Thanks to the candor of our contemporary sexual revolution, most of us are now able to understand the connotations of what has become known as "voluptuous chastisement." For the greater part of this century, however, many American families were regimented in their sexual outlook by the narrow, hypocritical and bigoted mid-Victorianism which began to flourish-appropriately enough-in England beginning with the reign of Queen Victoria, herself a circumspect and prudish woman who believed that demonstrations of erotic behavior were the certain sign of a depraved mentality.
We then passed through the era of Comstockianism, which is derived from the name of Anthony Comstock, a New York postal inspector who believed that it was his mission in life to censor our reading as well as our mail for the greater good of moral virtue, and that any expression or mention of sex per se was necessarily suspect and evil.
As a result of these two simultaneous doctrines, many an adolescent-and particularly one brought up in a home where religion played a vital role-was imbued with a kind of guilty dread of sex in itself. Even with the permissive legality of marriage, that adolescent, when mature, could not escape the trauma and stigma of "original sign." Consequently, it was not unusual for the average married man to seek out a brothel, just as it was in England, where he could give vent to those practices which "no decent woman would allow a man in the marriage bed," to quote a noted writer of the time. As a consequence, it was believed that any display of the female towards enthusiasm for or acceptance of sexual relationship even in marriage was the sign of wantonness and even "nymphomania".
The aftereffects of such apprehensive thinking still linger with us, and perhaps are responsible for the occasional "witchcraft hunts" in major cities by "reformers" and "moralists" who believe, like Comstock, that it is their duty to condemn that which most people enjoy within the sanctity and privacy of their own apartments or houses, even to the reading of so-called erotic literature which is suspected of inflaming us to commit "depraved acts."
But with the emancipation of the female through Woman's Lib, with the greater dissemination of soundly documented books on every sexual topic, and with our awareness that life is ephemeral at most and that enjoyment rather than fear should be the watchword, we have at last begun to cast aside those repressive shackles which made many of us regard any foreplay or afterplay in the sexual act as a sign of "pathological perversion." To be sure, if any one phase of sexual wooing is pursued to the point of excluding the inevitable and harmonious conjunction of union, then it may well become perversion. But certainly, as observed today as a kind of preface to love-making, there is really nothing deviate in the act of what we call "voluptuous chastisement."
Hitherto, spanking was looked upon as a disciplinary punishment reserved for the very young. With the advent of Dr. Spock and his school of child psychologists who believed that such a practice might lead to the control of a child out of fear rather than love or respect, that method of discipline was more or less abandoned-and of course the result has been a tremendous increase in the statistics of crimes by juveniles. But meanwhile, again thanks to our broader education in the field of sexual behavior, we now see that playful spanking, acting out a drama which arouses both participants, equally passive and equally active, can imply a stimulation away from the inevitable monotony of sexual union when neither partner shows the least inclination towards imagination or inventiveness.
There is still another connotation of spanking: the subconscious need for punishment and forgiveness. In this book, we observe the varied manifestations of "voluptuous chastisement" as it is understood today. For example, Astrid Fullhan, attractive, poised, certainly mature as she nears her thirties, is herself repressed out of prior educational and family background and has brought almost a haughty frigidity to her marriage. By consequence, her husband, an intellectual, is further plunged into a psychological state of inferiority where he does not seek to assert himself.
Yet Astrid's tendencies towards voyeurism (the act of watching in secret the sexual activities of others and deriving erotic stimulation therefrom) as well as her outward insistence on circumspect conduct leads her to spy on Betty Jurgens, an attractive young girl the brink of womanhood. She sees Betty in secret trysts with her young suitor Henry Warren, and her indignation is really born out of her own frustrated and hidden envy of the exciting and provocative relationship which she guesses the two teenagers are enjoying.
Vicariously, she experiences her first actual sexual stirring when, again from her secret spying place, she watches Betty being spanked humiliatingly by the latter's widowed father. Outwardly, she takes pleasure in this because through her spying and reporting to the father, the "sinful" girl is being justly chastised. Yet Astrid cannot know, repressed as she herself is, that in reality she yearns to be so dominated and so chastised to punish her for that very spying which is her principal means of sexual enjoyment.
And so when Betty turns the tables on mature Astrid and, conspiring with Henry Warren, forces the blonde matron to accept a sorority initiation which involves spanking to save herself the disgrace of having incriminating photographs passed around the small-town neighborhood, Astrid, although horrified at the thought of submitting to so ignominious a retribution, subconsciously responds to the chastisement because the punishment actually rouses her dormant sexual instincts while at the same time punishing her for the "guilty sin" she is experiencing despite herself. Finally, when Astrid's meek-mannered husband learns through the enterprising young Betty what his wife has done and how she has been dealt with, he in turn is given the key to unlock the psychic belt with which his beautiful but frigid wife has girdled herself, and thus achieves marital harmony.
Psychologically, it must be pointed out that many a female inwardly longs to be mastered and dominated by a superior male so as to "justify" her submission. This is why the mildly sadistic overtones of spanking fulfill in Astrid Fullhan all her dreamed-of desires while at the same time manifestly chastising her for being aroused by them. It is not unlike the "rape syndrome" whereby the female, chaste yet eager to taste at least for once the pleasures of the wanton, may subconsciously wish to be raped so that she cannot make the decision of sexual participation but rather have it made for her and thus rid her of the "original sin" of such an act. It is an instinct as old as time itself, but it is only now that we have come to recognize it for what it truly is. And by the honesty and frankness with which we approach any consideration of sex today, we cast away the specters of fear and guilt and shame and come all the closer to the ideal harmony of which Dr. Theo van de Velde wrote so rhapsodically in his masterpiece, "Ideal Marriage."
-The Author
Chapter One
"No, Dad, don't do it to me, please!" Betty Jurgens' voice rose stridently as her forty-three-year-old dark-brown-haired father, ignoring her plea, inexorably pulled her across his lap as he seated himself on the old wooden trunk at the back of the garage.
Frantically, she thrust back her hands to protect her threatened bottom, for this impending correction was absolutely destructive to her mature young ego of eighteen years. Indeed, her father hadn't once resorted to this time-honored method of punishment since her eventful twelfth birthday, just a week before her mother had suddenly died of a heart attack at the tragic age of thirty-four. But this time, she realized miserably even as she struggled, she had gone just a little too far and defied the edict he himself had laid down about her not seeing Henry Warren.
What bothered her most was how her father had found out that she had just had an unexpected meeting with tall, black-haired, gangling twenty-year-old Henry, a sophomore at Summerton College. Dan Jurgens published the weekly Summerton Bulletin, which was distributed to residential homes about five o'clock every Friday evening, and usually he stayed at the print shop to supervise that distribution and didn't get home until nine. That was why she had thought this late May Friday afternoon would have been an ideal time to enjoy an hour or two of forbidden rendezvous with her best boyfriend, because Henry Warren had a way with girls and just the touch of his fingers on her swelling breasts, even through her clothes, could set the dainty pink lips of her virgin vulva to moistening and twitching in ardent expectation of what she really wanted Henry Warren to do to her.
When she had left Summerton High, at three-thirty, dressed in her senior outfit of blue pullover woolen sweater with a gold "SH" emblazoned right over her magnificent, pear shaped, thrusting young bosom, a matching blue woolen skirt which hugged her lusciously rounded hips and descended to a point about two inches above delightfully dimpled bare knees, yellow bobby socks and loafers, she had seen Henry Warren driving down Magnolia Avenue in his Dodge Polara, a present from his wealthy lawyer father for his high-school graduation with good grades. Henry had pulled over to the curb and called at her, "Maybe I'll drop over in about half an hour, Betty, soon as I finish this errand for Dad." And so she had hurried home, found the house empty as she had expected, sprayed on a bit of perfume at the nape of her neck and, daringly, hoisting her skirt to show supple, creamy, delightfully rounded bare thighs at whose apex a pair of apricot-hued nylon panties lovingly adhered to the plump mound of her virginity, applied the perfume applicator to the insides of those twin columns of rippling, satiny femininity. Not that she was going to let Henry Warren go that far with her, but it just might happen if Dad stayed away at the print shop as he usually did.
And then, just as they were seated on this very trunk, his left arm tightly round her waist and his right hand sneaking under her skirt and a delighted look on his face to encounter no stockings but only bare warm girlflesh, Dan Jurgens had unexpectedly walked into the garage, put his hands on his hips, and growled, "What the hell-all right, Warren, get to hell out of here and don't let me catch you with my daughter again or there'll be trouble!"
And then, to make matters worse, as her young lover had scrambled off the trunk with a guilty look of apology at her, and was going, he had commanded, "All right, Betty, you know what I promised you if you saw that boy again! And you're going to get it right here and now before dinner! Just stay where you are, I'll come over there and sit down, and you can just put yourself over my lap!"
She could have died a thousand times of shame because Henry Warren had heard her father's threat, known that she was going to get a spanking all because of him. It was a punishment for love, she had thought to herself in anguish as her father had approached, his usually genial face taut and frowning, his eyes narrowed, and his lips thin with anger. She had slowly risen, feeling the backs of her legs trembling and quivering, with a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach, as he had methodically seated himself, then seized her by her wrist and hauled her down across his lap in the most unceremonious way, as if she were a little girl of six instead of eighteen, practically old enough to be married.
And now it was happening, and now he had yanked her woolen skirt up to her waist and proceeded to pull up the white nylon petticoat with its lacy frills at the hem to join the skirt. "No stockings, young lady?" he had growled. "As long as you're my daughter and dependent on me, Betty Jurgens, you're going to do what I tell you to. And you know how many times I've told you to stay away from that Warren fellow, he's just a rich man's son with too much spending money and free time on his hands for his own good. He happens to have a pretty bad reputation with a lot of girls, and he's not the sort of person I'd pick for a son-in-law, in case you had ideas in that direction. But maybe this will teach you that when I say a thing, I mean it, young lady!"
With this, and her stupefied astonishment, as his left arm tightened its hold around her waist, he inserted the fingers of his right hand under the waistband of her fragile nylon panties.
"Oh, no, Daddy!" In her shame and apprehension, Betty reverted to the childish name she had always called her father in years past, well before her entry into high school. "Leave them on, please, if you have to-if you have to sp-spank me, please, Daddy!"
"Take your hands away, Betty!" her father's voice was firm and crisp, allowing no argument or resistance. Placed as she was across his lap in the traditional and humiliating posture for juvenile chastisement, the auburn-haired teen-ager understood only too well that struggling would be not only undignified but futile; the best way to keep her pride was to submit passively and stoically, and so she bowed her head and clenched her fists, unable to control the shiver that ran through her tightly clenched bare thighs. Her skin was a pale white with rosy flecks, exquisitely sensitive, smooth and glossy, and it looked even more naked under the glaring, bare sixty-watt bulb in the ceiling which was the only light in the garage. The light had remained turned off while Betty and Henry had enthusiastically begun their stolen tryst.
Her calves were slim and high-set, with a sinuous contouring; the soft smooth hollows of her knees rose into the elegantly rounding columns of the womanly, ripening thighs which in their turn merged fluently and breathtakingly into the upstandingly rounded, narrowly spaced hemispheres of her now upturned and cringing bottom. For, the moment she had withdrawn her hands, her father had proceeded to yank down the frilly panties to her lower thighs, exposing in all their voluptuous prominence and elasticity the now huddling, clenching globes of her virginal posterior.
"Ohhh-D-Daddy!" Betty moaned in a low, choked voice, which expressed more eloquently than any other words could have done the supreme degradation she was now experiencing in knowing that the most intimate portions of her maturing anatomy were exposed to the eyes of her own father. Even with Henry Warren, though her flesh burned impatiently to be united with his in the act of union, Betty had never shown herself so naked as she now was before Dan Jurgens' appraising eyes.
But strangely, and even Betty couldn't explain it to herself, at this same moment when it seemed to her that she had been plunged down from her pedestal of burgeoning young womanhood, that of a siren whose beauty was coveted by a most eligible and desirable and certainly virile young male, into the shameful inferiority of a naughty child awaiting the classic retribution for her misdemeanors, a strange, tingling, warm sensation seemed to attack the exquisitely sensitive flesh along the insides of her tremoring naked thighs. Virgin that she still was, although of course a wise virgin in this day and age, nevertheless Betty Jurgens didn't know that this very immodesty which so mortified her before her own father was evoking a very definite and powerful erotic response in the deepest recesses of her quivering, half-naked, ripe young body.
She bowed her head down, closed her eyes tightly, clenched her fists with a determination that he wouldn't draw a single supplication for mercy from her. This pose of submission had the effect of arching up her naked, quivering, tightened buttocks all the more provocatively, as if she were shamelessly offering them for what was about to follow. Her father appeared to take no notice of this; summarily, with a workmanlike attitude that made the contrast of his own daughter's half-nudity all the more titillating, he merely lifted his right hand and applied a stinging slap to the outer edge of her right buttock, then an equally brisk and noisy slap to the other globe in the very same place.
With a gasp which she was unable to suppress, Betty announced the shock of that impact of a male hand on her virgin bottom. Nervously, her ankles crossed, the heel of her right loafer jerking up, and her hips squirmed nervously as she tried to shift herself into a more comfortable position for the endurance of what promised to be a severe correction. She didn't have to guess how angry her father was with her; the subject of Henry Warren had come up at least a dozen times in the past three months, and on each occasion Dan Jurgens had irritatedly declared that he never wanted to hear that fellow's name again on his daughter's lips. Having caught her in such a compromising position-and even now she shivered to think of how bad it could really have been if she had let Henry go all the way with her as he had begged her to let him do (and he had told her that he had a safe along so that there wouldn't be any danger of her getting pregnant if they did do it)-he was certainly going to make this a lesson she wouldn't soon forget, Betty dolefully understood.
He didn't lecture her, for which she was deeply grateful. In that way, she could concentrate all her senses on the burning, mounting discomfort which his callused hand was inflicting on the tender, resilient, jouncy, fleshed globes of her upturned bottom. For the most part, she endured it courageously, compressing her lips and trying to hold back any cries or prayers for mercy, because they would be unworthy of her age-after all, lots of girls got married at her age and she'd willingly marry Henry Warren if only Daddy would give his consent. Just the same, as the number of spanks rose from ten to twenty and thence to thirty with no sign of abatement, Betty's voluptuous naked hips began to plunge and arch and twist and swerve quite involuntarily, and her lovely heart-shaped face to twist back and her gray-green eyes to widen and to glaze with hot new tears as she eloquently besought forgiveness though without uttering a word to earn it.
By the time he had reached the fortieth spank, her fingernails were digging into her sweating palms, and she had constantly crossed and recrossed her bare ankles and scuffed off one of her loafers, and the tears were running down her flushed cheeks. Her buttocks were a brilliant scarlet from the chinkbone to the tops of her quaking, still tightly clenched thighs; somehow, out of a deeply rooted sense of virginal modesty, she didn't want him to see her pussy, even though he was her own father. Maybe exactly because of that, she didn't know. All she knew was that she was dying to have it over with so that she could go back to her bedroom and cry it out.
"There!" he said in a hoarse voice as he delivered a final pair of slaps which flattened the base of each burning, vividly splotched buttock, "I sincerely hope you'll realize from now on that I mean what I say about Henry Warren, young lady. Now you can get up and go to your room. I'll bring dinner up to you in about an hour."
"All right-D-Daddy," Betty Jurgens breathed as she awkwardly got to her feet. He was already apologetically tugging down her dress and petticoat, and his face was flushed and he was looking away from her, as if suddenly aware that this beautiful half-naked girl he had been spanking just happened to be flesh of his own flesh. He realized that he had possibly gone just a little too far in pulling down her panties for the spanking; the same effect could probably have been arrived at over them, and yet the seriousness of her offense had merited that humiliation, he rationalized.
She tried her best to control the instinct of rushing her hands to her bottom and rubbing it to soothe the throbbing hurt. Very pale now, without a look back at him, she almost hobbled out of the garage and back into the house and up the stairs slowly and painfully to her bedroom. Once inside the door, she hurried to the bathroom and showered.
When she emerged, naked as Eve, she turned to regard herself in the full-length mirror, holding the Turkish towel against her loins and breasts. Her buttocks were flaming, and her full red lips made a pouting moue of O at the sight of the damage. It still burned dreadfully!
She knew that he wouldn't invade her privacy, and he had said it would be an hour before dinner. Just the same, still holding the towel over her, she tiptoed to her door and turned the key in the lock. Then, drawing the shades, she dropped the towel and reached for the two pillows at the top of her bed, piled one on the other, and then very gingerly clambered onto the bed and adjusted herself till her throbbing, reddened buttocks lay exactly over the two cool pillows. "Ohhh, .my!" she sighed as she eased herself gently down.
By now, the sensation of prickly heat had begun to invade not only her buttocks, but also the insides of her thighs and her cuntal lips. The thick bush of dark-red hair didn't quite conceal those fleshy petals, and they were very definitely twitching and also suspiciously moist. She closed her eyes and reached her left hand down, gliding it past her lower abdomen and thence to the silky thicket. Then, with the tips of her fingers she began to touch the crinkly, coral-tinted cuntal lips in a delicate and lingering friction. Her beautiful pale-white breasts, bold pears and widely spaced, with narrow but dark, concentrated areolae in whose centers pert, stiffened buds now palpitated, rose and fell agitatedly. With her other hand, she caressed them, and as her eyes closed she pretended that it was Henry Warren who was solacing her for what she had had to bear for his sake. Now at last her left forefinger reached the very nodule of her being, the dainty, burgeoning clitoris, and a stifled gasp and violent, convulsive tremors were torn from her naked body. Then, spreading her thighs and arching herself up and down on the two pillows, Betty Jurgens imitated the erotic choreography of copulation, her left forefinger substituting for Henry Warren's virile male weapon, while in her mind the illusion of being united with him for tender consolation grew until a swirling, volcanic torrent of sensuality overpowered her, and she threshed squirmed and writhed on her bed, her be damp with sweat, but at last her loins appeased of the furious hunger which her father's spanking seemed so strangely to have redoubled in intensity. . .
CHAPTER Two
As the light went out in the garage and the tall, wiry figure of Dan Jurgens moved in darkness to the partly open door and disappeared into the red-brick house, a tall blonde bespectacled woman slowly straightened from her breathless hiding place on all fours in front of the south wall of the garage. Behind her was a tall hedge through which frequent and similarly stealthy journeys to this very same hiding place had cleared a kind of opening to it. She blinked her large, dark-blue eyes behind thick horn-rimmed spectacles, leaned with her back against the wall of the garage and then closed her eyes and drew a long shuddering breath. Beads of sweat glistened" on her high-arching forehead, and her thin nostril wings were dilating spasmodically. The full, sumptuous round breasts, closely spaced beneath a rather shapeless blue cotton dress, rose and fell voluminously, and she planted both palms against the brick wall to steady herself.
Astrid Fullhan, twenty-eight, the wife of an easy-going, mild-mannered commercial artist six years her senior, had watched the shameful and painful penance exacted from Betty Jurgens' voluptuous naked posterior by her father's chastening right palm, and it had left her shaken and trembling and pale.
She was five feet seven and a half inches in height, svelte, yet the lushness of her breasts and buttocks provided a striking sensual contrast. Her light-brown hair was coiffed in two long pigtails, to which tiny blue ribbons were tied near the ends. It was an affectation out of her childhood, for as the only child born to a middle-aged couple who ran a small boarding house on the southern border of Connecticut, Astrid Palmer had known very little of the normal recreation and foibles of a happy child. Her parents had sermonized her many times, on subjects ranging from morality to silent self-effacement at the table and in company. They had both died from pneumonia, when she had been nineteen, cloistered and obviously thoroughly prudish as regards sexual outlook. Her father had left enough insurance for her to continue college and to take art courses, since water colors had been her first real hobby. After graduation from an all-girls' private college, she had gone to work as an assistant librarian in a little Massachusetts town some fifty miles from Summerton. There, just four years ago last month, Matthew Fullhan, a slowly prospering free-lance artist, had gone on one of his brief vacations to do some landscape painting, which was his own hobby. Quite by accident, he had met the tall, reticent blonde young woman while walking through the woods and coming upon a clearing where she had set up her easel. He had struck up a conversation with her, they had discovered that painting was a common bond between them, and a few months later Astrid Palmer had rather apprehensively changed her name to Astrid Fullhan.
Matthew Fullhan, sturdy, with curly light-brown hair and gentle blue eyes and soft-spoken manner, had been a virgin also, except for one fumbling experience in college which had left him frantically frustrated and also somewhat insecure as to his own masculine powers with the opposite sex. In Astrid, however, he discovered a curious melange of almost overpowering inhibition blended with a righteous sense of marital duty. She had grimly told herself that, because this man who had been the first to pay any attention to her and to cultivate her intellectually, was kind and decent and had offered her the role of wife, it was her bound duty to submit as the Good Book decreed that a good wife should to the importunities of her consort. Similarly, Matthew Fullhan, though secretly lusting for his tall, full-bosomed, ripe-hipped wife, respected her innate modesty and prudery which he mistook for ingrained chastity. Hence his "demands" upon her were infrequent, perhaps once or twice a week at the most. And these unions were brief, under the shelter of a completely darkened bedroom, and with Astrid insisting that neither of them be naked for the conjugal embrace. To this day, four years and a month after their wedding night, Matthew Fullhan had never seen his blonde wife naked as the day she had been born, and she in her turn had never seen him entirely uncovered.
Both had agreed, with a kind of brave show of sophistication, that because they were both creative and intellectual people, it would be unwise to have children at the very outset of the marriage. Blushing with shame, Astrid had gone to her husband's family physician, a kindly old man who understood her far better than she dreamed, but who was helpful enough to provide her with contraceptives so that no children would result from even these mild accesses of physical desire which Matthew seemed to experience far more than his repressed blonde bride.
Nevertheless, submissive though Astrid was to the scheduled weekly embraces of her husband, she had begun over the past year to experience disturbing sensations, and these had been brought to a crux when, early this spring, she had happened to see Betty Jurgens and Henry Warren kissing passionately at the back of the garden of the Jurgens' yard next to the garage. That had been when Betty's father had been in Boston purchasing art supplies and visiting an advertising agency who furnished him with about half of his commissions.
A few days later, quite by chance, while she was pruning the hedges near her neighbor's garage, Astrid discovered that several of the bricks had come loose. Out of curiosity, no more at the time, she had moved through the hedge and pulled away two or three of these bricks, only to discover that thereby she created a quite large peephole. And when, the very next afternoon, Henry Warren had leaped over the fence of the garden and gone right to the garage to meet Betty in another of their forbidden rendezvous, Astrid Fullhan had seen him from her kitchen window, stealthily hurried out to the hedge, moved through it, and crouched down to remove the bricks to see what was taking place.
