His eyes went back to the woman. His gaze took in the naked body on the rumpled bed. She isn't bad, not bad at all, he thought. A fire began to smolder within him. Besides, he chuckled, she's got what I need.
He walked to the sleeping figure, the heat boiling up inside him.
"Wake up," he said.
She stirred, opened her eyes, and, with a smile, reached for him. "Ready to try it again?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.
CHAPTER ONE
The small furnished room gave off a used, dusty odor as Carol Lord opened the door. At this early morning hour it seemed worse than ever: it seemed to represent the total decay of her life. But then, it should, she thought. She leaned against the door after closing it and sagged into it, much as she would indent her body to a man-or a woman.
With great effort, she pushed away from the door and went directly to the vanity. The mirror was cracked from top to bottom on the right side. Carol moved away from it and started undressing. Sometimes she stood where the crack split her reflection in half but this morning distortions were unwelcome.
When she had dismissed the last of her clothing, Carol moved a step closer to the mirror. Her breasts were still pert. She remembered the hands and mouths that had played there, but she could not create a memory of the faces to whom they had belonged. Except the hands and mouth of one-Charlotte Watts.
In a sudden panic, Carol turned from the mirror. She choked back a sob and bowed her head, and she remembered-tragically she remembered-how Charlotte had given her an identification, a "Loser" and had also given her a mission to destroy....
The sound of her own uneven breathing filled Charlotte Watts's ears. The palms of her hands were damp, her throat was dry, and she felt her heart pounding. She was so close she could almost touch the two naked lovers, writhing and tearing into each other. Her head buzzed with the sounds of the loving couple. She knew she shouldn't watch ... knew that it was wrong ... lustful ... even dangerous. But Charlotte Watts couldn't pull her eyes away. The surging excitement of the moment brought on by the fierce urgency of the naked lovers glued her to the spot. It was as though her eyes were held by deep, powerful magnets.
Turn away! Don't look! Someone might see you watching!
But Charlotte ignored her own warning signals and instead reasoned with herself that she was perfectly safe, hidden from view, protected by the sweeping branches of the weeping willow tree.
I must not make a sound. Must not even move. Nothing must disrupt this miraculous moment.
Quietly, methodically, with the instinct of a stalking panther in a dark jungle, Charlotte Watts brought her face closer to the window.
Just one more look.
The oil lamp by the bedside table gave enough light for her to see quite clearly. Her eyes flitted over the girl's naked form, then shifted to the man's nudity. Charlotte saw the knot of muscle along the man's jaw tighten as he drew the girl to him.
Swallowing hard she dared to take a step closer.
The open window clearly permitted her to hear.
The air made a tiny hissing sound as she sucked it into her parched throat. Wide-eyed, breathless, she froze in her spot when she heard the man's hoarse whisper.
"Baby, baby. . .you're gorgeous." He leaned down and covered the girl's mouth with his own. "Hell, I can't stop kissing you."
The girl responded eagerly, her body moving in to meet his. She slipped her arms around his neck, her breasts pressing tighter into his chest, sending disturbing shivers through him.
The man's big hand slowly traveled down the softness of the girl's back. "You sure have a solid body, baby-doll," he told her.
The girl pressed her lips against the hard, flat line of his stomach. "You smell so clean ... so like a man," she whispered, her cheek against his belly. "And I love the way your li'l ole beard scratches. I'll sure catch the dickens when I go home. Momma always can tell when I've had you just by looking at my face all red 'cause of your beard."
"What'll she do?"
"Smack me around a bit. Call me a whore. Then she'll forget all about it."
They both laughed. Using his right arm, he drew her up to him in one swift motion and kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth.
"Oh, .man," he moaned. "You are the greatest, baby."
Her breath burned along the side of his muscular neck. "Nobody makes me feel like this," she whispered. "Nobody but you. I'll take all the smacks Momma wants to hand out as long as I can have you."
His hands reached forward to grasp her bouncing globes. His fingers rubbed the brown nipples until they hardened and became as large as pecans. Opening her mouth against his, the tip of her tongue teased forward past her teeth. His lips enveloped hers and their tongues engaged in a lovers' duel. Her hand reached below and she felt his mighty bulge. Slowly she inched herself away from him and scooted down-down past his hairy chest and stomach, down past his hips, down to caress his fast rising manliness with her eager lips.
"Stop," he commanded, his hand pulling his tumescence away from her eager mouth. "I got somewhere better for that," he told her. His hand reached down and drew her body up in one full sweep. She felt his thighs against hers, alive, aflame with desire. The girl cried out her joy at his forceful, overpowering maleness; her long, naked legs tightened. "Kiss me, baby," he whispered. "Kiss me, hard."
His mouth frantically sought hers, and she gave in convulsively. She closed her eyes with the sudden sharp pain of his teeth biting into the soft cushion of her lower lip. He was wild. His hands slapped against her sassily bare buttocks and she was pulled forward. Quickly she spread her thighs. Then she felt the hardness of him.
"Oh, yes. Yes, like that," she breathed heavily against his parted lips. "Like that."
Her legs opened and encircled his buttocks. Quickly she locked them tight, feeling the weight of him, pressing, eager.
"Hell, baby ... you're driving me crazy." A groan of frustrated agony rose in his throat. Again he bit into her lips. Now the pain gave way to the violent penetrations that suffused her entire body with delirious pleasure.
"Oh, you rise so nice, honey," she whispered hotly. "So nice and easy."
His mouth ran over her breasts, his tongue searching the mounds of her quivering flesh, his teeth gently teasing the rigid tips. Then he grasped a breast in each hand. "These tits," he whispered, marveling at them. "They're something else-like cupcakes-great big, giant-size cupcakes. They're-" his voice became muffled as he buried his face in her heavy swells.
"Honey. Oh, honey," she breathed, caressing his head.
He outlined the tip of her nipple with his tongue. He pressed his body into her, and they writhed together, their passions mounting.
"Oh, I know you want me," she whispered. "I can feel it next to me, pressing into me, telling me."
He kissed her hungry lips.
"Oh, take me. Take me," the girl begged over and over again, her flaring white buttocks rotating in little circles.
He thrust inward in slow, well-timed movements. Suddenly he changed his rhythm into one of short little jabs. Then he switched their positions. He held her hips tightly and brought her over on top of him. "Make you do a little work, baby," he grinned. He held her hips with his powerful hands and guided her to him, then quickly pushed her away. He kept this up until the girl begged to be taken.
"Oh, honey ... lay me ... lay me," she cried.
Quickly he turned her over and climbed on top of her. He waited for a long moment, studying her face, her breasts, her curvaceous hips-then he buried himself deep into her flesh.
"Oh, like that! Yeah. like that. Oh, hurt me ... lay me good."
This time there was a wildness to her movements. Her thrusting hips met his every attack. A shivery feeling of exquisite agony passed through her as he penetrated deep into the hidden recesses of her body. She absorbed his thrusts. Her hot, sweating buttocks rose high from the bed to meet his burning stabs. Her strength drained, her mouth opened, and once again she begged him to take her and make her one with him.
Now he was ready.
A strangling, guttural cry escaped her lips as her body jerked crazily under him. The glow within them burst into soaring flame, melting their loins as they fell back onto the bed, limp, spent and complete.
Charlotte felt the perspiration slide down the nape of her neck. She inhaled deeply through her mouth, desperately fighting off the dizziness that was enveloping her. Quickly she stepped backward and to the side just as the man lifted his naked figure from the bed, rose and walked to the window to close it.
Holding onto a heavy branch for support she glanced around. There wasn't a soul about. She was all right. Nobody had seen her. She sighed with relief.
Quietly, with great effort, she made her way past the house, careful not to step on a twig that might snap and bring attention to herself. At the stable she turned on the water tap and cupped the cold water to her face. Instantly she felt better. She caught her own reflection in the broken mirror hanging on a nail.
What she saw startled her.
There was enough light to see a round, flushed face staring back at her. The eyes wide, wild. Her lipstick was smeared, and strings of hair held tight to her cheeks, glued by perspiration. But what fascinated her most was the expression of lust written across her face and in her eyes. It was as though Charlotte Watts was staring at the reflection of a stranger. It was then the full impact of what she had done hit her.
She, Charlotte Watts, a respected, leading figure in town, a wealthy plantation owner with one of the biggest tobacco farms in the state ... a peeping Tom. Spying on her own foreman. She had never in her life done anything like this before.
What had possessed her? Why did she do it? What was the matter with her?
Charlotte wiped her hands dry on her riding pants. Reaching into her boot she pulled out a whip. Nervously pacing back and forth, she hit the palm of her hand with the whip's handle.
How long had it been since Harold had died? Two years?
Two years of running a tobacco empire, overseeing the plantation, hiring, firing. Up at three in the morning to protect the precious tobacco fields from the elements of nature, board meetings, work ... work ... work.
Two years, of sexual repression. What she had done literally was become a slave to the plantation. Never seeing anybody except the overseer, the foreman, the field workers, her bookkeeper, and lawyers. She hadn't had a vacation in all that time.
Charlotte glanced into the mirror again.
I'm still young, she told herself. Thirty-five is young. I'm not a raving beauty but I'm not bad looking. Most important I still have a good figure.
Her mind raced back to the naked girl. Cal, her overseer, had been mesmerized by that girl's breasts. Hell, thought Charlotte, mine are bigger and just as firm even though I'm fifteen years her senior.
Well then, what's wrong?
I'm wrong! That's what. It's me. I'm suffocating on this plantation.
The naked image of the girl returned to Charlotte's thoughts.
Why am I thinking about her? Do I see myself in her?
The image of the man returned. The way he took the girl's brown nipple in his mouth. The way he tugged at the girl's buttocks bringing her closer as he dug his manhood into her.
Abruptly she turned and walked through the stable until she came to the stall of a black stallion. Reaching up she stroked the horse's ebony mane. Lifting the bar, she opened the door.
"Come, Thunder," she whispered. "Take me for a ride. Take me far away across the fields." She snuggled her face next to the horse's neck, led him outside, and mounted him.
Charlotte Watts rode with that pliable insolence which marks the expert. She rode fast, whirling up the brisk little hills, then swooped down into the rich green valleys. After a while she reined the horse to a stop.
All about her lay the tobacco fields, as far as the eye could see. It was all hers. The Watts plantation. One of the biggest in Louisiana. Her empire left to her by her husband. Well, she didn't give a damn now. There was no one to share it with. What good was working the plantation if she was so miserable inside? What did it all mean, this great empire, these great riches, this great power?
Charlotte heard the voice of her dead husband. It returned from the past and it was saying the same words: Remember, Charlotte, the Watts name is aristocracy. There's little of that left in the world today. Keep it in mind. You are better. You have power. You are a superior being. When I'm dead and gone I want you to run this plantation with the firm hand of a man. If a foreman is insolent, fire him and get one who can produce and whom you can control. Let nothing interfere with the workings of the field. Protect the precious young tobacco. The fields are your life, and they will be until the day you die. Remember, Charlotte, the land will outlast me, and you; therefore treat it as a god.
Charlotte brought a hand up to her brow. How she had held that man in awe. He had been more like a father to her than a husband. She believed his every word. But somehow, now, this very minute, she was confused. What he had told her now seemed insignificant. Downright stupid. A pack of lies. There was something else much more important that needed to be taken care of. That was Charlotte. "Me ... me," she whispered. "I want to live ... to enjoy ... to partake. I want to love."
Again the image of the naked couple came to her. A thrilling shiver raced down her spine. Tomorrow, she decided, she would take off and get as far away from the plantation as she could. She would go to New Orleans. Take that long-needed vacation. Do nothing but enjoy ... have fun. To hell with the plantation.
"I need love," she whispered. "I can't exist without it."
Her fingers gripped the reins, her foot dug into the horse's flanks and Thunder took off.
Through tearstained eyes she saw the lights of the ranch in the distance. A smile came to her face as her hands yanked the leather, and the horse whirled up, his two front legs dancing in air. "Come on, Thunder," she whispered close to the horse's ear. "Let's show 'em!"
She jabbed her heel into the horse and headed him down a hill, around a pond to the fields. A long low laugh came from deep inside Charlotte's throat as the horse bolted, then sped like lightning. Now she used the whip.
"Faster, faster," she shouted.
The horse shot through the fields, his racing hooves tearing through the young, green tobacco leaves, ripping them to shreds as Charlotte shouted her rebellion, her delight, to the universe.
CHAPTER TWO
Charlotte glanced up at the desk clerk. "May I cash a check?" she asked.
The clerk looked at her hesitantly. "Yes," he said, forcing a smile.
Opening her bag she pulled out her checkbook.
"Hope you like your room, ma'am."
"Yes. I do. Thank you."
"Glad you do," the man said stiffly.
Charlotte felt the thin man's gaze on her. Under his scrutinizing eye she felt uncomfortable, insecure. It was as though he were trying to read the label on her dress. Now she wished she'd bought something new for her first night in New Orleans. Something chic, expensive. Though she resented his sharp stare, Charlotte felt too insecure to counteract.
From the corner of her eye she saw an older man, white-haired with an impressive brush moustache signaling the clerk.
"Please excuse me, Mrs. Watts."
"Certainly," Charlotte said, watching the clerk hurry over to the older man. She continued writing her check. When next she looked up, she found she was staring into the face of the man with the brush moustache.
"Mrs. Watts," he smiled. "How nice of you to stay at our hotel."
Charlotte understood. This man was the manager, and he knew who she was.
"About your room, Mrs. Watts. The clerk made a dreadful mistake," he said apologetically. "The room you should be in is on the twelfth floor. Much larger, better view-"
"I don't anticipate looking out of my window," Charlotte cut in. "I'm happy where I am. Thank you."
"But-"
She handed him the check. "Cash this, please."
He signaled the desk clerk. "Cash this for Mrs. Watts." Glancing back, his lips parted into a smile revealing uneven, stained teeth. "Are you here alone, Mrs. Watts?"
"Yes," she answered, thinking it was none of his business.
"I hope your stay here will be a happy one."
"Thank you."
"How long will you be here."
"I've no idea," she answered as coldly as possible.
"May I suggest La Rou's for dinner. Excellent cuisine, marvelous drinks, speedy service, and the atmosphere is something special."
Charlotte remained quiet.
"It's in the French Quarter."
"Yes," she said.
The clerk returned with the cash. The manager took the money and counted it out.
"There you are, Mrs. Watts. Three hundred dollars."
"Thank you." Charlotte felt both men's eyes on her all the way across the lobby as she made her way out the exit doors.
Damn idiots. They make me feel like a country bumpkin. like I'm one big square.
"That," said the manager, "is Charlotte Watts." He looked at the clerk, his head tilted, and saw that the name did not register. "The Charlotte Watts. She's worth a considerable fortune. Left to her by her husband. She owns one of the biggest tobacco plantations in the South."
"You'd never know it by that dress and those shoes and that hair," the clerk minced. "I actually hesitated to cash her check."
The manager glared at him.
"Really now," the clerk minced. "If I had her kind of money I'd let them all know it. They'd see me coming a mile away. Silk suits, expensive luggage-"
"That," observed the older man, "is precisely why a man like you is a clerk, and will remain one until they carry him out of here. Now get behind the desk," he commanded, "and don't be superior to our guests, because you just aren't."
Outside, Charlotte took a deep breath, and, after a moment's hesitation, crossed the street. It was her first time alone in New Orleans. Before, she'd taken the trip with her husband. They had never left the hotel room, ordering room service and holding business discussions with lawyers. But now-now it was different.
Charlotte glanced at her reflection in a store window. I do need new clothes. And I've got to do something with this hair of mine. The clerk had made her aware of her personal lacks. As snooty as the man was, he was right. Tomorrow she would go on a shopping spree, make an appointment with a hair stylist, do all the things that needed to be done.
Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see it was nine-thirty. Really too late for dinner. She wasn't hungry anyway. What she'd really like was a drink.
A few blocks later she found herself in the French Quarter. She looked at the narrow, cobblestoned street and the old buildings, the interesting shops, and the bizarre-looking people all busily engaged. It made her realize what an entirely different world she lived in.
Finding a wooden bench, Charlotte sat down. She glanced at a century-did building with dozens of tiny doors making strange patterns in the edifice's exterior. She recalled an article she'd read. At one time, behind those doors African slaves were housed, bunched up a dozen or more in a room as small as a closet, chained to each other's legs waiting to be sold at market. Now these same quarters were chic, modern, high-priced apartments. Weird, she thought. Looking up an ivy-covered red-brick building, her gaze rested on the wrought iron porch. A couple were seated at a table, eating outdoors by candlelight. Guess it isn't too late for dinner, she thought. Not as long as there's someone to share the moment with.
Rising, Charlotte continued to walk deeper into the strange, marvelously mysterious quarter. An intriguing spot caught her attention, and she stopped. The sign outside read Pirate's Haven and the window was cleverly decorated with skull and crossbones, spooky-looking hanging skeletons and shrunken heads, swords and blades and guns.
Charlotte walked down the brick steps and pushed the door open. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she realized that the crunchy feeling under her feet was sawdust. The floor was covered with it. She made her way to the rectangular bar and sat down.
The place was a reconverted cellar. Couples were dancing to the loud blare of the music coming from enormous speakers overhead. There were a dozen tiny tables wedged together, permitting only enough space for the slim waitress to slide through, serving hot wine, cappuccino, regular drinks, and popcorn to the crowded patrons.
In a corner of the room a black velour curtain, which had seen better days, was parted, revealing a diminutive makeshift stage.
Charlotte glanced around the room apprehensively. There were people everywhere, at the tables, on the dance floor, sitting on stage; and the bar was full except for two seats. It was then she realized the kind of bar she'd stumbled into. There were the long-haired group, boys and girls who looked like they needed a good hot bath. There were a few odd bohemian types, and a sprinkling of neat, well-dressed men. But most of these, at tables and at the bar, were girls with closely cropped, streaked hair. Most wore shirts and trousers. Some, the older women, even wore tight-fitting T-shirts. She'd heard about places like this but had never visited one. Smoke from dozens of cigarettes smogged up the small room and burned her eyes. The smell of cappuccino and beer and perfume smelled up the place. Every-time a new customer entered all eyes darted toward the door as though they were expecting someone.
A quick glance around, and Charlotte changed her seat, taking a stool at the very end of the bar near the stage. She felt nervous, ill at ease, out of her element. But still she stayed.
A girl entered, squinted her eyes, then headed for the empty stool next to Charlotte.
"What'll you have?" the hawk-eyed woman behind the bar asked.
Charlotte stared at. the woman bartender. She was the ugliest woman she'd ever seen. Her dyed red hair was very thin and exposed much of the woman's scalp. Her nose looked as if it had been broken many times and had never reset properly. Her thin lips were curled downward, and her beady eyes glared into Charlotte's.
"Come on, come on, don't have all day."
Charlotte ordered a scotch and soda.
"And you?" the bartender asked the girl on the stool next to Charlotte.
"Make it a beer."
"Thought so," the woman grumbled.
Charlotte, through the mirror over the bar, saw the girl light a cigarette. The girl shifted in her seat and eyed the people around her.
The drinks finally arrived.
"A buck twenty-five for you, and the beer is eighty cents."
Both women reached for their money.
The thin-haired woman wiped her hands on her dirty apron and rang up the eighty cents, , then turned to Charlotte.
"I'm terribly sorry," Charlotte said. "I've nothing smaller."
"Hell," the woman muttered, scooping up the hundred-dollar bill. "Hey, Mac," she called, walking away, "break this for me."
The girl, her eyes fastened to Charlotte's opened purse, ogled the bills. Slowly her eyes appraised Charlotte.
Charlotte felt the girl's eyes and flushed. Even in the dimly lighted room Charlotte could make the girl out quite clearly in the mirror. She was pretty. More, she was sexy in an earthy way. Her eyes hooked onto her drink. She felt strange and even stupid, looking at the girl. When she looked at the girl again she decided she was cheap. Hardly her kind of person. Girls of this class worked for her on the plantation. Transient labor, work one day, gone the next, making just enough money to buy a bottle and booze it up with some male.
The girl's eyes met hers in the mirror, and Charlotte somehow knew that the girl would speak to her.
"Did that guy die?"
Charlotte shifted her weight in her seat. "Who?" she asked.
"That whatchamacallim ... that heart transplant case."
"Oh. I don't know. I have no idea," she said. She swallowed hard, feeling awkward. "I heard about it of course but-"
"It's funny in a way," the girl cut in. "Like it'll change poetry and romance and songs."
"What will?"
"These heart transplants."
"It will?"
"Sure. Nothing will be the same anymore."
"Oh."
The girl closed her eyes in thought. "I got it," she said, snapping her fingers. "How's this?
My heart beats for you, But I don't know in who." Charlotte laughed. "It should be whom. But I don't know in whom.
"Yeah. What the hell," the girl shrugged. "Poetic license." They both laughed.
"Anyway, you liked it. I got through to you."
"Is that what you were trying to do?" Charlotte asked.
"Honey," the girl's Southern accent was thick. "Isn't it what we're all trying to do?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Now. Take you."
