---

.....4728 home .....4730

Spanking Cop-Out ....(107k)    by Joe Weiss

PART ONE:

CHAPTER I

Gail Summers was the Candy and Lolita type-symbol for more than two whole decades!

There was the same long, natural honey-blonde hair, and the tall, slim, trim but most curvaceous body, which, even at an early age of the teens was still resplendent around the hard, firm, up-thrust bosom, the ample, tapered thighs, and the full and rounded, curvy, dimpled bottom.

There was also the same demure, cameo-shaped face with its pert features, consisting of an upturned nose, two emerald-green cat's eyes-as large and round as tea-cups-soft, lush, vitally red pincushions for lips, and a rounded chin with a cleft in it which rendered a distinct, unmistakable childlike quality, and was totally inescapable in its magical, spellbinding effect, particularly on the opposite sex.

And while, during the course of that better-than-twenty-year-span, there would inevitably be a certain maturity rendered, even when Gail reached the relatively old age for a movie starlet of forty, it would still be considered more of a ripeness and lushness added to youth, rather than the tell-tale signs of old age.

In perfect keeping with her natural endowments, Gail Summers was always a real swinger from her early teens onward, and game for anything-with either sex. Yes, besides being one of the most celebrated and illustrious starlets for two whole generations, Gail was also its number one swinger, too.

Nor did she have to be taught too much or too extensively, either. It always came so natural to her. She could fuck and suck, and take it up the ass-hole--it didn't matter particularly where. At an early age, she quite logically figured: that wherever she had a hole in her succulent, streamlined body, something should be stuffed into it--preferably for all the holes to be filled up at one time.

What indescribable Heaven; what incomparable delight.

Of course, such a contention made about Gail Summers' uninhibited audaciousness might shock our present hip generation, who, comparable to all other generations before them, also egotistically assume that all the swinging and making of the scene only was discovered by and began wit them.

That such is not the case is too obvious a fact to belabor upon at any undue length. But, going to any period in history--the time of Julius Caesar, for example: was the celebrated Cleopatra's effect upon him any less devastating? She too had the charming ways and cuteness of a child in a shapely, curvaceous woman-body.

So, for that matter, did Elizabeth Taylor, who, with true poetic justice and irony, ultimately portrayed the illustrious Egyptian princess on the screen.

During one of the more turbulent periods of marital havoc which had ensued in the early phase of her life, the fabulous Liz confessed, openly and candidly in giving an interview to one of those gushy movie fan magazines, say in face, literally:

"I have the mind and emotions of a little girl-placed in a mature woman's body!"

However, in Gail Summers' case, it had always been debated: whether this was her natural personality, per se, or purely a means to an end? As a matter-of-fact, most Hollywood historians put her down, in the final analysis, as being "an utterly insidious, unscrupulous bitch!"

Furthermore, truth to tell, and to complicate matters enormously, Gail Summers still was vague herself as to her actual predominant motivation in this admitted dichotomy.

So it was that when she reached her fortieth year, Gail was prone to do much soul-searching: by recapitulating her whole past, perhaps to permit her to understand herself better to act in the future!

It wasn't merely that she reached the danger age -for a woman, as such-that troubled her so greatly. Oh, to be sure, this troubled her, too, but it was entirely secondary to the more pressing, urgent problem at hand.

It all revolved around the only child she had ever given birth to, her lovely daughter, Tina.

She was now seventeen and had come of age. Of course, Gail made sure that Tina had the best of everything. She had sent her to Blossom Finishing School for Young Girls, which was supposed to be the best of its kind.

And it was precisely there that Tina was just expelled from for her nocturnal activities-"orgies," the dean had called them, to be exact.

At Tina's instigation, boys, (which were strictly forbidden at Blossom's all-girl dormitories) were found time after time engaging in mass acts of fucking and sucking with the girls on the beds, and when those were full, on the very floor!

Despite constant warnings by the dean, Tina refused to desist. The more she was warned, the more she carried on.

Right away, she wore a mini-skirt so high, that her pussy stuck out, and with no drawers on underneath. It was a sheer wonder, to all of the faculty, that Tina hadn't been assaulted and raped repeatedly.

Then came the last straw. Tina went to live with a boy from a nearby college as his mistress, and proudly announced what she was doing to everyone at Blossom.

Ultimately, the uppety-puppety school practically had a revolution on its hands: with some of the girls siding with Tina's contention-as her right to personal privacy-and the others siding with the faculty.

So, in the final analysis, although the dean regretted expelling the daughter of such a celebrated screen-actress, she simply had no choice.

Not only did Tina refuse to accept the school's ultimatum-of giving up living as a mistress with a boy and off of the school's grounds-but she continued to organize those fucking and sucking orgies, with sticky, used condoms and scum-bags being found every day all over the floor of every dormitory, as living proof!

Truth to tell, although Gail scolded Tina severely, she wasn't really too concerned about her expulsion, as such. With her terrific pull, she could get her enrolled into another girl's finishing school, equally as good, or, if she didn't get a college degree altogether, it wouldn't be any major disaster, either.

After all, Tina was a very good-looking and personable girl. She could either turn to a career in pictures herself, or certainly get married to some good catch. So her future was more or less assured.

There was only one fly in the otherwise smooth ointment the way Gail saw it.

That was, if lightning struck twice, history repeated itself and Tina fell into some older, adroit Lesbian's hands, for, it was true what a lot of people contended: "Once a girl fell into a Lesbian's hands, she was ruined for life with men."

Oh, to be sure, it wasn't quite so drastic as all that with Gail. So she was another Hollywood switch-hitter-one of many; so what? This didn't keep her from fucking and sucking and taking it up the ass with many men.

And, she had gotten married three times-which was precisely the point: Why hadn't any of Gail's marriages lasted? There were three men involved, all of diametrically diverse types. And yet, she couldn't stay married to any one of them on a real permanent basis.

Well, she didn't want the same thing to happen to her daughter, Tina-not if she could possibly help it.

Was it true that a Lesbian had ruined her for life with men, or was it only her imagination? After all, that Sabrina Towers had really gone around the world with her: She had played stinky-fingers, fucked her in the ass and cunt with a big black rubber dildo, and chewed up her cunt perennially as her box-lunch, or lunch-box!

So, in order to properly recapitulate, and know how to handle her daughter, Gail had to go back-back, back, back-all the way back to that school play at Bentley, and the turbulent events which surrounded it. Because, that's where it all started; that's where it all began:

Back, back, back Gail's trouble-filled mind went -back in Time and Space . . .

A strong under-current of charged, pent-up electricity permeated the entire cast of the school play.

It was no longer any mere rumor, but a definite, substantiated fact that Jack Bradley, the famous

Hollywood talent-scout was amongst the members of the large audience which jammed to the very last seat the vast, acoustically-sensitive and hollow-sounding auditorium.

And since all of the cast was nervous, any way, which was quite natural-this being their very first exposure to a general public, even if most of them were kindly disposed, almost all of them being parents, brothers and sisters, and other close relatives -this further intensified their queasiness and accentuated it to an acute extreme.

Little hearts beat fast, tiny pulses raced, and butterflies danced in miniature tummies. Dank sweat oozed underneath armpits and between svelte, firm young loins, with kneecaps knocking uncontrollably together; throats felt parched and dry-as if one were on a desert just craving for a drink of water.

But nervous or not, as young as they all were, still, there was hardly one youthful spirit present who wouldn't have drank Jack Bradley's piss or eaten his shit if it assured the given one that he would wave his proverbial magic wand and take her off to Hollywood, to embark upon a career of fairy-land glamour and luxurious, carefree living:

Of course, in those days, most fourteen-, fifteen-year-old girls couldn't actually spell out what they would be willing to do in words; nevertheless, while it was vague to them, they could still instinctively sense it.

This gave the precocious Gail Summers (her name was Stephens before Hollywood decided to change it for her) a terrific jump on the rest of the little girls:

Gail clearly knew, and she had her mother, who was an old-time dime-a-dance girl and member of a burlesque troupe, painstakingly and most thoroughly teach her all of the special antics and nuances required to entice and captivate the opposite sex.

Then the inevitable happened.

The curtains were raised on the stage up front, and the play was on!

All of them fumbled and stammered, hesitated and even forgot some of the lines in their utter awe; this included captivating Gail. However, she wasn't nervous because of it being the outset of the play itself, as such. No, rather she was tense in imminent anticipation of what was to come at the end of the first act, and precisely what she was going to do at this preordained conjecture.

The play rolled drearily and inevitably on as school plays perennially do. Childish, squeaky voices gained assurance with the passage of time, and sounded paradoxically more ludicrous than ever.

Except for Gail's, that is.

She went through all the motions as if she were just an automaton. She stopped all of her stammering, stuttering and hesitating, true. She didn't forget any of her lines, either. But she was real rigid and stiff.

Then Gail's moment of reckoning finally came, and after hesitating for a fraction of a moment with total paralytic inertia, she suddenly decided to brazenly go through with it-follow out her plan, come what may!

At this precise conjecture, Gail was addressing the hero.

"Very well, kind sir. So I am a shrew. That's why no other man ever was brave enough to ask for my hand in marriage before-because I'm such a perfect little bitch!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Kate dear," the hero tried to improvise, not knowing what to do under the startling circumstances-actually figuring that Gail had forgotten her lines.

Then Gail went right on with: "But since you were brave enough to ask for my hand and go through with it-have married me-you shall be properly rewarded, kind sir."

"But, how?"

"Now you'll see exactly what you purchased. And you'll learn that I've got what it takes: I have oomph, kind sir."

Now the cast all looked askance at one another, entirely perplexed, as the lines which Gail had just spoken were utterly strange and alien to them. This was the first time that their ears had the privilege of hearing this patch of dialogue.

Then, what subsequently followed was a stark improvisation, worthy of a Kiss Me, Kate, but years before its time!

The play became carried away and took its own direction-or to be more precise, Gail's.

Suddenly, right after saying her own made-up lines, Gail quickly removed both her blouse and skirt, throwing them in a billowing pile on the floor by her feet.

Now she stood there-in just a tightly clinging pink bra and matching panty-briefs. All of the graceful, symmetrical lines of her compact, youthful body were revealed for all gaping eyes to see, in addition to the natural bantam-golden sheen to her long streamlined gams-a hue that only youth is ever endowed with-and which adults have to take painstaking and meticulous sun-baths in order to achieve, if indeed, they could achieve such a resplendent tone to the skin at all!

A buzzing drone of askance started to distinctly penetrate throughout the entire audience. Several members of the school faculty, not quite knowing what to do in all of their terrible confusion and embarrassment, were about to reach out for Gail and grab her bodily. But instinctively sensing what they were up to, she merrily skipped away, did a little hop, skip and jump, and completely eluded them.

Then she began to go into a dance, just as her mother had shown her that the big burlesque bombshells did.

Her firm little melons for breasts bobbed and weaved with her hectic animation; her legs were a. sliding blur of motion, and, from time to time, she would do a cute about-face, bend down and over, rendering a slither, bump and a grind, which was her own adolescent version of the Can-Can.

Since her panty-briefs were too tight and snug for her, sliding and pinching up to the crotch of her cunt, her young, rounded and curvy dimpled mounds that was her lilting bottom protruded absolutely bare, velvety-smooth and most enticing.

Then, in the middle of her little dance. Gail also began to sing in a gay, child-like, mischievous voice, pouting prettily as she did so:

"I'm just a little girl, and I love lollipops. I love to suck on them all day long, 'cause they taste so sweet and good and dreamy. Yum-um!"

She rolled her huge, round emerald-green eyes like naughty saucers, then took out a ready lollipop from somewhere behind her back, removed the cellophane while in motion, and jammed it in between her curled-up and puckered lips, pouting even more emphatically.

However, Gail didn't merely suck on a lollipop as such the way other little girls would do. Rather, she went about sucking it as if it were some man's prick-big, long, hard and stiff-sweet and good.

She worked her tongue all around and over the large candy ball, licking and lapping greedily, emitting spittle of saliva, as she jerked it rhythmically up and down with her hand.

There could be absolutely no mistaking the intent of this precocious little child. To most of the audience, who were staid Puritans and prudes, it was as if someone had unveiled a little vampire-vixen-an illustrious daughter of Dracula upon them: Gail continued to lick and lap and suck more heartily and energetically than ever, making little swooshing noises as she devoured the sweet juices derived from the candy-ball, with still more spittle foaming and frothing at the corners of her sensuous mouth and dripping down all over her heaving little firm melons for a pulsating bosom.

What had been a mere undercurrent of buzzing in the surprised audience before, now gave way to a cacophonic, strident pandemonium. Everyone was yelling and shouting and screaming at once.

There was a scattering of claps from some of the gaping males in the audience, sitting alone in the back of the auditorium without wives, and surreptitiously trying to jerk themselves off, provoked by Gail's irresistible, captivating antics.

But a far louder chorus of boos and hoots drowned out the cheering ones, with one indignant Puritan old maid shouting above the rest in a shrill, screeching voice perfectly befitting a berserk banshee bat:

"This is no part from The Taming of the Shrew as I know it. This is purely something which the naughty, wicked child has made up from herself. Or else Satan has seized her soul and gotten way-down inside of her."

"Yes, true!" seconded another angry old maid.

"So quick somebody," continued the first old maid, "before we're all condemned as hopeless sinners. Get up there and remove this sorry sight from our God-fearing eyes!"

Apparently, this was just the sort of prompting which Melvin Roth, the head of the drama class needed, because he was out there on the stage in a flash, a most indignant expression on his sensitive, effeminate face.

Melvin Roth, be it noted, was akin to many other male teachers found in our public schools, all of the same basic type.

He was a repressed and latent passive-homosexual, despite the glaringly obtrusive secondary characteristics: of a girlish face, a pronounced lisp, and a lilting swish to his hips.

Melvin Roth simply loved children, and especially little girls ordinarily, or so it seemed at any rate. But unconsciously, he hated little girls-especially the pretty ones-and was jealous of them for the wonderful attributes which Mother Nature had been so kind to endow them with.

If he had the guts to face up to it, he would have sucked a mean prick and had big dicks thrust up his ass-hole all the time. But he didn't have the guts, and at one conjecture, since it couldn't help but dawn on him that he had all the markings of a passive queer, he went in for weight-lifting and tried to overcompensate by being a virtual superman. However, since the more manly fellows at the gym continued to make remarks and poke fun at him, it wasn't too long before Melvin's defense-mechanism broke down and he gave weight-lifting up altogether.

So he was kindly disposed to children and especially loved little girls ostensibly, until something crucial happened where his unconscious mind could give the mock-travesty of a facade up and really let himself go.

Such a rare and welcomed occasion was right now -with this dreadful Gail Summers child, Melvin reflected grimly and jubilantly.

Melvin brought out a wooden high-chair which teachers use to sit at the head of a class to instruct with, banged it down into place, right in the direct center of the stage. Then he made his way, walking quickly with an exaggerated haughtiness and swish of the hips-comparable to the typical woman who considered herself to be highly and unjustly wronged.

Gail was oblivious to all of this, as she did her version of the Can-Can dance at a vastly accelerated tempo-all of her entire, youthful, compact body in a single blur of motion. In her fervent, frantic animation, the tight panty-briefs had slid even further up the crotch of her cunt, so that still more of the delectably enticing curvy mounds of flesh were bared to the visible eyes of the audience, as she bent down and over and performed even more exaggerated slithers, bumps and grinds of her most provocative little dimpled behind.

Melvin Roth had reached her by now, and was standing directly in back of her. The audience was all up on its feet, in sheer bedlam.

Melvin picked her up in mid-air, by the nape of her neck, much as he would have raised up some unruly little kitten. Then he marched her that way, all of Gail's compact, curvaceous body still in writhing, squirming motion-still not realizing what was happening to her-or soon about to happen.

Melvin Roth reached the high-chair, raised himself up and sat down squarely on the round wooden seat. Then he tossed Gail's supple entity high up in the air, her head all but hitting the ceiling-bouncing her up and down on his knees, whirling her upside-down, clutching her around the waist, and still bouncing her emphatically-until he had firmly solidified his grip and entrenched it, his left hand glued in the small of her back, forming an improvised vise of steel.

"I'll teach you," he hissed in a whisper in Gail's ear. "You little vixen, you-double-crossing me this way after all I've done for you-embarrassing and humiliating me so in front of everybody. I'll now give you a lesson, young lady, that you won't every forget for the rest of your days. You'll think twice before being so naughty, wicked and brazen again, such as you've been on this day. You'll think twicel"

Melvin Roth's free right hand came high up in the air-all the way up-drawing a bead on its inevitable target: the bare, soft and pliable young fleshy mounds that were her dimpled, most perturbing cheeks.

The hard, bony palm of the hand came down with a mighty swish, then it cracked as it found its mark triumphantly, flush into the softest, meatiest part of one of the up-thrust mounds.

Gail squealed with both surprise and pain.

There was an angry set of red marks, the livid imprint made from hard fingers and an even harder bony palm, when Melvin Roth withdrew the hand, to bring it back up into the air again, poised to strike its helpless, passive target anew:

There was another terrific swish, then a crack, and the entire hand found its mark triumphantly again, this time on the other pliable meaty cheek-flush in the middle!

Gail squealed again, but this time, no longer from surprise, but only from pain that manifested itself as bright blinking stars shooting through her head.

"Give it to her," the first angry Puritanical old maid shouted happily, virtually drooling at the mouth. "Give it to the little tart. Lay the smacks on hard, so that she really gets to feel the burning, blistering fires of Hades. Punish her, but good. Whip the little ass off of her. Let this be fair warning to the little vixen. Either she repents and mends her ways-becomes a most well-behaved young lady from here on out-or she will spend the rest of her days in eternal damnation!

"So punish her, teacher. Punish her until her naughty, wicked little behind is set on fire, and is all blistered and burned. Whip the ass off of her. Whip the shit out of her. Whip it, whip it, whip it!"

Melvin Roth didn't need any actual encouragement from the Puritanical old maid, as he had given Gail another ten or twelve additional spanks in the brief interim of time it had taken her to give voice to these heated emotional words of condemnation.

Roth was putting all the weight of his entire body behind each and every crack now, delivering them full-blast, but methodically giving a couple of quick, crisp cracks first on one side, then right over to the other one in the same exact manner.

Truth to tell, Gail had never been actually spanked in her entire life before.

No, never! she reflected in her cocoon of fire and pain.

And she couldn't possibly conceive that anything could hurt as much as this whaling was.

It was as though someone had lit a match to her bare flesh and scorched it...then kept right on lighting more matches and scorching it...then made her sit on a red-hot stove....And if that still wasn't enough, to top it all off, set a forest fire to her bare, soft, pliable young flesh-one that cackled and raged and never seemed to end-the flames climbing and mounting in all of their wild rage and savage, amuck fury.

But Gail wouldn't cry. She wouldn't, no matter what!

After emitting those first involuntary squeals, she clamped her lips together, tight shut, and the more the burning, blistering pain that was being constantly administered accumulated on her already severely scourged and thoroughly reddened flesh, the more she clamped them together, until she drew the salty, tangy taste of blood from her lower lip, gnashing her teeth and grinding them together until she could actually taste the dentine.

No, she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction, especially with her mother sitting out there in the audience of this, her hour of total shame and utter degradation-for both of them!

Gail wanted to make a spectacle out of herself, and ....she had succeeded-far beyond even her fondest wishes!

At that very moment, even as her hips were all blistered and burned with still more pain steadily being added at the rate of a crack a second, Gail fondly wished that she could die. She even vowed that she would commit suicide just as soon as she got back home and was free to do so.

She would never be able to face her mother again. No, not ever-not after this.

As for Jack Bradley signing her up for a Hollywood contract: perhaps he would have, if she hadn't resorted to this. But now that she had made an utter mockery out of herself and the entire school, he undoubtedly felt the same scorn and contempt for her that all the rest of them irrefutably felt.

And even as Gail's young mind filled with flashing, blinking stars that pin-pointed her blinding hurt and aptly reflected it, still more terrible pain was being added, because, instead of rage subsiding and being appeased, it seemed that the more Melvin Roth punished her, the more he wanted to do so.

If anything, he was only first getting warmed up to his task, as his fastly wielded hand kept right on smacking away:

Crack, crack, crack-crack, crack, crack-crack.

Crack, crack, crack and crack-again.

Again-some more.

Again-some more.

Again and again and again!

The principal of the school, Walter Reardon, fearing a riot with the audience all on its feet-stomping and shouting, waving threatening fists and gone completely amuck-frantically signaled for the elected stage-hands to drop the curtains.

The curtains softly but obtrusively drew, folded together.

But Melvin Roth still didn't release his thoroughly scourged and resoundingly punished victim. Instead, he quickly switched Gail's supple body around and over, now using his tired hand to hold her, the fresh left one to crack her with.

Then he was at it again, with more gusto and savage fury than ever, but the smacks still rhythmically sounding just as they did before:

Crack, crack, crack-crack, crack, crack-crack.

Crack, crack, crack and crack-again.

Again-some more.

Again-some more

Again and again and again!

Now that she knew no one could observe her any longer, everything came out of Gail at once. She screeched her head off, frantically kicking her legs up and down-screeching and kicking, screeching and kicking, screeching and kicking!

But this only seemed to spur the utterly wild and berserk person of Melvin Roth on all the more, and his left hand kept rising and falling, sinking far and deep and burying itself into the blazing hot, blistered, crimson mounds, which now looked like two huge, over-ripe tomatoes.

Such a sad, sorry sight didn't prompt any feeling of mercy in Melvin. It merely gave him a sense of satisfaction, along with the determination to make the two red-hot rounded mounds come apart at the seams and bleed profusely, with the very skin being beaten off Gail's poor, tender, most smarting rump.

So he was whaling away full-blast, putting all that he had into it, when suddenly, something snapped and gave way inside of the long-suffering person of Gail:

A strange metamorphosis took place in her. No longer did the smacks hurt her as such. Rather, she felt her whole throbbing young being go out to the cocoon of intense warmth he had worked up and welcome it. Psychologically speaking, she had been spanked for so long and hard, that she had gone over to the other extreme-the so-called renowned "third stage of masochism"-where the punitive-measure being administered becomes transformed into pleasure instead of pain.

So instead of dreading each additional crack he was dishing out, Gail welcomed it. She still cried out now, but with cooing sounds that were akin to swooning. And also, while she continued to thresh about, now her entire entity was writhing, as her red-hot bottom slithered, bumped and grinded away-indeed, quite comparable to the dance she had previously done upon her feet, before Melvin

Roth had seized her and brought it to an abrupt and untimely end-but was now doing her rendition of the Can-Can flat on her face!

In direct accompaniment to these outer manifestations, Gail felt the strangest sensations shoot through the membranes of her tender young cunt:

The little hard clit twitched spasmodically; the inner-walls of the twat itched something awful, then gave way to a burning sensation, which was altogether obliterated when a most soothing feeling of sticky dankness came over it instead.

Then the entire cunt snapped, twitched and spurted, the twitching echoing the hard little clit, as Gail did her version of the Can-Can on Melvin Roth's lap more accentuated than ever.

Finally realizing what she was up to-by her pronounced twitching and getting his lap all wet, as well-Melvin Roth was forced to exclaim in a surprised murmur, more thinking-out-loud than directly addressing her.

"Why-why you little Deviless, you!"

Then, even though he knew she was now enjoying it and by continuing to spank her would afford Gail the utmost gratification, nevertheless, Melvin Roth resumed whacking away, anyway-harder, faster and more furiously than ever before-with little Gail's cunt twitching and spurting like mad.

Gail was swooning with delirium and about to pass out from the sheer ecstasy of it all, when suddenly, Melvin Roth felt a hard, firm hand clutch his fast-moving shoulder that was doing the spanking, thereby slowing it down. Then a peremptory tone of voice exclaimed.

"All right, teacher. Enough is enough. Stop damaging the goods. 'Cause if you keep this sort of thing up, you're apt to maim my future star sex-pot."

Melvin Roth ceased spanking Gail, his left hand suspended in mid-air, a most startled expression on his entire countenance.

Roth looked in the direction from which the voice had emanated. Even before he located it, though, he knew precisely whom that voice of authority belonged to:

NONE OTHER THAN JACK BRADLEY, THE FAMOUS HOLLYWOOD TALENT-SCOUT!

CHAPTER 2

Gail (Stephens) Summers sat, sunken into the plush red-leather seat of the sumptuous, most luxurious Cadillac seven-passenger limousine alongside of Jack Bradley, who had rented the car for the day and was at the wheel.

Even though Gail's poor little rump still smarted and tingled terribly, it had cooled off sufficiently for her to be able to think.

Gail was impressed with Jack Bradley-very impressed!

He was important, and he looked the part.

Jack Bradley was a man somewhere around forty-five or so, of medium height and quite fat, with both the facial contours and the waxen-white, dispersed with pink in the cheeks complexion, of a big, fat pig! As a matter-of-fact, he even had pointed ears shaped with the contours of a pig's ears, an analogous snoot for a nose, and thin, taut lips which perennially had a lit dark, thick cigar jammed between them.

Nevertheless, even at that, Jack Bradley still looked important-the way Gail had figured a Hollywood talent-scout should look-according to the reports from her mother.

Besides the luxurious Cadillac limousine which he drove, Jack Bradley also was an impeccable dresser, wearing a $250 tailor-made blue-serge business suit-one that was single-breasted and had a quite sporty black and white checked vest-set off by a $35 white-on-white shirt and a $10 hand-painted bright red silk tie, all neatly set off with an expensive set of genuine gold and mother-of-pearl cuff-links and tie-pin.

Yes, Gail was quite impressed with Jack Bradley, all right-even though he still did look like a pig to her!

But that didn't matter. Her wild, crazy scheme had worked, after all, and she was on her way to becoming a movie-star, providing...she let Jack Bradley have his way with her.

He thought she was a totally naive little girl-a mere child-who didn't know what the score was. But Gail knew-far beyond her tender years.

She knew, from her own poverty-ridden existence how important it was to have a nice buck. She knew how her parents had struggled all of their lives to make ends meet, how they had wanted to make a niche for themselves in show business, but to always be totally frustrated-forever on the fringes, the outskirts, never to hit the top or anywheres near it-because they had never gotten the right break.

True, maybe her mother wasn't quite good-looking enough, although she did have nice long curvy legs and the requisite talent.

But her father was both handsome and talented. So just where did it get him? Nowhere, was the answer-shot down like a dog in the streets, his handsome body riddled with bullets. He had been a runner for a horse-race booking syndicate at the time, to keep them eating regularly and enjoying the bare necessities, when he had been shot down.

It never was clearly ascertained just who did it. The detectives theorized that it was either a rival mob, or someone inside his own group who had it in for him and/or thought he had turned stool-pigeon.

Regardless, he was dead-in his grave-leaving his wife, Stella, and their only child, Gail, to shift for themselves as best they could. Her mother took odd jobs, mostly as a waitress, and even lived with a man occasionally who paid their bills and gave them spending money.

Stella Stephens might have returned to being either a dime-a-dance girl or a member of a burlesque troupe. But that was ludicrously unthinkable, her being well over the age-hump for a woman in those mediums. So Stella Stephens did what she could to enable them to survive.

Well, Gail now had the chance-the grand opportunity which neither one of her parents ever had and she intended to make good clear use of it.

She wouldn't muff it-come what may. That was for sure!

Gail had worked too hard to get it, and paid the price with her bare young flesh being all set on fire and cruelly blistered.

No, it wasn't just a lucky break. She had calculated, laid a plan, carried it out, and...it had worked!

True, she had never expected to be so resoundingly spanked for it by Melvin Roth. This, Gail hadn't at all anticipated. At the very most, she expected to be verbally reprimanded later, after it was all over.

And if she had it all to do over again, would she-knowing what she did now-the terrible price she would be made to pay for it?

The answer was yes-definitely yes!

So what if her little fanny was made all red and hot? That would cool off and go away in time, but a Hollywood contract would remain.

Yes, if she had it all to do over again, not only would she take such a terrific scourging form Melvin Roth's unruly hands, but an even worse licking with a strap or a hairbrush!

Just so long as her being scourged and made to suffer wasn't merely in vain-there was something concrete accruing from it.

Not only that-being spanked-but Gail was fully prepared to pay the price of whatever else Jack Bradley, in the immediate, and anyone and everyone else in the near-foreseeable future, would make her pay, in order to become a big movie starlet.

Yes, to achieve all of the glamour and notoriety -fame and fortune and, to her, the good life-Gail was prepared to do anything:

Anything, anything, ANYTHING!

No, little Gail wasn't anywheres near as green as Jack Bradley undoubtedly figured her to be. He was underestimating little Gail.

She knew what he wanted from her-knew only too well.

She knew from her parents, the strange sounds they used to make whenever they got together late at night and thought she was asleep. . . .

The way her father used to go after her mother-like a real animal-hurting her and making her cry, bruising her entire bare, soft body with his far stronger and more muscular one.

To Gail, whenever she spied on them, it appeared as if he was one of those terrible fiends she had seen in a horror picture, featuring some kind of monster, busy trying to tear her mother limb from limb with his wrenching, strong hands and his powerful, most activated body.

