When a child of eleven, Cynthia Gordon was perfectly content to live on the farm in Iowa where she had been born and raised. Her father, a burly, blond, third generation American of Scandinavian descent, grew mostly corn and pigs, but Johnny, her fifteen year old brother, who wanted to stay on the land, was interested in raising cattle. He already had a young milk cow which he had raised from a calf and was thinking of breeding her with a neighbor's bull.
One morning early that autumn, as the pumpkins were glowing yellow and plump on the vines, and her mother's kitchen was permeated with the heady smell of spices and pickling, and the fresh tart odor of baked apple pies was floating through the window to where she was sitting on the back porch with Pal, their thick coated German Shepherd dog, she heard her father and Johnny talking in the kitchen about his cow.
"Jersey seems to be in heat now, Johnny," her father said. "If you still want to breed her, now's the time to do it. I've talked with Chris about it and he says to bring her over anytime. He's got a fine bull and it should be a dandy calf."
"Gee, Dad, that's swell. When can we do it?"
"Tomorrow's okay with Chris. But remember, the entire responsibility of bringing this calf up is yours. No saying you're tired of taking care of it and Jersey after it's here."
"Gosh, Dad, you know I won't do that. I'm all set to grow her up and win me a couple of prizes at the fair."
"Okay, boy, we'll go over tomorrow after lunch, then."
Cynthia slipped off the porch so her parents wouldn't know she had heard and walked down to the barn to look at Jersey. She had noticed that previously she had not only been kept away from the pens and barns at breeding times, but that any discussion concerning them between her parents, or between her father and other farmers, had always ceased when she approached. Thus, the only things she associated with the word "breading" were the sound of the bull's bellowing cries echoing over the green hills and a feeling that it must be something "not nice."
But lately she had been disturbed by vague warm sensations in her own body, centered deep in her belly, which had made her restless and irritable, and she had begun to speculate about her own sex organs as well as those of animals. She resolved she would sneak over to Chris's farm tomorrow and see what happened that was so forbidden.
The next day was a golden autumn day with the smell of an early winter in the air. From a deep blue sky the sun turned the leaves to a shimmering fire of reds and golds. Along the road the sumac was glowing purples and deep reds, and by the farmhouse the late blooming flowers were showing their last blossoms.
After lunch, Johnny and his father went down to the barn to load Jersey into a truck to be taken over to the next farm.
"Cynthia," her mother said, "you're as restless as a cat. You don't have to help me with the dishes. Go out and play but stay close to the house. And put a sweater on."
She ran up to her bedroom to get her sweater, clattered back down the stairs and out the door, her pigtails flying. She went down to the barn where the men were about to leave.
"Put Pal back in the house, Cynthia," her father said. "We don't want him following along and disturbing the cattle."
She didn't ask to go along with them as she knew her father would refuse. Instead, she obediently took Pal back to the house and then headed for the wood, on the other side of which lay Chris's farm. Once out of sight of the house, she broke into a run. She was afraid of missing whatever was going to happen. When she came to the other edge of the wood, she hid behind a bush and peeked through the leaves. No one was in sight. Directly in front of her was the back of their neighbor's barn. Beyond it she could hear the sound of men's voices and from time to time the bellowing of the bull. She quickly climbed through a wire fence, ran across to the barn and slipped through a rear door. Inside, the barn was dimly lit with shafts of sunlight lancing through crevices in the roof and filtering through a haze of hay dust lazily turning in the still air. It was warm and close with the smell of cattle, now out to pasture, and the acrid scent of manure. A few chickens stirred restlessly and ruffled their feathers as they perched on the railings of the stalls. She looked around and not seeing anyone, moved silently to the other side, beyond which lay a small corral. She could hear the voices more clearly, as well as unidentifiable rustlings and scrapings and the restless, heavy tread of the bull.
"He's sure as hell rarin' to go," someone said. "He's hotter'n a firecracker."
A loud urgent bellow cut off the voice.
"Okay, Johnny," said a voice which she recognized as belonging to Chris, "you can bring your cow in soon. Just wait a minute until he's moved to the other side of the corral away from the gate."
Entering an empty stall, Cynthia lay down on a pile of hay. It pricked and ticked her body through the clothes she was wearing and the hay dust made her afraid she would sneeze. She pressed her eyes against a small crack between the wooden slabs and looked into the corral beyond.
Three or four men were standing on the other side of the corral fence, their tight blue jeans showing every muscle and curve of their legs. To the right was her father. Johnny was looking anxiously at the bull and while saying something to his father, burst into a tense, embarrassed giggle which he tried to hide with a cough. Chris was standing near the gate, one hand on the latch. Everyone was looking inside the corral.
And there was the bull. Big, black and powerful. A dark boxcar of latent, dynamic energy. His muscles rippled under the shiny dark hair over his firm, bulky shoulders and haunches. He was standing near the fence, a square block of massive movement. Lowering his head, he sniffed through the fence, his lips curled back, his nostrils flared, his shoulders hunched. He could smell the cow in heat, although she was not yet in sight. The scent made him all male, urgent and demanding. He was in constant, restless movement, at times almost dancing with a heavy tread as he sidled along the fence, scraping it with his side. Saliva dripped from his lips. He swayed slowly from side to side, his tail raised at an angle. Beneath him his large, potent testicles were stretched tautly from the urge in his body. He snorted loudly again and then backed away, pawing the ground with one hoof as he raised his head. With his square, black face raised towards the luminescent sky he roared a mighty bellow which was insistent, commanding, almost an ultimatum.
When he had moved over to the other side of the corral, Chris quickly opened the gate and let the cow in. She stood quietly, switching her tail and looking at the bull. He turned towards her immediately, lowered his head and pawed the ground. Moving to her haunches he sniffed loudly and wetly at her rear. She lifted her tail and he began licking the opening beneath it. His rough tongue caressed her moistly as saliva drooled from his mouth and fell to the ground below.
Cynthia held her breath as she watched the animalistic ritual going on in the corral. Tiny dewdrops of moisture formed between her own legs without her fully understanding why and she closed them tightly together to try and snuff out the tiny ripples of sensation that were for the fast time in her life beginning to stir there.
The bull's heavy, thick pointed penis suddenly emerged from the thick sheath enclosing it. It was wet and glistened in the afternoon sun as its full prominence burst into view. He stopped to bellow triumphantly and the sound echoed over the surrounding hills proclaiming his stirred passion. His penis slipped out another eight inches and he tried to mount the wobbling cow, rearing up with a clumsy lunge, but she moved to the side and his forefeet crashed to the ground. Staggering slightly from the first failing effort, he tried again. He succeeded in straddling her with his front legs, his black, immense chest crushing down on her haunches. Her legs buckled slightly from his weight but he succeeded in entering her this time and Cynthia's watching eyes bulged wide as she watched the huge, pole-like instrument slither without resistance deep down into the belly of the straining cow. The bull gave an angry snort and began a sudden series of short, quick jerks with his hind legs and suddenly emitted a soulful moan from deep in his chest. The glistening red penis sunk deep inside the cow beneath him throbbed for an interminable moment and then he backed quickly away and gave an ear-splitting bellow that somehow seemed now less urgent to the gaping Cynthia as she crouched excitedly behind the crack in the barn wall. The cow staggered drunkenly around the corral, her head down in sudden fatigue, her back arched spasmodically.
"Okay, boys, that should do it," Chris laughed.
"Man, that was like a freight train going into a tunnel."
They all burst into laughter over the comparison.
Johnny entered the corral and led the cow out and over to the waiting truck.
Inside the barn on her pile of hay, Cynthia lay back tense and trembling. Her mouth was dry and the hay scratched her arms and legs more intensely now. She was too surprised and shocked at what she had seen to be able to move. She had never in all her young life imagined that such a thing was possible. Her stomach churned slightly and she felt strangely dizzy. Did humans do this too? Was this the reason for the same, but softer and more secret sounds she had often heard coming from her parents' bedroom late at night when they had thought she was asleep? It must have been, they were so much the same. Her whole body began to quiver uncontrollably at the lewd and obscene thought of her mother and father coupled together as the animals she had just seen through the secret crack of the barn.
Then, she was suddenly jerked back to reality as she heard Chris ask one of the men to go into the barn and bring back a halter for the bull. In desperation she crawled back over the hay and jumping to her feet, ran out the rear door. She silently scuttled through the fence and fell on the ground behind a bush and lay there for some time, panting and gasping, too afraid to move. Later, she made her way back to the farm just as her father and brother were returning to the house after unloading the cow in the corral. She could not look either of them in the face and silently began to help her mother prepare the evening meal. Her thoughts were strangely muddled and disturbing to her young and innocent mind.
* * *
A few days later Cynthia went on one of her beloved rambles over the countryside. She never grew tired of these explorations, searching through the woods for tiny, wild flowers, running and skipping over the lush, dark-green meadows, with Pal barking madly at her side, or weaving her way through the rustling lanes of corn. Her favorite spot was a small glen in a wood on the other side of the wheat field. Here she used to go to drowse away an afternoon or to construct a small lean-to of branches and "playhouse," or to sit quietly and hope a rabbit or squirrel would approach. Pal would sniff around the surrounding woods, barking loudly in surprise and excitement when he would startle a wild bird. Usually, however, he would lie on the soft gently waving grass, panting in the heat. It was an Indian summer day, almost as hot as it had been in July.
"Come on, Pal, let's go to the woods," Cynthia said playfully, as she slammed the screen door and Pal jumped up from the porch. "But no roaming today. It's too hot. We have to walk slowly like Grandma and Grandpa Holiday."
They followed a winding path around the barns and set off across a meadow, Cynthia's yellow braids swinging from side to side as she looked for hidden field mice in the grass, or knelt to pick up am autumn flower. The intense sun pressed sullen on her head. The sky was a vacant, wide tent of pale blue. The air was filled with the sweet, fecund smell of meadow grass and the small white and yellow flowers which dotted the field.
When they reached the glen, Cynthia plopped on the ground and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the hem of her skirt. Pal lay on the grass beside her panting heavily.
"Poor old Pal's so hot in his winter overcoat," she said soothingly, as she petted him. "It's just too hot today for clothes."
Cynthia pulled up her short skirt over the whiteness of her already developing thighs and sighing as the cool breeze washed over the flimsy silk of her brief panties, lay back on the cool grass and stroked his thick fur. She opened her legs wide to let the air cool between her perspiring thighs and looked contentedly up at the drifting puffs of summer clouds that moved lazily overhead. Pal rolled on his side next to her and turning her head at the feel of his movement against her hand she noticed that his penis was protruding slightly from its fur covered sheath. She remembered the black bull from the other day and tentatively touched its pink, moist end. As she curiously fingered it, the small glistening penis slowly emerged into the air until it was fully in sight. Pal growled deep in his throat and then jumped up, quivering. Feeling uncertain and a little afraid, she squirmed slightly away on her back and looked wide-eyed up at him not knowing what to do. It was a strange feeling, one that she had never known before with Pal. He had always leaped at her first command but now she was not so certain he would react the way he always had done before. There was an animalistic gleam in his eye that both frightened and confused her. It was as though she had lost complete control over him and would never regain it again. He suddenly had command of her and her childish mind froze, unable to move as he hovered over her spread-eagle form panting and jerking like the lust-enraged bull she had seen such a short time ago just before it attacked Jersey in Chris's corral.
He had moved between her wide spread legs and was standing with tongue hanging out just above her.
She dared not move in her sudden fear.
His head dropped and she clenched her eyes tightly shut as she felt the coldness of his nose brush experimentally against the warm inside of her thighs. She could feel the heat of his breath as he panted like the bull and the sudden wetness of his tongue as it snaked out of his mouth and began softly licking at the exposed flesh of her inner legs. She started to push him away, but the cool damp tongue suddenly felt fresh and alive on her hot skin. Instead, she lay back and let her arms fan loosely out on the grass as his tongue continued its strange and probing search up toward the whiteness of her panties. She tried to move again but was met by a whining growl that stilled her completely. There was nothing she could do now and felt her body begin a slow uncontrollable writhing against the grass beneath her as suddenly his long searching tongue reacted the top of her thighs and began a gently almost tender licking against the silk band of her panties that covered the warm, sweating slit of her young, untouched vagina. A slight groan escaped from her mouth which was dry now from the strange and unknown sensations flickering through her young and inexperienced body. Her tongue ran in small desperate and uncontrolled circles around the edges of her lips, the salty taste of the tiny drops of sweat forming there increasing the urgency of the feelings suddenly circling around deep inside her white, virginal belly. The sun burned white into the skin of her face and exposed legs and she could feel the roughness his tongue probing gently against the thin, protective veneer of her panties, pushing it wetly into the now open and palpitating lips of her small and untouched cunt. She giggled slightly and it tickled her but soon she felt a curious sensation flowing up into her loins and stomach, a feeling that was unfamiliar but strangely pleasurable and had its strength deep inside her belly. At first it frightened her, but then she gave herself slowly and uncertainly to its new and delicious delight and felt a sudden ravenous curiosity as to where it would lead and what it was all about.
Her hands moved without thought down over the beginning blooms of her tiny but sensitive breasts and making a wide, open-palmed sweep down over the whiteness of her nylon clad belly began a soft circular stroking around the insides of her thighs as the hot, licking tongue of the dog continued its desperate probing of the nylon band still covering the tiny, hair lined slit of her vagina. Her body began a slow wiggling and squirming down into the cool mat of grass beneath her and she slowly raised her knees until they were pointing directly up at the fleecy cloud floating lazily above, and then with the first moan of passion uttered in her young life, they limply fell outwards, exposing the whole of her nylon covered loins to the now more desperate flicking tongue of the dog. Her buttocks and pelvis began a slow, yet hard rotation up at the teasing wet nose of the animal haunching down between her wide-spread legs and she could feel the long, moist, snake-like tongue trying without success to curl beneath the tight elastic legband of her flimsy panties and make contact with the soft smooth flesh beneath. Her fingers automatically moved inward and with the forefinger of her right hand she deftly and quickly pulled the soft nylon crotch band aside and groaned with a feeling she had never in her life thought possible as she felt the great wet mass of Pal's flicking tongue sink hungrily between the wet and throbbing lips of her young and now unprotected cunt. A low animal moan escaped from between her tightly clenched teeth and she grasped his furry ear with her other hand and pulled his nose tighter between her legs, grunting and twisting beneath him on the grass as though she had suddenly lost her mind. At the same time, mewling whines of unsatiated hunger rolled from the panting mouth of the wildly licking dog and he thrust the tip of his tongue deep between her wide-spread legs until the thin ring of her youthful virginity would allow it to sink no deeper inside her. Saliva drooled from his mouth in wild sucking torrents, wetting the whole of her madly rotating pelvis and loins as she wiggled and squirmed in wild and uncontrolled abandon beneath the lapping dog. Feeling the hot delight rising like fire in the depths of her quivering belly, she ground her crotch desperately around and around, savoring with untamed delight the newfound sensations rippling in never ending waves through her young, virginal body.
"Lick me, Pal! Lick me," she chanted ceaselessly through her passion-contorted lips as her buttocks twisted and smacked with wild uncontrolled abandon down into the soft mat of grass beneath her. She did not know what the outcome would be, but she instinctively felt through her lust-dimmed mind that there was an end, some end, and that this was the way to it. Her hand dropped from his ear and she pressed it to the other side of the split of her cunt, pulling the tight, tiny lips as far apart as she could get them until she almost felt herself screaming from the pain that she felt as though she were splitting her own self apart there between her legs. His tongue lapped deeper, a hard painful pressure against her virginity so that she squirmed up with a hopeless desperation, knowing that on the other side of that thin unyielding membrane inside her lay a happiness and sensation that was beyond imagination and she bucked and twisted with all her strength, praying his tongue would break through and satiate this wild need goading her back on and on into wilder and wilder gyrations.
And then--as quickly as the feeling had begun, it burst!
She cried out into the hot summer air and then suddenly all her muscles relaxed, her legs jerking in one last spasmodic quiver out to the sides of the still licking dog's body. She continued to rotate her pelvis up against the wetness of his tongue, but more softly and slowly now, as the burning fire quickly ebbed.
She breathed out deeply and reaching up with both hands, firmly pushed his panting head away from her still wide-spread loins. He backed begrudgingly away, a protesting whine singing from his throat and she lay drained of all strength panting and perspiring on her back.
She still did not understand exactly what had happened. But it had happened and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever known. It would come again now, and often, she had tasted it and there would he no escape when it occurred again--no matter what the circumstances.
Chapter 2
As the months and years passed, she found many new ways of fulfilling the ache which periodically filled her groin and crept down her legs and through her body. Instead of Pal, she used books, the arm of an overstuffed chair, the edge of her bed, or a pillow stuffed between her legs as she lay face down on her bed in the quiet of the night. The small, rosy bud mounted high between the lips of her sex became more and more the center of her attentions. With one or two of her fingers she would rub its fleshy swelling, gently and rhythmically, or smoke the soft length of the path leading up to it, terminating her stroke against it until the familiar rising flood of pleasure would swell up sharply and spill over. Or she would use her whole hand to apply moving and steady pressure over these warm responsive areas. And sometimes she tugged at her sex with her hand, finding that the pull on her muscles stimulated the pink bud to which they were connected.
By the time she was fifteen Cynthia was strongly desirous of a full sexual experience. But the farming community in which she lived was so small and closely knit she was afraid of the possible consequences of being discovered, punished severely by her parents and talked about by all the gossips, her reputation ruined and her parents ashamed. Then, too, she still felt lagging remnants of guilt about her own masturbation and was uneasily reluctant to take the next step. True, she had been kissed, and deeply, by many of her boy friends, had allowed a few of them to handle her young, swelling breasts, and permitted one to finger her sex with his rough, chapped hand, making her sex juices flow and her desire mount almost unbearably, but she had gone no further.
That June, when the winter-bare, plowed fields were covered with emerald green stalks of corn, rapidly inching their way upward to be knee-high by the Fourth of July, a square dance was held to celebrate the end of the school year. Johnny, as well as Paul Dawson and another friend named Mike, were home from the state agricultural school. Mike had become engaged to Betty Sorenson, who had blossomed into a dark-haired, ripely-rounded beauty with a saucy pair of blue eyes and a dimple in her right cheek.
The dance was to be held at a meeting house a few miles down the road. All the girls had new skirts, full-belled and brightly colored. The fiddlers in the area tuned up their fiddles and practiced the songs, the callers reviewed their patter and tried not to overstrain their voices during the preceding days, and all the wives and mothers cooked their treasured specialties, pecan pies, double-fudge cakes, fruit bread jeweled with red and green candied fruit, succulent hams studded with cloves, all to be eaten at midnight by the leg-weary crowd. For everyone was going, everyone who could still shake a leg or scrape a fiddle, or even just sit along the sidelines and gossip and urge on the dancers.
There was a full moon that fourteenth night of June, an orb glowing like an opal which lit the countryside almost like day and covered the rolling hills with a sinuous cloth of silver lame. Cynthia was dancing with Paul Dawson, now a tall, attractive lad of twenty with a lean face and a ready smile.
"My legs are about ready to give way," Paul said, as they finished a fast square dance and walked, breathing heavily, off the floor. "Let's get some fresh air."
They went outside and sat on the cool grass. With her arms behind her, propping her body, Cynthia tilted her flushed face toward the sky, in the moonlight her heavy, blond hair a rippling mass of silver sequins, and her eyes, dark and deep-set under the winged brows, as quiet and mysterious as a Sphinx. Her blouse, cut low in a circle revealed the clean curve of her shoulders and the soft, rising mounds of her white breasts, the hollow between them a deepening shadow as it disappeared under her blouse. The firm, twin arches of her breasts rapidly rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath, perspiration gluing the cloth to her moist, hot body, sharply outlining under the thin material the molded, outward swelling curves, each tipped with a hard bud, jutting outward under the wet gauze, dark and swollen, and the round, cupped fullness below. From her small, nipped-in waist her full skirt billowed out, its hem lying above her knees, framing in firm, plump flesh of her thighs, white and glistening in the moonlight.
"You're growin' up pretty as a heifer, Cynthia," Paul said. "Pardon my buttin' my nose in where it has no business, but is there anyone you're particularly sweet on around here?"
She glanced sideways at him, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. She liked Paul. "No," she said slowly. "Not particularly." She waited quietly.
He started to move his arm as though to put it around her, but then picked up a stone instead and threw it with a brisk swing, the stone clinking on a rock when it fell. He seemed embarrassed and unsure of himself, his inexperience revealed in his husky voice and nervous manner.
"Well, look, Cynthia," he said, "I was wonderin' what you were thinkin' of doin' after high school. Going to get married? Or are your parents goin' to send you to college?"
"I don't really know, Paul. They've said I could go if I wanted to, but I don't want to much. Maybe I'll go to Chicago and get a job. My aunt lives there, you know."
Although she hadn't told anyone, she had already made up her mind. College was not for her. She was too anxious for a quick plunge into the complex morass of life where she could surrender herself to the myriad delights she knew it would offer. It was not for her to go to college, where the fetters of a college routine would bind and choke her like the restrictions she felt at home, where the boys would be replicas of Paul and others in her own community, young, hesitant, undeveloped, and where she would not be able to freely indulge in the kind of experimentation she knew her body was ready for and eagerly demanded. No, when the time came, she would go to Chicago, live with her aunt until she found a job, and then strike out on her own.
As she shifted her position so her arm would brush against his and gave her head a shake so her fragrant hair swung against his face, tickling it with the golden wisps of her curls, she felt herself suddenly pushed back against the ground, her back pressed into the grass, her breasts and her belly flattened by the crush of his body on top of hers. Roughly he grasped her hair with one hand, entwining his fingers in its thick locks until her scalp tingled with the pain, while his other hand kneaded her soft breast, rapidly making it become firm and taut with desire. His mouth hungrily sought her own, his lips smashed go forcefully against hers that they parted and her teeth chewed his upper lip, making the blood flow and fill her mouth with its warm, salty taste. Her nostrils flared as the acrid scent of his male sweat reached them and she arched her back like a bow while his hand passed heavily down over the smooth swell of her stomach, seeking her hot loins.
Just then a figure appeared in the brightly lit rectangle of the door, the whirling music of the fiddles and the hoarse patter of the caller blaring out behind it like a radio fully turned up.
"PA-U-L! PA-U-L! Are you out there, Paul?" It was his mother.
He quickly rolled off her, breathing heavily, swearing softly. Cynthia lay with her eyes closed.
"Yoo-oo-oo-hoo-oo-oo! PA-U-L!" came the insistent, inquiring call again.
"Yeah, I'm over here," he finally yelled back, as he adjusted his clothes. "What do you want?" His voice was impatient and angry.
She walked toward them, saying, "It won't take a minute, dear. I only want you to drive me home. So many more people came than expected, we'll need another coffee urn. It'll only take a second." Her voice sounded apologetic when her eyes, now accustomed to the dark, saw Cynthia with him.
"God damn," he exclaimed under his breath. Turning to Cynthia as he got up, he added, "I'll be right back. How about eatin' with me when the dinner's ready?"
She nodded and watched him trail after his mother toward the line of parked cars. She lay back on the ground, her arms clasped under her head and looked at the glowing sky. The milky moon floated like a white gull on the calm, deep sea of the night, cloudless and without horizon. The warm, summer scented air and her aroused unfilled desires flooded her body with longing. The knot of lust twisted deeply in her belly and flowed down her limbs, making her legs ache and her muscles tense. She could not sit still. Rising from the ground, she slowly wandered away from the meeting-house, over a moon-drenched hill toward a small wood which lay like a silver castle on the far side of a meadow. Under the trees, standing like silent sentinels, the moonlight filtered down through dark, leaf-laden branches and fell on the grassy sod in liquid white pools. She walked between the dark pillars of trees. It was as if she were walking through an eerie, deserted church in a dream, or in another world, all alone, where objects could not be recognized and had no name, but only existed, quietly, peacefully.