Charlotte sipped her drink. "What about me?"
The lady bartender appeared, eyed their half-filled glasses and returned Charlotte's change. She stood by, hands on hips while Charlotte counted the money. "Nobody cheats anybody in here," she grumbled. "Drink up, drink up." She turned and left.
"Damn bulldyke," the girl muttered.
Charlotte colored.
"She used to go around feeling your beer bottle. If it was warm she'd suppose you were nursing your drink and make you buy another one," the girl explained. "I hate her ugly-guts."
Charlotte lit a cigarette. "I had you spotted as somebody new here. Right?"
"Yes. My first time."
"Thought so." The girl's eyes held Charlotte's. "My name is Pat. Sorry I can't come up with something more exotic, but that's my tag."
"Mine's Charlotte," she smiled. "Nice to meet you."
Suddenly the lights in the room dimmed. From behind the bar, the tough-faced lesbian picked up a mike. "Okay, quiet. I said quiet. Here's a little something for you. Her name is Carol Lord."
There was a scattering of applause, then the room filled with the strains of a guitar from backstage. A pin-spot flashed onstage, expanding gradually until its circle of light illuminated the central spot of the platform.
A girl appeared. A silk vest, held together only by a thin black thong, revealed part of her swelling breasts. The skirt, slit at the sides, showed the girl's long, tapering legs to breathtaking advantage.
Charlotte, closer to the stage than anyone, felt her spine tingle with excitement. She stared at the girl in open admiration.
Pat, by her side, saw the look in her face and sat back nursing her beer. There was no use in trying to talk now, she thought. Nothing could top this dame on stage.
The girl, an absolute beauty, moved unlike anyone Charlotte had ever seen. She was fantastic: stimulating, erotic, abandoned. Reaching for her drink, Charlotte consumed it, then raised her hand for a refill without once taking her eyes from the wildly exciting girl onstage.
That body ... oh, that body, reflected Charlotte.
The girl thrust herself about brazenly, seductively, her enormous breasts shaking tantalizingly so near ... so very near ... Charlotte could almost reach out and touch them.
The girl danced one number, then broke into another and then it was over. There was much applause and the lights came on.
Pat made a nasty face. "I think she stinks," she said, her accent grating against Charlotte's ears.
"How can you?" Charlotte asked. "She's really quite-"
"Your drinks," the bartender said.
"Here, let me," Charlotte said to Pat. She paid for the drinks.
Pat eyed the bills again. She lit another cigarette, blew the smoke out of her nose like a man, then turned to Charlotte. "You know," she said, "I think we ought to get a bottle and go to my place."
Charlotte remained silent.
"You want to, don't you?"
Charlotte looked embarrassed.
"Honey. The way you looked at that gal. I know what you need. Look ... we can stop somewhere, get a bottle and-" she cut herself off.
More silence.
"Is there something wrong with what I said?" Pat asked.
Charlotte's eyes met the girl's. Slowly her face relaxed, and she offered her a small smile. "No, there's nothing wrong with that."
"Okay, then. Let's go."
Charlotte followed Pat out, feeling sure every eye in the room was on her.
CHAPTER THREE
They walked into a hallway where Pat reached under a mat and picked up a key. Having unlocked the door, she stood back for Charlotte to enter. Then she closed and latched the door. After she turned on the lamp she gestured, her hand then dropping to her side, and said, "This is it."
The place was small and musty. The walls, badly in need of fresh paint, were peeling. Charlotte's rambling thought was of how even her ranch-hands lived like kings compared to this. The room contained a couch, a television set, a sofa chair, a coffee table, a hi-fi set, and three plants that looked like they were dying.
"Be right back," Pat said.
There was no sound in the room except the steady ticking of a plastic-bound travel clock on the coffee table and the trickling of running water in the bathroom. There was a definite feminine smell to the place. The odor of Pat's spicy, cheap perfume blended with the odor of makeup and powder. The smell was overbearing. Charlotte glanced down to the sofa where a bra and a pair of black nylon panties lay. The name Pat was embroidered across one side in red.
Reluctantly, Charlotte sat down.
I shouldn't have come. I'll have a drink. Just one drink. Then I'll go.
The bathroom door opened and Pat stepped out-naked. Stark naked. Charlotte stared wide-eyed. Her eyes ran up and down the girl's willowy body, over the intriguing curves of her breasts; firm, erect, slightly uptilted. Her eyes held at the tiny pink nipples.
Pat advanced toward Charlotte, her shoulders back, her finely formed breasts pointing eagerly outward. "Come on, honey," she whispered. "Get undressed." The girl's eager fingers worked at the buttons of Charlotte's clothing.
This can't be happening, Charlotte thought.
"Why so quiet?" Pat asked.
Charlotte shrugged, not knowing what to say, unsure as to what she should do. She was surprised at the deftness with which Pat undressed her. Seconds later, she too, was naked. She brought her hands up to her breasts, embarrassed at her own nakedness.
Pat took her hands away. She looked over Charlotte's short, robustly curved body. Her eyes widened when she saw the oversized breasts pointing forward determinedly. "Honey, you don't show what you've got in that old rag you wear," she whispered. "Oh, are you built." She reached out with slender, eager arms and embraced Charlotte, her eyes flashing, her golden breasts pressing into Charlotte's satiny mounds.
Nipples touched, lips met. Charlotte felt weak when the girl took her lips from hers. She stared into Pat's blue eyes, smoky with passion. Then Pat's lips were nibbling at her throat, then she felt them slide down to her arching breasts. Now Pat's mouth cupped over and took her hypersensitive nipples, her tongue lapping over the hardening tips. Charlotte cried out as she felt Pat's mouth twisting in passion.
Then Charlotte caught their reflections in the mirror in back of the bathroom door and a sickening feeling rose in her stomach. It was like seeing a grotesque, warped perversion on a giant screen. But the feeling left, and a new one took over. Watching Pat in the mirror working over her breasts with her mouth sexually aroused Charlotte almost as the actual act. The odor of their perspiring, perfumed bodies reached her nostrils and she felt dizzy with passion.
She heard the girl's husky whisper. "Let me make love to you, baby. I know what you need and I can give it to you."
Charlotte heard springs squeak as their bodies settled onto the bed.
Pat was in complete command. Her lips were all over Charlotte-touching her arms, her neck, her back-and slowly moving down.
Charlotte's conscience suddenly made her feel guilty-ashamed. She tried to convince herself that what she was doing was not wrong, but the more she tried the less convinced she became.
Pat's hands reached for Charlotte's breasts. She stroked the pink, firm nipples. "Like it, honey?" she breathed. "Go ahead, tell me you like it."
Unable to bear the torment of fire that raged inside her, Charlotte heard her own heated whisper. "I like it. Yes ... I like it."
Charlotte sucked in her breath as Pat's mouth found her with a frenzy. Looking down, she saw the girl's head twisting below.
Suddenly Charlotte pulled herself up in the bed. "No," she screamed. "Stop it! Stop it!"
But there was no stopping Pat. She spread Charlotte's thighs even further apart and dug deep into the woman, her mouth making loud, smacking sounds.
Charlotte's body convulsed and she fell back onto the bed, a long, deep moan escaping her throat as Pat pulled her closer, trying to reach to the very soul of the woman.
Charlotte sucked in great lungfulls of air as she strode along the dark streets. It was a pleasant, balmy night. After being with Pat for three hours, in a close apartment, she was grateful for the smell of the good, clean air. Pat's disdainful taunts still rang in her ears. It was all so wrong. She wondered why she had bothered with the girl. Pat had pretended interest in her, flirted with her, made love to her, and all for a price. It never occurred to Charlotte that she would have ended up in Pat's apartment. But to have been so blind as not to recognize a lesbian hustler-that was stupid.
Well, it was over.
She had to smile in spite of the irony of the situation when she recalled the surprised look on Pat's face. The girl had asked for twenty dollars. Charlotte gave her fifty. Poor thing, she thought, leading such a miserable existence. That could never happen to her, she told herself. For one thing she wasn't really that kind of a woman. She didn't need female love-what she wanted was the strong, secure love of a man. This no woman could give her. Still, it was an experience ... even if it left her uncomfortable and full of guilt.
The familiar blinking neon sign Pirate's Haven made her stop. The loud strains of an electric guitar sounded, playing the same music that the blonde girl had danced to. What was the girl's name? Carol. Yes, Carol Lord.
Perhaps a drink, a short one, might make her feel better.
She walked down the steps and pushed the door open. Edging her way past the crowded bar she found a spot in a corner where she could see quite clearly. Carol Lord, bathed in a spotlight onstage, was writhing her body to the beat of the music. Charlotte stared at the girl as if mesmerized. The girl really was a beauty. Her long, wavy blonde hair came down almost to her waist. There was an innocence about the girl-yes, that was the right word even though she was dancing in a place like this, even though she was almost naked-there was a great innocence certainly. She had a scrubbed hoyden look about her, yet she possessed an inner glamour that seemed to set her apart, Charlotte felt a nearness to the girl, a closeness she'd never experienced watching any other performer. A stirring sensation grabbed hold of her as she drank in the girl's voluptuous body twisting and dancing to the fiery beat of the guitar. The long tapered legs, the slender waist, the curving thighs and the luscious, swelling breasts enchanted her. She watched the girl closely, marveling at the loosely swinging hips, the hands cupping the girl's breasts, the hands feeling the flat, quivering belly. Charlotte's eyes found it difficult to pull away from the expansive breasts shaking so enticingly, the tingling body, the marvelous legs; but she forced herself to turn away. Quickly she made her way through the dark, slipping past shoulders and hips until she found the exit door.
Outside she inhaled deeply and ran down the street.
What's the matter with me? Why was I looking at that girl the way I did? Why do I have this desire in me?
Charlotte remembered what Pat had said when she told the girl she'd never been made love to by a woman. Well, well, well, honey. Welcome to the club. She could still hear Pat's high, rippling laughter. "The world is full of lesbos honey. No use in getting nervous about it."
Charlotte sat down on a wooden bench, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filling with tears.
Yeah, she thought, welcome to the club, Charlotte Watts.
CHAPTER FOUR
The hairdresser looked at Charlotte's reflection in the mirror. "See? What did I tell you?" His nervous fingers flitted along the sides of her head. "Chic. Really, sweetie, I adore it."
Charlotte eyed the new hair style he'd given her and nodded her head. "Yes. I think I like it."
"Think?" he asked in astonishment, his eyebrows shooting up. "It's sensational, sweetie. Curls are in again. There's a style revolution going on. And that means hair styles, too."
Wearily Charlotte slumped her shoulders. For two hours she'd been under multiple pressures listening to the effeminate young man musing, rambling, and chattering on and on about his friends, politics, movie stars, rock groups, and everybody in general. She'd had her hair washed and dried and cut and treated and shaped and styled and set and sprayed. She was irritable. All she wanted to do now was flee.
"It's fine," she muttered.
"And it's not too young for you like you thought it'd be. Remember, you are young. My goodness, suppose Marlene Dietrich thought the way you do, why she'd never have lasted and remained so gorgeous. It's an inner thing, darling. Think young!" Again the hand floated over her head. "I've given you neat, geometric lines. It'll be the rage. Needs no setting now, no curlers. When you need another cut come to see me."
Charlotte got up. "At least I don't look like a country gal," she laughed.
Good heavens, no!" he said. He eyed her figure. "You got nice breasts. Wear tighter blouses," he smiled. Charlotte frowned.
"I calls 'em as I sees 'em," he laughed.
"Thanks," Charlotte said, then pressed a ten-dollar bill into his hand. "Where do I pay?"
"At the desk," he said, pocketing the bill. "Have a good time in New Orleans." He winked.
The rest of the afternoon Charlotte devoted to shopping. She bought two pairs of shoes, five dresses, a purse, some undergarments, and a sheer, black negligee. Her shopping completed, Charlotte stepped off the down escalator and was heading for the exit doors when she saw the girl.
She was behind the perfume counter wrapping a package. Her long, gleaming, blonde hair was neatly brushed, with two pink ribbons pinching back the sides.
It was Carol Lord. The girl who danced at the Pirate's Haven.
Charlotte took a step closer. It had to be
Carol Lord. Nobody else could possibly look like her.
The blonde girl picked up a Mington Department Store label and stuck it across the wrappings, then handed the package to a man. The man leaned forward and whispered something to her. They both laughed, and he left.
Charlotte wondered if she should go to the counter. She stood her ground; after all, it might not be the same girl.
Just then the girl looked Charlotte's way. Their eyes held each other's until the girl flushed then turned away.
Charlotte tingled with a curious kind of excitement. The blonde seemed embarrassed by the brazen look Charlotte had given her. It was as though the girl had read Charlotte's mind. After a moment's hesitation, Charlotte made her way to the perfume counter.
The girl's averted eyes wandered back to Charlotte. With a determined innocence she used her eyes like whips, going over Charlotte's face to her full bosom, down to her legs, then back up again, settling on Charlotte's lips. Then the girl pulled her eyes away and became interested in arranging a counter display.
It was Carol Lord all right. Charlotte looked at the exquisitely classic profile-the beautifully shaped, full eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the dark, long, curling lashes-and caught her breath.
When the girl looked up again, Charlotte deliberately, daringly, hugged the girl's breasts with her eyes. She all but touched the girl, they were so close.
"May I help you?"
Charlotte stared, unable to find her voice.
"This is something new." The girl picked up a bottle and held it toward Charlotte. She reached for her hand, aimed the tester bottle at Charlotte's underwrist and squeezed. "It's called Gemini," she smiled. "Two women in one," she emphasized with a deliberate stare. She opened a box. "It's separated down the middle. Two bottles in one. One for the morning, the other for the evening." She took Charlotte's other wrist and sprayed the stronger perfume. The girl's touch sent a scintillating shiver through Charlotte. "Like it?"
"Yes," Charlotte found her voice. "Very much."
"I thought you would."
"I'll take a bottle."
"Large or small?"
"Large," she said, her eyes on the firm-butted figure twisting under the tight black skirt. "That'll be thirty-five dollars."
"May I write a check."
"Sure."
Without looking up from her checkbook, Charlotte said, "I saw you dance last night at the Pirate's Haven."
Quickly the girl's expression changed. Her eyes darted left, then right, making sure nobody was listening. "Oh, please. Don't mention that."
Charlotte, pen in midair, looked up. "Then you are Carol Lord."
"Shh," the girl said nervously. "Yes. That's my name. But I don't want anyone here to know I work there."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"They're very particular here. I could get fired."
"I didn't know."
The girl's brow creased, showing confusion. "Who are you? Why are you asking questions?"
Charlotte could see by the girl's expression that she was frightened. "Believe me, I'm certainly not out to hurt you. I saw you dance last night. I admired the-well, you dance well. This afternoon I-"
"Look, please don't talk about it anymore," Carol said, her fingers pressing hard against the glass counter top.
"Of course." Charlotte handed her the check.
Carol took it, avoiding the woman's eyes.
Charlotte accepted the package and was about to step away when she stopped short. I can't let it end this way, she thought. She looked at the girl. Had she ruined the moment, acting so suspicious? It was all so difficult for her. She hadn't experienced anything like this. How did one exactly go about picking up a girl? Hell, it's either now or never. I'll just take the initiative.
"Look, Carol. I'd like for you to have dinner with me," she heard her own voice ask.
Carol Lord looked surprised.
"Are you free?"
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
Carol weighed the invitation carefully. Who was this woman? The full-blown woman standing in front of her didn't look like a lesbian. But, yes, yes, she did. She could see it in the direct look of the woman. It didn't mean anything of course, she didn't have anything against lesbians, she'd known a lot of them, permitted many of them to make love to her. But they'd all been very young girls. This was a woman ... and obviously one with class. She was sophisticated. And she didn't hesitate in buying the bottle of perfume; as a matter-of-fact, now Carol knew the woman didn't even want the damn bottle of perfume. She had paid the thirty-five dollars just to become acquainted with her.
"But then you may have made other plans," Charlotte said. Quickly, she added, "If so, I would be happy if you broke them."
The woman's directness charmed Carol. She decided she had little to lose, and an evening with a cultured woman was certainly preferable to a lonely furnished room.
"I've no plans," she answered, the luscious lips parting in a dazzling smile.
Butterflies fluttered in Charlotte's stomach. "Where can we meet?"
"The big clock near the fountain. It's near-"
"I know where it is," Charlotte said. "Shall we say at seven?"
"Make it seven-thirty. I get out of here at six, and I'll need time."
"Seven-thirty," Charlotte repeated.
Carol smiled and watched the swinging hips of the dark-haired woman as she disappeared into the crowd. She was surprised at herself for having accepted the woman's invitation to dinner. There was something about the woman. Strange, because Carol was only attracted to men. Occasionally, when it was accidental or circumstantial, there had been young girls her age. But that was part of growing up. She decided she hadn't done wrong, accepting the dinner date. As a matter-of-fact, she had an odd feeling it was the first good move she'd made in a long time. She spent the rest of the day looking forward to her date with the lady stranger.
Seven-thirty found Charlotte standing under the big clock, anxiously looking about, still not sure that the girl would keep the date. She glanced again up the street. The beautiful blonde was wearing tight-fitting, white maxi-slacks. A colorful blouse clung to the bouncing breasts.
"Sorry I'm late," Carol apologized. "Community bathroom where I live. Slowed me up just a bit."
Charlotte set the pace, walking eastward.
"I'm glad you came," she said breaking the silence of their walk. "I thought sure at the last minute you might change your mind."
"Why? I've nothing else to do."
Charlotte smiled, surprised with the girl's honesty. "My name is Charlotte Watts," she said.
Carol smiled. "Well you already learned mine."
There was little conversation with dinner. Carol, obviously impressed with the atmosphere of the famous French restaurant glanced about in-between bites enjoying the moment.
"You mentioned community bathroom. Does that mean you're living in a furnished room."
"Yes," Carol answered. "See, I've only just arrived in New Orleans. I'm from Midville, about ninety miles away. I just took off one day and headed here. Until I make some good money, I have to stay in the cheapest place I can find. I found one. Boy, did I," she laughed.
"Your parents-"
"Don't have any. I was living with an aunt. We didn't really get along. So I left."
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen." Carol's glance went to a party of people arriving, then returned to Charlotte. "How old are you?"
"Thirty-five," she answered.
There was no reaction from the girl.
Charlotte was enjoying the dinner, though both had little to say to each other. After a long, awkward silence, the waiter served their coffee and dessert.
"Are you interested in show business?"
Carol frowned. "No."
"Then why are you moonlighting at the club?"
"I need the extra money. The man that runs the Pirate's Haven saw me at Mington's Department Store. He offered me the job. They feature me on Wednesday and Thursday nights and save the good talent for Fridays and Saturdays. I'm not very good, but I get by. With both jobs I make about a hundred a week."
"Plus all the dates you can get," Charlotte smiled cynically.
Carol's blue eyes flashed. "Look. You asked me out. Remember?"
Charlotte felt foolish. "Sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate-"
"Yes you did or you wouldn't have said it. Okay, you want it in a nutshell? I'm broke. When my father and mother were killed in an auto accident there really was little left in the way of money for me. I went to my aunt. I left her because in Midville there is absolutely nothing for a young person. I came here because there's more to offer. I want to go to school, to college. I realize now I better prepare for something or I won't have a great future. It's as simple as that. I don't have the kind of talent for Hollywood, and, besides, things like that never interested me ... the chances there are pretty slim for success. I can only say, with me, it's the only way of trying to find something to hang on to. Maybe I'll know what I really want to do when I get out of college."
"There's nothing wrong with that kind of thinking," Charlotte said.
"Good. Now you're getting a clearer picture, right? I work my butt off at that damn department store, and those two nights a week at the club bring a grand total of twenty-five bucks. I don't hustle, and I don't give it away either. So you see there's no great mystery about me. I want to be a teacher or something ... I'm not a free-loader, and I'm willing to work for what I want. I emphasize the fact I'm not a hooker in case that's why you invited me to dinner."
Concern furrowed Charlotte's brow. "I didn't for one minute think that."
"But you did make a dig about all the dates I can get."
"I'm sorry," Charlotte said. She made a gesture of exasperation, "I keep saying that, don't I?"
"Yeah, you do."
Charlotte hesitated, then asked, "Why did you accept my invitation?"
"Because you seemed lonely."
"Oh," she said, surprised and dismayed that her feelings were showing so clearly.
"I'm not saying I feel sorry for you."
"No, you didn't say that, did you?"
"Look, everybody's lonely."
There was a moment of silence.
"I'm lonely too. So I said yes to your invitation," Carol explained.
"I'm complimented."
Carol brought the coffee cup to her lips, peering over the brim. "You sure don't think much of yourself. And you don't think you're very attractive."
Silence....
"Do you?"
"Do I convey that?"
"In a way." The girl shrugged. "I don't know. You seem unsure, almost scared. You shouldn't be."
Charlotte didn't know what to say. She remained quiet.
"You are attractive, you know."
Charlotte looked away.
"And I know you find me attractive. I know because of the way you look at me," Carol said. "You know, I think you're confused about me. like you don't know if I dig women. I'll level with you. I've been around. I played. I swing."
