"Close your legs, my girl! Pretty soon you'll be opening them to the whole world. So you walk around without anything on under your robe, when you come to see your father. Don't you think that's a little bit sluttish?" he sneered.
He was drunk, and the pretty blonde-haired sixteen year old girl was frightened. She had never seen her father like this before.
"Daddy please! I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Miss Smithe told me she caught you talking on the phone with a boy!"
"I-I was!"
"Who was it?"
"It was just a boy! From school."
"What was his name?"
"I won't tell you!" she sobbed. She didn't want her father calling up Roger's parents and humiliating her by telling them that their son was not allowed to call her.
He grabbed her and tore off her pink terry cloth robe.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked terrified.
She was doubled over, trying to hide her pink nakedness, but the round firm boobs slipped out from behind her arms. Her fuzzy golden patch glinted in the lamplight.
"I'm going to give you a beating you're not going to forget for a long time," he said.
He stared at her and thought of the sluttish models who came to see him, hoping to make him and pose for his magazines. He didn't want his daughter to turn out that way.
He grabbed her and turned her over his knee. He started whipping her ass with the palm of his hand. Her soft but firm ass flesh slapped against his palm.
CHAPTER ONE
It was late at night. Little Samantha Clint had been in bed for hours already. But she was angry. She wanted to see her Daddy.
Ann, her nursemaid, had told her that her Daddy was working late again tonight, but that he would see Samantha in the morning.
But Samantha didn't want to wait until morning.
The adorable little five year old got out of bed and crept down the hall of the huge, posh Clint mansion. She got past Ann's bedroom without waking her. Then she crawled past the huge circular staircase and went on to the East wing.
She was thinking, maybe her Daddy had come home from work and forgotten to come see her. She wanted to see if he was home from work.
Trailing her little blue blanket-her 'blankie'-behind her, and sucking her thumb while she fondled the satin edge of the blanket, the pretty golden-haired five year old made a pretty picture. The poor child had no mother. Her mother had died in.... Halfway down the hall to her father's suite of rooms she stopped.
She heard voices! She heard her Daddy's voice!
She was about to scream out 'Daddy!'-when she heard another voice.
"All right, dear, take your clothes off and let me see what we've got to work with here. Let me see what you've got to offer us."
"All right, Mr. Clint," a low seductive female voice said.
Inside Mr. Clint's private bedroom, a statuesque brunette with smoldering dark eyes and a massive chest was sitting on the edge of the large brass bed and lifting her arms over her head to take off a beige knit sweater.
Her large breasts rose as she lifted her arms and her hair rose up under the sweater. Then curling waves of hair tumbled back onto her neck and shoulders, and her breasts, cradled in a seductive shade of iron gray, also sank back down onto her chest.
Barry Clint, a curly-haired, boyish-faced man of forty-three smiled and crossed his arms. He was leaning back against his antique fifteenth century bureau, with a large snifter of brandy in his hands.
A small whip lay on top of the bureau.
He said nothing as the Polish woman's breasts, in their bra, appeared. He had been able to judge that her breasts were good and large from her form as it appeared in her clothes. The color of her breasts and their actual shape, and the color and shape of her nipples were still to be determined. He had to wait.
She went on undressing.
Not hearing any more conversation, the little blonde five year old behind the door moved up closer to the door and peered through the crack. She could clearly see the woman undressing, and her Daddy leaning against the bureau.
The woman, whose name was Marta, was not nervous, even though tonight was her big break, her first big chance. If she could get herself chosen for Larry Clint's magazine 'Rustler,' she would make some money, get the exposure she needed for her modeling career, maybe even get into acting-who knows?
She went on undressing, unzipping the beige straight skirt with the slit up the other side. She had found out everything she could about Clint before coming this far. She had psyched him. She had wanted to appear different-not like all the other girls. And there were so many other girls. There was just so much pussy in this world.
She had to find a way to make her looks different, bigger, tighter, better.
Her strategy finally had been to come on cool. Real cool.
like wearing those toned down clothes and colors-beige, and iron-gray.
She thought the iron-gray lingerie were going to make her or break her and she was counting on it to make her. She slid out of her skirt now.
She was sitting on the edge of the brass bed. Her round firm thighs, long and slim, like loaves of bread, were striped by her iron-gray garters. She wore clear stockings to show off her incredible legs. He was looking at her.
"Go on...," he said.
She had on a pair of iron-gray panties, which weren't really more than a G-string. The G-string bundle was really puffed outwardly between her legs. She had washed and curled and puffed her pussy hair to make her bundle stand out like that.
Now she stood up and picked up the iron-gray corset she had laid out on the bed. Sticking her pointed tongue out between her bright red lips she pouted at Mr. Clint and smiled and then strapped the corset tightly around the exotic firm flesh of her waist. Now she was wearing bra, corset, G-string, garter belt and stockings.
Now for her strip tease.
She unhooked the garter belt and let it fall to the floor.
Then she attached the tops of her stockings to the garters hanging from the corset. She had had this corset especially made for her. It squeezed her waist in tight and emphasized the hefty shape of her hips. It fastened in front with twenty tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Now she reached behind her for the clasp of her D-sized brassiere.
She unclasped it and her bosom sagged a little.
Now she peeled her brassiere off.
The tits, hanging down over the tight buttoned corset, elicited a gasp even from the jaded eye of Larry Clint. Her tits were exceptional.
They pointed downwards, as if to the curled bundle inside her G-string. The aura of her nipples were pink and her nipples themselves were pink and hard.
She was excited from undressing in front of this man who held so much powerso much power over her life and career. It excited her to strip naked in front of a powerful, masculine male. It made her little pink nipples get hard as they cascaded out of her warm bra cups. Her skin was a dark tanned color and the pink of her nipples showed up beautifully against it. Now it was time for the final move.
She stood up and then turned her back to him. She was wearing high heels of a silver iron-gray-very classy. The high heels pushed her ass up. The G-string was hidden in the bulge of her ass crack from behind. The pert little corset ended in a frill of iron-gray just at the top of the bulge of her ass cheeks.
What Larry Clint saw from behind was her long slender fingers and fingernails-pared-creeping around to her ass cheeks. She was plucking the G-string from out of her ass crack and peered around suddenly. Now she was pulling the bundle of fabric down over her pussy bundle, slowly revealing the puffed and curled dark pussy hair.
Suddenly her full pussy bush bloomed forth.
Marta dropped her little panties on the floor. She stood, full-blown, in front of Larry Clint who stared at her clinically. His face was expressionless.
But he was thinking: Not bad. Not bad at all.
She wore only the corset and the stockings and shoes now.
Her tits cascaded down over the ruffled trim of the corset and her pussy bush bloomed out from underneath it. Her cute pert ass buns stuck out behind.
"Show me some cheesecake, honey," Clint said, sipping his brandy.
Marta smiled.
She turned her back to him again and put one leg up suddenly on the shining brass rail of the bed. Her ass cheeks were parted now.
The she bent over.
There it was. Clint could see, her soft stuff. Marta was scared now. She knew she wasn't wet.
He couldn't see her put her hands to her mouth. She licked her fingertips and seductively put her fingertips to her cunt. She pretended to be pretending to be so hot she couldn't help but touch herself but actually she was quickly trying to spread her saliva around so her cunt would look wet and shiny.
Larry Clint knew that trick. He saw what she was doing.
That was one strike against her, he thought as he sipped his drink.
"I'd like to see something from the front, honey," he said casually.
Marta stood up and looked at the brass railing of the bed.
Suddenly, impulsively, she climbed up on the brass railing and wrapped her legs around it. Her legs were spread wide open. There was a big brass ball in the middle of the curving railing. The way she sat, her cunt, open and shining and wet, sat right beside the big brass ball suggestively. It was a nice touch, even Clint had to admit.
"Try sitting on top of the ball," he said on impulse.
It wasn't the kind of shot he thought would work for 'Rustler,' but he had a sudden desire to see this stately, and almost haughty beauty try to balance herself on top of the big brass ball. She looked a little confused, which was good.
He liked to keep them guessing. He hated broads who were so fucking cocksure.
She tried to raise herself up, wrapping her legs firmly around the brass bars. She had been a medal-winning figure skater in her native Poland, and so her legs were strong and her balance was good. But still, it was humiliating-here she was a grown woman, reduced to trying to make her living balancing her cunt just above this publisher's brass ball. Still, she had to try to do it. It could mean everything to her.
She managed to do it. She was holding herself suspended on the railing of the bed, her cunt hovering over the big brass ball. It looked fantastic.
Clint could look at her cunt and wonder if she could get the big brass ball up inside her. It might be a good shot for the magazine after all. It would sure get the readers wondering too. He had another idea. He said:
"Can you get it up you, honey?"
"What?" said the nervous brunette. She had a class cunt, she thought. Why did he keep making these asinine suggestions that seemed designed to make a fool of her.
"The ball, honey. Sit on it. I'd like to see what it looks like going up your cunt."
She inhaled and calmed herself.
"Yes, Mr. Clint."
She lowered herself, without losing her balance, onto the brass ball. The cold smooth surface of the ball made contact with the warm soft curves of her moist pussy. The cold surface sent chills through her pussy meat. Now she was getting hot. It was kind of sexy to have this big ball pushing against her aroused mound.
When her cunt touched the ball, Clint felt an electric throb go through his prick.
This girl was all right!-and he was hard.
He wanted to have her.
Half the ball went in her cunt. He wanted her to take the whole thing.
"Stick it all in honey," he whispered putting down his drink.
Marta had seen that his dick was hard in his pants. She wanted to cry with relief and with joy. She had turned him on. Of course, that guaranteed nothing as far as work. But still, it must count for something, she prayed.
She eased herself down on the ball. It was slowly being enveloped by her soft pussy. She felt a little ridiculous and she smiled embarrassedly.
He smiled back but his smile was one of pleasure.
"You look good, Marta," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Clint," she said weakly, wondering if she could come up off the brass ball now. Her toes were beginning to ache and so were her thighs from grasping at the brass bars to balance herself. Her pussy was throbbing too.
From gripping the ball so tight.
She started to rise up off it.
"Wait a minute Marta. What are you doing?
Stay where you are. And see if you can help me with my fly here. Could you unzip it for me-with your toes?"
She stared at him. She had heard he was kinky, but this was really weird.
Gritting her teeth, tensing up on the muscles in her cunt, she gripped the bar with her hands as she slowly unwrapped her legs from the bars and stretched her toes out to his fly. He had come right up to her and stood before her.
She had also heard about Clint's dick. A lot about it.
It was a record size-thirteen inches.
She could see the big tool hanging down his pants. It looked like a whopper all right. That was another test she would have to try and pass.
"It's going to be hard, Mr. Clint, since I'm wearing stockings and shoes."
"Then just rub it, Marta, I love the way you look up there, on my bed, knowing that big brass ball is up your sweet little pussy. I'll never be able to look at that ball again without thinking of you." He was making pussy-talk now.
But the way he said it made her know that many girls had balanced on top of his brass bed with this big brass ball up their cunts. He probably told every girl she was the first. She felt humiliated now, as she tried to hide it and caress his long dick, through his pants, with her pretty and red-painted toes.
Suddenly she lost her balance.
She fell backwards onto the bed, the big brass ball popping out of her cunt with a sucking sound. Larry Clint laughed loud and heartily.
Marta was burning with embarrassment on the bed.
Her pussy was burning too, from the stimulation of having that big round smooth ball up her, and now that her pussy was empty it was throbbing to be filled again.
The words came out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
"You bastard." She whispered it, or hissed it.
She hoped he hadn't heard. But he heard all right.
"What's that Marta? What did you say?" He reached behind him for the little riding crop. "I hope you didn't mind my little joke. It was all in good fun, and you did look so cute up there, trying to balance on top of that ball."
He laughed some more.
"Bastard," she whispered again, unused to being laughed at and humiliated by a man. Most men would give an arm and a leg just to be alone with her in a bedroom and to have her display her body to them. She demanded a high price, and here she was showing it, offering it to him for free. And he was laughing at her?
"Marta, better watch yourself. I might decide you need a little whipping on that pert little behind of yours, if you don't watch your language. I don't like to be called a bastard, even if I am one. You will humor me, won't you?"
She controlled her mood.
"Yes, of course, Mr. Clint. Is there anything I can ... do for you?"
She was rolling on the bed, her silky dark brown hair flashing with auburn tints, her big tits wobbling from side to side, her cunt juicing between her legs.
"Take my cock out, Marta."
She bent her knees and lovingly opened his fly and sank both her hands into his pants in search of his big dipstick. She had to haul it up the side of his trouser leg and bring it out into the light of day.
Then it was out, and pointing at her. She looked up at him and then put her lips around it. She started tickling the tip of his penis with her tongue and flicking her tongue down around the shaft. She was curling her fingertips through his perfumed cock patch. And sucking on Larry Clint's cock. He was a big boy all right.
She could barely go all the way down on him. In fact she couldn't, and she knew she couldn't. She was afraid he would realize that she couldn't too.
"Marta, could you please go down on it a little farther," Larry said, trying to be patient with this Polish girl. A thousand Polish jokes kept popping into his head.
She smiled bravely and tried to push his thirteen inches farther down into her throat, but they just wouldn't go. She gagged once and froze with fear.
He heard her gag though. He smiled and pulled his dick out of her throat.
It was dripping with her saliva-like tiny drops of pearls.
She was curled up on the bed now, crying.
"It's all right, don't cry, Marta. Lots of girls can't go all the way down on me. I am awfully big, and you just don't have a very big throat. It's all right."
"I tried, Mr. Clint, I really did, I tried!" she sobbed.
Fortunately she was wearing waterproof make-up so at least her make-up didn't run.
She rolled over on her stomach to hide her face in shame.
She presented to Mr. Clint her perfect pair of trim, white, rounded buttocks, rolling out from under the fringe of her corset.
Larry Clint couldn't resist. He swatted her ass cheeks with his riding crop.
She felt the first few swats which were hard and stinging before she cried out.
"Ow! What are you doing? Ow!"
But the stinging swats of the crop kept coming.
He was making her pert firm ass bright red.
She realized this must be another manifestation of his kinkiness and she gripped the silky bedquilt and her big boobs poked out from underneath her. She tried to arch her ass still higher so as to present him with an even more adorable pair of ass cheeks to swat, but she was biting her lips to endure the pain.
His cock was now almost standing up straight-a difficult feat for him since his prick was so big and heavy that when it got erect it usually just pointed down. But swatting her ass cheeks had made him really excited. His prick nosed into her ass cheeks.
She wanted to cry from joy again. She spread her legs, reached down to her ass cheeks and spread them. The head of his penis was nosing into her ass hole, but that was not where Larry Clint wanted it to go. Not this time.
He pushed the head of his penis lower and the silky nose of his penis found her wet cunt. His penis nosed right in. Marta groaned with pleasure and Larry Clint's noises were gross. His penis was sliding down her chute like a knife into butter.
He jumped up on top of her buttocks on the bed. His fingers reached for her boobs bulging out from under her body, and he grabbed two handfuls and squeezed them while he nosed his large penis in and out of her melting honey pot.
She raised up on her arms so that her boobs dangled deliciously.
Her cunt was like a pool of melted butter. The ass-stinging whipping he had given her had made her ass hot and the heat had melted right through to her pussy.
So when he suddenly plunged his knife in her, it was like finding water after being in a desert. His prick plunged in her, juicing her electrically.
Almost immediately she began to come-she couldn't help it.
Her cunt grabbed a hold of his pole and she squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. She couldn't let go, not for an instant. His jerking prick was poling into her and it felt so good!! ! She started to moan with pleasure.
... But it wasn't so good for Larry. His prick was only about two-thirds of the way up her cunt. While he appreciated a good tight fuck, this girl was really short, that is her love canal was short and she just couldn't take all of him.
His balls dangled in the air as he tried to thrust his cock in to the hilt.
"Hey, big boy, not so hard!" she murmured, trying to stay sexy. He was really knocking her up. She didn't like it. She was losing concentration of her own orgasm.
Disgustedly he pulled his prick out of her slurping cunt and his cock dangled over her body, dripping a slight ooze down onto her corset. She rolled away from his dripping cock, terrified. Did he know how much this corset cost?
"Look, honey, just suck my cock off, will you? Surely you can do that?"
Marta felt like crying! Everything kept turning out wrong. Starting off good and turning out wrong. It was the story of her life. She felt miserable.
She came towards him on the bed, her big boobs hanging.
She opened her mouth and tried to suck off his cock, but she had the same problem of not being able to get his dick all the way down her throat.
She had to resort to hand work. She wrapped her hands around the base of his cock and sucked off the top of his cock. Her tongue was really good the way it slithered around the top of his dick and stretched underneath.
But she just couldn't give a complete quality blow job.
Finally she managed to bring him off through the syncopated jerking of her hand on the base of his prick and her mouth jumping all over the top of his prick.
His cock jerked and spasmed in her mouth and then she was tasting Larry Clint's hot sweet sperm, sucking it down her throat, drinking, sucking, smiling.
But even her smile didn't seem genuine to him. He could tell that she was miserable and just trying to appear happy. He guessed she knew she had blown her one big chance.
"Thanks dear, you can get dressed now," he told her, zipping his cock back in his pants and retreating back to his brandy on the sidebar. Sitting there he just watched her.
She stared at him miserably and then took up her corset. Her boobs flopped miserably down over her chest. She hustled them back into her bra.
She was biting her lip to keep the tears from spilling out over her eyes right in front of him. He called her a cab. She was all dressed when it came.
When little Samantha heard her father call a cab on the phone she knew it was time for her to beat a hasty retreat to her own wing of the mansion and her little bed. She didn't understand all that she had seen.
Hardly any of it. All she knew was that her father had lied to her.
He said he had to work late. She didn't think that what he was doing was working. She didn't understand yet about what kind of work her father did, about what kind of magazine he owned. The next morning at breakfast she was being real bad.
... Ann, the nursemaid, almost lost her temper when little Samantha threw her oatmeal on the floor, and then threw a temper tantrum. She wanted to see her father.
"I told you! He's still asleep. He was working late last night! What did you have to go and throw your oatmeal on the floor for? Now I have to clean it up!"
"I don't care!" the furious little girl screamed.
Sitting in her high chair she watched her maid go down on her knees to wipe up the oatmeal mess. Samantha took aim and let one of her little shoes fly into the maid's ass. Ann screamed and was kicked over. She stood up in a fury.
"Don't-you-ever-do-that-again!" she screamed and she raised her hand and slapped the little five year old on her cheek.
Mr. Clint had just appeared in the door and he saw the slap.
Samantha let out a howl. The blood was rushing to her cheek.
Mr. Clint stepped in. "Don't you ever hit my daughter again. You're fired," he said summarily to the surprised nursemaid.
"Oh, sir! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean ... It's just that she must learn ... "
"That will be all, Miss Portnoy."
"Yes, sir." Ann hurried away to pack her bags.
Father lifted his daughter out of her little high chair now and cuddled her to him. His daughter was his pride and joy. He would do anything for her. And one thing he would not tolerate was hired help laying a hand on her.
A new nursemaid was hired the very same day.
And so it was. Samantha grew up, in the care of nursemaids and tutors.
She grew into a lovely child, with golden blonde hair, blue eyes, and a sweet smile. She had a terrible temper, however, that would erupt, whenever she was crossed into blind hysterical rages. Her maids, and tutors and the housekeeper all knew about Miss Samantha's temper, but they also knew she could be a sweet girl, when things were going her way. They also knew that she really loved only one person in her life, besides herself.
That was her father.
She would remember the housekeeper's nephew's birthday, and the birthdays of all the hired help. And she might seem to be very affectionate with them, when she was in a good mood. But she really only loved her father, outside of herself.
In fact, she grew up worshipping him.
None of his magazines were allowed in the Clint mansion. Larry Clint was that kind of man who kept a double standard close to his heart.
On the one hand, he had made his fortune and reputation, selling magazines in which nubile young girls paraded themselves before the camera, and before the general public in the lewdest of poses and manners. And Clint had to admit that he thought it was healthy for men to get aroused by looking at such material of such girls in such poses.