But she was not alone, for suddenly she heard a male voice speaking gruffly a short distance away and an answering, gentle female laugh. Wondering who it could be and what they were doing, she took off her shoes and, picking her way carefully, so as not to stumble over a branch or snap a twig and thus betray her presence, moved cautiously toward where they were hidden. As the voice became more distinct she recognized them as belonging to Mike and Betty. She fell to her hands and knees and inched along, her aim a small group of bushes behind which they seemed to he. What could they be doing? Whatever it was, she hoped they were too intent to hear the small rustlings she unavoidably made now and then. That they might be making love was more than possible. The mere thought of it made the tight knot in her groin rotate sharply. Having reached the bushes, she searched for an opening; finding one she looked through into a snug, grass-carpeted glade, ringed with bushes, which the moonlight, fading between the tall, watching trees, bathed in an opalescent light and softly spotlighted the entwined figures against the darker ground.
"Mike, darling, I do love you," Betty murmured, "but do you think we should? Mightn't someone come?" She was lying on her back, Mike beside her, one leg angled over her knees, an arm propped on the ground and the other stroking her hair.
"Oh, honey, please. No one'll come way out here." He moved his hand to her blouse and began unbuttoning it slowly, his lips following his fumbling fingers as he gently kissed the gradually exposed flesh. Quietly she lay, the fingers of one hand hidden in his dark, curly hair, her body then moving with easy twists as he took off her blouse and reached behind to unhook her brassiere. As she sank back onto the ground her long dark hair fanned out on the grass, moonlight glittering in the rippling mass like a phosphorescent fish swimming in a dark sea. The soft silver light accentuated the contours of her young torso, high-lighting the lustrous curves and shadowing the hollows, moulding her smooth body into a liquid, flowing melody of beautiful movement, without beginning or end. Her eyes were dark pools of desire and love; her full lips, mauve in the moonlight, were parted to reveal small, glistening teeth and the pink end of a wet tongue, eager to be met by his. The column of her neck flowed outward into the sloping, alabaster curves of her shoulders and down to the raising sweep of her apple-sized breasts, which were firm and raised like two white-hot, glowing coals, tipped with lavender buds, swollen and hard, and as softly caressed by the shimmering moonbeams as by Mike's hand and lips. Moving his fingers to her skirt, he raised it up over her ripe belly, kissing the lily-white shafts of her thighs and then eased it down over her hips and slowly pulled off her panties with exaggerated care. Quickly he got up from the ground, undressed, and stood gazing down at her, his body like a statue of chalk in the moonlight. He was fully a man, for his male organ stood out like a long, thick rod of ivory, ready and eager to bury itself in the wet, dark tunnel between her legs. Against the darker grass, the long milky, columns of her legs widened upward in pure, clean lines, swelled outward in the rounded parentheses of her hips, which were as white as snowdrifts, as mysterious as the moon above. Her belly curved in a gentle swell, soft, inviting, centered by the dark shadow of her navel, while below rose the strong jut of her mound, richly covered with sparse, dark swirls of budding pubic hair.
He dropped to the grass, leaned half over her and raised his hands to the shadowed hollows of her neck, moving them slowly and heavily outward around her sloping shoulders, downward over the soft pillows of her breasts, around the small circle of her waist and over the smooth, silky rise of her belly, following the creamy sweep of her hips down to the pliant, satin flesh of her full white thighs which he tenderly licked, slowly, heavily. She reached down and drew him up on top of her. Their lips met in a hungry kiss as they clasped each other strongly, their legs tangled together, her hands passing languidly over his back and kneading the white globes of his haunches. Soft moans and sighs mingled sensuously with the sound of their bodies, brushing and sliding against each other as their hands and lips explored warm curves and hidden crevices, their entwined, moving bodies looking like shifting, silver snakes. He buried his head against her breasts, kissing and fondling them.
Cynthia held her breath and reaching forward carefully with her hands, parted the bushes slightly and crawled forward a few more feet. She was as silent as possible in the darkness and the slight noises she made were no more than the wind rustling through the otherwise quiet forest. She was not more than two feet away from the sensuously writhing couple now and had a sudden almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch them. Her position was such that she could see without hindrance the soft, sparse pubic hair nestling mysteriously between her girlfriend's wide-spread thighs and the wet, pink slit of her open cunt as it throbbed in anticipation of the ravishment it was about to receive. Betty's hand had reached down between their hard pressed bodies and her fingers were curled tightly around the full marble-whiteness of Mike's cock as it hung poised for entry into the tiny, waiting entrance between her legs.
Cynthia's mouth was dry and she could feel tiny beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead just beneath the soft, blonde hairline as she heard the moans and sighs rippling from deep in Betty's chest. She would have given anything at that moment to change places with her, to be lying there beneath Mike's hot, lust-filled body waiting for him to fuck into her like the bull she had seen so long ago in Chris's corral.
"Put it in, darling, now, oh my darling," he whispered into the writhing girl's mouth beneath him. "I want to fuck you."
"Oh, fuck me, please do, please fuck me, darling!" the half crazed girl twisting under him pleaded wetly into his mouth. He moaned and pressed forward with a flick of his hips, the full, blood-filled head of his cock guided by the eager hands of the girl parted the moist red lips of her young, ready cunt and slipped wetly inside. She moaned loudly and crushed her head against his shoulders, chewing at it passionately with her lips. His hands slithered down the full rounded curves of her body and cupped the full rounded cheeks of her ass, bringing it suddenly tight up against his pelvis as he rammed forward with one great flesh splitting lunge and buried his cock deep, deep down in her belly.
Cynthia gasped as the forest was suddenly split by a half scream that was choked off almost as suddenly as it began by his hand that clamped down over her tortured girlfriend's mouth. There was a moment's silence and then the soft sounds of painful grunts coming from Betty's hand covered lips as Mike began a slow but hard rotation of his hips between her wide-spread thighs. He rode her slowly at first, taking his hand from her lips and again cupping the full rounded melons of her buttocks to pull her tighter up against him.
Cynthia's mouth was gaping wide now as she watched with unbelieving eyes the giant white cock skewering like a well greased piston deep between the wide-held legs of her girlfriend. She felt the juices of her own vagina begin to moisten the tightly clenched insides of her thighs as Betty suddenly jack-knifed her churning body and clamped her legs high up around the hollowing and plumping buttocks of her lover. Her pelvis rotated wildly against the softness of the leaves beneath her and small grunts of passionate delight burst in puffs from between her tightly clenched teeth. Cynthia's hand had lowered itself without consciousness down between her own legs and had inserted itself up under the elastic leg band of her panties where she fingered herself madly, almost forgetting the silence she had to maintain. She could not take her eyes from the now wet and glistening instrument that drove without mercy into the clasping hair-lined cunt between the legs of the moaning girl in front of her. She had slipped to her knees now so that her own buttocks were waving high in the air behind her and the tiny bud of her clitoris throbbed and jerked beneath the hot, slippery tip of her finger as she followed the wild rhythm of the couple fucking right in front of her eyes.
Then, when she thought they could go no more, she saw Mike speed up his thrusting hips until they were almost a blur in the whiteness of the moonlight and smacking them loudly and wetly down into the twisting and churning loins of Betty beneath him, gave a deep, muffled moan and rammed as far up into her as he could go. At the same time, Betty squealed and locked her ankles tight around his back and jerked as though she were dying beneath him. Cynthia gasped also and felt her own wetness cascading down into the palm of her wildly stroking hand as she watched the small white trails of the sperm Mike had ejaculated deep into Betty's body overflow out the lips of her quivering vagina and down between the cheeks of her buttocks to the leaves below.
There was a last deep groan from both of them as Cynthia held her breath in silence and then Mike sank down heavily upon her girlfriend's satiated body. She lay still, not daring to move. Later he rolled to one side and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling, while she put her head on his shoulder and her hand down on his now limp and useless penis.
"God, I'd like to touch a boy like that," Cynthia found herself muttering silently, surprised at the sudden boldness of her thought.
After awhile, they rose hesitantly from the pile of leaves they had been lying in and after adjusting their clothing walked happily back toward the party. Cynthia followed in a few minutes, almost afraid to look at anyone for fear they would know what she had been doing. She knew now that she had to get away from this place, and quick, or she would be raping the first young male that came within arms length of her. There was only one place she could go, and that was Chicago.
Chapter 3
It was Cynthia's first night in the city, her first night away from home. She locked the door of her bedroom in her aunt's apartment, high on the eighteenth floor of a tall, mid-town building, and walked over to the built-in wardrobe, the doors of which opened out and made a three-way mirror. She wanted to look at herself. For she had just had sexual intercourse for the first time in her seventeen-year-old life.
It was almost midnight. Outside, a light summer rain was pattering on the window. Through a half-open door leading to a balcony came the wet smell of rain and the muted noises of late-city traffic far below. But here in her room it was quiet. After hours of talking to her aunt, she was glad she was finally alone. All evening her body had been smarting beneath her clothes for her back and hips were covered with cuts and scratches.
Quickly taking off her clothes, she let them lay where they happened to fall and opened the mirror, switching on the neon light which was set above it. She stood before it, seeing herself reflected three times. She knew she was beautiful. And she was glad, because she wanted to feel again, many times again, what she had felt this afternoon. Being beautiful would help her attract men--the kind of men she now wanted.
In the three mirrors her heavy golden hair rippled down over her shoulders like a waving field of ripening wheat and her eyes, the color of a clear, cobalt-blue sky above, large, slanting, fringed with thick, black eyelashes, stared back at her beneath the mocking arched wings of her eyebrows. Her nose was straight with the faintest suggestion of an upward tilt, her mouth, full and ripe, although a trifle too large. But her teeth were perfect, and her smile both innocent and seductive.
The straight lines of her neck flowed smoothly outward to the squared angles of her shoulders and downward to the rising curves of her breasts, twin mounds of firm flesh tipped with dark-red buds, their halos large and rosy. Rising on her toes, she stretched her arms above her head, making her breasts arch high and taut, her nipples becoming swollen and rigid as she remembered Dave's hands passing tightly over them this afternoon and the sucking, eager mouth. With a soft and languorous caress, her hand followed the flowing, mysterious curves of her body, brushed gently over the golden breasts, rubbed slightly the red, aching tits, cupped snugly the small circle of her waist and swept outward around her rounded hips. The slight acrid scent of dried sweat mingled with the musty smell of the leaves she had rolled on that afternoon and which still lingered on her skin.
From the slight indentation of the navel set in her gently rounded stomach, a faint line of down led to the strong jut of her mound, her center of sex thinly covered with silky, blond hair, golden swirls hiding her entrance of sex. Beneath were lush, full thighs and tapering long legs, their muscles tensing and relaxing as she moved up and down on her toes. Her skin was not pure white, but slightly golden, the color of toast or the fur of a tawny tigress. Slightly rotating her body to see her back, she drew in her breath as she saw the usually smooth planes of her shoulder blades, the concave hollow of the small of her back and the orbs of her haunches, as full and plump as ripe peaches, covered with pale-pink scratches.
But she really didn't care. For the hot, rising tide of pleasure, culminating in the sharp peak of the first orgasm with a man, had been well worth the lacerations on her body. And she knew that, for her, this would always be true. Being able to make love would be worth almost anything.
She turned out the light, walked over to the bed and slid between the sheets. Their coolness was fresh and soothing on her burning body and she fell asleep almost immediately.
* * *
She had driven to Chicago with a visiting cousin of one of their neighbors, a young fellow named Dave, whose gentle bespectacled face, when she had first seen him the evening before, made her think he was too shy and reserved to be possibly interesting. Since she had obtained her parent's permission to forgo college and, instead, look for a job in Chicago--permission more easily given after her aunt had written from Chicago inviting her to stay in her apartment as long as she wanted--she had been eagerly envisioning what adventures she might fall into, adventures for which her long pent-up desires were more than ready. But when she noticed his large strong hands and the ease with which he moved his powerful, compact body, a tingle of anticipation passed through her. Now that she was leaving home and would be finally independent, she no longer felt hesitant about indulging in a full sexual experience. It was as though a second umbilical cord had been cut, a strong cord of obligation and responsibility tying her to her parents and prohibiting her from doing anything which they might disapprove. For the first time she could look at a man and want him, without also feeling guilty about it.
They had stopped for lunch at a roadside diner and when they climbed back in the car, Cynthia moved over near him, her legs folded back under her, the hem of her cotton skirt above her knees.
"What kind of job were you thinking of getting?" Dave said.
"I'm not sure. I haven't had any experience. Do you think one will be hard to find?"
"Shouldn't be with your looks, baby," he said.
"I was thinking I might take a secretarial course first, but I'd really like to get a job right away instead, and be on my own."
"What's the rush? Anxious to make your first million?"
"No," she said, glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes, "but I'm sick of living with parents and relatives. I want to live by myself so I can do what I want."
"And what do you want to do?"
She didn't reply, but continued looking straight ahead out the window, a faint smile on her face. She felt him looking at her and then the light pressure of his warm hand on her knee.
"It's hot out. I feel all sticky," she said. He withdrew his hand as she unfolded her legs and stretched them out before her, her knees spread apart. She moved them back and forth and, holding the hem of her skirt, shook it slightly. "Perfect day to go swimming. I'd like to dive in right up to my neck."
"Yeah, I'd like to dive in, too, but not in water, and not up to my neck." He took one hand off the wheel and ran it down over her hair. "Baby, as I said before, you're a real killer."
He pulled her head toward him until it lay on his shoulder. She tilted it up and he kissed the end of her nose while his hand strayed down over her shoulder, under her armpit and over the proud rise of her breast which his fingers cupped and then tentatively pressed, the flesh soft but resilient under his spread fingers.
Moving her leg against his and laying her hand on his thigh, her fingers lightly kneaded it and then crawled slowly upward toward the crotch of his trousers. Her lips whispered with soft flutters against his neck and up to his ear, the lobe which she gently chewed, her hot breath filling his ear. With her hand she found the bulge between his legs and began massaging it until it became large and swollen and pressed tightly against the material. Digging his fingers in her breast, he rubbed and twisted the knob of her nipple, making it swell out under the thin white jersey like a dark-red grape.
The loud blast of a horn jerked them up, startled. The car swerved to the right as he quickly spun the wheel and narrowly missed a car which roared past them, its horn a continuous screech.
"My God!" Dave exclaimed. After a moment he laughed hollowly and said, "Honey, our romance almost came to a sudden and permanent conclusion."
Cynthia looked at him and said, "Can't we open a new chapter?"
He glanced at her quickly, at her flushed face and the thick hair tangled by the wind, at her blue eyes, their lids half-closed, gleaming with a frank invitation and then he slowed the car, soon turning off the highway onto a graveled road which he followed until he turned again, this time onto a bumpy lane leading into a small wood.
Switching off the key, he turned toward her, one hand still on the wheel. Wordless they looked at each other for a moment, feeling the tension between them, stretched tautly like an elastic band. But it snapped suddenly as they fell together, their bodies hungry and frantic. For they met like two wild cats, each furiously trying to subdue the other with their lips and hands, chewing, scratching, bruising, their mouths pressed together like two crushed flowers, biting each other's lips and tongues, their hands sliding heavily over the curves and hollows of their bodies as though they were trying to hurt each other.
She cried aloud as he grasped her hard with one hand and wrenched her around so that her back smashed against the steering wheel and the hard rim dug into her flesh and locked one arm around her. His lips bit into the smooth golden hollow below her neck while his fingers, tangled in her hair and pulling the roots, held her head like a vice. His other hand pressed and squeezed her breast as though it were an orange, as though he were trying to twist it off; so sharp was the pain that she screamed and struggled furiously to make him stop, kicking her legs until her skirt fell back over her belly, exposing the sheer pink of her panties under which the blond curls of her mound lay like a yellow crocus. Her full, tanned thighs trembled like golden jelly as she bucked and writhed, trying to escape, trying to free her twisted right arm from where it was crushed against his chest, the pen in his pocket jabbing into her flesh. He stopped her moans with his mouth and at the same time brought the palm of his hand down with a loud smack against one of her inner thighs, leaving a bright pink imprint, the sting and shock of the blow momentarily halting her contortions. He worked his hand up under the elastic of her panties, touching her wet throbbing vagina and tantalized the warm moist lips between her legs. As she felt his hand loosen on the back of her neck and his lips kiss her more tenderly, she began to relax and slowly freed her hands. But when his nails suddenly scratched the tender flesh under the fleece of her loins, she clawed his back and bit his lip until the blood flowed.
"You bitch!" he snarled. He clasped her wrists grimly in one of his hands. In one quick movement he pushed her off him and, still holding her wrists, opened the door and said quickly, "Get out."
He got out and pulled her after him. Her legs slid over the seat, the friction burning the naked underside of her thighs; she felt as though her arms would come out of their sockets. She was filled with a wild anger and wanted to fight back, but at the same time she was enjoying his violence, the open display of his lust for her and her body responded with an equal lust for him. The conflict between her anger and desire made her almost hysterical for a moment; she didn't know whether to tear at him with her nails or to fall upon him with all the love and passion her long pent-up desires demanded as a release.
But she had no time to decide for he threw her roughly to the ground and fell on top of her, the impact of his body crushing the breath out of her. The sharp rip of tearing cloth mingled with her moans as he first tore off her white blouse and then, with one wrench, tore off her brassiere and pressed his mouth against the soft pulp of her breast. When she felt his hard mouth sucking and biting the tender, aching nipple, flashes of pain lanced through her body and she began to churn violently beneath him so that her naked back ground into the pebbles, sharp as broken crockery, and the dirt covered roots which stuck out from the sod like knots of rope. She rolled her head from side to side, her taffy-colored hair now streaked with dirt and threaded with bits of leaves and twigs, her eyes closed, her mouth, once red and demure, now bruised and swollen. Scraping her nails down his back, she heard his shirt rip into long ribbons and felt the warm slipperiness of blood against her fingers.
He reached down and tore off the thin mesh of her panties as easily as though he were brushing away a cobweb and twisted around on top of her, dropping his face to the warm soft flesh of her thighs. She groaned and writhed beneath this violent attack that she hadn't expected as she felt his fingers clawing at the tender lips of her vagina, slowly spreading them apart between her wide-spread legs. She tried to clamp them together in a sudden rush of terror but he was too quick. His head dropped and the sudden wetness of his slavering lips locking onto her throbbing and exposed clitoris froze her body as it was. A sharp new sensation rippled through her and she felt all the tingling carnal passions that she had built up over all the years before suddenly and without warning, rushing up from her legs and belly and gurgling from her mouth in an uncontrollable torrent of pleading cries.
"Ooooh God! Oooooooooh God!" she groaned over and over without ceasing as the tiny bud of her clitoris springing into a life that she never knew it possessed as he nibbled and sucked at mercilessly in the sudden crazed passion that had overcome him. Her head rolled from side to side on the hard, unyielding ground, matting her hair with tiny bits of leaves and dirt but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but the delicious rape of the mouth that was making wet sucking sounds down between her open and defenseless legs. Strange, muted and hazy thoughts of that summer day long ago with Pal drifted across her mind and she wanted to open her eyes and see if there were lazy fleecy clouds above, but she couldn't. There was nothing she could do but buck and churn beneath that probing tongue that was burning fire into her young and unplundered vagina.
And then ... then when she thought it would never end, he twisted around again, dropping heavily between her legs. He grasped her behind the knees and lifted her thighs high on either side of him, pausing only a moment to drop his pants to his knees.
Cynthia was beside herself, she had never felt so open and ready in her life. Her pelvis rotated in small hungry circles as he knelt between her open thighs, holding her legs in the air. He smiled down at her.
"You're hot, baby. I'm gonna like this."
"Dave!" she gasped urgently, her pelvis making larger circles now. "Fuck me! Fuck me or I'll die!"
Without hesitation he pulled her under him, the softness of her buttocks scraping unnoticed along the roughness of the ground, and fell heavily down between her legs. His hand directed his huge throbbing cock to the wet, quivering lips of her cunt, pausing for the slightest of moments to part the thin, blond pubic hair, and then plumbing forward to rip without stopping through the thin, tight membrane of her virginity.
"Aaaagggghhhbh!" Cynthia suddenly screamed, the hot, blinding pain seared deep in her belly. "Oooooh, God stop, you're killing me. Oh ... please ... please ...!"
Her arms jerked up involuntarily and clung to him with all her strength as though it might drive the pain away. Her face was contorted and eyes clenched tightly shut. She struggled once, but then her body stilled to ease the pain. She could feel the full length of the huge penis throbbing deep inside her womb, imbedded to the hilt. Tiny whimpers sifted from between her tightly closed lips as she lay quietly, adjusting to the new and strange invasion of her tight virginal pussy.
Dave did not move at first, but lay rigid on top of her. He was surprised at her virginity from the fervor with which she had entered into the act but knew it would take her a moment for the pain to subside. Then, then by God he would throw it to her like she'd never get it again. He had never had a virgin before and he wasn't going to let this one off easy.
In a moment, Cynthia made her first tentative movement. She rolled her buttocks slightly under him and a small surprised gasp of pleasure escaped from between her teeth.
It didn't hurt!
She had thought the pain would last much longer and had been afraid of it but suddenly there was none, a slight bit, yes, but coupled with the strange forbidding sensations coursing through her body it all merged into one great mass of indescribable pleasure.
Dave throbbed his cock inside her.
"Oooooooh, yessss, do it," she whimpered softly up into his ear.
He did it again.
"Oh God, yessss! yessss!" she hissed, her hips suddenly and slowly beginning to rotate beneath him. The tight, wet walls of her cunt contracted jealously around the hardness of his cock as though it were frightened of losing it. He groaned as he felt the muscles deep inside her belly answering the pulsating throbs of his steel-hardened cock. He could hold himself back no longer and began a slow teasing grinding in and out between her wide spread thighs. He could feel the tightness of her clasping around him like soft warm butter, the walls of her cunt holding to him in an animalistic desperation as he withdrew slowly and then thrust forward again to sink his massive cock deep back down inside her.
Her pelvis beneath him began a faster rotation now, her buttocks grinding and writhing down into the hardness of the ground with a sudden abandon that took him by surprise. Mewling sounds of passion and lust bound from her lips in waves of sound that he could not understand but that his body reacted to in the age old rhythm of intercourse that was as old as man himself. He levered up on his toes and dropped his hands down under them to cup the full quavering mounds of her buttocks so that he could fuck deeper down into her.
"Aaahhhhhg! Ooooooooh!" She groaned and twisted her body hike a tortured snake under him. Thrusting her loins up at him as he ground down into her to take the whole of his expanding cook far down inside the warm hot sheath of her pussy.
Cynthia rocked in a dream world of obscene and uncontrolled lust under his pounding body. She had never in all her life, not with Pal, not with anything felt the way she did now with his huge male hardness buried to the hilt inside her. She could feel the soft slap of his balls against the tightly clenched cheeks of her buttocks and the strength of his hands as they kneaded and tore at her tender flesh like the talons of a giant striking bird. She struggled hike a demon to open her thighs wider, to take him deeper, but she could not. He was sunk as far into her as he could go but she wanted more.
"Fuck harder ... fuck harder," she pleaded and begged as she felt him begin to thrust his massive hardness into her with longer and longer strokes now. A strange dancing delight of fire was building far down in her quivering belly that drove her churning body on and on in it's wild quest for the delicious sensation building and building in every pore of her sweating body.
And then it came!
Her muscles contracted tightly around his plunging cock and she cried out wildly thinking the end was here, but soon his strong rhythmic strokes set off another explosion of delight that she had never dreamed possible. Her buttocks rotated against the hardened earth like a helpless ship caught in the vicious waves of a driving storm. She arched her back like a bow, her head buffeting against the ground, her hair spread out like a golden fan, her full quivering breasts pointing to the sky, trembling and swirling in jerking circles as she quickened her movements to meet the mounting urgency she could feel pulsating through the head of his throbbing rod sunk so deep inside her hungry vagina.
It was gentle at first, preceded by a soft, inhuman gurgle from deep in his chest. And then, she felt it. It was as though a giant explosion were ripping her belly apart. Hot white jets of his sperm erupted and flooded into her filling her womb with a warmth and sensation beyond all description. She could feel it racing around deep inside her as though the flood-gates of heaven had been thrown wide-apart. At the same moment, she jerked her own legs uncontrollably out in the air on either side of his spasmodically, grinding hips and a great flash of erotic fire leaped up inside her and exploded in a volcanic eruption of her own orgasm
"Aaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaah!" She moaned, her head turning from side to side, her hair beating the ground hike a golden whip. The muscles of her hips and belly contracted in rolling waves of spasm, the pulsating walls of her hot, sperm-filled pussy sucking the last drops from his still spurting cock, until finally, weak and exhausted, she stopped and fell limply back onto the ground.