Charlotte smiled.
Carol smiled back. "There's no problem as far as I'm concerned. But just so long as you know it isn't a nightly occurrence with me. Dig?"
"Yes. I understand."
Carol's lips pulled back in a smile. "So relax. like I said, there's no problem."
"That's all I wanted to hear," Charlotte said. She raised her hand and signaled for the waiter. Then she looked down at Carol's breasts. It wasn't difficult to notice the girl hadn't bothered to wear a bra.
"We'll have a nightcap at my place," Charlotte said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Charlotte's ripe body pressed against Carol's leanness, exploding with the pent-up emotion that held her since their eyes met that afternoon. She felt a strange tightening in her chest and went limp with submission as Carol's lips met hers. Charlotte invaded with a fiery lash, her tongue probing Carol's moist mouth.
"Hold it," Carol breathed, pulling her mouth away. "Man, you don't waste any time, do you?"
"I can't help myself. Ever since I first saw you I've wanted so desperately to kiss you."
Carol reached over to the table and brought the brandy snifter to her lips. "Mmra, this is so good."
"Do you resent-"
"No," Carol said, answering the question before it was asked. "It's just a thing about you. ... You come on strong." She swirled the amber liquid around in the snifter.
"I'm sorry."
"There you go again. I didn't say I don't like it."
Charlotte took her drink. "Don't let me fool you. I'm-well, I'm-anxious. I'm coming across like a bull in heat. I don't mean to. It's just that-well, I'm not experienced."
Carol tilted her head.
"I mean to say I'm not-"
"Gay?"
"Yes."
Carol looked surprised.
"I'm full of apologies, aren't I. Well, you leveled with me, the least I can do is the same. Last night, while at the club, I met this girl-a lesbian hustler. At least, I suppose she was. Anyway I went with her and-well-it was my first time."
"You've never had a-"
"Woman?" Charlotte asked. "No. What's more, I really didn't expect to ever again, until, that is, I went back to the club and saw you. But I forced myself to leave. Then when I saw you in back of the perfume counter-well, you know the rest."
"You mean you just came out?"
"I suppose that's a perfect description of one Charlotte Watts."
They both laughed.
"I was married for ten years," Charlotte explained, offering Carol a cigarette. "My husband died two years ago. From that time until now-"
"You're kidding," Carol cut in. She accepted a light from Charlotte.
"No. It's true." Charlotte inhaled then blew out a thin gray line of smoke. "I run a tobacco plantation. I've had to learn a lot in two years. I've done nothing but work."
Carol's eyes sparkled. "A plantation?"
"Yes." Charlotte reached over and poured herself another dollop of brandy.
"Where?"
"In Watts Town."
"Watts? Isn't that your name?"
"My married name, yes."
"You mean you own the whole town?"
"I'm afraid so," Charlotte smiled.
Carol stared at the woman. Was she putting her on?
"Do you live alone on this-this plantation?"
"More or less!" Charlotte answered. "Oh, there are the servants and the cook and the cleaning women and the foreman and farmhands. But outside of that, I'm alone. So, you see, if I come across like an anxious country bumpkin there is a reason." She threw back her head and laughed. "I guess I am a country bumpkin."
Servants? A cook? Farmhands? Carol smiled. No, she wasn't lying. She looked like class. Carol had thought so the minute she had met the woman.
Charlotte got up. She went to the radio and turned it on to a station that was playing soft music.
"I think we're talking too much," she said. She walked back to the sofa and sat down next to Carol. Her hand slid down the girl's soft, firm back.
Carol drew her feet up under her buttocks. "You know something?" she whispered.
Charlotte's fingers trembled over the flamboyant buttocks, kneading the muscled flesh through the girl's thin, tight-fitting maxi-slacks.
"What?" she asked. "I like you."
Charlotte's fingers caressed the sensitized muscles. "And I like you." Charlotte's mouth went to Carol's inviting lips. "I like you very much."
All Carol could think about was Charlotte telling her about the plantation. She'd never known a rich person, and here, out of the clear blue, she was being kissed by one ... and a woman ... a lonely, eager woman.
Their lips sealed together. Charlotte was surprised at the urgency behind the girl's lips. She embraced her tighter. They swayed in each other's arms. Firmly, Charlotte bore Carol against the soft pillows of the sofa, pressing against the luscious curves, feeling the full-bodied vibration that flooded her with a throbbing in her thighs.
"Oh," sighed Charlotte. "You feel so good, so like I knew you would."
Charlotte's hammering body beat against the girl's thighs with an uncontrolled urgency. The colorful blouse parted easily before her hands, releasing Carol's bobbing breasts. With a gradual process of discovery and a tenderness on Carol's part, Charlotte sighed in an agony of pleasure. Passion surged through her as inexperienced hands, guided by a special instinct all their own, reached out to embrace the ravishing white breasts in their lush, quivering fullness. This was the first time she touched another woman's breasts. They felt firm and soft and gave off a burning sensation in the palm of her hand. Carol's slacks gave way before Charlotte's insistent, anxious onslaught.
It was only a matter of moments until Charlotte, too, was naked. Then limbs whipped against thighs as Charlotte's lips traveled over young, sweet flesh, awakening a passion in Carol that she had never dreamed possible.
"Kiss me," Carol urged, her hands exploring the woman's body.
Their pulsating flesh clashed into one another until in a trillando of passionate moans, Charlotte brought her face down and grasped the girl's ankles. Her breasts jutting out, Charlotte pressed her mouth against the soft forest she found below. Carol moaned and opened her thighs, her small, ravishing buttocks rotating in little circles.
Charlotte caught the odor of their perspiring, perfumed bodies. Her heart beat faster, her mouth twisted in passion as she brought her head up and lay her face against the girl's flat stomach. "With you it's so easy. I know exactly what to do even though I've never done this before," she whispered.
Carol reached for the woman and drew her up. "You're wonderful," she said against Charlotte's lips. "Wonderful."
Bodies shifted as Carol got to her knees. "I want to do it now," she muttered. She slid down, her tongue traveling over Charlotte's bouncing breasts, down past her ribs, around her slim hips, down ... down to the anxious, throbbing thighs. She parted Charlotte's legs. She brought her mouth to Charlotte's feet and kissed the toes and slowly nibbled her way upward.
"Oh, Carol, Carol," Charlotte's husky whisper filled the room. "It feels so good. Oh, it feels so damn good." It wasn't strange loving another woman now. Now, thought Charlotte, it was easy, marvelously, wonderfully easy.
Carol reached up, her fingers feeling the hard core of Charlotte's nipples, and Charlotte whimpered with excitement. She clamped her legs tightly around Carol's neck and shivered with desire. Opening her thighs even more she squeezed Carol tov her and thrust up her loins.
A sob burst from her throat. "More," she cried. "More ... more."
Carol's hands reached under Charlotte's buttocks and she dug her face deeper into the woman. The more Carol drove, the more Charlotte groaned her pleasure, churning her thighs, twisting her buttocks, lifting her hips from the pillows to meet the girl's quivering mouth below.
Carol tapped Charlotte's leg and the woman released her hold. Then Carol arranged her body so that she was lying across Charlotte, her breasts against Charlotte's stomach, her legs spread wide near the woman's face. Charlotte raised her head and brought her mouth to the girl as Carol's tongue worked feverishly on Charlotte.
The two women clung together, pressing into each other, their anxious tongues working, determined to whirl the tingling sensations of flesh against flesh into climactic satisfaction.
The spine-searing, wildly abandoned moment came. Their passionate loving moans rose and fell in a cascade of erotic sound. Then, overcome by a violently satisfying sensation, they fell back in peaceful surrender.
CHAPTER SIX
Carol floated up out of deep sleep, reluctantly, feeling an exciting sensation in the region of her groin. She could have sworn there was a hand gently caressing her. Opening her eyes she looked up at the ceiling and realized she was back in her furnished room and not on a floating cloud with Charlotte. She got out of bed, shoved her feet into slippers and walked to the bathroom.
For two nights she'd been having these dreams-always about Charlotte. She even thought about her all during her working day. Strange, she thought, ever since that evening at Charlotte's hotel room, there had been absolutely no contact between them.
"Well, I tried," Carol said to the mirror. "I called her twice and left messages." She brushed her teeth, then took a shower. "I guess I didn't go over big with her." She dried her body with a towel.
Carol felt depressed. Since her meeting Charlotte, and these last two days, oppression hung over her like a thick fog. She had been doing okay in New Orleans. Hell, she wasn't making the kind of money she really needed, but she realized it would take time. She had chosen to remain here for another year-even longer-saving every cent she could get. Then she would go to college, take a teaching course, and, come hell or high water, remain in school until she'd gotten every credit she needed.
Today, right now, it seemed as if it would never happen. If only she had a pleasant job that paid more. Working at Mington's Department Store was for the birds. And going through the dancing bit twice a week paid very little. There had to be an easier way, she told herself.
Carol stared at her naked body in the full-length wall mirror. She passed a hand over her hips, over her curving breasts, down over her firm, flat stomach. For a split second there, she had almost convinced herself that her body should be used to benefit herself financially. Hell, she thought, girls with less than I have are hustling all over town. But no, that wasn't the answer. At least not now.
Again her hands roamed over the round sensual hips and thighs. Every boy-and girl-she'd ever been to bed with had spoken of her beauty. If she permitted herself, she could have been kept by a few of her admirers. But, somehow, that was distasteful to her. That was too easy and there would always be complications. She had enough brains to realize it wouldn't pay off. Most wanted her to live with them while she held a job-so, in a way, they really couldn't afford to keep her at all. It came back to her firm conviction: either you do it yourself, or you don't. Too bad she hadn't a really great ambition in life-like becoming a movie star or a model, or singing with a group. "No," she told her own reflection in the mirror. "I have to go and be average about the whole thing. I have to work my butt off."
She brushed her long, blonde hair, arranging it loosely about her shoulders.
Again she thought of Charlotte. There was something about the woman she liked. She couldn't explain it. She felt safe with her. Protected. A half-smile came to her lips. Charlotte was wild in the hay. She remembered the feel of Charlotte's soft belly against her. The woman's burning thighs, her arms around her neck, and the soft moans of rapturous pleasure Charlotte sounded at her touch. Well, that was another chapter in the book of her life. By now, Charlotte Watts was comfortably settled on a plane returning to her big, fat plantation.
Carol glanced at the clock. "Ten of eight. Hell, I'm going to be late," she whispered, slipping into a dress.
Just then there was a knock on her door.
"Yes? Who is it?"
"Me, honey," her landlady's voice said. "There's a call for you. Some man."
"Thank you," Carol said, buttoning her dress. Who could it be? Probably one of the few boys she had dated since her arrival.
She walked down the narrow hall and picked up the receiver hanging from the wall telephone.
"Hello?"
"Carol?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, baby. I saw you at the club the other night. Man, but you've got beautiful tits," the voice told her.
"What?" Carol's mouth fell open. Had she heard right?
"Boy, would I like to stick you, baby."
"Who is this?" she demanded.
"I'd love to rub my face in-between those gorgeous big boobs of yours."
Carol was shocked into silence.
"And then I'd like to take my hard penis and rub it against your stiff nipples."
Carol tried to speak, but no words came.
Now the man's voice turned into a whisper. "I've got my hand on it right now. I know you'd love it. Because it's big ... real big," his voice came in short little gasps. "Big and thick. First I'd make you kiss it, then I'd stick it right past your lips and shove it clear down your throat."
Carol froze. When she spoke, her voice was low and threatening. "Look, you lousy pervert. You better not ever call me again. Hear? Because if you do I'm going to call the police. And they'll find you; believe me, they know what to do with people like you!"
"That's it, cutie. Get mad," the excited voice said. "I like that. I can tell by your voice I got you all hot and bothered."
"Look-" Carol was going to talk, but she stopped herself when she heard his labored breathing.
"Man would I like to spread your thighs apart and shove it into you. I'd stick it as far as it would go. Man, I can hear you screaming now. I'd stick my tongue into your mouth and choke you, choke you until you begged me to stop. But I wouldn't stop. I'd kiss you until you couldn't breathe anymore and all the while my big, thick dick would be humping hell out of you. I'd cuddle up to those big tits of yours, grab hold of your cute little curvy ass and bring you close to me. You'd go out of your skull feeling me all hot and hard and throbbing inside of you-"
Carol cut him off. Quickly she returned the receiver to its cradle. She looked around the hall, feeling dizzy. Her hands were shaking, and her breathing was hard.
"Damn early morning calls," the landlady complained, brushing past Carol. "Woke me outta a nice sound sleep."
Carol stumbled back to her room and slumped on the bed.
How could anyone talk to her like that?
A chill raced up her spine-an ice-cold shiver of a chill. How did he know her telephone number? Whoever he was, he just might know her address. It was the club. The Pirate's Haven. All kinds of loose nuts went there. Her eyes fell on the clock and slowly reality crowded into her mind.
"I'm late for work," she gasped. She grabbed her purse, slammed the door shut and ran down the steps for the bus.
Charlotte Watts was troubled. For two days she had remained in the hotel room ordering her meals through room service, nixing calls announced by the telephone operator, not even bothering to open a letter sent by her overseer. All silent, all plugged, Charlotte smoked and paced the floor. For the past two days Charlotte had slept less, eaten less, and worried more than she ever had in her life.
She had chosen this silent refuge in order to sort out a clouded mind. She'd done enough thinking during this forty-eight hour period to make up for all unthinking moments in the two years she'd been alone. Slowly she was reaching a decision-a big one. But there were little threads that needed to be cut. There had to be a plan: a good, solid, logical plan to build upon. Oh, she'd thought about herself. How she looked. How she acted. How she reacted. And she thought about the consequences. Still, it was hard to make the decision.
Here she was, a thirty-five-year-old woman. Once almost beautiful. Now, with a new determination, a sudden interest in her physical appearance-new clothes, hairdo, and controlling her diet-she could almost cut off eight years. But she was attractive again simply because she felt an inner glow. All the things done to her would be of help, of course; but it was the way she felt that really did it. Okay. She was thirty-five, maybe looked twenty-seven. There were lines on her face but not enough really to call them wrinkles. She was short but had an adequate figure.
And Carol? Well, Carol was young-very young. Young and healthy and vigorous and beautiful.
Never for a moment had Charlotte dreamed it would happen. But it had. She simply did not want to leave Carol Lord.
It was a crazy idea, she knew that. But ... it could work.
She walked around the room' aimlessly, throwing herself into the activity of pacing. All the fatigue, all the awareness, all the pent-up emotions, all conscious thought submerged itself in the nervous strides she took to the window, to the door, to the bed, to the desk, covering every inch of the enormous hotel room.
First of all, would Carol go for it? That was something she would have to find out. Second, what would people think in Watts Town? She would have to disguise things with a perfectly logical reason. Third, would it work out? Would it be lasting? That, she decided, was something that had to be answered in time.
Carol was seeking something in life-the girl had told her that. She was seeking to better herself, mentally, spiritually; and she wanted security. Could she give Carol this? Was she willing to go all the way? It was a tremendous responsibility. It could fail. But then, it could turn out to be successful.
Charlotte stopped her pacing and glanced at her watch. Eleven-thirty. Reaching for the telephone, she waited for the operator's voice then asked for information. She got the telephone number of Mington's Department Store and dialed. She asked for the perfume counter.
"Hello, Charlotte." Carol sounded surprised. "Listen, Carol. What time is your lunch hour?"
"Twelve-thirty."
"Fine. I'll be there. I'll take you to lunch somewhere. I have to talk to you."
"Okay." Then she asked, "Is anything wrong?"
"No. Why?" Charlotte asked.
"I haven't heard from you. I thought you'd gone back."
"Look. We'll talk about it during lunch. If I'm going to get there I'd better get dressed."
"All right. Good-bye."
" 'Bye." Charlotte put the receiver back in its cradle. Quickly she turned and went into the bathroom. It was then that she smiled to herself. Everything is going to be all right. I just know it.
Within an hour Charlotte stepped out of a cab, paid the driver and hurried into Ming-ton's Department Store. When she got to the cosmetic department, Carol was waiting, purse in hand, a smile on her face.
Over lunch, Charlotte spoke rapidly, desperately, hoping she would be able to convince Carol of her sincerity. "So you see, I've done a lot of thinking. Carol, you don't have any ties here. You're as free as a bird. Come home with me."
Carol's expression was one of confusion. "With you?"
"I want you to work for me."
"Work?"
"As my secretary."
"But I can't even type."
"There's a business school fifteen miles from Watts Town. You can take two days off a week and attend a business class-they'll teach you everything you need to know. I'll drive you in twice a week myself."
"But-but-" Carol tilted her head questioningly. "I don't understand."
"Carol. I want you to have something better. I don't want to leave you here. In a furnished room. Dancing at that awful club. I'll worry about you. At the plantation you'll have your own room, a real home, and people waiting on you. There's horseback riding and golf and movies. You'll love it. I'll pay you well. Twice as much as you get now-three times as much-if you'll say yes."
Carol shook her head. "I don't know what to say."
"Say yes. Please."
"Charlotte, we hardly know each other. I mean-"
"I know enough about you to want to take you back with me," Charlotte whispered.
Carol could hardly believe her ears. "But things just don't happen this way!"
"Maybe that's the way they should happen then. I'm a woman who desperately needs you. Look, Carol. I'm rich-more than rich-"
"Charlotte! Do you think that for one second-"
"Oh, I don't know what in hell I'm saying. I'm just trying to entice you, to convince you it's a right decision for you to make. Carol, believe me, I'll treat you good. You can have anything you want-anything."
Carol stared into Charlotte's eyes.
"Why? Why do you want to do all of this? I mean there are lots of reasons you've given, but what's the real reason?"
"Because," Charlotte whispered, her eyes burning into Carol's. "I'm in love with you."
In the privacy of the corner booth, Carol reached over and grasped Charlotte's hand., "But, Charlotte," she said. "I'm not in love with you."
"I don't care," Charlotte answered quickly. "You told me you liked me. I'll accept that."
"Is it enough."
"Yes. Yes, it is."
"But an arrangement like this. It doesn't seem right. It's like something out of a paperback book."
Charlotte ignored the girl's laugh. "I want so much for this to work out. It is right, I know it is. Isn't it better for me to love you, to help you, guide you, take care of you, than for you to live alone? You're only nineteen! That's pretty young, especially when you've got nothing and live in this big city. There are a lot of awful people in the world. I could protect you from that." She looked into Carol's face with pleading eyes. "What do you say, Carol?"
Somehow the odds all seemed in Carol's favor. And it was risky in a city like this. That call she bad gotten this morning-that horrible voice telling her those things. Was that the start of many such incidents? Thinking of Charlotte's age, she came to the conclusion that age was no barrier. The facte were strong: a woman, a woman of means was interested in her-more-in love with her. Perhaps it was fate, and, perhaps, if she didn't grab it, it would never happen again.
The clouded expression on Carol's face gave way to a warm smile.
"All right, Charlotte," she whispered. "I say yes."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cal Hardin was a big man. Tall, strongly built, with large irregular features. He had lean hips, and his hard leg muscles were browned by the sun. His eyes were dark and keen, and, when he smiled, women melted. They melted when he frowned. They melted when they saw the anger in his eyes. Cal Hardin made women melt, period. He knew it; he understood it; he used it.
Life on the plantation had its good points. Being overseer on one of the biggest tobacco farms in the state of Louisiana placed him in great esteem with his friends. He made damn good money, and he was his own boss. He also knew how to save a buck. Many called him stingy, but he preferred to believe he was thrifty. Thrifty enough to know when not to pick up a bar tab.
Working for Charlotte Watts for the past two years had made him financially solvent. He stood in solid with Charlotte Watts. She was generous because he produced. He was a damn good overseer; he knew that, Charlotte Watts knew that. That's all that counted as far as he was concerned. Eventually he would benefit even more financially; of this he was sure. Charlotte Watts was kind and considerate and generous.
So things hadn't been half bad for a twenty-eight-year-old man, he thought, scratching off his beard with a safety razor. After he had shaved his face smooth enough, he washed off the rest of the lather with cold water and dried his face on a towel. He rubbed on some after-shave lotion; then he powdered his face and neck. After he brushed his teeth and combed his hair, he went back into the bedroom.
His glance went to the bed. She was still sleeping.
Seeing her in the light of morning he realized just how drunk he had been the previous night. If he had been sober he'd never have lugged that woman home. But hell, he thought, maybe she was a good lay, he had been too drunk to remember. What he liked were the golden, fresh, young bodies. He liked to lay them on the soft grass. This one, however, was past her prime. The harsh light of day showed the big mistake he'd made. Hell, he mused, she must be all of thirty. He never went for that bit about the riper the apple the better the bite. He knew a hell of a lot better. Breaking in a virgin was like breaking in a wild colt. It was exciting-a challenge. That was sex, man!
He stared hard at the sleeping naked female. His experienced eyes examined the lines in her face: the small beginnings of a double chin, the puffiness under the closed eyes, the stale makeup that gave her skin a cracked look, the smeared lipstick. Dark roots showed at her scalp. In the light of a new day this female looked twice the age he'd given her the night before.