More often than not, her mother, weary with her lot, would be a bit standoffish. However, when Billy Stephens was up for the occasion and in the mood, he was not to be denied.

One time, Gail heard a most startling and telltale conversation ensue between them, even though it was rather terse and brief in its duration.

"Let me in, Stella, damn it," her father had hissed impatiently.

"I'm doing the...best I...can, Billy. I'm rather...tired."

"Well, I'm getting blue-balls from you, Stella baby."

"What do you want me to do-ooo?"

"Stop laying there like a dumb cow, for one thing. Raise that left leg, so my cock can slide in between the lips of your cunt; you'll cushion it that way."

"I can't. I'm too...tired."

"Oh, you are, huh? Well, how can I fuck you and get my nuts off if you keep on laying there like that?"

"Shhh, quiet, Billy. You're liable to wake Gail."

"Who gives a shit?"

"Is that any way to talk about your only child?"

"So what if she hears? She's got to learn the facts of life-what fucking is all about-sooner or later."

"Yes, true. But not at her age."

"Well, are you going to raise that left leg or not, and let me into the jaws of your pussy."

"I...can't, Billy."

"In that case, I'll have to help you, Stella baby."

And saying that, he darted with both hands, prying apart the outer labia-lips of Stella Stephens' thoroughly saturated and squashy, mushy cunt.

Her mother bit her lip, partly suppressing the shriek of pain that escaped from her lips. But her father held on tenaciously, forcing the lips ever further apart, until her mother was forced to involuntarily arch her back like a cat, along with the limp left leg to better absorb some of the pain he was inflicting upon her. Then he was in.

"Now wrap those nice long legs of yours around my back," he directed, "and show me you still know how to give a good mellow fuck."

"Billy, stop using that terrible, vile language."

Nevertheless, she acquiesced to his latest demand.

It was a hot summer night, and soon, little Gail heard the steady suction-sound of the rise and fall pulsation of his hard, throbbing prick into her mother's soggy, wet cunt. The bed-springs whined and creaked stridently, until Gail thought they would break the very bed down.

Her mother would first moan, then cry, and finally scream:

"Give me more, Billy. Give me more of your wonderful big, fat dick. Give me more, more, more. Give me all you've got."

And he would try to oblige her, by working more of the shaft deeper into the submerged drawing, cloying, magnetic depths of the Shangri-La that was her heavenly pussy.

Gail would see her mother's long, curvy legs tremble and have spasms as if she was in the dire throes of the St. Vitus Dance, her entire body writhing, twisting and rising up to meet his frenzied onslaught with each and every hard downward thrust now. Until sobs of relief pierced both of their parched throats, at the precise conjecture when Gail thought they would surely break the very bed down with all the hectic animation and commotion they were persistently perpetrating upon it.

Finally and abruptly, all was silent and still!. . . It was a funny thing about her mother, Stella Stephens, Gail mused fondly: She bore a great physical resemblance to the later-day-sensation, Faye Dunaway. But totally unlike this modern Hollywood sexpot, instead of sending men by having violence perpetrated on her, more often than not, the illustrious Faye perpetrated the violence herself in the starring roles she was given in films.

Even so, Stella Stephens bore a great resemblance to her in both face and body, but in actuality, was more of the psychological type as epitomized by Gloria Graham, one of Faye Dunaway's more immediate female predecessors.

Gail vividly recollected, in particular, the role the Graham woman portrayed alongside of the wild, frenzied and violent Broderick Crawford in an American take-off on Emile Zola's great classical novel of Naturalism, The Human Beast, in which it was implied and even shown that he beat the living crap out of her and made her all black-an'-blue upon the least provocation.

Taken in this light with her mother, a fellow by the name of Steve Walker came immediately to Gail's probing mind.

Walker was a big rough and tough, burly dock-worker. Essentially, he was no different in his approach to lovemaking from Gail's own late father, she found, except, if anything, he was even rougher and more cruel. He hurt her mother far more, made her cry out much louder, and drained far more out of her, as well.

The reason Stella Stevens put up with Steve Walker was two-fold in nature-

She was really steamed to him, for one thing.

Then too, he was quite liberal, and gave her generous sums of money whenever he chose to pay her a visit. On such occasions, he was inevitably drunk and in a mean mood, turning to-Stella to work all his pent-up hostility off.

Spying on them behind a screen which served as a room-divider in their one-room-flat, on numerous occasions, Gail saw the way he would go about taking her dear mother.

First, his lips would swoop down on hers, and he would kiss her so hard, that their respective sets of teeth would rattle and chatter crazily together.

"Please, Steve," her mother would try to cajole with him. "Give me a chance. Give me a chance to...breeeeathe."

But he would merely laugh at her, and kiss her all the harder.

Next, he would go about feeling and kissing her breasts. He would try to chew them up to bits and pieces-like a virtual cannibal. And the only reason he didn't ever succeed was, because Stella Stephens was really steamed to him, so that the slightest touch of him on her breasts-which was, indeed, the most sensitive area of her whole entity-would make them swell and grow and become as hard as rocks.

Then, after roughly feeling up both the long, streamlined legs and the lilting backside, Steve Walker would lunge, growling menacingly, as his hands would claw, rip and tear, prying her legs apart-like the wish-bone from a chicken being cracked in two for luck.

Then his mighty, powerful frame would be rising and falling against her mother's comparatively frail, delicate form.

Rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling!

And with each and every thrust, he would use his big, thick, stiff cock like a policeman's club, savagely pounding and beating her with it, making her cry out tremulously in delicious pain with every stroke.

And whereas her father had only threatened to break the bed down occasionally with his hectic animation, one time, Steve Walker actually succeeded, sending the slat-boards clattering down to the wooden floor with a mighty ear-shattering crash, as his big bulk pitted her mother's sinewy frame into the mattress-all but embedding her into it for once and all time!. . .

Big Steve Walker was violent, all right; he was real wild, Gail was forced to conclude.

Why, not even the entourage of Cavemen and odd-balls subsequently found out Hollywood-way and directly experienced by Gail, personally, could out-do the likes of him. . . .

On still another occasion that he paid her a visit, after they both were undressed, Steve Walker announced happily:

"Tonight, I'm goin' to fuck you doggy-fashion, doll."

" 'Doggy-fashion?' " Stella Stephens repeated, in a puzzled tone of voice. "What on earth's that?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, doll. First, get up on the cot and squat down like a dog-on all fours."

"I don't think I am going to...like...this, Steve."

"Shut up and do as I say."

Her mother slowly and reluctantly acquiesced: "Now what?"

"Put your head down and bend over-all the way over," Walker directed.

"You're not going to fuck me in the ass, are you, Steve?" Her mother was most apprehensive.

"Nah. It'll be in the cunt, all right. I promise."

"Oh, very well."

Then as her mother bent still further over, she rebelled with: "I can't stand it, Steve. All the blood is rushing to my head."

"Awww, shut up and stop all your squawkin'. "

"But-"

Before Stella Stephens could protest any further, Steve Walker suddenly hauled off and delivered two full backhanded smashes to her up-thrust bottom-one on each cheek:

The blows were so hard that her mother wasn't even able to cry out, as they fell like two concrete bricks, knocking the breath plumb-clear out of her. Indeed, Gail could clearly discern, from her vantage-point behind the screen, two livid welts, the exact shape and hue of two bricks, where his big, calloused, burly hands had left its livid imprints:

"Now anymore squawks from you, doll," he avowed peremptorily, "and, I swear, I'll pound your lovely behind like a drum. Understand?"

"Y-yes, S-Steve," her mother whimpered in answer.

"Good. Now stay put so I can climb into your snatch. Bend further over so that your honey bun will come further up."

Again, Stella Stephens slowly and rather reluctantly complied, and true to Steve Walker's prediction, Gail could clearly discern that her mother's round, blonde honey bun came up and out, just below the brown ass-hole.

Once this was achieved, Steve Walker wrenched the outer labia-lips apart adroitly with his powerful hands, then brought himself up on his knees on the cot behind her, working his big, thick, hard dick in-between the parted folds of tender flesh.

Once he gained entrance and solidified his cock into her cunt, Stella Stephens was forced to cry out in protest anew:

"It hurts, Steve-hurts something awful. Why does it, Steve?"

'"Cause your cunt is located too high, doll, so that my cock is hittin' against the top part of it-by the clit. But it'll feel much better to you once we get goin'; don't worry, doll."

"But I am worried, Steve. You might really hurt me by doing this. All right, fuck me, if you will, but let me turn around and over and do it the regular, normal way."

"Not on your life, doll," he retorted grimly. "Now that we've come this far, we're goin' through with it-all the way; understand?"

Stella Stephens understood only too well:

"I won't let you do this to me, do you hear? I won't let you-uuu!" Her voice broke off in a forlorn wail of utter desperation.

Her mother began to toss, thresh and squirm for all she was worth to try and shake him off. To Gail's eyes, she looked like a bucking bronco and/or an angry steer.

But Steve Walker was well up to the occasion to lasso and hog-tie her down. He didn't try to stop her from her struggles, as all her writhing made her entire ass bang up against his balls and create the most delightful feeling.

So it was that the more she struggled, the more steamed he got, and correspondingly, the further and deeper he drove into her helpless cunt, which seemed to act on his mighty horse-cock like a magnet-drawing his prick ever further and deeper into the proverbial dank, cloying bed of quicksand.

Finally, it ended up with her mother wilting under his steady onslaught, lying there flat on her face, sprawled out on the bed, with him all the way into her and deep-riding, riding, riding-using his powerful horse-cock once again like some burly policeman's club:

Beating her, beating her, beating her-blow after blow after blow-with re sounding-sounding thumps, as his balls bounced merrily off the cheeks of her ass.

Then with a snarl more animal than human, he shot his cum into her, with spasmodic, jerky strokes befitting an erratic power-drill.

Load after load after load he shot; load after load after load.

And judging by the spasmodic twitching-up and down, to and fro of her mother's supple entity-Gail knew for sure that he had made her come, too!

So it was that when Gail arrived at high school and the boys cornered the more pretty and sexy girls on the staircase in between going to classes, she wasn't entirely ignorant of what they were up to with their seemingly playful antics.

Particularly with her and her own lilting bottom: they would either give her a "goose" by jabbing a hard thumb flush in the rump, a crisp slap, a benumbing pinch, or a most quick but generous feel. Then they would laugh insidiously after perpetrating any one of their obscene gestures-which was far from being innocent-but most knowing!

Why, there was even one quiet and studious middle-aged male teacher who taught English. Gail was his chosen pet, and every so often, he would give her lilting bottom several quick but hard, wrenching pinches, making Gail feel positively benumbed, and more often than not, black-an'-blue for days thereafter!

But since she had caught his favor and wasn't too good at English, she didn't say anything about it-voice any protest to him-but grinned and bore it.. . .

Then finally there was Melvin Roth and the vicious, cruel way he had spanked her, and the way many of the men in the audience had reacted upon seeing her do, first her own Can-Can, and later a forced Apache Dance of anguish and pain in Roth's unruly hands-jerking themselves off so energetically and strenuously as they had done. All such male-reactions to her were far from being innocent and ignorant, but most insidious and pointed.

As for the spanking itself: true, undoubtedly she did deserve to be punished, and could even very well understand why Melvin Roth, being so enraged, would do that to her.

But still, it wasn't necessary to lay it on for so long and hard; he didn't have to do that.

No, there was more to it than him just wanting to punish her for being naughty, as such. It went far beyond merely that. Rather, there was something decidedly sexual about perpetrating such a prolonged ordeal.

It was all so vague to Gail at this conjecture in her life. She still didn't know exactly what sort of a pleasure a man could possibly derive out of purely spanking a girl's bottom for her-making her burn, blister and cry.

No, not then, she didn't.

But when she reflected upon it in later years, after undergoing psychoanalysis-such as reflecting on it now-she most certainly did know.

Some men spanked pretty girls' bottoms for them because they were sadists and enjoyed doing so. It charged them up and gave them an accentuated form of libidinal-gratification afterward, when they ultimately had intimacy with a female-far more so than if they were just soft and mushy-all lovie-dovie.

Then there was another type of male-the Melvin Roth type-who was effeminate and a latent passive-homosexual, to whom, unconsciously all attractive females were potential or real enemies. And being jealous of their great beauty and natural feminine allure, (something that the likes of a homosexual never had and never could possibly have) sought to get even with them, for his own inherent frustration, by severely punishing them either mentally, physically-or preferably both!

Yes, little Gail (Stephens) Summers knew what it was all about, all right-far beyond her years-even though she could only gropingly and falteringly sense some of these deeper implications at the time.

Be that as it may she still knew-even then what such a person as a Jack Bradley would want from her-some form of sex relationship. Yes, that was for sure.

Exactly what, though, little Gail didn't know, but surely some form of it.

And, she was fully prepared to comply and give it to him-even though he looked like a fat, overstuffed pig to her young eyes. All that he really needed was a crab-apple shoved in between his swinish lips; then you could put him in an oven and roast him-indeed, just as they did with a bona-fide suckling-pig.

However, in reality, if there was any roasting to be done, Jack Bradley would be the one to do it-to her precious and luscious young person.

He would, he would; he surely, surely WOULD.

And Gail very well knew it-as young as she was.

Yes, he would roast her!

CHAPTER 3

Gail had been able to reflect at such great length because Jack Bradley had chosen to remain more or less silent throughout the entirety of the drive, content to puff away on his dark, thick cigar and listen to a baseball game on the car-radio.

But finally, he stopped the car in front of one of Los Angeles' most impressive-looking and expensive hotels-the fabulous Blue-Falcon-the hotel where all the most important celebrities from New York and Chicago stayed whenever they were in California.

Gail also was very much impressed by the most luxurious hotel-lobby, which looked the way European palaces appeared in the slick picture magazines he had seen.

"Care for an ice cream soda or a bit of a snack before we go up to my room, kiddo?" Jack Bradley asked of her, lightly and amiably. "Unless your precious little bottom still hurts you too much. In which case-"

"No-ooo, Mr. Bradley, Sir. My bottom can hold off for a while."

He had promised to somehow attend to it and alleviate the smarting tingle-take the edge off of it-once they got up to his room at the hotel!

"But you think you'll be able to sit down on it, though?" he queried of her, his voice full of seeming concern.

"Oh, I'll manage, Mr. Bradley, although I will have to be real careful-sit down nice and easy, like."

"To be sure, my dear. So, in that case, let's go, kiddo, and brave it out." He led her to the semi-drugstore luncheonette that was located in the lobby. In keeping with the rest of the elegant place, it was resplendent in simulated black marble with white veins running through it, all set off in sleek, glistening chrome, for both the counter and the table-tops.

As in the rest of the hotel she had seen so far, most of the people all looked to be very attractive, important and rich-especially the girls: They were mostly in their twenties, with sleek, curvy bodies, were heavily made up, and dressed in gaudy but very attractive and chic, youthful clothing.

They were all living a good day, apparently, as they chatted amongst themselves in light, cheery, confident tones.

After he had sat Gail down at a table, Jack Bradley asked of her:

"Well, kiddo, what will it be? What do you care to have? Some lunch, or an ice cream soda? As a matter-of-fact, you kin have both, if you want. So what'll it be, huh?"

"I would like a little lunch, Sir, as I haven't eaten in a good many hours."

"Okay. So what will it be? I'm gonna have an order of bacon and eggs for myself, with some toast and butter, and coffee. The same for you, huh? Or would you rather have something else?"

"Oh, bacon and eggs will be fine, Sir."

"Good. And how about a nice, rich double chocolate malted for you instead of coffee, huh?"

"That would be real great, Sir."

"Very good." Now that the matter was settled, Jack Bradley called out in a voice full of authority: "Waiter."

A handsome young boy in his teens-no doubt a Hollywood aspirant-in a tight-fitting red vest with black silken pants that had a stripe running through each side of the entirety of the leg, came rapidly scurrying over. As he did so, the pretty red vest with its golden-colored buttons gleamed brightly. . . .

As it turned out, Jack Bradley's "room" in the Blue-Falcon wasn't a room at all, but a virtual hotel suite and/or an entire apartment.

In later years, Gail was to reflect on the strange paradox of the modern mode of living: namely, that most hotel apartments of today are made to look the way a personal apartment or private home should look; whereas, most modern-day apartments and homes wind up looking more akin to hotel suites!

Nevertheless, even at that, most people still reflect on their own private dwellings with a certain nostalgia and warmth. Whereas, when thinking about any time they might have had to spend in a hotel-regardless how swell and luxurious-they reflect upon it with a certain feeling of coldness and distance.

Yes, a peculiar paradox, that, Gail reflected musingly.

A most peculiar paradox, indeed!

But in those days-almost twenty-five years ago now, when Gail was a little teen-age girl of fifteen-hotel rooms and suites were stylized highly differently. Then, they did look like hotel abodes!

However, little Gail, who had emanated from a virtual slum neighborhood, felt that she was in a royal palace, anyway, especially when she saw the intricately-designed imitation Oriental rug that was on the floor of the living room, the lovely sofa and chairs, and tables with handsome lamps on them that also were manifest there.

From her present vantage-point where she was standing, having just entered the living room with Jack Bradley, she could get just a faint peek at the darkened bedroom, from the light that was reflected by several lamps in the living room.

And since she had no real previous basis to differentiate between good taste and bad, Gail was most incredulous by what she saw. She had only one real word for it that was apropos-luxury-luxury such as she only thought had existed in story-books previously!

"Well, kiddo, how does your cute little behind feel now?" Jack Bradley asked of her, thereby breaking the rapt period of silence which had previously ensued. "Still bother you, huh?"

"Yes, Mr. Bradley, Sir. It does. It's still all blistered, and burns me like the very dickens."

"Uh-huh," he agreed knowingly. "Poor kid. Well, we'll soon fix that all up for you-just like I promised you I would."

"But how?"

"By givin' you a nice, warm bath in epsom-salts. That should do the trick and take all the mean sting and smartness out of your pretty, precious fanny."

"You mean, you're going to give me a bath, Mr. Bradley, Sir?" Gail couldn't hide her acute surprise and shock.

"Yeah, sure, kiddo. Why not? I'm an old hand at it, you see. Used to be a professional masseur, as a matter-of-fact."

"That's all very good. But even so, up till now, only my mother ever gave me a bath, and not even she has done it to me for around four years now. Since that time, I've been taking them all by myself."

"Look, kiddo, let's get something straight. . . . "

"What's that, Mr. Bradley, Sir."

"There's nothin' you've got that I haven't seen before. So, relax."

"Meaning exactly what?"

"All dolls have a pair of tits, a pussy, and an ass with a hole in it. True, some may be prettier, while others are sloppy. Even so, at one time or another in my life, I've seen 'em all. Do I make myself clear, kiddo?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. And besides, this here bath I'm goin' to give you is somethin' that's extra-special-real super-duper. Your mother couldn't give it to you even if she was here right now-which she's not. And you certainly couldn't take it all by yourself; that's for sure-not in a million years. So what do you say, kiddo? Are you gonna take the bath or not?"

It was obvious to little Gail, despite her tender age, that he was rapidly losing his patience at her prudishness and being so standoffish.

"Well...if you insist, Mr. Bradley."

"I 'insist,' kiddo!...After all," he hastened to add, by way of explanation, "you're real precious property now, and I have to look after you. Anything in the line of duty, you know. Ha-ha!" he added, laughing most sinisterly.

"Are you sure it's only . . . 'in the line of duty,' Mr. Bradley? Or is it something else, with that only being an excuse?" Gail's girlish voice was filled with manifest suspicion.

"Why, certainly, that's all it is, kiddo," he retorted, the epitome of innocence. "Now, you just sit yourself down there on the sofa, and look through a magazine until I get the bath properly ready for you. Okay?"

"Yes, Mr. Bradley, Sir," Gail acquiesced.

Gail picked up a woman's glamour fashion magazine of the day from a library table over by the wall, scanned through the pages and tried to concentrate on the many pretty pictures and illustrations in it, of all sorts of chic, glamorous women, dressed in all sorts of ostentatious luxurious attire.

But, to no avail.

Her mind absolutely refused to focus on the significance of anything she saw portrayed there.

She was too upset over the prospective bath, to soon be given her by Jack Bradley, which was so imminent and awesome.

Whatever was the man up to? What sort of pervert was he? Just what fiendish thing was he going to do to her once he got her in there?

Gail didn't know, of course-wasn't sure. But all of her senses and inner-emotions were churning and spinning around in a turbulent maze of terrified wonderment.

She knew that he wasn't just kidding, because, in the back of her mind while she was reflecting, she could hear faucets being turned on, adjusted, then after a few moments of testing manipulations, running freely!. . .

When Jack Bradley finally came out for her, Gail noticed that he had also changed his clothes, now wearing a wine-colored lounging robe that was sashed together. His thick, squat, hairy legs protruded from the bottom of the hem of the robe.

She wondered if he was wearing anything else underneath at all-even if just his underwear.

Gail didn't know the answer to that question, either, but she was far more upset than ever now.

"All right, kiddo," Jack Bradley exclaimed, smoothly and glibly. "All ready for you, now. Just come along with me."

"Yes, Mr. Bradley, Sir," Gail replied like a meek little lamb being led to its certain slaughter.

He stood at the door of the bathroom and held it open for her. Gail entered.

Never in her whole life had she ever seen anything like it-such elegance for a person to drop one's piss and shit in. It was positively incredible!

The basic shade was a deep, most feminine lavender, with modern tiling and a sunken bath tub. There was a white triangle-shaped towel rack, which had a bright red ball on top of it, a table radio set on a wicker basket straw chair, and even an artificial plant in a green pot at the back, also triangular-shaped furthest inside to the front of the tub.

There were pretty white shower curtains that had a pattern of orchids across the top and bottom of it, and an enormous bay-window which reached to the ceiling, with streamlined air vents at the bottom portion of it. The tiled, square-brick-patterned-wall in back of where the tub was located was of a delightfully contrasting peach shade.

The bath tub was already filled up with what looked like a deep sea green tub-full of water. All of the necessary utensils to carry out his intended task were ready and waiting for him by the front of the tub: consisting of a lavendar-colored scrubbing brush, a fuzzy, fringed wash rag, and some perfumed, pink-colored soap.

First, Jack Bradley turned the radio on and got in some soft, lush popular music. Then he turned to Gail and asked:

"Want me to undress you, kiddo? Or would you rather...do it by...yourself?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter, really," Gail emitted a sigh of utter exasperation, and simultaneously, deep resignation.

"Very well, then. I'll do it for you! 'Cause it'll be extra hard for you to do, anyway, and real painful-bein' so sore and chafed like you are....Now, hold still and be a good little girl!" he commanded her brightly.

Gail did as he asked, staying utterly motionless-except to raise her arms or legs when the occasion demanded it-although her entire little entity shivered and trembled quite audibly. Her teeth rattled and chattered uncontrollably, also.

Jack Bradley was in the direct process of stripping her, piece by piece. And after each successive wispy garment of feminine attire came off, he paused to raptly admire the latest goody revealed to his greedy, eager eyes-also giving her a little caress, squeeze and a pat.

Finally, Gail stood there on the square white bath-mat, which covered the deeper shade of the lavender floor, stark naked-stark naked in all of her fresh, dewy lusciousness-in all of her rich, creamy, natural bantam-golden youthful splendor.

Gail was perfectly and exquisitely formed, and was the kind of golden little nymphet which Nobakov so affectionately wrote about in later years in his monumental classic and tribute to all such kindred teen-age girlish-youth, Lolita.

Gail, even in all of her own shivering, trembling apprehension, still could discern Jack Bradley's breath coming in short, deep wheezing gasps and quicken just as soon as he saw her that way. His eyes were focusing longest, though, on her little V-shaped honey bun, that was her own precious treasure chest-indeed, her most proud and prized possession of all.

Nor did the greedy gimlet eyes fail to take cognizance of the ripe young honeydew melons for breasts with their most enticing pink candied-cherry tips-that, indeed, looked like two hard cores of the interior of a candied-cherry that had been opened, in the process of being eaten-rich cherry-cream, and all!

He also took in the relatively long, perfectly formed and, dimpled at the kneecaps, bantam-golden legs, the flat-lined, perfect little tummy with a most perturbing, round belly-button which adorned it.

Then he got directly in back of her, gazing at her hot tormented hips. Jack Bradley whistled trilly and touched the pliable mounds lightly with his finger-tips.

"Gee, he sure did give it to you, all right, kiddo. Both cheeks are still all red, raw and chafed. But, leave it to me-to good, old Papa Bradley: He'll soon fix 'em up for you-cool 'em down and make 'em feel real good again-just like new!"

Jack Bradley took her by the hand and held her, in order for her to keep her balance so that she wouldn't slip or fall while she got into the bath-tub.

Gail tested the sea green water with the very tips of her demure toes.

She found it to be neither too cold nor too hot, but just right. Then she allowed herself to slowly drop down and sink, to become immersed in the tub-full of inviting water.

She was definitely surprised.

"Gee, what's that you got in here, Mr. Bradley? It smells so nice and pretty, and it feels so...coo-oool, too."

"Epso-pine, kiddo."

"What's that?"

"Epsom salts with some pine added. You see," he said amiably, by way of explanation, "epsom salts are good for the sore spots, and the pine will cool 'em off and make you lose that tinglin', needlin' feelin'. Catch on?"

"Uh-huh."

"But in order to be really effective, all of your pores must be opened up; you have to get a thorough bath, from head to toe. Understand, kiddo?"

"Uh-huh."

"Very well. So give me your hands first."

Gail held out one of her rounded arms and extended it, bending it slightly at the dimpled elbow at his direction. Jack Bradley took the bristle end of the brush and placed it in the water, along with the cake of the perfumed soap, to wet them both.

When he extracted the two implements, he worked up a lather by applying the soap to the bristles. Then he directly applied the now lathered bristles to Gail's extended arm-until it was all encased with a nice rich, creamy coat.

"Now, the other one, kiddo," he directed. "Put the lathered one in the water and let it soak."

Gail obeyed him on both counts. Jack Bradley did the other arm analogously to the first one.

"Now, your legs are next, kiddo," he told her. Gail raised one. He seized it by the ankle, stretching it and raising it all the way up, so that with his head bent down, he could really look up there-to the interior of the precious honey-bun for a treasure chest-and really see something.

Bradley was made to froth and foam at the mouth at the sight of such a delectable young cunt. It all looked so firm and neat, with just the slightest down of peach-fuzz around the pouting fresh pink lips.

At that moment, he felt like getting right down there and eating her succulent little twat all up. And indeed, that was sure a rare feeling to come over a veteran Hollywood talent-scout such as him, who had seen them all come and go in his many years out here. No piece of snatch ever fazed him anymore; he was too weary and jaded. But this one did, and Bradley had all to do to contain himself and not give into temptation.

He also did the long, streamlined, golden-bantam legs with the scrubbing brush, but lingered there considerably longer than he had done with her arms, so that he could continue to gaze at her tender but firm young cunt.

Man, oh, man, she was sure eating stuff, all right, he reflected musingly.

He gave both legs several coats of the rich, creamy leather.

"Now, brace yourself and prop up in the water, kiddo," he told her, "so that I kin do your pretty little tummy for you."

After much groping experimentation, Gail finally managed to raise herself up in the water, by gripping the bottom of the tub with her feet, and also with her hands by placing them behind her back-putting all of her weight on the latter.

Jack Bradley did her softer and more delicate-fleshed tummy with a wash-rag, which he had improvised into a glove over his hand:

Around and around and around, the hand rotated-gently, liltingly, most pleasantly-making involuntary goose-pimples of delight come popping up and out all over Gail's svelte young skin.

The glove-hand slid down-down, down, down -relentlessly down, until, feeling around, it became enmeshed then sunk directly in-between the pouting pink lips of her irresistible young twat.

And once inside of there, the hand refused to get out!

Now, all of Gail's supple entity was throbbing and rising up out of the water, splashing, with the motion of the enclosed gloved-hand. She was like a little puppet dangling on the taut wires of this, the master puppeteer.

"Hey, Mister," Gail cried out in seeming protest, "why are you doing me so much there? That's not my fanny, but my little pussy."

"I know, kiddo, I know," his voice was purring syrup as he answered her, having anticipated just such a possible reaction from her. "I just wanna settle your nerves. That's all, doll."

"Oh!"

On and on and on, the hand rotated and rolled.

On and on and on.

Ever firmer, ever harder, ever faster!

Gail's entire entity was now throbbing and bouncing-bouncing, bouncing, bouncing:

Up and down and in and out of the water.

Up and down and in and out.

In and out, in and out, up and down and in and out!

The pouting pink lips of her pussy had enclosed tightly around the gloved-hand, twitching spasmodically like a snapping lobster or crab, with her shooting sweet young maiden-juice all over it-spurt after spurt after spurt.

This was precisely the thrill he had been seeking. It afforded Jack Bradley the utmost ego-gratification to know that he still had the requisite technique to make a pretty young thing such as this heavenly package come like mad.

And come, she did-again and again and again!