They lay for some time, panting and gasping, the smell of her wet orgasm and the odor of the perspiration which coated their bodies like a light film of dew overpowering the fresh scent of the forest around them. Finally he sat up and then helped her to her feet. With her torn panties he wiped the dirt and blood from her back and hips and then he got their suitcases from the car.
Without speaking, they changed their clothes, climbed back into the ear and started on for Chicago.
Chapter 4
Cynthia soon discovered finding another job was not as easy as she had expected. With no experience, she was limited to those which paid the least and seemed to be the least interesting.
"But why don't you take a secretarial course, Cynthia?" her aunt asked. "They have six-week courses here, and then you'd be much better qualified for a job."
"Yes I suppose I should." Cynthia sighed. "But I'd like to look a bit more, first."
"Well, I think you're foolish. You know you can stay here as long as you want, so it's not as if you absolutely had to get a job."
"I know aunt Mary," she replied, "and thanks, but the idea of going to school again just leaves me cold."
"Did you see the ad this morning for a clerk at the Harris and Black Department Store? No experience required, it said."
"Yes, I saw it going in on the bus this morning."
"Did you go and see them?"
"Yes, but ..."
"Well, what happened?"
"I had to take some tests, the usual rigmarole, and after an interview, they said they'd let me know. The hours would be awfully long."
"Did you go any place else?"
"Oh, yes, I went back to the Rogers Employment Agency and they sent me to a couple places ... an advertising agency and a distributing outfit for household appliances."
"How were they?"
"The agency looks real good. A modern place and nice people."
"And?"
"And they're going to let me know. That's what they all say," she said impatiently, "we'll let you know. Really doesn't anybody just hire on the spot."
Her aunt laughed. "Well, that's the way it goes, dear. You'll just have to be patient. What kind of a job did they have open."
"Office girl ... to open mail, carry copy around, learn the switchboard to help the girl they've get on it now, and things like that. Sounds a little more interesting, at least, than the other jobs I've looked into."
"What about the one at the distributing place?"
"I didn't like it at all. The job, nor the people, nor the place."
"Well, maybe you'll hear from the advertising people. I hope so. Try not to get discouraged, dear."
Cynthia refrained from telling her exactly how discouraging and exhausting her job hunting had been, for she knew her aunt would only press her the more strongly to take a secretarial course. But since she didn't want to delay earning her own living she wasn't going to give up yet, although she had already found that her interviewers had been interested in her for other reasons than giving her a job. At the distributing company she had finally learned what it was all about. And she had learned with a vengeance
She had gone in, eager and hopeful, dressed in a neat summer suit and pert white hat which framed her tanned face and golden hair impeccably and had waited impatiently to be called in for the interview. The office had been bare and stark, not at all pleasant and not very clean. Back and forth past the open door hurried flashily-dressed cigar-smoking men, talking to each other in loud tones, and rough language. Probably salesmen, she thought, and not very attractive ones at that. She didn't like the appearance of either the office or the employees and when she had finally been summoned into the interviewer's office, she had liked it even less.
Its windows closed, the room smelled of sweat, old paper and stale cigars. Behind a massive desk, which was scarred and chipped, sat a gorilla of a man with a large, square head, black, bushy eyebrows and smoking a cigar. He didn't get up when she entered.
"You can sit down there, girlie," he said as he pointed with his cigar, held between nicotine-stained fingers, to a straight-hacked wooden chair.
She sat down and demurely crossed her ankles, her gloved hands folded on her lap while he looked at her for a few moments without speaking. He sucked deeply on his cigar, blew out a swirling cloud of blue smoke, cleared his throat wetly and loudly, and spat on the floor.
"You're not bad, girlie, not bad," he said in a gruff voice. "We could use someone like you around here. Do you want the job?"
"What is it exactly?" she said faintly. She already knew she didn't want it but thought she might as well go through with the interview now that she was here.
"Nothing you couldn't do, honey. Opening mail, delivering it and general errand work ... going out to get us coffee and stuff like that. Wouldn't tax that beautiful head of yours." He tilted his chair hack and leered at her.
"So what about it?" he said.
"Well, I ..." she faltered.
"Doesn't pay much, of course," he said, "but then you haven't to worry about that. The Cromwell Wholesale and Distributing Company always takes care of its employees and there's no doubt that with your looks, girlie, you'll be well taken care of around here." He laughed, got up and walked slowly around the desk. She sat quietly, twisting her fingers, and watched his hands; his thumbs were hooked on his belt and one hand held the cigar. They were large and chapped with crescents of dirt under the cracked nails.
"Well, I ..." she started to say.
She didn't dare raise her eyes as he came toward her, but continued to stare at his hands and behind them his stomach which swelled out like a soft, over-ripe watermelon under the belt and shirt, stained with sweat and dirt, limp and wrinkled.
"What's the matter, honey, I won't bite you!" He laughed again as he stood in front of her. She saw his hands move. He flicked his cigar, the ashes falling onto her skirt and over her white gloves. He put his other hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.
"Well, what about it?" he said.
"I don't think I'll take the job," she said, she was tense and frightened. But what could happen to her here in his office? She glanced out of the corner of her eyes at the closed door.
He roared with laughter again and moved his hand to the nape of her neck and rubbed it with firm fingers.
"Honey, you better think again. There might be more money in it for you than just the job. You know, you're quite a looker."
"I don't think I want the job," she said again and started to get up, but his hand drew her toward him and he crushed her against his chest. His head bent toward hers; she saw his stained teeth and smelled the nauseating smell of his breath and his mouth sought her own. Turning her head, she struggled to free herself from his arms and kicked his shin.
"God damn!" he said. "You're a real she-devil!"
He lifted her by the armpit and put her on the edge of the desk. Pushing her back against the hard wood and crumpled papers, he leaned over her, his crotch pressed against hers, his jutting stomach spread over her hips, and held her down, one hand clamped firmly on her breast while the other searched under her skirt and fumbled up over her thighs to where her panties met in a flimsy silken triangle over her soft pubic mount.
"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let go of me!" She twisted and writhed under his hands, feeling his short, stubby middle finger insinuating itself up under the elastic legband of her thin nylon panties. She gasped in sudden pain and humiliation as she suddenly felt it sink deep between the fleshy lips of her vagina and far up inside her. His other hand left her breast and clamped over her mouth, trying to drown out the cries of terror building there at the sudden and unexpected attack. Cynthia was almost out of her mind from the quick paralyzing fear of what the pudgy, fat man might do to her in his wild uncontrolled lust. She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes bulging wide in disbelief. Sweat was rolling in tiny rivulets from his forehead from the unaccustomed exertion he was forcing on his flaccid body and his eyes shone with twin sparks of madness she had seen before in the wild rolling eyes of the insane in some far distant horror movie she had seen as a child. There was nothing she could do. Her body was frozen and she felt as though she was some distant observer gazing down on the unbelievable scene of her own rape in the office of this horrible uncivilized creature that could not even he called human.
She lay on the paper littered desk like some defenseless cornered mouse chased into a crevice by an evil purring cobra. Her muscles were useless and she could only follow his lewd, obscene actions with the fear dilated pupils of her eyes as he pried her legs apart with his own short fat thighs and edged far up between them. He slipped his finger wetly from her cunt and placing both hands under her knees, lifted her legs high up off the floor, at the same time pulling her toward him across the desk. She could feel her body sliding with ease through the disorganized stacks of paper that floated to the floor around them with a strange uneasy silence. There was no sound in the room now except the fat man's heavy, labored breathing that became more desperate with each moment he drew closer to possessing her lovely young body. Her shoulders on either side of his head and his hands snaked around her hips pulling her at him again until the whole of her upturned loins were pressed tight against the hard bulge beneath his pants.
The harsh metallic sound of a zipper being hurriedly pulled down broke the silence of the room and she felt the wet lubricated end of his penis pressing hotly against the soft inner flesh of her thighs at the top of her silk stockings. There was nothing separating them now but the thin flimsy band of her panties running up between her wide-held legs.
She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, she wanted to tear herself away from this evil creature who was using her young fear-frozen body as though she were a whore that had just walked in off the streets. But ... she couldn't. All she could do was lay as she was, helpless on her back in the messy pile of papers on the desk and let this dirty, filthy old man play with her secret parts as he willed.
He lifted her legs higher still and pulled her even closer to the edge of the desk until the white rounded ends of her buttocks were hanging slightly over the side. At the same time he arched his loins toward the center of her open thighs. She whimpered piteously, the first sound she had been able to utter since the horrible nightmare had begun and a trembling please escaped in a forced whisper from her throat.
"Please ... please don't do it to me ... please!"
Then to her increased horror, she saw a lewd smile break across his fat slobbering lips.
"Baby, I'm gonna fuck you like you ain't never been fucked," he grunted down at her in animal satisfaction, his small beady eyes dropping from her face to the exposed center of her loins. "Bet you got the tightest little pussy in town."
His hand moved down the inner flesh of her thigh and she automatically raised her head from the desk where it was lying and looked with pleading eyes down between the full cleavage of her dress covered breasts to the spread of her legs below. Another small squeal of protest escaped from her lips as she saw his thick, fat hand slide around the curve of her leg of her thigh and between her legs to pull aside the thin wet crotch piece of her panties. Her eyes widened further and she gave a choking gasp as she felt the hardness of the head of his cock probing harshly at the now open and unprotected lips of her fear-quivering cunt. He lifted it up and down in the nature-moistened slit for a moment, parting the full fleshy lips like a blunt knife slicing it's way through a soft cube of butter. Her stomach felt sick and nauseated and she heard him begin spitting obscenities through his clenched teeth as though he were a mad man.
"Oh little baby, what a tight lil pussy ... lovely blond cunt hair ... gonna fuck you crazy ... come to Daddy, baby ..."
And then ... unable to contain himself any longer he jerked forward, sinking his fat, thick penis half-way into her cringing vagina. Cynthia gave a desperate choking gasp, an expression of utter incredibility coming over her face as she felt the hard blunt cock sliding relentlessly into her.
"Oh, Ooooohh, God, No ... no ... please ... No ...!" her voice rasped helplessly as the hard brutal realization that all this was real tunneled into her tortured mind.
The fat man's eyes gleamed, as he looked down between their now lewdly coupled bodies and watched the slow agonizing disappearance of his thick round cock into the soft blond fleece between Cynthia's upheld thighs. When he had it a little over half way in, he stopped the wet, viscous penetration and hissed down at her agonized face:
"There honey ... you like Daddy's cock in ya, don'cha?"
Cynthia moaned in her agony of humiliation and did not answer the leering man's torturous question.
"Ya like it, baby, I can tell," he chuckled obscenely, "Ya want more don'cha? Ya want it all in ya, oh? I can feel that tight lil pussy beggin' for it. Tell me, baby, tell me, and I'll give it to ya."
She could not speak and just nodded her head. God, she had to get it over with or this horrible man would never let her go. She just had to.
"Tell me, baby!" he said more brutally time, pinching the soft inner flesh of her thigh hard between his pudgy fingers.
"Tell me to fuck it then," he teased lewdly. "Tell me to fuck that lil cunt of yours, baby."
"Ooooh God," she groaned at the pain and finally found the strength from deep in her sub-conscious mind to follow his obscene command. "Yesss, God yes ... fuck it ... fuck it!"
The evil leering fat man above her released his flesh-tearing grip on her thighs and with a triumphant wheeze rammed his thick, fat cock as far into her belly as it would go.
"Ooooooooh," Cynthia groaned as it seared up inside her vagina, stretching the tender lips and inner walls wide apart. She grunted as the hard blood-filled head smashed with a jolt all the way up to her cervix. She was completely impaled in the most humiliating position in the world and the sight of her lush young body completely at his mercy that way drove the fat, puffing man almost wild. He rammed in and out of her quickly and without regard for the pain he was subjecting her to by the twisting and turning of her flesh beneath his hands as his cock pistoned in and out of her widely stretched pussy like a huge, throbbing blimp. There was nothing she could do but lay there and groan out her pain and indignation into the unhearing air above her. There was no one to help her and she lay limp and helpless on the desk until she suddenly heard his gasp down at her and felt the hot wet sperm of his stolen passion shooting in short powerful jets deep down inside her belly.
He stood sagging and wheezing between her legs for a moment afterwards as the hardness of his penis slowly drained itself and deflated inside her and then he backed away and collapsed in a huffing heap on the couch against the wall behind him.
Cynthia had never felt so soiled and degraded in her life as she struggled to her feet from the top of the desk. The crotch band of her panties slipped back into place under her dress as she stood up and she could feel it wet and sticky against the flesh between her legs from the flood of his sperm inside her.
Pale and trembling, her fingers nervously tried to straighten her skirt as he shakily struggled to his feet and stood beside her.
"Baby, you're a nice little screw. I think we can use you around here," he laughed as though he had said something humorous.
Cynthia said nothing as she struggled to re-adjust her clothing,
"Okay, okay," he said, laughing again and blowing his foul smelling cigar smoke in her face. "Ya can't blame me for grabbin' a little from a cute young gal like you, can ya. I'm only human."
She finished with her clothing and combed out her hair quickly without breaking the silence.
"Won't do ya no good to go to the cops, girly, if that's what you're thinkin'," he threatened with a knowing smile. "All them guys in the outer office would swear they didn't hear no rape. Might even say ya propositioned me for a job."
Without saying a word or looking at him, she picked up her purse, walked over to the door, opened it and slammed it shut behind her. She could hear him laughing as she walked away and tiny tears bubbled in the corner of her eyes.
Welcome to the big city, she heard the mocking voice of the fat man run through her mind. Ya'll love it, baby. And ... she decided then and there that she would from this moment on.
Chapter 5
Two days later the advertising agency called and told her that the job for which she had been interviewed was hers. Happy and eager, she began work the next morning, resolving to do her best on this, her first job. Although the work was routine--opening mail, delivering it, running copy and doing other errands, learning to handle the switchboard and receive clients in the reception room--the novelty of doing something and being paid for it, as well as the amiability of the staff, made her like the job and conscientiously try to do her best. And in turn, the employees liked her, her youthful air, her fresh beauty, her desire to please and her quick response to their wishes.
Several of the men asked her for dates. She liked, particularly, a young copy-writer named Bill who, although not much taller than she, had a ready wit and took delight in showing her the nightlife of Chicago, a new experience for Cynthia, whose night life heretofore had consisted of the movies and a few dances in the farming community in which she had been raised. So at first she was somewhat shocked by the more ragged side of life--the burlesque shows, nightclub shows, and the sight of prostitutes patrolling the sidewalks--but soon the novelty and shock wore off and she accepted it as only another aspect of her new and interesting life.
One Friday night after a late movie she and Bill stopped at a small all-night cafe on State Street for a hamburger and coffee. While they were dawdling over their second cup and deciding what to do next, a hand clapped Bill on the shoulder and a hearty voice said, "Well, if it isn't Bill Stevenson! Haven't seen you in months. What are you doing in this crummy section?"
Cynthia looked up and in the mirror behind the counter saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man with black hair, a tanned face, smiling dark eyes and a wide, friendly grin. "I'll he damned! Frankie Mahoney!" Bill exclaimed as he swirled around on his stool. "Where you've been all this time?"
"Oh, screwin' around. Makin' some dough. This and that. What about yourself?" he said. He sat down on the next seat to Bill and signaled the waiter for a cup of coffee.
"I'm downtown at the Shepherd Advertising Agency, making with the words and trying to persuade frazzled housewives to shell out $1.25 for hand lotion which costs a manufacturer ten cents to make. Great stuff. Most ennobling for the soul."
"Sounds like a real drag, man," Frankie said. He glanced at Cynthia's bare left hand. "Hey who's your chick? Or have you got her patented?"
He craned his head around Bill and grinned at Cynthia who smiled back.
"Oh, sorry," Bill said, "Cynthia, this is Frankie Mahoney. Cynthia Holiday. Frankie and I grew up in the same neighborhood."
"Glad to meet you, Cynthia," Frankie said and reached over to shake her hand. "You're from Chicago? You don't have that Loop pallor."
"No, I'm fresh from the country. I've only been here about four or five weeks," Cynthia said.
"Frightened in with the other heifers, huh? You'd better leave before you get slaughtered, too," Frankie said with a laugh. "Chi's a real crazy town, baby."
"But I like it--at least so far. Bill's been showing me some of the night life."
"Not like life down on the farm, I bet. Do you dig it?"
"What?"
"Do you dig it?"
"Dig it? What do you mean?" Puzzled, she looked at him and then at Bill. "My God," Frankie said. "A real square. I thought they weren't grown anymore."
Cynthia flushed. But when he grinned at her she realized he was only teasing her.
"So I'm a square," Cynthia said. "So I need some education. So what does 'dig it' mean?"
"He wants to know if you like it," Bill said.
"Oh, sure I do," she said, smiling at them. "Give me a few more weeks and I'll even dig digging." She sat up straighter, her pointed breasts swelling softly out under the tight sweater and brushed her heavy hair back with her Land.
Frankie was still looking at her, a half-smile on his face, frankly caressing with his eyes her moist, red lips and the firm upsweep of her breasts. She gazed back at him, coolly and openly. She felt nude under his stare. She liked the feeling.
Tom cleared his throat and said, "Do you live around here, Frankie?"
Frankie dragged his gaze away from Cynthia. "Yeah, not far," he said. He lifted his cup, cradling it with his hands and sipped slowly. Cynthia glanced in the mirror and caught him looking at her again over the rim of his cup.
"Well Cynthia," Bill said, "we'd better be going. Nice to have seen you, Frankie." His voice was brisk and commanding.
"Yeah, I gotta split, too," Frankie said. "Here I'll pay." He threw some coins on the counter.
As they got up and started out the door he took Cynthia's arm, holding her hack momentarily and whispered quickly, "Where can I reach you, baby?"
"I work at the Shepherd Agency, too," she said softly.
"Okay," he said and released her.
"Well, so long, kids," he said. "I'm going the other way. See you later."
They shook hands and parted.
The next morning, while cleaning the small apartment into which she had just moved, Cynthia was thinking of Frankie. She was angry at herself, not only having failed to give him her home telephone number, but also for not having indicated more clearly that she would like to see him again. After they had parted the night before, she had asked Bill about him; he had replied that although he didn't know what Frankie was doing now, he had always been somewhat of a worthless bum and had tangled with the police several times and, furthermore, he added, he was someone whom Cynthia should steer clear of. But this, of course, together with her immediate attraction to him, only tantalized her curiosity and made her all the more eager to see him again.
When the telephone rang, she dropped the dust mop and ran to the phone, hoping it would be Frankie, but realizing at the same time that her new number wasn't listed.
It was Frankie.
"Hello?" she said.
"Cynthia? This is Frankie, the cat you met last night."
"Oh, yes. Hello, Frankie. How are you?" Her heart was beating rapidly.
"Fine baby. Had a hell of a time getting you. Called that slave joint of yours, but the operator said you didn't work on Saturdays. Didn't want to give me your number and address, but I finally conned her into it--told her I was your brother and just got in town. So how are you?"
"Fine, Frankie. Busy cleaning my new apartment."
"Yeah? Like to see it. I don't dig phones. Look, baby, you got anything on tonight?"
"Well, no, I guess not." She had a date with Bill, but knew she could break it by telling him her aunt was ill and she had to go over to see her.
"Swell. I'm tied up 'til about nine, but I'll pick you up at your pad right after. Okay?"
"Where?"
"At your place. Okay?"
"Yes, that's fine, Frankie."
"Okay, baby. See you then. Keep cool."
"Bye, Frankie. See you tonight."
Chapter 6
Frankie took Cynthia to the "960 Club," a small nightclub on south State Street where, he said, the feature attraction of the show was a friend of his, Flossie McNamara, who was billed as Torchy Night, the Latin Bombshell. After the show, he added, we can go backstage if you'd like, and meet some of the cast. Cynthia was pleased by the idea of actually being able to go behind the scenes and looked about her with interest as they sat at the bar, perched on high stools.
The Club was small, consisting of a large rectangular bar with a scarlet curtained stage at one end, its floor on a level with the bar, and few small tables scattered along the sides. The floor was carpeted with a thick, scarlet rug and three of the walls were entirely covered with mirrors while the fourth was draped with the same scarlet material which curtained the stage. The ceiling was black, studded with stars which twinkled softly and afforded the only illumination in the room. In the dim light she could see in the mirror Frankie and herself reflected back a dozen times, his rugged darkness strikingly paired with her own blondness. On a small platform in front of the stage a four-piece combo was beating out a popular song. Frankie explained that when the show started the platform sank down to the floor, permitting a clear view of the stage, and that the girls not only used the stage for their acts but also walked along the top of the bar.
Torchy's appearance was heralded by a roll of drums, the darkening of the overhead lights and a white spotlight shining on the curtains which slowly parted. And there was Torchy, dressed in a tight, black evening gown, she looked like a black, sinuous mermaid for the dress was covered with shiny sequins which glittered and sparked in the spotlight like the scales of an iridescent fish and hugged each curve like a rubber glove. Except for her arms, which were encased in long, mesh gloves, the dress covered her completely and was fastened at the neck by a narrow collar of sequins. On her head was a glistening, winged cap which came down over her ears and held back the long black hair which rippled almost to her waist. One hand on her thrust-out hip, the other holding a long cigarette-holder, she was completely motionless, a shimmering statue against the red drapes, the blackness of her costume relieved only by her white, red-nailed hands, her face, chalky in the light, and her black eyes and full red lips.
As the music softly throbbed, she slowly moved her arm, took a drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke through her nostrils. She began to sing a torch song, her voice deep and husky, caressing each word and note, intimate and seductive. At first she barely moved her body, but as the song became more passionate she started to weave her shoulders and hips. Two long slashes of startling white flesh suddenly appeared; her dress was slit both from the collar to the waist and from the floor up to her thigh. With her eyes closed, her head and shoulders thrown hack, swaying in time to the music, the slit widened to show the rising curves of her breasts, framed by the jet-blackness of her gown. The music swelled up in strong, rhythmic beats and she glided languidly about the stage, her body undulating like a glittering, black serpent, her eyes staring brazenly at the audience through half-closed lids. Against the black inverted V of her skirt, her legs flickered in and out, their whiteness and nudity accentuated.
Then, as the spotlight changed to a soft rose, she unfastened some hooks at her neck and waist and the dress suddenly fell away. Like a statue of pink alabaster, her skin glowed with the soft luster of a seashell's interior. Her breasts and sex were covered with narrow satin strips, its color so nearly the same rosy hue as her skin that she seemed to be really nude, and it was only the long, pink fringe, hanging over the material, which betrayed the illusion. Swinging like moving fingers over the strong jut of her mound and over the plump orbs of her haunches, their ends caressed her lush thighs, the inner sides of which softly rubbed together as she rolled her hips in large circles and slowly revolved around the stage. Living the throbbing, sensual beat of the music, her body undulated suggestively, lewdly, her arms raised above her head, entwining and parting in the flowing movements of an Oriental dancer; her torso weaving in circles, her entire body seemed taut with sexual tension, but at the same time relaxed and languorous; the curtains of fringe swayed like the tentacles of a pink jelly-fish, drawing attention to the proud, pointed breasts, arched high, and to the hidden center of her sex.
As the spotlight followed her, bathing her in a pink sea of light, she sauntered slowly onto the bar and walked along its top. Leisurely she moved, gracefully and deliberately, her shoulders, breasts and hips pulsating in time to the music. Her heels clicked on the hard wood and as she passed, a pungent scent of musky perfume came from her body. Looking upward, following the long sweep of her legs which widened and met at the apex of her sex, one could see a faint film of sweat which coated her body like a pink dew.