She had watched the auburn-haired girl and the gangling young collegian seated on the trunk locked in a passionate embrace, with Henry's hand slipping under Betty's skirt and stroking the bare flesh of her inner thighs near her panties. She could hear Betty's languorous sighs and little whimpering moans as the gangling youth's hand finally centered on the most sensitive spot of all. And if she had any doubts, it had been confirmed by the redhead's sudden excited gasp, "Ohhhh, Henry honey, tickling my pussy like that just drives me crazy-oh, please stop, before we both do something that'll get us both into trouble, please, darling!"
When she had heard that, the blonde matron had closed her eyes and shivered, her pale-pink-sheened cheeks had suddenly turned a fiery red, and she had pressed one hand against a suddenly surging full round breast, so hard that against her palm she could feel her own nipple palpitating and stiffening.
She couldn't have explained what compelling instinct had drawn her as a magnet draws a pin towards this hiding place and why it was so important that she hear and see what Betty Jurgens was doing. For she had forgotten, crowded back into the farthest filing-place of the mind, what she quite unexpectedly seen when she was fourteen . . . coming home from school one wintry day and taking a short cut through the alley to reach her parents' house, there had been a window in an English basement apartment with the shade somehow not drawn. And quite by accident she had glanced down and to her left and halted there, her mouth gaping, her eyes bulging and glassy at the forbidden sight. There on a bed, a buxom honey-haired woman, plump and naked except for gunmetal-gray nylons with red rosette garters high on her ripe thighs, her knees aloft and straddled as she received between them the wiry, hairy body of a gray-haired man who wore only his socks. His hands were under her jutting, succulent, round buttocks, hoisting them upward as he thrust himself to the hilt inside her, and her arms wrapped tightly round his shoulders. Her head had been tilted back, her eyes wide and ecstatic, and Astrid had seen the look of stricken lust indelibly inscribed on the woman's face ... a look she had never forgotten.
Only the night before, her mother had given her a stern lecture on how important it was for a girl in her teens not to encourage in the slightest way any boy at school or even to speak to him on the street because it could lead to terrible trouble. She had hinted how sometimes young people forgot themselves and ruined their lives. And she had obliquely mentioned the sexual act, though of course using words that had no lustful images for the young girl's mind to retain. But those words, combined with what Astrid had inadvertently seen that afternoon, had remained with the lonely blonde girl all of her days.
And because of the restrictions and the inhibitions which had become so naturally a part of her life even in marriage, she had tried to crowd back into her mind, where they would be forgotten, that salacious sight and those meaningful words. But now seeing vivacious Betty Jurgens sneaking off to neck and pet with her young lover and discovering the loose bricks and how that could be turned into a voyeuristic hiding place where she could watch all the lascivious wickedness of those youngsters without herself committing a sin, had begun to waken the long dormant sensuality that was inherent to both the soul and the tormented, repressed flesh of Astrid Fullhan.
And so, on this memorable Friday afternoon, having remembered how she had overheard Dan Jurgens angrily warn Betty not to let him catch her with that fellow again, Astrid Fullhan had found chores to do in her kitchen all through the afternoon, secretly yearning for Betty to break her promise to her father and to invite that wicked boy over. And, sure enough, she had.
That was when she had gone to the telephone and dialed the number of the Summer-ton Bulletin, and when the young apprentice Tom Murray, who sometimes helped set type when old Mr. Fisher wasn't feeling well enough to handle the whole paper, answered the phone, she had asked him to call Mr. Jurgens. And when Dan Jurgens had said, "Hello, this is Jurgens," Astrid Fullhan, holding a handkerchief over her voice, had said in a forced high-pitched voice to disguise her own identity, "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Jurgens, but I think you ought to know that your daughter is entertaining that boy you don't like in your garage right now," and had then hung up.
She had leaned against the wall of the hallway beside the phone, closing her eyes and shivering. A warm sticky sensation had begun to pervade the insides of her legs, and she could even feel her cuntal lips quivering and moistening. She had put a hand against her mount, pressing her palm hard through her skirt until she could feel the pain of that pressure. But it had been sweet, exquisite pain, and she had begun to tremble and to feel her legs give way beneath her.
Then she had waited a little while, until she was certain that Betty and Henry were inside the garage, and had crept out into the garden and gone through the break in the hedge to find the place she knew so well.
And when she had seen the redhead pulled across her father's lap, her skirt lofted and her panties relentlessly yanked down, Astrid Fullhan had reverted to the most secret practice of all, one which her husband would never have guessed she still employed as a mature married woman. She had put her hand up her skirt and into the leg of her frilly pink nylon panties until her forefinger touched the twitching cuntal lips. And then, her breath coming quickly and feverishly, her body oozing with the sweat of vicarious passion, she had watched Betty's naked behind jerk and weave and twist and redden furiously while her finger had rubbed and touched and caressed the moistening cuntal lips until, at the very climax of the spanking when Dan Jurgens had at last halted, she had felt the blissful waves of crashing fulfillment sweep her into rapturous limbo.
She had waited until both of them had left the garage, and then carefully made her way back to the kitchen, heated a cup of coffee, strong and black and without sugar, and gulped it down. She knew that Matthew wouldn't be home tonight, because he had decided to spend the weekend in Boston to get some art supplies and also to have Sunday dinner with the family of the agency art director who gave him most of his work. She thought with a kind of tortured longing of the long night ahead and her being alone in bed in her nightgown and her own prying finger pretending that it was a secret lover wooing her and bringing her to the shattering fulfillment she had known while watching Betty Jurgens get her bare-bottom punishment. And because there wasn't any man, because of course she was faithful to Matthew and always would be because she had been brought up that way, there couldn't be any sin to experiencing the sweet pleasures she had learned to give herself after she had seen two other people act in a sinful, lustful way. No one could ever know what went on in another person's mind, and Matthew would never dream what went on in hers, she would see to that. . . .
CHAPTER Three
It was as well for Astrid Fullhan's peace of mind that in the four years of marriage she had learned to trust her husband implicitly and to take him at his word. He had told her that he was going to meet with the advertising agency art director and most likely be invited to spend the weekend at the latter's home, and that it would be very good for his business if he accepted the invitation. Naturally Astrid had encouraged him.
But when Matthew Fullhan had arrived at the lobby of the Statler Hotel where Amos Denby had arranged to meet him, he quickly discovered that the original plans were going to be changed.
Amos Denby was a short but vivacious man in his mid-forties, with a waxed mustache, receding dark brown hair, and was a most capable commercial artist whom Matthew Fullhan deeply respected. So far as Astrid's husband knew, Amos Denby had been happily married for about twenty years, had two sons who were starting Harvard this fall and eventually going on to be lawyers.
The Boston agency of Clairmont, Thomas & Davidson had several million-dollar accounts, but unlike many New York agencies, it preferred to keep its personnel limited in the "close little family" tradition. This system had worked well for everyone concerned, and as the agency grew with its reputation for integrity and ability, more work came in than could be capably handled by Amos Denby and his two assistants themselves. That was how Matthew Fullhan had come into the agency picture and was now, for all intents and purposes, on a steady retainer basis with them.
Just two days ago, Amos Denby jovially informed the mild-mannered Summerton artist, the agency had acquired a sizable new account, an important regional fish cannery. The upshot of it was that Matthew Fullhan would be assigned a good deal of the work, and, if he were amenable to the idea, might have to commute to Boston every other week and be ready to spend a few days there until the schedule of assigned work could be put into an operation that would enable him to do most of the jobs at home and bring them in for final presentation.
Matthew Fullhan was enchanted with the prospect. It would mean at least ten to fifteen thousand dollars more income this year, and perhaps he could even move to Boston. While small-town life was pleasant, he was already beginning to feel the dreariness of it, although most of that came from the monotony of his marriage. Vaguely, he knew that Astrid hadn't turned out to be the sort of wife he had dreamed of when they had first met. She was still far too intellectual, and her magnificent body, even though it legally belonged to him, had given him very little pleasure. That was because he had always held himself in check, reminding himself that after all she had been a virgin and that she was decently brought up and couldn't be expected to try all the little tricks a really lustful female would.
The two men had lunch at the famous Anthony's Pier One, and Amos Denby ordered a bottle of Chablis to accompany the superb lobster which was the main entree. "Now listen, Matt," he leaned forward across the table like a conspirator, "I told you over the phone that I was going to have you out to the house this weekend. But if you don't mind, I'd like to go out on the town with you. You see, my wife's gone off to Baltimore to stay with a sick cousin, they went to school together, they've always been very close. So for the first time in a long time, I'm a bachelor. And damn it all, I want to make something out of it. This new account of ours calls for a little celebration, but I'm a gregarious sort of guy who likes to share my fun with a good friend-and that's what I consider you, Matt. You've pulled the agency out of a lot of deadline holes with your fine work, and you've got a celebration coming."
"Yes, but I don't quite understand, Amos," Matthew Fullhan falteringly replied.
"Do I have to draw you a diagram, Matt? You've been married, how long is it now-four years or so?" And when the commercial artist nodded, Amos Denby chuckled and winked, "I've been married about five times as long and it feels like an eternity. I mean, Bess is a fine woman, salt of the earth, but when a man gets close to fifty and he realizes there isn't much time left, it's time he had a fling or so. You need one too, man. Tell me something-how many girls did you sleep with before you got married?"
Matthew Fullhan's face suddenly flamed and he lowered his eyes. "Why-I suppose-"
"You probably went to a whore the first time, or else you fumbled around with some girl at school and it wasn't too wonderful," Amos Denby filled in for him. "Look, you've already told your wife you're going to stay the weekend at my place, and from what you've told me about this Astrid of yours, she isn't the kind that is going to be phoning you up every hour to find out where you are and why. My boys are off in school, God bless them, and so we've got the weekend to ourselves. And, as it happens, I happen to have the phone number of a very talented young lady, a college graduate no less, and she's got a friend who's sort of an amateur in the business, if you know what I mean. The agency will foot the bill for the whole shindig, and it's my treat. You're coming along with me and we're going to let down our hair and have a high old time. They may talk about banning books in Boston, but they haven't banned good hot enjoyable fucking yet, and I don't think they ever will. Well, Matt, just don't sit there with your mouth open like a fish out of water-what do you say?" "My God-I couldn't-" "And why the hell not? Astrid won't ever find out. Listen, I can tell by that hangdog look on your face, you've never really had an orgy, now have you? Wine, women, and song, that's the ticket to make life sweeter, especially when you're celebrating a big deal such as you and I just pulled off this week for ourselves. Deep down inside of you, Matt, I'll bet you've dreamed about sleeping with another woman lots of times. It doesn't mean you love that wife of yours any less, it just means you've got some imagination and want a little variety and spice in life before they throw a shovelful of dirt in your face. And I'm not going to take no for an answer, you hear me?"
"Well, I don't know-" Torment was registered on Matthew Fullhan's pleasant, regular features. Amos Denby was a tempter, leaning forward with a sly grinning look, and the prospect of a Rabelaisian night suddenly seemed an exciting and mysteriously tempting adventure. He thought of how Astrid had never let him see her naked, and had sometimes sighed when his hands began to squeeze her breasts or tried to ease under her to feel and caress her bottom. "Oh please, Matthew, do get this over with, we're grown people and we should be sensible, you know."
Perhaps he could pretend. Perhaps there would be some girl, who wouldn't know his real name any more than he would know hers, who would have a body like Astrid, and she would be all naked, or perhaps just in clambering, black, gauzy nylon stockings and high heeled pumps, and maybe even red garters high on the tops of her long ripplingly muscled thighs. And she would have earrings, and smell of perfume and her flesh would be ivory, and her nipples would be a dark, dusky red, like eyes winking at him, and her lips would be red, too, and they would move down his body until . . .
Beads of sweat oozed on his forehead and he felt his heart beating faster. He swallowed hard. Just maybe once in his life, and if Astrid never found out, it certainly couldn't hurt her. After all, theirs had been such an intellectual union, it wouldn't hurt just once to prove to himself that he was still a man capable of passion and lust. . . .
"All right, I think you want it as much as I do," Amos Denby knowingly chuckled. "Let's have a drink for the road, and then I'll go make me a phone call and then we'll plan our little party for tonight and maybe Saturday night too. You can still get home by Sunday night and everything will be wrapped up nicely and you'll have had yourself a helluva good time."
* * *
Matthew Fullhan couldn't believe that it was happening to him, but it was. After their luxurious lunch at Pier One, Amos Denby had had the doorman flag a cruising cab, and then given the driver an address in South Boston. Half an hour later, he was standing nervously in the lobby of an elegant three-story six-flat building in a very quiet residential section with hardly any street traffic, and Amos Denby was ringing a bell on the third floor opposite the nameplate of "S. Phillips". Almost immediately, there was an answering ring to let them in, and Amos winked at his bemused friend as he opened the lobby door and gestured for Matthew to follow him upstairs.
On the landing of the second floor, an extremely attractive coppery-haired young woman, about twenty-seven, was standing waiting for them. She wore a black toreador blouse, red satin slacks, and black high-heeled pumps, and the cuffs of the slacks lifted enough to show Matthew Fullhan that she was wearing the gauziest black nylon hose he had ever seen in all his life.
"Glad to see you, Amos. And you've brought your friend. Eleanor is here already, so let's go in and get acquainted," the redhead said to Amos Denby as she gave Matthew Fullhan a gracious smile of welcome.
Still as if moving in a dream, Astrid's soft-spoken, mild-mannered husband followed his agency friend into one of the most luxurious apartments he had ever entered. The living room was huge and magnificently furnished, even to a fireplace and a bearskin rug in front of it. The floor was thickly carpeted, there were elegant green drapes discretely drawn over the large bay windows, and a soft indirect lamp in the form of a statuette of a naked nymph raising her arms aloft with an exquisitely provocative smile on her sculptured face cast the only illumination in this enormous room.
The couch was extremely broad and had a low back, and it was upholstered in green to match the drapes and the carpet. As Matthew Fullhan seated himself, he uttered a sigh of contentment. This was real luxury. The redhead stood in the center of the room with Amos beside her, his arm around her waist, while he whispered into her ear. She eyed Matthew Fullhan, then nodded, and whispered something back which made Amos Denby laugh and slap his thigh.
"Matt, this is Suzy Phillips, my best girl friend," the gray-haired art director announced. "Eleanor's going to be your girl, and she'll be out in a jiffy. Now just the way I told you, Matt, everything is taken care of, so all you have to do is relax and enjoy yourself. And in case you've got any hangups about group sex, I don't happen to be an exhibitionist, so Suzy and I are going to take one of the bedrooms and leave you and Eleanor to the other or the living room, depending on where you want to have your fun. There's a sideboard over there at the other side of the fireplace as you can see, and it's got wine and liquor and also crackers to nibble on if you've still got a hollow leg after that lunch we just tucked away under our belts. Have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"But-Amos-I don't-" Matthew Fullhan began, rather helplessly.
"Now then, Matt dear," the redhead moved towards him, and he could see that the toreador blouse had only her warm pale white-sheened bare flesh under it without the least hint of a bra, judging from the deep V-cut, "you mustn't be shy at all. Amos and I have been friends for some years now, and he's already told me a good deal about you. And I've told Ellie, and she's going to make you feel the way you did in your college days, you'll see. But I like to see a man blush and be bashful, it shows that he isn't a born wolf. And that's the best kind-Ellie will know how to put you at your ease, you can be sure of that. Shall we go now, Amos darling?"
"You said it, Suzy, I've been thinking about you ever since I sat down to lunch with my friend here," the gray-haired art director enthusiastically chuckled. He had slipped his left hand down to squeeze Suzy Phillips' high-perched, firm, narrow-spaced oval buttocks through the red slacks, and Matthew Fullhan, as he stared, couldn't take his eyes off her willowy, lithe body. He was willing to swear equally that she had nothing on under the slacks anymore than she did under the blouse. But by then they were already walking out of the living room and he was left alone with his jumbled thoughts and also the very self-conscious realization that he was getting a tremendous erection just thinking about the possibilities of this wonderfully luxurious, almost soundproofed apartment and the fact that a gorgeous young girl would be all his in a very few minutes ... to do the things he had always longed to do with Astrid, but had never dared to try or even to talk to her about!
And then he gasped and his eyes widened with disbelief: slowly, a saucy smile on her ripe red lips, her large, widely spaced blue eyes very wide and childlike with their look of expectant surprise, a slim, honey-haired young woman entered the living room from his right and came to stand before him, smiling down at him in the most inviting way. "Hi there, I'm Eleanor," she declared.
His eyes devoured her as if half-believing this voluptuous siren would suddenly vanish and the entire dream dissolve. She was almost Astrid's height, with a more slender waist, and yet her hips and breasts seemed equally opulent. Her glossy yellow hair hung in a thick cascade just below her shoulders, framing her vivacious, oval-shaped face, much in the way the famous movie star Veronica Lake used to wear her hair over one eye and cheekbone to suggest sultry and inscrutable passion. She had on a provocative short-sleeved red satin jacket which left her midriff bare and showed off the shallow wide niche of her navel as well as enticing, smooth, tawny-sheened skin that rippled and quivered with a sensual vibrancy at every breath. A yellow satin skirt hugged her hips, perhaps by elastic waistband or snap fasteners, for it clung to her without any visible means of support and shaped out boldly ripe yet long thighs, sumptuous buttocks with a gradually widening cleft between them. The skirt descended just below her knees, and as his eyes flicked covetously over her entrancing body, he could detail the high-set sleek calves snugged in shimmeringly transparent beige-colored nylons. She seemed taller than she was because of the spike-heeled black leather pumps with glistening rhinestone buckles shaped like hearts on her instep.
"How-how do you do?" his voice was strangled, and he felt perspiration oozing from him.
"Don't be scared of me, Matt. You see I already know your name, Suzy told me. May I sit down? Or would you like a drink first?"
"If you'd like one-I-I don't mind," he faltered. There was a lump in his throat, and he suddenly crossed his legs because he was fearfully conscious of the throbbing turgidity of his penis and wanted to hide it. She was so young and fresh and delicious, he couldn't even begin to think that she slept with other men. Such smooth lovely skin, such gleaming white teeth, and a dainty Grecian nose that crinkled when she smiled. And she had a lovely soft husky voice as if there were just the two of them there in all the world and she was going to confide in him. He squirmed uneasily, because the throbbing in his penis became maddening. And all of a sudden he could look back over the four years of his marriage to Astrid and realize how much he had missed in the conjugal embrace. There had been no whetting of his erotic senses by clothing or by posture or even by attitude. No, it had all been in darkness, submissive and yet impatient darkness. And now this gorgeous young girl was to be his tonight, and nobody would ever know about it!
"Fine, Matt. Now how about a Scotch on the rocks? That's what I'm having." "That'll be fine, M-Miss-" "Oh, silly, call me Eleanor, or Ellie if you like. That's what my friends call me at college."
"College?" he echoed.
"Oh yes. I'm doing some postgraduate work at a teachers' college near Fall River, Matt. Some psychology courses. I want to learn all about people so that I can study their reactions and appeal to them more. Here's your drink. Now tell me about yourself."
She had gone over to the sideboard and poured out a stiff shot of Scotch, brought it back to him, and now seated herself very closely beside him with her own glass, crossing her long beautiful legs and waggling her uppermost pump. His eyes fixed on it, and he squirmed again because the aching in his penis was almost unbearable by now.
There was a wonderful smell to her, a spicy perfume he couldn't identify-Astrid used only a very modest cologne and almost never used lipstick-and it was permeating his senses and drawing all his attention to this intoxicatingly delicious young woman so close to him. He took a sip of his drink to give him more courage. "There-there really isn't much to tell, Miss- I mean-Eleanor," he began.
"Just relax. We've all night and maybe all weekend, if you like me. Don't you worry about a thing, Matt. Amos and Suzy have fixed things up and they won't get in our way at all. Besides, I wouldn't let them. You see, I know a little about you already. That's from Amos. You're a very shy and sweet person. I can see that for myself without knowing anything more about you. You're married, aren't you?"
Normally, Matthew Fullhan would have been on the defensive, suspicious of any such personal questions, especially from a callgirl. But now, thanks to his loneliness and his looking back over the four years of a monotonous marriage without romance, thanks also to the magnificent lunch and the wine and the incredible knowledge that this weekend was going to be paid for by the agency that gave him most of his livelihood, Matthew Fullhan found himself more than ready to talk about himself . . . something he almost never did at home.
Eleanor proved to be a wonderful listener. She looked at him with grave large eyes, nodded, put in a sympathetic word or gasp or a lovely shaking of her head which set her honey-gold curls dancing deliciously, to encourage him. In about five minutes he had conveyed to her the fact that he was married but that his wife hadn't turned out to be his dream girl, that this was the first fling of its kind he had ever known, and that he thought she was extremely beautiful.
She tilted back her head and laughed softly, "You're just too good to be true, Matt. You poor darling, I suppose when Amos told you about Suzy and me, you were picturing a sort of den of iniquity and all sorts of painted floozies, weren't you ? Well, as you see, I'm not really painted and I'm certainly not a floozie. Shall we say, I'm just your companion, to help you relax and unwind. Shall I get you another drink?"
"Oh no, Eleanor, I've had too much already today."
"You're right, too much always dulls the senses, and we want to enjoy this both, don't we? Now I want you to tell me everything you're going to do and have done to you, Matt dear. Don't be ashamed, it's all natural, and I'll let you in on a little secret-I really love it. You see, postgraduate courses cost a lot of money, and so I try to help meet expenses by just picking and choosing once in a while a nice friendly escort like you. I'm not about to make this my regular occupation, believe me. That's why you're to think of me as a girl you've met for the first time and that you've suddenly got very excited about, and I'll be the same way about you, and we can both make each other very happy. Do you understand?"
He nodded, his throat too choked to speak. It was the realization of all his dream-fantasies, to be alone with a beautiful girl who had as much as told him that whatever he wanted to do to her would be more than acceptable. It would be just impossible to think of such a thing happening between himself and Astrid, he knew, and that was why this marvelous sexual contrast had given him such a tremendous erection that he knew if he didn't do something quickly, he was going to make an utter idiot of himself.
"Let me take off your coat and tie, and then unbutton your shirt. And then I'll get myself a little comfy for you, Matt dear," she artfully proposed. She took his half-empty glass and set it down on the glass-covered coffee table before them, put her own there too, and then bent to him solicitously. He was trembling as she deftly and expertly removed his suit coat and then his tie, hanging them neatly over the back of a nearby chair, and then returned to unbutton the buttons of his shirt down almost to the last one. Then, with a soft little laugh, she moved away and faced him, put her hands to her skirt and made a quick movement, letting it slither down to her ankles. He caught his breath, trembling, his eyes fixed to the wanton display of her voluptuous beauty. She wore black net panties with legs so brief that the base of her upstandingly rounded, deeply cleft buttocks were bared, and in front he could see a thick triangular bush of dark-golden cuntal curls. The beige-toned nylons clambered high on her beautifully rounded thighs, snugged there without a wrinkle or flaw by the narrow tabs of a black satin-elastic garter belt, extremely narrow and just under the waistband of her panties. He found it impossible to speak, and he was bathed in sweat and he was trembling, but most of all his penis was rock-hard and straining to be free.