His jaw set firmly. There weren't very many beautiful young girls in Watts Town. Occasionally he got a few, but that was rare. Most of the quail left town as soon as they were old enough to screw. He didn't much blame them: There was nothing here for them. No future. Nothing but tobacco growing for miles and miles, as far as the human eye could see. Well, it was part of the job, the part he didn't like and had to put up with.
His eyes went back to the woman. Even this was better than nothing. His gaze took in the naked body on the rumpled bed; the twin mounds, the round stomach, the long legs that needed a shave job, the fullness between her thighs. His gaze went to the face: long-jawed, almost heavy, thin lips, the lines of her face caked with hardened makeup. His eyes raced back to her breasts. They weren't bad-not bad at all. A fire began to smolder in his loins and he felt the slow swelling between his thighs.
To hell with her freaky face. She's got what I need!
As he walked to the sleeping figure, his thick throbbing manliness slapped against the in-sides of his muscular thighs.
"Wake up," he said.
Her eyes remained closed.
"Wake up." This time he shook her shoulder.
First she stirred, then she opened her eyes. She yawned and stretched her arms high into the air. Her eyes lighted up when she saw him. Her hand reached out and clasped his hardness.
He felt the heat boil up inside him.
"Ready to give it a try again?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.
The blood rushed to his head.
She stared in fascination as he sprang forward like a sabre. The hair at his thighs glinted in the ray of sun streaming in through the windows.
"Baby," she purred. "Look at you."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
She stared at his penis, her eyes glued to his heavily veined hardness. "What a change from last night," she told him.
"That right?"
"I really had to work on that thing. I used everything, including this-" She leaned forward, opened her mouth and took him.
He groaned his pleasure at the feel of her lips on his hardness. Quickly he pulled away. "Easy, gal. Easy."
She ran her tongue up the sides of his slender hips, past his hairy navel to the mass of hair at his chest. She bit into his pectoral muscles, her teeth scraping away at his nipple.
"Ow!" he yelled.
"See?" she smiled. "Men like it too." Now her tongue circled his chest, disappearing under his armpits, traveled up to the back of his neck, intruded within his ear and slipped around his freshly shaven chin, then shot up into his mouth.
He took her darting tongue clasping his own around it and sucked in. He heard her moan.
They fell on top of the bed, his hands reaching out, pulling her to him. He grabbed hold of the soft flesh of her buttocks and tugged her closer to him.
"Hell!" she cried. "Damn it to hell." Her hand reached down and cupped his heavy hanging testicles. "Oh," she cried, "you're the biggest I've ever had. The biggest."
"You like that, huh?"
"Yeah. I like it good."
"How much, baby? Tell me, how much?"
"I like it so much I want to feel it deep inside of me." She bit his earlobe. "Oh, screw me, screw me-" she gasped.
His lips mashed against hers, his tongue searching the depths of her throat. His hot hands ran over her soft body.
She began to thresh about, pulling him tight against herself. Her mouth opened wantonly-wider-as she accepted his anxious tongue. She pulled back to catch her breath. "You know," she smiled, "you look like you just stepped out of one of them Marlboro cigarette ads."
He dug his fingers between her thighs, then slid his hand upward. "Hey, lady," he whispered, a grin on his face. "You're nice and warm and wet down there." He pushed her against the bed, pinning her shoulders back on the pillows and slid his knee between her thighs, rising above her. Her breasts shivered with uncontrollable desire as the roaring fire raged, engulfing the two of them. Her supple body writhed beneath him, her hair scattering wildly across the pillow as she shook with mounting passion. He felt her long nails dig deep into his buttocks.
"Man," he groaned, his lips against hers, "you're on fire."
She was like a wild animal, ravenous for the kill. He entered her slowly, then plunged to her very depths as she moaned in a frenzy of painful pleasure.
"Oh, you're so big ... so big." Her whimpering gave way, and she clamped her long legs around him, pinning him in a vise of passion.
He lifted his body, arched and attacked again.
"More!" she screamed. "More, more! I want every inch of you! Oh, hell, hell! You drive me wild-"
The sounds coming from her throat were a savage blend of sobs and screams.
"Steady, baby, steady. Nice and easy," he gasped into her ear. "Yeah, yeah, like that." His powerful hands slid under her hips, down to her buttocks. His strong fingers grasped the softness there, and he lifted her body up to meet his lunging thrusts.
"Now!" she pleaded. "Oh, now! Now!"
"No," he breathed. "Not now. Take it easy."
"I can't stand it. I want it now," she sobbed. "Please, give it to me."
"You really want it?" he asked, pulling himself halfway out of her, yet fighting to prolong his passion as long as he could.
"Yes," she begged. "Oh, Cal, please. Oh hell, Cal ... Cal ... Cal! Don't make me beg-you-sonofabitch!"
"Okay, baby," he whispered. "It's all yours." His body arched, his big chest muscles knotted. He tensed and thrust inward as far as he could make it go. He felt the explosion in him and brought her buttocks closer, his hands roughly digging into the soft flesh. Another thrust and another. Then one long driving plunge, and the overwhelming earthquake racked her body. She screamed in sheer ecstasy, crushed herself up against his thick, muscled body then fell back, limp on the damp sheets, groaning her contentment.
He pulled himself away from her, swung his powerful legs off the bed down to the floor and headed for the bathroom, the thick muscles on his back rippling as he moved. Then he saw the telegram under the door.
He walked over and picked up the envelope.
It was from Charlotte Watts.
He turned to the woman.
"Get dressed," he told her. "I've got to pick up the boss lady at the airport. I'll drive you back into town."
"Hey. Hold on," she said. She got up out of bed and walked over to him. "Ain't you forgetting something? What about a couple of bucks, honey?"
He glared down at her. "I never paid for a piece of ass in my life, baby. I'm not about to start now," he said, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Carol Lord, her blonde hair falling to her shoulders, brushed aside a wave from her face and fixed her gaze on Cal Hardin.
"Hello," she said. She took his extended hand.
"Hello," he grinned.
"Carol will be working for me, Mr. Hardin" Charlotte told him as she got into the waiting Lincoln.
Cal held the door for the women, and, when Carol stepped in, his eyes ran over the curves of her buttocks beneath the tight skirt. He slammed the car door shut, went around the other side and sat down in the driver's seat.
"Have a good trip?" he asked, starting the motor.
"Yes. Very pleasant," Charlotte answered. "You, Miss?"
"You can call me Carol," she said, smiling at him from the back seat. "Yes. It was a great trip."
There was a long silence as the Continental sped into seventy, taking the curves of the dirt roads easily.
"How are things, Hardin?" Charlotte inquired.
"Just fine, Miss Charlotte."
"No problems?"
"A few. Had to hire two new hands. Cook got sick, but she's better now." He looked into the rearview mirror, watching the sensuous movements of the girl as she rolled down the window. His fascination with the girl was apparent to no one, not even to Carol. He fastened his eyes on her free swinging breasts under the dark jersey when she looked out of the window then settled back in her seat. He knew she wasn't wearing a bra under that jersey.
"It's so marvelous," Carol said. "Even the air smells good. She raised her arms behind her head and took a deep breath.
Cal swallowed hard when he saw the two firm mounds of her breasts lift and then tremble beneath the thin, tight material.
"Miss Lord will be working as my secretary," Charlotte told Cal. She watched his profile from the back seat, wondering if she sounded convincing.
"Guess you need one with all the book work you got," he answered.
Good, thought Charlotte. He was convinced. See, she told herself, to bring home a young girl and tag her secretary is a perfectly natural thing. She pressed her leg firmly against Carol's. Carol smiled and kept her leg against the woman's.
Cal shifted in the driver's seat. He took a cigarette from a crumpled pack and lit it with the car lighter.
Carol suddenly glanced at Cal out of the corner of her eyes. It was the first time she actually looked at him. He certainly was a powerfully built man she thought. There were deep lines in his face but not from age, probably sun, she decided. He had a kind of leathery look about him. No mistaking what he was-that was apparent-he was all man. Her look then went to Charlotte. A queasy feeling took hold of her stomach. Quickly her eyes darted back to Cal's profile, then back to Charlotte. I mustn't compare. I must not do that, she scolded herself.
Carol quickly looked out of the side window. The landscape became a blur with the increasing speed of the car. Her thoughts, too, now seemed blurred. It's only natural, looking at a man. I mustn't start feeling guilty about a thing like that.
This time she caught Cal looking at her in the car mirror. The man's lips were curled in a knowing smile, his clear, dark eyes on her face.
Damn it! Why is he staring at me like that? He's making me nervous. Does he suspect about Charlotte and-
"Carol. Here's where my property starts," Charlotte interrupted the silence of the car.
Carol looked at a small wooden sign painted in green. It read, WATTS TOWN. Barbed wire separated the land.
"All that land. You mean from where the barbed wire fence starts you own all--? "
"That's right," Cal grinned.
"I see some of that wire has fallen," Charlotte said crisply. "Better have somebody ride up here today and string some more."
"Yes ma'am," Cal answered.
"And, Hardin. I'll be using the car tomorrow. I'll drive myself into town." She turned to Carol. "You can do a little sight-seeing on your own while I'm gone. It's the best way to see things," she smiled.
Neither of the women saw the slight flicker in Cal Hardin's eyes.
"Fine," Carol returned. "Maybe I can find me a horse to ride."
"That's another thing, Hardin. Get that chestnut mare, Flicky, and put a saddle on her for Carol tomorrow morning. Let's see if they get along with each other."
"Yes, ma'am," Cal said again.
"Here's the town, Carol. Not much, but this is downtown Watts Town."
Carol looked out the window and was surprised at what she saw. The buildings were no higher than three stories ... all made of wood ... all resembling movie sets.
"Those boards on the ground, is that--? "
Charlotte laughed. "That's the sidewalk."
Cal joined in the woman's laughter.
"There's only fifteen buildings in town now. Four were built last year," Charlotte explained. She pointed out of the window. "That's the Grand, our only movie house. That's the only restaurant in town, and that over there is the bank. Next to it is the drugstore."
"It's like having your own mini-city," Carol smiled. "It's marvelous. like something out of a movie western."
"It's no movie set though. People make their living operating those stores, and the town is growing slowly. In ten years it might even be on the map," Charlotte told her. "Right, Hardin?"
"Right, ma'am," Cal grinned. The car raced through town and picked up even more speed on the narrow dusty road.
Charlotte's hand moved brazenly to Carol's thigh and stroked the flesh there.
Carol pulled her body away, making a gesture with her hand pointing to Cal in the front seat.
Charlotte felt exuberant-daring-adventurous. It was a delight having such a beautiful girl by her side and daring to sneak an intimate touch right under the eyes of her overseer.
"There's the house now, Miss," Cal said.
Carol looked ahead. It wasn't a house, it was a mansion. Her eyes took in the low-hanging magnolia trees uniformly lined on either side of the road leading up the gravel path to the enormous iron gate. Beyond that was a lawn-at least six acres of green carpet surrounded the impressive colonial mansion. An enormous red brick chimney with gray smoke curling up and away toward the cloudless sky made her cry out her surprise. "Charlotte! It's beautiful."
The girl couldn't believe her eyes as the car drove up to the entrance and the double white-paneled doors swung open. A woman, wiping her hands on an apron, ran down the stone steps and rushed to the car.
"Miss Charlotte, Miss Charlotte, you're back home," the elderly woman cried in excitement.
"Hello, Bess." Charlotte reached out of the window and clasped the woman's hand.
"Bess, this is Miss Lord. Carol Lord. She's come to live with us." She turned to Carol. "This is Bessie Mae, our marvelous cook."
Carol smiled at the woman.
Cal got out and opened the door to the car, then helped Charlotte out.
"I hear you've been ill, Bess," Charlotte said, walking ahead with the woman.
Cal turned back and, reaching into the car, grabbed hold of Carol's arm. "Let me help you," he said.
Carol felt his strong hand on her, and a shiver raced through her.
When she got out of the car he slammed the door shut. "See you around, Miss," he said.
Carol smiled nervously. "Yes," she said.
"If you need anything," he said, pointing across the lawn, "that's my shack there. Just knock on the door." There was a twist of a smile on his face. "One knock will do it."
Carol felt her face flush. "Thanks," she said, then quickly turned and scrambled up the steps into the house.
Cal started the car and drove off. He'd gotten his point across quite clearly, he thought.
Inside the hallway, Carol caught her breath at the expanse of the place. A wide, curving, heavily carpeted stairway led up to a second floor. Looking up she saw the balcony with a wrought iron banister that completely surrounded the top floor, meeting in a circle at the top landing.
"Welcome, Carol," Charlotte said.
"It's magnificent. It's so enormous. I'm sure I'm going to get lost."
"Come on, I'll show you your room." They climbed the stairs, Charlotte pointing out the history of the many oil portraits of family ancestors.
"This is marvelous," Carol said, looking around the bedroom. She ran to the window. "And the view, it's spectacular."
"There's a pool way in the back. And we've even got our own pond."
"Your bag, Miss Lord," Bessie Mae said, setting the suitcase on the bed.
"What's for dinner, Bess?" Charlotte asked.
"Roast beef," the woman smiled. "And I'd better see how it's comin' along," she said, leaving the room.
Carol went through her suitcase, pulling out clothes and putting them on hangers. "I'm dying to take a look around the place."
"You've plenty of time for that."
Carol got out of her dress. When she un-snapped her bra, the full, creamy loveliness of her twin breasts shook free. She wiggled out of her panties and threw them on the bed. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked.
Charlotte, staring at her naked loveliness, pointed at a door. "I'll get you some towels," she said.
Under the tepid shower, Carol rubbed her body vigorously, the soap sailing up and over her breasts, under her arms and down her thighs. The shower curtain parted and Charlotte stood before her. She was naked.
"Two's company and more fun," she said, climbing over the bathtub into the shower.
Charlotte took the soap from Carol's hand, soaped the sponge, and, standing in back of Carol, proceeded to scrub her back. "Feel good?" she asked.
"Charlotte. What if Bess comes in?"
"She won't. She never comes up here unless she's told. I asked her to bring your bag up. We're perfectly safe. No problems," she said. Her hand scrubbed gently down around Carol's buttocks.
Carol felt a stirring of arousal within her. Slowly she turned to face Charlotte.
Charlotte's trembling hands took Carol by the shoulders, and then she leaned over and pressed her lips against the wet tip of Carol's jutting breast.
"Charlotte ... Charlotte," Carol whispered.
Charlotte's lips sought the girl's mouth. Her tongue passed between Carol's lips. Eagerly, the girl accepted the woman's kisses and allowed Charlotte to caress her large breasts, stroke them lovingly, her fingers searching every sensation from the warm, glistening skin.
Carol's eyes closed in ecstasy. Their bodies rubbed together, flesh against flesh. Charlotte's tongue nibbled at Carol's shoulders then traveled down over the glorious breasts, around the navel, her tongue working in a fiery paroxysm of passion. Slowly she felt Carol slide herself down to the side of the bathtub, squirming with passion.
Carol's body shuddered in an agony of pleasure. "Oh, Charlotte," she cried, "do it to me."
Charlotte's tongue found her target. She buried her face into the girl as the tepid water beat down on her back. She felt Carol's legs part and brought herself even closer, digging hard into the inner flesh, her tongue feverishly probing, moving with passionate newfound experience until the rhythms that her lovemaking evoked became faster, more and more demanding.
Carol stifled a scream of utter ecstasy, her shuddering body tensing until she felt an agony of pleasure and then final release in a series of violent convulsions.
"Charlotte," she whispered. "Oh, Charlotte, I'm going to-" She felt breathless, weightless, as the pinnacle of sensuality was released and her body tingled with pleasure from the sensual workings of Charlotte's tongue within her.
At the open bedroom doorway, Cal Hardin had a direct view of the two figures in the bathroom behind the shower curtains.
He backed away from the door.
He would ask Charlotte for a check for the barbed wire tomorrow.
A smile came to his lips. By damn! The things a man learns, he thought as he made his way down the stairs and out of the house.
CHAPTER NINE
It didn't take Carol long to adjust to the new life she'd been handed by Charlotte. In six weeks she felt and acted as though she'd been born in the lap of luxury. It seemed to her that all of her senses, all of her nerve endings had suddenly come alive. Every day was a joy that made her tingle with excitement and anticipation.
She went swimming, horseback riding, camping, to the movies, visited the town with Charlotte. One time they'd flown back to New Orleans and spent two wild days on a shopping spree. She had beautiful clothes, the use of numerous cars, the pleasure and luxury of sleeping late. If she allowed herself, she was convinced that she could become quite spoiled. Quiet evenings were spent reading or watching television. If she felt lonely, she would take walks around the plantation, visiting and talking to the hands and the laborers working the tobacco fields. Bess, the cook, was fun to be with, and Cora, the maid, amused her. Outside of that, she rarely saw anyone. But she didn't miss seeing a lot of people. She'd had her fill at the club. It didn't much matter about friends, she'd never had many before.
One thing puzzled her ... annoyed her. That one thing was Cal Hardin, the overseer. He rarely spoke to her. He only stared. Whatever it was she felt about that look of his confused her. It seemed every time he glanced at her he hid behind a smug smile, as if he were possessed with some kind of deep, dark secret.
Carol took the cover off of the electric typewriter and turned it on. She dismissed Cal Hardin from her mind.
Her thoughts turned to Charlotte. It was fun working for her. She'd mastered typing and had become quite useful. Indeed, now she felt like she deserved the big salary Charlotte paid her. She'd learned a lot in the six weeks she'd been attending business school in town. Enough to believe she'd turn into an A-l secretary.
After completing six carbon copies of legal work, Carol shuffled the papers and put them on Charlotte's desk.
It was strange not having Charlotte around. She missed the woman and hoped her trip to New York would be over soon. There was a little too much quiet in the office for her. Charlotte always was good company.
She sighed, decided there wasn't really any work to do and put the cover back on the typewriter. She straightened out some folders, put some papers that needed Charlotte's attention on the desk and left the study for her room.
Three shrill rings sounded. She picked up the house phone.
"Hello."
"Miss Lord, this here's Bess. What would you like for dinner?"
"I'm not hungry, Bess. I'll make a sandwich later. Don't worry about me."
"Yes, Miss. Just wanted to know. I thought I'd go into town and catch me that movie at the Grand. Is that all right? It's Steve McQueen. I never miss none of his films."
"Go ahead. Have fun."
"Okay. Thank you, Miss Lord. I'll leave all the fixin's so's you can make a sandwich."
"Bye, Bess." Carol put the phone back in its cradle, lay down on the bed, and within seconds fell into a deep sleep.
The sound of a car, its wheels burning rubber as it took off, aroused Carol from her sleep. She looked out of the window. It was Bessie Mae, on her way to the movie. Carol looked up at the sky. It was getting dark and the evening was going to be beautiful. She opened the window wider and stared out. From the corner of her eye she caught the blurred figure across the lawn. It was Cal Hardin. In shorts. Obviously, he'd been sunbathing and had fallen asleep. In the fading light of day she watched him cut his way across the lawn towards his shack. Even from here she could see the muscles of his buttocks, powerful muscles flexing rhythmically as he walked. The powerful swells of his calves held her eyes. She caught her breath and was about to pull her gaze away when she saw him turn and look up at her. Too late. He had seen her.
He made his way toward the mansion. Now, at half the distance, he stopped, folded his arms and stared up at her.
Mesmerized, Carol watched.
He lowered his shorts, exposing a mass of dark hair. Slowly, deliberately, he brought the shorts even lower.
Carol stared, not wanting to look, but feeling trapped, almost hypnotized. Now her eyes opened even wider as Cal's already erect penis sprang free from the shorts. Completely naked, he again folded his arms. When he spread his legs, his testicles bounced against the inside of his thighs. Still staring at her, he reached down and clutched his penis. He held it-and it was still far longer than the breadth of both his hands.
Desire surged through Carol in mounting waves.
In one quick movement, Cal bent down, pulled up his shorts and strode across the lawn to his house. Once inside, he closed the door. A second later there was a light in his room.
Carol left the window and walked over to the bureau. She picked up a cigarette and placed it to her lips. When she lit it, she noticed that her hand was shaking.
Damn him. Damn that man. He's an animal!
She took a long drag on the cigarette and quickly turned and walked past the hall and down the stairs. She went to the bar and poured herself a drink. After she downed that, she poured another, and still another.
"Damn degenerate," she muttered aloud. "If he thinks I'm attracted to him, he's got another think coming."
She snubbed out the cigarette and paced the floor. That's what he was doing all the time. That's what was behind that silly smile of his. He was waiting for Charlotte to leave. Waiting to see if she would throw herself at him. Well it didn't work!
The drinks were getting to her. She threw back her head and laughed. Cal Hardin. Hard-on would be more like it.
She went over to the hi-fi set and turned it on. The room flooded with music. She poured herself another drink. Suddenly, she felt very much alone and wished that Charlotte were back.
