In an upper-middle class suburb, restless teenagers form a sadoerotic kicks club. A product of imaginative but wantonly passionate minds, the group discovers spanking, paddling, oral games, booze, dope, and trouble. With an unusually mature appreciation of the sadoerotic arts, the kids meet for wild orgies of discipline and sex. A story, all too unbelievable, of youth's misguided sexual urges.
CHAPTER ONE
Lucy Colton held her breath and stared agog through the crack in the plaster in the wall of her bedroom. It was directly opposite the more spacious room occupied by her mother and her new stepfather, who had moved in exactly a month ago.
A few minutes ago, while immersed in her homework for geometry class at Brownton High, Lucy's attention had been distracted by the sounds of a heated argument. It had grown noisier and noisier until suddenly she had heard her mother cry out something like "Don't you dare, Bill Colton, don't you ever-Ouch! Let go-oh no-not that-oh for heaven's sake, don't do that to me-owww!"
She had left her book on the table and hurried over to the wall where, about a year ago, she had noticed that the crumbling plaster had given way so much that a rather sizable hole was thoroughly visible. Out of curiosity, she had knelt down and squinted through the crack, and observed that she could see directly into her mother's bedroom. She was now at that vantage point, kneeling, her palms pressed against the wall, her pretty, soft lips parted and her extremely well-developed milky-skinned young bosom rising and falling in a considerable state of emotion.
Her dark-brown-haired buxom thirty-eight-year-old mother was lying across her stepfather's lap as the latter, seated firmly on the edge of the wide double bed, maintained her with his left hand gripping both her wrists which had been drawn behind her back. Her mother's skirt and petticoat had been furled up and rolled neatly above her waist, and her pink satin-elastic panie-girdle had been unhooked and turned inside out and was now stationed midway between her kneehollows and the upreared, flinching, spaciously rounded cheeks of a milky-skinned bottom already marred by several bright pink imprints of Bill Colton's right palm.
Lucy Colton was fifteen, about five feet four inches in height, with a sweet, heart-shaped face, large, soft blue eyes, a ripe mouth and exquisitely dimpled chin. Her light brown hair was combed back and gathered at the back of her neck into a single thick braid which fell just below her shoulder blades. Already at her nubile age, her delightfully curvaceous figure-doubtless the legacy of her generously endowed auburn-haired mother-had drawn approving wolf whistles from many an appreciative male on campus.
Lucy's original father, Edmund Halrick, had been an administrative engineer for the present northwest suburb of Northbrook, where he had purchased a ranch-type house on Cagle Street in one of the most fashionable areas of the community. He had died two years ago from an unexpected heart attack, having never had a real sickness before in all his forty-three years. Pamela Halrick had mourned him deeply, but she had suddenly fallen in love last year with sturdy, virile Bill Colton, forty-five and owner of two supermarts which served the housewives of Northbrook.
Lucy had been of mixed sentiments regarding this remarriage. She had been very devoted to her father, but she found that Bill Colton was much more of an extrovert and with a considerable abundance of enthusiasm and energy which sometimes struck her as being slightly embarrassing. There had been times when she had been watching TV in the spacious living room and, during a commercial, glanced over to the couch where her parents sat, just in time to see her stepfather kissing her mother on the mouth and with his arm tightly squeezing her waist while his other hand stealthily moved along her plump thigh or sometimes even near her bosom. At such moments, Pamela Colton would blush furiously, push her husband's hand away and whisper, "Not in front of Lucy, darling, now behave yourself!"
But nothing in the world had prepared Lucy Colton for what she was seeing now.
As she watched with an incredulous stare, her stepfather seemed to take a firmer grip of her mother's wrists, then put his right palm on her mother's naked bottom and began to roam around slowly all over the big upstanding firm satiny white cheeks. Pamela Colton groaned and began to kick her legs, sheathed in flesh-hued nylons of the finest denier. "Stop it! I won't let you! I'm much too old to be treated this way, Bill Colton! I mean it, if you don't let me go at once and pull my pantie-girdle up right now, I-I-I'll divorce you!"
Her mother's voice was husky with tears and indignation, and Lucy felt herself hypnotized to watch and listen to this spellbinding tableau. What amazed her most was that her stepfather had chosen the bedroom right next to hers for this marital disagreement, without even concerning himself that she might be able to hear what was going on. He certainly knew that she was home from school, because he'd said, "Hi-Kitten," when she'd come in with all her books, especially the extra homework in that darned old geometry class. But even if he did know, maybe he had forgotten, because what he was doing and saying was certainly something that she oughtn't to know about.
"So you'll divorce me, will you, woman?" she heard him jocularly reply. "Well see. Anyway, you won't be able to get to a lawyer until after I've paddled that big impudent bottom of yours."
"Don't you dare! You let me go, Bill Colton, you great big bully, you-Oww! Stop it! That hurts! Eeyeoww! I told you to stop-ouch, you're hurting!"
Pamela Colton's indignant jeremiad was suddenly broken off as her husband's hand landed with a sonorous impact on the ripest curve of the right bottomglobe. Lucy had an unimpaired view of the bed, because her stepfather was seated slightly to her left and her mother lay facing the wall through which Lucy was peering so assiduously.
A second and then a third spank followed, each decorating the jouncy bottomsummit, and again Pamela Colton's legs flailed the air as she looked back and tried to jerk her wrists loose: "Owwohh! You cut that out, Bill Colton, or you'll be the sorriest man alive, I mean it! How dare you treat a grown woman and the mother of children-"
"A little more accuracy, Pamela, please. You're the mother of one cMd, although I might get the idea to start another. But that's another story. Right for now, honey, you've got a bottom-warming coming, and you're not going to get up from here until you've had ample sufficiency of it. I've had enough of your little tantrums and your coy play acting when I have company representatives out here to dinner."
"That's unfair! All because I had a headache that evening-"
"Yes, you've had a few too many headaches to suit me, and I don't think they're genuine. Right now, you're going to have another kind of ache. See what I mean?" And with this, his right hand rose and fell again, this time decorating the left cheek at its ripest curve with a bright pink splotch to mark the outline of his spanking hand. Pamela Colton wailed again and tried to twist herself off his lap, but he had much too good a grip on her wrists for that. With a smile, he now began to spank in earnest, alternating on the plump upturned globes, first right, then left, working his way down from the edges of Pamela Colton's luscious hips to where her stocking tops left off and also stinging the tender and sensitive flesh of her upper thighs.
Each time he reached the base of her ample behind, Bill Colton bestowed about two or three slaps on each thigh, and Lucy was astounded to hear her mother's cries become shriller and more poignant then when the punitive hand assailed her spacious posterior.
By the time some thirty spanks had been administered, Pamela Colton wasn't indignantly protesting anymore and threatening to divorce her husband. Her face was red and congested, stained with tears; she was looking back frantically and pleading with him to be let off, while she nervously rubbed her stocking calves this way and that, sometimes crossing them, then uncrossing them, only to cross them again in a fitful restlessness: "Oh please-oh Bill, I can't stand it-I'm burning up-you're cruel, you're mean-I did have a headache, too! I just didn't like that nagging Mr. Farley and all the silly questions he asked-oh please don't, not anymore, I'll be good! I beg you, Bill, please don't sp-sp-sp-spank me any m-more, oh please!"
Lucy's stepfather paused now to judge his handiwork. His wife's opulent naked bottom was a vivid red from hip slopes to base, and the flesh was twitching, the cheeks contracting and tightening in the most fascinating choreography imaginable. Her pantie-girdle, in her struggles, had been fucked down just below her knees, where it acted as a hampering restraint to her energetic kickings.
He let go of her wrists for a minute, put his left hand to her naked side and drew her closer to him then grabbed for her wrists again before she could get her hands away. Then, without warning, he resumed spanking. This time, there was a difference in pattern. Where previously he had raised his hand and brought it down horizontally on this or that area of her naked seat, his method now was to turn his hand at right angles so that it became a kind of vertical spanking instrument, crisscrossing the angrily vivid splotches already left on the white escutcheon of her naked posterior.
Pamela Colton at once burst into tears and tried to kick again, wriggling and struggling: "Oh, not anymore, surely? Oh please, that's enough! Ow ohh! I beg you, Bill, please don't-aii! Ahhrr! I'll be good, I promise I will, I'll even be nice to that detestable old Mr. Farley-oh please let up now, please, my bottom's on fire!"
He paused again, while her hips swerved and twisted uncontrollably. Her tearstained, contorted face looked pathetically back at him over her shoulder, and she jerked piteously at her wrists as she sobbed, "Oh not anymore, I just can't stand it! It hurts so, please, I'll be good, I'll do anything you want, B-Bill, I'll be good!"
"That's a little more like it, woman. All right. In about a week, I'm going to have Farley and Grainger and Matthewson over for a company get-together. You'd better go all out to have a scrumptious dinner and then to make a perfectly charming hostess of yourself-because the next time I'm going to use my belt or maybe my razor strop. You hear?"
He punctuated this question with a solid pair of slaps, one to each upper summit of Pamela Colton's fiery-red bottom, and she fairly shrieked out, "Owwee! Yes, yes, I hear, I'll do it, oh please, not anymore, aii!"
"That's much better. And I'll be watching you to make sure you keep your promises, woman," he told her grimly. Then, to Lucy's astonishment, he ordered her to kneel up and grip hold of her upturned skirt and petticoat. When Pamela Colton did so, she unwittingly presented her daughter with the voluptuous vista of her very thickly furred mound of Venus, the softly rounded belly with its wide, shallow kiss-nook which was the navel, and the shaking, plumply rounded thighs. She was sniffling audibly, her face averted, her eyes closed, and her nostrils flaring and shrinking.
Bill Colton rose, dragged down the zipper of his trousers, and drew out his stiff, dark-veined penis, the head of which seemed like a huge mushroom cap set off from the circumcisional groove. Lucy turned scarlet from her vantage spot, for she had never seen a male organ in full erection before. But still more incredible was what followed.
"All right, woman," her stepfather hoarsely directed, "suppose you get on all fours now and crawl towards the middle of the bed. Keep your legs well apart too, or you'll be sorry."
"Why-yes, h-honey, but oh please, no more spanking, please!" Pamela Colton tearfully sobbed as she took the required pose.
Bill Colton didn't answer. He was busy getting onto the bed and taking his place kneeling right behind his voluptuously buxom wife. His sinewy fingers gripped the edges of her hips as she uttered a stifled cry: "What-what are you going to do?"
"Open your legs a little more than that-that's it! Now just shut up and take your medicine," he muttered thickly.
Pamela Colton's face congealed, her eyes widening with astonishment, then horror, then shame: "Ohh-oh no, not now-for heaven's sake, darling, it's almost supper time-please-Lucy is in the next room-oh Heavens, do you suppose she's heard-oohh, oh take it easy-oh it's so big and hard and hot-oh darling-oh Bill-aahh-oh please, please hurry I can't wait-oh my darling-yes, yes, oh do it, do it! Aahh!"
Lucy saw her father thrust forward, as he crouched behind her mother, gripping her mother's naked hips to steer and manage her. She saw her mother's head lift, heard the husky, tearful exhortation which strangely enough had little pain but a great deal of anguished anticipation and sensual delight in its overtones.
And then she saw her mother twist and wriggle, pressing herself back to meet Bill Colton's vigorous digs, and Lucy Colton knew that she was watching her parents fuck.
Pamela Colton's sobbing cry of ecstasy announced her climax. Bill Colton, his face twisted and taut and flushed, quickened his gait, and then with a groan of pleasure, poured his essence deep into Pamela Colton's churning quim.
Lucy watched them crouch there, both panting, tasting that exquisite oblivion which follows sexual rapture. Then finally her stepfather disengaged himself, and Lucy could see that his organ was still reasonably stiff and glistening from its sojourn within her mother's love-cavern. He dug into his trousers pocket, produced a handkerchief and mopped himself off. Then, with a ribald chuckle, he raised his right hand and gave Lucy's mother a loud smack on the ripest curve of her right buttock: "All right , woman, I'm finished with you for the time being. Now get back to the kitchen and start fixing a real good supper. That workout made me hungry as a horse!"
CHAPTER TWO
Over on Turboard Avenue, two blocks west of the Colton ranch-type bungalow, and at about the same time, another scene of domestic retribution was taking place. This one, however, involved a very attractive teenage girl as the principal participant and, indeed, victim, with her father administering stern bare-bottom justice and her mother judiciously looking on in the role of executioner's assistant and supreme arbiter.
Marian Wesley, black-haired, three weeks past her sixteenth birthday, her sensitive, oval face covered in her hands, lay disconsolately over her father's lap as he sat at his ease in a heavy, deep armchair in the Wesley living room. Her miniskirt had been roiled up very neatly just above her waist, her charcoal-brown pantie-hose turned inside out and pulled down to her knees, and the white nylon pantie-briefs which she wore underneath that sheath had equally been fucked down and turned inside out. Her bottom was surprisingly ripe-curved for her age, comprising two upstandingly rounded cheeks separated by a gradually widening crease which she tried frantically to diminish by dent of clenching her thighs and stiffening her calves as she bore down with all her weight on the tips of her pretty brown suede pumps.
Her black hair was coiffed in a thick pageboy, with curls turned under, and they tumbled about her tearstained cheeks as she tried to blot out the ignominy of her ordeal.
Her mother, Karen Wesley, stood at her right and slightly behind the armchair, her arms folded over her ample buxom and with the look of a satisfied judge on her handsome face. Karen Wesley was forty, of Junoesque build, and her flaxen-hued hair was worn round the top of her head in an imposing coronet braid which made her look like a Scandinavian goddess or at least a redoubtable Viking woman. She glanced approvingly at her husband, Adam, three years older than herself, tall and agile-as poor Marian had ample reason to know!-whose black hair showed scarcely a trace of gray and who, she knew only too well, was just as virile in bed as he had been at the outset of their marriage.
Their only child had, in Karen's own words, "been getting away with murder lately, so this is long overdue." What had been the proverbial straw that had broken the camel's back had been Marian's midterm report card from her senior year at high school. Moreover, she had been several times rebuked by
Karen for not tidying up her room and, after coming home from school this afternoon with the most unsatisfactory report card she had had in the past two years, she had been unfortunate enough to answer her mother in a sharper and less respectful tone than Karen Wesley approved.
As it chanced, Adam Wesley was home this particular afternoon working on a presentation for his advertising agency, where he was vice president in charge of new business. He also had overheard Marian's impertinent remark to her mother, and so when Karen had proposed a good sound spanking, he had been the first to concur.
Marian Wesley hadn't been spanked since her twelfth year, and she was dying of shame already just at the thought of having her panties down and letting her father see her bare seat.
When justice had caught up with her, she had clasped her hands together and implored her mother to forgive her, hastily adding, "Oh, M-Mother, if-if you have to-if you have to sp-spank me, won't you please do it yourself and not let Daddy see?"
But Karen had condemned her not only to that bare-bottom chastisement, which in itself would have been atrocious enough to her young self-esteem, but had nearly made her faint by asking her father to administer it.
Adam Wesley tucked his left arm round his daughter's slim waist, stared reflectively at the ivory-creaming hillocks of her upturned, quivering bare bottom. Then briskly raising his right hand, he applied a stinging, noisy smack to the very center of her right buttock, followed, some five seconds later, by one to the same target on the other globe. Marian stiffened, clinched her fist, looked up at the ceiling and emitted a sobbing groan: "Ohh, ohh, oh please, D-Daddy!"
"I hope this will be a good lesson for you, young lady," Karen Wesley tartly interposed. "You know you've had this come for a long, long time, Marian. And while we're on the subject, I think I'm going to deny you some of your dating privileges for the next few weeks until I see an improvement in that report card."
"Ohh, M-Mother!" Marian wailed, thoroughly wretched. "I-I'm too old to be sp-sp-spanked like this! Oh please let Mother do it, Daddy! Please, I-I just want to sink through the floor with shame-or at least-please-please-please pull my panties up-they-they aren't much protection, but please don't leave me bare like this!"
"There's no need for you to have any false modesty, young lady," her mother again sharply countered. "If you'd minded your manners and taken more care of your room and also spent more time at your books instead of gallivanting around with that would be young Casanova, Joe Ferris, you wouldn't be so concerned about showing your big impertinent backside to your father. Give it to her good, Adam, she deserves it."
"Ohh, Mother, nooo! Oh please, it's so shameful-it's-Eeooowwwohhh! Oh please, it hurts, D-Daddy! Please don't sp-sp-spank me so h-hard!" Even as she had begun to protest, her father's hand had resumed its castigating task.
Four vigorous smacks, two to each lower summit, made Marian's naked seat quiver and quake, tightening and then spasming open to show the ambery-shadowy groove which separated the resilient globes. Once again she clenched her thighs as tightly shut as she could, all too unhappily aware of what she was exposing.
But by now her bottom had begun to sting atrociously, and Marian Wesley was gradually becoming more concerned about the discomfort in her naked seat than in her outraged modesty.
As the pretty, young brunette tried to squirm off her father's lap, Adam Wesley tightened his grip round her waist and pulled her back closer towards him. At the same time, his right hand did not miss its cadence once, visiting the satiny round globes of his daughter's naked behind with noisy, burning slaps. However, being relatively an amateur at this kind of chastisement, he applied the spanks haphazardly, all over Marian's creamy hindquarters, so that the teenager could never anticipate where the next stinging slap would fall.
By the time he had reached a count of twenty-silently calculated by Karen herself who was watching very intently-Marian was crying loudly and trying to put her hands back to cover up her blazing bottom, which was an extremely bright shade of red, with interesting patches of untouched white here and there over the quaking nether globes.
"That's only half a spanking, Adam," Karen remonstrated.
"Oh no! Oh Mother, beg me off-oh don't let him do it anymore-of if you only knew how sore my poor s-s-seat is, Mother! I'll be good, I'll get a better report card, you'll see! Oh please, Daddy, please pull my p-p-panties up and let me off any more, please, Daddy!" the brunette teenager poignantly implored.
Adam Wesley seemed to weaken, glancing back up again at his statuesque wife as if for guidance. Her dark-blue eyes narrowed and she shook her head: "Adam Wesley, those are crocodile tears. Don't you know that every naughty girl at the outset of a spanking is willing to promise anything in the world if you'll only stop? Then she'll think she can get away with murder again, and the lesson will be useless. No sir, you keep it up until I tell you to stop.
And as for you, young lady, it won't do you any good to beg off, not either one of us. In fact, if you don't stop squalling like that, I'll have your father take my old wooden hairbrush to your big naked seat-how would you like that?"
"Oh no! Not the hairbrush! I-I'll t-take it, but oh please, not-not-too h-hard, please, Daddy!" the lovely weeping victim implored.
"Sorry, baby," her father sympathized. "But you heard your mother. I'm afraid you'll just have to be brave, dear. I'm sorry I have to do this, but you do deserve it. I just won't have you talking that way to your mother, now remember that."
Having thus delivered a speech which conveyed both compassion for the victim and impartial justice to corroborate his domineering and beautiful wife's verdict, Adam Wesley again tightened the hold of his left arm around Marian's supple waist, lifted his right hand and resumed her spanking.
Karen frowned. Her husband was much too lenient with that impertinent little snip, in her opinion. Indeed, she had half-intended to sentence Marina to the hairbrush, but Adam had taken her aside and pointed out that since this was Marian's first spanking in a good many years, the humiliation itself and the fact that he himself would administer chastisement ought to compensate for the relative lack of severity. She had acceded, but very grudgingly.
In the seventeen years of their marriage, Karen Wesley had found whole satisfaction in the marriage bed, until the last few years. In her opinion, though her husband was still quite adequate to service her, he had begun to show appreciable signs of lack of imagination. She, on the other hand, at the very peak of her womanhood and knowing that the change of life was not too far off, had begun to feel subtle urges for a good deal more variety in their sexual relations. On the other hand, she had hesitated to take the initiative, because Adam Wesley was, to borrow one of her daughter's own terms, something of a "square."
But as she stood now watching her daughter's lovely naked seat turn from its creamy, immaculate satin to a flaming red, saw her daughter wriggle and squirm and twist, saw the lovely anguished face covered with tears and contorted in pain, a strange and burning desire had begun to take hold of her.
Her superb round breasts, high-perched on her chest and set well apart, had begun to rise and fall erratically, and she could feel her own nipples hardening and throbbing with a sensuality that was new and delicious to her. Also, along the magnificent long, beautifully curved columns of her thighs, a kind of prickling heat had begun to pervade her soft pink skin, and she found that she was experiencing what amounted to tumescence.
Her lips moist, her nostrils flickering, her hands still on her magnificent hips, she followed the chastisement, but not without sending Adam several significant and imperious glances which at the moment he apparently seemed to ignore.
But now the count had reached forty, and Marian was crying hysterically and twisting and squirming in an effort to get off her father's lap. Twice she had plunged her hands back to cover her scarlet rear end, and twice her mother had sternly reprimanded her for such audacity, finally bending over the girl and grasping the errant slim wrists to keep from a recurrence of that protective and certainly instinctive gesture.
"I think she's had almost enough, Adam," she at last decided. "Now then, young lady, will you promise me that you're going to do a lot better in school? Go ahead, give her a few more good last ones, so she'll remember the lesson!"
"Why-why-yes, M-Mother, I-owwohhh! Oh no more, I can't stand anymore, Daddy, I'm just dying-oh please!" Marian wailed, turning her face round to stare at her father with tear blurred eyes.
"And you're not going to see Joe Ferris anymore until I say so, either. Is that understood?" her mother relentlessly continued, making another sign to Adam Wesley, who promptly applied a solid smack which bridged the sinuous crease separating his daughter's flaming nether globes.
"Aiii, eeeyeowww! Oh please, Daddy, I won't, Mother, I won't ever do it again until you say so, but oh please, have Daddy stop, I just can't stand it, I'm dying, I'm burning up!" The pretty brunette hysterically entreated.
"Very well. Now get up and put your clothes back in order, then go up to your room till it's time for supper, young lady," Karen dictated. "And this is only a sample of what you'll get if the next report card isn't thoroughly satisfactory, you understand me?"
Slowly, sobbing uncontrollably, the lovely brunette lifted herself off her father's lap, at once clapping her hands to her fiery behind. He sat there a little self-consciously, his face red, averting his eyes from the unconsciously provocative display which his daughter made of her own virginal loins and scarlet behind as, wincing and sniffling, she painfully stooped to retrieve the down-fallen pantie-hose and panties, at last drawing them into place and then smoothing down the short skirt.
Still rubbing her bottom, tears running down her cheeks, she disappeared from the living room.
Karen Wesley looked at her husband. "That was only reasonably good, darling. You just have to be more firm. There's a lot of juvenile delinquency going around here in Northbrook, and I have a hunch that Joe Ferris is partly responsible for some of it. Now let's go upstairs to our room."
"I was working on this presentation, you know," he patiently pointed out.
"It can wait. I can't. Come along, darling," she murmured huskily as she stopped down to put her hands on his shoulders and to give him a passionate kiss on the mouth. Adam Wesley's eyes widened, and then he reached up to cup his wife's swelling, cantaloupe-like titties. When the kiss was ended, he muttered thickly, "I guess the presentation can wait, after all, darling. Let's go!"