"Like me a little, Matt dear?" her voice was huskily seductive, soft, just audible for his ears alone.
"Oh my God, yes, Eleanor-you're-you're beautiful!"
"I'm glad you want me. I can see you do. Silly darling, don't cross your legs so much, don't you think I know that you've got a terrible hard-on and that you want me ?" Sinuously, felinely, she moved to sit beside him, an arm around his waist, and her right hand moved to the zipper of his trousers. In reflexive action, he pressed both hands nervously against hers, staring at her, gulping, "Ellie- my God-Ellie-I don't know-"
"Shh, darling, just relax, I told you," she soothed, "I told you I was taking courses in psychology. I don't have to be very advanced to know that you've never done anything like this before, not even with your own wife. And we're not going to talk about her. Tonight, maybe tomorrow too if you want me that much, I'm going to be your wife, and I'm going to do all the things you've dreamed about but never really were able to talk to me about before. I want you to understand that. That's what is going to make it so exciting for both of us to find out what you like and for you to find out what I like, too. Do you see, dearest?"
Once again, he was so stricken by the multitudinous emotions seething in him that he could only nod and gulp and stare at her, with a desperate fear that suddenly she would vanish into thin air and that he would be back home in the huge double bed astride Astrid in her nightgown and hear the sound of her regular breathing and know that it was still another night of frustration.
"That's fine, Matt dear. Now listen, have you ever been played with? I'll show you what I mean. Just spread your legs a little-that's a good boy. There now-oh my goodness, isn't he big and strong! That's a lovely compliment you're paying me, and I know it's sincere, you devil you!"
As he had obeyed, his face scarlet now, Eleanor had quickly and delicately dragged down the zipper of his trousers fly, moved her slim fingers against his shorts, opened them, and drawn out the surprisingly turgid, broad, plum-shaped glans and the dark-veined, angrily straining shaft of his manhood. Irresolute and fearfully self-conscious now, because this was the first time that a woman had actually manipulated his organ and, still more incredibly, in a lighted room where he himself could see what was taking place, he tried to put his hands against her wrist as if to prevent her startling act.
"Oh my goodness, you poor darling, you really are hung up, I can tell," she crooned, shaking her head so that her curls danced once again. "Now you let me do something nice to you, and see if you don't like it. If you don't, I promise you can take me over your lap and spank me for being a naughty girl. By the way," and this with a sly wink at him that made his blood boil, "I happen to like that too once in a while, Matt darling."
And suddenly her head had bowed over his lap and he felt the delicate caressing of the fingertips of her other hand while with right thumb and forefinger gripping the middle of his rampant organ, she began to touch and tickle him from scrotum to testicles to glans, blowing quick little gusts of breath against the sensitized plum-headed tip of his agonized and ferociously erect penis.
"OHH-oh God-oh Ellie darling-oh, it's so good-oh Ellie-" he groaned, his head tilting back, his eyes closing, and now again out of instinct but this time as the first steps towards a sexual emancipation he had never before experienced, Matthew Fullhan put his right hand against the soft sculptured neck of the honey-haired callgirl as if to hold her to that sweet ministration, while the fingers of his left hand dug into the soft yielding upholstery of the couch in this Tantalus-torment which seemed to draw the very essence out of his being, the marrow out of his very bones.
"Is it good for you, Matt?"
"So good-oh Ellie, don't-don't stop-oh my God-oh it's just wonderful!" he moaned.
And then he started and squirmed, with a cry of ecstasy: Her soft lips had taken hold of the very tip of his glans, implanting a suctioning kiss, and then the pert pink tip of her tongue stabbed at the puckering lips of the meatus, rubbing them briefly, exacerbating them with a maddening friction that almost made him ejaculate in violent orgasm. Only by a supreme effort did he hold himself back, his whole body wrenched and shuddering from the sweet torment of her oral wooing.
"Would you like me to take you in my mouth to start with, darling?" came her thrilling, unexpected question as she suddenly looked up at him her eyes roguish and knowing.
"Oh God-Ellie-but I want-I want to love you too-" he blurted.
"Of course you do, sweetheart. But don't forget, we've got practically the entire weekend. And don't you know that once you take the first edge off, then you can make love for an awfully long time and thrill the girl you're doing it to? Oh I see I'm going to have to teach you, your little wife for tonight and tomorrow is going to have to show her nice new husband lots of wonderful things he doesn't know about, and I'm so glad I'm the one to do it for you, Matt. You poor boy, you've just been starved, haven't you?"
He fought back the impulse to say yes to her, because that would be out of self-pity, and conscience told him that he couldn't really accuse Astrid for his own failings. He ought to have been man enough to have exerted some mastery over her, or at least to have talked things over so that perhaps they could have had a better time in bed. But that thought was swiftly dashed as once again the beautiful young blonde bent her head down and this time her lips accepted all his glans within their keeping, slushing her tongue over the tautly throbbing head of his spear, while all her fingers now did magical and evanescent things all over his scrotum and shaft and testicles till he felt that his very sap was being drawn from him from the innermost depths of his being to drain him completely.
Grinding his teeth, his fingernails biting into her soft neck, his other hand digging into the couch, he fought the urge to yield, prolonging the sweet torture all that much more beyond endurance, thus learning the first lesson which a connoisseur of voluptuous erotic lovemaking acquires, that there is no need to hasten when the night is long and desire fresh and hot and stinging.
Her head turned and moved, her lips and tongue attacking his glans and now the shaft just below the narrow, deep circumcisional groove with a quicker cadence. With a cry, he could no longer endure the devastating siege of his manhood, and he called out to warn her, himself shocked at such a primitive and unchaste act. But he heard her hiss, "Oh yes, now, give it to me!" And then again her lips fixed over his bulging glans, and with a hoarse shout of untold rapture, Matthew Fullhan felt himself explode.
He heard and felt her swallowing, drifting into a sweet limbo of black, peaceful release, and then she was beside him, her arm around his shoulders, her other hand stroking his cheek, whispering, "You poor darling, you've needed that for ever so long, you know you have! And now, let's go to the biffy and clean up and get all nice and naked and then you can love me the way you want to. Come on, Matt dearest, your new little wifie wants you to show her what a man you really are!"
CHAPTER Four
Matthew Fullhan was in a seventh heaven of delight, and if this was a dream, he didn't care if he never awakened from it. Eleanor had gently led him into the bathroom, and there proceeded to make him strip entirely naked except for socks, while she herself, after taking washcloth and soap and very daintily washing and drying his limpened weapon, unbuttoned her toreador blouse and hung it up over the towel rack, standing there enchantingly naked save for garter belt, nylons and spike-heeled pumps. His eyes goggled at the sight of her, and already his penis began to throb and stiffen with reinvigoration at the delectable sight of her round, cantaloupe-like breasts with their wide, pale-coral areolae and perky, darker-tinted nipple buds which rose and enticingly proffered themselves at every breath as if begging for caresses from fingers and tongue and lips. Almost guiltily, he looked downwards, seeing the shallow wide nook of her belly button, and then the thickly luxuriant dark-golden fleece which began at the lower abdomen and shrouded the soft fleshy pink cuntal lips almost enough to hide them from view. In many ways, her figure resembled that of Astrid's, in the contrast between the slender waist and the arrogantly rounded breasts and buttocks and womanly thighs. But the difference was that she was wanton and uninhibited, playful and imaginative, and that she had learned the art of decor to set off half-nakedness and make it even more erotically overpowering to her male admirer and partner than total nakedness could ever have been.
"I can tell you like me a little, Matt honey," she whisperingly confided as she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the mouth. Then, to his gasping delight, she lowered her head and sucked each of his nipples and flicked her tonguetip over them, then slowly sank down on her knees and traced a vertical line with her rasping soft velvety pink tongue down past his navel and to the head of his throbbing, newly aching lance.
"Let's go find ourselves a bedroom where we can really be alone and forget about everything else, lover," she murmured huskily as she rose to her feet. Playfully, she put out left thumb and forefinger and grasped him at the circumcisional groove. "Come along, darling, come along with Mama! I'm going to show you how accommodating a new little wifie can be to her big strong hubby."
Thus, after all these years, sober, meek Matthew Fullhan was ecstatically converted to understand that guilt and shame and fear in sexual play destroy the ardor and the inventiveness and, most of all, the sweet sharing of lovemaking. Once again, and this time not quite so guiltily as at the outset of this adventure, his mind went back to Astrid and her coy and shrinking tactics whenever bedtime neared. Intellectual though she was, there wasn't any reason why she shouldn't have as much fun in sex as he was having right now with this gorgeous blonde collegian.
Eleanor turned and locked the door, then put the key in the top dresser drawer, while he moved to the huge double bed and sat down on the edge. His skin was prickling and his nerves tingling with a thousand new desires. It was as if, once he had crossed the threshold of this apartment, he had cast away his puritanical outlook on life and discovered how much he had been missing by not enjoying life to the hilt with all the zest it was possible for a virile male to bring to the enjoyment of it.
"Go on, darling, lie down on your back and put your hands under your head like a pillow. Let Mama do all the work." Her husky voice seduced, bewitched and eagerly encouraged him, and he at once obeyed, blushing nonetheless as he saw his penis once again massively erect and thrusting up impatiently to be housed in the snug fitting between her soft pink cuntal lips. She moved slowly, hands cupping her ripe round breasts as if to offer them to him, moving so slowly that he had ample time to detail her, to see how fluently the sheer nylons acted like a second skin in every movement of those long delightfully contoured legs, how the tabs of the garter belt clung and moved with her motions, and how the thick curls of her pubic fleece seemed at times to part and show just for an instant the mysterious pink grotto of her delectable, provocative, and yearning cunt.
She knelt down before him, still cupping her breasts and fondling them, a quizzical little smile on her red lips. "Shall I take the upper hand and seduce you, lover?" she purred.
"Go ahead. Oh Eleanor, I can't believe this is happening, you're just too marvelous!" he babbled.
"That's very flattering, sir, and you're going to pay dearly for it. Now, you aren't quite so self-conscious as you were before? You see, once you take all your clothes off, you shed all your hangups along with them. Always remember that. And now spread your legs just a little more so I can get between them . . . there, that's a good boy! Oh my, doesn't he look formidable again! Mama is going to have to do something about that, see if she doesn't!"
Playfully, arching her loins forward, she rubbed the silky curls of her pubis against the straining, angrily swollen tip of his throbbing penis, and then, with a sinuous twist of her hips that set his blood to boiling, rubbed the very cuntal lips themselves over the glans. He himself, dying to thrust inward, to penetrate and feel the tight constriction of her cuntal sheath against the full imbedded length, of his weapon. But, laughing softly, playfully, Eleanor swerved herself so that he couldn't quite attain that goal.
"That's-that's mean-Ellie-I want to do it to you-please, Ellie-please!" he hoarsely pleaded.
Once again she divertingly rubbed the thick dark-golden fronds of her love-core against the twitching, plum-shaped head of his penis, and then again for just a thrilling instant, let him taste the maddening friction as her soft pink crinkly cuntal lips brushed over the straining glans. But when again with a groan he arched himself up to penetrate her, she shifted her loins away and giggled teasingly.
"You-you ought to be spanked for that!" he heard himself saying.
"I know it. You can do it later, and you'll see how it'll get you ready again for Mama. But now Mama's going to stop her teasing and really give it to you. Get all nice and ready, Matt lover!"
And this time, putting her hands down to caress and stroke his bulging, aching penis, leaving one hand there to guide it while with the thumb and forefinger of the other she opened the sweet gates of her woman-core, Eleanor sank down to impale herself, her head tilting back and a rhapsodic look of sensual ecstasy tensing her lovely face.
With a moan of delight, she sank down until he had hilted himself inside her warm snug housing, and he could feel the tight and convulsive contractions of her vaginal walls, nibbling and kissing and clipping and clenching against his manroot.
The dull, continuous aching longing flared within him; yet he understood now that it was less destructive than the first ferocious, blind passion he had had when she had first come to sit down beside him. She had indeed "taken off the edge", and Matthew Fullhan had learned one of the most vital lessons in erotic wooing.
"Don't you dare move now, you just lie there like a sultan and let Mama be your loving slave, and you can spank her if it isn't nice, I promise," she whispered.
Her fingers reached out now to tickle his paps and his chest and stomach, to fleet along his sides and armpits, while slowly she raised herself up, then sank down again. She gasped at the sweet taste of friction, for Eleanor herself was becoming highly aroused by this inventive play. And the thought that she was restoring to this staid, sober, and humorless man the joy and zest which she herself brought to sexual union helped excite her.
Altering the cadence, sometimes rising up quickly and then suspending herself just with his penis tip at the very brink of her twitching cuntal lips, sometimes again moving up and down swiftly to give them both the exquisite acerbation of repeated friction, the honey-haired young callgirl taught Matthew Fullhan the full gamut of passionate and imaginative union. When at last his face twisted from side to side, flushed, his eyes bulging and glassy, his chest heaving and when he felt himself burst inside of her, it was to know the most glorious fulfillment of his secretly hidden lusts even beyond what he had believed possible.
A long while later, as they passed a cigarette between them, Eleanor lying beside him with an arm under his shoulders and her right hand playing with his limpened organ, she whispered, "You know, darling, you're really quite terrific in bed and I also am ready to bet this is the first time you've ever gone out on the town, isn't it?"
"Yes-Ellie-I can't explain it-but it's as if I'd just come alive tonight-thanks to you, it's been just heaven."
"Don't talk about it in the past tense yet, darling. The night is far from over and then we've got tomorrow too, that is, if you aren't tired of me by then. My goodness, he's getting hard again, would you believe it? I don't want to talk about-you know, your wife, darling- but tell me the truth, do you and she have fun like this?"
He shook his head, frowning at the memory.
"I'm sorry, I won't say anything like that again. But I sort of guessed, you know. If she's got a nice figure, there's no reason she can't be your dream girl just the way you're making me now," she went on almost contritely.
"I wish to hell she could," he said fervently, with a deep sigh.
"But she can. All you have to do is take the upper hand and be the master. Look, like right now, I've been a naughty girl talking about your wife when we shouldn't even think about such things. I'm going to go over your lap now and I want you to give my bare bottom a good hard smacking. I mean it, Matt. And you'll see if you aren't really ready to give it to me again after that. Maybe that will give you an idea at home."
With this, reaching over to crush out the cigarette stub in the ashtray in the little table beside the bed, Eleanor felinely crawled across his lap and, clasping her hands beyond her, meekly bowed her head and arched up her lush round tawny-sheened bottomcheeks, tightening them and letting them relax, to excite him with the choreography of her agile gluteal muscles.
"Do it," she pleaded, "good and hard, I mean it! Make me cry, make me beg you to let me off so I can fuck you good and hard, darling!"
He uttered a groan of passion, for her words had roused the dormant longing deep within him. Suddenly, this naked beauty with her long lovely legs sheathed in nylons and the garter belt adding its dramatic contrast against the tawny satin of her bare flesh, had become Astrid.
His left arm instinctively cradled round her waist, his right hand palpated the tensing globes of her bare behind, and then he began to slap. At first, lightly, but as she wriggled and twisted, taunted him, encouraged him, the slaps grew stingingly hard and noisy, and her soft flesh turned a vivid red.
Gasping and squirming, kicking so that her pumps flew off onto the floor, Eleanor at last breathlessly and tearfully begged, "Ooohh, that's enough, lover, please fuck me instead, please, I'll give you the best fuck you've ever had if you'll only stop spanking my poor bottom!"
With a cry of triumph, Matthew Fullhan rolled her over onto her back, and fell upon her.
And this time there was no question of his being meek or gallant in the act of love. This time, he was truly the master, and thereby, with all his senses riotously kindled, he could know at last the hot conflagration of ferocious and deliciously imaginative lust. . . .
CHAPTER Five
A week had passed since the memorable Friday when Betty Jurgens had received her very first bare-bottom spanking from her father's chastening hand and Betty's next-door neighbor Matthew Fullhan had experienced the most thrilling weekend of his entire life. He had come back on Sunday night, after having telephoned Astrid late Saturday afternoon (while still at the South Boston apartment shared by Suzy and Eleanor) to assure her that all was going well, that he had indeed received some additional assignments for work which would bring in a great deal of revenue, and that he would be home before midnight the following night. Astrid, who of course would never have suspected what her mild-mannered husband had been up to, was delighted at the financial news and told him that all was going well at home. But she couldn't help adding, with a kind of malicious gossiping, "By the way, Matthew dear, that headstrong girl next door, you know, Betty Jurgens, saw that dreadful Henry Warren yesterday afternoon. Would you believe it, they were carrying on in her father's garage, but he came in and sent the boy away and punished the young lady as she deserved. It's just dreadful what children are coming to these days. Now you take care of yourself, and I'll see you tomorrow night, then."
When Matthew Fullhan had hung up the phone, he had walked back into the living room where Eleanor lounged on the couch, clad in only her garter belt, nylons, and high-heeled pumps, pillowing her head on her arms and lifting her knees aloft, spreading them widely to invite him back to the torrid shelter of her passionate lovesheath. As for himself, Astrid's dutiful and until now faithful husband wore only his socks and shorts. The sight of his nude inamorata in such a wantonly provocative pose made his organ thrust forward violently against the fly of his shorts, and he hurried back to her and sat down on the edge of the couch to fondle her magnificent breasts and to put his mouth to hers.
With a delighted little laugh, Eleanor reached out her right hand and deftly unbuttoned his shorts, taking possession of his manhood and fondling it lovingly, the pads of her thumb and index fingers lingeringly rubbing back and forth over the taut plum of the glans. She lifted her head and shook it so that her honey-gold curls danced, then whispered, "You're a wonderful lover, Matt, and when you go back home, there's no reason you can't teach your wife to be even better than I am. Now come here to Mama."
It was indeed an enlightened Matthew Fullhan who went back home to Summerton that Sunday night, but out of a sudden twinge of conscience, he took pains not to make love to Astrid all through the following week. The secret bliss he had experienced over that last weekend was something that he wanted to savor for a time, while debating with himself the best way of approaching his diffident and prudish blonde wife to intimate to her that he really wasn't satisfied at all with the way they had been getting along in bed. The problem was, he was sure, that Astrid would be horrified if he openly came out and discussed sex with her. Not once in their four years of marriage had the subject ever been brought up, except, just before the ceremony, she had blushingly stammered that she thought they shouldn't have children at the start until they were sure of each other, a belief with which he happened to concur most heartily.
Besides, the additional work that Amos Denby had assigned to him kept him working late hours all through that following week, and so he had an excellent excuse not to disturb Astrid, who was used to going to bed at about quarter of eleven. One of the guest rooms of the house had been converted into his working den, its window giving out on the garden which overlooked the Jurgens' backyard and garage, and Matthew Fullhan, cigarette between his lips, stared out into the darkness and thought about how he was going to bring about the awakening of highly moral, circumspect, and yet very desirably beautiful Astrid.
As for Dan Jurgens, that handsome, mature widower had been doing a great deal of thinking since that very same Friday afternoon. He was beginning to feel the loneliness of no other female companionship except that of his daughter. But the worst thing was that Betty's very presence inevitably recalled to him the fierce carnal rapture he had shared with her mother. They had been ideally mated, and she had been a petite, voluptuous redhead (that was where Betty had got her own lustrous auburn hair) with a relish for living and loving and the most uninhibited and unselfish behavior in bed that any man could demand. He had, out of respect for his wife's memory, not considered remarriage at all; although when the pangs of abstinence had begun to make him toss and turn at night in his lonely bedroom, he had two or three times very discreetly visited a matronly brunette in her mid-thirties in Fall River, whom he had known before marrying his wife and who herself had been widowed about a decade ago. Her name was Marcia Trent, but she had already told him that she wouldn't consider remarrying at all because she enjoyed the career of running two very thriving beauty salons.
However, the show of parental discipline which he had made to Betty's painful regret last Friday had had its powerful repercussions. Dan Jurgens, out of sheer anger and frustration at having his grown-up daughter defy an edict he had laid down for her own good, or at least so he had thought, had bared her buttocks for chastisement. But in so doing and in the infliction of that chastisement, he had been horrified to discover that when Betty had finally wriggled off his lap and readjusted her clothing, trembling and sniffling and her cheeks stained with tears, he had sustained a powerful erection.
That night, indeed, lighting cigarette after cigarette and finding himself unable to sleep, he had finally resorted to the time-honored tradition of boyhood by using his good right hand to ease the frenzied tensions of his overburdened penis. And as he had done so, he had seen his own daughter's luscious, ripening young body across his lap, her mature, voluptuous naked hips lunging and arching and weaving, her satiny flesh vividly reddening under the stinging impact of his correcting palm. And when he had ejaculated into a handkerchief, writhing and arching himself in the throes of simulated coitus, Dan Jurgens had come to the awareness that the feelings he had had for his own daughter were very specifically taboo.
It was high time that he thought of marrying again, he had told himself. One of these days Betty was going to marry, although he hoped it wouldn't be Henry Warren, and then he would really be alone. While the newspaper was an exacting and demanding mistress, it didn't comfort him at all in bed, and he was still of an age when he could enjoy an arduous bout of lovemaking as he had done with Betty's beautiful, uninhibited mother.
And that was why, this equally memorable Friday afternoon, he decided to telephone Kathleen Johnson, who had got her divorce papers just last month from a no-good scalawag, a rock musician whom the otherwise sensible twenty-seven-year-old light-brown-haired librarian had inexplicably fallen in love with two years ago. She had visited Dan Jurgens' newspaper office the day before Betty's spanking, in search of a job. The library board of trustees had looked askance at a divorcee and they hadn't approved of the sort of man she had married in the first place. He had told her that he would try to work something out, but he knew that the paper wasn't making all that money to afford even a topnotch secretary or stenographer, and that was all Kathleen was really trained for.
But now that he had had a week to think about his sexual deprivation and the almost overpowering stimulus which spanking Betty had given his dormant virility, Dan Jurgens was of a mind to make Kathleen Johnson a very different kind of proposition. . . .
Auburn-haired Betty Jurgens had done a good deal of thinking, too, and she had arrived at the conclusion that her father's direct entry into the garage to discover Henry Warren and her together hadn't been entirely an accident. Some snoopy old neighbor must have told him, and she was beginning to have her suspicions about that neighbor's identity. On the few occasional times when she had seen the bespectacled blonde woman next door out in her garden, Betty remembered that Astrid Fullhan had been extremely short with her just about every time. She had a kind of frozen-face attitude even when she had acknowledged Betty's cheerful "Hi there, Mrs. Fullhan!" And now that Betty thought about it, she recalled that she had often seen Astrid in the kitchen standing by the window and looking out across the way.
And yet how could she have seen into the garage and known that Henry Warren was there, Betty had kept asking herself all week long. As soon as she returned from school this Friday afternoon, she walked slowly out into the back yard and thence to the side door of the garage which her father had opened to catch her in the most compromising of situations the Friday before. Turning on the light, she began to examine the garage with more curiosity than she had ever shown before, and finally her attention was drawn over to her left against the farthest wall at a suspicious-looking rectangle where the paint and plaster seemed to have cracked off entirely.