Then, when she stopped coming-the twitches and spurts grew faint-the gloved-hand finally released her, and she dropped with a dull little plop to the bottom of the tub. And, upon gazing down, Jack Bradley saw that the green body of water had seemed to get richer, creamier and foamier-as if by some strange Dark Magic-but which, in actuality, had been perpetrated by his concentrated efforts! . . .

"Now, turn around and roll over on your tummy," he directed her, "so that I kin finally do your entire back and sore little fanny."

Gail instantly acquiesced.

She found him to be a real pro-in every sense of the word. She believed him now-that he had been a professional masseur at one time.

He did her chafed, sore and reddened hips with the improvised glove again, but used his fingers skillfully to grab certain muscles in the meaty mounds of flesh-to work and knead them. And, all of the pain and ache in them seemed to disappear to Gail-also as if by some strange, most powerful Dark Magic!

He lingered considerably on her scourged behind.

Last, he did her back. For this, he reverted back to the scrubbing-brush.

Gail loved this the most: His experienced touches, applying long, sliding and gliding strokes, really hit the good old spot, as she was very itchy and clammy from all of the sweat she had exuded during the entirety of this long, hectic day-especially from being on-stage that afternoon and doing her frenzied dance-culminated in her being so resoundingly spanked by Melvin Roth!

As he proceeded to do her back, Gail began to bill and coo like a contented little dove.

And even when he wanted to stop, she prodded him on with: "More. Oh, don't stop now, Mr. Bradley. That feels so nice and good, honest. Give me more-more, more, MORE!"

And he gave her more.

But the more he gave her, the more she billed and cooed and seemed to want from him.

Until finally, he somewhat lost patience with her:

"All right, that's enough of this sort of thing for now, young lady. You either turn back around this instant and soak, or, so help me, I'll spank you all over again, and this time, with the meat-end of the scrubbin'-brush! Understand?"

"Oh, you wouldn't-you couldn't be that cruel."

"Oh no?" he snapped back rhetorically. "Well, you just try me and find out, doll."

However, Gail didn't accept his dare. Instead, she replied meekly: "Yes, Mr. Bradley, Sir." But the corners of her lips trembled mutinously. "There's still one place on my person you forgot to do, Kind Sir.. . . "

"Oh, just where is that, kiddo?"

By way of answer, Gail cupped her twin-mounds of glory that were her breasts with both her hands, and held them up to him, up-thrust and proudly.

"Oh, those!" he exclaimed, most gleefully.

And, as tired as he was, still, Jack Bradley found a second-wind and the energy to massage those succulent gourds of fruit with the improvised-glove again.

The honeydew melons with the candied-cherry tips were naturally hard and firm anyway. But they grew even harder and firmer to his gentle but all-encompassing touch:

True, they weren't too large when Gail was fifteen. Nevertheless, they swelled and became elated-grew to relatively large dimensions and became quite warm-all of her delectable, curvaceous entity tossing around and splashing in the water like a little wet, gleeful seal.

Gail's eyes became semi-shut, a most languorous luster to them, and her entire demure face puckered up and pouted cutely and prettily, a suffused glow of contentment coming into her cheeks.

Suddenly, she plunged both of her hands between the parted, pouting outer-labia-lips of her juicy young cunt. A series of twitching spasms seized and enveloped her entire being, as she came all over her rising and falling wrists and hands. She cast off vibrations that were actual electric-sparks in the tub, making the water turn and churn-becoming thicker and richer with that strange, rich creamy foam, which was her elixir for maiden-juice than ever!

Seeing what she was brazen enough to do-and right there before his very eyes-it became the veteran Jack Bradley's turn to be aghast:

"Why, you little witch you-using me to jerk yourself off with!" However, he was more thinking out loud than directly addressing her.

Then abruptly, he removed the improvised glove which had created such a recent sensation, and exclaimed, most peremptorily as an afterthought:

"Now, soak, damn you, soak!"

"Yes, Sir," little Gail chirped back, wrinkling up her demure, little face, then tossing her entire head back, laughed at him most mockingly:

She laughed and laughed and laughed, Gail's ludicrous, childish glee at his expense making the cheeks in his face flush so red, that he was forced to leave the bathroom for a time, muttering grudgingly-that a mere child could embarrass him like this and make him feel so awkward:

"Gotta go outside and get me a fresh cigar," he exclaimed, by way of explanation. "Now, don't go way, doll. There's still more to come, and...I'll be right...back."

"Yes, Sir," she chirped anew. "I'll be waiting."

And with her emerald-green eyes dancing like two miniature but most mischievous tea-cups, she tittered more screechingly and emphatically than ever.

Jack Bradley raced out of the room as if The Devil, himself, had been after him and was hot on his tail. But even as he did so, he vowed to himself: that when he got back, he would be hot on hers-her little tail.

And: "he who laughed last, laughed best!" was a very old proverb, but still a most true one.

And he would have the last laugh:

He would see to that! . . .

CHAPTER 4

After little Gail had soaked for a good twenty minutes or so, Jack Bradley had recovered his bearings sufficiently to come back to retrieve her, a now half-smoked cigar clenched grimly between gnashing teeth:

"All right kiddo," he hissed, "You soaked long enough. It's time to come out now."

"Yes, Sir. Help me, please."

He did so by holding both of her hands as she brought up her lovely, rounded knees-first one and then the other-over the rim of the bath-tub, until she stood with her elfin-like feet both planted squarely on the white bath-rug.

Jack Bradley grabbed a bath-towel from the triangular-shaped towel-rack, and enveloped all of her dripping-wet, compact but most curvaceous, streamlined form with it.

He dried her off somewhat roughly, and as she felt the rough fringes from the Turkish towel, Gail involuntarily squealed, squirmed and wiggled around a bit.

But still, even though he was a bit rough with her, he was also most painstaking and meticulous, drying her off from head to toe-literally!

He even dried the bottoms of her elfin-like feet, the toes, and the cracks between the toes themselves.

Finally having done with drying her off, he picked her up by the nape of her neck like some unruly little kitten-analogous to the way Melvin Roth had picked her up earlier that day-just prior to severely spanking her.

Truth to tell, Gail actually started to think she was going to be spanked again when Jack Bradley marched her over to the turn-down toilet-seat which also had a lavender and white floral-pattern-as did the shower-curtains and some of the bath-towels. Then, when he turned her across his lap and solidified her inside the crook of his lap, she felt sure of it:

"Don't spank me again, please, Mr. Bradley, Sir. I beg of you not to. I just can't take it anymore. I just CAN'T!"

"I'm not gonna spank you, kiddo. Don'tcha go and worry your pretty little head none about that. Just gonna give you a final massage and a rub-in there."

Jack Bradley had a bottle of some honey-colored lotion located right nearby, on the floor in direct juxtaposition to the toilet-seat, ready for instant use. He uncapped the bottle, rubbing a generous amount of thick, heavy liquid onto the palms of both his hands.

Then he seemed to go back on his word when he began slapping away at both of her raw, chafed, most tender hips with his big, heavy, calloused hands. But after the consummation of a given two slaps-merely one on each cheek-his palms would flatten out and rub the red, irritated flesh with a quick, sure, circular motion.

He deliberately made himself utterly oblivious to her surprised squeals, keeping right on with his slapping and rubbing, until he felt sure her flesh was thoroughly covered and saturated with the slick oily-coating.

Then he began kneading the muscles in the meaty part of the curvy, dimpled mounds.

This also hurt Gail at first. But as his sure, experienced fingers continued to adroitly pluck away and he succeeded in loosening the tight muscles up, it started to feel soothing, and most of the preceding sting vanished in its entirety.

In its stead, was a cool, invigorating feeling and tone to her flesh. The thick, honey-colored liquid he was using was some kind of a balsam with sweet-smelling lilac overtones to it-a most fragrant and utterly delightful olfactory-stimuli to little Gail's demure, upturned, sensitive nose:

"Ouuuuuu!" she cooed, quite happily.

Then he was done with rubbing her in, too.

He took a fresh bath-towel to dry the wet portion that was remnant off. Then he finished off the entire job by taking a can of talcum-powder, filling his cupped palms with a generous amount of it, and applying it with the same slap-rub motion he had resorted to initially when he had rubbed her in with the soothing balsam-like oil.

Jack Bradley had a pair of mule-lined slippers also ready and waiting for little Gail. They were several sizes too big for her, but after rolling her up to a sitting-position on his lap, her feet dangling liltingly and alluringly, he made her step into them, one by one, so that she wouldn't get a cold when she was finally made to stand up.

He took a fresh, folded two-piece pajama-set, one that was a deep, rich green shade which perfectly matched her sparkling emerald-green eyes-and made her get into the top. But the bottom piece, which was the pajama-pants, he tossed aside for the present.

Gail had a most perplexed look on her demure face at this last action of his:

She couldn't understand it-not for the very life of her.

Why did he ever do a crazy thing like that?

She was soon to find out!

First, he buttoned up the pajama-shirt, but deliberately neglected to button the top two buttons. Then he whirled her around, so that she directly faced the turned-down toilet-seat, from whence they had so recently come:

"All right, kiddo. Bend over."

"But, why should I?"

" 'Cause I'm tellin' you to!"

"Y-Yes, S-Sir."

"First, place your arms down, fold them over, together. Then place your head, over to one side on that, usin' your arms for a pillow. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, S-Sir."

Gail slowly and falteringly but definitely acquiesced.

"Now, then," he directed her further, "spread your legs apart-all the way apart!"

Gail complied with this latest strange request also:

"W-What a-are y-you g-going to...do-ooo?" she couldn't help but inquire-although it was quite difficult to do so-her teeth rattling and chattering so from, once again, dire fear and dread of the unknown.

Happening to instinctively turn her head around, Gail derived some inkling.

He was busy gingerly rubbing generous dabs of cold cream onto his cock, with his balls shaking like mad as he did so.

Gail's eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight of his sex-organ:

Never had she seen such a mighty cock and pair of balls as this. On quite a few occasions when slyly spying on her mother being made love to from behind the screen-divider in the room, she had gotten a glimpse of a man's sex-organ. However, they were all tiny by comparison-as big as some of them undoubtedly were.

It wasn't that Jack Bradley's dick was so long, as such. She had seen much longer ones. But his holy trinity was so huge, thick and menacing looking; it appeared as if it could rip any girl to pieces-especially a little virgin such as she still was. Then too, there was a thick, matty, black goatee, which indeed, made it seem more menacing then ever, creating a violent Caveman aura around his big, fat person.

Then when he came up to her, having saturated his entire prick with the cold cream and taking fresh dabs, began to thrust it up the crack of her ultra-tight, little, round brown ass-hole, even as she shivered from the contrast of the cold cream with her still somewhat tepid, from the spanking, relatively hot flesh, she shivered far more from the thought that went through her benumbed little head.

One and one made two! Now she knew just what he was going to do to her. She voiced the thought aloud to him in the form of a question:

"You're not going to put that fierce, big thing into me, are you? You're surely not going to put that up my behind?"

In answer, there was a savage hissing, growling sound-far more animal than human-gurgling to a roaring crescendo from directly behind her. He was foaming and frothing so close to her, that she could feel drips of his scummy saliva pelt her across the back. Then, directly in its stead, she felt a mighty bulk of weight-comparable to a full-size gorilla-thrust up against her, and, for a fraction of a moment, nothing happened.

All at once, the head of his big, thick prick began to penetrate the membranes of her tight little brown ass-hole. To Gail, it felt incredibly hard, comparable to a large piece of a plumber's lead pipe she had once seen. And the further and deeper it penetrated inside the membranes, the more it seemed to tauten and spread her delicate, tender tissue apart-as if it were some small rubber-band which was being stretched to the very breaking-point!

The proverbial lead pipe that was his mighty Caveman cock went further in yet and still deeper-until it was all the way in and deep-as far in and as deep as it could only possibly go.

Gail was forced to gasp, feeling as if she was so filled up, that she would explode like some over-inflated balloon.

Then, once it was rammed all the way inside the ass-hole, it began to move with short, hard, jabbing thrusts that made little Gail see blinking pin-point stars, connoting excruciating pain and dire pangs of anguish.

Every time the lead pipe jabbed her like that, it felt as if some strong-armed butcher had taken a meat-cleaver and was busy hacking away at her-dismembering the flesh from off of its very bone-ripping it all up, chopping and tearing it to little bits of shreds and pieces!

A shrill, piercing cry started to erupt from the palate of her throat. But before she could get it out, a strong hand clamped her lips together and muffled it.

Then the lead pipe was moving again-hacking away-causing her still more terrible hurt. In addition to which, she became quite cognizant of his mighty testicles now, as they were wildly pelting the still sensitive mounds of her behind, feeling as hard and benumbing as billard-balls being savagely thrown at her would have felt:

"Oh, oh, oh-hhh," Gail gasped aloud, shuddering and convulsing.

Desperately, she tried to struggle. She squirmed, threshed and wiggled to try and throw the proverbial butcher who was hacking away at her off.

But to utterly no avail!

The more she struggled, the worse it went for her, as he placed his other free hand inside of her partly opened pajama-shirt, grabbed a honeydew melon that was one of her luscious gourds of fruit for breasts, by the candied-cheery tip.

Then, every time she tried to throw him, he would pull on the delectable tip-wrenching and twisting it cruelly-until poor Gail thought she would pass out from the blinding, benumbing waves of pain, feeling most sick, nauseous and dizzy; everything was reeling and spinning around like a top inside of her crazed head now.

"Hold still, damn you," he panted impatiently. "Let me finish fuckin' you in your pretty little ass-hole, or, so help me, I'll break your little back for you-crack your spine!"

But Gail didn't hear him. She was too blinded and dizzy from the ever increasing waves of pain that were swimming through her being.

So she kept right on writhing and undulating her hips desperately, as he plucked and twisted and wrenched away correspondingly on her tortured nipple, until she actually thought that he had ripped the candied-cherry plumb-clear flush out of its socket.

The mighty cock kept ramming her and the hard balls pelting her, as Gail felt her knees grow wobbily and buckle from under her. And, if he didn't have her so propped up as he did, she would have surely had blissfully fainted, dead-away!

Suddenly, all of the fight went out of her. She was too weak to continue it any longer. She became transfixed and rooted to the spot, with utter paralytic inertia.

Gail passively stayed still and tried to valiantly weather the storm, by letting him have his way with her completely now, with the mighty prick and balls banging away harder, faster and more ferociously than ever. But even though it hurt her so dreadfully now, it was positively excruciating, still, she was starting to get used to it:

Actually, a strange metamorphosis was transpiring deep within her. It was comparable to the Third Stage of Masochism she had experienced somewhat earlier when Melvin Roth's spanking had been too long and hard:

There were those spasmodic twitching inside her little cunt again, and simultaneously after several seconds of this, she felt she had similar twitching in her tight little ass-hole.

Then as he emitted a terrific howl that would have been befitting for a whole wolf-pack to make, and sent jolt after jolt of his gushing, sticky cum into her, she felt a similar sticky goo, that was her own maiden-juice, go coursing through her svelte loins, as her virgin-pussy was quivering, throbbing and convulsing in complete abandonment! . . .

After he was done having his fill of her, at last, little Gail was quite a mess. Besides the sticky, gooey cum which had dripped out from the dark center-cleavage to encompass both the outer mounds of her thoroughly bruised behind, there was also a small stuck-lump of feces which she had dropped in her state of intense excitement, and the unmistakable tincture of blood, which appeared pinkish, being intermingled with his cum as it was.

It took quite some time and careful doing before Jack Bradley could succeed in cleaning her up properly.

First, he washed the mounds gently and thoroughly off-both inside and out.

To stop the flow of blood, which had taken on more of a scarlet-tincture when the cum was completely wiped away, squirting in blobs, he resorted to dabbing the inside of the little brown ass-hole with cotton-balls dipped in tepid water. However, it took Bradley a considerable length of time and cotton-balls to achieve this, with little Gail, all the while looking at him most mockingly and accusingly.

Finally, the task was all done, and Bradley helped her gently get into the pants of the pajama-set:

"Now, walk inside-to the bedroom-and get under the covers," he directed her gruffly, to cover up his acute pangs of guilt at the foul, fiendish thing he had done to such a mere child. "Rest for awhile, kiddo," he added sympathetically, his voice getting much gentler and empathetic. "Then I'll order a nice, rich double chocolate-malted for you. How is that, huh? How does that sound?"

"I-I c-can't waaaalk," Gail squealed in a frightened voice. "You'll have to...carry me inside-you mean, evil man, you!" Saying that, she gave him a look of utter loathing and contempt.

Jack Bradley scooped her up, cradling her in his arms. Gail rolled up into a little ball-like a butterfly inside of its spun cocoon. And he carried her in that way, with her long pale-golden, winter-wheat strands of hair dangling loosely and helter-skelter, jumping around crazily like a mop that was being put in hectic use.

He tossed her lightly down on the bed, then covered her up to her neck with a quilt, so that she wouldn't catch a chill. . . .

After a time, he asked of her:

"Well, kiddo, how do you feel now? Any better?"

"How should I 'feel?' " Gail replied, most bitterly and rhetorically. "You kept your word to me all right," she mocked. You did 'break my back' and 'crack my spine for me'-you vile, evil man, you!"

"Now, now, kiddo," his voice tried to be a soothing syrup on her ears. "Surely it wasn't as bad as all of that, now, was it?"

"Oh no? Says you, Mister! Why, I was far better off before-before you got to work on me. True, my little fanny tingled and burned something awful, so it was hard for me to sit down on it properly. But now, I won't be able to stand, lie or walk on it, either-after you made me bleed like a stuck pig in a slaughter-house! Why, it's a sheer wonder if you didn't ruin me there for life. So are you satisfied now, Mr. Bradley, Sir?" Gail ended on a note of utter mockery and scorn.

"All right, kiddo, come down off of it," he snapped, rather angrily. "You'll feel okay in a little while. And besides, think of the future: Tomorrow, I will have your screen-test scheduled for you for some time later this week. So, how is that? How does that sound, honey doll?"

"Like a big load of shit to me, Mister!"

"Oh, don't say that, kiddo. You're really hurtin' my feelin's now; honest, you are."

"There's not going to be any screen-test for me, Mister."

"Why not, kiddo? Why isn't there?"

" 'Cause, I'm not taking any; that's why! After what you've done to me here tonight, I've already passed it, and, with flying colors. Or, I'd better pass it-if you know what's good for you."

"Why? Whatever do you mean, kiddo?" Jack Bradley asked quite numbly, trying to be the picture of innocence-although he knew only too well what she meant and was inferring.

"It wouldn't go very good for you if it ever leaked out just what you do to little girls like me-little girls who are under-age and mere minors-when you take them up to this swanky apartment of yours, after telling them you're just taking them here purely for business purposes. No, it wouldn't go good for you at all. Why, they'd throw the key away if and when they ever found out!"

Gail had a most impudent, sarcastic look on her demure face now, along with a slight smile, despite her still intense burning, benumbing, penetrating pain inside her bottom, in addition to the tingling-feeling which still lingered there without.

"All right," Jack Bradley retorted, sighing resignedly. "You win, you cunning little witch, you. You're goin' to be in the movies, all right, and become a great big star-if I have anything to say about it-and, I most certainly do have! . . .

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. A kid like you is tailor-made for Hollywood; you'll fit into the scheme of things just like into a glove out here. But if you ever dare breathe a word of any of this, or what I'm goin' to do to you in the future . . . " his voice broke off at this conjecture and left his thought unfinished. But his voice had risen to an ominous note when he so abruptly terminated it, so little Gail got the message-got it only too well and clear:

"I understand, Mr. Bradley, Sir," her tone of voice took on a new respect for him, now that she felt assured that she was going to get what she wanted. "Everything is clear to me-as clear as a bell. And, the word is mom."

"Good girl!" Jack Bradley replied jubilantly, breathing a definite sigh of relief, and looking forward, with fervent anticipation-now that his major fear with her was dissolved-of the many times in the future he would have his way anew with that delectable, succulent bottom of hers.

It would take him a long time to tire of something as young, good and fresh as this.

Yes, by the time he got weary and jaded of her, he would drill her a complete new ass-hole.

He would, he would; he surely, surely WOULD! . . .

Jack Bradley allowed several days to go by before taking a fling at little Gail's lilting behind again. He didn't wait so much out of any feeling of consideration for her, but the fear that he might do her some real injury, which might then make her panic, so that the whole thing would leak out.

Therefore, he wanted to make extra-sure that the wound he had inflicted was completely healed. In this interim, he had Gail go through the formal channels of having her screen-test, which, of course, she passed with flying colors. She was signed to the standard studio contract at Magnum Epics, putting her in a much more willing and eager frame of mind toward him, as well.

When he finally did go at her, he wasn't anywhere near as frantic and wild as he had been the first time. He also tried to be more gentle and careful. But he was naturally a crude, uncouth man, Gail found, with all of his previous experience with her own fair sex. So, try as hard as he may, still, he hurt her, anyway! . . .

This tableau vividly reminded Gail of one time, when she had a clogged, upset stomach and a cold, and her mother had given her a rather careless enema.

Either her mother hadn't put enough vaseline on the tip of the black tube, she had used a tube that was too big for her small, tight hole, or she didn't stick it in right, as the end of the tube went off to one side, instead of straight down the middle-where it should have gone-not really finding the proper hole.

In any case, it hurt her-hurt like the very dickens!

But once her mother got the tube in that far, she absolutely refused to take it out, moving it around a bit, though, testingly, to try and adjust it and slide it in the right hole.

Gail continued to yell and plead with her to take it out.

But instead, her mother pressed the steel-clamp on the red-tubing of the enema-bag, sending a torrent of tepid water, loaded with epsom-salts, charging up her ass-hole, into her intestines.

Wave after gushing wave was charged, surging into her.

Wave after wave after wave, until poor little Gail thought she would burst wide-open inside, she had taken such a great big load from the enema-bag.

Then abruptly, her mother yanked the tube out and told her to go onto the potty and make.

Gail didn't have to really be told, though, as she had all to do to get seated on there without losing control of herself and spilling her great big load of shit and piss all over the white-tiled, cold bathroom-floor.

Finally, she was seated, and the scalding water, intermingled with the epsom-salts, gushed through her and forced its way out:

Load after load after load, she dropped; load after load after load.

Big loads, rich and ripe loads.

Load after load after load after load!

She kept right on dropping them, until she couldn't believe she had that much shit and piss stuck in her, there was so very much of it.

But, at last, she was finished; she had dropped them all-all of her powerful, surging, gushing loads.

And when it was all over, true, her stomach did feel considerably better and lighter. But she was very sore and chafed in her intestines.

So, to Gail's way of looking at things, "Sometimes, the cure is worse than the disease!" as the old proverb goes.

And...this was certainly one of those times!

Yes, that's precisely what this current experience with Jack Bradley reminded little Gail of: that most careless enema her mother had given her that time.

It reminded Gail of that-EXACTLY THAT! . . .

Now that Gail looked back on her initial experiences at the unruly hands of Jack Bradley, all those many years ago now-25, to be exact-she had to reflect, somewhat musingly: that she must have been one of the few select girls in all captivity who had their "cherry" taken away from them by being fucked in the ass.

Oh, to be sure, strictly speaking, he hadn't really broken her cherry for her; that was still intact. But broken for her, it would surely be; that was utterly inevitable. And, it was destined to come from a different source-from a different source, altogether.

Gail's feverish mind dwelled on that source now. . . .

PART TWO:

CHAPTER 5

Although Jack Bradley kept right on fucking Gail in her precious, luscious ass after she had been signed to a contract by Magnum Epics, the studio he was associated with as a talent-scout, and indeed, he did just about "drill her a new ass-hole" as he had silently avowed to himself that he would, the actual termination of Gail, (previously Stephens, now Summers') virginal status came about when she was seventeen-or some two years after she had first met Bradley on that fateful day in her life.

It happened quite abruptly that her cherry was really busted for her-irrevocably shattered and obliterated-for once and all time!

It was, quite inevitably, with one of those handsome, stereotyped young men whom the publicity department of Magnum Epics had selected for her to go out with, to derive the utmost publicity potential for the gossip columns of the various tabloids and scandal sheets.

Instead of living the dreamy life of a Cinderella, Gail found that she was more of a slave than ever. Every move that she made-from early in the morning till late at night-was strictly determined by her studio; her whole life belonged to them, body and soul!

So they made her get together with one handsome but nondescript, empty male-hopeful of theirs after the other, hoping to thereby kill two birds with one stone, and build up both of their new finds, simultaneously.

Most of these "pretty boys"-as Gail had coined for them-weren't really interested in making love to a desirable girl at all, she found, even if she gave them ample opportunity.

Either they were highly Narcissistic and completely enmeshed in their own personal egos and careers, or, they were open practicing homosexuals. Actually, strictly speaking, Gail classified most of the Narcissistic ones as also being borderline and/or latent homosexual cases!

But there was one fellow in the lot who was surprisingly quite normal, even though he was also typically nondescript, handsome and empty. His name was Bruce Kirkland. He was tall, slender of build, and sandy-haired, with dreamy sea-blue eyes and wavy, sandy hair.

There was nothing unusual about Bruce Kirkland, really, except that he showed he actually wanted her as a woman-as totally differentiated from most of the others.

As for Gail's own part, she felt hot and in the mood at the time he was scheduled to go with her, anyway. So, he was designated as the lucky one-the illustrious male who broke Gail Summers' pretty, succulent cherry for her-for once and all time!. . .

Bruce had a lemon-colored Buick convertible which he parked out in the country section of Bel Air. They had both lit up cigarettes, sitting there, casually smoking and talking. Bruce was off on the usual tangent, talking about shop and his respective career. Gail fidgeted nervously. She was most bored, so even though she felt highly nervous and tense-all on edge-she yawned, anyway.

"Tired, Gail?" Bruce queried of her, getting the message.

"Yes, Bruce," she murmured in reply. "I guess

"Working hard on your latest picture?"

"Uh-huh. I'm getting bigger parts now. And, this going to bed in the wee-hours, then getting up a couple of hours later to go to work, is really starting to wear me down, Bruce."

"Yes, I know. Most people think that the life of a budding movie star is the greatest. But if they only knew what an insufferable grind it is, they wouldn't be quite so anxious to become one. It's similar to being professional baseball players, I guess. That's also a terrible, rotten grind-along with broken legs, arms and operations-not to even mention the perpetual uncertainty of the game from season to season. It's surely no picnic or child's play."

"No, I guess it isn't, Bruce."

"So, if you're tired, Gail, I'll drive you home. Should I?"

"If you want."

"Well, to be perfectly honest with you. . . " his voice trailed off.

"Yes, Bruce?" Gail urged him on. "Just what were you about to say?"

"If you wasn't so tired, I would make passionate love to you," he finally managed to blurt out, "as, you're a very pretty girl, Gail-the prettiest girl I ever saw in my whole life! Why, I would give almost anything to get inside your flimsy pair of drawers and fuck you like mad-almost any thing-even to giving up my career in pictures altogether."

"You would?" Gail was fairly overjoyed at hearing this.

"Yes, I would. But, going from the ridiculous to the more sublime, would you mind very much if I kissed you a bit, anyway, Gail, and gave you a couple of quick feels?"

"Why don't you try it and find out, Brucie dear?"

Bruce Kirkland sat there for a fraction of a moment, utterly petrified with inertia. Suddenly, he reached across the leather seat of the car and placed his lean but strong, rippling golden arms around her waist, bringing her in close, so that his lips could touch hers.

When he pressed his lips close to her then suctioned them, working her lips around, she answered him back with a quivering, rotating suction of her own-along with a most demure but perturbing, slithering hot asp of a tongue which made goose pimples dance merrily all over his flesh.

Bruce came up for a breath of air. Then he resumed giving her some more kisses, putting far more audaciousness and fervor into them than he had with the first relatively hesitant one-making every kiss a soul kiss now-utilizing a blazing hot asp of his own, darting it all the way in and down, to swab the very palate of her throat with, again and again and again, ever more pulsating audaciousness.

After a hectic interim passed of doing this, Bruce got up the nerve to inquire:

"Mind if I take out your breasts and play with them, Gail?" he asked of her, but rather skeptically.

Gail became definitely irritated at his hesitant, faltering ways, which put a girl on the spot so and made her feel highly embarrassed and ashamed of herself.

"Look here, sonny boy," she retorted, most sarcastically, "never ask a girl when you want to do something; just do. Understand? Try it and find out what happens. A girl will tell you and/or let you know when to stop. In reality, there's no man-short of rape-who ever got into any girl's drawers unless she wanted him to. Do I make myself clear, Brucie dear."

"Yes, Gail. You do."

"So, if a girl doesn't stop you, then just keep right on going until she does. And that goes for me, too. Understand?"

"Yes, Gail. I do."

"Good. So now pick right up from where you left off, sonny boy, and stop all of this needless talking."

Bruce Kirkland took Gail's not-so-gentle hints. He didn't ask her again, but kept going ever further and further and further, without her so much as offering a mild whimper in voiced protest!

He unfastened her flimsy blouse, popped the zippers open in back of the black nylon bra, grabbed a delectable honeydew melon with both his hands and brought it out and up-to his eagerly awaiting lips.

Bruce opened his mouth wide, so that it would encompass all of the pink cherry redness-not only of the enticing nipple tip, but also the entirety of the halo which surrounded it.