And while Marian Wesley, upstairs in her bathroom, her pantie-hose and panties again lowered and skirt trussed up, was tearfully sponging her flaming naked seat with a wet washcloth, Karen and Adam Wesley had adjourned to the latter's bedroom. There, the door properly locked, the shades drawn, Karen doffed her blue cotton house dress and slip, reached behind her to unhook the bandeau of her white nylon bra and let it flutter to the floor. Her husband caught his breath at the magnificent sight of her naked bubbies, with their dark-brownish-coral aurolae centering the turgid, well-developed nipple buds.
Swiftly she unhooked the tabs of her garter belt, and drew it off, then tugged down and stepped out of the sheer panties. Her sumptuous body, all five feet, seven and one half inches of it and gloriously proportioned, was pink-sheened anked down to her stocking tops as she approached the bed.
Adam Wesley, nervously, his face flushed, whisked off his tie and shirt, and then his trousers, kicked off his shoes, and unbuttoned his shorts to reveal a commendably erect phallus on which Karen's eyes fixed with eager anticipation.
He mounted the bed as her thighs made room for him and her arms' reached out to enfold him. Their lips met, and Karen moaned softly as she arched her pelvis up to probe for his weapon. Finding it, she gasped, "put it into me, all the way, hard, Adam darling!"
His hands reached under to squeeze her naked bottom, as he steered himself into the arm and already moist snatch. Karen Wesley groaned again, tightening her hold of his shoulders as she drew him down to flatten the magnificent turrets of her naked titties. "Give it to me, oh give it to me!" she breathed.
He felt himself sink into her to the very balls, felt the fluttering agitation of her vaginal walls against his ramrod.
And then both of them, though perhaps for different reasons, attuned by this domestic chastisement of their lovely teenage daughter, began to taste the bliss of fusion.
CHAPTER THREE
Joe Ferris, the seventeen-year-old black-haired senior on whose account pretty Marian Wesley was being spanked by her father, had stolen into his sister's bedroom in search of a pair of her panties. It wasn't that he was fetishist, but the secret club he was beginning to start at Brownton High needed an appropriate symbol. And so Joe Ferris had decided that a pair of girl's sheer panties would be the most appropriate possible.
Just as he was going through the drawers of the mahogany dresser, he heard voices, and for a moment crouched there paralyzed, his eyes widening. Then hastily, grabbing the nearest pair in sight-which happened to be pink cotton and not nylon at all-he banged the drawer shut and hurried into her closet, the door of which he closed just a few seconds before Jennifer Ferris led his tearfully protesting sister Sally into the bedroom and closed the door.
"Oh, Mom, it's not fair!" his sister tearfully protested, stamping her foot, her fists clenched in protest. She was not quite sixteen, but her coppery-red hair cut in helmet style, her snub nose and small ripe mouth gave ample clue to her spirited temperament.
So too did her gray-green eyes, closely set together and fringed with very thick, curly lashes, surmounted by very expressive, thick brows.
Joe Ferris had for some little time secretly admired his sister's physical attributes, which were considerable. They were on ample display now as he confronted her mother, her small but beautifully firm, widely spaced round titties rising and falling rapidly against her tight blue pullover sweater, and her short brown cotton skirt ending about three inches above dimpled, slim knees to display elegantly sinuous, long thighs.
Her skin had that milky pallor so typical of redheads, and to add to the piquancy of her features, there were abundant freckles spotting her high-set cheeks and even the tip of her dainty uptilted nose.
"Now you listen here, young lady," Jennifer Ferris angrily countered. "I told you the last time that if I found out you were still getting yourself mixed up with that dreadful Ambley boy, I-I'd spank you! And this afternoon, right after lunch, what happens but I get a phone call from your homeroom teacher Miss Dougal telling me that she wants to have a talk with me. And when I ask her what it's all about, she tells me that the two of you have been passing notes back and forth and calling attention to yourselves and disturbing the other students. Well, young lady, for once you're going to see that I keep my word. I've been promising you a spanking, for a long time, and now you're really going to get it!"
"No, Mom! You shan't! I'm much too old for that! You just wait till Daddy comes home!" the young redhead vehemently defied her.
Jennifer Ferris was thirty-seven, prematurely gray-haired, but stunningly sophisticated in her looks. Her short bobbed hair made her look quite youthful, and certainly her willowy, svelte figure had no need for apologies.
Her high-perched, widely spaced and generously pear-shaped titties were set off by an admirably slim waist which flared into alluringly sleek hips and long, gracefully proportioned thighs.
Her olive-tinted skin showed very few wrinkles, and needed little make up to embellish its still youthfully ardent and satiny hue.
"Your father, Sally, told me some weeks ago to go ahead and do what I thought best," she now dashed her daughter's hopes of reprieve. "Or perhaps after all, we ought to wait. Because I'll tell you something, young lady, if I tell him that you've refused to take your medicine, hell take over. And you can be sure that it'll be a great deal more severe than what I'm going to give you. So you have your choice. Either you get spanked right here and now, or I'll tell your father exactly how you've challenged my authority. I wouldn't be surprised if he decided you needed a double spanking for that!"
Sally's mercurial nature immediately altered at this threat. Evidently she knew that her father would reject her appeal, for he had always been stricter with her than her mother. Her face turning very red, she lowered her eyes and mumbled, "Oh, all right then, but I still say I'm too big for that. Can't you punish me some other way, Mom?"
"I could, but I don't intend to. Now you march right over here to me and get across my lap, Sally Ferris! Otherwise, I'll use the hairbrush on that impertinent bottom of yours!" Jennifer Ferris warned as she seated herself in a straight-backed chair near the window.
"Oh for heavens' sake, Mom, please pull the shades down at least!" Sally Ferris wailed, twisting her slim fingers together nervously in mingled embarrassment and anxiety now that punishment was imminent.
"Well, what are you waiting for, young lady? Get over my lap this moment!" her mother insisted. Sally Ferris, still twisting her fingers together, her face scarlet with embarrassment, tried a last time to placate her irate parent: "Please-M-Mom, I-I promise I won't ever talk to him again, if that's the way you feel-but don't do it to me, please don't!"
"If you aren't over my lap by the time I count five, you lady," Jennifer Ferris exclaimed, patting her lap to indicate precisely where the culprit was to drop herself, "It will be the hairbrush and not just my hand. And also I'll be certain to tell your father when he comes home tonight. All right, you have been warned. One ... two ... three-"
With a sobbing little cry, Sally Ferris, clenching her fists and biting her lips, moved hastily towards her mother, and laid herself down over the latter's lap, gripping the rungs of the chair with both hands and closing her eyes as a shiver of humiliation rippled through her lissome young body.
Her mother grasped the hem of the short brown cotton skirt and lofted it, instructing Sally, "Lift yourself just a bit now!"
"Oh no! Please leave my clothes on, Mom! Don't-don't make me feel so awfully ashamed, oh please don't!"
"You ought to have thought of that in your homeroom, young lady. Now do what I tell you to!" was the cross rejoinder.
With a groan of the Christian martyr at the stake, the pretty coppery-haired teenager arched up her hips just enough to permit her mother's tugging up the skirt, and then the half-slip, revealing Sally Ferris's voluptuously enticing oval-cheeked bottom provocatively shaped out by a pair of white nylon pantie-briefs. Sally wore yellow bobbysocks, so that the appetizing milky sheen ofher naked calves and thighs was at once visible. She had already lowered herself back over her mother's lap and tightened her hold on the rungs of the chair when, to her utter consternation, she felt her mother's fingers insert under the waistband of the scanty sheath.
"No, oh no, please not on the bare, Mom! Oh, don't please-I won't ever talk to him again, honest, I won't! It's not fair, I'm too big for that! Please leave them up ... oh not, oh no, ohhhh Mom, oh don't!" This last phrase in tremulous and tearful tone as Jennifer Ferris, heartlessly ignoring Sally's anguished supplications, yanked down the panties to her daughter's knee-hollows.
Joe Ferris had crouched in the dark closet, breathless, his heart pounding rapidly, fearful of detection. But as the scene had progressed, his curiosity had mounted until he was absolutely agog. He found that the key was on his side of the door, and deftly drew it out as noiselessly as he could. Then, squinting through the keyhole, he gulped. His sister's naked bottom was turned towards him, and he could see the shadowy groove between the huddling, rather spacious oval cheeks of the milky virginal posterior. As Sally clenched her thighs together to diminish herself as much as possible-and she doubtless would have done so even more had she known her brother's presence-he felt his cock stiffen and throb with unmistakable longing which made him blush with the shame of the realization that he was aroused by his own sister's nudity.
Jennifer Ferris calmly proceeded, despite Sally's groans and sighs, to clamp her left arm round her daughter's waist. Then, ascertaining that skirt and half-slip were hoisted well out of the way and that there was nothing to impede the carrying out of her sentence, she raised her right hand and began to spank.
Although she had not punished Sally in this humiliating way for nearly four years, the latter soon discovered that it was an experience she could have very readily dispensed with. The noisy slaps, which at once began to turn her extremely sensitive pale white skin--bright and salacious pink, drew squeals and entreaties from her, at first more out of shame than pain. But Jennifer Ferris simply tightened her hold of her daughter's waist and continued with a regular and vigorous cadence that soon began to show its effect not only on the deeper coloration of that saucily contoured bottom but also on Sally's sporadic kicks, wrigglings, and twistings, as well as her repeated looking round with tear-brimming eyes to implore mercy: "Oww! Oh, please, Mom, that hurts so! Ouch-I won't see him again, I promise I won't, oh please let up now-oww, oouuuuu!! It hurts, it hurts, I'll be good! Ahrrr-oh please, I'm so ashamed that's enough, Mom-please!! "
Jennifer Ferris continued to ignore these heartfelt appeals. At times she paused, but only to readjust her grip on the culprit's slim bare waist and to draw the sobbing girl closer Jo her so as to hamper Sally's evasive maneuvers. Then again, her hand resumed, and apparently with greater force than ever, judging by the girl's shriller wails and sobbing cries: "Owwouu! Eeeyeoww! I won't ever do it again, honest I won't-oh please, let up, oh, I've had enough, Mom-FH be good, oh please don't do it any more to me-it hurts so, ouch! Ohhohhh! Pleeeeasseee!! "
Finally, after some fifty energetic slaps which left that once pale-milky pair of bottomovals in flaming contrast to the untouched thighs and lower back, Jennifer Ferris stopped, her face flushed, her magnificent titties agitatedly heaving. "All right, young lady," she said sternly. "That's just a warning. The next time I hear from your home room teacher that you're up to your old tricks, it'll be the hairbrush, and then you'll have to deal with your father after that. Now you'll stay in your room until suppertime, and I don't want to hear a word out of you. Otherwise, I'll have a word with your father after all."
Slowly and painfully, the weeping redhead righted herself and, heedless of her abandoned display of a crimson bottom and her panties twisted round her calves, frantically rubbed her naked seat before at last fucking down skirt and half-slip. Her mother meanwhile had risen, gave the weeping culprit a last stern look, and finally went out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Sally Ferris walked slowly and painfully over to the bed, flung herself down on it, and, covering her face with her hands, gave vent to a crisis of hysterical tears and sobs, while her bottom twisted feverishly as if to disperse the fires which her mother's chastising palm had kindled so efficaciously.
Finally, regaining self-control, and sniffling a good deal, she got up from the bed, not without a grimace and a gasp of "Oww, that hurts!" and for a moment ruefully put her hands back to soothe her still burning posterior. Then, to her brother's consternation, she headed directly for the closet and opened the door.
"You-Joe-you-you were there all the time-you-you-s-saw-" she spluttered, her eyes enormous and still filled with tears.
"For gosh sakes, Sis, not so loud, Mom'll hear!" her brother warned, putting a finger to his lips and rising, sheepish and shamefaced. "I couldn't help it, honest I couldn't. I was in here looking for something, and then Mom came in with you-well, what could I do?"
"Then you h-heard what she-she did to me," Sally sniffled.
He nodded sympathetically, blushing violently as her words made him remember that he had gone and done a good deal more than listen. "Yeah, I sure felt sorry for you, Sis. Maybe-maybe if you put a cold towel-you know-"
"You-you get right out of here!" she flashed. "Anyhow, why were you in my room? I ought to tell Mom-then maybe you'd get a licking from Daddy!"
"Aw now, Sis, you wouldn't go and do that," he groaned. "I hadda-there was something I hadda get."
Sally Ferris was suddenly tearing at his bulging trousers pocket. "What's that?" she suspiciously demanded, pointing an accusing finger. Just the hems of the stolen panties peeped out of her brother's pocket.
"Oh, yeah-I meant-well, listen, Sis, it's like this-we've got a sorta secret club over at school, see: And I hadda get them-I don't know any other girls that, well-"
Sally had reached out and yanked away her panties, and her eyes were huge with incredulous indignation: "My panties! You must be creepy or something, Joe Ferris! What did you want to go and steal them for?"
"It's like I told you, Sis," he shifted nervously from foot to foot, his eyes averted from her. "It's sorta-well, it's our good-luck charm, you might say."
"My panties?" she gasped disbelievingly. "Now you tell me what this is all about, or I will tell Mom, and Daddy too!"
Joe Ferris groaned and clapped his hand to his forehead. But there wasn't any other way out. And so, swearing his sister to silence, he soon made Sally forget her still smarting bottom as he explained.
He and four other boys had decided to form a very special club. They would meet in the basement recreation room of the house belonging to his best pal, Jimmy Morrison, a seventeen-year-old brown-haired senior. Jimmy's parents would be in Europe for the next few months, and his old aunt kept to her room and rarely bothered her nephew. They were going to start a kind of sex club. His other pals, Bob Porter and Mac Delmar, had met a couple of cute chicks who went to Easton High, about three miles away from Brownton. And these chicks were real swingers, and Bob and Mac felt that if they could find a sort of clubroom where they could get together, they could have a lot of fun. And maybe they could get some other girl so there'd be a chick for each of the guys.
Sally listened with growing interest. She had herself been experiencing certain wakening adolescent longings, which she had alleviated with her own dainty finger in her virginal bed on many an occasion of late. And she'd always thought her brother a really swell-looking guy. To discover that he had girls on his mind just as much as she was beginning to have boys on hers-her stinging bottom recalled to her how she had suffered for Dick Ambley's sake-and all of a sudden a mischievous impulse seized her. "Look, Joe, honey, why couldn't I join your club too?" she suddenly blurted out.
"You, Sis? Hey now-" he said alarmedly.
"Uhuh. I've got my reasons. If you heard why I got spanked, you know that Dick Ambley was the one who got me into trouble. And I'm just crazy about him, but Mom can't see him for dirt. She thinks he's a bad influence and all that sort of silly talk. And honestly, he's a sweet guy, and he's got a crush on me. But if we could meet somewhere secret like that where nobody else would know, maybe we could be together. You know. And then I wouldn't snitch about you and your girlfriend-who is she, by the way, Joe?"
"Now, take it easy, Sis. It's still too early in the game to give you the lowdown. But if you really mean it, maybe we can work something out. Can I keep your panties?"
Sally Ferris blushed, giggled, nodded. "All right. But you better hide them where Mom won't find them in your room, Joe Ferris. And now will you get out of here so I can put some cold water on my hind-end?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Doug Harnesty lit a cigarette and scowled at the freshly typed letter he was studying atop the pile his new secretary had just handed him.
The office manager had interviewed her two weeks ago, given her some tests in shorthand and typing and pronounced her eminently satisfactory. Either the office manager's judgment was failing or else he was particularly susceptible to the appeal of an enticingly lovely girl, Doug concluded. There were at least five mistakes in the letter and it was sloppily typed besides.
Doug Harnesty was six feet two inches in height, forty-seven years old, his dark brown hair only slightly streaked with gray, and his features were ruggedly masculine from the firm, no-nonsense jawline to the steely blue eyes and the incisively firm, rather thin mouth.
He had been a widower for the past twelve years. He was sales manager of the Northline Wholesale Drug Company, and his one besetting problem was his flighty, much too attractive seventeen-year-old daughter, Marcy.
She had to take a year off from school during her freshman year because of a virus attack, but now that she was a senior at Brownton High, she had certainly managed to make up for that lost year, he grimly reflected.
Unfortunately, his job involved a good deal of travel, and elderly Mrs. Whitby, the housekeeper, was much too motherly a type and far too devoted to her employer to attempt to take a hand in the straightening out of Marcy's irritating defects.
The girl was unusually bright. During the year out of school, she had read omnivorously and, he suspected, a good many books that didn't exactly belong in the curriculum of a teenager. She was opinionated, willful downright impertinent, and of late she had become boy-conscious to an alarming extent.
On this particular Friday afternoon, he knew, for instance, that she probably wouldn't be home until suppertime because she was out gallivanting with Jimmy Morrison. Jimmy's parents, he happened to know, were in Europe and Jimmy's aunt was just as ineffectual and blind when it came to seeing what mischief that would-be Don Juan was up to as Mrs. Whitby was in trying to steer Marcy onto the straight and narrow path.
But at the moment, he was only concerned with the inefficiency of his new private secretary.
Something was going to have to be done. Crushing out his cigarette with a decisive gesture, he put his finger to the inner office buzzer which connected with her desk outside his office and pressed it vehemently. Then, lighting another cigarette, he waited.
Angie Thomas started nervously when she heard the buzzer and then blushed vividly. On her, it was exceptionally becoming. She was twenty years old, about five feet six inches in height, with a magnificently voluptuous figure. Not that her boss had seemed to notice it in the short but very intensive two weeks she had worked for him, she told herself, and she wanted him to notice.
He reminded her so very much of her adored father, who had died when she was only eleven and who had been ever so stern with her, just as she imagined Mr. Harnesty would be right now because of those stupid letters. It was really childish of her to have tried such a stunt, but she didn't really know how else to get his attention.
Gabby but friendly, Delia Muir, the switchboard operator, had told her a lot about Mr. Harnesty. How he'd been so terribly devoted to his beautiful wife and how it had just about broken him up to pieces when she'd caught pneumonia during their second honeymoon trip to the Swiss Alps. How he'd plunged himself into work at the company so that he was today just about the Number One man in it. How he had a simply impish daughter who resembled her mother a great deal in looks but certainly not in character and who, in Delia Muir's opinion, needed a good lambasting with a hairbrush exactly where nature intended a hairbrush to be applied.
Angie Thomas had been practically orphaned two years ago when her mother, with whom she'd never really been able to get along, had married a New York advertising man and moved there almost overnight.
She'd told Angie, "I'm going to leave you a good part of your father's money, Angie dear, but I think we'll both do better on our own. I know you always preferred Dick to me and now that I'm getting on in years and still have my good looks, I certainly don't want the excess baggage or the risk of a beautiful young daughter tagging along. Mark, my new husband, wouldn't want it either. So, let's just say good-bye and be friends and write whenever you want to, and that's just about it."
There'd been enough money, of course, and Angie hadn't really missed her mother. In fact, she'd only written two letters in the two years since their separation.
She finished high school and then took a secretarial course at night school while she worked behind the counter at old Mr. Butterfield's notions store at the corner of Williams and Turlock Avenues.
Then she saw a blind ad in the Northbrook Sentinel, answered it, and was called in for an interview by fussy, bald Mr. Carteret, the office manager for Northline Wholesale Drug Company. She passed her tests and he hired her on the spot, telling her that she'd be Mr. Harnesty's private secretary.
The minute she went into his office that first day with her steno pad and ballpoint pen at the ready, her heart had almost stopped beating. He was so much like daddy, so stern and yet so handsome, so calm and sure of himself and so efficient. And she just loved the resonant modulation of his voice and the intense, preoccupied look in his blue eyes and the tightening of his lips when he was busy thinking about the business problem.
But it was more than just that. She wanted to be closer to him than a daughter could ever be to her father. She wanted Doug Harnesty to make love to her.
Angie Thomas had had her first intimation of what physical love between the sexes can be just a few months before her mother had suddenly announced her intention of marrying the New York advertising man and going on by herself without further ado.
She'd been in the Brownton High School senior drama class and taken the role of Portia in Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice." The role of the handsome young Antonio had fallen to a terribly good-looking black-haired senior by the name of Paul Busby, and they'd been drawn to each other at once. Of course the important roles in the play had helped do that, but Angie had fallen hard for Paul's debonair good looks and suave manner.
Paul Busby himself was an only child. His father was dead and he had been reared by an indulgent mother who was quite wealthy in her own right. She was also of French descent and so she had seen to it that her son was initiated into the mysteries of Venus at the age of fifteen. She'd arranged it with a divorcee friend of hers.
So Paul Busby, at the age of fifteen, learned what it was like to be a virile male and to thrust his aching prong deep into the quaking, humid love chasm of a beautiful, mature and naked woman.
He'd dated Angie a few times, but he'd been very sophisticated about it, not pushing things at all, and Angie had liked that. Finally, on their fourth date, he'd kissed her very gently on the mouth. She'd just about melted, and she'd felt a twitching between her thighs.
On their next date, he grew bolder, brushing her titties with his palms as he leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth and then just lightly flick his tongue across her lips. On that occasion, Angie Thomas had very nearly given him the gift of her cherry, and only the unexpected interruption of Paul's mother had made the two adolescents break off on the couch and compelled the highly embarrassed girl to smooth down her skirt and try to hide the flaming color in her satiny cheeks.
Finally, just a week before he'd told her that he and his mother were moving to Paris for a couple of years, Paul Busby had tried to score.
His mother had been out for the weekend, but he hadn't told her that. He'd invited her over for dinner and cooked it himself. Steak, tossed salad, even a bottle of superb vintage French Burgundy.
And then taking her back to the living room couch on which he'd first wakened her ardent young body, proceeded to kiss her so expertly that she'd nearly swooned. One hand at her titties, the other stealthily creeping down to caress her thighs until finally his fingers could creep under her skirt and towards her snug white pantie briefs.
Paul had led her inexorably along the road to total bodily surrender. When at last she'd felt his fingertip begin to frig her moistened and twitching quim through the fragile nylon, she had almost abandoned herself. And then suddenly he whispered to her, "I'm hot for you, Angie, baby. Let's fuck!"
Perhaps if he hadn't been so grossly abrupt about it all, perhaps if he'd kept on wooing her and fondling and kissing her, she wouldn't be a virgin today, Angie Thomas told herself as she smoothed down her dress, rose from her desk, and prepared to answer her boss's summons.
But it had been like a douse of cold water and she'd broken away from his embrace, indignantly confronted him and told him that he wasn't to take her for granted that way.
Then he shrugged and said, "Look, you're a sweet piece of tail and all that, but I'm certainly not going to marry you in order to get a piece. You're hot and you want it, and you know you do, and it might as well be me as anybody else, and I'm a hell of a better lover than any other kid in school. So don't give me all that guff, Angie, baby. You're not a pure virgin. I can tell the way you twist and squirm around when I've got my finger on that soft, hot little snatch of yours."
She slapped his face and ran out of the house, crying. And since that time, she didn't have any dates at all. Only now, in her lonely little room at old, cranky Mrs. Vernon's boarding house, she was lying awake nights and thinking about Mr. Harnesty and using her finger between her legs to appease the frantic and demanding urgencies of a virginity she wanted desperately to sacrifice.
"Come in, Miss Thomas. Sit down," Doug Harnesty abruptly ordered, glaring at her as he picked up the offending first letter and glanced at it again.
"Yes, s-sir."
As Angie Thomas seated herself in the chair opposite his desk, Doug Harnesty permitted himself a longer look at his young secretary. She was pleasingly tall. Subconsciously, he noticed this, being tall himself and having a preference for women who could come up at least to his chest.
