IN HIS BOOK, SEX WITHOUT GUILT, ALBERT ELLIS WRITES: "WOMEN ARE NOT NECESSARILY intrinsically different from males in their sex drives and needs; and, when they are, they are frequently more rather than less highly sexed than are men ... Every human being, just because he exists, should have the right to as much (or as little), as varied for as monotonous), as intense (or as mild), as enduring (or as brief) sex enjoyment as he prefers-as long as, in the process of acquiring these preferred satisfactions, he does not needlessly, forcefully, or unfairly interfere with the sexual (or non-sexual) rights and satisfactions of others." And this was Mia's philosophy-but in a small town like this the outlooks were frustrating. There just weren't any available males-but then she remembered ... there was always the milkman!
CHAPTER ONE
MIA HOPKINS WAS BORED TO HELL AND GONE. FOR the past thirty days she had been living in her dead uncle's home in the small town of Hopkinsville. Her uncle, Jack Hopkins, had left her his entire quarter-million-dollar estate on the condition that she come to live in his house for a one-year period. Mia had no idea of why her uncle should make such a damnable request of her. Evidently, he had thought that living in a hick small town for a year would rub some virtue off on her. Her uncle, Jack, had been a strange, narrow man with no other living relatives, had been a bachelor who apparently had never looked at a woman, as far as she knew. Mia had often wondered if he were not a secret homosexual but had never been able to discover this about him.
"Damn the old bastard," she muttered, as she sat in lounging pajamas in the house at the north end of Main Street. "This is the dumbest place in the world to live. I swear, if I don't get some sex action soon I'm going to drive to the pool hall and drag out one of those red-faced hicks and rape him in my car."
Mia was from a large city and had lived there all her life. Her parents had been dead since she was sixteen and she had been a swinger ever since. Mia loved to go. She was a pretty twenty-five-year-old brunette with long hair, brown eyes, big tits, a swaying ass, and plenty of need for men. Now, as she sat on the sofa, a drink in her hands, she pushed her pajama bottoms down a bit and ran her forefinger lightly over her cunt. A shiver passed through her and she removed her hand quickly. "My God, I'm a hot broad," she muttered. "I'll never be able to make it for a full year in this awful town. Those stupid rubes just stare. They're scared to even talk to me. Wish I could find a real man somewhere, one with guts." Once again she ran her finger over her cunt and once again she shivered with desire.
She got to her feet finally and began to pace the floor. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and she had been hot ever since she awakened at eight. Even drinking whiskey didn't help. The more she drank, the hotter she became, until new desire had almost completely taken possession of her and she was ready for anything.
"If only I had a milkman, or somebody, coming into the house," she muttered, and a moment later grinned at her remark. If she had a milkman coming to the house that milkman would have received the pleasantest surprise of his life-a lovely girl begging him to screw her, on the floor, if necessary.
She no more than had this thought than she went to the phone and lifted the receiver. She replaced it immediately and looked up the number of a milk dealer in the town and found one. She then dialed the number and asked to have regular deliveries of milk made at her residence. The man at the other end assured her he would take care of it, that she would have milk delivered the following day.
"No," she said firmly. "I need it now. Right away. Tomorrow is not soon enough."
The man was silent. Then: "All right, ma'am, and thank you."
She gave him her name and address and hung up. She went straight to her bedroom where she pulled off her lounging pajamas and stood looking at her nude body in a floor-length mirror. Her body was tanned and graceful-looking, slim at the waist, full at the hips, her legs long and nicely shaped. Her stomach was flat and her navel looked "cute" to her. She knew that most men were fascinated by a cute type of navel, for some reason. She selected a thin, black bra that barely covered the nipples of her shapely, pointed tits. She drew on a pair of skimpy, black panties. Next, she pulled on a pair of black, sheer nylons and fastened them to a garter belt, also black. She went back to the mirror and studied the effect, nodding with approval. Now she put on a short skirt-but not too short; she didn't want to effect the little-kid-in-a-jumper suit look that too many women did these days. She selected a white blouse that was transparent-it was important that the guy see her black bra through it-and once again studied herself in the mirror. She nodded her head.
"This ought to drive him half nuts," she muttered. "Especially if I can persuade him to have a drink, make him sit down and talk to me." The reason she wanted him to sit down was so she could sit across from him and expose her thigh region shamelessly to him. She even considered removing the panties so that she could actually show him her cunt. After thinking about this for a few moments, she reached beneath her skirt and drew her panties off. "I might as well give him fireworks as not," she muttered. "Can't afford to let him off the hook." She picked up her perfume bottle and sprayed herself with it-it was expensive stuff of the kind formulated to drive an unsuspecting man half-wild with desire, though Mia had some doubts about the effectiveness of perfume in this capacity. It didn't, however, hurt to try it, as she so often did.
She returned to the front room and rearranged the pillows on the sofa. Standing back and inspecting them, she nodded again and turned and walked to the kitchen door. It was summertime, but she hadn't opened that door yet-it being a rather cool day. She wanted the rear door open so she could hear him coming up the steps. It would be a hell of a thing if he just left the milk on the porch and went away without seeing her.
She waited for perhaps thirty minutes before she heard a vehicle pulling into the driveway. Running to the side window, she saw it was a white milk truck. She immediately went to the kitchen door, one hand placed on the side of it, the other hand on her hip. She assumed her most seductive pose as the man approached the door.
He didn't look at her, however, but came up on the porch and tipped his hat, while reaching for the handle of the screen door. She pushed it open and took the two cartons of milk from his outstretched hands.
"How do I pay for it?" she purred. "Now, or by the week, or what?" The man, she noted with satisfaction, was a fairly young guy and not bad-looking, a blond guy, rather tall. The most important thing was that he was male, the hell with his looks.
"By the week, ma'am," he stated flatly, and looked up at her. His lips parted a little when he saw her ravishing beauty. "How do you do," he stammered. "My name is Phil."
"How do you do, Phil. I think I'll pay a week in advance. Will you come inside, please, while I write you a check?"
"It's not necessary to pay in advance, ma'am," he stammered, his eyes trying desperately, she noted, not to stare at her large tits.
"I insist," she said. "Please come into the front room."
"All right, ma'am," he said, and his face flushed up a bit.
She judged his age to be about twenty-one. Wonderful. She liked men to be a bit younger than she, though this wasn't necessary. As long as they had a prick that could get hard and stay that way ... well ... what else was there, really?
She led him into the front room and pretended to look for her checkbook. After going through a couple of drawers, seemingly in vain, she turned and smiled at him. "Do you mind waiting a bit? Please help yourself to a drink, if you wish." She pointed at the bottle on the cocktail table near him and in front of the sofa.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said. "Don't mind if I do, seeing as how I'm through work for the day." He poured himself a drink and she nodded, so he sat down, evidently understanding that he was welcome to do so. He let out a sigh and she glanced at him curiously.
"I'll bet you poor guys work awfully hard," she murmured, coming close to him.
"Yes, ma'am, we do. Long hours and poor pay. They don't pay much in a small town for a milkman. My wife wants me to get a better job, but you can hardly find them here."
So ... he was married. This ought to make it even more interesting. "If you'll pardon me," she said sweetly, "I'd never take you for a married man."
He was taking a sip of the whiskey and when she said this, he gulped a bit, and looked over at her, his face flushing slightly. "Is that so, ma'am?" he stammered.
"Yes," she said, leisurely sitting down on the sofa across from him and pulling her legs up so that he couldn't miss seeing her cunt. "Yes, it is so, Phil. You look like a carefree bachelor."
The man glanced at her between the legs and colored up even more. He took a hasty swallow of his drink and averted his eyes from her. "I been married over a year. My wife's name is Betsy."
"What a pretty name. Tell me," she said in her most seductive tone, "is she very pretty?"
The man took another self-conscious sip of the whiskey. "Yes, ma'am. At least I think so. She's kind of plump, though." He grinned a little and looked up at her quickly, only to avert his eyes even more quickly.
She took this opportunity to glance at his crotch. She caught her breath, but managed not to make a sound doing it. The man, she saw, had a hard-on already. Beautiful. Now to steer him along, guide him into the correct channels.
"Do you mind if I say something?" she asked, moving her legs a little so that her cunt would be fully exposed to his view.
"Course not, ma'am," he said, flushing even more.
She laughed softly, seductively. "You're a very good-looking man. Are all the men in this town as good-looking as you?"
He moistened his lips nervously. "I ... don't ... know, ma'am. Are ... you a newcomer here?"
"Yes. I've lived here only a short time. I find it quite lonely in Hopkinsville. You see, I don't know anyone yet. I...."
"Are you married?" he asked bluntly.
She shook her head in what she thought might strike him as being a sad manner. "No," she answered softly. "I'm all alone in the world."
"Gee," he said sympathetically, "that's too bad." He gulped. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone."
"That's life," she sighed, and looked deeply into his eyes.
He put his glass down and got to his feet. "If you'll write the check, ma'am, I guess I better be getting home."
She felt like saying, Oh no you don't, buster. You aren't getting all hard by looking at my cunt and then going home and using it on your old lady, but of course she didn't. "Please," she murmured softly, "don't go just yet. I'm so very lonely. Have another drink. I have plenty. While you're doing that I'll have another look for my checkbook."
"Weller-okay, ma'am," he muttered, and sat back down. This time he stared rather boldly at her legs and even grinned self-consciously. "Hope you don't mind my saying so, ma'am, but you're mighty pretty."
She beamed on him and leaned forward at the same time so he could see her tits better as the low-cut blouse fell away from her.
"Thank you," she murmured sweetly. "I haven't had a man compliment me since I moved here." She laughed softly, knowing it was a musical sound and would probably send him a bit more.
It apparently did, for he sat on the edge of his chair now and, moistening his lips once again, stared at her tits hard. "Very pretty. Think I'll have another drink, if you don't mind, ma'am."
She laughed again, deep in her throat this time. "My goodness no. Help yourself to all you want. I know how you fellows work hard all day long."
He grinned self-consciously again. "You sound like you know someone in the milk business, ma'am."
She wished he would stop calling her ma'am. It made her sound like a middle-aged housewife, which she definitely was not. "No," she replied, getting to her feet to reach for the bottle which was nearer to him than to her. "I've never had that pleasure, but ... there's always the first time for anything, Phil." She made this an open invitation to him and hoped he would pick up on it.
He flushed again. "Can I pour you a drink, ma'am?"
"Surely," she said, and handed him the bottle and pointed at a glass. She took longer in doing this than was necessary-she wanted him to catch the scent of her perfume again.
Apparently he did so, for he smiled nicely and looked up at her. One of her tits, she knew, was almost wholly hanging out from under her blouse, but she pretended to be innocent of any knowledge of it.
"You sure are a pretty woman," he remarked, and nearly poured the whiskey on the carpet instead of in her glass. He saw what he was about to do and apologized profusely.
"That's all right, Phil. It's just a floor."
"I was pretty stupid there for a moment," he stammered.
"It doesn't matter. No harm done. Tell me, what time will you be delivering milk to me daily?"
He appeared to be thinking. "About eight o'clock in the morning, ma'am."
Her hand flew to her mouth as she sat back down on the sofa, the glass in her other hand. "Oh, dear," she murmured. "That's much too early."
"I also deliver in the afternoon, ma'am. About three o'clock I come around this way."
She stole another glance at his crotch and saw he was really hard now. She wanted to smile but didn't. "That would be a more satisfactory hour," she murmured without explaining why.
"All right, ma'am. I'll write it down when I get back to the truck. Do you have the check ready, ma'am?"
Good grief, he ought to know she didn't have the check written. She merely shook her head and looked deeply into his blue eyes again. "Afraid I don't know where I put the thing. I'll look for it as soon as we've had our little drink together."
He grinned and raised his glass. "Here's to you, ma'am."
She smiled nicely at him. "Why, thank you, Phil. You're very nice to say that."
"It's a pleasure," he said, and took a sip of his drink.
She did the same thing. "Have you always lived in Hopkinsville, Phil?" she asked, leaning over again so he could see her tits better.
He gulped. "Yes, ma'am. Born and raised here. So was my wife."
Screw your wife, she thought. "How nice," she said. "Childhood sweethearts?"
"Not exactly."
"I see," she said. "Phil ... I wonder if you'd do me a favor?"
"Sure, ma'am. What is it?"
She pointed. "My bedroom is across the hall. Would you get the white lace kerchief that's lying on the bed for me, please?"
He jumped to his feet, nearly spilling his drink. "Why sure, ma'am. Did you say a white lace kerchief?"
"Yes, Phil. It's on my bed."
"I'll go right now," he said, as if there would be any other time to go.
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "If you don't see it on the bed, call out to me."
He appeared to be puzzled by this but merely murmured something unintelligible and left the room. The moment he had gone she jumped to her feet and followed him as far as the hall where she stopped, her heart beating furiously.
She waited.
Finally, he appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, still looking puzzled. "I don't see it anywhere, ma'am," he stammered, "Oh, dear," she said softly, and walked toward him. In order to get by him in the doorway it was necessary (and pleasant) to brush her body up tightly against his for a fleeting moment. She went to the dresser and cried out softly. "Oh, there it is, on the dresser, Phil. How stupid of me not to remember."
When she turned around she couldn't help noticing that he had taken a step closer to her. His eyes were filled with lust. "Ma'am," he said strangely, "did I understand you to say you have no husband?"
"I'm not married, Phil," she told him sweetly. "I'm all alone here."
He cleared his throat and tried not to look at her, but his eyes fastened on her one exposed tit and seemingly he couldn't tear them away from the sight of it. "Ma'am," he said unsteadily, "you'll have to forgive me and I know you can get me fired for it ... but ... I think ... you are ... making fun of me ... or something."
Her hands flew to her mouth purposely. "Why, Phil, what a terrible thing to say. I would never make fun of a nice-looking man such as yourself. I ... "
"Just the same," he began, and stopped, his face very red.
She glanced at his crotch again quickly. He was protruding a great deal now. She knew she had him all wrapped up. "Phil," she said, lying down on the bed and lifting her skirt high to show him her exposed cunt. "Please ... help me ... I'm so lonesome."
His face was beet-red now as he looked at her with lust-filled eyes. "Ma'am," he said, his voice shaking. "I told you-I'm ... married."
"Yes," she sighed. "All the handsome men are married." She sighed again and placed her hand on her bare stomach, knowing this was a most maddening thing for a man in heat to see. She moved her body slightly and half-closed her eyes. "I suppose," she said softly, "that if you're afraid to make love to me there's nothing poor little me can do except lie here and...."
"Ma'am," he blurted. "I'd like to make love to you ... like ... crazy, ma'am."
Her eyes till half-closed, she surveyed him. "Oh, Phil," she sighed. "Thank you for that. I guess you must think I'm terrible."
"I think you're just wonderful, ma'am," he said, blurting these words out, also.
"Come here, Phil," she said, and extended her arm.
He came close to the bed. She reached up and unzipped him quickly. Her hand darted inside his pants and took hold of his erection. "Oh, Phil," she murmured. "How very long and hard you are. I'll bet you're awfully good, aren't you?"
"I'm pretty good, ma'am," he said, his voice half-strangled.
"Get on me, honey, put it into my cunt and screw me like you've never screwed a girl before."
He threw himself on top of her and began to pump at her even before putting it in. She took hold of his erection and steered it deeply into her cunt. He moved on her and in her with terrific speed and she raised her loins to meet his savage battering.
"Oh ... ma'am ... ma'am...." he cried. "You got me so ... hot ... I'm burning up...."
She reached in between them and unbuckled his belt and undid his pants and shoved them down over his buttocks even though he hadn't let up in his savage pumping at her for a moment. The pants down, she placed her hot hands on his buttocks and pressed him down on her body. At the same time, she stiffened herself and raised even higher to receive his purchase, she began to rub his buttocks while at the same time she found his ear and began to whisper hoarsely into it.
"You're so good, Phil, you're so very good. Go a little more deeply, darling, go as deep as you can. I love it, you're so hard and wonderful."
He groaned and drove at her like a madman and she lay there, a smile of happy gratification playing about her mouth as the man pumped his vital fluid into the inner recesses of her cunt.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS LATER IN THE EVENING THAT MIA reclined on the sofa in the front room, a drink in her hand, a smile on her face, and congratulated herself on having made a contact that was assured of being steady. She had this guy, Phil, in her power now. He would have to make love to her each day-or whenever she wanted it-because if he didn't she would threaten to tell his bride on him. Mia knew men very well and she especially knew young men who had been married only a short time. They would do anything to prevent their wives from discovering they had been unfaithful. Mia had been through this a few times before and she was certain of her prospects for the future regarding the milkman.
She laughed now. "Who'd ever think I'd have to resort to seducing the milkman?" she muttered. "What a gas."
She recalled how it had felt to have his cock rammed into her. A feeling of pleasure plus accomplishment spread over her and she laughed aloud at the ridiculous ease with which she had manipulated the man. He had been a pushover for her once she had gotten him into the bedroom. The poor guy had been almost beside himself in his eagerness to insert his erection into her cunt. Mia reached down and ran her fingers over her cunt and once again a shiver ran through her.
"My god," she muttered, "I haven't had enough of it yet. If that small town cat were here I'd really show him what a good piece of ass was." She shrugged. The milkman would be back tomorrow afternoon around three o'clock. She could take him to bed again at that time. She had no doubts about her ability to get to him. She knew she was irresistible to the average guy. Correction. She knew she was irresistible to the average big town guy. These small town boobs ... well, except for the milkman, they had steered clear of her altogether. She mentally shrugged this away. They were, she felt, simply overawed by her clothes and car and the fact that she was Jack Hopkins' niece. The Hopkins family had given this town its name. The Hopkins family had always been the first family of this burg.
Mia glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly nine o'clock. This was the time of day that she hated the most. Nighttime and nothing to do. What a song title that would make. She wished she were musically talented-she would write a song about it.
"The only talent I have," she muttered, "is the one I just demonstrated on the milkman. I'll bet he thinks I'm plenty talented." She found this extremely funny and broke out into gales of laughter. When the tears were streaming down her cheeks she ceased to laugh and wiped them away with her kerchief. "Ho boy," she muttered. "If I sit around laughing at my own jokes and muttering to myself, I'm going to be a candidate for the giggle factory."
She stood up and stretched her arms high above her head. Her dark hair tumbling about her shoulders in a fetching manner, she looked the picture of sexiness, with her pointed tits, her slightly parted lips that looked as if they would stop at nothing where a man was concerned. "I'm gonna die here in this godawful burg," she muttered. "I've got to find something to do in the evenings. The milkman won't be able to get away from his wife." She tried to recall if Phil had given her his last name, but if he had she couldn't remember it. Probably not. Mia had a fairly good memory.
Someone was knocking on the front door and had been doing so for several moments. She listened for a moment to make sure it wasn't the wind and then walked slowly to the door. There was a chain on the door and Mia glanced at it instinctively to see if it was in place. It was. She pulled open the door and stared out into the darkness. It didn't occur to her immediately to turn on the porch light. "Yeah?" she said. "Who is it?"
A man's voice answered her. "Beg your pardon. May I use your phone?" The voice was deep and extremely masculine.
Mia found the switch and flicked on the porch light and looked the man over. He was a big guy, had a large jaw, wide shoulders, a mustache, and seemed to be well-dressed. She decided he was good-looking and after taking a closer second glance knew he was.
"Can't you use one of the pay phones on the corner?" she heard herself ask him.
"I'm a stranger in town, don't know where they're located."
"That's easy," she said, her hand on the chain nevertheless, "they're on every corner down the street. They call it Main Street."
Her slight sarcasm seemed not to be lost on the man, for he laughed softly. "I admit," he said in his deep-sounding voice, "that this looks as though I am trying to get inside your house, but the fact is, I'm not. Hope you will believe me.
Mia wasn't afraid of men. She removed the chain and let it drop clattering against the door frame. "Come in, mister," she said. "I'm Mia Hopkins. What's your name?"
"Harry Bard," he replied, stepping into the house and closing the door. "Thanks for letting me in."
"The phone," she said, looking him over swiftly at closer range, "is over in the corner. Help yourself."
"Thanks," he said, in that deep tone of voice. "Won't take but a moment." He crossed the room and picked up the phone, but she couldn't hear what he said into it. After a minute he hung up and turned around. "Much obliged," he said, looking into her eyes momentarily and then allowing his gaze to travel downward to take in the contours of her body.
Mia smiled slightly, realizing that she liked the looks of this big guy. How would it be to get him on the bed? She imagined it would be great. "Have a drink, Mr. Bard," she offered.
His gray eyes narrowed a bit. "Don't mind if I do. Beg your pardon. I seem to have forgotten your name."
"Mia. Mia Hopkins."
He moved across the room with perfect balance which made Mia believe he might be a professional athlete of some sort. He looked the part, she thought. "Mia Hopkins. Sounds like a movie star's name. You a movie star?"
"No," she said, smiling up into those gray eyes of his. Man, he was a big guy. "Are you an athlete?" she asked abruptly.
He seemed amazed. "Matter of fact I am. How did you know?"
"I sensed it."
He furrowed his brows. "Really. How about that. I-er-play football. You like football?"
"Very much," she lied.
"I'm a pro," he said. "This is the off season. Got nothing much to do." He seemed to place emphasis on this remark.
She smiled again. "How nice. I'm not a football player, just a woman, and I have nothing to do, either."
"Don't you have a husband?" he asked quickly.
"No. Do you?"
He laughed and she thought it had a nice ring to it. "No, I don't have a wife."
She was wearing a sweater that easily revealed the contour of her tits, and she noticed he was staring at them boldly. "Why don't you sit down, Mr.-damn it, now I've forgotten your name." She hadn't forgotten his name, but there was no point in letting him have any advantage-he had forgotten hers, so he had said.