He kept right on squeezing the whole ripe gourd with his strong, eager fingers. When he felt it swell, become hot, hard and almost full, he then concentrated on the candied-cherry tip itself, taking it between his lips, which he made inert-using them like a pair of gently wrenching pliers.

He bit her breast and yet, he didn't bite it-biting the way a man who had absolutely no teeth in his mouth, say, would bite mush-using his lips for gums-simultaneously still squeezing the whole gourd, most rhythmically.

Now the wonderful, hot, most juicy melon was fully swelled and hard, and it was panting with little breathless, wheezing gasps. Gail's breath now smelled like some hot grape nectar-a nectar of the Gods-as her distinct, inimitable womanly smell wafted into his sensitive nostrils.

Seeing how his play with the breast had got her going, Bruce took out the other delectable melon, and did the very same things there he had done with the first one, until the second melon was fully swelled, hot and juicy, too, and Gail's breath was wheezing more than ever.

"Oh, Bruce," she was forced to exclaim aloud. "Oh, Bruce-ee!"

Gail's voice trailed off, as she felt all of her entire young being stir and thresh, squirming all around from side to side against the car seat-as if there were a thousand demons 'way-down-deep inside of her, all pent up-wanting to break out and loose at once, in an utter frenzy!

Bruce buried his head between the dark, mysterious cleavage between the proud, high, snow-capped peaks. But his hands were busy elsewhere-first, on top of her skirt-then onto and under her sheer satin-and-lace wispy under-things.

Although he was most gentle, these flimsy female garments were mere tissue paper in his hands. And soon, Gail found herself in a state of semi-dishevelment, to her utter incredulity, not even realizing that her being bared was happening, she was so stirred up and carried away.

Bruce worked his hands up and down, feeling the svelte, smooth, satiny texture and delicious curvaceousness of her exquisite bantam-golden legs.

He paused to make certain hurried preparations on his own person, impatiently fumbling at the front of his pants, taking his prick out and carefully placing a condom on it, deftly rolling it all the way up.

All the time, Gail had been gaping at him, wide-eyed and hungrily.

He had such a nice, lovely dick, she found. While it was only medium in length and thickness, it seemed so pretty to her-so streamlined-like an over-sized bullet before it was fired.

Then he was at her with his hands again, intervening on Gail's musing thoughts.

This time, he didn't just feel the entirety of her resplendent, streamlined legs, per se, but went up and inside the hot, already wet with pre-secretion, thighs, jabbing testingly with an index finger until he found what he was seeking-her little hard clit. Then he massaged the clit, working the index finger liltingly and rhythmically against it-in and out, up and down and back and forth.

Then he placed his middle finger in there, as well, adroitly parting and widening the folds of her juicy, young, quivering cunt, and with the two fingers together now, went in and out, in and out-up and down and in and out!

"Oh, oh, oh-hhh," Gail convulsed and emitted, breathlessly, from the sheer rapture of it all. "Brucie, Brucie, Bruce-EEEEEE!"

All at once, another object was being placed directly between her svelte thighs-into her hot, dank, quivering cunt-in place of the preceding skilled fingers.

It was that pretty, streamlined prick of his.

"Fuck me," Gail cajoled with him aloud. "Oh, fuck me. Fuck me hard, fuck me quick. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-eee. Fuck the living shit out of me. Make me know it-make me know what it feels like to really be alive, my precious darling. So, fuck me, fuck me-oh, please, my wonderful Brucie, fuck me-eee!"

Any further words from her were smothered as his pretty dick slowly but surely entered the walls of her eager, awaiting pussy.

For a fraction of a moment, they both hung there, in a virtual state of suspended animation. Bruce felt the hard, slick dick which he had used to penetrate her run up against, what seemed like an utterly immovable bulwark-a concrete wall.

Bruce, not able to contain his own pressing excitement, rammed forward impatiently for all he was worth, grimacing as he did so, his face oozing beads of sweat from his forehead-from all the exertion he was forced to use up.

Then the proverbial concrete wall began to crumble-slowly at first, inch by inch-then ever faster and further and easier it gave way.

"EEEEEEE!" Gail shrieked tremulously, again and again and again, as each section of the wall gave way-piece by piece, bit by bit-until it was a virtual landslide and cave-in within her tumultuous depths.

And the further in and deeper Bruce's prick rammed, slammed and penetrated, the warmer and danker did her throbbing pussy become.

To Bruce, it felt as if he was entering a hot, seething bed of molten, churning lava. Simultaneously, the frenetic jaws of a man-eating crocodile were snapping and snatching at his dick, as his balls bounced around merrily and pelted her svelte, twitching thighs.

He couldn't remove his dick from inside of her juicy cunt even if he wanted to. And, he didn't want to-even though he was feeling every bit as much pain and anguish as she was, but in his own particular way.

All the fingers of both his hands slid across the hot leather of the car seat-reaching across and under-thereby forcing the dimpled, curvy mounds of flesh that were her hips, to rise.

His hands encircled the enticing, firm mounds of flesh of her ass, clutching them for all he was worth, as he thrust his chest and all the weight of his strong, young, wiry body forward.

Instinctively, Gail raised her legs and hips, forming a human-cushion, arching her back like a jungle cat-even in all of her pain.

She felt hot blood rush to her head, and little pin-pointed stars, that were sanguinary and dancing, appear before her eyes. She thought that she was going to faint, but somehow, miraculously didn't-although she did swoon.

Then all of him was rising and falling against her arched, palpitating curvaceousness.

His joy stick was jabbing-in and out, in and out-up and down and in and out, just as his fingers had done previously.

He kept working his dick ever faster, ever harder, ever deeper, with each and every frenzied thrust.

He kept on doing this, with Gail's entire cunt snapping and twitching away like a fresh-caught lobster, until they both were moaning and swooning deliriously, as they were raised up-up, up, up-to celestial heights which neither one of them ever had dreamt existed before.

They hung up there that way for a bliss-filled but agonizing moment-high up in the clouds.

Then suddenly, they were both sent back down to earth from whence they came, with a mighty, thunderous crash, as they felt all of their life's blood come to the fore and spurting, gushing out of them-from each and every one of their pores-at once.

Cum mingled with maiden juice, along with her spurting blood, to form a large, sticky sheet of balled wetness between them.

Finally, both of them lay there, with the blended goo of their joint orgasm splattered out all over their stomachs and thighs, as well as, of course, their respective goatee and spent sex organ. Now, they were utterly still, mute-silent and saturated-of everything-all that they had pent up inside of them.

Both of them had shot their complete load.

Both of them were completely and thoroughly drained dry!. . .

It was quite some time later before a sudden realization dawned upon Bruce Kirkland:

"You're bleeding, Gail," he exclaimed with genuine alarm. "You're hurt, sweetheart!"

Gail said nothing in answer.

"She was bleeding and it did hurt.

She felt a most peculiar, drawing, throbbing sensation there-in the midst of her entire fulfilled cunt-one that was most persistent.

"You were a...virgin, Gail? I was the...first?" Bruce queried, rather foolishly, in a most startled voice of confusion and dismay. Then he answered both his own questions with: "I didn't know, Gail. Honestly, sweetheart, I...didn't...KNOW!"

"Oh, don't feel too badly about it, Bruce darling," Gail replied, managing a brave, feeble smile. "After all, there always has to be a first one for anything, doesn't there, darling? So you can be proud of yourself-pat yourself on the back-for being the first One to have the illustrious honor bestowed upon him: of getting into the pretty drawers where my hot young cunt lurks, and breaking my maidenhood cherry for me!" Gail ended on a somewhat sarcastic note, but one tinged with devilish merriment.

"But, Gail," he persisted anxiously, "you're bleeding. I simply can't just sit back and see you go on like this, and do absolutely nothing about it. So what should I do, sweetheart? Take you to a doctor?"

"No, of course not, silly! Just give me your handkerchief, and I'll stop the flow of blood all by myself."

Bruce Kirkland gave her a highly quizzical look.

He was most surprised that she was taking her recent defloration completely in her stride-taking it so coolly and levelly-not getting at all hysterical.

There was a good reason for this-for Gail's seemingly paradoxical reaction:

Perhaps if she would have been somewhere else, instead of out in Hollywood, the land of the movie colony, she very well might have gotten hysterical. But out here, everyone played it calm, cool and collected-ultra-sophisticated. Yes, that was the Hollywood look-for everyone-regardless of the circumstances.

Why, even at . funerals, they had plush surroundings, with soft, dreamy music playing, and everyone in attendance being as calm as a cucumber. There was some crying, yes, but only because it was expected, and it was most forced and pseudo-right on schedule-at perfectly timed, strategic intervals!

So, if one didn't get too upset at the funerals of dear and precious loved ones, what did it matter, really, if a seventeen-year-old girl's virginity had been terminated and she bled a little?

After all, it had to happen sooner or later. Why, a little virgin was as welcome out here as a Black-Widow Spider is, say, in the San Fernando Valley.

And besides, she had bled before, quite unexpectedly, when she had her first monthly period. Then too, when Jack Bradley had first fucked her in her tight, little brown ass-hole. From that standpoint, this memorable occasion was the time she really lost her cherry-at least from a psychological one.

Nothing terrible-no really drastic physical repercussions-had accrued from that. Nor did they do so from the cycle of monthly periods before or thereafter, either. So why should anything of undue consequence happen now?

So what if she bled a little? Give it a little time, and the ebbing flow would stop. After all, everything else stopped, given ample time-everything, everything, EVERYTHING!

"So what should I do now, Gail sweetheart?" Bruce intervened on her thoughts. "Tell me."

"Very well, Bruce darling. You can drive me home. That's what. As I'm quite tired and sleepy now. Honest, I am."

"Yes, Gail sweetheart. Will do. Your wish is my command!"

Bruce rolled back up the top of the Buick convertible, so that no chance outsider would be able to discern precisely what Gail was doing to herself.

She was, quite calmly and thoroughly, dabbing herself with the handkerchief as he drove, still trying to stop the flow of blood from gushing out. And although the bleeding had subsided greatly, it still didn't reach full ebb-tide and stop entirely.

But, just as Bruce Kirkland reached the front door of the bungalow she had been assigned by the studio, where she was staying-sharing it with her mother, who had come out to live with her glamorous daughter-the bleeding had stopped entirely. So Gail readjusted her skirt and under-things neatly, then got out of the car, chirping merrily:

"Good night, Bruce darling. Thanks for...everything. It's been for real, Bruce darling. You'll remember that, won't you now?"

"Yes, Gail sweetheart. I'll remember THAT!

PART THREE:

CHAPTER 6

There were many "Bruce Kirklands" in Gail Summers' illustrious, cunt-filled life. She had casual interludes with quite a few of them. Actually, the only reason she remembered his full name at all after all this time, was because he was the historic first to deflorate and pluck her cherry away, thereby symbolically crushing her exquisite bouquet of roses!

But there were many other men after him-so many, as a matter-of-fact, that Gail had lost count a long time ago: If it wasn't a hundred, then certainly very close to that impressive figure!

Nevertheless, there were only a scanty few male-figures in Gail's entire life who left a marked impression on her. Three of these were destined to be her husbands, at different times of her remarkable life and career. All were vastly diverse types-chosen by her deliberately so-as Gail valiantly strove to find her ideal mate in matrimonial bliss.

However, she still wasn't destined to become married the first time for some years after reaching seventeen-the age that Bruce Kirkland had succeeded in climbing into her panties and plucking her cherry away. And after that brief but hectic interlude with Bruce which broke the ice for her, Gail had a whole string of short-termed affairs in the proverbial hayloft.

She shacked up with just about everything she came into contact with who happened to wear pants-even women; some of them wore pants in those days, too-although they were still few and far between.

So, when Gail became bored with the quite handsome but nondescript, stereotype men whom the publicity department at Magnum Epics was constantly inflicting upon her, she turned her attentions to her own fair sex-or rather, her own fair sex turned its attention to her-which ultimately made her one of those carefree and gay "Hollywood Switch-Hitters!"

The seeds of sisterly love were first sown for her when she was taken to a private stag party by one of her usual boring, routine dates. This one, by the name of Clyde Barnet, was really flustered, not being much of a talker, and not quite knowing what to say. So to get off the hook of being put on the spot with her, he asked Gail if she would like to go to one, as he knew the hostess?

Gail, figuring anything would be a definite improvement over this drag of a square and could only succeed in exciting her more, acquiesced.

Besides, for a long time now-since she had first come out to Hollywood, she had heard a great deal about homosexuality being quite common-place and running rampant amongst the movie set. This particular stag in question was supposed to be an open exhibition staged by professionals. So Gail was curious to see it-just what they all did together.

She was soon destined to find out.

And once she did, she was also destined to become one of those notorious HOLLYWOOD SWITCH-HITTERS!. . .

The stag-party was given at the sumptuous home of one Sabrina Towers, who was a movie script writer, and, by some strange, ironical twist of Fate, had been assigned as the feature writer for Gail's very next picture!

Upon arriving there, Gail was introduced to Sabrina Towers by her date, Clyde Barnet.

Gail was quite surprised to find her very attractive for a writer, and no doubt, a good piece of ass. Why, she could have almost been a glamorous movie starlet herself, she was so sultry, vivacious and appealing.

Sabrina Towers was on the Suzanne Pleshette type, except that she was much taller and fuller. But there was the same gracefully-sculptured, perfect-featured, sultry face, and big almonds for radiant eyes-that were also green, like Gail's own-only they had grayish tints to them, which rendered them an utter cat-like quality; their sparkling glitter was partly camouflaged by a pair of thick black, horn-rimmed eyeglasses.

She was wearing a most becoming long, trailing evening gown of sheer lime satin with white lace bunting on the top of the daring low-cut neckline, on the short sleeves, and on the bottom of the hem.

Sabrina Towers must have been somewhere around thirty or so-give or take a year in either direction, Gail quickly figured, in true feminine fashion.

Apparently, she was most unaffected, not going for ostentatious display of ornamentation, in the form of jewelry. All that she wore was a cameo with a small diamond in the hand-carved pink and white female face, and an also mysterious-looking sterling silver ring, which had several twisted, crossed snakes as its basic pattern running through it, made out of an exotic Oriental jade.

The hostess gave Gail a very warm reception.

"How do you do, my dear," she exclaimed in a soft but deep, rich voice, that sounded musical and also greatly approximated the later-day voice of Suzanne Pleshette-besides resembling her so strongly in the looks department as she did.

Indeed, it was the strangest voice that Gail Summers ever had the privilege to hear in her entire life-leaving Suzanne Pleshette aside. It had a most strange, hypnotic quality about it. The voice had masculine overtones, but one didn't focus on that; rather on the rhythmic, musical ring and the slight trace of an English accent, connoting select and careful upbringing in some highly fashionable girls' finishing school-such as Vassar.

Actually, truth to tell, Sabrina Towers hailed from the good, old Bronx in New York! She came from a very poor working class family, as Gail subsequently learned, but nevertheless, did manage to go to Vassar, anyway, by working her way through there.

Then, after a well-timed pause, to enable Gail to get her full bearings, Sabrina Towers added, quite pointedly:

"This, indeed, is a rare privilege, my dear, as I've been so looking forward to meeting you."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Gail replied warmly, puckering up her own demure face and rendering her most winning of smiles.

"Really, I'm positively enchanted," Sabrina Towers babbled on smoothly. "What a good stroke of fortune this is. Here I've been looking forward to meeting you for such a long time, and good, old Clyde, here-quite by accident, to be sure-brings you to my party."

She had been referring to Gail's escort for the evening, Clyde Barnet.

Then Sabrina Towers, after still another brief pause for all that she had said to register and sink in with Gail, resumed speaking again:

"We'll surely get together later, won't we, Gail? I can call you Gail, can't I? And I want you to call me Sabrina. I feel that we're going to become great friends-you and I-yes, great friends, indeed!"

"I'm all for it...Sabrina."

"That's the girl, Gail, my dear," Sabrina exclaimed, quite jubilantly but easily. "So, if the party ends too late tonight, since I am the hostess," her voice filled with a marked tinge of deep regret, "perhaps we won't be able to get together again tonight. However, tomorrow night, for sure, you simply must come over my house for supper. Is that a date, my dear?"

"Yes, Sabrina. I have nothing on for tomorrow night, really, that I can't break," Gail mused, thinking out loud. "So-"

"Great, my dear. Simply great...Now, go into the large living room, as the show is just about to start. It's going to be a really great one-from all that I hear-so I don't want you to miss a single instant of it."

Sabrina Towers had very good subjective motivation for her wanting Gail to see the floor show in its entirety. But Gail, for her own part, wasn't to find this out until some time later!

"Cheers, my dear," Sabrina Towers waved her hand merrily in a temporary, if regrettable farewell. "See you around a little bit later, perhaps." Then she directed a parting shot at Clyde Barnet, Gail's escort, too: "Now, take good care of my precious little package of joy, won't you, Clyde, old thing-like a real good boy?"

"Yes, I'll do that little thing for you, Sabrina, old girl," Clyde Barnet retorted, lightly but most pointedly.

Clyde Barnet knew precisely what Sabrina Towers had in mind, in regards to Gail.

Yes, Clyde knew, even if Gail, herself, was, as yet, totally unaware of Sabrina Towers' peculiar biological inclinations.

Sabrina Towers was a confirmed member of the "sisterhood," who indulged in those dark desires perpetrated on the notorious Isle of Lesbos! . . .

After getting herself a highball and a paper plate of assorted tidbits, Gail went into the living room, arm in arm with Clyde Barnet, and sat down on a divan with him. It was an enormous living room, long and oblong-shaped, decked out in very cheerful and gay pastel colors with a huge, incredibly thick Persian rug covering almost the entire floor; that alone must have cost a small fortune, Gail reflected.

And it was here, on this very rug, that the strange and bizarre stage show was about to take place!

There were many other couples, arm in arm, seated in various parts of the room. There was a continuous light chatter prevalent, until the show was actually about to begin; then all became hushed and mute-still. . . .

Never in her whole life-either before or after-had Gail Summers seen such an incredible spectacle, as the sequences which subsequently transpired there.

First, there were boys, whom she would have sworn were girls before they disrobed, and correspondingly, girls she would have sworn were boys.

The boys who looked like girls started the festivities off by doing a strip-tease. When they were stark naked and it was obvious to all the many on-lookers just what they really were, they began to dance the Can-Can-bringing Gail back fond memories of her own school days-and simultaneously, to sing, in highly affected voices, in unison:

"We're gay. We're gay.

"We're happy 'cause we're gay-ay!"

All at once, a bunch of burly, hairy men appeared on the stage. They looked like a throwback to the times of the Neanderthal Man. They were all so hairy, that even though they were stark naked, it didn't matter in the least, except where their enormous pricks and balls were protruding most obtrusively. They all carried replica-clubs of that by-gone epoch, and they went after the designated "girls."

The "girls" screeched shrilly when the Cavemen grabbed them by the hair, punishing them with short, thumping smacks with their clubs, all over their bodies, with complete abandonment, and not the least bit of discrimination where they hit them.

Then, dragging them by the hair, they threw them down on the rug-over on their face, sprawled out-flat. They tossed their clubs away, and their bodies began to rise and fall, as they used their pricks like lances, inserting them into the up-thrust asses of the awaiting "girls" again and again and again.

With each and every downward thrust, they would emit a savage grunt, with the balls bouncing off of svelte thighs, and the "girls" would squeal their heads off at the sheer delirium they were in-the utter, exquisite rapture.

To the horrified, incredulous Gail, it brought back fond memories, all right, as the Cavemen were doing the very same things to the "girls" that Jack Bradley was perennially doing to her own lilting backside!

Then again, what did it really matter? Gail asked of herself rhetorically-most scornfully.

After all, the boys had the same thing as girls did in that respect-narrow and tight, round and brown ass-holes to be fucked in!

They had all reached a definite crescendo in the tableau. The Cavemen's bodies were rising and falling very hard and fast now. They were grunting more ferociously than ever, emitting strange animal-like sounds from all of the exertion they had expanded. And the "girls" were yelling their heads off, too-not from mere pain, as such-but from sheer ecstasy, that was obviously so enjoyable to them, they were on the verge of actually swooning!

The various crying sounds merged together into a tremulous, strident cacophony of paradoxical unison, as the Cavemen shot their terrific loads of cum into the "girls' " narrow, tight, now red and chafed ass-holes-one load popping after the other.

Some of the gushing, spurting cum spread in a pure white jelly-like blanket outside, over cheeks of asses and thighs, as there was a strange but most definite smell of men, hot in the dire throes of passion, coming-coming like crazy, coming like mad-coming, coming, COMING!

Finally, after a short frenetic frenzy, one Caveman's body dropped limp on top of his "girl" and lay still. Then another fell...and still another...until they all fell limp and lay there, prostrate and still!

There was a round of applause from the audience. But it was just a mild scattering, though, as most of them-even in this cool, sophisticated movie-land, where everything goes-were still somewhat shocked by this most uninhibited and brazen spectacle of the stark primitive.

Don't forget, this was some twenty-five years ago, when America's Code of Morals was vastly different from the one that is prevalent today, Gail reminded herself, as she looked back on it now!. . .

Another line of gorgeous girls came out, all dressed, who also performed, first a strip-tease, and then a rendition of the Can-Can. But this group was really girls-lovely girls-of all shapes and sizes. There were blondes, redheads and brunettes.

Yes, something was there for every kind of masculine taste.

Then a bunch of male-toughs appeared. They were dressed in peaked caps and black leather jackets. They made some passes at the girls, cracked a few remarks and rendered a few shrill whistles. Then, too they began to undress. And, as Gail might have known, the male-toughs also turned out to be "girls!"

But even though they were obviously all members of her own fair sex, still, except for certain unmistakable swelled and rounded feminine protrusions, and a hairy snatch instead of a likewise hairy prick and balls, they could have very well really been men-the powerful way they were built-with their muscles all thick, corded and rippling; and their legs even more powerful-looking than their arms-virtual telephone cables, they were.

Once the entourage of butch-dykes were also stark naked, revealing their stipulated tits and cunts, they went after the lovely girls in an analogous manner to the way the Cavemen had previously gone after their respectively chosen mates-also wielding thick, burly clubs to beat them to the ground with-into total and acquiescent submission.

But, once the butch-dykes had the girls pinned down, on the floor, an infinite variety was afforded to the gaping spectators.

It was like some three-ring circus of sheer perversity.

They indulged in anything and everything with their hands, their lips, their strong and powerful, pressing, urging bodies.

Some of them had strapped on long and hard, black rubber dildos, using them as a substitute for a cock and balls, but just as gingerly and effectively. Some were fucking the girls in the ass with this apparatus. While others were giving it to them in the cunt. In either case, their bodies were rising and falling frenetically, with their breasts rolling, heaving and tossing around like mighty flapping bat-wings, such an animated fervor they were in.

After a while, having their fill of using the dildos, more and more of them resorted to using their tongues-again, some concentrating on licking and eating out the little brown ass-hole-while others were doing so at the cunt.

To Gail, it was like some strange rites of a mysterious pagan holy sect, as tongues danced comparable to red flames, while racked moans and convulsions accompanied these dancing, leaping simulated flames which enveloped the twisting, writhing bodies beneath them!

It was symbolic of Stravinsky's memorable tableau postulated in his monumental orchestral suite, The Rites of Spring: in which some lovely virgin maiden was being tossed into a raging fire, as a sacrificial offering to the Sun God, the elan vital of all energy and creative powers.

Of course, Gail didn't call up such an association at the time. As a matter-of-fact, she didn't even know of it. What she did feel was herself caught in a most strange dichotomy:

On the one hand, she felt sick and nauseous in her stomach, and wanted to vomit her very insides out.

While on the other hand, she was strangely fascinated by the entire eerie proceedings, and she couldn't take her eyes off of them-not even for a single instant-although her stomach continued to turn, churn and have little butterflies doing nip-ups inside.

All the time, the butch-dykes continued to lick and lap and suck it all up-as if they were drinking bowls of hot soup-making Gail feel more queasy and upset than ever!. . .

Then the boy-girls were back, along with their Cavemen partners. And, this time, as distinct from before, it was the "girls" who took the active, aggressive role, as the Cavemen stood as rigid as stone statues.

The "girls" were slumped down on their bended knees, lips all curled up and puckered, quivering and suctioning them most actively and energetically-until the Cavemen swooned from the sheer ecstasy of it all-and plopped down on the rug, one after the other, like a parade of fallen, wooden soldiers, flat on their backs and still.

But before this could come to pass, some of the "girls" were sucking at the pricks as if they were sucking on lollipops. While others, taking the entire cock and balls in their mouth, were eating away as if it was some succulent banana split. In either case, they licked and lapped and sucked, then swallowed greedily, as if they hadn't eaten a meal for ages-so intensely hungry they were!. . .

To Gail, as well as to the rest of the onlookers, this all was great shakes some twenty-five years ago. Whereas, today, it would be considered routine at best, and old hat at worst.

Clyde Barnet, her escort, sensed the keen state of shock and incredulity which permeated Gail at the time, and having felt flustered and reticent in her presence all along previously, now feeling he was the master of the situation, decided to take advantage of it and display his superiority over her:

"Well, Gail doll, what did you think of it-what you just saw-hmmm?" he led her on drolly with.

"Quite a show, Clyde," she replied numbly. From the tone of her voice, he knew he had her at his mercy:

"It was really somethin', huh."

"Yes, it was."

"The cat's nuts," he exclaimed mirthfully-as though it was the most natural thing for him to say-deciding to render a verbal shock of his own.

And Gail, for all her youth and inexperience, began to realize that he was toying with her. So, to counteract it, she decided to brave it out, saying for her own part, "Yes, Clyde, it was the real shits, all right!"

That did it. He kept quiet after that, drawing himself back inside his shell-like the proverbial frightened turtle!. . .

Still, that was some twenty-five years ago. And as Gail continued to go to such stag parties intermittently, she became quite weary and jaded after a while, although said parties were ever getting more wild, brazen and audacious.

Quite recently, Gail was at one which was called a "zoo-party," for they only used live animals in conjunction with humans.

At this one, she saw a big trained dog both fuck and suck his mistress thoroughly.

First, he fucked her with his long bright red nookie, which seemed to be bleeding, so red it was; the balls were also such an ultra-bright red, but were surrounded by patches of snow-white fuzz around them for hair. And as he pumped away, standing upright, with little spasmodic but jolting motions, he had the strangest sort of grin on his face, both his tongue and tail wagging away together-rapidly and rhythmically-far faster than he was busy humping.

Then he licked and lapped her cunt out, as she had both hands pressed down there, parting the labia lips wide apart. And he went about it as if he was eating lunch, using his long, thick, quivering leather-coated tongue as if it was a corkscrew, working it in ever further and deeper, while panting with his mouth open, he seemed to grin more sardonically and wickedly than ever!. . .

Then, at the same "zoo-party," she also saw a trained gorilla fuck a piece of boy-hump in the ass.

Gail vividly remembered seeing King Kong hold up shapely Fay Wray in his arms in a rerun of that fantasy-classic on a late TV show recently. And just as the mighty Kong had dwarfed Fay Wray, who played the heroine, likewise did this trained gorilla dwarf his prostrate boy-hump: roaring savagely as he jumped up and down, ramming and slamming viciously into the soft, quivering cheeks of the undulating, twitching, up-thrust behind.

To Gail, it was a sheer wonder that he didn't trample him to death, so hard and vicious were his pulverizing jolts!

She had also read in a psychology book somewhere-she thought it was Wolfgang Kohler's Mentality of the Apes-that in certain species of the monkey-kingdom, it was quite common-place for them to indulge in anal eroticism. And this certainly seemed to be the case here, because the gorilla was far more jubilated at what he was doing than any training could achieve.

It ended up with the gorilla plopping down on top of the prostrate, sprawled-out figure, still pumping away, until the unbearable and sharp rancid animal odor of his cum filled all their nostrils, making them reek, as it spurted and gushed forward in running streams from both sides of the boy-hump's ass, causing a flood. Those sitting closest panicked, jumped up and ran for cover to escape getting a part of the gorilla's cum-bath!. . .

But at the time of witnessing her first stag party of this sort, Gail, with the freshness and wonderment of youth, was overwhelmed at the incidents she had seen. She was palpitating with excitement, feeling she had been privileged to see the rare, the wicked and the forbidden.

After a while, the huge Persian rug was cleared of all the performers. Once it was, as if by a prearranged signal given by some mental telepathic powers, everyone in the audience began to make love to their respective partners for the evening, en masse.

There were boys with girls-such as Clyde Barnet with Gail. There were boys with boys-girls with girls.

They indulged in their embraces indiscriminately. Some did it on the sofas, divans and chairs. While others-most of them, in fact-did it right there on the very rug, getting some additional kind of vicarious thrill out of fucking and sucking where the odd assembly of performers had so recently went through their paces, of a whole variety of things.

Clyde Barnet took Gail on a divan; he had his way with her there.

Truth to tell, Clyde was no great shakes as a lover, Gail found. Rather, he went through all of the motions most narcissistically-as if he were before a camera, emoting-or, some big-shot producer was watching him and he was trying out for a juicy part.

