The highly original and unusual "Memoirs of Dee Dee" were originally published in Paris and all available copies were sold out in record time. Reprint was forbidden by the French Bureau of Public Morals, and copies of the story of the fabulous Dee Dee were soon bringing fantastic prices from tourists, and other interested readers who had heard of Dee Dee by word of mouth.
For purposes of comparison in intimate sex details, normal and otherwise, let it be said here and now that "Candy" is like a Sunday School student compared to the irrepressible "Dee Dee". Dee Dee lives and breathes as a very attractive girl in these pages, and her allure is such that we can forgive her most outrageous sex adventures and lapses from morality.
The creation of an American expatriate writer residing in Paris, Dee Dee is the actual story of the adventures of an alluring, immoral wench. It is laid in America and is a biting satire of sex-practices in this country. Rarely has the psychology of the "loose woman," not actually a prostitute and on the make, been told with such vivacity and objective psychological probing of certain revered sex customs in this country. If the sex scrapes and other questionable adventures that Dee Dee undergoes seem a bit far-out, we refer the reader to the dozens of girls like Dee Dee who are unfortunate enough to get caught and are duly written up in the daily tabloids all over America.
Psychologically the mainsprings of Dee Dee's sex behavior can be traced to an overpowering need for love and affection, due to childhood traumatic denials from parents and other sources of a child's ego strength. Dee Dee is driven to unusual lengths of sexual expression as she matures, driven by her need for the love and recognition she was deprived of in her maturing years. The combination of these repressed desires in the body of a voluptuous young female is the mainspring that drives Dee Dee to the furthermost reaches of the fleshpots of perversion. It will be noticed that in amoral individuals of this particular type, any feelings of guilt or remorse are practically non-existent.
But "Dee Dee" must be read to be understood, and Continental Classics is fortunate to have secured reprint rights to Dee Dee's story for the first time in this country.
The complete and unexpurgated Continental Classic edition is recommended for the mature adult reader only.
Allan Saunders, M. A. New York City, September 1967
1
If anyone had ever told me that I would be having real wild humping-sessions on a blanket with a strong, silent outdoor type prick-pusher like Luke, I'd say they were crazy. But here we were, both mother-naked before the campfire on this lonely island in the lower Mississippi, and me, Dee Dee Summers, just seventeen three days ago.
I was spread-eagled under Luke's king-sized cock and he was ramming it all the way up my delectable pussy as if he hadn't seen a woman in five years. He was being very talkative for a backwoods type.
"I never seen anyone as blonde and pretty as you, Dee Dee. For a young gal you sure are plenty woman. Big-titted and big-assed, just the way I like 'em!"
I put my breasts to his face to get a little more action and less talk. He began to kiss my nipples, making them erect and jut right between his teeth. Luke flicked them with his tongue and then when he started nibbling gently, the reaction really got to me. My pussy started to squirm under him like a can of worms. He steadied me a little by cupping my buttock cheeks and bracing his legs. I reached for what made him a man and tickled his balls as his throbbing cock kept plunging. I lifted my right knee to get more of his shaft in and he practically shoved his balls in too. His dick drove into me like a bull and I gasped with delight at his size and staying power. I put my legs around his middle and began a slow hip grind to steady him, but my ass could scarcely match his plunging prong.
Suddenly his torso stiffened as if he'd just drunk a quart of moonshine at one sitting. He howled happily as his big body shook with the surging spurts of hot, creamy, sperm squirting from his cock. He set me off too, and my cunny twitched blissfully, wriggling like a go-go dancer with St. Vitus Dance.
"Ain't screwing wonderful, Dee Dee honey?" Luke gasped after a while. "Here I went and found all this here treasure trove, you might call it. And then we found each other, and all this wonderful lovin'!"
I agreed. It looked for sure that I, Dee Dee Summers, had things made at the early age of seventeen. I had myself a likable red-hot young cock-wielder who wanted to marry me and I was going to be rich.
Dee Dee, I asked myself -how in heck did you get yourself into such a nice spot for once in your life?
Most likely you're wondering more or less the same thing. I mean, I am kind of telling this story out of sequence. Like, maybe I should start way back when I was a tiny little girl. Or even further back.
Way back when I was in high school I had to write a bunch of stupid book reports, on autobiographies they were, and I noticed that a whole lot of these type books start way back. Even before the person who wrote them was born. Which is pretty stupid if you ask me. Who's interested in anybody's grandparents or great-grandparents?
If you ask me, these frigate-birds who write autobiographies that start way back with their grandparents are just filling up space. I mean, their own lives are so dull they have to throw in a lot of junk about their ancesters and who they screwed or knocked-up just to pad things out.
And from all I've heard about my grandparents, all four of them, were just about the dullest bunch of creeps ever born. So I'm sure as heck not going to start my story with them. Also, I don't know all that much about them. Excepting that they were obviously creeps.
I don't see any point in starting way back when I was a little shy girl, either, on account of life was sure dull and uninteresting for me then. Largely on account of I didn't know anything to speak of about sex or men back then.
I sure learned early, though. And then some. And if I say so myself, I kept right on learning until now, when I'm a mature woman of seventeen, with a thirty-eight inch bust. I can honestly say that there isn't much about men that I don't know about first hand. Or to put it another way, there aren't many dick-tricks I haven't tried, manwise. So far, too, every shaft I've tried I've gotten a real kick out of. And then some.
But I guess I'm sort of digressing. That's a bad habit I got -digressing. I can't help it, though. It just seems like no matter what I start out thinking about, sooner or later my thoughts kind of slither around until I'm thinking about the eternal duo -cock vs. cunt instead. Or as well as.
Anyhow, getting back to where I should have started this story, chronology-wise. It's real hard to decide. I gave it a lot of thought, too.
The first thing I decided was that no matter what I wasn't going to start before I was thirteen, on account of nothing really interesting happened to me before that age. Then something real interesting happened -namely, I seduced my first boy.
At the time I was real proud of having gotten to be a fallen woman -and so pleasantly -at such an early age. But then I got to reading about how lots of girls in history started fucking it up even earlier. Like that Italian girl, Juliet, was only about thirteen when she and Romeo started staining the sheets together. And there was another Italian girl Beatrice her name was, who gave her hairless pussy to some poor poet named Dante when she was even younger. And that Egyptian girl, Cleopatra by name, she was married when she was just a tiny little kid, and didn't know what she had between her legs. But I understood, she found out later . . .
I learned all about the above girls in history at school. And just about the same time, I took this current events course, and that was even more interesting. Why it was interesting was that the teacher said each of us kids had to read at least one newspaper a week, only she didn't say which paper. In fact, she said we could read any paper we liked.
The paper I picked was this tabloid called, YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THE WORLD! Old copies of which used to get thrown out behind the barber shop. And it was a real interesting newspaper, full of pictures of people who had just gotten murdered or found naked while humping somebody else's husband or wife.
I gave a report on the paper in class, and that dried-up old twat, Miss Thompson, who taught current events, made me take the copy I had out into the school yard and burn it in front of the whole class.
The only reason I mention this incident, though, was this tabloid had lots of stories about girls of only nine or ten or younger getting laid and having babies. Usually in Mexico or China. Well, having babies at any age seems like a big stupid mistake as far as I'm concerned. But obviously the girls in these stories wouldn't have had any babies to speak of if they hadn't been jazzing it up for sometime previous to their becoming mothers.
Which only goes to show how much fun a girl can have at a real early age. If she happens to live in Mexico or China, that is.
I tell you, after I read those stories I just sat down and wept, I was so miserable. Because obviously I'd sure been missing a lot of humping by waiting until I was all of thirteen before seducing anybody. I tell you, it just made me sick!
However, it isn't habitual with me to sit around weeping over lost opportunities. So I didn't sit around weeping long. No, sir. I just resolved that since I'd started my fuck career so late, I'd just have to make up for lost time. Which I preceeded to do. And have been doing ever since.
Anyhow, I suppose I could have begun this story with when I was thirteen and screwed a boy for the first time. But I eventually decided against doing so. Because while I sure had a ball during my first love experience, I got to admit I was real inexperienced and unsophisticated at the time. And it makes me feel kind of ashamed, now, to recall just how clumsy I was in using my nooky-wooky back when I was thirteen.
Nor, for various reasons, will I start this story with the first time I ever took on a boy for money -when I was fourteen and a half that was. Nor with the first time I ever screwed with more than two boys at one time. That being when I was a mature fifteen. Or with the time I just about ruined an entire boy's baseball team. I gave them all a piece of tail, mine, in one hour. That was when I was fifteen and one quarter.
Because while all of these events were darn interesting, they weren't as dramatic as -well, I just decided against beginning this story then, that's all.
Nor, for various reasons, will I start this story with the time when I finally ran away from home, on my seventeenth birthday. Or with any of the frigging and lust-lurid humping that happened to me right off while I was still running.
One reason I'd rather not start this story with what happened right after I ran away from home is that a lot of the things I did, physically speaking and otherwise, weren't really legal in the strict sense.
Like, strictly speaking, I guess it's true that I more or less committed murder at one time or another. Like the time I began to lay for this fellow Pete. Pete killed several people, including three boys who tried in a real fanatical way to defend the payroll they were carrying. He was a real man, was Pete. All the same, I shot him dead.
Like, fun was fun, but I just didn't trust Pete, even though he told me I was the best piece of ass he ever had. I mean, how did I know he wouldn't decide to kill me next? So I killed him first. Self-defense was what I'd call it. I shot Pete to prevent him from killing me later.
But naturally, cops being what they are, the cops didn't see it that way. No sir. The cops started chasing me like I was a public menace or something.
So naturally I ran like hell. I ran and ran and ran. Then when I got tired of running, I dived into the river, grabbed hold of a big tree branch, and let myself float downstream.
And that was how I happened to run into Luke. Dear, sweet, lovable Luke, kind of stupid Luke with his big bull-prick. I guess I fell in love with Luke, in a way. And Luke sure as hell fell in love with � me.
Luke was a skin diver, but no ordinary skin diver. What I mean is, Luke had a purpose behind him. Said purpose being to recover a fortune in diamonds that had been lost in the river.
I realize that this may sound kind of improbable. What the hell, it sounded real improbable to me, the first time I heard Luke tell it.
But, as I found out soon enough, it was all true. The story Luke told me, I mean. The story, as Luke told it to me, was this: way back five years or so ago, there'd been these guys who were trying to smuggle diamonds into the country.
And they succeeded. They smuggled in half a million dollars worth -fifteen big, beautifully cut stones. Worth five hundred thousand dollars.
The only trouble, from their point of view, was the guy they trusted to fly the diamonds into the country wasn't very trustworthy. Like, he took off with the diamonds and tried to get clean away, keeping the diamonds all to himself.
He got off the plane from Europe all right, but instead of trotting right over to the other guys in the diamond-smuggling syndicate, he hopped right on another plane. He zoomed all the way down to Miami, where he hired a plane of his own, a little one, and started flying north again. Most likely he'd have gotten away with the double-cross, too except he ran into a storm and had engine trouble and crashed into the river.
Well, the police picked him out of the river a few days later, all banged up and dying, but they never did find the diamonds. On account of the guy was out of his head and couldn't give a straight answer as to where the plane had gone down.
So, according to Luke, the police -and just about everybody else in the vicinity -had hunted all around under the river where they figured it was most likely he'd crashed but hadn't found a thing.
After a couple of years everybody gave up. Everybody but Luke.
But Luke, dumb, lovable, bull-pricked Luke, had kept right on working on the problem. Got to be kind of a hobby with him. An obsession, you might say. He spent all of his free time poring over maps, trying to figure out just where those diamonds might be.
And finally he figured out the right answer. Looking back, I guess it was as much luck as anything. But Luke figured he'd done a right smart piece of detective work.
Anyhow, he figured out that the diamonds ought to be just offshore of a certain little island in the river, and he chugged up-river in a little boat loaded down with skin-diving equipment and camping supplies, landed on the island and started hunting.
Which was just about the time I more or less floated into his life. And right there you can see just what a lovable slob Luke was. I mean, if I'd been a guy hot on the trail of half a million bucks worth of diamonds, and some ripe-bottomed seventeen-year-old chick had all at once floated her way onto the island half drowned and pretty obviously on the run from the law -why, I'd have helped her out of the water (the way Luke did), and humped the living daylights out of her (the way Luke humped the living daylights out of me) -but after that I'd have bashed her head in with a rock and tossed her back into the river. Which Luke didn't do.
No, indeed. Not only did Luke not bash my head in with a rock -the better to protect his secret -but he fell in love with me. And he told me the whole story, about the diamonds he was hunting for, and was just about on the point of locating.
I mean, how trusting can a guy get?
However, notwithstanding that Luke didn't show good sense in trusting me the way he did, notwithstanding that he put an awful lot of temptation in the way of a girl who doesn't have much resistance to temptation -nothwithstanding all of that, I still wouldn't have done Luke dirt.
Not even after he found the diamonds, all fifteen of them, and brought them back to camp. No, sir. Because, like I said, I more or less fell in love with Luke, and that big everready hardon of his. I really couldn't help myself -he was so trusting and all. Wanted to share the diamonds fifty-fifty with me, he did.
With me. I mean, how dumb and trusting can a guy get? He even wanted to marry me. When for all he knew, I might be just a rotten little honey whore. Which, in a manner of speaking, is just what I am.
But, Luke couldn't see things that way. Luke was the sort of guy who goes through life with builtin rose-colored glasses -seeing good all over. Life being what it is, guys like that usually end up dead very young.
And that, I'm sorry to say, was just what happened to Luke. But I didn't bump him off. No, sir. I loved the stupid dong-head. In a way, I mean, I knew he had his weak points -like being so naive and trusting -but he had his good points, too. Like he was really built. With his amazing cock and giant balls he could hump me for hours without getting tired. And he thought a whole lot of me -which I found kind of flattering. And also he wanted to give me half the diamonds -a quarter of a million dollars worth.
And what normal, healthy, greedy female can help but love a guy who wants to give her a quarter of a million dollars worth of diamonds?
Well, sir, I can tell you that I sure figured I'd found my sir fucker and my Very Own Big Daddy Hardon all rolled into one the night Luke brought the diamonds back to camp and asked me to marry him.
I mean, I figured I had it made -likeable cock and money too!
But was I ever wrong.
First thing was we heard an outboard motorboat go by upriver. I got scared right off and told Luke we should put out our campfire -which we were sitting in front of stark naked, naturally and lie low till the boat went by.
But he just laughed and said nobody would bother us where were were, smack in the middle of an island in the middle of the river. So after a while I relaxed, and poured the fifteen diamonds into the palm of my hands to admire them the more.
Which was another mistake.
Because all of a sudden these three guys walked in close to the campfire and started kind of leering at us. And at the diamonds. All three were in their mid-thirties, like I said earlier, and all three were dressed kind of alike. Blue jeans, dirty flannel shirts, and kind of straggly beards.
Moonshiners were what they were. Moonshiners who'd seen the campfire on the island and motored right upriver past us -and then cut their outboard and drifted back to our island as quiet as a bunch of thieves. Which was what they were.
Well, even before they opened their cunt-lapping mouths it was obvious what they wanted. They wanted two things. They wanted the diamonds I was holding in my hand -and then they wanted to rape the living daylights out of my nakedly enticing pussy.
Well, I sure hated the idea of giving them the diamonds Luke had worked so hard to bring out of the river -but on the other hand, I sure wouldn't have given them any argument. Not seeing as how both Luke and I were naked, and all three of them had rifles slung over their shoulders, and hunting knives in their belts.
And as for being raped -well, there are worse things can happen to a girl than being ravished by a bunch of moonshiners. I know. Because worse things than a little ole gang-screw have happened to me in my time, notwithstanding I'm only seventeen years old.
But Luke -dumb, crazy, brave Luke -didn't take things all that philosophical. As soon as one of the moonshiners said, "We'll take those sparklers, Buddy . . . but first we'll take a little ride on that there cute little pussy, what looks all ready for some hot cock-action!"
As soon as he said that Luke just kind of went crazy and flung himself at them.
With tragic, if predictable results. One of the moonshiners, Vern, the others called him, swung the barrel of his rifle and -thwock -Luke's head was crushed in just like an eggshell or something. It made a real horrible sound, I can tell you. And it killed Luke dead awful fast.
Well, I just stood there feeling sick. Also scared right to the depths of the cunny these yokels wanted to get into so badly. Also mad as hell. But mostly scared. I mean, it was sure as hell true that I loved Luke, in a way, and these rotten dirty motherfucking lice had killed the man I loved.
On the other hand, I had to think about myself. And thinking about myself I had to realize -fast -that these creeps couldn't afford to let me walk around alive. Not after I'd seen them kill Luke in cold blood. Which meant that I was a terminated twat . . .
If I hung around.
And since I didn't plan on hanging around I turned and started running like crazy. And while I intended to run like crazy for as long as I could, I certainly didn't intend to lighten myself by tossing away half a million dollars worth of diamonds.
On the other hand, since I was already on an island, a little island, I couldn't run all that far without hitting water. And once I hit water I'd have to swim. And once I started swimming I'd have to use my hands to swim with. Which meant I couldn't keep on holding the diamonds tight closed in my fist.
So I did the only thing I could do. I tossed the diamonds in my mouth, swallowed, and then ran like the devil -with the three killers right on my heels.
It was horrible, believe me. I ran like a virgin at a navy ball through the low brush on the island, heard them start in pursuit, heard a shot sing right past my ears -and then I reached the river and plunged in and started swimming for all I was worth.
I heard one more shot, and then I heard one of them yell, "Don't plug her in the water -she's got the diamonds in her gut. We'll have to force them out her asshole! "And then I could hear them running back through the brush, and then the sound of their outboard motor starting -and then they were coming after me down the river, them in an outboard motor boat and me just swimming for my life.
I sure figured I was a goner. I can tell you. It was true enough I had a good hundred-yard start on them, but the river was awful wide at that point. Calm, too, which was bad. I mean, if there'd been lots of waves I'd have been harder to spot. But somebody swimming in calm water is awful easy to spot.
Also the damn moonlight was so bright it was like I was in a spot-light, and having real bright blonde hair the way I do, even on my pussy, I must have been awful conspicuous.
I kept right on swimming like crazy, headed toward the nearest river bank which was about a quarter of a mile away, but I didn't fool myself I could outswim an outboard motorboat, even a little one like the three creeps had.
And sure enough, I could hear them getting closer and closer, though naturally I didn't waste time turning around to look. Then I hear one of them yell, in a real nasty, jeering kind of way, "Keep swimmin', Blondie -you ain't going to swim far!"
And then I heard another one say, "Vera, Vern, kin I be the one who cuts her up? After you guys hump the harry out of her? Please?"
Well, it'd be a lie to say I swam faster, on account of I was already swimming just as fast as I could -but I sure felt like swimming faster.
I kept thinking. If only they have motor trouble or something or if the moon would go behind a cloud.
I never let myself be handicapped by morals in an emergency, which can be very helpful when most men consider you a desireable, sexy piece of tail. I would gladly have done any kind of frigging these guys wanted me to do with them in the way of fun and games -even have given up the diamonds. But when I saw how they hadn't even given poor Luke an even break, I knew that a triple hump in the hay wouldn't save me. From what I could overhear, they'd take what they wanted from me and my pussy by force, including the diamonds. Then I, Dee Dee Summers, would become Mississippi catfish food at only seventeen.
The thought made me swim harder. I had too much on men's balls as a female, there was too much living and thrilling fucking for me to do in the future. Then a beam of light shone through the night. They were using a powerful hunting lantern to scour the black surface of the water.
I began to reconsider the situation as I paddled. I couldn't outswim their outboard motor, and there was no point in exhausting myself until I sank. Since their spotting me was inevitable, I decided to let them get me and play possum. It would give me a little time to think. Something I'll bet these jerks didn't dream a young, well-titted blonde could do.
"Help, I'm drowning," I screamed and heard them turn the outboard toward me as the light picked out my blonde-haired pussy and then the rest of my naked, defenseless body in the water.
2
I was stark naked from my fuck session with Luke as they hauled me into the boat. I have always been considered a very well-stacked number, and the light glistening off my white wet skin, lingering on my titties, and delectable looking pussy made even these three low-lifes whistle in appreciation. I played possum to give me time to think and see what they had in mind.
It didn't take me long to realize what they had in mind was the worst kind of rape -the no exit for she-who-gets-humped type.
"I'm glad you didn't plug her," said the one called Vern. "She sure is a nice piece of twat. No reason why the three of us can't have a little screw with this here blonde as soon as her bush gets dry!"
"Yeah," chimed in cutthroat number two, called Jake, "there's enough nooky here for the three of us, and then some."
Number three, called Newt, was already fiddling around with my nipples and cackled, "after we're through fuckin' lemme operate on her and get them diamonds outta her gut, huh fellas?"
So these jokers were planning to have some free screwing and then they were going to let the would-be surgeon of the group work on me to slit my slit all the way up to my breastbone with his hunting knife. It looked like any kind of deal was out. After which I lay real limp pretending to be unconscious until I heard the boat grate on the sand of the river bank. Then two of them picked me up and tossed me ashore like I was a sack of flour or something.
I landed on the ground, which fortunately was soft -though not all that soft -with a horrible thud right on my behind and so hard I rolled over a couple of times. Then I opened one eye just a little and saw that all three of them were busy hauling the boat up onto the river bank.
So I didn't waste any more time pretending to be unconscious -I just scrambled to my feet so fast you'd have thought I'd been lying on a redhot stove lid and took off naked through the woods.
I heard a yell and then another yell and then two shots real close together and I felt the wind of a bullet as it zipped past my waist. I kept right on running. I sort of zig-zagged as best I could without slowing down, but believe me I didn't take time to make a real production out of it. I mean, I don't even look like Superwoman. Which is probably just as well for her, come to think of it. But while I was thinking about things like that, with my flying feet paddling like crazy over the turf, I ran head-on into the cliff behind the bushes.
This stopped me. I bounced back a few feet, landing on my shapely rump, and looked the situation over.
The cliff I was up against was maybe fifteen or twenty feet high, and so smooth I didn't have a chance of climbing it.
Well, maybe a tiny chance, if I'd had several hours to climb it in. But I wasn't about to find out, seeing how the cliff was jet black in color and I'm kind of milky white all over when I'm naked, as I was then. If I'd been fool enough to start climbing I'd have been an easy target.
They wouldn't have had to use their rifles they could have just thrown rocks at me until they knocked me off the face of the cliff. And then zip, they'd cut me open from my cunny on up.
I shuddered. All over. Then I ducked down behind a bush to see what I could see. What I could see wasn't very encouraging. I could see all three of them, about twenty yards away, creeping toward me with their knives gleaming in the moonlight.
"See her, Vern" called Jake.
"Not yet," Vern called back. "But we'll get the little cocksucker, don't worry."
"Yeah," said Newt. "Say, where do you suppose she and that skindiver punk got them diamonds, Vern?"
"Where do you think?" snarled Vern. "Them's those smuggled stones that got lost in the river five years back. They must've found that plane that crashed. Half a million bucks them diamonds supposed to be worth. Half a million bucks!"
The one to his right kind of snickered and said, "Well, that's five hundred thousand reasons for open ing up that little whore's body!"
I swallowed hard. All the same, I couldn't resist patting myself quietly but fondly on the stomach. I mean, it isn't every day a girl's stomach is worth half a million dollars.
Right then a tiny cloud sort of scudded across the moon and for just a moment it got real dark.
"Hold it!" one of them yelled. "That's her over behind that bush!"
I scrunched down even lower. But it was okay. When the moon came out again I could see they were all looking off to their left. Then one of them stooped and picked up a rock and flung it. I could hear it crash into a bush some ways off.
"Nah," said the one who'd thrown the rock. "You're just seein' things."
Which was when I got an idea. I began feeling around my feet for rocks, and pretty soon I found a round stone just about the size of a tennis ball. I picked it�up and held it tight in my right hand, my throwing hand, and waited.
Then, when another little cloud passed over the moon, I threw the stone just as hard as I could off to my left. I heard it crash into some bushes, and the noise it made you'd think ten buffalo were charging through the brush.
"Over there!" yelled one of them, and when the moon came out again I could see them stalking along in single file toward where I'd thrown the rock.