"Name's Harry Bard. Mind if I call you Mia?"
"Please do, Harry," she said. "Shall we sit on the sofa?"
"Fine," he said, and they went to the sofa and sat, but not close to each other.
She pointed at the bottle on the cocktail table. "You pour," she said. "A small one for me."
"All right. Do you-er-have some preference for small ones?"
The double meaning of his remark wasn't lost on her. She looked him straight in the eyes. "On the contrary, I love big ones, ordinarily. However, the first drink is ... well, I prefer a small one at the moment."
He laughed deep in his throat and poured out two drinks, neither of which was small. He handed one to her. "You aren't the type for small ones," he said. "Big ones are more to your liking."
She was becoming excited at the turn the conversation had taken and she liked a man who spoke out about such matters. Smiling at him again, she took a sip of her drink and glanced coyly at him over the rim of her glass, her eyes half-closed.
"You know something, Mia?" he remarked, moving closer to her. "You're much too pretty to have nothing to do."
"I think so, too, Harry."
"Have you always lived in this small town?"
"No. I've always lived in a big town." He laughed. "There we go on the small and big kick again."
She joined in the laughing. "We're hung up on it, Harry. Did you say you were a football player?"
"Yes. And you said you were a woman."
She took another sip. "I think I'm a woman. Living in this town for the past thirty days without having really met anyone has made me wonder if I am or not."
"Believe me you are, Mia," he said.
"Thank you. What team do you play with?"
He frowned much as if he didn't want to waste time talking about non-essentials. "Bulldogs. How come a pretty girl like you sits at home at night?"
"I don't know anyone in town. I'm a stranger here, too, just like you."
"I find that hard to believe. What's wrong with the yokels? Don't they know a lovely woman when they see one?"
Mia laughed. "Thank you, Harry. My, we seem to have become acquainted awfully fast."
"I'm an athlete, remember. I like speed."
"Really?" she murmured. "And how much speed do you prefer?"
"Top speed," he said, and slipped his arm about her shoulders.
She liked this, of course, but it would never do to appear too willing and eager. "For a man who just wanted to use my phone, you move rather too quickly," she heard herself say.
"Want me to remove my arm?"
She turned slightly and looked at his rugged features. This man was all power, she could tell. He had strength to burn. "Not really," she said, smiling. "I rather like it."
"Tell me something, will you?" he asked. "Are you a virgin?"
The suddenness of his question caused her to break out in a gale of laughter. He joined in with her and pulled her over closer to him and kissed the side of her face. She stopped laughing when he did this and, taking his chin firmly in her hand, planted a wet kiss on his lips but drew away quickly. "There, that ought to answer your nutty question," she said.
He was grinning now. "It must have sounded pretty stupid. I don't know why I asked you."
"You wanted to find out," she said. "That's why. Besides, it gets the conversation onto firmer ground."
He leaned back and surveyed her. "You're a smart cookie, Mia. I can see that now. Forgive me for thinking otherwise ... at first."
"Oh ... did you think I was dumb?"
He rubbed his granite-type of jaw. "Well, any girl who'd let a strange man into her house...."
"...Has got to be dumb," she finished for him.
He laughed again, and this time she saw he had even, white teeth. She liked men who had even, white teeth, provided they had something lower down to go with the nice smile. "Something like that," he said. "But there are always exceptions, and you seem to be one."
"Thank you, sir," she said mockingly. "A compliment is a compliment."
"Mia," he said, "I feel like I've known you for ages."
"Well, as I said before, we seem to get acquainted very quickly. Who knows? Maybe we are soul mates, or some such rubbish."
"You're a most remarkable girl," he said. "I like you."
"I like you, too, I think," she said pointedly.
"What does that mean-you think? Don't you know?"
She gave him a seductive look. "How can I be certain?"
He nodded his head. "Would you like to try and find out?"
"Hey!" she said. "Do you always move this fast?"
He removed his arm from around her, disappointing her greatly, and got to his feet. "No. Sorry. Didn't mean to be rude."
What the hell was he talking about? "You're not rude," she said hastily. "I didn't mean that. Sit down. Have another drink."
He grinned and sat down again. "Okay. The gentleman accepts the lady's invitation to stay awhile."
She sat up straighter so he could see how large her tits were. "It gets very lonely in this damned town," she muttered.
"Beg your pardon, I didn't quite hear you."
"Let's stop stalling around, Harry," she said bluntly. "How would you like to go to bed with me?"
He studied her eyes briefly. "Now who's moving fast?"' he challenged.
"I am," she said simply. "Tell you why. I like you, for one thing, and for another I've got hot pants. That tell you enough about me?"
"I should think so," he said, and whistled.
The next thing she knew he had placed his hand on her crotch and she could feel the strength of his fingers as he probed for her cunt through the shorts she was wearing. "Take them off, baby," he urged.
"All right, Harry." She reached down and undid her shorts, pushed them down over her knees and kicked them off. She wasn't wearing panties and when he saw this his eyes bulged. He placed his hand on her cunt, and immediately she discharged on him a bit.
"Wow," he exclaimed. "I should say you are hot."
She noted how excited he had become. Mia was never one to be shy about sex matters, so she reached over and felt him. He was rigid. "It would appear," she said tightly, "that you, too, are ready for sex."
"You can say that again, baby." He slipped his arm beneath her and picked her up easily. "Where's your bedroom, baby?"
She sighed and cuddled her head against his massive chest. "Across the hall."
He carried her across the hall, kicking open the bedroom door. She flicked on the light herself and he placed her on the bed and looked down at her. "You're the sexiest-looking gal I've seen in a long time," he said, his tone sounding excited.
"I am sexy, Harry, very much so. I just hope you are."
"Let's find out, shall we?"
"That seems to be the general idea, Harry," she said, smiling up at him.
He stripped off his coat and shirt and threw them over a chair. Off came his shoes and then his pants, which he also flung over the chair. She looked at his muscular body and sucked in her breath. The man was a perfect physical specimen of manhood, no question about it. "I'm damned glad I selected your house to make a phone call," he muttered.
"So'm I, Harry," she said, and removed her sweater and bra, her tits tumbling out in full view.
"You're a hot little piece, aren't you?" he said, as he stripped off his underwear and threw it down.
"Yeah, Harry. Get on top of me, baby."
But he didn't do so immediately. He stood there looking at her body, apparently savoring every detail of it. "You know something, Mia?" he said. "You've really got a lush frame."
She half-closed her eyes and smiled. "Thank you, Harry." She looked at the golden hair on his chest. There was just enough of it, not too much. Too much hair on a man was distasteful to her, but Harry had it in just the right amount. She glanced at him, down, and saw his erection stood straight up, nearly reaching his navel. "You look like quite a man, Harry," she said, happily, her heart pounding. "Please lie down and put it into my cunt, baby."
"Just a minute," he said, his voice sounding strangely hollow. "I want to see you perfectly first-your cunt. I can see the indentation of it. I like girls who don't have too much hair around it. I like to see the indentation. That black hair. It's pretty."
"You know," she said, laughing nervously. "I was just thinking something similar about you."
"You mean hair?"
"Yes. I don't like men without hair or men with too much of it."
"Looks like we ought to get along fine then," he said. "We won't," she said.
"Huh?" He looked puzzled as he leaned over the bed, his erection close to her stomach.
"I mean we won't get along unless you lie down on me, baby."
"I intend to," he said. "I told you I like to look a girl over good first."
"It's so nice, us meeting like this tonight. I was about nuts from wanting a man," she said, which was only partially a lie.
He ran his hand up and down on his erection but only once. "It's hard, baby," he said. "It's very hard."
She thought this a rather odd thing to remark about. After all, she could see it was very hard. "Why don't you use it, Harry?"
He placed one knee on the bed. "Don't get impatient, baby. There's something I want to do to you before I screw you."
Excitement caught at her all the more. "What, Harry? What do you want to do?"
"I want to kiss your cunt, baby. Do you mind?"
She smiled tensely. "You do? Really, Harry?"
"Yes," he said tightly. "I do. Yours is so damned pretty, it's ... welt, it's eatin' stuff."
"Then eat, Harry. I'd love to have you."
He placed both knees on the bed now and, lowering his body, kissed her cunt with his lips, running his tongue over her most sensitive spot.
"Oh ... Harry...!" she wailed. "My God, man, that drives me crazy."
"I want to drive you crazy, a little," he muttered.
She closed her eyes and felt him grasp her hips in either hand and then she felt his tongue go deeply into her. She stiffened her body and began to pull his hair wildly. She wanted to pull his hair out of his head, it felt so good.
"Harry!" she cried. "Are you trying to torture me?"
He didn't reply but ran his tongue into her, darting it in and out of her cunt with such skill and rapidity that she had a sudden, hectic orgasm.
"My God!" she screamed. "Oh ... my God ... Harry!"
She didn't have a chance to say anything more, for he had flung his powerful body on top of hers and kissed her mouth while at the same time thrusting at her cunt with his cock. He entered her deeply with one rough, almost brutal stroke. She cried out from the sheer pain of it, but her crying out stopped immediately as he moved back and forth expertly, his long, swollen tube nearly driving her out of her mind. In just a few seconds she had her second explosion and she wondered how many orgasms this brute of a man would cause her to have. She hoped it would be many, many.
His body was heavy on hers, but she didn't care if he crushed her. All she wanted was the fluid from this man's penis.
Again he made her achieve a sudden orgasm. She yelled all during it and couldn't seem to stop, not even after he had, increased the speed to the point where he was almost breaking her body in two.
"Harry!" she screamed. "Give it to me, baby! Let me have it!"
He did. He flowed into her for such a long, hectic time that she began to wonder if he would ever stop.
And then ... they lay there, limply, neither one of them speaking. Words were not necessary. They had just said everything that men and women had to say to one another. They had said, "I want you. I need you."
The fact that it was only a temporary want, a momentary need, was of no importance, just as it never is.
Unless, of course, the people involved are incurable romantics.
CHAPTER THREE
MIA WAS TREMENDOUSLY PLEASED WITH HERSELF the following day. She had been in the town for thirty, long, lousy days without getting any, and suddenly she had taken two guys and taken them easily. As she sat around the house at noon that day she tried to compare the two men, but there seemed to be little difference in them, actually, though Harry had been much rougher (and, of course, better looking). Before Harry had left the night before he had told her his car was broken down and this was why he had wanted to use her phone-to call a garage. The garage had called back and told him his car was okay and he had kissed her and told her he would make it a point to return to Hopkinsville as soon as possbile. Mia hoped it would be very soon.
In the meantime, she had only to wait until three o'clock for Phil to show up with the milk. "The cow's and his own," she remarked, grinning at her witticism.
But when three o'clock had come and gone there was no sign of Phil the milkman. She waited until four before calling the company and registering a mild complaint about the service. The man assured her that milk would be delivered the following day. He told her he couldn't understand why the route man-meaning Phil, of course-hadn't made the stop. Mia listened and hung up, finally, her face flushed. Why the hell hadn't the boob come back today? Was he afraid of her? Had he had trouble with his wife? Could she have discovered her husband had had an affair with someone?
"Oh, the hell with him," Mia muttered. "I'll get dressed and drive downtown and let the yokels stare at my body. That'll be better than nothing."
She did exactly that, choosing a white dress and black nylons. To top if off she wore white shoes, something she wouldn't have been caught dead in elsewhere. She thought her general appearance, however, was sufficiently sexy to catch the eye of the rubes. Who could tell? Perhaps one of them might have the guts to follow her home. She hoped so. My, it would be nice to have some big clodhopper in the house, panting and hot and quivering with desire. She would do anything for him. She would suck him off if she felt like it. Anything goes, was her motto. Enjoy sex. Enjoy all the time and get as much of it as you can. Thinking along these lines made her even hotter than she normally was and she discovered her face was flushed again as she stepped into her sports car and started the motor.
She backed out of the drive and headed down the main street, alternately driving very slow and gunning it a little, just enough to attract attention. By the time she arrived in front of the town's one pool hall, she saw several men hanging around. Every one of them, she noted with satisfaction, stopped talking and stared at her. Some of them, damn them, seemed to be staring at the car, however. This annoyed her slightly. She felt like backing up and stopping and climbing out and lifting her dress and calling out to them, but, of course, she didn't do anything that crazy.
She drove on until she came to one of the town's two bars. She pulled She decided to sit in a booth and did so. A waitress came over and indignently to the ground, her purse clutched tightly in her hands. She entered the bar, going up the small incline just inside the door. She came up into the barroom and saw it was quite dimly lighted. Fine. She liked dimly lighted bars. This was the first time she had been inside this bar, though she had visited the other one on State Street a few times to no avail. The men there had stared at her, all right, but none had offered to talk to her.
She saw several men at the bar itself and two couples in a booth. She decided to sit in a booth and did so. A waitress came over and indignantly took her order, all the while looking Mia over carefully. Mia told her what she wanted without really looking at the girl and the girl withdrew to the bar.
Mia sat there for some twenty minutes and two drinks before happening to glance at the door and as she did so, her heart leaped with excitement. Phil had just entered, but apparently, he hadn't seen her. She looked straight at him, but he went to the bar and his back was now turned to her. There was a back-bar mirror. She wondered if he would see her reflection in it and decided that she was one booth too close to the door. Mia wasn't one to wait on matters; she simply picked up her drink and purse and moved quietly into the next booth. She glanced into the mirror and could just barely see the side of Phil's head in it. He was bound to spot her now, sooner or later, but several minutes passed before she caught his eyes on her in the mirror. She saw him glance away, pick up his bottle of beer and tilt his head back to drink from it.
Mia shuddered. Why on earth did a man want to drink beer from a bottle? Didn't they know that bottled beer wasn't beer at all but only a substitute for the real thing? Mia shrugged. What difference did it make what he drank-the important thing was he had seen her. She waited for him to turn around, which, of course, he did, finally. She smiled faintly at him and averted her eyes in just the proper manner, one calculated to bring him straight to the booth.
It worked.
"Hello," he said softly. She glanced up. "Hello. How are you?"
"Fine. Just fine." He was slightly flushed. "Having a beer, I see," she remarked casually. "Yes. May I ... sit ... down with you?"
"If you wish."
He continued to stand there.
"Are you going to sit down, Phil, or not?"
"Er-thanks. Yes, I will." He sat down across from her.
"You forgot to deliver milk to me today, Phil."
His face flushed a bit more and he looked decidedly ill at ease. "Y-yes. I guess I did. Pretty stupid of me."
She waved her hand. "No matter. You'll bring it tomorrow?"
"Er-y-yes."
"Something wrong, Phil?"
"No. Not really."
She smiled at him, saying nothing, preferring to let her appearance get to him, which it was doing. She could tell.
"Ma'am," he blurted but softly. "I'll get the milk and bring it now."
"Thank you." She picked up her purse, stood up and moved out of the booth. "I'll be looking for you. Say, thirty minutes?"
"Y-yes. Yes, ma'am."
She let her ass do considerable swaying as she walked from, the bar. Once outside and in her car she congratulated herself on having the impulse to enter that place and then obeying that impulse. Running into Phil was fine, perfect, wonderful. Especially so since she knew she looked extremely sexy in the outfit she was wearing. He would break a leg getting the milk and bringing it to her house, and unless she was no judge of men, he would be there before thrity minutes had passed. She drove quickly back to the house.
He was at the rear door in exactly seventeen minutes. She clocked him.
"Hello, Phil," she said softly, as she let him into the kitchen. "Awfully sweet of you to make the special trip on my account."
"I shouldn't have forgotten," he blurted, his eyes devouring her tits, which were easy to see, the outline of them, that is. He placed a half-gallon carton of milk on the table.
"I told you yesterday I'd pay in advance, but I forgot to, Phil. Shall I write the check now?"
"No, that's not necessary. Er-could we cr go in and have a drink ... together, ma'am?"
"Yes, Phil, on condition that you stop calling me ma'am."
"What'll I call you?" he asked.
"Mia."
"Mia?"
"Yes. Haven't you ever heard that name before?"
"Mia," he repeated. "No, not in person. I mean, just on television."
Mia smiled. She knew a sudden move on her part was what he needed. Standing on her tiptoes, she planted a wet kiss on his mouth, broke away from him before he could grab her, and ran into the front room. He followed her like a male dog follows a female. He caught up with her just as she was about to pick up a whiskey bottle. He grabbed her and spun her around and buried his mouth in her neck. He held her so fiercely that she thought he was going to break her ribs.
"I haven't been able to think of anything else all day long," he told her passionately. "I've had a you-know ... all day, just thinking about you."
She felt like teasing him, so she did. "You've had a what, Phil?"
"A-a-well ... you know."
"No. I don't know what you're saying. What have you had? Say it."
"My cock has been stiff all day on account of you, Mia."
Hearing him say it thrilled her. She knew perfectly well he had never in his life talked this openly to a woman before, probably not even to his wife.
"And how is your cock now, Phil, baby?"
"Hard as a rock," he mumbled, sweat beginning to run down his face.
"Oh, how wonderful. I like it when you're that hard. May I feel of it, baby?"
"Feel of it?" he asked stupidly. "Yes. May I feel your cock?"
The lust in his blue eyes was something else. "Yes. Yes, feel it. Course you can. Gosh!"
The "gosh" at the end of his remark amused her. It sounded so odd to her ears. "I was terribly hurt when you failed to bring the milk, Phil. I thought you were mad at poor little me."
He paid no attention to this. "Come on," he urged. "You said you wanted to feel my cock."
She smiled, moved close to him-he had released her previously-and, reaching between them, touched his erection with her hand. "Oh, you must take it out of your pants, baby," she said, sighing. "I can't feel it through the cloth."
"You're the hottest thing I ever saw," he muttered, and began to fumble with his zipper.
"You make me that way, Phil. You're so masculine and sexy."
"You drive me damned near crazy. You know something? My wife wanted to ... last night ... but I couldn't bring myself to touch her ... I keep comparing her to you ... and she ... well, she's a sweet kid," he finished lamely, "but she can't...."
This was music to Mia's ears. Suddenly she knew what she could do from here on in during her year-long stay in this lousy burg. She could entice married men away from their wives. What a gas it would be to do that. These small town women were so rigid and stuffy, my, it would be nice to put them down. Wonderful.
"Thank you, Phil," she murmured, meaning, thank you forgiving me this terrific idea.
He took it wrong, of course. "It's true. You make all the women in this town look ugly, even my own wife." He hung his head a bit as though saying this made him ashamed of himself.
She had his cock in her hand now and began to run her fingers back and forth on it. He was very hard and his penis was actually quivering from wild desire. She could tell his desire was even more wild than it had been the day before.
"Phil," she murmured, "go over and lock the front door, please."
He did so quickly and came back to her, his cock sticking out in front of him like a third leg. She caught her breath at the look of extreme lust in the guy's eyes, and immediately took hold of him again, working him gently while he sucked in air and grabbed her shoulders so fiercely that it hurt.
"Phil, baby," she said softly. "Don't hurt me so much."
"I can't help it. You drive me nuts, Mia."
Mia wanted to punish him for failing to bring the milk and she knew exactly how to do it. Dropping down to her knees, she took his cock in her mouth and ran her tongue over it once or twice and then when he tried to knock her over on her back, she rolled away from him and bounded to her feet, keeping the sofa between the two of them.
"Not just yet, Phil," she said. "I'm not quite ready. We need to have a couple of drinks first."
His jaw was extended. "What for?" he demanded. "I'm ready now."
"There are two of us, Phil," she said sweetly.
He ran his hand through his hair and looked at her almost as if he were ready to fly into a rage, but she merely smiled at him and after a few moments, he appeared to calm down a bit, though not altogether.
"There ... that's better, Phil," she said nicely, pouring him a drink and one for herself. "We mustn't get too wild, must we?"
He just looked at her lustfully as she handed the glass to him. He lifted the glass to his mouth and gulped it-all of it-and never removed his gaze from her tits, one of which was half out of her dress now. She glanced down at it and smiled and tucked it back out of sight.
"Don't do that," he blurted. "I like to look at it."
She picked up her own glass and sipped from it, raising her brows to gaze at him from across the sofa. "Like to look at what, Phil?"
"Your tits," he blurted. "You got the most beautiful pair of tits I ever saw."
"Would you like to fondle them, Phil?" she asked.
"Would I?" He started around the sofa, but she eluded his grasp. "Come on," he complained like a school boy might, "don't play games with me. I want to screw you, Mia."
"My my, how bold you talk today. You didn't talk that way yesterday. What's happened to you, baby?"
"I don't know," he said, his face flushing again. "Something's come over me. I can't get you out of my mind. You're driving me buggy."
"Sit down on the sofa, Phil," she said firmly. "Sit down and well play around, but don't get rough with me ... not for a while anyway. Understand?"
He flushed again. "Sure," he said. "I'm sorry. I'm like a breeding bull. I get wild when I ... "
"Of course you do. You're male," she said. "I understand, but try to ... well, you know, try to hold back just a little. I'm a woman and...." Here she lied a bit. " ... and I don't like to be frightened."
"Gosh, I'm sorry," he said ruefully. "Did I frighten you?"
"Just a little, Phil. I had no idea you were such a passionate man."
"I guess I am, at that," he muttered. "I never realized it till yesterday. Used to be I took my wife every night, but it didn't really get me going. It was just something I wanted, it was there and I took it, but with you ... well ... you, like I said, you drive me out of my mind, you're so damned pretty."
"That's very nice of you to say that, Phil. You're very sweet." She sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside her, and he came around and sank down near her and looked at her. "Your cock," she said, smiling. "It's still out. Maybe you'd better put it away for a while."
"Please ... kiss it again, just once more."
She patted his hand instead. "Later, Phil, baby. Right now I need a couple of drinks and so do you."