When she had circled the bar and returned to the stage, she put her hands behind her. When she brought them forward again she was holding the two satin strips which she tossed to the side. Her breasts and the lower part of her belly were now covered only by the pink fringe. Her movements became more intense and erotic, and the thin curtains swayed to and fro as she threw her torso into violent contortions, permitting glimpses of the firm twin arcs of her breasts, tipped with hard rosy buds and the large pad of her sex, covered only by a G-string. The spotlight dimmed, shadowing more deeply the tapering under-slope of her breasts, molding more richly the turning curves of her body and legs, accentuating the glistening, pink highlights on her thrusting breasts and belly and swirling buttocks. Her legs spread wide, she bent backwards, her long, black hair sweeping the floor while she swayed her torso so the fringe fell back and one could see only the long inverted V of her legs, climaxing at the wide open mat of her wide spread crotch, as wide as a hand and above it her breasts, completely nude and pointing upward like two cones. When she stood up again, she moved onto the bar and once more circled it, rolling her hips, thrusting out her pelvis, contorting her torso into erotic positions until her entire body seemed to be vibrating with sexual passion. With her heavy-lidded eyes frank and inviting, her hair floating behind her, her tongue sliding over her wet, red lips, her hands moved heavily down on her breasts, caressed the swell of her hips and slipped up her thighs to her mound, which she slowly and suggestively rubbed.
Once back on the stage, she quickly tore off the fringes and stood posed for a few moments in the rosy spotlight, entirely nude except for the almost imperceptible G-string. Then she ran off the stage. The curtains closed and the house lights came on again.
Cynthia was still staring wide-eyed at the closed curtains, her mouth partly open, when she felt Frankie's arm around her waist.
"Well, that's Torchy. How do you like her, baby?" Frankie said.
"She's terrific! I've never seen anyone like her before."
"Yeah. The greatest. How'd you like to meet her?"
"Oh, I'd love to. But what about the other acts?"
"Most of them are real drags. Come on, let's cool it backstage. I've already cleared it with Joe."
"Who's Joe?"
"He runs the joint. Come on "
As the curtains parted for another act, they went through a door near the bar and found themselves in a different world. In the bar everything had been clean and luxurious; here was dirt, confusion and the smell of powder perfume and sweat. Next to the stage sat a heavily made-up girl with red hair, sprawled on a broken down chair and smoking a cigarette. When she saw Frankie, she quickly sat up and straightened her dress.
"Hi, Frankie. What brings you here, darling?" she said, looking at him through heavily mascaraed lids. She stared rudely at Cynthia as if to add, "And what the hell are you doing here?"
"Hello Gypsy. Havin' a ball?" Frankie said.
"You kiddin'? There's about as much chance havin' a ball in this joint as havin' one at a meeting of the D.A.R. Jeez!"
"What in hell are you complaining about? You're making some bucks, aren't you?" He stared back at her, a disgusted look on his face.
"Yeah, but for what? Put your clothes on, take 'em off to tantalize the bug-eyes out there," she said, jerking her thumb toward the bar, "put 'em back on, go out and hustle for drinks, change costumes, take your clothes off again, and so on and so on. My God, my skin feels like it's gettin' in-grown zippers."
"Good old Gypsy. Always complaining. I'll see you later."
"Don't I know it," she yelled after him and watched them sullenly as they walked down the corridor.
"What's she so stirred up about?" Cynthia asked.
"Aw, she bugs me," Frankie said. "Always biting her tongue. I got her this job and now she's putting it down. I'm about fed up with her."
Cynthia looked at him perplexedly wondering what the story was between them. She felt a twinge of jealousy that there should be something between Frankie and Gypsy, and then was surprised at her own feeling.
He took her by the arm and steered her around a corner. A girl sauntered out of a dressing room, completely nude, smoking a cigarette, and clicked down the hall on high heels into another room. Several girls walked by, smiled warmly at Frankie and greeted him by name. One of them was Torchy, now dressed in a tight, white gown.
"Frankie, darling? How are you?" she crooned and then kissed him.
"Fine, Torchy. Where you off to? I'd like to have you meet Cynthia here," he said.
"Hello honey," she smiled at Cynthia. "How do you like this rat nest?"
"Oh, I ... I ... really, I think it's exciting," Cynthia said. She was somewhat awed by all the activity backstage and the glimpses of nude women through the open dressing-room doors.
"How about a talk someplace, Torchy? I promised Cynthia a real look at you!" He laughed, winked at Torchy and patted her plump haunch.
"Hell, Frankie, I've got to go out and hustle drinks. Sorry, honey," she said, looking at Cynthia. "But why don't you go in my room back there and make yourselves at home?"
"Okay," Frankie said. "See you later."
They walked back to Torchy's dressing room which, as she was one of the stars, she shared only with two other girls. It was a small cubicle, with two dressing tables at one side, their tops littered with jars and bottles of cream and perfume, lipstick tubes and mascara brushes, loose bobby pins and spilled powder, and a hundred other items, all jumbled together in a hopeless mess. Against one wall was an open closet, bulging with costumes and dresses, some dirty and frayed with torn hems hanging limply. On the chairs were scattered other costumes and a few G-strings piled in wrinkled masses, mesh brassieres and filmy panties flung over the backs, while on the floor were spike-heeled shoes, red, black, lavender, lying where they had been taken off together with a pair of soiled underpants and a litter of spilled pins, bits of thread and scraps of paper; while over all, the sweet heavy odor of talcum powder and perfume mingled with the acrid scent of female sweat. From the bare, glaring light bulb suspended from the ceiling hung Torchy's pink G-string, still swaying slightly.
"Home, sweet home," Frankie said.
"How do they ever find anything to put on in this mess?" Cynthia laughed as she peered in the door.
"No trouble there--the customers like it better if they don't find anything to put on."
They walked into the room.
"How about a drink?" he said. He brushed a pile of clothes from a chair onto the floor and picked up a bottle of cheap whiskey which was standing under it. He fished around in the litter on the table until he found two glasses, both dirty and rimmed with lipstick. He splashed some liquor in the glasses.
"Here, have a slug."
But as he raised his head, he saw Cynthia in the mirror. She was standing behind him, looking around at the costumes and G-strings at the tables covered with cosmetics, her eyes dreaming and wondering. Putting the glasses down, he turned around.
"You're a strange chick, baby," he said. "Damn if I don't think you're somewhat shocked by all this." He paused. "Are you?"
"No," she said slowly, looking at him wide eyed. "If anything, it sort of excites me." She laughed, a rosy flush creeping up her tanned cheeks.
He stared at her a moment and then reached out and took her roughly in his arms. Tilting back her head, he pressed her lips against his and felt her body, at first tense, slowly relax as he kissed her warmly and deeply. But then she began to struggle and push him away, glancing at the door.
"Really," she panted, "should we being doing this here?" She gestured toward the open door.
"You kidding?" he grinned. "If anything, they'd gather around to watch, and then hire us as a new act."
He leaned against the dressing-table and folded his arms, his long legs stretched out before him.
"But if you're worried, baby, we can always close the door, and in the meantime, relax and have a drink."
He handed her a glass.
"Oh, it's not that. It's just that ... well ... I just ..." She stammered and then stopped. "I'd just like to look around a little. It's all so new."
She took a large gulp of the whiskey, coughed at its rawness and moved slowly around the room. She fingered Torchy's pink tasseled brassiere, held up a wisp of black panties and glanced up at the G-string dangling from the light cord. Pausing in front of the closet, she ran her hand along the bright line of costumes and evening dresses, picked up the skirt of a blue satin gown and rubbed it against her face. Finally she put out a tight, black evening gown and walked over to the mirror; she posed in front of it holding the dress against her.
"Why don't you try it on?" Frankie said.
"Oh, could I? Do you not think they would mind?"
"Sure, go ahead. Try everything on, if you want."
He reached up and pulled the G-string from the cord.
"How about this? You'd look fine in it."
"Well, shut the door then, and turn around while I change."
"Why the bashful act? Think I've never seen a nude woman before?"
"No, I just want to be in the other costume before you see me."
"Well, okay, but there's better things to look at in this joint than a dirty wall. I'll be back in five minutes."
She watched him as he walked over to the door and shut it behind him. A tingle of anticipation prickled in her belly. Seems the strippers flaunting their nude flesh had made her want to imitate them and eager to try on their costumes so she could see how she, herself, looked. And above all, she wanted to display herself to Frankie.
Quickly she stripped off her clothes and put on a black G-string, fitting the small swatch of silk over her mound and adjusting the almost invisible string over her haunches. Next she found a black mesh brassiere, really only half a brassiere, for it came up only to her nipples, supporting the soft under part of her breasts and leaving the top half free. Picking up a rouge stick, she reddened and rubbed her nipples until they stood out like two crimson eyes. Then she slipped on a short gauze jacket beneath which her golden skin glowed warmly, and a short black skirt which cinched over her belly and hung in two sections, slit at the sides, one panel covering the triangle of her pubic hair and the other, her full, ripe buttocks. Here and there the black satin was slashed in the pattern of large flowers, gauze-covered, her tawny skin showing through the mesh like pale copper flowers lying on a black field. She combed out her long, blond hair so it rippled freely down over her shoulders, applied a slash of bright red lipstick to her mouth and a heavy coat of dark mascara to her thick eyelashes. Running a finger over the exotic labels on the row of perfume bottles, she picked out a heavy, spicy scent and sprayed herself liberally.
Just then she heard the door open and she turned around to see Frankie standing in the doorway, staring at her.
She laughed and said, "How do I look?"
He continued to stare at her without saying a word for a few moments and then whistled. He shut the door and turned the key in the lock.
"Baby, I'd hire you in a second."
Poised on her high heels, she revolved slowly before him.
"All we need is some music," she said.
"We can supply our own music," he said, as he started toward her.
"No, wait," she said. "Let me take it off first."
He paused, watching her, his eyes narrowed, following the golden curves of her body as she took off the jacket and the skirt. She stood before him, the firm upper swell of her breasts protruding out above the black mesh of the half-brassiere, the nipples swollen and rouged. On her loins the small patch of silk lay like a painted black leaf, accentuating the tawny tan of her full hips and thighs. She turned around, her haunches rotating slowly, their orbs rising and falling, a thin dew of perfume still lingering on the small of the back and filming the downy hair which traced a pale line from her navel to her mound. Her back to him, she tossed back her hair and arched her breasts, watching him in the mirror, as he stared at her, holding his breath. Their eyes met in the mirror and as he started for her, she turned and leaped toward him, scissoring his waist with her bare legs and flinging her arms around his neck. His hands under her buttocks, holding her against him he buried his head in her chest and sucked the nipple of her breast into his mouth. They fell over onto the floor, tipping over a chair, their limbs and bodies writhing on the floor amongst the scattered costumes and spilled powder.
He ripped off her G-string with one quick jerk of his strong, lean hands and at the same time she heard the harsh metal grate of his zipper ripping down the front of his trousers. Pinioning her on the hard wooden floor with his arms, he insinuated his pulsating cock between the warm, flowing lips of her tight, already throbbing vagina and without halting for a moment stabbed upwards.
"Oooooooh," Cynthia cringed before the sudden entry as she felt his hard male flesh slithering deep up inside her. He penetrated her so deeply on the first thrust their short pubic hair twisted and tangled together as he ground his pelvis tightly down into her loins. The soft skin of his testicles brushed teasingly against the now widely exposed lips of her soft sensitive anus nestled just below their wet coupling. Without waiting he began sliding in and out of her with long, desperate thrusts. She arched her back, unable to hold herself back. Her blood pounded through her veins like hot, molten lead and she could feel every tiny ripple of skin around his warm, thrusting penis as it raced madly in and out between her wide-stretched legs. She jerked her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, her heels beating on the hollowing cheeks of his buttocks like a drum. And then, almost as suddenly as it began, she began a roller coaster of orgasms, one right after another until she felt his cock begin jerking deep down inside her womb and the warm hot spurts of his sperm flooded inside her with the hard driving force of his spending passion.
"God Cindy, that was beautiful," he gasped into her ear, his body still quivering on top of her. Then he was still.
After a few minutes he breathed deeply without saying a word and dismounted her. She lay on the floor still gasping and moaning softly from the utter abandon and power of her quick orgiastic releases. She opened her eyes slightly and watched him as he quickly undressed and strode over to the dressing table. He picked up a large jar of cold cream and returned to kneel down beside her on the floor. He ripped off her brassiere and began spreading large globs of the cool, sweet smelling mess over her entire body from head to toe. Then he covered himself with it and lay down beside her. His arms snaked around her waist and he pulled her over on top of him, her back against his chest, her taut, full breasts pointing straight up to the ceiling. He began rubbing the cream over her body, his hands smoothing its thickness over her shoulders, all around the hard throbbing nipples of her tits, and down over her belly and thighs. His teasing fingers were almost driving Cynthia crazy and her body squirmed uncontrollably on top of him, sliding in the thick coat of cold cream as though she were some wet, slippery eel he was trying to subdue. His hands halted at the Vee of her loins and he gently pulled her thighs apart. Cynthia, groaned and let them limply slide open, her feet falling to the floor on either side of his. Then his fingers massaged slowly between her legs, pulling at the full, throbbing lips surrounding her vagina and gently easing them open. He coated the soft, hidden flanges of wet flesh heavily with the smooth slippery cream and then slowly inserted his middle finger inside to massage well the pink, inner walls. She moaned from the weird sensations coursing through her and felt the hardness of his cock pressing up against the fleshy crevice of her buttocks jerk slightly into a beginning erection.
The lust mounted in her with each moment she felt his penis growing against her until finally she could stand the tantalizing ministrations to her body no longer. She squirmed around on top of him and straddled his upper thighs, her knees slithering up onto the floor on either side of his hips. Her wet, cream covered vagina was poised directly above his now fully erect penis and reaching down between their slippery bodies she directed the huge, rounded head straight into the lips of her waiting vagina. She didn't lower her buttocks immediately but let it prod up between her wide-open loins for a moment, at the same time reaching behind her with both hands to pull the flanges of her pulsating pussy a little wider apart to allow him greater access. She felt him jerk up towards her and then with a tight, gasping groan she screwed her buttocks hard down against his loins taking the whole of his rigid rock-hard cock deep, deep up in her belly.
"Ooooooooh, Frankie! God, ooooooooh, Frankie!!!!"
The soft, rounded cheeks of her ass smacked down against the upthrusting pelvis and she felt the giant, pulsating head smash into her cervix like the end of a hard, cruel, battering ram. A flash of blue raced through her brain at the unexpected depths he reached from the position she was in. There was nothing to prevent his total entrance into her wide-open cunt and she groaned like an ancient captive impaled on the sharp pointed spear of a philistine warrior.
"God, baby, you're tight, tight, God how tight," he panted beneath her pained assault and then began a slow grinding up into her. His hips rotated slowly around on the floor, sending the head of his cock into great swirling circles deep up in her belly. Cynthia groaned, her mouth hanging open in helpless acceptance, her eyes bulging wide until suddenly the whole of her loins became accustomed to the strange, deep invasion that seemed as though it would gouge the very intestines from her. Finally, she grunted and the deep burning passion within her, kindled more by the sudden pain than anything, took hold of her body. She moved slowly at first and then began riding his body like a racing jockey on a wildly sprinting horse. Her pelvis slid uncontrollably in wide, harsh circles against his greased hips, her breasts and belly slipping back and forth over his chest. Like a golden, buttered nymph she rode him until suddenly she felt it rising again inside her. The hot, burning sensation of lust that had to be drowned, drowned in the hot, swirling liquid of the orgasm she could feel bursting upon her. Frankie, beneath her churning body, thrust like a madman as far up into her as he could go with each downward stroke of her buttocks, their creamed bodies slithering hotly together, the sound blending with the wet sucking noise of the lewd coupling of their genitals as they both raced for a fulfillment seconds away.
Hot flashes of red and yellow exploded in her brain as she felt the whole of her white, quivering belly erupt like a thousand roman candles around the hard driving shaft of flesh skewering up into her humping body. At the same time, she heard a harsh guttural cry beneath her and felt his cock begin pumping like a fire hose hot jets of his thick, warm sperm far up into her cunt. Their intermingling juices poured out the tightly clasped lips of her vagina and ran in thin, pearly rivulets down his still spurting rod and disappeared as it churned into the cold cream covering their genitals below by their still wildly gliding bodies. Its musky scent mingled with the sweet smell of the cream, the flowery fragrance of the powder and perfume and the animal odor of male and female sweat.
Chapter 7
During the next few weeks Cynthia had many dates with Frankie, most of them spent making love in her room. And when she thought about him during the day, thought about their lovemaking and his captivating mixture of roughness and tenderness, she wondered if she were falling in love with him. At any rate, she found her emotions and life centering around him more and more.
The mystery as to what he did for a living, and how he spent his time when he wasn't with her, at first made her curious; he wouldn't even tell her where he lived. No matter how much she tried to find out about his life, he always cleverly evaded answering her questions. That he might be engaged in some shady dealings occurred to her, especially when she remembered considerate and nice, at least when he was with her, to do anything outside the law. She was still innocent enough to believe that any sort of lawbreaker must be so abnormal, uncouth and tough, that he would be instantly recognizable to her as though he were wearing a sign saying "Danger--Criminal at Work." Finally, however, she decided that she didn't care what he did for a living, as long as he continued seeing her and making love to her.
At the advertising agency she worked hard and continued dating Bill from time to time. She liked being with him though she hadn't as yet slept with him.
One night she was asked to come back to the office after a quick dinner to work. By now she was doing some of the research and as the deadline for the launching of a new campaign was drawing near, almost everyone connected with it had been working overtime. As it grew late that night, however, everyone left, one by one, until finally she, Bill and Stanley, another copywriter, were left.
"I'm really fagged," Stanley yawned. "Let's close up shop for the night." He got up from his desk and stretched. "Come on, Bill. Let's push off."
"You go on, Stan, I just want to finish this piece." He was seated at his desk, busily writing.
"Do you want anything else, Bill?" Cynthia asked. "If not, I think I'll go. I've finished everything they wanted for tomorrow."
He looked up at her. She was sitting on a corner of his desk, swinging her legs. Her fingers were dirty with carbon, a smudge of ink was on her cheek, her skirt was a mass of wrinkles, but she still looked fresh and lovely. He smiled at her.
"Why don't you wait a minute and I'll drive you home. I'm practically ready to wind up this great piece of literature."
She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. "Okay. I could do with a ride." She slipped off the desk and went toward the door. "I'll find something to read," she said.
"Well, goodnight, kids, I'm off. See you tomorrow," Stanley said and left, whistling.
Cynthia wandered through the offices, picked up a new Playboy from the waiting room and started back to Tom's office. On the way she passed that of Mr. Jackson, the president of the agency. She looked in, switched on the light, saw his big, leather covered chair behind his desk, walked over and sat down. She tilted back the chair and began to read.
"Well I see, we've got a new president," Bill said twenty minutes later. "I must say it's an improvement." He came into the room, carrying a pile of papers.
Cynthia laughed, put her feet up on the desk and said, "And what can I do for you, young man? Are you looking for a job? I'm afraid the only one we can offer only pays $70,000 a year."
"Won't do. Nothing less than $100,000."
He sat on the edge of the desk, laid down the papers and put his hand on her leg.
"On second thought, maybe I'll take that job. With you as boss maybe I can marry the boss instead of his daughter."
"What presumption, Sir," Cynthia said with mock horror. "Do you think I'd marry a mere hireling?"
"In that case, I'll have to be the boss--and one of his privileges is kissing the hired help." Running his hand up her leg, he stood up and scooped her neatly into his arms. She gave a little shriek which turned into a giggle.
"And is this the new position for giving dictation, boss? Or haven't I even been promoted to being your secretary yet?" She wrapped her arms around his neck as he swung her back and forth.
"With you I'd like to promote a lot more."
"Such as?" she said.
He pretended to drop her and then catch her again; she clutched him more tightly around the neck. He swung her around and put her gently on the desk, then leaned over her as she lay on her back amidst the neatly piled papers, her hair spread out against the dark wood, her arms still around him. His face close to hers, he whispered, "Oh Cynthia, Cynthia, you're so beautiful, so beautiful," and put his mouth on her lips. She pulled him closer, revealing her willingness by her eager body and searching lips and tongue, until he swung his hips onto the desk and was lying beside her.
His chest pressed against her blue-sweatered breasts, his hands cradling her head, she moved her body, so that their bellies and thighs rubbed against each other. When she felt his hand searching behind her, she arched her back and felt the sudden unloosening of her brassiere as he unclasped the hook and then the warm pressure of his hand moving beneath the cloth and up over her breast. Sweet longing stirred in her loins as he gently kneaded the pliant mound and stirred the tip to a hard rubbery crest. Breaking their kiss, he helped her take off her sweater. He fell back on top of her, murmuring, "So beautiful, so beautiful," as his lips browsed in the golden hollow of her neck, strayed lightly to her armpit, where he tongued the salty moisture and then licked away, so slowly, so tantalizingly, down her side and up to her breast. She strained against him; her hand rubbed his back and crept under his jacket; bending her knees so her skirt fell back, she wrapped her legs around his, entwining them tightly, their hips moving against each other in a slow dance. Beneath them the papers crackled and slithered to the side. A falling bottle of ink hit the rug with a soft thud.
"What in God's name is going on here!" a voice suddenly bellowed from nowhere.
They became motionless, paralyzed.
"What in the hell are you doing? Get off my desk!"
They turned their heads, eyes wide with surprise and shock. In the doorway stood Mr. Jackson, briefcase in hand, his round face an apoplectic red, his eyes black with anger, his heavy jewels quivering with an uncontrollable rage. One fist clutched around the handle of the briefcase, the knuckles white, he shook the other in the air as he strode toward them, looking as though he wanted to kill them both if he could manage to do so before he had a heart attack.
They quickly jumped off the desk, on the side away from him. Cynthia snatched her sweater from the floor and held it to her naked breasts, one hand grasping the back of the chair to steady her shaking legs. Bill stood beside her, running a hand through his hair, his face puzzled and shocked, as though he still couldn't believe that this was really happening and not a hideous nightmare. They backed away as Mr. Jackson stomped around the desk after them, roaring and cursing like a bellowing bull.
"You God-damn bastards! How dare you! Here! In my office! Do you think this is a whore house?" He was so furious he seemed almost insane, stuttering and spitting, kicking the desk with his foot and pounding it with his fist to accentuate his words. "What kind of ... damnation ... you bloody sucking ... get the hell out of here!"
They both sidled toward the door, Bill sputtering in his attempt to apologize.
"Shut up!" Mr. Jackson roared. "You, Bill, get the hell out! I'll tend to you tomorrow." He pointed a shaking finger to Cynthia, "But you stay. I'll talk to you now!" and he brought his fist down on the desk with such force that the telephone jumped and gave a metallic buzz.
"And shut the God-damn door when you leave!" he yelled after Bill's scuttling figure.
Cynthia backed into a corner behind a chair and stood there trembling. As he stared at her malevolently, grinding his jaws, she realized that she was still clutching the sweater to her bare breasts. She turned her back to him and quickly slipped it on with fumbling fingers. Behind her, she heard him sink down heavily in his chair, wheezing and panting.
She turned around and stood quietly, afraid to look at him or move. In the silence she could hear her heart thudding wildly.
"Now, young lady," he said in a strangely quiet voice. "Just what is the meaning of all this? You're new here aren't you?"
"Yes," she replied in a faint voice. Her one desire was not to irritate him further and to get out as quickly as possible.
"Are you trying to turn this office into your private boudoir?" he asked sarcastically.
"No, I'm sorry ... I ... we ... we were working late and ..."
"Yes, so I saw. A new way to work overtime."
"No, really. We'd finished working and no one was here and ..." her words tumbled out.
"Shut up! I don't care if you were really working or not. All I care about is your having the unmitigated, God-damn gall to think you could use this place to carry on your God-damn love affairs and ..."
"But I ..."
"I said 'Shut up'." he roared. "I don't give a damn what you do outside, but this is place of business and not a strip joint for every tart who gets the urge to take her clothes off!"
Head lowered, she looked up at him under her lashes, wondering why he simply didn't tell her to get out as he had Bill. His face was beet-red, mottled with angry purple patches; fringed with wisps of grey hair, even his bald head was a bright pink. He spat the words out between tightly clamped jaws; on the desk his hands were interlocked, the fingers nervously clenching and unclenching. Realizing that she was alone with him in the empty building, she began to feel afraid, for his anger and appearance were not that of a normal man; she began to perspire nervously under her clothes. She glanced toward the door and began edging toward it, moving sideways, inching slowly, afraid he would notice her movements.
