew that the moment bore drastic implications, namely, that if I relented and yielded to her demands for my prick, the balance of power between us would shift from my control to hers.
As I hesitated, her fingers crept to the intercom button.
I quickly decided it was wisest to be discreet right now. When I kissed Faye, she lifted her leg and jiggled around her juicy asscheeks so that she faced me. She quickly unzipped me and fondly caressed my ever-ready stiff hard-on. She hiked up her skirt and I could see she must have left her panties someplace, if she had bothered to wear any today.
Her smooth, expert thighs captured my pulsing cock in the velvet delight of her moist cunt-hole. She threw her arms around me and her twat churned with hungry desire as if she hadn't seen a cock for months. As Faye felt my prick thrust with the quick violence of a sudden ejculation of hot sperm ripping through my cock and balls her buttocks joined me with an ecstatic flurry. I steadied her wildly writhing ass so that she would not fall to the floor.
"I just love to take your dictation in this position, Mr. Overton," she panted in my ear.
CHAPTER SIX
I really liked Faye's womanly, desirable body, but since she was being cute about telling what she knew about Vince, I could be even cuter. By this time, I knew she was a hot little piece of ass who never could get enough fucking, practically a nymphomaniac. Once Faye got her cunt worked up to her boiling point, she just had to have whatever cock was with her follow through all the way, just like an addict needs a fix.
The next time we dashed off to the motel for one of our special lunches, I really started to give her the business. My lips and tongue lingered much longer on her tingling nipples than usual. Her curvaceous ass and cunt writhed in joyous torture as I nibbled those tasty tidbits, so to speak.
While softening her up in this manner, I brought up the question, "Faye, baby, I'm curious about something. Just what is this thing between you and Vince?"
"Jealous?" she teased.
"Who wouldn't be?"
"I'm glad," she gloated. "Glad you're jealous. I adore men to be jealous over me. It makes them such eager humpers."
I bit her thigh before relieving her of her perfumed and silken panties. She yelped, but she loved it.
"A man doesn't have to be jealous to go nuts over you, beautiful," I told her. "With a figure and a skin like yours, you've got it made. So be nice now and tell me about Vince."
"No," she protested with a giggle. "You're jealous and I want you jealous. I like to keep you in suspense."
"Are you in love with him?"
"You'll never know, Phil."
I gave up and removed her brassiere, taking those lush knockers of hers into my eager fingers. She was down to her birthday suit now, and I went after her cuntlips with hot hands and far hotter lips.
She writhed under my kisses, growing more and more ready for the big moment. Actually, so was I. But just before shoving my cock into her wildly-wiggling cunt-hole, a pregnant idea gave me pause. I refrained from climbing aboard, from shoving in the stiff prick her agonized gasps told me she had to have.
"Come on!" she pleaded. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! I can't wait another second, Phil! Fuck me!"
"You know, honey, I'm not quite ready," I forced myself to say. "I think I'll wait for just a little while."
"Phil ... please! You know I can't bear to wait when I'm like this! It tears my nerves to pieces. What's wrong? Why won't you shove it up my cunt?"
"I've got something bothering me," I said. "And I can't seem to get in the mood to really fuck when something keeps plaguing me?"
"You're crazy! What kind of question is plaguing ... What could be so important?"
"Vince," I informed her. "Vince Bodine. I keep thinking about you and Vince. I keep thinking that maybe you're in love with him."
"Phil, for goodness sake! Do you have to bring a thing like that up now?"
"I'm afraid so, doll. Why don't you tell me about it so we can go ahead and have ourselves a real good fuck?"
"Oh, you're horrible! You're absolutely horrible to do this to me. Phil, I demand that you shove it in me this very instant!"
I smiled and shook my head. "Sorry, honey. I simply can't get in the mood. It's impossible for me to even think of screwing you until I know all about you and Vince."
As I coaxed and held out, all at the same time, I continued to caress her all over her quivering tits and cunt, driving her further into her already tormented state of sensuous despair. She pleaded, coaxed, demanded relief from my stiff prick, but I refused to ease her pain, not even by one iota. Finally, she capitulated, was suddenly telling me in a rush of words.
"All right, damn you. I'll tell you!"
"Good. Now we're getting somewhere. Why did you meet Vince in that motel the other day? Just for the obvious reason of getting yourself laid?"
"Mr. Hammond sent me."
"Mr. Hammond sent you? Why?"
"He sends me with a sealed envelope once a month with instructions that it must be delivered directly into the hands of Vince Bodine."
"What does the envelope contain?"
"How should I know?" she wailed. "I told you ... it's sealed up tight, with plastic tape. I was curious enough to try to open it one day so I could see what the whole thing was about, but there was no way of doing it without it being noticeable."
"Then what you told me the other day about how you just happened to be driving the T-Bird was an out right lie?" I accused.
"Of course. Mr. Hammond told me to use the car to take the envelope to Vince."
"And after you did your duty as your boss directed, like a proper little secretary, you and Vince decided to have a little improper fuck, now didn't you? Since everything was so damned convenient ... the motel room and all?"
"What if we did?"
I decided to let that pass. "Would you say there was money in the envelopes you have been delivering to Vince?"
"That would be my guess," Faye agreed. "What's in them feels like a thick sheaf of bills."
"Cash?"
"That's what if feels like."
Who knows what cash feels like better than a woman?
"Then Hammond must be paying off Vince for something. Do you have any idea at all what it could be?" I asked.
Faye shook her head violently. "No! Now, please, Phil. Come on. I've told you all I know. Come on and put your pecker in my pussy, let's get the show on the road. I'm hurting!"
"And that's your only connection with Vince?" I insisted. I wanted to get all the information from her that I possibly could while the opportunity was in my grasp ... that is, while I had her cunt squirming with desire for my cock.
"Yes, yes, yes!" she fairly screeched, digging her nails into my shoulders. "I'm dying! Hurry up and fuck me, damn you, before I go nuts!"
I laughed and eased my cock in where it would do the most good, but I quit laughing in a hurry. It took all of my energy to keep up with her cunt's furious rock and roll.
She whimpered and moaned and raked my back until I couldn't tell whether it was blood or perspiration that I felt, but right now, I felt no pain, only the wonderful feel of her hot twat clasping my prick as it rammed in and out of her eager cunt. I gathered and crushed her so close that our rhythmically moving cock and cunt were practically welded, and I gave her all I had. The way she was thrusting and reaching and yowling low in her throat, like a wildcat, I had to.
Like a volcano about to erupt, it didn't take long. As extra damn good as this hump-session was, I would have liked it to go on for at least an hour, but you can't have everything.
Once her tempo increased to little less than the speed of light, I braced my cock as I shot a terrific load of scum right up her cunt....
I was ill-prepared for how quickly Faye cooled off. Where a few minutes before she had quivered with passion she now shook with fury.
"Damn you! You tricked me!" she yelled. "I wasn't supposed to tell anybody, not anybody, about that envelope I deliver once a month to Vince from Mr. Hammond. He made me swear never to tell!"
I tried to soothe her. "Don't worry about it, baby. Your secret is safe with me. And look, honey, speaking of secrets, you haven't by any chance had another crack at Hammond's diary, have you ... the naughty-naughty record he keeps in his private safe?"
"No, but I did remember to do one thing."
"What's that?"
"I found out for sure where he keeps the combination. I was right. He keeps it in his wallet. I saw him take it out once and glance at it. I know it was, because he immedaitely went over to the safe and opened it. It looked as though the numbers were written on the reverse side of a business card."
I frowned, concentrating. "I don't know how the hell I can get it away from him then, if that's where he keeps it."
"Neither do I, unless you hold him up and rob him."
"Yeah. Or get him plastered and have him rolled."
"I doubt if either would work. Robbery is too dangerous, and I don't think he drinks very much, very little in fact. Knockout drops would be even more dangerous than a hold-up."
I nodded glumly. "I agree. Still, I certainly would like to get at that safe and read that from beginning to end. I'm pretty sure it contains what could be valuable information."
"You mean about the woman?" Faye asked. "The one Mr. Hammond and your grandfather fought over?"
"You're so right, doll. That and anything else the diary might have on its more heat-proof pages. I suspect that there's a lot more dirt than meets the eye to the royal battle those two fought over the years. I'd like to get to the bottom of it."
I glanced at my watch and yelped. "Hey, we'd better get cutting! We've been fucking away here longer than our usual stay!"
"Well, it's all your fault!"
We climbed out of the rumpled bed, dashed into the shower and soaped and rinsed each other down, goofing around by feeling each other's most intimate parts like a couple of silly kids. Then we headed for the office, but fast.
Gretchen decided abruptly that our wedding would take place in two weeks.
"I see no need to put it off until fall as we originally planned do you, Phil?" she queried.
"Not in the least," I agreed. "As far as I am concerned, we can squirm back into our swim suits right now and go hunt a preacher to do the honors."
Gretchen laughed, and her cool, slim fingers squeezed my shoulder at the base of my neck. We lay on a blanket a short distance from her house, down the beach. A refreshing night breeze fanned in off the ocean, and there was just enough starlight to allow for my full appreciation of Gretchen's nearly-nude, delectable tits and ass.
A hump-session one short hour ago merely had warmed me up. Gretchen had been reticent at first, but my desire fanned hers into a raging flame. When a woman gets that warm, how can she stand to stay inside a bikini?
"Oh, Phil, you're awful!" she said, at first. "No!"
My answer was a long, drawn-out, increasingly torrid kiss which started her squirming. I lifted my mouth for a few seconds, then lowered it again to her now parted, quivering lips.
"You know you want it," I murmured, and heard her faint acquiescent moan.
Meanwhile, I was working the bikini down past the luscious breasts ... pausing to kiss the hardening, pink nipples ... past the gently curving hips, down the white, quivering thighs.
It took me about two seconds flat to strip off my shorts and I was on her, joining myself to her very ready passion.
I tried to make the hump last as long as I could, but the excitement was too intense. Within moments, our low-pitched wails of ecstasy as I shot my load of hot sperm into her eager cunt mingled with the sound of lapping waves. We lay panting, letting the ocean cool us.