But when it came to his daughter, he felt differently.
He didn't want her exposed to the kinds of women that he knew, and he didn't want her looking at pornographic material. Secretly, deep inside himself, Larry Clint felt that there were two kinds of women in this world:
There were the sluts who would sell a peep of their cunts-sluts who were in love with their own images more than anything else.
And then there were the mothers. He had been married to a mother. A woman who was kindly, saintly almost with patience, who was selfless and virtuous.
This was the kind of woman he was determined his little Samantha would be.
He didn't know his daughter very well.
He only saw her on rare occasions, when he had time for her, when his work didn't demand him. For he devoted himself to his magazine and the empire he had founded on it. He ran the whole show almost single-handedly. He was involved in every stage of the magazine from choosing the girls to production of the type.
Whenever he could give some of his time to Samantha, he was delighted with her. But that was only because when she was with him she was on her best behavior. Plus her father always gave her everything she wanted so she had no reason to get mad and throw a temper tantrum as she did with the hired help.
When she was thirteen he threw the biggest and most elaborate birthday party that anyone had ever seen. She had a few friends from the private school where she was now going and they were each and every one picked up in the limousine and brought to the Clint mansion. Each kid received a gold ring to commemorate Samantha's thirteenth birthday and there was a huge feast and toys and games and presents.
And Samantha was the happiest little girl in the world.
But after her birthday party, when she realized it was back to life as an ordinary little girl, just going to school, coming home afterwards-as her father was afraid of her being kidnapped and made her come home in a limousine directly after school, she felt very depressed. She realized that her father only spent time with her when it was convenient for him. She realized that his work was more important to him than she was. And she knew what his work was. He hadn't been able to deceive her.
Since that time when she was five, and got a sort of notion that his work was kind of funny, she had found out on her own about his magazine.
Although all the employees of 'Rustler' magazine were strictly forbidden to talk about the magazine and its contents when they came to the Clint mansion and were with Samantha, she could tell by certain hints dropped, certain innuendos and smiles, that it was something she wasn't supposed to know about.
But she never did see a copy of it until one of the housekeeper's nephews showed her a copy in the tool shed out behind the kitchen.
He was a well developed Mexican boy and he used to play with her when she was a little girl. She had always liked Manuel. He used to ride her around on his shoulders.
But when she grew bigger, he was always smiling at her and talking about how she was her Daddy's little girl, adding such a funny accent to it that she asked him one day what he meant when he said that. She was twelve at the time.
Manuel had said, "Come out here, I show you."
In the tool shed, sitting on the seat of the old bike she had outgrown, with Manuel standing over her, his sleek black hair falling across his forehead, she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. He had placed a magazine on her lap and said:
"Here. That's it. Take a look at it."
Her fingers trembling, to have a copy of her father's own magazine in her hands. She tried to be cool. Manuel knew she had never seen a copy of it, though she had refused to admit it. She pretended she had seen it many times.
She saw her father's name on the masthead, inside the magazine, and her heart glowed with pride. She had passed quickly over the cover.
The cover showed a girl in a black nightie that barely covered her ass, looking over her shoulder, with a big smile on her mouth.
She started flipping pages. She pretended to be interested in the articles. She wanted to show Manuel that she wanted to know what was written in her father's magazine.
"No, don't look at that part. That's not the important stuff. "Here, look at this," Manuel said and he flicked to the middle of the magazine. A big glossy color photo of the girl on the cover was suddenly staring her in the face.
The girl's nightie was now off and she had nothing on but a pair of black stockings. Her fingers were sunk deep into her cunt, which she was pulling open and exposing. She had that same big smile. Samantha stared, and her little chest heaved.
Sometimes at school she had heard whispered mentions of 'what her father did.'
But all the children at the school had been requested by the teachers, at Mr. Clint's urging, not to discuss his magazine.
But now she knew. Now it was undisguisable.
She knew a little about sex. That girls were different than boys, that boys had cocks that they put up girls, that girls could get pregnant, all that.
But this....
"You're going to have a nice pink cunty like that yourself someday too. Maybe you'll be in your father's magazine like these girls?" Manuel leeringly suggested.
She threw down the magazine and ran back into the house crying. She refused to talk to him any more, and she arranged it so she had a huge fight with his aunt, the housekeeper, and she got the housekeeper fired. Manuel never came on the Clint grounds again. But Samantha, from that time on, was not in the dark about her father's occupation, though her father was in the dark about his own daughter's nature.
CHAPTER TWO
When she was sixteen, the rebellious side of her nature started to show.
She got turned on to marijuana at school, and that seemed to do it.
All her life, her father's word had been law to her. She knew that he expected her to stay a virgin until she married, and that she was expected to come out, as a debutante when she was eighteen, and then marry a suitable young man whom her father approved of. But when she was sixteen and started smoking dope in the field house with her friends, she started to feel the little itchings and urgings of sex.
Unknown to her father, she had a boyfriend. .
His name was Roger Nutley, and he was the son of a wealthy rock producer. Roger laughed at Samantha a lot and made fun of her and what he called her crazy values.
"I have to be a virgin until I'm married," he mimicked her.
She looked piqued. "Well, what's wrong with that?" she asked. They were sitting on a bench out behind the old field house. It was spring. She often came out here to watch him working out. He was on the track team. His school often held dances with her school, so girls could get to know some boys.
The only thing was, girls got to know boys a lot better than the school officials intended.
"Well, what if you never get married," Roger pointed out, passing her the joint. He was wearing his sweaty running togs and bright blue running shoes.
His forehead was sweaty and his brown eyes were bright.
He and Samantha had never done anything. She just hung out around the field when he worked out and then they usually sat and talked and smoked together afterwards. He was a year ahead of her. He thought she was cute, but awfully backwards.
"Well of course I'll get married," she said indignantly. He seemed to be insinuating that, with her golden blonde hair, sweet blue eyes, peaches and cream skin, and her father's wealth, that no one would want her.
"But what if you don't? Does that mean you'd stay a virgin for the rest of your life?" He thought vaguely about putting his hands around her back and cupping one hand over the cute swell of flesh that was her left tit. She was wearing a tight pink T-shirt.
But he knew she'd have a fit if he tried that.
He laughed, "You know it's really funny. You being the daughter of Larry Clint and all, having these strange ideas about virginity."
"They're not strange. It's what my father believes too."
"What? Are you kidding me? You mean you want me to believe that your father believes a girl should stay a virgin until she gets married?"
Samantha felt embarrassed. "Yes, he does."
Roger hooted. "Boy! That is the funniest thing I've ever heard."
"The stuff in his magazine," Samantha said defensively, "he just does that because that's what people want. Men. That's what men buy.
But my father doesn't really believe that girls should ... should act that way."
She took the joint with dignity.
She didn't really know what her father thought.
But she knew what he expected of her.
Roger got up and started stretching out his leg muscles, isometrically, pushing against the bench Samantha was sitting on. She looked down.
She looked at his thighs. They looked like thick ropes entwined about each other. She could see the way his muscles were strung, underneath his tanned skin. Her eyes slipped up once to look at the way his trim running shorts folded around his crotch and then she looked quickly away. She shouldn't think about such things.
Roger stretched out his other leg and then said:
"Well, it's been nice talking to you, again, Samantha. See you around."
He started walking away.
"Wait a minute!" she cried out running after him and catching up with him. He kept walking and she walked with him, clutching her purse and books to her chest.
"Don't go away yet. Roger you know, I really like you. I'd ... I'd like to give you my phone number. Maybe you could call me up sometime."
Roger took out a piece of paper and jotted down her phone number and handed it to her.
He looked at her dubiously and said, "You know, I'm not a kid, Samantha, I don't call girls up just to pass the time."
She didn't know exactly what he meant by that, but she saw he did stick the number in the pocket of his shirt. Then he took off, running down the track.
"Call me!" she called after him.
She turned around and went back to the school, which was about a quarter of a mile down the road. She was supposed to be in choir practice now. In fact she had joined the choir just so she could have a reason for staying around school past the hours school let out. Leonard, their chauffeur came to pick her up every day after school. She got back just as school was letting out.
She went through the school and came down the front steps, and there was Leonard waiting in the black limo for her. She climbed in, feeling somewhat like a prisoner. She sometimes wished she could take the bus home like the other kids.
"How was your day today, Miss Samantha?" Leonard, a tough black man of twenty who came from the streets of Harlem, asked. He was Samantha's bodyguard too.
"What's it you, you?" she said angrily, biting her lip. She saw Roger come running around the front of the school and link arms with another girl who ran up to him.
"Hurry up! Get this stupid bus the hell out of here!" she snapped to Leonard.
He was used to her commands, and bitchy manner.
"Yes, ma'am!" he merely said. Mr. Clint paid him well, real well, to put up with his bitchy daughter. But if she had been a black sister, he would have put an end to her Up real soon. As it was, he calmly drove her home.
He watched her little butt in tight white pants, twinkle up the steps of the mansion and he thought to himself that one day, that little butt, attached to her big mouth, was going to get that cute little girl into a whole mess of trouble.
From the moment she got home, inside her own wing, Samantha started hoping Roger would call. She didn't know why, but it seemed more important to her than anything else in the world. She thought she would kill herself if he didn't call.
Her father was home for dinner tonight.
They ate in the dining room, at a long dining table of varnished mahogany. He sat at the head of the table and she sat at his right side.
"My little right hand," he often affectionately called her.
"How was school today honey pie," he asked her as the servant served them roast duckling from a silver dish.
"Fine," she said briefly.
"Are you still having that trouble with math?"
"No," she said briefly. "I don't want any," she said to the servant.
"You don't want any roast duckling? What's the matter darling, are you ill?"
"No."
"Then what's the matter."
"Nothing."
He waved the servant away. "Samantha, stop answering me in monosyllables and tell me what is the matter with you. I thought roast duckling was one of your favorites."
"I'm just not hungry! Can't you understand that!" she sneered at him.
Never in her whole life had she ever spoken to her father that way. But all she could think about was Roger and the way he had laughed at ther ideas, and how he had gone up to that other girl, and how he wasn't going to call her. She was sure of it. All her father's money and power were not going to make Roger call her tonight.
"Samantha! Don't talk to me in that tone of voice."
Larry Clint was really shocked. He thought for a moment she might really be ill but when he put his hand out to feel her forehead she quickly pulled away as if she loathed the touch of his hand. He put his knife and fork down and looked at her severely.
"I don't know what's gotten into you young lady, but we'll get to the bottom of this matter. I'll ask Miss Smithe."
Miss Smithe was the latest of Samantha's keepers, a young woman with a severe face and nature nonetheless, who was supposed to see to it that Samantha got her homework done and went to bed on time, and kept her company at dinner when Mr. Clint was not eating at home. Samantha hated Miss Smithe. She hated her father. She hated everyone-at the mansion.
"Don't call that stupid cunt. She doesn't know anything ... "
But before she could finish her sentence, Clint's hand came down hard across Samantha's face. Her lip started to bleed. Tears sprang to Samantha's eyes.
She held her napkin to her lip and it filled with blood.
"What'dya have to go and do that for?" she cried.
"I don't ever want to her such language on your lips again," Clint hissed in his daughter's face. He didn't even know where she heard such language. Never in this house certainly. He felt sick, disgusted. He had lost his appetite too, now.
He said to his golden-haired daughter, "Go to your room."
She got up and left.
She went straight to her room which was all done in pink and white, and sat down on her huge four-postered canopied bed, all done in pink.
She stared at the little pink princess phone, thinking: Call, Roger! Please call.
Then the telephone rang.
She stared at it for a few seconds in disbelief.
The she ran to it and picked it up, her heart pounding.
"Hello!" she said loudly. "Hello, Samantha?" It was Roger.
"Yes, who is this?" she said coolly, though she knew who it was.
"This is Roger. How are you?"
"Oh, just fine, I-I'm really glad you called," she admitted.
"Are you?"
"Yes, I thought you wouldn't. That is, I mean I hoped you would. But I thought you hated me." She cuddled up on her pink bed happily, relaxing. It was so nice to have a boy call her up on the phone, just like the other girls had boys call them up. Now she would have something to talk about in school.
As they talked, about school and their friends, an image of Roger as he pushed the bench, stretching his leg muscles, came into her mind.
She recalled the slight glimpse she had gotten of the way his running shorts were pushed out at his crotch. She had never seen a male naked, at least not that she could remember. She had seen pictures so she knew what to expect, but she wondered what Roger would look like naked. She wondered if she would ever see him naked.
She felt an itching at her crotch and she lay her hands over the crotch to the little white shorts she had changed into when she got home from school.
The warmth of her hands cupped against her crotch soothed the itching momentarily and she went on happily chatting with her 'boyfriend.'
"Why did you think I hated you, Samantha? I don't hate you, I like you."
"Do you really?"
Just then Samantha thought she heard another voice coming through the phone.
"Roger? Are you still there?"
Roger cupped the phone for a moment. He wasn't at home. He was at Lily's house. Lily was a fifteen year old girl who was crazy about him. She was the kind of girl who would give head to any guy, and she was particularly crazy about Roger, so he came over to her place when he wanted to get his rocks off.
She didn't go to the exclusive girls' school that Samantha went to. She went to a different private school that Roger's school sometimes had dances with. All Roger's friends went to Lily to get their tubes cleaned. Her mother was often out of the house.
Lily said to him, "Who are you talking to?"
"Shut up," he told her, cupping the phone, "just a friend."
She nodded. She knew he was probably talking to some girl. She put down the cup of coffee she had made him and then squatted between his legs.
For a fifteen year old she was very precocious. She was just one of those girls who had a taste for cock meat, and the slut in her had blossomed very early.
She started palpitating his groin with her fingertips, expertly working his cock into a rod under his jeans. He smiled down at her and then put his fingers to his lips to tell her to keep quiet. She nodded, understanding.
He took his hand off the mouthpiece of the phone.
"Roger? Are you still there?" asked Samantha.
"Sorry, I'm not at home. I'm at a friend's. Go on, what were you saying?"
"I was just saying that I got the feeling, from the way you laughed at me today about my attitudes, you know about being a virgin and marriage and all, that you thought I was really stupid. It made me feel really bad."
"Well, I may think your attitudes are stupid, but that doesn't mean that you're stupid. It just means somebody's been filling your head with stupid attitudes and you are not old enough to recognize it yet. But actually I think you're pretty smart and you know what else?" He looked down at Lily, who had his prick out of his pants now.
She was rolling it and rubbing it in between her palms and licking her lips like a hungry wolf. She plunged his prick into her hungry lips and squeezed his prick.
Roger clenched his teeth. He went on. "I also think you're really pretty."
Samantha was all aglow at this compliment. Her palms were still warming her crotch but she found now that there was a pulse in her crotch that was racing, and her palms warming it were doing nothing to stop it. That itching feeling persisted again.
She unzipped her shorts and slid one hand down over her panties. Now her palm was resting on top of her pink panty crotch. She found that one finger automatically nestled in the canal formed by her crotch. She let her finger he there, warming her crotch, and once again the warmth seemed to abate the pounding in her crotch.
"Do you really think I'm pretty," she cooed. "I think you're awfully handsome Roger." Her heart was pounding.
Roger said, "In fact, I'd tell you something else but I'm afraid you might get mad. I know how you are about these things."
"What things?"
"Things about sex."
Lily's face was stretched upwards, forming a tunnel for Roger's big hot prick. The high school track star had a big cock with a bulbous head to it and the relief that Lily provided for him-when she made his bulbous cock head bounce against the back of her throat and then slide down into her throat tunnel-was purely clinical as far as Roger was concerned. He had no feeling for the girl. He just considered her a slut. But he felt how his prick was being squeezed by the girl's tight throat.
Her lips slivered all over his shaft as she worked his cock deep into her mouth.
Samantha's finger resting in the furrow made by her pantied crotch was no longer doing the trick. The itching had come back and the pounding. Hardly even thinking about what she was doing, she picked her hand up and slid it-this time under the panty, against her skin. She felt her finger slide through her fuzzy blonde pussy hair and slide down into the furrow that had been pounding. She slid her finger into this furrow and again let it rest there, feeling some relief from the friction.
"Tell me, Roger, I won't mind," she promised. "I guess I've got to know about these things sometimes," she acutely observed.
"Well, when we were talking today out behind the Field House, I-I was looking at your breasts. I mean, looking at how they stuck out of your T-shirt. You shouldn't wear such tight T-shirts is you don't want guys looking at your tits and thinking that ... "
"But it's the style!" she protested. "Every one wears T-shirts. All the girls"
"And all the guys think about their tits and look at them"
"What were you thinking when you looked," she shyly asked.
Lily's tongue was squirming into his cock patch and she was playing with his balls which she had pulled out of his jeans. He looked down at his whole large sexual apparatus and he felt tough, he felt like a real man. He liked the way Lily looked with his dong plunging into her mouth and he wondered how Samantha would look in the same position. He put his head around behind Lily's head and he plunged his cock into her mouth.
She sucked hard on his prick, wanting to swallow his thick scummy sperm.
"I was thinking about putting my arm around your shoulder and then letting my hand dangle down to your tit and then cupping your cute little pink tit," he said.
Samantha gasped. She didn't know it but her finger was starting to wiggle back and forth in the wet furrow that was her cunt. Her finger wasn't just lying crosswise any more either. It was pointing straight into her wiggling wet hot pussy.
"Why-why didn't you?" she said breathlessly, so happy to know that Roger had said that about her. It meant he really liked her!
"Why? Because I thought you'd get mad! I thought you'd have a fit!"
"You thought I'd do that? Why?"
"Why? For Christ's sake, I thought you wanted to be a virgin until you got married even if you never get married in your whole life!"
"Yes, but feeling my-my breast doesn't make me lose my virginity!"
Roger sighed. He was getting ready to blow his wad into Lily's eager lips.
He said, "Listen Samantha, you're awfully naive, and I didn't want to take advantage of you. One thing always leads to another, see? I don't think you understand what that means."
"I understand! I understand!" Samantha was wiggling her finger up and down inside her cunt and she was starting to bounce up and down on the bed so her cunt would come harder on her skinny little finger. Water was squirting out of her cunt.
"Well, maybe next time I'll try it then, I really mean it," he said sounding sincere. "Look Samantha, I've got to go now," he said.
"Oh don't hang up yet," she pleaded.
Roger wanted to come into Lily's face and he wanted to be able to completely relax when he did it, and just let go and blow his wad! He didn't want to have to keep talking to Samantha, but she wouldn't let him go.
"I'll prove to you I do understand what you're talking about Roger," she said. She was feeling desperate. "I may be naive but I'm not as naive as you think! You know what I'm doing now, what I've been doing all the time I've been talking to you?"
"What," Roger barely managed to breathe out. Lily was doing incredible things with her tongue-sucking, squeezing, opening her throat wide and shoving his cock down there, and then sucking and squeezing some more.
"I-I've been playing with myself, Roger!" she admitted in a whisper, surprising even herself. She looked at her finger. It was all wet. Her shorts were wet too. "I'm all wet!" she laughed.
Roger stared into the telephone. He could hardly believe what he had heard. His prick stiffened in Lily's throat. Wow! He was really turned on. He wondered if it was true or if she was just making it up to lead him on.
"Really?" he said. "Describe it to me. Tell me what you're doing! Wow! Samantha you're not as naive as I thought!"
She beamed with pleasure. "Right now, I've got my hand down under my panties. I'm wearing pink panties. I'll bring them to school tomorrow and show you. I won't wear them or anything! Right now they're soaking wet. The crotch. I've got my finger slid under my panties and I've got my finger up my ... "
"Cunt," he whispered.
Her cunt started to glow again.
"Yes," she whispered, "up my cunt."
"Wow! Samantha, go on, go on, you're making me really hot baby."
"Am I? Am I really?"
"Yeah, my prick's big as a house."
Samantha wondered how big that was.
"I'm feeling in my ... cunt, I just started doing it before, just started laying my hand on top of my crotch because I was thinking about your leg muscles, your thighs and how they looked when you stretched them out today. And then I stole a glance at your crotch, Roger, and I was thinking about that and I got this funny tingling sensation in my ... cunt and then it started sort of to itch, you know?"