I waited until the last one in line was right opposite me, and then I picked up another big round stone and stood up and wound up real careful and then let fly right at his head.
When I was a real young girl, like two or three years ago, I used to be awful keen on baseball and I practiced pitching for hours and hours. Which was a darn good thing, because the guy I'd thrown the rock at was maybe forty or fifty feet away, and a man's head isn't all that good a target fifty feet away at night.
All the same I hit it. Or him, rather, I hit him smack in the side of his head and even fifty feet away I could hear his head go scrunch! and saw him stand there kind of wavering for a moment and then fall flat on his face like he was a chopped down tree.
Notwithstanding all the noise the guy I hit made having his head scrunched in and falling on his face, the two creeps in front didn't even turn around. Most likely they just figured he was shoving his way through a bush or something.
Maybe two seconds later I was out from behind my bush and sprinting toward the guy I'd killed going as fast as I could, only this time going around the bushes in my path so as to make as little noise as possible.
What I was after, of course, was his rifle. Maybe you think this was real brave of me, and that's what any normal girl would have done then was turn and run like hell in the opposite direction.
Well, it's kind of tempting to let you go on thinking that I'm just naturally a real brave girl, but the truth of the matter is I'm a real coward when it comes to danger. Me being in danger, that is.
However, I'm also not really what you'd call a normal girl, by which I'm a thinking-type girl, notwithstanding I don't have much formal education. And during those two seconds that passed after that creep had fallen dead on his face, I thought harder and faster than I'd ever thought before.
What I thought about was all the things I might do, and after I got through thinking two seconds' worth I realized that the dumbest thing I could do was get up and start running away. Like, the other two guys would hear me for sure, and then they'd find I'd killed their buddy, and that would make them so mad they'd start blazing away with their rifles no matter if it did bring the law down on them. And in just about no time I'd be a dead duckling, full of bullet-holes.
No, no matter how tempting it was to cut and run, I realized that the only safe thing I could do was neutralize the two creeps who were still alive. And the best and most satisfying way to do that was to kill them both dead.
I reached the body of the one I'd killed without making any noise, and as good luck would have it his rifle had fallen free of his shoulder when he'd hit the ground. It was a 30.06, which was real fortunate, on account of this was a gun I'd learned to shoot.
I flicked the safety catch off and raised the gun, crouching on one knee on account of that's the position I like to shoot best from and then, just for kicks, I yelled, "No! No -don't stick your knife in my pussy and -AHHHGGG!"
The two creeps I had in my sights spun around. "You get her?" they both yelled.
And I yelled back, "Yeah, he got me, right in my asshole. I'm dead as a mackerel." And with that I took up the slack on the trigger and shot one of the rats right through the heart.
It was real pretty. He flung up his arms just like guys do in the movies when they get killed, and then he sort of whirled around and flopped on his face.
The other one tried to get his own gun off his shoulder but I worked the pump and fired and worked the pump again and fired again before he had a chance to aim.
That time I didn't shoot so well, though seeing as how it was night and he was wriggling so I guess I can't be blamed too much. Anyhow, I missed him clean with the first shot and smashed his right shoulder with the second, and that was enough.
He dropped his rifle and fell to his knees, his left arm shooting right up in the air. "I give up!" he yelled. "Don't shoot, I give up!"
I pumped the gun again and walked toward him. It was the one the others called Vern, the one who'd suggested they bring me ashore so's they could play with me before they ripped me open.
I tell you, it sure did my heart good to see him cringing before me on his knees, his eyes kind of rolling with fear and sweat popping out all over his forehead. I walked right up to him so's the muzzle of the gun was only about two feet from his face and said, "Beg. Beg for mercy."
He swallowed real hard, kind of grimacing from the pain of his smashed shoulder, his left hand still pointed toward the moon, and said, "Please don't kill me! Please don't I -I don't want to die!"
What a laugh, I mean, who does want to die? Nobody, of course. And it was sure obvious he didn't want to die, what with his face all chalk white and pasty in the moonlight and cold sweat dripping off him and his damn eyes rolling.
"Beg harder," I told him. "Convince me."
"But -but -I mean -listen, you can't kill me!" he babbled. You -you just can't!"
Get that. I couldn't kill him. Why? On account of he didn't want me to kill him. That's why. That's all, I should say. A hell of a reason that was. Seeing as how he'd been itching to "play" with me before cutting my precious pussy open while still alive.
"Creeps like you," I told him, "give me a real pain in the ass. It's okay for you to torture some poor chick like me just because I'm a chick and defenseless and all that. But you don't figure chicks have a right to get sadistic and make you suffer. Oh no. Convince me some more."
"No!" he squeaked. "No, you can't kill me, you -you -" And then he stopped talking and started blubbering. Honest to God. A big grown man like him crying like a little baby. "Please don't kill me," he snivelled. "I wouldn't have hurt you. Honest. I'd have just -just -"
"Yeah," I said. "You'd have just cut me open from my twat to my titties for the fun of it, that's what you'd have done. "I raised the rifle and aimed.
"No!" he squeaked. "No, you can't kill me!"
I pulled the trigger.
"Well I'll be damned," I told him. "Maybe I can't kill you after all. Seems like all I did that time was damn near shoot off your left arm. Clumsy me.
Vern didn't say anything. He just rolled on the ground, kind of squealing and moaning. I aimed again, and fired again.
"Darn," I said, "Missed your heart again, didn't I? Guess I just shot your kneecap all to pieces, didn't I? Aren't I clumsy? Of course, you got to excuse me on account of I'm only a young girl, and everybody knows young girls don't know how to shoot. Isn't that right?"
"Tsk, tsk," I said. "Got your cock and ball-bag that time, didn't I? Do you suppose a big strong sadistic man like you would mind giving me some lessons on how to shoot? No, I guess you've got your mind on other things haven't you?"
Vern didn't make any coherent reply. He just flopped around making gasping sounds.
So I pumped and fired again.
"Where did I hit you that time?" I asked real sweetly. "Oh, is up your asshole where I hit you? Right where a big strong man like you would least like to be hit with a rifle bullet. Bet it hurt something awful, didn't it? Bet it hurt just as much as it'd have hurt my cunny to get ripped open by your hunting knife. What's that? Speak up man, don't just roll around gurgling. Want me to shoot you there again?"
He didn't say anything I could understand, so I decided he wanted me to shoot him there again. So I did.
He didn't seem at all thankful. And then the kind of red haze of hate that had been fogging my brain seemed to ebb a little. Also I realized that, enjoyable though it was, I couldn't stand around shooting bits and pieces off Vern all night. So I pumped the last shell into the rifle I held and said, "Open wide, Vern," and shoved the muzzle right into his mouth, knocking out several of his teeth in the process. Then I pulled the trigger.
That finished him. And then some.
I dropped the gun after that and just stood there swaying, feeling sick at first -and then feeling real elated when I realized I'd made Vern suffer the way he'd intended me to suffer.
So.
So I guess you figure that makes me some kind of a monster or something.
Well. I just ran over in my mind what those three shit-eating hillbillies Vern, Jake and Newt had been planning for me. When I came to, I was going to have to suck off Vern first. While Newt held his knife to my belly so I wouldn't try any funny stuff. They were going to make me work on Vern's filthy asshole with my mouth and tongue. And remember these yokels don't even know what toilet paper is!
"Ain't had it that way since I was down in New Orleans five years ago," Vern had said.
Jake had plans after Vern was through that involved an unusual rear-end approach on my helpless rectum while I would be lying on my stomach.
"Haw," Newt guffawed after hearing what Jake had in mind, "don't go spoilin' my fun by making them diamonds pop outta her mouth!"
All Newt had scheduled was a good old-fashioned conventional cunt rape when his buddies had finished their fun and games on my naked, helpless self. Then of course, he was going to make a very sharp incision without an anesthetic, from which I wasn't going to recover.
No, on thinking it over, I Dee Dee Summers had no reason to have even a twinge of conscience over the fate of those three twerps.
3
My naked ass exposed there on the river bank did begin to have a twinge of something else, though. I was only a seventeen year old girl, and while I had been through plenty, I hadn't ever experienced so much bloody violence as in the last couple of hours. So I guess it was a natural enough reaction for my belly to start to twitch and for me to feel as if I were going to throw up.
Since I pride myself about having natural class about certain matters, I won't go into the sordid physical description of what happened after my attack of nausea. Suffice it to say that in tossing my cookies, I also up-chucked the diamonds on the ground. I got some river water in an old slop-bucket and washed away like an old-time, placer gold miner. When I was through I had every single dia mond, clean and glittering in the palm of my hand. I felt real good holding a fortune of a half a million dollars in one hand. Who wouldn't? Now what?
For the first time since those three lice had started chasing me with knives in their hands, I sat down and started thinking about the future. Up until then it hadn't looked like I was going to have any future.
Now I began to think real hard. The first thing I thought of, or remembered, rather, was that Vern and his two creepy buddies had been afraid of using their rifles too much because it would bring the law down on them. What did that mean? That there was a police station real close by? Or a highway? Or somebody's house. No telling. Too bad I hadn't thought to question Vern while he was still alive.
I raised my head and listened. Nothing. At least, no police siren or the sound of anyobdy crashing through the bushes. On the other hand, that didn't mean that all those rifle shots hadn't been heard. And reported.
I decided I'd have to work fast. Even shook up as I was I didn't have to ask myself work faster doing what I could to figure that out all right.
What I had to do was cover my tracks as fast as I could, then make more tracks.
I set to work. The first thing I did was drag what was left of Vern to the river bank and shove him in. Telling it like this, it sounds real easy, but Vern must have weighed a ton, notwithstanding I'd shot quite a few pieces off him, and it was real work dragging his body to the river bank. Also he bled all over me, and I had to stop and wash his damn blood off me. I kept thinking when they found his corpse they'd be wondering what happened to his cock and balls.
Then I got hold of the guy I'd shot through the heart and dragged him down to the river and shoved him in.
After that it was the guy whose head I'd bashed in with a rock. Only before I dragged him to the river I took off all his clothes -on account of, dirty and old though his clothes were, they were a lot better than wearing nothing. And they had no bullet holes in them either.
Surprisingly enough, his shirts and pants fit me pretty good, after I rolled up the cuffs. His shoes were three times bigger than my feet, though, so I didn't even bother taking those off. I'd just have to go barefooted. Then I dragged his body, naked except for his shoes, to the river bank and pushed it out into the stream and waved good-bye to it.
I guess I could have just left the three creep's bodies lying where they'd been -but that didn't strike me as being too smart. The way I figured it, if I got their bodies into the river, they might float for twenty or even a hundred miles before they washed up. Which ought to sort of confuse and delay matters. Like, the cops wouldn't be able to figure out who got killed where.
Of course, if any detectives started prowling around the spot where the three guys had tried to kill me -and I'd ended up killing them -they'd be no doubt that something illegal had taken place. Seeing as how there was blood and no doubt tracks all over the place.
On the other hand, if there was nothing real obvious, like three bodies, lying around -why, it might be that the cops wouldn't check things out for a long time. By which time it might have rained and blood would have all soaked into the ground.
At any rate, smart or not, that's what I did and I can tell you I felt a lot more relaxed once I had all three bodies in the river. After that I gathered up their rifles and threw them into the river too.
I thought quite a bit about keeping one of the rifles, for a while at least, but in the end I decided against it. It was just too dangerous and conspicuous. So I settled for strapping on a hunting-knife sheath, plus hunting knife. And then I strapped it under my shirt so it wouldn't show.
Before I shoved the three moonshiner's bodies into the river I went through their pockets, of course, but they didn't have all that much on them; about eight dollars and twenty cents all totaled. Plus a cloth sack full of smoking tobacco and some cigarette papers.
I put that to good use right off. First by rolling myself a cigarette -a pretty crumbly one, I got to admit -and smoking it. Then I dropped the diamonds into the little cloth sack full of tobacco and drew the drawstrings real tight and stuffed it into my hip pocket, first making sure there weren't any holes in the pocket.
It wasn't a real safe place to hide a half million dollars worth of diamonds, but it was better than just dropping them into my pocket loose.
After that I sat down and shook all over, and then wept a little the way girls have a right to do when they're all shook up, and then I got up and did a little ass-shaking war dance of triumph -on account of I was not only still alive but had a fortune in diamonds on my hip -and then I climbed into the boat the three moonshiners had come in and shoved off.
I got the motor started with less trouble than I'd anticipated, and chugged my way down-river at half-throttle.
I thought quite a bit about going back upriver and doing something about poor Luke. Like giving him a Christian burial or else dumping his body in the river. But in the end I decided against it.
In the first place, I wasn't all that sure I could find the island again. And in the second place, I couldn't see as how anything on the island -including Luke's dead body -would point at me. Like, the cops, if and when they found his body, would most likely figure he's been killed and robbed by strangers.
Also, I just didn't figure it was wise to push my luck hanging about in this particular neck of the woods too long. All I wanted to do was put as much distance between me and my recent misfortunes as possible.
So I kept on chugging down-river.
Fortunately there wasn't any traffic at all on the river and only twice during the night did I pass any towns -and both times they looked like real small dumps. Not the kind of towns that would have river cops operating out of them.
Just to be on the safe side, though, I passed both towns way on the opposite side of the river, with the motor throttled way down.
Just before dawn I pulled in close to a big bank of trees on the river bank and hauled the boat up out of sight, covering it over with branches and stuff so it wouldn't be visible from the river, or even from a helicopter for that matter.
Then I crawled into a clump of bushes and went to sleep.
And slept all day.
In fact, it was late in the afternoon before I woke and jumpy and hungry though I was, I made myself stay where I was until it got dark again. Then I shoved the boat out into the river again and started the motor and away I chugged.
In a way it felt real safe being out on the river. But in another way, I knew, it was real dangerous. I could make good time chugging down-river with the current, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before I passed a real big settlement or else a boat full of river cops. And I could do without either one.
Also, I was real sick of the river by that time. In fact, I told myself -over and over -that I wouldn't be a bit sorry if I didn't see any water at all, except in a highball glass, for the rest of my natural life.
So I decided that, the first chance I got, I was going to get the hell off the river for good.
The first chance I got was around nine at night -though I didn't know the exact time until later, and then only by figuring back.
What I figured, rightly was my best chance was this house all by itself with no lights on. It was a big white-painted house with a little jetty sticking out into the water.
I steered the boat toward it, the motor throttled down as low as it would get and then, when I was still about fifty yards upstream, I killed the motor altogether.
The boat drifted right up to the little dock as quiet as you could ask, and I grabbed hold of a post and hung on and believe me, I was sure glad to have a grip on dry land again.
There was a little rope in the front of the boat, and I could have tied it up to the dock and left it there so's I could take off and be on my way downriver in a hurry if I ran into trouble. I didn't tie up the boat though. I felt disgusted with the river. It had brought me nothing but hard luck, and a rough time, except for the diamonds. Yes, I'd really been all fucked-up by ol' man river.
So, to make sure that no one would find the boat I set it adrift. I had first punched a few holes in its bottom with a pointed iron mooring rod, and I could see it settling slowly in the water as the current carried it downstream.
Now, I turned my attention and hopes toward the house. There were no lights on, but everything was in too good shape for it to be deserted. If I were lucky I could begin to get my bearings there. I wanted to get into a nice, warm bed, anyplace, with clean sheets on it. I wanted to be able to stretch my ass in comfort without feeling that someone was ready and waiting to pry my thighs apart and shove his stiff prick in me whether I liked it or not. In short, I just hoped I could get a good night's sleep -alone.
4
On second thought, it would have been nice to have had Luke and the cunt comfort of his bull prick still with me. If those three moonshiners hadn't done away with him in that cowardly way, I'd have him to protect me now. He'd been a good fucker too, in spite of the fact that he wasn't too bright. It was too bad I hadn't had a chance to really give his gorgeous cock one of my real cunt specials on a real bed, like they probably had in this darkened house I was approaching.
I warmed myself with the thought of how thrilling I could have made humping for Luke with a nice springy mattress to sort of help my palpitating pussy frig him till his balls were drained dry. Even though I am only seventeen, I have been told by plenty of satisfied pecker pushers that I have a wonderful technique of milking a man's dong to the very last drop. But there's no doubt that a good bed gives any woman's cunny more bounce to the ounce, and I regretted that poor Luke had his last screw on a blanket covering the ground.
There didn't seem to be a sign of life around the house, no parked cars and nobody sneaking a screw in a darkened room. So I decided to get in, even if I had to break in.
Just about the time I reached this decision I thought of something else, namely how lucky I was that there hadn't been a large savage dog on the premises. I hadn't even thought about that possibility when I'd sunk my boat behind me, and standing there in the dark all but defenseless except for the hunting knife in my hand it gave me the creeps.
As I mentioned earlier, I have a real vivid imagination, and in my imagination I could picture just how awful it would have been. Me sneaking around peering in the windows -and then all of a sudden a huge savage dog leaping out of the darkness and sinking its huge teeth into my tender ass.
However, there hadn't been a large savage dog on the grounds, so maybe my luck was changing for the good. With which thought in mind I broke in. Though actually, I didn't have to break in in the technical sense of the word.
I had a big rock in my hand, all ready to smash in the window of the rear door so's I could reach the latch, when I decided to see if the back door was open. And it was. So in I went.
I found myself inside a big, fancy kitchen. Just the right place. I didn't turn on a light, for fear of being conspicuous, but just hot-footed it over to the refrigerator, which I could make out quite plain in the moonlight, and opened the door and started eating.
I was so hungry I just grabbed first and shoved whatever I got my hands on into my mouth. It was good grabbing, too. Cold ham and cheese and the remains of a cold chicken. I grabbed and ate and grabbed and ate. Then I spotted half a bottle of milk and drained that down in four or five gulps and then went on grabbing and eating some more.
I was still grabbing and eating when all of a sudden a girl's voice said, "Raymond! Shame on you. Did you come early just to raid the refrigerator?"
And then the kitchen lights snapped on.
And there we were, the two of us, looking at each other with no more than ten feet between us.
I guess we must have made quite an interesting contrast. Like there was me, in an old flannel shirt and blue jeans, barefoot, all covered with mud and dirt and river slime, with my long blonde hair all damp and straggly, crouched down in a fighting position with a snarl on my face and a ten-inch hunting knife in my hand -and there was this other chick.
She was a brunette, with short, feathery hair and big brown eyes and a wide, cupid's bow mouth. About my age, I figured, which is to say seventeen. But she was built fairly good. Meaning she had about a thirty-six inch bust -compared to my thirty-eight inches -and she was kind of fat all over.
Though the places she was fat in, I guess most men would have called her voluptuous. That is, she had a big, rounded ass and wide hips and full thighs. And, like I mentioned, big boobs. About the size of small balloons, her knockers were.
I could see all this real plain on account as she was just about naked. All she was wearing was this real transparent negligee of some kind of filmy black stuff which didn't hide a damn thing, it showed her bush and pussy slit as plain as day. Being a girl my self I knew just what the negligee had been designed for. It'd been designed to get men stiff-pricked as soon as possible, was all.
And I guess if I'd been a man I'd have gotten a real hardon, seeing as how just about all she had to offer was right there in plain sight. She hadn't even tied the damn negligee, and her titties were sticking right out in plain sight, the nipples so bright a red I figured she must have touched them up with lipstick to make them look sexier.
However, being a girl, I didn't get the least bit excited, speaking cunt-wise. I just crouched even lower and gestured with the hunting knife and said, in a real low, real vicious tone, "Make one sound, sister, and I'll slice you all the way up that big juicy crack of yours. And then some"
Honest, you'd have busted right out laughing if you could have seen the way she reacted to that and to the sight of me and my razor-sharp hunting knife, the tip of which was aimed right for her fat twat.
Her big mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and she said a couple of goofy things like, "Awk! Eeek! Ah!" and then her eyes rolled back and
-flop -down -she went on her fat ass in a cold faint!
I was over to her in a flash, to see if she was faking, but I guess she wasn't. At least, even after I'd pricked her gently a few times, here and there, with my hunting knife, she didn't move or groan or react
-so I decided she really had fainted. The little cock-teaser. The big voluptuous rich cock-teaser, I should say.
I set right to work. The first thing I did was take off her negligee, on account of I'd taken a fancy to it and decided I might as well steal it. Then I found some clothesline in the kitchen closet and tied her ankles good and tight, and then I tied her hands behind her and then, so's she wouldn't come to and start making loud sounds, I stuffed a dishcloth in her mouth.
Then went back to raiding the refrigerator.
After I'd finished off the rest of the cold chicken and most of the ham and another bottle of milk I felt much better, so I walked over to the now-naked chick, who I'd left lying on her ass on the kitchen floor, and stared down at her. She'd come out of her faint and was staring up at me looking real scared and making choking sounds from behind the dishcloth.
I sat down on her stomach, kind of straddling her, and pricked her in the throat with my knife. "Awk!" she said, from behind the dishcloth in her mouth.
"Listen," I said, "and listen good. I'm desperate, see? I'll stop at nothing. I'd just as soon kill you real slow and painful -as spit on you. Understand?"
I pricked her in the throat with my knife. "Understand?"
After I took the knife away she nodded her head -so vigorously the back of her stupid head bounced up and down on the floor.
"Okay. I'm going to take this gag out of your mouth. And you're going to answer a few questions. But real quiet-like. Because if you make more noise than I like ..." I swept the knife past her throat in a real vicious manner. "Understand?"
She nodded again.
So I took the dishcloth out of her mouth and started asking her questions. It was just about as I'd figured -or would have figured if I'd had time to sit down and figure things out.
She was a high school girl, all of seventeen, and her name was Shirley. She lived in the house we were in with her parents, only her parents had gone off the day before to visit some relatives in Toledo, or someplace similar, and wouldn't be back until the day after tomorrow.
So meanwhile she was in the house all alone. So naturally she'd called up her boyfriend, a guy named Raymond, and suggested he drop over. Which was how come she was all decked out in her cockteasing negligee with lipstick on her nipples. She was waiting to get sucked and fucked, was what she was doing. Or vice-versa.
Although she didn't come right out and say so, I got the idea that she hadn't let Raymond get anything more than his hand up near her bush before this. Tonight, evidently, was to be the big night.
After I got through chuckling I prodded her in the left tit with my hunting knife -a little harder than I intended to -and said, "Shirley, old girl. Are you still a virgin?"
She nodded, her eyes rolling in a real wild fashion.
"Well, Shirley," I told her, "looks like you're going to keep your stupid virginity for another day or so." I stuffed the dishcloth back in her mouth, then prodded her again with the hunting knife. Just for the hell of it, this time. "In fact," I went on, "You might even die a quite unfucked virgin." And with that I prodded her again, just to scare her.
I sure succeeded. Her eyes rolled around like they were marbles in a couple of eggcups. "On the other hand," I said, prodding her gently in the stomach with my knife, "if you keep real quiet for a while maybe, just maybe, I'll let you live. Going to be a good girl?"
She nodded so hard it's a wonder she didn't crack the kitchen floor.
"Okay," I said, and with that I got up off her
T and grabbed her ankles and dragged her, ass down, across the kitchen floor toward a big broom closet I'd noticed earlier. I dragged her all the way inside, made sure there weren't any glass bottles lying around and then, after kicking her gently in the stomach, left her there and closed the door on her.
The reason I checked for glass bottles, of course, was that I'd read in plenty of hardboiled mysteries about how people got out of their bonds by smashing bottles and using sharp pieces of glass to cut through their ropes.
I figured Shirley would be safe for a long while, though. I'd tied her wrists and ankles real tight.
Back in the kitchen I glanced at the electric clock on the wall. Nine-thirty. Shirley had told me she was expecting her boy friend at ten-forty-five. Even figuring he'd arrive early, that gave me an hour. Which I could make good use of.
First thing I did was find the bathroom, take off all my clothes, and take a long hot shower. I sure needed one. Then I dried myself and explored the house. I found twenty-two dollars in currency, including twenty dollars in Shirley's handbag. Then I started going through her room. Notwithstanding she had only a thirty-six inch bust, Shirley and I were close enough in size so I could wear most of her clothes. And she sure had a lot of fancy clothes. The rich cock-teaser.