"If we're going to continue fucking like crazy the way we do, it's senseless to postpone our wedding any longer," Gretchen said. "Suppose I should get pregnant?"
"Look," I pointed out. "You don't have to sell me on the idea. I'm for it one hundred percent. Do you think I can spend moments like this, with my cock frigging away inside you and not be in a rush to tie you up for keeps?"
"You're sweet, Phil. You really are."
"And you're beautiful," I said. "Smooth ... white as milk, a gorgeous titian in two places and entirely delicious ... just the way I like my women."
I leaned over her and she reached for my head, mussing my hair.
"Once we're married," she mused, with delightful lust in her tone, "well be fucking each other like this every night."
I growled playfully and bit her arm. "I'll never complain on that score, doll. You've got everything of which a real he-man like me never tires."
"You better be right, lover, because I intend to make you prove it."
I rolled my weight off her, lit a couple of cigarettes, and handed her one. A question darkened my mind.
"Do you think Vince will cause trouble when he hears?" I asked.
"Why do you have to bring him up?"
I could sense her slowly rising, but very evident, tension.
"Vince can go to hell for all I care," she snapped. "I wish he would drop dead."
"Seconded," I agreed dryly, "But I doubt that he will oblige."
She half rose. "What's wrong, Phil? Are you afraid of Vince?"
I looked at her. "Not afraid, doll, just cautious. I wouldn't put anything past that creep. He undoubtedly considered himself in love with you and he wants you all for himself. A man such as he is is capable of anything. He's already made some pretty serious threats, you know."
"Vince is just bluffing," Gretchen scoffed. "He wouldn't try anything really drastic. He knows that my father could and would smash him."
"Perhaps," I nodded, doubtfully. "Let's hope so."
I wanted to ask Gretchen if she had any ideas concerning the sealed envelopes her father sent Vince every single month, but I figured I had better not. I had promised Faye I wouldn't mention the envelopes to anyone. Besides, I was pretty sure Gretchen would be as much in doubt as to its possible contents as I.
So I changed course and quizzed her instead about any rumors she might have heard regarding a falling out that her father and my grandfather once had over a woman.
"It happened a long time ago," I hastened to add, "but I can't help being curious."
"No," Gretchen answered, obviously puzzled. "I never heard of anything like that. A woman? I know there had been a great deal of animosity between your grandfather and my father, but I understood it was through business dealings, only."
I backed off quickly. "Well, it's not important. It's just a rumor and I wondered about it. Probably not a word of truth in it."
An hour later, I helped Gretchen back into her bikini which clung to her curves like a second skin, walked her back to the Hammond mansion and took off.
As I drove away, doubts continued to ferment in my mind like wine working in an earthen crock. Did I want to marry into the Hammond clan, without knowing all the answers? An insistent warning sounded throughout my consciousness. One rotten apple can spoil the whole barrel. One circumstance to my definite disadvantage would screw me without the kiss.
I couldn't forget the warning that Babbs had given me about Gretchen and Vince using her sumptuous Lido Towers apartment as a rendezvous for their red-hot frigging get-togethers.
I still didn't believe Babbs, but dark thoughts in my subconscious mind kept rising up to heckle me. It would be pure hell to bind myself legally to Gretchen, then discover, too late, that Babbs had been telling the truth all along.
Next on my list of immediate problems was Conrad Hammond's diary. I itched to get my hands on it for about thirty minutes. It could contain answers to many of my questions. I had a feeling it did. A man's innermost secrets are scribbled without hesitation in his diary. I would give anything within reason to know some of the secrets penned by my prospective daddy-in-law!
But how to get my mitts on the diary ... that was a tough one, even for me. Mr. Hammond kept the combination to the safe, which in turn held the coveted diary, in his inaccessible wallet. Let's face it; a man and his wallet are practically inseparable. You can get at his wife's cunt far more easily. Unless force is used ... or some element of intrigue.
At that moment, an inspirational idea hit me like a club, only wrapped in velvet.
At the next corner. I turned left and drove parallel with the beach. Suddenly, I had business at the Lido Towers that just couldn't wait.
I can't say that Babbs was exactly overjoyed to have me barge in on her at two o'clock in the morning. She told me she had come in late, had showered, and had just crawled into bed.
"I was almost asleep when you pounded on the door," she complained. "I almost didn't answer your knock."
She plopped on her divan. The blue robe she had wrapped around her fell away, exposing a teasing expanse of leg and of soft white thigh.
I smiled, unable to lift my gaze.
"Nice," I commented, appreciately. "One thing about you, Babbs no matter what time of day or night it is, you always look good enough to eat."
Babbs glared, "Philip Overton, if you've come here at this hour of the morning with fucking or sucking on your mind, I'm damned well tempted to make you put hard cash on the line for your pussy just like anybody else. Why the hell shouldn't I?"
I moved in beside her and patted her knee. I intended to do it as a soothing gesture, but with the combustible Babbs, you never know.
"Oh, come on now," I coaxed. "You wouldn't put a price tag on your cunt for me, would you, beautiful? We're close friends from way back, not just business acquaintances."
Her blue eyes, matching the deep blue of her robe, studied me.
"I have often wished that we had never fucked that first time," she said. "Why?"
"Because you can be such a frigging headache to me on occasion, in case you don't realize it."
I laughed. "Okay, sweetheart, so relax. If you refuse to fuck for me, how about giving me something else?"
"Like what, for instance?"
"I need a favor. A big one."
"Oh? What kind of favor?"
I captured her hand and held it. "You told me that Conrad Hammond visits you once in a while, right?"
She nodded. "So what is that to you?"
"He's got something I need, and I think you can get it for me."
I explained about the diary, about the safe, about the combination to the safe which Hammond kept in his wallet at all times. Babbs began to see the light.
"And you want me to snitch it from him, is that it?"
"That's it," I said bluntly. "You're the only person I know who is qualified to separate Conrad Hammond from his britches. And once you do that, maybe you can find a chance to sneak that combination out of his wallet. It's written on the reverse side of a business card, and it shouldn't be too difficult to locate."
"Why are you so anxious to get your hands on his diary?"
"Personal reasons," I hedged. "You wouldn't be interested. Well, how about it, baby? Will you help an old friend, or won't you?"
Babbs sniffed. "A friend? Sometimes I wonder. I could probably swing it for you right enough, but it would be pretty risky. If he caught me at it, I would lose one of my best customers. Tell me, Phil, dear, what's going to be in this job for little Babbs? I can't afford to take chances like that for nothing."
I kissed her warmly. "All I have to offer is heartfelt appreciation. The Overton fortune, as you probably know, is at an all-time low. I have very little cash, but I'll make it up to you later, somehow. That's a promise and it's one you can count on."
"A girl can't live on promises, Phil."
"Okay, then, do it for kicks," I said.
"Not this chick, lover. This isn't Charity Hall, I have to make a living."
I turned glum. "Then you won't do it?"
"I haven't said I wouldn't, have I?"
"But gathered...."
"I've been thinking, Phil. There is a method whereby you can repay me."
I raised my brows. "And just what is the method?"
It was Babbs' turn to smile.
"How would you like to be a father?" she asked.
"What!"
"Just what I said ... a father!"
"What in the hell are you talking about ... whose father?"
"My son's father, that's whose. You didn't know I had a child, did you, Phil?"
"You've got a kid? Since when? I never heard anything about you having a kid!"
"Well, for you information, darling. I imagine there are quite a few things you don't know."
"I'm beginning to believe it. You know, Babbs, you're not only good to look at, but you're just full of surprises. Have you got just the one child? Or could there maybe be half a dozen others?"
"Don't be cute. Just the one."
"Hell, I didn't even know you had ever been married."
"I haven't."
"Oh." I had to smile. "Then somebody must have gotten damned careless with his cock."
"That's right. And don't "look so damned smug. It could happen to anyone."
I nodded. "Sure, it could, baby. Well, what's this father bit you're suggesting?"
Babbs explained that an aunt and uncle of hers who lived in a town nearby were taking care of the boy for her.
"My aunt and uncle are the only ones who know that my child was born out of wedlock," she said. "We've had to do a lot of lying in order to protect the boy. To do this, we've spread the word around that his father is in Europe most of the time on a government mission for the navy. So far, no one has doubted the story. But now, certain nosey people around the neighborhood are beginning to ask questions, and my aunt thinks it would be a good idea to have some man show up at least once in a while, playing the part of the father, to quell suspicion before it gets out of hand."
I frowned. "So you want me to trot along there with you, pretending to be your husband?"
"Yes. I only want to protect the child."
"How about later, though," I asked. "You can't fool people forever."
Babbs' piquant face looked wistful, even a little sad. "Later will have to take care of itself. Anyway, there's my problem. Well, what do you say, Phil? Do you want to make a deal? I'll get that combination you want. In return, you'll go with me and play the part of my husband."
"How long would we have to visit this offspring of yours?"
"Not long. Just a day, maybe overnight."
I gave the idea a quick flip-over in my mind. I didn't see any reason why I couldn't accommodate Babbs in this little problem of hers.
"Sure, it's a deal," I told her. "How old is the kid?"
"Four."
"What's his name? I had better learn his name and get it down pat so that when we get there, I won't be calling him Joe if his name happens to be Hal."
"You won't have any trouble there," Babbs promised, giving me a sidewise glance. "His name is Phil-the same as yours."
This jolted me. I looked at her quickly. "Phil?"
"How did you decide to pick my name, for Pete's sake?"
She laughed. "It was the first one that came to mind."
Suddenly, I was suspicious, damned suspicious.
"Now look here, Babbs," I said, angrily. "You're not trying to pull a fast one, are you? You're not going to try to pin the blame for this kid of yours on me, are you? If you are, it's not going to work."
She shook her head, violently. "No, never fear."
"He's not ... mine, is he?" I asked hesitantly. "I mean ... it's about four years ago that you and I had that first hump of ours together...."
"No, Phil. You can relax. He's not yours."
I sighed, in profound relief. "Frankly, baby, for a minute there you had me pretty worried. Well, what last name have you given him? I have to know what to call myself."