"Go on, baby, go on! I've got my dick in a nice warm place and I'm listening to your voice." Lily's mouth was getting kind of tired and she was kind of pissed about the way he was talking to some other girl while she was sucking him off.
She pulled her mouth of his prick and gave him a sour look.
He just motioned to her to go down on him again and keep quiet.
With a pissed expression on her face she just grabbed his cock and stuck it back in her mouth again. But it was so big and tasted so delicious, the way it filled her entire mouth that she forgot about the fact that he was talking to some other girl.
Samantha said, "First I had my hand on top of my shorts, but that wasn't enough and so then I had my hand on top of my panties, and that wasn't enough and then I slipped my hand down into my panties and my finger slid straight into my cunt-it was all wet, Roger. And then I started to wiggle and squirm and I just kept getting hotter and hotter. I mean it seemed like no matter how hard I wiggled and squirmed my cunt just wasn't getting enough from my finger," she groaned. She was wiggling and squirming on her finger. Her words were making Roger's prick hard.
"Oh tell me baby! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"
"I was getting so wet Roger, talking to you and fingering myself ... "
"Oh baby! Here I come!! ! " And he was coming.
Roger was pumping his scum down Lily's sweet white throat as the pert fifteen year old girl held her throat open for him and sucked in his sweet cock cream.
She sucked and sucked and sucked.
"Did you come?" Samantha asked in an awed whisper.
Roger was sticking his thick fingers in Lily's blouse and feeling her plump little tits now as sort of an after-come reward. "Boy did I ever," he grinned down at the slutty fifteen year old. She took her mouth off his cock and licked it up with her tongue.
His big now-limp prick hung down from his jeans, dripping wet.
"Samantha honey! I've got to go now. I'll see you in school tomorrow. I'll dream about you tonight!"
"Oh Roger! Do you have to go now?"
"Yeah-hey, and don't forget about those wet pink panties you promised to show me. I'm going to be waiting to see them," he whispered sexily. Then he hung up.
She sighed and put the phone back on the hook. Her hand was still in her cunt.
Just then she heard a cough behind her.
She froze.
Miss Smithe said, "What are you doing, Samantha? Turn around!"
Samantha slowly turned. She drew her hand out of her pussy, but it was all too obvious what she had been doing. She looked away from the housekeeper in shame.
"I see," Miss Smithe said. She wet her thin lips. She was wearing a straight outfit consisting of skirt and jacket. She was very skinny.
"How dare you walk in here, without knocking!" Samantha suddenly demanded, regaining her spirit. She didn't have to be ashamed of what she was doing. So-she had been caught.
"I did knock, but apparently you didn't hear, as you were, er, otherwise occupied. Who were you talking to on the phone?"
"None of your business!"
"I'm afraid it is my business young lady. I'm afraid it is very much my business. Your father pays me to know everything that is going on in your life. And he is very worried about you tonight. He sent me up here to see if I could find out what was troubling you. He seemed to think that perhaps a woman's touch was required here."
"Nothing's troubling me! Except you walking in here making me feel like a fucking sneak and criminal in my own room!"
"Watch your language young lady!" Miss Smithe said, her lips turning white.
"I don't have to if I don't want to! Not with ! You're not my father!"
I will have to report your behavior to your father, if you don't adopt a different attitude this moment! I don't want to tell him what I caught you doing, because I know he will be quite angry with you. But you force me ... "
"Go ahead and tell him! I can have you fired for lying about me! I'll just tell him you're making it all up! I'll tell him you were eavesdropping on me! I'll tell him anything! He'll believe anything I say!"
"You may find that that has changed," Miss Smithe smiled grimly.
CHAPTER THREE
"I don't understand what's been going on with Samantha," Larry confided with Miss Smithe later on in the night. "She just hasn't been acting like her old self. Did you find out what was wrong?" he inquired.
Miss Smithe sighed patiently. "I don't think there's any one thing that's wrong Mr. Clint. Samantha is at a very difficult age now, when many changes are taking place in her body and mind. She's thinking about a lot of new things. She's becoming a woman."
Larry Clint looked at his thin housekeeper suspiciously.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for example, I believe she was talking to a boy, when I went up to see her. Nothing harmful about that. She's got a healthy interest in boys. You should be glad." Miss Smithe herself was a dyke but she kept her sexual life out of his house.
He looked at her even more suspiciously.
"What boy? What was his name?"
"I don't know Mr. Clint. I think Samantha is entitled to a little privacy just like all the rest of us, don't you?"
"Get me the name of that boy. Oh shit! One thing you know she's talking to a boy on the telephone and the next thing you know she's pregnant and needs an abortion."
Miss Smithe sat there quietly.
"Well you know what I mean, don't you?" Clint roared.
"As far as I know, I've never heard of anyone getting pregnant from talking on the telephone," she answered quietly.
He was raving now, tearing his hair as she walked around his study.
Miss Smithe sat primly in her chair.
"Miss Smithe, as you know, I work with girls. Women, whatever you call them. Once they start playing around with their ... well you know-they turn into sluts. I've seen it happen again and again! My daughter is not going to be a slut, Miss Smithe." She said nothing.
"What's she doing now?" he asked her.
"When I left her she was doing her homework."
"Well tell her I want to speak to her. Right now."
"Mr. Clint, one thing, before I go."
"What is it Miss Smithe?"
"I just think you ought to realize that sooner or later, Samantha is going to want to have dates, go out with boys, hold their hands, kiss-just like all girls her age. If she has the right attitudes and understands about sex, she won't ... get herself into trouble. But if you don't let her develop naturally, she will rebel and she will get into trouble."
"Are you trying to tell me how to bring up my own daughter?" the enraged porno publisher roared.
"No sir."
"Tell her to come down here, right now."
"Yes, sir."
Samantha came down to her father's study. She was wearing her pink terry cloth robe and nothing underneath it. She had taken off her pink panties and stuck them in her bag to take to school tomorrow and she had put her shorts in the wash.
She had been thinking, with a glow, about the phone call, and about how suddenly her life had become more interesting.
She could hardly believe that she was actually going to bring him the panties to see-could hardly believe that she had told him about them at all.
She could hardly believe that she had told him about what she was doing to herself and that he had loved it! She wondered if he really had come! Just from listening to her voice over the phone! She wondered what it would be like if they were along together.
She had forgotten all about her fight with her father previously that evening. At any rate, she was all ready to make up, and felt honey sweet again.
So she was surprised to see his usually amiable face curled up in anger which was usually reserved for his employees, and not for his daughter whom he doted on.
"What is this Miss Smithe has been telling me?" he demanded.
Miss Smithe had told Samantha that she had not told her father anything about finding her masturbating.
"I don't know what you're talking about,"
Samantha said.
"She said she caught you talking to a boy over the phone."
"Oh that, Yes I was. Is there anything wrong with that, Daddy?"
She smiled at him petulantly.
She sat down on the little velvet love seat and curled her feet up under her. Her blonde hair fell prettily down over her pink robe.
"No! No! Nothing wrong with that! Nothing wrong with talking to a boy on the phone. Nothing wrong with being too ashamed to say who he was! Nothing wrong with going out on a date with him, and then holding his hand, and then letting him kiss you, and then coming home with a big belly, and coming crying to me ...
"Daddy, aren't you getting a little carried away? All I did was talk to him on the phone!" She pouted her lips. She knew how to get her way with her father.
"Who was he?"
"His name is Roger."
"Who is he? Where did you meet him?"
"At school. He's just a boy from school, Daddy."
"What's a boy doing at an all-girls' school?"
"He doesn't go to my school. He goes to City and Country Academy. It's the brother school to my school. Our schools share a field house and I see him when I went to a track meet. Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Hmmm," Clint was stumped. He knew there was nothing wrong with that, but he also knew that he had to explain something to his daughter. Something which would be difficult to explain. He was not used to talking about such things.
"Listen honey," he said more gently, coming up to her and taking her chin in his hand. "Let's you and me have a little talk. We haven't talked in a long while, have we? Move over."
She made room for him on the love seat. She put her arms up around his thick neck and snuggled against him, pulling her robe across her thighs.
"You see, honey, I only want the best for you. When I yell at you or get upset it's because I worry about you." He pressed his lips into her golden hair.
"I know that Daddy," she cooed and she kissed him back.
"And you're getting to be such a grown-up girl now! So big! Almost pretty! Almost a woman! You're going to have the boys buzzing around you like bees buzzing around honey. And that's what I want to talk to you about."
"Yes, Daddy," Samantha said.
"Well, I guess we have to talk to each other frankly now. You know that I have a magazine and I guess you've probably heard that it's got pictures of naked girls in it. Those girls are bad girls, Samantha. They're-they're like prostitutes."
She listened, watching him.
"Any girl who would do the things those girls do-and believe me, they do some very sick things Samantha, well, they're not normal girls. They're not like you."
"How are they different, Daddy?"
"Well, maybe some of them haven't had the advantages you've had. Maybe some of them had sick parents. Or maybe some of them are just plain sluts. Whores. But I ... my girl is different. She's different from that kind of girl. I want you to grow up to be a beautiful healthy woman. I want you to have a lovely husband and a lovely family. You can see the difference, honey, can't you?"
She said, "But don't some of those girls have husbands and families? I mean, I just wonder."
"Maybe some of them do, but you see, sweetheart, what kind of man would allow his wife, the mother of his children to ... pose in the way these girls pose."
"How do they pose, Daddy?"
"In, the most disgusting manner, that's all I can tell you, kitten-pie. I don't ever want to see you with one of those magazines in your hands. I think it would break my heart. Do you understand?"
"I guess so," she said. "But I don't know. I was talking to ... this friend of mine and he said that it seemed kind of hypocritical, I mean when I said that I had always been brought up to think I had to be a virgin when I got married, and I'm your daughter, and you publish these magazines that show young girls who aren't married and who aren't virgins."
"Who said that? Who said that?"
"Just a friend. But all the kids laugh at me, because of my old-fashioned attitude and because I'm your daughter. I mean it just does seem kind of hypocritical of you."
She never saw his hand coming. It just landed on her face. It was the second time he had slapped her that night. He set her lip bleeding again.
"Ow!" she cried. She stared at him horrified, tears filling her eyes.
"Don't you ever call me a hypocrite again! You're just too young to understand. You don't know what goes on out there in the world."
"Well how can you expect me to understand when you practically keep me locked all the time under lock and key!! ! " she screamed.
He stared at her disbelievingly. He had never seen her like this, enraged, screaming, squawking. "Shut your mouth!" He slapped her again and sent her sprawling backward against the couch. Her legs flew open. Then he saw ...
He saw that she was wearing nothing under her robe.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he leaned over her, whispering viciously. He was clenching and unclenching his teeth trying to control himself.
"What do you mean?" she whispered with fear. She didn't know what he was talking about. She had never seen him get so mad. Not at her.
Her trembling thighs were spread and as he stood over her he could see right up her orbe to her golden fleece.
"Close your legs, girl!" he snarled. "Pretty soon you'll be opening them to the whole world! So you walk around without anything on under your robe, when you come to see your father! Don't you think that's a little bit sluttish?" he sneered.
"Daddy, please, I don't know what you're talking about," the frightened little girl pleaded.
"Get out of here! Get out of here now!" he screamed, turning away.
"Daddy," she whimpered. "I've never seen you like this before. I don't know what's come over you."
He said, "Get out, before I really hit you." Trembling, she ran out of the study. Upstairs in her pink room she found Miss Smithe waiting for her.
"How did it go?" the young stern housekeeper asked.
"Terrible! Just terrible!" Samantha began to cry. "He hit me again. I've never seen him get so mad! He was just going on and on, getting crazy, because I talked to a boy on the phone. And telling me about how he didn't want me to be like the girls in his magazine who are sick sluts and ... ohhhhh!! " She started to cry into Miss Smithe's arms.
"There, there, it's all right, Samantha. You've got to understand that you're your father's only daughter, and he thinks the world of you. He's only upset because he loves you. We'll work on him, you and I together. Maybe he can get used to the idea that you're growing up." She patted the young girl's hair and held her close-in her arms.
Miss Smithe could feel the young girl's breasts pressing through the terry robe and into her starched white shirt. She held her closer.
"Oh Miss Smithe! You are my friend! Aren't you? I'm sorry for the horrible things I've ever said to you. You know sometimes I feel like I don't have any friends. I feel like a prisoner in this stupid old mansion! Oh, I'm so unhappy!"
"Go to sleep now, dear, you'll feel better in the morning."
"Yes."
Samantha took off her robe and threw it on the chair.
Miss Smithe bit her lip when she saw the young nubile girl, her body pink and fluffy from all the excitement of the evening, her breasts round and full like oranges, her pussy down soft and blonde. Miss Smithe bit her lip.
Samantha got into bed. Miss Smithe brought her some ice to hold to her lip which her father had split. Samantha thanked her and then reached up to put her arms around her dear housekeeper and give her a goodnight kiss.
"Good night dear," Miss Smithe left the room with her pussy throbbing.
The next day, Samantha went to school with her pink panties in her purse. She looked for Roger after school behind the field house, but he never showed up. It was a Friday and she felt very depressed for that meant she wouldn't see him until Monday. There was no chance of seeing him over the weekend. Her father would never allow that, she knew. She went home after school, driven by Leonard.
She sat in the limousine without saying a word. That was unlike her.
"You glad it's Friday?" he asked her conversationally.
"Yeah," she said dully. Friday meant nothing to her.
Larry was home for dinner again that night. He had decided that he ought to spend more time with his daughter. Perhaps that's what the trouble stemmed from, that he didn't spend enough time with her. She was late in coming down to dinner and he sent Miss Smithe up to look for her. She came down with her coat and bag.
"What have you got your coat and bag for?" He looked at his daughter quixotically. She said in a quavering voice, "I'm going out tonight."
"Going out tonight?" He looked at her like she was crazy.
"Yes, there's ... there's someone I've got to see." She knew it was crazy and she knew he wouldn't let her; yet she had to try, she had to try to escape from this prison of a mansion or else she felt she would go crazy. If she had to stay here another night, playing pinochle with Miss Smithe and watching TV, she would go crazy.
"Sit down and eat you dinner and stop acting out this ridiculous role. Who do you think you are-the Queen of England? Going out tonight. You'll do no such thing!"
"But Daddy, please! Why? Why can't I go out?"
"Because you're a sixteen year old little girl and sixteen year old little girls don't go out by themselves alone of Friday nights. If you want Leonard to take you somewhere-to a girlfriend's house, I'd like to talk to the girlfriend's mother first. Then you can go, but I don't see why you don't just invite one of your girlfriends over here. I don't understand why you never have any of your friends over here!"
"Because I don't have any friends!" she wailed. "Everyone thinks I'm too stupid or else too much of a prude, or else thier parents won't let them come to the house of the man who publishes that filthy smut!"
Larry rose in a fury. He clenched his fists, but restrained himself from hitting her again. "Go to your room," he said. "And stay there until I say you can come out."
She rose and left.
Larry stood staring at the seat where she had been sitting and at her plate of untouched food. He wanted to know who she wanted to go see, who was that boy she was talking to on the phone, whose parents said they wouldn't allow their children to come to his house. Suddenly he saw that she had left her bag on the seat behind her.
He picked it up and dumped its contents out on the dining table.
The plan was to go through her wallet but then he saw her pink panties. He stared at them and his blood started pounding in his temples. Where exactly did she think she was going without her panties on? Who was she going to see?
He stormed upstairs to her room.
He ordered Miss Smithe out.
He had his little riding crop with him, the one he liked to use on the models who pleased him. He looked at his golden-haired sixteen year old daughter, saw what he hadn't before-that she had lipstick on! He looked at her painted lips, her golden-hair, and the tight black T-shirt she wore that revealed in all their plump fullness her virgin breasts. His blood pressure rose dangerously.
"Take off your clothes," he told her through clenched teeth.
She stared at him terrified.
"Daddy," she whispered.
He thrust the pink panties he had found in her bag in her face. "Where were you taking these?" He waited but she did not answer.
"Take off your clothes," he repeated.
She looked around, saw there was no way out, and nervously started to unbutton her pants. "W-what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I'm going to give you a beating you're not going to forget for a long time," he said. She slipped out of her jeans, and stood before him in a pair of white panties. Somehow, he didn't notice, or didn't make the connection that she was wearing panties. Or maybe it made no difference to him.
"Continue," he said.
Trembling, she put her hands on the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. She was wearing no bra. She stood before him now, holding her little black T-shirt over her chest. Her little tits were trembling and wobbling with fear.
"Go on," he urged her on with thick whispering, "take off your panties."
He was growing excited in spite of himself, hardly knowing what he was doing and hardly knowing what his intentions were. This was the same thing he did with the models who came to see him, hoping to be chosen for his magazine. He looked at his trembling, quivering blonde-haired daughter and he felt an eager lust to whip her, to torment and scorch her beautiful nubile body, to spoil her and make her undesirable, so no one else would have her. He was a man beyond rationality at that point.
"Zing!"
His riding crop rode through the air and slashed out at her hands. Her hands flew away from her chest and her T-shirt fell to the floor.
"Please, Daddy! Please! Don't hurt me!" she cried.
"Zing!"
The crop struck out against her tits, slashing diagonally across them, leaving a red welt as the kiss of the whip left its mark.
She ran from him, running from the farthest corner of the room, behind the bed, cowering and hiding. In two strides he was near her again.
She was bent over double, crouching, covering herself, whimpering.
"I'll teach you to go out of the house with your panties in your handbag! I'll teach you to slut yourself about with tight jeans, and that lip paint! No daughter of mine is going to be a whore!"
"Zing!"
Now he walked forward and grabbed her up and carried her to the edge of the bed where he firmly put her over his knee. She was crying but hardly resisting any more, frightened to death that he was going to kill her.
With her pert buttocks staring him in the face, he threw aside the whip and began spanking her with the palm of his hand.
"Thack! Thwack! Thwack!"
The cupped palm of his hand came down firmly on her firm ass cheeks and the resounding twacks of his hand on her flesh made his prick rise in his pants. He was hardly aware of it though. He was crying himself, big tears running down the creased lines of his face. He was crying because he had hurt her, because he had frightened her.
"I only do it for your own good," he sobbed.
She was sobbing too.
His hand was stinging her ass with resounding thwack after thwack. Her ass was red and she cried with each stinging blow.
The injustice of what her father was doing to her, and the humiliation of being spanked like a little child, made her sob her heart out as if she would never stop.
First the brutality of the whipping, the terror that had struck her heart cold when he stood over her, his fierce powerful manhood evident, as he wielded the whip and she, naked, small, powerless, quivered in front of him, had frightened her as she had never been frightened before in her life.
Then her relief when he flung aside the whip had turned to humiliation as he now spanked her ass cheeks, while she was still naked, making her feel at once ridiculous and small, humiliated, like a child, while her new femininity was all too evident.
Finally his hand had warmed her butt enough.
Overcome with remorse, his heart torn by the sound of her sobbing, he stopped spanking her and picked her up and held her close to him.
Her legs wrapped around his torso, just the way a little child's would in an embrace with an adult, and he held her trembling naked body close.
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" she cried, turning in her shame and embarrassment to the very man who had embarrassed and hurt her.
"Angel! Samantha! Honey! Daddy's sorry! Can you forgive him?"
Father and daughter cried together.
He supported her on his hands, holding her butt up as he hugged her. He suddenly felt her warm furry pussy fuzz. A shiver went through his body.
His dick was lying long and hard down one of his pants legs.
Suddenly something wet was secreted from her body onto his hand.
Her juice, stimulated by the spanking, was leaking onto his hand.
Her nubile tits were rubbing into his open shirt.
Panting heavily, he put her down.
"Angel, Daddy's sorry," he merely said, and then he left the room.
Miss Smithe came in and found Samantha sobbing her heart out on the bed. She had a huge welt across her tits and Miss Smithe, keeping her opinion of fathers who whip daughters to herself, washed the wound clean and applied some healing lotion.
She noticed that the girl's ass was reddened too, and that Samantha seemed to have suffered some sexual excitation from this cruel scene with her father.
She put the still whimpering sixteen year old girl to bed and left the room.