Actually, though, her clothes weren't so much fancy as expensive. That is, they were made out of good material and all, but her dresses were kind of on the demure, little-girl style.
Me, I like dresses that fit so tight I can hardly wiggle, with the neckline scooped real low, so's people can get a good look at the deep valley between my creamy titties.
However, demure clothes were better than nothing at all, so I hunted up a small suitcase and stuffed a bunch of dresses and sweaters and skirts into it. I didn't bother stealing any of her underwear on account of I don't like wearing anything over my pussy.
by ten-fifteen I was all set to travel. Shirley was safely locked in the broom closet, I was wearing her best sweater and skirt, plus a pair of her highheeled shoes, I had a topcoat of hers over my arm and a suit case full of her clothes. Plus her handbag under my arm. All I had to do was walk out the door and be on my way. With half a million dollars worth of diamonds.
Well, that certainly would have been the sensible thing to do -get the hell out fast, I mean but I'm a girl who seems to just naturally not do the sensible thing.
I guess you might say that's bceause of my basically romantic nature. Some people have called me cock-crazy, but I always thought that they were jealous because I happen to be a very well-built girl who can't see anything wrong with screwing whenever a properly qualified pecker -six inches or more -presents itself.
And a properly qualified prick certainly was presenting itself. As I was taking a last look around Shirley's room, for anything cute or portable I might have missed, I spotted a picture of a rugged-looking, husky young man, autographed, "To Shirley from Raymond." I did a quick double-take. If this was Raymond, no wonder Shirley was so ready to make the supreme sacrifice of her maidenhood.
I thought to myself, I was being a spoilsport as far as Raymond was concerned. Here he was ready to pluck, as it were, the cherry of his girl friend and I had put her pussy out of reach of his pecker. In all fairness to Raymond and his hardon the least
I could do was to substitute my slit for Shirley's when he arrived. I'm not conceited, but I knew he'd be getting a much better screw, to say the least.
5
I like to be as frank as possible about things, so I'll have to admit that I was going to let Raymond fuck me but not as a favor to Shirley or to Raymond. It was more like a necessity for my own cunny. I didn't realize until I spotted Raymond's picture, how much tension the events I'd gone through had built up within me. When I get keyed up, the only thing that can help me from going really wild is to have a good hump session. A stiff prick fucking my hot willing cunt manages to tranquilize me and keep both feet on the gorund.
So I figured that it would be better to wait for Raymond pussy-wise, than to take off and maybe have to wait a couple of days until I met a likeable guy. By which time, my nervousness would have built up to the point where I'd be ready to hump a chimpanzee. Besides, in a manner of speaking I'd already met Raymond and he. certainly looked as if his dong could fill my lovely crack, and then some. You know the old saying about a bird in the hand, being worth two in the bush. Well, I just wanted one in my bush.
Raymond fullfilled my fondest expectations as to what I wanted in pecker material that night. He was a powerful, virile brute. And it just about bugged me out of twat-hair that I didn't seem to turn him on. Not so's it showed, at least.
But I'm getting ahead of my story. What happened was that, at ten-forty-five on the dot, Raymond knocked on the door. That should have tipped me off as to how square he was. I mean, any normal guy who's been asked by his girl friend to drop by
-on an evening when both her parents were out of town -any normal guy would've kind of snuck around early.
In order to catch his girl naked or in the shower or something. So's he could start shoving his tool up her twat early.
But not Raymond. Oh no. He came at tenforty-five, and not a moment earlier.
I opened the door for him wearing the negligee I'd stripped off Shirley. And boy did his eyes pop. No doubt on account of I'm really built, if I do say so myself, and that transparent negligee let him see everything I had. Especially in the tit and nooky department.
"Ug glug," he said, kind of reeling on his feet in surprise.
"Raymond?" I said, in a real sultry, sexy kind of tone. "Do come in. I've been expecting you. I'm
-I'm Shirley's fourth cousin."
"I, er . . . I, er . . . I, er . . ." said Raymond. Honest to God. That's just what he said. Three times. But he came in, nevertheless.
And that's when I started getting really turned on. Because Raymond was sure brutish-looking. Now, I've got nothing against clean-cut, decent-looking boys. Or men. I really dig being banged by cleancut, decent-looking males, with sanitized cocks.
But, like any normal, healthy, sexy girl I have a real weakness for men who look kind of brutal and apelike. And Raymond sure looked brutish. Which is to say, notwithstanding he most likely wasn't any older than eighteen, he was built kind of like a gorilla. I hoped he had a gorilla-sized dong as well, my pussy felt as if it needed an elephant's prick. Like, he must have been about six foot three, with real wide shoulders, shaggy sideburns, a real low forehead and kind of apelike features. Only cleanshaven.
And to just about any girl -even decent, moral girls -especially decent, moral girls -that's a real irresistible combination.
Most girls won't admit it, though -not unless you get them drunk or shoot them full of truth serum. Most girls will tell you they prefer clean-cut, decent, honorable-looking men who wouldn't stoop to sticking a finger up their girls twat. They usually end up marrying men of that type, too. But that doesn't mean that, every now and then, they don't dig really dig -the idea of being fucked by a really brutish-looking man, with a brutish-pecker too!
Which is only natural.
What I mean is, don't men feel the same way? Sure they do.
Ask most men the kind of girl they like best, and most likely they'll tell you they prefer cleancut, decent girls. With lavish bodies, to be sure but with fresh, innocent, decent faces. And souls.
And most men will be telling you the truth. On account of that's the kind of girl most men end up marrying.
All the same, most men have a real weakness, a sizzling hump or blow-job with a low-down whore. Show me a decent, honorable, average man -and I'll show you a man who can't help panting with with a lusty hardon when he sees a real tramp.
You know what I mean by a tramp. I mean a girl's who all tits and ass and cunny. A girl who looks like an impure love machine -on account of she is a love machine. A girl who looks wanton and lascivious and immoral and cheap and a sure piece of nooky. But lusty.
A girl who wears tight-fitting dresses with plunging necklines and high hemlines and strong perfume and a perpetual come-hither smile in her eyes and too much lipstick on her mouth. The kind of girl no man would bring home to meet his mother, the kind of girl a decent man would be ashamed to be seen with in public, the kind of girl who was born with round heels and no morals the kind of girl who's commonly known as a piece of ass and who's good in only one place -a bed.
That's what I call a tramp. And I should know, on account of deep down I'm a tramp myself.
So, if men really dig tramps -I don't see why girls shouldn't dig men who look like gorillas. Anyhow, / sure do.
And I sure dug Raymond, on account of he looked about as brutish as a man can look and still look human.
And naturally I figured that, what with me being a natural slut -and all but naked -and Raymond being a real brutish type man, all I'd have to do was just wink and smile and his cock would be climbing all over me. Exciting my cunt as he climbed.
Which just goes to show how wrong a girl can be.
Anyhow, I led Raymond into the living room and waved him into an easy chair and said, "How's about a little drink, Ray?" and poured him a tumbler full of bourbon and myself the same and then sat back on the couch, making sure the negligee slid back so's he could see my thighs all the way up to my golden bush, and then inhaled so's the negligee slid back far enough so he could tell that my nipples were naturally bright red.
"Cheers," I said, chug-a-lugging half my drink.
"Ug glug," said Raymond. And the, "Uh where's Shirley?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" I said, downing the rest of my drink and then folding my arms behind my head so my breasts would stick out in an appealing fashion. "She got a telegram saying both her father and mother had taken real sick in Toledo. So she left to be with them in their hour of need. Real unfortunate, I call it. And just when I, her fourth cousin, had arrived to pay her a visit." I yawned and stretched, so's my nipples would jut way out -pointed right at Raymond's face.
"Is that a fact?" said Raymond.
I nodded. "Shirley must be halfway to Toledo by now," I added, smiling at him in an inviting sort of way. "There's nobody here now but you and me." I smiled at him in an even more inviting kind of way.
Raymond turned bright red and took a quick gulp of his drink. "Oh," he said. Then, "Well, in that case, I guess I'd better go."
I stared at him. Was he kidding? No, he wasn't kidding. What was wrong with the guy? Why wasn't he taking advantage of me? My cunt was already hot and wet and ready for action!
"Don't go just yet," I urged him. "Have another drink and -keep me company. I'm very, very lonely." I stretched again. A real stretch this time --I was naked. At least from where he sat. All he had to do was look and he could see everything he wanted to see; even my clitoris peeking out below my blonde bush. If he wanted to see it, that is. But evidently he didn't want to see it -on account of his eyes rolling in every direction except straight at me.
"I'd better go," he whispered. "I -I only came to see Shirley."
"Well, she ain't -isn't here," I snapped. Then I forced myself to smile and said, "Frankly, Ray mond, I can't understand what a big, brut -ah, rugged boy like you sees in a young, virginal girl like Shirley." I stood up and strolled toward him. "I should think a mature, experienced woman such as me would be more your type." I stopped right in front of him and shrugged out of the negligee. "Don't you find me attractive, Ray?" I asked in a real sultry tone, tilting my head back a little to smile at him from under half-closed eyelids, and meanwhile lightly hefting my breasts with my hands while my ass kind of twitched provocatively from side to side. "You can do things to me, Ray," I whispered. "You can do things like fucking me any time you like, any way you like."
And with that I closed my eyes and just stood there, kind of tingling with anticipation, waiting for him to ram it up my waiting cunt. Since he was sitting down facing me I figured what he'd undoubtedly do would be to reach forward and grab double handfulls of flesh, and then pull me toward him and bury his face in my middle and start nuzzling me here and there while his fingers dug ever tighter into my quivering thighs -and then his hands would begin sliding down the ripest part of my ass, kneading and fondling as they slid -and then his hands would reach up to cup and squeeze my tits, gently at first, then harder and harder until I'd pretend to gasp in pain, though actually I'd be digging it the most, on account of I'm a girl who likes to be treated rough at times, and all the time he'd be kissing me right where I wanted to be kissed and Hell and damnnation. What was he waiting for? Instructions?
I opened my eyes, and right then my jaw just dropped open in surprise. Because Raymond wasn't even looking at me. He was just sitting there with his hands tightly clenched together on his lap, his face bright red -and his eyes closed.
"Damn it," I snarled, "keep your eyes open while a lady's talking to you. Haven't you got no manners?"
His eyes snapped open then. At the same time his face got even redded.
"Look me up and down," I ordered.
He let his gaze slide obediently up and down my naked body. Being a girl who's easily stirred up, as I've mentioned, I always get a charge out of being teased by a man -even if only by his eyes. And having Raymond's brutish eyes slide over my breasts and stomach and hips and cunny lips was like -well, like being caressed by a feather. A tickling feather.
"Want to fuck me now?" I whispered.
Raymond's eyes snapped shut again, like he was trying to shut out temptation. He swallowed hard and said in a kind of gasp, "No!"
"No?" I screeched. "Why the hell not? You faggoty queer or something?"
Raymond shook his head, still keeping his eyes closed. "I -I want to keep myself pure. Until until after I'm married."
"For Pete's sake, why?" I yelled.
"On account of I promised Mom," muttered Raymond.
Well. What a creep!
"Do you always do what your mother tells you to do?" I asked in a real nasty tone. "A big strong man like you?"
Raymond nodded, his eyes still tight shut. "Mom says my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure."
That was when I cold-cocked him on the head with the whiskey bottle.
Not hard enough to break either the bottle or his head, just hard enough to knock him cold. But hell, even if I'd crushed his head in and killed him dead, I don't see how any jury would have blamed me, not once I told them the facts.
After making sure Raymond was good and unconscious I went into the kitchen and got some more clothesline out of the broom closet. All trussed up on the floor, Shirley stared up at me in panic.
I grinned down at her and prodded her ass with my foot. "Don't worry about missing any fun," I told her. "You wouldn't have gotten any place with Raymond tonight. Not even with all that lipstick on your nipples." I snickered. "He wants to keep his cock pure."
The panic went out of Shirley's eyes, to be replaced by a sort of morose glare. Evidently she'd tried and failed to screw with Raymond before this.
"But don't worry, kid," I told her. "I'm going to do you a favor and saddle-break your boy friend's virgin prong. After I get through with him he won't have a pure thought left in that dick-head of his!"
Shirley stared up at me with pure hate in her eyes. Evidently she didn't appreciate my saddlebreaking her boy friend's male tool. Well, the hell with what she liked. I made sure her ropes were good and tight, then slammed the broom closet door on her again.
Ten minutes later Raymond groaned, shook his head and opened his eyes.
"Hi," I said, grinning down at him. "Bet you have an awful headache. It'll go away soon, though. And anyway, a little headache shouldn't bother a big, strong, pure boy like you."
He stared at me with a dazed look. "Who what -where am I?"
"In bed," I said. "Or rather, on a bed. No, don't bother trying to sit up. You won't be able to, on account of I tied your wrists to the bedposts. Also your ankles."
Raymond lifted his head and stared down at himself. "My clothes!" he gasped. "Where are my clothes?"
"I took them off you, stupid," I said. "How could I rape you with your clothes on?"
Raymond's eyes opened real wide, and he began to struggle. With no success, of course, since I'd tied him good and tight. "You can't!" he gasped. "You can't rape me!"
I leered at him. "Why not?"
"Because -because it's illegal. Also immoral. Also, girls can't rape men. It's a -a biological impossibility."
"We'll see," I said, letting my eyes roam up and down his terrific masculine if pure prick, licking my lips in anticipation as I noted its huge head. It had a knobby look with a warty foreskin that I knew from experience acted just like a French Tickler on my cunt.
"No!" squeaked Raymond. "Don't! Think how you'd feel if your brother -"
"I don't have a brother," J told him with a nasty laugh.
"I -I'll'yell for help!" he gasped.
"Yell all you want," I told him. "There's nobody around to hear. Nobody but Shirey that is. She's tied up in the kitchen. If you want her to know what a big sissy you are, feel free to yell and scream all you want."
As I looked down at Raymond's gorgeous thick sturdy cock and powerful ball sac, his terrific biceps and hairychest, I had to laugh at all the trouble I was going to. If he had turned out to be some puny, five-foot-five bookworm, I probably would have had to fight his pecker off my twat. Well, that's the way the bedsheet stained, I told myself.
I hopped into the bed with him, and that made him wrestle against his bonds some more.
"Take it easy, Ray," I said trying to soothe him by letting my breasts brush against his flat belly and dark curly bush. "Lots of men would be only too happy to pay me heavy dough for the delicious nooky I'm going to let you ram your ungrateful dick in for nothing!"
6
Raymond lying on the bed naked was a gorgeous hunk of male prick, even if he was a virgin. It was the first time I had ever met up with a powerful, masculine type like Ray whose cherry I would have to take by being the first girl he ever had. In addition to having been all keyed up and needing some stiff hot pronging anyway, Ray's virgin ramrod lent new kicks to the whole situation for me. I felt fresh excitement tingling through my naked body as I thought up various ways of baptising that knobby head and shaft in hot cunt juice.
There was a very direct way I could use by merely bending my head over his dick, and giving him a blow job right out of his virginity. But I felt that it wouldn't be quite the real thing for Ray's pecker. It would all be over too fast and I wouldn't have what I really craved, his entire rigid shaft up my twat right to those big balls of his.
I decided to work him up to fucking temperature and a rigid hardon slow and easy, and straddled his belly with my thighs. I warned him about trying any funny stuff.
"In just about five seconds, Ray, I'm going to start you on the glory road by letting my delightful breasts and nipples brush against your face, so you get to know what they feel like. Then, I'm going to show you how a woman kisses -but if you get funny and try to bite me or hurt me . . .
I made a swift, slashing motion with my hand near his lovely balls and I think he got the message.
"But let's not dwell on the awful, slow way you'll die if you're fool enough to bite me," I said. "Let's think of more pleasant -and lovely things." And so saying, I leaned down and kissed him full on the lips, after nuzzling his face with my breasts.
It wasn't all that satisfying a kiss, seeing as Raymond kept his lips clamped tight together, but it was a start. I raised my head a little and said, "Open your mouth a bit"
Raymond moaned in a real pitiful fashion, but followed orders. I bent and kissed him on the mouth again, this time letting my hot wet tongue dart all over the place. His own tongue wasn't really fencing, but sliding around, trying to back away from me. He sure was a shy type.
After a while I got tired of chasing his tongue and started kissing him in other places, like on his eyes and his ears and the tip of his nose in my own special way that has been known to drive strong men wild . . . Raymond began to moan and mumble.
"What?" I said, kind of annoyed at being disturbed by his mumblings.
"I said," moaned Raymond, "my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure."
"Well," I said, "don't say it again -or I'll bash your teeth down your throat, and wash them down with hot piss from my pussy!"
"Ulp," said Raymond.
I didn't say anything. I just went on kissing him here and there. Especially on the wart-like fore skin covering his huge dong-head. And then, for variety, I started kind of slithering my seething hot cunt lips all over his helpless, naked body. It's hard to describe just what I did to Raymond while I was slithering around on my own pussy-juice. Partly because I didn't have any set plan in mind -my pussy just sort of ad libbed as I went along. But mostly because the sort of things I did to Raymond were things you'd really have to experience to appreciate.
Like, plenty of men have told me that my ass, breasts and thighs and crotch are as smooth as wet silk and as stimulating as Spanish Fly. So, I sort of caressed and stroked Raymond, here and there, with my breasts. And ass. And thighs. And cunny.
And in between I kissed him, all over, with my lips. And fondled him, especially those big balls in his rough-skinned hairy ball-sac, with my fingertips. And teased him, on the head of his dick and its shaft, with my tongue.
Me, I had a ball right in my mouth! Raymond, on the other hand, just kept moaning -like I was torturing him or something. He was sure a hard guy to turn on. He gave me a horrified look when I tickled his asshole.
Then I remembered something a guy had told me once, namely, that you can turn on a man by stimulating just about any part of his anatomy. -So long as you stimulate it in the right way.
So I selected a specific part of Raymond's anatomy and set about stimulating it.
I forget, now, just which part of Raymond's anatomy I decided to concentrate on. But I think it was his big cock.
First off I began to sort of stroke and tickle his cock-head with the tips of my fingers, sliding my fingers gently in a circular motion on the foreskin and teasingly up and down, up and down exposing his lovely pecker^head. Then I kissed him, gently on the tip of the head, meanwhile still gently squeezing and kneading the shaft with my fingers. Then I kissed him quite passionately on the tip. Very passionately. By which I mean I sort of shoved his big head deep into my mouth. And began to tease and caress it with my tongue. And if I say so myself, I have a very talented tongue when it comes to teasing and caressing every sort of prick you can think of.
After a while -a surprisingly short while Raymond began to gasp and grunt in a peculiar, worked-up kind of way.
I raised my head and smiled at him. "My, my," I said. "It sort of looks like I'm getting you a little excited. Quite excited, in fact."
Raymond didn't say anything. He just closed his eyes tight and groaned. A different kind of groan from the groans he'd been groaning before, however. More of an ecstatic kind of groan.
I bent my head and wrapped my lips around his now erect shaft. With my fingers, and lips, and tongue, I massaged its entire length until the head was down my throat. It almost choked me!
Pretty soon Raymond stopped groaning and began panting. I took that to mean that I'd stimulated him enough, so I began to kind of slither my cunt forward until I was kneeling astride his hips.
"You kind of dig what I'm doing, don't you Raymond?" I asked, meanwhile letting my fingers stray in a caressing, kneading, stroking way around his bush and his balls and other parts of his anatomy in that general area, including his asshole.
"Yes!" gasped Raymond, his face contorted into a peculiar expression. "Hateful though it is to admit, I must confess that -that I dig what you're doing in the worst way."
What a creep. Still, fanatically prudish though he might be intellectually and morally, I had to admit Raymond had other attractions. Like that delicious dick of his, big and thick and long. In fact, up until then I'd never seen a dick as big and thick and long as Raymond had. He also had big, thick long arms; big, thick, long legs; a big thick, long nose -and well, his head was kind of big and long too. And he certainly was thick in the head. The prudish creep.
"Well, Raymond," I said, my ass kind of shaking with anticipation, "ready or not, here you come." And so saying I lowered my hot, expectant vaginal orifice slowly and carefully. I thrilled as his huge cock-head expanded my palpitating cunny walls, and then the rest of that gorilla-like cock went in.
"Oh my!" I said, after I'd lowered myself all the way down until my asshole was resting on the very top of his balls. "O my, but you're a big man, Raymond."
"Ung gloog," gasped Raymond, whatever he meant by that.
"I feel so stuffed," I said. "Stuffed almost to the bursting point." And indeed I did. It was my own fault, of course; I should never have eaten so much food all at once when I was raiding the refrigerator.
However, it felt kind of good to be stuffed so full. Kind of warm and satisfying. It felt so good I decided I loved the world. But especially Raymond. I leaned forward and squeezed his chest. Then I squeezed his balls. Then I let my drooling pussy caress his rigid tool. Caressingly. Squeezingly. Pulsingly.
"You like that, Raymond?" I whispered, meanwhile continuing to squeeze him where I figured he'd most appreciate being squeezed.
"Yes, heaven help me!" gasped Raymond.
"I figured you would," I said, continuing to squeeze his fleshly staff. And how I squeezed that flagpole of his. As tightly and enfoldingly as a milkmaid squeezes a cow, I squeezed him, and as rhythmically as a heartbeat. A heartbeat that kept speeding up.
"I didn't," gasped Raymond, know that girls had such depraved muscles in such a wonderfully depraved place."
"Son," I told him, "you've sure been missing a lot in life."
"Ohhh . . " groaned Raymond. And then, "My strength is as -the hell with my strength! Squeeze my cock more!"
So I squeezed his prick more. Pulsingly, enfoldingly, enticingly.
Raymond began to twist and writhe.
"That's it!" I encouraged. "Twist and writhe some more. Also buck and shake and shove that marvelous tool in further, if you can."
But Raymond, the poor inexperienced creep, didn't seem to know what to do. So I figured the next hump moves were up to me. So I began to move.
First I began to kind of move my cunt lips back and forth. Then from side to side. And then round and round in a small but exciting circle. Exciting for me. And -judging by the gasps of ecstasy that escaped from his lips -exciting for Raymond.
Back and forth and from side to side and around and around I moved my wet labia, meanwhile keeping my thighs pressed tight to his now feverishly warm hips. Around and around and back and forth and this way and that I let my vulva churn. Squeezing as I churned, my clitoris hard as a button and sliding up and down the fantastic dong of Ray.
"Umph glumph!" gasped Raymond, but I hardly heard him. I was too busy enjoying the stirring, churning, diabolically exciting masculine prick that seemed to surge and turn and twist right in the very core of my slippery hot slit.
"Faster!" moaned Raymond, "Move faster, you rotten depraved female rapist, you . . . Un-pure me! Un-pure me all the way!"
I began to move faster. But not just to satisfy the prudish creep I was busy unpuring. I moved faster to satisfy my cock-crazy cunt. Back and forth like a crazy metronome I swung my ass; from side to side like a runaway windshield wiper; around and around like a hopped-up cement mixer.
And then I began to bounce. Up and down and up and down and up and down just as fast as I could bounce. Squeezing as I bounced, his thick cock making a slurping sound as it rammed in and out of my juicy vaginal lips. Seven inches up and seven inches down I bounced, faster and faster until my thighs were slamming against Raymond's bush like a demented piledriver. Faster and faster I slammed my hips up and down, until my leg muscles ached from the strain of bouncing. But didn't give a hoot in hell for my leg muscles -all I care about was the wonderful pistoning, surging, driving upward lunge of Raymond's hot, burning prick hitting the bottom of my cunt with every stroke.
Faster and faster and faster and faster I bounced and churned and twisted and squeezed until all at once my quaking cunt couldn't stand the excruciating pleasure of it all, and my pussy seemed to explode inside and turn into a spinning whirlpool of ultimate lust delight. And at that very instant I heard Raymond kind of grunt and felt his body tremble beneath me and in me, and then his gorilla prick thrust upward convulsively, violently, maniacally again and again and it was as if a spurting fountain of hot liquid love passion erupted and drenched my lapping pussy. The white sperm seeped out of my hole and onto his curly black bush.
And it was over. Round one, at least.
A pretty satisfying round, too, all things considered. I'd had a ball -And Raymond had been painlessly devirginized.