"Same as yours," Babbs giggled. "Overton. You may as well know the whole truth. I named my little boy Philip Overton. I didn't think you would mind. In fact, I thought you never would have to know. But I wanted him to have a prestige name, and in this state, the Overton name is second to none. You don't really mind too much, do you?"
By this time, I really had paled.
"Gosh, Babbs, I don't know," I protested. "I just don't know what to say about a thing like this. Look, are you certain the kid isn't mine? Why didn't you give him his real father's name?"
"Simple," she said and looked down at her hands. "His real daddy wouldn't have wanted it that way. I'm sorry, Phil; sorry now that I did it. I realize that I had no right, but it's too late to change anything. His birth certificate shows his name as Philip Overton, and that's the way it's going to have to remain. You're not going to be too angry with me are you Phil?"
All I could do was stare, my mouth hanging open. For once in my entire screwball existence, so help me, I couldn't think of one damn thing to say.
Leaving Babbs' apartment not long thereafter, still in a mixed-up state of emotions and feeling plenty stupefied, I took the elevator down, left the building and walked dizzly to my car. When two men stepped out of the shadows and grabbed me, I was caught completely off-guard.
A strong pair of arms entwined about me from behind, slid upward from my armpits, and in less than half a second, I was helpless in a hammerlock of such force that I felt certain my neck would crack. I had sense enough immediately to cease struggling. I thought of yelling, but how the hell do you yell with your head bent forward so excruciatingly far that your nose is mashing against your breastplate?
"Well, now, that was quick and easy enough." It was Vince Bodine's voice and it spoke from close by, right in front of me. "I have to hand it to you, Pete, you really know your stuff. That's the idea, just hold our stupid friend opened up like that so I can take a few practice punches into his gut."
He laughed nastily. "Phil here didn't think I meant business when I told him he would never live to marry Gretchen Hammond, did you, Phil boy? Well, it's too late now. You should have listened."
The way my head was bent, I couldn't see his face. All I could see was his eyes as he took a forward step. Then he swung his fist into my belly and my lungs gushed air and the lights in my brain turned red.
At long last, I was conscious of trying to suck some good old fresh ozone back into my lungs, but it was rough going. I struggled briefly. The guy called Pete merely tightened his hammerlock and I felt my neck vertebrae crackle and pop.
Hanging onto consciousness by a mere thread, I heard Vince say, "You know something Phil-this is what I call a real pleasure. I've been wanting for a long time to beat you to a pulp. You damned Overtons always thought you were so hot, so high and mighty, so much better than anybody else."
He swung again quickly, and the one small bubble of air I had managed to swallow never had a chance to reach my previously-emptied chest cavity. He stepped back and laughed again.
"Hell, he doesn't even fight back, Pete. How about that? He just lets a guy pound him, and he doesn't even try to defend himself! Always knew anybody by the name of Overton was yellow."
The man called Pete grunted. "Come on, let's get this over with before somebody comes along."
"Oh, hell, no hurry!" Vince said. "I'm having fun and I don't want to rush it. I want to take my time beating hell out of this simpleton. I have to teach him a couple of lessons he'll never forget."
"Such as, when I say something I mean it. I told him once to stay away from Gretchen, that she was my personal property, but you know what, Pete? The stupid bastard wouldn't listen. Now he has even managed to con Gretchen into setting a date for a wedding."
Vince snorted and backhanded me across the face.
"As if he thinks he'll live to be a bridegroom. For your information, Phil old buddy, instead of getting married in three weeks, you're going to get buried in six feet of sand."
"Say, Vince," I heard Pete growl from a vast distance, "I can't hold this guy up any more. He's passing out!"
Pete was indeed right. They say that a man's life flashes before him in moments of great crisis. My life really must have been misspent. The only scene that flashed before me was all the broads I had ever fucked, posing in their sexiest positions.
There was Babbs in all her blonde, naked appeal, her sensuous lips forming a circular "O", ready for her specialty-a wonderful blow-job.
Then came Gretchen, lying nude on the beach, her svelte thighs enticingly apart, showing her gorgeous cunt.
She was followed by curvy Faye, her sturdy, naked asscheeks leaping on my cock with all her weight.
And then, the lights went out!
CHAPTER SEVEN
I seemed to feel Faye's thighs straddling me heavily. Even though I felt tired and unwilling, she drew my stiff prick within her warm cunt. She writhed her hips and churned her cunt, even though all I wanted was to sleep. Her twat trembled and shook as she whirled her way to a satisfied, yowling release-but this time it was for herself alone. My body felt like a heavy lump of lead had been laid across my middle and my cock and balls I had never felt so completely exhausted and drained in my whole life.
Opening my eyes with an effort, I saw that I was lying against the curb in the street. Punchy as I was, I tried to inch myself upright and finally made it.
I managed to find my car, to fumble around for keys, summon enough strength to press the gas pedal, and slowly and cautiously take off. My belly was sore, and if my face looked the way it felt, it must be badly brusied. Evidently, Vince Bodine had found sadistic, perverted pleasure in venting his rage on me for some time after I had passed out and could no longer feel or care.
My neck muscles, especially, gave off excrutiating twinges, the result of the hammerlock the guy called Pete had used on me to reduce me to helplessness. I felt my neck gingerly, half expecting to find splintered bone chips piercing the flesh.
By the time I reached home, I had worked myself into a real state of lust for revenge. My thoughts might be as dark as a starless night, but my rage against Vince Bodine offered a striking mood contrast; it was the brilliant red of a young man's blood ... Vince's.
Another question plagued me. How had Vince known that Gretchen and I had set an earlier date for our wedding than the one we had originally contemplated? She hadn't had time to circulate the news through any ordinary channels, so how in hell had he managed to stumble on the information so quickly?
At the moment, thinking was just too damned painful, so I had to give it up.
I parked the car in the driveway leading to the monstrous old apparition of a house which was reminiscently referred to by all and sundry as "the ole Overton place."
The house, once a landmark pointed to with pride by the entire surrounding community, now was in a state of dire decadence. It was sorely in need of paint and practically every kind of repair. The grounds, also, mutely pleaded for a renaissance, a restoration to their former green, spreading glory. On the oceanside, the pier which once had resounded with laughter and with gay banter, now stretched grayly into the water, rotted and unsafe.
I went to my room and fell on my bed, painfully sore and sorrowfully exhausted. Nothing penetrated the thick mists of despair that hemmed me in. Even the loud drunken noises emanating from my grandfather's adjacent room, couldn't begin to keep me awake.
I arose just before noon, telephoned the office and instructed Faye to cover my tardiness with whatever lie she cared to invent. Then I cornered Granddaddy Cass in the living room and asked him about the mysterious woman of the past for whom Conrad Hammond and he nearly had come to death-grips.
"Woman?" my grandfather seemed surprised and his bleary red-----rimmed eyes blinked in puzzled fashion. "I don't know of any woman. How in the devil did you come by such a nutty idea?"
"From several responsible sources," I told him.
"And who was this femme fa tale supposed to be? What was her name?"
"That's what I'm asking you," I returned sternly.
Granddaddy Cass heaved a long, alcoholic sigh and shook his head.
"Somebody's been having pipedreams," he said. "Conrad Hammond and I never had trouble over a woman."
Then he brightened. "Unless it was that teenaged whore, Inge, who he sent to bamboozle me. Is it she who you're talking about?"
"I'm not referring to Inge," I snapped, "this woman was around before Inge was born."
"Then you've got me in the dark-I don't have the faintest idea what you are talking about," my grandfather stated, flatly.
I looked at him long and speculatively.
"You know what I think, Granddaddy?" I said at last. "I think you're lying. I think you and Mr. Hammond did battle over some broad in the long ago. And I have a notion that she is the real cause behind the battle you two have fought over all these years."
I was sure my grandparent paled beneath his normal bewhiskered flush.
"Suit yourself! Think what you damned please!" he growled with a scowl. "You think you're so damned smart!"
He averted his eyes and reached for his bottle of bourbon. I turned and left him. If the reprobate insisted on drinking himself to death, I wasn't going to hang around to witness his slow suicide.
I parked the car on a side road within sight of the Hammond mansion so I could watch the place, unobserved. To say the least, I was confused. How Vince Bodine seemed to know my plans almost before I knew them myself, troubled me like a sliver you can't quite get at. He just had to have an inside track.
As much as I hated to admit, common sense told me that it had to be Gretchen who told him the news, which made the whole deal even more confusing.
Babbs had sworn that Gretchen not only willingly, but eagerly, joined Vince for some hot screwing between the sheets. I had refused to believe her. Now I wondered.
One thing, though, I damn well was sure of. I wasn't about to get married until I knew the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It would have to be not merely stated, but proven. Money or no money, I didn't relish the idea of finding myself hitched to a cheating broad who would jerk off her lacy panties and spread her twat whenever she saw or heard from Vince.
The mere thought of such a state of affairs wrought havoc with my proud Overton ego. Married or single, it hurt my pride even to consider Vince man enough to take any cunt away from me. I guess all men are the same, when it comes to pussy.
I made up my mind to find out what, if anything, was between those two. I had one slim fact with which to start. There had to be a line of communication. Otherwise, how did Vince know so much so fast? It was almost as though he had been looking over our shoulders as we decided on the stepped-up wedding date.
I didn't like it one damned bit.
It was about two o'clock now and the sun was high and hot, a great ball of orange fire almost straight overhead, making an effort to melt the universe. Still, I stayed behind the wheel, perspiring, brooding, and perplexedly smoking one cigarette after another.
Twenty minutes later, I saw Gretchen emerge from the mansion and climb into the T-Bird. She whipped the car out of the concrete driveway and came speeding past, her red ponytail tied at her neck with a bright green ribbon, flying. Her lovely face seemed sternly set.
I gave her a couple of yards heads tart, then I pulled out behind her. Maybe I was only heading for another blind alley of suspicion and indecision, but tailing her was the only thing I could think of to do. And I had to do something.
If she was on her way to meet Vince, I damned sure wanted to know about it. I had to see it with my own eyes.
Ahead, Gretchen was wasting no time. She had that little crimson sports job wound up in high gear just as though it had been built to stand in for a rocket and was working it up toward a take off into outer space.