Later that night, Ellen, the black maid came to her room.
Miss Smithe took off al her clothes.
She stood before Ellen in her slim nakedness, her small tits turned hard at the thought with lust and desire. Seeing Samantha in the last few days was making her sexually hotter than she had been in a long time.
Ellen, the nineteen year old black maid, had huge nubile breasts. She was the color of dark chocolate and her nipples were the color of coffee with milk.
She stripped and then stepped forward and nosed the big tips of her breasts into Miss Smithe's slim body. Miss Smithe put her hands up to her hair and unloosened her French twist. Her blonde hair came cascading down.
She kissed her way down Ellen's black nipples to her sloping full belly, to her kinky black twat hair. Then, as Ellen spread her legs open, Miss Smithe tongued into the flaming pink wet cunt. She wanted to eat, she wanted to taste and bite and swallow.
The black maid's cunt was so hot, so spicy, so fragrant and juicy-it was a relief from the pent-up sexuality that had been building in Miss Smithe all day, from her contact with the budding Samantha. Miss Smithe ate out Ellen's cunt long and hard, making Ellen squirt all of her juices into her and sucking and drinking them up.
Ellen writhed and sighed.
Then Miss Smithe backed off and lay on her bed. She put her legs over her head so her feet touched the wall behind her, and she put her hands down around to her ass which she spread open. She said to the staring, black maid, whose tits were heaving with passion: "Come eat me, Ellen. Come eat out my ass hole and my cunt."
Wordlessly, the black maid stooped and dug her tongue into Miss Smithe's puckered pink ass-hole. She dug and ate out her anus. She fingered into her pussy.
Miss Smithe thought of Samantha and she groaned and sighed.
Ellen was making Miss Smithe's cunt wet and quivering as she diddled her clit while she ate out her anus. Then she switched, and plunged her tongue into the quivering pussy pot while she fingered Miss Smithe's anus. Miss Smithe's pussy started quivering like a pond struck by lightening. She gushed and her pussy juices ran out all over Ellen's face.
"More! More! More! Don't stop!"
Just then a buzzer sounded in Miss Smithe's room. It was the intercom from Mr. Clint.
Groaning, she leaned over and pressed the buzzer. She didn't even bother to speak.
"Have you see Ellen? Miss Smithe? If you see her, please send her to my room at once.
"Mr. Clint," Miss Smithe managed to reply.
She turned the intercom off.
Ellen was already standing up, putting her clothes on, wiping off her mouth.
Without a word she left the still unsatisfied housekeeper and went off to the West Wing, to Mr. Clint's room. He was waiting for her with the whip.
"Strip Ellen," he said.
The ready maid stripped off her black uniform and white apron. She stood before him in her stockings and panties, she wore no bra.
"Such fine tits. Such big lovely brown tits, Ellen," he said through clenched teeth.
He reached out and squeezed one jug and then the other.
"Spread your legs, cunt," he said.
She spread her legs as she stood on the floor. He lashed out at her with the whip bringing it up between her thighs, slashing her pussy meat as it lay under her black panties. Her pussy felt the stinging tongue of the lash and she ground her teeth.
He tied her hands behind his back and made her open his fly with her teeth. Then she had to go fishing for his big dick in his pants with her mouth.
He lashed at her big bottom while she did this, making her pussy start to drip as her bottom got hot. He loved to fuck Ellen. He loved to play with her. She could take it hot and rough, the way he had to have it.
When he was ready, he made her squat on her knees on his big brass bed. Her hands still tied behind her, he tied her ass to the brass work at the end of the bed. Her ass, pressed against the brass work. Her black ass was big and round and curved and full.
He squeezed it, slashed at it, reached around and squeezed and slashed at her tits, and then his big prong was ready.
He stood behind her, spreading his ass cheeks wide. Her pussy was dripping and oozing with cunt juice. He stuck his finger in her cunt and stirred up her whirlpool of cunt juice. She groaned. He sank another finger up her ass. She was ready.
Making her ass-hole bigger with his working finger, he stuck the tip of his dick, wet with her cunt juice, into her ass hole. He was going to explode down her anus.
She was tight and long and hot. She groaned, her hands tied behind her, tied to the bed. He plunged through the brass work into her tight hot ass-hole and he diddled her wet cunt. Her ass-hole opened to accept him. Her pussy juice was streaming all over his fingers. He jammed and rammed his cock down her anus, in between her charming black ass cheeks. He thought of his golden-haired daughter.
He rammed his big throbbing prick down the ass of his black maid harder.
The friction became liquid quickly.
He was slamming into her.
She was moaning, her big tits hanging heavily, wobbling, moaning with passion.
Suddenly he started plowing in deeper and deeper. Her cunt was wet and heavy under his fingers. Her anus was hot and tight.
His scum was rising, his scum was pounding, his dick was pounding, he was pounding his throbbing dick into her, he was plowing his seed down her ass canal, she was squealing, squeezing, moaning, sighing, sucking his pearly seed out of his long hard dick.
He plowed his cock down her ass-hole into a pond of his scummy seed, watching his cock plowing her ass, and again his thoughts switched to his daughter, as she had hugged him, her ass reddened, her cunt dripping and wet, just like this cunt, her little titties pressing into him.
He plowed into the black maid and he came.
CHAPTER FOUR
Samantha sobbed herself to sleep that night. But she woke a few hours later. She looked at the lighted dial of her clock, from where she lay in the pink canopied bed. It was only eleven-thirty. She called Roger.
His older brother answered the phone.
"Roger isn't here right now, can I take a message?"
Samantha felt like crying. Why wasn't he there when she needed him?
"Do you know when he'll be back? It's very important." Jack, Roger's older brother, listened to the girl and could tell that she was very upset. She sounded cute.
Roger had gone out to a party that night and he had left the number where he was going, telling Jack that he expected a friend of his to call and to give the caller the number of where he was staying. Jack assumed that this girl was the friend and he gave her the number. Samantha thanked him gratefully, with tears in her eyes.
She dialed the number. She didn't know it, but she was dialing Lily's house.
The party at Lily's was in full swing. Which is to say all the lights were out in the living room, some hot, slow sexy music was on the stereo, and the couples were necking. The couples consisted of two couples: Lily and Roger, and Lily's friend Allison (another slut) and her boyfriend-a quarterback with the unlikely name of Brick.
Brick answered the phone, lazily, which was at arm's length from where he was cuddled up with Allison, a tall girl with long brown hair that reached down to her ass.
They were only tonguing and feeling each other up at this point. Allison liked a lot of foreplay. Her hand was on his cock which was barreling out of his jeans, and she had her legs spread wide as she sat cross-legged on the couch and he was stirring her boobs, while they tonguingly kissed.
"Hey Rog! It's for you!' Roger was lying on top of Lily, eating out her cunt which was soft and full of cooze juice. Her clit was big and popping out and he was having fun licking it only once every once in a while, and making her squirm and beg for him to suck it.
She was lying beneath him, with his big cock poking into her face, sucking and playing with his dick with her tongue. They were having fun.
Roger reached out and took the phone, hooking it in between his head and shoulder as he continued to tongue into Lily's wet twat.
"Hello Roger! This is Samantha!"
"Sam! How did you get this number?"
"Your brother gave it to me. Where are you?"
"Ooh, just at some friends. Listen, what's wrong? You sound upset."
"Oh, Roger I have to talk to you. I just have to see you! Please can you see me this weekend? Roger, I'm so upset!"
"Well sure, I can see you kid. But tell me, what's wrong?"
He sank his tongue into the sweet pussy that was clamping and squeezing around his cock
He enjoyed Lily's twat action while he listened to Samantha's woeful tale.
"My father-he beat me! He whipped me! Just for talking on the phone to you!" She started to cry again. "And then he spanked me! Roger! It was so awful! I felt I was going to die! I feel like a prisoner here! You're right, he's such a hypocrite! He has one standard of values for his magazine! But I have to be like a little saint. I said that to him, and then he started to beat me! I'm black and blue!"
"Gee, I'm sorry about that, Sam. How did he find out that you were talking to me on the phone?"
"Miss Smithe told him," Samantha sobbed. "The housekeeper."
"Gee, that's too bad." Lily, getting annoyed at how long he was talking on the phone, sank her teeth into his big prod. Allison and Brick were moving along on the sofa. Allison pulling her jeans down over her butt and holding her hips up to Brick's mouth. Brick sank his face in her sweet mush, and ate. She was playing with his dick with her toes, which were like little fingers. They were giggling about Roger, talking on the phone while sixty-nining with Lily. It was really too much!
"Look Sam, I got to go," Roger laughed. "Will you see me tomorrow?"
"Sure-where?" '
"Behind the field house, like always."
"Okay, what time."
"Uh, one."
"Okay, bye Sam.'
Samantha hung up and lay in bed alone, thinking the night would never be over.
The next day was Saturday. It dawned bright and sunny.
Larry Clint had to be at a meeting all day long.
Miss Smithe was working on the schedule and menu of meals for next week. Samantha was left mostly to herself for the day. She had a plan, and as soon as she was left alone after lunch she went about carrying it out.
She had packed a small suitcase and she stole out of the house to the garage, a separate building nearby. She rang the bell, furtively, hoping Miss Smithe wouldn't take this moment to look out the window and see her.
Leonard, the black chauffeur, lived upstairs above the garage.
Leonard heard the ringing of the bell and cursed.
Ellen was stripped naked and he was holding her buttocks and pressing her cooze into his face. His dick was pointing straight up at the naked black girl's hot cunt and he was all set to bring her down on top of it. Now he had to get up, put on some clothes and go downstairs and see who it was.
Mr. Clint had said he wouldn't be needing the car for the day.
He strapped his big cock into his pants and threw on a shirt and some' shoes and went downstairs tucking his shirt in his pants.
"Miss Samantha!"
"Leonard, can I come in?" she looked around nervously.
He set her into the little hallway.
He looked at her little suitcase.
"Leonard, would you please drive me somewhere? It's really not too far from here. Leonard, please," she coaxed, batting her eyelashes. "Just to the school. I'm supposed to meet a friend there."
"I can't take you nowhere, not with you carrying that little suitcase like you are going to run away." He shook his head, knowing what kind of trouble that would get him into.
"Please, Leonard, please! I'll do anything you want. I'll pay you. I have some money of my own in the bank! I'll give you all my money."
"I don't want your money, Miss Samantha."
"Please Leonard, please, you don't know how important this is to me. I'll, I'll...."
She looked down dubiously at the hard outline of his dick in his pants.
She looked up again and their eyes met.
"M'll do that, I will, I'll do that for you!" she said breathlessly. She couldn't bring herself to say what she meant, but they both knew what she meant.
Leonard smiled slowly and licked his dry lips. Miss Samantha was a golden-beauty and a virgin too, he would bet. To think of her satisfying him, playing with his dick to pay him for driving her somewhere, appealed to him and he grew stiffer in his pants at the thought of her pretty little lips wrapping around him ...
"Naw, I couldn't let you do that, Miss Samantha. It wouldn't be right. Besides if your Daddy ever found out, I would be in one hell of a lot of trouble. If I drove you somewhere you're not supposed to go. Because something tells me you're trying to run away from home or something."
She was staring him in the eye, trying to fascinate him, wield power over him, approaching him silently, her fingers going out to his fly.
She was trembling and she was trying to keep her fingers from trembling, because she had never done anything like this before. She had never done before what she was doing now, unzipping a man's fly, smiling up at him, shaking her blonde curls over her shoulder. She was afraid to reach inside his pants once she got his fly open.
"See now," he said, gently pushing her fingers away as she hesitated at his open fly. "You're still a little girl. You shouldn't be doing things like that." Her heart pounded. "No I'm not," she said quietly.
Her fingers went inside his pants and located his black prick.
Leonard trembled as he felt the pretty little white girl's fingers close around his thick hard rod. The head of his cock was quivering. She had trouble pulling his prick up out of his pants, but then she had it out. Now she lost courage again.
"Yeah?" Leonard smiled wryly. "Now what are you going to do about it?"
It was the first time she had ever even seen a male member, naked, in real life. She kept glancing at it and then looking away, swallowing several times, not sure what to do. But his remark bit into her and urged her on again.
She started to pull at the zipper of her jeans to undress.
Leonard stopped her. "That won't be necessary," he said without any trace of smile this time. "Just put your mouth on it and suck it honey." Her eyes bulged. She tried to smile as if she weren't afraid or surprised by the request. But her smile was weak and she was obviously afraid.
But there was no turning back now. Gulping, she approached her head to his groin and tenderly lifted his prick to her mouth.
Leonard couldn't believe how excited he was. His stiff prick was throbbing. Just the sight of her little white fingers delicately holding the stiff rod of his meat-she could just barely close her hand around it-turned him on.
But when he saw her close her blue eyes and open her little red lips and thrust her face forward, he knew he was going to blow his wad and blow it big, right in her face. He couldn't wait for the delightful release of that moment!
Samantha was sucking on the black chauffeur's cock!
There she was, a virgin, never having done anything like this before, kneeling in the hall of the three-car garage outside the mansion her Daddy owned, taking the big black tool between her lips and sucking on the long shaft of the meat that the black man thrust into her mouth with grinding jerks of his hips.
She felt her pussy trickle with juice as she wondered what it would be like to be fucked by this big bulbous cock head and the big shaft underneath it.
Leonard locked his big hands behind her head, through her blonde curls, and then he began to fuck her face in earnest. he started to whimper, unused to this activity.
"Just a moment little darling, just hang on, I'm ready to come"' Was he going to come in her mouth? The sixteen year old virgin gagged at the thought. It hadn't happened to her before!! ! She tried to groan, whimper, protest-to say something, anything.
It was impossible. He was pushing the slick bulbous head of his prick down again, inside the back of her throat and she was forced to accept the big thing down her throat where she gagged on it. She could feel his fat rod pounding.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Sweet young meat!" Leonard was groaning and crooning and crying all at the same time. Involuntarily her throat contracted around the shaft of his slimy cock.
That did it His white spunk started pumping. He jerked his prick in and out of the hole of her throat. She could feel a thin stream of spunky thick fluid, his semen, flowing down the back of her throat. It made her sick! But he was pumping it directly down her!
She could do nothing but gulp and swallow it.
When he pulled his dick out of her throat she was sobbing.
"I did it! I did it! Will you take me now?"
He ran his fingers through her curls, chuckling.
"All right, come on, get in the car."
He went upstairs to tell the black sexpot Ellen that he had to take Samantha somewhere.
When he came downstairs again he found Samantha still in the hall, clutching her bag.
He went out to the garage, backed one of the big black limos out and waited for her to come out of the shadow of the house and climb in.
She was just getting into the back seat, with her suitcase in hand, when Larry pulled into the driveway in another car. Larry Clint was in it with some of his business associates. Three girls. He pulled up beside the limo.
Samantha saw who it was, saw her father in the car. She still held the suitcase in her hand. Larry just looked her up and down. Then he got out of the car and went and spoke quietly to Leonard. Samantha saw her father nodding.
Already she knew her little escape was all over. Finished before it had even begun.
Her father just quietly told her to go back to the house. She did so without even arguing. Leonard pulled the limousine back into the garage..
Samantha went to her room and started to cry. She stayed up there all afternoon, refusing to come down for dinner. When his anger steamed down, Larry went up to see his daughter. He asked her one question when he came through the door:
"Where were you going?' She refused to answer.
"Where were you going with that suitcase?"
She remained silent, knowing what was coming could not be averted or diverted by her answer.
"Is that right? You refuse to answer?"
Still she did not answer, waiting for the blows she had come to expect from him.
"I don't trust you any more, Samantha," her father said quietly.
"I never thought I would have to do this," he added almost to himself. "But from now on, you are not allowed to leave the grounds of his house except to go to school. Do you understand, young lady? You are being grounded."
She laughed. "What the hell do you think I've been all my life?' He slapped her.
"Don't you ever swear at me, and from now on, or when you are are not with Miss Smithe, you will be locked in your room. And you will stay there until I feel you can be trusted once
Until I feel you can be trusted again.
She said, "All the locks in the world won't keep me in this dump any more!"
He hit her face with the back of his hand and she held her lip which was bleeding again.
"They won't! They won't ever!" she shouted, out of control with anger now which she couldn't hold inside her. "I will get out of here somehow. If I have to break my way out! I'll get out!! I'll get out! I'll get out! I'll get out!"
"Shut up!" down the hall to his wing, into his bedroom where he roughly let go of her and threw her against a big old oaken chest. "Open it!" he told her.
She opened it. Her eyes bulged when she saw the contents inside. In the big, old chest there were a huge variety of whips, chains, handcuffs, and other instruments, 'toys' of sexual torment and abuse. She did not know what they were however. But before the night was through, she would experience to what use a variety of the interesting 'toys' could be put.
He started throwing magazines at her, old copies of 'Rustler' that were lying around his room.
He was screaming at her. "Look at them! Look at them! Look at these fucking whores! Is that what you want to become! A fucking cunt who's only talent is spreading her flaps and making her juice run
"Look at them you stupid bitch!" he was screaming.
She looked at the magazines that were being thrown at her head as they fell about her. The glossy centerfolds of women spreading their cunts to the camera and smiling seductively didn't even shock her. She was well beyond that now. She felt nothing could shock her any more.
He reached into the chest of torture 'toys' and pulled out some ropes. Then he grabbed her brutally by the wrist again. He tossed her on his big bass bed.
She landed on her back.
He tied her down.
He tied her wrists to the two brass poles at the top of the bed and her ankles to the poles at the foot of the bed. Her hands and legs were spread wide. But she was still dressed, though the buttons of her blouse had been torn loose and her blouse was half open. She lay there with her heart pounding, wondering what was coming next. She almost felt as if she didn't care. What did it matter, anyway? What difference did it make what happened to her? Who cared about her anyway?
To her surprise, her father lurched out of the room after that, and she was left to lie there for many hours, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long he would leave her there, wondering how she would escape from this hell, not of her own making.
Ellen was the first to find her.
The black maid came in to clean the master bedroom, and found the daughter tied to the brass bed, half-naked. Samantha had fallen into a deep but restless sleep. Ellen climbed on the bed on top of her.
She worked her way slowly into the young blonde sixteen year old's pants and began tonguing her pussy. She just naturally serviced everyone in the house, indeed she had been hired for her natural inclination that way. No one ever told her that the master's daughter was off-limits. She was a deaf-mute with a particularly agile tongue and a willing mind and body. She was on top of the sleeping golden-haired girl, tonguing deep down into the girl's panties under her little white shorts, spasming open Samantha's pussy while Sam slept, making her wet without her even knowing it.
But Samantha woke with a jolt when she felt an electric shock tingle at her clit.
She saw in the darkness of the night a form on top of her, buttocks raised, black buttocks, in her face, and the weight of large heavy tits dangling down on her thighs.
She was being tongued out, eaten out, by the strange silent maid who had always kept mostly to her father's quarters.
"Ellen, Ellen? Is that you?"
The black mute woman humping her in the midnight stopped for a moment and turned silently though she could not hear, she could sense that the girl was now awake.
Samantha saw the black grinning face in the moonlight. She saw how the black maid's thick lips were oily-from the wetness of Samantha's own cunt.
Samantha saw the black woman lick her thick lips with her wide pink tongue, and Samantha knew then that the woman rapaciously craved her golden virgin pussy. She knew that women can hunger for women.
"Untie me, please!"
Samantha struggled at her ropes to try to indicated what she wanted. Normally she could communicate with the woman with gestures, but now her hands were tied and bound. "Please untie me!! " she struggled at her bonds.
Misinterpreting her gestures completely, mistaking them for cries of lust and passion-the usual entreaties she got when she climbed into his bed-she turned around and, facing the golden girl, crawling between her legs, she stuck her face in Samantha's cunt, pulling aside shorts and panties to do so. Samantha raised her head up and looked down between her legs. She could see Ellen's white teeth, the gleaming whites of her eyes, and her slick pink tongue, as the tongue worked agilely in and out of her cunt Her breathing stopped.
Ellen could read lips, but she seemed not to read Samantha's that night. She was too busy reading Samantha's cunt lips, which were communicating a different message to her, different from the protest of Samantha's mouth, different from the quivering of her pussy and thighs.