"Raymond," I gasped, when I had enough strength to talk, "honest now, wasn't that fun?"
"Yes!" sobbed Raymond. "But -but my strength is no longer as the strength of ten. I'm I'm no longer pure!"
What can you do with a creep like that who actually cries about shooting his first manly load? I don't know what you'd do, but what I did was climb (kind of shakily) off his limp dong, pour myself a stiff drink, light a cigarette, prowl around the house again to see if there was any folding money around I'd overlooked (there wasn't), go through Raymond's clothes (I found eighteen bucks), have another drink -and then climb back on the bed with Raymond.
"Now -now what?" whispered Raymond.
"Round two," I said. "Get ready for the warmup." And I started licking that sperm-covered gorilla-prick of his again. I just loved to peel back that warty foreskin of his with my teeth!
Round eight (or maybe it was nine -I didn't bother to keep too accurate a count) didn't end until almost nine the next morning. By the time it ended I was just about completely satisfied. So was Raymond, I guess -though maybe 'half dead from exhaustion' would be a more accurate description. At any rate, even before I climbed wearily off the bed after the eighth (or ninth) round, the poor creep was sound asleep. Groaning a little from exhaustion as he slept.
Natural-born creep though he was, I have to admit that Raymond had improved in hump technique a whole lot during the night and early morning. Notwithstanding he was tied down so's he could hardly move.
In fact, during rounds five and six I'd been tempted to untie him -or his hands, at least so's he'd be able to participate more actively in the screw lessons I was giving him.
I resisted the temptation, though, because if there's one thing I've learned, from practical experience and having read lots of realistic novels and true detective magazines, it's that people who are prudish and inhibited about fucking simply aren't to be trusted.
Like, they're kind of prone to beat up or knock off people of the opposite sex. On account of they're so repressed and full of stupid guilt feelings, I guess. At any rate, I've noticed that whenever you read about teenage boys who've knocked off teenage girls -the teenage boy who does the knocking off is always a real prim, prudish, virtuous type. Shy types who spend all their time being virtuous and going to Sunday School and leading the choir. In other words, teenage boys who haven't been getting any nooky and secretly jerking off.
Which only goes to show that it's a real mistake to repress teenage boys. Or girls, for that matter. Though girls seem to be easier to repress than boys.
At any rate, I decided to leave Raymond tied up the whole time. It was safer that way. Like I didn't doubt but that, if I'd untied Raymond just before, say, rounds six or seven, he'd have cooperated with me all the way, right up to the end of the round. But after the round was over, he might have gotten to feeling guilty and un-pure -and started choking me to death or something.
Most likely he'd have then cut his own throat -but a fat lot of consolation that would have been to me, after I'd been choked to death.
No, a real prudish and inhibited guy like Raymond wouldn't be safe to fuck it up with (without his hands being tied) until he'd finally gotten it through his thick skull that love was natural and normal -as well as being the most fun you can have without laughing.
And a guy like Raymond can't usually be deinhibited overnight, even with an experienced cock operator like me working his dong over.
With which thought in mind I strolled into the kitchen to see if Shirley had survived the night. She had. Naked and trussed up good and tight, she glared up at me from the floor of the broom closet.
"Morning," I said, yawning and scratching myself idly under the right titty. "Well, I cunt-broke your boy friend. Eight or nine times."
She glared up at me with an even fiercer glare.
"In a week or two," I told her, "after he's had a chance to kind of sort things out in his mind, I think you'll find Raymond acting like a normal, lusty male. But just to be on the safe side," I went on, "I wouldn't advise your trying to screw him let him screw you. Creeps like Raymond usually make a ridiculous distinction between girls they consider basically pure and girls they consider to be whores." I snickered. "Raymond, now thinks of me as a whore, which I guess I am. In fact, he probably considers me a reincarnation of that great screwer in the Bible, Jezebel. But if you're smart, you'll let him think you're a pure girl. Do that and there's less chance of him choking you to death while he's guilt ily ramming it up your asshole.
Shirley looked at me with real wicked daggers in her eyes. Stupid chick. Here I'd done her a favor -two favors, pussy-breaking her boy friend and giving her some good advice -and all she could think of was how jealous she felt.
The thick twat-head. Obviously it'd never occurred to her that she'd been playing with dynamite in trying to lay a prudish, inhibited creep like Raymond. It was chicks like her who wound up being strangled -or shot or stabbed or stomped on -all on account of they didn't have the sense to stayaway from prudish, pure teenage boys and concentrate on horny, delinquent teen-agers -who not only know the score, hump-wise but are more fun to fuck with on account of they're more experienced. As I looked at the full flare of Shirley's trussed voluptuous ass and heaving, buxom breasts, I realized she had probably been hoping to lose her virginity with Ray. She never would have made it. I felt myself feeling a little sorry for her. In spite of all the cunt-action with Ray, I still tingled with excitement and needed just a little dessert. Shirley's curved generous ass, and rounded buttocks were in just the right position to tempt me.
She didn't know what to make of it as I lay down beside her and said, "Since you didn't have Ray tonight, I figure you're entitled to a little consolation prize."
Her eyes rolled as I took her breasts in my mouth and started tonguing her nipples. Apparently she needed it, because they hardened right up and started to jut nicely between my teeth. As my lips went lower on her soft white skin, she began to wriggle pleasurably. When I let my tongue explore her cute navel crevice and then her downy bushhair Shirl's buttocks really started to grind. I duck ed lower and sought out her virgin cunny-lips and clitoris and mouthed and nibbled hungrily at my dessert. I felt a trembling shudder go through Shirley's big ass, her whole body strained wildly as creamy come and sheer ecstasy flooded her twitching cunt. I heard muffled cries of pleasure come through her gag and I figured Shirley had enjoyed my little good deed as much as I did.
Technically though the poor kid still had her cherry -too bad there wasn't a dildo around. I would have shoved it all the way up her nooky and devirginized her right along with her boy friend . . .
7
Shirley's round little belly and pussy were still twitching as I stood up and started to think about what happens next. I figured the best thing to do was to start making tracks and leave. But although I had a fortune in diamonds in my jeans, my actual cash situation was lousy. I had taken eighteen dollars from Ray's wallet and found twenty more when I rummaged through the house. I needed a bigger bankroll fast or I wouldn't get very far.
I had a real brainstorm as to how to go about getting more cash. From papers I had seen I knew that Shirley's family name was Edwards and that they were apparently fairly well-to-do. I got one of Ray's socks, and filled it with fine sand from a bag I had spotted in a kitchen closet. Then I got the Banktonville classified directory and began making some calls.
After that I slipped into Shirley's transparent negligee and sat back and waited.
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. I opened the door. A delivery man in uniform said, "Bankton ville Flower Shop. Got an order of two dozen roses for Edwards'. Are you -wow!"
The reason he said wow, of course, was that he'd just noticed how naked and sexy I looked as my tits and bush were exposed in Shirley's transparent negligee.
"This is the Edwards house," I said smiling. "Come right in."
He walked right in. Leering popeyed as he walked.
"Look!" I gasped, pointing behind him.
He turned his head.
Thwock!
Down he flopped on his face, out cold. Which wasn't surprising, considering I'd just belted him on the back of the skull with a sock half full of sand instead of a bottle -what that I knew, from reading many realistic novels and hardboiled detective stories, that the average bottle is a lot harder than the average guy's skull -and it's just too easy to kill a guy right off if you hit him with a bottle.
And I'm the sort of girl who doesn't like to take a chance on killing people unless it's really essential or highly profitable. Hence I considered a sock full of sand would be a more humane and effective form of blackjack. And I was right.
I dragged the delivery man from the Banktonville Flower Shop into the bedroom, made sure he was still alive, then tied him up and gagged him. Then I went through his pockets.
Thirty-four dollars. Not bad.
The doorbell rang again.
"Banktonville Liquor Store," said the delivery man. "Got two bottles of Jack Daniels for -wowF' "Come in," I whispered in a real hoiny tone. He came in.
"Look!" I gasped, pointing behind him.
He looked. Thwock!
Down he flopped.
Six dollars. A cheapskate.
The doorbell rang.
I answered it.
"Banktonville TV Repair," said the guy on the threshold. "Something wrong with your TV wow!"
"Come in," I said huskily.
In he came. Thwack! Down he flopped. Nineteen dollars and seventy-five cents. I dragged him into the bedroom and tied him up.
The doorbell rang. I answered. "Banktonville Hardware Store," said the delivery man. "Got an order for five hundred feet of nylon clothesline for -wow\
"Come in," I invited. "I can put your clothesline to good use. I was running short." He came in. Thwock!
Down he flopped I tied him up with a length of clothesline he'd brought and dragged him into the bedroom. Twentyseven fifty.
And so it went.
by two-thirty in the afternoon twenty-eight delivery men -and two delivery girls -were lying trussed up in the bedroom, squirming and groaning as they struggled (in vain) against their bonds.
And I was four hundred and eighty-nine dollars richer.
What a wonderful, easy way to make money!
The doorbell rang. I frowned. Who could that be? All the delivery men -and girls -I'd phoned for had already arrived, been knocked cold, tied up, and leisurely robbed.
Well, maybe I'd miscounted. I opened the door. A cop.
My blood ran cold.
"Afternoon, miss," said the cop. "I was just passing and -wow!" His eyes bugged out as he caught a good look at my titties sticking out through Shirley's transparent negligee.
"UH, what; the trouble, officer?" I asked.
"No, uh, real trouble, miss. Just passing by on my motorcycle and I noticed your boobies -I mean I noticed all the cars and delivery trucks parked outside and -"
"Come in, officer," I crooned. "There's something you should see."
"You ain't kidding," said the cop, feeling up my knockers with his eyes. In he came. I shut the door. "Look!" I said dramatically.
"I'm looking," leered the cop, running his eyes up and down my ass.
"Not at me," I said. "At my totally naked twin sister."
"Where?" gasped the cop, turning his head. Thwock!
I tied him up and dragged him into the bedroom. A hundred and two dollars. Evidently he was a pretty crooked cop.
I counted my profits. Five hundred and ninetyone dollars. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I dressed hurriedly and then, after wiping off all the fingerprints I could remember leaving, walked into the bedroom for the last time. A chorus of muffled snarls and growls greeted me. I smiled cheerfully at the twenty-eight delivery men, the two delivery girls, the cop, Raymond and Shirley -who I'd dragged into the bedroom so's she wouldn't feel lonely.
They looked pretty silly lying sprawled around, tugging at their ropes and glaring.
"Folks," I said, "I'm leaving now. I want to thank you all for the money I stole from you." I leered at Raymond. "And for other favors."
Thirty-three pairs of eyes looked daggers at me.
I snickered. "Don't get too mad, folks, I advised. "I'm not such a bad girl when you get to know me. If I was really bad I'd set fire to the house before I left -to eliminate you as witnesses and cover my trail."
Thirty-three faces went white as a sheet.
"But all I'm going to do is leave you tied up. I'm sure that one of you clever people will manage to untie him or herself within a few hours and untie the rest."
I lit a cigarette and blew smoke at them. "And when you all get untied and pull the gags out of your mouths, I suggest you hold a conference and agree to never tell anyone what happened here today."
All thirty-three glared at me with balls to you, you little whore expressions in their eyes.
"Think it over," I advised. "If word ever gets out as to what fools I made of you all -why, you'll be laughed at for the rest of your lives." I nudged the cop in his crotch with my foot. "Especially you Officer Hotnuts." I smiled cheerfully at them all. '"Bye now."
The line-up of squirming male and female ass I had arranged gave me some interesting ideas. If I had more time I would have done a little more male and female disrobing and sat around urging them on to have a wild fuck party. Some of the delivery men looked as if they had real man-sized pricks and the girls were quite attractive little pussy peddlers. However, I thought I'd be pressing my luck too far if I tried any more screwing around in the Edwards home.
But I would have loved turning it into a cathouse for the day . . .
My luck still held when I got outside. Most of the delivery men had come in small trucks, but apparently the florist had come in a fairly new sedan. "Banktonville Florists" was lettered on the side doors, not too large, and he had left the ignition key. I started up the motor and headed out of town going north.
8
I drove the florist's sedan several hundred miles until I got to Memphis. I registered overnight in a second-rate commercial hotel. After I had showered and looked fairly refreshed I went down to the combination cocktail lounge and restaurant. There I let a well-dressed, whoremaster type who was a farm implements salesman by the name of Harry Lane, buy me a drink. One drink led to another and before I knew it, my ass was up in Harry's room.
He was a thickset, powerful man and I was at the point where I needed some hard-cocked male attention to relax me.
"You're quite a salesman, Harry," I remarked as he took off my blouse and began to nuzzle my knockers hungrily. I get excited quickly when someone knows how to kiss my nipples the right way and Harry did. He had a big circumsized dick that was waving in a seven-inch curvy hardon, white drops of glad-come were glistening on its engorged head. He pushed up my skirt and licked his lips at the sight of my blonde bush. He decked me and as he cupped my buttocks I guided his throbbing prick within my well-moistened cunt-lips. Harry lunged that big cock of his into my hot pussy like a jackhammer and before I knew it my cunny was drenched with my come mingling with his boiling jets of spouting love-juice. His joined me in seconds, hard, ejaculating dong rammed into my cunny up to his balls as he gave a terrific final lunge and made long drawn out groans that frightened me until I realized he was just the noisy type. So I shoved my forefinger right up his asshole -I find this quietens them down.
Harry propositioned me to ride back to his home office in Chicago with him, and I jumped at the chance. I left the florist's sedan on the hotel parking lot. Harry got plenty of pussy for the ride in every motel stop we made between Memphis and Chicago, but it was worth it to me. I humped him goodbye in Chicago and took a jet to New York the same day. I don't know to this day whether the people I'd bopped on the head and robbed ever reported me, but I don't think they did, on account of all the while I was traveling I kept buying every newspaper I could and read them all through. And if they had reported me, it sure as hell would have made the papers. Not because I'd stolen all that much, but because it isn't every day that so many people get robbed in such a short time by a seminaked blonde.
So, by the time I hit New York I was feeling a lot less scared -though I was still kind of shaken and nervous, if you know what I mean.
From the airport I took a cab to Times Square and walked along Broadway for a while, taking in all the sights and the funny-looking people. Every now and then I couldn't help glancing over my shoulder to see if anybody was following me, which was kind of suspicious I admit, but I couldn't help remembering that, technically, I was a cold-blooded multi-murderess, liable to be arrested and executed at any moment.
After a while I got tired of walking and turned off Broadway onto the first side street I came to, West 46th Street it was, and almost at once I saw a sign reading Furnished Rooms For Rent. I rented a room without any trouble, telling the landlady I was twenty-one and from Syracuse, New York and had come to New York to get a job as a typist.
The landlady, who was a real old whorehouse madam type with dyed red hair and rouge on her cheeks, showed me to a room and took my money and then started laughing. Though the way she laughed it was more like a bitch yowling.
I asked her what was funny.
"You," she said. "Nothing personal, understand. I mean, you may be from Syracuse, girlie, but you sure as hell aren't twenty-one. And if you came to New York to get a job as a typist, why, I'll eat a whole box of condoms.
"What -what makes you think that?" I asked.
"Experience," said the landlady. "I've seen hundreds of big assed babes like you in my time. What you came to New York for was to get a job on the stage. Which you won't get. After that you'll try and get a TV job. Which you won't get." She cackled. "'Course, you won't admit this, aven to yourself. You'll tell yourself it's only a matter of time before you get a big TV or stage job." She cackled again. "And'meanwhile you'll decide that the sensible thing to do is support yourself as best you can."
She looked me up and down. "Which, if those boobs of yours are real, and I guess they are, you ought to be able to do just fine. But not in this house, girlie. Not in this house."
"I -I don't understand you," I said. Untruth fully.
The landlady -Mrs. O'Toole, her name was -cackled again. She sure had a real hideous cackle.
"Don't go high-hat on me, girlie. You may be young -what are you, sixteen, seventeen? -but you ain't no blushing virgin cunny. I can tell." More cackling. "Ought to be able to. "I'm eighty-three, girlie, and I ain't been a virgin in seventy years."
"Congratulations," I said. What else could I say? Ask her when she got humped last?
"Thank you," said old Mrs. O'Toole. "Understand," she went on, "it ain't nothing personal when I tell you that you can't -heh, heh, -use that blonde pussy of yours to support yourself as best as you can in this house. I haven't ever been a fanatic when it comes to morals." She cackled fit to bust. "No indeed! I've let them screw like jackrabbits and looked away . . . I've been too lenient with girls I've rented to in the past." She sighed. "The vice squad in New York isn't anything like it used to be. Not anything. Mind you, they aren't nasty -just strict. Awful strict. Strict but nice, you might say."
"Is that right?" I said, just to be saying something.
"Absolutely right," said Mrs. O'Toole. "Take Sergeant Farrel who was here last week. 'Mrs. O'Toole,' he said, 'I know you have a heart as big as the police file on you downtown -but enough is enough. I know you have a lot of girls staying in your rooming house,' he tells me, 'and I know girls will be girls -God love them. If the girls you have rooming here want to frig with their boy friends, even overnight, why, that isn't police business. But only one boy friend fucked and sucked a night, T�Trs. O'Toole. I catch any more of your female roomers entertaining fifty or sixty stiff dicks in one night and that's it. One boy friend screwing one girl per night we figure is human nature. More than one is a cathouse -and we bust the joint.' Those were his words."
I gave her a real frosty look. "Mrs. O'Toole," I snapped, "I have no intention of screwing men for cash, now or later." I stood up real tall and haughty, thinking of the diamonds I had in my pocket. "I happen," I told her, "to be independently wealthy."
Well, I thought she'd have a stroke, she cackled so hard her dried up old tits jumped up and down. "Is that a fact?" she cackled. "Well, I guess that explains why you took a room in a cheap dump like this in order to find a job as a typist." And with that she closed the door on me and hobbled down the corridor, cackling as she went.
I sat my ass down on the bed, which was kind of hard, and felt kind of foolish.
A minute later, Mrs. O'Toole was back. "Here," she said, "You may be, heh, heh, independently wealthy -but you look like you could use a drink. Take this. Compliments of the house." And off she went -leaving me with a bottle of gin one third full. I decided she wasn't such a mean old witch after all.
I took a long swig of gin, locked the door so Mrs. O'Toole wouldn't barge in again, and then lay down on the bed. And shook. At first I shook from what you might call delayed panic -when I remembered how close I'd come to being cut open or killed or arrested for murder in the last few days. And then I shook from relief at having gotten away free and clear.
After that I just lay there and shook all over on general principles. Then I got up and had two or three more swigs of gin and felt a lot better.
I got out the little cloth sack I had the dia monds in and, after making sure nobody could see me through the window or the keyhole, poured the diamonds into the palm of my hand.
Fifteen beautiful cut stones. Half a million dollars worth.
I began to cry with happiness. I was rich. Filthy lousy, rotten stinking rich. Or was I?
I put the diamonds back into the little cloth sack, took another pull of gin, and then -after taking off all my clothes, on account of I thiT.ik better when I'm naked and can scratch my bush and maybe put a finger in my pussy.
Since the diamonds were worth five hundred thousand dollars, and there were fifteen of them, that meant each stone was worth -how much? I got up and hunted around the room until I found an old pencil and a piece of paper. It took me ten minutes to work it out, since arithmetic isn't one of the things I'm good at, but eventually I figured that each diamond must be worth thirty three thousand three hundred and thirty-three dollars.
In theory, all I had to do was walk into the nearest big jewelry shop, plunk a diamond down on the counter and walk out with thrty-three grand. Or maybe thirty grand, since jewelers never give you exactly what a jewel is worth.
In theory I didn't have a thing to worry about, since the stones weren't hot at all. Naturally, seeing as how they'd been smuggled into the country in the first place. Sure, the guy who'd double-crossed the diamond smuggling syndicate in the first place
-only to end up crashing his plane into the river
-this guy had technically stolen the stones from the crooked people he worked for. But it was a cinch the diamond smugglers hadn't reported the theft to the police -they couldn't.
But that wouldn't prevent some jeweler from getting suspicious in the first place. And while none of the diamonds were hot -maybe I was hot.
I could just imagine the whole thing. I'd walk into some fancy jeweler's. A snooty-looking fairy type would stroll up to me and say, "Yes, miss?" in a half-sneering tone, on account of he obviously figured a young broad like me wasn't about to spend much. And then I'd tell him I had a jewel to sell, and hand him one of the diamonds. At which point his eyes would bug open when he saw what a big stone it was.
"Uh, yes," he'd say. "Uh, would you mind waiting in this back room a few minutes, miss, while I, uh go to the bank for some money?"
And I'd wait in the back room, shaking with nervousness until the door burst open -and there'd be two detectives.
"Mind coming down to headquarters with us, miss?" they'd say, putting handcuffs on my wrists. "Just a few routine questions."
And down at headquarters I'd sit in a cell for a couple of hours, shaking with panic. And then a whole lot of tough cops would walk in grinning and one would say, "Your diamond ain't hot, girlie -but you sure are. You're wanted for cold-blooded murder down south. Okay boys, let's start working her ass over with the rubber hoses."
I shuddered all over at the thought.
No, I didn't dare try and sell any of the diamonds until I was absolutely certain the cops hadn't tied me in to the three moonshiners I'd killed more or less in self-defense, even when I shot off the last creep's cock and balls.
I got up and paced back and forth in my room, almost weeping with frustration. Here I was alone and without a job iji a strange city, running kind of low on money -and with a fortune I couldn't get my hands on. It made me think of this story I'd read once, about a guy who starved to death in a snowbound cabin even though he was surrounded by cases and cases of canned food -on account of he didn't have a can-opener.
What an awful predicament I was in. Surely there must be some way I could sell the diamonds. Or some of them. A fence? I didn't know any fences -or how to go about finding one. Also, from what I'd heard, fences only pay you a few cents on the dollar. And it seemed downright outrageous to get swindled by a fence -seeing as how the diamonds weren't even hot in the first place.
No, what I had to do was sell them to a legitimate jeweler -but in such a way that they didn't get the least bit suspicious. How? I thought hard. And pretty soon I came up with an answer. The only trouble was, it was an answer that would take time -and money.
Here's how I figured I'd work it. First I'd have to make some money. Quite a bit of money. Then I'd buy some very fancy, very expensive clothes, rent a Rolls Royce complete with chauffeur, and have the chauffeur park in front of a swank jewelry shop. I'd stroll in, my rented mink coat flung casually across my shoulders, swiveling my ass like a society bitch, and buy some expensive trinket -like a five-thousand dollar watch.
They'd figure right off I was some rich guy's kept cunny. Which would make them particularly glad to see me on account of, aside from wedding rings, sixty percent of all jewels sold in this country go to kept twat -or so I'd read.
It stands to reason, too -I mean, if diamonds are a kept lay's best friend, naturally kept cunts are jeweler's best customers.
Anyhow, I'd buy some expensive trinket and go off. Then I'd come back a week later in even fancier clothes, smile, and say, "Did you fix the clasp on my ruby necklace?"
They'd look blank. "Oh dear," I'd say, "I guess I left it at another of the fancy jewelry shops I patronize." I'd frown. "Where did I leave that silly old hundred thousand-dollar ruby necklace? Oh well, I'll remember eventually."
And off I'd go, with them begging me to come back soon. Which I would do. With one of my diamonds. "Would you set this little old stone in a ring?" I'd ask. "You bet," they'd say. "Come back in a week." And in a week I'd come back and pay them. What would they charge for setting a diamond in a ring. Five hundred? A thousand? Two thousand?
Well, whatever they asked I'd pay them. Which would give me an A-l credit rating with them. Then a couple of weeks later, I'd walk in dabbing at my eyes, like I'd been crying. "My, uh, husband and I broke up," I'd say. "His wife found out -that is, well we broke up." They'd nod sympathetically. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I find a new, uh, husband," I'd tell them. "But meanwhile I'm a little short of cash. How much for these trinkets?" And with that I'd sell them the watch plus the diamond ring. Most likely I'd have to take a loss but not too much of a loss, on account of they'd figure that before long I'd have a new cunt-lapper and be back buying more jewels. So they'd want me to feel friendly toward them.