"Where in hell do you think you're going?" he screamed, and sprang to his feet, moving with surprising quickness. She darted to the door but her perspiring hands slid fruitlessly on the metal knob and before she could get it open, he was there, his hand seizing her arm and roughly wrenching her away. He flung her back into the room. Her heel caught on the edge of the rug. She staggered and fell awkwardly to the floor. Tears came to her eyes and she began to sob. She heard the key turn in the lock and a tight knock of despairing fear turned in her stomach.
She heard a snort of evil laughter and then the sharp rasp of a match and smelled the tang of cigar smoke; she cried out as the tossed match burned through her stocking, stinging her leg, and cried out more loudly when his foot kicked her thigh. Through her tears she could see his heavy brown shoes planted solidly a few inches from her face. Afraid he would kick her again, she lay quietly, only her chest heaving as she tried to stifle her sobs.
He laughed loudly.
"Well, well, well, so the little bitch is afraid." He prodded her with his foot. "Come on," he said angrily. "Cut out the act and get up. You wanted to use that plump ass of yours tonight so you might as well at least sit on it."
She started to get up, watching his feet warily. Sudden pain pierced through her as he grabbed her long hair and roughly dragged her to her feet. She screamed, her mouth a large "O" of smudged lipstick but the sharp flick of his hand across her face closed her lips and a wave of dizziness flooded through her. She stumbled backward, landing heavily in a chair. As she began to faint she heard, as from a great distance through layer upon layer of cotton wool, his hysterical laugh, ending in a series of loud hiccoughs. He picked up a decanter of water from a side table and splashed it over her face, drenched her sweater and skirt and it dripped from the ends of her sodden hair, now hanging in limp ringlets about her tear stained face. But it brought her to her senses. Even though she was still afraid, she began to get angry.
"Stop it! Stop it!" she screamed at him and started to get out of her chair. He twisted her arm behind her and threw her back into it. Biting and kicking blindly, she yelled through her sobs, choking on tears, "Stop it! What are you doing? Why? Let me go, you bastard! Let me go!"
But he held her firmly, chuckling all the while, until finally she collapsed into the chair, weak and exhausted.
"Fighting little bitch, aren't you." He stepped back, drawing casually on his cigar, and regarded her. His eyes were cold and hard, the pupils small and steely-black. A muscle in his cheek twitched spasmodically.
"So you want to know what this is all about, heh?" He walked behind her and put his hand on the nape of her neck. "Well, I'll tell you, though God knows why. You've certainly had rougher treatment than this in your whoring life."
"But I'm not a ..." she cried.
"Shut up!" he shouted. "I've seen you twitching that ass around here, pointing those knockers under everyone's nose, sash-shaying around like a bitch in heat."
"But I haven't ..."
He jerked her hair. She groomed and fell silent.
"And I've wanted you ever since you first waggled into here, you God damn cunt, but ..."
His hand loosened on her hair and she heard his heavy step behind her, pacing restlessly back and forth.
"But you see, I ..." his voice was suddenly quiet, almost apologetic. "God knows why I'm telling you this, you stupid bitch, but I've lusted after you so damn much and ..." His voice went on, now sounding almost tearful, hopeless, "And well, I haven't been able to get an erection for years."
She drew in her breath sharply.
"Look, I'm sorry. I go out of my mind sometimes when I realize I can't ..." he paused. "Look, take off your clothes for me, will you, and just let me look at you?" he pleaded.
She suddenly felt sorry for him. But she also wanted to get out as soon as possible and, thinking he'd surely let her go peacefully if she submitted to his request, she got up and quietly started taking off her clothes, fumbling at her skirt zipper, keeping her head bent so she wouldn't have to look at him.
"You can keep your stockings and shoes on," he said in a low, tense voice.
When she had undressed, she stood quietly, demurely.
"Now walk around," he whispered, "and hold your head up."
She had walked slowly about the room, feeling his eyes devouring her flesh. Self-conscious and ill at ease, at first she walked awkwardly, as if each muscle was attached to a string he was holding in his clenched hand and jerking at his command. But in the silence she gradually relaxed. Under the firm skin of her tanned buttocks the muscles rippled smoothly; her pointed breasts jiggled up and down, their nipples bobbing like small pink corks; her thighs brushed against each other with a faint sucking sound, their fullness downy with a fine golden fuzz end marred only by the large purple bruise where he had kicked her.
She looked up. He was sitting in the chair, one hand holding the cigar, breathing heavily between thick, parted lips, his eyes glazed and half closed, staring fixedly at her vagina which swelled out under her belly like a half-moon, framed by the thin strip of her black garter-belt and the elastics which stretched to the stockings whose edges hugged her thighs so tightly that the flesh bulged out above in a thin narrow roll.
Still staring, he put his hands on the arms of the chair and half rose while a thick, whimpering growl rumbled in his throat. She stopped, paralyzed, as she saw a crazed haze filming his eyes. As he got up and lunged toward her, growling drunkenly, she turned and ran toward the door. It was locked. She turned around, side-stepped his clawing hands and fled around the desk, too terrified to scream or to shout. Rounding a corner, her heel caught in the telephone cord and she fell to the floor. On her hands and knees she crawled frantically under the desk. His hands seized her by the hips and pulled roughly back and upward until his mouth was buried between her wildly thrashing legs, chewing and sucking deeply, a low, animal moan rumbling deep in his throat. His cigar was still in his hand and its red-hot coal burned into her buttock. Upside down, she screamed and fought. But he held her strongly, his nails tearing into the flesh of her cunt. Violently she beat her heels against him until finally he dropped her, snarling with fury. He snatched a ruler from the desk and began beating her; its sharp edge lacerated her back and hips into a bleeding mess. He fell on top of her and they rolled and fought like two wrestlers. His clothes protected him from her flailing fists and digging nails while her unprotected nude body was soon covered with long, bloody scratches and swollen bruises, yellow, purple, black.
"Bitch, whore," he hissed at her all during their violent struggle until Cynthia could fight no more. The pain had drained all the strength from her and her body suddenly stilled, limp to be turned and twisted as he desired.
Sensing her sudden surrender, the snarling old man rolled her violently over on her back and straddled her stomach. She could feel the rising hardness of his penis pushing up into her heaving breasts through the thick, rough material of his trousers and closed her eyes, her head rolling almost lifelessly to one side.
"Now, bitch," he rasped down at her in a wheezing, panting voice, "I'll teach you to walk around this office like a rotten whore. You're going to show me what you've been doing for all these other young bucks that I've seen looking at you with their tongues hanging out right here in my office."
In the dim haze of her half-consciousness she could hear again the now familiar sound of a zipper being ripped down in haste and then the wet underside of a thick rod of flesh lying across her naked breasts. Strange, she dreamed as though in coma, strange how it moves like a heart beat against me. She could feel it palpitating as though it had a life of its own apart from the vicious old man it was attached to.
Then ... suddenly he reached down and tangling his hand in her soft, blond hair, jerked her head up off the floor. At the same time she could feel him shuffling forward slightly on her torso until the thin, fleshless bones of his buttocks were cutting excruciatingly into the firm, fullness of her breasts. She groaned in pain as they were smashed cruelly into her chest from his weight and found her eyes looking straight up into his monstrous, exposed penis. Huge and white, it reared out over her breasts toward her face with the naked blue veins criss-crossing obscenely underneath it.
"Suck it, bitch," he snarled down at her, a vicious gleam of hate sparkling in his eyes.
Her head was forced up harder and she almost became sick as he pressed his cock hard against her tightly clenched lips. She could feel the warm, sticky fluid that had seeped from the tip in his excitement covering her lips and she smelled the hot, pungent odor of it. His other hand dropped and reached down under his buttocks and his fingernails dug harshly into her left breast.
"Open your mouth, and wide," he grinned evilly as he spat the words down at her. His nails dug hard into her breast and her mouth gaped open at the pain. He jerked her head forward again until it felt as though he was ripping the hair from her head by the roots. And then ... the monstrous cock filled her mouth, almost choking her as it pressed against her soft palate and gorged all the way back to her tonsils. She gagged and her stomach heaved; she groaned, her eyes closed, with the horrible thing throbbing urgently in her mouth.
"Suck--Lick!" he grunted, twining his fingers more cruelly into her hair and jerking her head up and down
Helplessly, her mouth moved up and down on the great prick.
... Oh God, the thoughts ran through her tortured mind, perhaps if I make him have an orgasm, he'll leave it at that and let me go. Suck ... Suck ... Lick ... Lick ... harder ... cum ... please cum! Please cum ... and let me go ... the words raced like wildfire through her pained and humiliated thoughts as she sucked like a hungry child feeding at its mother's breast to end her misery.
As she sucked, the huge cock pulsed in the soft wetness of her slaving mouth. There was a stale, musty taste on her tongue and the back of her throat.
"Oh God ... how long ... how much longer ..." her mind chanted over and over again, her head hurting with the constant pull on her hair as he pumped it up and down. She wanted with all her soul for it to end and yet she didn't. The horrible, obscene thought of his lewd sperm cascading down her throat and into her stomach sickened her and she vowed she would jerk her mouth away at the last minute to avoid this intimate humiliation. She just couldn't let him have the satisfaction of looking down on her helpless face while he throbbed his vicious, wet sperm down into her mouth ... she just couldn't bear it to give this dirty, old man that final stroke of pleasure.
But the passion-crazed Jackson was not to he denied and he fucked in and out of her mouth like an avenging angel of doom, spitting obscenities down at the top of her bobbing head as though she were a slave.
"Suck it, bitch, use your tongue, swirl it around ... there ... that's it ... lick harder ... I'm-I'm cummmming, I'm cummmmmming!"
And before Cynthia could jerk her head away she felt the huge throbbing cock fucking into her mouth expanding like a giant balloon and his steel-like hands clamping vice-like on either side of her head, freezing her in that position. And then it exploded, the hot, sticky sperm filling her mouth in great powerful spurts that bloated her cheeks out wide as though her mouth were filled with air. She had to swallow to keep from choking as more and more of the lewd orgasm of the groaning old man above her cascaded hotly into her mouth. Her Adams-apple raced crazily up and down her tender white throat in a crazy rhythm of desperate gasping sounds that thundered wetly through the room as though nothing else in the world existed.
And for Cynthia, it didn't. She lay limply beneath him after it was au over, feeling his long thin penis deflating slowly in her mouth. She swallowed once or twice more in order to breathe and then felt his body lifting from her tortured chest. The prick slipped wetly from her lips, leaving a thin trail of sticky sperm following it across the fullness of her naked breasts. She heard him chuckle once and then collapse to the floor close to her, his breath coming in short satiated gasps.
She lay there for a few minutes, at first too afraid to move. But as he continued his panting and weaving and made no sign of movement, she cautiously moved her pain-racked body and crawled over to where her clothes were scattered on the rug. Dragging them behind her, she inched toward the door, picking up the key from where it had fallen.
She lifted herself up on one elbow and slipped the key into the lock. He was still lying there, panting and muttering unintelligibly to himself, his words almost indistinguishable, ramming together into a crazed, dull monotone. She clawed the door open and crawled through.
Exhausted, she lay motionless on the floor of the outer office until the fear that he might come after her drove her to her feet. Clutching the wall for support, she staggered down the hall, threw her coat around her nude body and stumbled down the steps.
Chapter 8
When Cynthia finally got home a day later she fell into bed and stayed there for two days. Upon leaving Mr. Jackson she had climbed into a taxi and immediately fainted before she could give the driver her address. He had taken one horrified look at her battered face and driven her to the hospital. There they had taken care of her lacerations, stitched up the worst one and put her to bed. She had refused to tell them what had happened to her, and they finally dismissed her from the hospital, warning her to take it easy for a few days.
While lying in bed, her body tender and aching, her scratches now long lines of dark red scabs, her bruises making her flesh look like rotten eggplant, she wondered what to do next. To return to the advertising agency was impossible. And how would she ever explain what had happened? She was even afraid that Bill, missing her at the office, might come over to her room.
Rent day was fast approaching and she had no money; she had left her purse at the office, not that it made such difference, as there wasn't much money in it, anyway.
She crawled painfully out of her bed and got her piggy bank from the top of her bureau. With the heel of her shoe she smashed it and carefully counted up the $2.54 it contained. She obviously needed money and fast; at least until she was in condition again to start looking for a job. But the problem was to whom was she to go for help? She didn't dare write her parents for that would entail impossible explanations. She ruled out her aunt for the same reason.
Finally, she decided to go to Frankie. To him she could tell her story and, believing that he loved her just as much as she loved him, she was certain he would help her. However, she wasn't sure how to find him; he had always called her to make a date which they had spent either in public places or in her own room. He had never taken her to his own apartment nor even told her the address. Well, then she would go back to the "960 Club" where they had gone several times; she remembered his saying once that he was usually there about seven o'clock every evening.
Late the next afternoon she got up, dressed, tried to cover her bruised face and swollen black eye with powder and make up, and took the bus to south State Street. There was a sprinkling of men and women in the bar and the strippers were hard at work. She went back-stage, ignoring the whistles and derisive remarks about her black eye, and asked for Torchy. Torchy was in her dressing room, seated before the mirror, gluing on a pair of false eyelashes. When Cynthia came in, she turned and stared.
"My Gawd, honey," she exclaimed, "what happened to you? Did you fall down a manhole and swim through the sewers or what?"
"No, I ... it was just an accident."
"Yes, I should think so. Hardly something one would do deliberately, dearie." She patted the chair next her, "Here, sit down. That is, if your tail doesn't look like your face."
She reached under the table, purled out a couple of glasses and a half-empty bottle.
"Here, how about a drink. Nothing like a little gin to cure a black eye."
"Thanks, Torchy," Cynthia said. "I do look awful, don't I?" She sighed, peering in the mirror at her swollen, purple and yellow face.
"Honey, if you were any more bruised up I could sell you to the butcher. Now what happened?"
"Well, just one of those things. Really, if you don't mind, I'd rather not explain." She smiled at her. "I'd rather just forget the whole thing."
"Okay, honey. Your privilege. But have some more gin, anyway." She turned back to the mirror and picked up the other fringe of eyelash.
"Has Frankie been around here lately?" Cynthia asked.
"Frankie? Yeah, he's in here every night about this time. He'll probably be along soon. Why? Want him to heat the guy up?"
Cynthia laughed. "No, just like to see him."
"I'll go out front and tell Joe to send him back when he shows. You stay here and take it easy." She got up and left, leaving behind her the scent of a musky perfume.
A few minutes later she put her head in the door.
"Joe'll send him back, honey. I've got to go out and entertain the jerks." She smiled at her. "Don't fall off the chair and break your skull. And help yourself to the cat-brew."
Twenty minutes afterwards Frankie hurried into the room. Without saying a word he pulled her up and held her in his arms, kissed her tenderly, and touched her bruised face with a gentle finger.
She buried her head on his shoulder and began crying softly. "Oh, Frankie darling. I'm so glad to see you. It was so awful." He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
"Kid, you've really had it. Who did it?"
She told him the story, explained her financial status and asked him if he could lend her some money until she could find another job.
"Sure, baby. I'll take care of you. Don't worry about a thing. And don't worry about paying me back yet. There's no rush, honey."
He kissed her as she began to thank him.
"Now lay off the thanks-routine, baby. I'll help you all I can."
When she had quieted down, he added, "Stay here awhile. I've got to see some cats out front and then we'll go out for a couple steaks. And tomorrow we'll see about finding you another pad--just in case your buddy comes around."
He filled up her glass with gin, took a big drink and left.
During the next week while her bruises were gradually disappearing, Frankie helped her find another place to stay, an apartment much nicer than her old one. When she protested that she probably wouldn't be able to afford it, even after she had found a job, he urged her to take it anyway, saying, "I'm taking care of you, remember? I'll make up the difference, baby, until you can swing it yourself." Then he gave her some money to buy some new clothes, "To cheer you up and besides, you'll need them for your new job." Thus, she felt reassured and happy that Frankie was the one who was helping her, for she interpreted his generosity as proof that he loved her as much as she discovered she loved him. And for him, she thought, I'd do just anything, anything at all.
With Frankie providing money for all her needs, she found it more than easy to put off looking for a job. Finally, however, she mentally added up all the money he had given her, both directly and indirectly in gifts and, horrified at the total, resolved that she would begin looking for a job so she could start paying him back.
But that night Frankie came over. Before going out they climbed into the bed to roll a quick one. Afterwards they lay quietly and had a cigarette.
"Cindy, baby, I hate to spoil the ball we've been having, but I'm getting kind of low on dough. I owe some to a guy and he's really snapping at my ass."
"I'm sorry, darling," she said apologetically. "I was adding up today how much I owe you and decided to start looking for a job tomorrow. But I wasn't going to tell you until I'd found one and surprise you. Really, you've been marvelous and I do want to start paying you back. I'll take just any job I can find."
"Jobs are pretty hard to find, though. You know, it's stupid of you to slave away at a joint like that agency and drag down such damn little loot. 'Specially with your looks."
"I know. I hate the thought of another job like that. And I'd hate to go back to a dingy one-room hole. But I'm not really qualified to do much better."
"Yeah, that's a problem. Wouldn't give you enough money to live it up, buy glad-rags, take a swell vacation--just work eight hours a day for nothing."
"Oh, Frankie," she wailed, "you make it sound awful!"
"Well baby, I've been thinking." He paused and lit another cigarette.
"Yess?"
"You could do a lot better than just another job. And make a lot more money."
She waited, not saying anything.
"Look, I really need some dough, but fast. It so happens that we can make seventy-five bucks right off--in fact, tomorrow night."
"Really? How?"
"It's like this. I was at the Club the other day and this cat I know comes up and says he's arranging for some clambake for a convention that's in town. He needs a couple of girls and says he'll pay 'em seventy-five bucks--now don't look so startled. All he wants 'em for is to be carried in on some platters, or God knows what, to decorate the joint and liven things up. That's all you'd have to do. I thought of you right away."
"Seventy-five dollars just for that?"
"Well, of course, you'd have to be almost nude ..."
"Nude!"
"Now come off it, honey. You know damn well you'd love to have that beautiful young body of yours stared at."
He smiled at her. "You'd be doing me a real big favor, kid. Come on. Then I can pay this guy off."
"Well, I don't know," she said slowly. "I do want to help you, Frankie, really I do ... but ... well ... nude ..."
He just looked at her.
"All right, Frankie. I'll do it. If you're sure it's okay."
"That's my baby! I knew I could count on you!"
He gave her a kiss and slightly slapped her rump.
"I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?" He reached over to his coat hanging on the back of a chair near the bed and pulled out a cigarette case from the inside pocket.
"Here, baby, try one of these." He snapped the lid up. Inside lay several cigarettes, normal looking except that they were much thinner, almost half as slim as a regular one.
She picked one out and looked at it curiously. "What funny cigarettes. What are they?"
"Joints."
"Joints?"
"Yeah. Pot."
"Pot? What's pot?"
"Marijuana, baby, the greatest"
"Marijuana? You mean dope?"
He laughed. "Yeah. Dirty dope. Come on, baby. Try it." He struck a match and lit them up.
She reluctantly took a drag. "They're sort of sweet."
"Yeah. But you gotta really draw it in. Like this." He lay back, his eyes closed and took a huge drag, holding it down for a long time.
She lay back and imitated him. Soon her cheeks grew warm and her eyes felt strange; she closed them and took another drag, holding it down as long as she could. With this, her first marijuana cigarette, she at first was slightly nauseous, but then the sensation passed and she began to feel completely relaxed and at peace with the world, her body light and buoyant.
Frankie's hand, which had been lying on her stomach, moved slowly downward until his fingers reached the waiting lips of her vagina.
* * *
Cynthia shifted her position. The lettuce leaves tickled her. Through the closed swinging doors filtered a discordant blare of men's voices, some talking loudly, some laughing, some singing, which swelled into an ear-splitting roar each time the doors swung open to admit a hurrying waiter.
A fat, round-faced man, chewing on a dead cigar, came bustling through the door.
"You girlies ready? You're on in a few minutes. Now come on!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Come on now. Give the boys a big smile!" He bounced down the line of girls arrayed on platters. "Hey, Hank, damn it, come here! Take some of these damn French Fries off. They're covering up her cunt too damn much!"
"This is the corniest deal I've ever seen!" a girl ahead of Cynthia said disgustedly. "God-damn shrimps yet! And you can't even eat the damn things." She was sitting cross legged on a huge silver platter, shrimp made of paper piled up to her waist. Above the mound rose her torso, her bare breasts large and heavy, shaking like two tremendous bowls of Jello as she shrugged her shoulders and then flipped away her cigarette.
"Yeah, these jerks have the imaginations of toad-stools." On another platter stood a majestic looking cake, in the middle of which sat a willowy girl, nude except for a long mane of black hair and a narrow ribbon, set low around her hips which read in large red letters, "The Roto-Flex Sewer Cleaning Corp.--Keeps Your Sewers Free!"
"Hey, you," the man yelled, "get back in that cake. We're ready to go on."
"Keep your fly buttoned, buddy," she said. She snuggled down inside the paper cake and a waiter put the top couple of layers over her head. Through the paper her muffled voice, "Jeez. I've had to pop out so many damn cakes I've got candles growin' in my ears."
"Yeah, but at least you're dry. God, I'll be stinkin' for weeks," said a red-head sitting in a tremendous bowl of orange colored punch, her pear-shaped breasts floating and bobbing on the surface. "I hope someone here knows life-saving."
The girl in front of Cynthia twisted around in her fake lobster shell and winked at her. On her head was a cap made to look like a lobster's head, the feelers waving around like three-foot radio aerials. "You new in this game? You look a little jittery," she said.
"A little," Cynthia said. She was lying on her side on a platter of lettuce leaves, a large green leaf draped over her mound like a G-string.
"Okay, gals, here we go! A great big smile now!"
Four waiters picked up the platter of shrimp, resting it on their shoulders, and disappeared through the door. A tremendous outburst of cheering, stamping and whistling surged through the door. Shortly thereafter, the French Fries and the lobster followed and then Cynthia on her bed of lettuce. Trying to see through the haze of smoke, she smiled grimly as the platter swayed down the aisle towards the head table which was set on a raised platform, the other tables branching out in a big horseshoe. On each side men stood on their chairs to get a better look, laughed and shouted, reached out their hands to touch her; one man, his eyes glazed with liquor, his tie half-off, tired to climb over the table and fell flat on his face, broken glass and crockery flying in all directions. Behind her Cynthia saw the red-head gaily waving to the men from her bowl of punch and tossing orange peels at them. The platters were set down in a row on the head table. Looking over the crowd, all she could see was a nightmarish sea of waving arms, shouting mouths and lustful beady eyes. By the time the black haired girl had popped out of her cake and was striding up and down on top of the table, hand on her hips, her breasts jiggling, her buttocks twitching saucily; the room was in pandemonium.
As she had been instructed, Cynthia got up from her platter and warily strutted over the tops of the tables; hands and arms waved around her like the tentacles of a dozen octopi.
"Me for that lobster," someone shouted.
"Hey, Oskar, how about some fuckin' salad?" A drunken face leered up at her, his hands snatching at the leaf covering her pubic mound.
"Yeah, man, off with the leaf!"
A chair crashed and someone screamed. She glanced behind her and saw the red-head trying to climb out of the bowl; orange punch trickled down her body, dripped from her breasts and ran stickily down her thighs while she struggled with a man who had fallen half-way into the bowl, one arm submerged, the other circling her leg. The white tablecloth turned orange as the punch slowly spread outward. A plate of melted ice cream flew through the air and caught the lobster girl in the stomach. She staggered as the chocolate oozed down her belly and over her legs and she toppled backward to disappear in a clump of clawing arms. At the same time she felt the leaf being torn away and a rough hand seized her by the crotch and pulled her forward. She fell over, headfirst, and landed on top of someone. They both crashed to the floor and a dozen hands were on her. As she kicked and screamed, she heard someone shouting above the din and saw a burly, ginger-haired fellow trying to pull the men off of her.
"Stop, you bastards! You'll kill her!" He jerked one of them up and gave him a swift punch in the jaw and reached down and dragged another one up. She slithered out from under a man who had fallen on top of her in a sudden drunken heap, leaped to her feet and ran through the door into the kitchen. There she collapsed against a table. Someone shoved a glass of whiskey in her hand. Behind her the waiters were guarding the door and bringing in the other girls one by one, each more disheveled than the last.