Samantha's cunt lips were quivering, pulling tautly away from the hole of her pussy. Ellen's thick black tongue flicked in and out.
Samantha realized that she was sinking into a delightful bliss of sexual pleasure. She realized that, for the first time in her life, she was experiencing the hot steamy pleasure of being sucked, eaten, pleasured, by another human being.
Up until that point all she had ever done was finger herself a few times, somewhat futilely. And sucked off Leonard, but that had hardly given her any pleasure at all.
"Oh! Oh!" Samantha began breathlessly to sigh.
Ellen's tongue sinking into her cooze was making her feel as if she was melting. Her cunt had become a quivering mass of pink flesh, wet and trembling, like a pool of quivering jello. She loved it! It was making her feel so good.
It was relieving her of the misery and hell she was living in.
It was making her feel more human, sensual again.
"More! More! More! Oh Ellen! Thank you!"
Ellen understood and she darted her tongue in and out, stretched the little girl fuzzy twat open and then drenching her tongue with the sixteen year old's pink pussy Samantha came for the first time that night.
She had her first orgasm under the willing and able tongue of the deaf-mute Ellen, the nineteen year old black maid. But it did not stop there.
When Ellen tasted Samantha's cream on her tongue she poked her tongue into Samantha's cunt hole and covered her tongue with the stuff. Then she pulled herself up along
Samantha's body, holding her tongue out, bringing Samantha her own cream as if in treat to her. Samantha realized what was happening.
She tried to recoil in horror while the big-titted black maid tried to push her pussy-coated tongue into Samantha's mouth. Samantha understood the Ellen wanted to kiss her but she felt disgusted and nauseated, smelling her own body, her own cunt, on the face of the big-lipped black girl. She writhed and twisted her head from side to side.
Ellen dipped her tongue down and licked Samantha's writhing head, leaving pink and white stripes across Samantha's face-the cream of her own cunt.
"Please, Ellen! No!"
But Ellen was used to these games of protest and submission. She assumed that Samantha wanted her to go on.
Pulling the crotch of her own black panties aside, Ellen grinned in the darkness and crouched over Samantha's face. Samantha stared in horror.
She could clearly see the pink wet slit that ran like a knife would slash up between he black maid's brown pussy lips. Her black kinked pussy hair curled about the lips.
Holding her panty crotch aside, Ellen lowered her cunt slit down over Samantha's mouth slowly. Samantha turned her head from side to side, but she could not escape.
She smelled the powerful odor, then felt the slick wet flesh of Ellen's cunt meat.
Ellen's pink wet slit was pressing against Samantha's mouth. Samantha held her lips tightly closed. Ellen didn't seem to care at first.
She just started rubbing her throbbing swelling pussy back and forth against Samantha's closed mouth, getting pleasure out of the feeling of the swelling of Samantha's lips pressing against the lips of her cunt.
But then the black maid wanted more.
Her big jugs were wobbling in the black night of the brass bed as Ellen reached down to the mouth of her victim, raising her cunt off her mouth. Ellen's fingers found Samantha's mouth and worked through her lips. But Samantha kept her teeth firmly closed. Ellen wiggled two fingers down on either side of Samantha's jaw, wiggling into her gums and when she got to the pressure points of Samantha's jaw she began to squeeze.
Slowly Samantha's mouth responded to the pain of the pressure, slowly opening.
Smiling delightedly at her success, Ellen wiggled her pink wet slit back down into Samantha's now open mouth and then wiggled in comfortably. She kept her fingers in Samantha's mouth to keep her mouth and jaw and teeth open, and then she just happily slid her cunt, clit and cunt lips back and forth on Samantha's passive tongue.
Samantha's tongue began to ache. To stretch it out she pushed it up. It went through the crevice of Ellen's cunt walls, slid into Ellen's cunt.
Samantha felt the seismic pressure of the soft wet cushioned walls of Ellen's cunt gripping and releasing and gripping her tongue. She could hardly pull her tongue out.
It was like a mouth that sucked her tongue, sucking her in. She tasted the raw salty flavor of the black maid's hot cunt. She had never tasted cunt before.
She realized that now she was tonguing out this woman, almost voluntarily.
She realized with awe that every time her tongue flicked by the big wet pyramid that was the maid's clitoris, she could feel a corresponding tremble shiver through the black maid's body. She was making the black maid come! With her tongue!! !
When Ellen pulled off Samantha, Samantha's face was sticky and wet, as Ellen's face had been when she had pulled off Samantha. Ellen bent her tongue down to Samantha and the two women kissed, uniting the oily grease of their cunts with their tongues.
Samantha felt Ellen's big boobs plunge into her neck and chest. They felt like big soft melons, with hard little nipples on the ends.
Then suddenly Ellen was gone, just as silently as she came.
Again Samantha lay alone in the darkness, with Ellen's cunt slime drying on her and in her mouth, and her own pussy juice drying on her open exposed twat.
Her blouse was open now and her round apple-firm tits were exposed.
That was how her father found her when he came back from an evil night of carousing to forget what was happening at home. He was dead drunk.
When he walked into the room and found Samantha lying there, her eyes open, naked and with her sex and her tits showing, he almost forgot who she was. For a second he thought she was some model he had left tied up and forgotten about.
But then he realized it was Samantha.
He just looked at her for a while, thinking evil thoughts about what he'd like to do to her if she weren't his own daughter. But even then, in his condition, some last moral resolution held him back. He drunkenly walked over to his intercom and buzzed Miss Smithe.
It was three o'clock in the morning.
Miss Smithe came right up.
She looked with outraged eyes on the scene-Samantha lying tied to the bed, looking as if she had been sexually used, and Larry Clint, slumped drunk and staring at the golden twat of his daughter through bleary eyes.
"Get her out of here," Clint slurred.
Efficiently, Miss Smithe, in her navy blue bathrobe, her long silky blonde hair around her shoulders, untied the traumatized girl and lifted her up in her arms.
"Tie her up, in 'er own bed. See 'at she doe'n't run away," Clint slurred.
"Yes sir," said Miss Smithe and she carried the poor forlorn girl to her own pink and white bedroom. She didn't want to tie her up.
She could see how the girl's ankles and wrists were bruised from the thick rope that had been used on her. But she was afraid of not carrying out Mr. Clint's orders. Although she had no love for Mr. Clint, she did care about his daughter Samantha. In fact, she was slightly in love with the girl.
She didn't want to lose her job, for that would mean losing Samantha. And more than she cared about what that would do to her own feelings, she was afraid for the young girl, afraid to leave her alone in the care of her father.
Using silken ropes that she played with, with Ellen, she lightly but firmly tied the poor exhausted girl down into her own downy pink and white soft canopied bed.
Leaning over her, she detected the smell of a pussy she knew very well, and she knew that the maid had come in and taken advantage of Samantha while she lay tied up in her father's room. She washed the twat smell off Samantha's face.
"Miss Smithe? Is that you, Miss Smithe?"
"Yes, darling, it's me. You'll be all right now. I'm here."
Samantha tried to move.
"But I'm still tied down!" the unhappy girl wailed.
"Sssh, hush, see it's not so bad. They're very loose," she demonstrated how loose the bonds were. "It's just for your father. Those were his orders, that you be tied up." She had undressed the pretty girl and slipped a thin nightie over her head before tying her down in bed. She surveyed Samantha's pretty figure again.
The girl's thighs looked golden in the early light of dawn. Her golden tresses hung down around her shoulders. Dark shadows lay under her painted eyes.
Miss Smithe could just make out the golden bush of curling hairs that lay under the mound under her diaphanous nightie.
Miss Smithe sighed and began stroking Samantha's body, her stomach and then stroking her little mounds that were her breasts, and then stroking her thighs.
"Mmmmm, that feels good," the drowsy girl said.
"Does it honey?"
"Mmmmmm."
"Did Ellen come to you?"
"Mmmmm?"
"Ellen, did she come to you, while you lay in your father's bed."
"Ellen? Yes."
"Did she ... she showed you things. She did things to you. Now you know. . ? "
"Ellen. Yes. Yes, she satisfied me. She did things ... "
"Did it feel good, darling. Did you like it?"
"She licked me. It felt so good. So good."
The drowsy girl's eyes were almost closed as she spoke in her half-sleep.
"Oh my darling, I will do those things to you too, I will put you to sleep, I will send you to dream land." Miss Smithe stroked the breasts of the sleepy girl until she closed her eyes and began to breathe regularly, in her own bed, though still in bondage.
Then Miss Smithe went to the foot of the bed and lifted up Samantha's nightgown.
She put her head underneath the diaphanous hem. Samantha's pussy was already spread open, from her legs being tied apart. It was sweet, so sweet.
Miss Smithe recalled the first time that she had been tied up and another woman had gone down on her, which was how she too lost her virginity.
Miss Smithe felt as if she were going down on herself in a way. She licked the slit and saw how the lips trembled and quivered in response.
Then she sank into gentle happy lappings at the cunt of her beloved little girl and she licked her cunt all through the dawn and into the morning, falling asleep herself with her tongue happily ensconced in Samantha's open cunt.
CHAPTER FIVE
Miss Smithe decided to take matters into her own hands.
She made an anonymous telephone call to a legal service that was known to help out minors who were being abused by members of their own families. She alerted the lawyer she talked to about Samantha's case. Then Samantha called him herself.
The outcome of this was that Samantha was taken out of ther father's custody and awarded to Miss Smithe's care temporarily, until Clint's name was dragged all through the papers for abusing his daughter and he was fined ten thousand dollars.
Through it all, Samantha began to feel sorry for her father. Although she insisted time and time again that he had never touched her sexually, explained he had only whipped her and tied her up, everyone assumed that she was simply not admitting to the other stuff that had happened. Everyone assumed that Larry Clint, publisher of 'Rustler!' had done other things to his lovely sixteen year old daughter, which was being kept out of the press. But it just wasn't true.
Samantha got a lot of sympathy from the other kids at school, and Roger took her out a couple of times and treated her real nice, holding her hand, just kissing her gently on the cheek, confessing he had never really believed it when she told him about how she was being abused, and saying he was sorry that he hadn't believed her.
Samantha had to appear in court and testify on the stand about what her father had done, and she almost regretted taking the steps she had taken at that point.
Whe she saw her father, looking old and beaten, sitting with his lawyers at the table opposite hers, keeping his eyes averted from her face with shame, she felt a twitch in her heart, for her daddy, whom she had always loved.
She broke down and cried on the stand-a fact that her lawyers were secretly very pleased with-and they won her case easily. Larry Clint lost custody of his daughter and was deemed to be unfit as a father. The man was broken.
Samantha moved into a little house in town with Miss Smithe. She had her own room and she continued going to the same school, except now she would ride the school bus like the other kids, and talk on the phone and even have dates with boys. Miss Smithe was jealous of everyone Samantha talked to, but she knew she would have to let the girl go her own way. To try to keep her to herself would have been as bad as what her father had done to her. So Samantha was no longer living in a gilded cage.
A year went by. She overcame the trauma of the experience of separating from her father. Samantha became very involved in school, and in new friends, and in boys.
Roger was still her favorite boyfriend, but he didn't want to go steady with her. He told her she should try going out with other boys too.
She knew he went out with other girls, which she tried to pretend she didn't mind.
She also knew that Roger, for some reason, didn't treat her like his other girlfriends. At least, she assumed, from the way he talked, that he did things with other girls-girls she didn't know. But he never touched her, beyond holding her hand in the movies or kissing her lightly on the lips when he brought her home.
She couldn't understand why. She talked about it with Miss Smithe.
"I think he must be afraid that I'm traumatized-about all the publicity and about the things Daddy did to me," Samantha said, one day to her new guardian. She now called her Loretta, which was her first name.
Loretta smiled. She was making Samantha a tuna fish sandwich to take to school.
"I think you might be right. Maybe he just respects you too much, too, to try and take advantage of you," Miss Smithe suggested. She was working now as a legal secretary to support herself and her new ward. Of course Samantha also got money from her father which was part of the court's decision. Loretta sighed.
Selflessly she had realized and decided that she and Samantha could not continue to know each other in the way they had known each other that one night a year ago.
It had been a one-time thing, never to happen again. Samantha remembered it vaguely but she and Loretta had never spoken of it. It was just a silent bond between them.
And since she had left her father's house, of course, she had not seen Ellen again. That night had become a strange nightmarish memory, it almost seemed unreal.
At school for a long time, all the kids had treated her as if she were someone special. But now, finally, the scandal she had been the center of was beginning to disappear.
"I just don't understand it Loretta," Samantha continued, packing her book bag. "I mean I really like Roger, and I know he-likes me. But he explained why he doesn't think we should go steady, and I understand. But so I hardly ever see him. I mean, it doesn't make sense. I really, really like him and I think he really-likes me, and yet we hardly ever go out. It just seems so unfair-if he's still holding off going out with me because he thinks I'm traumatized or something."
"Have you tried talking about this with him?" the older woman suggested.
"No," said Samantha slowly, thing. "You think I should?"
"Why not? It could be a good way to clear the air, on both of your parts."
"You're right! I will! Thank you, darling guardian. I've got to run! I'll be late for the bus!"
"Don't forget your sandwich."
Loretta smiled as she watched Samantha running down the front walk to the bus, her hair flying out behind her. She loved that girl so much, sometimes it ached inside her. It was so good to see the way that Samantha was developing, opening up, growing, now that she was no longer the poor little rich girl, living in the gilded cage, now that she was free to confront the world, and other people, on her own terms.
Loretta hummed happily as she got herself ready for work.
Roger was a senior now. He was one of the most popular boys in the school. The track star, he had a beautiful body that many girls looked and sighed at. His long muscular thighs, his thick calves, his strong hairless chest, his dark wavy hair had many a girl sitting home at night waiting for a call, hopelessly.
Roger had plans for himself. These plans included college and a career. He wanted to be a lawyer and had a full scholarship to one of the best universities in the country.
One thing he knew he did not want was to get involved with some girl.
He saw how easily girls fell in love. Every one of his buddies who had a steady girl was constantly under her thumb. They were always calling their girls up, confessing about what they would do every night of the week, and the girls were always very jealous cf every girl their guys so much as looked at. Roger didn't want that kind of situation for himself. Oh no! He knew he didn't want some puppy-love stricken high school girl trailing after him, writing and crying for him, when he went off to college next year.
Roger wanted to hang loose, to remain free.
So all through high school he stuck around pretty much with Lily and her girlfriend who didn't mind just having sex for sex's sake. Lily was kind of stuck on him, but he had made it perfectly clear that he really dug her body, but he wasn't into anything serious.
Lily always had lots of other guys coming over to her house, since she gave blow jobs, and she was even starting to charge a little bit of money for her efforts.
But she still let Roger, one of her oldest customers, come over for free.
Roger was supposed to go over to Lily's for a big Halloween bash that she was giving at her place. She told him he could bring a date if he wanted, because she was going to be real busy that night taking care of 'lots of the guys.'
Roger said he probably wouldn't bring anybody.
Though he went out to the movies with lots of girls from his school, he would not invite any of them over to Lily's house. The girls from his school just wouldn't understand about a girl like Lily. So he planned on going alone.
Samantha tagged him in the halls that day and said she wanted to talk to him.
That year, the two exclusive private schools had combined to go coed, and girls and boys shared the buildings and classes together.
"Meet me after school in the parking lot," he told her.
She looked radiant when he said that, and she gave his hand a squeeze and went of? to class with a couple of her girlfriends.
Roger felt confused about Samantha. He really liked her, more than the other girls at school he knew. He felt she had been through a lot more than the other girls, and yet at the same time, there was something lovely and original and fresh about her.
Yet he was afraid of hurting her. And he didn't want her to fall in love with him. He knew that would be messy. He was afraid now, as he walked off to chemistry class, that the conversation with her this afternoon would have to be messy in some way.
She was waiting for him by his car parked in the lot.
His father had given him a little sports coupe, secondhand, as a reward for getting the scholarship to M.U. Tech. Roger had a scholarship to the exclusive private high school too. He was one of the few kids who were here who did not come from a wealthy family.
"Hop in," he told Samantha.
Cheerfully she got into the front seat of his little blue car, and chattered happily about how cute it was, and how much fun it was to be going for a ride.
It was funny about Samantha, he thought to himself as he eased the car out of the lot and headed down Rout 12 for the country. Most of the other girls in the school turned their noses up at his car because it was secondhand and it wasn't a Ferrari.
But Smantha, whose Dad was probably one of the wealthiest Dad's in the city, really enjoyed simple things, like being taken for a spin in his second-hand car.
You'd have thought that she'd never gone for a ride in a car, he thought to himself. Samantha cheerfully stuck her head out the window and let the pungent autumn air blow through her hair. He recalled seeing her, stepping into that big black limo that her father always had waiting for her, and being swiftly whisked away.
"What did you want to talk about Samantha?" he asked when they had left the school well behind and were speeding down the two-lane road past harvested fields and vegetable stands where scores of pumpkins were lined up to be sold.
"Can we stop somewhere?"
Roger felt a sinking in his heart. This was going to be messy all right.
He drove to a lake. The leaves were changing all around the perimeter of the lake and Samantha jumped out in ecstasy. She wanted to go for a walk.
She held out her hand to him and grudgingly he followed her.
For a long time they talked about nothing but the beauty of the day, and about school and friends. Then finally Samantha sat down on a tree stump and invited him to sit beside her. He sat down, on a stump slightly lower than hers.
She put her arms around his chest and pulled his head back against her.
He closed his eyes and just let himself enjoy it.
"Roger, I really care for you."
"I really care for you too, Samantha."
"Then why don't you ever want to go out with me?"
"But I do go out with you. We do go out. We went to see that horror flick two weeks ago." He knew this wasn't what she meant, but he tried to keep her off.
"But Roger, when you take me out to the movies you always treat me-I don't know, as if I'm your younger sister or something."
"Well, maybe I do think of you as my little sister in a way."
"But that's just what I don't want," she said with a groan. "I want you to think of me as your girlfriend. I don't mean your only girlfriend. I know you don't want to go steady or anything. But couldn't you just think of me as one of your girlfriends."
"Samantha, I'm too old for girlfriends."
"Too old for girlfriends?"
"What I mean is, I'm going away to college next fall. And I don't want to leave any broken hearts behind me. When I'm at college-well, I don't know what will happen once I get there. I know someday I want to have a wife and children, but that's all far away. I'll then, well, you know I have bodily needs, but there are girls who will take care of that stuff and not ask for anything in return."
He paused.
She was listening with confusion. She really didn't understand what he was trying to tell rjer. She looked out over the lake and felt sad.
"I don't understand what you're saying, Roger."
He sighed. He sat up and turned around to face her.
"I'm saying I can't think of you in any other way than as a little sister. That's all you are to me, and that's all you can be to me."
"Roger, I-I'd be your lover. I-I'd do those things. I'm not afraid."
He turned away again and slumped down into the circle of her arms again leaning against her knees. He shook his head and sighed.
"I can!" she said. "I-I'm not totally innocent you know!"
"I know," he said. "I read about it all in the papers."
"That's not fair!" she said. "Half of what they printed wasn't even true. No one knows what really happened to me except me. Besides, I don't see what all that has to do with you and me, and now! I'm just trying to tell you Roger Morely, that I'm not a starstruck little girl! I could care for you, if you'd let me, and ... " She leaned over and whispered in his ear in a low voice, "and I could satisfy you. I know I could. If you would only let me." Her silky fingertips played around the rim of his ear.
He twitched her hand away from his ear as if he were flicking away a fly.
"You just don't understand, Samantha! I have girls for that stuff! I don't need you. And any way, I just couldn't think of you in that way. The girls I know, who put out-well they're real sluts. I would never want to think of you that way. You're too nice a kid." He wished they could put an end to this conversation. It was turning out messy just as he had expected it would. He looked at his watch.
"I am not a kid! And you sound just like my father! Yes, just like the 'dirty old man' whose name they smeared all over the papers! That's exactly the kind of bullshit he used to throw at me-about how there are two kinds of girls, sluts and mothers. You're sick! You're just as sick as he is! Plus you're a male chauvinist!"