In some ways she reminded him a little of Alice, but it was a good idea not to think about that too much. There'd never be another girl like Alice, not ever. Still and all, she had an exquisitely heart-shaped face with large, expressive hazel eyes, a dainty Grecian nose, and a very full, slightly tremulous mouth, with a perfectly delicious dimple in her chin.
Alice had one like that too, he recalled. Her chestnut hair was coiffed with a part in the middle, waved forward over her temples and cheeks, with the ends tucked under. It was an exceptionally feminine hairdo, and it brought out all the sweetness of her face. But it was one thing to have a sweet face and an exciting figure. That much he granted her summarily. And quite another to type such abominably sloppy letters as this one.
"This is your second week with me, Miss Thomas," he told her coldly. "I must tell you that I'm not at all satisfied, not at all. This letter, for instance. Take a look at it."
"I-I know, Mr. Harnesty. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? Do you expect me to send it out to one of the oldest drug firms in the country? A freshman at high school could have done a better typing job than that, Miss Thomas. It looks as though you deliberately misspelled some of the simplest words, though for the life of me I can't imagine why."
Angie Thomas blushed furiously, lowered her lovely eyes, and shifted her long legs, and finally crossed them. The maneuver made him conscious of the cling of her snug brown cotton skirt and of the sleek beige-tone nylons which sheathed her exceptionally well-turned calves and dimpled knees.
He cleared his throat again, a little annoyed with himself for being so irrelevantly distracted.
"Being sorry isn't good enough, I'm afraid. The first week I couldn't find any fault with your letters. Could it be that you're taking your job as a sinecure? If you are, let me warn you that I'm a busy man, I travel a good deal, and there will be times when I have to rely on my private secretary to handle a good deal of responsible and important work. I certainly can't go away to New York the middle of next week and leave you in charge of correspondence and telephone calls, not after a performance like this one. And there are a few others I've just glanced at and find equally unsatisfactory. I'm afraid I'll have to let you go, Miss Thomas.
"Oh please, no. I really ... oh dear!" Angie Thomas plunged her face in her hands and began to sob.
His thick eyebrows arched in surprise and he put out his cigarette. "Look, it's not exactly disaster to lose a job. There are plenty of jobs around and I'm sure you'll be happier somewhere else. But this is exacting work.
"I-I know. I shouldn't have done what I did. Oh please, Mr. Harnesty. Give me another chance. I'm really a good typist, as you said yourself, the first week it was all right," she sniffled.
"I know, I know," he said impatiently, still more annoyed with himself for being emotionally caught up by her unexpected flair of temperament. "But this isn't a schoolroom, Miss Thomas, where we give grades every week and you can get by with a good week every once in a while and then slough off whenever you feel like it.
"As I say, there are certainly many other jobs where you'll be much happier and where you won't need to type. You're attractive enough and you certainly could be a receptionist. Our firm doesn't need one, as it happens, because we've already got Mrs. Doxier and she's a fixture."
"Don't, oh please don't fire me. Mr. Harnesty. I want the job so bad. You don't know. I'd do anything to prove to you that I can really handle it. And I shouldn't have done it anyway."
"What the devil are you talking about? What shouldn't you have done?"
"Ohh!" she wailed. "I feel so miserable. I'm so ashamed. It, it was childish, just like you said. But I couldn't help doing it."
Doug Harnesty lifted his eyes to the ceiling in search of an unseen providence. A perfectionist and hard worker, he was rarely exposed to any such emotional involvements on the part of his employees, and the fact that Angie Thomas was even more appealing to him in her tearful, contrite mood irrationally made him all the angrier at himself.
"For Pete's sake, stop blubbering!" he angrily exclaimed. "I'm not exactly a mind reader. Now what did you do that you shouldn't have done?"
She drew a couple of deep breaths, slowly lowered her hands from her tear-stained, blushing cheeks, and stammered, "I-I did those letters that way on purpose, Mr. Harnesty. And I know it was so silly and childish and I'm ashamed of myself, and I guess you ought to fire me, only please, I don't want you to."
"You what?" he echoed incredulously, as if he were seeing her for the first time.
"Yes, sir. I wanted you to notice me and talk to me and, oh, it was so silly, I can see it now. I could just sink through the floor."
"I see." He reached for another cigarette in the little humidor beside him. "You wanted me to notice you. Why is that?"
"Oh, I couldn't tell you," she breathed, her cheeks flaming again. She looked down at her pumps, smoothed her skirt, twisting the ballpoint pen between her long, slim fingers distractedly.
"Well, Miss Thomas, I've noticed you. But unless you can tell me exactly why you found it necessary to get my attention in this highly irregular and unbusiness-like manner, this is still going to be your last afternoon on the job," he said dryly.
Angie Thomas uttered a sobbing little cry, dropped her ballpoint pen onto the floor, twisted her fingers feverishly in her lap, and forced herself to stare at him appealingly.
"Oh, Mr. Harnesty, I beg you. Please don't fire me this way. I can type just as neatly as anybody else, just as I did the first week. Please, please forget all about this dreadful thing and just give me a week to prove myself."
"I'm not inclined to do any such thing, Miss Thomas. Not unless you find it possible to go on just a little farther, seeing how far you've gone already, and tell me why you chose this juvenile method of getting attention. A child might do it with tantrums, but a child would get a good spanking. This, however, is a business office, and you're an adult, as I am."
Angie Thomas didn't know what came over her, but suddenly, impulsively, even though her cheeks flamed furiously, she heard herself say falteringly, "Well then, Mr. Harnesty, if you think that's what I deserve, go ahead and spank me. After all, I guess I deserve it."
His eyes widened and he leaned back in his swivel chair, the cigarette dropping from his nerveless fingers.
"Are you really serious?"
She bit her lips, lowered her eyes before his scrutinizing gaze. Then she nodded, turning her face quickly to one side while her fingers continued to twist and tighten uncontrollably, the indication of her overwrought emotions.
"All right, Mr. Harnesty, I'll tell you. It's because you remind me so much of my daddy. And I loved him a lot and he was so stern and sometimes I was afraid he wasn't paying any attention to me, so I'd do something so he'd have to notice me. And that's the reason I typed those letters that way. And now when I say it like this, I realize how silly and stupid it all was, and I guess I shouldn't have done it. I guess I should be fired anyway."
Again she began to sob, hiding her face in her hands and bowing her head. Doug Harnesty felt a singular sensation take hold of him. It was partly compassion, but it was a good deal more lust. His prick had started to throb angrily in the crotch of his neatly pressed trousers, making him all too agonizedly conscious of the fact that he hadn't had pussy since poor Alice's untimely death. He'd thrown himself into his work with a grim, purposeful determination to make sure that Marcy wouldn't ever be in want, and it had proved to be the best possible palliative against the loss of his beautiful young wife.
Their sex life had been wonderfully rich, although, of course, Alice had been somewhat shy and inhibited at the outset, understandably so from her own parental background. And it was amazing how much this girl brought the memory of her back, the nights of enthralled embraces, wrapped in each other's arms, mouth to mouth, his cock buried to the hilt inside Alice's wonderfully clenching vaginal sheath, while they paused along the pathway to Cythera to murmur endearments and to mention little things which delighted them both.
He sat for a long time, his mind crowded with just such images, and the aching of his cock grew more and more painful. At last, in a shaking voice he fought to control, he remarked, "The only problem with that is, Miss Thomas, a modern employer doesn't spank an employee. There's a little matter of civil suits. I'd hardly care to be made party to one in the public press."
She gave a stifled little gasp, looked anxiously up to him, and then once more averted her eyes as the blushes spread to her temples and even her earlobes.
"I wouldn't sue you, Mr. Harnesty, because you've every right to do that, after the silly, childish way I've acted. I'd even sign a paper saying that I let you do it because I wanted you to."
Fumblingly, he reached for still another cigarette and lit it, having retrieved the dropped one and crushed it out moments before. He contemplated her, contrite and penitent in the chair, her magnificent titties rising and falling agitatedly against the modestly cut white blouse under the skirt-matching suit coat. It was almost five o'clock, and most of the staff personnel would be leaving just a few minutes early on a Friday afternoon, as they always did. It was a mad, insane idea, and yet the very thought of it made his blood boil, made his cock stiffen savagely with an ungovernable yearning. A yearning that had been denied far too long.
"All right, then," he managed to keep his voice low and steady. "Suppose you go type up a statement to the effect that it'll be of your own free will, Miss Thomas, and then I'll give you another week on trial. And if there are any more letters like these, you'll not only be fired for cause, but you'll go out of this firm without any recommendation to your next job. Do I make myself clear?"
She nodded mutely, her face still exquisitely stained with blushes. Then sinuously she rose, glanced a little nervously back at him and went out of the office. He began to hear the keys of her typewriter go click-clack and he puffed nervously and quickly at the cigarette. He found that he was trembling.
A moment later she returned, closing the door behind her. She walked slowly up to his desk and handed him the sheet of paper. He glanced at it.
"I, Angela Thomas, do hereby agree to be spanked by my boss, Mr. Harnesty, as proper punishment for my stupid errors in judgment. I accept it of my own free will and state herewith that I will not hold him responsible for such action."
It was signed with her full name, a name which she rarely used because her father had always called her Angie.
"That should do it," he said slowly. "All right, Miss Thomas, if you're quite sure you understand what you've agreed to."
She bit her lips, nodded mutely, as color flamed in her cheeks.
"You hereby submit yourself to a sound spanking to make up for the ridiculous waste of time you've caused by purposely typing those letters so they couldn't go out. And you agree to make no charge against me to the authorities for having given you that spanking. Understood?"
"I-I said so on the paper I typed, Mr. Harnesty," her voice was a little unsteady, but she managed to face him courageously.
"So be it. Have you ever been spanked before, Miss Thomas?"
"No, sir."
"I see. I'll try to make it as impersonal as possible, but at the same time, it must be a thorough one, to be effective. You understand that, I take it?"
Now her hands had moved behind her back, clasped, the fingers nervously twisting as again she nodded.
"Ideally, you ought to go over my knee, which is the traditional and classical position for a sound spanking, Miss Thomas," he dryly continued, "but that's a bit too intimate. So, I think we shall compromise by having you bend over my desk. Suppose you lift up your skirt and whatever else you're wearing under it and present yourself."
"All right," she quavered. Drawing a deep breath, she moved to the front of his solid desk, glanced nervously back, then stooped to catch up the hems of the brown skirt and her nylon slip, lifting them slowly to her waist. Then, shivering, she hastily leaned forward over the top of the desk and closed her eyes, clasping her hands together so tightly that the knuckles whitened.
His eyes feasted for a lingering moment on the saucily jutting cheeks of her behind, previously so lasciviously shaped out by the adherence of the cotton skirt and now still more exciting in the even snugger cling of her white nylon panties. The tabs of a white satin elastic garter belt hugged her upper thighs as they amorously gripped the tops of her sheer nylons.
He knew he had to retain tremendous self-control because it would be so easy to move from spanking to lovemaking and of course he had no way of knowing what her reactions to the first would be, much less the second. So, taking a deep breath, he moved forward to stand behind her, at her left, and then put his fingers up to the waistband of her panties.
"Ohh, Mr. Harnesty! Oh no, what are you doing?" she gasped, absolutely dumbfounded, turning her scarlet face back to him as she tried to rise up from the table.
"Taking down your panties, Miss Thomas. Naturally."
"On no. But that, that's not possible. I mean, for heaven's sake, you can spank me without doing that." Her voice broke with agitated emotion.
"Miss Thomas, you agreed to take a sound spanking."
"Yes, but surely-"
"But the fact is," he said calmly, overriding her increasing confusion, "that a proper spanking is given only on the bare flesh, so that one may see precisely the effects of the chastisement. Now, seeing that you signed the agreement of your own free will, the situation remains exactly as before: either you submit or you will be discharged. Well, Miss Thomas?"
She began to sniffle and then, with a groan, bending back down over the table and hiding her scarlet face in her hands, gasped faintly. "Then, do it, but please get it over with quickly."
His fingers once again inserted inside the waistband and briskly tugged down the frail white nylon briefs to her thighs. Angie Thomas uttered a choking groan and her entire body quivered.
As for Doug Harnesty, his eyes blazed at the sight of those carnation-tinted jouncily rounded globes, upstandingly rounded, with a gradually widening amber furrow cleaving them, a furrow she now sought frantically to diminish by dint of tightening all her muscles in an instinctive defense.
Putting his left palm on the small of her back, he began her spanking with a light slap over the full center of the right buttock. Angie Thomas, taken by surprise, started convulsively and uttered a sobbing little, "Ohh, Mr. Harnesty!" and then flattened herself as much as she could over the top of the desk.
Without haste, Doug Harnesty applied some twenty slaps, alternating on the lovely satiny, resilient pink and white sheened globes. Angie Thomas kept her face hidden in her hands, and managed to remain stoic, except for a few muffled gasps and sobbing sighs. But her hips began to squirm uneasily after about the fourteenth spank.
Pausing a moment, he felt himself savagely roused by this innocuous scene. He had never desired a girl so much. But he knew the dangers of abrupt transition from chastisement to carnal lust.
So, dominating the urge to pardon her and carry her over to the couch for the fucking that his aching prick demanded he perpetrate, he resumed. But this time, bearing down harder with his left palm to keep her in position, he began to spank with greater vigor and almost more quickly.
Starting at the tops of her smooth, beautifully rounded hips, he applied sonorous slap after slap, first right cheek then left, until he had reached the summits. Then, pausing anew, he resumed with two stinging slaps across the base of each globe and began to "work upwards."
By now, Angie Thomas had begun to call out in a flurried, sobbing tone; to weave and twist her flaming hips, to glance back feverishly at him, her fists clenched, her eyes very wide and blurred with tears, and finally to kick up one pretty pump shod foot and then the other.
By forty, she was crying poignantly, shifting herself restlessly back and forth over the table top and sobbing, "Oh please, no more. It hurts. Oh, Mr. Harnesty, forgive me, but please, no more."
"Just a moment, Miss Thomas, and it'll be over," he said hoarsely.
And then, slowly and with a deliberate pause between each spank, he applied four vigorous slaps, two to each plumply curved bottom summit. Each drew a wail, a frantic lunge and squirming twist, and as he stepped back, Angie burst into heart-rendering sobs, covering her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving, cruel this first time.
"Please, Miss Thomas, don't cry. It's over now.
I'm sorry I had to-" he blurted uneasily. Then he leaned over, grasped her by the waist, and slowly lifted her to her feet.
Angie Thomas uttered a feverish little cry as she clutched him with her arms, burying her face against his chest.
"Ohh, it hurt so. I never thought it would be like this."
He hardly knew what was happening, but suddenly he found himself standing beside the couch with her in his arms, her arms hugging him fiercely. Then his hands moved to her red, warm naked bottom, and Angie uttered a little feverish gasp.
"Oh yes, oh daddy, darling."
Her skirt and slip still rolled up about her waist, her panties twisted around her stockinged ankles, she gave him her mouth with an almost desperate anguish. As in a dream, he drew one hand back to his zipper, drew it down, emerged his swollen cock, and felt himself prod the dark tufts of-love hair at her virgin mound as his hand returned to grip her squirming hot bottom.
"Oh yes, oh love me, Mr. Harnesty, darling," she moaned.
And then they were on the couch and he was digging into her, through the readily yielding hymeneal seal and she was wildly eager, her arms and legs enclasping him and her mouth gluing to his as they both journeyed towards that distant shore where mortal paradise sojourns.
CHAPTER FIVE
At almost the same time her father was discovering the astonishingly unexpected attributes of his new private secretary, his seventeen-year-old daughter Marcy was beginning to discover her own furious infatuation for curly, brown-haired Jimmy Morrison on the leather-padded couch in the basement recreation room of the Morrison ranch-type house.
Marcy Harnesty was five feet five and three-quarters inches high, and she already had the physical development of a very enticingly lovely young woman. Her blue cotton miniskirt hiked up to mid-thigh, exposing breathtakingly beautiful, sleek rounded calves and gradually swelling, extremely warm curvaceous thighs sheathed in charcoal-brown pantie-hose. She wore a short-sleeved white cotton blouse under which a thin pink satin bra did what little it could to hug in her sumptuously full, round titties, spaced closely together and not unlike young, ripening cantaloupes which measured about 37. They were, however, stunningly firm and in no need of a bra, as Jimmy Morrison had already discovered with his right hand. His left was pressed against Marcy's lushly rounded hip, as he leaned towards her, his mouth glued to hers, while her arms wound tightly round his wiry shoulders. He wore a blue T-shirt and slacks, and he was roguishly good-looking, with sparkling blue eyes, a Roman nose, and a rather sensual mouth, as well as high-set cheekbones.
He had come right home from school and waited for Marcy, who had come round back of the house through the garden, and then down a little flight of stairs to the basement and knocked three times. Old Aunt Hester didn't really bother herself much about him while his parents were away in Europe, and so long as he didn't make a noise she'd never think if looking for him here. He intended to score this afternoon with Marcy Harnesty, because the little bitch was begging for it. There was a streak of wildness in her, which matched his own. If things went the way he figured they would, he might just tell her about the little private club which he, Bob Porter, Mac Delmar and Joe Ferris were thinking of starting. They'd have four broads who would give out and who could be real swingers. And for his money, Marcy Harnesty was the nearest thing in Brownton High to qualify for that category.
Marcy Harnesty's dark-brown eyes were closed, and her long thick lashes were flickering like the wings of a humming-bird. Her dainty, slightly aquiline nose was quivering sensuously, the thin wings dilating and shrinking as her excitement grew. Her face was slantingly oval, giving her an exotic look, and the small, vividly ripe mouth, which now greedily fixed to Jimmy's, was a very discernible sign of her sensual temperament.
Adroitly, the brown-haired youth began to rub his palm over the very center of Marcy's tittie, till he could feel the nipple harden. She began to squirm and her arms convulsively hugged him tighter to her, a sure sign that she was getting really hot. Slyly he began to unbutton her blouse, and when she murmured only a few faint protests but didn't release him or stop Wssing him, he knew he was in like Flynn.
The blouse yawned now, and his experienced hand reached round her smooth satiny tawny-sheened back to grope for the hooks and eyes of the bandeau of her skimpy bra.
"Mmmmmm-ohhh-Jimmy, you m-mustn't!" she breathed huskily, blinking her eyes and staring at him. But there wasn't any indignation or reproof in those misty orbs, so Jimmy continued his endeavors. With a gasp of delight, he felt the strap give way and saw the bra tumble down, baring the splendid gourds of her naked titties, with their now dark-coral aureoles and already tumescent buds palpitating in their centers.
His right hand moved swiftly back to take possession of one of those tasty love fruits, and he silenced her faint protest with an even more passionate kiss, his tongue this time furling between her lips and meeting hers in route. An electric shiver galvanized the auburn-haired teenager, and he could feel her fingernails dig spasmodically into his muscular shoulders, knew that she was probably wet as hell between those slinky legs of hers. He could hardly wait to dig himself into that moist, hot, tight little snatch of hers!
"S-suppose your aunt should come down here, J-Jimmy," she panted as she finally broke free of his possessive kiss and pushed his right hand away.
"Aw, honey, don't be like that!" he grumbled good-naturedly, quite pleased with himself and with her as well. This was just token protest, and the two of them knew it, he was certain. "She's deaf as a fencepost, and she'll be starting supper around six, and so long as I'm there, she won't even know I haven't come up to her room to tell her how school went. It was lousy, anyway. Boy will I be glad when June comes around and we're done with that crummy school!
"I don't know. I get along fine, Jimmy. And anyhow, I met you there, didn't I?" Marcy giggled at him. Then, glancing down at herself and seeing how her blouse yawned on either side of her and how her bra was tumbled in her lap, she blushed vividly and began to re-button the blouse.
He stopped her, kissing her nose and then again taking her lips. "No hurry, baby," he whispered reassuringly. "You're my girl, my steady one too. And maybe, if you're real nice this afternoon, I'll let you be a charter member of the Brownton Boppers."
"What's that, honey?"
"Never you mind," he chuckled knowingly. "It's a real secret club, and only guys and chicks who've got it on the ball can join up. Only the real swingers, and that means chicks like you, Marcy. Oh, come on, take off that blouse. You know you don't want it on anyway."
"Jimmy Morrison! Are you trying to get me naked?" she giggled.
"Well, why not? Don't you think I know what to do when you're that way?" he leered. Then, grasping the hand that again tried to restore the buttons to order on her yawning blouse, Jimmy Morrison pulled it down to his crotch and pressed her soft palm against the hard, aching protuberance. "Look what you've done to me already, Marcy baby."
"Ohhh! You-oh, you're just awful! Let go of my hand-I-I ought to slap your face with it-the idea-ohhh-Jimmy darling-you shouldn't-you mustn't-ohhh-mmmm!"
As she had tried to pull her hand away, Jimmy Morrison had put his other hand to one of her naked titties and begun to fondle it ardently. Then, silently with a long Frenchkiss, he released her hand and used his own thus freed to delve under her short skirt towards the apex of her girlhood. The plump mound of Venus was already thickly concealed by dark auburn pussycurls, visible even through the second protective covering of a pair of very sheer white nylon panties. His forefinger pressed against the soft core and began gently to frig her while his tongue roamed at will between her parted, panting lips.
Once again Marcy Harnesty tried to halt this much too swift progression into dangerous terrain. Instinctively clenching her thighs to imprison his foraging hand, she managed with an effort to push away his other hand at her naked breast, and to twist herself away from him: "Now you stop that, I mean it! I like you an awful lot, Jimmy, but that doesn't give you any call to try to-well, to try to r-rape me!" she panted, her cheeks aflame.
"Dammit, don't act like a prickteaser, Marcy!" he growled, surly and growling, as he always was when he was crossed. "You damn well know you want it, and I know how to do it to a girl, see? And you won't get into any trouble, 'cause I use safes!"
"How dare you call me that-that filthy name!" she flashed. Drawing back her right hand, she slapped his face hard.
Jimmy Morrison stared at her incredulously for a moment, and then with a profane oath, seized both her wrists and dragged her over his lap, flung his right leg across her squirming calves, as he snarled, "No bitch is going to slap me, not when she's practically wanted to take it out and play with it, get me, Marcy? You sure are a prickteaser, and I'll show you what I do to one!"
"Jimmy Morrison, you let me go-what are you going to do-no-stop it-owww!" Marcy wailed. Even as she tried to fend off what she suspected he was going to do by thrusting her hands over her upstandingly rounded spacious behind. He had seized both her wrists in his left hand and, raising his right, descended it vigorously on the full ripe center of her right bottomglobe.
Marcy bucked and struggled, but he already had pinioned her effectively. His hand fell on the other globe this time, in exactly the same place, flattening the resilient flesh which sprang up at once in all its firm, young elasticity. Another anguished cry, more of raging indignation than pain, was torn from the lovely auburn-haired teenager: "Eoowww! I told you to stop, I hate you, I never want to see you again Jimmy Morrison! Now you let me go, or I'll-I'll-scream for help!"
"Scream away, you cockteasing little bitch," he panted hoarsely, "I told you Aunt Hester wouldn't hear the last trumpet on Judgment Day! Now you're really going to get it until you give!"