Then I'd pull the same stunt with fourteen other jewelers. If I worked it right, I'd probably wind up with between ninety and ninety-five percent of what the diamonds were worth -namely four hundred and fifty or four-hundred and seventyfive thousand dollars. Which wouldn't be bad. Which would be fine, just fine, in fact. And best of all, it'd be safe.
But it would take money. Five hundred for the watch. Up to two thousand for the ring. Plus money to buy the fancy clothes and hire the chauffeur. Say four-thousand dollars to be on the safe side.
Well, it shouldn't be all that hard to earn four thousand dollars. Not when a girl had cunt ability like mine, and likes to get laid anyway. I got up and looked at myself in the full-length mirror in my room. I hefted my tits, patted my lush blonde bush, slid my fingers over my ass cheeks. No, I ought to be able to make four grand without much trouble, if I used my pussy in the right way.
But what was the right way? By which I meant, the easiest and safest way. The easiest way, of course, would be to just rent my cunny out to men who were hardup for a piece of tail. Become a prostitute. To my way of thinking, getting screwed for money is not only easy but fun. It isn't, however as safe as you might think.
Like if you just put on a tight dress with a low neckline and walk down the street swinging your handbag and winking at men, you're just about bound to get picked up by the cops. Or if the cops don't get you, the local vice syndicate will. Vice syndicates don't take kindly to the idea of a girl peddling for pussy on their turf. They catch you at it, they beat you up something awful. Sometimes they beat up a girl so bad her ass-hole and cunt-hole are out of shape for months. If not for life.
I was beginning to run out of possibilities for a fast, immoral but safe buck. With my lush tits, ass and juicy twat I'd make a good stripper or belly dancer in a night club. Then I remembered that entertainers in clubs in New York have to get licenses from the police department, which meant being fingerprinted and giving them other vital statistics. That ruled out that, since I was giving the police as wide a berth as possible.
In walking around the Times Square area, I noticed loads of movie houses that were running nudie films, just barely inside the law so to speak. There were also lots of little shops that sold sets of nudie photos. My body was a lot sexier, my breasts, buttocks and naked pussy and other things were more attractive than these broads. I'd be a star attraction in a business that peddled movies or stills of naked female ass.
I made up my mind to become a nudie model, no holds or positions barred ... I'd even let them take a close-up of my asshole.
9
I liked the idea of becoming a nudie model very much, probably because I knew I had so much natural born talent in the tit and ass department. I could probably work up quite a career once I got started. The problem was, just how to begin. The agencies or studios that used these cunt-pictures couldn't exactly come out and advertise for help. But leave it to Dee Dee to think up a gimmick.
I looked up a legitimate photo studio just off Fifth Avenue and went up there. I spoke to the photographer whose name was Gene, and so handsome and graceful I figured him for a nance. He was wearing those very tight pants that show the complete bulge of a man's cock and balls -and the indentation of his rectum in the rear. I wanted some portraits and full-length shots taken of myself. I told him I was going to have a few dozen prints made to leave with model agencies, since I was an aspiring model.
Gene led me to a small studio which had a couple of stools, chairs and a couch as props. I sat where he told me to go on the couch while he fiddled with adjusting various baby spotlights and his camera. Then he came over to the couch to give me posing instructions. He turned my head to a better angle and then his hands fluttered around my titties. For a moment I thought I was all wrong about Gene's being a homo, then he reassured me.
"I just want to get a refined cleavage shot, dearie," he practically lisped and I knew he wouldn't try to use the couch for humping purposes. Not with a girl anyway.
We were on a first-name basis by the time he had completed his series of shots, gossiping about the trade.
"I'm new in this business, Gene," I said. "I'd appreciate your giving me advice as to what agencies to contact . . ."
He rattled off a list I pretended to note down and concluded with, "But there's an agency in this area you ought to stay away from -Chromo. They front for the biggest pussy peddlers in town"
He had given me the lead I really wanted and I couldn't wait to leave.
"Print a dozen of each pose, Gene dear, "I'll be up for them in a couple of days," I said airily over my shoulder.
I did one smart thing before heading straight for the Chromo Model Agency. I stopped at a fancy bank in Rockefeller Center and stashed away my little pouch of diamonds in a safe deposit box. I felt a. lot better after that little chore was completed..
The Chromo Model Agency was in a real dingy office building right off Times Square. I opened the door and walked in. A real tiny reception room a desk but no receptionist. On the desk was a sign which read Receptionist Out To Lunch. Ring Bell. The sign was covered with dust. Evidently the receptionist, if there'd ever been one, had been out to lunch for several months. I rang the bell.
The door to the inner office opened and a short, chubby man with a round, completely bald head and bushy eyebrows looked out. He glared at me, then smiled and crooked his finger. I walked in, shut the door behind me, and sat down in a dusty chair in front of his desk. I looked around. The walls were covered with pictures of nude or semi-nude babes. Encouraging. On the other hand, all of the pictures were, well, covered up in the ass and pussy areas.
"What can I do for you?" said the chubby man with the bald head. "Miss, uh?"
"Dee Dee," I said. "Dee Dee Summers."
He jumped to his feet, leaned across his desk, grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down. "Delighted to meet you, Miss Summers." He let go of my hand and dropped back into his chair. He pursed his lips. "My name, Miss Summers -or may I call you Dee Dee? -is Vellick. Victor Vellick. I am of Mixed English and Russian parentage. I myself however, am one hundred percent American. One hundred percent. You desire employment as a model, I take it" He pursed his lips again and stared at my cleavage and titties. "Too busty," he said, "Too busty to be a fashion model." He drummed his fingers on the desk, raising little clouds of dust. "Photographers, however, photographers might find your, ah, dimensions interesting."
"That's what I want to become," I told him. "A photographers' model." I smiled at him. "And Mr. Vellick. Just so we understand each other right from the start -I don't care what kind of pictures I pose for. I don't mind what angles I'm photographed from without any clothes or what's being done to me while I'm being photographed -if you know what I mean." I smiled at him. A real whore-like smile.
He turned white. Then he pulled out a purple handkerchief and mopped his brow. "Miss Summers, uh, Dee Dee," he said, "I fear you have, uh, come to the wrong place. This is a legitimate, ethical agency."
I got to my feet. "In that case I'll be on my way."
"Sit down!" he barked. I sat down.
He mopped his brow again. "I run a clean, decent establishment here." he said. "Clean girls for clean pictures." I got to my feet again. "Please sit down," he begged. I sat down. He chewed his lip, mopped his brow, then sprang to his feet and pulled a Geiger counter out of a desk drawer. "Excuse me," he said, and walked all around me, keeping the Geiger counter pointed in my direction while he fiddled with little knobs and peered at a couple of dials on his instrument.
I turned my head to watch him. Was he nuts?"
He sighed with relief, put the Geiger counter back in a drawer. "No doubt, ha ha," he said, "you think I'm nuts. But what you no doubt mistook for a Geiger counter was actually a broad-band radioemission detector." He grabbed my hand and kissed it. "Forgive me, child. I feared you might have a small but powerful radio transmitter in your handbag. However, neither you nor your handbag appear to be transmitting." He mopped his brow with evident relief. I stared at him blankly.
He smiled. "Dee Dee, do you really wish to become a model? I nodded. "Very well," he said. "Pardon me while I make one more simple and, uh, painless test. Roll up your left sleeve, please."
I hesitated, then shrugged and rolled up the sleeve of my blouse. He pulled another gadget out of his desk and attached it to my upper arm. It looked kind of like the gadget doctors use to check your blood pressure. Then he struck a banded metal rod in my hand. "Grasp that tight, please," he begged me. "This instrument, as you've no doubt guessed, is a portable lie detector. Electronics is a hobby of mine" He stopped and mopped his brow. "A vitally necessary hobby." He pulled a printed questionnaire out of yet another desk drawer.
"With your permission I will now ask you a few simple questions for my, uh, files. All right?"
"Sure," I said.
"Splendid. Now, Dee Dee," he went on, peering not at me but at the dials on his instrument. "Are you now or have you even been a policewoman employed by the vice squad?"
I stared at him, too amazed to even open my mouth.
"Ah," he said, still peering at his dials, "you are not a cop!" He looked up at me and smiled. "As you may or may not know, it is not necessary for the, uh, subject of a lie detector test to give a vocal answer. If you'd been a vice squad detective my instrument would have so alerted me." He beamed at me. "Forgive me, child. But I have been much harassed of late by official representatives of our fanatically prudish society. In short, the vice squad is on my, uh ass."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said truthfully.
"Thank you. Just last week a beefy, unattractive female walked in here, leered at me, and told me she wished to pose for, as she put it, lewd and lascivious photographs. It was patently obvious to me that she was a policewoman. Not only did she have flat feet, but the antenna of her handbag radio protruded several inches from her purse."
"How awful," I said. "But I really do want to pose for dir -uh, lewd and lascivious pictures. If the pay is good."
Victor Vellick beamed. "The pay," he assured me, "is very good." He jumped to his feet, grabbed my free hand, kissed it, dropped back into his chair again. "And again -forgive me for being overly suspicious. It's just that so seldom do young, attractive girls walk in here asking for assignments. Usually they come in here looking like naive virgins like they are. Asking for a respectable modeling job. Which I give them." He winked. "Only such jobs as I give them don't pay a damn. So," he chuckled, "in they come a week later anxious for a better-paying job. Which I give them." He snickered. "Back they come, looking scared and frightened -looking,-in short, like girls who have come within an inch of losing their cherries.
"What do you do then?" I asked.
He laughed, a happy, evil kind of laugh. "I sympathize with them, of course. Offer them a glass of light wine -light wine spiked with pure Spanish Fly. And then another glass and another. And after that a smoke of, uh, unusually potent tobacco." He snickered. "When they regain consciousness, it doesn't take them long to realize that they no longer need worry about losing their, uh, cherries. Their maidenheads have already been penetrated. By me." We both laughed.
Victor beamed at me. "I'm glad to see we have similar senses of humor. Well," he continued with an evil chuckle, "after getting a taste of stiff prick up their cunnies they aren't so fussy about the kind of modeling assignments they accept. I send them out on even more lewd, even more lascivious jobs. And, unless the stupid ex-virgin kills herself in remorse and shame, she ends up consenting to, as you put it, posing for any kind of picture -for our mutual profit." He smiled proudly. "In my time, Dee Dee, I'm proud to say that Fve started no less than eight hundred and forty seven young, voluptuous virgin pussies on the road to profitable degradation and shame."
"Congratulations," I said.
He beamed at me. "Would that all young, voluptuous virgins had your enlightened attitude. I'd be a millionaire today -i instead of merely extremely wealthy. However, back to business. With your leave, a few more routine questions for my file." He peered at his questionnaire, then at the dials of his lie detector. "I won't waste time asking you if you're a virgin, Dee Dee. Instead I'll skip directly to question seven. Dee Dee, would you say that you are, A) moderately promiscuous; B) extremely promiscuous; or C) just plain cock-crazy?"
I considered. "Well ..." I said thoughtfully.
He ignored me. He simply glanced at his dials and then checked box C opposite question seven. By golly, his lie detector was really accurate and infallible.
"Question eight. Are the cops after you?" I went cold.
Victor glanced up from his dials, smiling. "Please don't be alarmed," he begged me. "My lie detector tells me you're in fear of the law." He gave a bitter laugh. "Aren't we all? Rest assurred that I have no interest in knowing why the cops are after you merely in knowing the answer to question nine, namely are the cops close to your trail or have you gotten away clear?"
I thought hard. Were the cops close on my trail? No; in all probability the cops didn't even know who I was, let alone that I was technically, a killer.
"Congratulations," said Victor, looking up from his dails and beaming. "Would that I, too, could say the same." He snapped off his machine and began untying the gadget from my arm. "Dee Dee," he said "You have passed all your tests with flying colors. Consider yourself a client of this agency."
"You mean," I said, bursting with pride and happiness, "you're going to send me out to have lewd and lascivious photographs of my naked body taken for big pioney?"
"I am indeed," said Vistor. "What's more," he added, looking me up and down and drooling a little, "I'm going to start you at the bottom -the top, rather. I'm going to send you directly to Jack Beauchamp. Tears of joy sprang involuntarily to my eyes.
"Ah-hah!" he cried. "Even though you may have come, as I surmise, from a small town, I see that the name of the originator of the New Wave of stag movies is not an unfamiliar one to you. Yes, child, before this day is over -" he glanced dramatically at his watch -"you will be in the hands of, and before the cameras of Jack Beauchamp himself. And as you no doubt have heard, no man in the world makes more lewd and lascivious movies than Jack Beauchamp.
All sorts of pleasant sensations rippled through me, from my pussy-lips to my itchy nipples, as I thrilled to the thought of getting a" chance of stardom. I'd be working under a real master in the cunt and ass film field. Soon my unclothed vagina and anus, in very interesting positions and situations would be on movie film. I would be giving hardons and masturbation material to thousands of men a week as I went on view in smokers, strip, stag and fuck parties all over the country. My nip pies actually began to stiffen in anticipation of the torrents of shooting sperm Dee Dee Summers would be generating in the male population.
I might even arouse enough interest in some other producers so that I'd get to be a serious movie or TV actress. I'd heard that there are at least three movie stars, whose names are household words, who got started screwing for stag movies. So why not me?
10
There were stars in my eyes and sexy quivers all through my buttocks as Vic Vellick whipped out a contract. His pudgy figure came around the desk, and standing next to me he shoved a pen in my hand and showed me the dotted line. There was a glint in his beady dark eyes and a big bulge in his crotch that should have warned me, but sometimes I catch on slow.
"You're on your way to a wonderful career, Dee Dee. You'll never regret signing up with Chromo" he grinned.
I was beginning to wonder about that as I felt his rather large hand begin to pat my ass-cheeks while I bent over to sign. He must have liked what he found because he began to knead my buttocks. He brought his other hand down to join the fun, cupping both my round buttock cheeks right through my skirt. I let him keep feeling my ass for a while, then he tried to shove his index finger up my asshole, right through my skirt and made me jump about a foot.
All the same, I wasn't about to object. Even less so when he tugged open the zipper on my skirt, and shoved it, slowly, down over my behind until it crumpled to the floor. And I didn't object at all when he began panting with a real stifferoo of a hardon when he realized that I don't believe in wearing panties any more than I believe in wearing a bra, and that I was now totally naked and totally exposed to his sliding, gliding fingers and his sliding, gliding, tongue.
I just stood there, kind of shivering all over with pussy pleasure while he slid his fingers over my body -now squeezing and fondling my titties, now patting and caressing my belly-button and bush, now kneading and kissing my ass, now stroking and nuzzling my pink wet cunny and clitoris.
I simply stood there, preening and arching and stretching the naked, fully packed goodies of my body while his hands and fingers and lips and tongue moved up and down my cunt lips.
Then he hurriedly and excitedly pulled off his own clothes. And I stopped feeling detached and mildly turned on -and began to pant and drool with excitement. Because while Victor might look chubby and a bit silly with his clothes on, with his clothes off he looked like a bull. A young bull. A young, lusty bull.
By-which I mean he was barrel-chested and husky, sturdy and big and masculine in all the right places. Especially the right place . And if you've ever seen a real bull ready to jump a cow, you know exactly what I mean by the right place "Victor!" I gasped. "I never dreamed that Victor! Is that horribly enormous, bustily big cock for real? And those balls too?"
Victor didn't say anything. He just kept squeezing and kneading my nipples, nuzzling my already erect and hard clitoris.
So I reached out my hand, both hands, to see if it was true. And after my hands had closed over
Victor's crotch I realized it was all too wonderfully true.
Yes, I reflected, as my hands slid up and down his huge prick Victor really was built like a bull. What would he do to me, I wondered blissfully, with a cock as magnificently big as that? A man as big and powerful and -well, thick -as he was might just about tear me apart. The foreskin on his cockhead had enough flesh on it for an ordinary man's pecker.
"Tear me' apart!" I gasped. "Victor, tear me apart! Tear apart the palpitatingly soft, pink depths of my very cunt! Tear, Victor, tear!"
"I might hurt you, baby," he gasped, sliding his fingers down to cup and squeeze my ass-cheeks until it hurt -but giving my asshole a wonderful glow of pleasure.
"Hurt me," I pleaded. "Hurt me, Victor! Hurt my twat I want you to hurt it! Be rough! Be brutal. Be -be a man, a real man, Victor!"
Victor didn't reply. He just dug his fingers deep into the quivering flesh of my ass, and then slid them roughly up my trembling naked body to grasp and squeeze my tits. Tighter and tighter he squeezed my breasts, tighter and ever tighter until a crazy corner of my mind thought, if my knockers had corks for nipples, my corks would have popped long ago. Which they didn't, of course, since they didn't have corks. My bubbies simply throbbed and pulsed with desire, throbbed and pulsed and ached to feel the touch of a masculine hand, a masculine tongue And then his lips clamped over the throbbing, incredibly sensitive and erect scarlet candle of lust that was my left jutting nipple, and I shrieked aloud with ecstasy as first his lips and then his teeth clamped masterfully over the throbbing awareness of my out-thrust tit-point at the same moment as his fingers clof.d over the quivering, blood-red finger of desire that topped my right breast -and I knew he had me going then.
I knew that, Whatever I might think or try to do, even if I should be told that to yield to him would kill me, that I would die in seconds if I couldn't push him away -even if I knew that, I would be powerless to refuse him my juicy cunt.
He had me locked in an inescapable trap of lust, a vise of evertightening, ever-increasing sexual craving. With just his lips and fingers closed over my throbbing breasts, he held me powerless. I was his, to do with as he wished. To ravish, demolish, split asunder with that brute cock of his.
And I wanted my cunt to be raped by it. I wanted him to demolish me, to fling me to the floor and split my soft, hot twat asunder with the mighty efforts of his bull-like pecker.
And in a sudden, crazy, insane, irrational flash of elemental a v^reness I all at once realized why pagan virgins had offered their pussies so willingly to the long, deep devouring passion of a pagan high priest because it hadn't been just a knife of steel before which those pagan maidens had sprawled in wide-cunted surrender, but the prick-powers of their would-be raper.
And to die transfixed and skewered by such a mighty devastating penis would be a glorious, incredibly delightful way to go.
"Hurt me," I screamed, "Fling me down, hold me, hurt me, show me no mercy, kill me!"
And he flung me down, roughly, to the floor. I felt my ass slam with resilient violence against the hard carpeting. I felt myself go faint with complete surrender, knew that I was utterly helpless before his brutal, penetrating pecker -and I shrieked inside with eagerness to feel the hard, ruthless, merci less thrust of his thick, hard tool in my sheath.
And then it Came, the slamming, brutal battering ram of him, slamming like a subway train against the soft, quivering, expectant lips of my drooling hole. A giant male ramrod slamming against my drenched orifice, piercing deep in my very womb.
I screamed, partly from atavistic fear, partly from pleased surprise, but mostly from erotic delight as I felt the walls of my cunt inflamed through and through by a mighty, rushing rigidity of solidly masculine dong.
"Fuck me!" I shrieked, "fuck me off! Show me no mercy, hurt me, bruise me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" At least, I think I shrieked fuck me.
And he fucked me. Pulsingly, savagely, forcefully he screwed me, while his hands grasped my breasts as if they were balloons he wanted to burst, while his hands slid down the twisting, writhing length of my body to grab the quivering hemispheres of my ass and squeeze as my ass had never been squeezed before.
His lips found mine and clamped on them like a conqueror, while his tongue flashed with brutal, wonderful, lascivious male lust.
His hands, still buried in the quivering, yielding flesh of my ass, pulled my pulsating pussy toward his cock roots in savage tempo to the rhythm of his thrusts. Faster and faster and harder and harder he rammed into my cunny, while there within me a surging, rushing, undeniable tide of come flowed in wave after wave of ecstatic pleasure.
Harder and faster he pressed his prick, harder and faster until I felt my very vitals quiver and then twitch in response. Harder and faster and stronger, stronger than I'd ever known the cock of a man.
And then I could stand no more, my whole cunt seemed to be on fire, to be twisting and churning and rolling and bubbling in response to his reaming cock-head.
And all at once it was as if a million hand grenades had exploded right up my pussy and my whole body was detonating rhythmically in response to his savage, scalding, spurting sperm.
And I screamed and screamed and screamed, silently, as my foaming cunt bucked and responded to cock, as the yielding but surging inmost cuntfolds answered and completed the desires of his rocket-headed cock.
And then, in a golden, slow rocking, downward sliding, gently ebbing haze of total fulfillment -it ended as his limp dick slid out with plopping sound.
"Victor," I gasped, pulling legs together and gently squeezing his slippery, sperm-coated cock, "Victor, I like having you as my agent."
"Likewise," gasped Victor. Then he groaned.
"Why are you groaning, Victor?" I asked, gently squeezing the head of his dick again.
"Because," sighed Victor, "while I've sent eight hundred and forty-seven innocent young girls down the road to shame and degradation, for fun and profit, every now and then -rarely, I must admit -I feel a twinge of remorse. And right now I feel remorse twinging me. Because, in a sordid, unhealthy sort of way, I dig you, Dee Dee Summers."
"Silly man," I said, squeezing him again. "I want to travel down the road of shame and degradation. If it pays well.
"You only think that," sighed Victor, "because up until now you've never encountered a man like Jack Beauchamp. The man to whom, for profitable business reasons, I will shortly send you."
"Well, what's wrong with that?" I asked.
"Nothing," signed Victor. "Nothing at all." He stared at me suddenly with his round, slightly pro truding eyes. "Let me look at you the way you are now," he said. "I want to remember you this way no matter what -what happens later."
"Why, what gives with Jack Beauchamp?" I asked.
"Dee Dee, you're like a pure young girl now. Practically a virgin, compared to the way you'll change after Jack puts you through the paces. So I want to treasure this lovely moment of your innocence . . ."
I almost laughed out loud right in his face, but Vic was very serious, and quite concerned.
"Nothing any man has or does can really faze me," I told him glancing down at his magnificent male organ. "Especially after trying you on for size!"
And since he was being very sweet, I ducked down to his loins and surprised his relaxed prickhead with a nice virginal kiss. He was in pulsing stiffness seconds after my warm lips and flicking tongue bathed that uncircumsized dong-head with delight. I almost choked as he clutched my hair to urge me to a deeper, satisfying sucking. I did my best and suddenly Vic convulsed as if he'd been shot. His shaft twitched violently as another load of come spurted down my tonsils.
"Dee Dee doll, you're a fabulous operator. Wonderful, wonderful!" he groaned.
"You said a mouthful brother," thought I to myself.
11
I found myself in a highly unusual situation, as usual. I was on a little circular platform in a room whose walls and ceiling were all mirrors, except on one side near the door. I was competely naked and
Jack Beauchamp was staring at me as if he'd never seen a blofide bushed pussy before. He pressed a button and the little platform rotated about a foot, and he made some notes on a clipboard he was carrying. He rotated me around completely, looking at my tits, thighs, ass, all of me, directly and at the mirror images. Finally he completed his note taking and shook his head.
"No, no," he was muttering to himself, "I'm going to have to talk to that slob, Vellick -"
"Why?" I broke in.
Jack Beauchamp fixed me with a cold stare.
"He's not filling my requisitions properly. You look too much like a piece of ass in a real call girl kind of way."
I bounced off the little rotating pedestal at that remark. I decided to be insulted and gave Jack Beauchamp's handsome puss a lady-like little slap. But he got back at me and I let out a yelp and grabbed my naked behind. "Mister Beauchamp!" I said. "That wasn't nice! No kind-hearted man would suddenly pull loose his belt and slap a girl savagely across her sensitive ass like that. Also, it hurt"
"No doubt," said Jack, threading his belt back into his trousers. "But it stopped your slapping me again, didn't it? Now sit down and have a drink, and I'll explain just what I meant."
I sat down, carefully since my rump still stung quite a bit, and accepted the glass he handed me. I sniffed it first, however, and took a very cautious sip.
"Drink it down," snarled Jack. "You think it's doped or something?"
"Well," I said, taking a bigger sip, "I guess not. But these days a girl just can't be sure. There's so much LSD and Spanish Fly around!"