Roger gritted his teeth and sighed.
"All right," he said. "Let's just drop it and go home."
They didn't talk once all the way back to the street where Samantha lived. He dropped her off and said goodbye, but she didn't answer.
He drove around the city feeling very unhappy. for the next week in school, Samantha didn't speak to him. If he saw her in the hallway and waved to her or said hi, she just stuck her nose in the air and went right past him as if she could see right through him. He began to think about her.
He thought about how cute she was then she was excited about something-like going for a ride in his car, or seeing a horror movie, or walking beside him on the streets in town. He thought about her blue eyes, her lively smile, her longe blonde hair, and it thrilled him when he thought about the new tone in her voice he had heard for the first time when she had leaned over him at the lake and whispered in his ear that she wanted to be his lover. But he kept fighting himself.
I don't want to get involved with her. She'll fall head over heels in love with me and it will be so fucking messy, he thought. He told Brick about Samantha the night before the Halloween party at Lily's. Brick was still seeing Allison, and their relationship was very 'messy.' Allison had stopped sucking off other boys and was remaining faithful to Brick and she expected Brick to do the same. Brick really had no desire to go with any other girls, since Allison went all the way with him, and knew so well what he liked.
But it was a matter of male pride, of the male honor code: no woman was going to dictate to him what he could or could not do, by God!
"So, ask her to come to Lily's party," Brick said amiably. "She said she wanted to become your lover, give her a chance. She'll probably back out and run all the way home crying when you call her bluff." He beat on the wall outside school and passed Roger a joint. Smoking was forbidden to both of them as they were athletes but they did it any way.
"Naw, I don't want to take her to Lily's. She's not that kind of girl."
"So, forget her. Fuck her. I think you're letting her get to you too much already.
Roger sighed. He was of the same opinion himself. Still, it cut into his heart a little bit each time she snubbed him in the hall, and since that day out in the country a week ago, he had become increasingly aware of the beauty of the shape of her body.
She had filled out in the last year. He saw the shape of her full rounded tits in her T-shirts. She had the cute up-turned kind. And he saw how slim her waist was, and how her hips curved out gently beneath. He saw the round firm shape of her buttocks.
He liked all this.
He wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips-not as a little sister-deep and long and lovingly. He wondered what it would be like to get a girl like Samantha naked, to take her upturned breasts in his hands, to slip his hands down her firm taut belly, to plow his fingers through her cunt hair-it must be golden like hair!-and to slide home into the wet lips of her cunt.
Samantha! Could he be thinking about Samantha this way?
Then he saw her flirting with another guy on the track team outside her homeroom. He was a tall good-looking guy who had just moved into the state and was new in the school. Roger called her up that night. Loretta answered.
"It's for you!" she called, cupping her hand over the phone. "It's Roger!"
Samantha came to the phone.
"Hello?" she said casually.
"Hi, Samantha! It's me!"
"Oh hi, Roger. What do you want?"
"Well, I just wanted to ask you out to a Halloween party tomorrow night. Do you want to come?" He held his breath for a moment, afraid she would say no.
Samantha gasped. "Really?" she asked, losing her cool.
"Yeah, well, what do you say?"
"Yes, I'd love to Roger! Do you have to wear a costume?"
"Only if you want to."
"Are you going to?"
"Naw, I think that kind of stuff is stupid."
"Oh."
"I'll pick you up at eight, okay."
"Okay!"
"He asked me out to a Halloween party tomorrow night! He's never asked me out to a party before!" an ecstatic Samantha turned to her guardian happily and blurted out. Loretta smiled and kissed Samantha's forehead.
Loretta could remember so well the trials and tribulations of her own school girl crushes. "And you told him you'd go? Whose party is it?"
"I don't know."
"I'd like to get the address and phone number," Loretta said. "Oh, Loretta!"
"Just because I'm only your guardian doesn't mean I don't have the right to act like a parent. Now, any parent would want to know where you were going-just in case ... "
"Just in case, what?"
"Just in case I want to get in touch with you. Now you find out from him and you tell me, that's all," the stern, loving guardian said firmly.
"All right," the happy school girl sighed.
In the next twenty-four hours, Samantha gave a lot of thought to what she would wear to the party. She didn't want to wear a costume, because Roger had said he thought that was stupid. But she didn't want to go in ordinary clothes either.
She wanted to look grown up and seductive.
Loretta helped her get up a sort of costume as a dance hall girl.
Loretta whipped up a looped skirt and a bodice and Samantha went to the five and dime store and bought a cigarette holder and some make-up.
When she had finished dressing at seven o'clock the next night, she had a beauty mark on her chin and wore eye make-up and had blush on, she was carrying a cigarette-in a cigarette holder, and she had on a provocative dress that fitted snugly around her bosom and waist and lopped over her legs, though somewhat demurely.
"There, you look fantastic!" said Loretta happily.
Samantha had told her guardian some of the conversation that had taken place by the lake, but not all of it. She had not told her about her offer to become Roger's lover.
But she trusted Loretta so much, thinking of her more as an older sister than a mother, that she talked to her now, while she waited for Roger to show up at eight.
"Loretta, do you think it's wrong for a high school girl, in 1980, to ... well ... to loose her virginity." She paused and waited anxiously.
Loretta smiled and took Samantha's hand.
She sighed, "No, I guess it's a natural thing. Do you think you are going to lose your virginity tonight? Is that what you are planning?"
Samantha blushed. "I don't know. I really don't ... But I think that's what he wants."
"Well, all I can tell you, honey, is honestly-you've got to be careful, you've got to look out for yourself, because if you don't there's damn few people in this world who will. I'm not just talking about getting pregnant either, either. I'm talking about getting hurt.
"Oh Loretta! Don't worry! I'll be all right!"
Roger was very impressed with her costume. In fact he was turned on. He had never seen Samantha in such grown-up clothes. He had only seen her in T-shirts and blue jeans. She looked suddenly like a woman, like a sexy woman.
Night was falling. They drove off to the party.
"Listen I have to explain something to you about this party," Roger said. He smoked a few joints before picking Samantha up and he was already feeling pretty good.
She said, "Listen, you don't have to explain a thing. I'll hang loose."
"All right," he said admiringly. He lit a joint, and passed it to her.
She had not smoked in a while but she took the joint expertly between her fingers and sucked down the smoke. She ended up coughing and had to admit that she had never been smoking. But she kept at it and by the time they got to the party she had a buzz.
She sat next to Roger on the seat of the car-not real close, but close enough so their bodies were touching. Roger put his free arm around her and drove with one hand on the steering wheel. She let her hand rest lingeringly, nonchalantly on his thigh.
He parked on a side street near Lily's apartment. After he pulled on the emergency brake, he pulled Samantha over to him. Suddenly she became timid in his arms.
Her heart was racing as he pulled her face to his and pressed his lips to hers.
Then they were deeply embracing, her mouth opening to receive his tongue, his pressing into her mouth. His tongue snaked around in her mouth and the strength of it seemed determined to communicate to her the strength of his prick.
He picked up her hand and put it to his crotch.
She felt his big tongue pressing insistently into her slightly parted lips as he guided her hand over the big bulge in his pants.
"Oh Roger!" she breathed ecstatically when they broke from their kiss.
Roger was breathing heavily too. He was ready for sex. He wanted sex tonight. He hadn't been to see Lily in over two weeks, and he was horny tonight, and he was especially turned on by the idea that he was going to get into Samantha-the kind of girl he had always avoided before. The kind of girl he never thought about fucking.
In the darkness he reached for her body. He pulled her towards him and began playing with the buttons on her bodice. Her breasts plumply filled out the tight fabric.
"Hey!" she laughed. 'Wait a minute, tiger. Save something for later. Let's go in to the party." Reluctantly he agreed and they went in.
The party was in full swing.
Lily greeted him at the door. She was on her way to get a drink and she ushered them into the crowded smoky kitchen. Roger introduced them. "Samantha, this is Lily, this is her place. Lily, this is Samantha."
Lily looked Samantha up and down with some irony. Although she was a year younger than Samantha, she looked older. She was wearing a tight black dress with lots of black eye make-up and bright red lipstick. She saw she was supposed to be a whore and she loved it.
Samantha of course didn't know the nature of the relationship between Roger and Lily, but even if she had known, she wouldn't have cared. She was with Roger tonight, she was
Roger's girl for the evening and nothing else mattered.
While Roger and Lily chatted about people they both seemed to know, Samantha sipped her rum punch and looked around. She saw an attractive woman who was obviously much older than the kids. She had slightly greying hair but most of it was still . an , attractive browji and she had a fantastic figure. She had a whole bevy of teenaged boys standing around her talking to her. She looked like a queen holding court.
"Oh Roger, I don't think you've ever met my mother. Mom, this is Roger, a good friend of mine," The attractive older woman came over.
"Pleased to meet you," she smiled.
"And this is his date, uh ... "
"Samantha," Samantha said.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Black," said Roger looking curiously at Lily's mother. He wondered what kind of woman she was, and how much she knew of her daughter's action with boys. Then he took Samantha's arm and they drifted out into the living room.
There was fast dancing music on and some people started to dance.
Roger pulled Samantha out onto the dance floor and they started to boogey.
Roger, as an athlete, had good control over his body, and he liked to dance. He swayed in time to the rhythms of the latest pop record and as the drum beat mounted he jerked his hips back and forth, back and forth, in perfect time.
But what really surprised him was Samantha. She seemed to have a natural rhythm all her own. She closed her eyes and seemed to forget all about the world.
She swayed, sometimes standing in one spot and just jerking and swaying her body in syncopated beats that started at one end of her body and flowed with perfect rhythm down to the other end. Then sometimes she would jerk out wildly with flamboyant gestures and dance across the room, flinging her arms, her hips, her head and her hair, and jerking out her legs. Roger was quite amazed. He really couldn't keep up with her.
He moved up behind her and started to boogey behind her, his hips jerking and swaying as he moved down on her. She extended his arms and she jerked and swayed in front of him. Then he boogied back up.
Next it was her turn. She turned to face him and she extended her arms and boogied down, rocking and writhing until her head was close to his groin and her eyes were closed and her whole body was swaying as she writhed back and forth.
Next came a slow number.
Roger gathered her into his arms.
She melted.
She let herself be held in the luxury of Roger's strong embrace. She felt her breasts being pushed into his broad strong chest, felt his muscular arms around her hugging her waist close to his. She could feel his thighs wrap around one of her legs and he pulled one of her legs in between his legs, and he rode on her thighs, pressing deep into his crotch. Again she could feel his powerful hard-on.
It excited her. She felt a tingling in her nipples.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and her fingers swept gently up his neck, working up into his hairline to fondle his dark curls.
The lights seemed to go dimmer and the music was hushed and soft.
Roger suggested finding a dark intimate corner somewhere and sitting out the next number. He said he wanted to smoke a joint.
They had to walk over several couples who were already sprawled on the oversized pillows spread about on the floor. Samantha giggled and held his hand.
Somebody lit a cigarette and the flame of the match illuminated for the space of a second a strange scene. Mrs. Black was sitting against the wall on a cushion, and her blouse was open and her bra was off. Her breasts were naked and her nipples were pointed downwards. There were two black leather jacketed kids, two guys who looked to be around seventeen, sitting next to her. They were both looking at her hungrily.
"Let's sit here!" Roger said, pulling Samantha down to some cushions near the pillows not too far from where Mrs. Black sat smoking a cigarette.
Samantha felt drawn to the scene-to looking at Mrs. Black.
The woman was wearing a pair of light green stretch slacks which poured over her shapely figure. Samantha wondered for a moment if she knew her blouse was open.
Roger pulled her down to him. She fell across his lap. He cradled her in his arms and pressed his face down to her again, and once again they became lost in a kiss.
Roger was feeling into her blouse again.
She liked the way it felt, to have a boy touching her breasts, to have Roger touch her breasts. He was igniting a fire in her that had not been lit in a long time, since those strange times over a year ago right before she had been taken out of her father's custody. She felt her body going limp with passive exquisiteness and then becoming alive and ferocious as she wanted to respond, to show Roger how much she loved what he was doing to her. She started to unbutton his shirt.
He smiled at her and started to kiss her hair.
Samantha was staring over his shoulder at Mrs. Black.
The woman was stubbing out her cigarette and then she started to unzip her pants and pull them down. She had tight-lace black panties on.
She leaned back against the wall with her pants off now, and one of the slick boys pulled himself up between her legs. He started kissing her tits, which she held out to him. Samantha saw Mrs. Black push on the boy's head, urging him to go down.
His kisses went down across her belly to the top of her panties.
He started kissing down on top of her panties, and Mrs. Black laughed and put her fingers to the top of her panties and pulled them down.
Her brown curling pussy hair was revealed and then she was kicking her panties off. Again she took the boy's head in her hands and urged him down to her pussy.
He seemed a little taken aback by her direct method of seduction, but she didn't seem interested in niceties. She just kept pushing his head down.
Samantha saw how the boy's face fell into the space between her plump thighs. He was kissing her pussy hair, but she wanted something different.
She put her fingers down to her cunt and pulled gently at her cunt lips, baring the slick wet inner cunt meat. Holding it open with the fingers of one hand she again began pressing the boy's face into her slit, while she rested with her head back against the wall and her eyes ' closed. She seemed to want him to lick her bad.
"What kind of a party is this anyway?" Samantha giggled hesitantly into Roger's ear. Roger had unbuttoned her bodice entirely and was unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly to relieve the pressure on his cock. And to make his cock more accessible to Samantha. He looked at her quickly, afraid she was starting to get scared.
"Whaddyamean?"
She nodded in the direction of Mrs. Black. Roger hadn't noticed her before. He looked and whistled softly. "Wow!" he said.
Now it was clear the boy was licking out her cunt, right there in the middle of the party. They were in a dark corner, it was true. But Mrs. Black had nonchalantly lit another cigarette and was taking long puffs and drags, and blowing them lazily out through her nose, while her eyes were closed, and she reset one hand on the top of the boy's head to keep him licking at the cunt. She just sat there, with her knees bent, thighs opened, with this kid licking out her cunt.
Roger could see the boy's tongue flicking in and out of the pink lips of her cunt.
It made him hot.
"It's a make-out party, what did you think? Come on, let's do our own stuff."
He started fondling her tits, feeling how round and firm they were. They made small hefty little bundles in his hands-they felt like hefty little melons.
"Right here in the middle of the party?" she asked quaveringly.
"Yeah, that's right," he said.
He pulled her back down into his lap and he bent over her in a kiss that turned into a long stretched-out embrace. As he shifted the weight of his body on top of her, she suddenly felt his dick in her groin. She felt his cock, out of his pants. She didn't know how wet her cunt was, but she was afraid. She didn't want to go all the way, not here, not here in the middle of a party, in public-not for the first time!
"Roger," she tried to say. "Relax and enjoy it."
She bit her lip and tried to do as he said.
He was kissing her, feeling her tits and trying to maneuver his cock up under her dress. He pulled her dress up and felt her legs, her thighs, the nylon of her stockings in which her thighs were encased. He started to rub his prick against the nylon, loving the feel of it. Then he began to nudge his cock higher.
His fingers were reaching for her panties. He wanted to pull them down and get with it. He was kissing her passionately all the while.
She felt helpless with passion and with fear. She responded passively.
His hands were on the tops of her panties. He began to gently tug at her panties. Suddenly Samantha was filled with a loathing for the whole scene. She desperately wanted to make love to Roger, but she wanted to do it somewhere private, where they could talk, where she could make noises and not feel embarrassed about other people hearing her, where she didn't have to feel embarrassed about strangers, other people at the party looking at her naked cunt, looking at Roger sticking his cock into her.
"Roger, wait, please, I want to talk about something."
"Sssh, honey, come one, it's all right, I'll be real gentle."
"Roger, it's not that, I ... "
But he refused to be stopped at this point.
He kept his mouth firmly over hers so she couldn't talk and he got her panties down over her thighs. Then, to loosen her up and relax her, he searched through her hair for the little hole leading down into her wet cunt.
He found it with a finger and he started working his finger into her cunt hole. He whispered to her to just relax, just relax, and to let him do everything.
Her cunt was hot, there was no denying that, and her cunt lips were soon covered with the juice of her desire. He was working his fingers in and out of her cunt hole, playing on her clit. It felt so good. She couldn't fight against it.
Lying there, she let her thighs relax open. Sensing her spread, he played deeper in her cunt with his fingers and eased his cock down over her cunt hole.
Mrs. Black now had an audience around her and she didn't even seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. She put out her hands to another black-haired boy and he stood in front of her. She unzipped the fly of his jeans and pulled out Ins prick. It was limp. She put it in her mouth. In seconds you could see, the limp prick turned hard. It was growing in her mouth.
So, while she was being eaten out by the young boy with his face in her cunt, she began to suck on the cock of the boy standing in front of her. She clearly loved being sucked out and sucking cock, at the same time, and she clearly loved doing this in front of an audience. Her eyes were closed, but she moaned as she worked her face up and down the boy's big prick. The big head of the prick was pointed right down her mouth.
Samantha realized too that there were people starting to gather around her while she lay on the floor under Roger. She didn't want to be the second half of a double feature. She tried to protest but to no avail.
"Rrrr," was all she could say.
Roger's mouth remained firmly planted on top of hers and he was beginning to twist his tongue into her. He was positioning his cock to go into her wet cunt hole.
"Roger! I don't want to do this! Not here! Not now!" she managed to break away from his lips and exclaim. There was a slight murmur of laughter from the spectators who were mostly guys who had come to the party stage and had nothing better to do.
"What are you talking about?" Roger whispered harshly into her ear.
The head of his prick was sinking in between her soft cunt lips, and he kept pressing his prick in further. It was sinking into her wet cunt inch by inch.
"I don't want to do this! Not here! Not now! There are people watching!" she hissed.
The people around them laughed, for they could not fail to hear what she was saying even though she had whispered into her ear.
Roger looked down at her, lying underneath him.
Her pretty titties were wobbling, her golden hair fell all over them. He raised himself up on his arms and slowly continued to lower and raise and then sink again his cock into her clasping wet cunt. She spread her thighs apart involuntarily.
"Sure you want me to stop?" he grinned.
"Oh!" she closed her eyes and moaned. It felt so fucking good!
But she heard the grins and smirks around her.
She opened her eyes into the staring eyes of the boys watching.
"Please Roger. I just don't want to do it here," she said in a perfectly loud and audible voice, not trying to hide what she was feeling any more, but just talking to him.
Roger just looked down at her and grinned, his tongue between his lips.
He liked the fact that they were being watched. He liked for these boys to see him fucking this beautiful gentle, passive blonde.
He worked his hips and sank his prick into her hard. That was the plunge that broke through the thin web of her cherry and sent his prick plunging into the depths of her cunt which had never been touched before.
"Ohhh!" she cried.
The boys in the ring around the fucking couple started and their eyes gleamed.
Roger placed his hands over her tits and let her nipples squeeze out between his fingers. Balancing his body in this way on her boobs, he slowly raised his cock up out of her cunt slit and then plunged it back into her again.
He opened her up wider this time, his prick penetrating even further.
It felt so good to Samantha that she monetarily forgot about her spectators.
She spread her legs wider apart.
She opened her eyes. They were staring at her.
"Roger!" she began to whimper helplessly. She didn't want to have an orgasm in front of these hungry staring eyes. But Roger only grinned.
He slid his prick out and plunged it in again. His dick head was so big and thick and his shaft was so thick too, and the whole tool rubbed down across the flaming hot surface of her clit and she started to feel an incredible fire mounting in her.
She started tingling too. When she closed her eyes she could forget about the fear.
She closed her eyes, still whimpering helplessly.
He rammed his cock into her twice, three times, faster now.
With each plunge, he seemed to be pushing a little farther into the uncharted territory of her virgin cunt. She opened her eyes and stared into the faces that leaned towards her, who were watching her every tremor and quiver with hunger.
She felt humiliated. Torn between the desire to give in to this thing she wanted which was to make love to Roger, and the fear of exposing herself in all her naked quivering to these boys. It seemed so unfair that it had to be this way.