Crazy women drivers, I thought angrily. It's a wonder somebody doesn't wind up in a hospital or in a morgue every time one of them crawls behind a wheel. I had to gun hell out of my car just to keep her in sight.
The Hippies Grotto was five miles north of the town proper, flanking the ocean, and it was the jumpingest joint this side of the Atlantic. Just beyond the swinging doors, was a world gone completely crazy, a world of tail-twisting, giggling teenagers, shimmering, contorting, leaping, romping, swirling young maniacs, gone ape under the crashing impact of the so-called musical notes which almost literally beat at them from an elevated platform upon which stood three tall and skinny horn blowers, gyrating suggestively, a guitarist twanging away at his overheated strings as though his life depended on it, a gone-crazy bass drum, and a wild piano, all of which formed a group of way-out musicians, known as the In Jims.
The In Jims wore bristly beards fringing their cadaverous faces. They had uncannily bright and shinging eyes which gave them the weird appearance of creatures from outer space, come to mesmerize our younger generation through the power of their fantastic sound machines and a deluge of sexy sounds, impossible to recognize as any earth-originated language.
Why Gretchen had entered this madhouse was beyond my powers of surmisal. It was as incongruous a setting for her as one could possibly imagine. Cool, often remote, except when her passion was aroused, she wasn't the jumpy, jivery type. I could no more picture her doing an uninhibited f rug than I could see her at a kitchen table, her delectable curves hidden by a volumninous apron, peeling vegetables for a soup or for a stew.
Then why in the hell was the queenly Gretchen here? My eyes swept the ass-jiggling mass of springy humanity.
Gretchen had already disappeared somewhere in the midst of the ever-moving throng.
Her courage alone, surprised me. I quailed at the thought of attempting a dangerous feat like braving the jostling young flesh. A person could get bumped to death in less time than it would take to tell!
Not wishing to further jeopardize my already badly bruised ego, I skirted the perimeter and found a reasonably safe-looking exit through which I started to pass. Then I halted, abruptly.
Outside, on the sunny and comparitively quiet patio, Gretchen and Vince sat at an isolated table which sprouted the staff of a huge, gaily-colored umbrella. Each sipped what looked like a Martini. Their faces were partly in shadow, but still I could see them clearly.
At the sight of them, nausea like a double-fist, struck at the pit of my stomach. I no longer was slightly confused. I was deeply confused. Why, I kept asking myself. Why?
I remained immobile, even breathing quietly, while I continued to watch, their expressions added to my already keenly-whetted curiosity. A smile played at the corners of Vince's mouth. He seemed to be listening hard, albeit indulgently, to something of which Gretchen was trying to convince him. Her face was completely grave, even to her eyes which held no sparkle, no smile. She actually appeared to be frantic, more than anything else, as her lovely slim hands gesticualted ceaselessly. I couldn't quite catch what she was saying, but it was clear that words were pouring in a torrent of sound from those luscious lips. I silently cursed the screaming young monsters, the so-called music at my immediate rear.
Within moments, my feeling of surprise fused into a hot, brooding anger. I ran my hand over my belly with a gentle, exploratory pressure. It still was very much troubled by pain from the merciless pounding Vince had given it last evening while his cohort, Pete, held me, tightly-clamped and defenseless in that neck-cracking hammerlock.
Revenge can be beautiful, I thought. If I got it, that was. I meant to try.
I headed straight for the absorbed couple. When Vince saw me striding purposefully toward them, he paled and rose to his feet. Gretchen turned to stare, her features frozen in an expression of acute despair.
I didn't give a damn about anything just then. I suppose they could see reckless fury written all over my face. Vince averted his gaze, glancing quickly from left to right, obviously seeing a fast means of exit. If he did chance upon one, he must have thought it would be too late, because he didn't make a break.
I was in no mood for small talk. I let go with a swinging haymaker aimed at his chin, which he ducked with surprising adroitness. The force of my pile-driving effort swung me around with my back toward him, and I felt his fist connect hard under the lower rib at the small of my back.
I was aware of pain shooting all through me, but it was nothing compared to the fury inside me which was tying my belly muscles into knots. I swung back, intent on a kill. Vince was reading the unmistakable message of murder blazing from my eyes, decided to run for it.
I was after him like a hunger-maddened cheetah. I caught him with a knee-high tackle from behind. He was propelled forward, with his face grinding into the hot sand just off the edge of the ceramic patio.
He rose groggily and we struggled, locked together at first, then jerking apart and trying to land punches everywhere we could and as hard as we could. He put up one hell of an all-out defense, trying to keep my fists from pounding his face to a pulp. As tough as he was, as skilled in every tactic of dirty fighting, ordinarily he might have succeeded not only in warding me off, but in giving me plenty of punishment.
Not this time, though. The force of brutal hate inside me was so huge, so powerful, I hardly felt his frantic, jabbing blows. I had his features pretty well mangled and bloody by the time a pack of teenagers, summoned no doubt by Gretchen's screams, tore us apart.
Looking down at the battered bully, I felt a little better. I brushed sand off my face and off my clothes. Then, looking neither at Gretchen, nor at Vince, I strode back to my car, got in, and drove away.
The trip back to town gave me time to cool off so I could think rationally. One thing was sure. From now on, I would have to watch it, not once in a while, but all the time. Vince would be laying for me, and now it would be for real. He was the vengeful type who never got over a grudge or forgot a beating. I would have to be careful passing any dark alley. What I would really need would be an ever-watchful eye in the back of my skull.
Whatever happened now, it had been worth it. Beating hell out of him had been kind of soul cleansing. I would never have been able to live with myself if I hadn't at least tried.
He sure had played havoc with me that night when his sidekick, Pete, first made sure I was helpless. Who had this guy, Pete, been anyway? It almost had to be Pete Baker, Faye's husband.
Faye had mentioned that her husband was one of those health fanctics who went in for weightlifting workouts, wheat germ, blackstrap molasses, the whole muscle-increasing bit. The guy who had pinned me with that hammerlock that night certainly had been powerful enough to pose for an ad touting any kind of health device. I supposed, from now on, I would have to watch out for him, also.
Hell, I'd be safer in a damned war!
An amusing thought hit me at this point. I smiled, wondering what Pete Baker's reaction might be should someone tell him that his wife Faye was fucking it up at least once a month with his good old buddy-buddy Vince Bodine.
I glanced in the rearview mirror just then and saw Gretchen coming up fast in the red T-Bird. She must have been doing close to a hundred. I knew, without even a second thought, that I would never be able to outrun her. The hell with it, I thought. Let her go.
She tooted her ridiculous musical horn as she pulled alongside me, motioning frantically for me to stop. When I didn't, she took a swipe at my left front fender which brought both cars so close to disaster that I let out a yelp and jerked my foot off the accelerator.
She came to a stop a few yeards ahead of me on an asphalt apron. Then she climbed out of her car, came over to the door of mine, and got in beside me.
"You've got to listen to me, Phil," she half demanded, half pleaded. "I owe you an explanation. I have to make you understand."
I sulked, hunching down behind the wheel.
"You don't owe me a damned thing," I said stiffly.
"Yes, I do, too. And I won't attempt to hide my trouble from you any longer. Vince Bodine knows something about me and he's blackmailing me, Phil. That's why I had to meet him today-I didn't want to. I can't get rid of him."
I glanced at her, with a thirty below zero look. "Do tell," I said, with bitter sarcasm. "What do you take me for, Gretchen? A complete fool? You've been lying to me from the beginning. Well, a guy gets enough after a while. I was warned about you and Vince-Babbs tried to warn me that you and he were using her apartment for your fucking. But I didn't have enough sense to listen. Now I know she was right about you all along. I'm through, Gretchen. The engagement is off ... as of this minute. I've had enough of your screwing behind my back. I don't want any more."
"No, Phil," Gretchen pleaded clutching my arm. "You don't mean this! I don't blame you for feeling hurt, and I know I shouldn't have kept anything so important from you. But what could I do? I've been hysterical with worry. I don't know how to deal with Vince and his threats. Phil, honestly, you've got to listen! You've got to believe me! I haven't had any choice! Vince is cruel, merciless ... he refuses to leave me alone!"
I snorted. "Okay, what is this big deal he's supposed to be holding over your head?"
I could feel her tension increasing. Then she let go of my arm and burst into tears.
"Phil, please don't ask me to bare my shame to you," she sobbed. "I made a mistake once, quite a while ago ... it was something horribly wrong and shameful, and I can't bear to even think of it, much less to have you know. Please don't demand that I tell you. Please just trust me. Vince found out, and he's been making me pay ever since. Oh, I just don't know what I'm going to do!"
"We all make mistakes. You can tell me ... if it's wild enough for me to believe, perhaps I can think of someway to help."
She fell against me, sobbing, and clutching at my hand. "I can't, honey! I just can't force myself to talk about it. It's too embarrassing. You might never speak to me again as long as I live, and I couldn't stand that, darling. I just couldn't stand it."
"Try me and see. I'm not made of stone, you know."
"No! No! No! I can't...."
I glanced at her flushed face, her wild-looking eyes. I didn't know what to think. If she was lying, she was in the wrong niche of life. She could have been an award-winning actress.
"So you don't intend to tell me, and that, apparently, is final?"
She shook her red head violently. "I just can't. Believe me, Phil. More important, trust me."
"How has Vince been making you pay off? How much have you given him so far?"
She faced me painfully. A new wave of tears flooded her hazel eyes and ran unashamedly down her cheeks.
"It hasn't been money that he wants ... I wish it had been."
I frowned, knowing perfectly well what was coming.
"It's been sex, Phil. It's true. I have been meeting him at that girl's apartment-Babbs. I had no choice. Vince would demand that I meet him there, that I let him fuck me ... or he would expose me. I would be petrified with fear, afraid to disobey. Oh, you can't imagine how awful it's been, having to undress in front of him, having to submit to him, while he laughed at my embarrassment and didn't care how reluctant I was. And later ... his hateful hands, over every inch of my body!"
Gretchen shuddered in revulsion. "I've driven myself half crazy, trying to think of some way to escape him."