He ground his teeth and replaced himself and zipped up his pants. "All right, damn it. We'll sit here and drink all night if that's what you want."
She pretended surprise. "Why, Phil, baby, you're angry."
He shook his blond head, the hair falling down in his eyes. He brushed it away and the act of doing it made him seem very young, younger by far than he was. "No, I'm not mad," he said grumpily, "just ... oh the hell with it. Guess I'll go home where I belong."
She stood up so he could see her short dress and the way it revealed her shapely legs. "Of course, Phil, if you think you should ... then I can't keep you, can I?"
He got to his feet looking sheepish. "I didn't mean that, Mia. I'm just all up in the air ... I don't know what I'm saying."
"Sit down, Phil," she said gently. "Please?"
He sat down and she moved over to the opposite end of the sofa, having sat just before he did. He looked over at her, his mouth hanging open, his lips wet. There was something about his lips being wet that thrilled her. It fit her idea perfectly.
"Lie down," she told him. "Put your head on my lap."
He did so, but before he did she pulled her skirt up high so that his head would touch, her bare skin above her stockings. She knew this would drive him crazy, which was what she wanted to do. She wanted to make him so hot he would do exactly as she wanted. When his face touched her bare legs and raised up and looked at her wildly, his eyes were even more filled with lust than before.
'You're really something," he muttered thickly. "Are you trying to drive me nuts?"
"No, baby, you ought to know better than that. I just want you to kiss my ... legs ... a little."
"My pleasure," he muttered, and turned on his side and began to kiss her upper leg region passionately.
"Run your tongue around, Phil," she instructed him.
He eagerly ran his tongue over her legs and she could feel the moisture from his mouth. It really set her up. She sighed and parted her legs a bit. "Go higher, baby," she urged.
He did so, trying to get his tongue under her panties and into her cunt, obviously, but the panties were too tight, too snug on her. "Take your pants down," he begged. "I'll really do it."
She leaned her head back slightly and closed her eyes. "You ... do it, Phil."
He grabbed her panties roughly and started to tear them.
She slapped his face hard. "Don't tear them. Now, behave, dam you."
"Gosh, I'm sorry," he muttered, raising his head again to look into her eyes. "I can't help being rough with you, Mia."
She didn't mind his being rough-she was just punishing him a bit more. "All right," she said softly. "Pull my panties down gently."
He tugged them down her legs and over her knees.
"Take them all the way off," she urged quietly.
He pulled them over her shoes and then removed her shoes, also. He lay back down, his face on her lap. She felt his tongue run over her bare flesh and a thrill shot up her spine and down again. She leaned back farther and parted her legs a bit more, but not too much. His tongue went deeper into the crevice between her legs but not yet actually inside her cunt.
"Oh ... Phil ... baby," she murmured. "It feels so good."
"Wonderful," he breathed, and began to run his tongue between her legs again. This time she parted her legs considerably so that he could get his tongue inside.
He stopped short of doing this, however, and raised himself again. "Let's screw now, baby," he said thickly. "I can't stand it any longer."
"No," she said firmly. "You're hot, but you have to get me hot, too."
Much to her surprise and pleasure he flung himself off the sofa until he was sitting on the floor in front of her and between her long shapely legs. He picked her legs up one at a time and placed them over his shoulders. She locked her ankles together in back of his head and lay back to allow him to do as he apparently wished to do.
He lost no time in getting at it.
She felt his hot tongue running up and down and around on her legs and stomach, felt it go down into the hair. He stopped momentarily and sighed loudly and plunged his face back between her legs. Then he placed his hands under her buttocks and raised her aching body up to meet his tongue.
She felt his tongue dart into her cunt then, and she stiffened her body as he lapped her off greedily. After she had her first hectic orgasm, she nearly went berserk with desire. She made him get on top of her in a reverse position, which he did, frantically. She felt his tongue once again darting into her cunt and, reaching up for his belt, unbuckled it, yanked his pants and shorts down, then, taking his rigidity into her mouth, proceeded to make the session a complete one.
It was, she decided later, a most pleasurable experience and one she would have to repeat at another time.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS THE FOLLOWING DAY THAT IT DAWNED ON her that she hadn't punished him as much as she intended doing-her passion for him had gotten in the way of her desire to abuse him for attempting to remain away from her. It was unthinkable for a girl like Mia to let a man get and hold the upper hand. Mia was the type who had a great need to run things and especially things pertaining to sexual intercourse. No matter. She would level him off at some future date. She recalled, as she was fond of doing, the act she had committed with him, and it really sent her. Sometimes she seemed almost to enjoy the remembrance of sexual activity as much as the actual participation in it.
Mia thought about her plan to entice local married men away from their wives and once again decided it was a good idea. What fun and fire she could experience in this manner-there was nothing as pleasurable as taking a woman's man away from her; temporarily, of course, not for good. Mia didn't want any one man for long. She wanted to play the field and keep on doing so. Life was much more interesting to her when she did this sort of thing, for she wasn't the type to marry and settle down into the mire of domestic boredom. Such a life would have driven her mad.
When Phil delivered the milk at three o'clock he immediately tried to become intimate with her, but she laughed and told him she had a headache and he took his leave from the house angrily, which delighted her. She liked to keep men upset. It made her feel wonderfully powerful.
That evening she dressed with extreme care so she would look at her sexiest best, and paid another visit to the bar downtown. This was about the only place where she could meet men, this place and the other one on State Street. If there was no one here that looked interesting, she would visit the other joint. She was certain she could pick up a married man. She reminded herself to be sure to look for the gold band on the guy's left-hand third finger.
She seated herself on the same booth she had used the day before, not at all oblivious to the stares of the men who crowded the place.
It thrilled her to have these rubes stare at her because she knew they were, to a man, mentally undressing her. She sighed and wished one of them, married or unmaried, would make an overt move, but none did. She was beginning to wonder if there hadn't been something very strange about her uncle Jack. Perhaps it was because he had been very rich and she was his niece that prevented these men from making a pass at her, or even speaking to her. She let her gaze dart about the barroom and as she met the look of each man in turn, he would shift his glance elsewhere and seem to be ill at ease. Uncle Jack, she reasoned, must have had everyone in this town frightened stiff. Something. Mia was realistic enough to know that she couldn't be the sole reason for their reluctance to have anything to do with her socially. She made up her mind to ask Phil what went on in this town regarding her.
She sat there for twenty minutes, having two drinks, before she decided to get out of the place. There was absolutely nothing going to happen here. She arose from the booth, her head held high but not as high as to make her appear ridiculous, and left. Climbing into her parked car, she started the motor and drove north on Main Street. When she came to the highway she turned left, went down one block to the traffic light, and, seeing it was green, turned to the right and headed for Stevie's bar. She drove into the parking lot and cut the motor. Heading for the door, she thought she saw Phil in a car that was just pulling away. She glanced at the driver sharply, but by now the car's headlights were pointing at her and she could see nothing. A moment later, the car pulled out to the highway and she thought she saw a woman in the car with the driver. She still couldn't be certain, but she suspected the driver was the milkman. Oh, well ... no matter. She wasn't particularly interested in him at the moment.
She entered the bar and found her way to a booth. She preferred a booth to going up to the bar, itself; she could look about the room and see others better. There was not so large a crowd here as in the other place, and there seemed to be a great many more women than men, a fact that annoyed her only a bit. She knew there wasn't another woman in the town who could compare to her, either in clothing or beauty. Mia was not at all reluctant to admit that she was beautiful. She thought anyone who was modest in appraising their own appearance was an ass.
She ordered a drink and when it was served, sat sipping it and looking about the room. Time passed and no one seemed to be aware of her presence, which irritated her, and she was about to leave when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. She glanced around quickly and saw the man, Harry Bard, smiling down at her.
"Hello, you lovely thing," he said, still smiling down at her upturned face. "Mind if I sit with you? Are you alone?"
She felt very good suddenly. All thoughts of grabbing off a married guy left her mind and she concentrated on being nice to Harry. "Hello, Harry, please do sit with me. When did you get back in town?"
"About an hour ago. I was at your house, but there was no one home."
"I took a little ride in my car," she said, lying slightly. "I'm glad to see you, Harry."
"I'm glad to see you, baby." He sat down across from her and took her free hand between his two large ones. "Man, you look great. How do you do it? You looked like twenty million."
She smiled and lowered her eyelids slightly. "Thank you, Harry. Why did you come back to town?"
"You're the reason. Don't you know that?"
"I hope so."
"It's true. I drove all the way from Chicago to see you, baby."
She liked the way he was dressed, even the white turtleneck sweater, though she had grown tired of them some months before. His suit was not dark. Mia thought too many men for too long had been wearing dark suits almost to the exclusion of lighter ones, which tended to make all men look drab. Harry's suit was a gray one of sharkskin and she knew it was an expensive one. She wondered if he wouldn't look better in a high-collared white shirt and a tie.
"Hey," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "Where are you? I've asked the same question twice now."
She smiled and reached for her cigarettes. He gave her a light. When she had inhaled and exhaled she again smiled. "What was your question? Guess I was thinking, in a dream or something like that."
"I wanted to know if there wasn't some place we could go for excitement."
She shook he. he'd. "This is it, Harry! All of it. This and another place that's a carbon copy of this one."
He had, of course, released her hand while she got her cigarettes, but now he took it between his own again and leaned over the table slightly. "Do you remember what a ball we had, baby?" he asked softly.
She laughed in a low-pitched manner. "I certainly do, Harry. It was nice."
"Shall we...?" He glanced at the door.
She laughed again. "Later, Harry. Right now let's just sit here and talk for a while."
He leaned back on his seat and grinned at her. "You're something. You're really something. I think I'm falling for
"Don't do that, Harry," she said quickly. "Please ... don't do that. You'll spoil everything for us."
He nodded. "Good. I'm glad to hear you say that. As it happens, I have the same philosophy. Marriage is the end of everything."
"Right," she agreed, and patted his hand.
He immediately grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard, leaning toward her again. "Mia," he said softly, "I've got a hard-on. Let's go somewhere and use it."
She could see the lust in his eyes and it thrilled her. "Oh, Harry," she sighed. "You're wonderful, but please ... don't look at me like that ... not here."
He released her hand and sat up straighter, but the lust didn't leave his eyes. "Let's go somewhere, to your house, anywhere."
She felt the urge strike her strongly. "All right. Let's go. Do you have your car?"
"Yes. I'll follow you."
They left the bar and in a few minutes both cars were parked in Mia's driveway. Harry put his arm about her and they walked to the front door through the darkness. Mia had some trouble finding her key, but did so finally and handed it to him. He unlocked the door, they stepped inside, and she turned on a dim light.
"Hey," he said. "Perfect. I like that light." He picked her up suddenly and spun around, holding her high above his head as easily as he would have a small child. She marveled at the strength of the man.
"Harry," she giggled. "Put me down, you big brute."
He continued to hold her and walk about the room, spinning on his foot every few steps.
"Harry, put me down. Whatever are you doing?"
"For the past couple of days I've thought so much about holding you that now I have you in my arms I don't want to let go of you."
"Come on, Harry," she said, laughing. "Please put me down."
He put her down on her feet and kissed her mouth wetly. "There, damn you," he said playfully. "That's for being a witch."
"Did you say Svitch', Harry?" she asked, with equal playfulness.
"Yes, don't I talk plainly?"
"Harry," she said, nodding at the same time to his question, "you make me feel like I'm twelve years old."
"And how would a twelve-year-old enjoy being screwed?"
"She'd love it. All the twelve-year-olds I ever knew wanted it more than anything else, only they didn't quite know it."
He unzipped himself boldly and pulled out his penis. She gasped, in spite of herself, at the sight of it. "Think a twelve-year-old girl would like to have this thing rammed into her cunt?"
"Why, Harry," she said in mock surprise, "how you do talk, sir!"
He came to her, put his arms about her and pressed his hard-on against her stomach. "Let's get in bed," he said hoarsely. "I have a need to insert it in you."
She laughed nervously. "What an odd way to put it, Harry."
"Very well," he said, obviously going along with her mock remarks, "I shall put it differently. I shall put ... it in your mouth."
She laughed again. "Harry, you sound like you haven't had any in a year."
"It seems that long since I've lain on top of your lush frame, baby. It seems like two years."
She broke away from him. "I don't feel like it right now. Can we wait a little?"
He seemed disappointed. "What for? I'm ready."
"I'm not," she said firmly. "It takes two to screw."
He relaxed now and smiled, composing himself. "Okay, baby. I takes two to screw, as you say. I'm one of them. I'll wait till the other half gets ready."
"Don't misunderstand me," she explained. "I like you. I'll probably always be ready for you, but I like to wait until things build to the point where we're both frantic for it. Do you understand?"
"I'm that way already," he said drily. "So what's to understand?"
"Have a drink, Harry," she said, to get him off the subject for the moment.
"Okay. I'll drink while you get yourself built up."
She was dismayed by this. "Harry, please. Don't speak that way. Please?"
"How do you want me to speak?"
"Come on, Harry, go along with me on this. I just want to have more fun at it with you later. That's all I'm saying."
"Crazy," he muttered. "I shall now proceed to drink a lot."
"You're being sarcastic, Harry," she said, frowning.
"How am I suppose to be? Meek?"
"I don't want you to be angry with me, baby," she said softly. "I want to screw you, only I want to go about it more slowly. I'm a woman," she added, thinking this might explain it to him better.
He grinned and poured himself a drink and gulped it down. "How about you? You want a drink of your own whiskey?" he asked.
She had been piqued by his not offering her one, but now she giggled a little, wanting to dispel the slight bit of unpleasantness between them. "Yes, thank you, darling."
He grinned again and, pouring her a drink, handed the glass to her. "I'd much rather screw you than drink with you."
She giggled honestly this time. "And I'd prefer having you ... do it to me."
He put his glass down, came close to her, put one arm about her and ran his other hand up her legs and patted her butt. At that precise moment the front door burst open and Phil stood there, his face livid with rage.
"So...!" he roared. "I see you've got another guy on the string."
Mia bit her lips and was about to say something, but didn't when Harry released her slowly and walked across the room to the doorway, stopping just a yard from Phil. '
"You, punk," Harry said. "What the hell you mean bursting in like this?"
"She's my girl. You keep away from her!" Phil yelled, and swung wildly at Harry.
Harry grabbed the other man's fist in midair and crushed it with his hand. Quickly, he spun the smaller man about and, grasping him by the seat of the pants and the scruff of the neck, tossed him out of the house. Mia didn't see what happened then, for Harry stepped outside and out of her range of view for a moment, but then he returned quietly into the house, closing and locking the door after him.
He came over to her. "One of your local boy friends, I take it," he said quietly. "Too bad. I think I smashed his hand."
Mia bit her lips hard. "The fool, breaking in here like that. Who does he think he is?"
Harry picked up his glass. "The point is, who is he?"
"You'd laugh if I told you, Harry."
"Try me, baby. Who is he?"
"He's my milkman."
Harry looked at her searchingly. "You got to be kidding. A good-looking gal like you and a milkman."
Mia laughed. "I know, but apparently you've never been a rich girl from the city living in a small town."
"I'll be damned. Was it really that tough?"
"Yes. I was about to go nuts when he appeared on the scene." Mia didn't tell him that she had planned it this way; that she had deliberately called the milk company and had them send a man over.
"And then I knocked on your door. Right?"
"Yes, you came along a bit later." She didn't tell him it was just about the same time.
"Tell me. This milkman-is he any good in bed?"
"Not as good as you, Harry," she said, flattering him in part but not altogether.
"You like me in bed, Mia?"
She smiled. "Yes. You're not half-bad."
"Is that the best you can do?"
"You're very good, Harry. You're so strong and ... well ... you know."
"I don't know. You tell me. Did I really satisfy you that time?"
She nodded.
"Would you like to be satisfied again?"
"Certainly."
"Okay, shall we go to bed?"
Mia sighed. "How are you? I mean, do you still have it?"
"Don't worry about that. I can get one in two seconds."
"I don't believe that."
"Kiss me," he said. "I'll prove it to you."
"Kiss you-er-where, Harry?"
"Anywhere you like. I hope it's in the right place."
"Where is the right place, Harry?" Mia felt excitement churning through her now.
"Well ... the best place to kiss a guy is on his cock, baby. You should know that."
Mia sank down on the sofa. "Harry," she said softly. "If that is what you want, bring it over here."
"You mean it?" he asked eagerly.
"Of course I do."
He put his drink down and walked close to her, breathing heavily. "I'll believe this when I see it," he told her.
"I'll kiss it when I see it," she countered.
He unzipped himself and pulled it out. It was already hard, but Mia took it between her lips because she wanted to. She ran her mouth up and down on it while he grabbed her head and held her fiercely, much too fiercely. It hurt her, so she tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her. He fell over on top of her and the two of them crashed to the floor with him above, his penis still in her mouth and pushing deeply. She couldn't get her breath-he was greatly overdoing the kissing bit. "Suck me, you bag!" he yelled. Finally, she broke free of him and struck at his stomach with her fist.
"Damn you!" she cried. "Are you trying to kill me?"
He continued to lie there, his penis near her lips. "Sorry, baby," he muttered. "Didn't mean to get so rough. Got caught up with what you were doing. It felt so damned good. Do it again."
"No," she cried, and tried to roll away from him. "Let me go!" she cried. "You play too damned rough."
He scrambled to his feet and helped her up to hers. "Like I said, baby," he said, his chest heaving. "You did it to yourself, the rough bit. My God, gal, don't you know what it does to a guy to be sucked?"
"Yes. I think I do. But that doesn't mean he has to half-kill the girl."
"I told you, damn it, I got carried away."
"Listen," she cried, "I wish you'd get out of here!"
His jaw went slack. "What did you say, baby?"
"I said," she replied firmly, "I wish you'd beat it."
He looked bewildered. "Why, baby? What the hell for?"
"Because."
He took hold of her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. "Just because I got all hot and bothered by your sucking, you're mad at me. Why, baby?"
"I don't know. Let go of me, damn you."
He released her and stepped away and walked softly to the door. "Are you sure you want me to cut out? I may never come back."
"Get lost! Get the hell out of here."
He drew himself up. "All right, Mia. If you want to act like a fool, I'll get lost. Good-bye."
"Get real lost!" she yelled. "I suddenly can't stand you." But he had already gone and she found she was only yelling at the furniture. "Chump," she muttered. "You shouldn't have called me a bag."
CHAPTER FIVE
MIA RECEIVED NO MILK DELIVERY FOR A SOLID week, and then on a Thursday afternoon she was surprised to see Phil come onto the rear porch, two cartons of milk in his hands. She pushed open the rear door and looked at him seductively.
"Hello, Phil," she said softly.
"Hello. They wanted to know why I had stopped making this delivery. I couldn't very well tell them and they forced me to do it. That's why I'm here-for no other reason. You owe three dollars and twenty cents." His voice was cold.
"All right, Phil. Come in and I'll write a you a check."
"I'll just stay here on the porch," he said.
"Very well, But you're welcome to come inside, Phil."
He said nothing but stared past her glumly.
"I'll be right back with the check," she promised, and went to the other room where she wrote it, then brought it back and gave it to him. "There you are, all paid up, Phil."
He took the check and stuffed it in his pocket. "Who was that bastard?" he wanted to know. "The one who slugged me."
"A former friend of mine. He's not a friend any longer, Phil."
"Some friend. He acted like he was nuts."
She nodded and smiled at him at the same time. "I'm sorry if he hurt you, Phil."
"Hurt me? That big ape. Hell, he couldn't hurt me. I'd like to run into him again sometime when I'm sober."
"Oh ... had you been drinking that night?"
"Yeah. I had too much of it. Guess that's why I came to see you."
She bristled slightly at hearing this. "I see. You only want to see me if you're drunk? Is that what you're saying?"
He hung his head a bit, flushing characteristically. "Didn't mean it that way."
"That's what you said," she said, trying to control her anger.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry. I seem to be making a fool of myself. Everything I say seems to come out wrong."
She smiled. "Well, don't worry about it. We all have our bad days." She moved close to him and touched him on the arm. "Come into the other room and have a drink with me, please."
He shook his head. "I can't. I promised my wife."
She was startled. "You promised her what?"
"I-er-promised her I wouldn't get drunk again."
"Are you sure that was all it was, Phil? You didn't mention our little affair to her, did you?"
He flushed deeper. "Hell no. You think I'm nuts?"
"Good. No, I don't think you're nuts. Nothing of the kind. I think you're a nice guy and I want to offer you a drink."
"No," he said, but didn't look at her. "One drink won't hurt you."
He turned his head away. "Don't tempt me, Mia. If I have a drink with you we'll end up in bed again."
"So ... what if we do?"
"I promised my...."
"Then you did mention me to her?"
"Er-no. No. I didn't, but I think she suspects something."
Mia said nothing but merely touched his arm more firmly.
"Mia," he said. "A moment ago you said that big guy was a former friend. Does that mean you're mad at him?"
"Yes."
"Er-why, may I ask?"
"I can't stand a man who feels free to insult a woman simply because she acts like a woman."
Phil looked puzzled. "I see," he said without conviction. "Then you won't be seeing him again?"
"No. Not willingly."
"I'm glad," he said. "I didn't like the look of that big ape. He seemed like a cocky bastard."
"Yes."
Phil shifted his weight back to the other foot. "Guess I'll take that drink now, Mia."
"Fine. Come with me."
They went to the other room and Mia sank down on the sofa and brushed her hair out of her eyes at the same time. She drew one leg up, knowing her short skirt would creep high on her thighs and that this would excite him as it had before. "Phil, please. Fix yourself a drink and one for me. I love having a handsome man wait on me once in a while."