With this, taking a firmer hold of her jerking wrists, he raised his right hand and began to spank her with furious, downsweeping, full-palmed blows that alternated on her jouncy, round bottom. Her miniskirt had fucked up in the struggle, exposing nearly all of that magnificently voluptuous young posterior. His eyes feasted on the succulent curves, and the sadistic impulse to hurt her grew apace with his own savage lust for her cunt, for by now his prick was ragingly turgid and painfully swollen with desire. Marcy, her face upturned, her eyes wide and blurred with tears, began to cry out in real pain as his heavy hand continued to smite her tender behind: "Am! Oh don't! You're a brute, I hate you-ouch! Please stop it, please, you're hurting me-aaahhhrrr-ohhhouuu! I told you to stop, oh you're hurting me, you awful, hateful boy!"
"Boy, you little cock-teaser?" he panted. "I'll show you I'm a man before I'm done with you, Marcy Harnesty! When you've had enough, you can just ask me to fuck you and maybe I will and maybe I won't. But you're going to get it anyhow good!" With this, he resumed the spanking even more energetically. Marcy Harnesty's hips reared, bucked, lunged and swerved violently in her desperate attempts to evade the burning, bruising smacks which rained down unceasingly on her now inflamed and painfully throbbing posterior.
Finally, she could endure it no longer, and almost hysterically wailed out, "Ahrrr, oh please do stop-already-Oh hell, you're killing me-all right you can-you can love me up-but please stop spanking!"
He continued for a few more spanks, the full impact of what she had just capitulatingly and tearfully averred not quite sinking in. Then suddenly he stopped, his mouth agape, his eyes glittering. "Did you mean that, you cute little bitch?" he gasped quickly.
"Y-yes-you're just awful-oh how you hurt me-I won't be able to sit down for a week-you big brute-you didn't have to hit so-h-hard," she sniveled.
He took hold of her by the armpits and dragged her up onto her bottom on the couch beside him. Marcy winced and groaned, tears running down her cheeks. Then he kissed her hard on the mouth, and this time both his hands sought and found, upheaving rounds of her naked titties and began to squeeze and caress them passionately. Marcy, drawn to tumescence by his violent assault as much as by her own aroused sensual young nature, clung to him with her arms, shuddering and quivering, ready for the act of coalescence. He took one of her hands and this time again pressed it against his swollen crotch. "Open my zipper and take it out, baby," he muttered, "or I'll turn you over for another dose and this time I'll take your pants down, so help me!"
"Oh no, honey, you won't have to-oh Jimmy-oh Jimmy-are you sure-are you sure you won't get me into trouble-I do want you so-I do," she breathed.
Her fingers were tremblingly closing on the zipper when suddenly Jimmy Morrison paled and stiffened. He had just heard the tinkling of Aunt Hester's silver bell, something she rang only when she was irritated and wanted to see him at once. But how the hell did the old dame know he was back from school yet?
"Son-of-a-bitch!" he swore under his breath. "I'll have to see you later, baby. Aunt Hester wants me-that's her bell. Get your duds on and beat it out of the back door. But we'll take this up again, and I'll make you a Brownton Bopper if it's the last thing I do."
Standing up, his legs shaking beneath him, Jimmy Morrison hastily crammed back his stiff cock into his fly, dragged up the zipper, rubbed his mouth automatically with the back of his hand to erase Marcy's lipstick, and then swaggeringly moved towards the door of the basement recreation room. The scared auburn-haired teenager meanwhile, tears still streaked on her cheeks, hastily put her blouse back in order, smoothed down her skirt, and fairly ran to the back door and disappeared. She had quite forgotten to take her discarded bra with her.
CHAPTER SIX
Bob Parker, his unruly reddish-brown hair more rumpled than usual, tried to get his breath and to come up for air after a torrid Frenchkissing session with sexy flaxen-haired Erika Helmuth, who sat beside him on the creaking old couch which had been stored away months ago in the basement of the elegant Porter mansion on Thornton Avenue. On this, the last Saturday afternoon in May, because his father was out of town on business until the following Saturday and his mother and Erika's housekeeper-mother were engrossed in a rather belated spring cleaning, he had managed to lure the precociously amoral blonde teenager down to this almost forgotten and isolated spot in the huge basement and to ingratiate himself into her sexual favors.
Bob Porter was sixteen and a half, and down in this same basement in an old trunk for which he had bought a new padlock and single key, he had collected a sizable library of erotic books and naked-girl magazines. His father was a prominent architect and a member of a highly reputable firm with its offices in Chicago's Loop. Often when Bob visited his father on an errand to bring some forgotten papers from home, he took advantage of the proximity of some of the State Street bookshops and particularly the Van Buren Book Shop, to add new items to his collection. Since he was one of the editors of the Brownton High daily newspaper, he of course had access to the school printing press. Also, since he was nearly six feet tall, quite poised and suave for his age, he had managed to forge an I. D. card which proclaimed that he was all of twenty-two and hence allowed him admission to these adult bookstores.
Bob Porter suspected that his extremely attractive forty-one-year-old mother Patricia was having an affair with Ludwig Helmuth, Erika's father and the family chauffeur. He liked Ludwig, because the latter sometimes went into those bookshops himself and bought titillating items for his own secret store and was not only affable and very courteous in treating him like an adult, but also would talk to him man-to-man about making out with pretty girls.
Ludwig was a splendid Aryan specimen of a man, forty-eight, towheaded, muscular, and he looked really splendidly masculine in his chauffeur's livery. Bob Porter thought to himself that he must really be something in bed and it was his own feverish desire to see Ludwig and his haughty, imperious brunette mother in bed together. He knew from certain clues and hints he had picked up that they must be fucking, but he didn't think it was here in the house. More than-likely, when his mother went into Chicago and Ludwig drove her, his guess was that they met at some motel for a couple of hours, had their fun, and then came back home as if nothing had happened. He was, though he didn't know it, amazingly accurate in that guess.
His father, Arthur Porter, was actually staying downtown nights on occasion, under the pretext of having to finish a rush blueprint for an important plan, to get to bed with an insatiable young advertising-agency receptionist by the name of Mildred Darwin, a predatory golden-haired young woman of twenty-two who speculated that she might be able to induce the wealthy architect to get a divorce and marry her instead, which would set her up for life.
They had met quite by accident while each was having dinner alone at The London House one rainy evening last February. A clumsy waitress had spilled a bowl of soup over Mildred's brand-new red dress, and Arthur Porter had hastened to the rescue with typical Old World Gallantry. The upshot of the affair had been that he had taken her back to her apartment in a cab, stayed for a nightcap and then, smitten with her sultry and all too obvious lustful eagerness, had enjoyed one of the most uninhibited fucking sessions of his career. With his wife Patricia, who had singularly seemed to dole out pussy whenever she felt in the mood, Arthur Porter had never quite felt the same gutsy, abandoned fury as he had known with Mildred Darwin.
But Patricia Porter, with the menopause imminent, had quixotically looked with calculated eyes on Ludwig Helmuth and found his blonde, almost brutish masculinity a fearfully thrilling challenge.
Subconsciously, perhaps it was the rape of the patrician aristocrat by the boorish, magnetically atavistic Nazi which she had envisioned when imagining herself in Ludwig's muscular arms. As a matter-of-fact, just a week before her husband had fallen victim to Mildred Darwin's wiles, Patricia Porter had been driving out to Wilmette to attend a sorority chapter dinner at which she was to be an honored guest when the Porter Cadillac limousine had broken down. They had been some fifteen miles away from the hostess's mansion at the time, and conveniently near a little motel. The automatic transmission of the car had suddenly decided to give way, and Ludwig Helmuth had telephoned agitatedly to the nearest service station, offering all sorts of bribes to get the limousine repaired within a few hours. When he had communicated the news to his mistress, she had languidly put her hand on his gloved wrist and murmured, "It's going to be frightfully boring waiting for all that nonsense, don't you think, Ludwig? Why don't we simply take a room here at this motel, have some supper and just wait until we can get back home? I'll telephone Elda and let her know that I'm suddenly ill or something like that."
Helmuth Ludwig's eyes had blazed with recognition at what his pedestalled, aloof mistress had implied. Because for a long time he too had had visions of backing her into the garage, tearing off her imagine gown and scented undies, getting down to the very hide and buff of her and giving her what in his opinion she most dearly needed: a thrashing and then a good sound fucking.
Dinner from the little coffee shop attached to the motel had been brought in by a giggling high-school sophomore brunette who had eyed Ludwig speculatively and decided that he could certainly take better care of her than her present creepy boyfriend. And after dinner, Patricia Porter had stretched out languidly on the double bed (she had signed her name as "Mrs. Ludwig Helmuth") and lazily murmured, "It's after-hours now, Ludwig darling. I know you've got the hots for me, so why don't you for heaven's sake do something about it?"
It had been all that she had ever dreamed. She had been wearing a black faille evening gown, and Ludwig had thrown his chauffeur's cap into the corner of the motel room, come over to the bed, summarily fucked up both faille gown and expensive lace-trimmed white satin slip, ripped off her panties and torn away the tabs of her narrow black satin-elastic garter belt. Then, seizing her under the knee-hollows, kneeling on the bed, he had commanded, "All right, work for it, you sweet bitch, you verdamnte schones Kootzelel Get my Schwartz out and ready for your KootzeleV
Patricia Porter, who usually feigned the utmost boredom when her husband was mounted atop her, his hands gripping her oval, resilient bottom-cheeks and driving himself frenziedly back and forth inside her tight vaginal sheath, began to shiver and to blush. She managed, however, to yank down the zipper of Ludwig Helmuth's liveried trousers, to fumble in his shorts and draw out a magnificent, dark-veined, swollen ramrod which certainly surpassed that of her husband's. Then she had lain back, allowed him to force her knees up to her panting, pear-shaped titties, while he thrust himself violently into her gapingly opened quim and, in a single dig, hilted himself so that their hairs merged.
It had been assuredly the most thrilling, the most dominating and exciting rape she had ever known, and she had responded with several orgasms before he at last burst inside her.
Then she had drawled, "You're quite a stud, Ludwig darling. We're going to have to work something out between us, and we can't do it at home. Also, I don't want to lose a perfectly wonderful housekeeper in Gretchen. And whenever you want to give it to me Like this again, just let me know and we'll work something out. Now for heaven's sake, get back into me and do it even harder, hurt me, pinch my bottom, make me beg for mercy, because I'm dying to be fucked!"
There was therefore a most interesting and clandestine kind of triangulation in passion taking place in the Porter mansion these days. That was one reason why Bob Porter had high hopes for seducing wanton young Erika Helmuth, and for another reason he felt that very possibly she might be his "Brownton Bopper" love-slave. He, Mac Delmar, Joe Ferris and Jimmy Morrison had practically worked out all the details. Many of them had come from Bob's own imaginative brain, inspired to some extent by the plethora of lurid erotic literature which he had hidden in the trunk down here. He foresaw that the "Brownton Boppers" could imitate their elders, have all the sadomasochistic games they could dream up, and enjoy themselves thoroughly with chicks who wouldn't turn out to be prickteasers and Mama's cry babies. Erika Helmuth was certainly not to be included in such a mollycoddling group.
"Vas ist, Liebchen?" she breathed, with a silly little giggle as she moved closer to him. "Don't you like my kisses, nicht?"
"You're damn well right I do, Erika baby. I just want to be sure that your Mom and mine are still busy upstairs with all that damn clearing. Are you sure there's no chance your mother'll be looking for you to help out?"
Erika shook her head till her two flaxen braids danced in the air and gave him a sly wink: "Niemak, Bobbie Liebchen. She thinks I am over at my girlfriend Ludmilla's house."
"That's fine. I wouldn't want to get a sweet girl like you into trouble, with her mom. Tell me, Erika, what do your dad and mom do when you're naughty?"
"Silly," she giggled again as she playfully ran her fingers over his thigh, much as if it were a piano keyboard, "They give me ein gutes Schlagen, of course. A spanking, verstehen?"
Bob Porter's pulses began to pound and he could feel the hot blood surge to his cheeks. Erika Helmuth was getting onto extremely interesting ground, which was exactly what he had in view. "You mean to say they'd dare spank a big girl like you, baby?"
"Jawohl," she pouted, pretending to look doleful. "And here I am fifteen and a half already, going on sixteen. But that is what they do. It is like that always with girls in the old country, Liebchen. The children, they are like slaves-you understand my English?"
"I sure do, baby. You speak it real good. I bet you speak French even better," Bob Porter lasciviously suggested. Erika's big blue eyes widened as they fixed him, and then her thickly curly lashes fluttered as she giggled again: "You are a very naughty boy, I think. I really am not to be down here alone with you."
"But you know you want to be, don't you?"
"Ja, I suppose so."
"But tell me now, what happens when you're naughty? Do they really spank you?"
"Of course they do. Just last week, my mother said I was impudent to her, and she told me to take off my skirt and then my petticoat and then to let down my panties and bend over a chair. And then she took my father's belt to my Hinterbocken. And oh how it hurt, Liebchen! She hit me fifteen times and she made me count each time, too. But you, you are a boy and no one would dare to do anything so shameful to you. It is only the girls who are thrashed."
He was seeing Erika in his mind's eye, her panties down around her calves, bending over a chair and her saucy, surprisingly ample young bare bottom thrust out for the kisses of a black leather belt. He hadn't seen her naked yet, but his imagination had already pictured her that way many a time. Right now, the image had never been more graphic, more alluring. "Does your dad ever spank you, though?" he pursued.
"Many times. He hurts the most, but then it is all over and I'm forgiven."
"I know, but how does he do it?"
"You are very fresh to want to know how a poor girl is punished, I think," she rebuked him with a teasing shake of her forefinger. "But you know so much else about me, I do not suppose it will matter. Only you must never tell anyone, hein?"
"Of course I won't. But go ahead and tell me," he breathed excitedly. He moved closer to her, his arm going around her slim waist and now his right hand dared to cup one of her generously round, closely spaced firm young titties through her thin yellow cotton blouse. Erika shivered and gave him her mouth, then darted in her nimble pink tongue for a thrilling instant before she at last formally shoved his arm away, pushed down his profaning hand, and again wagged her finger at him: "Now you must be good while I tell you, or I will be very mad with you, Bobbie. My father makes me take off everything except my-how do you say it, my brassiere-and then I have to go over to my mother who pulls down my panties. Then I go back to him over his lap and I say I am sorry and that I am ready for my punishment. He spanks me with his hand, generally, unless I am very naughty, and then he takes his belt to me after he had made my poor Hinterbocken oh so sore and red with his big hard hand. Then I have to go stand in the corner and I would die of shame. A boy never has to suffer so much as a girl does, Liebling."
"But wouldn't you like to play spanking games with someone you really like, Erika baby?" Bob Porter hoarsely intimated as his arm returned around her waist and his right hand went back to cup and fondle her swelling ripe young tittie. Before she could answer, he crushed his mouth on hers and his own tongue explored the nectared pink cavern of her willingly yielded mouth. Erika Helmuth gave a soft little sigh, because she had guessed something like this was going to happen when the young Heir of the house had asked her to come down and look at his special collection. She really was most eager to find out what an American boy's loving would be like. Back in Berlin, two years ago, she had already lost her cherry to a handsome young senior at the University of Heidelberg, who had his own little apartment in Konigstrasze Tlatz. Since coming to the United States a year ago with her mother (her father had been working for the Porter family for three years and had finally obtained a visa for his wife and daughter, thanks to Arthur Porter's intervention), she had done only a little necking at school. Her pussy was already itching furiously, telling her that she wanted to know just what it would be like with this handsome, strong Bubchen who already knew so much about sex and who had shown her such exciting books and magazines in that old trunk way at the back of the basement. There were things she could teach him too, which probably the silly little American girls never did for a boy when they went to bed with him.
"My, you kiss like a real Mensch, Liebling," she breathed when he at last released her, though he still kept his hand against her swelling tittie.
"I am a man, Erika baby, and I'll show you just how much pretty soon. But tell me what you were going to say-you know, about playing spanking games and stuff like that. You know those books I showed you, where the girl's all tied up and with a gag in her mouth and the fellow is paddling her hind end and he's going to lover her up when he finishes? He wouldn't spank her too hard, you know, just enough to get them both warmed up for bed."
"I think you are just awful, Hen Bobbie!" She tried to be prim, but it was very difficult with her skirt already furled up high on her thighs, a delicious display of pink skinned legs showing as well as the snug white cotton panties pressed tightly against the plump mound of her eager young cunt. "Do you think a girl-likes to be beaten?"
"Yah, I do, Erika," he boldly ventured, hugging her again and this time putting his right hand on her stockinged right thigh and pressing the resilient flesh amorously. Her thighs were plump but beautifully proportioned, as were her calves. The smell of her perspiration and of the secret fluid in her loins and of her hair were already driving him to furious rut. He knew she was only about fifteen or sixteen, but for his money she knew how to fuck, all right. All he had to find out was whether she knew how to stop from having a baby, because he didn't have any safes. But there were lots of other ways a guy could get his ashes hauled with a hot chick like Erika Helmuth. He had read about a lot of them in the books and magazines he had stashed away.
"You do think so? And what gives you such a silly idea, Herr Bobbie?" She giggled.
"Just because. Don't you know what masochist is, Erika baby?" he urged. His hand had groped upwards till his fingertips attained the warm palpitating satin of her naked thigh. Erika primly squeezed her legs together, but made no effort to push his audacious hand away as she put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him hard and hotly on the mouth, then murmured, "No, tell me what it is, Liebchen. You are terribly naughty today. I don't know why I ever came down here to this dark old basement. And it smells bad too."
"Because you know you want to. Because you know I'm crazy about you, Erika baby. Why, I even dream about you at night."
"Oh?" Her gentian-blue eyes were very wide and ingenuous. "And what do you dream about me, Herr Bobbie?"
"You won't get mad if I tell you?" She shook her head.
"Well," he muttered, putting his lips to her ear and blowing gusts of breath into it, "Last night, for instance, I dreamed I had locked you up in a prison cell, and you didn't have anything on except your stockings and those spike-heeled shoes I showed you in that magazine last week-you know the one."
"Uh huh. And then what?"
"And I came in and I was your master and I'd just bought you from an old Turkish pasha, and he told me that you were a very bad girl and needed a good spanking. So I brought along my whip, and I told you I wanted you to love me good, and you said you wouldn't and you tried to kick me. So I tied you up and I gave you a good spanking on your big bottom."
"It is not big either, Herr Bobbie!" she flashed indignantly, her cheeks scarlet. "You are a wicked, sinful boy, and I should tell your father and your mother when you are saying to me!"
"But you won't." Now his forefinger had attained the plump mound of her cunt, and was slyly frigging it through the clinging cotton panties. Erika Helmuth moaned and squirmed closer to him, her arms tightening round him, and then suddenly she glued her mouth to his and delved her tongue in as deeply as she could. "Nein, I won't," she murmured huskily when the kiss was ended. "But tell me the rest of the dream, quickly, because you are getting me so awfully excited and it is wrong to do that unless you are going to love me good, Heir Bobbie!"
"Well, I spanked you until your bottom was nice and red and you were crying, and then I asked you if you were going to be a good girl and do what I wanted to, and you said you would. So then-well, then-"
"Then what?" she breathed, her loins weaving lasciviously in tempo with his finger-frigging. He could feel the lips of her cunt poutingly open, could feel the secret distillation of love-moisture, the prelubricatory essence which was readying her for the hot fucking he was dying to give her.
"Then, baby, I gave you the best fucking you ever had," he said thickly, relishing the word. His forefinger prodded deeply, almost tearing the thin stuff of her panties, and the precocious flaxen-haired teenager moaned, sank her fingernails into his neck and crushed her mouth to his, her tongue delving deeply.
Just as he thought he was about to score, a deep, rich contralto voice boomed out, "Erika? Wohin bist du, Kinder?"
"Meme MutterV Erika hissed, her eyes suddenly widening and shadowing with fear. "Gott httfe mich, Ich muss gehen schnell!" She twisted herself away from him, just as she heard footsteps descending the stairway down to the basement.
Bob Porter scrambled up from the couch, looked wildly around, and then flattened himself on the floor and began to crawl under the old couch. It was just high enough for him to make it, and he lay there very still, holding his breath, his heart thudding so rapidly he thought it would burst.
Only a dim old electric light bulb cast illumination on the huge basement. Gretchen Helmuth now appeared on the threshold of the opening, hands on hips, wearing a black cotton dress with white apron, her sturdy and handsomely curved calves and thighs sheathed in dull-gray cotton stockings, her feet incased in sturdy, shapeless workshoes. She was thirty-six, her hair a darker blonde than her daughter's, and styled in a thick coronet braid round the top of her head, which left her nape and the sides of her head bare. She had a round, pleasant face, and her lips were extremely sensual and ripe, but it was her body which indicated from what rich heritage young Erika had derived her own opulently voluptuous figure at such a tender age. Magnificently Amazonian titties, high-perched, round and solid, widely spaced, with an ample, firm bottom, round full thighs and insolently rounded calves, together with a pale white skin quite unusual for a blonde of her species, made her extremely provocative and almost primitive in her sexuality. Her dress was damp at the armpits, her face flushed, for she had been working assiduously with Mrs. Porter on the second floor of the house. Suddenly she had remembered that she haHn't seen Erika for some little time, and wanted the girl to go prepare some refreshments for her mistress and herself. Failing to find Erika in her little room upstairs in the garage beside the Porter mansion, she had automatically decided to search the house and her last point of quest was this relatively unused basement.
Erika sat there paralyzed, her skirt fucked up, her blouse partly unbuttoned, her magnificent young titties heaving wildly, and her crimsoned face betrayed, as nothing else would have done, that she had been caught in an unguardedly intimate moment. "M-Mutter-" she quavered.
"There you are, you lazy creature! Here I have been hollering my head off, and poor Mrs. Porter must think that I bore a deaf child!" Gretchen Helmuth snapped. "I wanted you to-now what is this, Kinder! Why are you sitting there and why is your dress up like that? Ach so, you stay there because I want to look at you!"
She came closer, and Erika frantically tugged down her skirt, but not until her mother had seen a telltale patch of moisture at the very crotch of those cotton panties. Her hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously and her lips tightened: "So das ist dasl" she snapped. "You've been playing with yourself down here while I've been up there busy working! You shameless one, you little filth! I thought that when we brought you away from those wicked Knaben in their leather jackets in Berlin, you would be a good little girl. And here you are doing wicked things with yourself. I am going to teach you a good lesson. Your Vater has been much too lenient with you lately, and I myself am not too happy with the report card you bring from this Amerikanischer Schule!"
With this, the magnificent blonde Amazon seated herself on the couch at her quaking daughter's left, reached over, grasped Erika with both hands around the girl's waist and promptly flung her across her maternal lap. Erika uttered a shriek: "Neat, Mutterlein, nkht das!" And began to kick her lovely saucily rounded legs.
But Gretchen Helmuth was an avenging goddess of justice at this moment, and nothing could have deterred her. Expertly and swiftly, she had Erika's skirt and petticoat up, and then was tugging down the thin cotton panties while the flaxen-haired teenager wept and pleaded for pardon, swearing she had done nothing wrong, imploring her mother not to spank her.
"Ruhe, du schamlose kleine Hurel" her mother excoriated her. "Cover your face with your hands, and hide your shame. I am going to look at your panties. Ach sol Just as I thought-they are wet, you filthy little slut! And then you dare to lie to your Mutter that you have not been playing with yourself. If you had a boy down here, Erika Helmuth, I dare not think what I would have seen when I came into this filthy basement. Oh but you are going to get it good now, erne gates Schlagen am naclisten Hinterbockenl"
She had tugged off Erika's panties completely, turned them inside out and stared at them from the Cunt light just beyond and overhead. The moisture was an undeniable piece of evidence which condemned pretty young Erika to Gretchen Helmuth's own particular brand of maternal discipline.