True, he did everything right-the epitome of perfection. And that was precisely the trouble. It was too right!

There was no real feeling or human emotion in any of his advances toward her.

Nevertheless, Gail responded most strongly, anyway, moaning and tossing about-threshing and clutching with her long, streamlined legs-and all but knocking him out with the fervor of her onslaught.

It wasn't Clyde Barnet, in the abstract, who got her aroused this way, but the odd and very exciting events of the evening which had so recently transpired.

Slowly but surely-quite unconscious to herself-the turbulent events, as they unfolded, had built up a tense nervousness 'way-down-deep inside of her, until it reached its current fever pitch.

And once it did so, she just had to explode somehow and express the wild, pent-up, animal emotion which had been instilled in her. Gail just had to, or bust. She just HAD TO!

And she did so, with her overwhelming Clyde, but utterly: him, landing on the bottom, her, triumphant, on top-pressing and urging with all of her most curvaceous, vibrating entity-working her panting breasts and forcing him into her already dank, quivering cunt.

She made him sink into the hot morass, which was already thoroughly sticky and wet with pre-secretion. And, once she had him enmeshed inside there, he couldn't get out, as Gail had him in a grip of steel, her shapely legs two virtual Python snakes-crushing, crushing, crushing.

"Oh, oh, oh-hhh," he gasped. "Have a heart, won't you, baby?"

"Not on your life!" she replied through gritted teeth.

Then she continued to rise and fall harder and faster than ever, her hard honeydews for breasts slapping him across the face and chest, as she worked her twitching, throbbing cunt into his groin, grinding it like a corkscrew with an off-and-on pressure.

Gail kept right on doing this, with both of her legs wrapped around him and exerting pressure for all they were worth, until she felt the short-circuits start to come and rotate-oscillate and vacillate-back and forth between them, until they had improvised their own magnetic field, and they both thought they would be electrocuted to death, with his cum and her maiden juice continuing to spurt out spasmodically and erratically around and around and around!

Gail didn't let up on him until the magnetic field had been broken entirely, and all of their precious, hot juices had been oozed out of them.

No, she didn't stop until she drained both of them dry-completely DRY!. . .

The entourage of couples, tired, weary and jaded with each other, began to play "switch."

However, Gail didn't want any part of it. She had enough. So she got up and rearranged her clothes. Likewise, did Clyde Barnet.

They were now both fully dressed and tidied up, about to take their leave and were already in the hallway, when tall, sultry Sabrina Towers stopped them by seizing Gail lightly but firmly by the arm and asking of her:

"Well, my dear, did you enjoy yourself here tonight? Did you have a good time, hmmm?"

"Yes, Sabrina. Very."

"That is good, Gail, my dear. Glad to hear it. And, oh by the way. . . "

"Yes, Sabrina?"

"Don't forget that we have an appointment for supper here tomorrow evening."

"Oh yes. I almost forgot, Sabrina," Gail answered quickly and sincerely. "Sure glad you reminded me."

"Well, don't forget, my dear, as I'm very much looking forward to it!...How about eight? Will that be all right by you?"

"Yes, Sabrina. That will be fine, as I like to rest up for a spell after I get back from the shooting-take a shower and a nap before going out."

"So do I, my dear. I share your sentiments entirely. I'm always quite bushed afterwards. It does take such a great deal out of me," she sighed her exasperation resignedly. "So, till tomorrow night at eight, then. . . . "

"Tomorrow night at eight, Sabrina," Gail echoed her somnambulistic ally!. . .

CHAPTER 7

Gail would always remember Sabrina Towers' bedroom as "The Green Room"-simply because everything in it was green-not just the bedroom, but also Sabrina herself!

The basic style was French Provincial, and an also French flair predominated throughout-from the light green bed with matching lime satin quilt turned flat against the wall, to the spreading into a V window-curtains, which had a Musee fabric of fresh lime-colored daisies with a snow-white base.

And lovely, sultry Sabrina Towers fitted perfectly into this room of such elegant splendor-like into a skin-tight glove:

Actually, the entire room had been tailor-made to order for her: with her own grayish-green icebergs for cat's eyes set against snow-white irises, and the two-piece set of also lime-colored, satin underwear she was presently wearing, sitting there next to Gail on the magnificent four-poster bed, in juxtaposition, who was also down to just her bra and panties set-although Gail's own was a black satin set-but was also in perfect keeping with Sabrina's state of semi-dishevelment.

Nor would Gail ever forget the rest of that evening, either-what proceeded them sitting there like this-on their lilting and firm, curvy bottoms on the lush, plush satin spread, with their legs bent but up in the air, tautening and rounding out two pair of perfectly rounded, dimpled kneecaps.

Gail had been served a meal that, indeed, befitted a queen! It was served in Sabrina's resplendent dining room, which had crystal-drop chandeliers draping over the incredibly long mahogany table which could hold some fifty-odd guests. There were burgundy-colored drapes and hand-made gleaming silverware.

Then the mouth-watering, most succulent, delectable meal itself-it was truly a rare treat. They were served roast goose, stuffed, with all of the trimmings; including cranberry sauce, old vintage champagne, and a tart plum-pudding, steaming hot from the oven, for dessert; all of it-each and every bit-fairly melted in one's mouth and made one drool.

So it was that when lovely Sabrina, sitting there on the satin bed spread alongside of her, asked her just how she enjoyed her meal, Gail, at a loss for proper words, could only manage: "Yum-yummy!" then rubbed her svelte, flat-lined tummy in an indicative gesture, connoting absolute and utter contentment.

Nevertheless, Gail was somewhat disturbed inwardly-sitting next to Sabrina Towers as she now was. Their knees touched, and Gail could feel the faint outline of an enormous, full and hard gourd for a breast which was confined, pressed tight, under the form-fitting bra-just asking to be set free, so that it could snap up to its full dimensions and come bursting out-which would surely smack Gail flush in the face if it ever did, she, sitting so close to Sabrina as she was.

Then too, Gail was forced to admire the wonderful, satiny-smooth texture of Sabrina Towers' glistening olive-toned skin. Every bit of her statuesque figure seemed to be hand-carved and letter-perfect, with not a single, solitary blemish manifest to the naked eye anywhere!. . .

"Comfy, Gail, my dear?" queried Sabrina Towers in that soft but husky, yet perfectly musical, hypnotic voice of hers, which was so inimitable, the inflections being indicative of select, choice breeding-which Gail had discerned on the previous occasion already-when she first made lovely Sabrina's acquaintance.

All that Gail, who was so completely hypnotized and in the spell of that voice could manage was:

"Huh, Sabrina? What did you say?"

"I asked you if you were comfy, pet?"

"Oh yes. Definitely, Sabrina."

"Isn't it good to sit here this way, after eating such a big, lavish meal, to properly digest it?"

"Oh yes, Sabrina. It sure is."

"Besides, my dear, as I told you yesterday: I wanted to have sufficient opportunity to make your acquaintance, as there is something most pertinent-concerning the both of us-that I wish to discuss with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my dear."

"And just...what is it that you...wish to...discuss with...me, Sabrina?"

"The picture we are both currently working on-Chastise the Vixen. I'm not at all satisfied with the big scene the director, Peter Stomberg, the old pedant, insists I write in for you, and in the exact way in which he dictates."

"Why not, Sabrina? Why aren't you satisfied?"

"Because, in that particular scene, you are to be resoundingly walloped by the hero with a hairbrush, wearing the very flimsiest of clothing, which will afford you no protection whatsoever, my dear."

. "I know that, Sabrina. I'm well aware of it."

"So why do you let them do it to you? Why do you insist on having such dreadful pain inflicted upon you. Are you a masochist, my dear?"

"What's that, Sabrina?"

"A person who enjoys having pain inflicted upon them by others-sometimes also by his or herself."

"No, Sabrina. Definitely not!" Gail tittered, wrinkling up her pert, little nose cutely.

"Then why don't you protest?"

"Because it's my bread and butter," stated Gail, quite simply, yet most candidly. "That's how I made my reputation, and that's how I'm probably also going to keep it, Sabrina, and maybe even rise to become a great big movie starlet real soon."

"Very well, true; granted, my dear. But even so, why don't you at least resort to some protective measures: such as, you could have a stand-in get walloped for you instead! . . .

"Or, if you don't want that because you're afraid that your male fans in the audience might recognize a substitute and/or not be satisfied with the way your stand-in plays, at least have the good sense to insist that, either the spanking is to be done by hand and not nearly as severely, or, if it must be the hairbrush, then at least wear some protective padding; every other starlet does who knows she is going to have to face such an ordeal, so why should you be any different? . . .

Hearing this rather long harangue from Sabrina, Gail shrugged her shoulders evasively and noncommittally.

But Sabrina persisted, endeavoring to drive her central point home, and to thereby indicate that she was truly concerned for Gail's personal welfare, although she still hardly even knew her, saying:

"Don't forget, the exacting pedant, in the person of Peter Strombert will probably insist on re-shooting that scene an incomparable number of times before he finds if perfect. So-"

"Yes, I know, Sabrina; I'm well aware of all that. But, as I said before: I can never really know in advance when the given scene will be okayed and there will actually be a suitable take. So I'm very much afraid that I will just have to grin and bear it!"

"Very well," Sabrina sighed resignedly. "That being the case, why can't you at least wear some padding to protect you-so that the cracks won't sting as much?"

"Oh, I've already tried to do that before, Sabrina."

"And? What's wrong with it?"

"That's precisely the trouble: It doesn't sting, burn and tingle enough. Consequently, I have to fake my reactions. And since I am, admittedly, not the very best actress in the world, my faking of it isn't sufficient. No, I'm very much afraid it'll have to be the real thing; I'll have to be genuinely spanked and it'll have to hurt. What's more, I'll have to keep on taking it, until Peter Stromberg finally approves of the scene and has an actual take."

"Oh, you poor, dear thing, you...You poor unfortunate little girl!" Sabrina moaned forlornly, feeling definite empathy and compassion for Gail. "You know something, pet?"

"What, Sabrina?"

"I almost quit this picture because of you!"

"You did?" Gail was genuinely incredulous. "But why?"

"Because, I told Stromberg, that either I wanted that awful, dreadful spanking scene removed altogether, or at least to compromise with me and tone it down-have it modified-the spanking done by hand instead of by that heavy, over-sized hairbrush they insist on using."

"And? Just what did Stromberg say? Just how did he react to this...proposal of...yours, Sabrina?"

"He didn't get excited at all, Gail. He merely smiled most confidently, and told me to go talk with you-to ask you-which is precisely what I'm doing, Gail dear. So what do you say, pet? Your wish is my command."

"Very well, Sabrina. Namely this: I don't want you to fight any more with Peter Stromberg at all. No, I want you to write the scene exactly the way he says, or, if you've already written it that way, to leave it alone. And I'll tell you exactly why I want you to do that, Sabrina. . . . "

"Yes, pet? I'm listening."

"Because, this is my big chance-the one I've really been waiting for."

"How so?"

"While it's true I'm not billed as the leading lady as such, still, the very title of the picture-Chastise the Vixen-is based directly on that one scene, with me in it, where I get my precious bottom soundly whaled with the hairbrush. Understand, Sabrina?"

"Y-Yes."

"So what if I have to suffer a bit in the meanwhile, and my bottom tingles and burns all the time for the next few days or so, to boot? It's worth it!...Believe me, Sabrina, I'm not just using this as an excuse because I'm a masochist,' as you called it-'a girl who likes to suffer.' No, I'm doing it because I know what living in dreadful poverty is like, and just what it means to be one of the have-nots and underprivileged. Understand, Sabrina?"

"Yes, pet. Generally. But tell me some of the specifics about yourself-your life in the past-so that I can get to know and understand you better, Gail pet."

"Very well, Sabrina. I'll be most glad to. . . "

Gail then proceeded to recapitulate for Sabrina Towers' benefit all of the essential highlights concerning her own personal past, prior to coming out to Hollywood.

Gail told Sabrina about her parents-how they both aspired to be big stars in show business all of their lives-but could never quite make the grade.

She also told Sabrina how they were forced to live from hand-to-mouth...the various odd jobs her father worked at in order to provide their basic needs...finally ending up as a runner for a book-making operation-which also ended his life, literally-shot down like a mad dog in the streets, his big, handsome body riddled with bullets and made to look comparable to a huge slice of Swiss Cheese!

"You poor kid, you," Sabrina readily sympathized. "My, but you sure did have it rough, all right. No wonder you're willing to put up with anything now to get ahead in the movies. But tell me something, Gail pet?"

"Yes, Sabrina? Glad to. What is it?"

"Who was the first one to ever spank your saucy bottom for you when you were still living at home? Your father or mother?"

"Neither one; they never so much as laid a hand on me, ever."

"So, who was the first one to do it, then? You mean to tell me, that you never had your bottom spanked by anybody before you arrived out here?" Sabrina's deep, rich, musical voice still couldn't camouflage betraying her definite skepticism now.

"No-ooo, Sabrina. I didn't quite say that. All I said was: 'that my own parents never laid a hand on me!' "

"So, who did, then? Who was the first, Gail pet?"

Gail then proceeded to tell Sabrina all about the incident in the school play-how she came upon a desperate, wild scheme to attract the attention of Jack Bradley, the talent scout, when she learned he was to be there in the audience, watching the cast in the play perform.

Then she related how Melvin Roth, the instructor of the dramatic class, feeling utterly disgraced and humiliated, became so flustered, that he threw all caution to the winds in his terrible frustration.

So he picked her up bodily, turned her upside-down, right then and there, in front of the audience, in the middle of the stage, and promptly proceeded to whale the very dickens out of her-until she wasn't able to see straight because of all the crying she had done-she burned, blistered and hurt so!

In conclusion, Gail added as an afterthought:

"And now that I think back upon it, Sabrina, I can't very well say that I didn't deserve it-that if I was in poor Melvin Roth's shoes I wouldn't have done the very same thing to such a brazen, naughty, completely wicked little girl."

"Oh yes, Gail pet: now that you mention it, I do recall vaguely reading something or other about it in the tabloids, or perhaps someone told me. I honestly don't know which was the case for sure. But I do know I heard about it from some source or other before this....So that's how you got out to Hollywood, heh?" Sabrina mused, more thinking out loud than directly addressing Gail. "Actually, that fucken paper ass-hole, who was your dramatic instructor, did you a favor inadvertently. Because his spanking you torridly certainly wasn't in the script, was it, pet?"

"No-ooo. Of course not, Sabrina."

"Well, sometimes the road to hell is paved with the very best of intentions-as they say. But, by the same token, the road to heaven is paved with the very worst ones-if you call having your precious bottom used for a punching bag all the time heaven, that is, pet. . . So that's how you got out to Hollywood, and intend to stay on here, huh, and even become a big star?"

"How is that, Sabrina?"

"By having the strongest constituted bottom of any girl out here-one that's built to take punishment-is how."

Gail was getting thoroughly annoyed and even exasperated, as Sabrina Towers absolutely refused to get off this banal theme of hers. Finally, feeling some reply was necessary to end this infernal bickering about her bottom, Gail retorted, quite candidly and bluntly:

"If necessary? The answer is: definitely yes, Sabrina. I will do anything to stay out here and maybe become a real big movie starlet-even if the chance be ever so slim. Anything, anything, ANYTHING!"

"So I gather, Gail pet. And, from all that you've related to me, I can't say I blame you very much, either. But I'll tell you just who I do blame," Sabrina's rich, deep voice rose and became rarely shrill, grating and tremulous at this conjecture, being carried away with emotion and filled with utter malice and scorn.

"Who, Sabrina? I-I d-don't understaaaand."

"I know you don't, dearie. So I'll now clear things up a bit for you-tell you the real score, and make it add up to a grand total!"

"Yes, Sabrina? I'm listening."

"The men-the hard and cruel, brutal and sadistic fiends for men. That's who I blame, Gail pet. Men like my own flesh-and-blood father, for example: He was completely different from your own, Gail pet-who was a rare exception, indeed! . . .

"Mine was a common laborer. On weekends, it used to eat him up, because my mother was forever throwing it up to him: that my father's brother-my uncle-came from the same family background as he did, and yet was a big success in business.

"So this ate my father up. He became mean-real mean! All week long, it would gradually build up inside of him. Then would come the weekend, and he'd really explode. First, he would go out and get cockeyed drunk. Then he would come in and first sock my mother around. . . . "

"Oh, how terrible," Gail murmured.

"And when the children-mainly my sisters and myself-couldn't stand it any longer, we were actually afraid that he would kill my mother sometimes, and went in there and tried to stop him, he would let go of my mother, true, but go after us with his razor-strap instead. He'd raise big, red welts all over our backs, our legs, and yes, even on our breasts! . . . "

"Oh, how terrible," Gail interjected again. "How perfectly horrible and wretched."

"You can say that again, dearie. But it was on our saucy backsides that we'd catch it the worst. He'd beat the living shit out of our asses; you can be sure of that!

"Not only then, when he was indiscriminately flailing away at us, blindly with rage, wherever the cruel lash happened to land, but for the least little thing-the slightest provocation-individually, we would be turned across his stinking lap, our drawers pulled down and our bottoms bared!

"Then he would lash us with that big, thick, doubled-up razor-strap of his, until we almost fainted from all the blinding pain, the flesh, so ripped up, chafed and raw, that it all but burst open and bled from the very seams!"

"What a beast your father was, Sabrina. What a terrible brute."

"Yes, Gail pet, that's the kind of father we had. And that's the exact type of man who writes in to the studio and tells them they enjoy seeing pictures where pretty young things are depicted such as yourself-act naughty, then get soundly spanked for it. And the harder and longer the spankings last, the better by them-the more they enjoy themselves. The dirty, rotten, low beasts! The vile animals! The filthy swine!"

Sabrina Towers had finished off on another rising, tremulous crescendo of heated emotion, filled with utter hatred and loathing, gnashing her teeth together savagely.

"It's not who's had it so tough, but you, Sabrina," Gail murmured somewhat ashamedly, softly and warmly. "I feel sorry for you, Sabrina, and not for myself."

"Well, don't, pet-'feel sorry for me'-because that's all over with now. I won't have to undergo anymore such cruel ordeals from my father's unruly, calloused hands, or, for that matter, from those of any other man, either-NOT EVER! But you're suffering right now, Gail pet."

"Maybe so, Sabrina. When you put it that way, then-"

"Get one thing, and get it straight, pet. . . . "

"What's that, Sabrina?"

"That only a woman can understand and satisfy the desires of another woman. A man can't do that, ever. Because women, by their very natures, are made different biologically and physiologically from a male. And as a direct result of these factors, are correspondingly made far more delicate, intricate and complicated."

"Gee, that sounds so profound," Gail gasped out her admiration at the older woman's lore on the subject. "You're the most deep and intellectual person I have ever met in my whole life. Honest."

"Thank you, pet. You're so sweet, really. And now, do you want proof of what I say."

"What kind of 'proof'? "

"Direct and to the point-to make mad, passionate love to you!"

After a moment's deliberation with herself, Gail finally replied, giving Sabrina Towers her definite and conclusive answer:

"Very well, Sabrina," she murmured aloud. "I'm game."

"You mean, you'll let me, Gail pet?"

Judging by the tone of her voice, Gail figured that Sabrina expected her to bicker and put up much more resistance than she did. So, by way of explanation, Gail exclaimed:

"Yes, why not? After all, a man can knock me up and make my pretty belly swell by fucking mebe he ever so kind, gentle and considerate as a lover. Whereas, you can't do that to me, can you, now?"

"No, dear, of course not. But the things I'm going to do to you will prove better than any man fucking you ever could, believe me, pet." With that, Sabrina became carried away on a swelling wave of jubilant emotion: "I'll teach you everything that I know, Gail pet. I swear that I will. I'll show you each and every subtlety and nuance. Want me to show you, pet? Want me to show you and teach you, huh?"

"Oh yes, Sabrina," Gail, in turn, couldn't contain her own patience and rapt curiosity any longer, either. "Show me, show me-oh, show me-eee....Teach me, teach me-oh, teach meeee!"

"No sooner said than done!" avowed Sabrina, quite happily.

Then Sabrina started to make advances toward Gail! . . .

Sabrina made them slowly at first, this being Gail's first experience at "Twilight Time" as it was.

Sabrina rubbed her own tall, statuesque body up against Gail's, lightly threshing about, with Gail feeling the titillating feeling of the sheer satin from their undies rubbing together, along with the sliding and gliding of the marble-like olive-toned flesh of Sabrina's rubbing against her also smooth, svelte, satiny-textured skin.

Simultaneously, Sabrina, gently but firmly forced Gail's lips wide apart with her own, sending a red-hot tongue shooting down to the very palate of Gail's aching, parched throat-one that was most activated, quivering and all wet-again and again and again!

This provoked Gail's threshing to become far more emphatic and accentuated, as she gasped, even though the sounds were somewhat muffled by Sabrina's steadily rotating, suctioning lips:

"Oh, oh, oh-hhh," Gail gasped. "Sabrina...darling!"

Sabrina wanted Gail to feel the all of her, piece by piece, section by section-before going any further. So, as she continued to soul-kiss Gail more fervently than ever, she rubbed Gail's breasts with her own.

Next, the sleek tummies became entwined.

Finally, the revolving kneecaps, catching Gail's own very pretty, rounded and dimpled ones somehow inside of Sabrina's also dimpled but larger and harder pair, rolling them-around and around and around-over and over and over again.

All of the long, symmetrical legs that belonged so proudly to the person of Sabrina Towers, those tapered curvaceous gams, came into play-all of the muscles in the thighs and calves dancing around like little rippling, writhing snakes.

And Sabrina kept right on, soul-kissing and revolving the entwined pairs of legs-performing both feats at the same time.

Sabrina was directly facing Gail. Now Sabrina rammed herself forward and thrust all of herself up against Gail at once: the lips, the breasts, the tummy and legs-all of them jammed tight as the bed bounced and creaked stridently!

As if by some strange magic, the snappers on Gail's bra were popped from out of their hooks, and the bra came gliding down onto the quilt, without Gail ever even realizing it was happening, until it was completely off.

Sabrina then gently prodded Gail to rise up from the bed, so that she could get at the brief, wispy scanties. Gail acquiesced. Then the scanties, too, came sliding and gliding down, over Gail's long, curvy, streamlined legs and off, until Gail sat there-stark naked in all of her captivating, juicy lusciousness.

Sabrina fairly frothed at her mouth and licked her chops, her almond-shaped grayish-green cat's eyes, gaping saucers in her head.

Then, not being able to contain herself or her inner emotions any longer, she pried the pretty pink labia lips apart with her reaching hands, then buried her entire head deep inside the red lobster-like walls of the glistening, inviting cunt.

Sabrina licked and lapped inside there greedily, first shooting out her tongue like a lance-as if it was a fully-erect male penis. Then she licked and lapped and sucked.

When the pre-secretion gave way to definite spasms that squirted forth maiden-juice the form and size of virtual cupcakes, Sabrina chewed each and every one of them up with her teeth gingerly, then swallowed the sticky, blissful bits of maiden-juice all down.

Gail was berserk with ecstasy. Never in her entire life had she felt such libidinal pressure put on her being. She tossed and threshed and moaned, then raked her fingernails blindly across the back of Sabrina's neck and along the entire back itself.

But Sabrina paid the raking nails absolutely no heed, as she kept right on devouring the cunt. And she had all to do to contain herself from chewing the cunt itself up to little bits and shreds and pieces, so demonically possessed-in such an amuck frenzy was she.

Gail kept on coming and coming and coming. Even when she thought the very last vestige of the precious passion juice had been sapped and oozed out of her, still, her thighs quivered and trembled and her entire cunt pulsated and quaked.

Load after load after load, she dropped. Load after load after load. Until she dropped them all, and then some, with Sabrina greedily devouring each and every one-never seeming to get her fill-even after it was all over and Gail lay there, limply on the bed! . . .

CHAPTER 8

Although Gail lay there, all pooped out and thoroughly drained dry, Sabrina Towers still didn't have enough, apparently, because she was now on her feet, in the direct process of getting undressed.

Sabrina removed her bra, then stepped out of her panty-briefs, thereby placing her in the same exact state Gail already was in a long time ago-stark naked in all of Sabrina's own sultry, captivating, statuesque splendor.

Now it was Gail's turn to gasp with amazement at what she saw.

Never in her entire life did she see such a perfectly sculptured, olive-toned body.

No, never!

Such big, hard, perfect tits Sabrina had, dwarfing Gail's own honey dew melons with their delectable candied-cherry tips, with a pair of enormous, up-thrust and hard Papaya Melons that were perfectly adorned with two intensely red and ripe, fuzzy strawberry prisms.

At the sight of such succulent goodies, right then and there, Gail felt like regressing back to the oral-sucking stage and sucking on those inviting strawberry-nipples all night long!

Furthermore, although Gail had seen most of Sabrina's legs before, when they were both sitting around there in just their respective two-piece undie set, now Gail could discern all of their shapely length and curvaceous symmetry, along with the obtrusive manifestation of Sabrina's own precious treasure-chest-her perfect and glorious, ebony-black, V-shaped cunt-which glistened and gleamed rather strangely in the greenish light, simulating the appearance of some sleek and polished, well-oiled gun steel.

Last but not least, Gail had caught a brief, fleeting glimpse of Sabrina's backside, in that split second when she had turned around, her back to Gail, in the process of culminating her disrobing and stepping out of the panty-briefs. And in the also brief moment it had taken for her to stand up on her feet and bend somewhat over, Gail could see the two high and lilting, firm mounds, which were also most intriguingly and prettily dimpled in each cheek.

It was the sort of up-thrust, jutting backside which Rita Hay worth, that torrid Hollywood bombshell of yesteryear, had been so famous for and captivated so many gaping men's eyes with for years.

Taken in totality, Gail found Sabrina Towers to be a perfect version of Tondeleyo, the Jungle Goddess of Love, which Hedy LaMarr had portrayed in that Hollywood classic of jungle passion, White Cargo, so many years ago now.

But whereas, it had been rumored that the illustrious Miss LaMarr didn't play the role entirely by herself, but was a composite, using one girl for the legs and another for the breasts, only Heddy's exquisite and inimitable face being her own, at least as Tondeleyo appeared on the film posters, used for advertising purposes, utilized outside the given theater to lure male patrons in wherever White Cargo was playing, Sabrina Towers was a composite figure of Tondeleyo all by herself-all rolled into one-in Gail's view.

Sabrina was endowed with the perfectly sculptured face and raven-black hair of a Suzanne

Pleshette, the breasts and eyes of a Sophia Loren, the lilting, jutting backside of a Rita Hayworth, and the long, tapered, streamlined legs of a Jane Fonda!

And Gail now, for her own part, also gaping, was forced to lick her chops with intense longing and a deep, feverish craving. Perhaps she would have liked to, besides suckling at those Papaya Melons for breasts of Sabrina, go down on her and eat out her cunt.

However, Gail never got the chance to express her own aggressive impulses, as, from that time onward-just like before-Sabrina swarmed all over her and completely overwhelmed Gail, but utterly!

When Sabrina sat back down on the bed to face Gail, she assumed the exact same position as she had been in previously, when they had been wearing their respective undies set and before Sabrina had devoured her cunt up so, except that there were certain slight variations added.

Sabrina rammed her lips against Gail's, parting them and forcing them open. Sabrina thrust her hard cannon-ball-like breasts against Gail's own also hard but relatively softer and more pliable honeydew melons, inverting them at the very point of the candied-cherry tips. Sabrina's svelte, flat-lined, well-muscled stomach became a concrete wall of granite next to Gail's.

But it was with the legs-those long, strong, tapered legs of hers-that Sabrina performed her main variations.

She wrapped one leg around a leg of Gail's. But the other, she doubled-up and drew the kneecap directly over Gail's precious honeycomb for a twat.

Then with a snarl more animal than human erupting from Sabrina's raspy throat, she went at Gail like the sleek jungle-cat-the lithe, graceful pantheress she was-first, arching her back, then bringing all of herself into motion at once.

Sabrina paused only to instruct Gail properly.

"Put your arms around me, honey, and hold on, real tight. We're going for a nice, fast ride, you and I. What I'm going to show you now will make a fucking session with any man look real sick. Understand, baby?"

"Yes, Sabrina," Gail acquiesced, doing as she was told.

Sabrina's arms entwined around Gail's waist, in turn, also gripping it firmly and tightly, forcing Gail even further in and closer up against her yet.

Then they were off: lips glued to lips, breasts, tummy to tummy, leg around leg, Sabrina rubbing, rubbing, rubbing-pressing, pressing, pressing.

The two supple female bodies were bouncing up and down-ever higher, harder and more violently. And, as they did so, the bed-springs groaned, whined and creaked stridently-until Gail was afraid lest they break the very bed down!

But Sabrina didn't give this any heed. All caution was thrown to the winds now, as the doubled-up whirling, revolving disc, that was Sabrina's own delectable kneecap, was directly and most rhythmically massaging the pinkish outer labia lips of the honeycomb for a delectable cunt.

Gail felt all of her lovely being ensnared in sheer rapture and vibrating from head to toe. Sabrina was driving her plumb-clear out of her mind with her most tantalizing, maddening tactics.