Cursing all men, they went off to a back room, got dressed and returned to the kitchen. The man who had hired them was there, wiping the back of his neck with a handkerchief. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well, it's all in the game, girls. You can't say you didn't get paid well."
He signaled to Cynthia and the black-haired girl who had been in the cake.
"There's a couple of the boys would like to meet you two." He laughed. "More than a couple, but these two asked me to give you this." He handed them a note. They opened it and read: "Hope you're okay. How about skipping this brawl and going out on the town? Fred and Pat."
The girl looked at Cynthia, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Sure, what've we got to loose? Okay by me. I can't handle fifty, but I sure as hell can handle one."
Cynthia hesitated. "Yes, I guess so."
Turning to the man, the girl said, "You tell 'em we'll meet 'em out front. I'm not going out there with those drunken apes again." She turned to Cynthia. "Come on, sugar, let's blow this joint."
They got their coats, left by a back entrance, walked around to the front of the building and entered the lobby.
"My name's 'Honey'," she said, "what's yours, sugar?"
"Cynthia."
"We've probably got a long night ahead of us. We'd better hit 'em for the same thing. What do you think they'll go for?"
"What?"
"What do you think they're worth? What's the matter? You new in this game? You look pretty green at that."
"Yes, I guess so. This is the first time I've been out like this."
"Jeez! Honey always draws 'em!" She sighed. "Well don't worry, kid. We're all in it together and for the same thing. But for God's sake don't act green and spoil our pitch. You couldn't have gotten this far without somethin' between your legs besides a Tampax."
Honey opened her purse, took out her compact and dabbed at her nose.
"I'll figure they'll go for at least fifty. Watch me and I'll give you the tip-off."
"Fifty dollars? Apiece?" Cynthia exclaimed.
She snapped her compact shut. "What did you think? Fifty cents? Jeez, sugar, where you been all your life?"
She took out a comb and ran it through her black hair. "Maybe more. Look, when I get up and go to the can, come with me and we'll talk it over." She looked down the hall. "This looks like it might be our mighty heroes now. At least they don't have white hair and aren't crawlin' on their knees."
As Cynthia watched the two men approach, she grew more and more nervous. When she had read the note, it had never occurred to her then that going out with them would entail more than having a couple of drinks at some bar or nightclub. It was only when Honey had mentioned the fifty dollars that she realized they wanted more than a few sociable drinks with her. At first she had almost backed out on the deal, but then she thought how surprised and pleased Frankie would be if she returned with an extra fifty.
They went to a nightclub. After a couple of dances with Fred, Honey said she was going to powder her nose, so Cynthia got up and followed her to the Ladies' Room.
"How you comin' with your Joe, sugar? He said anything yet?" Honey said.
"You mean about tonight?"
"Natch."
"Well, he's hinted around at it, but nothing direct."
"You'll soon learn to make 'em lay it on the line," Honey said. "No use screwin' around if they aren't goin' to shell out. Anyway, it's all set. They want to do it together, so I told 'em it'd be seventy-five bucks."
"Seventy-five? Really?"
"Yeah. You game to do it together?"
"You mean in the same room?"
"Natch."
"Why, yes, I guess so," Cynthia said hesitantly, a cloud of doubt and dread coming through her mind. She had never expected things to reach this stage and just hoped against hope that she could go through with the arrangement. She just couldn't go home to Frankie like this with no money and if she were careful in what she said, he would never know how she really got it.
"There's a hotel where I work a lot a couple of blocks from here. We'll get a kick-back from the manager if we take them there. That'll be another five bucks."
"A-Alright," Cynthia forced herself to smile. She wished with all her heart there were some other way to do this but she had gone too far now to back out. Besides, one time wouldn't hurt and she could explain to Frankie that they had been given an extra big tip from the other job.
"Look, kid," she could hear Honey saying through her thoughts. "Just play it cool. Those aren't exactly in the prime of life, so if we play around a bit and wear 'em out, they're already so stoned they won't be good for more than one time around. Okay?"
Cynthia nodded her head in agreement and Honey took them in a cab to the hotel she had mentioned earlier. They rented two adjoining rooms and then all moved into one of them. Pat, the guy that had taken a liking to Cynthia, had a bottle of Scotch and rang down for some ice. Cynthia drank hers quickly in spite of the disapproving look from Honey when the men had prepared the drinks. She had to have some kind of fortification if she were going to go through with this ordeal. Making love in private was one thing, but with other people watching, that was something different. Pat was delighted to see her drinking so heavily.
"Hey, I think I got a hot one here, ole buddy," he said loudly to the other ruddy complexioned man. "Look at 'er swill that stuff down."
It felt good and she quickly drank another, feeling her inhibitions lessening with each further drink. The men were delighted and it wasn't long before they were stripping the girls of their clothing and pulling their own off at the same time. By this time, Cynthia was feeling no pain. The alcohol had done its job and she shifted her position with each further piece of clothing that Pat stripped from her to aid his fumbling hands. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the man with Honey peeled her clothes from her body at the same time. She was surprised to see that the girl was still built so solid and well after the time she had been in the business. She was well rounded and firm in all the critical spots and did not sag at all like some of the strippers Cynthia had seen in the club Mike had taken her to.
When she was completely naked, Pat pushed her to one of the single beds and she let herself fall back without resistance into the softness of the mattress while he finished stripping his remaining clothing away.
She looked to the other bed and gasped slightly to see that the other man had wasted no time. He had pried Honey's willing legs open and was poised on his hands over her body. His long thick cock hanging down between them caused Cynthia to shift her body nervously down against the mattress. She had never seen one so huge. It was absolutely monstrous and she was glad Pat had chosen tonight. She didn't know if she could have taken the other man inside her without being split wide open. Pat joined her on the bed and curled his arms around her, pulling her close to him.
"Let's watch ole Fred give it to your girlfriend first, shall we baby?"
Cynthia nodded her head, feeling his hand close over her breast. She was surprised as suddenly how nice it felt with this complete stranger.
"Ooooooooh, Daddy, take it easy," Honey groaned as Cynthia saw the huge, thick rod of flesh sliding slowly down into her girlfriend's vagina. She gasped as she watched the tight pink lips of her cunt being stretched wide, wide apart and Honey kicking her legs out wider to open her loins more for the giant entry. It stopped for a moment, about halfway in, as though it could force its way no farther and Cynthia held her breath, squirming her body back against the man lying next to her in her sudden excitement at the obscene but captivating sight going on right next to them. Faraway memories of the bull in the pen flickered through her mind as she saw suddenly the back muscles of the man fucking Honey tense, and a hoarse moan of passion ripple from deep in his chest and then with one mighty lunge he speared his white rod of flesh all the way down to the thick pulsating base between the widespread legs of the quivering girl beneath him.
"Oooooooooh," Honey groaned and her legs splayed out wide on either side of the man's body, her feet quivered in the air out over the edge of the bed, her toes curling and uncurling without control. His balls smacked sharply against the tiny, puckered hole of her anus. She screamed softly, the sound muffled by his shoulder pressing into her mouth. Cynthia's eyes gaped open wide as then he began a slow thrusting in and out movement, a soft, wet, sucking sound drifting across the distance from their moist sexual coupling. She found herself clenching her own thighs tightly together in a vain attempt to still the slow, but quickening throbs that were beginning deep in her own belly. The man behind her pressed closer into her back and she could feel his hard pulsating flesh growing back between the soft warm cheeks of her buttocks. His hands were around in front of her now and cupping the full resilient mounds of her pulsating breasts. He had the tiny, bud-like nipples rolled softly between his thumb and forefinger and was tweaking them gently in rhythm to the movements of the man fucking her girlfriend on the squeaking bed next to them. Her body trembled and quivered as she felt him begin to move behind her, insinuating the hardness of his cock slowly along the flaccid crevice of her buttocks and up between her thighs from behind. It was a strange, almost unreal sensation to feel the thick shaft of flesh crawling like an unseen snake between her tightly pressed legs.
"Relax, baby, and open 'em," the man whispered into her ear as she kept her eyes straight ahead, locked on the lewd spectacle taking place in front of her. The man fucking Honey had increased his speed to an almost desperate rate now and Cynthia could see with a vivid, sensual clarity, the tight pink lips clasped tightly around his cock as they pulled out with his withdrawal as though they didn't want to let go of the magic plunging instrument and then as they disappeared fleshily inside again with each hard, almost brutal in-stroke. The thin, black forest of her pubic hair was wet and matted between her legs from the moistness of the juices flowing between them and the man's cock glistened wet and sensuously from the light of the single uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling of the cheap hotel room.
Cynthia trembled again and her body felt hot and uncomfortable as though she itched from head to foot and could not control the movements of her buttocks and pelvis that squirmed and writhed back against the hot, fleshy belly of the man teasing her from behind.
"Crawl up on your knees, baby," he said hotly through the mass of her long, blond hair pressed against his face. And Cynthia did, quickly and with relief. She was beyond all control now and had to have something inside her or go completely out of her mind.
She moved quickly, rolling on her stomach and rising on all fours, making certain her head was pointing toward the lewd, writhing bodies entwined like snakes on the bed next to them. The man moved around behind her and rose up to kneel between her thighs, pushing them open wide with his own knees to allow him to move right up to the naked plane of her white, soft buttocks waving invitingly back at him.
There were no preliminaries, and none were needed. The whole of Cynthia's loins were wet and open now from the sensual impact of watching the other couple's violent intercourse on the next bed. The man shuffled forward behind her and with both hands kneading and cupping the twin ivory globes of her buttocks, spread them wide apart. She groaned in uncontrollable impatience and thrusting her hand down underneath her body between her wide spread legs she grasped the thickness of his cock and guided the giant pulsating head straight toward the open wet lips of her cunt. She moved it up and down quickly in the warm, pink slit between her thighs, parting the soft, blond pubic hair that covered the tender, protective folds of flesh and then screwing her buttocks back on it to impale herself on the first full inch of it. She groaned and pleaded, as she knelt before the utter stranger who had bought her body for the evening's pleasure, like a demented nymphomaniac. The hot licking fire roaring between her wet throbbing loins had to be quenched.
"God, what an ass," she heard the man behind her mumbling crazily to himself. And then she went mad with the cruel uncontrollable desire licking through her.
"Go on!! Go on, god dammit! ... Fuck me ... Ooooooooooh, fuck me like he's doing it to her ..." Her eyes were still glued smokily to the long, thick shaft of flesh burying itself in hard, deep thrusts between Honey's jerking thighs.
"Aaaaaaghhhh!" she screamed, half in pain, half in relief, as the man behind her suddenly rammed forward with all his strength and plunged his rigid cock far, far up into her quivering belly. She could feel the flesh of the inside of her cunt being pushed in giant, flaccid waves before the tunneling entrance of the monstrous and unstoppable instrument plunging without mercy deep up inside her.
"Ooooh, baby, you got a tight little pussy," he droned behind her as without waiting he began a series of long hard strokes into her kneeling body that caused her breasts to dance and jiggle Beneath her chest as though they were alive. She grunted and churned back against him with each hard, driving lunge, her face contorted into a strained mask of undisguised passion that matched the wet, sucking sounds like someone walking in quicksand that came from behind her wildly squirming buttocks.
It took but a moment until she felt herself erupting inside like a giant explosion rolling across the earth. At the same time, she could feel his hot, white, sperm flooding into the flowering recess of her belly, filling her womb almost to the bursting point. The ruddy skinned man fucking Honey suddenly groaned too, and Cynthia, still throbbing out her own passion around the spurting rod of flesh sunk deep in her own belly could see him sink his huge, white cock deep down between her girlfriend's legs and his buttocks begin jerking as though he were attached to an electric wire. Thick rivulets of white sticky cum bubbled out around his tight, flesh clasped instrument and rolled down Honey's buttocks to the sheet below.
It ended for all of them at the same wild instantaneous moment and Cynthia jerked forward and fell flat down on her stomach, dragging the still connected man who had fucked her from behind down with her. She could still feel slight dribbles of sperm emptying into her from his deflating penis though his arms and body lay lifeless and spent on top of her back.
* * *
Later, the girls dressed and left the men passed out on the bed. Cynthia felt horrible about the way she had let her body run away with her with that strange man who had paid her for her services, thereby labeling her a prostitute. She tired not to show it to Honey and accepted silently the additional five dollars she collected for their "kickback" when they left the hotel. She waved good-bye to her at the entrance to the hotel and flagged a taxi. One thing she made up her mind to do, even though she knew it would be hard, and that was to tell Frankie what had happened. He was certain to find out as Honey would undoubtedly mention it to someone he knew. She just hoped against hope, that she wouldn't mention the fact that Cynthia had actually let herself get carried away. She could never as long as she lived admit to Frankie that she had enjoyed it with a total stranger that way.
Chapter 9
Frankie was waiting for her when she arrived home. After telling him about the evening, she thought at first that he was angry because she had agreed to make love with a man for money, thus making her a prostitute in his eyes.
"But I only agreed, Frankie, darling, because I wanted to bring back the extra money for you."
"Look, baby, I'm not putting you down because of that. Let's get this straight! The only thing that bugs me is that you didn't have the sense to take him for more."
She looked at him, shocked and unbelieving.
"My God, Cindy," he went on, "a hick like that you could have easily started off asking for a hundred. And then when he wanted a double show, Jesus Christ, baby, wake up! You could have gone up to whatever you could get out of him!"
"But Frankie! You mean you wouldn't mind my making love to that man? Don't you love me?" she wailed.
"Darling, of course I love you." He took her in his arms. "You know I do. I wouldn't have paid for this apartment and bought all your clothes and everything else if I didn't. Don't you trust me?"
"Of course I do, darling," she sobbed. "It's just that ... well ... I thought I was yours and you were mine."
"That's right, baby. I'll always take care of you. But the other has nothing to do with our love, don't you see? It's just an easy way to make money so that the two of us can have what we want and have a real ball." He held her in his lap, rocking her back and forth and stroking her hair. "Now quiet down, baby-doll, I'm not going to run out and leave you."
"I know you won't, darling, it's just that this sort of took me by surprise." She sniffled and blew her nose into his handkerchief.
"And that was an easy way to make almost a hundred bucks, wasn't it?" he said.
"Ye-e-es," she admitted hesitantly, "and I want you to have it all until I pay you back."
"And it's a lot better than slaving forty-four hours a week all day long for a measly thirty-five, isn't it?"
"Ye-e-es."
"I can get some other deals like that, too. 'Course they are not all such easy rolls--those don't come my way very often. But just give me time. There're plenty of others."
"Alright, darling. If that's what you want, I do love you so."
"And don't worry about a thing. I'll get the jobs and all you have to do is to hand over the money and I'll take care of you--pay your rent, buy your clothes, and we'll really have a ball, baby. Okay?" He kissed her wet eyes and the tip of her nose. "Okay?"
"Okay, darling. Anything you say."
Frankie got up to make them both a drink. His back turned, filling the glasses with ice, he said, "Of course, there's a few things you should know about this racket, Cindy. Most you can find out by experience, but there's a few good tips to remember."
He walked across the room with the drinks.
"Do you remember that red head at the '960 Club'? Gypsy?" he said.
Cynthia nodded.
"I'll get her to talk to you. She can wise you up."
"But I thought she was working at the Club?" Cynthia said.
"Yeah, now. She used to work for me until she got too bitchy and high-class--still does now and then, as a matter of a fact."
"What? You mean you've got other girls..." she asked incredulously.
"Yeah. Gypsy and another chicken." He sighed. "I might as well give it to you all at once." He took a cigarette and sat down beside her.
"Now, don't get bugged, baby," he said, noticing the look on her face. "You know it's you I love. The others have nothing to do with us. Just a way to make dough for us until we've got enough to have a ball all the time."
Cynthia looked at him without saying anything.
"Look, I've been thinking," he said. "Why don't we move in together?"
She brightened up and fell into his arms. "Oh darling, that would be marvelous!"
"You can move into my pad. It's better than this hole." He unbuttoned her blouse, reached in and fondled her breast. "Then we'll really live it up, baby."
"It'll be wonderful, Frankie."
"There's only one thing," he hesitated.
"Now what?"
"I've been trying to kick her out ever since I met you, Cindy--but Gypsy's there right now."
"What? At your place?"
He nodded. "She bugs the hell out of me and I'll give her her walking papers--as soon as you've pumped her. But don't let her know she's finished or she'll murder you. Let me handle that bitch afterwards."
"Okay, darling. Anything you say. It'll be wonderful to live with you."
* * *
Early the next afternoon Cynthia went over to Frankie's apartment. He had said he wouldn't be there, but would tell Gypsy she was coming, saying only that Cynthia wanted to make a little money on the side and needed some advice.
His apartment was in a modern building. She rode up in the elevator, got off and walked down the carpeted corridor. She paused before the door, giving her nerves a chance to settle down and then rang the bell. No one answered. She put her ear to the door but couldn't hear anything. She rang again, longer and more insistently. Finally she heard a faint voice yell "Coming" and then the door opened a few inches. In the crack appeared Gypsy's face, her red hair tousled, her eyes full of sleep.
"Hello, Gypsy," Cynthia said.
"Oh, it's you," she said and opened the door. "Come on in."
Cynthia followed her down the hall and into the living-room, wrinkling her nose at Gypsy's musty smell of stale perfume and sleep. Under her blue nylon negligee, Cynthia could see she was nude. Gypsy yawned and waved a hand at the couch.
"Make yourself at home. I'll he right back."
Cynthia sat down on a wide, eight-foot couch which was set at an angle to the fireplace. Although the room was luxuriously furnished with white walls, a thick, blue rug and matching drapes and deep, comfortable chairs, it was a mess. Dust lay heavily over liquor-stained tables. Ashtrays overflowing with smelly cigarette butts were on all the tables and partially empty glasses abounded with even a few lying on their sides on the rug. She looked over the room critically and planned how she would rearrange the furniture after she had moved in.
Carrying two cups of coffee, Gypsy swished in, the blue nylon billowing behind her, her long heavy legs flicking in and out as the skirt parted. She was still nude, and underneath the pink flesh glowed warmly, the nipples on her full swaying breasts and the soft hair over her prominent pubic mound a dark red. Her hair combed, her face washed and lipstick on, she looked more attractive, although when she handed Cynthia her cup of coffee she could see faint lines of fatigue around her eyes and dark circles beneath.
She put the cup on a side-table and flopped down on a chair across from Cynthia.
"Jeez! What a life! At least you look alive," she said.
Cynthia smiled at her. At first she had been jealous, when Frankie had told her he was living with Gypsy, but now she began to feel sorry for her; she looked so tired and still didn't know that Frankie was going to throw her out
"Frankie says you want to start making some dough and that you don't know much." She looked her up and down. "But that I can't believe with the lay-out you've got."
"He said you could probably give me a few tips," Cynthia said. "Honey, what I know I could say in about three words. Make your pitch fast, don't waste time with them if they don't grab the bait right away, ask for more than you think they'll give, make them pay in advance and get out quick afterwards. Of course, that's if you're working the bars or higher class places. If you're on the street, God help you, there's a going rate." She paused. "You got a man looking after you?"
"No-o-o," Cynthia stuttered. "Not yet, that is."
"Well, you soon will. If you're working the street, you'll have your beat and he'll keep an eye on you to see you're not cheating him. He gets the dough, of course, and in return he takes care of you and protects you. And for Christ's sakes, don't try to muscle in on someone else or you're liable to get cut up."
"I don't really intend to work the streets."
"Yeah. With your looks you won't have to. Start right out at the high-class bars and aim high. Someone probably starts promoting you and then you're all set to make a hundred or so a night if you're lucky." She looked at her coldly, "I hope you haven't got your eye on Frankie."
"Why, no, of course not," Cynthia stammered.
"Well, don't, if you know what's good for you." She stared at her awhile and then suddenly smiled warmly.
"I'm sorry, honey, for suspecting you ... I guess you're on the square, though." She got up. "God, I need a drink. Want one?"
"No, not right now, thanks," Cynthia said.
She went over to the portable bar, poured herself some gin and sat down next to Cynthia, putting her arm along the top of the couch behind her.
"Being a woman, I guess you know the rest," Gypsy said.
"I suppose so, but ..."
"And another thing. The pay is for a reasonable straight job. If they get any funny and weird ideas, and believe me, honey, you'll come up against some you never even dreamed of, you can either refuse or get more dough out of them."
"Oh?"
"And unless it's an all-night job, get the hell out right after they've had their shot. If they want another, make them pay again."
Her arm slid down and rested tightly on Cynthia's shoulder.
"But don't worry, honey. You'll be okay. Just play it cool and you'll soon learn the ropes. And stick to the high-class joints."
Cynthia couldn't avoid looking at Gypsy's maturely rounded body so casually displayed under the delicate blue negligee which lay like shadowed ice over the slumberous, heavy curves. Her hand was lightly stroking Cynthia's shoulder and she wondered whether to get up and leave, but decided to wait and see what would happen.
"Sure you don't want a drink, honey?" Gypsy asked.
"No, thanks." Cynthia didn't know what to say or where to look. Gypsy uncrossed her legs and the skirt fell open. Like polished ivory her thighs lay smooth and creamy, their heavy flesh pushed out against the blue cloth by their own weight.
"That's a pretty negligee," Cynthia said awkwardly.
"Thanks. Got it from a boy friend." Her hand rubbed the nape of Cynthia's neck. The loose neckline slid down over one shoulder, its edge draped lightly over the full curve of her breast, as large as a cantaloupe.
"Well, I guess I'd better he going," Cynthia said. She moved slightly on the conch.
"What's the rush, honey?" Gypsy leaned toward her, her face a few inches from Cynthia's. Over the dilated pupils of her eyes, her lids were partially closed. She ran her tongue over her red, half-parted lips, and then pressed them suddenly and unexpectedly against Cynthia's.
For a moment, Cynthia twisted in her arms and struggled to get up but Gypsy held her securely. And soon the sweet honey of her mouth and tongue, her gently stroking hands and the warm heavy weight of her body, conquered her momentary shock and sparked a strange fire of desire in her belly. She relaxed and surrendered herself to Gypsy's lips and body, turning her torso as Gypsy's hands unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off, arching her hips as they drew off her skirt and panties, kicking off her shoes and lying on her back, passively and quietly, as they slowly peeled her nylon stockings from her long, slim legs.
Cynthia suddenly squirmed again in an attempt to rise and fight the teasing of her body, but her mind seemed to have gone blank and all sense of perception vanished. The rebellion was only momentary and her body stilled again.
"Oh, baby, you're terrific," Gypsy murmured. With a hot, moist tongue she gently licked up her legs, fluttering her lips against the tender flesh of her inner thighs while Cynthia groaned helplessly below her.
Then, as though some magic spell had been wound over her, Cynthia reached down, grasped Gypsy's shoulders and pulled her up until she was lying on top of her; their lips met as her full white body writhed hotly against Cynthia's golden breasts and belly, their pubic mounds grinding slowly together, the soft blond fleece tangling gently with the deeper red.
Gypsy ground down against her for a moment and then with a deep, musky sigh slithered around on top of her. Her fingers pressed gently outwards against the soft, tender lips of her cunt, exposing the now gently palpitating clitoris to her greedy eyes. She moaned again and dropped her head down between Cynthia's open thighs, sucking the tiny throbbing bud wetly into her mouth. Cynthia held her breath from the strange and new sensation of another woman's lips touching her there in her secret portal of girlhood and she could feel the flames of lust again begin to lick slowly within her. Without thinking, she reached up and clasping Gypsy's slowly gyrating buttocks, drew them down softly over her face and began deeply tonguing the salty, sweet center of her loins. She moaned as the tip of her probing tongue suddenly broke through the outer barrier and slipped wetly up inside the pulsating walls of her cunt. She could feel the girl's movements over her become more desperate with each second she continued the teasing torture--and then, suddenly, but gently it was over for both of them. Gypsy emitted a low passionate mewl from deep in throat and Cynthia could feel the wetness of her passion flooding down over her cheeks. A moment later she felt a long, easy flush of fire ripple through her belly and burnt like a dam inside her.
Chapter 10
Cynthia moved over to Frankie's apartment. Several days later the two scratches, long parallel streaks which ran across his cheek like red threads, had disappeared. When she asked him about Gypsy's departure, he would stroke the scratches and say, "Yeah, she was realty pissed off, baby, but she's gone now, thank God, so don't worry about it,"
That evening he drove her downtown to one of the more fashionable clubs so she could begin bringing in some money, assuring her that this was only temporary and he would soon be getting her "some rich suckers" as soon as he had made a few more contacts. He pointed out a nearby hotel which accepted clients for short stays, kissed her and let her out at the corner.