He blushed this time and fumbled with the cap of the bottle. "I'm not handsome," he said. "But thanks for the bologna."
"It's not bologna. I meant it. You're very handsome."
"My wife doesn't think so. She tells me I'm a stupid-looking guy sometimes."
"I think she does you an injustice, Phil."
He handed her a drink. "Mia," he said slowly, "I'm not as dumb as you may think. It's not necessary to flatter me. I know what I look like."
"I don't think you're dumb, Phil," she said indignantly. "I was just giving you my opinion of your looks. Why try to make out I'm faking it?"
He seemed surprised. "Oh ... I thought you were ... bullin' me. Sorry. Guess I don't understand a girl like you too well."
"I'm just a girl, a woman. What's to understand?"
"But you're very rich and you come from a big city.
That makes you different. All the women I've ever known were .. well ... kind of ... you know."
She shook her head. "No, I don't know. What are these women like?"
"They don't have the class that you have," he blurted.
Mia was pleased. "You're a very nice man," she said. "I think I like you more every time I see you."
He flushed again. "That last time, when we made love. I'm sorry. I mean, I'm ashamed of myself. It seemed kind of...."
"Kind of what?" she asked gently, wanting to know badly.
"I don't know. I never did that to a woman before. It's been bothering me ever since."
She took a sip of her whiskey. "Are you having a drink, Phil?"
"Oh ... yeah ... sure. Almost forgot." He poured a drink into another glass and raised it to his mouth and gulped it.
"Tell me, Phil. Does going down on me really bother you? It shouldn't you know. It's the most natural thing in the world between passionate people. Don't forget, I returned the compliment."
"I guess it don't really bother me," he said, seemingly ill at ease now. "Guess I was afraid you'd think I was pansy or something."
"Why, Phil, loving me has nothing to do with being a pansy."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other again. "I know that, but...."
"But what?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm just a small town boy with small town ideas."
"There's nothing wrong with having small town ideas, is there?"
"No. It just seems that way, I guess."
She wanted to change the subject. Patting the sofa, she indicated she wanted him to sit beside her. He did so, gingerly, but keeping quite a distance away from her. "Phil," she said, "did Harry hurt you that time?"
"Who?"
"Harry, the man who had the tussle with you. Did he hurt you?"
Phil frowned heavily. "Hell no. Do you think I'm a little boy who can't take care of himself? I was just too drunk at the time, that's all." He looked angry now.
"I wasn't implying you weren't a man, Phil," she said hastily. "Please don't think that. I just wanted to know if you got a black eye or something. Something that your ... wife might have seen later."
He grinned. "No, no black eye. My wife, well, let's not talk about her."
Mia didn't want to talk about some stupid small town broad anyway. "All right, not another word from me about her." Mia loosened her blouse in an innocent way, waving her hand in front of her as though she were too warm. She wanted Phil to see her tits, and when she glanced over at him, noted with satisfaction that his gaze was glued to them.
"You have the most beautiful ones I've ever seen, Mia," he said tightly.
"Most beautiful what, Phil?" she asked, with pretended innocence.
"Breasts. Come on now, you knew what I meant."
She smiled at him. "Thank you, baby."
He laughed nervously. "I like having you call me 'baby'. Makes me feel very intimate with you."
She raised her eyebrows. "Well, baby, you have been most intimate with me, haven't you?"
He laughed again. "I would think so. Boy, if my wife ever knew what I did to you, she'd...."
Mia frowned slightly, wishing he would shut up about his wife. "I thought you didn't want to talk about her."
"I don't. It just slipped out."
Mia made a joke of it. "Why not slip out something ... better?"
He laughed nervously again. "You keep talking like that and I will, baby. I'll slip it out and slip it in."
She leaned back and looked at him from beneath half-closed eyelids. "Oh, Phil, when you talk that way I go limp."
Again he laughed nervously. "Then you're not much like me. I'm anything but limp at the moment." Much to her disappointment he abruptly changed the subject. "Your uncle," he went on. "Did you know him real well?"
"He was my uncle, but I didn't really know him. Why?" Mia was both puzzled and curious.
Phil looked embarrassed. "Nothing. I mean, I don't know why I brought him up."
"But you did. Tell me, did you know my uncle well?"
"I knew of him. I'd seen him lots of times."
"What kind of a man was he?"
"Then you didn't know him very well?"
"Not really. I saw him only two or three times in my life. He seldom came to see my parents when they were living. They've been dead since I was sixteen."
Phil was silent.
"Come on. You brought him up. Don't go quiet on me about him. What sort of guy was he, Phil?" , "I don't know. I-er-know that no one in town liked him."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I've heard stories about him."
"What kind of stories?"
He poured himself another drink and gulped it down. "Let's talk about something else."
"Why, Phil? Was there something about my uncle that was ... strange?"
"The men of the town thought he was a fruit."
"Because he was a bachelor?"
"Probably. He always seemed okay to me."
Mia shrugged. "People like to put down bachelors. Take me, for example. I'm not married and I was once accused of being a female homosexual."
Phil laughed nervously again. "Anyone who would say a fool thing like that ought to have his head examined. You're the most female female I've ever seen."
"You mean woman, don't you?" she said, not knowing why she said it except that she didn't quite like the way the word "female" had come out of his mouth.
"Sorry. Woman. I didn't mean that to be offensive." He was flushing again.
"Why," she asked gently, "do you get red in the face when you say certain things to me?"
"I'm self-conscious, I guess."
Mia smiled and pulled her blouse more open. "Look at my tits, Phil," she said. "Look at them and feel them. That'll take care of your self-consciousness."
He wasn't listening to her, she noted. His face had suddenly gone pale, which was a contrast to his usual coloring, and he jumped to his feet quickly and ran to the front door. Perplexed, she followed him with her gaze and saw him pull back the curtain on the small window of the door. He glanced out, dropped the curtain into place and turned around, his face a study of anxiety.
"My wife," he said. "I heard the motor of my old car. She just drove by slowly. She saw my truck. I must get out of here fast." And he ran to the kitchen before she could say a word.
"Phil," she called, as she jumped to her feet and followed him. "I'm sorry. Please...."
He had stopped at the rear door just as he was about to leave. "I don't know what it means," he said huskily, "but she may be spying on me. I told you she was acting suspicious. I-er-"
"It's quite all right, Phil. You'd better go now. I wouldn't want you to be in trouble with your wife." This was a he, but she felt it was the thing to say at the moment.
"Mia," he said, his face drawn now, "she got sleeping pills from the doc yesterday. If she takes one tonight, can I come and see you about, say, eleven o'clock?"
Mia's heart fluttered slightly. "Y-yes, Phil, of course. Be careful."
"Good-bye, baby," he said, and was gone.
It was ten o'clock in the morning and she was bored even more so than usual. She had, for the time being, forgotten about her plan to seduce some of the married men of the town and now it came back to mind. Going to the bar seemed not to work out very well. No married guy would approach her in a public place, not in this small town. She should have thought of that, but she hadn't. The thing to do was to figure out another way, if she really wanted to get men who were married. Now that she thought about it, the experience of the past afternoon-when Phil's wife had driven by the house-wasn't exactly as thrilling as she had once thought such a thing might be. "Maybe," she remarked aloud, "I'd better knock off that idea. Somebody's dumb wife might come here and shoot me with a deer rifle." Mia actually had no idea of what deer rifle was, but she had heard of the gun and concluded it was the sort of weapon to be found in a small community. "What am I going to do for some real excitement?" she muttered. "Just sitting here and hoping the milkman shows up tonight isn't good enough."
She went to the bedroom and stripped off all her clothing and stood in front of the floor-length mirror. She turned her body this way and that and studied it. Too late, she noticed the shades were up on the windows. When she heard the muttered curse and the sound of footsteps running a second later, she knew someone had been peering in her window-the light in the bedroom had been on when she entered. For a brief moment she felt panicky, but then reason came back to her and after pulling down the shades-but not all the way-she smiled to herself and felt the thrill of having been watched.
"Looks like I have a Peeping Tom to put up with," she muttered. "I hope he returns. I'll really show him something."
She put on a black garter belt and black, sheer nylon stockings plus a pair of high-heeled shoes. Shoes with high heels showed off her calves to better advantage. Then she returned to the front room and took great care in pulling down all of the window shades, leaving them up an inch or two at the bottom. She walked about the room, naked except for the stockings and garter belt and struck various, seductive-looking poses. Who could tell for certain? The Peeping Tom might still be outside somewhere, and very likely was. They didn't give up easily, she knew, having had an experience with one previously. She found this to be very exciting, it wasn't as satisfying as intercourse, naturally, but it was definitely better than sitting around, drinking and staring at a TV set.
She was very quiet as she moved about on the thick carpeting, keeping her ears open for any sound that might betray the watcher's presence. She wondered what she would do if she actually could catch a man peeping at her. Would she motion for him to come into the house? Mia laughed easily. "I just might," she said aloud. Mia was suddenly about as passionate as she could get. She wondered about something that later struck her as being rather crazy. Why doesn't someone invent an artificial penis that a girl like me could stick into her cunt and walk around with that way? I'll bet there would be a big market for them. Just think, I could walk around and the friction would give me all the self-orgasms I'd ever want.
She giggled at the idea and recalled the young doctor she had once known in Cincinnati. He had been the company doctor for a sausage and bologna manufacturing plant. He had told her how the company spent thousands of dollars every year keeping the sewers unplugged. The plant hired women only and the younger girls, when taking a "rest period" would carry a ring of bologna to the John with them, use it, and flush it down the drain. Naturally, this resulted in about a ton a month of bologna in the pipes, plugging them up tightly.
To get her mind off this, she went to the bar and poured herself a drink, and stood drinking it in the middle of the room, hoping the Peeping Tom was outside so he could see her. Her heart was beating quite fast and she found she was enjoying this bit more and more. It was half an hour later that she heard the footstep on the back porch. She went to the kitchen, without turning on the light there, still in the nude, and looked out. It was too dark to see anyone, but she thought it was probably Phil. Cautiously, she opened the door and peered out. She could see nothing, it was much too dark. She pulled the door open a bit more and when she did, she heard running footsteps again. Sighing, she closed the door but didn't lock it.
"Why can't the fool have more guts and come to the door and knock?" she muttered. "Hell, I'd let him in and show him a wild time."
A wave of passion spread throughout her and she found it almost unbearable. There was something wildly exciting about being watched by a Peeping Tom. Funny. She hadn't felt this way that other time-the previous time she had had an experience of this nature. That time she had been mostly disgusted with the guy, and even now there was a trace of disgust in her, but for another reason. She wanted this guy to have more guts and come in and seduce her.
"Hey," she said, giggling again. "I'm getting pretty far out. Being cooped up like this is driving me over the edge."
She returned to the bedroom and stood in front of the mirror in exactly the same spot she had been in earlier, hoping she would hear some sound outside the window. However, she heard nothing but the wind and it disappointed her. She wished Phil would hurry and arrive, if he were going to. She could barely stand being as hot as she now was and not do something about it.
She went to the window quickly and raised the shade on an impulse. She was startled, but only slightly, to see a boy's face pressed against the pane. He stared at her half in horror at being caught and half in fascination of her nudity. Mia carefully smiled at him and crooked her finger, meaning for him to enter. She judged his age to be about fifteen.
The kid disappeared from view almost immediately and she swore softly. She was so hot she would have taken on a ten-year-old and loved it, provided the ten-year-old was sufficiently mature to accomplish. Some of them, a few, were, she had heard.
Sighing again, she turned out the bedroom light and walked to the front room where she finished her drink slowly. She didn't hear the sound of footsteps until the boy was in the room. He sniggered and she whirled about quickly, nearly dropping her glass.
"Hi," the boy said, and she had been right, she knew. He was a fifteen-year-old, if she were any judge, and he had red hair.
She got control over herself and folded her arms over her breasts, while turning her cunt away from him slightly.
"What are you doing in my house?" she asked, for the sake of momentary propriety.
"You told me to come in," the boy blurted. He moved back away from her and looked uneasy now, embarrassed.
But she saw the deep lust on his young face and smiled seductively at him. "Did you lock the rear door when you came in?" she asked softly. No, ma'am."
"Then go and do so immediately, boy," she ordered. "Haven't you any sense?"
CHAPTER SIX
WHILE THE BOY WAS GONE SHE GOT A ROBE AND slipped it on quickly, her pulse racing like crazy. She had never fooled around with a mere boy before, and the anticipation of doing so made her even more wildly excited than she had been previously. She stared at her trembling hands and poured another fast drink into her, hoping it would enable her to control the trembling. It did after a moment, and when she glanced up again she saw the boy standing in the doorway of the room. The lust was still on his young face, but he seemed uncertain and perhaps even afraid. She knew she had to proceed carefully with this kid; to do otherwise might cause him to bolt from the house.
"Come over here," she said, and seeing that her robe covered her tits too well, she carefully pulled it apart when he wasn't looking. When he came closer to her and she had turned around squarely to face him again, his eyes darted to her tits; they bulged and he reddened at the same time. "Do you always peep through windows at women, boy?" she asked him.
He shook his head.
She said it with extreme care. "Do you know that they put boys in jail for doing that?"
He again shook his head, but she saw the fear in his eyes and smiled to reassure him a little. She didn't want him too scared.
"Did you ... like what you saw, boy?" she asked softly. He moistened his lips. "Y-yes."
"Did you ever see a naked girl before?"
"N-no. Just ... pictures."
"Come closer, boy," she told him. He came closer. She reached out her hand and placed it on his shoulder. "What's your name, kid?"
"Sammy."
"Sammy what?"
"Sammy White."
She took a deep breath. "Well, Sammy White, you've been peeking at me through my window. What would you do if I called the police?"
Immediately, a look of terror came into his eyes and she knew she had gone too far. "Please," he begged. "Don't do that. I'll go. I won't ever do it again. I promise."
She let him stew in his own juice for several long moments. Then: "All right, I won't call the police. Give me your hand, kid."
He looked at her stupidly. "Huh?"
"Your hand. Give it to me."
He stretched out his arm and she took his hand and placed it on one of her breasts. The boy gasped and the look of lust returned to his eyes. She could feel him shaking all over. "Gosh," he muttered thickly. "Holy cow."
"Do ... you ... like the feel of my tit, boy?"
The word "tit" really sent him. His eyes bulged and he began to run his hand over her breasts hotly.
"I asked you a question, kid. Do you like doing this?"
He sucked in his breath and let it out in a whoosh. "Gee, I'll say," he said unsteadily. "Boy oh boy...."
She pulled her robe all the way open and he gasped at the view of her fully exposed tits. She had a sudden second thought. The window shades weren't all the way down. What is someone else were outside? Pulling her tit away from her, she took his arm and led him across the hall to the bedroom where she pulled the shades all the way down.
"Just so no one else can see in, boy," she explained.
He looked at the bed and then at her, and she noted how heavily he was breathing, how flushed his face was, how maddeningly excited he was. This made her all the more excited.
"Have you ever touched a girl's tit before, kid?"
"N-no. Just my...."
"What did you say?"
"Just ... my ... sister's ... one time when she was sleeping."
"Your sister's?" she asked, smiling at him. "How nice." He hung his head. "I was ashamed of myself for doing it."
"How old is your sister?"
"Seventeen."
"Does she have nice, big ones?"
"Not as nice as yours," he blurted, blushing again. "When you felt your sister did you have a desire to suck on them?"
He blushed furiously now. "Well ... did you, boy?' "Yeah."
"And did you suck them ... ever so little?"
He nodded and looked at the carpet. "Not very much, though. She started to wake up and I had to run from her room fast. If my dad had caught me, he'd have killed me."
"I should imagine," she murmured, but so softly she was sure he didn't hear it.
"You're awful pretty," the boy said.
"Thank you. Spread your legs a little, please."
He looked at her wildly, fearfully.
"Spread your legs," she said firmly.
He spread them a great deal, his face very red now.
She reached down toward his penis. "Now, don't get in a panic, kid. I'm going to touch you lightly."
"Gosh," he said, spittle running down his chin. He wiped it away quickly, guiltily.
"Hold still now."
"All ... right."
She reached down and ran her hand over his penis lightly. He was as hard as a rock. She let her fingers dwell there for a full half-minute while the boy sucked in air at a frantic rate. r
"Are you hot, kid?" she asked, close to his ear. "Awful hot," he blurted, more spittle running from his mouth. He didn't wipe it away this time but clutched at her arm, the one that was extended. He began to pump himself a little.
"Wait, boy. I'll tell you when."
He stopped it and moaned loudly.
"You're really hot, aren't you, kid?"
He tried to say something, but the words apparently stuck in his throat.
"You play with yourself much, kid?"
He blushed furiously again. "Huh?"
She said if softly. "I asked you how much you played with yourself."
"I don't never do that."
She felt like saying, "The hell you don't, kid," but she didn't. "All right, so you don't play with yourself, kid. What do you do when you get hot?"
He hung his head.
"What do you do besides play with your sister's tits when she's sleeping?"
"Nothing. I don't do nothing."
"Are you sure?" Mia was enjoying this immensely.
He looked puzzled. "Huh?"
"Never mind. Touch my tit again, kid."
He put his hand inside her robe and ran it over breasts, sweat pouring down his trembling face like water from a faucet.
"Guess you're real hot now, eh boy?"
"I'm gonna die," he moaned. "I'm gonna die."
"No. You aren't gonna die, boy. You're going to screw."
At the sound of the word, the kid nearly went berserk. She had to push him away to prevent him from twisting her breast off.
"Stop that, damn you!" she yelled at him. "Control yourself a little."
"I'm so hot," he whimpered, almost sobbing now. "That's the way you're supposed to be, kid."
"Boy, I sure am," he blurted.
Mia had completely forgotten that Phil said he might be over to see her. Even if she had remembered, she would have gone through with it with this boy-there was something maddeningly wonderful about having such a young kid hot and bothered for her. She couldn't take her eyes off the crazy lust in his young eyes-it fascinated and excited her. His hands were finding her breasts roughly again, some of his shyness having been dissipated. He was standing closer to her and his rigidity touched her stomach. She unzipped his pants and snaked her hand inside to take hold of him. He groaned when she did this and thrust his loins forward, a look of wild lust on his face that was stronger than before, if that was possible. He pushed her down on the bed and as fast as a cat he was on top of her, pumping his young loins at her body.
"Wait!" she cried. "Put it in, boy."
He fumbled with himself and attempted to put it in her cunt, but he apparently knew nothing about it and only succeeded in striking her legs and stomach wildly with it. Even the touch of his penis there thrilled her. Finally, she got her hand between their bodies and, taking hold of him firmly, she steered it in. He cried out, when his penis struck the lubricated zone, and thrust at her so fiercely that it threatened to break her in two. His hands clawed at her robe and ripped it away from her body. He stopped his wild movement and raised himself a little and looked down at her body. Apparently, the sight of seeing his cock inside her, plus her black nylons and garter-belt set him up even more, for he yelled and threw himself down again and began to move so fast she feared he would break contact with her.
He didn't, however. With each short, quick stroke, he penetrated more deeply and finally she lay back in a more relaxed manner and rubbed the back of his head as he screwed her with all the hot, wet passion of a young, wild animal.
She had orgasm after orgasm, each one more intense than the one before. Just when she thought he was going to blow, he suddenly yanked himself out of her and jumped to his feet and began to pound his fist against the wall angrily. She rose and stared at him, unable to believe what she was seeing.
"Sammy!" she yelled. "What's with you, kid?"
He stopped pounding the wall and turned around quickly. "My dad will kill me if he finds out."
"Sammy," she said, thoroughly annoyed at his odd behavior, "get on top of me and stay there till you're finished."
He came back to the bed, his cock quivering in front of him so much that she wanted to...."Sorry," he mumbled, and threw himself on top of her again.
She had to go through the whole process of getting him to ease up on his fast pumping long enough for her to make the insertion, but finally she had it in the right place as he pushed hard, his rigidity going deep.
She sighed. "Do it to me, boy," she urged.
He moaned. "I'm screwin'. I'm screwin' a girl."
She stroked his head and he yelled and stiffened his body, and thrust at her all at the same time. This made her excited all over again and soon she was peaking once more. His hands grabbed her behind the neck and she thought he was going to tear her head off, but she made no move to pull her head away from him-she liked it; being hurt by this wild animal of a kid gratified her strangely.
He cried out and suddenly increased his speed to the point where she had to press his buttocks down to slow him down a bit. It was difficult to accomplish; he was still like a wild animal, jabbing, thrusting, moaning and making other noises with his mouth.
It was then she felt it strike her his hot. young fluid. It poured into her cunt with power and kept on pouring. She thought it was never going to come to an end. lie stopped all of his movements, his head resting on her shoulder, and still it continued to flow into her.
Gradually, it ceased and he lay still on her, the two of them breathing fast and in unison. She felt water striking her bare shoulder at about the time she heard him sobbing quietly. The boy was crying from sheer relief, something. She said nothing about it, but a wave of compassion came over her and she fondly patted him in the small of the back. The result of this was for him to stiffen his body and squirt more fluid into her. This didn't last long, however, and she received it gladly, knowing now that the first time a young boy is laid he puts every bit of his being into it. She sighed and felt radiant.
It was several minutes later that she spoke. "That was very good, Sammy. I hope you liked it."
His body shook a bit, but he raised up and looked at her lovingly. "It was swell. Boy, was it ever swell. Boy oh boy." He kissed her awkwardly on the mouth and she let him, not attempting to correct his manner of kissing or doing anything that might indicate a criticism of him. He pulled back away from her.
"I love you," he mumbled. "I just love you for letting me.
His swollen tube was still buried deep inside her cunt and each time he moved, a bit of fluid would enter her. She was beginning to think he was literally filled with the stuff and was getting rid of all of it in one lay. Very likely, she was near to the truth on this.