I considered all that she had just said, and I decided that she wasn't lying. I felt protective toward her. It was right up Vince's alley to pull a stunt like that on a helpless girl.
"All right, all right," I said, putting my arms around her. 'There, there. Just take it easy, baby. I wish you could tell me what he has on you ... but if you can't, you can't."
"I wish I could, Phil," she whimpered, snuggling closer. "I really wish I could bring myself to bare my soul to you. Right now, though, it's impossible. I'm too ... too ashamed. I phoned Vince last night after you left. I told him we had set the date for our wedding. I begged him to leave me alone. He just laughed."
So that was how Vince had known so quickly. It figured.
"How about after we're married," I worried. "Vince still could pressure you, couldn't he? He would still have you under his thumb, and you still would have to do as he said."
She sat up, facing me.
"No. After we're married, I could tell you about it," she said, her eyes glowing. 'Then we could work it out together. But I want to know that you trust me enough to marry me first, darling. That way I'll know you love me enough to stick by me. After that, well find some way to deal with Vince."
She leaned forward and kissed me. "Don't you love me enough to go along with me on that, Phil?"
I sighed. Gretchen knew it meant my surrender.
"Maybe I'm a fool, honey, but I'm so gone on you, I can't seem to let you go," I said. "So you see, I don't have much choice either. I have to believe you, whether or not I want to. That's how badly I'm hooked."
Her slim, cool fingers caressed my face, and she smiled happily through her tears.
"You're such a warm, wonderful human being, darling," she cooed. "I know what ... let's go home. I want to give you some real good humping. I want to show you how much I adore you and appreciate you ... just how desperately I yearn to be your wife."
Warm-lipped and starry-eyed, she was so beautiful that, when I looked at her, it actually hurt.
"I'm all for that, sweetheart," I said. "I'm for that kind of idea any time and all the way!"
She laughed and kissed me and got out of the car.
"Meet you at my place in fifteen minutes," she giggled. Her eyes were bright with promise of hot humping.
"I'll be right behind you," I assured her.
Gretchen, naked, was even more exquisitely beautiful than she was dressed, which was saying something. The striking purity of her complexion was not confined to her face. It extended down the length of her entire body, from her sweetly rounded throat to the tips of her dainty, panited toenails.
"Undress me," she had whispered, enchantingly.
As I fumbled nervously with buttons and buckles, she laughed at me, teasing me with nibbling little kisses, with tickling caresses under my balls, right through my pants.
I almost went out of my skull. "You're adorable, Gretchen!"
"Prove how much you love me, Phil!" she demanded.
I lifted her silken nakedness into my fiercely enfolding arms and carried her to the bed.
"Hurry!" she cried as soon as I laid her down. She held out her arms.
I tore out of my clothes as fast as I could, which was plenty fast.
"How about the servants?" I asked. "No danger of one of them barging in while we're screwing, is there."
She shook her head. "They won't bother us. They wouldn't dare enter my room except first thing in the morning to clean up. Quit worrying, lover, and just fuck me. Oh, darling, fuck me every exciting way that you can think of to do!"
Today, she was more exciting than she ever had been before. Heat seemed to emanate from every curve, every hollow of her flawlessly sculptured body, from the faintly pink softeness of her melon-like tits, from her long, lust, tapered legs. I was speechless with wonder and with desire, but I was not too overwhelmed to reach for that inviting cunt to move in close with lips, with hands, with gently colliding stiff prick and balls of my own hot body.
"Fuck me, Phil! Hold me and fuck me ... I want to show you how much I want you," she coaxed.
I needed no urging. I was all over her in a hurry.
Her warm, firm breasts pressed against my chest, her lips curved against mine. My blood began to boil. My lips sought her opened mouth, our tongues teasing and intertwining. A tomtom of expectation rose high and drumming in my brain.
All of the cold doubt, the dark wondering was seared and melted away in the fire of our embrace. This was Gretchen and this was love, and all of it belonged to me. She was going to be mine forever.
My hands thrilled against her skin, exploring along her breasts, her hips, her thighs. Our breaths caught as my cock thrust into her warm receptive cunt. Closely we lay, soft flesh crushed to hard flesh, belly against belly, thighs against thighs, my cock and her cunt glued, loath to separate, mutely pleading for more, more, more.
We fucked sensuously, the rhythm of our bodies so perfectly matched, it excited us to dizzying heights of lustful delight. I felt my senses reeling and soaring.
The tempo of our fucking grew more and more vigorous. Gretchen's sweet breath gasped against my ear, increasing my own fever. My cock trembled with urgency as she lifted to meet me with her own furiously demanding cunt.
We seemed suspended on a piercing peak of intense emotion, and we frigged each other more desperately still as the final painful ecstasy shook our entire beings, and I shot huge gobs of hot scum into her convulsing cunt. Later, her svelte body curled around me, her great hazel eyes looked at me soulfully as we exchanged lover's sweet confidences.
A frown crossed her handsome features and she said, "Phil, darling. I must prove that I really love you. Ask me anything, and I'll do it for you!"
She had been fondling my ever-ready stiffening dong and impulsively, she leaned her mouth toward it. I thrilled as I felt her lips bathe my prick with the softness of moist goose-down. The sensation was incredibly intense, yet sweet, as her mouth glided in loving rhythm up and down the shaft of my pulsing cock. I erupted with the fiery suddenness of a red-hot volcano, my prick gushing with the violent spurting sperm of the fabulous release Gretchen's lips gave me. And she swallowed it all....
"I believe anything you say, darling," I gasped. "Only don't do that again to my poor cock ... at least not for a little while...."
CHAPTER EIGHT
I made an unusual resolution for myself-young, vital and woman-lover that I was. I decided to stay away from fucking for a while-maybe even as long as three days ... Even for a prick-pusher like me, all of this screwing between Faye in the afternoons, Gretchen in the evenings, was running my balls down. I really needed a rest to charge up-and more important, for a clear mind. There were a host of problems bugging me that I had to think through. What was the actual scoop between Vince and Gretchen? That was one I had to ferret out. out.
What was the real trouble between my grandfather and Conrad Hammond? Who was the mysterious woman over whom they had once fought ... and why? Or was the woman a figment of someone's imagination. Namely, Faye's.
How about that diary that Conrad Hammond kept locked up in his private safe? Would it bring forth a few answers to some burning questions?
If Faye Baker was telling the truth, why was Conrad Hammond paying off Vince Bodine? Why was Mr. Hammond sending Faye to Vince with that envelope, apparently stuffed with cash, once a month?
Another troubling question was that of Babbs. Why in the devil did she take the notion to name her kid after me? Could it have been as she explained, that she merely liked my name ... and respected it? Or was there more to it than this? Was it possible that the kid actually belonged to me? It was a wild thought but it was far from impossible.
Toward the end of the week, Babbs telephoned me at the office. She told me she had something for me.
"What is it?" I asked.
"A woman answered my ring, giving the name of the company. That means your calls go through a switchboard operator, doesn't it, Phil?"
I hesitated, quickly seeing her point. And Lenore, the thistlebrained operator, had been known to listen in.
"Yes, they do," I admitted.
"Then you had better drop by at my place the first chance you have. It's pretty confidential information. Know what I mean?"
"Yes ... if it's what I think it is ... what I hope it is."
She laughed. "You're on the right track."
"Okay, good. See you as soon as I can possibly get away."
As I hung up, I smiled. I knew she had the combination to the safe. Marvelling, I shook my head. That little blonde cocksucker was a fast worker, all right. I sure as hell had to hand her that.
I sat staring at the wall, thinking about the diary. I felt an overwhelming eagerness to get my hands on it, to read every word on every page. I couldn't quite figure out why it seemed so important to me. It just did.
Just then, Faye came into the office. I couldn't refrain from asking about her husband.
"You told me your old man's name was Pete," I said. "Does he knock around with Vince Bodine?"
"Oh, yes. Vince and Pete have been good friends for a long time." Faye flashed me a green-eyed smile and ran her hand through her auburn hair. "Why? Have you somehow managed to meet my husband Pete?"
I grimaced, remembering the hammerlock. "Afraid so."
"You don't seem very happy about the event."
"Can't say that I am."
Faye was curious. "Pete cause you some trouble?"
"You might say that. In a manner of speaking, he gave me quite a pain in the neck."
She laughed. "Oh? Well, Pete can be a pain in the neck, all right. Where did you meet him?"
I ignored the question, tossing in one of my own. "Is your husband so fond of Vince that he allows him to shack up with you in motel rooms?"
Faye didn't like this remark. Her pretty face darkened.
"Don't be asinine," she snapped. "Pete has no idea that I've ever fucked for Vince. Or any other man for that matter, and I do hope you're not considering enlightening him on the subject. You don't know Pete. He would be furious enough to kill somebody if he learned the truth."
I smiled sardonically. "Maybe even you?"
"That's right. Maybe even me."
"I would think you'd be afraid to take chances then," I said.
She giggled, shaking her head.
"Taking chances is part of the excitement that comes with strange cock!" she said.
"You're nuts, Faye. You're off your rocker."
"Of course I am. But they say that you have to be a little crazy if you expect to have fun in life and life can be awfully boring if there's never even a little danger mixed up in it somewhere. Wouldn't you agree, Phil?"
She had a point. I had to smile.
"To each his own," I said. "Personally, I like to find my own hump-enjoyment without the suspence of the possibility of a gun about to blast off in my ear."
Faye sniffed and straightened out some papers.
"Don't you believe in giving in to impulses?" Faye asked.
I knew already what her smile and that certain glint in her eye meant. She began to swivel those curvy thighs in her short, tight skirt, my way. Even though old rough-and-ready was throbbing away in my trousers with a growing hard-on, I leapt up. She wasn't going to rape me with that swivelling ass of hers!
"Faye, I've made a resolution!" I proclaimed.
She cornered me at the door. As her hips ground lewdly against me, one hand speedily unzipped me and fondled my helpless, erecting cock.
"Did I ever tell you I'm pretty good at it standing up?" Faye asked innocendy.
There went the resolution.