As she brought the glass of liquor to her lips, a shock of pleasure churned through her when the vision of Cal Hardin's nude body filled her mind.
Putting the glass down, she stared at the tall bud vase with a single rose in it, sitting on the bar top. Suddenly her vision blurred and the vase turned into a phallus. It wavered before her eyes and slowly took the form of a penis. It became thick and muscular and long. With veiled eyes, Carol stared in wonder as the pulsating object grew longer and longer ... glistening ... tempting ... powerful.
Her hand reached out and grasped it. The blurring vanished, and her vision returned to normal. She was holding the vase in her hand, her lips close to the rose petal.
She pulled back in shock, slammed the vase down on the bar top and quickly poured herself another drink.
The telephone startled her. She swung off the barstool and went to the phone.
"Hello?"
"Carol. Charlotte here."
"Charlotte. Oh, when are you coming home?"
"That's the reason I'm calling. I have to stay longer. Maybe three more days. The stockholder's meeting is taking forever. I'm sick about it."
"Damn it," Carol said.
Charlotte, pleased by the girl's reaction, laughed. "It feels good to be missed," she said.
"And I do. Oh, boy, do I."
"I bought you a gorgeous coat. They're sending it out to you tomorrow. And I-"
"I don't care about all that. Just come home," Carol said, sounding almost desperate.
"Is anything the matter?" Charlotte asked.
"No." Carol wanted to tell her about Cal but realized it could break up a strong relationship. Besides, Charlotte truly needed Cal. He was literally running the plantation. And what in hell was she anyway that she couldn't handle herself? She wasn't a silly little virgin. "Nothing's the matter," she said.
"I miss you, Carol."
"Same here."
"All right, dear. I'll speak to you very soon. 'Bye."
" 'Bye."
Carol put the phone down. Three days! An anticipatory fever slowly warmed her body.
It was then that Carol knew she would never be able to fight the magnetic spell of Cal Hardin.
CHAPTER TEN
Carol awoke feeling his face pushing into her round, creamy white globes. It took her a moment to remember where she'd slept the night before, how she'd gotten there.
Glancing down at the sleeping figure, she saw the hard flatness of his belly, the wiry patch between his exposed thighs, the now limp manliness of him; and it all came back, every moment, every passionate, exciting moment.
Cal Hardin had made love to her with a wild abandon, his sensuous lovemaking alternated between lusty violence and a soft tenderness. Finally she had fallen into an exhausted sleep after he had taken her again and again. She remembered now how she had cried out his name, clutching his manliness, her body trembling with newfound ecstasy.
His words came back to her: "You are the greatest piece I've ever had." He'd meant it as a compliment, of this she was sure. It was his only way of expressing the six weeks of pent-up emotion that surged through him every time he saw her. He had told her that, and she, unknowingly at the time, told him she was attracted to him. She told him much. Perhaps too much. She remembered how she responded to his every caress, how she quivered beneath the touch of his exploring hands and his anxious lips.
Suddenly she shivered. Turning her head downward she watched him, feeling his tongue dart out touching her nipple.
She heard his hoarse voice. "Good morning, honey." His hand reached up to her face and he stroked her chin. Her rib cage lifted when she inhaled deeply, the soft palp of her breast rubbing against his unshaven cheek. He gazed up at her.
"Morning," she whispered.
He smiled, his dark eyes flashing, and she smiled back.
He opened his mouth and brought his tongue out beckoning for a kiss. She brought her head down, and as her tongue flashed into his mouth, the nearness of his hard body, the friction of her soft breasts against his hairy, muscled chest, began to weaken her. When he took her hot, quivering tongue, he sucked hard. She felt the fire in her belly, and her head fell back against the pillows as his hands kneaded her buttocks, his mouth over the tips of her hardened nipples.
When he looked up at her, he saw the closed eyes beneath the heavy, curving lashes, saw her body shudder. He rubbed his cheeks between her breasts, running his tongue over the brown nipples.
"I'm glad today's Sunday," he told her. "Because I'm not letting you out of this bed until tomorrow morning at dawn when I have to be at work."
Her chest heaved, and she felt as soft as jelly in his arms when he stretched himself upward and kissed her mouth, clutching her hard against his body, lifting his body above hers, and letting himself sink down.
"Oh, Cal," she moaned. "I can't. Last night was too much. My insides are-"
He silenced her when his pulsating hardness found its target.
She melted in his arms. "Kiss me," she begged, her body tensing as he drove into her, as his hands cupped her breasts, his lips crushed against hers. Her mouth opened to him, her nails dug into his shoulder blades with convulsive desire.
Cal forced her thighs to open wider, his swelling manliness pressing deep into her softness. His rough hands encircled her buttocks, and he brought her closer to him, furiously attacking her, the blood pounding in his veins as her body heaved beneath, her legs opened wide and encircled him in a tight embrace. Restlessly, impatiently, her hands moved up and down his back. At his every thrust she groaned, her long fingers clawing his back. He felt the hotness of her body responding to him, the tightness of her thighs pulling him further in.
"Cal," she cried. "Oh, Cal."
Hot pleasure filled her being. She lifted her buttocks from the bed and surged upward, then fell limp against the rumpled sheets, her moans filling his ears.
Later, she opened her eyes and lifted her head, smiling dreamily when he got out of bed and went for his cigarettes. She watched him as he moved, taking big giant steps, his great penis, now limp, swinging lazily with his heavy, loose testicles.
"You're like a bull," she whispered huskily.
He put a cigarette between her lips and lit it for her.
"Am I?" he asked.
"That's all you want, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Sex. It's what you live for, isn't it."
"I'm taking the fifth amendment on that one," he grinned.
"You knew you'd have me all the time."
"Yes."
"And I knew, too."
"You mind?"
"No. Well, not exactly."
"What do you mean?" There was a flicker of teasing in his eyes. "You got a boyfriend?"
Carol hesitated. "Yes," she lied. "And doing something like this makes me feel-"
"Aw, come on. Everybody does it," he said. "You can have fun and still hold onto your self-respect."
The look on his face wasn't really a smile, it was something else. Then Carol realized what the strange look meant.
"You know about me. Don't you?"
His face showed surprise but only for a second. "What do you mean?"
"You tell me," she said. She swung her legs off the bed and got to her feet.
"Where you going?" He jumped up and went to her. She turned away from him. "Okay, okay. Yeah," he smiled, "I know about you and the boss lady. I caught your act in the shower that first day." He shrugged his shoulders. "Don't mean a damn to me. But one thing I know. You're not a lesbo, baby. I know that much. I can feel it when I hold you. But I know your reasons. Hell, I don't blame you."
"My reasons?" she asked.
"You got it good-damn good. Whatever happened that week in New Orleans sure changed Charlotte Watts' life. She's a real swinger now. Never saw her so glowing. And all because of you. And you-" he made a gesture with his hands, "for all of this all you have to do is hop in the shower with her now and then and throw open your legs."
"Look. No matter what you think, that's not it at all." She looked into his face. "Have you told anyone?"
"You kidding? Think I'm out of my skull? I got it good here, too. No, I don't want to break up that little romance. I like having you around. I like that very much."
Carol suddenly thought of Charlotte. What Cal had said was right. Now that she thought about it she realized just how lucky she was to have someone like Charlotte in love with her. Never had she had it so good. He was right about her not being a lesbian. She knew she wasn't, no matter what her relationship with Charlotte was. Charlotte was the lesbian, not she. She could never be that way and enjoy sex with a man like Cal. Still, she was playing the game, wasn't she? And her new life wasn't very hard to accept. Then, she thought, why gamble on a good thing? It really wasn't much of a gamble at that. Cal would be the one to suffer if he started rumors about his boss. After all, Charlotte Watts was feeding them all. Hell, she owned the whole damn town. Rumor or no rumor, the gossip would reach deaf ears. So Carol was safe there, she knew Cal would not open his mouth. And with Charlotte gone, as she was now, the gamble was very slight. She would have to watch her step when Charlotte was home, that's all. She could have her little scene with Cal whenever Charlotte was out of town-no harm in that.
He kissed her hard on the lips.
"Baby," he whispered. "You're the best thing that's happened to me on this damn plantation."
Carol felt his big hand over her beast. She couldn't give Cal Hardin up-she couldn't. She needed him. Needed him desperately. Charlotte gave her everything, but Cal gave her the wild love she craved and wanted to keep.
"I'll make you some breakfast," he said. "Ranch style."'
They spent the day in his cabin, eating and loving. Then they fell asleep.
When Carol awakened, it was dark. She turned to Cal and slipped her arm around his hips. "It's late," she said. "I'd better get back."
Without a word he drew her to him and kissed her. His lips moved down to her throat, then slid lower to the arching breasts.
"Tigress," he whispered, sinking below. He reached out and tugged at Carol's flaring hips and buttocks, pulling her to his face.
Carol felt his hot tongue below, and her loins throbbed with passion.
The odor of her perspiring, perfumed body, intermingled with her female smell, made Cal wild. He pulled her closer, his face pushing into her.
The jangling ring of the telephone sounded.
Cal's head shot up. "Hell," he grumbled. "Who in tarnation can that be?" He reached over Carol and took the receiver off the hook. "Yeah?" he barked.
Carol watched the expression on his face change. When he spoke, his voice had a new tone of respect in it.
"Oh, yes. Sure. Okay, I'll be right there."
He listened for a second then spoke again.
"Give me fifteen minutes," he said. "Of course I don't mind. What's my day off got to do with it anyway? Be right there." He put the receiver down.
"You've got to go?"
"Yeah. And so do you. It's the boss lady."
"Charlotte?"
"Her plane just landed. She's waiting for me at the airport. Stock meeting has been canceled."
Carol quickly dressed and ran back to the house. After a quick shower, she slipped into a skirt and blouse and went downstairs to the study. Within an hour she heard the front door open.
"Carol? Carol?" Charlotte called. "I'm back."
Carol got to her feet and hurried into the other room. "Charlotte?" she said, hoping she sounded surprised. "When did you get in?"
"They canceled everything." She threw her purse on the couch. "Whew! I'm glad to be home."
Carol looked toward the door. Cal came in carrying Charlotte's suitcase.
"I'm going to make some drinks," Charlotte said. "Hardin stay awhile, have a drink with us."
"Thanks," he said, putting the bag down. "But I have to-"
"Oh, have a drink for Pete's sake," Charlotte insisted.
"Cal sat down on the couch facing Carol. A silence fell, broken only by Charlotte at the bar.
Minutes later, Charlotte brought a tray of drinks and set them down on the cocktail table. She handed Cal and Carol each a glass. "Cheers," she said.
"Cheers," repeated Cal.
"No toast, Carol?" Charlotte asked.
"What? Oh. Oh, yes. Salute," she said, holding up her glass.
Charlotte turned to Cal. "Hardin, I've done a hell of a lot during my short stay in the big city. I've also got plans for buying some more land. You know, the Lazro place north of here and-" She cut herself off when she saw Cal looking at Carol. "Oh, but here I am bursting with business talk, and I'm boring you both."
"No. I was listening," Cal said.
"Me, too," Carol smiled. "Go on."
"Hell, why? Today's Sunday. We relax on the plantation on our one day off. I'll make us some more martinis." She got up and returned to the bar.
"Nothing much happened while you were gone, Charlotte," Carol said.
"That's good. It's when things do happen that I become worried," Charlotte laughed.
As she reached past the bar mirror for another bottle of vodka, she saw Carol's limpid eyes look to Cal. She turned away, then quickly turned back to the mirror. Was it her imagination? She saw Carol purse her lips and blow Cal a kiss.
Charlotte stood transfixed, the bottle in her hand, looking in the mirror, her back to them. Quickly she took control of herself, turned, and walked back to them.
"These things need a little more kick to them," she said idly, filling their glasses. She sat down on a chair and watched their profiles. "Yeah," she said. "It's when things do happen that I become worried."
Cal looked over to her.
"But I really never have to worry about anything with ole Cal Hardin, here. Do I Hardin?"
Cal's eyes dashed from hers to Carol's then back. "No-ah-no, you sure don't."
"See Carol?" Charlotte said, a sickening feeling rising in her stomach. "I can leave anytime and everything's the same when I get back." Now her stomach turned. She got to her feet. "I guess I'm a lot more tired than I thought," she said, her hand going to her forehead.
Carol's eyes quickly darted to Charlotte. Her mind started clicking. Charlotte had suddenly lost all her color ... she really did look tired. It didn't have to take a wall of bricks to fall on Carol to understand that Charlotte suspected. She had to offset this suspicion Charlotte had. How Charlotte knew was beyond her.
Carol got to her feet. "It's late, Cal. I guess we'll call it an evening."
"Don't let me break up-"
Carol cut into Charlotte's words. "See you, Cal."
Cal, rose, said good-night and left.
Upstairs, in her bedroom, Charlotte got undressed, threw the covers back and got into bed. Her head ached from the suspicions that began to eat through her. When she turned off the lamp light, she heard the bedroom door open. Then she felt the covers being pulled back, and a weight against the mattress and then she felt Carol's warm body pressing against hers.
"I've missed you so," Carol whispered, her mouth finding Charlotte's.
Whatever Charlotte suspected downstairs was now wiped clean from her mind. Maybe Carol had only flirted with Cal Hardin, she thought. Perhaps nothing had happened after all.
"Oh! baby, baby," Charlotte muttered. "You feel so good ... so good."
One thing for sure, Charlotte Watts decided: She would not leave Carol alone on the plantation ever again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For the next two weeks Carol kept her distance from Cal Hardin. If she saw him coming in her direction she would purposely avoid him. She never ventured near his cabin. She was conspicuously absent when Charlotte passed out the paychecks in her office. She was wise enough to realize Charlotte was looking for little signals, anything that would betray the slightest recognition between her and Cal.
In this short space of time Carol came to understand that she owed Charlotte some sense of loyalty-no matter how contrived. She fully concentrated on her work, driving herself endlessly, making herself as helpful to Charlotte as she possibly could.
She typed volumes of legal work, took endless dictation, filed for hours at a time, made out paychecks, and, when there was no more work, she found other areas where she could be helpful to Charlotte. Whatever Charlotte demanded of her, Carol gave. Every time she went into town she'd return with some silly gift for Charlotte to make her laugh. Anything to lessen Charlotte's suspicions.
Strangely, because of all this, understanding and affection grew between the two. Bound by guilt at first, Carol slowly discovered she was deeply fond of the older woman, and she realized her real purpose for being where she was, for having accepted the rich, new, easy life Charlotte had bestowed upon her.
She was learning-and after all, this was exactly what she wanted. Her life had begun to take on a new shape, a genuine direction. She liked school, the teachers, the other pupils. She reveled in keeping the hectic school and work schedule going full force. Now, to Carol, her life seemed idyllic. There was no time to think of anything else-anything that might disrupt her newfound life.
Carol put another sheet of paper into the typewriter. After making a few corrections in the yellow note pad by her side, she proceeded to type.
From across the room, at her desk, Charlotte studied Carol.
Carol had slipped into a very comfortable living routine with her. Charlotte was surprised at the determination of the girl. She was also surprised at her own role.
For a long time now, Charlotte had been picking up after Carol, cleaning after her, and on cook's night off, even going so far as to prepare meals for the girl. A role unknown to her before. She liked taking care of Carol, and she had to admit the girl was a tremendous help to her.
Yet, in spite of all this, Charlotte felt a restlessness about the girl. Though she seemed to enjoy school and her work, Carol seemed to regard her stay at the plantation as something temporary. It wasn't anything the girl said; it was purely what Charlotte read into it.
As far as Charlotte was concerned, she wanted to be with this girl forever.
Deeply in love with the girl, she came to the point where she was almost too possessive of her. She realized there had been some kind of hanky-panky between Carol and Cal-purely speculation on her part, of course-but she also realized that Carol had more than made up for that slip. And that's what she considered it-a slip. Carol was young and beautiful, and men were bound to be attracted to her. There were plenty of men besides Cal running around loose on the plantation. She couldn't stop them from flirting, much as she loathed that kind of competition.
After much thought, she finally had arrived at a decision. If she wanted to be sure of keeping Carol to herself, then she had better do something about it. She had to put a purpose behind this affair-make it strong-secure-important!
Looking at the girl now, Charlotte wanted to reach out and clasp her hand. Her gaze rested on the firm, audacious breasts. Strange. Carol's face, almost more than her figure, was frankly sexual. Her distinctive flashing eyes, even in their innocence, seemed to be issuing an invitation.
That was it in a nutshell. Men must think this. Men like Cal. Would that happen again? She really couldn't be sure-unless-
"Carol?"
"Mmmmm?" the girl said, busily erasing a typographical error.
"Are you happy here?"
"Sure. Why?"
"I want to know."
"Why wouldn't I be happy?" Carol asked, lighting a cigarette.
"Are you happy all the way around?"
"Yes," Carol answered without hesitation.
Charlotte watched as the girl resumed her work. Right now Charlotte felt secure in their relationship, but how long would that last? She would be very smart if she insured its lasting. And if she did what she was thinking of doing, it would put Carol in her debt.
"You know," she interrupted Carol's work. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. I like the way you work, and I like the way you absorb things. You catch on quick. You have an instinct about this kind of work. You're very smart-bright."
Carol tilted her head and smiled. "Why, thank you, Miss Charlotte," she kidded in an affected Southern accent.
"When we first met, you told me you wanted to make something out of your life. You wanted security and you were willing to work hard for it. That was commendable. But it's hard-very hard. Well-I've decided I'd like to help you do just that."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you should go to college."
"How?"
"I'll send you. Maybe next year. Would you like that?"
"Would I like it?" she asked, her face breaking into a smile.
"And there are other things. I can give you that something else. That security you want and deserve. Long-lasting security. I want you to really learn the tobacco business, Carol. I mean that. Learn it all the way around." She smiled. "You see, you may end up owning it all."
Carol stared at Charlotte. Was she being serious ?
"What do you say to that?"
"I don't know what to say," Carol answered.
"Just realize, Carol, I'm looking out for you. I can give you everything you want and need in life. Things you could never have no matter what kind of an education you had. You see, Carol, to have all this-this plantation-takes many, many years to achieve. It's three generations that built this up. I can hand it right over to you."
"You want to give me this?"
"No. I want you to inherit it. But you must know about it. Prepare for it. Work for it. Appreciate it."
"You ... you really do love me, don't you?" She jumped up and moved to Charlotte's side.
"I'm not one to tempt you, Carol. There are people who might do that, but I intend to do things for you right now. like college. like turning over stock in your name, bonds and etcetera. Actions do speak louder than words. I intend to prove to you by my every act how much I love you and how much I want to keep that love."
What I don't intend to tell you Carol, is that with such an offer there would be too much at stake for you to ever think of cheating. Money can buy anything-even love.
"How come you're so good to me?" Carol whispered, kissing Charlotte on the cheek.
"Because I truly do love you," she answered.
And because you know about Cal, Carol thought. And because you want to hold on to me. Still she had never, never for one instant dreamed that the rewards could be so high. What Charlotte wanted in return was so small a price to pay ... for such tremendous stakes.
When she felt Charlotte's lips against her own, she wrapped her arms around the woman and felt her fall back against the window. Carol returned the woman's frenzied kisses, all the time keeping her gaze over Charlotte's shoulder. Now, for the first time, she looked at the acres and acres of newly planted green tobacco with a new eye. Here, from the window, she could see the vast expanse of rich land. Could this really be true? Would this one day be mine? Did Charlotte really mean it? Maybe it's tip to me to make sure that Charlotte meant it!
"You know I never thought it could happen to me, Charlotte," she whispered against the woman's ear. "But it has."
"What, Carol?"
"This feeling I have." She brushed her lips against the woman's cheek.
"What are you saying, Carol?"
"I'm saying that I love you."
"Oh, Carol," Charlotte breathed.
Carol brought Charlotte's chin toward her to gaze into her eyes. "See? It did happen," she said, her voice soft, her lips moving against
Charlotte's lips. From the window Carol could see outside, walking toward the house, the hulking figure of Cal approaching. She hugged Charlotte closer to her then, reached up and pulled down the shade, shutting him from her sight.
Charlotte took the gesture personally. She smiled at Carol, pulled away, went to the door and latched it. "Just in case," she whispered, pulling her dress over her head.
Carol's eyes slanted. Her hands reached for the zipper of her sweater.
Seconds later Carol stood before Charlotte legs apart, nude, and shockingly wanton. Her hands cupped her own full-formed breasts in an offering to Charlotte.
Charlotte reached for the mounds of flesh, her trembling hands working over the tips.
"Oh, darling, you're so beautiful," she said, kissing the girl. "So very beautiful." Passion surged through her as her lips traveled over soft flesh leaving a tickling passion in its wake.
Burning, slashing detonation vaulted them into uncontrollable frenzy as their gyrating bodies sank to the floor. With a soft sigh, Carol opened her legs permitting Charlotte's hand to slide between, probing, caressing, demanding. Charlotte brought her head down, her hands forcing the girl's thighs even further apart.