"You are going to wash those yourself, after I have given you a good thrashing," she pronounced as she tucked her left arm round the weeping girl's satiny naked waist. She put her right palm over one of Erika's quivering, flinching, ripely rounded bottom-cheeks. "You are not to have any spending money for the next two weeks, verstehe? I have half a mind to tell your father tonight so that he will take his good strap to your wicked bottom! But I do not think I will ask him to punish you, Erika, because I myself am going to attend to it right now! Cry all you like, I do not think Mrs. Porter will hear you. She is resting a little, because I told her to. There is time enough for me to make you sorry that you are such a filthy little strumpet!"
Having delivered this scathing tirade, Gretchen Helmuth passed from words to action. Tightening her grip round her daughter's waist, she lifted up her right hand and brought it down with a formidable "Smack!" which flattened the soft quivering naked hillock and left an angry, bright pink imprint of her spanking hand, while at the same time drawing an anguished wail from poor Erika.
Under the couch, Bob Porter was shuddering, feeling his prick maddeningly swell and rub ferociously against the fly of his trousers, which bore down solidly on the hard stone floor. His senses were inflamed as he pictured what was happening and he would have given anything to have seen it. But he had to content himself with the vivid images which the sounds evoked, and they were indeed awesome and authentic.
Scolding between spanks, Gretchen Helmuth proceeded to inflict at least fifty stinging, noisy slaps all over Erika's bounding, twisting, wriggling, flaming naked behind. The culprit wailed, implored abjectly, swore she had been innocent of any wrong doing, promised fervently and hysterically never to be naughty again, and kicked and twisted so madly that it was all Gretchen Helmuth could do to keep her in position. At times, when Gretchen's hand visited the tender base of Erika's bare young bottom or pinched the inner edges of the pouting globes together when a particularly stinging smack bit right over the crease and the lower summits of that voluptuous young posterior, Erika's hips lurched high in the air and as she kicked her legs up, she exposed the pink moist crevice of her palpitating young cunt. The fiery heat of the spanking and its bruising shock began, nonetheless, to engender a secret pleasure, which was made the more subtly exquisite through its blending of burning pain and martyrizing humiliation. Her voice was hoarse from her cries and shrieks and useless supplications when at last her mother paused, panting, perspiring, leaving poor Erika to wriggle and twist and kick uncontrollably over the maternal lap, her bottom red as a tomato and indecently uninhibited as to its lewd, spasmatic gyrations over Gretchen Helmuth's knees.
"There," her mother panted. "Perhaps that will teach you not to hide down here and play with yourself, you disgusting little slut! Now go wash your panties and then you'll go right to bed and stay there until I bring you your supper, you understand?"
"J-fa, M-muterlein," Erika whimpered as she slowly and painfully stumbled off her mother's lap, her mouth forming a poignant O, as tears streamed down her face and her soft little hands rushed to her inflamed behind and frantically began to rub away the scaldingly hot anguish.
"Shameless one!" Her mother rebuked her as she rose from the couch and delivered an upswinging open-handed slap against the still naked, swollen bottom that drew a shriek from Erika, "Off with you!"
Erika fumblingly retrieved the panties, and hobbled out of the basement, one hand still feverishly rubbing her burning seat. Gretchen Helmuth followed her, still scolding, shaking an angry forefinger and threatening her with even more dire retribution if her conduct henceforth wasn't exemplary.
When at last the basement was quiet again, Bob Porter crawled slowly out from under the couch, slumped down on it, and, dragging down the zipper of his trousers, liberated his agonized prick and began to masturbate, his eyes closed, summoning up again the erotic images of bare-bottomed young Erika over her mother's lap.
CHAPTER SEVEN
This particular Saturday evening was not to end with frustration for precociously sex-hungry young Bob Porter, however. He managed to sneak back up to his room without being intercepted by his mother, showered quickly and changed clothes. Patricia Porter had decided to call a halt to the energetic activity of housecleaning and so repaired to her bedroom to take a much needed nap after she too had showered.
Meanwhile Ludwig Helmuth had chauffeured his employer Arthur Porter down to the latter's Loop office. The architect, a rapidly graying but still virile forty-seven years of age, with a small, neat moustache and a crew cut haircut to appear younger to his passionate young mistress Mildred Darwin, had decided to spend the weekend at the Northwest Side Motel which had become his favorite rendezvous for his extra-marital fling.
He had already laid the groundwork earlier this week by announcing to Patricia that he had been assigned a particularly difficult blueprint for a shopping center in Canton, and that the backers of this project from the city some forty miles away from Peoria would be in Chicago over the weekend and expecting him to confer with them. As for Patricia Porter herself, she raised not the slightest objection. By now, the guilty thrill of being mastered and magnificently fucked by her virile chauffeur was ample compensation for the many nights which Arthur Porter had been absent from her bed. At the outset of their marriage, she had been rather austere and rather more resigned about yielding to his "marital rights." As for Arthur Porter himself, he had had only two very brief and not too successful romances with girls in college, just enough to lose his male virginity but hardly enough to become a really sophisticated lover. For him too, therefore, the affair with Mildred was a kind of "Last fling" during his own oncoming change of life-for a male experiences a psychological menopause even if it is not to be compared with the physical alteration of the female, and it often affects his moral outlook as well as his sexual behavior. Now he felt himself young again, with a greater sophistication than he had ever had, and he had mistaken Mildred's very greedy and selfish pursuit of him as a tribute to his own incomparable masculine prowess as a lover. In reality, the golden-haired receptionist wanted only to become Mrs. Arthur Porter, and that as quickly as possible.
Ludwig Helmuth was in a genial mood this evening as he expertly steered the black Cadillac limousine through freeway traffic on towards the Loop. Arthur Porter, in the back seat, smoking a cigarette and idly flipping through the pages of the latest issue of Life glanced up at the back of his chauffeur's head and pursed his lips thoughtfully. He was not at all impervious to the charms of Ludwig's buxom wife Gretchen, and he had also noticed that their flaxen-haired daughter Erika was already an extremely enticing Lolita. However, he was an extremely cautious man and he was well aware that philandering in his own home and particularly with his own servants would be grounds for scandal and certainly divorce from Patricia. He had no intention of marrying Mildred, though she was not yet aware of that resolve. For one thing, over the past four or five years Patricia's withdrawal from his bed had been a kind of tacit sign to him that he was permitted to do what he pleased so long as word of his doing did not reach his Patrician wife. That was fine with him. A few passionate hours with his prick dug to the hilt inside Mildred's voracious cunt, an excellent dinner in one of Chicago's fine downtown restaurants or perhaps one of the famous foreign eateries which decorated some of the residential areas of the Windy City, and his late-flaring passions were quite comfortably assuaged until the next time. He enjoyed his fine, comfortable house, his position in the community as a member of a highly reputable creative profession, and he would do nothing in the world to disturb the status quo.
Nevertheless, as he went blithely on his way to meet Mildred Darwin, he couldn't help wondering what it would be like just once to lure; Gretchen Helmuth into his bedroom, undress her generously curvaceous pink-sheened body and proceed t handle her with mastery and vigor until she lay swooning beneath him with her thighs yawningly open to receive the delving vigor of his aching tool. He would have liked also to conquer her by turning her over his lap and spanking her plump bottom, which he had often observed shifting and undulating in the most lascivious manner as she ascended the stairway, her tight black uniformed skirt hugging the ample contours of those fleshy hillocks. like so many men who reach maturity and begin to fear the loss of their virility, Arthur Porter had secret fantasies of being a lordly conqueror akin to Attila, Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great.
If he could have read his chauffeur's mind at this moment, this story might well never have been written. For as Ludwig Helmuth kept his gloved hands on the heavy steering wheel and his eyes on the road ahead, he was actually seeing svelte Patricia Porter clad in only a black nylon slip, cuddling on his lap, her long ivory-hued arms tightly round his neck and her insolent mouth wet and palpitating with desire as his hands foraged those impudently big pear-shaped titties of hers, that magnificent Butzen roamed along those willowy, nervously muscled thighs up to the thickly black-furred spot which grew so moist and warm when he tickled it before putting his Schwanz just inside to tease her till she began to beg for it by arching herself and moaning and staring at him in the most appealing way.
Perhaps tonight, Ludwig told himself, there might be a chance to sneak into the mistress's bedroom But no, Gretchen would be expecting attention. After doing housecleaning all day long, she would want to be comforted in bed, and he knew what that would mean. She was exceptionally demanding after she had been thoroughly exhausted by a hard day's work. ...
Arthur Porter, however, was smart enough to let his chauffeur drop him off in the Loop rather than take him to the motel where his golden-haired girlfriend was waiting. As soon as he saw the limousine head back towards Northbrook, he hailed a cab and had himself driven out to his pussy-paradise away from home. like a dutiful almost-wife, Mildred Darwin had already rented the room for herself and her "husband," and had readied herself by putting on a sheer black nylon shortie nightie and fluffy blue mules. She was perched on the bed with her hands round her knees, drawn up against her bosom, awaiting him when he turned the key in the lock and entered.
His eyes sparkled at the sight of her, and without more ado he took off his suit coat, tie and shirt, and then his trousers, scuffed off his shoes and in undershirt, shorts and socks approached the bed.
"Dammit, how I've missed you, Millie baby," he panted hoarsely. Already he could feel his prick throbbing to gigantic dimensions against the fly of his shorts. He put his hands on her knees, widened them, then leaned forward to kiss her hotly on the mouth. At once her tongue delved between his lips, telling him that it would be a night of torrid delights.
At the same time, her soft hand reached for the bulge in his fly, unbuttoned his shorts and drew out his swollen ramrod. "Oh, darling," she breathed, "all that for little me? My, you really must have missed me, Artie darling!"
"You'll never know how much, baby," he adjusted himself on his knees, crouching forward to her as her legs swung widely open like the gates of a conquered town awaiting pillage. His hands began to knead her lovely titties, and his mouth crushed hers with a demanding kiss as her arms wound round his neck, her hands rubbing his cheeks and rumpling his hair.
In this pose, the scanty nightie hoisted up and exposed the dark-golden muff of her pussy, as well as the velvety-soft slopes of her smooth, sensitive inner thighs. Without more ado, and without resorting to love play, Arthur Porter thrust his prick deep into that welcome cavern, and Mildred Darwin moaned as she flattened her legs on either side of him and then nimbly clamped them over his sinewy behind. "Oh it's so good, lover," she whispered huskily, "won't it be nice when we can do this in our own home as often as we want and without all this worrying about not being caught?"
At the moment, Arthur Porter felt the tensing contractions of her vaginal walls, and the exquisite agony of that love-grip distracted him from any other thought. He began to drive in and out with quicker and quicker cadence, his fingers leaving her titties to grab the edges of her lovely ripe hips to guide himself as well as to steer her towards the precipice of passion.
Locking her legs and arms tightly around him, Mildred Darwin coalesced with a total surrender of herself, because she had her own devious purpose in mind. She abetted him by arching her hips up from the bed each time he dug to the hilt inside of her, and she quickened her gyrations when she realized that he was at the end of his self-control. With a hoarse cry, he expired, sinking down upon her welcoming, cushioning body, and felt himself burst inside of her.
She soothed him, cuddling him and whispering to him as a mother might to her child: "That's it darling, Artie, that's a sweet boy, just take it easy, Millie is going to make you all nice and rested and comfy ... oh, Artie, darling, won't it be nice when we are married?"
Slowly he lifted his head from her swelling titties, and stared at her blankly. "Married? Aren't you forgetting, baby, I am already?" he hoarsely demanded.
"Oh sure, lover, but you know you'd rather have me every night than what you've got. And I feel so sorry for a wonderful, strong man like you who can take care of a little girl so nicely as you just did, having to be all by himself and not getting the loving you need. But Millie is going to change all that."
"Oh, Millie is, is she?" He drew himself out of her and made her wince with the suddenness of his maneuver as he knelt up. "And who gave you that idea, baby?"
"Why, Daddykins," she pouted charmingly, her eyes very wide and innocent, "I thought sure you were going to ask your wife for a divorce any day now."
"I see," calm reason was beginning to return to Arthur Porter's mind. "So you worked it all out, did you? Look, don't you think you're pushing things? We've got a nice thing going, and you know you don't want to get married anymore than I want to get a divorce. We're good friends, I'm taking good care of you, and-"
"Well, I like that!" She sat up, hands on her hips, her eyes suddenly changing to angry, narrowed orbs. "Here I take up with you when I could have had a much younger man, and then you give me this line of bull! You're not going to get away with it, Arthur Porter! You're not so wonderful in the sack, if you want to know something. I have to do all the work-Ouch! You-you slapped me!" this last, reproachfully, her voice rising in a cry, as she recoiled from the sudden stinging slap he had just given her across her right cheek.
"I'm going to slap you somewhere else, and maybe it'll slap some sense into you, baby," he growled. "It's more fun this way, or didn't you know?
Besides, I've got a grown daughter not much younger than you, and I'm not gonna break up a happy home and make you her stepmother."
"You've got a lot of nerve to talk to me this way, after all I've been to you!" she said indignantly.
Then she screamed in real alarm. Arthur Porter, mumbling something under his breath, his lips very thin and compressed, had suddenly seized her by both wrists and hauled her across his lap. Pinning both her wrists with his left hand, he tugged up the nightie beyond her waist, and then began to spank her energetically. Her velvety-smooth provocatively rounded, broadly creased bottom-cheeks flattened and tightened as the first spank left a bright pink flush on her pale satiny epidermis. "Oww! You cut that out, Arthur Porter! I'll tell your wife-oww! Ahrrr! You're hurting me! Stop it, you big brute!"
For his hand had risen and fallen half a dozen times, all over her upturned naked bottom, and now Mildred Darwin began to kick and twist and try to escape. He drew one leg out from under her and promptly clamped it over her bare calves. Then he went on spanking with gusto, till her head tilted back, her eyes swimming with tears and very huge, her mouth gaping in cry upon cry of poignant and really convincing supplication: "Eeyeowww! Ouuu! Oh, please, stop it, Artie, I didn't mean it-ouch-boo hoo, boo hoo, please don't spank me, it hurts so-aiii! Oh please, darling, I didn't mean it, please!"
But Arthur Porter was really scared at the threat the amoral blonde receptionist had just uttered. While the status quo was admirable, he realized the incipient dangers if his haughty brunette wife Patricia should find out from this little gold digger what had been going on. And so he determined to convince Mildred Darwin once and for all that he was not a man to be trifled with.
Hence, ignoring her squeals, prayers, tearful sobs and piteous entreaties, he continued to spank until her bottom was bounding and swerving, a fiery red from hip slopes to base. When he stopped at last, out of breath and his hand stinging, Mildred Darwin was crying hysterically and promising to be very good, as a child might after such a redoubtable ordeal.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Mildred," he said soberly, glancing ruefully at the flaming hillocks of her squirming, restless naked behind. "But you had it coming. You were trying to pull a fast one, and I don't go for that. If I want to marry you, I'll certainly tell you. You seemed happy enough the way things were, and then tried to sneak this one over. Maybe I ought to give you another dose-"
"Oh no, Artie, oh please don't, for heaven's sake! I'll be good, I won't ever say anything like that again, honest!"
"And you think that a younger man can give your itchy little pussy what it needs, do you? I'm going to show you that you're wrong about that too!" He snarled. Rolling her off his lap onto her back, he promptly mounted her. Mildred Darwin's eyes widened with startled surprise as she saw that his penis was as formidably erect as before. Then as she felt him stab deep into her, she uttered a gasp of ecstasy. Her masochistic psyche had been roused in a way that he never would have discovered if he had not impulsively yielded to this act of violence, because she had been hoping that a man would master her one day and see through her little schemes. Moaning, gasping with delight, the naked golden-haired receptionist again locked her arms and legs round her mature lover, but this time out of a furious need for response and affection. And thus it was that Arthur Porter regulated his extra-marital affairs with consummate ability and enjoyed an even more exciting evening than he had originally counted on!
Ludwig Helmuth scowled as he drove swiftly back to Northbrook. He had a pretty good idea that his boss was going to see a girl, probably the same one he'd been seeing for some little time now. It was too bad, he told himself, that he couldn't have the same fun too, but Gretchen was very jealous. Besides, she wasn't a bad piece of Kootzele herself, when you came right down to it. He would stop for some schnapps, drive home, and then make love to her. He would pretend that she was a new maid the Porters had just hired and that he was going to break her in. He grinned, feeling better already.
Erika had changed into her white cotton pajamas and slippers, and her mother, looking very stern and not saying a word, had brought a supper tray. Then she had proceeded to lecture her daughter on the immorality of playing with herself, warning her that if she ever found out that Erika was going around with boys at her tender age, it would be a good deal worse than it had been down in the basement this afternoon. Erika listened, was deferential and quiet, and Gretchen went away satisfied.
Bob Porter had eaten his supper in the kitchen, contenting himself with a few cold sandwiches, some milk and a piece of Gretchen's superb applie pie. He was still horny, for the interrupted scene with Erika had caught him at the moment when he was about to score. And having seen so much of her delicious nubile and ripening young body, he lusted to see it all and to have it tossing and squirming under him as his strong young cock dug deeply into that dark-blonde-framed crevice of passion. He was sure that she was a swinger and that he was going to get her into the secret club. Of course, he wasn't sure that she would go for the idea of screwing all the other guys-that was one of the rules. Any "Brownton Bopper" upon admission, had to sign a pledge and sign it with his or her own blood that any order to make love to any one of the members would have to be obeyed or else. That went for the boys as much as for the girls.
Next Friday, Bob knew, they were going to meet over at Jimmy Morrison's house in the basement recreation room, and have their very first meeting. He was pretty sure that Erika would come along-and he was even more sure that once she had let him make love to her, she would be back for seconds and thirds and fourths!
Gretchen knew that her husband would soon be home and was preparing a beef stew for him in a casserole dish when he entered and flung his cap at the hat rack with unerring aim. Then he began to take off his uniform, shaking his head: "You know, Liebchen there are times I wish I was a rich man. Then I wouldn't have to drive Herr Porter all over the city and rush back, and maybe be stuck there and have to take him home. I shouldn't be surprised if he calls me and has me pick him up. He is supposed to be at the office, but you can guess where else he is."
"Of course I can, Ludwig!" she reproved him with a little smile lingering at the corners of her full ripe mouth. "And it isn't nice to talk about your boss that way. It's disrespectful. The boss is always right, Ludwig."
"Jawohl, I know that. Just the same, I still wish I had lots of money so I could have my own chauffeur to take us out, my darling one. Ach, that smells wunderbar!"
"Sit down, mein Mann," Gretchen said tenderly as she moved closer to him, put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a stinging kiss on the mouth. "I will get you some good beer and then we will talk."
"And what did you do this afternoon, meine Susses?" he cajoled as he patted her opulent bottom.
Gretchen Helmuth squirmed against him, rubbing her crotch amorously against his, as she gave him a dewy-eyed look: "I had to work all afternoon cleaning this great big house, if you must know," she told him. "And I had to spank Erika too."
"Ha? For what?" He seated himself at the table while his wife promptly served him a generous portion from the casserole dish. "Yes, that is very good. And I am hungry, with all that driving for Hen Porter. But what is this about Erika?"
"Liebling, she is not a bad girl, but she is very mature for her age. If she were a year or two older, I should even look for a husband for her."
"You think so? That is serious. You mean that she is beginning to think about boys and things like that?"
"Yes indeed, Ludwig. I found her-well, I should not really say it, because she has already been punished and I do not wish you to punish her again. But what she was doing with herself was shameless."
Ludwig Helmuth winked and chuckled. "Oh come now, Gretchen, you and I are not so old that we do not know what it is that sometimes bothers us when we do not have each other for bed. And Erika takes after you, with that fine figure she has already. It is not surprising she feels these things, she is almost a woman now."
"I am glad you are in such a generous mood. I left her in her room and after I brought her supper, and I told her to be a good girl and stay in bed. That will be her punishment. She feels very unhappy."
"I should think she would! And you, have you been a good girl all day long? Haven't you missed your Ludwig, haven't you thought about having his big hard Schwartz in that Kootzele of yours?" He joked as he reached out to pinch her ample bottom as she moved beside him to pour out some dark Lowenbrau beer into his china mug.
"Himmel! Don't do that-I might have broken your mug and the bottle too, and then what would you have done?" She gasped, turning scarlet. But the smile on her lips and in her eyes told him that she wasn't really angry with him.
"I would have spanked you, now that is what. Now sit down and eat, woman, and let me think a little. Erika is not old enough to get married, and besides she has not yet met any boys here in America, not boys who would want to many the daughter of a servant."
"You must not say that. Here we have a democracy, Ludwig, and the next man is just as good as the other. You shouldn't look down on yourself," his wife remonstrated.
He shrugged and fell to eating. He ate with hearty appetite, and when at last he had finished his second cup of coffee and lit a cigarette and leaned back with a belch with contentment, he began to eye his opulent blonde wife. She flushed under his fixed look, and lowered her eyes. "Come along, Schones Katte, hubsch Gattm," he muttered hoarsely as he rose from the table and moved to her.
"Come where?" she innocently inquired.
"To bed, of course, Gretchen! I'm in need of you. And I think you feel the same way about me, nicht wahr?"
Gretchen Helmuth giggled as she slowly rose to face him. She put one arm around his waist, and her other hand moved towards his crotch, where already the bulge was noticeable. Slyly she began to pinch and caress it through his shorts and trousers, while her husband clutched her titties and bent to kiss her mouth and eyes.
A few moments later, they were both together on the huge double bed in the main bedroom of their little apartment above the garage. Buxom Gretchen Helmuth was wearing only her stockings and garter belt, having happily let her husband disrobe her as he had done on their very wedding night.
His eyes feasted over the magnificent big cantaloupes of her titties, on the soft belly, on the thick dark-blonde fleece which covered her cunt. Then a capricious notion took hold of him. As she lay waiting for him, he suddenly seized her by the wrists, shifted himself to the edge of the bed and promptly pulled her across his lap.
"Darling, what are you doing? Oh no, please, I've been good, I don't deserve it-Ach, Hilfe!! Nicht mehr, you are hurting me so! Oh darling, you are wrong in having me punished, I have been very good, all for you!"
But Ludwig Helmuth had in his mind's eye his beautiful aristocratic mistress and he was pretending that it was she whom he was spanking right this moment, making her abject and humble and ready to beg for his love. His hand rose and fell incessantly over his wife's plump, upreared, flaming naked bottom, till Gretchen Helmuth began to wail imploringly for mercy.
And when he had finished spanking her, he shoved her over onto her back, and before she could utter a word of protest, had dug himself to the balls inside her quaking cunthole. ...
Only Patricia Porter spent a long and morose evening and night. She had a pretty fair idea that her husband was trying to do something behind her back, but she couldn't accuse him without proof. And she knew that the chauffeur would be loyal to him instead of to her. Otherwise she would have asked Ludwig Helmuth where he had dropped off her husband.