CHAPTER NINE
Babbs Hymer opened the door of her apartment at the Lido Towers in a dressing gown so disphanous that it only emphasized her naked beauty. Her good looking features smiled a welcome under her shiningly set blonde hair. Her snow white bouncing tits shook appealingly with her every movement, the deep-pink, big nipples winking through the transparent gown. She wore no panties and I could see the full, eternally feminine allure of the bush-hair just above her cuntlips between her sexy thighs.
But this time my little old joystick didn't even waggle in response to the sight. I didn't come to fuck into the wild blue yonder with Babbs' cunt-powered jet ride. I was here on business and asked her for the card with the combination to Hammond's safe.
Babbs drew back, smirking. "Not so fast, Tarzan. Maybe I just better wait until you keep your part of the bargain."
I got mad. Maybe it was too much disappointment, too much harrassment or too many kinds all coming too fast, but I saw red, I may be a heel in some ways but I keep my word to my friends. Wrath fully, I turned and headed for the door.
"If that's how you feel!" I grated. "Skip it!"
Babbs was right after me, her soft arms wound around my waist.
"Boy, talk about a low boiling point!" she teased. "Wow! All right, I'll trust you, but if you don't show up at least by nine Sunday morning so we can get an early start to visit my son, III never trust anybody again as long as I live!"
She pointed to her pocket. "In there," she said.
I took a deep breath and reached. The hand that closed on the little card felt something else-something at least as potent, maybe more so. After all, the importance and power of the diary still had to be proven.
Ever so slightly, Babbs leaned forward, her body seeming to reach for mine. Her chin lifted and her eyes closed, her dark gold lashes so long they almost brushed her flushed cheeks.
"I thought taking you to your son was supposed to be payment for services rendered," I kidded, huskily. "What are you hinting for now ... a bonus?"
But I kissed her thoroughly.
Sometimes, like now, I wondered about Babbs. Considering the business she was in, how could she be so damn hot to hump every time I hove into view?
Often, with my mouth pressed hard against hers, right after we had fucked into glory together, she softly breathed what may be the answer.
"I love you...." Always, it was a husky, half-heard murmur, but maybe it was true.
Now, I paused just long enough to glance at the card. There they were, all right, the magic numbers, the possible
"open sesame" to what could be some mighty important information.
I drew away from Babbs. I had to make sure the card was safe. Carefully, I placed the dog-eared little square of cardboard in a secret recess of my own billfold where I was damn sure it would stay until I no longer had use for it.
Then I even more carefully picked Babbs up in my arms and headed for the only possible place to be at a time like this ... her bedroom.
I didn't bother to remove her gown first ... that would only take a few seconds. More important was for me to get completely naked, myself.
As I tugged at my pants zipper, I said, "And just how did you manage to wangle this deal through so fast, baby? Did Conrad Hammond just happen to get the idea all of a sudden that he just had to have another helping of your goodies, or did you just happen to be flaunting that enticing twat where he couldn't help but see it ... and start drooling?"
Babbs shook her blonde head, the golden tresses of which she had braided into fetching pigtails.
"I'm surprised at you, Phil," she chided. "You know I'm essentially modest but I couldn't help it, could I, if I just happened to have very important business, the kind that has to be taken care of at once, and that the place I had to conduct this business just happened to be in the immediate vicinity of Mr. Hammond's office? Could I help it if I just happened to be passing his office, lingering just a bit to gaze into a store window just about the time I know damn well he leaves...."
She paused, dimpling deliciously.
Stripping out of my shorts, I leaned toward her, hungrily.
"How can I blame him?" I asked huskily. "I know how impossible it is to resist you, doll."
She made no move to get out of her skimpy attire. We both knew how it would raise my temperature and hers, to have me do that little job.
Somehow, the act of taking those inches of material away from that quivering white flesh, was a sensuous thing in itself.
Then, feeling desire mount like gasoline-fed flames, I fumbled for the snaps of that dainty gown.
As soon as I had them unfastened and the gown off, the huge softness of those perfect tits tumbled into view, and my lips were fastened to the fruit-sweet nipples in nothing flat.
I savored them ecstatically, knowing I could not linger too long over the appetizer, that we would have to get to the main course fast. I still had a heavy date with a diary, and time was rushing by ..
Our exploring kisses soon turned into a searing union that fused our hot moist mouths, as my cock and her cunt soon would be welded.
"Oh, lover...." Babbs moaned. "Fuck me ... now."
I was all for it. Her lovely cuntlips already were spread, but I pushed them farther apart. As I reached pay dirt and plunged my stiff dong into her vagina she gave a low-pitched scream.
Her trembling cunt was way beyond control. We began fucking at moderate speed, but the tempo increased fast, and soon we were rocking the bed with our reaching for that final shattering moment of damn near unbearable bliss.
When it came and I shot my load of hot, creamy sperm into her palpitating pussy, we sealed it with a final kiss, I moved away so both of us could really cool off. From past experience, I knew how this fucking could build, how it could go on and on....
In the dim light that filtered through the drawn drapes, I peered at my watch.
"I've really got to go, Babbs, before it gets too late," I said.
"Must you leave now, Phil dear?" she murmured. "You could sleep here all night and leave for work early in the morning."
It was a tempting offer, but I wanted to get into Hammond's office at an hour when it would look as if I were only finishing some overtime evening task.
Babbs saw I meant it as I sat up on the edge of the bed preparing to dress. She got off the bed and slid to her knees before me.
"Let me kiss you goodbye my way, then darling," she said, looking up at me and moistening those wide, sensuous lips. She closed them over the head of my cock.
How could I say no? Even though I was still weak in the knees and a little groggy as I left the Lido Towers, I had never had a blow-job like that. Babbs was tops-you can't beat a pro....
CHAPTER TEN
Like everything else in life, I guess you have to have experience to be a crook. Although I had timed my intrusion into the Hammond office so that it would look like I was just staying late, I was upset and fumbling when I tried to get in. Somehow, the sight of Conrad P. Hammond, red-faced, and giving the whole office staff a lecture on honesty because of some missing stamps and pencils, swam before my eyes.
"I'll make a eunuch out of anybody I catch crooking something in this office," he had bellowed. And then, he proceeded to describe in detail just how he'd do it with the old-fashioned straight razor he kept in his desk snipping off the thief s balls. All the girls wondered what he'd do to a woman thief....
Trying to act nonchalant, I steadied my trembling hand and tired again to turn the stubbornly resisting key. This time it turned, and the door slid open into the gloom, heavily shadowed with outlines of desks, filing cabinets and chairs.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I mopped at my damp brow, then got a cigarette out of the pack into my mouth and ... finally ... got it lit.
Hell, what was I shaking about? I reached for the switch to my desk lamp ... better not to sit in the darkness. That would look strange.
Maybe it's because an office, generally, is a very noisy, bustling place, but this one seemed eerily quiet.
I waited a while, listening for sounds of anyone approaching, but there was only silence. This was an unfrequented part of town, so casual passersby were rare. It was way out of the residential district and there were no taverns. The few hamburger joints that catered to the business personnel hereabouts closed at seven.
Why then, was I so cotton-picking jittery? Nerves, I told myself. Take it easy, boy.
At last I was calm enough to enter Conrad Hammond's office. Even this presented no great risk. If I heard someone coming, I could always say I was looking for an important paper that I just figured might be on the old boy's desk. After all, I was his prospective son-in-law and the fair-hiared boy around here ... wasn't I?
Trying to think of nothing but the numbers at which I stared, I knelt before the safe and slowly turned the knob. Right three ... left six ... right two ... left four ... that ought to do it. Gently, I tugged, and the black mouth of the safe yawned in my face.
I got one break, at least. What I had come for was a cinch to spot. The book was right in front of me, and the word "Diary" was stamped in big, gold letters right on the cover.
What a sap, I thought. Keeping a record of his actions like a silly, damn teenager. You sure as hell wouldn't catch me doing that. Not in a million years. I wouldn't even blab my escapades, much less write them.
Clutching my prize, I shut the door fast and turned the knob once more to re-lock the safe. Then I rose, shaking my head as though to clear it, as though awakening to reality from a real crazy dream.
I shoved the book into my coat pocket, left Hammond's office, and quietly closed the door. Still no sound, other than my own quickened breathing.
I turned out the desk light and hurried for the door. Mission accomplished. I wanted out.
Sipping at a healthy helping of my grandfather's bourbon, I stared unbelievingly at the closely-written pages on my lap. I couldn't accept the evidence of my eyes. The lines at which I stared read like a cheap, lurid novel.
On pages that were yellowed with age, but on which the story, written in ink, was plainly visible, I read....
"Tonight I gave up trying to forget her. She's in my blood, my flesh, the marrow of my bones. I have to have her. I have to have Gretchen...."
Gretchen ... the name had jarred me, but I realized this had to be a different Gretchen ... my queenly fiancee's mother ... and a rowdy-dow strip tease dancer and prostitute.
It was true, then, what I had heard, what had been haunting me all along, ever since the rumor first reached my ears. My grandfather and Conrad Hammond had fought over a woman all right, and Conrad Hammond had won. Evidently, the victory had been brief. Maybe, even at that, it had been worth it.
Unable to so much as look up, I read such descriptions of wild hot frigging as ..
"No other man will ever get into that lush, lovely cunt of Gretchen's. It's mine. She's mine. ALL MINE!"
"If that miserable lecher, Cassius Overton, ever again comes near my property, I'll put a knife through his heart."
"But I'll see that he never finds her. I've persuaded her to leave with me, to go to a city far enough away so all can be lost to all the world, save each other. Now that she will be out of that damn prick-pusher's clutches, out of his reach, I know I can hold her.
"I'll fuck her with all my strength. I want to drown in the honey of her cunt...."
I looked up, dazed.
Man, and I thought I knew about pussy! Who would have thought it of stodge, gray Conrad Hammond? Much as I went for that wonderful stuff, I had never been hooked anywhere near that bad. Had Granddaddy Cass suffered over the fabulous prostitute the way Conrad Hammond must have suffered?
Enthralled, I read on. No author I ever had encounted ever had me in such a spell...." Gretchen is pregnant. She says I don't have to marry her, but I am going to. I want that baby ... child of our love."
Then ... so help me ... there were pages with the marks of tears that had dried on them long ago.