"Oh-hhh, Sabrina," Gail was forced to moan forlornly. "You've got me worked up to such a fever-pitch, that I'm as tense as I was before you ever ate my snatch. So I'll surely go mad if you don't do something soon and let me have some relief again. Please, Sabrina darling, do something. Please, please-oh, PLEASE!"

"Soon, Gail pet," Sabrina retorted quite happily and triumphantly-glad she had gotten Gail so worked up again in such a short period of time. "Just have some patience. In a few minutes now, it will all be over-I promise," Sabrina added, by way of explanation. "In just a few minutes," the hypnotic, musical voice droned on, assuring her.

However, Sabrina's ensuing actions glaringly contradicted her recently uttered, previous words, as she kept right on with what she had been doing before, but in more of a wild frenzy than ever-her cannon-balls for breasts flapping like berserk bat-wings, hitting Gail's breasts with them, Sabrina, screeching at the top of her voice like a wild, crazy shrew, while, all the time, the revolving disc that was Sabrina's most activated kneecap was still busy-rubbing, rubbing, rubbing the lips of Gail's aching cunt.

They were both bouncing harder and faster-more emphatically than ever before-as the bed-springs whined and creaked even more stridently.

Still, Sabrina kept right on: riding her, riding her, riding her!

Suddenly, Sabrina, instinctively sensing from the sticky, gooey wetness that was escaping from the pink labia lips of Gail's tender young cunt against her ever revolving kneecap that Gail was ready to be closed in on for the kill, removed the kneecap and took it away. She bent down low, pried the folds of the labia lips apart with both her hands, then thrust the entirety of one hand all the way up and in there-reaching out-searching and probing.

"EEEEEEE!" racked Gail's throat, as all of her being rocked and vibrated to Sabrina's adroit manipulations inside her most eager twat.

"EEEEEE!" Gail screeched again.

Then Gail felt the return of the spasmodic snapping and twitching deep down inside of her-snapping and twitching away like some angry, aroused crab-unable to stop.

And as the proverbial crab, that was the jaws of her pussy, continued to snap and twitch, Gail felt the spasms give way to oozing spurts-just like before.

And Sabrina, quick to take advantage of it, once again used both of her hands to pry the labia lips apart. Then she placed her lips up against the raised opened hump of the honeycomb, licking out with her tongue, then sucking it all in and chewing it all up-not wanting to lose one precious drop of Gail's maiden-juice that was, to Sabrina, nature's Elixir of Ecstasy.

And even after Gail had gone dry, still, Sabrina kept right on eating away at the cunt which was like some soggy, squashy old wash rag now greedily chewing away at the coarse sanguinary walls on the inside of the snatch, along with, nipping at the hard little clit.

In her fervent intensity, it was a sheer wonder that Sabrina Towers didn't devour Gail's entire cunt up completely-for once and all time-forever and ever more! . . .

Now that it was all over, Sabrina, after pausing for some moments to catch her expired breath, as well as also giving Gail a chance to somewhat recuperate her drained powers, finally thrust herself up on an elbow, turned to face Gail and inquired of her, most anxiously:

"Well, Gail pet, was it good, hmmm?"

"Yes, Sabrina darling. It sure was."

"Just how good?" Sabrina spurred her on.

"Oh, very, very good!"

"That's nice. I'm glad to hear it. And was it...better than with any...man you've ever...had, too?"

"Yes. Up till now, it is, Sabrina."

"You mean, you still intend to become involved with men after this?"

"Why, certainly, Sabrina darling," Gail tittered, puckering up her demure, lovely face merrily. "After all, how can I ever make any comparisons, otherwise, and really be sure that this way-your way-is the best?" Gail ended on a feigned note of naivet�.

Then suddenly realizing that Gail was just teasing her-pulling her leg-Sabrina became utterly beside herself, and she was forced to exclaim, as so many others who ever became personally involved with Gail Summers invariably did:

"Why, you little Deviless, you!"

Gail laughed happily at this, her eyes dancing, her little tummy moving spasmodically.

And in her utter exasperation, Sabrina lost control of herself and gave Gail two full, backhanded spanks on her bare, up-thrust, most lilting bottom.

The flesh quivered and bounced emphatically.

Gail squealed as the spanks landed. Then she resumed her previous tittering and laughing-even more fervently than ever.

Seeing this, and that it was absolutely no use in trying to deal with the likes of her Sabrina abruptly got to her feet and announced curtly:

"I'm going to the bathroom now, Gail, so that I can...clean myself...up-wash my hands of the...whole...affair!. . . "

CHAPTER 9

Although Gail Summers had such a large number of affairs in the proverbial hayloft, resulting in, almost always, brief but frenzied interludes of fucking and sucking, now that Gail reflected back on all of them, en masse, all that she could come up with mostly was a sea of blank faces!

Actually, the only men in her life whom she could recall, clearly and vividly, were the three men she had married.

Not that Gail Summers was old-fashioned and harbored any real sense of guilt, as such, by indulging in the forbidden fruits without having proper recognition in the eyes of organized Society. Rather, if anything, Gail Summers was a quite natural and most uninhibited Bohemian by nature-a cool, slick chick-one who was a real swinger, and who liked "to rock right around the clock!"

No, it went much deeper than that.

Gail Summers sought something extra-special in the marital state. It was as though marriage was the magic wand which could solve all of her emotional problems with one single swoop, and give her a sense of inner security-a feeling of being able to cling to a powerful figure-a father-image, if you will, who was ultra-handsome, all-knowing and incredibly strong.

In other words, the state of marriage, to Gail, represented something far more than having some mere, casual affair of fucking and being fucked, sucking and being sucked. She craved for more than just a mere fling or a ball. Of course, she, being the supreme realist that she was, settled for a real quickie and/or one-night stand when nothing else was available to her at the time. But the likes of this still wasn't her actual preference.

Now, Gail had been out in Hollywood for some twenty-five years. And in those two-and-a-half decades, she approached the proverbial altar of marriage but three times-which was, indeed, a relatively rare number, considering other comparable movie stars' records-wearing out a given marriage and changing it in for a new mate quicker and more frequently than they changed their shoes!

Up till the time after the Second World War, be it known, from which date started the influx of foreign pictures, which were much more realistic and sexy than the American vintage, the film colony was quite prudish and strict in its own moral code. It wasn't that they didn't like to swing, but rather they were afraid to, for fear of repercussions at the box-office, especially with the bulk of those provincial Americans who went to see the "wholesome" Andy Hardy and Dr. Kildare series regularly.

But once those realistic and sexy foreign films made alarming in-roads at the box office-to such an extent, that Hollywood was forced to compete-since the starlets from the Continent were open and brazen swingers, admitting to shacking up with a man without the benefit of a marriage certificate and it didn't seem to at all hurt their image at the box office, by the same token, the American starlets in the "new look" pictures hastened to follow suit.

But, in the good old days, it was virtually impossible to have a sustained affair without getting married. So it was, that while the bulk of the members of the Hollywood film colony got married for convenience, Gail Summers was one person who happened to be really sincere when she approached the state of matrimony. She was forever desperately searching and seeking, but unfortunately...in vain.

All three of her designated mates were of vastly different types.

It was a definite chain reaction:

Seeing that marriage was a failure with the first type, Gail was driven to try a second, entirely different type altogether. And when the second marriage failed also, although for entirely different reasons, ending in bitter disappointment, Gail was driven to try for still a third.

Paradoxically, with the last two, although they were entirely different basic types, they still had one thing in common: they both liked to suck her cunt! The third one made a real ritual out of it, placing her up on a simulated pedestal and worshipping at her feet as a virtual goddess, preferring to suck out her twat when she had her monthly period and the menstrual blood flowed freely, -which he would eagerly lick and lap up, exclaiming that it tasted to him like the richest of wines!

And after that-those three ill-fated marriages with Gail-then what?

There were no basic types left for her.

All that was left, in the later years, was a quickie and a one-night-stand of balling it up, with all of the personal recriminations and bitter remorse which inevitably followed on the wake of the after-math.

Yes, that was all there was left for her!

Of the three men whom Gail married, the one who made the most indelible impression on her, by far, was her first husband, Douglas Cranston.

It wasn't only because he was the first. Far more important than that, even, he seemed to have just about everything to offer-in the person of himself-that any girl could only wish for and dream about.

Douglas Cranston was handsome, just short of being thirty at the time he married Gail, and in his very prime.

He was a most talented hot-trumpet-playing band leader whom the teen-age girly bobby-sockers all went simply ga-ga over and swooned with sheer delirium: they screamed and became hysterical, their little cunts naturally opening wide as they did so-just longing to have his heavenly prick shoved all the way up and in there-forever and ever more!

Douglas Cranston also was rich, coming from a bona-fide blue-blood family, and didn't need to front a band to make a living; irregardless of any of that, he was well set for life.

And if that still wasn't enough, Cranston also was very well read and highly educated. In his own most unusual and exotic home, he had a huge collection of books and phonograph records second to none, and all in the very best of taste.

Yes, Douglas Cranston intrigued Gail Summers, as he did just about every other teen-age girl with a twat in the entire country, and they only knew him from afar-at a great distance.

But when a girl got real close to him, as Gail Summers was fated to do, she simply had to go ape over him and swoon.

She simply HAD TO!

Gail met Douglas Cranston when she was twenty-one. She had been assigned to co-star with him in a picture called Dig the Sharp Chick. This also represented Gail's first role as a feature starlet in any picture, although, of course, she took second billing to Cranston.

Most movie stars, Gail found, photographed far better in the movies than they did in person. This wasn't the case with Douglas Cranston, however. He was the exception who proved the good old rule.

"Doug," (as Gail came to fondly call him) wasn't unusually tall-around five-ten or thereabouts. But he was built like a block of granite, and in perfect proportion. The features of his face were sharply etched and chiseled; he bore a remarkable resemblance to Ray Milland, except that Cranston had two pretty dimples on the sides of his mouth when he smiled, and which paradoxically came out as the sneering smirk of the perennial wise guy and iconoclast.

However, just like the handsome and more amiable Milland, Cranston had jet-black hair parted razor-sharp on the left side, and beautiful, laughing sea-blue eyes.

He had a rather husky but most vibrant and compelling speaking-voice. He was always a sharp dresser, in impeccable modern taste, wearing whatever happened to be the vogue, but a good several years ahead of time-made-to-order for him. And . , . Gail Summers fell head-over-heels in love with him practically on sight-the first time she got close to this most unusual male specimen -even before he actually spoke!

As an actress, Gail was on the upgrade, but definitely so. Not only had she been cast in the wanted role of the "heroine," but she had also been upped in salary to the fabulous sum, (in those days and to her) of $500 per week.

Nevertheless, for many weeks during the actual shooting of the picture, Douglas Cranston treated her as though she was just some mere chambermaid. He hardly even looked at her-rarely spoke. Then, when he did happen to gaze in her direction, he either smirked or scowled sarcastically, and that only when the director of the picture,the dauntless and most exacting Peter Stromberg -felt it was necessary to cut a given scene and do a retake, Cranston, obviously thrusting the entire blame on Gail for her inexperience and being so green as an actress.

Although Gail felt keen pangs of sorrow and deep remorse, this only made her heart throb for him the ever more keenly! . . .

Now, the basic plot of the picture was a very simple one and in perfect keeping with the usual Hollywood, stereotyped formula of that day:

Douglas Cranston played what he actually was in real life-a band-leader. Gail portrayed the girl singer with his band. She was madly in love with him, and even though she was very sexy-looking, a home type of girl at heart:

Her object in the picture is to get Doug to give up chasing the broads and balling it with them, to settle down with her to a routine life of marital existence, and raise a windrow of screaming, snotting brats. In addition to which, they could continue with the orchestra and their careers-make pretty music together-thereby permitting them both to have their cake and be able to eat it, too.

However, Doug shuddered at the very thought of such a banal, routine life, being forever the playboy at heart. So Gail becomes desperate and does everything to thwart him as a band-leader, fouling him up from getting certain prime engagements for his orchestra, and those that he does get, from performing them well. All this was done purely out of malice and spite by Gail, to gain his attention of her in the picture-one way or the other.

Doug becomes steamed at her. He would have certainly fired Gail if she didn't have a contract with him and his orchestra.

But there's another factor which is prevalent, as well:

The picture, subtly, at this conjecture, shows that Doug-despite all that he can do to prevent it-is also falling in love with Gail, in turn, but is so angry with her, that he doesn't want to admit it.

At the culmination of the picture, he blows his top, turns Gail across his lap-right there, on the very band-stand-and resoundingly spanks her bottom with a pair of fast-wielded drum-sticks.

The police are sent for, and Doug is arrested. Gail visits him in jail, and tells him that: "she is not angry with him, and she really deserved the torrid spanking he gave her." This softens up Doug's attitude toward Gail considerably.

On the day of his trial, when Gail agrees to drop charges against him, but only if he will marry her, Doug finally relents and grudgingly gives in. The judge performs the marriage-ceremony right then and there, in the very courtroom, to the tumultuous cheers of the multitude of spectators, thereby bringing down the curtain and calling finis in the typical Hollywood fashion of yesteryear! . . .

It was at the end of the first day of the shooting of the big spanking-scene, after poor

Gail had her bottom used for a snare-drum six times, that the ice which was harbored inside of Douglas Cranston finally broke down and melted in her behalf.

He knocked on the door of her dressing room. And when he gained admittance, he found her gingerly massaging her burning, tingling bottom, a most pained expression, connoting dire hurt and anguish, all over her demure, pretty face.

"Yes, Mr. Cranston? What is it?" Gail inquired, in a most formal tone of voice.

"Gee, you've had it pretty rough out there today," Douglas Cranston exclaimed, with surprising empathy. "Didn't you, kiddo?"

"Oh, I'll be all right, Mr. Cranston. It's all part of the game. I've been through this sort of thing before, you know. So, I'll survive. Don't worry about that."

"But you never had it quite so rough as this, did you, kiddo?" Doug persisted, still in that same soft, most sympathetic tone of voice.

"No-ooo. I guess not, Mr. Cranston," Gail replied, for her own part, still using that formal tone on him.

"So I tell you what, Gail baby . . . "

"Yes, Mr. Cranston?"

"I have a proposal to make. . . "

"Yes, Mr. Cranston?" she subtly spurred him on.

"What say we go out and have a real nice, big dinner together-champagne and the whole works? After all," he added, speaking quite rapidly so that Gail wouldn't have a chance to even think and then possibly turn his invitation down, "we're nearing the end of the picture now, so we may as well at least get somewhat better acquainted with one another and become closer...friends. Doesn't this make sense-I ask you, Gail baby?"

"Yes, I guess it does, Mr. Cranston," Gail was forced to admit, even as her heart pumped like a steam-engine and her pulse skipped crazily.

"So does that mean, you'll accept, Gail baby? You'll go to dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes, Mr. Cranston, it does. I can't see any real reason why I should refuse. After all, I didn't make any other appointment," she added sweetly and contritely. "Yes, I'll accept your invitation, Mr. Cranston."

"And, stop calling me 'Mr. Cranston,' will ya, for Heaven's sake? It makes me feel like some real old fogey. Call me Doug from now on; understand, kiddo?"

"Yes . . . 'DOUG!'. . . "

CHAPTER 10

It was as though Gail had been transported into another World altogether-one entirely abstract and acutely differentiated from Hollywood and the Land of Make Believe!

The entire interior of Douglas Cranston's home was done in a most brilliant apricot-orange hue, with a pronounced Japanese motif.

But it was the bedroom which was the most exotic and mysterious-looking room of the three main ones, which caught Gail's eye and held her rapt with fascination. Yes, this was the one which engrossed her most of all: It was a most obtrusive color-scheme of dazzling splendor and brilliant contrast:

It started off with a wall-to-wall orange carpeting underfoot, which was repeated by the three double closet doors, all of the doors having strange, round, brass wheel-like knobs with an intricate Japanese insignia interwoven into their inner circle.

Black was the cooling contrast carried out by the Japanese-chest nightstands and bedspreads, along with a chair and a hassock which looked as if they were covered with bamboo, even though, it was some material or other, the framework of both being black.

The Oriental theme was successfully fulfilled and carried out with the accessories. This consisted of: a tea caddy lamp base of jade-green set on a square black, Oriental-type table, with an antique obi-sash, as the final touch, for the bedspread trim:

For a fraction of a moment, Gail, who was now in the bedroom with Douglas Cranston, just being married to him on this very day, thought that she was in the palace of some worshipper-some High Lord of the Rising Sun in quaint, picturesque, exotic Japan.

It was actually similar to the way they portrayed such royal rooms in the movies which Gail had remembered seeing; also the way they pictured them in school history-readers; and the way she, herself, would visualize such a room as being, from her own concept.

There was only one thing wrong:

This was, that to Gail's way of thinking, Douglas Cranston didn't belong in such a room, although, come to think of it, the features of his handsome countenance took on an Oriental cast to it, making him look either like a Victor Mature or a Kirk Douglas, rather than a Ray Milland who he usually most closely approximated.

But somehow, Gail had always thought of Douglas Cranston as being the most typical and red-blooded of Americans-a real bona-fide Yankee-as much so as apple pie and the Fourth of July, say.

This was the one fixed image he had constantly projected onto her-consciously or unconsciously-and Gail couldn't quite bring herself to force it out and reject it.

Nevertheless, reality denied her preceding image right there before her very eyes and cast it out, utterly obliterating it-and...it made Gail feel most weird and strange.

It gave her the creeps. It honestly did. It made little trickling chills circulate seepingly up and down her spine!. . .

This was to be the first night of their "honeymoon."

Actually, there wasn't going to be any real honeymoon, as such, because, even though they had finished with making Dig the Sharp Chick, Gail had to immediately start in on another picture she was slated to star in-a week from then, to be exact. And also at that time, Doug was scheduled to start a cross-country tour with his band, doing a string of one-night-stands and college-proms.

So they both agreed, that a week wasn't ample time to go on a real honeymoon; they would take in all the time together they could at Doug's, (now also Gail's) home, and later, when both of their schedules would simultaneously permit it, they would embark on a belated but much more extended honeymoon . . .

At present, they were both sitting side by side, lying back, cross-ways, on the black-covered bed. They were idly toying with cocktail glasses, after having drained about half of the contents of the bubbly vintage-champagne which Doug had fetched for them down at the bar in the living room.

For some time now, Doug had went into a monologue at great length, which was actually more of a harangue. During the course of it, he had expounded to Gail his philosophy on life, in general, and his views on the subject of women, in particular.

Gail didn't say very much throughout the course of it in reply. Actually, there wasn't too much she could say then, being a relatively green kid of twenty. Besides which, she didn't view what he said very seriously; she took it mainly as an abstract intellectual exercise, perpetrated by him to duly impress her and show her he was the Master-which she was glad to concede anyway, a priori.

Most of Doug's philosophical tenets stemmed from the famous and popular German philosopher, Schopenhauer, whose bitter, cynical pessimism was classified by professional scholars of Philosophy under the heading of "Romanticism."

Doug threw such epigrams at her as "If beautiful music is playing and a man is tone-deaf, this doesn't mean to construe that the music is not playing; it just means that the man is deaf!"

This sounded very profound, witty and significant to Gail at the time. But in later years, when she reflected upon it, she realized that Beethoven, for example, wrote most of his great music when he was deaf, and he actually had to be turned around to see the audience wildly applauding one of his great works which had just been performed !

Then Doug, endeavoring to sum up all of Schopenhauer's philosophy in one sentence, came up with this gem:

"The only thing really worthwhile and thoroughly enjoyable in this life is taking a good shit!"

And in a way, this one sentence did sum up the morbid German pessimist's entire philosophy, because he firmly believed: "that the only thing really noble was to stop propagating the species, and let the human-race die as an unsuccessful experiment perpetrated by Mother Nature."

He further believed: "that one shouldn't look for pleasure in this life, as such, but the avoidance of pain." In other words, one should retreat into his shell in some sort of a monastery-like a Yogi monk.

All of this impressed Gail greatly at the time. However, when she looked back on Doug and his acceptance of the Schopenhauer dictums many years later, after having acquired much more experience and wisdom, and accordingly, much more maturity as well, Gail saw Doug's being a devoted disciple as the most contradictory and grotesque aspect about him of all-far more so than the superficiality of having his den decked out in a Japanese motif, with him seemingly being the all-American boy that he was.

Gail put her finger on it, precisely why, too: Schopenhauer's philosophy best fitted the failures in life-the ones who were born poor, ordinary-looking, and lacking in talent; it served to give them some compensation for their lot. But with a person like Doug, who was born so fortunate and was endowed with everything, this was a mock travesty on life and a downright disgrace.

By the very same token, it was his going overboard for such a morbid, bitter philosophy which lent him such an unmistakable aura of individuality and pent-up violence.

Then again, more than anything else, Gail speculated, Doug might have just been paying lip-service to Schopenhauer because he also low-rated women so. He postulated in one of his Selected Essays on Women: "that they were thoroughly inferior creatures to the male of the species, both physically and mentally."

And furthermore: "that the main reason they could play with little children for hours, drooling over them, while men soon lost patience with this, was because they were so much like children themselves and mentally akin to them!"

Doug, who had a very logical bent of mind, knew how to select the essence of any philosophy, and provide some concrete examples:

He cited Japanese women, comparing them with their American sisters across the continent, and he virtually went into ecstasy how much more feminine they were, more devoted and subservient to a man, who was their sole and irrefutable Lord and Master. He gave this as his main reason why more and more American men were marrying them and coming back to this country with Japanese women. Whereas, American women, Doug viewed as spoiled, cold, domineering, selfish and certainly most unfeminine:

"Yes, Gail," he endeavored to sum up, "most American women only marry men for what they can get out of them, and not for any real feeling for their mates, as such-which makes them legal prostitutes."

Alas, this was something which Gail, even at the tender age of twenty, could understand and be sufficiently irked so as to reply, somewhat annoyed and in a voice tinged with an edge of sarcasm:

"Oh, come on, Doug darling. Surely it isn't as bad as all that!"

"Oh yes it is, too," he insisted. But, like I said, in some countries of Europe and The Orient-but especially in Japan-things are vastly different. There, the men still wear the pants and give the orders, while the women are all feminine and soft-sweet, passive and gentle-and all they live for is to satisfy their proper mates."

"And is that what you expect from me, Doug darling? Complete passivity and subservience?"

"Yes, Gail dearest," Doug replied, quite soberly and seriously. "That is...if you're big enough for it."

"Is any woman, Doug? Is any woman, really?"

"In this country here? Very few, Gail. Frankly, I have yet to find the right one, although I have tried out three of them in marriage, already-as you very well know-which makes me a three-time loser."

"Yes, Doug. And I'm now the fourth. When you reach ten, you will score a touchdown-or something like that; won't you?" she tittered, wrinkling up her pretty, demure face most cutely and gleefully.

"No-ooo, Gail. This is no time to kid around. I'm being quite serious."

"All right, Doug darling," Gail fell in with his persistent pedantic mood, "be 'serious.' "

"So, if you place yourself in my hands-let yourself completely go, body and soul-I promise to open new doors for you and your future life as my accepted mate which you hadn't even dreamed existed as yet. So will you place yourself in my hands, huh, Gail dearest?"

"Uh-huh. So just what is it that you want me to do-ooo? Exactly where should I start?"

"Right here and now, Gail baby. 'Cause I'm now going to take you. However, I'm not going to do so like some sick, weak, spineless American jerk-off. No, Gail baby. I'm gonna take you the way an Oriental-a Japanese male, if you will-takes his woman. I'm going to be real strong, and take you real hard. I'm going to hurt you, Gail baby-not only this time, but every time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-Yess, Doug."

"I'm going to fuck you like mad, fuck you like crazy-fuck, fuck, fuck-fuck the livin' shit out of you, doll. So what do you say, Gail baby? Think you are game for it, huh, even though I'll probably make you shit green?"

Then Gail calmly and soberly replied, looking him straight in the eyes as she did so:

"If I can take all of those ferocious spankings I've been taking all of my life in the movies up till now, I can take just about anything else, too, that you may also dish out. So take me, Doug darling. Take me hard, take me rough, take me cruel. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. 'Fuck the livin' shit out of me' like you say and even 'make me shit green.' Only, stop all of this bickering and chatter and take me, already....Take me, take me, take me...Fuck me, fuck me-oh, please, I beg of you, Doug darling-fuck me-eee!" Gail's voice trailed off in a tremulous, cajoling wail.

"No sooner said than done, Gail baby!" exclaimed Doug Cranston, most enthusiastically, but with a certain tenseness, stemming from keen anticipation, coming into his voice, as all of his well-toned muscles coiled themselves up, to unwind and spring at his helplessly awaiting and most eager prey!. . .

Doug quickly reached up and turned the three-way bed-lamp, which had a scarlet-red base on an also scarlet-colored table, down to the first strength light. Then he returned all of his attention to Gail-to her and her, alone-from that time onward!

At first, truth to tell, Gail felt a keen sense of disappointment, as she found Doug Cranston's style of lovemaking not really any different from most of the other men she had shared intimacy with in the past till then.

Doug took his time. He went through the preliminary-stages of kissing, fondling and caressing, until involuntarily, Gail's whole being began to naturally grow slightly tepid.

Then he arose to his feet and quickly unsashed his lounging-robe. He wasn't wearing anything at all underneath it, so he stood there before her, stark naked!

Now, Gail suddenly became happily pleased and placed in the dire throes of rapture.

She was happy at the way he looked-so strong and solidly built, with not a bit of fat manifest or a single sinew out of line-like, indeed, a sculptured Greek God!

Then, Gail liked the way he smelled, too, with the exotic and most invigorating Oriental-balm he had deftly administered all over his remarkable body.

Her head began to reel lightly and she felt tipsy, too, being on the verge of actually swooning.

Then, his experienced hands reached out and guided her somewhat to her feet so that he could disrobe her also.

The two wispy pieces of apparel that were the sheer, flimsy pajama-set seemed to be divested off of her as if by some strange magic-as if it were done by the powers of mental telepathy-and no human hands had ever even touched her.

Now, they were both stark naked-stark naked in all of their captivating, youthful splendor.

They silently gazed at each other, their respective pair of eyes speaking messages of drooling hunger, as their eyes feasted and they simultaneously attempted to become acclimated and attuned to the strangeness of each other, yet, enjoyed the sheer delight in that very strangeness.

Then, with a little low but wailing animal-like cry erupting from his throat, Doug raced toward her, sending Gail falling back onto the bed, with him falling directly on top of her.

What he did from here on out was no longer slow and lingering, but quick and decisive:

Doug hurt Gail-hurt her in his every move and action!. . .

CHAPTER ll

Doug hurt Gail with. everything he had: with his crushing lips, his strong pliers for hands, his powerful, barrel-like, surging chest, and his rippling telephone-cables for legs.

And he hurt her everywhere-everywhere that was conceivable-which eventually included her delectable cunt and her tight, little brown asshole:

He bruised her lips, and he kissed her so hard, that he made her teeth rattle and chatter together uncontrollably.

His strong fingers twisted, wrenched and suctioned her two twin-mounds of glory that were her succulent honeydew melons for breasts, particularly lingering at the enticing candied-cherry tips. And as he suctioned a given swelled gourd of fruit with the entirety of one hand, he simultaneously tugged, pulled and yanked at the nipple with the gripping inert thumb and index-finger of his other hand, bringing a slight film of mist, that were involuntary tears, to Gail's beautiful eyes.

Then, being done with her breasts and having his fill of them, feeling them swell to an incredible size and hardness to his very touch and becoming scorching hot-so hot, that they really burned his hands-he went down to those other mounds of hers that were her wonderfully round, curvy and firm, naturally undulating hips.

First, he rammed his powerful, barrel-like, matted chest against her now firm and fully swelled bosom, getting in real tight and close and solidifying his position. Then his hands worked themselves along the bedspread, and managed to get under those curvy hips, pushing them up and into his hands-all of their fullness, their bounciness, their round and dimpled curvaceousness.

Whereas he had been somewhat reticent and careful with the more tender area of the bosom, with her hips-especially those meaty, dimpled cheeks of her behind-he really let himself go with reckless abandonment.

He slapped and slapped at them real hard, until they were thoroughly scorched and reddened. Next, he pinched them. He twisted, wrenched and rolled them all the way around and over, until he had all but turned them completely inside-out!

"Oh, oh, oh-hhh," Gail shuddered and convulsed, then moaned aloud. "Oh, Big Daddy-O!"

Gail was made to screech openly now, feeling those pliers that were his incredibly strong fingers, inflict hurt upon hurt on her-not showing her the least bit of consideration there.

Yes, she reflected through her benumbed brain, he was hurting her and she was being made to screech. But she found all of the hurt that was being done to be delicious-most delicious!

So, Sabrina Tower's intuition was right about her, after all, hmmm? she mused to herself.

She really was a Masochist, 'way-down-deep!

Yes, Gail enjoyed being hurt and having physical pain inflicted upon her bare and soft, young and pliable flesh.

Nor was it really a question of what was being done, but who was doing the doing!