Carol lay back, permitting Charlotte to do with her as she wished. Her body rocked, her face twisted in wild abandon. She pulled her gaze away from Charlotte beneath her, let her head fall back and pressed her eyes closed and willed the image of Cal Hardin to appear.
Now her breath came in short, hard gasps. She held onto Cal's image. This was Cal beneath her ... his big, hairy arms around her, his scraping beard against her inner thigh, his hungry mouth eagerly working. She spread her thighs wider apart, wanting her femaleness to consume the woman below. She shoved her body up to Charlotte's face. An intake of breath, then Carol fell back against the carpeted floor, excited beyond control, gasping out her joy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Carol chewed on the end of her thumbnail. Swiftly she rose and walked to the window of her bedroom. "I won't look" she whispered. "I won't." But she did.
Hiding herself to the side of the window she inched her face to the edge and looked out at the pool area.
He was wearing tightly hugging shorts-nothing else. His slender, erect body glowed in the early morning sunlight. When he moved he did so with an agile grace, holding the skimmer in his hands, scooping up debris from the pool.
He had replaced the other pool-cleaning man. She had first seen him a week ago, when he drove the truck up past the house.
Her eyes hooked onto the boy's face, and at that moment the blonde Adonis looked up. Their glances crossed. Quickly she pulled away from the window. She waited a moment, and, when the boy resumed working, she looked again.
The light mass of hair curled crazily around his muscular chest. Her gaze fixed on his handsome face: his nose was tilted and narrow with flaring nostrils; he had a strong, wide mouth. Her look went to his shoulders: tight, thick muscles corded like rope as he motioned in work. His near-naked body excited her. The dark silken skin, the bulging, vibrant muscles made her catch her breath. She wanted so desperately to run her hand over his muscle-knotted belly, trace the outline of his tight shorts to his bulge underneath.
Carol's mind was a tumult of confusion. She questioned her feelings and tried to fight the unnamed emotional pangs surging through her; but she didn't try hard enough.
The boy looked about him, then put down the suction hose and turned off the motor. He stood facing the pool for an instant, then dived. He tore far and deep into the water, swam in quick, easy strokes across the pool, then climbed out. The sunlight caught the blonde gleam of his hair. This time he went to the diving board, jumped up into the air with feline agility, somersaulted, straightened his body out and cut cleanly through the water. The muscles of his back and shoulders rippled as he swam. When he climbed out of the water, he was smiling, his shell-white teeth gleaming. Wringing the water from his long hair, he sat down on the ground and hugged his knees with his arms. Then he lay on his back, his knees up and spread.
Carol stared at the strained shorts, her eyes opening wider at the outline of his dangling heaviness. She wondered if he was any bigger than Cal. A trembling surged through her as she turned from the window, stepped out of her slip and reached for her bikini.
Charlotte had gone to look at the new land she bought. Cal and Abraham, the foreman, had gone with her, They wouldn't be back for hours. There was no one about, not even the cook. The ranch hands were busy on the fields, she could see their silhouettes in the distance.
She was alone.
Slowly, tentatively, she allowed her thoughts to explore her own desires, her own urges. A clear image of the lean boy's body appeared, the moving muscles of his buttocks as he strode around the pool rippled through her mind. The pounding of her heart seemed to fill the room, and she felt a deep stirring. But just as quickly her eyes raced to the bureau and the bankbook. She thought of the stocks that were to be turned over in her name this week.
You're playing with fire, she told herself.
Again her thoughts returned to the blonde boy. It would only take a little while. A little while with that Herculean body burning into hers. A little while for this mounting frenzy, this thing that threatened to choke her-to be released.
She got into her bikini, took another look out of the window to make sure no one was around, then quickly left her room and hurried down the stairs. The sunlight sparkled on her long body as she walked to him.
"Hi," she greeted.
He lifted himself up and hugged his knees, his eyes widening in surprise.
She didn't miss the glint in his eye. When he looked at her breasts his nostrils flared, and his lips pulled back in a wide, strong smile. "Hi," he returned. "Where'd you come from?"
"I live here," she said, her eyes gazing lazily, pensively.
He scrambled to his feet. "I was only resting for a second," he explained.
"Oh, relax," she said. "I couldn't care less."
Nevertheless, the boy walked to his gear.
Carol watched him, admiringly, her eyes fixed on his firm behind. As he turned, her eyes darted up to his and in that one instant they both knew why she was here, standing before him in a tiny, red bikini.
Walking to the edge of the pool, she sat down, dangling her feet in the water. Seconds later, after he had stowed his supplies, he was at her side, sitting on his haunches.
"Was that you I saw at the window?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said dryly. "Me."
"Oh," he said, swallowing hard.
She turned, her eyes on his belly hair. Her finger pointed against his chest, and she made little circular motions around his pectoral muscles. "You're a big boy," she whispered.
He felt a sudden rush of fury knot in his stomach when he gazed at the fullness of her breasts beneath the tight bikini top, the tips of her nipples definitely outlined against the material. He watched her as, rising, she walked around the pool's edge, his eyes glued to the sensuous movement of her swinging arms and legs. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and looked around. There, to the left, was a high bush. His eyes returned to her.
Carol raised her arms behind her head and closed her eyes against the sun's rays. She took a deep breath and felt the two firm mounds of her breasts lift and tremble beneath the tight cloth.
"I'm hot," she murmured.
"What?"
Dropping her arms to her sides, she turned to him. "I said, I'm hot."
"Yeah ... it's hot," he said, bringing his tongue out over his dry lips.
"You hot?"
"Yes," he answered. She followed his gaze. It went to the high, green bush. "Be cooler there."
"Yeah," she whispered. "It will."
He watched her swaying rump until it disappeared behind the bush; then he looked around and followed her.
The top of her bikini lay on the grass. She was lying on her back, her heaving white breasts rolling and tossing as she moved her hips lazily from side to side.
"Hey," he whispered. "Hey, hey, hey." He felt the swelling happening below.
Carol watched, a smile on her face. "Why don't you wiggle out of that skimpy thing, and let's see if that matches the rest of you."
His hands pushed down his shorts.
Carol stared, fervor in her eyes.
He tugged and pulled at his shorts, then turned his back to her. She saw the fullness of one cheek as he rested one leg, and marveled at the muscular perfection of his buttocks. His smooth white behind glared against the deep tan of the rest of his body. He turned and faced her, completely naked. When he saw the look in her eye, his hardness lengthened slightly.
"Yeah, honey, it matches the rest of you. Don't move ... I want to look at you."
His hardness reached its full length as he stood without stirring, a grin on his face, enjoying the girl's lusty look.
"You want it?" he asked. "Or are you just going to look?"
Carol couldn't tear her eyes from the huge organ pointing eagerly outward. Quietly, carefully, she got to her feet and walked to him, her bare breasts thrust forward and trembling with each step she took. Sliding up to him, she pressed her soft belly against his hard-muscled stomach and gave him a kiss. He just stood there, accepted her kiss, returning nothing.
They stood silent, unmoving. Carol sank to her knees. It wasn't like Cal's-nobody's could be that big. But it was still gorgeous. "It's beautiful," she whispered. She touched it lightly-it swelled more.
The boy's chest heaved. "You really dig that thing, don't you?"
"I'll show you how much," she whispered, staring at the looming tumescence before her. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of it as her hands encircled him from behind, her fingers digging into the hairy warm cleft of his buttocks. She took the head with her lips...
The boy shoved into her, and she felt the throbbing organ pulsate in her mouth. The boy tensed and made short jabs into her mouth, rotating his hips in a circular motion, his movements, frenzied, eager.
Carol pulled back and rolled away on the soft grass. She closed her eyes, her hips moving, her breasts quivering in the golden sunlight. When she opened them, he was standing over her.
Sinking to his knees, he buried his face in her soft mounds, and Carol held him to her, grinding her thighs and breasts against him. His hands took her breasts, twirled her nipples around, his fingers squeezing the tender flesh. Her breath came fast. She gave him her lips. She opened her mouth, then bit hard into his lip, bringing a taste of blood into his mouth. The fragrant, spicy, perfumed magnetism of her hot, firm body made him pant with desire. Her tongue searched the darkness of his mouth as his hands went under her hips. She moaned and panted as he brought her body to his, her belly grinding furiously against his, his fingers digging into the fleshy globes of her buttocks, then steering her body deftly.
Carol whimpered and writhed as he plunged into her. She arched her body to meet his thrusts. "Say something to me," she cried. "Something lousy-something nasty-something you'd never say to a woman." Her hot breath blew against his face, her perspiring body beat against his.
"Open up wider, you bitch," he whispered, his body thrusting into hers.
Grabbing his back, she pulled him tighter against her thrashing hips.
"More," she cried. "Say something really dirty to me."
"Open up that box, you sweet, lovable bitch-"
"Nastier," she cried. "Tell me what you're doing to me."
"I want to rip you wide open. I want you to feel my flaming-hot, throbbing tool all the way up you-"
"More ... more!" Now she was begging, sobbing, lunging her body up to his, grasping, crying out for all of his manhood.
"I'm going to sink this prick of mine so deep inside of you that you'll feel it in you for days. You'll beg me to screw you ... you'll call me up and beg me."
She gasped, she moaned, she clawed his back raw with her long fingernails, and the more she thrust her hips upward the more he drove deeper until she screamed.
With eyes closed, he plunged his sweaty body into her until he felt his frame shudder with an explosion.
She kissed his mouth with trembling lips, all the while gasping and clawing his back. She wasn't ready; but she held him to her, feeling him drain into her being, and then, suddenly, a pained cry burst from her lips. Her head thrashed from side to side, her eyes opened wide and her head fell back against the soft grass as her body quivered, then trembled, then drained with a surging release.
The boy reached over to his shorts and searched the back pocket for his cigarettes. "Hey, baby," he told her. "You can surprise me anytime I come here. And about that call, I'll give you the telephone number. I'll be here the minute you want it." He lit a cigarette and looked at her. She was lying on her back staring up at the sky. His eyes roamed over her naked curves. "Yeah, baby. Anytime you want this, you just call Acme Pool Company." He moved closer to her. "You're a wild piece," he whispered.
Carol turned to him, her face expressionless. She saw his manhood slowly rising again. Reaching up, she took the cigarette from his lips. She brought the lighted end down, smashing the burning head into his thigh.
The boy yelled in pain. He sprang to his feet and stared at her in disbelief. "What--? "
"Get the hell out of here," she muttered. "I never want to see you around here again."
"You little bitch. I-"
"Look! One word from me about the way you forced me into the bushes and."
"Forced?"
"Yeah," she smiled. "Forced!" The smile was more of a sneer.
The boy struggled into his shorts and, without even looking at her; parted the bushes and gathered up his gear.
Carol fell back onto the grass and covered her eyes with her arms. What the hell is happening to me? she asked herself. Every time I see a good-looking man, I want him. I've got to stop. I've got to. If Cal had caught me just now, God knows what he would have done to me. Or Charlotte-that would have been worse. What in hell am I doing? Am I deliberately trying to get myself murdered"!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charlotte reached down to adjust her hose.
"Anyway," she said, "I've got good legs." She laughed out loud.
Carol, watching her dress, looked at the woman's legs.
"No comment?" Charlotte asked.
"You're getting plump," Carol told her.
The smile left Charlotte's face. For a quick instant she hated the girl for her youth and looks, however, the smile returned. "It's middle-age spread," she said. "What brings on your hostility this fine, bright morning?"
Carol said nothing.
Charlotte wiggled into her blouse. "You are acting strange, you know. You're so damn restless. You've been smoking up a storm."
Carol ground the cigarette she was smoking into the ashtray. The gesture reminded her of the previous day when she jabbed the cigarette into the pool boy's thigh.
"Nothing's the matter,'" she shrugged.
"Something happen yesterday while I was away?"
"No."
"Well then, what? "
"Oh, leave me alone, Charlotte."
Charlotte looked at Carol, then shrugged. "Let's have our breakfast and get some work done," she said, leaving the room.
The rest of the day dragged on and, try as she might, Carol could not offset the oppression that engulfed her. She avoided Charlotte's glances, spoke little and was furious with herself for making typing mistakes all day long.
For the first time Carol looked at Charlotte with great suspicion. Now, working with Charlotte, she felt tight inside-tight and possessed. Feeling this way infuriated her. She hated knowing that Charlotte could reach over at her own choosing and take her lips. She felt trapped, uncomfortable and resentful. How dare this woman take her for granted? How dare she buy her? In spite of everything Charlotte had done-was doing-it was all for Charlotte's good. Oh, she benefited, too; but the price for her was high. She was Charlotte's prisoner-a love prisoner. It was as simple as that, and she didn't like it. Didn't like it one damn bit!
What was so crazy about the whole thing was that she, Carol Lord, was trapped with a lesbian-and for how long? A year? Two years? The rest of Charlotte's life? The rest of her own life, perhaps?
Why couldn't it have been a man? It would have been different then. With a man she knew she could remain true. Men were all-satisfying. A woman was okay for a little while, but then one found things missing.
Yet-would one man really be able to satisfy her? Now that was a stupid question for her to ask herself. After all, the reason she'd been so promiscuous was because she didn't have a steady man.
You're a liar! a small voice inside her said.
"Carol, is there something wrong with the typewriter or is your mind rambling?" Charlotte asked.
"What's the matter?"
"Everything. Mistakes galore. This report has to be typed all over again." She handed Carol the papers. "Carol?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong? You seem so strange today?"
"I ... I don't feel well. I have a headache."
Charlotte opened her desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. "Here, I'll get you a glass of water."
"I don't want any."
"Nonsense," Charlotte got up and walked to the bathroom. "It'll help your headache."
"I said I don't want any!"
Charlotte stopped in her tracks. "Carol? Why are you shouting?"
"You're enough to make anyone shout. You with your nine-to-five schedule, your meticulous, clinical ways, your demands, your orders-I'm sick of it."
Charlotte stared, her eyes wide with concern.
"I'm tired of a lot of other things, too. You don't just come grabbing me when you want me. Hear? I'm not your slave. There's a lot of things I'm not, even though you think-"
"Carol!" Charlotte looked at the almost hysterical girl. "You're trembling. Oh, Carol." She went to the girl. "You aren't well. I'm sorry. I should have realized."
"I-I'll be all right," Carol mumbled, pulling away from Charlotte's touch.
"Look. Why don't you take the day off? Go on outside in the warm sun. Go for a ride or take a walk." Charlotte shook her head. "It's the tension, Carol. I know that. It's the tension. You've been driving yourself too hard."
Carol got to her feet. "Yeah. Maybe you're right. That's what it is, I guess. I think I will go for a ride. I'll saddle up Smoky." At the door she turned back. "I-I really didn't mean to say all those things-I mean I-"
"Don't say another word, Carol. I understand." Charlotte watched Carol leave, then stared at the closed door. "I understand, Carol," she whispered.
Every time she left Carol alone on the plantation there seemed to be a change in the girl when she returned. And the change was long-lasting. This morning Carol literally resented her. The torrent of words-accusations really-that tumbled from Carol's lips were very revealing. So that's the way Carol felt.
What the hell had gone wrong? Wasn't she giving Carol everything she needed? Need ... want ... need ... want. There was a difference. All right then, what did Carol want?
like a puzzle set before her, she began to put the parts together, piecing a picture of the previous day. It had to be someone. A man? It had to be a man to make Carol feel so damn guilty, to bring on the headache, to make her feel bitter, resentful. But who? Who could it be? Cal had been with her. So had young Abraham. These were the only two men-attractive men, on the ranch. The field hands? No, most were old and worn. But the girls Cal had hired, there were two or three of them who were quite attractive, working in the fields. Could it have been one of them? Oh, but Carol couldn't-wouldn't. Or would she?
I can't protect Carol from the world, and I can't permit myself to think this way. I must not be suspicious and calculating, and possessive. Why not? Of course I can. I can, because I love Carol, I want to keep Carol, and because I desperately need Carol.
You protect things you love-people you love. You protect them for yourself and you watch over them, and, when they are as young as Carol, you mold them, cut off the past, dig out the temptations and shape them in your own image ... and sometimes you protect them from themselves ... and Carol needed protection.
Charlotte picked up a pencil and made circular marks around a page of figures. Carol was bothered by-something, and that something was here on the plantation. She would have to find out what it was.
The muffled trotting sound of a horse made Charlotte look up from her work. Rising, she went to the window and saw Carol on Smoky heading up the bridle path toward the pond.
Carol would bear watching! Charlotte left the window and returned to her desk.
At the pond, Carol got off the horse and led him to the water where he lowered his head and drank. She then tied him to a bush and walked along the pond's edge. Lazily, she flung herself down on the grass and squinted up at the sun.
Carol realized she had made another mistake. She should never have said those things to Charlotte. It would only make her suspicious. But the words just kept coming out. It was wrong. She had suppressed her true feelings about the woman-she realized that now. Suppressed them, accepted Charlotte's generosity and love for her own benefit. In short, she was a phony. She wanted to have her cake and eat it, too.
Her thoughts were broken by the sound of giggling. Carol brought herself up, turned toward the direction of the sound and listened closely. Again the laughter sounded in the distance. She got to her feet and made her way toward the sounds.
Lowering herself, she slid down a rock and walked toward the tall bushes. The voices were quite clear now. There was a loud, slapping sound followed by a squeal.
Carefully, quietly, Carol parted a side of the bush and looked.
There were two girls and Abraham, the foreman. They were all naked. One of the girls, the dark-haired one, was short, robust, her oversized breasts thrusting forward heavily. In contrast, the other girl was blonde and tall, her firmly erect breasts uptilted and capped by large pink nipples. Abraham stood over the girls, his legs parted, his hands on his hips, the muscles of his back and buttocks strongly outlined, his dark body gleaming in the sunlight.
He knelt, his back to Carol. She could see the heavy, loose testicles almost touching the grass. She didn't want to look-she certainly had stumbled upon this by accident-but there it was for her to see as big as life.
"Honey, don't you ever give that thing any rest?" the short girl asked.
"You know about young Abraham," the blonde giggled.
"No, tell me," the other girl said.
"He can go eight times in a row. And I can vouch for that." She held her arms out, beckoning to him.
Abraham took the girl's hands and brought her up to him. He kissed her, then scooped her up and lowered her to the grass.
Carol held her breath. He was facing her now. Her eyes widened in lust when she saw his manhood. He fell over the blonde girl, and she laughed, playfully struggling as he tried to kiss her. Then his lips found her mouth, and she stopped struggling. Her arms reached up and entwined his neck, crushing him to her.
"Hey, you two," the other girl called. "We only got ten minutes left for lunch. Ain't you going to eat?" The couple ignored her. "Well, I'm hungry." She unwrapped a sandwich and bit into it.
The blonde girl wrapped her legs around Abraham's waist.
"Abraham," she whispered, her steamy buttocks rising up from the grass. "Do it to me good ... real good."
Watching, Carol felt a frustrated passion in her. She saw the young, dark body take the girl, saw them fall back on the soft grass, their naked bodies glistening in the sun's rays. She heard the blonde girl cry out her pleasure as Abraham's powerful body dug into her in long thrusts. The girl stiffened then relaxed then fell back with a moan. They lay that way for a few minutes, then Abraham got to his feet, the great penis now limp between his dark thighs. He turned to the other girl.
"Oh, no you don't," the girl said. "Once is enough!"
Carol swallowed hard.
"Come on, we got to get back to work," the short girl said.
Abraham threw himself on the grass, covering his eyes from the sun. The girl's panties lay in the grass next to him. He reached for them then threw them up to the blonde. She smiled down at him and dressed.
"See you tomorrow, same place, same time," the blonde told Abraham.
"Right," he said.
The blonde leaned down and rubbed her cheek against his hairless chest. "Tomorrow," she said. "I can't wait." Then she got up joined her friend and they strolled up a narrow path.
Abraham rose, dressed, and returned to the fields.
Quietly, carefully, Carol crept away and made her way back to the horse. She glanced at her watch. It was twelve-thirty. The ranch hands had a half hour for lunch. That meant the girls would be back tomorrow at twelve.
She climbed on top of the horse and turned him around.
A smile crept over her lips. She would be here tomorrow at eleven-thirty. A half hour before the girls arrived.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Carol tied the horse to a tree then walked to the circle of bushes. She spread the blanket on the ground and wiggled out of her riding trousers and shirt. She unsnapped the bra and her breasts swung crazily free. Then she rolled down her panties and stepped out of them. She glanced at her watch. It was exactly eleven-thirty.
She threw herself down on the blanket, her arms at her side and closed her eyes from the sun's rays.
It would look perfectly natural, she thought. I was horseback riding and decided to take some sun in the nude in a desolate spot protected from prying eyes.
There was a rustle of bushes and a twig snapped. Carol pressed her eyes closed tight and desperately tried to control her breathing.
"Oh," he said.
She opened her eyes, shot up and quickly reached for her shirt, shielding her nakedness with it. "Abraham," she whispered, her face screwed up in surprise.
"I didn't know you were here, Miss Carol," he apologized.
His eyes swept over her. He wasn't wearing a shirt, only Levi's. The hair of his stomach glinted from the sun's rays. He swallowed with difficulty, unable to tear his eyes from her bare legs.