"Roger, please!" she whispered.
"Fuck her!" one of the boys whispered, licking his lips.
She knew then that there were boys watching Roger's cock penetrating her cunt, and staring at her open cunt lips, taking Roger's cock in.
Roger slid his cock out and plunged it in again.
"OOOoooohhh!" This time it felt so good, that she knew she couldn't hold off any longer. She wanted to raise her legs, so she could stretch them wider. She raised them off the ground, keeping her eyes resolutely closed.
Roger took her outstretched legs in his arms and slowly bent them back over her head. The boys could observe her clearly now, her pert ass cheeks, the hole of her cunt, where he was penetrating her. He slid his cock almost all the way out again so they could see how long and big he was, and then he put the head of his prick back in between her trembling pussy lips, pushing them open and aside. And the long thick shaft of his prick followed. Samantha moaned and so did many of the on-looking boys.
"Wow! Fuck that cunt!"
Someone grabbed Samantha's foot, stretched up over her head. Someone grabbed the other foot. She froze when she felt that. She knew strangers had grabbed her feet.
She started to protest. When suddenly she felt a head bend over hers and a pair of lips close on hers. It wasn't Roger who was kissing her. She didn't know who it was and she couldn't see who it was. But now everything was happening fast.
Roger was squeezing her tits as he balanced on them and fucked her cunt with his thick cock. He began to slide his prick through her wet tunnel faster and faster. His balls smacked against her anus. She felt so good. She was stretching her legs as far as she could, as Roger held them forced over her head.
Somebody began tickling the soles of her feet while she stretched out her legs in the delicious agony of the fuck. The tickling was like an added stimulus.
And someone was kissing her, tonguing her.
She could hardly believe this was all happening. While Roger was fucking her.
But his prick was doing miracles in her slick wet cunt. Her cunt was starting to convulse and grasp at his pole as her legs stretched wide into a spasm and the tickling fingers at the soles of her feet sent thousands of little unbearable quivering down her legs to her already trembling and quivering liquid cunt.
Roger was poling into her.
"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"
"Fuck that cunt!"
"Fuck it!"
"Fuck her!"
"Fuck!"
Suddenly the mouth kissing her drew back. Roger's prick was trembling in her pussy. She pulled and clawed at his cock with her pussy. Suddenly his cock was jolting.
She stretched her legs wider than ever, feeling the unbearable tickling on the soles of her feet. In one last effort her cunt wrapped around his cock pole and she quivered.
CHAPTER SIX
"OooooohHHHHHhhh!! "
Deliberately she kept her eyes closed, her cunt squeezing and squeezing still around the ejaculating pole. It felt so warm, so hot, so wet, so soft, so hard, so cockful, in her cunt down there. She didn't want to open her eyes and come back to the real world.
Someone was tickling her soles again. The tickling sent shivers down her legs and she tried to pull her legs out of the hands of her ticklers.
The result was only that her cunt spasmed once again around Roger's thick pole.
"Mmmmm-mmmm; that was good," Roger said.
Now she opened her eyes and looked up into his face. Her face was a combination of strange sadness and a new delight. Why hadn't he listened to her? Why couldn't their first time together have been somewhere alone and intimate and quiet.
She tried to pull her feet out of the hands of her tormentor. But the boy holding her feet and tickling them wouldn't let go.
She jerked her hips trying to get her feet loose.
"Let go!"
Roger slid his heavy prick out of her cunt and just looked back down it. It lay, thick and heavy, his cock head "covered with white cunt cream and his own scum. The heavy head of his cock lay on top of her wet cunt slit slimy with her own cunt cream. All the boys were looking at his prick lying on her exposed blonde-haired, puffed cunt lips. They wouldn't release her legs because they wanted to look at her cunt.
"Let go of me!"
"Hey, let go of her," Roger said now.
She felt them tickle her some more and then they released her.
Suddenly she felt a horrible big thick hard dick hovering over her face.
"Open you mouth cunt!" a voice above her said.
She sat up wildly. "Hey Billy, cut it out."
"What gives? She's too good for us."
"I said, cut it out, that's all. She's not like that."
"Oh, yeah?"
For a moment Samantha thought there was going to be a fight right on top of her.
Roger had doubled up his fists and was staring down the big thug, named Billy, who apparently had thought that Samantha was another one of those girls whose holes are open to any and all takers. Most of the girls at the party that night were like that.
Billy finally got the idea that Roger was protecting her, and he went away grumbling. Samantha realized that he had been the one leaning over her and kissing her.
Roger got up and sat on the floor. Samantha closed her legs.
The show was over. The spectators drifted away to watch other scenes.
Samantha glanced at Mrs. Black nearby. Many of the spectators had gone over there.
"Wow!"
Samantha looked at Roger. He was smoking a joint now, and he passed it to her. He was looking at Mrs. Black too.
She was nearing her climax, and it looked like it. She had a thick crowd around her.
She was still leaning against the wall with her head back and her mouth open and her eyes closed. Her hands were up around the cock of the boy fucking her face.
For that's what he was doing now.
She just held her mouth open for him and he sank his dick into the back of her throat again and again. You could feel she was loving it. Her throat jumped and convulsed as if she were trying to swallow him down. Her hands slipped down to the head of the guy going down on her between her thighs. She pressed his face into her cunt hard.
"Whhoooeee!"
"Wow!"
"Fuck her! Fuck that cunt."
"Suck that cunt out!"
The crowd was openly enjoying and appreciating watching Lily's mother do some exotic action. Roger looked around the rest of the room, wondering where Lily was while her mother gave this exhibition. Then he saw one of Lily's black-stockinged legs.
They were sticking out between a pair of hair male legs. He could see the hump of Lily's white ass and her head bobbing up and down over the guy's cock.
like mother, like daughter, he thought.
Mrs. Black's lips hungered over the prick shoving in and out of her mouth. She was sucking, sucking, sucking on the long dick.
She was shoving the face of the boy between her legs into her big wet meaty cunt.
Sanantha's eyes too were riveted on the scene while she smoked the joint and then handed it back to Roger. Everything seemed so unreal, everything seemed like a dream.
Suddenly the boy with his prick in Mrs. Black's face pressed his cock deep in, and wrapped his big hands around the back of her head.
His whole body was quivering.
All could see Mrs. Black's throat swallowing.
The boy was coming in Mrs. Black's mouth, and she was sucking his prick and dripping down his seminal fluid. There were gasps of disgust and delight from the crowd.
Mrs. Black's whole body shook then too. It was obvious she was coming as the boy in her cunt sucked on her clit.
Then the owner of the cock in her face pulled his prick out. It hung over limply now, and he wiped his wet cock against her tits.
She reached for it and lovingly brought the head of the limp dick to her mouth again.
Smearing his semen all over her lips she then licked off the head of his slick wet prick and then licked off his whole cock shaft with a big smile on her face while the whole crowd watched enthralled. The boy with his face in her cunt raised his face for a moment and everyone could see how his whole mouth was covered with a thick layer of cunt cream. Everyone laughed when Mrs. Black shoved his face back into her cooze.
Samantha turned away. She reached for her panties and started to put them on again.
"Did you like it, honey?" Roger said, reaching for her hand.
She let him fondle her hand while she looked down and tried to think of the right answer. She didn't want to get him angry. She remembered what he said about not wanting to get involved. She ought to consider herself lucky that he took her out and agreed to think of her in this new way at all. She decided to say nothing, now, about her dislike of the place he had chosen to fuck her in.
"Yes, it felt so good!" she said truthfully.
"Good. It felt good to me too." And he leaned over and kissed her.
She felt so proud that night, as she proceeded to drink some more and get more stoned.
Everyone knew she was Roger's girl. She clung to his side at every moment and he didn't seem to mind. She didn't feel much like talking.
She just held his hand and circulated through the party with him, listening or not listening while he talked to his friends-people she didn't know-about track scores or about where he was going to school next fall, or about where he had copped his pot.
She was just so happy to be at his side, to be seen as his girl, to be with him that that was enough for her. Sometimes he put his arm around her while he was talking or drew her into his lap and Samantha wanted these moments never to end.
She felt very grown-up now. Now she had a man.
At one point though, Roger disappeared. He said he had to go take a leak. He left her by the record player. She looked through the records.
A girl came up to her and smiled as if she were thinking something inwardly.
"Hi, I'm Karin. You're new here, aren't you?"
"I've never been here before. My name is Samantha. I came with Roger."
"I know," Karin giggled. She had long blonde hair that she had twined into pigtails on either side of her face to give her a little girl look but she also wore lots of black make-up and red lipstick. "Roger sure is lucky."
"What do you mean."
"To have such a pretty girlfriend," the coy girl said. She was one of Lily's other girls who was know to give good head for free.
"Well, thank you." Samantha was a little taken aback.
"Do you know much about Lily?" Karin said. She pretended to be looking through the stacks of dance records for a good one to play. But really she was fronting for Lily, who had gone into the toilet with Roger. Karin knew Roger and Lily wanted a little moment alone, and she had seen all evening how this new girl had clung to Roger's side like a wet clam. She also had a devilish urge to play cat-and-mouse with this quiet chick.
"No, I've never met her before. Do you know her well? She certainly gives a nice party." Samantha thought for a second about Lily's mother, but didn't say anything.
"Oh yes, I've known Lily for a long time. We're very close. Best friends, you might even say." She smiled coyly. "Lily and I have been going around together for a long time."
"Oh? It must be good to have a real close friend like that. I don't have many close friends." Samantha felt friendly under the influence of the punch and pot.
She felt accepted here, as Roger's girlfriend. It felt so good to be here, and to feel comfortable and accepted and at ease and having fun.
In the bathroom, Lily was giggling and coming on strong to Roger, who wasn't all that interested in her tonight. But she had pushed him in there and locked the door behind her and was tickling him and rubbing up against his cock and greating him up.
She wanted to go down on him and she wanted to go down on him bad. Just because he had shown up with that prudish girl who looked like she had never even gone down on a guy before. Lily wanted to get Roger now, and suck him off, while his girlfriend's outside.
"Come on, Roger, what's the matter? Suddenly I'm not good enough for you. Now that you've got Miss Goody-Two-Shoes clinging to you like a hot clam."
"Come on Lily, give the kid a break. Tonight was her first time."
"Her first time!" Lily squawked.
She snorted and then her hands were reaching down into Roger's pants for his cock.
"I heard you telling Billy Ramses that he couldn't stick his prick in her mouth. That she wasn't that kind of girl! Well, fuck her! What kind of girl is she?"
"She's a nice girl, Lily. She's had a tough time."
"Bullshit," Lily snorted. "Now give me some of your sweet and sour sauce honey," and she started warming his prick up between her hands.
She was sitting on the toilet seat looking up at him.
He looked down at Lily's bright red mouth and pointy little white teeth.
Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders.
She reached down and pull her top down over her tits ... She had huge mammaries. Big luscious ones that wobbled and trembled and shook.
Roger got hard. His prick stiffened. He smiled down at her and took her big tits in his hands. He wanted his prick in her mouth. Nobody could suck him off like Lily could. She really had a magic mouth. And it turned him on to think of this elicit sex in the bathroom with Lily while Samantha waited for him, like a virgin girl, out there in the party. Any way-he wasn't fucking tied to her. He could do what he wanted. "Open your mouth, you foxy little cunt," he told her.
Lovingly she stretched her little mouth open wide and went down on the head of his throbbing prick. It felt so good. He felt her eat down the length of his pole.
"Yeah, Lily and I have been friends from way back. In fact I was with her on the night she first lost her virginity. God! That was so long ago!"
"Really?" Samantha giggled.
She wasn't going to say that tonight was the night she lost her virginity.
"How old was she when she lost it?"
"Hmmmm, let's see, she was about twelve."
"Twelve!"
"Yeah, I remember because my birthday was the next week and I was just turning thirteen. And popped my cherry on my birthday, and I was pissed because Lily beat me to it. She was always sort of hot for cock. Still is, I guess."
"Yeah, I noticed her, er, mother, in the corner."
"Oh yeah, Mrs. Black. She's all right. She's real cool."
"Cool?"
"Yeah, she-likes Lily bringing lots of young guys around to the house because Mrs. Black-likes 'em young too. Course she's got lots of older guys her own age too."
"Really?" Samantha looked around uneasily now. She had never known women like this before. She began to wonder what was taking Roger so long.
"Sounds like you really have a lot of experience," Samantha said.
"Experience, yeah, you said it. Thing is, I really like fooling around with guys. It's so easy to bring them off, and they really like you for it. And it makes me feel good too. Take Roger, for instance," she said coyly.
"Roger?"
"Yeah, he comes by here a lot. He's one of Lily's regulars."
"Regulars?"
"Yeah, Lily just started making the guys start to pay for it, you know. B.j's and stuff."
"B.j's?"
"Yeah, you know, blow jobs."
"Blow jobs." Samantha was beginning to feel weak.
"Yeah, you know," Karin made a jerking movement with her hand near her mouth and opened her mouth. "Sucking guys off. But Lily never makes Roger pay for it, no matter how broke she is-well, she's got a lot of business and she's never really broke."
"She ... doesn't make Roger ... pay?"
"Naw. She's said she-likes his dick too much and his scum is too sweet. She said she just couldn't make him pay cause she-likes sucking him off too much. Plus Roger's a real gentleman. He always brings around some nice smoke, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. I wonder where Roger is?" said Samantha beginning to get the gist of what the pig-tailed girl was telling her. She didn't think she wanted to talk to her any more. She looked, around uneasily. She didn't see him any where.
In the bathroom Roger's prick was easing in and out of Lily's sweet lips. N
Suddenly Lily pulled his prick out of her mouth and she scooped her face down under his big prick shaft. She popped his balls in her mouth and sucked on them one at a time and then her tongue extended out and she was flicking her wet tongue over his anus.
Her hands were lost down in her cunt in her panties.
Roger lifted his boot to the panties and he pulled her panties down. He wanted to see her wet cunt while she fingered herself.
Her fingers were sunk in her red, slick, wet flesh.
"Put my cock back in your mouth," he said.
She smiled up at him and stuck his prick head in between her lips. He pushed. His prick slid in. He was thinking about Samantha while he let Lily suck off his dick.
It excited him to remember how he had pushed her legs up over her head so all the boys around them had been able to see her exposed, warm, split open pussy mound. It had been a good fuck, a real good fuck. It had excited him to fuck her in front of all those guys, to think of her the way he thought of Lily, and to fuck her like that.
And now it was good to fuck Lily secretly like this, while Samantha waited around outside for him, no doubt wondering where the hell he'd gone. Let her wait! he thought.
He slowly worked his prick in and out of her throat, smoothly guiding his hips.
She diddled her cunt and sucked at him.
Suddenly she was overcome with desire to be sucking his semen.
One hand came up to his cock and wrapped around his pole.
She slithered her lips up and down on his penis, sucking at his prick, drawing deeply into her throat and then backing up and just sucking up and down on the top half of his penis and then stuffing him deep into her throat again for a second.
She was sucking his stuff up out of him, playing with his balls, sucking his prick and then letting the head of his penis shaft get a feel of the soft wet back of her hard throat. Someone started knocking on the door.
Neither he nor Lily responded.
She was sucking at him faster and faster, plunging his dick head into the wet meat at the back of her throat and contracting her throat muscles around his wet dick.
Someone was rattling the doorknob.
"Let me in there!"
"Shut up," Roger growled under his breath.
He closed his eyes and sank his fingers into Lily's tit mounds.
He was going to come, soon, real soon, he was going to come in Lily's mouth.
"Roger? Are you in there?"
It was Samantha.
"Keep sucking," he snarled at Lily and they smiled at each other. He didn't bother to answer Samantha. He thought of her on the other side of the door and he wanted to laugh. The only thing he cared about at this moment was going all the way, blowing his wad way down sweet Lily's throat. He didn't like to be interrupted.
"Now! Suck on it, cunt! Suck me off!"
Lily sucked. She sucked and she slid her tongue up and back down his cock shaft going in her throat, plunging his dick head down her cunt-like wet throat.
His prick started to jerk and explode.
His spray released and splashed against the back of her throat. Lily gurgled and swallowed and kept sucking all at the same time. It was good-oh so good-for her to have guys come in her mouth. She loved to suck guys off, she really loved it!
She diddled herself until she came too, trembling and shaking and quivering with
Roger's now limp cock still in her mouth so she could suck on it.
When she came her teeth inadvertently bit into his limp prick.
"Hey! Watch it you little cunt!"
He pulled his prick out and watched her boobs tremble with the last sighs of her orgasm. He gave her big boobs a swat. She giggled.
He pointed wordlessly outside. "Samantha's out there," he mouthed. "I know," Lily grinned. "You go out first, I'll wait in here."
"All right."
Roger leaned over her and flushed the toilet as if he had just taken a piss or maybe a long crap. Then he slipped his cock in his pants, zipped his fly and turned the doorknob.
Closing the door quickly behind him, he slipped out.
There was Samantha leaning against the wall, waiting for him. She had a blank look on her face. He went over to her and squeezed her hand.
"Sorry I took so long."
"You were in there with somebody."
"No I wasn't."
"I know you were. I heard two people talking. Besides, somebody told me." He looked her in the eye.
"All right, I was. You want me to take you home?"
She just turned and walked away.
Let her-he thought. If she couldn't take it, it was her problem, not his. He just wasn't the kind of guy who could stick with one girl.
Samantha disappeared into one of the rooms down the hall. He followed after her, intending to take her home and then come back here later, when things would be getting really hot-with threesomes and foursomes and the like. He didn't intend to keep her around here that late any way. She had had enough of an introduction any way.
She had gone into one of the darkened bedrooms where couples were necking and making out, and feeling each other up and fucking. He saw her.
She had just fallen into the lap of this guy sitting by himself.
She had put her arms up around his neck and started embracing him passionately, and he had responded, amazed, without asking any questions. Samantha was beautiful, and no guy in his right mind would ask questions when she started to kiss him.
Roger went up to her and stood behind her.
"Come on Samantha, I'll take you home."
"I don't want to go home. Can't you see I'm busy."
"You're just doing this to get back at me, aren't you? Why don't you just let me take you home." He didn't even bother to look at the guy whose lap she was sitting on.
"I don't want to go home!"
"She said she doesn't want to go home," said the guy whose lap she was sitting on and he glared up at Roger. Roger didn't know him.
"Albright," he shrugged and turned away. "I'll be downstairs in the living room.
And he left her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Samantha became a regular at Lily's parties and evenings. She became one of the girls in the crowd. That first night was only the beginning.
That first night she was hurt and confused and stoned and high.
When she found herself sitting in the lap of a stranger, a really cute boy with blonde hair and green eyes, kissing him really turned her on.
The kissing was good-deep and real and slow and erotic, and she didn't even realize that she didn't know who she was kissing, until Roger was standing behind her telling her he was going to take her home. She felt insulted.
What right did he have to interrupt her and say he was going to take her home as if she were a little girl, not old enough for this kind of action?
And yet, when he went away, she found herself feeling faintly surprised. So-she really was to go on with it, kissing this stranger? And liking it?
It seemed so.
The blonde boy soon wanted to feel her tits and from the way he sighed and exclaimed over them, she knew she really did have nice tits. It made her feel good that somebody else besides Roger thought so too. It made her feel good that somebody else beside Roger found her exciting and sexy and erotic, and wanted to touch her.
She let him touch her.
She found herself opening her legs and letting him finger her under her panties.
It felt so good to feel his finger on her hot love button. She started juicing instantly. Then he pulled his prick out of his pants and situated her on top of it, and she was fucking for the second time in her life that night.
Bouncing up and down on the cock of the stranger while she sat on his lap.
It felt so fucking good, and there were no onlookers this time. Everybody in the room was engaged in his and her own action. Nobody had a chance to look!
When the guy shot off his wad up her pussy, she had already creamed all over his dick. She just sat there for a while afterwards, squeezing and squeezing his dick with her cunt, getting to know the feeling of having a fat hot pole up her pussy.
Later she wandered downstairs to see where Roger was.
Apparently the sex was all as casual as you wanted it at this party.
The blonde boy had wanted to know her name and if he could be her date for the rest of the evening, but she just said she already had a date and wanted to get back to him.