A few moments later, squatting down and tentatively pushing, she managed to dislodge two of the bricks, and then she knew exactly how Astrid Fullhan had seen her and Henry together.
"Why, that snoopy bitch, that goody-goody reformer!" Betty muttered under her breath. "I suppose that's all she's got to do, because they don't have any kids and that hubby of hers looks like he's afraid of his own shadow. I'll bet she henpecks him practically to death, the poor guy!"
Going outside, and making certain that Astrid Fullhan wasn't in the kitchen at that moment, Betty swiftly pushed the loose bricks back into place as they had been before, and then hurried back home. Her father arrived a few moments later, perfunctorily kissed her and then announced that he was going to have dinner at the Clarendon Motel, a few miles west of Summerton, and perhaps take in a movie. "That paper of mine has been working the tail off me all summer, honey," he confided. "This week's issue was easy for a change, but that's because we lost some advertisers. Next week I'm going to have to start trying to get them back and some new ones, if I'm going to save any money for your college fees next year. I won't be back till about midnight, and that reminds me-" his eyes narrowed and hardened, "I hope last week taught you a lesson, young lady. But I'm putting you on your honor. You promised me you weren't going to see Henry Warren again, and I expect you to live up to it, is that understood?"
"Yes it is, Daddy," Betty meekly bowed her lovely auburn head. But behind her back, her right index and middle fingers crossed to indicate that she was telling a little white lie. She had, just before her father had come home, managed to make a quick call to Henry Warren and found him at home and asked if they couldn't get together, maybe even this evening in case her father decided to go out as he sometimes did.
"Well, that's better," he said, mollified. "I don't mean to be a tyrant, honey, but it's only because you're at a very impressionable age now and you're probably going to get married in a year or so, only I don't want a boy like Henry Warren for my son-in-law. I'm only sorry your mother isn't still alive, because then I have a feeling we'd all be closer."
"I know, Daddy. I'm sorry if I made you mad last week. You go have a good time. I'll just sit home and watch TV or do some homework."
Half an hour later, nattily dressed and shaved, Dan Jurgens left the house, got into the Dodge Polara, and drove towards Elmyra Lane where Kathleen Johnson lived in a little white bungalow. As he parked the car in her driveway, he frowned, thinking of how badly off financially her inconsiderate husband Ed had left her. Kathleen had trustingly put all their money into a joint savings account, and Ed Johnson, while she was still working at the library, had drawn every penny of it out and taken off for parts unknown. Old Ted Bagley, the service station operator on Parnell Highway, had reported that he had seen Ed Johnson drive in with a very sexy silver-haired blonde in the front seat next to him, and that the rock musician had airily remarked that he was taking off for New York for a night-club date with a new combo. A few months after that, Kathleen received a letter asking for a divorce, stating that he wouldn't contest it, and also insolently remarking that he felt the money he had taken was a fair settlement for the disappointing time he had spent as Kathleen's husband.
So now she had a divorce, and she was making a little money doing babysitting and some sewing for the neighbors, but it wouldn't be long before they foreclosed on the bungalow and there wasn't much hope of a job for her here in Summerton. Very decidedly, he was going to have to do something about Kathleen Johnson, and he had a pretty good idea of what it was going to be tonight.
Kathleen admitted him almost immediately after he had rung the doorbell, and his eyes widened appreciatively to see the light-brown haired matron in a pretty blue-and-white polka dot dress whose hems barely descended to her charmingly dimpled knees. She wore off-black nylons, and as she took his coat and hat and walked towards a coat rack in the lobbyway, his eyes quickly scanned her plumply contoured, firm, springy calves and the dimpled hollows of her knees. The off-black gauzy sheaths shaped out her legs in a way that made his loins tauten and ache with remembered longing, and the snug fit of her polka dot dress emphasized the saucy jut of upstandingly rounded, very tightly spaced buttocks and plump full womanly thighs.
"I'll be ready in just a jiffy, Mr. Jurgens," she said brightly. "It's awfully good of you to invite me out to dinner. The fact is, I didn't know what I was going to cook tonight-probably a TV dinner."
"I'm glad, then. The Clarendon has pretty good food, and I feel like a steak and a bottle of wine tonight. I hope you'll share them with me, Kathleen-if I may call you that."
"I'd like you to, Mr. Jurgens."
"And you've got to call me Dan. I like that dress," he impulsively added.
She dimpled and blushed as she hurried to open the closet and take out a cloth coat which had seen better days. Nevertheless, she was still a stunning woman, and his pulses quickened at the thought of being alone with her. She was about five feet five inches in height, her light-brown hair coiffed in a sophisticated guiche bob with the points curved upwards against her high-set oval-shaped cheeks. Her high forehead, her arching, thin, penciled brows surmounting hazel eyes, her dainty snub nose, and full tremulous mouth completed the portrait of a very desirable woman, and the carnation tint of her complexion needed no makeup to entice him.
The steak was as good as he had hoped it would be, and Kathleen Johnson, casting aside her melancholy, proved to be a charming and highly agreeable companion. After dinner, they went to a drive-in theater to see a double feature, so that it was nearly one in the morning when he drove the divorcee back to the little white bungalow.
"Won't you come in for a nightcap, Dan?" she hesitantly murmured.
"I'd like that very much, Kathleen. Besides, I haven't yet had a chance to tell you what I had in mind-you know, that job you asked for on the paper."
"Oh yes, Dan. I do hope you can work something out. I'll be honest with you," this with a rueful little smile, "things aren't going well at all, and I may have to give this place up and go to Boston and try to find some kind of work before very much longer."
Dan Jurgens seated himself on the low Chesterfield while Kathleen Johnson, giving him a quick sidelong glance, hurried off to the kitchen to prepare the promised nightcap. He watched her go, his eyes riveted to the diaphanous off-black nylons which faithfully followed, like a tightly adhering second skin, every flexion of her juicily rounded calves, an undulation which was carried out along her womanly thighs and the succulent hemispheres of her extremely provocative bottom. He flushed, guiltily remembering Betty's bottom upturned over his lap and charmingly bared in all its virginal apprehension. And once again, just as last Friday, he found his penis stiffening and throbbing angrily to remind him that it had been far too long since he had last inserted its full virile length and breadth into the tight scabbard of a complaisant female partner.
A few moments later, Kathleen Johnson returned with a little tray on which were posed two shot glasses of bourbon over ice and a plate of appetizers, which she set down on the little mahogany tabouret in front of the couch. In stooping, she revealed to his glittering eyes the opulent jut of carnation-tinted, highly perched and very closely spaced breasts whose upper curves and crinkly, dark-coral nipple-buds were exposed by the low-cut peach-hued bra she wore under the polka dot dress and thin white nylon slip.
She seated herself with a long sigh and gazed wistfully at the opposite wall as she took up her glass and nursed it. Dan Jurgens gulped down half the bourbon, and put the glass back on the tray, eyeing his escort for the night with appraising and speculative gaze. It was true that he was about fifteen or sixteen years older than she was, but she was built for it, and it wasn't as if she were a virgin. She had already had a few years of Ed Johnson's philandering and rough-toned love-making, he was sure, so that he wouldn't be dealing with an utter innocent. Yet she was just old enough to keep Betty in tow, manage the house, and take good care of him at night.
"You know, it's none of my business, Kathleen, but I can't help wondering what you ever saw in that hippie musician you hitched yourself to," he began.
"Well, I'll be honest with you, Dan." She slowly turned her head to look at him, her eyes still wistful and distant. "I was brought up as an only child in a Methodist family, and both of my parents preached at me night and day about how wrong sex was and that even when you got married you weren't supposed to enjoy it, it was just a woman's duty. I was twenty when they died, and my father left me just enough insurance money to finish up school and learn the Dewey decimal system so I could get a library job here in Summerton. You know, my father was born a few miles away from here. But anyhow, when Ed Johnson came along, I'd already spent a couple of years in the library and I was getting to feel like an old maid. And he thought I was terrific, and he bossed me and he knew how to handle me and that's why I married him."
"But look what you put up with, Kathleen. And now he's left you high and dry and taken all of your money and ruined your reputation as far as the library is concerned."
"And all the rest of this little town, I'm afraid," she agreed with another sigh. "But I don't regret it. And what I had to give up out of my savings was worth it. You see, Dan, a woman has needs, too. Men don't like to admit that, but I'm a great one for being truthful. That's probably what cost me my marriage, because if I'd kept my mouth shut and my eyes turned the other way, I would have put up with Ed's chasing around with every skirt in circulation. Now I can tell how much I missed when I'm alone at night."
He found his pulses quickening to what she had just told him. So she wanted it too, perhaps even more badly than he did. There wasn't any doubt about it; for once his instinct had been absolutely right about a prospective candidate for being a mother to his somewhat wayward red-haired daughter.
"Well, I was thinking of going to Boston or New York," she resumed. "I can type pretty well, and maybe I can even get a job in a library there. And there would certainly be more excitement and more people to meet than there'll ever be in this little town."
"I grant you all that, Kathleen. But I had something else in mind."
"Oh?" She looked at him wonderingly, her hazel eyes very large and luminous.
"Would you think about marrying again if the right man came along?"
"Well, I suppose I might. But my goodness, you can't mean yourself, Dan Jurgens. My goodness, this is only about the third or fourth time we've really talked, except to say good morning to. And don't tell me you're suddenly smitten with my somewhat faded charms. I'm shopworn, Dan, and my reputation isn't too good, as you know yourself. A meek little librarian's assistant suddenly going off with a hippie rock and roll musician who had long hair and sideburns and a moustache and who practically raped with his eyes every woman under sixty that he saw on the street. That shouldn't set too well with you if you're seriously thinking about marrying again. I know you lost your wife some years ago."
"Well, seems to me we're two lost souls, Kathleen. You could do much worse. And it wouldn't be as if I was asking for children because I've already got a real problem one on my hands with Betty."
"I don't think she's a problem child at all. She's eighteen, she's at the age when she probably ought to settle down and find the right guy, and she's chafing at the bit a little because she's fed up with this little town too, I should imagine."
"Well, you may be right. But think about it, Kathleen."
"I will. But as they say, this is so sudden, and I certainly am not going to take you seriously tonight. Here, let me get you another drink-"
"No, this will be fine-"
"No, I want one too-oh my goodness-oh Lord-ohh!" Kathleen Johnson had risen from the couch and reached towards his half-empty glass. She had turned to look at him, lost her balance, and suddenly found herself unceremoniously sprawled across his lap, her plump round buttocks exaggeratedly presented as the tight polka dot skirt caressingly clung to the effulgent rotundities. Her skirt had hiked up, too, and his eyes were feasting on the luscious rondures of her sumptuously rounded thighs whose pale-carnation-tinted skin he could see through the dusky transparency of her flawlessly clinging nylons.
Almost automatically, he felt his left arm curve round her waist and pin her to him, and in almost the same movement, his right hand was rising and falling with a resounding "Smack!" on the ripest curve of her right bottomcheek.
"Ohhhh-what-what are you doing-Dan Jurgens, how dare you-now you let me up this minute-or I'll be very angry with you- oh don't-oh no-ouch-you're hurting me- oh my-oww-ouuuu!!"
The springy elasticity of her flesh at the impact of his palm had made his penis swell with even greater longing. The game was enchanting and he meant to continue it; his right hand rose and fell with vehemence, applying two stinging, sonorous slaps on each upturned bottom summit. Kathleen Johnson squealed, twisted her face back, her eyes huge and indignant, her lovely legs kicking wildly till both pumps flew off and thudded against the floor. She thrust her hands behind her, but at once he gripped her wrists with his left hand and pinned them on the small of her back. Then, his eyes burningly fixed on the inviting plump target before him, he gripped the hems of skirt and slip with right thumb and forefinger and yanked vigorously, lofting them to just above her hips, then forced her wrists back down to keep the garments well uptrussed so that her bottom should have no protection.
No protection save the coquettish lace-trimmed peach-toned panties which shaped out the spaciously round, broadly cleft cheeks of her magnificent bottom, with the narrow tabs of a white satin-elastic garter belt lowering from under the legs of the panties to grip the tops of her off-black nylons. The temptingly mysterious crevice between her buttocks was shaped out by the fit of the panties, and they were glossy and almost transparent, wedding to the succulent contours of her posterior in a way that made his right hand itch to resume the little game he had so impulsively started.
Resume it he did with a vigorous pair of slaps to each upper hip-slope, and then two hard stinging spanks to the base of each squirming, contracting bottomglobe. Kathleen Johnson, startled and horrified, writhed and twisted and kicked and tried to throw herself off his lap. "Oh stop that now! I told you to stop, Dan Jurgens! You've got no right to do this to me--ouch, you brute, you're hurting me! Oh please-please, why are you doing this to me?"
He didn't answer. By now, he was in a torment of desire, and his right hand reached up to insert itself under the waistband of her panties, to give a single masterful tug and yank the fragile sheath down to her upper thighs.
His mouth gaped and his mouth bulged at the sight of the pale-carnation hemispheres of her naked bottom, vividly and lasciviously splotched by the bright red imprints of his spanking hand. Kathleen Johnson had uttered a strangled cry of stupefaction and shame and was wildly struggling to get her hands loose and cover up this most intimate area of her delectable person.
"Oh no-o-o-o-o!!" she almost hysterically wailed, "not on the bare! Oh you haven't got any right to treat me this way-oh please let me go-please pull my panties back up-this is just dreadful!"
But already his hand had resumed the voluptuous chastisement, and now he could understand the subtle difference between the spanking he had given his own daughter and the one he was now - administering to the beautiful, mature divorcee. Now there was no need to feel guilty over the lustful urges that were seething in his loins, making his penis want to burst forth all its virile essence. He could see only the beautiful naked flesh of a desirable female who had already told him that she had been used to the amoral and lustful erotic habits of a man who fancied himself to be another Don Juan. His hand relentlessly attacked that sumptuous naked posterior, and the flaming red covered both the globes from chinkbone to where her panties clung twisted about her struggling, clenching, and jerking thighs by the time out of breath, ready to burst from lust, he halted the spanking and laid his palm right over the shadowy, widening groove between the quaking, shuddering, and well-spanked cheeks of Kathleen Johnson's bare behind.
She was dissolved in tears, and incoherent phrases tumbled from her lips as she turned back her congested, tear-stained flushed face to him. "Ohh-ahh-oh you've killed me-oh it hurts so-what must you think of me-why did you do it to me-oh this is dreadful-I want to go away and die, I'm so ashamed- ohh, boohoo, oh d-dear!"
"That was a kind of proposal, Kathleen honey," he found himself answering in a thick, trembling voice, "and I haven't finished with your bottom yet, young lady. However, I might be inclined to stop if you are ready to say that you'll marry me."
"Ohh-oh my goodness, D-Dan-oh my darling-you don't-you really mean it, don't you? Oh darling!" she was sobbing, but her tremulous full red lips were curving in a kind of anguished smile. He had relaxed the hold of her wrists, and now both her hands rushed back to rub and soothe her flaming bottom, but she made no attempt to get up from his lap. In her struggles, her lace-trimmed panties had twisted down to her knees, and the generous rondures of her nylon-sheathed thighs were deliciously flaunted before him. The spasmodic contractions and yawnings which beset her naked, angrily reddened buttocks caught his gaze now, and he could feel his penis trying desperately to burst through his trousers fly.
But so, too, could Kathleen Johnson; even as she rubbed her bottom and continued to whimper and gasp, she suddenly began to squirm and wriggle herself, and he gasped to discover that she was forcing her loins against the agonized protuberance thrusting up from beneath his fly to find its solace in the warm twitching coral-hued cuntal lips of her awakened love-grotto.
"Well, what's your answer, Kathleen? Maybe you need a little more persuasion," he growled. Putting his left palm down on the small of her back, he applied five or six more stinging slaps all over her lunging, swerving naked behind.
"Oh don't. Oh yes, I'll do it, I'll marry you, oh you darling!" she wailed, and with a final twisting maneuver, managed to scramble off his lap and sink down on her knees.
Then, her skirt and slip still rumbled and rucked up above her hips, her panties festooning her squirming nylon-sheathed knees, Kathleen Johnson leaned forward between his readily spreading thighs, her trembling fingers attacked the zipper of his fly and drew out his savagely turgid weapon. Her head bowed without being told, as if she too were acting out of total instinct and impulse: With a groan of delight, Dan Jurgens watched enraptured as Kathleen Johnson performed an act which had taken his wife, though she had been sweetly cooperative and zestfully ingenious in bed, a full year to achieve . . . the divorcee's trembling moist red lips gripped the glans of his swollen organ and began ardently, hastily, and noisily to suck!
"You sweet devil-Kathleen-I want to marry you right away, don't make me wait!" he panted, his hands cupping her tear-stained cheeks as he forced her to this sweet act of amorous servility.
Squirming restlessly on her knees, arching closer to him, her head bowed, Kathleen Johnson pursued her act of oral obeisance to her new lord and master. Then at last his hoarse cry of warning bade her cease because he wished not so much to have release from her soft mouth but rather plunge to the very depths inside the warm sheath of her love-core. She obediently rose and let him carry her, her arms linked around his shoulders and her eyes closed and her bosom swelling violently, to her bedroom.
Swiftly then he drew off the slip and dress, unhooked her bra and yanked her panties completely off. In nylons and garter belt, off-black in dramatic and sensual contrast to the white of the garter belt, and these both enhancing the pale soft satiny carnation-tinting of her naked flesh, she lay sprawled and ready, little whimpering moans exuding from her.
Swiftly he stripped to socks and shorts, and, his penis jerking with frenzied readiness, thrust himself in a single probing dig between her cuntal lips to the very hilt, then ground his teeth and strained all his muscles to hold back the maddening impulse to release his vital juices which her ardent and sacrificial wooing had so violently aroused.
"Oh Dan, oh God, now you know why I got married-I have to be treated rough and then I just melt-but I never thought a fellow like you, such a proper citizen, would ever make love to a girl like this-oh it's just heaven- oh Dan darling, fuck me, fuck me good and hard and if I don't do it right enough for you, turn me over and spank my naughty bottom again the way you just did-oh my darling-ahhh-oh sweetheart, oh Dan, oh lover, oh my God!!!"
Her arms and legs enfolded him, her body greedily fused to his, and then there was no need for words or explanations between them.
CHAPTER Six
This time, Betty Jurgens was taking no chances on being found in the garage with her boyfriend by her irate father. Some fifteen minutes after she had seen him drive away for his date with Kathleen Johnson, she hurried to the phone and dialed Henry Warren's number. He answered the phone at once, and Betty eagerly came right to the point, "Hank, honey, Dad's gone out for the evening and I do want to see you. It's awfully important."
"Sure, Betty baby. Matter of fact, I was going to take a chance and call in a couple of minutes just in the hope that you'd answer the phone and not your dad. My folks are out of town for the whole weekend, so we can meet at my place for a change. And maybe we can finish what we started there at the garage. Did it hurt bad, poor baby?"
At this sly reminder of the shameful penance she had had to pay for her forbidden tryst with the black-haired college sophomore, Betty Jurgens furiously blushed. "I'll tell you when I see you. And I'll be right over."
She dressed in five minutes, choosing a short-sleeved white satin blouse, hip-hugging black cotton miniskirt, a pullover yellow sweater which snugged her just below the waist and prominently accentuated her splendid breasts, and a pink nylon bra and panty combination, as well as a pair of three-inch-heeled black leather pumps. Her glossy bare legs rippled and quivered with anticipation as she left the house, thoughtfully leaving on the living room and kitchen lights so that no burglar would be beckoned by darkness, and also so that nosy Astrid Fullhan would think that she was still at home. Then she hurried down to a public phone booth three blocks east, telephoned the local cab company, and ten minutes after that was ringing the doorbell of the Warren house on East Jennison Road.
Henry Warren had been watching for her through the window and opened the door almost as she reached for the bell. He pulled her inside by the wrist, closed and locked the door, and then locked his arms around the small of her back and kissed her hotly on the mouth. It was a very satisfactory kiss, and Betty Jurgens wriggled and moaned with delight at this proof of her lover's constancy and enthusiasm, while his hands slyly slipped down till they were squeezing the spacious cheeks of her voluptuous firm bottom.
"Not so fast, lover," she gasped, squirming free of his embrace and moving over to the couch, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. "Can't a girl have a drink first? Besides, I've got something very important to tell you. And I don't want to stay too late, just in case Daddy decides to break up his date early and get home ahead of schedule. I don't want a repeat performance of last Friday afternoon, thank you very much."
"That's right, honey, I heard him say he was going to paddle your cute butt," Henry Warren wickedly grinned as he walked over to the sideboard, opened the decanter of Jamaican rum and poured each of them a generous portion, then brought Betty's glass over to her. "That's why I asked if it hurt a lot."
"You dirty dog you!" Betty flashed at him as she took a sip of the rum. "Wow, this is strong stuff."
"You're a big girl now and you can take it. And you haven't answered my question, either."
"Of course it hurt, dummy," Betty said reproachfully. "How would you like to have your own father take you over his lap and give it to you on the bare with his hard hand and not let up until you were crying?"
"I wouldn't have cried," he teased. She made as if to throw the glass at him and then giggled. Then suddenly her face grew serious. "That reminds me what I wanted to talk to you about most of all. Hank, you know it's a funny thing, Dad usually stays at the print shop till late on Friday, but he charged in like a bull last Friday afternoon. The way I figure it, he went right for the garage and didn't even bother going to the house first." "So?"
"You're really not very bright tonight, Hank," she chided him, taking another sip of her drink. "Somebody must have tipped him off that we were meeting in the garage."
"Hey now, that's something else again." He sat down beside her, put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. Betty sighed dreamily, closed her eyes, and let herself be expertly and lingeringly kissed. His other hand slipped under her skirt, but she clenched her thighs together tightly and shook her head as she broke away from his kiss.
"Oh come on, don't be a spoilsport," he protested.
"There's time enough for fun and games after you listen to what I've got to say, Henry Warren," she reproached him. "Now listen, I've told you about that snoopy neighbor we've got, that Astrid Fullhan. I've been thinking a lot about her lately. It seems that she's in the kitchen almost every time I'm out in the back yard, and I'm sure she must have seen us go into the garage."
"I get it. You think she called your dad and told him about us?"
"What else? Besides, she's always been so snooty. Even when she first used to say hello to Dad and me, she always looked at me as if I were dirt or something. I suppose she thinks I'm a little tramp. Well, I'd rather be that than a holier-than-thou bitch who has to spy on other people to get her kicks. If you want to know something, that poor hubby of hers-and he's a real nice guy, by the way- doesn't look as if she ever puts out. Or if she does, it's with the lights out and a long nightie on and no free feels. Maybe they don't even do it."
"Hey, baby, you've been doing a lot of thinking on the subject, I can tell," Henry Warren grumbled. Once again he tried to pass his hand under Betty's skirt, which hid only about half her thighs to start with, but again she restrained him by clenching them and gripping his wandering wrist and pulling it away.