She lowered the shirt exposing her fleshy globes. "Well, you saw what I've got," she whispered. "No use hiding it from you."
"Sorry, ma'am," he said. He turned and made a gesture to leave.
"Where you going, Abraham?"
He didn't answer.
"Turn around, Abraham," she told him.
He did. She looked into his handsome, dark face; the piercing brown eyes, the full mouth.
"I don't mind you being here. As a matter-of-fact I'm sort of glad."
She saw the bulge begin to grow in the crotch of his tight Levi's.
"Come on over here and sit by me."
"Thank you, ma'am-but I have to go."
"I know better, Abraham."
"No, really, ma'am-"
"Come here, Abraham," she commanded.
He went to her.
She looked up at his hulking figure. Her hand reached up and traced the outline of his form in the Levi's. She felt it swell.
"Take them off," she said.
"Look, Miss Carol, we ... I can't do this. I mean you being-"
"Take them off, Abraham." Her hand went to the buttons of his Levi's.
He pushed her hand away.
"No!" He said it loudly, firmly.
She got to her feet. Her gaze took in his smooth, powerful arms and his stomach muscles. She walked up to him and brushed her finger across his lips. Her eyes flitted downward. The swelling below pushed insistently against the faded Levi's. She brought her body close to him and shoved her thighs against his hardness; then suddenly, fiercely, she embraced him, her lips seeking his body, kissing, caressing: his chest, his muscular arms, his thick, firm neck.
He stood motionless, like a statue.
She reached down and took his big hands and put them on her hips.
"I can't, ma'am. You know that. I know it."
"There's nothing to be afraid of. I won't tell. Your job is always safe-you know that."
"I've been here a long time and Miss Charlotte-likes me, and I aim to remain here, Miss Carol." His glistening, handsome face was intense and concentrated when he looked at her.
"You're afraid," she shouted. "You're a coward."
He pushed a hand through his tightly curling hair. 'It's not that, not that at all. I just don't aim to mess with you."
"Would you rather mess with those cheap floozies that work in the fields? They can't even speak proper English. I'm sure they don't even know what soap is supposed to be used for. What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing, Miss Carol."
"Stop calling me that!"
He backed away from her.
She went to him and threw her arms around him, pushing her lips against his, trying to force her tongue between his clenched teeth. She brought her hand down, quickly unbuttoned his fly and slid her fingers inside. She grasped his thick, trembling penis.
"Oh," she sighed, her eyes closed, her breath fast. Waves of dizziness took hold of her, and she fell against him.
Still he didn't move. Still he stood like stone. Still be blocked his feelings.
"Damn you!" she shrieked. "Kiss me back! Hold me in your arms!"
He stared past her, his face expressionless as she clasped his manhood, worked her hand up and down. With her other hand she unbuttoned him completely, slid the Levi's down past his dark, slim hips, freeing them to fall to his ankles. She looked at his brown, strong thighs and embraced him fully. She brought her hands up to his face and held him there, mashing her mouth against his thick lips, shoving her hips into him, begging him to love her.
He remained still.
Pulling away from him, she stared. Then she tried again. She kissed his ear, darting her tongue in and out and trailing her wet kisses in back of his ear, down the side of his neck to his mouth where she outlined his soft lips with her eager tongue.
He remained passive, permitting her to do with him as she wished. He did not move an inch.
"You louse!" she whispered in his ear. Falling to her knees, she kissed the throbbing hardness, running her tongue over and under the head. Suddenly she looked up at him, reached under and cupped his full testicles. A twisted smile flickered across her lips. She squeezed him-hard.
Still he didn't move, only his eyes betrayed the pain he felt.
Angrily she scrambled to her feet. She lifted her hand and slapped him across his cheek. He didn't move a muscle.
"I can say you tried to rape me," she whispered, her face inches from his, but only his eyes flinched. "One word from me and out you go."
Silence.
She shrugged and walked away from him. She settled on top of the blanket. On her back, past her upraised, spread legs, she looked at his towering, dark, glistening manliness. There were beads of perspiration around his forehead.
"Okay," she whispered. Her hand slid down over her breasts, past her stomach, along her hips to the blonde forest below.
He appeared to be staring past her, but Abraham saw every tempting movement she made.
Her gaze went to his still swollen masculinity. Her fingers sank into the softness of her inner thigh. "Have it your own friggin' way." She started to tremble. "Damn you!" she cried. "Damn you to hell!"
Carol butted her cigarette and climbed into bed. She hadn't gone down for dinner even at
Charlotte's insistence, keeping to her room the entire day and evening.
The event with Abraham had set her to thinking. She had humiliated herself in front of the man. She asked herself why? and came to the conclusion that the motivations for this were to be found deep inside the recesses of her mind. Try as she might she could not understand her actions. Why? Why was she behaving so badly? It baffled her. The manner in which she was seeking sexual satisfaction was frightening her. It mirrored the darker part of herself, the evil part. The part she dared not even think about. Was she deliberately seeking self-destruction?
She looked around the room. The four walls of the bedroom were beginning to shrink. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she felt tremendous guilt for being kept by Charlotte. Would it be different with a man? Would it really?
She sighed deeply, reached over and picked up a magazine. She got into bed and idly glanced at the ads and photographs.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in, Charlotte," she said, looking up.
The door opened, and Charlotte came into the room.
"I saw the light and thought I'd come in for a second."
Carol put the magazine down.
"Sure you don't want a sandwich or something?"
Carol shook her head.
"Where were you all day?"
"Out riding."
"By yourself?"
"No. With the cook."
Charlotte ignored the sarcastic answer. "Missed you at the office," she told the girl.
"I didn't feel like working. I haven't felt like working-"
"For days now," Charlotte completed the sentence.
"Yeah, for days."
"I miss your visits to my room."
"I'm not up to it, Charlotte."
"So, I thought I'd come to yours."
"Grab a magazine and join the reading festival."
"I can think of something more exciting."
"Oh, Charlotte."
"Why not speak the truth. Hell, you know why I came in here."
"Lightning doesn't have to strike."
"I want to sleep with you. Nothing wrong with that." She reached over and turned off the lamp. "I want to hold you in my arms," she whispered.
Carol heard the rustling of clothing as Charlotte disrobed. Suddenly she thought of Abraham-of his hulking, dark, manly body. She thought of how she had kissed him, begged him to return her kisses, implored him to hold her, make love to her. Somehow, the frustration, the humiliation of her day with Abraham, suddenly excited her. When she felt Charlotte reach for her, she gave the woman her lips eagerly. She pressed her hot, bare loins against the woman, rubbing, clutching Charlotte to her.
Charlotte's exploring hands felt the large, pliant breasts, her fingers gently squeezed the tender tips.
"Do that to me, yeah," Carol moaned. "Do that."
Charlotte buried her face into Carol's long, golden hair, marveling at the fragrant perfume she found there. She drew the girl closer, clamping her arms about the girl's body, grinding her breasts against Carol's globes, her thighs wiggling against Carol's slender hips.
At first, the kiss was gentle, then it grew wilder as her tongue darted into Carol's mouth. Her mounting passion drove her endlessly, her mouth hungrily smothering the girl's. Suddenly she pulled back and got to her knees.
"What are you doing?" Carol asked.
"You'll see," she whispered hotly. Her hand reached under the bed.
"What's that you're reaching for?"
"You'll see," she repeated, putting the strap around her waist and fastening it.
"What is it?"
"You'll like it, Carol."
"You've been in my room. You put that ... that thing, under my bed. You had it all planned."
"That's right, Carol," Charlotte muttered against the girl's cheek.
Carol's hand reached for, and grasped, the rubbery tool.
"Lie back, baby," Charlotte urged.
Carol lay back, her hair spread about the pillow, her hands on Charlotte's hips.
"You'll like this, baby. I know." Charlotte's hands moved down to Carol's thighs and parted them. Slowly, firmly, she slipped the dildo into the girl. Her hands went under Carol's hips, pressing her body down onto the girl. Then she felt Carol sigh, and the girl's belly began to grind furiously against hers.
"Oh, yes, yes!" Carol cried. "Oh, do it to me! Do it good," she whispered, her mouth nibbling Charlotte's ear.
Charlotte felt the wild fury in the girl's love-making, a fury she had not experienced before. Grasping the two fleshy globes, she darted herself into the girl. She steered her body deftly and with each plunge she made, Carol groaned her pleasure.
"Oh, it's good ... good!" Carol cried.
Charlotte felt Carol arch her body and meet her every attack.
"Like that, like that!" the girl cried. "Don't stop ... ever!" She writhed and whimpered her delight.
Carol pulled Charlotte tighter against her thrashing hips.
"Now ... now ... now!" she cried.
Charlotte drove deeper; and when she heard the gasp of pleasure from Carol's throat, she closed her eyes and fell on top of the girl.
Now, just maybe, she thought, she had found what was missing in our relationship.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Charlotte applied the deodorant cream under her arm, the rotating movement bouncing her breasts rhythmically. Reaching for a bra, she got into it, snapped it, then quickly stepped into her pink panties.
She had to hurry. At least, she would lead all the others to believe that she was going to catch the one o'clock train for the one-thirty plane connection to New Orleans.
So far her plan was working. She smiled. It was so simple. She'd concocted this wild plan about a business trip-sudden emergency-on which, she'd informed everyone, she'd be gone for days.
In reality, she was not stepping off the plantation. Instead, she would sneak off to the cabin on the opposite side of the house, remain there out of sight until evening, and then she would be free to look. Nobody went to the dilapidated cabin anymore; she knew it would be a safe place to hide. She'd thought of the plan for days. The more Carol seemed to withdraw from her, the more tempted she became to set her plan in motion. Well, today was the day.
For a long time she'd trusted Carol purely on instinct. Obviously, she had been a damn fool. She was being taken, right down the line.
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders in weariness. She had tried everything with the girl. But the more she gave, the more Carol seemed to resent her. Ever since that night when she had stolen into her room and used the strap-and that was two weeks ago-Carol had avoided her. Every time she slipped into the girl's room, Carol would pretend she was asleep or use one excuse after another for not seeing her. Lately Carol had taken to wandering about the property at night. Charlotte had heard the girl slip out of the house. She could only imagine where she went.
There had to be someone Carol was seeing. Still it was hard for Charlotte to believe that. Why would Carol want to jeopardize everything for an affair-a one night stand? And it seemed ridiculous that Cal or Abraham or any of the hands would fool around with Carol-nobody would dare-they knew where they stood-and the house and everybody in it was off-limits to them. But there was someone-there had to be. It was up to her to find out who it was. Once she did this, she would eliminate that man, or woman, whatever it might be. If there were other upcoming attractions in Carol's life, she would do the same thing-eliminate. Through this process of elimination, Carol would soon realize it was impossible to escape Charlotte's firm hand, and the girl would be forced to stop her flirtations.
Charlotte got into her dress. She felt alone-so alone. Things had been going so well; but now, her whole life, her little world, had turned upside down. Carol avoided her at every turn, seldom came to dinner, skipped work for days at a time. Why was the girl showing her contempt?
What Carol had told her in the beginning, and the good times they'd shared all those months-the intimate, precious things they spoke about-were these all lies?
A sense of loneliness, of desperate isolation began to possess her. She shivered, folded her arms and hunched up her shoulders. Nothing in her life seemed to matter anymore. Without Carol there was no reason for being.
All she wanted from Carol was a sense of loyalty and some love. Carol mattered to her very much. She was obsessed by the girl, obsessed to the point of spying on her, forcing Carol to remain true to her, if need be.
Promiscuousness was separating them. And the girl's guilt was driving them apart. What caused promiscuousness? It was a man, or a girl like Carol, tired of her situation, unhappy, resentful. If Carol really was smart about it, she would ask herself why am I doing this? How much will it cost me? Promiscuity was a primitive feeling, Charlotte knew that, any kid in high school knew it. Everybody had this desire to run wild. But with knowledge, security and love, one did not need anyone else. Hadn't Charlotte given Carol security, love, a whole new life?
Now Charlotte asked herself the age-old question. Had Carol grown weary of her love?
If she had, then she would have to make the girl think of the other things, of what she would inherit.
She buckled a bracelet around her wrist and stepped back to look into the mirror.
Was Carol's thinking diffused? Or hers? Was their kind of love right? Hell, of course it was. There are thousands of people like me in the world-people like Carol. Sure, our kind of love was right. Besides, she thought, the stigma of taboo ... criminal act ... distortion ... which applied to male homosexuality never had really applied to women-and never would. Society was very tolerant of female homosexuality. It might be in to be a homo right now-but that too dies out-and women had always been safe as far back as biblical days. That alone meant a great deal in their favor. See? she told herself, there are things Carol doesn't know about.
Eventually they could be quite daring about it on the plantation. Besides, what the hell was she afraid of? She held the upper hand. She owned the plantation. She had millions!
"I'll take you to the depot."
Charlotte turned and saw Carol standing in the doorway.
"Oh, hello," she said. "No. I'm driving myself. I'll leave the car at the garage we use." Charlotte went for her bag.
"I'll get it for you," Carol said.
"Thanks."
Charlotte followed Carol out and down the stairs. When they got to the car in front of the house, Carol opened the back door of the Ford and put the suitcase on the back seat.
"Only one bag?" she asked. "I'm only going for a short time, three days."
"That means you'll be coming back on Thursday morning, right?"
"Yes." Charlotte got into the car.
"Charlotte?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry about the way I've been acting. I think when you get back I'll be myself again."
Charlotte started the motor. "Good-bye, Carol."
"See you Thursday," Carol called after the moving car.
She waited until the car was out of sight, then walked back to the house, feeling a strange fear of impending trouble. For the first time in her life, she felt a fear of death. She was afraid that she might die before she'd really begun to live....
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cal's breath was hard and fast against Carol's soft cheek. "Get out of them clothes," he whispered.
"Take 'em off," she teased.
He kissed a pulsating vein in the firm column of her throat. "You little bitch," he said. He reached for her chin, tilting her face up, pulling her to him. Their lips sealed.
She could smell the faint aroma of aftershave lotion on his damp face. His warm, muscular body crushed against her. She felt the strength in his hand as it groped for her thigh. He yanked her to him and kissed her hard, his tongue darting into her mouth. Slipping the straps of her dress from her shoulders, he unsnapped her bra, freeing her breasts. He smelled the scent of her body, the perfumed traces in her blonde hair. He lowered his head and opened his mouth over the pointed tips of her silken breast.
A shoulder shot forward as Carol uttered a sigh at the tickling sensation of his long eyelashes flitting across her mounds.
He looked into her eyes. His were wild with excitement: deep, dark, gleaming with lust; and in the pools of his pupils she saw her own reflection being swallowed whole.
He felt the sleek material of her dress, and his hands gripped the firm cheeks of her buttocks, pressing her toward him.
She felt him rub against her, and she gasped as he lifted her and brought her to him. She took his lips eagerly, then pulled back to stare at his naked body.
"You know," she whispered. "That's one of the things I'll always remember about you."
"What?" he grunted.
"This." Her fingers traced through the curly mass of black hair, down his belly, down to the deep, soft hair on his groin, between the muscular, hairy thighs, to the swelling bulk that was framed there.
"It's yours, babe," he told her. "Anytime you want the damn thing, it's yours."
Carol couldn't take her eyes from the swaying organ. She fondled him, her other hand reached under to grasp the heavy silken pouch. "It's so beautiful, Cal. So beautiful."
"You really like that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Then show me. Get out of that damn dress.
She shifted her weight, swung her feet off the bed and got up. Slowly she began to peel off her clothes. Finally, when she got down to her black, nylon panties, he reached over and his anxious hands tore the panties from her.
"Cal!"
"Oh, baby, baby," he whispered, his hands at the sides of her curvy hips. He brought his head down into the soft forest below. "Hell," he muttered, "I could eat you all night." He sank his face between her soft thighs, his flaming tongue darting into her.
Carol felt her knees crumble. His strong hands held her tight as he made passionate smacking sounds below.
She pulled his head up, and he got to his feet. They embraced, then he guided her to the bed where he lifted her in his arms and gently laid her down upon the soft sheets.
He took a cigarette and lit it, then settled on top of the bed and stared at her body.
Her blonde hair framed the beautiful oval face against the white pillow. Her heavy, black lashes cast a long shadow over her cheek.
A knockout, he thought, a real woman, with those slanted eyes, high cheekbones, that tilted nose and sensual mouth. He swallowed and caught his breath at the sight of the immense breasts-gleaming, glowing-and the soft, pink nipples. His eyes took in the velvet-smooth stomach, traveled the length of the tempting hips, past the long, slender, glossy legs, to the tips of her crinkled, rose-colored toes. Yeah, he thought, this babe really turns me on.
He bent over her. "What are you studyin' about, baby?"
There was a long silence. "Her," she said.
"What about her?"
"She's on to me, Cal."
His eyes widened.
She caught the look. "Oh, I don't think Charlotte knows it's you. She knows it's somebody. She knows I'm restless, and she knows I don't want her to touch me anymore."
"Kid, I told you to play it cool."
"I try. Believe me, I try. But I'm the one that lives in that big house with her, not you. It's tough, believe me. Every time she touches me I want to die."
"Yeah, but the stakes, baby. Think of what you can get."
"Hell," she said, "by the time I receive it, I'll be past needing it. Besides, there's me to consider. I mean, I can't force myself to do something I don't want to do."
"You liked it before."
"That was before I met you," she purred.
His eyes flashed darkly. "And the pool guy and Abraham."
Her body bolted upright in the bed.
"Yeah, I know," he told her. "Don't look so surprised. I know a hell of a lot about you. Men tell each other things. You scared holy hell out of Abraham. The guy has nothing but this job, and he was afraid you'd muck it up for him. He wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole." He laughed long and loud. "Which is just about what he claims he's got."
"Stop laughing," she said.
"Why? You're funny. Honey, you're a nympho. I can see you right now staring at Abraham's crotch-measuring it."
She raised her hand and slapped him across the cheek.
"You want to play rough again?" he asked in a tight voice.
She backed up against the pillows. "The way you treat me ... talk to me ... anybody listening would think I was ... what you said.
It's the way you think about me that gets me so mad."
"Nobody slaps me like that," he whispered, rising from the bed.
"You've had too much to drink," she told him. "Sit down and cool off."
He went to his trousers and loosened the belt from the loops.
"Cal," she muttered. "I didn't mean to slap you. You know that."
His lips curled back into a snarl as he advanced toward her.
"No, Cal! I won't do that again, I swear I won't!"
He stared down at her, the cigarette between his lips, his face contorted. His arm shot up, and he brought the belt down against her thighs.
"Cal!" she screamed. "Don't!"
Again his arm streaked up, then down, lashing across her hip.
Carol screamed in pain.
Cal curled the belt tighter around his hand, raised the belt and hurled it down across her upturned breasts. Carol lifted her hands to protect herself from another lash. She saw the belt blur down and felt it sting across her bare buttocks. Then her face, wild with pain, suddenly started to change. Her lips parted, her half-closed eyes were misty with tears, and she emitted little gasping sounds as she breathed. She straightened her body and got to her knees. No longer did she protect her breasts or any other part of her body. She turned to him, a look of contorted ecstasy on her face.
Again Cal lashed down with the black belt. Now he put more strength behind his aim. The strap made a slapping sound as it cut into Carol's soft flesh.
A moaning, guttural, animal-like cry tore from her throat, and she threw herself on her stomach exposing her curvy rump in rapture, offering it to be strapped. She grimaced in an agony of pleasure as the strap beat down on her buttocks.
Cal stopped, put out the cigarette and got on the bed. Throwing the belt aside he reached for her.
"Hey, baby, baby," he whispered, his lips running over the red streaks of her buttocks. "Was it the way you liked it, baby?"
She turned over and faced him. Tears welled in her eyes and she moaned.
"Was it the way I did it before? I hurt just enough, didn't I?" he asked. His caress was gentle.
"Yes, Cal," she breathed against his mouth. "Just the way I wanted."
He kissed her hard. "Oh, baby. You go the whole route. We're always finding out good things to do in bed. Oh, doll, I can't get enough of you."
She felt his jutting manhood against her thigh-felt it swell. She lay back against the pillows, spread her legs and waited.
Cal knelt before her.
Carol felt Cal's lips on her breasts, then his warm, moist tongue trailed down her stomach. Then a long finger probed, gently easing its way inward. She opened her thighs even more and felt him enter, gradually, slowly. She lay there trembling, then her arms reached up to his neck. She thrust forward and immediately was answered by a grinding push. She felt the hard belly hit the softness of her own. She reached up and kissed his eyes, his lips, his bearded cheek. She ran her hands down his hard, strong arms and swelling chest to his slim hips. Now she was panting harder, her body writhing, as she felt his rough, calloused hands circling her breasts. He squeezed the tips of her nipples and kneaded the silken skin. She cried out for him to take her. Her breasts were heaving as her body thrashed about. Her whole body shuddered and surged toward him, her fingers entwining his coal-black hair; clutching, pulling, twisting.