Doug closed in for the kill by bringing both of his hands together, clasping them, and working them into a taut, balled-fist juggernaut. He parted her legs with his own strong kneecaps. Then he thrust the entire balled-fist juggernaut and rammed it all the way up and in there-to the very depths of her throbbing palpitating cunt.

And once it was deep inside of the hot, dark, dank walls, the balled-fist came apart and revolved around exploringly, groping then stroking and pressing in just the exact spots-particularly by her hard, smooth young clit-to produce the desired response.

Soon, all of Gail's entire entity was writhing and pulsating in a dire frenzy. Wildly, she stirred and moaned, then screeched and yelled, conjointly twisting and threshing about, involuntarily arching her back like some sleek young jungle cat-a virtual tigress-setting herself up to absorb all the rest of his forthcoming onslaught.

Suddenly, the balled-fist juggernaut was entirely removed, and, for a fraction of a moment, Gail hung up there, in a state of highly frustrated and tense suspended-animation, feeling a keen sense of emptiness 'way-down-deep inside of her.

Then something else was entering her being in place of the previous balled-fist:

It was something that, while it wasn't quite as thick, was still much longer, harder and far more active and animated:

It was that mighty prick of his!

To Gail, it looked like a miniature torpedo and/or a long, sharp, pointed spike. Indeed, now she could clearly understand why some of the sidemen with his band fondly called him "Spike!"

His tool was far more effective on her than his previous fist had been, which was, true, much thicker, but far shorter, so that it couldn't really reach the total depths of her being and make her cream.

"EEEEEE!" Gail screeched tremulously with rapture, as her entire being quaked and shook.

Slowly but surely and most relentlessly, he worked ever more and more of the seemingly never-ending shaft in between the parted outer labia-lips of her quivering, throbbing cunt.

"Oh, Daddy," she moaned delirious. "Sweet big, wonderful Daddy-O. Put it to me; put it to me. Don't be afraid, my darling; give me more prick. Give me all you've got. Give me more, more, more. Ram it into me and through me, if you will. Prick, prick, prick-I want prick. Give me the all of you, balls and all-if you only can!"

And Doug gave it to her, or at least tried to. However, he found that his shaft was too long to also even try to work the balls up into her widened, juicy twat. Then he lost patience with even trying to, as, having worked all of his shaft in there, he was anxious to shoot his load, feeling the onset of painful blue-balls setting in-having held back with all his foreplay for such a relatively long time-with the terrific hard-on he had almost from the very beginning, of his first touch of Gail.

Now all of the solid bulk of his powerful form was in the process of rising and falling, as he had entrenched the position of his dick into her naturally cupped-cunt.

Rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling.

Doug arose ever higher, and came down ever harder, ever deeper with the hectic animation and sharp, piercing thrusts, his pointed spike penetrating the very infinite depths of her, as Gail swooned ever more deliriously with rapture, completely ga-ga over him now and that wonderful "Spike" of a prick of his.

Still, rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and falling!. . .

Everything was swimming and dancing most crazily before Gail's blurred vision now. She began to have the strangest sort of optical-illusion.

It was as though the very strange and mysterious, exotic-looking room had suddenly become vitally alive.

The jade-green vase had left its resting-lace on the black teakwood table and was hanging as a suspended apparition in mid-air. It was slanted across, the point aimed directly at one of those round, brass, circular-knobs on the double-closet-doors, with their most odd-looking, intricately-crocheted insignias.

It was pointed at one such circular knob in particular!

Suddenly, the vase began to move, still hanging up there, suspended in mid-air. The tipped-point rammed at the designated circular knob, in short, spasmodic strokes.

Then, as the strokes became ever longer, ever harder, ever deeper, the big ball-shaped bottom, which was, by far, the largest portion of the whole vase, also tried to enter the small, tight hole.

How it succeeded in entering it without becoming all busted and broken up-battered and shattered to little bits of jagged pieces-was one problem which Gail Summers was never able to successfully discern.

No, never.

Never, never, NEVER!

One thing Gail was sure of, though:

Any other kind of ball would have surely been broken if it ever tried to enter such a small, tight, hard hole as that.

Yes indeed: ANY OTHER KIND OF BALL WOULD SURELY HAVE BEEN. . . BROKEN...INSIDE THERE, because judging by the looks of things, IT WAS A REAL...BALL-BUSTER!.

A few moments after it was all over and they both had a sufficient respite to partially recapture their expired breaths, Doug turned to Gail and queried of her:

"Well, Gail baby, how was it? Did I fuck you good?"

"Yes, Doug. You sure did."

"How good?" he persisted-indeed, just as Sabrina Towers had done after their initial entanglement together.

"Oh, very, very 'good,' Doug darling."

"As good as you expected it to be with me, or better?"

"Much 'better.' It was the best-the very, very best there is-or ever could be."

"I'm sure glad of that, Gail baby.. . .But, did I

. . . hurt you very much?"

"Uh-huh. My flesh is all sore, and my poor saucy behind must be redder than anything-not to even mention the various black-an'-blue marks there'll surely be tomorrow from all of your pinching and other rough treatment of poor little me!" Gail pouted cutely.

"But it was worth it, huh?"

"It sure as hell was, Doug darling!"

"Think you're up to taking still some more...errr...punishment, pretty baby doll, huh?"

"You mean, here and now?" she gasped with sheer incredulity. "So soon after you-"

"Uh-huh."

"You're...up for it, already?" Gail was made even more incredulous by the mere thought.

"As 'up' as I'll ever be, baby doll," he retorted matter-of-factly. "Furthermore, I'm going to show you a new...twist-something, I feel quite sure has...never been done to you before."

"Oh? What's that? What could it possibly be?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Gail baby!"

And saying that, Doug suddenly grabbed her by the arms and spun her around and over-flush-down on her face-both her most curvaceous legs and lilting bottom an imminent and awaiting target for what he was about to do.

He slipped around, getting in back of her. Then, as if he was a jockey who had a race-horse, he mounted her, forcing her down with his powerful bulk of weight, his surging, rippling, corded leg-muscles closing around her thighs and pinning her down, most securely and tight.

His body began to rise and fall again, most rhythmically. But, totally unlike before, he took long and bold, sharp and deep strokes which parted the lush cheeks of her delectable behind, and penetrated into the furthest recesses of the small, round brown ass-hole-or at least tried to.

However, Gail, from the accumulation of so many such experiences derived at the unruly hands of Jack Bradley who had been fucking her in the ass regularly for so many years, since Doug wasn't knowing enough to use either some kind of cold cream of vaseline, so that he couldn't hurt the tender membranes, Gail jutted out her lovely ass and up-thrust her rectum-bone at his long, hard, pointed cock.

So, while he slipped in the small, round hole, he wasn't able to hurt her, and for his own part, he was delighted, feeling she had an especially tight and drawing ass-hole, as she kept working the rectum-bone up and grinding it in to the point of his inserted cock.

But even with all of her cool deliberation not to be hurt, still, Gail instinctively reacted to his prodding thrusts, as well.

She began to moan, soft, low and vibrantly, wit definite anticipation of his mighty, surging load of cum, indicated by his thrusts becoming ever more rapid, harder and deeper.

Setting herself for his imminent climax, Gail now up-thrust both fleshy, curvy, dimpled mounds of her ass, then slithered, bumped and grinded them with maddening, taunting undulations worthy of any star burlesque bombshell, to make him come that much quicker and better.

By her doing this, Doug didn't know now if he was coming or going-had Gail turned forward or backward-as he found she could just as adroitly work her ass-hole as the most skillful girls could work their cunts!

Yes, for all intents and purposes, it was the very same thing to him-ass-hole or cunt-cunt or asshole, regardless of which way she was turned.

As Gail kept right on tossing, turning and wiggling her hips, liltingly and fervently, Doug's entire body correspondingly kept rising and falling-harder, faster and more frenziedly than ever-the entire room seemed to come alive for Gail, and another optical-illusion was created for her, comparable to the one she had before when he fucked her straight! . . .

It was similar to her first fleeting imagery, only this time, there were two green vases suspended in mid-air, as a most strange apparition, even though there only was, in actuality, one such vase in the entire mysterious-looking and exotic, Oriental-motif stylized-room.

But with her vision being hazy and blurred like it was, it seemed to Gail that there were two.

And this time, instead of trying to enter the small, round and tight circular-knobs on the doors, they were trying to come out!

They jerked and pulled and tugged and yanked, with the thin pointed-tips-moving, moving, moving.

They got as far as the lined-rim, which was on the top of the thicker, curvy ball-like bottom of the vases.

But jerk and pull and tug and yank as hard as they may, still, they couldn't succeed in bringing all the rest of the vases through the small, narrow, tigh t holes.

Strangely enough, the ball-like bottoms didn't shatter or break, either, even though they were made of such a delicate porcelain like they were. But, after a time, having jerked and pulled and tugged and yanked for as long and as hard as they only could, with much sustained concentration and fervor, both of the vases stopped moving in midair-became utterly motionless and still.

And, for all of their effort, true, they did manage to work the thicker ball-like bottoms of the vases through the small, narrow, tight holes. But then, they got all jammed up and stuck, like in glue, hanging there suspended limply:

BOTH BALLS HUNG LOW!. . .

"Yeowww!" Gail screeched shrilly with rapture, as she felt the first surge of his cum go coursing into her.

And she continued to screech as he kept coming, the loads seeming to get ever bigger and fuller, until they squirted all over both cheeks of her constantly moving, gyrating ass and down onto the floor, to form virtual puddles.

And he kept right on-coming, coming, coming-pumping load after load of his sticky cum into her.

Finally, the loads tapered off, then ceased altogether. Doug removed his still hot, hard, swollen cock slowly.

Once it was out altogether, permitted Gail to drop her own loads-hot, full loads, they were, each and every one of them-getting bigger and fuller all the time.

To enable her to drop them better, Gail had squatted over, parting both lips of her cunt with her prying fingers, then working the inside of her cunt, she kept right on dropping those mighty loads through her ass-hole, with additional ones now squirting all over her fingers of her own precious passion-juice.

With a deep sobbing moan of anguish racking her dry, parched throat, Gail, having finished dropping all of her loads-from both the front and the back-plopped down to her knee with a dull little thud, swooning deliciously from the sheer ecstasy of it all.

Some moments later, when Gail recovered her wits and got back to her feet, she came to realize something:

Doug Cranston had kept his promise to her, literally.

Yes, indeed: "HE HAD FUCKED THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF HER," after...ALL!. . . "

A few moments later, once again Doug turned to Gail and asked of her:

"Well, Gail baby, was that also good-what I just done? Did you enjoy that, too, huh?"

"Yes, I sure did!"

"Did I hurt you much?"

"Oh, a little bit, to be sure. But it was worth it!"

"I'm glad, Gail baby. You're turning out to be the perfect little female, after all. It looks like you're the one in my life."

"This makes me 'glad,' now, Doug darling!"

"You know something, Gail baby?" Doug whispered in a very warm, confiding tone, indicative of his intense enthusiasm for her.

"What's that, Doug darling?"

"Hang around with me, and you'll find that your life will be filled with many countless adventures. Why, it will be just like that...constant trips around...the World. Understand, doll?"

"Uh-huh; to be sure. That may be so, Doug darling; that's all well and good. Perhaps I will 'take many trips around the World'-like you say. There's only one thing, though. . . . "

"What's that, Gail baby?"

"If what you have just done to me is any real indication of what is to...come...in the future, I hate to disappoint you, my darling, but that's one...country in this so-called...World of...yours...which I have...visited before!"

Now, it was Doug Cranston, that sophisticated and jaded libertine's turn to be most incredulous, for once:

And incredulous, he surely WAS! . . .

CHAPTER 12

Right after that initial eventful night in her life of having intimacy with her first husband, Douglas Cranston, Gail vividly recalled the remark she had made to Sabrina Towers after the initial night of intimacy with her, too:

"I want to make comparisons with other men, before I will be able to conclude that both-you and my own sex-are the best thing for me!"

Off-hand, Gail didn't remember if those were the exact words she had uttered, as she wasn't one of those fortunate people who were endowed with a photographic-memory. Nevertheless, that was the essence-the main crux of what she had said to Sabrina; that, she was sure of!

And not only for that first night, but for an entire bliss-filled year after she had married Douglas Cranston, her life was simply grand and heavenly.

Doug fulfilled Gail such as she had never been fulfilled before.

Indeed, she never even dared to dream that such utter and total fulfillment was humanly possible.

But it was.

Yes, Douglas Cranston was the best-the best she ever had, till then.

And there could be no better.

There just simply COULDN'T!

Also, during that year, Gail's shining-meteor in the Hollywood clouds, as a fast-rising young starlet, continued to fantastically ascend. She was safe and secure in her own right now, and even if Doug and her should ever split up, still, she wouldn't have the pressure of money-problems and its resultant hand-to-mouth, poverty-ridden existence, anymore.

No, those days were over with in her life-a thing entirely in the horrible past. . . .

But despite the fact that she was a rapidly rising young starlet, and, according to some reliable reports, already the Hollywood starlet that most American men wanted to sleep with, Gail was not a Narcissist. Because, if she was, she could never have lived with Doug for as long as she ultimately didthree whole years-even though the last two of these were simply a Hell on Earth for her!

For that stipulated first year, though, Gail was completely content with her life. She loved going to work and being pampered and fussed over by all of her movie co-workers. Then she would, quite cheerfully and happily, come home to Doug and his strange, exotic house, where she would revert to the other extreme-become his virtual slave girl -to carry out his every desire and whim!

Gail didn't mind the fact that she had to iron his clothes, darn his socks and cook for him.

Nor did she mind, either, that she could never talk back to him. She was perfectly content to let him be her elected Lord and Master-the kind that didn't even exist in the most strict and rigid of antiquated Patriarchal Societies.

She didn't even mind when he went out and bought a riding-crop, to lash her bare bottom with and raise livid, red welts that stung like the very dickens for days, and to add insult to injury, he would first make her get down on her bended knees, say out loud that she had been a "naughty little girl," dutifully kiss the whip and beg for punishment.

No, Gail didn't mind any of this.

But when, in the second year of their marriage, he began to grow somewhat irritable-apparently tired and jaded of her, the fresh, young charm that she possessed wearing off in his eyes and growing thin, resulting in his starting to be fickle and run around with other women-this Gail most certainly did mind!

So, in order to directly retaliate, she started running around with others, too-not so much because she really wanted to.

No, her heart wasn't in it.

Rather, it was simply to spite him and perhaps make him realize what he was doing to her, so that he would "straighten up and fly right!"

Since, in Hollywood, nothing can be kept secret for very long, especially when it concerned the life of the illustrious movie-colony, Doug found out about Gail's share of the running around on the q.t., in short order! . . .

One night, Doug came home in the wee hours of the morning-some hours after she, herself, had come in-with him being mean and drunk.

He grabbed her hard by the arm, hurting her, taking her out of the bed-covers and sleep-forcing her to sit up-exclaiming through ganshed, grinding teeth that gritted rage and made his voice hiss metallically:

"Up, you! I wanna have a talk with you!"

"I'm...sleepy, Doug darling. Really, can't it wait till morning?"

"No, not for another second!"

"Just what is it that you. . . wish to...discuss with...me, Doug?"

"Your two-timing me and running around with just about everything out here in Hollywood who wears pants, is what. Fuckin' and suckin' and takin' it up the ass with everyone and havin' yourself one grand ball. Catch on, doll."

"Oh, that: "Yeah, that!"

"Well, what about it? Oh, I won't deny that I'm doing it-all that you say I am-but only because you've started it. You stop, and I'll stop, too. Understand. Doug darling?"

"Oh, is that so, huh?"

He then began mouthing a whole battery of Nietzschian quotations at her, sounding like some raving maniac as he did so-actually foaming and frothing at the mouth-a wild, insane look in his eyes:

"I'm a man, and you're a woman. You're a totally inferior creature to me. I am your proper Lord and Master, and you are, correspondingly, my slave. Therefore, I can run around with whomsoever I damn well please. And besides, Man is, by Nature, polygamous, and woman is monogamous, anyway; so it is perfectly natural and befitting for a man to have a harem, providing he can afford it."

"How nice," Gail commented. "How thoroughly enlightening."

But he didn't even hear her, going right on ranting and raving:

"I'm also a genius, so I'm totally beyond any mere Good and Evil. But you're not. You're a little pigeon-brain-as are, indeed, all of your foul and inferior, large-breasted, short-legged sex. And, as the great Nietzsche so well instructed us: 'when you visit a woman, don't forget to bring thine whip along with you!' You know what that means, don't you, Gail baby? You know precisely what I'm implying huh?"

"No, I 'don't,' " Gail replied, quite numbly-although she knew only too well-without having to actually have it spelled out for her. But she ludicrously figured, that perhaps by feigning naivet�, he wouldn't go through with it and carry out his thought-indeed, as he had done so many countless times in the past-without even throwing any quotation from the sickened, diseased mind of Nietzsche at her, to buttress his desire.

"All right," Doug snarled savagely, "I'll draw blueprints for you....I'm goin' to get out the ridin'-crop and cut little pieces out of your precious, saucy, highly-insured ass. Catch on, doll?"

"No, Doug, no. You have no right to do this to me," Gail moaned forlornly. "It isn't fair."

"We've been through all of that fuckin' shit just a few minutes ago. Now, you come with me, little shit-heel," Doug ordered peremptorily, seizing her anew by the arm and forcing her to her feet. Then he led her down to the game-room, where he kept the dreaded riding-crop and perennially chastised her.

Once down there, he forced Gail to slump down on her bended knees, ripped down her pajama-pants, and got out the dreaded riding-crop.

First, before he actually whipped her, as was his custom, he made her admit aloud: "that she had been wicked and evil-had sinned-and deserved to be severely punished."

Realizing that it would only go all the worse for her if she didn't comply, Gail acquiesced, echoing the words he instructed her to say.

Then he really laid the lashes on, savagely with gusto:

Swish, crack-thud, the whip sounded. Swish, crack-thud. Swish, crack-thud. Swish, crack-thud!

No, he didn't "spare the proverbial rod" on this terrible night.

Every lash that he laid on with his powerful right shoulder behind it felt as if some maniacal surgeon was taking a long, sharp scalpel and cutting her very flesh to pieces with it!

Gail screamed and shrieked with pain. She pleaded with him for mercy-begged him to desist.

But he didn't-not until all of the entirety of her bare, soft, pliable young flesh was full of those livid red welts-all ripped and torn up, and even popping beads of blood in some places.

Only then, did he stop.

Only when the sharp, strident sound of the steadily-cracking whip had risen to such a loud crescendo, she thought that her very ear-drums would burst and she would grow deaf from it.

Yes, only THEN! . . .

The very next day, Gail promptly packed her things and left him flat, temporarily moving into a hotel.

The after-effects of his lashing were something awful. Gail had to discontinue her work on a picture for a whole week. She told the studio that she had a virus. And it was only by seeking and getting professional medical assistance from a special doctor to attend to her cruel wounds, that she wasn't left with several really ugly and ineradicable scars!. . .

But her marriage to Doug still wasn't over as yet-not by a long shot.

Just short of a month since she had left him, Doug came to her and begged for forgiveness:

"I love you and I miss you so, Gail baby," he exclaimed, almost tearfully, which indeed, was a rarity for a rigid man like him. "Honest, I do."

"Well, I don't 'miss you-uuu', " Gail retorted, seemingly unmoved. "Not after what you've done to me."

"You're right, Gail baby," Doug quickly acquiesced, "and I'm wrong. I have no right to expect you to be faithful to me while I'm busy running around with others; I have no right to expect you to adhere to my double-standard. So please give me just one more chance-I beg of you, Gail baby. Just one more, huh? I'll be good to you this time. I swear that I will."

So Gail finally relented and gave Doug the second chance that he wished for.

She gave him many other chances after that, as well.

But it was invariably the same old story:

Doug Cranston would guardedly be on his very best behavior for a couple of weeks-perhaps even for a whole month. Then he would revert to type and his same old ways:

No, indeed: "the leopard didn't change his spots!" Gail sadly found.

The only reason that their marriage lasted for as long as it did-for three whole years-was because the given period between each one of their separations grew longer and longer, the last one being six whole months.

Then, at last, came the critical denouement, and their marriage went smash-once and for all. And akin to the legendary figure of Humpty-Dumpty: "all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put this Humpty together again."

No, they COULDN'T!. . .

PART FIVE:

CHAPTER 13

Their marriage abruptly came to an end with a most ironical twist from the hands of Fate:

Doug fell in love with Sabrina Towers-of all people-and she in turn with him!

Doug didn't know about Sabrina's Lesbian practices-at least, at first. Since she was a script-writer instead of an actress-starlet, the gossip-mongers didn't pay her any real heed.

Also at first, Sabrina was greatly amused and laughingly told Gail about Doug-how he was drooling and going simply gaga over her, getting such a big hard-on that it all but jumped right out of his pants and the keen disappointment which ultimately awaited him with her.

It was at this conjecture, that Gail and Sabrina hit upon a novel plan:

They decided to get into bed together and indulge in their "sisterly" fancies, making extra-sure that Doug caught them in the dire throes of the act.

They figured that they would achieve two purposes in so doing.

For one thing, Doug's ego would be deflated by being let down by Sabrina-learning what she really was.

For another, it would be sure to drive him right back to Gail for good, and they would live happily together forever and ever more.

Or, so they figured!

They were both in for a rude awakening, however, when Doug entered the bedroom where they were carrying on, having a most wild, hectic session.

Both of them were sitting there on the bed, facing each other, stark naked-lips entwined to lips, bosom to bosom, belly to belly, legs wrapped around legs, to form a uniquely improvised pretzel-pressing, pressing, pressing.

Their tongues flicked in and out like red-hot, slithering live-coals, sending out a mutually understood code of incredible oral intimacy.

Although they had expected him-actually, were most eagerly waiting his imminent arrival-they pretended that they didn't even know he was there, being so carried away with each other, as they kept right on with what they were doing:

Pressing, pressing, pressing-urging, urging, urging-as the bedsprings whined and creaked, whined and creaked, whined and creaked most stridently. v

Everything was bouncing, bouncing, bouncing-right there before Doug's startled, gaping eyes.

And, if this wasn't enough, still pretending to be utterly oblivious of him and his obtrusive presence, they both did an around-about-face, until they were in a position to French each other.

Then, without any further ado, they began to eat out a respective delectable, succulent, juicy twat, their proverbial hot-coals for tongues darting in and out at the snatch more frenetically and audaciously than ever, with both of them tossing and turning all over the bed-as if in the dire throes and spasms of the St. Vitus Dance.

Such an incredible nuance being perpetrated by them startled Doug Cranston, to be sure. But he wasn't startled for very long, though. He soon knew just what to do about the situation:

He promptly picked up Sabrina Towers bodily by placing one hand under an armpit, and the other under her threshing, kicking legs. Then, despite all of her squeals, yells and even more animated threshing, he tossed her body across his shoulder-like a full, limp sack of wheat-and dragged her down to, what Gail very well knew to be as, the ominous game-room!

Gail followed directly behind them-as if she was in a deep somnambulistic-trance-and some strange, strong power was virtually compelling her to do so.

Once down there, Doug took his load from off of his shoulder and flung it hard down to the ground. He got two pair of handcuffs, then forced her down and over, on her bended knees by bringing her hands behind her back and all but wrenching them out of their sockets when she tried to ward him off.

He quickly secured her wrists when he had her all set, in position, then went about handcuffing the ankles, as well.

Doug calmly and ceremoniously got down the riding-crop from its resting-place on the stand filled with various similar implements for scourging-purposes. He got directly behind Sabrina, drawing a bead on his intended target. He swished the whip several times through the air testingly, making involuntary clusters of goose-pimples in a rash come popping out all over Sabrina's twin, curvy mounds of flesh, in dire of awe, instinctively sensing the cutting pain and fire that was soon to come.

Then he proceeded to lash her, grimly and tenaciously, with all of his fury and might.

Every time the lash whistled and cracked, then bit in with a dull thud to Sabrina's svelte, satiny-smooth, olive-toned flesh, it dug in, far and deep before being removed. And when Doug brought it back into position for another terrible shot, a big, long, livid red welt could clearly be discerned by Gail, as Sabrina shrieked for all she was worth-as if she was being boiled alive in oil or burnt at the stake in a long, slow fire, comparable to a Joan of A rc.

Gail didn't try to do anything to intercede. She was too dumbfounded and petrified to the spot with horror-filled inertia to do so.

Again and again and still again, the cruel, terrible, cutting lash struck.

Again and again and again!

Doug kept right on viciously lashing her, until not a single iota of the sleek olive-toned hue remained as a tone to the velvety-textured flesh. Directly in place of it was a huge cluster of those long, jagged, livid red welts-then welts on top of them-and still further welts on top of those.

Still, he wasn't satisfied; still, he didn't stop. If anything, he seemed to be only first warming up to his self-imposed task.

Then, getting his second-wind, the lash was cracking again, harder, faster and more furiously than ever:

Swish, crack-thud it went-so familiarly to Gail's ears.

Swish, crack-thud. Swish, crack-thud. Swish, crack-thud!

Suddenly, just as little beads of blood began to appear then pop out from Sabrina's thoroughly tormented, ripped and torn flesh, the strangest thing began to happen: A virtual metamorphosis transpired in the person of Sabrina Towers. She began to moan in an odd, eerie, far-off voice-as though the voice didn't even belong to her but to some alien-demon:

"Harder, you mad, crazy fool-harder!" she directed at Doug.

"Faster, you mad, crazy fool-faster!

"Harder and faster, harder and faster, harder and faster!"

And Doug did his very best to comply with her requests, his arm rising and falling, the lash cracking, more frenetically than ever.

Then Sabrina was speaking in that strange, far-off voice again.

"Beat me, beat me-oh, beat me, Big Daddy-O, wonderful Big Daddy-O. Beat me until you rip the very skin off of my saucy, wicked ass, and it comes apart and bleeds, bleeds, BLEEDS!"

The present trauma, induced at the unruly hands of Douglas Cranston, had forced Sabrina Towers to regress back in Time and Space, to when her own flesh-and-blood father, in the light of a totally unconscious Electra-fixation, thereby now obtained an automatic catharsis by virtue of this repetition-compulsion to the original traumatic-situation which had been prevalent then.

Doug, fearing lest Sabrina Towers was really cracking up from being the recipient of the cruel, cutting lash for so long, became genuinely frightened and dropped it from his hands in sheer terror, the whip clattering to the ground, bouncing around crazily for some seconds before lying there, still-as if it had been alive-which, indeed, in a certain sense, it most certainly had been where poor Sabrina and her excruciatingly anguished flesh was concerned.

Now that the ordeal was over, Doug went about removing the handcuffs secured around Sabrina's wrists and ankles and thereby setting her free, so that he had easier access to attend to her many welts and wounds.

As he carefully wiped the beads of blood away with a Turkish-fringed towel, totally absorbed in what he was doing and unrealized by him, Sabrina had worked herself up to her knees, a most grimly determined expression on her face. Her now free hands reached out, for the front of his pants, unzip-pered them and removed the mighty spike that was his long prick-balls and all.

Sabrina found that he had a terrific hard-on. Then without giving him any warning except a savage tiger-like growl as she carried out the action, she made a lunge at the mighty dick, placing as much of it in her mouth at once as she only could, her jaws clamping down savagely.

Then, as her long, sharp teeth made gnawing, crunching sounds comparable to a tenacious woodpecker, Doug looked up and realized what she was doing for the very first time.

She was trying to bite his dick off. But with no real success. She found that the bone was too hard. And after several moments of getting nowhere with it, although her teeth made those gnawing, crunching sounds more emphatically than ever, Doug tossed his head back and laughed sarcastically before challenging her openly:

"Go right ahead, you insidious, nefarious Lesbian bitch; try to bite it off on me. See where you get. This is what you always wanted for yourself, heh? A big prick and balls! Somethin' Mother Nature always denied to the likes of you. That's why you're so frustrated. So try to bite it off, if you will; I'll see that you choke on it!"

While he had been talking, Sabrina had tried working her mouth and teeth up his shaft, to the softer and more tender testicles, to try and bite them off. But she had no real success there, either, as his shaft was so very long, the pointed tip of the spike reached the very palate of her throat, making her gag and choke.

Apparently, this was exactly what Doug Cranston had been waiting for, because, just as she reached near the end-part of the shaft, his hand clamped down on the back of her head, thereby imprisoning her face for what he wanted it for.

All of the animated friction produced by her steadily working lips, teeth and tongue had brought the sharp surge of desire building up within him, to the very brink.

Then the long hard bone quivered and spasms, spurting forth little electric-charges of his cold, sticky cum were shot flush into her mouth.

Gail had never seen anything like it for as long as she lived. Desperately, Sabrina tried to prevent Doug's passion-juice from going down and swallowing it. This was indicated by her intense effort, with her eyes practically bulging out of the sockets of her head, her cheeks getting all swollen, her face all red, and her mouth working back and forth like a fish out of water who was gasping for air.

Then the inevitable happened and the sticky cum got through Sabrina's imposed bulwark and slid down, which was made manifest by a little Adam's-apple dancing and bouncing around, quivering in her throat.