"Gretchen is dead. My precious love is gone, lost to me forever. But at least I have one thing, one treasure left to me out of all this world. Gretchen and I were married at last. The child ... the little girl that I will name after Gretchen ... is mine. Legally mine."
I looked up, dumbfounded. But what about the woman the world had known as Gretchen's mother, the socially acceptable young lady who had come with Conrad, not as his bride, but as his wife of a year, from a middlewestern town? What of the local excitement over their blonde, beautiful girl baby, only a few months old ... Gretchen? There had been no other children. Gretchen was heir to all her father possessed, which was plenty.
I couldn't believe it. Did Gretchen know the true nature of her background? Did she know that her real mother was a honky-tonk whore?
Other things became blindingly clear in the light of this new knowledge.
Vince Bodine must somehow have learned of Gretchen's real origin. That must be what the money-filled envelopes every month on the dot were all about. It must also be why he was blackmailing Gretchen.
I sat up straight. And it probably explained why Gretchen was so easy to blackmail in that very special fashion. Vince must have screwed her many, many more times than I had ... he must know, more thrillingly than I could possibly know ... how hot was the blood that Gretchen had inherited from her temptress mother, how wildly that blood flowed through her own supposedly lady-like veins.
I rose. What ought to be my next step? A thought occurred to me that I hadn't so far considered. What if Conrad Hammond had reason to go to his own safe for something tomorrow? He would surely see that his diary was missing.
Slipping the book into my coat pocket, I headed out the door and got into my car. Hoping I wouldn't disturb the neighbors, I gunned off toward the business district in a hurry to get the book back where it belonged, then once again to return home and determine my course of action.
This time I fet more confident. A car was approaching a couple of blocks away, so I hurried not wanting to be recognized. It was pretty late even now for authorized access to a business office.
Once again ... for the benefit of the night watchman ... I lit my desk lamp, then lost no time in getting to Mr. Hammond's office.
The numbers of the combination to the safe seemed to be burned into my brain, but I checked with the card just to be sure. Then, slowly enough to avoid any mistake, once more I turned the dial.
I was just thrusting the book back on the shelf where I had found it when I heard a noise behind me.
Startled, I jerked around, still in a crouching position, to stare into the blazing eyes of the present-day, very much alive, Gretchen, my fiancee.
Her face was a white oval disk in the dimness. The rich auburn hair was hidden by a black silk scarf, wound tightly about her head. In her snug-fitting black slacks and loose red shirt, she could have been mistaken for a man ... if you didn't look too closely at certain spots.
There had been a glint of flashing metal, and my bewildered eyes thought for a moment that I was cornered by Conrad P. Hammond, waving his razor. It really made me jittery. After all, what would be left for me to live for if the crazy old coot succeeded with a wild slice at my balls?
But I heaved a sigh of relief. Lucky for me it was Gretchen, my fiancee, whose lips were interested in giving my cock and balls as entirely different kind of treatment.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gretchen wasn't waving her naked tits at me as she usually did. That flashing glint was a wicked-looking Beretta automatic.
"Put it down, Gretchen baby-it's only me, your Philly boy! Now that you've caught me working overtime, how about us stripping for a quickie?" I said, hoping to distract her.
"Forget it, you miserable boy scout!" she rocked me with a gravelly voice. "This is a real gun, and it's going to give you some hot lead instead of hot pussy!"
The seals of self-deception dropped from my eyes as I sensed her true character.
No wonder, except once or twice when we had fucked like mad, she never had seemed quite real to me. The girl I thought I knew, the dainty lass of the modulated voice, the Emily Post manners, was a sham.
This obvious moll, her eyes as hard as the gun she almost surely would use to kill me, was the real Gretchen.
One thing became very clear in this moment of truth. This Gretchen I would never marry ... not even if I lived, that is ... and the other no longer existed, not for me.
But where and how had I been so deluded? Was this part of the reason my grandfather had urged me to marry Gretchen? Did he still carry a torch for the long-dead whore? But where had my common sense been? I had been screwed, blued, and tattooed like a veritable trusting virgin. Man, how stupid could I get?
I still crouched as I had been when I first saw her. I had started to rise but hurriedly slumped back into this position when I stared into the muzzle of her gun. I shifted, uncomfortably. Every muscle in my legs was beginning to ache.
"Get up," Gretchen said contemptuously.
Dozens of questions crowded to my lips, but I didn't dare open my mouth. If there was going to be any conversation now, at this crucial moment, Gretchen would have to start it.
"You sneak thief!" she blazed. "I know you weren't after money. You stood to get plenty of that. You were after the diary, weren't you?"
I hesitated, and she took a step forward, the gun lifted now, the handle menacing me, in a different, but still in a deadly way.
"Answer me, or I'll crack open your skull!" she almost screamed.
Man, and I had thought Vince was tough. He couldn't hold a candle to the new ... or was it new ... Gretchen.
As her voice rose, so did a slight hope in me. Maybe the watchman would hear. Hell, if he didn't what were we paying him for? Gretchen seemed to have read my mind.
"If you expect Andy to save you, forget it," she said. "He was my mother's brother. My father still lives for her memory. Anyone with her blood in his veins can do no wrong in my father's eyes."
"But he wanted you to marry me!" I stared at her as though I never had seen her before. "You never wanted to, did you? If you rate so high with your father, why didn't you just tell him you preferred someone else?"
Gretchen face softened. In fact, she almost looked like the Gretchen I had been seeing.
"He rates plenty high with me, too," she said, quietly. "I was willing to go along with the prestige marriage bit just to please him."
She stared at me, her mouth twisted with rage and grief.
"But you had to spoil it, didn't you?" she grated. "You couldn't be satisfied with a hell of a good deal, one better than you ever could have come up with any other way, could you?"
There were a few things I had to say. If she was going to rub me out anyway, what did I have to lose?
"How did you know I was coming here?" I asked.
The only one who would have known or guessed that would be Babbs. My heart felt like lead. Surely not ... no, I just couldn't believe a thing like that of Babbs.
Gretchen's cold eyes mocked mine. "I was coming back from a date with Vince. We rented a place where we could make fuck with some privacy ... after Babbs fouled us up on using her pad."
Her eyes glinted with scorn ... even with hate. "And we would have kept right on meeting and fucking each other if you and I had gotten married."
I could hear her silent "so there". Actually, it was almost amusing ... except for that damn gun. If she wanted Vince's dick so bad, why didn't she just defy the old man and marry him? The unspoken question hung in the air until I had to ask it.
"I couldn't hurt my father that way," Gretchen said, real pain in her face. "So long as Vince knows it's him I really love, he's willing to let me humor Dad. Sometimes, of course, he gets out of line, like he did with you the night he worked you over. Then I have to soften him up again."
"What good will it do you to kill me?" I asked, not only stalling for time, but out of actual curiosity. "You'll just be taking a chance on jail for the rest of your life."
"No, I won't. After I shoot you ... and it won't be here ... that would be too dangerous ... I'll take you to an area known for brawls and killings. It's not far, and the place averages at least one unsolved murder to every block."
Not that I was anxious, and I might be a fool to open my mouth, but I had to know. "Why not here?"
"Possibility of blood on the floor, possibility of a bullet hole I couldn't hide, or somebody just might see me drag you out. You'll be a mite heavy."
She eyed me speculatively. I could feel every inch of my flesh grow as cold as though someone were rubbing it with ice cubes. Brother! And this was the same cunt who had lain, warm and sweet, in my arms.
"There's a silencer on the gun so I won't have to worry about noise," she told me.
I refrained from a sarcastic, goody, goody.
"Where are we going?" I inquired.
She smiled with her lips, but not with her eyes.
"Out to the place where Vince and I tryst," she said, coolly.
Well, that's an interesting new word for it, I thought.
Wonder how many broads will know what I'm getting at when I say, "Let's tryst."
"It's in a woodsy area," Gretchen continued, as though I ought to find the subject enormously fascinating. "I can scuff the leaves over where I have to drag you, and if there is any blood, nobody will be able to see it."
I gazed at her in real horror, not just at the thought of impending death but at the cool, crisp way in which she could speak of dragging my lifeless body, of my spilled blood....
Maybe death would be preferable to marriage to a deadly bitch such as she.
She moved restlessly, then backed out of her father's office into mine and stood slightly to one side.
"Go on out," she directed, "but I'm warning you. One move in my direction and you've had it, right that minute. And I won't try for a fast, painless shot."
I shrugged. As bargains go, it wasn't much, but the alternative was worse. Careful to keep a wide berth of what I had once considered superbly enticing grade A cunt, I made for the door.
"Open it," she ordered. "If you see anyone coming, keep still. Nothing and no one can save you."
I wouldn't have banked on that, but I preserved a discreet silence.
She pointed to her car parked right behind mine.
"And I'll drive," she stated. "I've read of cases where desperate men have pressed the gas pedal down, swerved like mad, and so forth, when they figure they have nothing to lose. Even driving, I'll keep my gun aimed. I can do it, so for a few minutes extra to live, don't try anything smart. It won't work."
Big deal, I thought, but again I said nothing. I was holding on hard to an old cliche, where there is life, there is hope.
If we were in my car, I could hope we would run out of gas, but using Gretchen's, I cancelled out that possibility.
The ride was a silent one. We drove clear to the outskirts of town, then Gretchen turned down a side road with which I was unfamiliar.
We went down a long, bumpy stretch, so narrow the weeds met in the middle in spots. Or maybe it just seemed long because it was so damned rough.
Finally, she turned again, this time onto a private side road. There were lots of big trees and a mass of bushes. Was death lurking behind the trunk of an oak or a pine?
"Get out," Gretchen ordered curtly.
I felt numb. This must be it. The end of the line. There was the hardness of metal against my ribs, and I moved.
It would be hopeless to try to reason. Clearly this was a madwoman, wild for the cock she couldn't legally have from the only man she really wanted.
I made one last desperate try.
"Why kill me?" I made my voice as loud as I dared. Why I didn't know. This was one of the wildest, loneliest spots I had ever seen. I could see part of a cabin a short way along the path, with what looked like a light left glimmering in one room ... or maybe it was a reflection from the moon.