"You're very nice," she murmured softly.
"Let me just lay here with it in you for a long time. Can I?"
"For a while, honey," she said, and was surprised at the loving manner in which she had uttered the words. She had spoken to him almost as if he were her own flesh and blood, her own baby, perhaps.
"Boy oh boy," he sighed, still fighting to regain his breath. "Boy oh boy oh boy...."
"I'm glad you liked it, Sammy."
"Boy oh boy ... I sure did. Can I do it again?"
She heard a sound then and it brought her to her senses. "Quick," she told him. "Get off. Someone has come into the house."
The boy jumped up wildly. "Where'll I go?" he asked, his voice harsh and frightened-sounding.
"In the closet. Over there. Don't make a sound. It's a man. If he catches you here...." She didn't complete the sentence, knowing it was better not to frighten the kid too much.
The boy ran to the closet and entered it, closing the door after him. She got up from the bed, quickly straightened the bed clothing as much as possible, grabbed up a towel and wiped off her cunt, flung the towel into the bathroom and pulled on her robe. She studied herself in the mirror, went to the bathroom and quickly dashed cold water on her face. Geting another towel, she dried her face fast and left the bedroom, walking slowly down the hall toward the kitchen. By the time she reached there she was composed.
"Hello, Phil," she said with fake warmness. "I thought I heard someone come in. I mean ... I thought I heard you come in. I was sleeping and I guess I was having a bad dream. I wakened and was all covered with perspiration. Did you ever have a nightmare, baby?"
He was looking at her strangely. "Yes. Lots of times. What were you dreaming about?"
She made up a story quickly. "Something or someone was chasing me all over the place. This something seemed to have a dozen different faces and it had long claws and ... well, you know, it was real wild stuff, didn't make any sense." She paused, looked at him keenly. "Phil, baby, sit down, please. I'll go and get the bottle and we'll have a drink."
"Why not go into the front room?"
"Let's drink here, baby."
He moistened his lips and sat down at the kitchen table. "Okay."
"I'll be right back," she said.
"If you were in bed sleeping, how come you've got on black stockings?" he asked, not quite looking at her eyes.
"I was getting dressed for you and I lay down on the bed and fell asleep like a child," she told him, the answer coming readily to her lips.
He grinned. "Get the bottle. Think I need a drink."
She started to bend over to kiss him impulsively but pulled back just in time. Who could tell? There might be a sort of musky odor on her body from the kid. Boys of that age quite often had a musky odor about them. She went to the door and looked down the hallway just in time to see that kid slipping quietly out the front door. She drew in her breath carefully and let it out and waited until the front door was closed and then smiled back at Phil and murmured something about getting the bottle. She didn't go to the front room, but went instead to the bathroom where she more carefully took care of herself in womanly fashion. Then she rubbed cold cream on her face and neck and wiped it off immediately. This would kill the odor of the kid. She removed her black nylons, took off her shoes-she had worn them all during the wild sexual act-and put on clean undergarments quickly. Then she went back to the kitchen.
"Come in the front room, Phil. I've changed my mind about wanting to sit in the kitchen. The kitchen is drab-looking." She hoped this sounded okay, but was afraid it was pretty thin.
He, however, seemed to pay little attention to her remark and, getting to his feet, he took her arm and together they went to the front room and sat beside one another on the sofa.
"I had a hell of a time getting out of the house," he cc fessed. "My wife didn't take her sleeping pill as early as I thought she would."
"Oh...." Mia couldn't think of anything to say.
He glanced at her sharply. "What's the matter with you? You seem strange tonight."
She sighed deliberately. "I'm still asleep," she said and patted his arm.
"You don't look sleepy. You look tired."
"I am a bit tired," she said, and it was the truth. "I didn't sleep too much last night."
His male vanity came to the fore. "Worrying about why I hadn't been to see you?"
"Y-yes. But you should never ask a girl a think like that, Phil. You should let us have our little secrets."
He laughed. "I know a bit about women. You all have plenty of secrets from men." He again glanced at her sharply. "I'll bet you've got one right now."
She forced herself to smile casually. "Sure, all sorts of them, baby. I'll never tell you my deep, dark secrets."
He grinned. "I'll never tell you all of mine, either."
"What secrets have you got, Phil?" She was curious about this.
"If I told you, they wouldn't be secrets."
"Do men really have a lot of secrets?" She wanted to know this. Funny. She had never considered it to any great length.
"Sure, Mia. All kinds of them. Do you think women know all about men?"
"I don't know. I suppose not. Tell me. Have you got a secret right now, one you wouldn't want to tell me?"
He scratched his head. "Possibly."
"Darn you, you're getting me all curious inside."
He laughed. "Forget it. I was just teasing you." He reached beneath her robe before she could stop him and placed his hand on her cunt. He withdrew it almost immediately. "Wow, are you ever perspiring. You're wetter'n hell down there."
She wondered if her cheeks were coloring up. "I think I'd better take a shower, baby. You wait right here."
He squeezed her thing hard. "Hell, I don't mind your perspiration. I like it. You smell nice to me."
She broke away and got to her feet and gave him a strange look. "Just the same, I'm going to take a shower."
"Oh, come on," he complained. "I can't wait till you shower. I'm hot, Mia."
"You'll just have to, Phil," she said sweetly, and patted the top of his head.
"Why can't I keep my big trap shut?" he griped. "Now I have to wait."
"Won't be long," she called back to him, as she almost ran from the room.
He muttered something she didn't hear and she didn't ask him to repeat it. She went to her bedroom, looked it over quickly, saw wet spots on the sheet, yanked the sheet off hurriedly and put it in a clothes hamper and scanned the pillows. They, too, looked wet. She removed the coverings and tossed them in the hamper, also. Quickly, she spread clean sheets on the bed and put on clean pillow cases, then stood back to survey her work. The bed looked okay now. It was a good thing he had discovered she was very wet, as it had turned out. It would never do if he found out that she had just screwed the kid. Phil looked to be mild, but you could never tell about these mild types.
Sometimes they were the ones who flew into a jealous rage and sought to kill the woman in question.
She stepped into the shower and turned on the water and began to soap her lush body. She didn't see him entering the room until it was too late. He jumped at her, knocking her to the floor of the shower, the water streaming down over both of them and soaking her clothing.
"Phil!" she cried. "Not here! Not in the shower!" But he already had his hard-on inside her cunt and was battering her relentlessly.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS THE FOLLOWING EVENING AROUND NINE o'clock that Mia heard the doorbell ringing unexpectedly. Wondering who it could be-no one ever rang her doorbell and especially at night-she went to the door and before opening it turned on the porch light. She pulled the door open, the chair being on, and peered out. She saw a bantam-rooster type of man, red-faced and quite ugly-looking, standing there, his hands in his pockets.
"Hi there, ma'am," he said roughly. "I wanna come in."
She stared at him, noting his very red face, his shifty manner, the cocky look about him. He had cold blue eyes and brown hair. He was dressed in work clothing. "I don't know you. Why should I let you in?"
He thrust out his jaw at her. "You'd better, ma'am. I'm the kid's old man. I got things to talk over with you, lady."
Mia felt suddenly very cold inside. So the kid had gone home and told his rather she had seduced him. She thought quickly, decided to play it cool. Lifting the chain from the slot, she pulled the door open wide enough to allow him entrance. "Come in, Mr. White," she said, and smiled faintly at the runt. The man didn't look to be very intelligent, but you could never tell about some men.
He came into the hall quickly and closed the door with a bang. "You got yourself in a bad jam, lady," he said, leering at her.
"Really. How?" Mia was very calm now. This guy didn't look as formidable as she had first thought.
"Want me to put it in plain language, lady?"
She looked him up and down with a trace of contempt in the look, not too much, just a trace. "By all means, Mr. White. Say it bluntly, whatever it is you have to say."
"My boy is only fifteen, lady. You took him to bed and laid him. That's against the law."
There was no use in pretense, she knew. "Will you come into the front room, Mr. White, and have a drink?"
"Yeah," he replied roughly. "Goddamned right I will."
Mia was glad she was wearing a short skirt and a very low-cut blouse. As she led him into the room, she made certain that her buttocks were swaying in just the right manner to excite the guy. He followed her and she thought she heard him suck in his breath sharply. Mia smiled and turned around.
"Whiskey, Mr. White, or would you prefer pop?" This was a slap in the face administered cleverly and the guy didn't quite know how to field it.
"Whiskey," he growled, and sat down hard on the sofa. "But feeding me whiskey ain't gonna make up for what you done to my kid."
Mia said nothing but poured him a long drink and handed it to him, bending to him, bending over him as she did so-her blouse falling away and revealing most of her breasts to him. He fastened his eyes on her tits and nearly knocked the drink from her hand when he grabbed for it. Good. She had him on the run already. Getting a drink for herself, she sat on a chair across from him, which was the smart thing to do. He could see up her legs this way, which, of course, was what she wanted him to do.
He took a swallow of the whiskey. "My kid, he's only fifteen, lady. You shouldn't oughta done that to him. Why, he's...."
"You said that, Mr. White," she said sweetly, smiling at him. "I know I did wrong, but then ... I'm a woman living alone ... I have no friends in this town ... I'm from the city. ... I-er-" Here she pretended to be at a loss for words.
"Yeah," he said. "So you picked on my kid and fooled around with him. I don't like it, lady. It makes me boiling mad." But he was glancing up her legs as he talked and she knew he was caught up in her looks.
"What can I say, Mr. White?" she said, making it sound contrite.
He wet his lips and stared at her legs again. "Yeah," he said grumpily. "I wanna know what you're gonna do about it, ma'am."
"Really?" she said again. "No one is trying to ... pluck you, Mr. White. I'm only trying to reason with you. Naturally, I don't want to be ... arrested for ... what happened. I made a bad mistake. I ... admit it ... freely."
He leaned forward. "Your uncle, I knew him, the old son-of-a-bitch. Left you plenty of dough didn't he?"
"Yes." Mia leaned forward, also, her lips parted, her eyes boring into his.
White moistened his lips again. "Well, now, ma'am, maybe we can get down to brass tacks after all."
"How much money do you want, Mr. White?" she asked flatly.
He was all smiles now. "That's the way to talk, lady. Let's say...." Here he squinted his eyes. " ... let's say couple hundred bucks. How's that strike you? Two hundred and I forget what you did to my kid."
"Very well." Mia got up and went to her desk and wrote him a check for two hundred dollars. She brought it back, smiled down at him, handed it to him.
He grabbed it and read it carefully, then stuck it in his wallet. Getting to his feet, he glanced at her tits boldly. "Can't say as I blame the kid for stickin' his cock in you, ma'am. Wouldn't mind a little of that ass myself."
Mia didn't exchange expression but looked him straight in the eye. "Would you now?" she said, imitating his Irish-sounding tone.
The man stared into her eyes hard, his own eyes flickering. "You offering, ma'am?"
Mia still didn't change her expression, her face registering nothing. "I never offer, Mr. White. I only accept if I happen to feel like it."
The lust that came into his small eyes was really something to see. He laughed nervously, revealing his small, rounded teeth. She was surprised to discover they were white. "And if I made you an offer now would you take it?"
Now Mia smiled at him. "But I don't know you, Mr. White," she demurred.
"You didn't know my kid, did you?" he asked roughly, his jaw extended again. "That didn't make you no difference."
She sighed. "I caught your boy peeking in my bedroom window, Mr. White." She was about to say more, but he suddenly made a grab for her, which she skillfully eluded.
"Goddamn you, you bitch," he cried angrily. "Don't you go tellin' no lies 'bout my kid. He's a stinker, but he don't do no stuff like that."
"Sorry, Mr. White, that's what he was doing. He's not quite as nice as you think." She knew this made little sense the man had already called his son a bastard, but she said it to the guy just to tear him up a bit. This guy was too cocky.
"Yeah, guess you're right, at that," he replied, surprising her. "He's a bastard, make no mistake about it, sittin' around jackin' all over the place. What he needs is a girl who would...." The man broke off in confusion.
"That's what he got, Mr. White, so why be so tough on ... him?"
"You mean, tough on you, don't you, lady?"
Mia shrugged. "Are you all through talking, Mr. White? If so, I believe I'll go to bed and read."
He laughed coarsely. "Bet you wouldn't go to bed and read if you was my woman."
"Really? What would I do?"
He laughed loudly. "You just take a guess, lady. Just you take a good hard guess."
"I don't play guessing games with strangers, Mr. White. Good night to you."
He drew himself up and looked affronted. "Take it easy, lady. I ain't gone yet. Guess I'll just sit me down and have some more of that hootch of yours."
"Why, certainly, Mr. White, have all you like. I have plenty. If you don't mind my saying so, I ... rather like having a real man around the house ... to drink with me. I find it exciting, if I may be so bold."
He laughed coarsely. "You're bold, all right. Don't kid me.
She smiled nicely at him and went back to her chair and sat down, making certain her skirt was high on her shapely legs. He slumped down on the sofa across from her and looked at her body.
"Think you like a real man around, eh? I'd be better than a kid, now wouldn't I, lady?"
"I'm sure of it," she replied sweetly.
Without offering her one first, he drank directly from the bottle and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then leered at her. "Bet you'd like to feel a real one in you, eh?"
She cast her eyes down and didn't reply.
He laughed coarsely again and handed the bottle to her. "Better have a few slugs, lady. Do you good."
"Thank you, Mr. White." She took the bottle and poured some in her glass and handed it back to him.
"You got a nice pair of legs on you, lady," he said, wetting his lips as he spoke. "Mighty pretty."
"Thank you."
"How come pretty woman like you ain't got no man?"
"I'm very unfortunate, I guess."
"Too bad. You look like you need a real man."
She sighed and let her gaze linger on his face as though waiting to hang onto his every word.
"Now take me," he boasted. "I could really fix you up, you know that?"
"Could you, Mr. White?" She leaned forward again. "I sure could. I got a bad one, lady."
"I beg your pardon."
He guffawed. "That's poolroom talk. Sorry, you wouldn't know what I meant. I meant I got one that ... well, you know."
She pretended to be mystified. "I'm afraid I don't understand. What is it you're talking about, Mr. White?"
"Come off it, lady. You know what I mean."
"Don't you want to tell me about it?" she asked, her lips parted, her eyes boring into his.
"I might," he said, and laughed coarsely again, "but I need a drink more'n I need talk."
"Please drink all you like, Mr. White."
"I goddamned well mean to, lady, you can bet on it."
"Do you live alone, too, Mr. White?" She knew better, but it was something to say.
"Alone? Hell no. I got me two kids."
She said it carefully. "I meant, Mr. White, don't you have a wife?"
He snorted. "Naw. She up and left me long time ago. Run off with some orchestra guy. She died of TB."
"Of what?" she asked, for something more to say.
"Tuberculosis. Served her right, the lousy bitch."
"She certainly didn't treat you very well, did she?"
He took another drink from the bottle. "Hell with her. You ... now you ... you're a hot-looking bitch, you know that?"
She kept her face expressionless, though she hated what he had called her. "Are you always so rough on mere women, Mr. White?"
He took another drink, a long one this time. "Don't mean to be rough on you, lady. Just my way. I sure like your ... looks, though."
"Thank you."
"Say ... tell me something, lady. Was the kid any good?
I mean, did he stick you the right way? Did you get 'em off?"
She was expressionless again. "You're quite outspoken, aren't you, Mr. White?"
He leaned forward. "What you gotta go pick on a kid for? Why don't you pick on me?"
"Do you have a need to be picked on, Mr. White?"
"How come you keep callin' me 'Mr. White?'"
"Isn't that your name?"
"I ask you a question and you ask me one right back. What kind of way to talk is that?"
"Here is another question. What kind of talk do you think it is?"
He grinned. "You're a funny broad, but I think I'd like some of you anyway. How about it?"
"Are you propositioning me, Mr. White? Isn't the money enough for you?"
"Naw, hell no. You know what I'd like, ma'am? I'd some of your cunt."
She looked him straight in the eye. "Would you, really, Mr. White?"
He scowled at her. "I ain't just sure I like the way you say that, ma'am."
"Oh ... well ... I'm sorry if I offended you."
"I ain't offended none, lady. Take more'n a female to offend Jim White."
"Have another drink, Jim White," she said evenly.
The scowl left his face to be replaced by a sly grin. "I kinda like that 'Jim' thing. Why don't you just call me Jim right along now and you and me'll be good friends."
"All right ... Jim. Have another drink, won't you?"
"I sure will, ma'am. Say ... what's your name?"
"Mia."
"That's a funny name. Never heard that one before. What's your whole name?"
"Mia Hopkins. You know that, don't you? You said you knew my uncle."
"Didn't know you had the same name. Your uncle, he was an old son-of-a-bitch, you know that?"
"So you told me," she replied drily.
"He owned half of this town. Everybody hated his guts. He ran everybody. Mean, stingy, bastard. When he kicked off everybody was glad."
"Why don't you take another drink, Jim?"
He laughed. "I will. You know, I'm gettin' to like you, lady. What you say your name was?"
"Mia," she said patiently.
"Mia? That sure is a funny name. You want a drink, Mia?"
"I have one."
"Have one with me ... out of the bottle, like I do."
"All right. Hand me the bottle."
"That's a girl," he said, grinning and handing the bottle to her. "Yes sir, I'm gettin' to like you pretty good."
"Thank you, Mr. White." Mia took a drink from the bottle, handing it back to him a moment later.
He grabbed it roughly from her hand and drank deeply, wiping his mouth again with his sleeve. "How about it, Mia. You and me?" He winked at her.
"Are you really that interested in me, Jim?" she asked, her tone seemingly polite.
He took another long pull at the bottle and his speech seemed to have become slightly thick when he spoke. "Yeah, I'm real interested in you, lady. I been sitting here for quite a while now looking at those nice legs of yours. I think I'd like to get between 'em."
"You wish to have intercourse with me, Mr. White?"
"Yeah. How about it?" He took another drink, spilling some of the whiskey down his chin.
"How do I know you do?" she asked, stalling him.
Another slug of whiskey went down his throat and again he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His eyes were becoming slits. "What's that mean?" he inquired thickly. "How do you know I do? That don't make no sense, lady."
"I'm sorry. It's not often I get an outright proposition without benefit of ... "
"Yeah, benefit of what, lady?"
Mia pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Nothing. I've forgotten what I was about to say."
He leaned over, took another drink, wiped his mouth and leaned over again. "Pull your dress up," he said roughly. "I wanna see it."
"You want me to pull my dress up, Mr. White?"
"That's what I said, lady. Pull 'er up. Let's see what you got under it."
Mia pulled her dress up but only a little. Her legs were already well exposed. "How is that, Mr. White? Want to see more?" She could tell that the man was highly excited by the sight of her legs and by her seeming willingness to go along with his lust.
"Take your pants off. Let me see that cunt of yours," he demanded, leering at her.
"Mr. White, you shouldn't talk that way to a woman. It's not very ... nice."
"Goddamn it. Who cares about being nice? Let's see your cunt, woman."
"But, Mr. White...."
"Pull your goddamned dress up higher and take down them pants or by God I'll do it for you. You been sitting over there teasin' me long enough, woman." He took one more drink from the bottle, this time spilling quite a bit of it.
Mia watched his eyes and slowly lifted her dress until it was up and over her hips. Slowly, carefully, she pushed her panties down but only a little. Then, holding her dress up, she got to her feet and walked over near a table and stood with the table between them.
"Come over here, Mr. White, and I'D let you see it, all of it."
He carried the whiskey bottle, just as she had hoped he would, and came near to her, stopping just short of the table. "Let's see the cunt," he said drunkenly. "Wanna see woman's cunt box."
He was quite drunk, she knew. The table was just the right height, also. Everything was going to work out fine for her if she was careful. "Come closer, Mr. White, and I'll take my pants all the way down."
He laughed crazily. "That's what I wanna see, broad. That's what I wanna see, that old cunt of yours."
"All right, Mr. White. Will you give me a drink first?"
"You don't need no drink," he said, even more thickly than previously.
"I would like a drink, Mr. White. Please give me the bottle."
He gave her the bottle reluctantly and she seized it and made a pretense of drinking from it.
"Are you ready, Mr. White? I'm going to pull my pants all the way down."
The lust on his stupid face was something to see. It was wild, crazy, limitless. "Come on, broad, get on with it. Can't wait all night."
She looked him straight in the eye. "Why should I show you mine? You haven't shown me anything. How do I know you're even a man?"
His jaw jutted out. "You calling me a sissy, lady? Don't you call me no sissy. I'm one hell of a man."
"Let me see yours then," she said quietly. "Let me see how much of a man you are."
He laughed drunkenly. "I'll do better than that. I'll lay my old John right on the table in plain sight."
"All right, Mr. White, you do that and I'll let you see mine."
He awkwardly unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard-on. Grinning like an idiot, he placed it on the table and held it there. "Now let's see yours, bitch," he sneered. "You've seen mine."
"So I have, Mr. White," she said calmly. "And I'm afraid you have seen the last of it."
Saying this, she brought the whiskey bottle down on his penis with all the power at her command. The glass broke and cut his flesh, blood spurted, the man screamed and began to stagger about the room holding onto himself in agony.
"You crazy bitch!" he screamed. "You've ruined me!"
"Bleed. " she said coldly. "Bleed, you dirty, rotten scum!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER HE HAD STAGGERED, SCREAMING, OUT OF the house, it took her a full hour to clean the blood off the light-colored, expensive carpeting. She hated every minute of it but took a grim satisfaction in having fixed that louse in the only way he would ever be able to understand. She wasn't in the least worried about the possibility of the man reporting the truth of what had happened, not even if he went to a hospital or a doctor, which he would probably have to do to save his own life. Such a man as this would never admit to anyone that a woman had spurned him to the extent of cutting his vitals-an admission of this nature would be too much of a blow to a little man's male ego. No, he would never tell anyone what had happened, but would suffer in silence, or claim that he had accidentally cut himself. When the carpet was clean Mia got another bottle and poured herself a drink, after checking the doors to see if they were locked.