As even larger and larger loads got through and slid down, Sabrina's face changed colors like a chameleon: going from its previous red, to green, then blue, and finally to purple. All the time, Doug kept pumping his cold, sticky cum into her mouth.

Indeed, Sabrina sure looked to Gail as if she was going to be sick, and when it finally was all over, vomit and puke her very guts up, never to stop.

Then it was all over, Doug withdrew his mighty shaft, and instead of vomiting as Gail had expected she would, a most serene, languorous glow came all over Sabrina's lovely sultry face, the color came back to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled and radiated with happiness. She was rubbing her hand over her tummy most contentedly.

Doug stood there, gazing at her triumphantly:

He had bested her, and he knew it.

Indeed, he truly was Sabrina's Lord and Master now.

Doug knew it, Gail knew it, and most important of all, Sabrina knew it:

She was Doug's slave girl in Gail's stead.

Yes, Sabrina Towers had taken Gail's place in Doug's proverbial harem-room.

Sabrina had, she had-she most certainly, certainly HAD!. . .

CHAPTER 14

Several months later, Douglas Cranston married Sabrina Towers, after Gail had gracefully bowed out of the picture by getting a divorce for the usual routine contention out in Hollywood of "mental cruelty "-of all things!

Sabrina's explanation to Gail was most apologetic and guilt-ridden:

"I'm sorry about all this, Gail pet," she said. "Honest, I am. But, I just couldn't help myself. Doug is the only man I've ever met who acted like a real man, and treated me accordingly like a real woman indeed, just as my very own father used to treat me. I admit it; Doug swept me off of my feet!"

"Oh, that's all right, Sabrina darling," Gail answered softly. "I understand."

Then Sabrina went on as if Gail hadn't even spoken, being all wrapped up in her own thoughts, which she was speaking aloud:

"I used to think I hated my father more than anything, but I was mistaken, Gail pet. Now, I know differently. So, you'll forgive me, won't you, for taking your precious man, Doug, away from you? After all, someone as attractive as you are will surely always be able to get another one just as good," Sabrina attempted to rationalize, "so you really don't have very much to worry about, Gail pet."

"Of course," Gail chirped back. "I'll be all right; don't you worry about that. Truth to tell, I'm glad to be rid of Doug, anyway. Our marriage was going on the rocks-regardless of you. So, no explanations or apologies by you are at all necessary, really."

"Gee, I'm glad you feel this way about it, Gail pet," Sabrina sighed her obviously-felt relief. "I'm glad you're being so big about this."

"What good would it do me to be otherwise?" exclaimed Gail, quite rhetorically-actually also thinking out loud!. . .

Sabrina Towers stayed married to Douglas Cranston for just two years, before Doug also tired of her and kicked her down a whole flight of stairs!

But before the marriage broke up so obtrusively, with such a mighty bang-Sabrina had the distinction of being the only woman whom Douglas Cranston had ever married to become impregnated by him.

Sabrina gave birth to a girl-a daughter-named Cynthia.

By the same token, Gail gave birth to her only child-also a daughter, named Tina-in her second marriage.

It was to a fellow named Hal Rogers. Gail had deliberately chosen a diametric opposite type to Douglas Cranston. Rogers was one of those nondescript "pretty boys," such as was so common-place out in Hollywood.

Gail married him three years later, by which time, she was a full-fledged star and one of the top box-office attractions in the entire country. Hal Rogers was just coming up, and more than for anything else, he married Gail to further his own career.

Just so long as Gail stayed married to him, which was for better than five years, (by far, her longest marriage of all, and it only lasted this long because she had a child by him) Rogers became somewhat of a leading-man in pictures. But, as soon as Gail let him go, he slid downward, not having that certain individual something-that certain oomph-which makes a truly bona-fide lasting star.

Hal Rogers was definitely the analytic and oral sucking type. By nature, he was inclined to lean on people and use them. So it was quite natural for him to suck Gail's cunt and eat it out regularly.

He would go about it like the true gourmet and the most discreet connoisseur. He would do so slowly and savoring. After a time, as he got well down on it and was eating away heartily inside the vagina-walls, Gail would ask of him, most musingly:

"Well, what do I smell and taste like today, Hal darling, hmmm? Cheese or fish?"

"Cheese, my dearest," he would quite seriously reply. "You're so tart, tangy and pungent."

"That must be because I was too tired to take a bath today."

"Yes, that must be it, because you taste like freshly cooked oyster-stew most of the time. Well, I also happen to be a fond lover of cheese, Gail dearest."

And saying that, Hal would resume his eating of her cunt more fervently and enthusiastically than ever, until he had eaten it all out-each and every precious drop of it! . . .

As it turned out, Hal Rogers was also one of those versatile bi-sexuals. Actually, for a secondary reason, he had also married Gail to cover up his many homosexual involvements, fearing that it would certainly hurt his career in films, otherwise.

And it was mainly for this reason that Gail finally divorced him. She was sick and tired of hearing about, via the Hollywood-grapevine, of him going to all of those gay parties-sucking all kinds of pricks there, and taking it up the ass, until they all but reamed him a brand-new ass-hole.

Yes, she was tired and gave up after more than five years of marriage to him.

And the only reason it had ever lasted that long, as because of Tina, their daughter.

Well, Tina or no Tina, Gail couldn't stand him or his ways anymore. She wanted out, to seek greener pastures.

And, out, she got; and seek them she did!. . .

Gail's third and final marriage came about in her thirty-second year. It was at this time, (actually, from the onset of the thirty mark) that she started to get the irrational fear she was going over the hump as a top-draw starlet at the box-office, and it was just a matter of time until she would be through. So she started to think in terms of financial security.

Actually, truth to tell, Gail, who was always the level-headed, practical realist and knew the value of money, had invested large sums of her earnings in blue-chip stocks. So even if she didn't work another day for the rest of her life from the time that she was thirty, she was still set and didn't have to worry anymore. And, to be precise and exact, her career was far from being over even when she was thirty-two; she was still going strong at the box-office, with no real indication of any real letting up.

However, a woman's irrational fears are not to be denied, despite the fact that her expensive analyst tried to talk her out of them and make her rationalize them in other channels.

So, when in her thirty-first year, she met Stephen Wentworth, the vice-president of a major commercial airline at a gala Hollywood affair which she attended, the seeds were already sown in Gail for her to take an interest in him-despite the fact that he was already married to another famous actress who was some five years older than Gail.

It was love at first sight for Wentworth after he was introduced to Gail. He chased after her hammer-and-tong, without any letup. He took her out every day and showered her with lavish, expensive gifts.

Stephen Wentworth was a tremendous bulk of a man. He was something like six-feet-five and over 250 pounds, all of it solid bone and muscle, and around 45 at the time he started courting Gail.

Ostensibly, he looked like a real mean, hard prick to her and a solid fucker-something on the Doug Cranston type-only much more so. Gail would have preferred to shack up with him before she consented to marry him. However, they were both afraid of the resultant scandal, so they refrained from having any promiscuous tryst.

When Gail finally relented and agreed to give her hand in marriage to him, Wentworth promptly divorced his older actress wife, and just as soon as the decree became final, married Gail.

Gail moved to Wentworth's fabulous estate out on Malibu Beach. She was given an army of servants and other functionaries for the purpose of setting up house-keeping. So, for a while anyway, Gail enjoyed coming home to this enormous, luxurious house after having worked a whole day on the studio-lot.

As for their sex life: when they finally got down to it, Gail found that Stephen Wentworth wasn't exactly what he was cracked up to be, ostensibly, on the surface.

Oh, to be sure, once in a great while, when the mood seized him, he would go Caveman on her and throw her a real mean, wicked fuck.

At such a time, he would hurt her in the foreplay, quickly and surely, in every manner and way conceivable-just as Doug had done. Then, with both of them completely aroused, he would seize the two cheeks of her curvy ass-as if she was a stubborn cow and he was intent on milking her-working her ass like a cow's teats; forcing his mighty horse-cock in-between the openly wedged lips of her throbbing cunt; then ramming and slamming her relatively frail, supple body with his tremendous bulk thrust fully upon her:

It was comparable to a mighty steam-roller going over melted hot asphalt, to smoothen it out and pave a road.

And he paved her, all right. And how he paved her!. . .

But such a wild outburst from him was only once in a while, on some rare occasion. More often than not, he liked to eat out her cunt, particularly when she had her monthly-period:

Wentworth would make a real ritual-ceremony out of it. He would make her sit on a virtual pedestal, draped in golden silk, which he had purchased especially for her. He would get down on his knees before her, in utter reverence.

When he had himself worked up to the proper pitch, he would part her legs and pull out the soggy rag, which would be saturated with her bad, poisonous pus and blood.

And while it is a truism "that a dog never smells its own tail," Gail smelled hers. She would finally be forced to exclaim aloud, as the foul, putrid aroma almost made her retch and heave:

"Good Heavens, Stephen, how can you stand it? My bloody twat smells like a combination of a rotten fish market, moldy cheese and a dirty, stinking sewer. So how can you stand such a smell? I ask of you, Stephen darling."

"Very simple, my dear," he would reply, completely unabashed and most assuredly. "It's just like they all say: 'When you get past the smell, you've got it licked!' And to me, my dear, you always taste like the richest of wine-the most vintage of select champagnes."

And with that, he would go about eating her sick cunt out more heartily than ever. Since, as with all women, she was especially hot at this time, Gail soon felt her passion-juice come spurting and squirting forth, to intermingle with the assortment of pus, blood and urine, to give him a taste-treat that was truly inimitable!

And Wentworth wouldn't desist until he had eaten up each and every drop from her that he could only drain and ooze out!. . .

But aside from his occasional Caveman mood and the perennial eating out of her snatch, Stephen Wentworth was no swinger at all, but a real square, Gail found.

He kept pestering her to give up her career in the movies, settle down with him and become thoroughly domesticated-even try to give birth to more children-although he also had three children by his first marriage, (the marriage to the actress who had been Gail's direct predecessor being his second one.)

Not only that, but he infringed upon Gail's privacy with dreary talk about his business activities. And while a commercial airline might be glamorous to the general public, when they are shown the sleek new, streamlined jets, the handsome captains, and the charming, sexy stewardesses, to hear a constant battery of quotations from I.B.M. Computers and Wall Street was most dreary and monotonous to Gail. Such talk reminded her of museums and funeral-parlors, and gave her the real creeps!

So, after two years of marriage to him, at thirty-four, Gail finally threw in the towels and called it quits.

Once again, she got a divorce on the grounds of "mental cruelty." Only, this time, the contention was most true and apropos! . . .

PART SIX:

CHAPTER 15

That was it-the last of Gail Summers' three marriages-all to diverse, divergent types of men.

During the next six years in her life, which brought it to the present and up to date, many a time, Gail thought that she was on the brink of marriage again. But, for some reason or other, she would always retreat from it at the very last minute.

However, in the main, when Gail craved some real excitement, she would invariably do so according to a definite, even compulsive two-part ritual:

First, she would select a Doug Cranston type, whom she would permit to violate, scourge and thoroughly brutalize her, comparably to the way Doug, himself, had previously done.

Then, several days later, which constituted the extended aftermath for the licking of her wounds, Gail would inevitably turn to a Sabrina Towers type, who would provide her with the requisite affection, solace and comfort, besides low-rating all men and providing Gail with additional intellectual reasons; the emotional ones she already had-to hate them and all of their foul, loathsome, contemptible ilk!

And it was precisely at this conjecture in her life which made her pause to wonder:

Was it really Doug Cranston, her first love, and his sadistic ways which spoiled her for marriage?

Or was it Sabrina Towers and her lesbian inclinations?

Which was really the cause, and which the effect?

Gail didn't know. She wasn't sure. But she had to be-for her daughter Tina's sake-as that was actually why she had been doing all of this meditating in the first place about her entire past.

Now that Tina was staying at home with her in Gail's own sumptuous mansion in Beverly Hills-ever since she had been expelled from that uppety-puppety Blossom Finishing School for Girls, for being a real swinger and balling it up-in the interim, until Gail could enroll her in a new imagine finishing-school that was comparable to Blossom, Tina continued her wanton ways, going out with tough, leather-jacketed boys.

Truth to tell, except that Gail was afraid they might get a bit rough with her daughter, she wasn't worried about Tina going out with them. But she wan worried precisely how much lesbian experience she had back at Blossom.

After all, Tina was known as a chief organizer and initiator of male and female sex-parties. So it was quite likely that she also had some sort of lesbian get-togethers, as well.

If they were just mere casual, passing-flings that young teen-age girls have so frequently together at college nowadays-being room-mates, so close and all-Gail wasn't too much worried. But what if it was more than that? So far, since Tina had been home with her, she didn't see her alone in the company of a girl her age-not even once.

Gail was about to dismiss the whole hypothesis and shrug it off, when Gail was suddenly given direct evidence of the sort of carryings-on which her daughter indulged in-right there before her very eyes-and in her own elegant home, at that! . . .

It happened quite by accident, insofar as Gail wasn't supposed to come home at this time-at such an early hour in the day. But the star of the film she had been working on-the so-called "hero"-had gotten a sick-spell, and the director of the picture had decided to stop shooting for the day and let everybody go home.

As soon as Gail entered the front door and closed it quietly, like she always did from habit-not to disturb Tina if it was late and she was asleep-she heard voices coming from upstairs, in Tina's bedroom:

It was Tina and another feminine voice. Both voices sounded very soft, hushed and intimate.

Gail didn't recognize the other voice, which meant, that Tina had refrained from ever introducing this other girl to Gail before.

Hearing other strange sounds-like the creaking of bed-springs-made Gail most curious.

So, even though she didn't like to spy on her daughter, her curiosity finally got the better of her, and she tiptoed up the spiral-staircase, until she stood in the darkened foyer which was located directly in front of her daughter's bedroom, in juxtaposition.

The door of the bedroom was open, since Tina hadn't been expecting her and had carelessly neglected to shut it. Gail made sure to bring herself back in the enveloping black-shadows, so that she couldn't be seen by either female-occupant of the room.

The sight which instantly greeted Gail's eyes made her suck in her breath and gasp, from both shock and amazement:

The room was darkened, except for a bed-lamp, which cast a bright yellowish-white glow on the two female-forms who adorned the red and white checkered-bed-spread. Both forms were stark naked, and except that the other girl was a brunette, they could have actually been taken for real live sisters!

Both of them were built supple and sinewy. Tina, for her own part, looked a lot like Ann-Margaret. Whereas, the other girl greatly resembled Leslie Caron.

They were sitting there in the center of the bedspread. The way the bed was situated, neither one of them was directly in the line of vision with Gail. But even if they were, still, it was thoroughly doubtful that they would see her-so intent they were with each other!

Lips were entwined to lips, breasts pressing breasts, tummy against tummy, legs wrapped around legs-all pressing and urging at once-as the mattress bounced sprightly and the springs creaked stridently.

Shrill cries of delight, manifested as billowing coos, emanated from both of them, from time to time.

"Whee-eee! Boy, but this is sure fun," exclaimed Tina, joyfully. "It's just like some see-saw."

"It sure is, honey," the other female-voice replied. "It's the most-the very most there is!"

And they kept right on with what they were doing, after catching their respective breath-more frenetically involved and frenzied than ever-all but breaking the very bed down, they were so frantically animated!

Finally, they both popped their loads of passion-juice-coming with virtual cup-cakes-as they clawed at each other's back and raked them with their long, sharp finger-nails! . . .

Then they became still for a time.

But not for very long, though:

"Cynthia?" uttered Tina inquiringly, softly.

"Yes, Tina dear?"

"What say we both have depth-charge tongue-baths now? Let's really French it-lick and eat out each other's delectable cunts. How does that sound, huh?"

"It 'sounds' great, Tina dear. A truly marvelous idea-that."

"Yes, and let's keep up our cunt-lapping and eating for a real long time. That way, we won't have to eat any...box-lunch; we'll have it right here and now, and can skip the usual routine lunch. Okay?"

"Uh-huh. Sounds fine to me, Tina dear! . . . "

What subsequently followed looked like a virtual snake-pit to Gail's horror-filled, most aghast eyes.

There were four long writhing legs which looked like virtual snakes, all threshing and moving about at once. Then there were the heads of the proverbial snakes with darting red-hot asps and the ensuing hisses.

Everything became more animated and violent as it spun through Gail's hazy, blurred vision, creating more of the optical-illusion which prevailed than ever-that she was in some foul, dank, utterly terrifying and gruesome snake pit!

Suddenly, fangs seemed to spring, bite and dig in.

Shrill, racking cries reached Gail's ears.

Then milky-white venom shot out and spat all over the snake-pit in an ebbing tide-ebbing and flowing, ebbing and flowing, ebbing and flowing, never seeming to stop, on the brink of starting a virtual flood.

And lest that still not be enough, the girls abruptly did a round-about-face, so that they directly confronted one another. Then, quickly becoming entwined again like they had been initially, they swapped soul-kisses and spits-whole mouthfuls of their very own passion-juice which they so avidly lapped up.

Apparently, this gave them the biggest thrill of all-one that was of a mutual Narcissistic form of gratification-which sent them out of this World completely, indicated by their bodies shaking, quaking and vibrating in the throes of an utter frenzy! . . .

Gail couldn't stand it another instant!

She threw her hands up before her eyes, to shield them from the terrible tableau that was being enacted right there before her:

Not even she and Sabrina-as wild and passionate as their involvements had been together-had ever dared to go this far: of swapping spits, via soul-kisses, filled with whole gobs of maiden-juice.

How brazen. What sheer audaciousness. Good Heavens, no wonder this new generation was going to the dogs-doing such terrible things like that!

And when anyone could shock such a renowned and uninhibited Bohemian-a real Hollywood Swinger and switch-hitter, such as herself-she, or they, had to go pretty far.

Well, her daughter and that other girl, Cynthia, had traveled such a route.

They had, they had-they most certainly, certainly HAD!

Then getting a grip on herself sufficiently, Gail spun around and raced back down the spiral-staircase-from whence she had come-until she reached her own private bedroom.

Gail entered it, then shut the door, raced across the room and threw herself face-down on the bed, with a big heave and a dull, little plop!

As she continued to lay there this way, all of her mind was spinning in a turbulent whirl:

Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts-ghosts out of the past had come back to haunt her after nearly twenty years time-as the other female-occupant in Tina's room along with her was none other than...CYNTHIA CRANSTON!

Yes, that was the child which had been born out of the two-year-marriage of Douglas Cranston to Sabrina Towers.

How strange Fate was-how very strange, indeed!

But, what to do about it; that was the question:

She could come bursting into the room with a doubled-up strap and give both girls the sound lashing, bare-ass, that they so much deserved.

But no, that wouldn't do, either-not after the uninhibited Libertine-Bohemian life she had so brazenly led.

Both girls would call her the vilest of hypocrites, and Tina would hate her forever and ever more-not to even mention that she would lose all respect for her.

Suddenly, she had it-the answer she had been so avidly seeking:

The other girl-Cynthia-was Doug Cranston's daughter. So why not look him up and tell him all about it?

Yes, she would place it in his capable hands. He would know how to deal with the situation-just as he knew how to deal with her involvement with Sabrina Towers all those many years ago now.

Having thus made up her mind, Gail reached for her Princess Phone. . . .

CHAPTER 16

They arranged to meet in an exclusive and intimate little cocktail-lounge located on Sunset and Vine:

Sitting there across from him in a booth, as she toyed with her dry-martini, Gail realized that the years had been most kind to the person of Douglas Cranston.

True, he had put on a little weight, but this only made him look all the more radiant and healthy-what, with his deep, bright sun-tan.

The little patches of gray at the sides of his temple truly made him appear like "The Man of Distinction" from a Calvert Whisky ad. Little lines around his mouth and the hint of cobwebs under his eyes rendered his face with a definite aura of maturity.

In keeping with his overt appearance, Gail found that he was seemingly and ostensibly softer-spoken, more cordial and amiable, yet, with a quiet assurance about his person that could only come with relatively advanced age and his great collective experience in life.

In totality, Gail was pleasantly surprised and pleased.

As he also sipped on his own bourbon-on-the-rocks, they made small, light talk at first, mostly about show business and their respective careers. However, after the waiter had delivered the second round of drinks, the conversation took a turn and became more serious.

Gail then related to him a step-by-step, blow-by-blow description of what had transpired and, to the best of her knowledge, still was transpiring between his daughter and hers.

For his own part, Doug ostensibly didn't seem to be too rattled by what she related, or lose his debonair-composure. He hardly interrupted her during the entire tirade, except to nod his head affirmatively every once in a while, to signify that he understood what she was saying and wanted her to continue, or to ask a certain point to clarify something for him which was rather vague.

It took quite some time for Gail to get it all out, as, in typical womanly fashion, she was heated with emotion and digressed at intervals to the point of incoherence. But finally, she was done-had gotten it all out of her guts. Then she stared him straight in the eyes, and asked of him:

"So now that you know, Doug, precisely what do you intend to do about it?"

"I?" he retorted rhetorically. "Why, nothing, Gail-absolutely nothing."

"But, aren't you at all concerned with your own daughter's welfare?"

"Why, of course I am."

"So?"

"There's simply nothing I can do!"

"You didn't take that attitude once, when Sabrina and I got together for a fling. You dragged her down to the game-room and whipped her bare, saucy ass mercilessly with that riding-crop of yours. So why should Cynthia be any different now? And, while you are at it, you also have my permission to give my Tina a good, sound hiding, too."

"My, but aren't you the blood-thirsty one, though, Gail. You sure have changed from the Gail I used to know and be married to."

"Perhaps it is you who has changed, Doug," she suggested in return. "Perhaps you have grown soft."

"No-ooo, not really. If anything, I've become harder and tougher than ever."

"So, why can't you do something about the situation, then, since you did so once? Tell me that, Doug."

"Gladly, Gail; will do. It's quite simple, really: At that other time, I was married to you and you were my wife. Whereas, Cynthia is my daughter. There happens to be a keen difference, you know, even if those Fruedians who go off the deep end of everything-what with all of their prattlin' about Electra Complexes and assorted fixations-equate the two as being almost exactly the same."

"All the more reason, then. Since Cynthia is your daughter, I'm sure at this conjecture in her life, she is quite dependent on you for a source of income. So, that being the case, why don't you take her in hand? And since Tina is dependent on me solely, you have my permission to take her in hand, too."

"I could, but I won't. What do you want me to do, Gail? Make my daughter hate me? Have her think that I'm nothing but an utter staid, old-fashioned brute and fiend, and after I've been so good to her, too?"

"Arrr, so you have grown soft-mellowed with the years; haven't you, Doug?" Gail retorted, most knowingly and rhetorically.

"You might call it that, but I prefer to call it being realistic instead."

"How is that? What kind of rationalization are you giving me, Doug?"

"Why, none at all, Gail. Simply the truth."

"But, how is that?" Gail persisted. "Explain."

"Glad to, Gail....You see, we're living in an entirely different World today from the one you and I grew up in. Then, everything was done furtively and on the sly; whereas, today, it's all done out in the open."

"Is that any reason to condone it, Doug?"

"It's not a question of that," Doug sighed, trying to maintain his composure and be patient with her getting set to explain-which made him sound like some pedant of a school-marm to her: "You see, not only is there a looser moral code today, but there is hardly any appreciable outer difference between the two sexes. Why, most of the times, it's actually difficult to tell if one is looking at a male or female, even if the given viewer happens to look twice!"

"Too, too true."

"More than that, even: the way they dress, the auto-erotic way they dance-everything they do is cool, detached and ultra-sophisticated-even if they do dress ludicrously and deliberately wallow themselves with dirt."

"True again, Doug. But just what has this got to do with your problem at hand concerning our respective daughters?"

"Everything."

"How so?"

"You still don't understand, do you, Gail."

"No, frankly, I don't."

"Well, I'm doing my very best to clarify matters for you; believe me."

"I realize that. So try some more; maybe I'll get it."

"Very well," he sighed resignedly again, although taking a much bigger, more audible heave in doing so. "Nothing fazes this present generation. Even if they seem like a bunch of outlandish freaks and jerks, in a certain sense-when it comes to sex-they are ultra-sophisticated. To hardly any of them does it matter who they have sex with, or even what form it takes; rather, they view and take sex as a pure abstraction, per se."

"So, what you're trying to tell me, Doug, is: you think the girls will out-grow their Lesbian inclinations, hmmm?"

"No, not quite, Gail. They won't really have to, as it doesn't mean that much to them-as much as it meant to you and Sabrina at the time, say-but purely another means of having themselves a good personal jerk off! That's all there is to it."

"My, but that's sure putting things crudely and bluntly, Doug."

"True, but it hits the mark-the good, old bull's-eye!"

"Well, I'm still concerned about my Tina, even if you're not about your Cynthia."

"Don't be, Gail, as it's not at all necessary; believe me....You want to be realistic and face the facts?"

"Of course."

"Well, this present generation is a race of sexual-neuters. As a matter-of-fact, it's rapidly evolving to the state which George Bernard Shaw predicted it ultimately would in his great intellectual play, Back to Methuselah."

"And just what did the great man say, pray tell? I know that you're well up on such matters, Doug."

"Purely this: He predicted that at some future time, the two sexes-both male and female-won't need each other, but will be able to all fuck themselves and make babies that way."

"How nice. How sweet. How very, very pleasant! And would you like to live in such a World, Doug?"

"That's strictly beside the point, or is the point: It's not what I like, but what is. Can't you understand this one simple thing, Gail?"

"What's that?"

"We are living in an entirely different World today from the one you and I lived, grew up and reached maturity in. Why, this new generation is as different from us and the way we were than, say, an alien race from outer-space-from a different planet, would probably be-if not, indeed, a great deal more so."

This note of empathy and identification with her coming from him kindled in Gail anew the old spark of affection she once had in her heart for Doug:

"We're both free and on the loose, Doug; we have no ties," she uttered warmly and softly. "So what say we get together again and perhaps grow old gracefully together?"

"Uh-uh, Gail. Nix on that."

"But, why?" she whined.

"Because we're two old fogies and no good for each other anymore. Why, if we ever got together now, we would have more fights and friction than we ever had in the past."

"But I still don't understand why, Doug?" she pouted.

"Because, like I said, we're both two old fogies, relatively. What I need is some fresh young chicks around Tina and Cynthia's age-to have a ball with. That's another reason, by the way, I wouldn't try to whip their saucy little asses for them. . . . "

"Mow is that, Doug?"

"Because I would probably wind up raping both of them!"

"Still trying to impress me that you're utterly fiendish, huh."

"Perhaps."

"Very well. And what do you say I should do about my own life, Doug? Whom should I try to settle down with in my declining years?"

"Nobody-if you want me to be frank, Gail. After all, you've already tried marriage three times, to different types of men. And a three-time loser is fatal; they always count it as being out in anything!"

"But, what about yourself? Why, you were married some five or six times, already."

"Yes, when I was younger and more impetuous. But being older and wiser now, I'm reconciled to going it alone and living out my present bachelor-existence in peace-which includes balling it up with all the young chicks available."

"But, what about me, Doug? You still haven't told me what I should do. And your prospects do sound so dismal and depressing, really."

" 'You?' Why, the very same thing that I'm doing, but at the opposite end of the totem-pole, namely: get yourself some nice, handsome young-boy studs and ball it up-fuck and suck up a real storm."

"Oh, come, come, Doug-you subtle flatterer, you. You know right well I'm pushing forty. So how can I ever attract handsome young-boy studs?"

"That's quite simple, my dear. With your notoriety and wealth, it should be a real snap."

"You mean, paying for boy-prostitutes?"

"No, I don't 'mean' that at all, Gail. There are plenty of pretty young boys around who go for older women-have mother-complexes-especially if she's such a pretty, sexy mother by proxy as you would be. Do I make myself clear, Gail baby, or do I have to draw you a blueprint?"

"No-ooo, I catch on; I dig you, Doug."

"Perhaps," it was Gail's turn to sigh. "I'll see. But we can still remain friends, can't we, Doug? I mean, we don't have to be so strange to one another anymore?"

"Of course we can. As a matter-of-fact, we can even fix one another up: I'll be on the lookout for pretty boy-studs for you; and you can, in turn, be on the lookout for fresh, young bouncy chicks for me."

"Oh, you vile fiend, you," Gail was forced to exclaim-half jestingly, half in fact. "Fair enough, Gail."

"Quite, Doug."

"So, till we meet again, cheers, Gail baby."

" 'Cheers,' Doug darling," she echoed him."

Then, as she took her leave from the cocktail-lounge, Gail came to realize something-a most unusual paradox:

That while nothing really concrete or tangible had emanated from Doug as to solving any of the problems that were pressing her the most, Gail felt much better about things as she left:

She had more hope about life, in general, and for herself, in particular.

She guessed, that like him, she was finally learning how to really mellow!. . .

THE END
Spanking Cop-Out ....(107k)    by Joe Weiss




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~







.....4728 home .....4730








---

	"Double for Nothing!! Tricks for Free!!!"™ A MrDouble Production: mrdouble

Page Design Copyright � 1998-2016, Mr Double, ALL Rights Reserved    
Stories Copyright respective authors.