That was the honest truth, seeing as how I got to Jack Beauchamp's studio in the first place. How I got there was, after Victor and I finished fucking it up on the floor of the Chromo Model Agency, I'd naturally assumed he'd be eager for another hump. So even after he'd climbed, kind of weakly, to his feet, I'd continued to lie on the floor. Looking lewd and lascivious, with my sperm-drenched bush and legs apart.
"I see," he'd gasped, "that you expect, uh, more of me. Well, just wait a few moments. I have to, uh, check some papers and, uh, make arrangements for your, uh, transportation to Mr. Beauchamp's studio. Meanwhile have a glass of, uh, light wine"
So, I'd accepted a glass of what I assumed was light wine. It tasted real nice, too. It made me sleepy, though. Real sleeply. So sleepy that I closed my eyes for just a moment.
When I opened them again I was lying on a strange couch in a strange room with my arms spread wide apart and a strange man lying against me. A very strange man. Also a tall man. I knew he was tall because; I had to tilt my head back to look him in the face. It was a handsome face. Kind of lean and intellectual-looking, like Claude Raines only younger and with a dash of Rock Hudson thrown in. He smiled down at me. He had big, green eyes and a real crazy black spade beard.
"What are you doing?" I asked. Though in point of fact, I could figure out exactly what he was doing. He was taking advantage of my naked and upuntil-then unconscious condition. In fact, he was busy ramming his stiff prong in and out of my pussy!
"What am I doing?" he asked. "I'm fucking you, of course. Any objections."
"None at all," I said, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around his oscillating ass. I opened my eyes again. "Uh, how long have you been busy screwing me?"
"I've just started," he said.
"Good," I said, closing my eyes again, "We can finish together then. Start humping again any time."
And he started right off. Powerfully, muscularly, masterfully. Even with my eyes closed I could tell, intuitively, a lot about him. Like, I could tell right off that his cock wasn't big and thick and bulllike, the way Victor had been. But he didn't need to be. He used his -his prick like a darting sword. A twirling, flashing, whipping, taunting and tormenting sword.
He fucked away then, expertly and completely and satisfyingly, totally -and then proceeded to, well, stir me up in an all but incredible fashion. To churn me into a passionate frenzy, to move back and forth and from side to side and around and around, even as I felt his hard cock twist and slide and gyrate in the soft, eager depths of my cunt.
His ramrod bumped and slid and rotated hard against my wet cunny-walls -and I felt a sort of syncopated churning of my womb.
And then, just when I'd decided that his humping was the greatest ever, the greatest possible -he started doing something else. Lunging and hurting and paining -now gently and teasingly, now wildly and savagely, and then slowly, twistingly, and then rapidly flailingly.
I just didn't know what his pecker was going to do next -and not knowing, I was constantly amazed and continually delighted by what he did do. And unless you've had them done to you, you wouldn't believe all the things he did.
Besides, what he did with his hands, that is. His hands were moving flames, gliding torments. His hands slid over my naked ass-cheeks like multifingered devils. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once -now stroking the quivering flesh of my thighs, now digging like talons into the tender resiliency of my very asshole, now stroking the hemispheres of my breasts, now crushing my boobs ruthlessly.
Up and down and around his hands moved, while all the time he played erotic havoc with the most deliciously sensitive nerves of my pussy.
I knew what he was doing. He was playing with every part of me, was what he was doing -playing my body like some virtuoso might play a violin. Striking a responsive chord here, working me up to a crescendo there -and then playing a wonderful tune on my rectum. He was teasing and torturing me -and making me glad all over, but especially deep inside, that I was all female and completely at the mercy of his raping prick.
I tried to fight him. Tried to throw him off his stride, make him end the rape of my twat before he planned on ending it. I used every trick I knew. I nuzzled his chest with my lips and tongue -he was too tall for me to reach his face. I stroked his anus and scrotum with my fingertips, squeezed him hard in a soft way with my cunny, wrapped my arms tight around his ass to draw him nearer.
But in the end I knew he was winning, that he and his tool alone was setting the pace, deciding just how long the game would last. So I surrendered to him, gave myself gladly to the superior masculine strength of his rigid organ.
My behind simply lay back weak and limp and pulsing with ever greater excitement as he readied me for the finishing strokes. And then they came, in flashing, brutal wonderful, even more quickly streaking bolts of titillating lightning -and my ass arched up off the couch in shuddering responses of joyous come, responded willingly, wantonly to the mighty forward lunges of his stiff dick -and in a mighty release of boiling semen into my vagina, the game ended . . .
After that we talked. Jack put his clothes black velveteen pants and a black velveteen shirt -on first. Me, I didn't bother. I was too hotted-up, for one thing. For another, I always figure a girl looks better without her clothes on.
First off Jack apologized for the way I'd been brought to him. "Because the art form I practice an art form the vulgar refer to as cunt and cock movies -because this art form is frowned upon by the law-enforcement officers of our puritan society, I must naturally guard against certain things. Such as anyone knowing precisely where my studio and dwelling are located. Hence you were drugged, stuffed into a large trunk, and then brought directly to my studio and dwelling. Where I unpacked you and proceeded to, ah, take advantage of you." "And so masterftillyl" I said. "Thank you." "Uh, where am I"'
"Since Long Island covers an enormous area, I can admit that's your general location. This spacious and artistically decorated living room was once a section of a deserted fruit packing warehouse I purchased some years back. The remainder of the warehouse I purchased some years back. The remainder of the warehouse I have converted into a small but efficient movie studio."
"Congratulations," I said. I got up and strolled over to the nearest window. There wasn't any window.
"Golly," I said. "Did you have all your windows bricked up just so I couldn't peek out and tell where I was?"
"In part," said Jack. "But mostly because I deeply detest the natural tyranny of days and nights. Here, inside my studio and dwelling, I can make night or day last as long as I wish. Sordid natural light cannot penetrate these premises. I am," he went on, "currently living on a twenty-two-hour day and a nine-hour night basis. My schedule, however, is subject to change without notice."
"How masterful," I said. I looked up. The ceiling was very high, maybe twenty feet or more off the ground, and smack in the middle was a big yellow globe shaped like the sun.
"In this room," said Jack, "It is always high noon. My bedroom is even more elaborately equipped. I have a domed ceiling, rather like a small planetarium, and at night -my night -I can lie back and watch artificial stars glide across the sky. My stars, gliding across my sky." His big green eyes gleamed suddenly with pride.
At least, I figured at the time they were gleaming with pride. It didn't occur to me then that he might be more crazy than proud.
"That's very interesting," I said. "Now tell me why none of the better men's magazines would buy a picture of me stark naked. Or semi-stark naked."
Jack slouched into a black velvet easy chair, stroked his black beard and nodded. "I shall," he said. "Not merely to satisfy your vulgar and financially oriented curiosity, but because the explanation will help make clear to you the reasons -or some of the reasons -for my success at the originator of the New Wave of stag movies."
He cleared his throat. "When I was a teenage boy," he said, "there were quite a few magazines on the market that specialized in printing pictures .of undressed women. But without exception they were the sort of magazines a young boy felt ashamed to buy -the kind of magazine a prudent teenage boy kept hidden under the mattress. Or even sewed inside the mattress.
"They had titles like Milkman's Gazetteer or Black Undies or Shock! and they were full of pictures of leering, semi-naked or fully naked women. Low, common, tramp-like women -brassy brunettes and brazen blondes, leering and winking at the camera as they snapped their black garter-belts. Interesting, particularly to parentally inhibited teenage boys -but not especially, well, satisfying.
I held up my hand.
"Yes," said Jack. "A question?"
"Yes, sir. This may sound silly, but why do men and boys -enjoy looking at pictures of naked girls?"
"Men like to look at pictures of nude pussy partly because they just do, but mostly to provide themselves with the stuff of dreams. Daydreams."
"Huh?" I said.
"Men," Jack continued, "daydream much more than women do. And vastly more than most women suspect. Women are practical, logical creatures whereas men, all men, are essentially impractical dreamers. For example, would you climb a' high, dangerous mountain simply because it was there?"
"Of course not," I said. "I'd have to have a much more sensible reason. Like money or something."
"You've proved my point. Men are dreamers and day dreamers. They daydream about being the Fastest Gun in the West, about fighting naval battles and piloting rocket ships through space. Above all, they daydream about love, or to put it more bluntly -fucking and getting fucked."
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Being a female, you wouldn't believe how quickly and easily a man can slide into a hump daydream. A henpecked husband opens a copy of The World's Atlas and suddenly finds himself gazing at a color photograph of a semi-naked Tahitian maiden lying on a beach. In a fraction of a second his eyes glaze. In a fraction of a second he is no longer a henpecked husband huddled in a chair while his wife lectures him from the kitchen." "He isn't."
"No. He is ten thousand miles away, sprawled on the beach beside the naked-assed girl. He feels the sun warm on. his bare shoulders, hears the gentle whisper of the surf a few yards away, he smells the tropic perfume of the garland of flowers that is the native girl's only costume. She turns and smiles at him, a smile full of hero-worship and prick longing. He bends and kisses her, mashing to tropical ripeness of her luscious lips."
"Golly," I said.
Jack didn't hear me. His eyes were glazed. Obviously he was on that beach right then, as well as the native girl and the henpecked husband.
"His hand," went on Jack, "slides lazily up the satiny, sun-warmed curve of her buttock. She moans with pleasure. His hand slides higher, stroking the downy lush of her crotch imprisoning the saucy, uptilted cone of her youthfully full and firm breasts. He sequeezes it, gently but masterfully. Again she moans in unashamed, pagan pleasure -and he feels the pulsing hardness of her breast stab into the palm of his hand as the pink nipple thrusts erect with passion-swollen desire."
"Hot darrml" I said, feeling my own breasts stir with inner excitement
"The native girl's lips thrust eagerly against his mouth, her hands caress the sun-warmed flesh of his ass. He squeezes the tit he holds even harder. That breast is fully erect, hard and throbbing now.
And that knocker isn't all that is now hard, erect nd throbbing -no, her other breast is also hard, erect and throbbing. He bends his head and kisses it, savoring the palm-wine sweetness of her youthful tropically ripe nipples.
"Take me, white man," she cries -and he plunges his stiff shaft into her tropical twat. Cock and cunny meet and merge, flesh slides over flesh . . . middle to middle and breast to chest they surge and lunge in tropic abandon . . . waves break over them unnoticed . . . the sun set and the moon rises, unnoticed . . . nothing matters save the ever-building fire in their flesh -a fire which explodes finally like a volcano of desire . . , and their come flows like hot lava.
"They rest long moments in each other's arms. Then the native girl stifles a sob as he starts to gently disengage his dong from her sweet nook. 'Must you go?' she repeats, the tears running freely down her cheeks."
" 'Yes,' he whispers, 'I must -my wife is yelling at me from the kitchen.' And he goes. A fraction of a second later he's back sitting huddled in his chair, saying, 'Yes dear, I'm coming'." "Gee," I said, "how sad."
"Perhaps. But in a way, not so sad. In the space of a few seconds, without his wife having suspected a thing -except that he's getting hard of hearing he's had a torrid, wonderful hump with a Polynesian maiden. An imaginary affair, of course but an imaginary hump is better than none at all."
"Well ..." I said thoughtfully.
"Of course it is," snapped Jack. "Also, such daydreams are just about essential to male mental health in this day and age. Things being as they are, the average man is lucky if he actually fucks a few hundred or even a few dozen girls in his lifetime. In the flesh, that is.
"Thanks to the masculine ability to daydream, however, there's hardly a male over the age of sixteen who hasn't rammed his dick into thousands of incredibly lusty wenches -in his thoughts. And pussy pictures -the right kind of pussy pictures are ideal in initiating a pleasant, erotic daydream."
I said, "Couldn't a man just imagine himself shoving it up an imaginary girl?"
"Of course. But it is much more satisfying, more real to daydream a hump while looking at a real photograph of a real naked girl. And that's where the old-style magazines for men missed the boat. The leering, winking overly made-up, garter-beltsnapping girls they featured looked like the kind of girls you'd expect to find in a whorehouse. A fifthrate cathouse. One could imagine oneself fucking things up with one of them easily enough -but it was the kind of daydream that left you feeling vaguely, well, vaguely like you'd just visited a fifthrate cunt-stable. A little ashamed and slightly guilty."
"How silly," I said.
"Silly or not, I speak the truth. At any rate, the New Wave of men's magazines which began just after the war changed all this -and for the better. Instead of pictures of beat-up, slightly sagging, tramplike strippers -they began running photographs of young, wholesome, fresh-faced nooky. They looked, in short, like the Girl Next Door, demure and sexy at the same time."
"Also naked," I added.
"Precisely. However, old-style cheese cake pictures also showed naked ass. The difference was, with the old-style cheesecake pictures you always felt as if you were peering through a keyhole. With the new style, it's as if you'd accidentally opened the door while the Girl Next Door was taking a shower."
He got up, rummaged in a desk, came back with a large colored photograph which he held up. It was of a young girl in a shower.
"This gatefold, removed from one of the better men's magazines, illustrates my point exactly. See how clean, young and wholesome she looks. Also how well-stacked. Nothing sagging about her titties; she's a springy-assed eighteen. A girl any man would love to bounce on a bed."
"But she's no pushover, no tramp. You can tell by the demure way she's dropped her left hand to serve in lieu of a fig-leaf over her bush -a gesture which not only shows her basic modesty but allows the magazine to be sent through the mails. But, while this girl is pure through, and through, it's obvious that you can score."
"I can?"
Jack nodded. "It's obvious. You've just walked in on her while she's taking a shower. Her look of startled yet pleased surprise shows that. She's pretending to be shocked by your action -yet her eyes twinkle with discreet approval of your boldness. She's using one hand to cover the focal point of her pussy, and her other arm is raised as if to shield her plump, juicy-looking knockers from your view -but her arm hasn't been raised nearly high enough. Quite obviously, while pretending to cover her breasts, she's actually anxious for you to fondle them with your eyes -to see just how big and high and firm and rounded and squeezable and kissable they are."
"Is that what she's doing?" I asked.
"Of course. All this is obvious from her stance, her startled coy, yet shyly inviting expression. One glance at this photograph and the average red-blooded young man gets a rousing hard-on and goes in stantly into delightful hump -" "He can?"
"Of course. The entire realistic seeming situation is implied by this carefully posed photograph." His eyes glazed. "You're on a date, see? You call at the House Next Dopr. The Girl is there -alone. She's all apologies. She didn't realize it was so late. She's not quite ready yet --do you mind waiting while she takes a quick shower?"
"You tell her no and she smiles and walks swiftly from the living room. You begin to get ideas
-and the blood starts to pound in your head. Always before this girl has been unapproachable, demure, modest. Yet there was something about the way she blushed when she greeted you, glanced over her shoulder at you when she left the room -the blood pounds stronger in your pecker-head.
"You take a stride across the room. She's left the door to her bedroom wide open. Ditto the door to the bathroom. You walk, slowly, through her bedroom, your stiff dong pounding in your shorts. Dare you? The sound of the running shower stops. Yes!"
"Wow!" I said, just to be polite.
Jack ignored me. "You walk boldly into her bathroom, your mouth dry with excitement, your prick a souped-up ramrod. Will she scream? Yell for you to leave? No. One glance at her face and you know she wanted you to walk in on her like this
-gloriously nude. And you know, deep down, that she knows you know -and you know she knows you know she knows you know."
"These daydreams sure get complicated," I said. Jack didn't even hear me. "'Jack,' she gasps, pretending surprise. 'You're being very naughty' You don't bother to answer. You just take two bold steps forward and reach for her, sliding your hands around the sleek, dripping column of her waist. She pretends to push you away -but not for long. Already the lush spheres of her breasts are being crushed against your chest, already the warmth of her flesh is pressed maddeningly close to your very being. You kiss her wet lips. She pretends to struggle and then all at once she goes limp. She's surrendered .. . she's yours. And then your dick slides in up to your balls . . .
His voice trailed off while his eyes got more and more glazed. The picture fell unnoticed from his fingers and he began to breathe heavily.
I stood politely saying nothing while he breathed heavily for about fifteen seconds. He sure was a pushover for his own hump daydreams.
Then his eyes unglazed and his breathing slowed to normal. He looked at me and blinked. "Where was I?"
"Shoving your dick up a girl in a shower," I said, "I hope you didn't get wet."
"So now you can begin to see," Jack said, "that your type of figure just doesn't fit our needs."
"But what's wrong?" I almost wailed. Suddenly all that nice easy picture money I counted on was going down the drain. "My combo of tits, ass and pussy drives men wild!" I continued. "Even you liked the sample you had, Jack!"
I leaned against him making like a helpless female, being careful to let the nipples of my naked breasts brush his arm. I leaned a little harder, letting the lush, yielding beauty of my right titty make an interesting impression. Then I decided to give Jack another view of my well rounded ass. I was still naked, so I crossed the room to get my skirt.
I could feel Jack's eyes on my swaying behind, taking in the generous rippling curves I was literally tossing his way. I'm sure he must have had second thoughts about my appeal as he appraised the love ly flare of my buttocks and their tantalizing, jiggling cheeks. I was trying so hard that the cute dimples I have on each side of my asshole probably winked at him.
. "Let's go into my private projection room," Jack said. "I'll run off a few samples of my work for you."
Maybe the tide was turning in my favor. I put on only my skirt and left myself topless to be in the proper mood.
12
Even Jack Beauchamp's projection room was a very sexy spot. It was the size of a very large living room and furnished with five solidly shaped, luxurious, couches. I wondered if these couches were used as hump-props by the horny actors in his films. Everything was covered in a neutral smooth velvet. Jack showed me how he could change the color of everything in the room by manipulating what he called a light-mixer. He left the room bathed in rosy pink, which I liked because it matched my exposed nipples.
He threaded a couple of reels into his projection machines and began to ramble on into a long discussion about his works of art and how he got started in the business. I draped my titties as tantalizingly as possible as I settled down on one of the couches while Jack talked on. I made sounds of interest and approval and shifted my titties to vary the view whenever he looked my way.
What it boiled down to was that he'd originally started out making "underground" movies -"underground" being a term applied to movies without any plot made by amateurs who hate New York. He'd made his movies in Hollywood and, notwith standing that he hated New York, had dashed out to the East Coast to show them to the New York Studios in order to impress them and get a job.
Instead they'd laughed at him and tossed him and his experimental movies out the door. Out of several doors, apparently.
This had made him real bitter. He decided to go over some heads and appeal directly to the big shots in New York, by which I mean he rented a big hall and started showing his "underground" movies. Only nobody came to see them, not even when he started letting people in for nothing and giving away free popcorn. That really made him bitter.
"I realized I'd been casting pearls before swine," he told me. "And that New York was right in showing trashy movies full of sex and sadism. Because that was what most people wanted."
"You bet," I said. "Me, I like those historical pictures full of naked slave girls and where lots of people get chopped up by swords and run over by chariots -and religious movies, with naked slave girls and people getting chopped up by swords and ... , I broke off as he started to pull loose his belt.
"I decided," he went on, threading his belt back into his trousers, "that if I was going to produce cinematic trash, I might as well produce honest trash -not merely hint at sex and sadism, but depict real fucking and real brutality and obscene perversion. In short I decided to make dir -stag movies."
"What a masterful decision," I said. "Uh, how did you get started?"
"Through luck and family connections, I was able to apprentice myself to my uncle, a producer I shall refer to simply as J.B. He was then producing stag movies on a near assembly-line basis here in New York. He frowned. "For a long time my work was a dull, routine nature -recruiting voluptuous, shameless sex-pots; helping them out of their clothes; warming up their pussies before the shooting sessions with a hot dick massage . . . Dull, non-creative work. And sometimes, heavily made up or masked, I consented to play minor hump roles in my uncles, uh, dramas. Mine was always a small part, however."
I said, "I don't think your part is so -"I broke off as he started to finger his belt buckle again.
"Finally, however, my uncle gave up making stag movies and departed for Hong Kong, or some such foolish place to make a feature movie. Suddenly I was on my own -but with know, how, now
-plus some working capital acquired by careful saving and judicious blackmail. I decided to make my own dir -stag movies."
"And what a great day that was for the American cinema," I said, tossing my titties, on account of I figured he'd appreciate my saying something like that.
"Thank you. It was then, when I stood on the very threshold of my career, that I formulated the principles that have led critics to call me the Truffout or Richardson, of my chosen field. In a burst of creative energy unequalled since Shakespeare's day, I turned out pussy masterpiece after masterpiece La Dolce Schmoozy, All Last Year on Maria, The Professional Call Girl, How It Happened to my Baby June, Song of Goosing, The Lecherousness of the Long Distance Swimmer, Three Men on a Whore
-real pussy masterpieces all."
I nodded respectfully. "What was the secret of your success?"
"Talent, mostly," said Jack, shrugging his shoulders a modest quarter of an inch. "But also the fact that I realized that stag movies -unlike the men's magazines -had not moved with the times.
Until I entered the field, most stag movies were well, you know what they were like."
"No," I said. "What were the old pussy-pictures like?"
He lit a cigarette and let smoke plume out through his nostrils. "Cheap, vulgar and trashy. They had titles like, The Butler Fucked It, or Mimi Had Her Prick On The Picnic, or The Salesman's Suck Off. And they lived up to their titles. Vulgar, leering twat-peddlers entertained vulgar leering men. No art, no subtlety at all. Here -I'll show you an example."
"Please do," I urged, while he fiddled with his projector.
Then he snapped out the lights and a flickering title came on the screen. The Salesman's Suck Off, it read. I waited expectantly for the credits. No credits. Just the action. And what action.
The first shot was of a young fat-assed girl climbing naked out of bed. A title came on the screen: The Salesman's Daughter Awakes to a New Day -and Night.
"Not even a soundtrack," said Jack scornfully.
I ignored him and watched the screen, breathing heavily with anticipation.
The Salesman's Daughter climbed out of bed and stood smiling vacantly at the camera while she yawned and scratched her bush -and the camera moved slowly up and down her naked cunny and teats. She was certainly fat -boobs the size of watermelons, a big middle, and fantastically full thighs. After the camera had moved all the way up and down the front side of her body, she winked, turned around --and the camera moved up and down her ass.
"Poor camera work," scoffed Jack from the chair beside me.
"Well, it seems to be in sharp focus to me," I said. "You can see her ass-cheeks jiggling up and down quite plainly. She must be bouncing on the soles of her feet."
Jack ignored me. On the screen came a close-up of a fist knocking on a door. A title: Knoek, knock, A close-up of the Salesman's daughter's face. A title: Oh, goody. The first farmer of the day! I must give him a warm welcome. A close-up of the Salesman's Daughter's left eye, winking. Title: A very warm welcome!
"Bah!" said Jack.
"Hot damn!" I said, but very quietly.
The next shot was of the Salesman's Daughter -still naked -opening the door and dragging in a short, funny-looking little man in dungarees. He was wearing a straw sun-hat, a goatee, and a lecherous expression.
Another close-up of the Salesman's Daughter leering and winking. Title: Let me help you out of your hot clothes! A confused montage of female hands moving over a clothed male body. Then a two-shot of the naked Salesman's Daughter staring and drooling at the short, funny-looking farmer now naked-cocked himself save for his goatee and his sun-hat.
A close-up of the Salesman's Daughter, winking and leering up a storm. Title: I could go for that dick of yours big! A close-up of the farmer. Title: Likewise!
After that the fun started. At least, I figured it was fun -on account of all the wonderfully depraved things the Salesman's Daughter and the farmer started doing to each other. Jack, on the other hand, kept snorting and scoffing and saying things like artistically unsuitable and deplorably repetitious, and so on.
Me, I just kept my eyes glued on the screen, where the Salesman's Daughter was urging the farmer to hurry back with white creamy come-juice dripping from her thick lips. He seemed too pooped to understand her. Even if she was sprawled naked and leering on her back, while he was more or less sitting astride her stomach. Finally she grasped his dong -damn, it was obviously an old print we were watching, and none too clear -it was hard to see just what she was doing to his balls. And she was urging him to thrust his gradually stiffening pecker between her big, fat, rounded breasts which she was pressing close together with her hands.