Downstairs in the living room, people were getting into threesomes and foursomes.
Whole clusters of people clung to each other, attached at the cunt and mouth and at the dick and thigh. She saw Roger sitting on the couch, between two girls.
Both of them had their blouses open, and his hands were fondling their breasts.
One girl, on his right was masturbating and the other girl on the left was just smoking and watching a scene going one in front of them.
In front of them Mrs. Black was on her hands and knees giggling and taking swills out of a bottle. One guy was penetrating her ass-hole behind her. She was sitting on another guy's dick, which went up her cunt.
She just swiggled on the bottle and laughed and cackled and groaned and fucked and got fucked while the crowd cheered her on.
Samantha just walked over to where Roger sat on the couch and she told the girl who was masturbating to move over. The girl looked at her with a begrudging look, but then she looked at Roger and she moved away.
Samantha sat down in her place and then Roger was feeling her tits while she just sat under the protection of his arm and watched Mrs. Black being fucked in the ass and in the cunt at the same time. It was a real education for Samantha.
She didn't know you could do things like that. She liked to watch the fucking going on. It was interesting. Interesting to see the things you could do.
Interesting to watch Mrs. Black's face as it twisted up into groans and sighs, and even more interesting to watch the big black cock penetrate deep into her ass cheeks going from the black boy's body into her body, while the big pole coming up from under her went up her cunt. Samantha wondered what that would feel like.
When Roger brought her home in the early dawn, she felt as if she had lived a whole lifetime since she had left the night before.
After that she often went with Roger to Lily's and to the drive-in.
They never talked about what they did together with their friends at school, but everyone knew they were sort of going steady, because they were always seen together holding hands. All the girls were envious of Samantha.
"How did you ever pin him down? He was the guy who was going to be Mr. I'm-Never-Going-to-Go-Steady!"
Samantha just smiled and shrugged and said she guessed he had changed his mind.
But she knew it wasn't true.
She knew the inevitable was going to happen and it did.
The school year ended, and the summer passed by so quickly, and then it was the beginning of Fall and Roger was going off to his freshman year of college.
Samantha tried not to show how upset she was. She was really going to miss him.
Although she had gotten into the scene at Lily's and had fooled around with lots of guys there, she really only did it because of Roger.
She always came and left with only him, and he was still her imagine man.
In the end she cried and clung to him.
He held her close, the morning he was going to the airport, and told her he would miss her and write to her and see her on vacations, but that she shouldn't sit around and mope for him, but should go out with out her guys and try to enjoy herself.
"We both knew that I'd be going away this year," he reminded her.
"I know," she sniffled. "It's just that I really love you Roger. I really do."
"I love you too, Samantha," he said.
And then he left for college.
At home Loretta noticed the changes in Samantha's personality over the last year. She knew that Samantha had become Roger's lover, but Samantha didn't really talk to Loretta about what she and Roger did and where they went.
Loretta, about this time, had gotten involved with a new lover, a woman whose name was Clovis, and so she was involved with the problems of her own relationship.
Still the woman and her ward still talked intimately from time to time, and Loretta know that Samantha was growing up. They talked about what she would do once she graduated from high school. Samantha only had two credits left to finish and she wanted to graduate early, in January. She didn't know what she wanted to do afterwards, but she said high school really bored her. She wanted to be out in the real world.
Also, about this time the checks from her father stopped coming. His business had gone bankrupt. Larry Clint had never quite recovered from the shock of losing his daughter and he never was quite the same after the big trial that was splashed all over the papers. Samantha never saw him. She hadn't seen him since the trial.
But she read about the demise of 'Rustler' in the papers-all his assets had been liquidated, and she saw the photographs of her father. He looked like a broken man.
She also read the letter from his attorney notifying her that no more payments would be forthcoming due to the total liquidation of the Clint estate and assets. But the letter added that the lawyer had been advised to say that Mr. Clint would pass on a few bucks to his daughter whenever he could, as soon as he could, as soon as he got back on his feet again. Samantha cried when she read that.
She thought of her father as she had known him when she was a little girl. He had been the sun in her life, the kindest man she'd known. She remembered how she had adored him, worshipped the ground he walked on.
She recalled knowing from the very beginning that her father's work was a bit unusual. She didn't know if she was remembering a dream she once had or remembering an actual scene she had once witnessed but there was a very vivid, early image in her mind of being small and watching her father toy with a big-boobed naked model in his room. She had watched him through a crack in the door, it seemed, and then sneaked away to bed without being discovered. But then she remembered the bad parts too.
She remembered how he had so often held her on his knee and told her what she was going to be like when she grew up, and filled her with his crazy, double standard.
Such as, how he wanted her to be a virgin when she got married, and how he was going to give her the biggest coming out debutante ball when she turned eighteen, and he didn't want her to be ordinary like other girls.
She remembered not understanding what he meant by ordinary until later, when she reached puberty and started thinking about boys.
Then she had found out that by ordinary he meant he didn't want her to be a slut. And by slut he meant he didn't want her having any sexual activity.
It seemed crazy, she mused now during the long evenings which she spend mostly home that fall after Roger left. How could one man hold such differing attitudes? One set for himself and another totally different set for his daughter.
Samantha didn't feel like going out much that fall, and mostly she just spent her evenings sitting hone in the living room reading or talking with Loretta and Clovis, who was a clinical psychiatrist. Clovis told her that most men have double standards.
"It's sort of a holdover from the old Christian division of women into either whores or virgins. You know, the mother-or the slut-syndrome."
Samantha nodded. "That's exactly the attitude Daddy held. It's funny though, how he could want the 'sluts' for himself, but where I was concerned he wanted me to remain a virgin until I got married-even if I never got married."
Suddenly she thought of Roger, and a pain went through her heart. She tried to push it away and think of something else. She stared at the fire.
Winter was here again.
"I just wonder why there can't be some kind of amalgamation of the two. I mean, all women like sex, and need it, and have it, and everybody knows that. I mean, how do they think mothers would become mothers and bring babies into the world if they didn't spread their legs and do it?" Samantha asked with a laugh.
Loretta smiled as she brought in a tray of hot cocoa. She was glad to see Samantha spending more time around the house, and not carousing around so much.
And she was glad that she could talk to Clovis. Clovis might really be able to give the girl some good insights into herself.
For Samantha was at a real turning point in her life. She had to decide what she was going to do with herself. And she had to find some kind of employment, for now, without her father's checks coming in, and with her graduation from high school, she r would have to find some way to make money on her own. She knew that.
They talked about it night after night, she and Clovis and Loretta.
"I don't think I want to go to college. At least not yet. I'm sick of studying. To me college would be just another big gilded cage. I want to get out into the real world."
"Well, what are your skills?" Clovis said with usual rational, practical manner.
"I don't know. I don't think I have any."
"That's nonsense, you just don't recognize what they are. Now did you ever do any organizing in school?" She had a pad and a pencil.
"Yes, I organized a campaign to celebrate International Women's Day at the school."
Clovis smiled, "Good, organizing is a very important skill. It's a skill people will pay a lot of money for. What else is there. Think hard!" She sipped her cocoa.
"Well, I can type of course."
"Have you ever thought of doing any modeling?"
Samantha was totally surprised.
"Modeling?"
"Yes, I was just thinking that you've got a lovely face and a good body. You're the right height to be a model and you've got the bones in your face."
Samantha looked a Loretta and laughed.
She said, "You know, I think I might like that. At least for a little while. Just to make some money and until I know what I want to do."
She shook her head. "It just seems so ironic. Me, Samantha Clint, turning out a model-exactly what my father didn't want."
"Well, I wasn't talking about that kind of modeling."
"I know. All the same, to him it would have been the same."
And that's what Samantha started doing in January.
She made the rounds of the modeling agencies in town, with a portfolio of pictures of herself that she had a photographer do. And she began to get some jobs.
They were just small jobs at first-modeling for fashion design classes, modeling for art classes. She did not mind modeling in the nude for the art students and found she even enjoyed making her living this way. She enjoyed wandering around the room afterwards, smoking a cigarette, and looking at the sketches the students had done of her body.
She didn't make a whole lot of money but she made enough to contribute a little bit towards food and rent at Loretta's. And she got a lot of encouragement.
A woman at the agency where she was registered told her she had the perfect look to go on to a serious career in modeling if she wanted to.
Samantha began to wish she could afford to have her own place. She loved Loretta but she began to want to live on her own. She devoted herself exclusively to her modeling career. During this period, also, she made some inquiries, without telling Loretta or Clovis, as to the whereabouts of her father. She was worried about him.
When she contacted his lawyer, he would not tell her where her father was. The estate had been sold, of course. She called up a few of his old friends, but they could not tell her where he was staying either or what he was doing, as they said they had hardly seen him at all in the last few months.
But every once in a while a check with a ten or a twenty would arrive in the mail for her and it would be from him. She always looked carefully at the postmark, but there was never any return address and the postmark was always from a different part of town and sometimes it was from a different city altogether.
It was a difficult period of her life.
She heard from Roger sometimes, and she saw him at Christmas vacation. They got stoned together and went to Lily's-for old time's sake, but it hurt her heart to much to have him back again, only to lose him again, and when he wrote her from school again she didn't even bother to answer his letter. She knew he was seeing someone at school.
Then she met Arthur.
Arthur was a photographer who saw some of the shots of her at the agency and called her up and said he was interested in photographing her.
She went to his studio downtown one day with her latest photographs. He looked them over and was unimpressed. He said the pictures were unprofessional.
"You need to be photographed by somebody with a real flair. Because you've got real flair. Let me do some studies of you. You'll see the difference."
She had spent a grueling week going to his studio and posing endlessly for him, in a thousand different poses, in a thousand different pieces of clothes-it seemed.
She brought all her own clothes over in suitcases, plus he had a huge wardrobe of women's clothes. He photographed her in jeans and a T-shirt, in evening gowns, in lingerie, in bikinis. He even did a series of nude shots of her.
She didn't feel the least bit self-conscious in front of Arthur, even though she modeled for him alone in his big loft studio. His eye towards her seemed to be a totally professional one. Until one afternoon when they broke for a break and he offered her wine and a joint. They got stoned and high together. "You know we could make some really hot photos of you," he said as he stared at her leerily across the little card table. She was wearing a silk dressing gown that she put on in between shots. Her long silky blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. "Hot shots?"
"Yeah, we could probably get you into 'Playmate,' or 'Executive Suite.' I've got connections." Arthur was a thin, intense-looking man.
He had a huge head of light curly hair and intense blue eyes and he wore gold-rimmed glasses. He had big hands which were surprisingly agile and delicate.
Samantha laughed. "You do know who I am, don't you?"
"Who are you?" he peered across the table at her.
"Well, my last name is Clint, as in Larry Clint."
"Oh-my-God! I never made the connection. So you're the little girl who was locked up in that big mansion and raped and tortured."
"The papers exaggerated. It was nothing like that."
"Huh! What do you know. Well, what do you say? You'd be a sure thing. If we went to the editors of 'Playmate' with some pictures of you, special ones that I could take of you, and told them who you were-wow! They would eat you right up!"
Samantha laughed and played with the stem of her wine glass.
"And what about you? Would you eat me up too?"
He smiled. "Just open your legs, sweetheart, and let me in."
She stared at him. Then she opened her legs.
He licked his lips. He got up and came over to her.
Then he pulled aside the flaps of her kimono and went down on her.
When his tongue hit her cunt, she started to moan and writhe.
It had been a long time, such a long time, since she had made love with a man. She had screwed with Roger over Christmas, but somehow this was different. Here, now she felt like a totally attractive woman. She loved the feel of Arthur's tongue in her cunt and she moaned and ran her fingers through Arthur's curly hair.
With Roger she had just felt like a twirpy little girl all over again, in puppy love with him, and playing second-fiddle to his girlfriends up at college.
She was reaching for his prick with her hands, reaching for his crotch, his zipper, his fly. She could feel his big dick hard down the leg of his pants with her foot.
But she was surprised when he pulled away.
"Fantastic! Don't move! Hold it!"
He ran to set up his cameras. He got some great shots of her sitting in her red silk kimono, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, her fingers at her cunt, gently pulling it open, her cunt, big, aroused, furry and wet, and her boobs bulging out beneath the kimono. Then he set up some cushions and a set for her.
It was funny the way he worked, she thought. She wondered if this was how the photographers of her father's magazine had worked.
Arthur would set up the general picture as he wanted it-with her lying on her stomach on some cushions, her ass propped high in the air, her hair falling around her boobs.
He would check the lighting and all.
And then he would come to her and excite her.
"Well how do you think all those girls get their pussy mounds so wet and hot-looking?" he asked her as he parted her ass cheeks and pressed his face into them.
He licked her anus until it was pink and wet and then he sank his face into her furry cunt and made her cunt lips open with pink gleaming cunt meat.
"Perfect! Spread your ass cheeks so we can see it! Don't move!"
Finally when he had all the shots he wanted that way, he let himself take his pleasure.
His prick was stiff from all the exciting erotic views he had had of her.
He came and stood over her. Her whole body was glowing pink from the various lights had put on her. But now she pulled herself up by his legs and pulled on his zipper.
He pushed his prick into her mouth and let her suck on it for a while, but he really wanted to push his meat into that hot tight wet twat of hers.
So when he started to move down her body, she spread her legs good and wide. He put his prick in her, slick and hard and fast. It slid right in, all the way.
Her pussy clamped around him and it sucked him. She sucked his cock with her wet pussy meat and when he slid his cock out there was a hot sucking sound.
"Wow!" Arthur said.
"Kiss me," Samantha said.
He pressed his thin lips to her hot full ones and their tongues stroked each other. He kept filling her cunt with his long full thick cock strokes.
She put her legs up around behind his back and crossed her ankles to keep herself tight against him. Then he was just moving his cock in her pussy in and out, in and out, deep inside her wet moist cunt. They were both groaning.
"This is so good," she moaned. "Honey, you and me, we can go all the way together."
He blew his wad into her wet meat hole.
* * *
The outcome of that hot scene of love was that Samantha sold a hot spread of photos to 'Playmate' magazine for a record sum of money.
When they found out she was Larry Clint's daughter, they decided to run a big section on her, how being Larry Clint's daughter had affected her, about the trial, and about her attitudes on sex and morality. When she told Loretta about it, Loretta was a little mad.
"Well, I just did it for the money," Samantha told her. "Now I'll be able to get my own place now, and I have a lot of other job offers coming in already."
Loretta smiled. "I guess you have to do what's right for you," she said.
And so, Samantha found herself a modest apartment in town, near Arthur's studio, and started to make a lot of money as a model. After her 'Playmate' spread came out, she had offers to make commercials, to be in movies.
She never forgot about her father, but with all the excitement in her life, she was very busy and as her inquiries turned up nothing about him, she let him slip from her mind.
Until one day when she got a letter.
It said simply, "Samantha, come and see me." And it gave an address.
Samantha was very excited. She put on some of her new clothes, a really hot looking red leotard top and a pair of sexy black leather pants and a pair of her new black leather boots. She washed and combed her hair and stuck an emerald pin in it.
And then she donned her new fox fur coat. .
The address was in a rather seedy part of town, but the house was one of the nice ones on the block. The house was being painted.
She range the bell.
A strange woman came to the door and looked at her through the glass. Then she turned away and in a few moments, Larry came to the door himself.
He looked okay, she thought as she crossed the threshold and said hello.
He was smoking a fat cigar. He had put on a little weight and there were more lines on his face, but he smiled when he saw her and he invited her into a room off the side of the hall. She stepped into a living room with lots of books in boxes.
"Whatddya drink?" he asked her.
"Can you make me a martini?"
"One martini." He poured himself some bourbon.
She saw the picture of herself, in the centerfold, her beaver spread. It was the shot with her ass propped up high on the pillows. Her firm tits stood out like masts on a sailing ship. She closed the magazine. He saw her.
"Yeah, I saw your spread in 'Playmate.' You got nice stuff, kid. But then you should. So did you mother." He brought her drink over and set it down.
She smiled and sipped it. She could hardly believe she was having this conversation with her own father. The past seemed long, long ago.
"Who was that?" she asked referring to the woman in the kimono who answered the door. Her father was in a kimono too, and a pair of pants.
"Just a lady friend of mine. So tell me, how've you been."
"Fine Daddy, it sure is good to see you! I got all your checks, and then the tens and twenties. It was good of you to send them. I worried so about you, you know. I tried to get in touch with you through the lawyers, but they wouldn't tell me where you were."
"Yeah. Well, sometimes you gotta be alone. Right?"
"Right. You look so good Daddy. What are you doing these days?"
"Well, I've got me a little magazine in the works again. Nothing as big as 'Rustler,' but with a little time, and a little luck. I've got some backers, and I'm throwing in everything I've got left, which ain't much, but ... "
"Oh really? Will it be along the same lines as 'Rustler?'
"Yeah same stuff. Cheesecake. But with a more political point of view. Hard-bit editorials, good journalistic articles, hot fiction, you know the type."
He looked her up and down leerily. "You look like you been doing okay yourself. Nice piece of animal skin," he touched the fox fur.
"Oh, it's nothing much, it's only a jacket. Daddy...."
He said nothing.
"I'm sorry about ... what happened. Between us, with the courts and the newspapers and everything. Somehow it didn't turn out the way I thought it would. I-I was frightened and I was frightened of you, and well, I had to get away from you. I did the only thing I could. Can you ever forgive me?" She found herself trembling.
All her old love for her old man was coming back to her now, as she sat on the sofa in his living room, a grown woman herself, and supporting herself.
"Sure, yeah, well, the past is passed. It's all over and done with. I guess I didn't make such a good father after all. That Miss Smithe, did she turn out to be all right? I never did like her myself." He poured himself another drink.
"Loretta? Yes, I'm very close to her. She's become a close friend, like a mother."
There was silence after that.
Samantha crossed her legs.
She started to say, "Daddy, I have a little idea ... "
Simultaneously he began to say, "I have a little proposition ... "
They both stopped and waited for the other to begin, they spoke at the same time again, then stopped. They both laughed.
"You first."
"No, you first."
"Go ahead, kitten. What?"
"Well, Daddy, I was just thinking, wondering, if I could help you with your new magazine in any way. I'm a good organizer. And I can write and type. And I know a lot about modeling. And maybe I could even put some money into it.
Larry Clint laughed.
"Well, I don't think I want you money, but I was thinking something along those lines myself. Maybe we could talk about it."
They talked and talked and talked, and then Lynne, the woman who came to the door, came in and talked some more with them about it.
In the end Clint admitted he could use some more cash up front, so to speak, so Samantha invested in his new company. They tried to keep her involvement with him out of the papers. But the word soon leaked out. It turned out to be good publicity.
When the first issue of the magazine appeared on the stands it was sold out immediately.
The first issue contained a photo essay on the daughter of the publisher. Yes, Samantha Clint spread her beaver for her father's magazine, and then there were some pictures of the father and daughter, reunited, Larry's arm around his girl.
She became his editorial assistant, and quickly began learning the business from scratch.
The worked late nights together, until finally the inevitable happened.
Their attraction for each other had existed all their lives, and now it simply come to its natural fruition. It happened simply in this way:
One night they were sitting up late together in the little offices of the new magazine on the top floor of Larry's house. Lynne, his current mistress, had already gone to bed.
They were going over some photos of some new models, trying to decide who would be in their March issue. Looking over the different shots of cunts and beaver, tits and ass, Larry suddenly laughed and said to his beautiful blonde daughter:
"You know honey, none of these girls can hold a candle to you."
She looked up and smiled. She was weary.
Then it just happened. They moved across the floor towards each other.
She was in his arms and they were kissing.
His prick got hard.
She felt his cock under his pants. She looked up into his face seriously, aware of the seriousness and the significance of this moment.
They both wanted it.
Slowly, hardly breathing, she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off, He stroked her breasts lovingly. She started to unzip her pants and she pulled them off.
He was taking off his pants too.
They stretched out together on the floor, on top of all the glossy beaver shots.
He put his prick to her pussy hole. His finger touched her pussy.
Her pussy lips were wet and spread, open and waiting for him.