At last she went to bed, after having taken a shower, read a book and nibbled at a plate of bonbons beside her on the night lamp table. But as she read, hardly knowing what was on the printed pages, she had only to close her eyes and imagine the handsome chauffeur in bed beside her, his strong fingers squeezing her titties, pinching her bottom, his big hard hot cock digging pitilessly into her tender quim. The anguish at not being able to realize this fulfillment grew so great that finally the aristocratic brunette matron turned out the light, spread her legs and, holding her breath, began delicately to tickle herself until she felt the waves of passion swirl inside of her . ...
Bob Porter had been watching TV in his room with his portable Zenith, a present from his father last Christmas. The movie was lousy, and he was frankly bored stiff. But it wasn't all that was stiff, because whenever he thought of Erika in the basement and how close they had been to fucking, he began to feel his young cock ache with longing.
Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He tiptoed out of his room, in his pajamas and slippers, and went down to the dark living room. He went to the side window and peered out. There was a light in Erika's room. The light in the big master bedroom was out, however. And, of course, for a very good reason: Erika's mother and father were plighting their troth all over again. It was just as well that Bob's regal mother couldn't see what was going on, because she would have been furiously jealous at the repeated hot crammings her housekeeper was joyously accepting from virile Ludwig.
Then, as Bob Porter watched disconsolately, his eyes widened with joy and incredulity at the same time. There was a flaxen-haired girl coming out of the garage wearing a bathrobe over her pajamas and slippers, and she was coming straight to the house.
He rushed to the front door and quickly opened it, beckoning to her: "Erika, in here!"
She hurried to him, and the two young lovers fell into each other's arms. Bob Porter began to cover her eyelids, mouth and nose and cheeks with kisses, his hands reaching round to squeeze her saucy bottom. In his mind's eye he could see that bottom, bounding and reddening under her mother's energetic slaps. It made him all the more lustful to have her. "You don't know how I've been dreaming about you, baby," he said thickly. "I sorta hoped you'd get my thought waves."
"I did," she giggled softly, putting a finger to his lips. "Is everybody asleep? Mutter and Vater are asleeep-only they really are not. They are making Hebe. And your father is not home?"
"Nope, and I'm sure he won't come home. And Mom's in her room and the light's out. It's just perfect."
"Where can we go?"
"The safest place would be in the basement again, baby. You know, like we were this afternoon on the couch."
"Yes, where I got such an awful Schlagen," Erika teasingly replied. "Ouch, you are pinching me where mama spanked me so hard, you know."
"Let me see it," he panted.
Erika giggled, blushed, and then tiptoed swiftly out of the room with Bob Porter, his heart pounding wildly, following swiftly behind her.
This time, they groped their way down the stairs to the basement, didn't turn on the light, but made instinctively for the old couch. Swiftly his fingers found the knot of the bathrobe belt and loosened it, then drew off the robe. A moment later, Erika was giggling and pushing away his hands but only half-heartedly as he was stripping off her pajama tops. He grabbed her titties in his hands and kissed and sucked the nipples, while she moaned with feverish excitement. Her young pussy was already moistening in anticipation. And it wasn't long before she was helping him shove down the pajama trousers so that she could be naked for him. And then it was her turn to help him with his, and the two of them tumbled onto the couch together.
"Wait, Liebling," she murmured, practical even in the moment of passion. "You mustn't give me a Kinderlein, or I really will get a thrashing and they will send me away from home to some institution where they will beat me everyday, and you wouldn't want that to happen to your little Erika, would you?"
"Don't worry!" he panted. He reached down to the floor, groped for the pocket of his bathrobe and produced a condom. "This'll keep anything from happening, baby. Now you get ready to give Bobbie what he needs, 'cause you wanted to!"
A moment later, the prophylactic applied, Bob Porter was in seventh heaven. He was discovering that Erika Helmuth was not at all a virgin, and that she had one of the tightest pussies he had ever dreamed of entering. Her legs and arms were wrapped round him, her mouth glued to his and her nimble hot pink tongue slashing between his lips, he tasted the glory of adolescent fucking. And perhaps, because of the secret club that he and his cronies were going to found the very next Friday, as well as the remembrance of what Erika's bottom must have looked like while he was hiding under the couch and hearing her mother spank it, his passions were triply infuriated. Erika Helmuth was soon gasping and moaning with delight, and had forgotten all about her first experience back in Berlin.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mac Delmar was not quite seventeen, towheaded, lanky, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. He was a senior at Brownton High, his grades were exceptionally good, and his teachers regarded him as a model student and classroom leader. They, as well as his forty-six-year-old father Johnson Delmar (sales manager for a Northbrook beverage wholesaler) would have been greatly surprised if they could have known the thoughts that went through his mind and some of the more daring exploits he had already achieved in his relatively short adolescence.
His mother had died when he was eight, and he remembered very little about her, except that she had been very feminine and very soft-spoken and hardly had a voice in anything in the household. This was very natural, considering the fact that Johnson Delmar was a bluff, vigorous man who liked to be doing a thousand one things at once, supervising his sales force, writing memos to the home office in Newark asking for more advertising to back up the salesman, spending two or three nights a week at his Chicago athletic club for workouts to keep himself in the prime of life, and only incidentally deigning to notice that his wife had a voluptuous body that craved regular fucking but never got it. Her very timidity had made him quiescent; also, his own strict parental training in sex had led him to believe that copulation was for procreation only. Almost as soon as Mac had been born, his father began to reproach himself for going at Kathleen too much in the manner of a bull to a heifer, and of his own volition began to cut down the frequency of his visits to her bed.
He was grooming his son to take over the business one of these days, and the thought occurred to him that college might even be unnecessary to that end. It would do a boy good to get out into the business world and get a few knocks and earn his own money and be self-reliant, just the way he had had to do himself. He had worked himself up from an errand boy in the old Flossmoor branch to sales manager of one of the biggest Midwestern distributors of a popular soft-drink line that was coining money hand over fist.
He had also been quite abstemious concerning pussy after Kathleen's death. Once about every four or five months, when his fierce animal urges demanded solace (he looked upon self-relief as an aberration), he contacted a friendly divorcee who was a part-time call girl and solaced his urgent needs. He took pains, however, to prevent his son's learning that he had the slightest interest in any other woman-hardly realizing that Mac Delmar, well before his seventeenth birthday, had already had sexual relations with half a dozen girls on the high school campus and was even now angling for a "steady bitch" who could be a "Brownton Bopper."
Mac, along with Jimmy Morrison and Joe Ferris, had been one of the prime instigators of the secret club. Bob Porter's addition to the roster of sex-hungry adolescents had further channeled bespectacled young Mac Delmar's aspirations in that direction. He had feverishly and assiduously read every brochure, book and girlie magazine in Bob Porter's basement trunk, and he had contributed some excitingly novel ideas to the formation of this special little harem-like entourage which the boys were about to inaugurate next Friday.
Mac Delmar's penchant was for playing games with girls much younger than himself, games that involved forfeits, and these forfeits were almost invariably spanking ones. When he was thirteen, the next-door neighbor's wife had threatened to call the juvenile authorities and put him away in an institution because she had found him with her nine-year-old daughter Barbara lying across his lap, skirts lofted and pants down to her chubby calves, squirming and giggling, while Mac's eager young palm repeatedly visited her naked white-skinned seat. That Barbara had protested to her mother that she liked it, had only added fuel to the fire. Johnson Delmar had cleared his throat, flushed uncomfortably, given Mac a sound thrashing with his belt, and lectured him on the evils of propinquity and especially of deviation. He had believed that this one lesson had cured his son.
Instead of curing him, however, he had rendered Mac Delmar all the more greedy for sadistic sexual pleasures with the opposite sex, whose potential he had rapidly discovered through his omnivorous reading of Bob Porter's collection of erotica. This weekend, Johnson Delmar was in St. Louis for a regional meeting of all branch sales managers of the firm that employed him, and Mac Delmar was about ready to have a ball. He had persuaded Joe Ferris to shift his attentions to another girl so that he could make a play for cute little Lucy Colton. And since on this particular Saturday afternoon Lucy's mother and stepfather had suddenly been called to Peoria because Pamela Colton's first cousin was in a hospital and in a coma preceding certain death, it had been like sailing through an English exam for him to con light-brown-haired Lucy into going to a movie with him. She'd put up quite a fuss about how her parents didn't want her to date, but he'd lured her with a promise of a triple butterscotch-chocolate-coffee soda at Dormer's, Northborrk's favorite sweet shop, and slyly reminded her that after all her parents certainly wouldn't be back until late Sunday night and no one would ever know.
After what she had seen through the chink in her own bedroom wall, Lucy Colton's young and imaginative mind had been greatly stirred. If Mac Delmar has asked her for a date prior to that spectacular discovery of what grown people did in bed, she might well have refused him with prim indignation. But from what she had heard in school, Mac Delmar, for all his scholastic ability, was a skirt chaser, and she was eager to find out how she would measure up in his esteem to the many popular girls whom he had already squired. The Brownton High grapevine was nothing if not informative and lurid.
He had taken her to the movie, and kept his word about the treat at Dormer's. Then, finding her in an excited and happy mood-for such dates were almost unknown to pretty little Lucy Colton-he had persuaded her to come over to his house. He hadn't bothered to tell her that his father wasn't at home and wouldn't be, and he knew that Lucy was a tyro stamp collector. His father, it chanced, had an exceptionally fine stamp collection for which he had been offered many thousands of dollars. Lucy, without speculating on what might occur to her in being alone with this reputedly expert young Don Juan, had eagerly acquiesced to his invitation.
They were in his father's study now, and Lucy was raptly poring over the pages of Helgoland and Mauritius.
For his part, Mac Delmar was poring over Lucy's nubile young body, displayed at titillating advantage in a short pleated blue woolen skirt, a very tight short sleeved white blouse, pullover matching blue sweater, yellow bobby socks and loafers. At the moment, she was kneeling on a chair with the huge stamp album spread open on a low tabouret before her, in a kind of all-fours posture which emphasized the tantalizing thrust of her voluptuous young bottom against the tightly fitted blue skirt. Her bottom comprised two saucy rounds, upstandingly firm and jutting at the summits, then curving breathtakingly down towards the smooth, sensitive base which junctured with delightfully long and rounded young thighs, and her bare calves were sinuous, high-set, and nervously muscled. Her skin was a pale, milky hue which had already inflamed Mack Delmar's precociously developed sexual imagery. In Bob Porter's trunk, he had found a book, "Spanking Teenagers," which portrayed with graphic detail the plight of two young sisters enrolled in a disciplinary school by their cruel aunt, who had given the directress strict orders to inflict corporal punishment whenever it was deemed necessary.
One of the heroines in the brochure had been as white-skinned as he could see Lucy Colton was here in the palpitating, accessible flesh. It was all he could do to keep his hands from digging into those juicy, jouncy bottom-cheeks of hers, hoisting up her skirt and fucking down her panties and spanking her pretty bare hind end until she agreed to fuck or suck. In his own fantasies, Mack Delmar saw himself as a Turkish emir, insolently commanding a reluctant slavegirl to his bed, ordering her to crouch between his thighs and apply her soft, trembling red lips to his throbbing organ on pain of being strung up by the thumbs and whipped by a fine silken lash which would not cut the skin but which would leave delicate, interesting striata, after which he would console her in his virile fashion. It was a typically adolescent sadomasochistic dream, and it was a dream about to be put into vivid reality here and now, as well as in Bob Porter's basement recreation room Friday after next . ...
"Your dad has got just the most wonderful stamps I ever saw," Lucy declared enthusiastically, looking back at her bespectacled suitor. She little knew what a provocative picture she made, her heart-shaped face so ingenuously appealing and those large blue eyes sparkling with animation. The way the thick single braid of her light brown hair dangled coquettishly over one cheek made her all the more feminine and desirable. Mack Delmar could feel his prick start to harden and ache, and turned slightly to one side so Lucy wouldn't see that manifestation.
"Yeah, he sure does' he agreed in a husky voice. "I'll bet he could get ten grand for that book if he wanted to sell, but he won't. He has lots of friends all over the world, and they send him rare stamps sometimes."
"Gee, I wish I had friends like that!" Lucy wistfully declared. She was remembering that her stepfather and mother had been down on her recently for gadding about with boys at school and had just about laid down the law to her that she was still too young for dating.
There was a certain guilty feeling pervading her right now, but it was also mingled with a kind of feverish excitement. She had never before been alone with a boy, and she was remembering now Mack Delmar's reputation.
She was remembering also that his father wasn't home, although he hadn't mentioned it at all to her when he had invited her over. Tactically, it might be a good idea to retreat now before she got into any trouble.
"Aw, you oughtn't to say things like that, Lucy honey," he said awkwardly as he came closer to her. "You've got lots of friends at Brownton. You've got me, and that's a fact."
"Really?" she naively inquired. She closed the book, leaning over a little more than was necessary and his greedy eyes caught a glimpse of her thrusting young rounds of titties against the snug blouse and the pullover. He licked his lips and stammered, "Here, I'll give you a hand down, Lucy."
With this, he put his hands against her waist and was amazed to find how supple and pliant it was. Lucy gasped, going molten at this, the first intimate contact of a young boy's hand against her young body, and almost lost her balance on the edge of the straight-backed chair on which she had been kneeling.
Breathless, flurried and blushing hotly, she managed to get down, and found herself held tightly up against him, so that her titties mashed against his swelling young chest and his eyes were staring hungrily down at her lovely, crimsoned face.
"You're really terrific, Lucy baby. I'd like to be your guy," he muttered hoarsely, and then he kissed her hotly on the mouth, something that had never before happened to Lucy Colton. She gasped, raised her hands to his chest and began to push him away, but by then his hands had already gripped the cheeks of her behind and were forcing her loins tightly up against his crotch, so she couldn't misunderstand the thrust of his sturdy manhood, demanding entry into her sacrosanct quim.
"Mack Delmar, you quit-you take your hands off me-you oughtn't to do this-oh no-and you told me a fib, you said your dad-"
"I didn't say anything at all about him," he smugly replied, certain now of victory. "I didn't say whether he was home or not. Anyhow, what difference does it make? I'm really crazy for you, Lucy baby. I think you're the prettiest girl at Brownton."
This flattery was music to her ingenuous ears, particularly after what she had heard of how he had snubbed several girls on campus who were not only seniors but far more attractive than herself in her own reasonably impartial opinion.
"You-you think so?" she quavered.
"I'd like to show you just how much, baby. How'd you like to belong to a nice secret little club, just a couple of guys having fun, playing records and that sort of stuff?" His voice was thick with longing now.
"That-that sounds nice. What's it all about?"
"It's the Brownton Boppers, baby. Joe Ferris, Bob Porter, Jimmy Morrison and me, we're the only guys that are gonna be in it, see? And each of us is going to bring along a real swinging chick. I'd like you to be the one, Lucy baby. Do you like me, huh?"
"You-you're very nice-but-but I oughtn't let you hold me like this, please, Mack," she faintly protested.
His hands hadn't let go of her jouncy bottom-cheeks, and now she could feel the protuberance of his cock thrusting against her virgin pussy. All at once she recalled what she had seen through that chink hole.
She felt a little giddy, as a wave of sensual excitement and curiosity rose vaguely in her loins, stiffening her young nipples as well, rendering her tumescent and hence all the easier prey for an accomplished juvenile rake like Mack Delmar.
"Sure, you're the prettiest girl on campus," he reverently declared, knowing that he had her where he wanted her. "Everybody says that Jane Addams is the real looker, but me, if they left it up to me to pick the queen of campus, it'd be you every time, Lucy darling."
"That-that's awfully nice of you to say, M-Mack-"
"Because it's true, that's why I say it. Boy, have you got a shape, Lucy baby!" he panted, and once again he kissed her hard, this time putting his tongue just between her lips and sending a galvanizing shiver of voluptuous awakening through her entire young body.
Lucy Colton squirmed, half-swooning from the delirious first taste of carnal rapture which was permeating her. She felt his hands kneading her young bottom, moving now to her hips and then around her sides to her quivering young titties. And then his fingers grasped those soft, round, firm young turrets, while his tongue grew bolder and bolder, deeply driving into the soft, nectared cavern of her sweet mouth.
"M-Mack, pi-please-take your h-hands away-you oughtn't-ohh, oh my golly-please!" she faintly pleaded, knowing even as she spoke them the ineffectuality of her words.
The fiery, indelible image of her stepfather and her mother, their bodies there on that bed, loomed before her virgin mind now, made her thighs shiver and twitch and grow weak with a longing, an unassuageable longing the like of which she had never before experienced.
"Go on, baby, I can't stop now, I'm just nuts about you, Lucy," he panted hoarsely. "I'll get you initiated, and then you'll see. You'll be the swingingest chick on campus, and we'll have lots of fun."
"Initiate?" she echoed, hardly aware of what she said any longer. His fingers were caressing the sides of her titties, his fingertips moving slyly to rub against the tender buds of her firm young nipples.
"Sure. The guys will get it too, just like the gals. You know, just like a regular sorority or something. There'll be a little spanking or something, and then we'll kiss and make up and have lots of fun. You ever been spanked, Lucy baby?"
"N-no, oh no-you mean, they'd let the girls spank the b-boys too?"
"Sure, that's right!" he eagerly agreed. "C'mon over and let's get comfy on this old leather couch, baby. Boy, are you gorgeous, Lucy baby! I wouldn't mind how hard you swatted me, if you'd kiss and make up later, and that's a fact."
She blushed furiously at the thought of spanking this handsome, devilishly sophisticated boy who, even with horn-rimmed glasses, seemed so much more poised and knowing than the other boys on campus. She let herself be led over to the couch.
No sooner had she seated herself, however, than his left hand was around her waist, his mouth was fusing to hers with an intensity that would not be denied as he bent her head back.
She moaned and gasped, trying to get loose, her fingers frantically pushing at his shoulders, but his hand had already foraged well into the area under her skirt and gone along the marvelously satiny warm bare thigh to her fragile panties.
Instinctively she clenched her legs to imprison and entrap his hand, but already his fingertip had reached the plump, soft, lightly furred mound of her virgin cunthole.
And when that contact was made, Lucy Colton nearly fainted with the torturing bliss of that friction, akin so much to her own secret nocturnal self-relieving maneuvers. Ever since she had witnessed what she had through that chinkhole, she had lain at night in her bed, her finger against her pussy, pretending that she was her mother and she was being f-fucked in just the same way by her virile stepfather.
"Don't worry, sweetie, I'm not going to do it to you this first time. But I'll make you awful happy if you'll let me, Lucy.
We'll have even more fun when you're a Brownton Bopper, you'll see. It doesn't hurt, does it?" he anxiously asked her, staring into her misty, widened blue eyes while his fingertip kept up a slow peroration against the now moistening mound of her pussy.
"Oooooh, you're just awful! I oughtn't-I oughtn't ever to talk or see you again, you know that! Oh Mack, it's awful, it tickles, oh please, Mack stop it, you're driving me c-crazy-oh honey-oohhhh, mmmmmmmh!
For once again his mouth had silenced her plaintive protests, his tongue gouging deeply between her lips and now his forefinger had begun to rub back and forth, tantalizingly, as though to tear through the fragile stuff of her panties and delve into the tender, tumescently pouting lips of her virgin cunt itself.
Her head tilting back, her eyes closed, her nostrils dilating and shrinking, Lucy Colton gave herself up to this exquisite, salacious, forbidden delight. She knew enough about sex from what her girlfriends had told her to realize that she was not going to get pregnant from what Mack Delmar was doing ... and at the moment she had not the least desire to stop him. She felt the liquid tides rise in her body as a sweet blackness engulfed her, and she heard her own sobbing groan as if from another planet, and she felt her loins explode and then her panties moisten with the dew of her virgin come
CHAPTER NINE
It was the long-awaited Friday night. The secret new club, dedicated to the proposition that teenagers can be swingers and enjoy as much fun as their adult peers, was about to be in session. The locale was Jimmy Morrison's basement recreation room, his parents still being in Europe. Jimmy had persuaded his deaf and trusting old Aunt Hester to go visit a dear old friend in Winnetka, and he had been so solicitous for her welfare and even arranged for the cab (and paid for it out of his own spending money) that the almost senile woman had effusively praised his thoughtfulness and promised that she would tell his parents "what a dear, considerate boy you are, James."
One can hardly blame elderly Aunt Hester for what was about to occur this memorable Friday night, even though its repercussions would spread through the entire suburb of Northbrook. If truth be known, she as rather weary of being cooped up in the large Morrison Mansion as a chaperone whose services apparently were not even needed; but then, her old-fashioned prim mind could never possibly have envisioned the lurid escapades of the teenagers gathered in the basement far below her soundproofed, thick-draperied room.
Lucy Colton, her face flushed and her heart beating fast just at the thought of how she had outmaneuvered her parents into letting her leave the house this Friday night, sat enthralled beside her new "steady," Mack Delmar. She had glibly told her parents that she, Betsy Palmer, Marian Wesley and Marcy Harnesty, she had raised no objection.
Bot Porter was there with Erika Helmuth, who had told her strict parents a similar lie, saying that the girls had invited her for a special home seminar cooking class whose purpose was to surprise all their teachers during graduation week. And as Gretchen Helmuth believed that the old German maxim of "Kinder, Kirche, Kueche" is the proper way for a young German girl to plan her life, she had beamingly given her consent. As it turned out, Erika's father Ludwig, was going to be extremely busy this Friday night. Arthur Porter had to go out of town to visit another important potential client and lay before him a series of blueprints for a beauty salon chain. And austere, patrician Patricia Porter had decided that she would go into Chicago for dinner at the swanky 95th floor of the John Hancock Building and then perhaps take in a downtown movie. What she had in mind however, was to take her handsome, virile chauffeur off to a distant motel and there appease her inflamed nerves, which her husband's continued absence from her bed had heightened to an almost intolerable degree.
As expected, Jimmy Morrison's prot'g'e and slated to be initiated as a "Brownton Bopper" was none other than voluptuous young Marcy Harnesty. The latter had told her father that she and some girls were going to study their civics and get ready for the finals in June. Doug Harnesty hadn't raised the slightest objection. If truth be known, he had already planned a delicious weekend with his wonderfully satisfying and highly efficient new secretary, Angie Thomas. He was beginning to realize that his long-enforced bachelorhood and continence had wasted far too many lonely nights, and that it was high time he make up for them while he was still competent enough and vigorous enough to do so. In a word, he was going to ask delectable Angie to consider marrying him, even though she would have a seventeen-year-old stepdaughter to deal with. He was also beginning to get some-for him-astonishingly novel ideas on just how an unruly daughter ought to be brought up by a slightly older stepmother. Marcy Harnesty would have been aghast if she had known what he was thinking about as he whistled merrily behind the wheel of his automobile en route to meeting Angie at the famous Blackhawk Restaurant, to wine and dine most fabulously, and then afterwards to be followed by an evening of dancing at the nostalgic old Arageon Ballroom.
As a matter-of-fact, Doug Harnesty was a little out of date. The Aragon no longer featured the big bands as in the days of the Foities when life was serene and the ambition of our democracy was to send the Madman of Munich back to his house-painting, preferably in an insane asylum. This North Side ballroom had since then become the habitat of the teenyboppers, the hard-rock devotees, and the "groupies," that unique brand of teenaged girldom whose ambition in life it was to go to bed with a famous rock musician, the more famous the better, and who would unerringly follow the name rock bands around the country, much as the lemmings made their inexorable march to the sea and doom, each season of the year.