"I told you not yet, you idiot! Now look, you know that I'm vice president of the little sorority group that we've got at Summerton High, and we've got our June Hell Night coming up in about two weeks."
"Yeah, I know about it. Say, what do you girls call yourselves, it's sort of cute," Henry Warren chuckled. He bent his head and kissed the back of Betty's neck.
"Ohh, that's nice, I like you when you're gentle like that. Well, our letters are S.S.S., and that stands for Summerton Swinging Sex-pots."
"Yeah, I remember now! That really is cute, Betty."
"I dreamed it up myself, but that's not what I'm talking about. What I was thinking was, I'd like to give that nosy old Astrid Fullhan a dose of the medicine Dad handed out to me last Friday. I'd like to initiate her good and hard."
"That would really be something," Henry Warren smirked and rolled his eyes. "I'd like to see it, too."
"I'm afraid that's out, Hank honey. We girls don't let any boys in our initiation ceremonies. But you could be a big help in getting nasty old Astrid initiated, if you'll help me."
"Just what have you got in mind, sweet stuff? Sure I'll help you. I owe her something myself for breaking up our little session. By the way, I hope you came prepared to go on where we left off last Friday," he whispered into her ear, then prodded it with the tip of his tongue.
Betty giggled and squealed with sensual pleasure. "That tickles, you big goof! Sure I did. Now suppose we try to set it up so that Astrid snoops and finds us in the garage. And then you grab her and sort of rough her up a little, then maybe pull some of her clothes off her and feel her up? Then maybe I could take some movies that would show she was trying to let you bang her, and then I could really blackmail that snoopy bitch."
"That's not a bad idea, Betty baby. Yeah, I know who you mean, she's stacked. I'd sort of like to rough her up a little and peel off her duds and cop a few free feels."
Betty Jurgens' gray-green eyes narrowed with jealousy. "Just don't overdo it, big boy, or you can find yourself another girl friend," she coldly informed her black-haired steady. "I've got a Kodak Instamatic that takes terrific color movies in the dark without any lights at all. They're sort of built in, you know. That would really do the job. And if I said I'd send a copy of the reel to Astrid's hubby and maybe to your folks, it might just scare the hell out of her so that she'd take our initiation instead."
"Sounds good, sounds real good, Betty baby. But are you really sure it was Astrid who snitched on us?"
I'm sure." Betty quickly told him of the loose bricks that she had just discovered and of her having noticed the bespectacled blonde matron in the kitchen watching her on many an occasion. "I'm all for it, then. Only thing is, when are we going to set it up?" "I'll have to play it by ear, honey. I hope it will be before Hell Night anyway. It has to be. Now wait a minute-I've got a hunch that Dad is going sparking. He said he had a date tonight, and he certainly looked self-conscious, just the way a fellow does when he's thinking about a girl. It wouldn't surprise me any if he'd found somebody he was keen on, and maybe in the next couple of weeks he'll go out again for another long date with her. Well, I'd tip you off the way I did tonight, and then we'd sort of parade ourselves around in front of Astrid's kitchen window and make for the garage, and maybe she'd take the bait and go move those bricks."
"Smart thinking, honey!" Henry Warren dutifully approved. "And now let's get down to cases. I've missed you a lot since last week.
I've been dreaming about you, too. Especially the part where you were over your dad's lap with your panties down."
"Why, you-!" Betty gasped, turning scarlet, and then giggled as she pretended to pummel her young lover. Henry Warren easily blocked her attempts, gripped both of her wrists, and then pulled her across his own lap. "Now you're really going to get it, young lady," he pretended to be a stern parent.
"Don't you dare!" she half-giggled, half-protesting, kicking and wriggling. But she made no really serious effort to free herself. Her miniskirt had rucked up in the struggle, exposing her pink nylon panty briefs which left deliciously bare a generous segment of the base of her upstandingly rounded, tightly spaced, pale-ivory buttocks. His eyes fixed on the enchanting bare skin, contemplated the flexions of her lovely thighs, and then he lifted his right hand and brought it down hard over both buttocks, spanning the narrow crevice between the resilient globes and flattening them.
"Oww! That stings! Cut it out now!"
"I like the idea," he chuckled tauntingly as he applied another slap to her upper right buttock, and a third to the other cheek in the same place.
Betty squealed shrilly and kicked, one pump flying off. "Now you stop that this minute, Henry Warren, or I'll leave right away!" she threatened.
"Not till I say you will, baby." Finding this delightful new game immensely exciting, for already his penis was beginning to throb and turgify, the black-haired youth promptly clamped his right leg over her bare calves and, tugging her wrists upwards to the middle of her back, pinned them effectively as he resumed the spanking.
After a dozen noisy slaps which drew mingled threats and stifled squeals of discomfort from the lovely auburn-haired teen-ager, he paused and caressed the twitching, huddling globes. Where the pink panty briefs left off, the flesh of the base of her bottom was a vivid red, and some of that same bright hue could be vaguely seen through the filmy, clinging panties which sheathed her luscious virginal posterior. The legs of Betty's nylon panties were delicately ruffled, and the waistband was doubly thick with a flounce to it for decor. His male eyes admired this embellishment, but now he wanted to see more of his young sweetheart. Meanwhile, still continuing to urge him to stop if he didn't want her to get very angry with him, Betty wasn't prepared for his next move. Without warning, his right hand inserted under the thick elastic waistband of the panty briefs and gave it a vigorous tug downwards.
"No-o-o stop that, you pull them right back up! Henry Warren, you're just awful-I want to go home now-stop it-Ouch! Oww, that hurts, that really does hurt, now you stop, I hate you!" she wailed as his right palm descended four times without stopping, two vehement slaps flattening the ripest curve of each upturned, quaking bare buttock.
The smarting pangs in her naked posterior made her lunge and twist and weave herself, but his clamping leg prevented her from getting free and only emphasized the involuntary wantonness of her frantic attempts to escape the blazing impact of his spanking hand.
"This is to teach you a lesson, Betty girl," he hoarsely announced between spanks as he warmed to the task. "When I'm trying to love you up, you'll know better than to close those sweet legs of yours and pull my hand away, you hear me?" Smack-Smack-Smack!
Betty's bottom upreared, then flattened, swerved to this side and then back, as her tear-stained face turned back to implore mercy at last. Her buttocks quaked and quivered like mounds of freshly made Jello each time his hand swung down to make contact with the once pale-white-skinned, rosy-flecked satiny flesh.
"Oww! Oh please, oh Hank darling, that's enough, I can't stand it anymore, honest I can't -I'll be good, you can love me up all you want -I'll do anything, just anything if you'll only stop!" she at last implored, dissolved in tears.
"You mean that?" He punctuated the question with another pair of stinging smacks, each of which drew frantic wails and new lewd gyrations of her blazing bare hips.
"Oh yes-I do, oh let up, oh please stop now, I mean it, honest I do, oh Hank darling, love me, don't spank me!" she sobbed.
"All right, young lady, you can just get yourself off my lap and march upstairs to my bedroom. Then we'll see how obedient you're going to be after that," he hoarsely announced. And, before he released the pinion of his clamped leg, he bent down and yanked her panties all the way off. "You won't be needing these, anyway. Now let's go."
Betty sniffled as she awkwardly got off his lap, at once rushing her hands to rub her flaming bottom, heedless of what she displayed to her entranced young lover. The thick dark-red curls of her virgin pubis framed the soft crinkly cuntal lips, but to her own surprise, she was somehow aware that these were quivering and also suspiciously moist . . . just as they had been at the time her father had concluded the first really severe punishment he had ever given her. Smoothing down her miniskirt, she hobbled painfully off towards the wide staircase that led to the second floor of the Warren house, Henry Warren following her with flushed face and glittering eyes. He stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs watching her ascend, seeing the rippling flexions of the muscles of her thighs and calves and, most exciting vision of all, the flaming hillocks of her undulating, flaming and well-spanked bottomglobes.
She had slipped back on her kicked-off pump, and thus as she went up the stairs, her body undulated in the most enticingly voluptuous manner, letting him watch the rippling play of the muscles of her bare pale-white-sheened calves and thighs in such titillating contrast to the flaming half-moons of her sumptuous young posterior.
Once inside his bedroom, Henry Warren turned her round, grasped her by the elbows, and kissed her hard and longingly on the mouth. "Now take off that skirt, baby, and get on the bed on your hands and knees," he panted thickly.
"Oh Hank, you mean you're finally going to f-fuck me, darling?" she breathed, her eyes starry and humid.
"That's right. Now you just get there and I'll get ready for you. A guy has to take precautions with his best girl, you know," he chuckled. Then, slipping his hand under skirt, he ran it up her thigh to the thick fronds of pubic hair and tickled her fleshy cuntal lips, finding them moist and quivering with longing. Betty Jurgens moaned softly, let her head fall back, and permitted her lover to do as he would. Then, as he moved away and into the bathroom, she tremblingly unfastened her miniskirt and let it drop to the floor. Naked in her high-heels, sweater, blouse and bra, she climbed slowly onto the bed and knelt there in its center, her hands palmed down on either side of her, glancing back at him with a fervent anticipation in which the slightest tinge of apprehension glowed in her dilated, glistening gray-green eyes.
When Henry Warren returned, he was naked except for socks, and he was rubbing his penis industriously with cold cream. Joining her on the bed, he knelt behind her, and then, to her unexpected dismay, put left thumb and forefinger to the pouting edges of her reddened buttocks and pried them lightly apart while he anointed her crinkly anal rosebud with the cream on his right forefinger, working it just around the quivering, shrinking lips.
"Ohhhh, Hank-what are you going to do- not there? Oh Hank, it'll hurt too much-oh no!" she protested, clenching her thighs and putting a hand back over her bottom to fend off the threat.
"Keep still, baby! First of all, I'm out of safes, and I'm not about to get you pregnant, not till we're married, anyhow. This way, you'll still be a virgin. And you'll see, you'll get a bang out of it. Now spread those sweet legs apart and I'll show you what I mean!" he urged.
"Well, maybe, but you've gotta stop if it hurts too much," she doubtfully murmured. Then, her face flaming with sweet virginal shame, she bowed it to the sheets and pressed it down on one side, her fingers clawing the sheets, her knees grudgingly shifting till they were spread apart to maximum, her dimpled, narrowly hollowed back quivering and squirming apprehensively.
Henry Warren fitted himself towards her, the tip of his turgid organ grazing the inner edges of her flinching buttocks. Betty Jurgens uttered a stifled little gasp, glanced nervously back, then again buried her face on the sheets and closed her eyes tightly, stiffening herself in readiness.
He used both hands to open the globes of her behind, centering on the contracting target of her maiden rosette, until the tip of his penis lodged exactly against her fearful orifice. Then gently he pushed, and Betty uttered another strangled gasp, "Oh please, take it easy!" "I will, baby, just relax, it'll make it easier," he instructed.
His left forefinger sought and found her clitoris at the apex of the twitching cuntal lips, and began to ply it with deft, delicate touches. Betty arched and moaned, shivering voluptuously, and at that same instant her young lover forced himself forward till the cap of his organ lodged just inside the ring of clenching sphincter muscles. He groaned and closed his eyes, holding back the frenzied urge to ejaculate, so maddening was this first possessive "kiss" of her maiden rectal lovesheath against his pulsating manhood.
"Oh-oh gosh-oh please, t-take it easy, darling-oooh! oh my-oh Hank, be careful, not too hard-ouuuu!!!" she moaned feverishly, squirming and twisting herself about in order to ease the angle of incidence.
"Does it hurt, baby?" he solicitously muttered as his right hand stroked her quaking bottomcheeks, his left forefinger still lingeringly brushing the stiffening nodule of her palpitating clitoris.
"Just relax, sweetiepie, you'll see, it'll get to you-now, that's a good girl-ahh!" Henry Warren panted as he thrust slowly forward, probing nearly half his man-length into the tight humid cavern. Betty Jurgens tilted up her flushed, contorted face, eyes wildly rolling, glassy with mingled sensuality and anguish from the hard spanking, "Oooooh, oh now it does, ohhh Hank, t-take it out-ohh d-darling, it-it's splitting me there!" she moaned.
But his forefinger increased its frictional cadence, and suddenly the half-naked sunburned teen-ager writhed and groaned as the subtle distillation of carnal pleasure began to overcome the uncomfortable distention of her tightening rectal chasm. "Ohhh-ahh-ugh- ohh-H-Hank-ohhh, wh-what are you doing to me-ohh d-darling you're driving me crazy with that t-tickling-ouu-ohhh H-Hank!"
"That's my girl," he huskily panted, reaching out with his right hand to fondle one of her heaving full breasts as he thrust relentlessly onward, his other forefinger hastening the clitoral attunement of her now wantonly responding loins.
Betty's face lifted, eyes straining towards the ceiling, nostrils flickering, mouth agape in hectic little wordless cries that announced her erotic awakening.
He held himself immobile a moment, glorying in the spasmodic clenchings which the velvety walls of her temple of Sodom now frenziedly applied against his rooted weapon, and then began to draw slowly in and out, squeezing her breast and prodding her turgid clitoris this way and that, forcing it back into the secretive cowl of soft cuntal flesh, then letting it bob up, rolling it, tickling and grazing it with quickened attention. Betty's half-nude body threshed and writhed, her knees bending, then stiffening, her hips weaving in a seductive, responding rhythm to his copulatory movements. Raucous gasps and incoherent little sighs and moans told him of her rapt excitement. The feel of her spanked buttocks grinding convulsively against his belly added to his mounting fury, and with a last deep stroke, he hilted himself inside her, his forefinger pressing her clitoris back down into its furtive nook.
Betty uttered a prolonged shrill cry, her body lunging madly, as the spasm seized her, and at the same instant, Henry Warren felt himself burst his viscous essence into the deepest recesses of her nether love-core. She collapsed, sprawling flat on her belly, fingers clawing the rumpled sheets, he atop her, still hilted, and he felt the straining, clenching walls of her rectal sheath drain him of the last residue of love-juice.
It seemed an eternity of ecstasy till she at last whimpered, "Oh-H-Hank, oh darling, it-it was j-just wonderful!"
"Didn't I tell you, baby? And you've still got your cherry-that's for me on our wedding night. Now let's tidy up, and then you tell me more about what you want me to do to pay old snoopy Astrid back."
CHAPTER Seven
Fate had decided to take a hand in the destinies of Astrid and Matthew Fullhan as well as that of red-haired Betty Jurgens. On the Friday week following his first date with Kathleen Johnson, Betty's father, loosening his shirt collar and awkwardly fidgeting at the dinner table, looked uneasily at his sophisticated, beautiful daughter and cautiously asked, "Betty, what would you think if I were to marry again? Would it upset you too much?"
Betty gasped and stared incredulously back at her father, then began to giggle. "Why, Dad, I think it's a perfectly wonderful idea. I know you've been awfully lonesome since Mom died, and maybe that's one reason you and I haven't always seen eye to eye."
"Now don't you try to change the subject, young lady," he had testily interposed. "Just because I'm thinking of marrying again doesn't mean I'm letting down the bars where that Henry Warren is concerned. Don't you forget it for a minute."
"I'm not likely to, Daddy, not after what you did to me in the garage," she saucily reminded him, and when his face crimsoned, she giggled again, much to his discomfiture. "But seriously, I think it's just wonderful. When are you going to do it?"
"I was thinking of next Saturday, and going out of town on the honeymoon-maybe to New York, for just a week. That's about all I can spare with the paper, because I couldn't trust my old assistant to go more than a week without goofing things up. You want to come along, honey? You've never been to New York, you know. I'll even buy you a new outfit, how's that?"
Betty had thought quickly. If she protested too much, he was likely to get the wind up and suspect that she really hadn't broken off with Henry after all. And she very definitely wanted to see Henry again, not only because of how close they had been the week before, but because she was going to work the details out of her revenge on snoopy Astrid Fullhan. "I don't know, Daddy," she had somewhat dubiously replied with a cute little frown, "we're getting awfully close to finals, and then there's my sorority initiation. That's for a week from Sunday night, you know, and I'm vice president. I just have to be there, Daddy. Anyhow," this with a coaxing little smile, "you wouldn't want me along on your honeymoon anyway, and you know it. But I'll take a raincheck on that new outfit, and maybe we can go to New York for Christmas."
"Sure, that's not a bad idea at that. All right, Betty, it's Kathleen Johnson. You know, she used to work at the library until all the bluenoses in town decided that she wasn't a fit person just because she got a raw deal with that hippie musician hubby of hers. She's a fine woman, and she knows you and likes you, and I think we will get along just swell. I'm glad you're taking it this way, honey, it's a big weight off my mind."
"I want to stay home and get good grades so you can be proud of me when I go to college in the fall, Daddy," Betty had got up from her chair, come around to her father, and kissed him on the forehead. And that was how, much to her unexpected delight, she knew that the way was clear to planning retribution for the bespectacled blonde matron across the way who had engineered that humiliating bare-bottomed spanking. To be sure, the auburn-haired teen-ager had to admit to herself that the spanking itself had had some wonderful aftereffects, especially so far as darling Henry was concerned. Just the same, it was high time somebody taught that nosy neighbor of theirs not to butt in on young people just because she was sour and envious of them. ...
And so the next week had been spent in hectic preparations for the wedding, which was to take place at the Summerton Town Hall with old Judge Timothy Abernathy presiding, and between showing his assistant what to look for in putting out the issue of the paper for the week he would be honeymooning with Kathleen Johnson, arranging for the blood tests and the license, and visiting the happily flustered Kathleen to make sure that all the details were perfectly clear to her, Dan Jurgens was far too distractingly occupied to think about his spirited red-haired daughter. The marriage took place on the following Saturday noon and then Dan Jurgens and his light-brown-haired new wife got into Dan's car and started their drive towards the honeymooning delights of Manhattan, with the bridal suite reserved for them at the Barbizon Plaza overlooking Central Park.
Matthew Fullhan, the same week of his neighbor's remarriage, had gone back to Boston to confer with Amos Denby, lunching again at Pier One and then, after spending an hour at the table showing Amos some of his sketches for the new campaign and getting an approval on them for finished artwork, eagerly went off with the art director back to the apartment of Suzy Phillips, where honey-haired Eleanor enthusiastically awaited a reunion with her formerly shy "client". And thus it was that Astrid Fullhan found herself alone this fateful weekend as did vengeance-minded Betty Jurgens.
"Henry? It's Betty, lover. I sure do want to see you. Yes, Daddy went and did it. He just left for New York and he won't be back until a week from Sunday, and that'll be Hell Night for the S.S.S., you know. Umm hmm, I know. Look, I've got the camera, so why don't you come over right now? Her hubby? He's not home, and I'll bet that means he's out of town again. How do I know? Because Daddy printed in the paper last week that Mr. Matthew Fullhan, noted Summerton commercial artist, had been assigned some important artwork for a big Boston agency. That's where he is, because he's usually home by now and anyhow, he does most of his work at home and he doesn't go out even with that snooty wife of his very much. Sure I'm sure. So tonight's the night we're going to work it on dear old nosy Astrid. Here's what you do-" For the next few minutes, Betty spoke earnestly and quickly into the phone, then giggled and hung up.
Next, she hurried to her bedroom to change into her most seductive and revealing outfit. It would be sure to draw Astrid Fullhan's spying attentions. Even her own father hadn't seen her wear this, and he would have put his foot down if he had. She had bought it out of her allowance and hidden it away in a bottom drawer of her dresser, hoping that sometime, somehow, she would get a chance to wear it for her boyfriend Henry Warren. And now was very definitely the time!
It was a sleeveless red silk blouse with a deep V-cut, together with a hip-hugging black satin miniskirt that went down exactly to mid-thigh. The combination of the two left several inches of bare midriff tantalizingly displayed, and the rest of Betty's "seduction outfit" consisted of frilly black net pantybriefs and a matching bra with cutouts for her perky coral nipples. About five months ago, her father had taken her to a printers' convention in Fall River, and during an important meeting on union rules, Betty had slipped away to find a secluded little lingerie shop at the other end of town. It was about the time that she was deciding that if she were going to take Henry Warren away from Dodie Ames and Helen Baskins, it was high time she let him be aware of what she really had to offer an appreciative fellow. Finally, she put on her high-heeled pumps and turned this way and that to survey herself in the full-length bathroom mirror. Naughtily she whisked up the miniskirt, and giggled at the sight of her plump love-mound and the thick bush of dark-red hair which shielded it and caressingly curled over her fleshy cuntal lips through her gauzy panties. She was hoping that maybe this time he would bring along a safe and forget his silly nonsense about wanting to save her cherry until they got married. Of course, the way he had given it to her before, though most unexpected and unusual, had turned out to be terrifically thrilling, and she wouldn't mind if he tried it that way again, especially when he rubbed her tender little button and sent her crawling up the wall!
Letting her skirt fall back into place, Betty moved to the dining room window and peered out. Sure enough, Astrid Fullhan was in the kitchen, wearing her glasses, and those silly pigtails with the ribbons tied to them. She had on an apron and dowdy brown cotton dress, and she didn't have any makeup on at all. Wait until the girls of the S.S.S. got a gander at Astrid, Betty gleefully thought to herself.
Finally, she took out a tanager lipstick and deepened the ripe, sensual curve of her soft moist lips, and then, with a last glance at the mirror, left the house and walked out into the back yard. She didn't smoke, but this time she was going to. Her father had left a half-empty pack of Chesterfields on the kitchen table, and she was very nonchalant as she lit one with a kitchen match scraped against the fencepost and then slowly sauntered back and forth, as if looking for someone-as of course she was.
She pretended not to look back at the lighted kitchen window where Astrid Fullhan was standing. But covertly, she was able to see that she at once aroused the woman's attention. The blonde matron was leaning forward, frowning, her eyes very big behind those silly horn-rimmed glasses of hers. Betty airily took a puff at the cigarette, then another, but was careful not to inhale, which she didn't know how to do anyway. She flicked imaginary ashes into the air, then stooped and hoisted up her miniskirt to reveal her gauzy pantybriefs, and slyly glanced back at the Fullhan kitchen window. Sure enough, old Astrid was taking it all in, her mouth open like a chicken with its head cut off! It was all Betty could do to keep from giggling. The Kodak Instamatic, loaded and ready, was already in the garage. She had put it in there just as soon as her father and Kathleen had driven off to New York.
A few minutes later, she heard the sound of Henry Warren's car and giggled to herself. He was to park it in the alley and then leap over the fence and come to her through the garden so that Astrid would be sure to see them both together making their way into the garage. If that didn't work, they'd have to think of something else.
"Sweet stuff!" Henry Warren called guardedly, "Is the coast clear?"
"It's just fine, Hank lover!" Betty Jurgens giggled. He came to her out of the darkness, took her in his arms, and his hands squeezed the elastic cheeks of her behind as he pulled her to him. She could feel his fierce erection thrust against the twitching cuntal lips which the filmy net panties so scantily revealed more than concealed. And she felt a throbbing surge of feminine emotion, wanting this time for him to take her the right way, to put that big hard tool of his right where it belonged and not worry about saving her cherry for the wedding night-heaven knew how long it would be before Daddy would come around to the idea of even letting her go steady with Henry Warren.