He obliged. Now his rigid tool was moving back and forth, back and forth between her quivering breasts while she twisted and writhed and squirmed her big fat ass in ecstasy. Back and forth went his pecker, back and forth, faster and faster until "Wow!" I gasped. His hot come seemed to spurt right into the camera lens.
"Bah!" said Jack.
Title: Bingo!
Then came a close-up of two more male fists knocking on the door. The Salesman's Daughter opened the door. Two farmers this time. The Salesman's Daughter stripped them right down and made them feel at home. She made them feel just about everything including her black, yawning asshole! While she did likewise. Then she settled down to making them feel really happy. Both at once. In a very ingenious fashion, she rotated her ass while skewered on the two stiff dongs, one in her cunny and one in her rectum.
After that the action got kind of confused as more and more farmers' cocks started getting into the act -with the Salesman's Daughter. Then three more naked pussy-slingers arrived, milkmaids, most likely, and everybody piled onto the bed and a penis was shoved into a juicy vagina, a cock spurted into a sucking mouth, a mouth was licking a pair of very prominent vaginal walls and clitoris, and then the camera moved in again and again for close-ups of cock-heads spurting orgasmi* ball-juice.
Then the screen went black and a title came on: The End.
Jack snapped on the lights. "Awful, wasn't it?"
"Uhm yes," I said, after I'd stopepd panting and licking my lips.
"And why was it awful?" asked Jack. He began counting off on his fingers. "Crude camera work. Crude lighting. Crude actors. No plot. No continuity. But above all, a basic vulgarity -a vulgar excess of prick and pussy interacting."
Well, personally I felt that vulgar fucking like I just saw was kind of fun -but I didn't say so aloud.
"Now," said Jack, "take a look at one of my efforts and see -crude and formative though it is -how vastly superior it is to The Salesman's Daughter."
He snapped out the lights. A burst of pastoraltype music filled the room and a title came on the screen: Nude Interlude, said the title. Another burst of music, and then another title, the credits: THE GIRL -Herself .... THE BOY -Himself . . . OTHERS -Themselves.
How stupid, I thought. Aloud I said, "How artistic."
"Thank you," said Jack.
The titles faded to a technicolor shot of the sun coming up over a bunch of fields. Then a shot of a cottage at dawn. The camera moved in closer and closer on the cottage, right up to a window and then through the window until it was focussed on a bed. A bed in which lay a young, innocent-looking teen-age girl. In a nightgown.
"Hey," I said, "If this is a cunt movie, how come she isn't stark naked?"
"Shhh!" said Jack.
I looked back at the screen. The girl was asleep, her titties rising and falling slowly, her eyes closed. The camera moved in closer. She was fully covered, all right, but I had to admit that the nightgown she was wearing was thin enough and transparent enough so that you could see her nipples and the down on her bush.
On the soundtrack came the sound of a cock crowing. The girl started, opened her eyes and sat up. She was stacked, all right. The girl blinked, then turned her head. A close up of a note resting on a nearby table. Be a good girl while I'm away on the road, read the note, be back in a day or two. (Signed) Your Father.
"She's the Salesman's Daughter, eh?" I asked.
"Shh!" said Jack.
A close-up of the girl, suddenly thoughtful. Her lips didn't move, but on the soundtrack came the sound of a girl's voice saying softly, Alone! Alone tor a full day and night! And with -with Michael only half a mile away!
"How come her lips aren't moving?" I asked.
"Shh!" said Jack. "The camera is recording her thoughts, not her words."
"Oh," I said.
The girl's big, blue, innocent-looking eyes flashed -and she turned her head. A close-up of what she was looking at: a photograph of a teenage boy in blue jeans with a big cock and ball bulge in his crotch. On the soundtrack the girl's voice said, Michael!
The screen dissolved to a shot of a different farmhouse. Again the camera moved in closer and closer, right through a window. Now we were in another bedroom. And lying on the bed was a teenage boy. Michael. His eyes were open and kind of gleaming. His lips didn't move, but on the soundtrack his voice said, Monday. And Ruth's father will be away for a full day and a night!
He turned his head. A close-up of a photograph on a bedside table. Of Ruth. With her clothes on.
A close-up of the boy's eyes gleaming. Ruth! said his voice on the sound track, how I wish I knew her -more intimately! Another close-up of Ruth's photograph. And all of a sudden the photograph blurred -and then dissolved into a living photograph of Ruth stark naked, her titties and gorgeously bushed slit seeming to yawn.
A close-up of Michael, shuddering and closing his eyes tight. / mustn't think such wicked things! said his voice, I simply mustn't.
I stifled a yawn. "When does the action start?" I asked.
"Shhh!" said Jack.
A close-up of Ruth's eyes gleaming. Michael! said her voice, how I wish I knew him -more intimately! She turned her head. A close-up of the photograph of Michael. It blurred. Now Michael was stark naked. His thick, rigid prick was thrust out eagerly . . .
A close-up of Ruth; eyes shut and shuddering. Her voice: / mustn't think of such wicked things I mustn't!
I stifled another yawn. Things sure moved slowly in Jack's artistic-type dir -stag movies.
Another close-up of Michael, lying in bed thinking. On the soundtrack his voice said: I must think only pure things about her -after all, she may one day be my bride . . .
The screen dissolved into a picture of Ruth in a bridal costume while the soundtrack played Here Comes the Bride ... I was about to stifle another yawn, when all of a sudden the camera pulled back
-and wow! Ruth was dressed in a modest, veiled, bridal costume all right -but only from the waist up. From the waist down she was pussy-naked. She began to twitch her bare ass from side to side in tune with the Wedding March. Then she started doing bumps and grinds, all the while looking demure and virginal from the waist up.
A close-up of Michael clapping his hands to his eyes.
Then a slow dissolve to Ruth, lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. On the sound track her voice said: I mustn't think lewd thoughts about Michael. After all, he may one day be my bridegroom . . . A dissolve to a close-up of Michael in wedding clothes. The camera pulled back. Sure enough, Michael was naked from the waist down. And boy, did he ever have a real man-sized flagpole, knobby head and all! He began doing a kind of masculine grind, his stiff tool and big nuts waving in a close-up.
A close-up of Ruth, shuddering with shame. 7 mustn't think such lewd things! said her voice on the soundtrack. 7 simply mustn't!
To Jack I said, "If they're both lying in bed thinking lewd things about the other, why don't they get together and start doing the humping they want?"
"Because," snarled Jack, "this is an artistic dir
-stag movie. In real life, they would both be too inhibited to do any actual promiscuous screwing. Hence, in my movie, they don't do any fucking except in their thoughts."
"Oh," I said, stifling another yawn. A close-up of Michael, thinking again. His voice: What will happen on the night I make her my bride? Will she cringe away from me? -a fuzzy dissolve to a shot of Ruth cringing in the corner of a bed, the sheets pulled up to her neck or will she act like the abandoned hussy I hope she is, deep down?
A close up of Ruth sprawled naked and leering on a bed. A black velvet-covered bed, yet. She had very white skin to begin with, did Ruth, and the black velvet she was sprawled on made her flesh look even whiter -like a life-size statue out of snow. Squirming, writhing snow. The only spots of color the camera picked up were her glistening outer cunt lips with the little coral head of her clitoris peeping out and her nipples -bright splashes of crimson.
The camera was right at the foot of the bed, and as she smiled and beckoned it moved in closer and closer, traveling slowly up her body until her breasts filled the screen, looking like two gigantic, lusty snow covered mountains -each with a red lighthouse, her jutting nipples on the summit.
Closer and closer the camera moved in until finally just one breast filled the screen. Suddenly a huge male hand came out of nowhere and grabbed the breast, the fingers sinking deep into the white, quivering resilient flesh and tweaking the cherryred nipple.
Hot damn, I thought, now we're going to see some action. I was wrong. I had to wait almost ten minutes before any real action began. In between, the camera kept cutting back and forth between Michael and Ruth, lying fully clothed in separate farmhouses and continually clapping their hands to their eyes and telling themselves they shouldn't think such wicked thoughts. There were some sexy shots, like of Ruth's ass filling the screen while Michael's hand slid up and down it, kneading and fondling the ripest parts and shoving his forefinger up her asshole right to his knuckles -and likewise shots of his hand darting two fingers between her moist vaginal labia and finger-fucking the wet orifice. It also had a shot of him tonguing her twat.
But it was too disconnected and, well, arty to be really sexy. And even when they finally started the final fuck-climax it was in a tame sort of fashion.
"Could use a little zing -but that was great, just divine!" I added hastily. Where did this guy Beauchamp get his pussy picture reputation from? What I had just seen was more fitting for a boy scout barbecue than a grown-up stag.
"The public wasn't ready for the pure art of films like that, so I started in with what I call my realistic subjects," Jack continued, switching off the lights and starting a new film.
The very first scene of this one brought me drooling to the edge of my seat. Called, Once Upon a Honeymoon, it opened in a hotel room with an attractive girl and a virile, handsome young man already stripped down to their underwear and going further. Their screwing was very natural, from fumbling insertion of his fair-sized cock into her virginal crack, to her pierced cherry and their final semen-showered orgasm. Her pussy even bled a little ... I felt like a female Peeping Tom as the action continued, showing how different couples fucked on the honeymoon bed. And it followed through all the way, down to the last minute detail ... as the last limp dick slid out of the last wet female love cavern.
13
I found myself getting a very excited, wet cunny myself as Once Upon a Honeymoon continued showing more and more ingenious first night screw sessions. The actors ranged from boy and girl types to mature couples. I found myself panting, ass and twat grinding, right along with the hot fucking on the screen. Now I was beginning to dig what had given Jack Beauchamp his M. F. -master of fucking.
He put on several more features and this time when the lights went on, I applauded him. I could see his chest swell at the evident admiration in my eyes.
"Jack, those were real cool. I must admit that they sent me, especially, "Once Upon a Honeymoon" -"simply terrific," I said wriggling my rump.
"That was a real brainstorm I had during my French realist period," he said proudly. "The reason it all seems so natural is that it actually was. Those were scenes of real honeymooners frigging away on their first night, spliced together. They were photographed by hidden cameras in some of our best hotels. You've no idea how many hotel managers' palms I had to grease."
"Golly," I said, "you mean each and every one of those two dozen of young girls was a real virgin being, ah cunt rammed on her wedding night?"
"Right." He chuckled. "Imagine how shook up they would have been if they'd ever guess that every shy, fumbling fuck-moment they and their new husbands made was being recorded on infrared-sensitive movie film. For other people to snicker and leer at." He chuckled.
"They'd have just died," I said, chuckling along with him. I sighed. "When I get rich Fm going to buy myself a hotel and install a big one-way mirror in the bridal suite, facing right into my living room. It'd be heaps more fun than television."
Jack nodded. "Though if you owned the ho tel," he suggested, "it might be a better plan to install a concealed TV camera in every bedroom -that way you could just turn the dial on your TV set and see all the 57 different varieties of humping going on in dozens of bedrooms. Uh, which of my other films did you particularly like?"
"Well," J said, "I liked that one called Dreams of a Housekeeper -where all those big, muscular men ran around shoving their dongs up each other's assholes."
Jack shook his head sadly. "That proved an artistic and financial dead-end, unfortunately. I'd planned it as the first of a new series -doe movies."
"Doe movies?"
"Yes -stag movies designed for women. Since men like to look at nude, lusty twat, I naturally figured there'd be a big female audience for movies about nude, lusty cock. And I must say, the one time I was able to show the movie to a large female audience -a women's club in Long Beach which booked it under the delusion that Dreams of a Housekeeper must be the title of a domestic science movie -I must say that the audience reaction was very favorable, if a trifle hysterical. However, I eventually abandoned the whole doe movie project. What other films did you like?"
I thought. "That Arab type one. The one called Sully Home or something like that. Where there's this Sultan sitting around finger-fucking his harem, and then goes off on a business trip leaving them all alone, and as soon as he's out of the palace they open the dungeon doors and let all those lusty men slaves with those fabulous big friggers out and the lusty male slaves rape all the harem girls and dancing girls and -"
Jack held up a hand. "Please, I'm quite familiar with my own original plots."
"Well," I said, "I liked the orgy scenes of coc sucking in that a whole lot. But what I liked b was the end, where the Sultan comes back une pected like and is so bugged at the screwing tha been going on behind his back that he has his soldiers slaughter all the slaves and the harem girls right in the middle of their humping. I like that part where the soldier's saber cuts the slave's cock right off while its in the girl's cunny." *
Jack frowned. "A lot of people did. It was, in fact, the success of those slaughter scenes that led me to make my first films exploring the subtle psychological ramifications of human sadism and masochism."
"Show me," I begged.
Very well," said Jack, and he got up and began fussing with his projector again. Then he snapped out the lights and a title came on the screen, along with a burst of creepy music. The Tortured, said the title. Then more creepy music and another title, the credits: The TORTURED -herself . . . HER DREAM TORMENTOR -Jack Beauchamp.
"You're acting in this one, huh?" I asked.
"Yes," said Jack.
"I guess Jack Beauchamp isn't your real name, huh?"
"No," said Jack. "Now shut up and watch the credits."
I watched the screen. PRODUCED BY Jack Beauchamp ... DIRECTED BY -Jack Beauchamp . . . SCREENPLAY BY -Jack Beauchamp . . . ADDITIONAL DIALOGUE BY -Jack Beauchamp. The credits went on and on like that, through Narration and Make-up and Scenery and Costumes and Camera and Sound and Musical Score and Choreography and Technical Advisor and a whole lot of other things. All by Jack Beau champ.
"How incredibly versatile I am," murmured Jack. "A veritable Michaelangelo of dir -the erotic cinema. I might mention," he said, turning to me, "that if the plot seems rather thin, it is because this version is only ten minutes long. The original version ran three hours and twenty minutes and traced in painstaking detail, the birth, early childhood and youthful psychological traumas of the leading character. However, the syndicate which distributes my films forced me to cut almost everything but, as they put it, the bare essentials."
"How wise of them," I murmured. "I mean, what a shame."
The movie started. Not very promisingly, it seemed to me. In fact, the start was kind of like the movie he'd called Nude Interlude. Once again the camera was focused on a bed in which lay a young, voluptuous girl wearing a nightgown. A brunette this time. She was lying with her head on the pillow moaning in a restless kind of way.
"She can't sleep, huh?" I said.
"Shhh!" said Jack."
I can't sleep! moaned the girl, opening her eyes. And I must sleep. But no, I dare not sleep! For in that sleep, what dreams may come . . .
"One of my greatest lines," murmured Jack.
On the screen the girl turned her head and stared at the wall. Hanging on the wall right next to her head was a big oil painting of just about the spookiest castle I'd ever seen -right out of an Italian horror movie or something like that.
I said, "No wonder she can't sleep with a spooky picture like that on the wall. A picture like that would give me the cold ass shakes."
"Shh!" said Jack.
That awful picture! moaned the girl. It makes me shake inside with cold! She reached out and turned the picture over. It didn't do any good. On the flip side was a painting of an even spookier castle. The girl moaned and closed her eyes again. Sleep, murmured the girl, / dare not sleep . . .
Then the screen began to sort of ripple and then get foggy -and all at once we were inside a spooky old castle. The castle torture chamber, it looked like. The camera pulled back. Yes, it was a torture chamber, all right. All sorts of torturingtype instruments were lying around, and standing in the, middle of them was Jack -wearing a black mask and funny, tight-fitting black outfit of the kind torturers always wear in horror movies. He was cackling up a storm. Cringe, girl, he cackled. Cringe and struggle in vain! Because you must die for your sin -your sin of being young, and virgin-twatted and helpless! Heh, heh, heh!
A shot of the girl now, cringing like all get out. She was stark naked, her hands were tied behind her back, a noose was around her neck and she was standing on a gallows. I didn't blame her for cringing.
The camera moved in closer. She was not only cringing but shaking all over with fear. In fact, she was shaking so hard you could see her buttocks and thighs quivering and jiggling -and her breasts were shivering like a couple of milk-white balloons filled with jelly. Even her bush hair was shaking.
"Hey," I said, "she's really shaking, huh?"
"Special effects," whispered Jack. "She's standing on a vibrating table."
On the screen the torturer in the black mask was cackling and tugging at a wooden lever. Any moment now the trap would drop out from under the girl's feet and -thud! There it went.
"Good grief!" I yelled. "She really is hanging.
Look at her feet kicking and flailing, her body twisting and writhing -how, how horrible!"
"Special effects," whispered Jack. "She's not actually hanging by her neck, but by two invisible nylon cords under her armpits."
"She is so hanging," I said. "Look, her face is turning purple."
"Special effects, hissed Jack. "A purple spotlight."
"Oh," I said. On the screen the girl was twisting and writhing less and less, her face getting more and more purple. Suddenly she shuddered and went limp.
All at once the screen dissolved and we were back in the girl's bedroom. The girl was lying, panting with fear, her eyes wide open. What a horrible, horrible dream! she gasped. / dare not go to sleep again. Yet -how can I keep awake?
"Why doesn't she drink some black coffee?" I asked Jack.
"Shhh!" said Jack.
On the screen the girl was looking more and more drowsy. Sure enough, in another moment her, eyes were closed, the screen had started to ripple and dissolve -and zip! We were back in the torture chamber.
And there was the girl, stark pussy-naked again and with her hands once more tied behind her back. Her feet weren't tied this time, however, and she was backing slowly away from the camera, her face contorted with panic.
Small wonder. Advancing on her, cackling with sadistic glee, was the black-masked torturer. He was holding what looked like a big pitchfork in front of him. The camera moved in on the pitchfork. The prongs were white hot!
Cringe, young maiden! cackled the torturer played by Jack. Cringe all you wish! It won't stop me from plunging these white-hot prongs into your soft, quivering ass! He licked his lips in horrible glee. Into which portion of your ass should I plunge these cruel, white-hot prongs? he mused. "Up your asshole?"
The camera, evidently representing the torturer's eyes, moved slowly up and down the girl's quivering white behind -now on her softly-downed cunny -now on her proud, high bulbous breasts.
The girl, her eyes rolling with the panic, backed up some more. Thud! She's backed herself into a corner of the stone dungeon. She was really trapped now.
Heh, heh, heh! crowed the torturer. Ready or not here it comes -take this! He lunged.
"Good griefV I yelled, sliding down into the seat, "that horrible sadistic monster -played by you -really did sink those white-hot prongs deep in her asshole. How awfull"
"Special effects," whispered Jack. "In that last close-up it was really white foam rubber the prongs were plunging into. And that hissing, sizzling sound was dubbed in later. As was the girl's blood-curdling scream."
"Well, I hope so," I gasped.
On the screen the girl was once more back in her bed, tossing and turning and telling herself she mustn't go to sleep again. She went to sleep and, almost instantly she was dreaming she was back in the torture chamber. This time dangling by her thumbs over a vat of acid.
You could tell it was acid from the way it bubbled and foamed and fumed. Also from the big label on the side of the glass vat which read, Acid -80 Proof.
And still the girl, naked, twisting and scream ing dangled over the bubbling acid. But not for long. The ropes she dangled from were parting strand by strand. Only two more strands. One more. Snap! Snap! Splash!
"Yipe!" I yelled, covering my eyes* with my hands. I peeked between my fingers. The girl was still thrashing around inside the glass vat -but already she was one^juarter dissolved up to her bushy cunt. I ctosed my eyes again. When I opened them once more the girl was back lying on her bed, tossing and turning and telling herself she mustn't fall asleep again.
I swallowed hard and said, "She's dreaming all this, huh?"
"Yes," �aid Jack. "She has extraordinarily depraved masochistic tendencies."
"You mean she has rocks in her head," I said. "Listen, if she has dreams like that, how come she doesn't go to a psychiatrist or get straightened out by the insertion of a big stiff dick?"
"Shhh!" said Jack. "In the earlier, longer version she did. I played the psychiatrist, and pronged her with a big stiff dildo too.
"In that case," I said, "she was wasting her money." But I didn't say this aloud.
Back on the screen the girl had dreamed her way back into the torture chamber. Or had she? All I could see was the fiendish torturer in the black mask roasting something over glowing coals. What was he roasting? Oh, yes, now I could see who he was roasting. I closed my eyes again.
"My," I said, keeping my eyes closed, "that girl can scream loud. And so realistically."
"Actually," said Jack, "she didn't scream very well. The screams you hear are by another girl. I dubbed them in later."
"Oh," I said. "What did you do to the other girl to make her scream like -never mind-Don't tell me.
Back on the screen, i the girl had made the mistake of falling asleep again. Now she was dangling over another vat of acid. No, it was boiling oil this time. But this time she had a chance! This time she had somehow freed her hands and was trying to climb up the rope, trying to clutch it even with her naked twat. Would she make it? No. Scream. Splash. Bubble-bubble.
I mopped some sweat off my brow. "Uh, you don't happen to have a drink on you, do you?" I asked.
"Shhh!" said Jack, his eyes glued on the screen. "Here -take my hip flask."
I took it, unscrewed the lid and drank half of it down. It was brandy or something awful like that, but it sure tasted good to me right then. Like, I needed a drink.
Back on the screen, the masked torturer was cheerfully tying the naked girl to a wooden post. Now he was cradling and painting concentric circles on her naked flesh. Now what? He backed off, picked Up a crossbow and began to laugh maniacally. A little -target practice! He raised the crossbow. Swish! Thwock!
"Ouch!" I gasped involuntarily, clutching my stomach. Swish, Thwock. I clutched my right nipple involuntarily. Swish! Thwock! I clutched my left nipple. "I'm finished!" I gasped, "and so's that poor arrow-riddled girl."
"Special effects," muttered Jack. "Good, huh? Looks just like she's been skewered by arrows."
"I'll say," I gasped, clutching myself here and there to make sure no arrows were sticking into me.
Meanwhile, back on the screen, the stupid, voluptuous brunette was once more dreaming herself back into trouble. This time she was tied spread out in front of a big, old fashioned cannon -the kind that fires big old-fashioned cannonballs. It was aimed straight at her spread apart cunt. What a mess. Special effects, no doubt.
Back in bed. More resolutions not to go to sleep. Back to sleep. And back in the torture chamber. This time she was tied lengthways to a big plank. Closer and closer to the spinning circular saw blade moved the plank. Would she be rescued -or would she be split right between her legs. Her screams were blood-curdling as the whirling blade touched her naked nooky. Nobody rescued her. What a horrible mess. I finished the rest of Jack's flask.
"Special effects," murmured' Jack. "I used up fifteen gallons of ketchup making this movie -five gallons in that scene alone."
"I believe it," I said, licking the last remaining drops of brandy from the hip flask.
Back on the screen -a relatively mild dream. The girl was merely dangling nakedly from a rope tied to her wrists while the masked torturer fingered a whip. He reached out and began to feel and pinch her naked, quivering, helpless ass. He pinched her plump, shivering breasts; her trembling, rounded buttocks; the curving softness of her juicy pussy; the fully rounded curves of her shivering thighs.
Which part of your soft, helpless body shall feel the caress of my whip first? he crooned. He pondered. Then, apparently, he made up his mind. He swung back his arm. Thwack! The girl screamed and writhed as a vivid scarlet line appeared across her buttocks. The torturer cackled sadistically and drew back his arm again. Thwak!
"Oh that poor girl!" I gasped. "Look at her writhe and twist in horrible pain -look at that cruel red line that's just appeared across her naked and helpless breasts where that brute whipped her." Thwack; "Oh that poor girl's stomach," I moaned. "Look at that awful red line of blood left by that fiend's whip. No wonder she's writhing and screaming.
"Shhh!" snarled Jack. "Special effects. What you take to be a leather whip is actually a long strand of soft foam rubber -soaked in red dye. Look now as I -I mean the fiendish torturer -lashes his 'whip' across the ripest part of her gleaming white thighs."
I watched. Thwack. The whip left a red line. "It left a red line right across the back of her gleaming white thighs," I said.
"True," snarled Jack. "But you didn't see her flesh dent in more than a trifle, did you? If that 'whip' had had the weight of even a thick piece of string, you'd have seen her tender flesh yield to it. But you didn't did you? Watch now as I -that is, the masked torturer -lashes the helpless girl across her already apparently bleeding breasts."
I watched. Thwack! A new red line -but sure enough, her breasts didn't so much as tremble as the 'whip' lashed across them.