Marian Wesley had also deceived Karen and Adam Wesley with a similar lie about the high-schol dramatics skit. She could hardly wait to be reunited with Joe Ferris, on whose account she had a good sound spanking and such mortification as she had not believed possible. But what was so delicious to her was that Joe had for a short time seemed to be cold and indifferent to her charms, and then only a few days ago had met her in the recreation yard of the school, nodded curtly to her, and then slipped a piece of paper into her hand. She had read his message inviting her to be at Jimmy Morrison's place about seven-thirty Friday night. When she had turned around, her eyes shining and her firm young titties swelling with expectation, he had glanced round and blown her a very sophisticated kiss. She would have cheerfully braved a dozen hairbrush spankings for that alone!
Bob Porter had, as a preliminary to the official opening of the "Brownton Boppers," passed out half a dozen spicy brochures which dealt with bondage, flagellation, and Lesbian slavery. The pictures were explicit, some of them in full color, and the texts uncompromisingly erotic. Lucy, Marcy, Marian, and Erika, whispering to one another, had shared two of the brochures, while their four intended "master-boppers" huddled around the ping pong table and discussed ways and means of getting the meeting underway.
Finally, after an animated discussion in mumbled whispers so that the girls couldn't hear, bespectacled Mack Delmar picked up a wooden gavel and hammered it on the table to get the attention of the four lovely teenagers. "Initiates of the Brownton Boppers," he sententiously began, "tonight will live long in history as well as in your memories. Your four have been chosen as the most understanding and communicative of all the sexy chicks on campus. We in turn have formed this secret group so that all of you can let down your hair and do just what you damn please without worrying about the old squares at home."
The girls giggled, glanced at one another, nodded, and then applauded. little did they suspect what was in store for them, except perhaps masochistically inclined Erika, who stared adoringly at Bob Porter, closed her eyes and shivered as she thought of what he just might do to her tonight. There were a few apparatuses down here in the basement recreation room which were somewhat unusual for such a locale: a heavy leather-padded footstool, for one thing, and a gym horse for another. Jimmy had gone to a sporting goods dealer and secured the horse, and he had visited a leather goods shop on Rogers Park Avenue on Chicago's Far North side to purchase a few other even more ingenious instruments which paired off quite fittingly with the stool and the horse. All of them involved application to the female bottom, preferably bare.
Mack Delmar had done some scouting of his own, commissioned by his three enthusiastic cronies. He had managed to run into a teenaged marijuana pusher and buy a pack of reefers. The price had been exorbitant, but the cause was an extremely worthy one. The four boys had decided that before they finished with their four young prot'g'es, all of them would yield their cherries, and then some. A little marijuana and a little wine in combination would help dwindle the virginal inhibitions of their lovely teenaged sponsored guests.
Clearing his throat, Mack Delmar now resumed: "Each one of you girls has come with her sponsor. That's fine. Only we're going to have a different sort of routine in starting things off right. Each of you girls will draw a card from this deck." He held one up and put it on the ping pong table before him, shuffled it, and cut the cards at random. It turned out to be an ace of hearts. "The two highest-cutting girls will be paired with the two lowest-cutting guys, and so on. And first, each of you girls is going to be cutting a card to see who will be first to cut for her pairing with her intended master for tonight, her Bopper Master, or Master Bopper."
"You really mean master-boffer," Jimmy Morrison sniggered, leering at the four beauties, and especially at his own intended, Marcy Harnesty, who had the good grace to blush and lower her eyes.
In turn, each of the girls came up to the table and cut a card at random. Erika, to her giggling delight, was highest with an ace of diamonds. This gave her the right to cut first, but she looked dejected when she cut a nine of spades. When the pairing was all finished, she discovered that she was paired with Mack Delmar, while Lucy Colton drew Bob Poarter as her initiator. Marcy Harnesty won Joe Ferris, and Marian Wesley fell to Jimmy Morrison himself.
Since all four boys had only one main objective (pussy), it really didn't matter too much to them who drew whom. Now there followed a draw to determine which of the four couples would be first to start the proceedings, the official get-under-way of the
"Brownton Boppers." This doubtful honor fell to none other than Erika and Mack Delmar.
To the utter consternation of Lucy, Marcy, and Marian, Mack blindfolded Erika and then, deftly unhooking her skirt, grasped both her hands and twisted them behind her back as he marched her over to the spanking stool.
She was properly drawn down over it by Jimmy Morrison, who held her wrists and buckled the straps tightly behind them, while Mack himself saw to her slim ankles. When her petticoat was furled up and her panties began to be tugged down, Erika became a little nervous, since secretly she had longed to have her Liebchen Bob Porter be the one to take such familiarities with her person.
However, being already indoctrinated with a precocious desire which her own masochistic nature impelled, she pout up little protest, to the astonishment of the other three scandalized teenaged girls, who cold hardly believe what they were seeing.
With Erica thus blindfolded and tied down over the stool with her panties around her calves, her plump naked bottom twitching and contracting, while all four boys began to pull out glasses of wine and to light marijuana cigarettes for the trio of wise virgins. Lucy, who figured that with what she had seen of her stepfather and mother's uninhibited congress, she was certainly "hep" to the facts of life, boldly took her reefer and began to puff at it, sipping her California Burgundy from a tall-stemmed glass which she held rather nervously in her other hand.
Marian Wesley feebly protested, saying that her parents would just kill her if they knew she had ever dared to take a puff of a Mary Jane. But Jimmy Morrison, solicitously seated beside her, his arm around her waist and his other hand caressing her pretty calves, whispered that she had to be a good sport or else lose face before the others, and that, in his opinion, she was the prettiest chick on campus. Remembering how she had suffered for him in the most humiliating way, Marian sighed raptly, gave him a furtive kiss, and accepted the wine and the cigarette.
Marcy Harnesty, with a blithe bravado, set out to enjoy the forbidden pleasures of adulthood, while of course Erika, denied wine and marijuana till after her immediate initiation, called out nervously, "Was ist los? What are you going to do to me, bitte?"
"You'll see," Mack Delmar chuckled lasciviously. He was stripping down to shorts and sandals, while Lucy, Marian, and Marcy giggled and blushed, once they saw the bulging prominence of his stiff young prick. But all three gasped with fear as they saw him bend to a low stool near the ping pong table and pick up an oval-shaped leather paddle, brandish it in the air, and then station himself behind the spanking stool over which Erika Helmuth was bent.
"Get ready, you sweet bitch," he growled. "When you've had enough, you can start yelling out what you're gonna do to us guys who are your masters, hear me?" And with this he applied a furious, sonorous smack of the paddle squarely across both bare upturned, jutting bottomsummits.
Erika uttered a yowling cry and jerked in her bonds, twisting her hips this way and that, while on the soft sheen of her naked seat the angry splotch of the paddle rose instantly to attest to the vigor and punitive force of that blow.
"Don't get nervous, Marcy," Joe Ferris whispered, slipping his hand into her blouse and beginning to unfasten her bra as his mouth brushed hers. "You be nice to me, you won't have to go through the mill so hard, baby doll."
A second spank, then a third, and a fourth rang out in quick succession. It was a little too much for Erika, though she was a confirmed masochist; she cried out shrilly, lifting her blindfolded face, squirming and twisting over the stool as she began in an indignant tearful voice to threaten her executioner: "It wasn't nice to trick me this way! You didn't say you were going to give my Hinterbocken a Schlagen! Let me out of this, I don't want to join your verdammt old club! I want to go home!"
"Save it for later, baby. I'm more interested in hearing what you're gonna do right now," Mack Delmar tauntingly chuckled. And the paddle fell again, again, and again, this time all three blows concentrating on the provocative, smooth base of Erika Helmuth's naked seat.
She began to cry then in earnest, while he kept applying slight, stinging flicks of the implement all over her squirming, vulnerable, and sensitive behind. Finally, to escape the torment which was growing even too much for her to bear, Erika cried out hysterically, "Hilfe mich, Gott im Himmel, whatever you want-only stop, stop, it hurts me too much!"
"You'll do whatever I tell you to, you'll say I'm your master, Erika baby?" Smack! Smack! Twice more the paddle reverberated its burning caress against the ripest curves of her now flaming and swollen bottom.
"Ja, Ja, anything, anything, but please don't, not any more, I'll do anything, anything!" Erika shrieked.
"Will you suck my Schwartz, then, you cute little German bitch?" Mack Delmar breathed.
Erika caught her breath at this, but before she could reply, the paddle again crashed noisily and diagonally over her burning posterior. ' 'Yes, yes, I'll do it, only stop, Herr Gott, ich kann nicht mehr," she screamed in a raucous voice while her body twisted and jerked fitfully over the spanking stool.
"Let's see if you will or not, baby," he panted as he moved round the front of the stool. Yanking off the blindfold, he unbuttoned his shorts and protruded his stiff aching cock before her, while the fingers of his left hand plunged into her hair and yanked up her tear-stained, congested face till her lips were on a level with his ramrod. "Go ahead, then, suck it! Or else I'll paddle you raw!"
And thus it was that Erika Helmuth, not yet sixteen, lost actually her second virginity, for she had lost her maidenhead some years before in Berlin. And the three girls, their pro tern boyfriends fondling and kissing them, urging them to smoke more of the reefers and to drink more wine, watched excitedly as Erika sobbingly and noisily sucked and kissed and licked Mack Delmar's cock until at last with a shout of triumph he spattered her mouth and throat and cheeks with his vigorous young essence.
They left her over the stool, weeping bitterly for shame, for she had really not had much pleasure out of this introduction to fellatio. Then Lucy and Marcy were summoned forth by their two "master boppers" Bob Porter and Joe Ferris. By now both girls were a little afraid, but Mack helped his two cronies strip them down to just their bras and bobby socks and mount them facing each other astride the gym horse. Their wrists were bound behind their backs, nooses were dangled from the ceiling and fitted round their necks, and then a cord was passed round their bare waists. Bob stationed himself behind Lucy, a leather tawse in his right hand, while Joe Ferris picked up a rubber dogwhip and placed himself behind frightened Marcy. ' 'Now then, you two sweet bitches are going to girl fuck," Bob Porter announced. "Yeah, you heard us girls. French-kiss and girl fuck, while we tan your sweet bare asses. And we won't stop until you both cream, so get going!"
With this, they applied tawse and whip across the voluptuous, distended naked bottom-cheeks of the two tethered captives. Dainty Lucy and voluptuous Marcy uttered simultaneous cries of pain, but already a second lash was falling on each of them. Frantic, thinking only of stopping the torment, they merged their mouths and arched their loins and began to rub and squirm astride the horse, to the lewd encouragements of Mack Delmar and Jimmy Morrison.
Marian Wesley was crying now and wanted to go home, but Jimmy ripped off her blouse and then unhooked her bra and cupped her titties. "Don't be a spoilsport, you cute bitch," he growled. "First of all, Mack has got a camera here and he's taking pictures of you right now-see? So if you blab to anybody, we'll just show these movies all around town, and boy, will your name be mud at Brownton!"
So this was the ingenious and insidious device on which the four boys had counted to commandeer the pick of pulchritude at Brownton High, to make lust-slaves by coercion, and then, finally, by willing and masochistic subservience.
And that was why Marian Wesley, forgetting how she had been spanked because of Joe Ferris, went willingly down on her knees often taking off her own panties and began to suck Jimmy Morrison's cock without more than a few hard swats from the leather cravache he wielded against her squirming naked behind.
And before the evening was over, all four boys were mated with their "Bopper Masters," Erika being fucked by Mack Delmar, while Lucy yielded her maidenhead to Bob Porter. Marcy, panting and gasping, secretly found her ordeal not without pleasure, as vigorous Joe Ferris plowed her maidenhead and made a woman of her. And Marian Welsey swooned away as Jimmy Morrison's strong young prick burst within her and taught her the meaning of orgasm.
Before the girls were at last released, they were forced to drink more wine and smoke more cigarettes, and then to perform Lesbian acts together, while the four boys encouraged them with their paddles and tawses and whips, Mack Delmar grinningly taking movies of the lascivious scenes.
"You're hooked, cuties," he chortled, as he watched them shamefacedly and sobbingly dress and get ready to leave. "You better shut your mouths about what's happened, or you'll be real sorry."
And as all four looked fearfully at him, he sniggered loudly, ' 'Cheer up, cuties. Next time, we won't fantail your cute asses. Not if you'll do just what we tell you. Get it?"
Lucy sniffled and nodded. "C'mon, Marcy," she whimpered. "I want to get home fast. I'm scared of what Dad 'n Mom'll do if they ever find out what a naughty girl I was tonight!"
But rebellious Marcy Harnesty didn't console the frightened young brunette. "My dad'll never find out. He's too busy with his business. Anyway, it was real exciting, Lucy. Me, I'll be back when they want to swing!" she boldly declared.
CHAPTER TEN
It was exactly two weeks from the afternoon on which Doug Harnesty had spanked and then consoled his delicious new private secretary Angie Thomas. He had had to go to New York the following week, and he had done a great deal of thinking about the girl. Well, not really a girl, because she was certainly a woman, as she had proved in her passionate, adoring surrender to him after she herself had asked to be spanked for her childish mistake in purposely and sloppily ruining his letters "so that he would notice her."
On the following Monday, it had taken a great deal of self-restraint to keep from alluding to the episode, and Angie herself had been a very model of prim, demure efficiency all that day. Only once had their eyes met, toward the end of that Monday afternoon, and then her cheeks had flamed and she had looked steadily down at her pumps and her lips had tightened. He applauded that inwardly. It could have been a very dangerous situation, because some girls might have tried to blackmail him even though she had signed that letter stating that she requested the spanking of her own volition.
Just the same, he found her presence more and more distracting. And he was seriously thinking of proposing to her on this second Friday in June. Business was running smoothly, it looked very much as if he would be able to take a long summer vacation for the first time in years, and there was no better way of spending a summer vacation than on a honeymoon. He remembered poor Alice and the wonderful times they had had together. In so many ways, Angie continued to remind him of his dead wife. Yet she had her own rich streak of passion, her own unexpected and deliriously gentle yet fiery way of making herself known as a female. Just that one coalescence had proved that, and he found himself wanting many more such episodes. On the other hand to maintain her as a mistress would be equally dangerous to her own aplomb. It could distract him away from business, it could easily become the scandal of the office. Advertising agencies have grapevines and they could do a great deal of harm.
What he was also thinking about was Marcy. He was pretty sure that she had used his absence on that business trip which had suddenly come up over the weekend to fool around with that skirt-chasing Jimmy Morrison. He just didn't like that boy, probably because the kid had too much money, no one to look after him except that deaf old doddering Aunt Hester, so long as his parents were still in Europe. They apparently didn't give a damn about Jimmy, and he couldn't say that he blamed them. Still and all, a boy like that could get a lot of girls into trouble. And if it happened to Marcy-he didn't even want to think about it.
One thing was certain. If he were to propose marriage and be accepted by Angie, at least he would be certain that Marcy would have someone looking after her which she very badly needed. From every viewpoint, therefore, the idea of marriage against a lengthy liaison had its advantages which overweighed the spicy and forbidden thrill of a secret affair.
It would be like being reborn again in some ways, he reflected. Angie was delightfully young, and would be physically attractive for many, many years ahead. Yet there was bound to be a certain amount of salacious speculation when it came out that he, a man of forty-seven, had married a girl of twenty. In thirteen years he would be sixty, and she would be only thirty-three. Still, the way he felt right now, and the way he took care of himself, he felt he could still take good care of her in bed at Sixty. Beyond that, leave it up to the gods of chance and life, he told himself.
Angie Thomas had also been doing some serious thinking during her boss's absence. She realized that he probably felt guilty and ashamed, even though she had wanted him passionately. Her own bravado in accepting the spanking had at first filled her with a certain shameful terror. When his hands had disrobed her, touched her naked intimate flesh, she had wanted to run away; yet something had made her stay bent over the desk, hiding her blushing, tearstained face in her hands and waiting as a little girl might wait for her father to calistise her as she deserved. And then, the magical moment when he had tried so awkwardly, so roughly, and yet so wonderfully tenderly, to take her into his arms and kiss away her tears and to apologize, and she had practically flung herself at him. She didn't regret it the least little bit.
Still and all, she knew very well that it would be very difficult to continue working this way for him, with that knowledge of her yearning for him always coming between them. It would be distracting, and it wouldn't be good for him or the business. She would really have to think of looking for another job. Maybe that way, if he still wanted her, they could meet sometimes at her place over the weekend. She knew she wanted him for a long time to come. He was so masterful, so wonderfully cruel just when she needed it, and then he could lapse into the most delicious tenderness which practically made her faint away with pleasure. She felt herself to be a woman now; she needed what a woman needed, and she needed it regularly.
So about five minutes to five, he rang the buzzer for her and she entered his office, blushing as she saw him staring openly at her. She crossed over to the chair, sat down but didn't cross her legs. Suddenly she didn't want him to become conscious of her body. She wanted to discuss this openly with him, so that it would be sensible for both of them.
"Miss Thomas-Angie, I mean," he began as he lit a cigarette, "I think I'm going to have to fire you, after all. I've been thinking it over ever since-well, you know what I mean."
"Ohh!" She had been hoping that he would talk about the two of them, but she certainly hadn't expected this. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened and then began to mist with sudden tears. "But I've tried so hard and-"
"No, Angie, you misunderstand me," and then he was smiling almost teasingly and she had to blink her eyes very quickly to notice the difference in his expression and the sound of his voice. "I mean, I sort of wrestled with the temptation of you on these trips of mine, and I've come to the conclusion that I won't be able to get any work done if you're here in my office and I'm here across the desk from you as boss and your employee. And your work is really superb, so I'm not going to have much pretext to do again what Td love to do to you. Wait, let me finish-" as she started to speak. "I wonder if you'd consider marrying me. Yes, yes, I know I'm a great deal older than you. I'm not ashamed of it, I'm forty-seven. And I know that you're a little over twenty. But I think we had something-well-damn it anyhow, that's what I wanted to say to you. And now if you're offended, I'll certainly give you a wonderful reference and even help you find another job. But I wish you'd seriously think it over."
She found that she was crying, but they were tears of joy. She dropped her steno pad and her ballpoint pencil, and she reached down to retrieve them, and then she just buried her face in her hands and her shoulders began to heave. Alarmed, he got up from the desk and went round to her and bent over her solicitously. "My gosh, Angie, I hope I'm not as objectionable as all that! Don't cry, please don't, darling!"
Slowly she raised her tearstained but smiling face to him, her eyes dancing with delight through the tears. "Doug-Mr. Harnesty-I-I-you certainly take a girl's breath away, just the way you did two weeks ago. Oh yes, I'll marry you, and I'll say yes right away before some other girl gets you. I want you so much."
"That calls for a spanking, young lady!"
"Oh yes!" he was overjoyed to hear her breathe. "But-but can't we go to my place? Oh wait a minute, darn it anyhow, I was forgetting I'm at a boarding house and I've got the nastiest and suspicious landlady in all Chicago."
"Well, I can't very well bring you over to mine, not until I get Marcy prepared for the big event next week. I'm going to have to have old Mrs. Whitby take extra pains looking after that young lady while you and I are off for a week, shall we say, in New York? Have you ever been there, darling?"
She shook her head, too thrilled, too flustered, too happy, to speak.
"Well go to the Waldorf-Astoria. We'll take in a couple of Broadway shows, do all the great restaurants like Quo Vadis, the Baroque, the Tower Suite and The Four Seasons. That's just a starter. Later on, if business continues as it's been doing already, and you're a sort of lucky mascot for me, I might add, we might even try Hawaii for Christmas."
"Oh Doug, Doug, it's just so wonderful! Pinch me so I don't wake up!"
"I'll do more than that. I think it's a good idea to show you who's going to be boss in this family from the very start. Go look outside and see if everyone's gone," he ordered.
She gave him another passionate kiss, and this time her pert little tongue prodded just between his lips, then, breaking away she hurried to the door, peered out into the corridor. The office was deserted and silent. She turned back, and this time it was she who locked the door. "Are you going to-are you to do it on the b-bare again, Doug darling?" she whispered tantalizingly as she came slowly towards him, clasping her hands and bowing her head exactly the way a penitent little schoolgirl would do before her irate father.
"Decidedly. You've got the loveliest bottom I've ever spanked, and that's no lie. Now let's see just how obedient a girl you can be, young lady. "He seated himself on the couch, patted his lap. "Get yourself ready. I'll take your panties down, you just pull your skirt and slip up and whatever else you're wearing under that cute blue skirt."
"Yes, Daddy," Angie Thomas breathed. Her eyes were starry as she slowly moved towards him, shamelessly hoisting up skirt and petticoats, revealing her lovely, firm bottom-cheeks, snugged in white nylon panties. She wore a garter belt to hold up her beige-colored nylons. She knew she wouldn't ever want to wear a pantie-girdle, because it took so much longer to get down when he wanted to spank her. She found herself shivering at the thought of what an exciting erotic paradise she was going to enter starting next Friday.
Docilely, she bent across his lap, stretching out entirely on the couch, and uttered a faint little sigh as his fingers began to caress the twitching cheeks of her voluptuous young bottom. Slowly, almost reverently, he drew down her panties, leaving them furled about the middle of her quivering, tightly closed thighs. Then slowly, as in ritualistic ceremonial, his left arm round her waist, he patted each of her buttocks, and then began to spank.
This time, it was a voluptuous spanking, light and with a regular cadence to it, more to flurry the sensitive nerves and to impart a delicious pink coloration to those lovely, quivering bottomglobes of hers than to hurt. Angie Thomas began to sigh, to glance back at him, and then slowly to squirm and twist herself as if to offer herself even more wantonly.
She paused, caressing her bottom again, and she shivered and sighed. She abandoned herself completely now, her hands covering her face, letting him do as he would. Slyly he released hold of her waist and slipped his left arm under their bodies. Then she uttered a gasp as she felt his forefinger tickle the lips of her soft cunt. She felt herself moistening already, and the quivering, warm tides of attunement began to swirl in her being. But hardly had she felt herself drawn towards a mystic limbo of delight when suddenly his right palm smacked vigorously down on the base of her right buttock, and she uttered a plaintive squeal of "Oww, darling, that hurts!"
Even to the voluptuary, there is always the exquisitely titillating overtone of sadism, even with the most immortal beloved. Dante must have dreamed at times of birching his pedestalled, gentle Beatrice, much as Abelard thrashed his beloved Heloise for the pleasure it would give them both. And that was why this time, his palm began to smack her jouncy bottom with stinging, noisy smacks that flattened the lovely globes and let them spring up in all their youthful resilience, making her twist and squirm, kicking up first one pumpshod foot and then the other, glancing tearfully back at him, her little fists clenched, her titties rising and falling turbulently until at last she began to cry and to beg him, "Oh Doug-ouch-boo hoo, I'll be good-oh please, it hurts so-darling, I'll be an awfully good girl, I'll do anything you want, please-please let up!"
"I'm going to test your newly found obedience, young lady," he said hoarsely. "Roll your skirt and petticoat up to your armpits so they don't slip back down. Leave your panties just as they are and get down on your knees in front of your master."
"Oh yes, D-Daddy!" she gasped tearfully.
Awkwardly, she clambered off his lap, and knelt down. He could see the thick dark-brown curls of her pussy framing that adorable pink-lipped citadel which had housed his prick so gloriously, so tightly, two short weeks ago ... two eternities ago, really!
He pointed to the fly of his neatly tailored trousers. "Take it out and kiss it lovingly to please your master!" he commanded.