She felt nervous; she was reluctant to enter a bar alone for the first time in her life. Nearing the neon-lighted club, she glanced at the doorman who looked her up and down appreciatively and then walked past, her courage failing her. She was afraid to enter and afraid not to, knowing how angry Frankie would be if she returned empty-handed. She walked around the block and stopped for a cup of coffee. Finally, deciding that she couldn't put it off any longer, she left, walked determinedly to the Club and, clutching her purse with nervous fingers and holding her head high, marched through the door which was swept open by the uniformed doorman. Inside, she paused in the small foyer which was higher than the rest of the Club and looked down the short flight of steps. To the right was a bar and beyond were several dozen tables with a spot-lighted piano at the far end, set on a small dais and being played by an anemic-looking Negro who was moaning about his woman who had left him for a Cadillac. Feeling lost and very conspicuous, she looked around and wondered what to do, but then spotted an empty stool at the bar and walked down the steps and over to it.
When she had sat down, a man standing next to her turned around, glanced over his shoulder to see if she was alone or not and asked if he could buy her a drink. He was short and fat and his bald head glistened in the dim light; on his nose was a wart with two long black hairs growing out of it. She said she'd like a Scotch. When he leaned toward her, making idle chatter while his eyes appraised her, the smell of his breath almost toppled her off her chair. My God, she thought, what do I do now? I can't possibly make love to this man. As he talked and become more openly admiring, she wished she'd had more experience and wondered frantically how to get rid of him; she glanced around to see if there were any likelier prospects, but all the other men at the bar seemed to be accompanied by women. Shivering at the thought of his hands on her naked body, she decided she couldn't possibly do it, no matter how much money he might pay. He asked her if she were busy the rest of the evening. She stammered that she had a late date, had only stopped in for a drink beforehand and would have to leave. Gathering up her gloves and purse, she murmured her thanks for the drink and quickly walked out. Outside, she breathed the clean, fresh air and debated where to go next. She was afraid to go back to Frankie too soon and without any money, so she started ambling down the street, planning to stop at another bar and there perhaps have better luck. She passed one bar after another; something seemed wrong with all of them. She was beginning to wish she had taken up the man back at the Club, just to get it over with so she could go home, when she heard a soft voice behind her. She looked over her shoulder; it was the same man from the club.
"Pardon me," he said. "Are you sure you wouldn't like another drink?"
"No, thanks," she said.
"I can make it worth your while." They walked along together.
She sighed. And although he was still as unattractive as ever, she decided that he would be better than nothing, for it was growing late.
"Okay," she said wearily, wondering how much to ask for. "It'll be fifty."
He nodded his head; she wished she had asked for more.
They went to the hotel Frankie had pointed out, rented a room and went up without speaking. He counted out the fifty in ten dollar bills and handed them to her. She put them in her purse and they both began to undress, still without speaking. Well, she thought, if he's not going to say anything. I'll be damned if I will.
When she had undressed, she lay down on the bed and unenthusiastically watched him. He had hung his coat and shirt over the back of the chair and now was carefully laying his trousers on the seat, making sure the creases were straight. As she had expected, his body was as fat as his face, with roils of white, pasty dough trapped around his waist and a tiny prick dangling in a sparse black nest of hair. Her whole body felt cold; she looked down and saw it was covered with goose pimples. He walked over to the bed and looked silently down at her. She stared back without saying anything, but finally managed to smile weakly.
"Kiss my ear," he said coldly, "it's the only way I can get an erection," and lay down beside her without touching her.
She almost burst out laughing with surprise. Turning on her side, she began caressing his ear, running her tongue slowly along the grooves and swirls, sucking the lobe and kissing it with her wet lips.
"Harder," he said.
Okay, Cynthia thought to herself, you asked for it, and began viciously chewing and twisting his ear with her teeth until she thought she would tear it off. He was grunting and groaning, but whether with ecstasy or pain, she couldn't tell. She sank her sharp, white teeth deeper into his lobe and ran her tongue sharply inside. Glancing down through her long, blond hair lying over their faces, she almost fainted in surprise. Sticking up from his groin like a giant marble obelisk was one of the biggest erections she had ever seen. For the first time since she had met him, she began to get excited and wished he'd start making love to her.
He suddenly wrenched his head away, rolled over and straddled her, his buttocks on her belly, and bent to lick wetly the hollow between her full, white tits. With his hands cupped on either side of the quivering, resilient mounds he squeezed them together until the two red, hardened buds of her nipples were side by side. He thrust his loins forward, pressing the full length of his giant cock up the tight tunnel between, rocking back and forth so it slid up and down the saliva moistened groove. Seeing its tip appearing and disappearing between her tightly compressed breasts, she felt the familiar juices of lust begin to flow down between her legs. He took her hands and made her hold her tits together while he reached behind him and began to finger her vagina with hard brutal thrusts. And ... just as the tension inside her was about to break, he slid down and thrust his huge, pulsating cock hard up into her throbbing and now hungry cunt. Her muscles contracted violently around his driving organ and she bucked under him as he ground down into her from on top of her writhing body.
"Bite my ear, bite my ear," he chanted down into her hair.
She seized it between her teeth and furiously sucked and chewed, feeling his pelvis smack against hers harder and harder until with one quick gasp from his lips he emptied himself completely inside her. She jerked for a moment trying to reach her own completion, but it was useless. He was dead inside her and rolled limply off her squirming body. She clenched her fists tightly together to drive back her disappointment. She overcame it quickly and got up and went into the bathroom to straighten herself up. He was still lying on the bed when she came out.
"Can't you stay any longer?" he said hopefully.
"No, I have to go," she answered, remembering Gypsy's advice to get out quickly when they had finished with her the first time. She dressed quickly while he watched her and left just as he started to get out of bed.
It wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be, she thought to herself as she descended the stairs toward the street. Now for home--and Frankie, she sighed with relief.
She walked away from the hotel and looked for a taxi. As she rounded a corner she collided with a man who was walking hurriedly, head bent. He stepped back, murmured, "Pardon me," and started to pass, when he suddenly shouted, "Cynthia! Cynthia Holiday!" and grabbed her arm. "Cynthia, how wonderful to see you!"
Not recognizing him at first, she stared blankly at his lean body and wide, happy smile. Then she realized it was Paul Dawson, the Paul of what seemed years ago, with whom she had grown up and who had taken her to the square dance just before she had come to Chicago.
"Paul Dawson!" she said and kissed him. "What are you doing in Chicago?" She was delighted to see him.
"Up over the weekend from college," he said. "I've been trying to find you all over. Your aunt gave me your address, but they said you'd moved."
"Yes, just a couple days ago."
"Come on. Let's get a drink. This needs celebrating." He steered her into a nearby bar, his young face radiating happiness. "What a piece of luck to run into you. I'd about given up."
They sat down and ordered drinks. "How's everything at home?" Cynthia said.
"Oh, fine. What are you doing these days?"
"I..." she hesitated. "I gave up my old job and am looking for a new one." The excitement of seeing Paul had whirled her back to the innocent days of her life on the farm and she had almost forgotten what she had been doing, just fifteen minutes ago. Knowing how horrified Paul would be if he found out, she became somewhat panic-stricken. It had all happened so gradually, she hadn't fully realized before how far she had come and how much her life had changed since she had left the farm.
"Didn't you like your old one?" he said.
"Not particularly. But I suppose I should have waited 'til I'd found another one ... I'm getting kind of low, in cash, that is," she lied.
"Look, can I help you out, Cynthia?" he said eagerly. "Really, I'd love to loan you some money."
"No that isn't necessary, Paul, but thanks, anyway."
"Aw, come on." He reached in his pocket and got out his wallet. "Here, take thirty. Please. I wish I had more to give you."
"Well, okay. Thanks." She took the bills and stuffed them into her purse. She had long wanted to buy Frankie a present. She decided it would be better to steer the conversation away from how she spent her time. "How's college, Paul?"
"Okay. I'm almost through, you know. Just a few more months."
"Then what?"
"I thought I might come to Chicago and get a job. Are you planning on staying here?"
"Yes, I guess so."
"It seems to be agreeing with you. You look wonderful, Cynthia--and a lot older."
She laughed. "You mean I've aged that much?"
He blushed in confusion. "No. No. I didn't mean that! Just that you look so city-fied and sophisticated now. And beautiful!" He looked admiringly at her bare shoulders rising like a pale flower above the sheer black dress.
She laughed again. "You mean I wasn't before?" she said teasingly.
He became embarrassed. "You know what I mean. You know I've always thought you were just about the most beautiful thing ever."
He gazed at her, open adoration in his eyes; they reminded her of a puppy begging for food, pleading and hopeful. More accustomed to the hard, cynical talk and admiration of the men she had met since coming to Chicago, she found his boyish confusion and awkward attempts to compliment her appealing, although somewhat embarrassing. And then, too, he reminded her of her parents--a momentary twinge of guilt stirred in her heart as she thought of how much she had deceived them. But she felt happy again as she thought of Frankie and how exciting her new life was, a life she wouldn't trade for any other. She suddenly felt years older than Paul.
"Dear Paul," she said and took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "You're so sweet. You are nice!"
He looked disappointed. "Is that all you think of me?"
"Oh, you're impossible," she laughed. "I guess I've just changed. Our lives back home seem so far away."
"Remember the square dance we went to? You looked so pretty that night I wanted to carry you right off."
"On your white steed?"
"No, in my 1940 Chevy!" he laughed. "Oh, Cynthia, I hope we can see each other a lot when I come to Chicago."
She became wary and evasive. "Well, probably. But I'll have a job then and I'll be a lot busier."
"And so will I--but I'll never be too busy to see you." Unlike Frankie's poker-face, Paul's betrayed every flicker of his feelings, and now it was hopeful and pleading again. "Where are you staying? I may not be able to come again before I finish school, but I want to write you."
"Well, that's a bit difficult." Under no circumstances did she want him to find out she was living with Frankie. "I'm staying at a hotel right now, but hope to find an apartment. I'll tell you what, the best thing to do is to write me at my aunt's."
"Okay. Just so I can find you whenever I come back, without having to bump into every female in Chicago!"
Someone stuck a quarter in the nickelodeon and a swingy ballad pulsed out.
"Want to dance?" he said.
"Where?" Cynthia looked around. Although the bar was almost empty there was hardly any floor space.
"There's room between the tables. Come on." He got up and helped her to her feet.
Even in high heels, the top of her head came just to his mouth. At first he seemed ill at ease, and held her practically at arm's length, as though she were so fragile she would break if he pressed her to him. This amused her and she snuggled up against him until they were swaying slowly to the music, body against body, his head bent, his nose and lips nuzzling in her hair.
"You smell so nice," he murmured. "Fresh as a spring meadow."
She knew he wanted her, but was too much in love with her, as he had been for so long, and too shy in his inexperience to make many open advances, for fear of being rejected. However, the only love she wanted now after her frustration with the fat man was physical love, and she was afraid that if she submitted it would only succeed in making him more in love with her than ever. But as she felt his young virility through the rough tweed of his clothes, her qualms left her. She wanted a man. And maybe, she thought, if we make love he'd be satisfied and I'll be free of him.
So she rubbed her body up against his like a purring cat; her breasts, squashed against his chest, became hard, the nipples rigid and aching. Between the soft masses of her thighs she felt his leg moving slowly and insistently, pressed strongly along the lips of her vagina, while the turgid lump of his erection jutted into the soft flesh of her belly.
"Cynthia, Cynthia," he breathed in her ear, "I love you so." As they danced together, hardly moving, smashed together into one person, lust rose within her to spread the dull ache emanating from her groin throughout her limbs until her whole body was hot, trembling with desire and passion. He, too, was breathing heavily, his muscles as tense as a coiled spring.
"Let's go to my hotel," he whispered.
They left and found a taxi. The door had no sooner slammed than he crushed her in his arms and their lips met in a long, mellow kiss and their tongues sucked the honeyed juices from each other's mouths. Oblivious to the jolting taxi, the screeching halts for stop-lights, the lights of other cars flashing in the windows, they remained clasped together, searching for the treasures of lip and mouth, insatiable and without pause until the taxi jarred to a stop and a dry voice said, "Here we are, kids."
Blindly they climbed out and started for the entrance of the hotel.
"Hey, bud," the voice yelled. "How's about payin', huh?"
Paul went back and tossed him a couple of bills. "Keep the change," he mumbled and ran back to Cynthia.
"Thanks," the driver yelled, "and have a good time," his laugh rising above the sound of the accelerating motor.
When they reached his room, she looked around and recognized a few of his clothes scattered about--the bright green tie he had worn while home on Easter vacation and which she had unmercifully teased him about.
"Do you remember this?" she said laughingly and picked it up, holding it out to him. But he was looking at her seriously, with the intensity of a young lover, with the complete adoration of a first love--and she almost felt like a virgin again.
"Oh, Cynthia, Cynthia, I do love you so," he murmured as he walked toward her. He picked her up and carried her over to a large chair. He sat down, holding her on his lap. With his fingers he slowly traced the arch of her eyebrows, the hollow of her cheek, the straight line of her nose and ran it softly over the bow of her lips. She took it between her teeth and gently bit the tip while they looked deeply into the bottomless depths of each other's eyes, seeing reflected their mutual lust and desire. He brushed his hand down the thick, blond mane of her hair and drew her head down; his lips kissed the fragile shells of her closed lids and whispered over her nose and cheek to her lips, nibbling the smooth fragrant flesh, following the sweep of her hairline to the nape of her neck. Her head bent, his fingers ran lightly down the curve of her spine until they touched her low-cut dress and, as she straightened up, followed the black demarcation around to her breasts which swelled softly over the top of the material. He kissed the hollow of her neck, quietly, almost reverently, while his other hand strayed lightly up her leg, stroking the firm curves until it reached the full softness of her thighs and the barrier of her panties.
"Just a second," she murmured and got up.
She undid her skirt and stepped out of it. Through the transparent silkiness of her slip her legs rose lean and long, the stockings a dusky tan over the tawny skin, molding smoothly and tautly the upward curves, marking the middle of her thighs with a dark line, the flesh above wedged outward. He watched her mutely, his hands clenched together, a bead of perspiration on his upper lip. Reaching behind, she unzipped the top of the dress with its built-in brassiere so that it fell away from her suddenly, revealing in one sweep the full lushness of her torso which rose above her slip like a honey-colored tulip. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, framing the oval of her face with its blue eyes and red, parted lips and white glistening teeth. A lock strayed down over one breast, its blondness blending with the tanned hue of her skin, its swaying gratefulness accentuating the firm upward piles of her breasts, whose rigid tips glowed dully like the hearts of two blossoms. Like a flower she stood before him, but a flower of a loveliness and color never produced in nature, for below her waist she was all black and above, the rich color of a leopard; her legs, together in a straight line, encased in the dark stockings and tight, black half-slip, looked like the black stem of a flower proudly supporting the blossom of her torso, tinted like a pale, copper nasturtium.
She put her fingers under the elastic of her slip and began to slide it down, wriggling her hips as she did so. Paul leaped out of his chair and ran over to her, saying, "Let me do it."
He knelt before her, his head on a level with her waist, and looked at the fine texture of her skin, the flat planes of her sides which leveled down to the black of the slip; he looked up and saw her breasts, small and firm, jutting outward like two outcroppings of molten rock. But he did not touch her inviting nude flesh. Instead, he carefully put his hands on the smooth, silky material, hooking a finger under the band, and slowly drew it downward, thus by inch uncovering to his gaze the swelling fullness of her hips, round and resilient under the mesh panties, and the obese rise of her pubic mound richly covered with an umbrage of soft golden hair. Her slip lying in a pool around her feet, he drew off her panties with the same quiet, studied care, and unhooked her stockings and garter-belt peeling the hose down one by one between his two hands, feeling the slippery stuff give way to the warm, resilient flesh of her thighs and calves. Finally she stepped out of her shoes, and stood before him completely naked, silent before his adoration, her body quivering in anticipation. She felt like a worshipped pagan goddess
Like a blind man reading Braille, he reached up and touched her, his fingers running like gentle spiders over her body, as though he had to find and know every hair, every pore, savor every curve and hollow, every drop of perspiration, memorize her body, so he could store it in the shrine of his mind. So light were his fingers she could scarcely feel them, like cobwebs blown across her skin, but at the same time they were warm and caring, their touch like a shock of electricity which coursed through her limbs and made her feel completely alive. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily, trembling uncontrollably. Through the entrance of her passion she heard the muted sound of traffic, and like the opening shutter of a camera, the memory of her first night in Chicago flickered through her mind.
Then just as she thought she could no longer stand his teasing fingers, she felt his warm lips on her stomach and then lower down at the juncture of her thighs. She put her hands on the back of his head and pressed it against her, murmuring: "Yes, Yes, Oh, yes. Kiss me there."
His lips found the ridges of pink flesh embedded in the encircling hedge of silky, blond curls and his tongue the soft cleft between, which he licked and sucked deeply, tasting the salty-sweet liquor of her seeping passion. Clasping his head, which was glued to her loins like a leech, her head fell forward, her yellow hair curtaining her quivering breasts and, moaning softly, she rocked and swayed as the agony of pleasure burned brighter within her until the final ecstasy made her whole body leap and shiver in a paroxysm of bliss, and she doubled over and fell on top of him, her still contracting pelvis rolling on his shoulder.
He put his arms around her buttocks, balanced her on his shoulder, got up and carried her over to the bed where he laid her gently down. Then he undressed quickly, snapped out the light and lay down beside her. Through the half-open slats of the Venetian blinds a neon outside sent bars of pulsating, changing light across the bed, a flickering kaleidoscope of color; between dark bands of shadow, strips of red lashed across their bodies like whip-marks, strips which changed slowly into a mysterious green, then into a rich purple, then a glowing yellow, followed by a cool, ice-blue. As the sign went off and on, bathing them in alternating darkness and slabs of rainbow color, it was as though they were in a strange underworld, their bodies alien and not belonging to them; in the moments of darkness as though they had ceased to exist; in the flashes of light as though they were more intensely alive than ever before. Their eyes and teeth glistened like devils', dark and shining, and their torsos were like turning candy-poles: red, green, yellow, purple.
Although his penis was hard and throbbed in readiness, he continued to explore her body, ever different in the changing light--as if he had not one passionate woman under his hands and lips but five, each a tantalizingly different color.
Now her full, flaccid breasts rose up in the criss-cross of purple light like dark, sullen hills, their nipples black like tiny cinders, hard and resilient like rubber; the once blond, soft cleft of the pubic hair covering the wetness of her loins looked teasingly like a minuscule field of clover, mysterious and bewitched by the thin, moist trench of her vagina dividing it equally into two tiny thrilling triangles of soft down. Now the light flashed to a livid red and as she rolled over, turning under his inquisitive, fondling hands, her smooth rounded buttocks rose like two full blood-red moons, the crevice between a dark path of sin leading down the center of her sensual being. He worshipped the beauty of her young, naked body for a few moments longer and then could stand the torturous wait no longer.
He dropped his hands to the mattress and slid them under her stomach and pulled up until she was crouching on her hands and knees. He knelt behind her, his long rigid cock nosing its way up between the upraised columns of her thighs which quivered in the light like two large reflections of shimmering blue fire. As he rocked slowly back and forth behind her kneeling body, teasing the white, softness of the flesh between her legs with the wet strength of his erection, he could feel her trembling under his hands. He clasped her buttocks, two blue satin hills and pressed them apart gently so as not to break the magic of the spell they were under. He pressed slowly forward and felt her hand beneath her body reach back and secretly enfold his hardness and guide it softly between the warm, tender lips of her cunt. The soft, sparse hair surrounding it grazing maddeningly against the sensitive bulbous head. Resting on her arms, she groaned softly, lowered her back and arched her hips in the air to expose the flowering entrance to his searching cock. Inch by inch he eased into the moist, secret tunnel, feeling the rings of muscles giving way to his slow but relentless pressure. The soft and contracting muscles relaxed momentarily as he pressed by them and then without warning would clamp violently back around him like tight slippery rubber bands. She groaned as he suddenly touched bottom and he was fully imprisoned within her.
They held still for a moment, savoring the moist, delicious contact of their bodies and then with the rhythm of the changing neon light streaming through the window, his hands guided her rotating hips and he slowly drew out, the movement making a wet, sucking noise of intercourse that incited their passions to greater heights. She thrust her buttocks back and sucked him into her again, and now they stayed coupled together so that her body leaped and churned around the hardness of his cock as though she were a fish on the end of a spear.
"Now, darling, now," she cried and with a sudden gigantic lunge exploded in her orgasm, tears of joy rolling from her cheeks. Paul groaned behind her and sinking his suddenly jerking cock deep up in her belly poured forth his hot thick sperm in gush after gush of flowing passion.
Exhausted, they fell on their sides, still fused tightly together. They rested quietly for a few minutes and then he turned her on his rejuvenated penis until they were facing each other, their legs closely entwined. Their lips met in a timeless kiss and their hips and buttocks moved like lazy pendulums as their desire once more climbed to the crest and exploded. Afterwards, the throbbing muscles of her vagina squeezed him tightly, draining the last of his sperm from his satiated loins and then they fell into a long dreamless sleep.
Chapter 11
After Paul had slept with Cynthia several times his desire for her did not lessen, as she had hoped, but only seemed to grow stronger. When he visited Chicago during the next six months, he even talked about getting married, although in a very roundabout way, hedging his thoughts with "perhaps", "when we are older", and "when you want to settle down". But she had no intention of marrying just yet. It was perhaps true that she liked him well enough for her fondness to blossom into love under the right circumstances, but she was too engrossed in Frankie and her life which centered around him to really give much thought to anyone else. When she saw him, they had a good time together; but when they were apart, she forgot all about him. For with Frankie new and exciting experiences were always occurring.
She had become increasingly dependent upon Frankie. At first she had thought she would work for him only until her debt had been repaid, but then the ease of her life and the large sums of money which she earned (even though they passed through her hands into Frankie's pocket), soon made her forget all about looking for an ordinary job. And Frankie took good care of her--new clothes, their luxurious apartment which she redecorated, a plentiful supply of good food and drink--in return for which all she had to do was what she liked best: make love. That she got paid for it only made it better, for she was not only satisfying her physical desires, but also pleasing Frankie with the money she brought back. For by now she had become known in money-laden circles and could pick and choose her lovers.
And she found exciting and stimulating the swift movement of her life, the contrasts between her various friends. With her loves, one night she could dine and drink in the plushest restaurants and bars, sleep in beautiful apartments, meet well-known figures of public life, and with Frankie the next night visit the smoky dives and cluttered apartments and studios of their Bohemian friends--artists, writers, prostitutes, dope pushers where they would drink, smoke marijuana, laugh, eat prodigiously and freely make love with each other.
It was just after she had moved in with Frankie that she had found out he was selling marijuana, cocaine and heroin. Although she had not yet tried the latter, she now smoked the former whenever she was with Frankie and their friends, and had even brought Frankie a few new, lucrative customers through her contacts with wealthy lovers.
One evening she went to the "960 Club" where she was to meet him. He used the Club as one of the places where he sold narcotics to clients who knew he would be there almost every day in the early part of the evening, slipping them the joints of marijuana or capsules of heroin as they sat at the bar or at one of the small, dimly-lit tables.
Frankie had not arrived yet so she sat down with a friend named Al who was also waiting for him. Al was a journalist who had quit his paper in order to write the novel he had been trying to start for seven years. Each day he would laboriously hack out five pages of what he was convinced was priceless prose and each night he would get high on marijuana and then read them out loud to whomever was around laughing uproariously at his own efforts, and toss them into the fireplace. If no one came to visit him at night, he would prowl around until he found one of his friends to drag home to listen to his reading. But as he was liberal with his "joints" there were usually several people who would drop in on him and "going to blow at Al's readings" became almost a standard procedure. That was how Cynthia had met him: when she had been taken over by a mutual friend.
Now he was sitting hunched over the table, his thin, hawk-like face morose and bleak.
"What's the matter, Al?" Cynthia said as she sat down. "Haven't you turned out your five pages for tonight's reading?"