"I'll bow out of the picture gracefully," I continued. "I'll even marry you and never touch you, if that's what you want. If Vince gets you pregnant, I'll give the baby my name, just to go along with your father."
My voice trailed away into nothingness. I had been searching her eyes, but they didn't soften.
"I don't believe you," she said flatly. Her voice rose. "You're a sneak! I'd have gone through with it, but you had to snoop! You couldn't let well enough alone. Okay, we've talked just about long enough. There isn't a damn thing left to say that will change anything. Brace yourself. You're going to get it."
I stiffened, expecting pain, then nothingness, but a sound intruded.
It was the crackling of bushes, persumably being pushed aside, the rustling of weeds. I never had known this could sound so much like music ... like a symphony, even. Someone was coming!
"Gretchen!" It was Vince.
He eyed me startled.
"I heard the sound of your car coming up the road," he said. "Then I heard voices so I hurried down to see what the hell was going on. What's with him?"
"I have to kill him," Gretchen said calmly and reasonably, the way a normal woman might say, "I have to sweep the floor," or, "We'll have pot roast for dinner." She continued, "He snooped."
"A-a-h," Vince protested. "Don't you think that's kind of extreme? What harm can the poor kook do us, really? Why don't you just let him go with the full understanding that, if he ever gets out of line, he's going to wish I had let you kill him? If you just let him keep that namby-pamby job of his that pays better than anything else a jerk like him could get, he won't open his yap."
I couldn't get steamed up over his description of my personality, but his reasoning really got to me. Boy after the beating he had given me not too long ago, this was a surprise. Whatever the liquor was that had softened up this gorilla, it could have my endorsement any time.
"But I don't trust him," Gretchen said. Damn, the bloodthirsty little bitch seemed to be determined to kill something.
I tried mental telepathy. Why not an owl? I urged silently. Or a rabbit, maybe?
As they stared blissfully into each other's eyes, they seemed to forget about me.
"Hey!" I said. "Would you two lovebirds mind telling me how to get back to town?"
It was pretty clear they wouldn't be going anywhere, except, maybe, into their old fuck routine.
Vince turned and showed his white even teeth in a nasty smile.
"Start using foot-power," Vince said, with a smug grin. "And if I were you," he added, "I'd be thankful that I was a live stud, instead of a dead duck!"
Noticing the dissatisfied frown on Gretchen's face at his words, I figured maybe he was right. I better get out of there before either of these weirdos changed their mind. I wouldn't put it past either of them to start using my most precious personal possession in a little target practic-just for kicks.
I started on my long hike, not looking behind me once. It might have tempted Gretchen, made her feel sorry I was slipping away still in one piece. But at three A.M. it started to rain. Wet and miserable, I looked down at my blistering feet.
"What the hell, I should have let them shoot me!" I said in a real blue funk.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lido Towers hove into view just as the first red fingers of the sun came poking across the ocean's horizon. I could scarcely lift my swollen feet as I trudged wearily toward the elevator. I had headed instinctively for Babbs' place. Why, I don't know.
I felt a twinge of regret at getting her out of bed in what was the middle of the night for a girl like her. I sure hoped she didn't have a cash customer....
I could just picture myself at the door, seeing some seedy-eyed old cunt-lapper from town hopping out of her warm, relaxing joy bed. Yeah, I'd really flip if I caught sight of a frightened John struggling to get dressed, thinking the joint was being raided.
"Why flip?" a still, small voice in me questioned. "Surely you couldn't be nutty enough to be jealous of Southampton's most expensive play-for-pay girl?"
Babbs answered the door, her gold hair tousled and rubbing her sleep-clouded eyes. Miserable as I was, the sight of her mouth-watering nipples blushing against those marvelous tits, the glimpse of downy golden bush-hairs between the femininity of her thighs, lifted my spirits and as I saw her empty bed and realized that she was all alone, I felt even better.
She grabbed my arm and tugged me inside. Like a rag doll, minus half its stuffing, I sagged into the nearest chair.
The last thing I heard as my red-----rimmed eyes closed, as my head fell against a stiff satin pillow, was Babbs's stricken voice.
"Phil, what happened?"
Teetering over the edge of sleep though I was, I sensed the anguish-for me ... in her voice, and the enfolding love.
I am sure I smiled, for I knew my dreams would be pleasant.
Youth has quite a few drawbacks, but it has compensating factors that more than make up for its disadvantages. When I awakened ... somewhere along in the early evening, judging by the deep gold light slanting through the heavy drapes ... I felt almost as good as new. That is, until I tried to stand up. It's tough to walk on blisters.
The first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was a solemn blue gaze under a crown of soft, gold braids, a red-rose-petal mouth that quivered.
"Are you all right, Phil?" Babbs asked anxiously.
I sat up. As I looked at the deep V of her softly clinging negligee, at the way the folds of white nylon fell away from thighs every bit as white, my eyes sparkled. I even forgot my blisters. For some things, Babbs leaned back, her own eyes beginning to twinkle ... and to take on an even more interesting brightness ... I hoped.
"I can see you are," she said, almost sarcastically.
Knowing it was Saturday, I was concerned for the money Babbs must have lost, having me here in plain sight looking like a passed-out drunk.
"I didn't answer the phone all day," Babbs said, gently.
Ye gods, were all women mind readers? "In that case, I get the humping today, is that it?" I teased.
"Yes, you do, Phil, dear," Babbs answered almost shyly, and she wasn't teasing.
I got up, sort of the way my grandfather gets out of a chair, but I made it.
Then I noticed that my feet were bare. There was an open jar of something that looked like salve standing near the leg of the chair.
"I rubbed your feet," Babbs said simply. "Can you walk or shall we just stay here?"
The husky, sexy timbre of her voice sent plesant anticipatory shivers through my cock, and I knew what I wanted. I wanted to head for a bed and for a couple of hours of taking my fill of pure fucking pleasure.
Babbs' fucking pleasure.
The best in the west. Or anywhere.
I winced as we walked to the big, beckoning bed, but I made it.
Babbs took care of buttons, buckles, zippers, mine of course. All she had to do to stand lusciously nude before me, was to untie a wide pink sash.
We made a perfect contrast in one important respect. Babbs was all softness; her full, parted lips, her warm, teasing tongue, those ballooning mounds of pink-nippled delicious tit, her nearly-flat tummy, her curvy hips, that delightful bouncy ass, her already-spreading thighs.
One after the other, I lingered over those wonderful pleasure places. Her eyes grew bright and wild, her hands clutching, her breath jerky.
"Now, Phil!" she half sobbed, pleadingly, as my hand covered her golden bush-hair and then her moist cunt, feeling its quivering heat.
That's when the contrast between us paid off. Into the moist, hot softness went something very hard known as my prick and we pressed close together in an agony of wanting, breast against hard chest, lean-muscled legs against creamy accepting flesh, hard belly welded to soft, and as we clung to each other, the hump-rapture mounted.
I held her back, and she loved my control over the too-rapidly rising emotions of each of us. I was the master here, and we both knew it.
Sensuously, I set a slow pace of screwing that kept our minds at a giddy reeling peak, until finally, we both knew it could not last, and moaning and whimpering in unison, I shot my hot load of scum into her yearning cunt as we reached our fabulous orgasm together.
After that, except when we got up to eat a cube steak, instant mashed potato, tossed salad, and ... believe it or not ... milk snack around midnight, we stayed in bed screwing until Sunday morning.
We didn't need booze. We were drunk all right. On pure lust ... and on pure love.
Babbs and I stood halfway up a path, between old-fashioned plots of flowers; poppies, sweet alyssium, cosmos, pansies. We were pleasantly aware of flowers, of apple and plum trees, of robins, of sunlight, of a warm, gentle breeze. But we were keenly aware of something more important; a small boy, hurling himself past his beaming great-aunt and uncle, down the dirt path, into his mother's arms.
When Babbs finally looked up, her eyes were wet with tears.
"Philip, this is ... Philip," she gulped.
Ever hear of love at first sight. It happens. And not always between guys and broads.
I found out a man can fall in love with freckles across a snub nose with a grin somehow more fetching because of a couple of front teeth missing, and with a small, sturdy body.
As I stared at little Philip, recognition dawned. It was like looking at an old snapshot of myself.
I raised my head to face Babbs. Our eyes met over our son's head. Hers held a look half pride, half pleading.
Mine held a look of reassurance. Then they did something that eyes sometimes do, though not often. They asked a question: "Will you marry me?"
Babbs read me loud and clear.
Her eyes warmed.
"Yes," those gorgeous blue orbs fairly shouted. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
That night it felt good to feel Babbs snuggle against me in the roomy double bed. The old folks had given us the guestroom in their rambling, comfortable country house.
"Why so quiet?" Babbs asked as she wriggled her wonderful asscheeks against me.
"A boiler doesn't make noise while the steam is rising. It's only when it pops ... ," I said, kissing those gorgeous, satin-smooth breasts. I always would marvel at the way her pink nipples deepened in color as they stiffened and erected to the size of giant strawberries in my mouth.
Babbs' tits were the most comfortable cushion in the world as I impatiently decked her and thrust my cock into her hot, wet cunt. I lay still, just thrilling to the feel of the sexy grind she went into under me. As her undulating belly and thighs got to me, I cupped her soft, yielding asscheeks. She drew my lusting prick to the sweet smoothness of her intimate vagina with a little wriggling movement.
My prick began a powerful steady lunging which she met with her weaving hips and churning cunt.
She let go with a shrill scream of pleasure and wound her shapely legs around my middle in a scissor-lock. Her thighs flashed in the flurry of peak ecstasy which boiled through her quivering body as she came like a house on fire. My safety valve popped, and I shot my load of hot sperm into her cunt and whizzed right along with Babbs on a rapturous pleasure flight for two.
We landed safely in each others arms, gasping for breath.
Somewhere, maybe it was Grandpa Overton, someone had told me that an experienced whore makes the best wife. Now that Babbs and I were getting married, I thought I'd find out.
"Let's have some real cock-sucking stunts, honey, after that straight job," I grinned, winking lewdly.
"Why, what do you think I am-a common tramp?" Babbs asked huffily.