Angie Thomas's eyes were very wide as she hesitantly obeyed. Her soft slim fingers fumbled with the zipper, and then drew it down. He heard her gasp and saw her recoil slightly as his massive ramrod popped out in all its menacing rigidity. "Maybe you need another dose to teach you how to obey more quickly, young lady," he warned.
"Oh no, oh not any more spanking, lover," Angie gasped. Instantly she leaned forward, and her hands cupped his prick and lifted it to her panting lips.
Closing her eyes, her cheeks crimson with exquisitely outraged modesty, she began to suck and to kiss the glans. True, it was much too hasty, much too amateurish, but to Doug Harnesty at that moment it was more thrilling than any performance that the most accomplished call girl in the world could have affected. He had the deliciously incestuous thought that here was his own daughter kneeling down and Frenching him while her vividly reddened naked bottom squirmed about, still burning from the sound spanking he had inflicted. It was all he could do to keep from bursting into her mouth, as this perhaps might be too great a shock for the still demure and nearly virginal young beauty who was going to be his wife. There would be many, untold nights ahead for both of them when he could teach her step by step the long, complex pathway to passion's paradise!
"That's enough now," he panted. "Now take good care of me if you don't want another sound spanking!"
He reached down to lift her up by the armpits, and rose himself, swaying unsteadily. His prick prodded the furry cleft, and he felt how moist the lips of her snatch were. Their lips met, and her tongue this time darted between his, as his hands clutched her bottom and squeezed it lingeringly.
"Oh yes, Doug, now, no, Daddy, give it to me hard!" she breathed huskily.
He turned her round, pushed her back down on the couch on her back, and swiftly mounted over her. Angie Thomas uttered a stifled cry of ecstasy as she felt him cram home to his very balls. Her knees first rose up, on either side of him, and then impulsively she wrapped her legs around him as she did her arms, and glued herself to him as they began to fuck. ...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dick Ambley was a seventeen-year-old senior, rangy, with curly black hair, a crooked nose he had broken the year before while playing left end on the Brownton varsity, and rumor had it that he was one of the richest kids in town.
His father had died about a decade ago, leaving a fortune that had been wisely invested in the stock market. Speculation placed it at anywhere from two to four million, though it was actually a very comfortable half a million.
Dick's mother, a handsome forty-two year old ripe-figured brunette, idolized her only son and believed that the sun rose and set on him. He wasn't into any real trouble, she concerned herself with very little over his comings and goings, so long as his report card was satisfactory.
There was another excellent reason for this. Corinne Ambley was carrying on a passionate affair with a married advertising executive in Chicago's Hyde Park, and as a consequence often was absent from the Ambley mansion on weekends, meeting her lover in the swanky Del Prado Hotel near Lake Michigan whenever he could get away from home.
Dick himself suspected what his mother was up to, and saw no reason as a consequence for remaining continent on his own. A year ago, he had boldly accosted the very attractive twenty-year-old redhead, Mary Orton, when he had seen her at the bar in the Burgundy Inn, one of Northbrooks's swankiest restaurants, where he had been dining by himself on a Saturday evening while his mother was locked in the embrace of her married lover at the Del Prado.
He had been told that Mary Orton was a kind of amateur call-girl, a very pretty and sexy divorcee whose electronic engineer husband had left her because of her infidelities and who, despite the substantial settlement he had made to get rid of her, often sold her voluptuous body for kicks as well as for money.
Mary Orton had been startled to have this gangling but very handsome youth accost her and ask if he could buy her dinner. She had been waiting for a client who apparently was standing her up (it turned out that he was a married man and his wife had suddenly demanded that he take her out to dinner, which was unavoidable). So she had accepted his invitation.
Then he had boldly asked her, "How much will it cost me to take you home, baby?"
Mary Orton giggled, and then rather coolly replied, "More than you can afford, sonny. Besides, you're much too young. You wouldn't even know what to do."
"Want to bet?" he had cynically countered. "Tell you what. If I'm no good, I'll pay. If I make you say uncle, it's on the house."
"I like your nerve," Mary giggled. "But it might be fun at that. Let's go find out if you're all talk."
She had been pleasantly and startingly surprised to find out that her tall teen-aged suitor was very much a man. The fact was that Dick Ambley had lost his male virginity at the age of fifteen to a very cute and nymphomaniacal black-haired freshman over at Easton High. He had done a good deal of heavy necking and petting with a few other girls from that same school and so Mary found herself vigorously and thoroughly fucked. So much so, indeed, that she laughingly had offered to stand to treat him.
But Dick Ambley had chuckled, shaken his head, and told her that she was worth whatever she charged, and then further astounded her by taking out a wallet full of tens and twenties and giving her a hundred dollars.
Sally Ferris was dying to find out what it was like to go the limit with a boy. She had had many a dream about Dick Ambley, and even the spanking had not discouraged those dreams. In fact, that very night excited not only by her thoughts of Dick, but also the knowledge that her own brother had spied on her expiation on Dick's account. She put a finger inside her dainty quim and pressed it back and forth up against the hymen, pretending it was Dick's cock and that he was making a woman of her. It had been one of the most devastatingly fulfilling orgasms she'd ever brought about. And now, having heard about her brother's secret love club, she was more than determined to become a member, especially if Dick Ambley could be persuaded to join up.
So, on the second Friday of June, the very day on which Doug Harnesty proposed to make an honorable woman of his beautiful young secretary, Angie Thomas, there was another session of the "Brownton Boppers" in the basement recreation room of the Morrison house. And this time Sally was there with her brother, and Dick Ambley, grinning at her, stood chatting with Mack Delmar, Bob Porter, and Jimmie Morrison himself.
Lucy Colton had pleaded a sick headache, because she was frantically worried about what had been done to her on that first meeting of the kinky adolescents' s'ance. Even though the boys had used rubbers, she was still frightened that she might get pregnant. Also, the knowledge that they had taken movies of her initiation, all the naughty things she had to do, loomed in magnitude more and more with each passing day.
If her folks ever found out, she would just want to die. Marian Wesley, also, was missing from the contingent. Adam and Karen Wesley had gone into Chicago's Loop for dinner and a movie and insisted that Marian come along and she had no real way of convincing them that she wanted to do something else on her own. She too was a little frightened over how far she had gone that Friday night.
But to replace Marian and Lucy, the boys had gone through with their original practice of contacting some of the sexpots over at Easton, whom they had met a few months ago, and two of those girls were eagerly on hand, standing together in the corner and gigglingly exchanging speculative conversation over what was going to happen to them.
One of them, indeed, was the very girl who had relieved Dick Ambley of his onerous virginity. Now seventeen, she was really stunningly attractive. Her name was Phyllis Covington. She had long jet-black hair styled in a thick pageboy, and she was even more insatiable for prick than she had been when Dick had delightedly discovered how much more fun it was to relive his sexual tensions by thrusting his organ into a girl's tight quim instead of rubbing himself with his fingers in the dead of night.
Phyllis had also recognized Dick, and blown him a kiss and sent him a message with her eyes which indicated she was quite happy over having been invited to join such a swinging group, seeing that he was one of the prime members.
Her girlfriend, sixteen-year-old Betty Vincent, a buxom sandy-haired girl whose parents were separated and who lived with an ailing uncle, had lost her cherry at the age of fourteen to her uncle's fifteen-year-old son, now away in the California military academy from which he was about to be expelled for being caught with a prostitute in the town hotel.
But Marcy Harnesty and Erika Helmuth were there, and Marcy was hoping that after she had been through the mill and had to service all those other boys and change off like that the first time, she at last would be allowed privacy with her adored Jimmy.
Joe Ferris took over as master of ceremonies this time, and announced to the novitiates from Easton, "The Brownton Boppers welcome you, Phyllis and Betty, but before you can be members, just like the other chicks here who have already had it, you've gotta be initiated, see? Are you ready and willing to obey all the commands of your masters and mistresses?"
Phyllis and Betty exchanged an amused look, and simultaneously nodded.
"Okay," Joe Ferris waved his hand. "Blindfold them, Marcia and Erika, and bring them over here to the ping pong table."
Then he glanced at his own sister, who made frantic signs at him that she wanted to be paired off with Dick Ambley. The trouble was, he couldn't show any favoritism, even if she was his own sister. Sally Ferris was going to have to go through the mill just like all the others. He hadn't told her that, but she had practically forced his hand by threatening to blackmail him to his folks. So, it wouldn't hurt a little if she got a licking just to teach her not to put her nose in where it didn't belong.
Phyllis and Betty now were led over to the ping pong table by their two "Big Sisters," Marcia and Erika, after the latter had wound black bandanas over their eyes and carefully knotted them at the back of the girls' necks. Then, at Joe Ferris's sign, Marcy seized Phyllis's wrists and drew the girl forward across the table, crouching on the other side to hold her wrists tightly and thus present her for swats, while Erika did exactly the same thing with Betty Vincent.
"Hey, what you going to do now?" Betty alarmedly called out.
"Initiate you, stupid," Joe Ferris jeered.
He and Jimmy Morrison now came forward and promptly hoisted the mini-skirts of the two bent-over neophytes, rolled them carefully up over the girls' waists, and then began to yank down their sheer nylon pantie hose.
Neither girl was wearing panties under this bodysheath, and Betty and Phyllis at once cried out indignantly against the indecent assault being made upon them. They had both thought that joining up with this group of young swingers meant simply an opportunity for fucking, maybe a little pot, and liquor.
"Hey! Cut that out. I don't want to join your goddamn club!" Betty Vincent squealed as she tried to kick, swerving her hips back and forth so that it was all that Erika could do to hold onto her wrists.
"Don't let go of her, Erika baby, or you'll take her place over the table for swats," Joe Ferris chuckled as he yanked Betty Vincent's hose down and turned them inside out around her knees.
She displayed a magnificently ample, succulently rounded pale white-skinned behind, and instinctively clenched her gluteal muscles to diminish as much of her vulnerable flesh as possible. But in her struggles, she couldn't help showing the boys the gaping pink fruit of her quim nor the shadowy brown cleft which separated the jutting hemispheres of her naked seat.
Phyllis, similarly denuded by Jimmy Morrison, was less indignant, though she angrily protested, "That's not fair. Betty and I came here for fun, not to be paddled! Now you let us go or you'll get into trouble!"
"Go on, bitch! You're going to love it by the time we get done with you," Jimmy sneered as he finished yanking the bodysheath down to her knees.
Phyllis's bottom was broadly oval-shaped, the sinuous crease between the globes broadening as it neared the base, giving an unimpaired view of the thickly furred pink slit of her ardent cunt.
Now that the victims were prepared for sacrifice, Mack Delmar and Bob Porter approached with leather paddles, and soon the basement recreation room was reverberating to the wails, howls, shrieks, and tearful entreaties of the two wriggling, kicking half-nude initiates.
After they had finished giving his ten to Betty, he changed with Bob to give another ten to poor
Phyllis, whose creamy bottom Bob's initial ten spanks had left a vivid, palpitating red, Jimmy Morrison and Joe Ferris took over the paddling. By the time each girl had had forty swats, she was pleading brokenly and hysterically to be allowed to do anything in the world they wanted of her rather than submit to more paddle pains.
It was Mack Delmar who proposed, "Hey, you guys, let's have these little bitches go down on our Bopper chicks Marcy and Erika!"
The idea was given unanimous approval. Erika and Marcy, both blushing furiously, were commanded to lift their skirts and let down their panties, then stand in front of the ping pong table.
Joe Ferris and Jimmy Morrison took over holding the captives' wrists, and Phyllis and Betty were then commanded to lift up their heads and begin to gamahuch Marcy and Erika until the latter came.
When both imitates tearfully and indignantly protested that they weren't dykes, Joe Ferris called, "Any pledge of the Brownton Boppers who says no is going to get swats until she changes her tune. Bob, hand me one of those leather paddles, the one with the nice thick three fingers at the end."
"Oh no more spanking, please!" Betty wailed, twisting her tear-stained contorted face around.
She was still blindfolded and couldn't see what was going on, but Bob had already handed the brown leather instrument to Joe Ferris who snapped it into the air and then laid a tentative swat diagonally over Betty Vincent's already inflamed and throbbing naked bottom.
"Ow! I'll do it, I'll do it. Don't fan my poor tail anymore. Please don't!" Betty wailed.
Ordered again to service Erika, she frantically pressed her mouth against the flaxen-haired girl's pussy and began to suck and lick and kiss for dear life. It took, however, four good swats of the tawse for Phyllis Covington to agree to go the lesbian route with the shame-faced but secretly thrilled Marcy.
After this had been done, Jimmy and Mack tied the victims' wrists and then wound long sturdy ropes over their waists and under the table, making them fast with several heavy knots to keep them pinioned and tightly bent over.
"It's your turn, Sally baby," Joe Ferris announced.
"What-what do you mean, Joe?" Sally quavered, backing away towards the door.
He made a sign and Jimmy and Dick grabbed her, forced her down over the spanking tool, strapped and buckled her wrists and ankles, and then Dick was ordered to hoist Sally's mini-skirt and lower her panties. She wore bobby socks and loafers, and so her smooth-skinned bare legs were generously on display.
She struggled and fought, hysterically protesting her brother's perfidy. "You just wait, Joe Ferris. You didn't say it was going to be like this at all. Dick, don't let him do it to me. Please, honey. I came here because I want to be with you."
"You will be, sis. After you've been warmed up to really swing," her brother laughingly decried.
Sally uttered a wail of anguish and shame as her panties were tugged down. But soon she was wailing in real earnest as Joe's leather paddle resoundingly collided with her jouncy bare behind some forth times. Dick wasn't allowed to swat her, but the sight of her reddening squirming and swerving naked seat over the spanking tool gave him a prodigious hard-on.
When it was over, Joe Ferris asked his sobbing sister, "Are you ready to do anything we tell you to?" and when he received a tearful affirmative answer, he made a gesture to Dick who promptly zipped down his fly, let his cock emerge and then, advancing to the stool, seizing Sally by her wriggling reddened hips, crammed himself into her virgin cunthole and tore through the seal of her maidenhead.
Once Sally realized that it was her heartthrob who was initiating her into womanhood, her cries and threats subsided, and she began to squirm and groan in real pleasure.
The furious heat of her paddled naked bottom made her uninhibitedly yield her virginity to the accomplished young delinquent who was fucking her, and when she felt him burst into the rubber condom sheathing his stiff cock deep inside her distended lovesheath, she writhed and jerked in responding climax.
Marijuana and wine were now passed out to Sally, Betty, and Phyllis, who were declared members in good standing of the "Brownton Boppers." Then, as Sally had dreamed might happen, she was allowed by her affable brother to take Dick into one of the guest rooms in the Morrison house and find whatever consolation she required.
Mack Delmar had taken movies of the entire scene, and Joe Ferris knew that now it would be he who would have the blackmailing upper hand over his nosy sister Sally if ever it were needed!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marcy Harnesty was boiling mad, and she didn't care whether dad knew it or not. She had never been so humiliated in all her life. That Friday night when she'd gone to the "Brownton Boppers" meeting at Jimmy's house and had such wonderful fucking and a playful spanking from Jimmy himself in the bedroom where he'd taken her when the two Easton High pledges had been put through the mill and then made to French and fuck with all the other boys, she'd come home about midnight, and found to her pleasant surprise that her father hadn't yet come home.
She took a shower and went right to bed. Around three in the morning, she woke up a little drowsy, thought she heard him coming in and closing the front door, and then had drifted on back to sleep.
She slept until about noon that Saturday and he'd been jovial and whistling and in a merry mood she'd rarely seen him in before. He even invited her to have brunch and prepared an omelet himself. And while she'd been eating it and drinking iced coffee and thinking how nice it was to have dad off her back for a change and not asking old Mrs. Whitby if everything had been all right at home (with the implication that it hadn't been), he suddenly, out of a clear sky, chuckled, lit a cigarette, and then hit her right between the eyes.
"Marcy, how'd you like the idea of a stepmother?"
She dropped her fork with a clatter, and just stared at him, then finally said, "Dad, you're kidding!"
"No, I'm not. Fact is, I just proposed this afternoon to my secretary, Angie Thomas. We're going to get married next Friday, just as the license and the blood tests can be taken care of, and then fly to New York for a week. I want you to meet her before we go, however. You'll like her a lot."
And then, as if that hadn't been sheer disaster in itself, he casually mentioned, "She's pretty young, but she's all woman. She's a little past twenty. That's why I think the two of you might have something in common, Marcy. I think she can help you a lot and she's very friendly."
Marcy Harnesty had been so upset that she'd flung her napkin down on the floor, given her father a furious look, and then marched off to her room and slammed the door.
She didn't know that he called in Mrs. Whitby, given her orders for the next week, told her about the impending marriage, and then casually remarked, "By the way, Mrs. Whitby, do you know where Marcy was last night and what time she came in?"
The white-haired housekeeper had her own room near the kitchen on the first floor of the sprawling split-level Harnesty house. She frowned, then replied, "Why no, Mr. Harnesty. I really don't. I do know that she was out for a good part of the evening, because I remember going into the living room to pick up a drinking glass she'd left there and forgotten to take back into the kitchen and it was about a quarter of ten then."
He nodded, thanked her, gone back to his cigarette, the newspaper, and a third cup of coffee. But he was mulling over an idea which, if Marcy could have read his mind, would have completely ruined her already petulantly irritated outlook on life in general and hers in particular.
He was thinking that Angie, who was so delicious to spank, so little-girlish at such intimate moments, might very well take over the job of taking his own grown daughter over her lap, exposing her plump bottom, and teaching what a daughter's filial obligations really are, preferably with the back of a wooden hairbrush.
It would certainly be an exciting spectacle, and he would reward Angie even more excitedly as executioner than he did already as victim. Besides which, it would certainly give his daughter a jolt that would make her come up short and take a look around and see how she had been heading in the wrong direction.
Humiliation might be just what Marcy needed to get over that inflated ego of hers, that notion that she was an adult and that it was a crime to bring her down to earth by discussing such things as an untidy room, leaving wet-bottomed glasses all over the furniture where they could leave lasting marks, and a hundred other little things that had suddenly begun to grow in disproportion simply because he just hadn't really disciplined her at all the last few years.
Doug and Angie were married at three o'clock on the following Friday afternoon in City Hall by a friendly judge who had long been Doug's personal friend. They took a cab and just one suitcase to O'Hare International Airport to catch a United Airlines jet to New York's Kennedy Airport. Doug had told his sulky daughter that he would most likely be back about a week from Sunday, either in the afternoon or early evening. And that was what he planned.
But man proposes and the fates dispose, as has often been said. The flight was uneventful, and the happy couple went directly to the Four Seasons where a special table was waiting and a sumptuous repast was served them, together with a bottle of Bollinger champagne. About nine-thirty that evening, they took a cab back to the Waldorf Astoria and Doug looked forward to the wedding night. On the plane he seriously discussed his plans to give Marcy the discipline she so obviously lacked, and to his great delight, Angie had mischievously agreed to take a hand, literally!
Back in Northbrook, about the very time that Doug and his blushing new bride were entering their bridal suite, the "Brownton Boppers" met as was their wont in Jimmy Morrison's basement recreation room. Joe Ferris hadn't been able to change the venue, in spite of Jimmy's eager entreaty, but the latter had assured Marcy that tomorrow night he would visit her house for a private session that would more than compensate her for this temporary disappointment.
Once again, Lucy Colton and Marian Wesley were absent, their parents having ordered them to stay home this Friday night. Adam and Karen Wesley had begun to smell a rat in the way Marian had behaved in the last few weeks, ever since she had lost her maidenhood to the members of this kinky teen-aged sex club. She'd been far more flippant and disrespectful than she'd ever dared be before, and there seemed to be no reason for it.
At the moment, to be exact, she was sitting very scared and pale, twisting her fingers in her lap, while Karen and Adam Wesley were questioning her at great length about what had come over her all of a sudden and whether that spanking some weeks back hadn't taught her the lesson she seemed to have learned.
Before much longer, her panties down, she was promising to tell the whole truth as Karen descended the hairbrush stingingly on her bare seat.
Lucy Colton was, at about this same time, sobbing her heart out as she lay over her stepfather's lap, her mother kneeling beside the armchair in which he sat, holding her wrists and doing her best to comfort her. It wasn't really much help because Lucy's panties were twisted about her calves, and her bottom was a flaming red and she was looking back and pleading with Bill Colton not to spank her anymore, that she wouldn't ever lie again and that she absolutely wouldn't go out on dates until both he and her mother told her to.
Just out of curiosity, Pamela Colton had done some checking up on her daughter's story about that dramatic skit rehearsal, and found out that it had been pure fabrication on her daughter's part.
Lucy hadn't dared tell the whole story, but as she had squirmed under her stepfather's energetic spanks, she had wailed out that she and some other girls and a few boys had just had a social get-together and that was all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A week later, Arthur and Patricia Porter forgot their differences enough to summon their precocious son Bob before them. Jimmy Morrison's parents had flown back from Europe, interrogated him until they had got every last bit of information about the teenaged sex club out of him, and then visited the Porter and Delmar and Ferris homes.
The parents laid down an ultimatum to their wayward sons: All four of them would go to summer school, there would be no dates with girls until the second year of college, and at the first sign of disobedience, the story of the brief but scandalous escapades of the "Brownton Boppers" would be made known to the juvenile authorities. There would be reformatory, there would be blackening of reputation and careers, and the boys glumly agreed that they were very fortunate that their parents were so lenient.
It is September now, and Marcy Harnesty is about to enter a private Girls' College in Glencoe. She is almost unrecognizable, for she has become soft-spoken, meek and wonderfully respectful to her elders-including her young stepmother Angie. When her father returned from New York with his convalescent bride, he told Marcy that she was going to learn to call Angie "mother" and, as a proof of contrition, ask her stepmother for a good sound bare-bottomed spanking. The longer Marcy put off that request, he added grimly, the harder it was going to be and he himself would have a second dose with his belt. Marcy asked for and received her spanking that very same night.
Through the summer, Angie kept strict tabs on her new stepdaughter. Whenever Marcy was disrespectful, thoughtless, or untidy about her things, all Angie had to do was snap, "Go to your room and put on your punishment dress, young lady. Then bring me the hairbrush and come out here and do what you have to do!"
The punishment costume which Angie herself suggested and which Doug bought with great delight at a Northbrook department store, in the children's department, comprised a pinafore blouse, rompers, tiny little half-socks and a child's black leather soft-sole slippers, plus a blue ribbon bow. Arrayed in this provocative juvenile costume, Marcy was obliged to come into the living room, holding the hairbrush in front of her, to kneel down in front of Angie and to render up the instrument of punishment with the humiliating formula of "Please, Mother, I've been a naughty girl and I need a spanking on my big bare botty. I beg you please to give it to me right away."
And after the spanking, in which Angie Harnesty showed herself to be almost as proficient as her own husband in administering, Marcy had to get off her beautiful young executioner's lap, kneel down, kiss both the hairbrush and Angie's hand and thank her for the punishment.
As for Doug Harnesty, his advertising business is better than ever, and so is his love life. One of these days, if Angie misbehaves, he's thinking very seriously of making her wear a similar costume and then punishing both his daughter and his lovely young wife at the same time. It would be a very private spanking club, and there would be no need for artificial stimulants. The sight of two delicious naked girlish bottoms reddening and squirming under his hand, hairbrush or strap will be ample inspiration for his continued virile tributes to his young wife's connubial talents.