Cal felt sweat pouring from his body with each thrusting movement. He caught her lips, his teeth gnawing, his tongue plunging, twisting.
"Now ... now!" she cried out, crushing herself against his sinewy body. Her firm, pliant, almost boneless torso stretched out in complete surrender. Then she surged upward, her sharp teeth biting into the muscles of his arm, her long fingernails piercing like needles along his back.
Marshaling every muscle of his body, he imprisoned her. His strong legs clamped together over her frame; only the tips of his toes touched the bed. He heard the deep, coarse, almost cruel sound come tearing from her throat. This was it-the payoff.
The moment came-the miraculous, violent, uncontrollable passion came, and Carol's sobs cut the silence of the bedroom, dying to a soft murmuring as her laboring body, now spent, sank into the lethargy of contentment.
Later, Cal lit a cigarette and handed it to her. After a few puffs she handed it back to him. He put his arm around her shoulders and lay on his back next to her.
Carol rose, leaned over and rested her weight on her arm. She ran a finger around the outline of his lips.
Then she heard the noise.
It wasn't a loud noise, but it was an important sound. like the snapping of a twig. Her eyes darted to the window. The shadowy figure she saw startled her enough to force a small cry from her throat.
Cal shot upright, looked at her, then quickly turned to the window.
"What was it?" he asked.
"Cal," she whispered, fright written across her face. "I think it was Charlotte!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Charlotte, pulled back from the window. She had seen it all.
Quickly she turned and, on unsteady legs, made her way past the bushes and low-hanging tree branches to the dirt road leading to the stables. Blinding, burning tears gushed from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.
It was true. All of her suspicions were true. It was like a nightmare-a horrible nightmare from which there was no awakening.
"Carol," she whispered from painfully dry lips. "Why? Why?"
Carol's words kept coming at her like rapid machine gun fire: "I don't want her to touch me anymore. Every time she touches me I want to die ... to die ... to die."
Charlotte opened the stable door and ran to the water tap. Cupping her shaking hands she brought the cold water to her lips. She held her forehead-the headache was searing the very bones of her skull. She threw herself down on a bale of hay unable to control the hot, tearing feeling inside of her. Her shoulders shook convulsively as she stifled her moans against her arms. The dazzling instants of joy and happiness and love she had shared with Carol all came back drowning her in a flood of her own memories. Carol dancing at the Pirate's Haven. Carol behind the perfume counter. Carol saying she would come to live with her. Carol giving her lips. Carol saying I love you.
Charlotte struggled to her feet. Her hand shot up to her temples. The headache was blinding her with pain.
It was Cal! All along it was Cal. He was the one that was bent on destroying Carol. All along he had known about Carol and her. Carol had even revealed that deep, dark secret the two of them shared. She thought she would be able to beat anything to keep Carol. But her plan had backfired. Carol's words had destroyed it all.
Charlotte steadied herself against a post. Her hand felt the hard handle of the whip. Slowly her fingers curled around it.
Cal had to be destroyed!
She freed the long horsewhip from the nail and whirled around, taking long strides out of the stable and down the trail leading to Cal's cabin. Halfway there she saw Carol steal out of the shadows and run for the house.
A smile came to her lips. She knows!
At the door, she turned the handle and shoved hard against it.
Cal, still in bed, was smoking a cigarette. His eyes opened wide when he saw Charlotte standing in the doorway. Quickly he pulled a sheet up to hide his naked body. His face went white when he saw the whip. "Ma'am, I didn't know you-"
Charlotte cracked the whip over his head. Cal ducked, then stared at her, an incredulous look on his face. "What the hell!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. His eyes raced to Charlotte's hate-contorted face. He saw the narrowed eyes, the lips curled back showing white flashing teeth. He held the sheet around his waist and swung his legs to the floor.
The whip flashed out with a snapping sound and caught him around the neck. Using both her hands, Charlotte tugged downward sending Cal's knees hard against the wooden floor.
"Mrs. Watts!" he pleaded. His hands went to his neck, his thick fingers fumbling to free himself.
"I'm an expert with the whip, Cal. Hell, you and I used to compete. Remember? I always won. You know that!" Her laugh was deep. A flick of her wrist and the black end-strings unwrapped from around his neck, setting him free.
He shot up, turned, and made a lunge for the bathroom door. The whip split the air, wrapping itself around his belly. Another tug and Charlotte sent him sprawling back on the floor.
He heard her loud, shrill laughter over a cracking sound and felt the lashing whip buckle across his naked buttocks, the ends tearing into his skin. He squirmed on the floor, tried to rise; but the flashing whip seared its path across his face.
"Agh!" The sound that came from his throat was like a death-rattle.
Again and again he felt the stinging, slashing whip tearing flesh from his body. Again he rose, and again he was brought down to his knees, his mouth hitting a chair. The whip's ends swirled about him, slashing his torn body unmercifully.
Bloody and battered, he clawed his way across the floor and, grasping the bureau for support, pulled himself to his feet. He shot up and started toward Charlotte. But she was quicker than he. She stepped aside, swinging the whip down on top of him. Now the whip lashed out at him with all its fury.
He spit the blood from his mouth, his tongue feeling the broken, jagged upper teeth. Frantically he clawed at the air, desperately hoping to grab a hold of the torturing whip.
"You sonofabitch!" Charlotte screamed. "I'll kill you. Hear? You worthless bastard. You ape! I'll kill you-kill you!"
Cal felt all of his strength drain as he fell in a heap to the floor, his painful groans filling the room.
There was blood all over the cabin, on the walls, the bed, the floor. Cal curled up his body, his knees touching his belly, his head tucked away in an embryonic fashion.
"No. No. No more!" he pleaded. "Hell ... no more!"
Charlotte walked toward him, knowing he was beaten. "You bastard," she muttered between tight lips. "You're through here. I want you to be off my plantation in an hour. You hear me, you prick!" Turning the whip in her hand, she brought the handle down across his head. "I don't ever want to see your lousy face again!"
Turning, she strode from the cabin. Once outside, she threw the whip on the grass and headed for the house. Never once breaking her stride, she yanked the front door open and climbed up the stairs. Without knocking, she opened Carol's bedroom door.
She found Carol sitting on the window ledge.
"You going to beat me up, too?" Carol asked, staring out of the window.
"No, Carol. From what I've seen tonight, I know that you'd just get another thrill out of it. I'm not so sure that Cal did, though."
"I heard his screams from here," Carol whispered. "Charlotte, how could you?"
"It was easy."
Carol turned and looked at the woman. Her eyes went to the hem of her dress. "You've blood on you," she said.
"His blood," Charlotte spit out. "I'll throw the dress away tomorrow."
"Charlotte!"
"Does that shock you? Why? Didn't you think little ole Charlotte could swing a whip like a man? Couldn't beat a man down? Well, she can!"
"What will happen to Cal?"
"I fired him. He's to be off the property in an hour."
"If I told you it was my fault?"
"It wouldn't matter."
"I thought so."
"How could you, Carol?"
The girl was suddenly drained of all feeling. "While you were out snooping around, I would have thought you'd have come up with the answer to that question. Obviously you must have heard my reasons."
"I heard."
"And?"
"I didn't want to believe those words you said. I can't believe I heard right. Oh, Carol. How could you?"
"What difference does it make now?"
"I want to know. Carol? Damn it, look at me when I talk to you!"
Carol turned, inhaled, then let out a thin line of smoke which zigzagged over her head. "What?"
"I did all I could for you. You know that. What the hell possessed you? Why did you want to kill something between us?"
"Because I'm not the way you think I am. I'm no lez. You must know that. Oh, I indulged, I went to bed with you, I got my kicks. But after a while I realized-"
"What I saw with Cal. Was that better for you? Did you really enjoy being beaten with a strap. Did you really enjoy loving that ape? And what about the others? I don't understand you."
Carol shrugged. "I don't understand myself."
"What do you expect me to do now?" Charlotte asked.
"I don't know. I suppose you want revenge." Carol saw the look in Charlotte's eyes. There were flickers of anger, of frustration, of indecision. Then Carol realized there was still a chance.
In spite of Charlotte's anger, Carol knew in that one instant that she could make everything right. All she had to do was denounce Cal and the others. All she had to do was give Charlotte an opening.
"A second ago I said I didn't understand myself. Maybe I do. Maybe, Charlotte, I've learned a lesson."
Charlotte hid her surprise. "You mean that?"
Carol caught the look of satisfaction in Charlotte's eyes. It only showed for a split second, but it had been there. And it was what Charlotte wanted to hear. She was right-all was not lost. She had to keep her cool, had to say the right words-do the right things. Suddenly Carol realized what she could lose. Seeing it so blatantly spelled out frightened her-made her want to keep what she could have had all along. She allowed herself a moment's hesitation. "Yes, Charlotte" she said, "I do."
Charlotte could almost feel a glow of triumph inside herself. "If that's the case, maybe-I underscore that-maybe, we can start out all over again."
Carol looked at her shrewdly. "I'd like to try, Charlotte. I mean that with all my heart."
"But," Charlotte said, "one slip, one small slip and-"
"No more slips, Charlotte."
Charlotte nodded thoughtfully. "How can I believe you?"
Tension played in the pit of Carol's stomach. Rising, she walked to Charlotte. "I promise," she said, staring into Charlotte's eyes.
The silence that suddenly fell across the room bothered Charlotte. She smiled briefly, nervously, then walked to the bureau. She fumbled with the pack of cigarettes and took one out. Lighting it, she turned and looked at Carol. "I'd like to believe you. I really would like to believe you."
Carol imposed a smile on her face. Her voice was buttery smooth when she spoke. "Give me a chance, Charlotte. Give me one more chance."
Charlotte nodded. This was more like it, she thought. Now, of course, Carol would make love to me. She waited, saying nothing, waiting for the girl to make her next move. It was eerie how pleased she was with the situation; eerie, how she received such a great satisfaction beating the hell out of Cal and making Carol squirm; eerie, how completely marvelous she felt.
"Charlotte? Remember the fun we had in New Orleans?" Carol whispered, striving for some spark between them.
"Yes. I do."
"Couldn't we go there now? Right now?" Carol's fingers went to her belt where she nervously hooked her thumb around the buckle.
"Is that what you want?"
"Oh, yes, Charlotte. That's what I want. I want to start out all over again. I want to laugh and have fun and go shopping and eat at those marvelous restaurants and-" she cut herself off. Quickly she moved over to Charlotte and placed her head against the woman's chest. "I want to be with you." She couldn't see the tightening expression on Charlotte's face.
"Do you really?"
"Charlotte, you know I do."
Charlotte wondered if Carol could hear her heart thumping loudly through her cotton blouse.
Carol's fingers went to the buttons of Charlotte's blouse. "I'll show you how much." Her hand reached inside Charlotte's blouse and cupped the bra. She looked up at her. "Kiss me, Charlotte," she whispered.
Charlotte's hand tightened in the long, wavy hair, pulling Carol's head back so far that her face was almost horizontal. When Charlotte spoke, her voice was low-lower than Carol had ever heard it.
"You conniving, lying, little bitch!" Her fingers tightened around the blonde waves, pulling so tight that her knuckles turned white. "Listen. Listen good," she muttered, her breath searing the girl's cheek. "I want you to take your suitcase from the closet, and I want you to pack everything that is yours. Then I want you to call the airport and make a reservation on the next plane for New Orleans. Then I want you to call a cab and have him drive you to the depot to catch the train for the airport connection. I want all of this to happen in the next hour."
"Charlotte," Carol squirmed. "You're hurting me."
"I want to hurt you. like you hurt me." Her grip got tighter. "I want you off this property in an hour. Hear? I never want to see you again. You take only what you arrived with-nothing else." She let go of her grip on the girl's hair and turned away from her. At the door, she turned back. "Your trouble is simple. You're indoctrinated with being second on the bill. You're a loser, Carol Lord. A born loser. And there isn't anything you can do about it. You'll never change. You throw the good things away. Well, go ahead-throw them away-destroy yourself-destroy yourself good. I don't give a good damn!" She left the room, slamming the door hard behind her.
Carol stared after Charlotte, tears coming to her eyes. Suddenly the color left her face, and she felt her entire body tremble. Quickly she turned to the closet, took down a leather suitcase and began to pack.
"Destroy yourself," Charlotte had said, as if it were a command. Destroy yourself, destroy yourself....
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
With glistening eyes he watched her, studying the soft curves of her figure, clad in nothing but her torn slip.
Strange, thought the boy, for somebody so young, the girl looks pretty beat-up.
His eyes ran over her arms. And then he saw the tiny scars.
"What are you doing in my room?" A flicker of fear leaped into her eyes. But it lasted only for a moment.
The boy's look went to the girl's. "Hi," he said.
"Oh. You," she muttered. "Now I remember. We met at the bar." She reached for a cigarette. "What time is it?"
He glanced at his watch. It's eleven-thirty," he told her. Then he added. "It's late. I've got to go. Bus to my place stops running at midnight."
She looked at him. He was shirtless. His fly was open. "Don't go," she said, tugging at his trousers.
"No," he mumbled. "I have to go." Rising, he went for his shirt.
Abruptly, she swung her feet from the bed and ran up to him. "Don't go," she said.
He saw the desperation in her eyes. He hesitated, then moved closer to her. "Okay. I'll stay for just a little while longer."
"Look, if you spend the night, I won't charge you any more," she told him. "I've got to leave for an hour, but I'll be back by 2:30."
He shook his head. "No, I got to go home."
"Oh," she said tonelessly.
He heard the despair in her voice. "Look. I'll come back again," he assured her.
"Mr. High-and-mighty, aren't you? Real top drawer, huh? What's the matter? This place too dumpy for you?"
"No, not at all."
"Then it's me, huh?"
He hesitated before he spoke again. "How old are you?"
She looked at the handsome, blonde boy. Kindness showed in his blue eyes. She knew he wasn't being rude. "I'm twenty-two," she answered.
"How long have you been on it?" he asked.
Automatically her hand shot up to her arm. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Okay. Drop it then."
"Yeah, that's a good idea."
"I was just wondering how come a young girl like you-well, you're not like the other-"
"Whores?" she spit.
"If you slept more. Maybe washed off all that makeup. If you fixed up your hair and maybe didn't drink so much ... and if you kept away from-" he nodded his head.
Her hands hugged her arms, hiding the scars.
"Hell, you're too young to look so beat. I mean-"
"Look," she cut in. "Drop the lecture, huh?"
"I was only trying to-"
"I know-I know," she said, her face breaking into a forlorn smile. "You're a good guy, I can tell. Going to the bed she sat down. "Come on over here to Momma," she whispered, getting out of her slip.
He went to her.
"Get out of those trousers," she whispered. The sentence echoed in her ears, as if she had spoken the same words a thousand times.
He unbuckled the belt abound his waist and dropped his trousers. He stepped out of them and threw himself on the bed. He reached for her. He clasped her breasts, kissing them.
The same thing, all over again.
He placed his knee across her thighs and looked down into her clouded eyes.
The same act, for the thousandth time.
"Take me," she whispered. "Take me."
Oh, why does it all sound the same?
Her long legs tightened around him, then he felt himself inside her. He jabbed into her with a grunt.
She sighed deeply, drawing his head down to the hollow of her neck. "Like that,'" she mumbled. "Like that." Why couldn't she at least try to change the words a bit?
He felt her burning body with all of its force pushing against him. He plunged deeper into her. Then he heard her moan. He plunged into her again. Then suddenly he felt the strength draining from him and threw his body over hers devouring her in uncontrolled frenzy.
He fell to his side and lay back in exhaustion. After a time he rose, got to his feet and started to dress.
She watched him with a detached look.
Reaching into his pocket he brought out his wallet. Pressing a ten-dollar bill into her hand, he kissed her on the cheek and left the room, silently closing the door behind him.
Tears welled in her eyes. A sob came from her throat. Thank God, she thought, there are still tears, I haven't been robbed completely of all emotion. Slowly she got out of bed and went into the bathroom. Turning on the light she momentarily shaded her eyes from the glaring bulb. When she looked into the mirror, her jaw muscles clenched. The corners of her eyes were streaked with running mascara, her lipstick was smeared, and her hair was a knotted mess. She stared at her face as though she were seeing it for the first time-as though it were the face of a stranger.
What she saw made her turn away. She couldn't look-didn't want to see the puffy face, the tired eyes with the dark circles under them. Slowly she returned to the bed and sat down. Opening a drawer to the table by the bedside she pulled out a cigarette from a crumbled package. Lighting it, she lay back and stared up at the cracked ceiling.
She looked around the dark room. The paint was peeling off the walls, and there was a huge crack in the ceiling. There was a chair, a table and a bureau, a bedside table and the bed she was lying in. Outside of that there was no other furniture. She shook her head.
Living like a pig. Three years of this kind of horrible existence. What had happened to me? Why am I slowly dissolving myself. Why? Three years of living a nightmare.
The voice came back to her ... the same voice that kept saying the same words to her over and over again. It was as though the woman were in the room with her right now. "You're a loser, Carol Lord. A born loser. And there isn't anything you can do about it."
Rising quickly, she ran to the bureau and grasped the pint bottle of gin. Unscrewing the top, she brought the bottle to her lips and drank down what was left. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and threw herself down on the bed.
Now the voice got louder. She put her hands against her ears, trying desperately to shut out the sounds; but the voice persisted-becoming louder and louder.
"You'll never change ... never change.
"Stop it. Stop it!" she cried aloud. Quickly she pulled herself up from the bed. She ran into the bathroom and washed her face. She put on some lipstick and mascara, then combed her hair. Then she put on a bra and got into a half-skirt, then slipped into a mini-dress. She put the ten dollars the boy had given her into her purse and snapped it shut.
Glancing at her watch, she rushed out of the room.
Outside, she hesitated, turned away from the stoop and walked down Powell Street. A block later she turned and walked down the steps into the Pirate's Haven.
"Hey! Where the hell you been?" the harsh voice of the woman behind the bar called to her.
"I'm sorry I'm late," the girl apologized.
"Get backstage and change, baby. Next show starts in five minutes. You know better than to scare the pants off of me." She watched the girl disappear behind the curtain. "Damn girl. Damn unreliable girl," she muttered under her breath. "Think I'll get rid of her."
A waitress hurried up to the bar. "Two scotch-and-water and make it fast," she said.
"What's the rush? Who started the fire?"
"Come on, come on, pour." i
"Take it easy, will ya?"
"I got a live one at my table," the waitress said. "The diamonds on her fingers are enough to choke a horse. She's with a gal ... and I kept her waiting long enough." The waitress tapped her foot while she took a few hurried puffs on a cigarette.
"Here you are," the ugly woman behind the bar said. "Maybe she'll leave ya one of her diamonds for a tip," she said to the waitress sarcastically.
"Up yours," the waitress said. She put the drinks on a tray and dodged through the crowded room until she came to the table. "Here you are, honey." She placed the drinks before the woman and the girl. "Drink up and just yell for me when you want a refill."
The pretty blonde girl looked around the room. "Why'd we come here?" she asked the woman opposite her.
"Because it's been years since I've been here," the woman answered.
"Place gives me the creeps," the pretty girl said.
"I just want to see the beginning of the next show," the older woman told the girl. "We'll leave right away, don't worry."
"Okay," cracked the bartender's voice over the loudspeaker. "Pipe down, you creeps. Here she is, the gal you've been waiting for ... the scintillating ... captivating ... thrilling ... Carol Sorel!"
The woman leaned forward in her chair, ignoring the girl at her side, her eyes holding fast to the curtain.
When the curtain parted, Charlotte Watts's eyes widened in astonishment. She watched as Carol Lord moved her body to the loud sounds of the electric guitar offstage. She took in the girl's almost nude body as she writhed in sinuous suggestion, her hips moving from side to side, her naked breasts shimmering and bouncing crazily. Her eyes drifted up to the girl's face.
There was a difference now-a tremendous difference. No longer was Carol's face as Charlotte remembered it. There were the beginnings of lines around the eyes and the once slender, beautiful face was round and puffy. The dark circles under the girl's eyes couldn't be hidden by the heavy makeup she wore.
But there was something else-the eyes. The eyes were empty. Cold and empty.
Charlotte Watts shook her head then slowly got to her feet. She reached into her purse, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and threw it on the table.
"Let's go," she said to the girl by her side. "I've seen enough."
"Do you know her?" the blonde asked, following Charlotte past the stage.
"Yeah," she answered. "A long time ago. A very long time ago." She glanced up at Carol one more time. "Come on," she told the girl, "Let's get out of this dump."
Onstage, Carol Lord shook her body to the fiery beat of the music. It was then Carol saw the dark-silhouetted figure move in the path of the spotlight. Though the features were indistinct, some wild instinct told her whose face it was.
The face of Charlotte Watts.
The pupils of Carol's eyes dilated with shock. With great effort she forced herself to keep in step with the wild beat of the electric guitar.
Though the noise was shattering, she could still hear Charlotte Watts's ominous voice.
"You're a loser, Carol Lord. A born loser."
And what else was it the voice had said? Was it "destroy ... destroy yourself?"