"Damned stupid jerk," she muttered later. "Maybe you've learned by now how to talk to a girl." She recalled how he had placed himself on the table, holding it there with his thumb on the tip. "You silly oaf," she remarked. "You crude bastard." She shivered from distaste.
She went to bed, finally, and lay there in the darkness for some time attempting to fall asleep, but sleep wouldn't come. She did drift off for a time only to be awakened by a sound. She sat up in bed and listened intently. The sound was as if someone was tapping on the window with a stick. She lay perfectly still, thinking it might be Jim White come back for revenge. She wasn't afraid of him. Not now. She knew he wouldn't dare tell anyone what she had done to his kid for fear of her retaliating and telling how she had repulsed him.
The tapping continued and she got up from the bed quietly, went close to the window and peered out. It was, of course, too dark for her to see anything, but the tapping came again and she thought she heard the boy's voice calling to her.
She placed her face close to the window. "Who is it?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"It's me," the voice replied, and she knew it was the boy. "Let me in."
Mia had mixed feelings. She would have liked to let the boy come inside, but she remembered he had told his father about her, and she had instructed specifically not to say a word about her. Hadn't she? She searched her memory and wasn't sure, but she thought she had.
"No," she told him at length. "Go away. You can't come in."
"You got to let me in," he called through the window. "My dad has gone crazy. He kicked me out of the house."
Mia wanted to know how badly his father had been hurt. Perhaps he was bleeding to death, something she definitely didn't want to happen-it would cause her no end of trouble. "All right," she called. "Come to the front door. No ... wait ... come around to the rear door. I'll open it for you."
"All right. Thanks," the boy said, though she could barely hear him now, for he had moved away from the window.
She pulled on a robe and walked down the hall to the kitchen and unlocked the door. The boy came inside quickly, his red hair badly mussed, his face white with fear.
"What happened?" she asked, holding her robe up tightly about her neck.
"My old man, he cut himself, so he said. I told him to let me call a doctor, but he hit me and told me to get out of the house, said I was a no-good bum and he never wanted to see me again." The boy paused and caught his breath. "I didn't have no place to stay, so I wonder if you might...."
"You can stay here tonight, but tomorrow you'll have to make other arrangements, Sammy."
"Thanks," he said. "I sure was worried. I didn't want to walk the street all night."
She looked at him closely and drew away from him. "You have blood on your face. Go and wash yourself in the bathroom. It's off my room. Come. I'll show you where it is." The sight of his father's blood-she knew it was his father's blood-on the boy made her slightly ill.
"He hit me with his fist. It had blood on it."
She led him to the bathroom and told him to strip off and take a shower. He did so, tossing his clothing about the room carelessly. She studied him briefly, noting there was almost no physical resemblance between the boy and his ugly father. The kid must have taken after his mother and for the mother Mia had a sudden slice of sympathy. She didn't blame the woman for running off with an orchestra guy, as her husband put it. Running off with the devil would have been preferable to living with that crude bastard, Jim White.
She was back in her bedroom now and sitting down on the bed, listened to the sound of the shower. She thought about the kid being naked in the next room and it made her smile tightly. She would have liked to do exactly what Phil had done to her-go in and knock the boy down and rape him under the water. This was hardly the sort of thing for a woman to be doing, however, and Mia realized it. No, she would wait until the sound of the water ceased. A few moments later she saw his head sticking through the doorway.
"Gimme a towel, please?" he said.
She got one and tossed it to him. He caught it and disappeared back into the shower room. After a moment, she bit her lips and walked to the door and stopped. She caught her breath at the sight of what he was doing.
"Stop that!" she cried. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a big boy like you."
He removed his hand from his stiff cock and flushed. "Sorry," he muttered. "Sometimes I do that and I don't even know it."
"Nuts," she said. "Don't kid me. I know about boys."
He turned around and faced her, looking at her lustfully. His penis stuck straight up in the air and to her it looked positively beautiful, a thing of art. She went to him and took hold of it gently.
"Nice, Sammy. Very nice. You should save it for me though. Don't ever waste yourself. They say it'll drive you crazy in time." This was, she knew, utter nonsense, but there was no harm in scaring him a bit.
He put his wet arms about her body and hugged her, his young loins attempting to press against her, but she held her body away from him, not wanting to get wet.
He ran the towel over his young body and threw it down. She frowned and picked the towel up and put where it belonged.
"What did you do that for?" he asked.
"I like things put away properly."
He looked down at his hard-on and grinned sheepishly. "Me, I'd like to put this where it belongs."
She laughed. "You may ... later, Sammy. I'd love to have you do it to me."
The lust doubled in his eyes at her words and once again he attempted to grab her and move his loins against her body, but she eluded him and ran back into the bedroom with him following her.
"Get dressed, Sammy," she told him.
His jaw went back. "Why? What for? Ain't we going to sleep together?"
She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "On second thought, I have an old robe you can put on." She got it and gave it to him.
He slipped it on reluctantly. "I like the naked stuff better. Why don't we both take off our clothes, ma'am?"
"Don't call me 'ma'am'," she snapped.
The kid was taken aback, apparently. "Oh ... did I? I mean, I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"
She was instantly sorry she had snapped at him. For a moment, he had sounded almost identical to his father. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I like the naked stuff, too."
"I forgot what your name was," he blurted unexpectedly.
"Miss Hopkins."
"Want me to call you that?"
She liked the idea of being called Miss Hopkins by him. There was something wildly exciting about it. "Yes," she said. "I wish you would."
"Miss Hopkins, would you do me a favor?"
She smiled. "I think so. Depends."
"Will you ... lay down ... and let me suck ... your titties?"
She felt a chill go up her spine, but she nodded to him and lay flat on her back, opening her robe as she did so. He threw himself down beside her and placed his mouth over one of her tits. She felt the tug of his lips against her, felt his tongue running over the nipple and wild passion struck her. She grabbed hold of his penis and began to move her fingers up and down on it. Moisture flowed from him almost immediately and she had to stop it.
"You're very hot, aren't you, Sammy?"
"Yeah. You make me burn right up, Miss Hopkins."
"Wouldn't you like to stick it into me?"
He lifted himself up and stared down at her. "Yes, if you'll take off your robe and pajamas."
She took them off quickly and placed them over the foot of the bed. Before she could lie down again he was on top of her, pumping his young loins at her indiscriminately.
"Wait, Sammy. Wait till we get it inside."
He halted his pumping and holding himself up by his hands, grinned tensely at her. "Boy," he breathed. "I sure like you, Miss Hopkins. You make me awful hot."
"I'm glad, Sammy. You make me hot, too." Funny. All her thoughts and plans about going after married men for the excitement it would cause had left her. Ever since she had found this kid her ideas of what was exciting had changed. She knew now what excitement really was-it was youth. Youth plus sex. This particular youth was all she wanted for the time being. She knew her need for him might evaporate at any given moment, but in the meantime....
"Hey," he said, "ain't you listening to me?"
"Oh, what did you say, honey?" she asked gently.
"Hey, you called me 'honey'," he blurted, and grinned at her. "Does that mean I'm your guy?" Apparently, he had forgotten what he said to her previously.
She kissed the side of his face. "Yes, honey, you're my guyHe beamed at her. "Oh, boy. I got me a girl." Mia looked at him fondly. She was young herself, only twenty-five, but compared to her he was extremely youthful. A ten year gap in their age range seemed considerable. "And I got me a guy," she said, imitating his tone, but not making fun of him. There is, she knew, in every normal human a powerful desire to experiment with sex, and anyone who is inhibited in doing it is afraid of attempting it, is disgusted by the thoughts of it, is a sick person, sick deep inside the soul. There were many such people about, people who were only half-alive and who were viciously opposed to anyone who was wholesome and clean and aboveboard concerning that most natural of all man's desires, sexual gratification. It was a sick hand-me-down from the even sicker society of the past, the Puritanical past where everyone was believed to have a foul demon lurking inside. "I really got me a nice guy," she told him. "A real nice guy," she repeated.
"Why you keep saying it over and over?"
"Oh ... I didn't realize I was doing that, honey."
"Gee, I like to hear you call me that. Makes me feel grown up." His erection was fairly quivering now and she bent her face down quickly and kissed it wetly.
"Oh...." he moaned. "I like that."
"Would you like me to do it again, honey?"
"Are you kiddin'? 'Course I would. Do it a lot. I like it."
"Lie on your back, baby."
He flopped over on his back, his eyes filled with lust for her. "What you gonna do, Miss Hopkins?"
She looked into his eyes to catch his reaction, and then she let him have it. "I'm going to suck you off, kid."
He had pulled her hair, had moaned and groaned and threshed about on the bed like the young, wild animal he was while she had fulfilled her promise and now he lay still, only his chest was heaving from the tremendous excitement they had shared. She glanced at him as she lay beside him, her hand on his cock. He was soft now, but as she massaged it gently, he became hard again and she pulled him over on top of her. Immediately he sought to insert it into her cunt, but his lack of experience prevented him from being successful, and so, sighing but ecstatic, she did it for him. He pumped at her with all the fury of his fifteen years and she lay back, one hand on his back, the other above her head, enjoying this as she had seldom enjoyed anything before. There was something unbelievable about the way he attacked her with his body; she couldn't imagine anything that could be more gratifying than to have this young kid screwing her.
And then it was done ... and they lay quietly beside one another and slept for a time.
She awakened first and sat up on the bed and looked around at the darkness. She could hear his breathing close to her and she reached over and touched his stomach. He stirred in his sleep and turned on his side, facing her. Seemingly, she had not had enough of him yet, for she began once again to massage his organ until it became rock-like. He wakened then and moaned.
"You're my girl, Miss Hopkins, you're my very own girl."
Just as suddenly, and inexplicably, the passion in her died and for one of the few times in her life she actually craved a drink. She got up from the bed and, knowing the shades were fully drawn, turned on the light. She started to leave the room.
"Where you goin', Miss Hopkins? You mad at me or somethin'?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm not mad. I'll be right back." She went to the front room, turned on a light and poured herself a long drink. She stood by the sofa swallowing it and wondering what this sudden craving was. She moved and her bare foot struck something under the sofa. She bent down and picked up a man's wallet. Examining it, she saw it belonged to Harry Bard. She found several credit cards in it, some other papers, but most strangely, of all-a card indicating he was a private detective licensed by the city of Chicago. She read the printing on the card several times before becoming convinced her eyes weren't lying to her. She finally put the wallet in the desk drawer and, carrying her glass of whiskey, walked slowly back to the bedroom. So Harry Bard was a detective. Why had he lied to her, saying he was a football player?
"What's the matter?" the kid asked, rising in bed to stare at her. "You look awful funny."
"Oh ... nothing ... I-er-well, nothing, Sammy." She remembered she had left on the light in the other room. "Sammy, will you go into the front room and switch off the light? I forgot to. I want to lie down. I guess I have a headache."
"Sure, Miss Hopkins. I'll be right back."
She lay on the bed thoughtfully sipping her drink. Why would a private detective come to her house? She didn't believe now that Harry had had car trouble. This, she reasoned, had been a ruse to gain entrance, but why? He had made love to her. Also, why? This last question seemed to be an odd one, and she comforted herself by thinking it was because he had been hot for her, which was partially true, at least.
But she had a vague, instinctive, uneasy feeling that Harry Bard had been either using or testing her. She wished she knew Harry's phone number. She would have called him long distance and asked him point-blank why he had come to her house. If he were using her in some way, what was it?
Sighing, she finished her drink just as the kid returned and flopped down on the bed beside her. "How come you had to have a drink?" He wanted to know. "Are you one of them alcoholics?"
She smiled at him. "No, Sammy. I just felt restless."
"My dad, he's an alcoholic. He gets drunk all the time."
She finished her drink and set the glass on the bed stand, then reached over and took hold of his penis. Massaging it again, she watched it grow rapidly and sighed. "You're cute," she said inanely. "You're very cute."
"Are you gonna suck it again?"
She shook her head and, bending over, kissed him full on the mouth. To her surprise, he pushed her away and bounded up from the bed and stood there glaring at her and wiping his mouth angrily.
"What's the matter with you, Sammy? Why did you push me away?"
"Don't want to be kissed on the mouth."
Mia frowned. "Is it because I went down on you, kid?".
He didn't answer this. Instead he said. "Guess I'll take another shower bath." He stepped from the room into the shower room and she lay there frowning heavily. A moment later she began to chuckle, so the kid couldn't stand himself. She shrugged. Too bad. She lighted a cigarette and sat up on the edge of the bed and listened for a long time to the sounds of running water in the next room. By the time the cigarette was consumed, he had reappeared, his body wet, a towel in his hands.
"Feel better now?" she asked coolly.
"I'm okay," he said shortly.
"Maybe you'd better go home now, Sammy."
He glanced at her wildly. "Can't go home. My dad will knock my head in."
"I imagine he's cooled off by now, kid. You'd better go home."
His face was filled with fear. "You said I could stay here."
"I don't want people with me who object to my kissing them," she said coldly. "Go home where you belong."
He wiped his face dry and, his body still wet, came close to the bed. "I'll let you kiss me, Miss Hopkins. Gosh, I didn't know you was gonna be mad at me."
"Get dressed and go home, Sammy."
"No!" he cried. "Please don't send me away. Let me stay here. I ... love you. You're the only person who cares anything for me. Please...."
Mia turned over onto her stomach. "All right. Turn off the light and get in bed. I'm going to sleep now. I don't want to hear a peep out of you all night long. Understand?"
"I won't say nothin', Miss Hopkins."
She heard him rubbing his body dry, saw the light go off for a few seconds, felt the bedsprings give as he crawled in beside her. She was lying in the fetal position, on her side, her knees drawn up, and when his body curled about hers, fitting hers perfectly, she shivered because his body was cool from the shower. She could feel his penis pressed lightly against her buttocks and for a moment a stirring took place inside of her. She put it down, closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.
When she awakened she thought she must be dreaming. A wet, slippery something was running up and down her thighs and stomach, and into her cunt. Sighing a little, she parted her legs and didn't move otherwise. As her senses returned she knew it was the kid. He was sucking her cunt with all the passion of a male who hasn't known a girl in years. The kid was breathing hard, snorting every now and then, and finally he grabbed her hips in either hand and buried his face between her legs. She parted them farther and he ran his tongue as far into her cunt as possible.
She began to rub his head and face with both hands. The kid was hitting the right spot with his tongue and it was beginning to drive her almost mad with desire. She lifted one leg and placed her knee about his neck and then he lifted her buttocks high with his strong, young hands and buried his face even more fiercely into her vitals. His tongue found an especially sensitive spot and stayed there. She stiffened her body, grimacing in the dark, and strained to achieve her orgasm. The kid was moaning now and K" sounded wild and almost crazy, so intense was his passion, apparently.
"Baby," she cried, almost sobbing it, "that's the way. Keep it right there. Make me come, honey, make me come something awful."
His tongue was darting in and out of her cunt with such rapidity, and at the same time striking her where it was important, that it was inevitable that she should rise to and hit her peak with great intensity. When it came she yelled and with one hand pulled his hair and began to pound his back with the other. The kid kept on with it perfectly and she stiffened her body even more, rose to fever pitch and then minutes later, slowly subsided, only to begin a fast rise to another peak. This happened three times. Sensation after sensation passed through her exhausted body and she knew one thing for certain: Being sucked off by this particular kid was her life's greatest pleasure. It was also one that she intended to enjoy again and again, even if she had to kidnap him.
He stopped finally, probably from sheer exhaustion, and placed his head on the sweat-soaked pillow beside hers.
"You're my girl, ain't you, Miss Hopkins?"
She put her arm around his neck. "Yes, kid, I'm your girl."
CHAPTER NINE
MIA DIDN'T KNOW IF SHE HAD FALLEN ASLEEP again or not when it happened. The next thing she was aware of was that the lights had been turned on, that she was sitting up in bed, her arm still around the naked kid, her tits exposed, and that Harry Bard was standing at the foot of the bed, a flash camera in his hands. The bulb flashed again and again as the flashcube turned three times and during all this Mia could do nothing except stare at the man, her mouth hanging open in sheer amazement. She wasn't even angry, just amazed.
Harry Bard grinned at the two of them. "Thanks, people," he said. "Just what I needed, three pics of the lady doing wrong."
Sammy started to swear and climb out of bed, but Mia grabbed his arm. "Never mind, Sammy. Stay where you are."
"Who's this guy? Is he crazy?" Sammy wanted to know, his jaw quivering with anger.
"Cool it, kid," Harry said. "The pics. That's about all I want from either of you." Harry turned to Mia. "I must say, you're robbing the cradle, aren't you? This fellow looks about thirteen."
Mia pulled the sheet up to cover her exposed tits. "How did you get into the house? Did you break in?"
Harry laughed. "Nope. Other time I was here, I stole your house key and had an impression of it made. I just unlocked the door and walked in, baby."
"What the hell for?" Mia demanded angrily. "Why should a private detective be snooping on me?"
Harry's brows shot up. "Oh then you must have found my wallet. I lost it somewhere, but I didn't know where."
The kid started to climb out of bed again, but again Mia grabbed him and prevented him from doing so. "Why, Harry? Why are you ... what are you taking pictures for?"
Harry grinned. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you, baby?"
"Certainly I'd like to know. Are you going to ... blackmail me?"
"Okay, pull on a robe or something and come out into the front room. I may tell you what you want to know. You ... kid ... you stay here." Harry grinned again and walked from the room.
Mia got out of bed and pulled on her robe. "Stay in bed, Sammy," she told the boy. "I've got to try to get that film away from him."
"All right, Miss Hopkins." Sammy looked more scared than angry now.
Mia went to the front room quickly and found the lights had already been turned on. She stopped, holding her robe up tightly around her neck, and stared at Harry Bard, who was casually smoking a cigarette and helping himself to her whiskey.
"All right, Harry. Why did you do it?"
He took a drink and stared back at her. "Didn't the lawyers tell you anything about the Hopkins Foundation, what it stands for?"
"No, or if they did, I didn't pay much attention."
"You didn't get the lion's share of your uncle's dough, baby. You only got a pittance. Most of his dough went into the foundation and the foundation was set up to teach young girls, the ones who don't know any better so-called, how to keep from getting involved with guys. In other words, how not to be screwed. That was your sick uncle's contribution to society, what he left to society. Your uncle was an old fag and he hated competition from females. In his sick mind, he thought he would help to eliminate the competition for men-for other fags. Dig?"
"Sounds crazy," she said. "It's ridiculous."
"Sure it is, but that's what the foundation quietly works for. Technically speaking, you're the head of the foundation, whether you know it or not. Certain people in the foundation don't like having a girl at the head. They want you out, baby, out of their way. So ... I was hired to get evidence to prove that you're not fit ... Dig? Morally fit, they call it."
Mia's lips curled. "Big deal," she said. "Who cares? I have all the money I'll ever need. Let them have their damned silly foundation. I always thought there was something strange about my uncle. Didn't know exactly what it was."
Harry grinned and spread his hands. "That's what I figured you'd say, baby."
Mia moved closer to him and he snatched up the camera hastily. "Don't worry about your film, Harry. Hell with it. What I'd like to know is this. Why didn't you take a picture of you and me doing it? Wouldn't that have been quicker?"
"You got to be kidding, baby. I couldn't be in the picture. Had to be some other guy. This young boy ... well ... he's perfect."
"And just why couldn't you have been photographed with me, Harry?"
"I got a wife, baby, that's why. She's threatening to sue me for divorce already."
"And you want to hang onto her. Right?"
"Not particularly. It's the community property thing that bugs me right now. Don't want to give that broad half of my dough."
Mia snorted and turned her head away. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to glance at him again. She would have liked to be able to knock the grin off his face, but that wasn't the way a girl operated, of course. She smiled, rather than frowned at him. "Harry, please give me the film."
He grinned again. "Sorry, baby, that's my job. What are you worried about? You just said you didn't care about the foundation bit."
"I don't like to have my picture taken where I'm in a compromising situation, as the lawyers say. Please give me the film."
"Not a chance, baby."
"You're a louse, aren't you, Harry?"
"It's my job, baby. I'm not really such a bad guy."
"You lied to me, told me you were a football player."
"Used to be."
He shrugged.
"Tell me something, Harry, inasmuch as you seem to know quite a bit about my uncle. Why did he insist in his will that I come to live in this godawful place for a year?"
"Not for a year, baby, for the rest of your life."
"That's not true, it's a lie," she shouted.
"Cool it, baby. It is true. At the end of the year they'll tell you, back up what I'm telling you now. You're to live here the rest of your life or at least until you're too old to engage in sexual activities."
"My uncle must have been mad."
"Sure, crazy as hell, but it was his money. You got money, you can be anything, baby. Even you ought to know that. Well, within reason, of course."
"But why do I have to live here?"
"Your uncle knew all about you, baby, what you did, where you went, the kind of swinging life you had. He was opposed to women doing that sort of thing. Like I said, he was crazy. He wanted you out of Chicago because that's principally where the foundation does its work."
"Give me the film, Harry, please?"
He got a look of lust in his eyes. "If I do, will you finish what you started the other time before you ordered me out of the house?"
She looked him straight in the eye. "You mean suck you off, Harry?"
He laughed nervously. "Sure, suck me off. Why not?
You'd probably enjoy it, wouldn't you?"
"Are you really telling me you'd give the film if I consented to suck you off?"