"She's in the kitchen watching like a hawk, lover," Betty whispered in a husky voice after he broke off the kiss. "Stand here for a second and give me another couple of free feels, I'm getting so sexy you wouldn't believe! That ought to bug her eyes out for her, the old witch! Now you know what you've got to do?"
"You just do your part, baby, and I'll do mine. As for feeling you up, I could do this all night long-how's that?" He had slid his hands under her short skirt and under the legs of her net panties, and one hand was now roaming the velvety-smooth cheeks of her bare behind while the other fondled the thick dark-red bush over her cuntal lips. Betty moaned without faking, eyes closed and shivering as she pressed herself tightly to him. She thought she heard a stifled gasp, because Astrid Fullhan's kitchen window was partly raised, it being such a warm day and evening.
"Mmm, lover, be careful or we might do it right here and now and then we'd never catch the old snoop," she at last besought him. "I'll go into the garage and you come in after me. I left the bricks just slightly loose, so she can pull them out easily and we'll hear or see her. Then you know what to do."
With this, she turned and ran towards the side door of the garage, opened it, and disappeared. Henry Warren, without glancing back at the lighted kitchen window, moved slowly and purposefully towards that same door, paused long enough to light a cigarette, and hen disappeared inside the garage. ...
Astrid Fullhan's breath was coming quickly now, and her face was flushed. The very idea of those two dreadful children, practically fornicating out there under the sky and everything! She was going to have to tell Mr. Jurgens when he got back from his honeymoon. The wicked girl, no sooner had her father left town than she had to have that horrible boy over. The Lord alone knew what they would do all this week. Well, maybe if she gave them a scare, they might hold off their wickedness until Betty's father got back.
Under the rather dowdy brown dress, she wore a pale white lace-trimmed slip and matching strap-on bra with white suspants. She disliked girdles, because they were so cumbersome and then you had to remove the panties if you wanted to go to the bathroom and it made you very self-conscious. But the suspants were thick enough to cover the intimate parts that shouldn't be shown or exposed, and they had little tabs which reached down to her stockings and held them just as tightly as a garter belt would. That way, she wasn't conscious of the sinful undergarment that so many young girls or loose women wore to attract men. Thank goodness Matthew was as intellectual as she was on the subject of sex. She didn't know what she would have done if he had been one of those sex-crazy husbands who wanted to do things to her every night!
But she had to be sure that Betty Jurgens was committing sin with that awful Henry Warren, and the only way was to watch them and catch them at it. Very carefully she unlocked her kitchen door, tiptoed out, and moved over to the hedge. Parting the bushes, she squatted down before the rectangle of loose bricks, reached for one gingerly and then drew it out, laid it down very carefully, and then another and another . . . and then she crouched down and stared into the opening. Her worst fears were confirmed at once. They had turned on the electric light bulb there in the middle of the garage, and were standing right there shamelessly. Betty had her skirt up and her panties were pulled down-and what skimpy and sinful black panties they were, too-and that horrible boy had his hands on her b-bot-tom and was pressing himself right against her f-front-oh it was intolerable, disgraceful!
She watched, and suddenly the tickling between her thighs made her shiver, and she could feel the stiffening of her nipples. Almost unconsciously, she put a hand to her heaving breasts, her palm flattening down the nipple as if to punish it for having such emotions.
Then the light went out suddenly, and she gasped, straining her ears to listen to what was going on. They would be doing it next, she was sure. And then she would be able to tell Betty's father and have that boy sent to prison where he belonged for corrupting a minor. And the girl ought to be locked up on bread and water and given a good sound thrashing for a week at least. . . .
"Ohhh-what-let go-oh you-mmfffff- mmmfffff!"
Suddenly, she felt herself seized from behind, a hand over her mouth and an arm around her middle, lifting her off the ground as she kicked and struggled. Then she felt herself being carried or rather propelled into the garage, and suddenly dropped unceremoniously to fall with a painful thud upon her bottom on the hard stone garage floor.
"Who is that-Betty-is that awful boy with you ? You wait till I tell your father-I should think you would have learned your lesson-oh, what are you doing-no-stop it-my clothes -you're pulling up my clothes-oh no, let go- I'm going to yell for help-mmffff!"
Her dress and slip had been tugged up to her hips, and then wiry fingers had gripped the suspants and given a tug and yanked them down to her knees. Then she was hauled to her feet, and the next thing she knew, she felt something hard and hot press against the thick dark-brown fleece that shrouded her fleshy, twitching cuntal lips.
And then suddenly the light went on, and her eyes bulged and her mouth gaped open and she stood there paralyzed.
Betty Jurgens had the camera trained on her and she could hear the whirring sound. And Henry Warren, his fly open and his savagely turgid penis boldly projecting from it, stood against her, his hands gripping her elbows and pinning them behind her back, while he pressed the tip of his organ into her cuntal bush, until she could feel it actually rub against the soft pink lips of the most intimate and sacred part of her entire body.
"Well, well, Mrs. Fullhan," Betty Jurgens chortled, "wait till your husband sees this movie. He wouldn't believe that his adoring, very moral wife would be carrying on an affair with my very own boyfriend. Henry, how could you?"
"She's got a juicy fat little cunny on her, Astrid has, and you should get a feel of that big plump ass of hers too, baby," Henry Warren said out of the corner of his mouth while he grinned at the horrified blonde matron. "Personally, I think she's cute with those pigtails with the ribbons on them, just like a kid. Peel her down, and she's really got a shape for a cold winter's night!"
"Ohhhh-oh my God-you let me go-oh this is disgraceful-I'm going to tell-"
"Who are you going to tell, snoop?" Betty cut in. "Who's going to believe you once they see this movie? You rubbing your cunt right up against Henry's cock as if you couldn't get enough from your hubby-and I'll bet you don't. Sneaking off here into the garage to have a go at my own boyfriend, I like that!"
"Oh no-this is a terrible mistake-you misunderstand-I was outside-I mean-"
"I know what you were doing, snoopy!" Betty lashed at her sarcastically. "You were peeking, just the way you were when Hank and I were in here before and you had me get spanked. You were the one that called Dad and told him we were here, weren't you? Go ahead, Astrid, tell the truth or I'll have Henry do a few more things to you and take a lovely movie. I'll bet I could sell it for a stag party and make a fortune!"
"P-please-please have him let me go, please put that c-camera away-this is awful!"
"I'll say it is, Astrid baby," Henry snickered. Ruthlessly he twisted her elbows and forced her down on her knees, till her horrified, congested, tear-stained face was only inches from the savagely flaunting spear of his violently erect penis. "Get a shot of this, too, Betty Astrid giving a blow job!" And as Betty nodded and giggled in enthusiastic agreement, he deftly forced his penis against Astrid Fullhan's trembling lips. The camera whirred on, preserving that moment, even though Astrid wrenched her face away and uttered a shriek of loathing, "Ohh aughhh-oh take that filthy thing away-oh you horrible beast, you've got no right to treat me this way-"
"Yell all you want to, Astrid honey," Betty again interposed. "But I'm going to have a print of this made and see that your husband gets it when he gets back home. And maybe I'll give it to Bruce Fenton, he's got a night club on Highway Twenty-Seven and he shows dirty movies there to his special customers. I'll bet he'll pay me a lot for this one."
"Oh no-oh Betty, you wouldn't do a dreadful thing like that-you wouldn't-oh my God -no-oh I swear to you-I didn't do anything -he's the one-he pulled my clothes down and then-and then-" Astrid was near hysteria now.
Henry Warren released her and stepped back, not bothering to stuff his swollen penis back into his pants. "We're both going to see that you get yours, Astrid," he said coldly. "I don't much go for bitches that snoop on other people and snitch to their fathers. I happen to want to marry Betty someday, and if she wants to have some fun with me first, that's our business, not yours. Get me?"
"Yes, yes, I-I'm sorry-I didn't mean-I won't ever-" Astrid began to babble, wringing her hands and sobbing pitifully, kneeling there with bowed head on the garage floor, her suspants twisted and festooning her shaking knees. She wore flesh-toned nylons, and they lined her ripely rounded calves and succulently ample thighs. Henry Warren noticed this appreciatively, just as he did the thick dark-brown curls of her pubic bush which hardly let him see a glimpse of the fleshy coral-tinted cuntal lips they so secretively shrouded. He felt a throbbing in his organ that meant an urgent need for some kind of relief before this night was done! "I'll say you'll never butt in again, bitch. Now listen, and listen good. You've got just one chance to stop us from giving your hubby a copy of this movie and one to old Bruce, get me?"
"I-I'll do anything you want-I swear I will-only please destroy that horrible thing- oh please-"
"All right. Betty here heads up a sorority over at school, see? Well, a week from this Sunday afternoon, they're going to have an initiation. And you, baby, are going to be one of the pledges."
"I-I don't understand-" Astrid Fullhan timidly stammered, looking over at Betty with agonized and supplicating eyes, still wringing her hands.
"We'll see that you're blindfolded or wear a mask, Astrid," Betty explained with a sarcastic smile on her lovely face. "Nobody is going to know who you are. We'll just say you're a transfer senior from Chicago or something. But you'll go through the mill, and you'll take a good sound paddling on that big ass of yours to teach you a lesson about snooping."
"Oh no-oh that's worse-oh it's horrible- how can you be so cruel-you're a girl-oh how can you treat a woman this way-?"
"Would you rather have your husband watch this movie and maybe Bruce Fenton's customers and see who you are? You weren't wearing a mask when you had your mouth up against my boyfriend's cock, Astrid honey," Betty jeered.
Crushed and broken, her face flaming, Astrid bowed her head and covered her face with her hands as her shoulders jerked with fitful sobs.
"Well ?" Henry Warren moved closer, put his hand on the blonde woman's shoulder. "Do you play it our way or do we make copies of this movie and start circulating it all around Summerton?"
From Astrid, there came a faint, agonized "N-no-oh dear God-I-I'll do what you want-only please don't tell my h-husband- please!"
CHAPTER Eight
They had sent Astrid Fullhan back to her kitchen, sobbing with remorse after having made her swear that she would show up promptly at two o'clock a week from Sunday afternoon at the house of Dodie Ames on Cedar-ton Road. "Because if you're late or if you don't show, bitch," Henry Warren had snapped at her as he himself had yanked up her suspants-not without pinching her bottom and finally applying a sadistic little pinch to the plump mound of her thickly fleeced cunt- "I'll personally come over to your house with a projector and have your hubby watch this movie, every bit of it. Betty will call you later during the week to tell you what to wear for the initiation. Now go back home and stay there, snoop!"
Once the kitchen door had banged behind the sobbing bespectacled blonde matron, Henry Warren went back into the garage. All this time, he hadn't bothered to put his ferociously erect penis back into his shorts, and he didn't now. He plunged his hand into his pants pocket and took out a rubber, then fitted it onto the bony-looking, mushroom-cap-like tipped lance, smoothed it out without a wrinkle, and then moved over to his entranced red-haired girl friend. Betty understood without words; with a giggle of anticipatory delight, she whisked off her miniskirt and stepped out of the net panties, moved over to the old trunk near the back of the garage over whose surface she had already draped a car-blanket, and then, with a gasp of eagerness, lay back down on it. "Oh Hank, lover, you were just wonderful, and I'm so randy I can't see straight," she breathed. "I want you to have me now, I can't wait till we get married. And I see you brought the necessary, so it won't do any harm at all. Please hurry!"
"A gentleman doesn't have to be asked twice with an offer like that, sweet stuff," he grinned wickedly as he moved toward her. A moment later, bending over her, his hands fondling her panting breasts, he sealed her mouth with a passionate French kiss, as he edged the tip of his rubber-sheathed penis against the moistened, quivering pink cuntal lips of her virgin orifice and entered the tight warm young lob-byway.
"I don't care if it hurts, I want it bad," Betty whispered when the kiss was over. Her arms linked round his neck, squeezing tightly to her, and she arched herself as she sensed his muscles tightening for the assault upon her maidenhead.
She winced when the battering ram of his organ abruptly banged against the thin membrane of her hymen, and then the twinge of pain was forgotten, and she groaned with delight to feel the heavy, hard-rooting spear impaling her to its very hilt. Her lovely bare legs flung up and locked over his wiry buttocks, and she began to join her rhythm to his, urging him to hurry, to do it to her, to bring her the fulfillment that her wildly aroused senses so desperately needed.
"I ought to send her some flowers or something after Hell Night, Hank lover," she panted as he kept stroking away, "because if she hadn't snooped on us from the start, you wouldn't be doing this to me now-oh it's so good-oh fuck me hard-faster, oh darling, give me every inch you've got-oh I'm sure glad I didn't wait till we got married-and we can do it all the time now, because it's safe, isn't it-oh Hank, oh sweetheart-oh I'm going to cum, I know I am-oh lover-aaahh-oh Hank, now, now!!
Her voice rose to a paean of rapture, her arms and legs locked tightly round him, as he thrust a final time and burst himself within the rubberized safeguard which kept her chastity intact if not her hymen. Betty was shaken by the spasm of furious relief, and she kissed him frenziedly until at last the sweet oblivion and lassitude after coitus eased their tensions.
"What are you going to have her wear, baby?" he asked her a long while later, as they shared a cigarette together.
"She'll have to keep those pigtails and those ribbons, and, I'll make her wear a kid's outfit, you watch and see."
"Can I?"
"You mean actually be there at the initiation? Gosh, we've never had a fellow. And I don't know if Dodie would go for it," Betty said doubtfully.
"Suppose I tell the girls they can all watch while I give it to the new pledge after she's gone through Hell Night," he hinted with a leer.
"You mean-you'd fuck Astrid, lover? That's a simply terrific idea! I know Dodie would go for that-and so would I." Then she frowned at him. "Only just don't go getting too much of a taste for her brand of snoopy pussy, lover. Now that I know what it's like, I'm going to put my brand on you. But just once to teach her a lesson, I don't think it'll do any harm. Now hurry up and get another safe on and give it to me again. Am I ever glad Daddy went and got himself married!"
* * *
Astrid Fullhan had died a thousand deaths of humiliation and apprehension by the time the Sunday of her command appearance before the "Summerton Swinging Sexpots" fell due. Matthew Fullhan had come back from his Boston meeting with Amos Denby and another seance with honey-haired Eleanor late the previous Sunday night, and his bespectacled wife had very nearly been tempted to throw herself on his mercy, confess what she had done, and what compensation was being demanded of her by vindictive Betty Jurgens and Henry Warren. But her guilty awareness of her own "sin" in spying on the two young people had begun to gnaw on her conscience, and most of all she was terrified at the idea of what her usually mild husband would say and do if he were to see a print of that movie in the garage. No matter how she tried to explain it, she realized, appearances would be very much against her; even though she had struggled and been revolted at the stripping of her garments and her enforced proximity to that shameless boy, the undeniable fact remained that she had been pictured in tight embrace with him and then, the recollection of which made her blush violently with mortification, knelt down and posed as if she were about to accept his penis orally.
Besides, there seemed to have been a change in Matthew Fullhan himself, one that she was powerless to analyze. He had been extremely cool and diffident towards her, kissing her lightly on the cheek and saying very little about the trip except that his work had been approved by the agency and that he might have to go back the next weekend. At that point, she fervently hoped he would, because then he wouldn't be around to have to explain to why she had to leave home on Sunday afternoon.
On Friday afternoon, she had received a call from Betty, reminding her to be there promptly at two o'clock on Sunday afternoon and telling her that a last-minute change had been arranged for her initiation costume: She would be given it when she arrived at Dodie's house. Nobody would recognize her, and once the initiation was over she would be given the reel of the movie to destroy or to do with as she pleased. Nor would Betty and Henry make any further comment about the episode once she had kept her part of the bargain.
She had thus spent a wretched week, not only wondering about what would happen to her on Sunday afternoon but also whether Matthew was going to be absent from the house when her ordeal took place. Moreover, her husband kept up his aloof attitude all through the week, not once going to bed with her and remarking that he was going to stay up late and work on some of the preparatory sketches for the follow-up campaign on the fish cannery account which was bringing them such welcome extra revenue. As a consequence, Astrid wasn't called upon to fulfill her marital duties; indeed, Matthew Fullhan had made love to his wife exactly once since his very first trip to Boston.
Then on Saturday afternoon, he got a call from Amos Denby to tell him that the follow-up campaign had been postponed for a fortnight and that he needn't come to Boston for this particular weekend. Thus, over the breakfast table on Sunday, Astrid Fullhan found herself compelled to invent an acceptable lie to explain her leaving the house that afternoon.
"M-Matthew, would you mind if I went out this afternoon?" she had begun.
He had looked up from the newspaper and shaken his head. "No, why should it I'm just going to finish some of my sketches and get them ready for when the agency calls me back to Boston. You go ahead. You'll want to use the car, I suppose?"
"Oh yes-I mean-yes I'd like to, if I may."
"Of course. Will you be back in time for supper?"
"I-I think so. But maybe-well, would you mind very much having dinner at a restaurant this evening in case I'm late?"
He put down his paper and stared at her. "No, I suppose not," he said slowly. "Mind telling me where you're going?"
Astrid's face flamed and she lowered her eyes. Her lips had suddenly gone dry and she licked them furtively as she hastily summoned all her powers of inventiveness. "Well, you see, our bridge club is having an election of officers, and I've been nominated for president. And I suppose I have to be there in case I'm elected."
"Good luck. Only I didn't know you'd taken up bridge. I've never seen any of the neighborhood women over here playing cards, come to think of it."
"Well, you see," Astrid frantically improvised, "when you go to Boston, I'm sort of at loose ends, and I really like bridge a lot and I used to play it back in school-so Wilma Corrigan and Lois Dawson invited me to play. It-it's over at Lois's this afternoon."
"Well, good for you! I'm glad you've got yourself a hobby, Astrid. One of these days, though, when I've got this Boston thing all lined up and my working schedule pretty clear ahead of me, you and I are going to sit down and have a little talk about the future."
"Of course, d-darling! Whatever you say. Thank you for being so understanding," Astrid nervously stammered.
As she hurried to the sink to do the breakfast dishes, Astrid's cheeks were burning, and she didn't notice that Matthew Fullhan was studying her intently with a speculative look in his usually mild blue eyes. . . .
She parked the car along the curb in front of the address which Betty Jurgens had given her, got out, and, biting her lips, walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.
Dodie Ames was Betty's age, a tall haughty black-haired senior at Summerton High, and her parents were probably the richest family in all Summerton. They had left two weeks ago for a European second honeymoon, promising their only daughter a similar trip as a wedding present when she married Fred Hennings in September. Dodie was president of the secret high-school sorority, which comprised about eighteen girls between the ages of sixteen and eighteen and which pledged only those girls known to have "gone the limit" or ready to approach that sophisticated sexual stage with a steady boyfriend, and also whose grades were satisfactory, enough so that the school authorities would attach no particular significance to their regular dating habits.
Actually, "Hell Night" was to have been the following Friday evening, but Betty Jurgens had had a long session with Dodie and explained the unusual circumstances of the "masked pledge" who would be the piece de resistance at this ceremony. So Dodie had laughingly agreed to hold the ceremonial in the basement recreation room of her parents' palatial house where there was no danger of intrusion from unwanted outsiders or snooping neighbors.
"First, we're going to blindfold you, Astrid," Betty announced, as tall Dodie appeared beside her in playshorts, bra halter, high-heeled black leather pumps and transparent black clockwork net hose that disappeared under the legs of her shorts and were held up by a single tab clamping high against each thigh from a green satin-elastic garter belt.
"You're sure-you're sure nobody is going to know who I am?" Astrid Fullhan nervously quavered, her face very red as Dodie's amused and scornful gaze fixed on her.
"I promised, didn't I? Now come along!" Betty curtly commanded. They took hold of Astrid's wrists and led her down the hallway of the big house and thence to a narrow door opening just off the pantry, down a flight of narrow stone steps into the huge basement, part of which had been sectioned off with several Japanese shoji screens. Betty opened a storage-room door, flicked on a light switch, and pointed to a straight-backed chair on which was placed a dress box. "Here's your outfit, Astrid. You'll find a mask in there; actually, it's a kind of hood. That way, you can even wear your glasses, but nobody will see your face. Now get moving. We're working on two other pledges before you, but you'll be the only one going through the line. Make it fast!"
With this, the red-haired teen-ager shoved Astrid into the room and locked the door, while she and Dodie shoved aside one of the screens and went back into the initiation area. Two sixteen-year-old pledges were going through at the same time, one of them a petite dark-brown-haired Venus with big round breasts and bottom to match, plump thighs, and a pale milky skin, the other a slim, shy, coppery-haired girl with willowy legs and small apple-like breasts. Both girls had been ordered to report wearing the sheerest nylons they could find, garter belts, high-heeled pumps, bra and panty sets, and only a dress over that provocative deshabille. They had both been blindfolded, the dresses removed, their hands tied in front of them, and then each of their "Big Sisters" had led them by tying a cord to their wrist-bonds and drawing on it like a leash through the waiting paddle line. Each girl had gone through twice, the first time with her panties on, and then Dodie Ames had condemned the pledges to make a return trip with their panties removed on the alleged grounds of cowardice.
Meanwhile, trembling with shame and fear, Astrid Fullhan hastily began to undress. But to her ears, very plainly, came the sounds of pinewood paddles landing crisply on naked girlflesh and the wails and cries and piteous pleas of the two young sufferers to be let off. "Oh-oww-eeyarhhh-oh please stop, oh I can't take anymore-owww!-oh please do stop, please, it hurts so much-Aiiii!"
Then she heard Dodie Ames's haughty voice sneeringly ordering, "The big babies, all that fuss over a little spanking! We'll give them one last chance, but first we're going to have our Midwestern transferee. We're going to call her Miss X, because she's asked that we keep her real name a secret, girls. Oh yes, one last thing-she's just a little older than Phyllis and Delia there, so I expect you sisters to give her a real warm welcome to Summerton High S.S.S., and I mean just that! Madam Vice President, will you go see if Miss X is ready to meet her betters by now?"
Astrid Fullhan uttered a strangled cry, her heart pounding wildly. She had opened the dress box after having stripped down to her suspants, bra, hose, and pumps, and discovered indeed, a new "initiation outfit." It comprised an old flour sack that had been turned inside out and made into a kind of dress, such as farmers' wives wore a couple of generations ago, a black lace-trimmed strapless bra, a pair of lace-trimmed, very flouncy black satin panties which at first horrified glance appeared to be somewhat small for her generous proportions, a pair of gauzy smoke-colored nylons, and a gaudy red satin-elastic garter belt, and finally a pair of four-inch-heeled red leather pumps.
The door was unlocked and Betty Jurgens appeared, hands on hips. "My goodness, haven't you finished getting dressed, Astrid? We're waiting for you. Now get a move on!"