He looked at her without speaking, grunted, sighed and stared down at the table again.
"What's bugging you? Come on, tell Mommy."
He sighed again. "When's Frankie coming? I'm out of joint." He looked up at her. "I don't hear any uproarious laughter. That was supposed to be a joke." He rubbed a bony hand over his face.
"He should be here soon. How about a drink on me?"
"Naw. Thanks anyway. You now I only drink coffee or milk." He dipped his finger in the spilled coffee on the table and began tracing designs. "I don't have any vices."
She almost laughed in his face, but he looked so unhappy, she only smiled and then said, teasingly, "Why, Al, I'd heard that you were beginning to consider your writing as a vice."
"Yeah, I'm about to give it up. I'm getting in a rut."
"What you need is a different system."
"I was thinking of buying a tape recorder and dictatin' my five pages a day." He smiled wryly. "Think of all the money I'd save. Then I wouldn't have to burn up five pages every night, but could just switch it back and erase it."
Cynthia laughed. "That might work, but I've got a better idea."
"What?"
"Instead of writing when sober and reading when high, why don't you reverse it?"
He straightened up and looked at her, his face brightening.
"Hey, that's an idea." He rubbed his chin. "By God, I think I'll do it. I'll get a lot of pot from Frankie tonight and start in tomorrow. At least it can't be any worse than what I'm writing now." He leaned over and kissed Cynthia on the cheek. "My God, Cynthia, that's really a brain wave."
Just then Frankie sat down beside them. "Hello, you two," he said.
"Hi, darling," Cynthia said. "Al's starting in on a new routine."
"Yeah, fine," he said. "Look, baby, why don't you go back and talk with some of the gals 'til I get through here."
"Okay, Frankie. See you, Al."
She got up, went back-stage and chatted briefly with some of the show girls, most of whom she knew were Frankie's customers. Then she walked down to Torchy's dressing-room. Torchy was just pulling off her gloves and hanging up her coat
"Hi there, honey," Torchy said. "How's tricks?"
"Okay." Cynthia sat down before the other dressing-table.
"How about some gin?" Torchy said, waving a hand toward a bottle.
Cynthia poured them both a drink. She had become good friends with Torchy, often sitting in her room and talking while Mike was busy outside, and before she had to go out with clients. Although her jealousy over Frankie's attentions to other women had often prevented her from making friends with them, she knew Frankie and Torchy had grown up together and now were nothing more to each other than old friends and therefore Cynthia liked and trusted her. Now she sat and watched Torchy as she undressed, gossiping about their friends and laughing about Al's new method for writing the great American novel.
When Torchy was nude, she turned her back to Cynthia and walked over to the wardrobe.
Cynthia stared at her white, plump buttocks and then burst out laughing. Right in the center of one white, rounded buttock was a bright pink halo of teeth marks.
"Torchy," she said, choking on the drink of gin she had just taken, "have you seen your rear?"
"Yeah, I know," she said. "Looks great, doesn't it? That new boy-friend of mine is so damn near-sighted he can't tell the difference between his steak and my rump." Nude, she stood with her back to the full-length mirror, peering over her shoulder at her buttocks.
"Think I'll work up a new act," she chuckled. "How about another set on the other cheek and one on each breast?" She began wriggling so that her breasts swirled in circles and her buttocks rotated massively, the pink marks jiggling up and down.
"The bites right around each nipple in a circle," Cynthia said.
"With the tits painted to look like a tongue."
"In luminescent paint."
"So when the lights go out--it's crazy! Four sets of choppers glowing and twirling!"
They both laughed.
"And they could bill you as 'The Right Size, Bite-Size Girl'!"
Torchy walked over to the dressing-table, saying pompously, "But in the meantime, the show must go on." She picked up some cake make-up and handed it to Cynthia. "Here, cover it up for me, will you, honey?"
Cynthia began smoothing it over her pink indentations.
"By the way," Torchy said, "have you and Frankie heard about the party?"
"What party?"
"Shoo-fly's throwin' an orgy next Wednesday over at his pad. It'll be a real big blow, honey. Films and all."
"Sounds crazy."
"It'll be. It'll be."
She handed back the make up and Torchy sat down and began patting her face with cold cream. "By the way," she said, looking at Cynthia in the mirror, "I don't want to stick my nose where it has no business, but have you heard what Gypsy's up to?"
"No, why?" She had often wondered what had happened to her.
"You mean you've heard nothing since Frankie kicked her out and she got fired here?"
"No, nothing."
"Well," Torchy said as she fluffed powder over her face and body, "she's livin' with a tough hood named Flip."
"So what?"
"So she's spreadin' lots of dirt about you and Frankie. I figure she still must be in love with him and is still so mad and jealous she's tryin' to do him in. Anyway, this Flip is real gone on her and believes every word the bitch says, about how Frankie used to beat her up, made her into a junky, got her pregnant so she had to have an operation which ruined her insides, and a lot of other stuff. So she's now tryin' to get this Flip to beat Frankie up. The only trouble is that this Flip is such a moron he might do it, so you'd better warn Frankie."
"Okay, I will. Thanks Torchy."
"But don't worry about it, honey, it'd probably add up to nuthin'. She'll cool down."
"I hope so."
"She also swears she'll get Frankie to crawl back to her on his hands and knees."
Cynthia laughed, "He certainly won't do that. I can't imagine Frankie crawling to anyone, much less Gypsy."
"Yeah, maybe. But if he doesn't she says she'd screw him up."
"How?"
"Put the Narcotics Squad onto him, and do it so they'd have to haul him in. That could be bad, honey."
"Well, I'll tell him." She sat quietly, thinking, and then she became angry her face flushed and her eyes became dark. "If I ever catch that bitch, I'll tear her apart!"
"Let me know, and I'll help you out," Torchy said dryly. She finished putting on her costume, patted Cynthia on the shoulder and went off to do her act.
Cynthia remained, morosely thinking over what Torchy had told her. At first she had worried about Frankie's pushing drugs. He had reassured her, and when she saw that nothing happened to him over the months, even though he had been doing it for several years, she accepted it as safe. She had even met a member of the Chicago Narcotics Squad at one of the parties where everyone had been high on marijuana, and some had openly been using heroin. When she had asked Frankie about him, he had only laughed and said he was an addict and was on the Narcotic Squad as it was the safest place to be. She wasn't worried about Flip beating Frankie up because she knew Frankie had been in enough fights and brawls to take care of himself. Nor was she worried that he would leave her to go back to Gypsy. But if Gypsy really wanted to make a big row about Frankie to the narcotics' agents, they'd have to arrest him.
Realizing that her worries weren't helping to solve anything and wanting to get over the depression, she reached in her purse and dug around until she found a small box. Inside were several joints. Although she knew it was dangerous to smoke at the Club, as in all public places, she nevertheless lit it up after shutting the door. She took a deep drag and relaxed as the smoke began to take effect. As usual first the area around her eyes and cheeks felt pleasantly light and her worries vanished to be replaced by a snug, warm feeling of contentment.
Through the closed door the beat of the music in the Club was muted and distant. She could recognize it as the same song that had been on the record player the first time she had made love with Frankie while high on marijuana, and she leaned back on her chair and closed her eyes, dreamily thinking of what it had been like. The record had played over and over, neither of them wanting to interrupt the flow of their love-making to change it or turn it off. Together with the joints, which extended their sense of space and time, the same rhythm and melody, repeating itself continuously, made their love seem even longer and more drawn-out.
They had returned to their apartment late at night and, still high from smoking at a party, put on the record and decided to have a last cigarette. As the joint picked her up and carried her away, she had lain down on the bed, feeling as though her body was swirling around in circles, that it was floating lightly above the bed, and that she would be blown away if she didn't hang on to something.
Laughing, she cried out, "Oh, Frankie, hang on to me! I'm going to float right out of this world!" Her nerves sensitized to a keen edge, the touch of his hand pierced through her like a needle, sharply but slowly, as though the impulse of his touch leaped from nerve to nerve. At first they had rolled on the bed, laughing and giggling like a couple of children, and then they began to help each other to undress. Each button, each zipper, each sleeve to be drawn off, each wisp of clothing to he slipped away from her hot, tender flesh, seemed like a high barrier in a dream-land where all action was retarded and drawn out in slow motion. Each movement of their bodies, each contact of their hands and lips, was a sweet agony of heightened, accentuated pleasure. Time was slowed down, and just as every note of the music seemed to go in one ear and be stretched out in a spiraling circle to infinity before the next one followed after it, so she could feel and enjoy each tingling nerve, each moving muscle.
She was aware of her body in a way she had never been before; her mind and brain scarcely seemed to function; she felt entirely liberated and uninhibited and, unchained from her thoughts and all ordinary distractions, she made love with the freedom of a sex-starved animal.
She longed for Frankie's body, for almost anyone's body, so when he came into Torchy's dressing-room, she opened her eyes, stretched out her arms and said, "I was just thinking of you. Let's make love, darling."
He sniffed the air, closed the door and said brusquely, ignoring her outstretched arms. "Look, baby, you know damn well you shouldn't smoke in here, so wise up, huh? This joint's been raided before." He switched on the ventilating fan.
She looked at him quietly.
"Okay. Okay," he said, "don't look at me like that. What's bugging you anyway?"
"Don't be so damn nasty," she said. "If you want to know, I was worrying about you, but if you don't want me to give a good God-damn about you, I'll leave right now." She stood up, but the sudden movement made her head whirl and her body sway as though she were trying to walk on the deck of a rolling ship. She couldn't remain angry.
"Oh, Frankie," she laughed, "I'm so-o-o on!"
He grinned at her. "You sure are, honey." He put his arms around her. "Now, come on. Torchy said you wanted to talk to me. Let's hear it before you leave."
"Leave?"
"Tonight's when you see Harris, isn't it?"
"Good Lord, I've forgotten all about it."
"So what's up?"
She told him what Torchy had heard about Gypsy and her threats not only to have him beaten up by Flip but also make trouble for him with the Narcotics Squad, omitting, however, Gypsy's boast that she would make him crawl back to her,
All Frankie did was laugh.
"Flip? That idiot? Sure, I know him. He couldn't kill a mosquito with a machine gun."
"But Frankie ..."
"Now, don't worry, baby. Gypsy may be a bitch, but she isn't so stupid to try ratting on me. She knows what's good for her."
"But what if she does?" she said worriedly.
"I said don't worry! I know where she hangs out. I'll stop by and see her sometime. Gypsy's just a lot of hot air. Don't let it bug you." He kissed her. "And now you'd better get over to Harris's. I'll get you a cab."
"Okay, Frankie. But take it easy, please."
"Sure." He took her arm. "Come on now, and for God's sakes, don't queer the deal with Harris. We may need him sometime."
* * *
It was snowing heavily outside. Frankie hailed a cab, put her inside, gave the driver the address of Conrad Harris's apartment and went back to the Club.
Cynthia sank against the cushions. Well, if Frankie wasn't going to worry about Gypsy, she wasn't, either. She wanted another joint, but didn't dare light it up in the taxi. Although she had been seeing Conrad regularly for three months, she was never sure exactly what kind of a mood he would be in. A well-known and influential politician in Chicago, he worked both sides of the street, the shady as well as the sunny, and through crooked deals and protection payment from the underworld. He had a wife and family at his home in Lake Forest, but maintained an apartment in the city as well. She neither particularly liked him nor trusted him, but Frankie had insisted she keep up the relationship, in case they ever had need of his help. Then, too, he paid liberally for the nights she spent with him, besides giving her gifts.
"Cynthia, you look beautiful," Conrad said, when he opened the door. "As usual, darling."
He took both her hands in his, drew her into the foyer, kissed her and then held her away while he looked at her admiringly. "The always lovely Cynthia." On the shoulders of her fur coat and on her golden hair large flakes of snow still rested lightly, sparkling in the light. "You look like a blue eyed snow angel."
She smiled at him sweetly, even though his sentimentality and sugary compliments often made her feel like biting the end of his nose--a large nose. But then he was a large man, tall and compact, well preserved for his forty-eight years. "Yeah," Frankie had said, "he keeps his weight down by skipping back and forth from one side of the law to the other."
As he took her coat he looked approvingly at the long-sleeved green wool dress, which fit her tightly, molding her breasts and hips, its severity relieved only by the deep cut V neckline through which her neck and chest gleamed the color of cafe au lait. "Looks wonderful on you. Have you got it all on?"
She nodded. They had been shopping and he had bought her not only the dress, but new shoes, lingerie and a tight waist-cincher. She kicked her shoes off and curled up in an armchair, talking to him while he mixed a drink. A quiet evening at home with fire and slippers, she thought. Nuts!
When they went out together she always dressed in her most sophisticated gowns, but she knew he liked her to be informal when they were alone together. "I want you to look like you lived in a sealed block of ice when other people are around," he had said, "but when we're alone, I like to know I've got a woman who's warm like a human being."
He brought her a drink and sat down on the couch.
"Cynthia" he said, "I hate to bring the subject up again, but won't you reconsider moving into an apartment? I've found a dandy not far from here ..."
Here we go again, she thought to herself. "Oh, Conrad" she pouted, "not again! Really, I'm sorry, but I like this arrangement as it is."
"I can give you a lot more than that guy you're living with now."
"I know. But I don't want to settle down yet. Maybe later. Let's not argue, darling."
"Okay, Cindy, have it your way."
While he talked on she appeared to be listening intently, but her thoughts were far away. Until they got into bed, Conrad's conversation, as he droned on in a gruff voice about things she was totally uninterested in, completely bored her.
He went over in the portable bar to get another drink and paused behind her chair. She could feel him standing behind her, gazing down at the top of her head. He leaned over. She tilted her head to look up at him. He was staring down the deep V of her neckline to where her breasts nestled snugly under the green wool. She took a deep breath and threw her chest out so they arched under the material like two soft, green hills. She reached up to draw his mouth down to hers. As they kissed, his hands slid over her chest down to her waist and up again along the firm slats of her ribs until they found the opening of her neckline and creeped under to the warm, pliant dough of her breasts.
"Take your dress off," he whispered.
While he watched, she slipped the dress over her head and stood before him, her legs wide apart, clad only in long, black stockings and the black waist-cincher. Extremely tight, it nipped in her waist like an hour-glass; above, it widened upward like a black heart into a half-brassiere which, supporting only the under-part of her breasts, cupped them so they lay like two golden moons, high and full; below, it belled outward to just below the curve of her belly and the top of her swelling buttocks. Lying as closely as a second skin, a skin of satin and black lace, it made her buttocks bulge like two large, plump apples, toasted a golden tan by the sun. Framed by the long, parallel lines of the garters which stretched down to meet the silky, black sheaths of her stockings, the curve of her mound seemed even more obese and prominent, her vagina covered by fine, blond curls, more naked and mysterious.
When she turned and walked out of the room, her round thighs brushing hotly against each other, she could feel his eyes hungrily following her sensuous movements; and when she returned she knew he was ready to take her, he had already undressed and was waiting for her, his clothes in a heap on the floor, his body tense, his impatience revealed by his full erection. She walked toward him, her soft, blond hair swaying down her back; her full, rounded breasts, resting lightly in the half cups.
When she had walked to him he put his hands on her shoulders without saying a word and pushed her down so she was kneeling on the floor before him. She knew he needed this, this paying of the ultimate homage to him before he made love to her. It was his way, of always reminding her that she was a bought and paid for thing that was his to do with as he wished. She had never objected, and somehow found it strangely exciting to be dominated and humiliated this way as though she were some pet dog, or something not quite to be treated as human.
His hardened cock was directly in front of her face and without otherwise touching him, she began to slowly lick the underside of it, at first running wetly all around the hard throbbing head with her tongue. As he moaned softly above her head, she took the heart-shaped, smooth fleshed end full into the warm moistness of her mouth and her lips clamped firmly around it. She reached around behind him, cupping his hard, white buttocks and pulled him toward her, feeling the full, lubricated rod of flesh slide deeper between her teeth, her tongue running in hot, moist circles over its smooth surface. Cynthia squirmed her own buttocks down against her heel that was insinuated up tightly between the soft, globular moons. She could feel the wetness beginning there as it always did when she felt his excitement rising in the warm wet cavern of her mouth. She increased the movement of her head until it was bobbing in front of him like a balloon tossed about by the wind. Her hot, moist tongue swirled faster and faster around his still hardening cock until she knew he was almost ready to erupt deep in her mouth.
But, this time it was different. He wanted something else from her now and he suddenly reached down and jerked her bodily from her slavish task. His penis slipped from between her protesting lips with a slight sucking noise as the pressure was released against it and he half pushed, half dragged her to the overstuffed chair by the couch.
"Kneel on the arms," he said, his voice rushed from the near orgasm he had almost had in her mouth. She quickly spread her legs and climbed up on the chair, balancing her bent knees on the ends of the arms and letting her head and torso fall downwards toward the seat. Her full, ripe buttocks were thrust upward, bulging, soft and pushed outward by the tight girdle he had not had her remove. Her wide-spread crevice, breaking the two flaccid, white mounds curved down, lined with soft, blond fleece and broken only by the pink puckered entrance to her anus. With the top of her head bent into the seat of the chair, she looked back through the wide-spread arch of her thighs and saw him standing behind her, not touching her.
Suddenly she felt two slaps, one on each cheek of her buttocks so sharp and stinging that she gasped with pain. Although her body quivered with the shock, she retained her position and waited tensely for the next blow. Instead, she unexpectedly felt the light, gentle pressure of his lips kissing the bright pink imprints which burned and tingled. Just as she was beginning to relax, however, he slapped her again, this time so hard that her head was crushed up against the back of the chair and tears came to her eyes. Before she had time to recover, the stinging slaps fell again and she writhed and trembled and began to sob. But he murmured soothingly and lightly caressed her quivering buttocks with his cool hands until she thought he was through tormenting her and she stopped crying and began to purr softly with pleasure. There was shuffling of position behind her, and she felt the hot moistness of his lips against the flesh of her behind. His tongue licked up the length of the wide-split crevice between her thighs, pausing at the small crinkled hole of her anus to thrust and tease at it for a few short moments.
"Ooooooooh," she moaned at the lewd tickling sensation coursing through her. And expecting that he would now take her, she moved back on the chair, thrusting her hips to present them more fully, and rotated them slowly and teasingly under his hands around the shallow impalement of his tongue probing at her anus. He drew back, but instead of the pressure of his penis into her, she grunted at a further series of painful slaps, then his kisses again and the hard blows, all in quick succession. She crouched, cowering on the arms of the chair now, crying with agony and pleasure, gasping and choking on the salty flow of tears that dripped from her eyes down onto the seat. Her whole body was tense and trembling, her gaze directed hack between her legs to watch him.
"Cynthia, darling," she heard him croon gently. "I've always wanted to fuck you in the ass. Now, I'm going to do it."
"Oh no, Conrad, please," she whimpered, a sudden feeling of complete helplessness coming over her. "It'll hurt."
"No, it won't, my darling," he crooned on softly an almost reverent tone to his voice. "I'll do it gently."
And through the wet veil of tears covering her eyes she saw his thighs move forward slightly until the huge, throbbing head of his cock was pressed tightly between the cheeks of her ass. She automatically tightened her buttocks In a hopeless attempt to keep him from entering her there but his thumbs on either side of her anus pressed harshly outward and opened the whole of her back passage to the mercy of his unnatural desires. He pressed the slippery lubricated head of his cock tightly against the tiny, puckered entrance and pressed forward gently at first.
"Aaaaaangggggghhhhhh," she screamed as she suddenly felt the tight unyielding muscles of her anus being forced slowly outward from the strength of his relentless pressure. Her face contorted tightly in pain and she groaned like a wounded banshee down into the cushion of the chair, her scream muffled and desperate as though she were being impaled on the end of a giant spear shaft.
There was a slight pop as the tight outer ring of her anus suddenly gave way and the head of his throbbing member slipped inside. She groaned again and then the momentary pain of his initial entry passed and her rectum relaxed and opened to receive him. He grunted behind her as the tight unused flesh clamped around his cock like a vice but did not ease off on the pressure he was exerting against her. He jerked forward with short hard strokes, digging deeper and deeper into her belly until Cynthia's whole behind felt stretched and distended beyond all hope of ever recovering. She felt as though her whole insides were being pushed up hard into her throat and there was no way in the world she could escape the cruel and unrelenting instrument skewering its way deep into her bowels. His hands curved around under her trembling belly and she could feel his fingers pulling the hot, wet lips of her cunt open beneath her. He thrust forward with his fingers, sinking three of them deep up inside her. She moaned again, her loins feeling completely filled with the hard, thick cock tunneling into her rectum from behind and his probing fingers sunk deep in her vagina.
There was a sudden gasp from his lips and she felt his pelvis smack hard into the flaccid cheeks of her buttocks pushing them up and out. She whimpered and felt her whole body jerk and writhe for a moment in protest and then relax in helpless acceptance as the whole of his pulsating cock lay buried deep in the confines of her widely stretched rectum. He stood still for a moment to give her time to adjust to the unnatural invasion of her back passage and then began a series of slow short strokes in and out of her, his fingers probing deep in her cunt and keeping time to his cock gliding smoothly in and out of her rectum. And then to her surprise the driving rod and the searching caress of his fingers thrusting into her vagina soon aroused her in a strange masochistic way and she began eagerly rocking her hips in the air behind her, propelled by the suddenly mounting urgency of her own passion. She could feel the old familiar fire building again deep inside her belly and she rocked and rotated wildly beneath him, the round white magnificence of her buttocks hollowing and clenching around the hardness of his cock with each hard, brutal stroke he rammed into her. She could hear him clucking behind her in lewd delight, as he watched his thick rod of flesh disappearing deep down inside the smooth hairless mouth of her rectum and then gasping crazily to himself as he jerked out again and the tight pink flesh flowed with it with a wet sucking noise, clasping to it as though it did not want to let go. His naked lust incited her more and she began to move with earnest now, the licking flames of her own desire almost ready to erupt. She could feel he was close to cumming. She could feel him growing inside her and stretching the already stretched walls of her pulsating rectum wider and wider until she thought she could not stand the strange, obscene pain and pleasure another moment longer. Her eyes were dilated and bulged wide as she humped beneath him. The tightness of her asshole clasping and unclasping around him like a sucking fish as he fucked into her now with all his lustful strength. And then he came!
Just as the rising tide of her own passion spilled out deep inside her, she could feel the hot warm spurts of his sperm emptying deep, deep inside her rectum until it felt as though he were filling her whole body with the hot sticky fluid. Her full, rounded breasts dancing beneath her kneeling form hardened, as though he had broken through her belly and was dumping his cum into them. She could taste it on the end of her tongue swirled her tongue lasciviously around inside her mouth, savoring with delight the delicious and pungent taste. She heard him cry out behind her, and his thick pulsating member spurted one last thick jet of his sperm deep in her rectum and, with a wild cry, her whole body contracted in the final burst of her own orgasm.
Her eyes closed, she collapsed into the chair as he withdrew with a wet sucking noise, as though he were pulling a body from quicksand. A thin string of sperm followed the tip of his cock, still connecting it to the stretched hole of her rectum, a lewd reminder of the obscene coupling they had just gone though. Cynthia lay in a limp heap in the chair unable to move. Conrad reached down with his arms and picked her up and carried her into the bedroom where he laid her silently on the bed. The sheets were cool on her still tender buttocks. He quietly unzipped the tight girdle and slipped it off. The mattress sank as he lay down beside her and she turned to him, her mouth half open, her lips wet, and waited for his kiss.
* * *
When she awoke the next morning, Conrad had already left. Under the clock on the bedside table was the amount of money he gave her each time she came plus an extra hundred dollar bill. She got up, showered, dressed and tucked the money in her wallet. Smiling to herself, she put the hundred dollar bill in a separate compartment. For several weeks now Conrad had been tipping her extra, as though to say, "If you move into an apartment by yourself, you'll have all this and a lot more."
She debated whether or not to tell Mike, but had decided against it, keeping the extra money for herself. Although she knew he would be furious if he found out, lately he had not been very generous in giving her spending money and she was beginning to resent the fact that everything she earned disappeared into his pocket. Usually she had purchased clothes with the extra cash. Mike had questioned her about them, but he had seemed to be satisfied with her explanation that Conrad had bought them--at least up until now.