"I might." His eyes were very much filled with lust now.
"What would happen to your job if you gave back the film, Harry," she asked shrewdly.
"Nothing. I'd just wait my chance and take another shot of you in the correct situation."
"Then it would be up to me to prevent you from catching me. Is that the proposition?"
He laughed nervously. "Sure.' That's it. A sporting proposition. We'll make an interesting game of it. You suck me and I'll give you back this film. I'll go away for the time being, but I'll try to get back into the house and catch you some other time. How about it? Are you game?"
"All right, Harry. I'm game. It might be interesting, at that."
"Where do you want me, on the sofa?"
"Give me the film first, Harry."
"Give me the blow-job first, baby."
"No. I don't trust you, Harry."
"And I don't trust you, baby. The blow-job first."
"Look, damn it. You're a big, strong man. You could force me to do it after you give me the film, couldn't you?" There was a certain scorn in her voice.
"I guess I could, baby. For that matter, I could force you without giving you the film."
"But it wouldn't be as much fun that way, would it, Harry? You'd always have to remember that you had to force a woman to do it to you."
"Don't flatter me. I'm not quite that sensitive."
"Sit down on the sofa, Harry, and I'll suck your cock. I might as well trust you. There seems to be no other way."
"Good, baby. Good for you." His face was flushed now. He went to the sofa and sank down on it, his legs spread wide apart. "Suck me, kiddo, suck the hell out of me."
She went to him, pulled her robe open so her tits and cunt were exposed, and knelt down in front of him. She unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. It was already very hard. She looked at it for a moment and then glanced up at him. His eyes were riveted on her and his jaw was set. He looked as if he were about to explode.
"Get on with it, baby."
"Have you ever been sucked by a girl, Harry?" she asked, stalling.
He laughed nervously. "Well, I wouldn't say that, baby. But I'd sure like to get it from you for nothing."
"You aren't getting it for nothing. You have to pay me by giving me the film, Harry. Don't forget, please."
"A bargain is a bargain. Say ... when are you going to get with it? Don't you know this is driving me nuts?"
"Oh, I'm going to suck you, Harry. You can relax." She spoke very loudly when she said this. "You're practically forcing me to suck you, so I will."
"Lower your voice. You want the kid to hear?"
"I don't care who hears me, Harry," she said, again loudly. "If I have to suck you to get the film back, then I have to suck you."
"Wish you'd begin," he sputtered. "All this damned talk. Get on with it, if you're going to."
"Sure, Harry, relax a bit. You're as stiff as a-as a...."
He laughed nervously again. "That's the way I'm supposed to be, stiff."
She looked at the doorway, but there was no sign of the kid. She sighed and took Harry's penis in her hand and massaged it a bit. Then, after glancing at the door again, she bent her head and took his cock into her mouth. It was large, so large she could hardly manage it.
"Oh ... baby ... that's the way," he muttered. "That's ... terrific, wonderful ... go ... baby ... go."
She ran her tongue over the semi-hard, rubbery surface of the head of his penis and at the same time kept her eyes looking at the doorway of the room. Harry's eyes were now closed, she noted, and a moment later she knew her plan was going to work.
Sammy had entered the room quietly and was carrying a poker from the fireplace in the rear room, the one die seldom entered.
Mia watched Harry's eyes closely to make sure he didn't see her and then she motioned for the boy to come close with the poker, which he did, walking softly on the thick carpeting.
Mia kept on with her sucking as the boy got even closer and raised the steel poker high.
"Oh ... baby...." Harry muttered, his eye tightly closed. "Suck it, baby, suck it ... I love ... it."
She sucked and sucked while the kid held the poker high, and she thought he was never going to summon up enough courage to do what she wanted him to do. However, the kid finally did it, and just as he brought the poker crashing down on the detective's head, Harry flowed wildly into her mouth.
Mia jumped away from him as he squirted and grunted at the same time. It was curious to see a man slump to the floor with blood running out of one end and something else running out of the other. Mia sprang to her feet and looking down at the unconscious giant, suddenly spat on him.
She spat on him again and again and it was only when the kid pulled her away that she stopped spitting on him.
CHAPTER TEN
HARRY WAS VERY HEAVY AND IT TOOK BOTH OF them to carry him to the basement, where Mia bathed his head and bandaged it and then-overseeing the job-told the kid to securely tie Harry up. Sammy tied Harry's hand behind his back and to a post. Also his feet were securely tied together and drawn up beneath him. Harry Bard was a strong man, but he'd never get loose from these bonds, she knew. Mia stood back and surveyed the job with satisfaction.
"Now, big shot," she said, scorn in her tone, "let's see what a great guy you are. I defy you to get loose."
Harry, of course, didn't say anything in return. He was very much out, though by no means dead.
"Guess I hit him pretty good, huh, Miss Hopkins?" the kid said at her elbow.
She turned and put her arm about his nude body. "Yes. You're a good boy. This beast was forcing me to ... do ... that to him. I'm so glad you rescued me, Sammy."
"What are we gonna do with him?" Sammy pointed at the unconscious detective.
"Leave him there for now. He's pretty tough. That blow on the head didn't hurt him too much. Cut him up quite a bit, made him pass out, but he'll be all right." Mia bit her lips. "The louse. I don't much care what happens to him."
"We don't want to let him die, though. We'd be in awful trouble if he did."
"He won't die. His kind is too mean to die."
They went back upstairs and Mia locked the basement door. "Come on, Sammy. You and I are going to have a couple of drinks."
"Drinks of what, Miss Hopkins?"
"Whiskey, Sammy. What did you think?"
"Hey! Oh boy! I never had nothin' better'n beer before."
She smiled and patted his flushed face. "Well, you're going to now. You deserve a good drink, Sammy baby."
"Boy, it made me like a crazy guy when I saw you doing that to him."
"Don't fret about it, kid. It's all over now. He forced me to do it. I counted on you rescuing me from him, but I thought for a while you were never coming to do it."
"I heard you talking that way to him and I got mad. I got the poker and came to the door." Here the kid looked away from her. "I was gonna hit you, too, till I saw you motion to me. Then I knew he was making you do that."
"You're a good boy, Sammy, and I love you for saving me.
He beamed and his face flushed up very red. "Gee, I love you, too, Miss Hopkins. I really do."
They were sitting on the sofa now and she was sipping her drink, while he was half-choking on his and washing it down with a glass of water. "Don't gulp it so much, Sammy," she told him. "It's not meant to be consumed like pop."
"Yeah ... I see what you mean ... Boy, it kind of makes you feel good, don't it?"
"That's the general idea," she observed drily.
"You ever get drunk, Miss Hopkins?"
"Not really. I've gotten high on lots of occasions."
"What's the difference?"
"Matter of degree, I guess. Why do you ask?"
"Somethin' to talk about. You want to see somethin', Miss Hopkins?"
Her mind had been elsewhere momentarily. "W-what?"
"You want to see my pecker?"
She smiled. "What a word to call it. I never heard that one before." She hadn't. "Is it hard, Sammy?"
"Yeah," he said, his face more flushed now. "If I take it out, will you do to me what you was doin' to him?" He removed himself quickly and exposed it to her.
She shook her head. "I'm not in the mood right now, kid. Later. Drink your whiskey."
"Okay, but it sure burns my stomach."
"Put your business back in your pants, kid," she said harshly. "I don't even want to look at one right now."
He replaced himself and looked slightly sullen. "You're mad at me for some reason."
"No, I'm not. Just give me time to catch my breath, honey." It sounded strange to her ears to be calling this young boy honey, but she had been doing it for some time now and he seemed to enjoy it, so she would continue with it. It occurred to her at this precise moment that she had done nothing about the film in the camera. Getting to her feet, she crossed the room, picked up the camera and removed the film. She tore the film into shreds and threw it in a wastebasket.
"What did you tear it up for?" the kid asked.
"I know I didn't need to, Sammy. I just feel better for having done it."
"Gee," he said. "We could have developed it and looked at ourselves in bed together, all naked an' everything."
She smiled. "You have the real thing. Why settle for a picture?" She knew the answer to that, of course. Most very young people are often more satisfied by looking at pictures of sex than they are in participating in it, or attempting to do so. The reason for this is that there is nothing to fear from a picture. "Yeah, I know. Shall we take the bottle of whiskey and go back to bed? We can drink and ... fool around, too. Later, I mean, when you feel like it, Miss Hopkins?"
She sighed. "In a minute. Let's just sit here for a time."
"But I did somethin' for you, Miss Hopkins. Why can't you let me do somethin' now?"
She glanced at him sharply. "Oh ... are you really that hot and bothered, honey?"
"I sure am. I'm burnin' up."
"What do you want to do to me?" she asked, a bit of excitement running through her now. His obvious lust seemed to spark her.
"You know what I want to do, Miss Hopkins."
"Yes. I know, but I want to hear you talk about it. Say it, talk about it. Talking about it, you see, will get me all hot and bothered and then both of us will be."
"Gee, I don't know how to say it."
"If you were talking to another boy about a girl, how would you say it, what you want to do?"
He laughed and blushed at the same time. "I just tell him I'd like to screw you."
Mia sucked in her breath. "Is that all you'd say, honey?"
He shook his head. "No. I'd tell him how I'd like to get between your legs and ram my cock all the way up your wet cunt."
Mia's breathing was increasing rapidly now. "Go on," she said tensely. "I like to hear you speak this way."
The boy's eyes were very large and lustful. "Then I'd tell him how I'd jazz your cunt till you hollered and had a-had a-well, a hot one and-er-I'd-er-tell him how I'd squirt my juice up your wet old cunt."
Mia got to her feet and took him by the hand. "Come on, baby. You and I are going to bed. You've done it."
"Done what?"
"Got me all hot and bothered. When I'm through with you this time maybe you'll wish you hadn't got me so hot."
"Are we gonna screw each other?"
"Yes. Come on, kid."
He ran to the bedroom, almost dragging her with him. He was stronger than she had thought. When they arrived at the bed, he pushed her down on it roughly and threw his body on top of hers, stabbing at her with his hard-on.
"Wail, honey!" she cried. "Let me take off my robe."
"I can't wait no longer," he cried back at her, and thrust at her and more or less by lucky chance the swollen tube entered her cunt. He pressed it deeply within and she had to fight to keep from screaming, it hurt so much.
"Sammy," she said. "Please ... cool it a little. You're hurting me, honey."
But he paid no attention to her and battered her as a veteran would do it, taking long, powerful strokes and striking her in the correct places. She had an immediate orgasm and this surprised her; it usually took her quite a while to achieve one. He changed his position slightly but never stopped his incessant pumping at her. He became larger and larger, and she wondered just how large this young kid could get. He was sweating now and some of it ran down onto her face. She opened her mouth and let it trickle onto her lips. Ah, the taste of male. Wonderful.
"Baby," she whispered to him, "you're marvelous this time, just marvelous."
"Shut up and screw me, damn you!" he snarled, startling her somewhat.
"Please...." she said. "Don't talk that way. It's not like you."
"I want you to screw me, not talk to me," he snarled.
She shut up for a time and spread her legs wide. Immediately he rammed it even farther into her cunt. The kid was astonishing her with his prowess; he was acting like a full-grown man, and a damned good man at that.
"Wonderful," she breathed. "Wonderful. Can you ... go a little faster ... please?"
He moved faster and then suddenly it was over and done with and both of them were near exhaustion. They lay quietly, one on top of the other, for a long time, and finally he moved off and said he was sleepy.
"Can you sleep, really?" she asked.
"Could if I knew one thing, Miss Hopkins."
"And what is that, Sammy?"
"Why did we put the big guy in the basement? Why didn't we just put him outside the house and let him go away?"
She was reluctant about answering him. "Because, kid, we have to find out if he's going to live or die."
He was sitting up in the bed now. "Do you think I hit him that hard?"
"I don't know. A poker isn't exactly a cream-stick."
"Gee, I wouldn't want to kill anyone."
"You might as well face it, Sammy. He may die. You hit him very hard. He's a big, tough, guy, but...."
The boy began to sweat in a different fashion now. "Look, Miss Hopkins, let's get rid of him. Put him in your car and drive him some place. We can dump him out in the country."
"You're talking as if he were dead. He's not dead, Sammy."
"But he might be later."
"I prefer to keep him tied up in the basement."
He seemed to be studying her eyes. "You hate him, don't you, Miss Hopkins?"
"No. I don't hate him. I don't like him, but I don't hate him."
"What was he trying to do to you? Was he a cop or something?"
"Yes, he was a cop, a private detective. He was trying to-er-discredit me, Sammy."
The kid yawned. "Think I'll go to sleep now, Miss Hopkins."
"I thought you were worried about Harry."
"I was. But right now I'm sleepy."
"All right, go to sleep, honey. If I need you I'll waken you." She kissed his mouth lightly and got up from the bed.
"Hey ... where are you going?" he asked.
"Think I'll take a shower. You go to sleep, Sammy. Everything's all right."
"Okay." He closed his eyes and pulled the sheet half over his head, and in less than one minute he was snoring lustily.
She pulled the sheet down a little and examined his face critically. She was mildly angry with him for the way he had talked to her while they had been having intercourse. This kid might be getting too big for his britches. She recalled the way he had snarled at her and told her to shut up. "Shut up and screw me," he had said. She smiled coldly and went to the shower room. Disdaining a shower as being too much of a bother, she washed her face and breasts and hands. After drying them, she left the shower room, walked silently through the bedroom and went to the living room. She turned on the lights and stood naked in the middle of the room and stretched her arms high above her head. She walked to one of the windows at the front of the house and stood there. Raising the shade, she let it go halfway to the top of the window. She felt crazy, wild, restless. The sex she had indulged in had left her feeling strangely unsatisfied. She actually hoped some other Peeping Tom would happen along and glance in at her.
"What's the matter with me?" she muttered. "The kid's good, but leaves me cold afterward. I feel like walking naked in the streets."
She realized she was muttering to herself again and shook her head. What Mia really needed was a real man, not a kid. The kid was only a toy to her. He was handy.
Walking to the front door, she opened it wide, stepped onto the porch and looked down the Main Street. She could see a train crossing Main Street five blocks away from her. The wind that was blowing must have been coming from the opposite direction, for she could barely hear the train. She stood there and looked at the town for some time, feeling the breezes striking her flesh. It felt good and she wished she dared go for a walk in the nude.
"What a crazy wish," she murmured.
She heard a slight sound in the bushes at her right. Glancing in that direction, she saw, after a time, a large dog sniffing about. She couldn't see the dog too clearly-the street light was too far away to cast much light here-but as she watched, the dog came closer to her until it was standing on the walk directly in front of her and not more than five yards away.
"Lo boy," she said softly, not knowing if the animal was a male or female.
The dog stretched its neck and seemed to be staring at her. Not moving, it continued to stare at her nude body. Fascinated, Mia watched the animal and it was then that she saw it was a male dog. A sensation shot up her spine that she didn't quite understand. She kept her eyes on the dog and noted he hadn't moved an inch. He was still standing with head thrust forward and seemingly staring at her body.
Mia shivered.
She wished she had a drink. Moving back slowly to the door, she stepped backward into the house but didn't close the door. She got a drink from the bottle and gulped it down and found herself back on the porch.
"What am I doing?" she muttered. "Am I cracking up?"
The large dog hadn't moved, except to come closer to the porch. He was now about three yards from her and still looking at her without moving a muscle.
Mia was even more fascinated by the animal now. She could hardly breathe, and when the dog took one step toward her, she thought her heart was going to stop beating. The dog, however, stopped there and, with head thrust forward, continued to watch her. Mia didn't move; it was as if she were paralyzed. Something wild and crazy was running through her mind, but she couldn't sort it out. She had no idea of how long she stood facing the dog, but suddenly he was gone. She sighed and the air came out of her in a long, fast whoosh. Her heart thumping even more wildly now, she went directly to the bedroom and threw herself on top of the kid. He woke up fighting and kicking.
"What are you...?" he yelled, but then saw who it was.
"Shut up with the hollering," she told him fiercely. "I want you to screw me, you little jerk."
It was an hour later and the kid was sleeping again. Mia was up out of the bed again and again drinking in the front room. She was restless and there seemed to be nothing to satisfy her completely. Always, this night, it had been partial satisfaction; not once had it been the real, whole bit. She swore softly and considered going to the basement to see if Harry might be in condition to....
"Hell with him," she muttered. "Stinking bastard."
She found herself at the front door again. Opening it carefully-and still in the nude-she stepped onto the porch and looked about the darkness of the yard. The dog wasn't in view anywhere, though he might be lurking nearby; it was much too dark to see more than ten yards away.
She continued to stand there and then ... suddenly the animal was in front of her again.
She watched him and he watched her, neither of them moving.
"Lo, boy," she said softly, but the dog didn't wag its tail.
She turned and walked slowly back into the house, deliberately leaving the door open. She turned off the lights except for one low-watt bulb in a lamp on a table. Taking a big chair that faced the door, she sat down on it, her body trembling with the strongest desire she had ever known.
She waited.
Nothing happened. Nothing moved through the open door. She continued to wait and after a half-hour of it, sighed, got to her feet and went to the doorway. Glancing out, she saw the dog, but this time he was far away from the porch, though still looking at it and not moving a muscle.
"Boy," she called, and he came forward a few yards and stopped. "Boy," she repeated, but the dog didn't move again.
She stood there and sighing deeply and finally stepped back into the house and closed the door, locking it. A few minutes later, and after another drink, she found herself going down the basement steps. She saw Harry Bard lying just as they had left him, tied to a post. His eyes were closed but he was breathing.
Mia suddenly kicked him in the chest. "Wake up, son-of-a-bitch," she cried.
Harry didn't move, nor did he open his eyes. She drew back her bare foot and kicked him in the face hard. "Wake up!" she screamed. "You no-good bastard! I need you; WAKE UP...!"
He didn't awaken and she spat on him and left the basement, stopping at the top of the stairs to look back at him with contempt. "Son-of-a-bitch!" she cried. "Worthless bullying son-of-a-bitch. Hate your lousy guts."
She went back to the bedroom, threw herself on the bed and wept.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MIA SLEPT FITFULLY AND WHEN SHE AWAKENED IT was daylight in the room. Glancing at the spot next to her, she saw the kid wasn't in the bed. She sat up, stretched her arms and recalled the dog of the night before. She shuddered and a feeling of revulsion came over her. The animal had looked at her as if he knew what was going on inside her. She shuddered again, recalling she had deliberately left the door open for a time.
"I've been drinking too much," she remarked aloud. "It's getting to me."
She glanced at the clock on the dresser and was amazed to discover it was nearly three o'clock. Not believing this, she got up and examined the clock only to find-to the best of her knowledge-that there was nothing wrong with it; it was an electric clock and it was running. She frowned and pulled on a robe and went into the front room and glanced at the clock there. It showed the same time. Five minutes before three.
"Must have slept nearly twelve hours," she muttered. "Never did that before."
She searched the house, but there was no sign of the kid. Reluctantly, she went to the basement to look after the injured man. She was surprised when she found the severed ropes that the kid had used to tie up Harry. So ... the kid had got up earlier, had come down and untied Harry Bard and then the two of them had left, either together or separately; she wondered which.
Retracing her steps back up the stairs, she arrived at the top just as the sound of someone banging on the rear door struck her ears. Remembering that it wasn't morning but three in the afternoon, she ran to the door to open it. It was standing ajar. Funny. The door had been locked last night. The kid or Harry must have left by this door. She yanked it all the way open and saw Phil standing there, the cartons of milk in his hand.
"Hello, Phil," she said sweetly. "Come in, baby."
Phil appeared nervous. He handed her the cartons and nearly dropped them doing so. "I can't come in," he said hastily. "My wife is raising hell with me."
Mia studied him. "Oh...." she said softly. "I see."
"Say," he said. "I didn't know you had a dog. He almost bit my leg off when I tried to come up onto the porch. Vicious bastard. You'd better get a collar for him or the dog warden will be around to see you."
"I don't own a dog," she said softly. "I don't own anything except a quarter-million dollars."
Phil's jaw dropped. "What's wrong with you today? You sound depressed."
"Yes. I suppose I do, Phil."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well ... I have to get back to work. I-er-"
"I thought I was the last stop on your route."
"Weller-yeah ... What I mean is...."
"Your wife told you to be home at a certain time and you're afraid not to."
He flushed. "Yeah, that's the way it goes when you're married. You never been married. You don't know what it's like."
"And I have no intentions of finding out."
"Oh, come on. Someday you'll meet some guy and fall for him and he'll ask you and...."
"Phil," she said, interrupting him, "will you get the hell out of here. You make me sick."
"You mean-you don't want no more milk."
"If I do, I'll buy a cow."
He pulled open the door angrily. "Well, you don't have to be mean about it."
He was gone now and Mia breathed a sigh of relief. How she had ever stood that simple-minded oaf was more than she could have explained.
A few minutes later she did something that later amazed her. She went, without even thinking about it, to the refrigerator and took out a pound of hamburger and placed it on a tin plate. Opening the rear door, she stepped outside and looked around carefully. She saw no sign of the dog, but she put the plate of hamburger on the ground near the steps and reentered the house, leaving the door slightly ajar. She stood by the door for several minutes wondering if the big dog would come and eat the meat, but when he didn't appear she left the kitchen and went to the front room.
At half-past four she returned to the kitchen door and looked out. The plate was clean. The dog had eaten every bite of it, but he was still nowhere in sight. Well ... something had eaten the hamburger and probably it was the dog. She smiled thinly, her heart beating strangely within her.
She didn't want to drink particularly, but she found herself back in the front room with mix and ice and a full fifth of whiskey on the cocktail table in front of her. She knew she should eat something first, but she felt reckless, daring, and had a the hell with everything attitude deep inside of her.