"But-but-you don't expect me-these things are just disgraceful-"
"You mean they're too sexy? You put them on, Astrid Fullhan, or we'll run the movie right here and now in front of all the girls. Not only that, we'll tie you up and paddle your big bottom raw just the same. Now you've got your choice!"
"Oh, dear-oh my Lord," Astrid wailed, but the hard glitter in the teen-ager's eyes convinced her that to comply would be the lesser of two evils.
She was blushing to her hair roots as she stood at last naked, and then even more hastily pulled on the snug-fitting black satin panties. Betty had to aid her, and they very nearly split, but at last they were in place, outlining the ripely opulent, deeply grooved cheeks of Astrid Fullhan's bottom like a second skin that had just been sewn on. "Oh dear, I won't even be able to walk in these without splitting them," Astrid Fullhan moaned.
"Don't worry about that. Now hurry up, I told you they're waiting for you!" Betty Jurgens impatiently commanded.
There was one final item in the dressbox: a black hood which covered the head and fell to the shoulders, with large cut-outs for the eyes and nothing else. "Keep your glasses on, and let's get moving!" Betty snapped as Astrid, at last dressed in the flour sack and squirming uneasily in the fearfully tight panties and an almost equally tight bra which hugged her closely spaced, upstandingly rounded cantaloupe-like breasts, took a few tentative steps on the high-heeled pumps and then burst into suppressed sobs. "I-I can't walk in these shoes, Betty-honestly I can't-" she moaned, wringing her hands in despair.
"Oh yes you can, and you'll learn! You come along with me now. Hold out your hands- there!" Swiftly Betty looped the noose of a white felt cord over Astrid Fullhan's wrists, tugged it tightly, and then used the other end like a leash to lead the blonde matron, stumbling forward, uttering frantic little cries of fright for fear that she would topple to the stone floor. As she had been ordered, she wore the two childlike pigtails with blue ribbons attached to the ends, and of course these could be seen descending beneath the hood.
Mock whistles of jeering and greedy admiration greeted her appearance from behind the shoji screens, and Betty Jurgens led her in front of the single line of sixteen sorority sisters, each brandishing a pinewood paddle.
"Miss X wishes to say that she is humbly ready for her initiation into our exalted and exclusive sorority, Madam President," Betty Jurgens announced to the grinning black-haired Dodie Ames.
"Let her begin the test of courage now then. Prepare her, Madam Vice President!"
While Betty continued to hold the improvised leash, two of the sorority girls hurried forward, their paddles tucked under their arms, lofted Astrid's flour sack dress and rolled it high on her back where they pinned it up with safety pins. More whistles of admiration rose at the sight of the spectacularly ripe bottom, the black satin shaping out the cheeks and the crease between them in the most suggestive way. Astrid's face was almost purple now with blushes of shame, and the backs of her legs were trembling so that she swayed on the high-heeled pumps to which she was entirely unaccustomed.
"Now then, Madam Vice President, since you are acting as her Big Sister, bring her before the exalted tribunal," Dodie Ames announced, and swept her paddle downward in a wicked arc to indicate the beginning of Astrid Fullhan's expiation.
Betty had decided not to blindfold her victim, because it would add to her terror and humiliation; thus Astrid Fullhan was able to see through the disguising hood what awaited her . . . sixteen girls swinging paddles, licking their lips, giggling, and awaiting her in a single line. Her flesh cringed at the thought, but Betty was already tugging on the cord. "Come on, Miss X, don't be bashful, we want to give you a warm welcome into our sorority!"
As she passed the first girl, a plump, smirking seventeen-year-old dishwater-blonde, the latter drew her paddle back and applied it with gusto across both cheeks of Astrid Fullhan's ample bottom. With a wild shriek, the frantic matron stumbled forward, but already a second paddle collided across both bottom-globes, at almost the same place, and then a third and a fourth as Betty pulled her forward. "Oh no-it hurts-oh my God-I can't stand it-wait, oh I can't walk on these awful shoes-ahrrr-oh my God, have mercy, Betty, please-oh don't-ahrrww ouuu!! Please stop -oh you're killing me-you're just killing me-aiiii-eeyahhrr!!" Twice, under the flailing paddles, Astrid Fullhan lost her balance on the pinchingly tight spike-heeled pumps, stumbled and sank down to her knees, only to be jerked up by the pitiless redhead. During these interludes, the giggling girls took full advantage of her helplessness to apply several more swats till at last she scrambled to her feet and stumbled forward, wailing and sobbing, her cheeks drenched with juvenile tears of pain and woe.
When they came to the end of the line where Dodie awaited her, the black-haired president of the secret sorority regaled the sobbing matron with a ferocious swat across the base of her bottom that drove Astrid down on her knees again and then sprawling flat on the floor, kicking her legs and sobbing as if her heart would break.
"Miss X is a worse cry-baby than those little freshies we just dusted off," she said contemptuously. "Madam Vice President, take her through the line again, and this time raw!"
"To hear is to obey, Madam President," Betty winked and giggled. Then, bending down, she put her hands to the waistband of the black satin panties, noticing that here and there at the seams there was evidence of splitting. One vigorous ripping jerk and the sheath was torn off a lusciously opulent bottom that was already a violently bright-red hue from chink-bone to the tops of her quaking thighs.
"On your feet, pledge!" Betty moved round and forward now, yanking at the cord. But Astrid plaintively implored mercy, ignominiously lying there on her belly and looking up through the slits of her hood at her vindictive young tormentress: "Oh please, no more-I'll be so good-I won't ever snoop again-please, Betty, have mercy, I hurt so!"
"Want me to show the movie, Miss X?" was all Betty had to say, and with a wail of anguish, the unhappy matron awkwardly got to her feet, crying out again as the maneuver sent new waves of burning anguish through her naked behind.
This time, it was Dodie who started Astrid off on her second run of the mill, with a diagonally placed swat that made the pinewood paddle jump over the huddling, inflamed naked globes and wrenched a piercing shriek from the mature sufferer.
Now she cast aside all dignity and poise, all intellectual stature: Astrid Fullhan had been reduced to a plaintive, anguished little girl whose bottom pained her dreadfully and who was ready to do anything in the world if that pain would only terminate. At least four times she fell down on her knees and wildly begged Betty to be satisfied with what she was suffering already, but each time she was dragged to her feet and made to continue, and the girls, reveling in the prospect of initiating a full-grown woman who was acting like a child, applied many more spanks than she would have had had she been able to go through the line stoically.
And then at last it was over, and once again she lay sprawled on her belly, weeping hysterically, her bottom swollen, the cheeks opening and contracting convulsively, kicking her pump-shod feet to and fro in the air as she tried to ease the fiery agony in her bare behind. Now all shame at being thus exposed had fled; pain dominated, gnawing and searing pain the like of which she had never before experienced.
And now, Miss X," Betty bent down to whisper, "we're going to keep our bargain. You'll get back the movie. I'm going to take you where you'll find it."
Sobbing loudly, Astrid slowly got to her feet, but not without the aid of two of the gleeful sisters. Still clad in only the bra, garterbelt, hose, and pumps, she was led by her wrists out of the recreation room and back up the stairs. Betty this time generously permitted her to remove the pumps so that she could negotiate the stone steps. But once they had reached the level of the pantry, she had to put them back on again. And then Betty led her down the hallway to a guest room, opened the door, and said, "Now you can ask Henry real sweet and nice for the movie, and I'm sure he'll give it to you."
She pulled the door shut behind the half-naked blonde matron who still wore the hood and whose wrists were still bound, the cord now trailing on the floor. Astrid Fullhan uttered a strangled cry of disbelief and shame- because standing there in front of her, naked except for socks, his penis in ferocious erection, was Henry Warren, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He had watched behind one of the shoji screens, and when Astrid had come at last to the end of her initiation, he had hurried up to the room to get ready for her. He lifted the canister of film in his right hand and showed it to her. "Here it is, Astrid baby! You earned it, but you'll have to be real sweet to me to get it."
"Oh please-you-you're naked-oh please -this is awful-I hurt so, oh please, let me put my clothes back on and go home-please, Mr. Warren-"
"Oh ho, so it's Mr. Warren now? Well, that's a good start. Come on, Astrid girl, you know you don't want to go home right now. Your ass is burning so much your pussy must be just as hot in front. Let's find out, shall we?"
He stooped, picked up the cord-leash, and yanked it as he moved towards the big double bed whose covers were already drawn.
"No-what are you going to do-no-oh my God, not that-oh this is horrible-it's unfair -you and Betty didn't say I would have to- oh no, let me go-aaahh-" Astrid Fullhan cried out as Betty's virile black-haired lover now grabbed her by the waist and forced her onto the bed, rolling her over onto her flaming, burning bottom. Instantly she rolled onto one side, crying out, "No, don't do this to me, oh please, oh no, let me go-haven't you done enough to me already?"
But Henry Warren was busy fitting a safe onto his rigid weapon, and then he mounted the bed and forced her onto her back again. Her hands were still bound, and she couldn't fend him off. Desperately she kept her thighs clenched tightly as she could, turning her face from side to side, until he whisked off the hood and grinned at her. "I like you, Four-eyes! You've got a nice big juicy ass and a fat little cunny I'm going to get into right now. But don't worry, Astrid honey, you won't get a baby. See this safe? Or doesn't your hubby wear one? Or maybe you don't even do it at all with him-anyhow, let's find out."
"Oh no, oh don't-help-oh someone- aaaahhhhrrrrr-" Astrid's frantic cries were smothered by his avid mouth coming down on hers. She wriggled and twisted, but she was no match for him. Deftly, he pressed the tip of his white-sheathed spear against the dark thick bush which shrouded her fleshy, quivering cuntal lips.
"Oh no-" With a supreme effort, she managed to twist her face away, but Henry Warren followed her, his hands now sliding under her burning, swollen buttocks and his fingers digging into the cheeks. As she opened her mouth to cry out in pain, his mouth again clamped over hers, and then he thrust himself and felt himself penetrate into the warm tight cavern of Astrid Fullhan's matronly but as yet unawakened cunt.
Her eyes bulged through the misted horn-rimmed glasses, and her nostrils flared wildly as she fought for breath. Her bound hands had tried to thrust forward and cover her threatened cuntal lips, but he had maneuvered to wedge his belly against them and prevent their descent until he had affected entry. With another thrust, he hilted himself inside her. Astrid's eyes rolled in their sockets, her head tilting back.
"God, you've got a tight box, Astrid baby," Henry Warren panted, "I'll bet you haven't had much regular fucking, have you?"
"Oh, don't-don't do it-oh I want to die- this is dreadful-you said I only had to be initiated-"
"And you are being initiated, baby, into hot old-fashioned fucking, just the kind that soft fat cunt of yours in dying for!" he savoringly finished for her. "Now if you're a good bitch, I'll untie your hands and then you can hold on tight. No? Okay, suit yourself. But make up your mind to it, Astrid baby, you're going to be right royally fucked as you've never been before!"
He squeezed the hot throbbing cheeks of her behind and drew a wild cry of anguish from her, and then clamped his lips over one thrusting nipplebud that strained against the gauzy bra. He began to suck at it, while halting inside her, feeling her cuntal walls clench and grip him spasmodically as if in abhorrent revulsion. Then gradually, he pulled his right hand out from under her behind and put his forefinger to the nodule of her clitoris and began to rub it very lightly.
Astrid Fullhan's head twisted to one side, her eyes glassy now, and supremely dilated. Her breasts had begun to heave convulsively, and now he slid the other hand out from under her and ripped the bra away. She was reduced to nylons, garter belt, her pumps already having been scuffed off as she fought and threshed against her young rapist.
Then his left hand once again thrust under her bottom, and this time the forefinger nudged towards the plump rosette of her virgin anus, pried between the crinkly, puckering lips, and entered up to the knuckle. A bawl of anguished shame tore from the frantic blonde matron, whose head turned from side to side, her ribboned pigtails dancing and tumbling this way and that. Now, his mouth fixed to one dark-rosy nipple, he began to suck avidly, and to thrust his delving forefinger back and forth inside her rectal sheath while with the other he plied her stiffening clitoris with expert touches.
Whimpering moans, mewling gasps, incoherent, babbling words tumbled from her panting mouth. He could feel her nipples stiffen against his lips as he continued to suck at them, and the frantic constriction of her rectal walls against his imbedded forefinger now surpassed the feverish contractions of her agitated cuntal walls against his deeply imbedded lance.
Each time he touched her clitoris, her loins and hips heaved and jerked under him, and then at last he began to draw his organ back and thrust it forward in the rhythm of primeval copulation.
Thus besieged throughout her erogenous system, the naked blonde matron shuddered violently. She began to whimper, her face turning this way and that with a restless, hasty compulsion. Her eyes were glazed and hugely widened behind the misted glasses, and her bound wrists jerked under him, rubbing his waist and chest, her fingers clawing her own flesh as well as his.
Now he had achieved a regularized rhythm; a deep long thrust, then a slow withdrawal, hovering at the brink of her fleshy, twitching cuntal lips, then a long hard dig to the hilt again. Moaning sobs and babbled, tumbling unintelligible phrases poured from her panting lips now, as her body seemed to buck and thrash and arch to him each time he dug into her, each time his finger hilted and then drew out of her clenching bottomhole, each time he tweaked and prodded and pressed down her hardened lovebutton.
He held himself back beyond his own abilities, wanting to conquer her totally, glorying in his mastery of this haughty, frigid, mature matron who had shamed his girl friend. Yet even so, he was cynically aware that if she hadn't intervened as she had, he might never have got to take both Betty Jurgens' delicious cherries and to achieve the coveted status of being her accepted lover.
But by now Astrid Fullhan was furiously awakened, her sinews, her nerves, and veins aglow with the multiple assault upon her carnal senses. Her head had fallen back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling unseeingly. Her naked breasts lifted and descended with tumultuous rhythm, both nipples glistening and stiff like spear points. And her clitoris had elongated and thickened, darkened from the erogenous blood drawn to its exquisitely membranous surface. The walls of her now seething cunt bound and clamped convulsively each time his weapon thrust deep between them.
And then, as he speeded up the work of both forefingers, as he quickened the cadence of his fucking, Astrid Fullhan suddenly managed to pull her bound wrists out from under him and to fling them over his head and then down against his back as she held him to her, and her nylon-sheathed legs locked frenetically over his sinewy buttocks as she began to thrust herself back and forth with him, grinding her loins to his, greedily seeking appeasement.
Her sobbing cry, strident and prolonged, announced her wanton awakening at last. . . .
CHAPTER Nine
Blonde Astrid Fullhan was dying of shame and was very reluctant to leave the bathroom into which a smirking and triumphant Henry Warren had led her by the elbow after he had taken virile and enthusiastic profit from the physical duress which she had suffered under the pinewood paddles of Betty's sorority sisters. He had left her there and closed the door with a mock, gallant little bow and called to her, "Take your time and wash up good, snoopy, and then Betty and I will drive you back home. And I'll give you the reel of film you just earned yourself. You know, Astrid girl, you're not a half-bad fuck at all. If you'd only get with it and put some makeup on and wear sensible clothes, you might even get your hubby to give it to you regular-you sure need it, you went off like a firecracker there in bed!"
She had uttered a strangled cry and her face had turned scarlet with shame as the door had clicked shut behind her. Then, bursting into tears, she had at last begun to run the water in the washbowl and doused her face first in cold water, and then rinsed it thoroughly with warm water and soap. A moment later, as she was drying her face with a hand towel, she uttered another cry of terror. Henry Warren opened the door again, but this time only to toss her discarded clothes back into the bathroom with a jeering, "If we had more time, we'd dig up a real sexy outfit for you, Astrid, so you could vamp your hubby when you get back home."
Her bottom had begun to throb painfully now, but what disturbed her most was the seething glow in her loins. As he had thrust himself repeatedly back and forth inside her cuntal sheath, Astrid Fullhan had writhed and jerked her naked bottom on the bed, and the friction had augmented the painful heat of the paddling. Yet at the same time, coupled to the friction of his vigorously delving penis, it had wakened her into turbulent, quaking orgasmic surrender the like of which she hadn't known even with her own husband, no, not even on their honeymoon!
Somewhat revived by the wash, the blonde matron decided to take a shower, if only to soothe the flaming torment of her well-paddled bottom. Bending to the taps, she regulated the water till it was cool but not too cold to bear, and then awkwardly clambered into the tub and turned her back to the blessed spray. Wincing and gasping, she stood there at least five minutes until at last the throbbing pangs seemed to diminish. Then, carefully toweling herself, she hastened to put on her clothes. She gasped as she discovered that Betty had substituted some of the items of her original attire; her suspants were missing, and in their place was a glossy narrow black satin-elastic garter belt with two tabs for each leg, and a pair of dark-tan nylon hose. Her own dress and slip and pumps were there, not the spike-heeled pumps she had been forced to put on during the initiation. Her brassiere was there as well, and this she at once put on with a gasp and fiery blush as she remembered how much of herself she had exposed not only to those horrible girls but also to that smirking black-haired youth who had taken such unheard-of liberties with her.
At the very thought, she clenched her thighs together and glanced down at the thick bush of cuntal curls, ruffled and softly lustrous after the shower. Her blushes deepened, and she hastened to put on the garter belt. Then, putting a towel down on the toilet seat top, and very carefully lowering herself, she drew the nylons onto her lusciously rounded calves and thighs, then affixed the garter belt and made the tabs secure to each nylon sheath.
Then the slip and the dress and finally she wriggled her toes into her shoes and straightened, with a gasp. A look at herself in the mirror showed her that her pigtails still had their blue ribbons, and that her eyes were swollen from having cried during the paddling and during Henry Warren's unexpected, vigorous assault upon her tender, quivering cunt. She bit her lips at the memory of all that, and then hesitantly she opened the bathroom door. Betty and Henry stood there waiting for her, and Henry Warren was holding out a canister of film . . . the reel of that movie which had been taken of her in the garage.
"Here you are, snoopy," Betty giggled. "You earned it, Astrid girl. Now we're going to drive you home."
"Oh please-let me out a few blocks before that-I'm-I'm so ashamed-oh promise me- you won't ever tell anyone-" Astrid Fullhan stammered. She had completely forgotten Mathew's car, so overwhelmed was she by her ordeal.
"I think that can be arranged, Astrid. Now listen," Betty approached the sniffling, mature victim, hands on hips, a sarcastic smile on her red lips, "I don't want to ever catch you spying on Henry and me again, you understand? I'm going to have those bricks plastered up at the back of the garage, and they better stay that way. Get me? Otherwise we'll tell your hubby what you're up to when he's away from home. And just so you won't get any silly ideas about snitching, I think it's only fair to tell you that what you're taking home with you is just a copy of the movie. I've got the original-"
"Oh, you horrid girl!" Astrid wrung her hands helplessly, tears glinting in her dilated eyes. "You promised-if I came to this awful initiation, you-you'd give it back-and then what he did to me-I ought to tell the police-"
"But you won't, Astrid baby," Henry Warren chuckled, "because then it would all come out how you used to spy on Betty and me, and besides you can't be sure the police would blame me for giving you what you really wanted. Boy, the way you wriggled when I was banging you, Astrid baby, you really wanted it."
"Oh stop talking like that-what do I have to do to get the original? I suppose you're going to blackmail me some more," the blonde matron sobbed.
"No. If you quit making trouble for us, nothing is going to happen. But that's why I'm going to hang on to the original, just to make sure it doesn't. All right now^ let's go back home."
Numb with shame and crushed by her defeat, Astrid Fullhan walked with bowed head out to Henry Warren's car, and Betty couldn't help giggling as the blonde matron uneasily shifted herself onto the front seat and then eased herself down with a grimace.
At her request, they let her out two blocks away from her house, and sat in the car watching her glance nervously up and down the street before starting back towards her house.
"Well, that was our good deed for the day. Now I guess you better drop me off at the house not too close, lover, so I can be there to welcome my new Mom back from her honeymoon," Betty Jurgens leaned over and kissed her black-haired lover. . . .
Astrid Fullhan hesitated a moment at the front door of her house, then unlocked it and walked into the spacious living room. Her heart was pounding rapidly, as she glanced uneasily around. But there was no sound to alarm her. She moved towards the stairway, hoping to get up to her room where she could change and perhaps rub some soothing cold cream on her still excruciatingly tender buttocks. But just as she started up the stairs, her husband's voice nailed her to the spot, with a gasp and her finger tightened on the mahogany wooden rail.
"Oh, I see you're back, Astrid," it was Matthew Fullhan, his voice pleasant and unhurried.
"Oh I-yes, d-dear-I-I just got in-"
"From Lois's, I presume?"
Astrid Fullhan turned to stare down at her husband, who was staring at her intently.
"Why-why, yes, yes of course, darling," Astrid Fullhan faltered, but a sudden rush of color to her wan face again betrayed her.
"Now that's very funny, you know." He moved up the stairs beside her, took hold of her wrist. "Very funny, considering that I just happened to call Lois an hour ago and she told me she hasn't seen you all afternoon."
"Oh-well I-I was going there-but-something came up-and-Matthew, you're hurting my wrist-please, Matthew!" Flustered, trembling, her face now scarlet, she tried to turn her face away from his level gaze, to break the grip he had on her wrist, but he retained her.
"I'm not saying you went to meet a lover, because you're not that kind of woman, Astrid. But I want to know why you lied to me. And you did lie, you know. Now are you going to tell me the truth?" he said in a soft voice, but his eyes were hard and narrowed.
"Please, M-Matthew, I-I didn't do anything wrong-"
"I'm not saying you did, Astrid, but I want to know why you lied to me. If there's nothing wrong, you shouldn't be afraid to tell me that you didn't go to Lois's but went somewhere else. Now what's this all about?"
Desperate to keep her secret, Astrid Fullhan managed to twist herself away from him, and started up the stairs. Matthew Fullhan swore under his breath and reached up for her. His left hand momentarily pressed against her bottom, and from that single contact, he was able to detect the fact that she wore no panties under the thin skirt and slip.
"Now wait a minute-come back here, Astrid -what the devil is this all about?" he growled, then hurried up the steps after her. He caught her at the landing, took her by the shoulders, and shook her. "I want an answer, and I want it damn fast!"
"Matthew-for God's sake-what's got into you today? I told you-I-I didn't do anything wrong-"
"That's not the right answer. And I want to find out if what I just felt is an illusion or something-" With this, he suddenly stooped and grabbed her skirt and slip with both hands and yanked them upwards to her hips.
"Ohhh nooo!!" the blonde matron wailed, grabbing at his hands and trying frantically to tug down her garments, stooping towards him.
But he maintained them at her waist, and there before his incredulous eyes was the provocative vision of her thick cuntal fleece, the plump thighs sheathed so bewitchingly in the dark-tan nylons, at the tabs of the black garter belt, which made her pale-carnation-tinted flesh even more spectacularly bare.
"I was right-you haven't got any panties on! What did you do, leave them at some boyfriend's place?"