"If I remain in this godawful town for a whole year, I'm going to end up in the giggle factory," she muttered. "It's getting to me already and I've only been here six weeks."
She proceeded to drink and kept at it for two hours. She was high when the clock showed six-thirty, very high, in fact, but not drunk. She didn't care to get drunk. She left the juice alone then for an hour and a half and then had another drink. Finally, she went to the kitchen and fixed herself two sandwiches which she ate without really wanting them. Glancing out of the rear window, she thought she saw a movement near a bush. She went to the door and stared at the spot. There was nothing there.
Sighing deeply, she returned to the front room and looked out of the front door. No sign of anything there, either, as she returned to the sofa, lay down on it, and picked up her half-filled glass.
The front door burst open suddenly and Harry Bard came into the room. She started to rise but didn't. Noting the bandage over and around his head, she breathed a sigh of relief. At least he had been to a doctor and the doctor must have said he was okay or Harry wouldn't be there. Mia didn't want a serious charge placed against her.
"Well, baby," Harry rapped. "I'm back. I'm still alive, too, even if you did get someone to half-kill me."
She just looked at him, her lips parting.
"Who was it that clouted me, baby? I want to bust his head."
"I won't tell you."
"Okay, I'll find out by myself, baby."
As she looked at his fine, muscular figure, a feeling of lust came over her. "Harry," she said softly. "I'm sorry."
"Being sorry doesn't do much for my head. He might have killed me."
She thought for a moment. "You asked me who the person was who struck you. You should know the answer to that. Didn't someone cut you free this morning?"
"That kid? Hell, don't kid me. He told me all about how he happened to be here. He does odd jobs for you. He wasn't the one who hit me. He told me he didn't do it. He...."
"I see," she said, interrupting. "Then, if the kid didn't hit you, who do you suppose it was?"
"I imagine it was that goddamned milkman. At any rate, I'm going to look him up and find out."
"It wasn't the milkman. He doesn't have enough guts to hit his own wife," she remarked acidly.
"Oh ... you've been fooling around with a married man, eh? Good for you, baby. That's real smart stuff in a small town. You've damned near got a brain, haven't you?"
"Don't be sarcastic, Harry. Why not try to be nice?"
"Why should I be nice to you? You damned near killed me, cunt."
"Please don't call me such names."
"That's what you are-a cunt."
"I have a cunt, but I'm not a cunt," she said. "I'm a woman."
"Same thing, baby, same thing."
"Harry," she said softly, "wouldn't you like to have a few drinks with me?"
"Giving me the soft sell now, eh, baby? Well ... I might have a drink."
"Please ... do, Harry. I get awfully lonely here in this house. Sometimes it's almost unbearable."
She wanted to tell him that she knew he was lying to her, but he didn't. He probably was lying to her, for some reason, about the kid. Harry had taken pictures of her in bed with the kid. Was it possible he didn't even notice the boy long enough to have recognized him when the kid cut him loose? It could be, she reasoned. Harry wasn't stupid, but he wasn't too observant, either. At any rate, this wasn't the time to attempt hauling him up short with questions or accusations. She wanted him ... to make love to her.
"Too bad it's lonely for you," he sneered. "It's your own fault. You think you have to dominate a man to love him. No real man is going to let a broad dominate him. You apparently haven't found out about that yet, but you will."
"I am what I am," she stated flatly.
"What you are isn't good enough to interest me, baby."
"No one is asking you to marry me," she snapped.
"There you go, baby, snapping at me. You know something? You haven't the faintest idea of how to get along with a man. You think showing your tits to him is the whole deal. It may be for a short time, but then you have to prove you're lovable, too. Just wriggling your ass at a guy and then flopping down and spreading your legs. Hell, that's not all there is to it. You have to be a nice gal, too."
"Quite a speech. Who gave you all this information-some librarian?"
He ignored what she said. "Did you destroy my film, baby?" he asked, as he grabbed the bottle away from her and poured himself a drink. "Suppose there's no point in asking you that, is there?"
"I destroyed it, naturally. Why wouldn't I?"
"Yeah, can't say as I blame you, baby. Trouble is, you fouled me up by doing that."
"I don't want to foul you up, Harry," she said sweetly, trying the nice-gal approach. The lust in her was building more and more. "I'd much rather help you, but obviously I can't help you when you want to harm me."
"Wouldn't harm you much, baby. What the hell do I care if they kick you off the foundation board?"
She smiled at him as he sat down beside her. "I don't care, Harry." She leaned over toward him. "I'd really like to be friends with you."
He reached over and placed his hand under her robe and on her cunt. "Say...." he said, "do you ever think about anything but screwing?"
She smiled and spread her legs ever so little. "What else is there to think about in this godforsaken town?"
"Blaming it on the town again, I see. Hell, baby. It's not the town, it's you. You got a hot bug in you somewhere and you can't go for ten minutes without wanting a male to crawl on top of you."
"What's wrong with being a passionate woman?"
"Nothing, if you're a nice gal, too, as I said before."
"Don't you think I'm a nice gal?"
He didn't answer her but removed his hand from her body and got to his feet. Walking over to the table, he picked up his camera and broke it open. His back was turned to her and she couldn't see what he was actually doing, but finally he put the camera down and came back to her.
"Give me the bottle, baby," he ordered her harshly.
She gave him the bottle. Play it meek the way he wants it, she told herself, her loins itching to have him insert his penis into her. "Help yourself, Harry. Let's get drunk together."
He drank from the bottle and placed it on the cocktail table. Sitting down beside her again, he placed his hand on her thigh. "You're the hottest gal I've ever known," he told her, half grinning. "Tell me something. Have you really got hot pants right now or are you trying to prove something?"
She smiled and touched his arm. "I'm not trying to prove anything, Harry. Honest I'm not."
He ran his hand up her leg until he had touched her cunt again. "You're pretty wet, baby. I guess you've got hot pants all right."
"Oh Harry, please do it to me, please?"
He laughed and removed his hand. "Later, baby. Right now you and I are going to do some hard drinking. How about it? Do you really want to get drunk with me?"
She snuggled her head on his shoulder. "Yes, I do, Harry. Let's get drunk and have a sex orgy afterward."
He laughed loudly at this. "There you go again, can't get your mind off sex, can you?"
She pinched his leg. "Can you, Harry?"
He turned and looked her squarely in the face. "I'm forced to admit you're a damned desirable girl. You've got plenty on the ball if you'd use it better."
"I'll try to please you. Just tell me how."
"Well, you might start by being more feminine," he said, his tone unpleasant.
Don't make him angry, she told herself. Play it cool. You want a man, so don't drive him away. Let him be as arrogant as he wishes, but get him to lay you. "Harry," she said, "I'll be as feminine as I know how. What do you want me to do?"
"Kiss me," he said roughly.
She leaned over and planted a very wet kiss on his mouth. Her arm snaked around his neck and she pressed her tits against his chest. Running her tongue inside his mouth, she found his and hugged him fiercely at the same time. Oh, she was so hot-why couldn't he just push her down and take her?
"That's better, baby," he said, when their lips had parted. "You're improving."
Mia knew it was no different than anything she had ever done, but she simply smiled and kissed his chin. "You're so strong and masculine, Harry. You know, even though we've had our little differences, I think I could go for you."
"Yeah," he said, and ran his hand up her leg again.
"Put ... your ... finger ... into ... me, Harry."
He stared at her open-mouthed. "You mean, you'd really like that?"
"It might feel good," she admitted.
"Wouldn't you rather have the real thing in you, baby?"
She sighed. "Oh ... Harry ... would you ... please?"
"Sure, baby. Why not? You're a beautiful gal."
"Lay me, Harry. Get on top of me and stick it up my cunt. I want to feel your hard-on all the way in, working in and up and driving me half-crazy. I need it so."
"Lie down, kid," he ordered her roughly. "We'll see what we can do about that hot box of yours."
Strange. That was the word she had so often used in addressing Sammy. She found she didn't like it very much. "Please call me Mia," she said, smiling at him but wanting to slap him.
"I'll call you any goddamned thing I want to, kid," he said, and ran his hand up her leg again.
"Don't be that way, Harry," she said, trying her best to hold her temper. "Let's try to get along so we can enjoy each other."
"Hey," he said. "Lie down. Thought I told you before."
"All right, Harry." She lay flat on her back and stared up at him. "Come on, honey. Stick it into me."
He unzipped himself and she saw with regret that he wasn't hard. He ran his fingers over himself, but she pushed his hand away and began to massage him herself. He didn't get hard easily and she wondered about this.
"Is it because of the head injury, Harry?" she asked innocently.
"What the hell are you beefing about?" he cried. "I said I was willing to gratify you. Don't give me that old female junk."
She didn't fully understand this outburst from him, but she only smiled again and massaged him faster. "Come on, baby," she said as though talking to his penis. "Come for mama."
"You sound like a moron," he said severely. "Let go of me. I'll bring it up."
Her checks were flaming now. "Harry," she said, fighting once again for control, "you can be awfully hateful when you want to be."
"Watch your tongue, kid, or I'll take my marbles and go home."
"Now ... you sound like a little boy. What's wrong with you-you aren't hard at all?"
He said nothing but got up and walked to the table again. She saw him pick up his camera and return with it. He sat down heavily and did something to the camera.
"Way I figure it," he said absently, "is for you to get your head down on my lap and I'll take a close-up of you sucking me off. That way I can...."
She sat up quickly. "Harry, you told me to lie down. I thought you wanted to screw me."
"Hell no, baby. I want to get a pic of you. Come on, lie down and suck me. That'll make me hard and I can snap a picture of you."
She slapped his face hard. "Damn you, Harry!" she cried. "Damn you to hell and gone. You're a dirty louse."
He laughed. "Come off it. I just want a picture of you sucking. That way I won't be in it. After all, you were the one who destroyed my film."
"I won't suck you, Harry. I won't let you take a picture of me either."
He got to his feet and brushed her hand away from his arm as she sought to grab hold of him to keep him here with her. "Then listen to me, cunt!" he yelled. "You can go straight to hell. I'll get my picture of you some other time."
"Harry," she wailed. "I'm sorry I called you those awful names. Please don't walk out on me. I'm so hot for you I'm burning up."
"I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole, baby. You tried to kill me and you make me sick!" He walked out of the house, slamming the door after him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE SAT THERE FOR A LONG TIME, DRINKING AND feeling sorry for herself. Two men had this day turned her down flat, and it was almost unbelieveable, for she had never in her life, before moving to Hopkinsville, been turned down by any man. In the city men were after her all of the time, good-looking, wealthy, sexy men. What was wrong with her in this awful town?, Was it because of her uncle somehow? Partially, she knew, but at the same time Harry and Phil had spurned her today and they cared nothing about her uncle having been what he was.
"Oh, the hell with it," she muttered. "I still have the kid if he comes back. If he doesn't, I'll have to hunt him up. I can't stand this much longer."
She was muttering again, she knew, but now she didn't care. The hell with that, too.
It was later that she went to her bedroom and turned on the light to see herself in the floor-length mirror. Holding her robe out away from her body, she studied her reflection. She found she was having some difficulty seeing. Squinting her eyes a little, she moved closer to the mirror and finally let the robe drop to the floor. She stood naked in front of the mirror for a brief moment and then went to the bathroom and sprinkled body powder in herself. When the kid came she wanted to smell nice for him, wanted to get him aroused more quickly and more intensely.
Finally, she went back to the front room, her robe draped over her shoulders without putting her arms through the sleeves. She sank down on the sofa and had another drink. Her mind was getting rather fuzzy and she knew she had better not drink too much for a while. Lighting a cigarette and almost burning her hand while doing it, she lay down flat on her back and smoked, staring up at the ceiling and wondering where the kid had gone.
When she heard the sound on the front porch, she sat up straight and stared in that direction. The door wasn't locked, and when she saw it come open a little her heart quickened its beat. The door opened farther and she saw it wasn't the kid but his father, Jim White.
He stood there and leered at her. "Hi, bitch," he called over to her. "Ruined anyone yet today?"
She wanted to laugh, but she didn't. He looked so ridiculous the way he was bent over. She recalled hitting him with the bottle and wished now that she had hit him harder. "What do you want?" she asked, getting to her feet and swaying slightly.
"Bitch," he spat, and she knew he was a bit drunk himself. "I'd like to cut your heart out."
"Get out!" she cried. "Get out of my house."
"You leave my kid alone," he spat. "Or by god, I'll kill you, bitch."
"You don't care anything about your kid. You kicked him out last night."
"He's back home now and you leave him alone."
"Get out of here!" she yelled. "Or I'll have you arrested for breaking and entering."
"You won't have nobody arrested, bitch. You ain't in no position to do nothin'."
She picked up a pillow and flung it at him and missed. "Will ... you please ... get ... out!"
He moved away from her. "My kid, he ain't coming to make love to you tonight. I ain't gonna let him out."
"Get OUT!" she yelled.
He backed away a bit more and started to go through the doorway.
"Wait a minute," she yelled. "Come back here. I want to talk to you."
"I ain't gonna talk to you 'bout nothin'. You're a lousy bitch and I'd rather cut your lousy throat than talk to you."
"I just wanted to ask you how your ... thing is?"
His face became contorted. "Don't you go making fun of me or I will kill you."
"I'm not making fun of you," she said thickly. "I just want to know if it'll ... work?"
A look of lust came into his small eyes. "I sec. You want a little bit of the old man now, eh? Well, you ain't gonna get me. I wouldn't touch you, bitch."
"Are you all right?" she asked, her brain whirling now from the whiskey. "I want to know."
"No, I ain't all right and I'll probably never be, thanks to you, bitch."
"Then get out of here!" she cried, disappointed and angry all over again.
"You bet," he said grimly. "Who wants to hang around with female scum?"
"Bastard," she muttered. "Lousy, dirty bastard."
He fled hastily when she approached him. He stumbled down off the porch in the darkness-she heard rather than saw him do this-and she made no effort to help him. Why should she? She hated the sight of that creature. He wasn't a man even before she had cut his penis with the bottle. He was simply a louse.
"I heard you," a voice said from the hallway. "You tried to get my old man to screw you, didn't you, Miss Hopkins?"
Mia whirled about and nearly lost her balance. "Sammy," she cried. "I didn't see you there."
"Neither did my old man. Why'd you try to get him to screw you?"
"Sammy," she said, going to him and putting her arm about him, "I'm so glad to see you. I thought you were never coming back."
"Get away from me!" he yelled, and struck at her but missed. "I don't want nothin' to do with you no more. I heard you ask my old man if his thing was all right. You ain't foolin' me none, not no more. I'm gettin' out of here."
She tried to collect her thoughts. Everything seemed to be happening so fast she couldn't think clearly. "Sammy, it wasn't what you think. I was the one who cut him. I cut him with a whiskey bottle. I...."
"I know you did. He told me a little while ago. You didn't have to try to get him to make love to you."
"Sammy, I didn't do that. Please, you must believe me." Her speech was quite thick, but she barely realized it.
"You sound like you're drunk," he said. "That why you tried to get to my old man?"
She took him by the arm and led him into the front room. "Sit down, honey. Sit down and don't talk mean to me. I didn't try anything with your father. I just wanted to know how bad he was hurt."
Sammy sank down reluctantly on the sofa and glared at her. "Gimme a drink," he said rudely. "I wanna drink."
"Sure, Sammy, honey. You can have all the drinks you want."
"Made me sick hearin' you go after my old man. Hate my old man."
She poured him a drink, spilling much of it as she did so and then handed the glass to him. He set it down without tasting it. "Made me sick hearin' you go after my old man," he repeated bitterly. "You're supposed to be my girl. That's what you told me."
"I am your girl, Sammy." She pulled her robe open. "Here, honey, feel me up. Put your hands on my tits. Get hot with me, baby."
"Leave me alone," he snarled. "Don't wanna touch you, you old bag."
"Sammy, what's wrong with you? You never called me names before."
"Never heard you go after my old man before."
"I told you I didn't go after him. Why can't you believe me, kid?"
"Don't call me that. Don't like it no more. Hate it. Hate you, too."
Everything seemed to be flying to pieces on her. "Sammy," she said, trying to speak more calmly. "Please don't go on and on about your father. I don't even like him. I like you. In fact, I even love you. I'm your girl. I want you to be my boy friend ... always."
He was sulking like a ten-year-old, but she was so high she could barely realized it. "Gimme drink," he muttered.
"I already did, honey. It's right in front of you."
"I hate you," he snarled. 'Goddamn you, you tired to make my old man."
The more he spoke in this way, the more lustful she became, and it would have amazed her had she been more sober. There was something about his anger and resentment that nearly drove her crazy with desire. She reached over and tried to unzip his pants, but he brushed her hand away.
"Leave me alone," he said, sulking even more.
"Please, Sammy, be nice to me. I only want to feel it. Please let me."
"Leave me alone." He reached for his drink and took a swallow of it, choking a little and making a face. "Awful stuff. Don't know why grown-ups drink it. I like milk better."
"Please, honey," she said in desperation. "Let me take it out and play with it."
"Keep your old hands off me. I hate you."
She sighed deeply. If she didn't succeed in getting him to indulge with her, she would go straight out of her mind. She didn't know what was making her so lustful, but something was. "Sammy," she said, "I promise not to touch you. You just go ahead and drink. Maybe it'll make you feel better toward me."
"Don't try to work me by being nice to me," he snarled.
"I know what you're up to. You ain't my girl. You're everybody's girl, even my old man's. You couldn't get him, so you're goin' after me. You ain't foolin' me none."
"Honey, I'm not trying to fool you. I just want to prove to you how much I love you and need you. Oh, Sammy ... I do need you ... I need you so very much."
"No, you don't," he sneered. "You don't need me. I ain't your guy. Ain't nobody your guy. Everybody's your guy. I hate you, bitch."
He was sounding just as his father had done. This was irking her despite the fact that she wasn't too sober. "Sammy, you're talking in an insulting way to me. I don't like it. Why must you be like this? We've always got along real good together."
"That was before I heard you goin' after my old man."
She placed her hand on his thigh. "There now ... doesn't that feel good, honey?" God, but she was hot. She was ready for anything.
"Get your hand off me!" he cried. "I'll tell you if I want you feelin' me up."
He was getting more and more impossible. Did everyone hate her today? "Sammy," she said. "Drink your drink, please."
He reached for the glass and lifted it to his mouth, drank some of it and promptly had a choking spell. She patted him on the back until he regained his breath. "Damn it," he growled. "Everything stinks somethin' awful tonight."
"That's the way things seem sometimes, Sammy, but nothing is changed between us. You merely think it is."
"Goddamn you!" he yelled angrily. "I heard you talkin' to my lousy old man. If that's the kind of guy you want, you can have him. He ain't no good for nothin' and neither are you if you want to do it to him."
"I didn't want to do it to him, Sammy. Why can't you understand that?"
He jumped to his feet, picking up the whiskey glass and flinging it across the room where it struck the wall and shattered in a hundred pieces.
'I understand you all right," he cried. "I understand you better'n you think I do. You're just an old whore and I hate your guts."
"Sammy," she said desperately, "please stop talking this way to me. I can't stand much more of it."
He strode to the door and yanked it open.
"Sammy," she wailed. "Please ... don't go. Don't walk out on me. Please stay."
"Go to hell, you old bitch." He walked through the doorway and she heard him running down the in-walk to the street.
She got to her feet slowly, her heart filled with mixed emotions, partly hatred, partly frustrated lust. "Why you punk little stinker," she muttered. "Fluffing me off. I wish I had you here. I'd cut your peter off with a whiskey bottle like I did your old man's."
Suddenly she began to weep and she couldn't stop it for a long time. Finally, however, she staggered back to the sofa and picked up the bottle. Taking a long drink from it, she hurled it across the room near the spot where he had shattered his glass. "There, you little punk. Maybe that'll keep you company."
She staggered about the room, her heart overflowing with a wild lust that astonished even her. "I gotta do something," she muttered. "I just gotta do something or go crazy."
She went back to the front door and peered out for some sign that Sammy was coming back to her. He was nowhere in view. She swore savagely and, reaching down, rubbed her cunt. Her robe, she noticed, was open and her body was exposed. The trouble was, there was no one to see her body. No one at all.
She stood in the doorway feeling the summer wind blowing against her naked body. It didn't feel good, it felt terrible. What could a wind do for her in her present lustful state?
"Damn it," she muttered loudly. "Damn everything in this lousy world." She saw him then.
The dog stood in the yard a few feet from her. He was staring at her, his body stiff, his head and neck thrust out toward her. She stood still, looking back at the animal.
A cold chill passed through her. "Oh my god ... no," she muttered. "Not that."
The dog moved closer to her.
She stood her ground in the doorway and he came still closer, never taking his eyes from her body.
Mia ran her tongue over her dry lips. "Oh my god," she repeated. "Not ... No ... not ... that...."
She backed up a little and into the house. The dog came after her, stopping at the doorway to sniff once or twice. Then he came into the house swiftly and ran to the middle of the room.
Mia sobbed but pushed the door shut with all the strength she possessed. The sound of the door slamming made the dog start, but he didn't move away from the middle of the room where he stood still, his head thrust forward as before, his eyes fixed on hers.
Mia knew madness then.
The moisture of uncontrollable lust running down her thighs, she went about the room turning off lights until the place was in total darkness. Then, sobbing strangely, wildly, she threw off her robe and was naked and ready.
She sank to her hands and knees on the thick carpeting, knowing it wouldn't take him long to find her.
She felt the sudden impact of the animal's body as he sprang at her, his forepaws fastening about her waist, his hardness stabbing at her exposed region. She nearly doubled up from the pain of his savage, wild penetration ... and then ... she knew real satisfaction at last.