"No-I didn't-oh you're horrible to think of such a thing-" Now she was close to tears, still fighting to pull her garments down.
Matthew Fullhan swore under his breath again, and then suddenly put his left arm under her back and his right under her knees, lifted her up in the air, and carried her thus into his bedroom, dumped her unceremoniously upon the bed.
"Now then, Astrid, I'm going to find out what this is all about and you're not leaving this room till I do!" he exclaimed as he took off his suitcoat and tie, then went back to lock the bedroom door.
His mature blonde wife had scrambled off the bed, gasping, trembling, her face scarlet, her lips trembling. She fought for speech, but it seemed choked in her throat as she watched him approach her.
"Matthew-I beg of you-this isn't like you -let me alone-you don't know what I've been through-I mean-" Astrid caught herself, and then gasped and blushed once more.
"I know what I've been through, and I've had just about enough of it. Now let's us get down to the bottom of things. Take your clothes off. I want to see you without panties again, and then we'll have a little question and answer session. And you'd better come up with the right answers, Astrid, or I'll give you what you've had coming for a long time," he angrily warned.
The blonde matron backed away against the locked door, panting, her big full breasts heaving wildly, her hands lifted to fend off his relentless approach. "Oh please-I swear I didn't have a lover or anything like that, I swear it, Matthew! Won't you believe me?"
"That's got nothing to do with it. Are you going to take your clothes off or do I rip them off you?"
"Oh, you-you're just dreadful-all right- I'll take my dress off-"
"And the slip too and be quick about it!" he mercilessly insisted.
Bursting into tears, Astrid Fullhan stooped, caught up the hem of her dress, and drew it off her body and let it fall to the floor.
"Now the slip!" he menaced, his eyes glittering pinpoints of desire.
"Now don't make me take it off, you know how ashamed-"
"That's what I'm getting at. You're always ashamed. I haven't seen you naked since we got married and this is just about the right time. Go on, take that slip off, before I tear it off you-I mean it, Astrid!" He took a step towards her, reaching out his hands.
With a cry of terror, his blonde wife yanked the offending slip over her head and let it drop, then swiftly clamped both hands over the thick fronds of her cuntbush. It was a pose very much like the famous painting "September Morn", but there was nothing amusing in it for her now inflamed and thoroughly sophisticated husband. His eyes swept her shrinking body, clad in only the bra, the black satin-elastic garter belt, the hose, and pumps.
"My God, that's more like it!" he breathed. "Now take the bra off too!"
"Oh no, Matthew, what's got into you?"
"Some sense at long last, that's what. Are you going to obey me or aren't you? I'll tear it off, so help me, I will!"
Astrid Fullhan reached behind, sobbing distractedly, and her trembling, fumbling fingers at last found the hooks and eyes of the bra, loosened them and let it flutter to the floor. Now she was naked except for garter belt, hose, and pumps, and she had never been more desirable. His eyes took in the panting jut of her cantaloupe-like breasts, the dark circles of the areolae, the crinkly buds of her nipples, the lascivious nook which was her navel, and just below it at the lower abdomen, the growth of those dark curls which shrouded the soft fleshy pink cuntal lips. Her legs were quaking beneath her, and his eyes feasted on them too, surveying her for the first time as a pasha might contemplate a new slave brought from the harem to his bedchamber.
"Turn around!" was his next order.
"Oh Matthew, don't shame me so-oh please don't!" she wailed. But when he pretended to take still another step and to reach out for her, she uttered a strangled little cry and hastily turned her back to him, then bowed her head, and put her face into her hands as her shoulders heaved with sobs.
Her ripe, opulent buttocks flinched and shivered, the muscles contracting lasciviously in her frantic attempt to diminish the most intimate portions of her body from his male eyes. The inflammation from the paddling had faded somewhat, but it was still obvious at first glimpse that beautiful mature Astrid Fullhan had been soundly and effectively spanked on her naked behind.
"Well, well, well, that's very interesting! Now I see why you're not wearing any panties. Who did it to you?"
"I-I don't want to tell you-oh please don't make me, I'll just swear to you-on the Bible if you like-but I didn't go to a lover, I wouldn't do that-I love you, M-Matthew!" she wailed.
"It's about time you showed me something on account of that love, Astrid. Come on now. Get over here on the bed."
"W-what are you saying-oh, no, not like this, oh no, it's indecent-"
This time he seized her by the scruff of the neck with his left hand, and brought his right palm up smartly four stinging, noisy times, two to each jutting bottomsummit, imparting a bright red hue to the already darkly colored flesh. Astrid uttered a frantic wail and squirmed and wriggled like an eel, trying to reach back and to cover up her already burning bottom. But he marched her by his grip on her neck over to the bed and pushed her forward so that she bent over the edge, kicking her stockinged legs.
Swiftly he dragged down the zipper of his fly, liberating his swollen, rampant penis.
"Maybe you'd like another spanking right now?" he chuckled thickly, putting his left palm on the small of her back and applying two or three more stinging quick spanks to the ripest curves of her wriggling, weaving naked behind.
"Ohhh noooo! Oh don't, please, I can't take anymore-they spanked me raw-oh Matthew, if you only knew-oh my God-oh dear!" and thus having involuntarily given up part of the secret she was trying so desperately to hide, Astrid burst into hysterical tears and abandoned herself, draped over the end of her husband's bed, her flaming bottom weaving and squirming shamelessly as she kept her face covered in her hands in her abject despair.
"Well, this is one position I haven't tried, so let's see what happens," he said huskily. Moving quickly behind her, his hands gripped the edges of her lush hips, and directed his penis towards the pink gape of her cuntal lips, framed so silkily by the thick dark-brown pubic curls. He arched himself forward, engaging the tip of his savagely turgid weapon just inside the soft quivering humid lobby of her voluptuous love-core.
Astrid Fullhan stiffened, her tear-stained, contorted face turned back over her shoulder as she regarded him with a look of utter stupefaction and shame, "Ohh, what are you doing -oh no-Matthew, oh that's horrible-oh I'm so ashamed-"
"I'm going to fuck you, Astrid. Do you understand me? The word is fuck. It's something we've never used in bed the last four years, but from now on we're going to use it a lot and do it a lot, too. And you're not going to wear any more than this, and the light's going to be on at night, you understand me? Now you just lie there and take it for a change, because you've let me lie there in bed plenty of times at night inches away without giving my prick-yes, Astrid, I said prick-the least concern. From now on you're really going to act like a loving wife!" he ordained.
Then, even as she rushed her hands back and tried to dislodge him, he clenched his grip on her bare hips and thrust violently forward. Astrid Fullhan stiffened, her eyes rolling in their sockets, dilating hugely as she felt the chafing friction of her husband's penis along the tender, tight route Betty's black-haired lover had so recently taken and so masterfully attuned.
Now, planted almost to the hilt inside his wife's tight quaking cunt, Matthew Fullhan exulted in the first actual possession of that opulent, temptingly bared body since the wedding night. She had always been fastidious and shy, and never before had he done it except at bedtime under the welcome shelter of darkness to appease her inhibited modesty. But now, finding her emotionally distraught, discovering her "initiation costume" as he had, the once meek artist felt exactly as if he were making passionate love to a beautiful wanton ... indeed, a callgirl exactly like Eleanor who had taught him so well up in Boston.
Astrid Fullhan, horrified and crushed by the turn of events, tried to remain passive. Her face scarlet and stained with tears, covered by her trembling hands, she shrank her upper body down against the bed to try to diminish herself, ostrich-like. But his sinewy fingers dug into her throbbing, bruised, and quaking hips, maintaining her in this obscene position, and her stockinged legs jerked and twisted as she strove for purchase on the floor with her pump heels.
Arrived at the hilt of his turgid ramrod, he lingered there, glorying in this conquest. His eyes devoured the deeply cleft pink-and-white smoothness of her bare back, accentuated lasciviously by the narrow black band of the garter belt. Her beribboned pigtails, a ludicrous paradox now for all her mature beauty laid there before him, tumbled over one shoulder and along one heaving side and he could feel the grudging response of her warm cuntal walls against his deeply imbedded prick, and the aching of his testicles told him that he was going to make up for four years of deprivation at long and thrilling last!
"We're going to be doing this more often, Astrid girl, so you better get used to it," he panted, as he slowly drew himself back till his glans rubbed against the very brink of her ..quivering cuntal orifice.
"Oh M-Matthew-oh G-God, oh don't, oh I want to die-this is so shameful-"
"Stop that whining, woman! Try to act like a woman for the first time since we got married! And when I finish, you're going to tell me who spanked you and why, you understand me? Otherwise, over my lap you'll go for another dose! And now, start cooperating- wiggle that gorgeous ass of yours, you beautiful blonde prude!"
"Matthew!" her voice was shrill and horrified to hear him use such obscene words, he who had always been so soft-spoken and meekly devoted to her.
"And that's another thing, Astrid," he growled, as he suddenly thrust back to the very hilt and drew a stifled groan and a frantic squirming from her reddened buttocks against his grinding belly, "there's going to be no more of this prissy talk between us. We're going to call a spade a spade, and you're going to learn your wifely duties, to use your own sort of flowery language, in a brand-new way. No, I haven't got a safe on, and if I give you a baby, so much the better. I'm going to keep you bare-footed and pregnant, Astrid Fullhan, and teach you how to keep your husband happy at night, do you understand me?"
"Oh, M-Matthew, oh this is dreadful-aahh -oh please, you're hurting me-oh you're like an animal-oh my God-please stop-ohhh!" Astrid Fullhan wailed, lifting her anguished face and turning it back over her shoulder to beseech him for mercy. For he had slipped his hands round her hips and his fingers had dug into her tender groin as he maintained her, while she fought to twist and disengage herself from his vigorous harpooning of her chafed and now twitchingly wakening cuntal sheath.
The paddling and then Henry Warren's vigorous ploughing of her tender lovesheath had broken down the dam of Astrid Fullhan's inhibited reserve. Now, coming so closely upon that sequence of events, her husband's entirely unexpected possession of her had annihilated all her intellectual defenses, and left her simply a woman of shuddering and beleaguered flesh who could no longer mount a defense to the priapic prowess which Matthew Fullhan had learned, thanks to the enthusiastic tutelage of the beautiful callgirl Eleanor.
Now his hands reached forward under her belly, roving up to the big panting gourds of her breasts, cupping them in his hands and kneading them luxuriously and greedily, as he fitted himself more tightly to her. Astrid groaned and squirmed, completely dominated, bent over and helpless, receiving him as one of the Sabine women must have received her Roman overlord centuries ago.
As his fingertips rubbed her stiffening nipples, he began to fuck her with a regular cadence now, which he had acquired from the deft ministrations of the honey-haired callgirl. Quickly, drawing halfway in and then pushing back till he gained the lost terrain, he began to exacerbate her sensitive membranous tissues with a reiterated friction that began once again to waken those long-dormant instincts which Astrid Fullhan had tried so successfully during most of her life to suppress because she believed them to be "animal" and "sinful".
A look of shame mingled with awestruck wonder appeared now on her tear-stained, lovely face, her eyebrows arched and her eyes bulged glassily as her hands dropped from her face, and her palms feverishly pressed down hard against the rumpled covers of the bed to sustain herself against his incessant attack.
Then, drawing his right hand away, maintaining her left breast in the cup of his left palm, Matthew Fullhan directed his right forefinger along her naked side, making her wriggle and gasp as if she had been tickled; then his finger edged under her right hip and towards the soft portals of her cuntal lips, already distended and engorged by the acceptance of his half-imbedded penis.
"Matthew, what-what are you doing to me -oh don't-oh stop-you make me feel so shameful-oh dear-Matthew stop-oh please don't-ooohhh!" she suddenly gasped, her face lifting, congealed in anguished shame and stupefaction.
He had found the dainty nub of her clitoris, and was pressing it back into the soft pink cowl of cuntal flesh, and once again the throbbing dynamo began to stir deep within Astrid Fullhan's long repressed womb. Her body uncontrollably jerked, as he delved to the hilt again, then drew back-but this time, almost to the brink of her twitching pink cuntal lips. As he did so, he accelerated the friction of his forefinger against the now-hardening nodule of her clitoris; and she was shaken by a series of convulsive spasms which drew panting little wordless cries from her parted lips, while her eyes hugely widened, glassy with tears, darkened by the shadow of her sudden awareness of what was taking place within her being.
"I've always wanted to do something like this to you, you've always been so dignified and haughty, Astrid darling," he confided in a thick, shuddering voice. "But by God, I'll make you cum or know the reason why not! There -do you feel me in you ? Do you feel my prick in that tight warm sweet little cunt of yours, Astrid girl?"
"Oh Matthew, what's come over you-oh God -you've never acted or talked this way before -oh Matthew-aaahhh-oh-ouuu-aaahhh- oh Matthew!" she moaned.
His finger had begun to tweak and rub and prod her clitoris back and forth and up and down, while at the same time he increased the vigor of his prick-thrusts, hilting her each time, making her body shake and quake to the turbulent jostling of his belly against her jutting, distended, reddened naked bottom.
"You're-you're crushing me-oh please, not this way-it's like an animal-oh don't, Matthew, I beg of you-" she tried to protest, her voice choked with sobs.
"There's a lot of the animal in all of us, Astrid, and it's about time you learned that. There, do you feel me? I've got my finger on your clit, you sweet bitch, now, I'm going to give it to you but good!" he gasped.
His finger again probed her clitoris back into its dainty cowl, and, as he drew himself back, he thrust full force into the quaking cavern of her cuntal sheath. He uttered a cry, as he felt himself explode within her, and the lash of his viscous jut against the sensitized walls of her love-core undid all of her chaste and inhibited reserve. Her body stiffened, her head lifted, and then her fingers scrabbled at the covers as a long groaning cry exuded from her panting lips. Her body threshed and quaked under his, as she answered him even against her will.
He drew himself out almost at once, seated himself on the edge of the bed, lifted her by the waist with both hands, and flung her ruthlessly across his lap. Then, stunned as she still was by the volcanic orgasm which had burst within her loins, he clamped his right leg over her nylon-sheathed calves, tucked her waist in with his left arm, and patted her quivering reddened buttocks. "Now then, young lady, where did you get that big sweet ass of yours tanned like that? Come on, Astrid, I want an answer, or else I'll paint it a brighter red than it was when I pulled up your clothes! I'm waiting, young lady!" And, to hurry her response, he applied a sonorous slap to the base of each upturned naked bottomglobe.
Astrid tried to kick and weave and twist herself off, but in vain. "Oww!" she wailed in a most unladylike way, turning her tear-stained face back to him.
"Are you going to tell me or not?"
"Oh please, please, you've had what you wanted-oh you awful brute-you've hurt me so-please don't-let me go now-oh I'm so ashamed-"
His hand described a series of rapid arcs as it landed first on left cheek, then on right, flattening her resilient, spacious bottomglobes, imparting a new bright hue of painful crimson to her naked behind.
"Owww-ouch-oh I can't stand anymore- I'll tell-oh I'll tell, Matthew, if only you'll stop, oh be merciful, oww, ohhh!" she at last hysterically capitulated.
"Well then?" His hand rose above her squirming, reddened behind.
"I-I had to go to a sorority in-initiation- that's the truth, M-Matthew, you just have to believe me-and they-they paddled me- that's why-oh please, let me get up now-oh I can't stand this anymore!" she tearfully stammered.
"Well, an initiation would account for that nice red color all over your big bottom, Astrid girl. But I don't know why you had to go to a thing like that in the first place instead of over to Lois's. Now suppose you tell me! And I'll know if you're lying or not, don't think I won't!" He punctuated this with another pair of stinging spanks, and his almost naked wife jerked and twisted frantically, plunged her hands behind her in a futile attempt to cover up her reddening behind.
"I'll tell-I'll tell-only let up, I can't take it anymore, honest I can't, Matthew darling!" she wailed. "B-Betty Jurgens and her boyfriend found me-well-I was looking in at them, and they didn't like it, so they said they'd tell you about what I was doing if I didn't-if I didn't go to the initiation this afternoon-and that's all, that's the truth!"
"It's just crazy enough for me to believe you're telling the truth for a change. All right now, you can get up. No, don't go to the bathroom yet. Get down on your knees in front of me."
She stared at him, not comprehending, her mouth gaping, tears running down her cheeks.
"You heard me!" he repeated. "Or do you want to go back over my lap for another dose? And this time I'll use my belt!"
"Oh no, oh please no, Matthew!" Docilely, she sank down on her knees, wincing and gasping as the maneuver caused new waves of burning heat to besiege her thoroughly spanked naked behind.
"All right. Do you see my prick, Astrid?" He pointed to it, reached out with his other hand, and gripped the scuff of her neck to force her face closer to his limpened but still vigorously erect penis.
"Y-yes-oh Matthew, please-please put it away-"
"You'll do the putting away. In your mouth, young lady."
"Oh no! I couldn't do that-why-that's sinful-that's filthy-oh no-what are you doing -oh not another spanking, oh please no-oh Matthew-yes, yes, I'll do anything if you'll only stop!"
He had bent down impatiently, gripped her by the armpits and lifted her up and was about to pull her over his lap again when she suddenly surrendered, dissolved in tears.
"All right, but you'd better do it right this time, or I really will thrash your big bottom! Now get back down on your knees again and pay your loving husband some real wifely attention!" he commanded.
Weeping as if her heart would break, her face scarlet, Astrid Fullhan meekly obeyed.
"Now then, reach up your hands and take hold of my prick, and put it inside your mouth, all you can take, and then start sucking. I mean it, Astrid!" he menaced.
Shuddering with revulsion, but seeing the steely glint in his eyes and knowing at last that her meek husband had vanished and had been replaced by a man who would brook no more nonsense, blonde Astrid Fullhan shudderingly obeyed. Her eyes tightly closed, her lips parted to accept the spearhead of her husband's weapon, and then, as soon as it was in her mouth, he urged, "Go ahead, suck it, and I want to hear you do it!"
She gasped and gagged, but terror of him and his newly found mastery overcame that revulsion. He heard the slurping, slushing sounds of her panting moist mouth, and he felt himself once again renewed in virility.
"That's enough. I'll teach you how to really do a job on me, beginning tomorrow night, Astrid. And now, get into bed and this time on your back. I'm going to do it to you again, and we're going to take our time and find out if we're really with it!"
Astrid Fullhan stumbled to her feet, one hand pressed against her cunt, staring at her husband as if she had never seen him before. Matthew Fullhan was busy taking off his clothes, till he was down to his socks. "M-Matthew, my God, what-what's got into you -" she repeated, in a faint, little-girl voice.
"I don't know what's got into me, Astrid, but I know what's getting into you. Now get into bed the way I told you to!" He drew back his right arm, preparatory to applying a vehement spank on her reddened buttocks but Astrid had already fairly leaped into bed, rolled over onto her back, and, awaiting him, burst into conquered and submissive tears.
"Yes, young lady, this is the way it's going to be with us from now on. The lights will be on, or it'll be in the daytime, and you're not going to wear any of those thick nighties and tell me I can't feel you up when I want to, you understand me?"
"Yes, Matthew, oh please don't hurt me-I do-I do love you-Matthew-" she quavered piteously.
"Then you'll get a chance to show it from now on. It's as if we just got married. You know, I'm sort of grateful to that Betty Jurgens. So you were snooping on her and her boyfriend? Well, I'll have to get them a nice present. I'm very grateful to them both. And now, take your hand away from that soft cunt and put it out and grab hold of my prick and say hello, Astrid. You're learning the words the hard way, and I do mean hard! Get with it, unless you want another spanking!"
"Oh no, oh not another-I'll do whatever you want, I'll try to be a good wife-I know-oh Matthew-please be gentle with me-please love me a little-" she wept softly as her trembling hand reached out to feel his vigorously erect penis.
Matthew Fullhan chuckled. There would be a present for Betty Jurgens, but there would also be one for Eleanor, the honey-haired Boston callgirl who had taught him all about voluptuous chastisement and of being master in his own home. Being master in the bedroom was even more important, and from now on that was exactly the role he was going to take.
"Now, just with your finger, tickle it all over and my balls too," he directed with a happy grin on his flushed face.
Astrid again obeyed, as his eyes devoured her.
"That's enough. Now, put your arms around my neck, and when I get my prick inside your cunt, I want those squirmy legs of yours to wrap over my ass-do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"Y-yes, M-Matthew," she plaintively whispered, her face turning scarlet.
He thrust himself into the moist maw of her pink cuntal sheath, and obediently his naked blonde wife crossed her nylon-sheathed legs over his wiry buttocks.
His mouth came down on hers, his tongue delving between her trembling parted lips, and his hands reached under to squeeze and grip the shuddering opulent cheeks of her naked bottom. Then, reveling in the carnal wakening of his once prudish wife, Matthew Fullhan taught Astrid the bliss of sharing and of mutual fulfillment.
* * *
It was a demure Betty Jurgens who welcomed back her father and stepmother that evening, both radiant from a most enjoyable honeymoon, and from the look on her father's face, the swinging teen-ager was certain that Kathleen was going to change a great many things in the Jurgens' household, particularly her father's uncompromising attitude about her having a boyfriend. . . .
Matthew Fullhan returned to Boston the following Wednesday, and came back Friday night laden with packages. One of these he promptly took next door and handed to Dan Jurgens. "It's a sort of gratitude present for Betty, Mr. Jurgens, and I hope you'll let her accept it in the spirit in which it's given," the artist told Betty's surprised father.
"Gratitude? I don't get you, Matt."
"Well, you see," Matthew Fullhan grinned boyishly, "your daughter was sort of responsible for giving Astrid and me a second honeymoon. She's a very smart girl, and she's old enough to have a boyfriend, I'm thinking. Anybody who tried to get to first base with Betty would have to be worth her while, is my opinion."
"You know, you may be right at that. Kathleen-that's my wife-has been telling me the same thing all week. Maybe this Henry Warren isn't such a bad guy after all."
"Well, you can always have a long engagement," Matthew Fullhan winked at his neighbor. "I know that Astrid and I are going to have a nice long second honeymoon, thanks again to your daughter. Well, I've got to get back home and finish some unfinished business. Maybe next week you and your wife and Betty -yes, and her boyfriend too-might like to come over for a special celebration dinner."
He left a mystified Dan Jurgens behind him as he went back into his house. Then, carrying the rest of the packages, he went upstairs to his bedroom, where Astrid was dutifully waiting. She wore her customary night gown and slippers, but not for long. Out of the boxes that Matthew Fullhan opened there emerged a black net shortie nightie, another of black nylon, a hostess robe of red satin, and various bra and panty sets as well as several pairs of the sheerest black nylon hose Matthew Fullhan had been able to buy in Boston (with the expert shopping help of honey-haired Eleanor).
"You'll try a different one on every night, Astrid, and we'll see which outfit gives us both the most mileage in bed," he chuckled. "But right now, just peel your nightie off and get into bed. I've got a terrific hard-on, and I want something done about it."
"Oh yes, darling," his now awakened, eagerly wanton blonde wife happily and blushingly agreed.