"Fake! Fake!" I yelled. "Boo, hiss!"
"Shut up!" yelled Jack. I shut up. The brandy had really gone to my head -more than I'd realized.
All the same, it was hard to keep from yawning as I watched the masked torturer lash the naked brunette's body into a gory, welt-slashed mess. Like, I knew it was only red dye on her flesh -that she wasn't really screaming and writhing in horrible agony. It was a real effort not to yell iake, fake again. Even as he realistically shoved the whip handle right up her asshole and left it dangling there while she yowled.
The stupid voluptuous brunette had one more "dream" on the screen. This last time she fell headlong into a big pit full of snarhng lions. The lions leaped on her struggling naked body and began to tear her to pieces and eat her. I stifled a yawn as I watched a lion swallowing titty a la carte.
Then the title The End came on the screen and Jack snapped on the lights.
"Well," he said frowning, "what did you think?"
"Not bad," I said. "However, now that I realize that it was all special effects -well, I must admit the whole thing struck me as kind of a bore." I yawned. "The special effects in that last scene where the lions devoured a foam rubber dummy looking just like that voluptuous brunette -those special effects weren't bad, I must admit. If I hadn't known it was all phoneyed up. I'd have sworn that she was really being devoured alive by starving lions. But for the most part -"I yawned. "Uh, how come you didn't end the movie with her back on her ass wide awake?"
Jack stared off in the distance. "I meant to. It was all her fault, that stupid if incredibly voluptuous young cunt. I warned her not to keep leaning over that pit where I kept the lions. I told her she might slip and fall in. But no, she wouldn't listen. No, she kept leaning farther and farther over, shaking those big tits of hers at the snarling carnivores, laughing like the stupid if voluptuous young girl she was. Farther and farther she leaned, completely oblivious to the fact that -leaning as far over as she was -all I had to do was administer a slight shove to her gleaming, rounded ass and -" He broke off. Shuddering. "It wasn't my fault," he whispered, staring at nothing and wiping sweat from his brow. "She tripped. She really did. Thank heaven
I had the camera already set up and running, though, and that the cameras didn't pick up my hands shoving against her plump buttocks to make her fall into -" He stopped suddenly and pulled himself together.
"Good grief!" I said. "Don't tell me that last scene, where those lions sank their sharp teeth into various tender portions of her anatomy, tore off said tender titties, chewed and swallowed them don't tell me those scenes were real?"
Jack mopped his brow, looked at me, averted his eyes, mopped his brow again and said, "Of course not. They were just, uh, special effects."
I suddenly felt quite sleepy and seemed to become part of a movie myself as Jack sort of faded away and I found myself lying in a huge double bed. I was still in my skirt and next to me was resting a stocky, tuxedo clad male.
"I've become a star," I murmured to the man lying with his back to me. "We're doing more scenes for Once Upon a Honeymoon, so let's make it good."
As the man turned to me with grinning approval, I recognized my old friend, Victor Vellick. He stripped off his bridegroom's tuxedo, revealing his big stiff bull prick ready for hump action. I wriggled out of my skirt and he started kissing my nipples hungrily. They jutted between his nibbling lips, dark pink and stiffly erect as I fondled his throbbing, oversized circumsized cock-head. His powerful frame decked me and he thrust his whole enormous shaft into my juicy jazzbox abruptly as I raised a knee and wound my legs around him. Again and again I felt the full thrill of his prick ramming up with his big balls slapping against my wet cunt lips.
My twat frigged away like fury meeting Vellick's tremendous thrusts. Suddenly my whole be ing felt as if I were on the crest of a huge wave and then I yelled with joy as the wave broke against the walls of my vagina and the surging bliss of his hot seminal spurts drenched my cunny. Vellick's whole cock had arched in a final lunge which I thought would break me in two, as he grunted happily into coming along with me.
We rested for a moment, his shaft still in me and then I felt Vellick's powerhouse prick stiffening again, sliding in my satiny soft vulva. I screwed again this wild bull's maleness, and as my cunny fondled its hugeness -I awoke.
14
What I was fondling in my hands was not the outstanding bull-dong of Mr. Vellick's, but a thick hempen rope that bound my forearms. Jack had apparently spiked my drink, and I had passed out and had my dream about Vellick while he had dragged me out of the projection room and tied me up.
Any other girl would have let out an awful screech at finding herself in my position. There I was completely nude, tied with a rope around my arms and sort of dangling from a dark dungeon wall. In front of me was a long table with a gleaming array of every known surgical instrument. As extra added attractions there were tongs, long pincers, pitchforks and other evil looking things whose use I couldn't even imagine. I saw that I was on Jack's torture chamber set.
Blacksmiths' charcoal braziers were being made red hot by a bellows Jack Beauchamp was using. I shivered as I realized my luscious titties, ass and other goodies were going to be in pictures, but not quite the way I had been looking forward to.
I gave him a sickly smile. "What, uh, are you planning to do?" I asked.
He looked up and gave me a horrible, wolfishtype grin. "Shpot a movie," he said. "A realistic movie" He glared at me. "I'm sick and tired of moronic cunts such as you watching my movies and then yelling, fake, fake! It's happened once too often." He sighed. "All too often with justification. All too often >-in fact, almost invariably, up until now, my movies have depended upon special effects. Special effects good enough to fool silly twatheads like you," he snarled, "but not the critics whose opinion I really respect."
"Is that so?" I said, just to keep him talking hence not doing anything. Anything horrible. To me.
"Yes," said Jack. "The critics whose opinion I respect are those who report on movies taken on for distribution by the syndicate. Critics whose reports are delivered to me by messenger -naturally their impartial reports cannot be sent through the mails -and whose reports say, in essence, 'Jack Beauchamp has produced another pseudo-sadistic movie which, by dint of various special effects, produces a moderately satisfactory effect,' Bah! I'll make those motherfuckers eat their condescending words! I'll show them!"
"Uh, yes indeed," I said, looking around me for help or assistance. No help or assistance showed itself.
"Yes," continued Jack, "I'll produce a sadistic movie in which no special effects are used -or needed. A movie in which every sickening scene is obviously real -in which every horrible scream torn from the lips of some innocent if voluptuous girl is a real scream -evoked by real torture." He paused and cackled a bit, just like he'd cackled in his movie.
I stared at him, meanwhile struggling vainly against my bonds. He was crazy all right. Really crazy with scrambled eggs for balls! Too bad I hadn't realized as much before I'd accepted -in fact begged for -his drugged hip flask.
What to do? I sure as hell wasn't going to just dangle with my naked ass there and suffer. I wrestled, or tried to wrestle, with the knots holding the rope by which I was dangling. Nothing. Maybe I would have to just dangle there and suffer. True, I'd have the star role in a nudie movie -something I'd always dreamed about -but the thought failed to cheer me.
Meanwhile Jack, in his torturer's costume now, bustled around adjusting lights and reflectors. I looked around. No cameraman.
"How're you going to act in your new sadistic movie and work the cameras at the same time?" I asked.
"The cameras are all automatic," snapped Jack. "They're already focussed on your naked, squirming body. All I have to do is trip a switch and they start rolling." He picked up a microphone and said, "One, two three, testing," peered at some dials and nodded his head. "The sound's automatic, too."
He cleared his throat, yelled, "Quiet! Quiet on the set" -out of habit, I guess, because there was nobody but us on the set, worse luck -tripped a switch, held a blackboard in front of one of the cameras, and then strode onto the set laughing dramatically -and horribly.
"Cringe, girl cringe!" he yelled. "It will do you good. Soon your tender tits and twat will feel sadistic wrath! Cringe!"
Despite myself, I cringed. At least, I cringed as much as I could, seeing as how I was dangling just over the floor, with a draft blowing right up my naked pussy. What was he going to do to me first? Dunk me in an acid vat? Skewer me with red-hot arrows? He cackled again and picked up a wicked looking black leather whip. That figured. If he'd skewered me with red-hot arrows right off I'd have been dead very quick -and he'd only have one scene of his stupid movie completed. Even if he whipped me all to shreds, though, I'd still be alive enough when he got through to let out a horrible scream when he did the next awful thing to me. That black whip handle looked awfully thick and I hoped he wouldn't shove it up my long-suffering anus.
Maybe I should start planning, too. I wriggled my fingers up the rope I was dangling from, grabbed hold and pulled myself up just a little. Now I could just reach the knot with my other hand. In five or ten minutes I might be able to untie it. The Problem was, how could I gain five or ten minutes? Jack was already advancing on me, swinging his whip. Once he started slashing my tender flesh to ribbons I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything except writhing and screaming.
He stopped right in front of me, his eyes gleaming. "Heh, heh, heh!" he cackled. He reached out and prodded my titties in a nasty, appraising way. Then he laughed demonically and threw back his whip arm.
Now I was going to get it. Already in my imagination I could hear the horrible thwacking sound the whip could make when it landed -I could see my breasts shudder as the whip cut deep into my poor nipples -see the blood spurting out.
I opened my mouth wide to scream -but I didn't. Because all at once it occurred to me that that was just what he wanted me to do -so my agonized scream would be picked up by his damn sound track. Saving him the trouble of dubbing in screams later. So I didn't scream.
Instead I yelled, "No, Jack, No! Don't hit me with that phony sponge rubber whip dipped in red dye -the one you use in all your faked movies please don't! It's just too ludicrous."
His face turned bright red and he dropped the whip and yelled at me, "You stupid cunt! This is a take! You've ruined a take!"
I laughed in his faceHe stormed off, muttering to himself. "A gag," he muttered, "I'll have to gag the cocksucker." I waited dangling. And while I waited, I turned and smiled at the nearest camera. "Hi, folks," I said forcing myself to grin. "Folks, the pseudo-sadistic movie you are about to see is packed with crude, faked-up special effects. But we hope you suckers enjoy it anyway, phony though it is"
Jack let out a bellow of rage. Of course I knew he would cut out my little speech later -but I figured I would bug his ass good. I did. He came storming back across the set with his face twitching with rage. "I'm going to gag you" he yelled, brandishing a soiled-looking handkerchief. "Then T\l teach you to louse up a take!"
And with that he shoved the soiled handkerchief into my mouth.
Crunch! Honestly, it made me feel happy all over to see his eyes roll with pain and surprise as I sank my teeth deep into his stupid fingers. He let out a yell. But that was nothing to the yell he let out when I brought my right knee up just as hard as I could in his crotch and caught him in the balls.
I let go of his fingers, then, so he could double over and grab his nuts ttiat I'd kneed. Naturally, in bending over, he lowered his head. Thunk! I brought my knee up so hard I felt a flash of pain shoot through my whole leg. But I guess I hurt his stupid chin more than I hurt my knee -judging by the way he flipped over backward and landed on his ass with a thud, out cold.
I didn't waste any time gloating, though. I just began working at the knots around my wrists, holding my weight with one hand while I tugged at the knots with the other. I just about ruined all the fingernails on my right hand, but five minutes later I got the last knot loose and fell with a thud to the floor.
I was free.
Well, you can guess what I did first. What I did first was stagger as fast as I could over to one of the charcoal braziers and grab -by its insulated handle -one of Jack's nastiest looking torture gadgets: a sort of jagged pitchfork, with all its prongs white-hot.
I went over to Jack's unconscious body and raised it high in the air. Should I or shouldn't I? Reluctantly I lowered and then laid aside the whitehot pitchfork. Tempting and satisfying though it would be to skewer his cock and balls until they sizzled, it just didn't seem too sensible to kill him, slowly or otherwise. Like, the cops would come and investigate. And most likely find my fingerprints here and there -even if I tried to rub them all out. And even if they didn't find my fingerprints, they'd most likely get in touch with the prick-pushing agent who'd sent me to see Jack and -no, I just didn't need the publicity.
So far as I knew, the cops in New York had no interest in me -and I wanted things to stay that way. So, for practical reasons, I decided not to fry Jack's balls or cock.
What I'd do instead, I decided as I walked away, would be to ransack his house and studio, carry off all the cash and valuable objects I could find, and At that moment I heard Jack let out a yell. I turned and sure enough the louse was lurching to his feet. I'd have sworn I'd kneed that cuntlapper hard enough to keep him out for hours. The louse. The ungrateful louse. Instead of thanking me for being so kindhearted as to let him live, the rat grabbed the handle of the hot-pronged torture instrument and charged right at me.
I started running like hell. With Jack right on my heels. Considering how hard I'd kneed him smashing his nuts together-it was amazing how fast he could run.
"You little whore!" he screamed, "I'll fix you I'll fix you good!"
I ran faster. In and out of various goofy sets and cameras and junk, all the time expecting to feel those white-hot prongs sink into my quivering buttocks. For a starter.
Then I turned a corner and came -to a blank wall. Trapped! No -there was a door in the wall. I tugged at the handle, it opened, and I dashed through.
Now I was outside -in a field or a garden or something, it was hard to tell which, it was so dark. But anyhow, outside. I ran like crazy. I turned once to look over my shoulder -and right behind me was Jack. I could see the white-hot prongs of his fork shining in the darkness. I ran even faster.
Now I was running across a lawn, now a gravelled driveway -and then all at once a car swung down the driveway, its headlights all but blinding
I was yelling things like, "Help, I'm being chased by a lunatic. Save me! Save me!
Braking sharply, the car skidded to a halt. I guess the driver wasn't used to having sprinting blondes show up in his headlights, stark naked. The car door opened and I dived into it, still yowling hysterically. I felt restraining hands on my quivering naked buttocks, and hoped I hadn't jumped from the fying pan into the fire.
I heard a cultured drawling voice saying, "My, you really are stacked with a bunch of goodies!"
Thank heaven it was a woman.
"Don't worry, my man Sardar is restraining Jack's enthusiasm. What's this nude sprint bit all about?"
I took one peek out the window, saw Jack practically frothing at the mouth, helplessly squirming in the grip of my saviour's giant chauffeur -and passed out.
15
I must have a very oversexed nature, because even though I had passed out I started to dream again. And it was right at the point that I had left off, fondling the naked Mr. Vellick's bullprick. There was something about him that had made quite an impression on me, and there I was holding its hard head right in my hand. I was fascinated as I felt his growing, throbbing dong stiffen, and saw drops of seminal "gladcome" drop from his peehole. I wanted to please him further and began to kiss the hairy nipples of his chest. I roamed downward slowly and mouthed his muscle-ridged belly. I darted my tongue into his hairmatted navel and felt him wince with pleasure. Then I boldly curled my lips around the real object of my desire and began to give his cock-head some real rhythmic kicks, taking it dqwn my throat . . .
Suddenly things turned nightmarish. It seem ed that his hardening head seemed to keep growing, expanding . . .
"Help," I heard myself gasping, "I can't breathe, I'm choking, I'm choking!"
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on some sort of a couch in a real fancy room all hung with Oriental type drapes. I raised my head. I was still stark naked. I raised my eyes. A huge, sallow-faced man in an Oriental costume with a big turban on his head was standing at the foot of the couch staring right up my pussy. I pulled my legs together, closing off the view.
I looked at him. He looked back. The hell with him, I thought. Either I was dead and dreaming, or I was alive and dreaming, or I was alive and not dreaming -in which case he'd most likely stick something red-hot at me -but in any case I'd had enough. The hell with him, whoever he was. I stuck my tongue out at him.
He grunted, bowed, then turned and walked out of the room.
I shook my head, sat up, put my feet on the floor, shook my head again and then looked around. I considered matters. Most likely I wasn't dead. At least aside from a mild headache and a slight chill in my cunny from that draft while I was hanging, I felt normal. Also, there weren't any noticable holes in my stomach or elsewhere, so most likely Jack hadn't gotten to skewer me after all. So far, so good. Now the question was, where was I?
"Good evening, child," said a smooth sophisticated female voice from behind me. "Welcome to the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness."
I turned around. A girl was standing, smiling at me, her hands resting lightly on her hips. And what a girl. She must have been a good six feet tall, with real thick, gleaming black hair -blue-black, really -that fell in smooth, rippling waves amost to her hips. Her eyes were very big and set far apart. Strange eyes, kind of purple violet and shimmering.
She was built good, too. I could tell that easily on account of she was ninety-nine percent naked. Her skin was incredibly smooth -almost glossy looking -and reddish-gold all over.
Her costume, what there was of it, was real jazzy-looking. Below the waist all she had on was a tiny pussy-covering of woven gold cloth, held in place by a thin gold cord around her waist. Aside from that, all she was wearing was some gold bracelets on her wrists and a real classy gold choke collar. From the collar projected two gold shoulder tabs -epaulettes, I guess you call them-. And from the middle of each epaulette dangled half-a-dozen woven gold cords that hung in a sort of fringe over her breasts and nipples.
I say "sort of a fringe because, while the dangling cords would have just covered her breasts if she'd been flat-chested, this chick was anything but flat, chest-ornament wise. Consequently her tits thrust right out like two huge, golden-red fruits being shoved through a beaded curtain. It made her shapely knockers look, well, startlingly naked. Which was no doubt why she wore the costume.
The only other thing she was wearing was a real wild thing on her head -sort of a pagoda-like crown, also of gold.
She saw me gaping at her costume and smiled. "No, I am not a fugitive extra from a re-make of Daughters of the Nile-These are my working clothes. A sampling of them, at least. I've just come from conferring -with a couple of new, uh, converts."
"Converts?" I asked. "Is this place a -a religious organization?" For one wild moment I won dered if the Salvation Army had a "hippie" uniform for their New York outposts.
She smiled again. "You might call this a religious organization, honey. A pagan religious organization, at least. Not to mince words, honey, I'm in the phony cult racket. And that's why I had you brought here, honey. I'd like to have you join the Order." She reached up, took off her pagoda-like gold headdress and set it down on a table with a thump. "Damn thing weighs a ton," she complained. She stuck out her hand. "My name's Sibyl," she said. "You're Dee Dee, aren't you?"
"Yes ma'am," I said. "And it's an honor to meet you," I added, kissing the back of her hand. I know a high-class dame when I see one, especially when she's saved me from red-hot steel up my asshole.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go in the living room and have something to eat and a slug of gin. You must be starved."
And with that she turned on her heel and strode across the room. I followed her From the rear she looked almost a hundred percent naked. Just the gold cord around her waist. Like I mentioned, she was a much bigger girl than I am, and a lot of her bigness was in her hips. She had a super-colossal ass, with big, rounded, nicely shaped buttocks to match. And notwithstanding that she was obviously much older than I was -maybe twenty-four or five she'd kept her shape pretty well.
She had a real elegant walk, too -one that caused her ass to sway sensuously from side to side, with a little ripe quiver of flesh at the end of each stride-One day, I told myself, I'd learn to walk like that. As it is, my buttocks just bounce up and down when I walk -they don't roll and gyrate the way I wish they would.
I followed her through an archway hung with gold-beaded curtains, and then we were in her living room. And what a living room!
It must have been about fifty feet wide and a hundred feet long -and three or four people would have to stand on each others shoulders to reach the ceiling. The walls were mostly white, by which I mean they'd been painted white originally, and then bright whirls and splashes of different colored paints had been sort of flung at them.
There were big, soft carpets all over the floor, and dozens of soft, comfortable-looking silk cushions scattered around on top of the carpets. Except for a kind of sawed-off coffee table, there wasn't any other furniture in the room.
Sibyl sprawled on some cushions near the low table and clapped her hands together. The big guy in the Oriental costume and turban came into the room through another dorway. "Some hot grub for two, a bottle of gin and two glasses, Sardar," said Sibyl. "And make it snappy." Sardar bowed and went out.
"My he's big," I said.' He must be almost eight feet tall. He kind of reminds me of a character in this comic strip about an orphan girl. Is he a real Hindu?"
"No," said Sibyl, lighting two cigarettes and handing me one. "Not to disillusion you -or, rather, specifically disillusion you, since you may come to work here -but the fact is Sardar Parker to give him his full name, is a mentally retarded pituitary giant from Binghamton, New York. He was once a wrestler. I bought him for a hundred dollars, mostly for laughs -and few kicks" -she winked at me in a friendly but lewd sort of way -"and then dressed him up in that outlandish costume when I opened this temple. He lends atmosphere to the place and acts as my personal bodyguard."
Sardar Parker marched back into the room carrying a huge golden tray laden with bowls of steaming food. Also a bottle of gin and two glasses He set the tray down on the table and smiled in a stupid sort of way.
Sibyl yawned. "In a primitive, anjmal sort of way Sardar is devoted to me," she told me. "I can do anything to him and he just smiles. Watch. Give me your paw -I mean hand, Sardar."
Sardar stuck out his hand. Sibyl said, "Thank you," and slowly stubbed out her burning cigarette in his palm. His eyes rolled and he made some choking and groaning sounds, but he managed to keep smiling -and in an adoring sort of way.
"Thank you," said Sibyl. "Now get lost." He backed out of the room, bowing and smiling.
"My," I said. "Uh, doesn't he ever talk?"
"No," said Sibyl. "He used to, but I inadvertently backed him into a linguistic dead-end. You see, after he'd been wearing that silly dhoti and turban for a few weeks, he became convinced he really was a giant Hindu slave. As a Hindu slave, of course, he naturally wouldn't speak English. On the other hand, since he came from Binghamton, New York, he naturally can't speak Hindustani. Hence the poor bastard now can't say anything in two languages."
"How -how incredible," I said, spooning hungrily into the bowl of food in front of me. Chow mein, it was.
"Life," said Sibyl cheerfully, "is full of incredible things. That's what makes it worth living." She gestured at the Chinese food on the table. "Hope you don't mind this junk. On the cook's night out we lean heavily on the Chinese restaurant across the street." She poured both glasses full of gin. "Have a really dry martini," she said, sliding one glass toward me.
We both drank. "Now," said Sibyl, refilling our glasses, "suppose you tell me your story. Keeping it as factual as possible.
So, in between eating and drinking gin, I told her my story. As factually as seemed advisable. Like, I told her that I'd run away from home on my seventeenth birthday, which I had. And I told her that, after some colorful type hump-adventures, I'd fallen in with bad company -which was also true. But I didn't see any point in admitting that, through no fault of my own, I'd killed several people I simply said that, through having fallen in with bad company, things had gotten too hot for me down South.
I told her in detail about what had happened after I'd hit New York, even getting fucked by Victor Vellick's huge cock, because I figured she could check that real easy. As it turned out, she already had checked -so it was a good thing I was so honest and straight-forward.
"As it happens," Sibyl told me, lighting another cigarette and pouring us more gin, "I've already checked your recent history -at least back to Victor Vellick, the modelling agent, and through his files to your rather quaint landlady. Their phone conversations bear out your brief but sordid screw story. I'm glad you've been so honest and straightforward with me."
"Thank you," I said. "There's just one question I'd like to ask you -namely, how good a friend are you of that horrible creep Jack Beauchamp?
"He's not a friend at all," said Sibyl, blowing a perfect smoke ring. "Jack is simply a business acquaintance. He's very good at creating special effects, and some of the most ingenious, uh, gimmicks in this temple are of his design. I called on him tonight for purely business reasons. My Continental was just pulling into his driveway when you came dashing so nakedly toward my car. Followed, even more dramatically, by Jack, brandishing a crude but lethal-looking pitchfork."
"It didn't just look lethal," I protested," it was lethal. And he was going to stick it in me."
"Most likely," agreed Sibyl. "However, he didn't. After you fainted Sardar deftly disarmed Jack -who, I must say, looked quite ludicrous in that outlandish costume he was wearing.
"After Sardar whirled him around his head a few times and choked him just a little, Jack gasped out a lame story to the effect that you were a burglar and he'd been chasing you to regain his lost property."
"That's silly," I said. "Would I go out burgling with no clothes on?"
"An obvious loophole in his story," agreed Sibyl. "Even before hearing your own version of events, I surmised the true facts -that Jack, egotistical egomaniac that he is, had decided to produce a sadistic stag movie the hard way. Hard, that is, for the voluptuous and naked females he intended to, uh, utilize."
"That's what he was planning on doing, all right," I agreed. "Boy, I'd sure like to get even with him. Maybe I should write an anonymous letter to the cops or something."
"You could do that," agreed Sibyl, yawning and stretching her big, shapely ass langorously on her cushions. "But, lacking your horribly tortured corpse as evidence -whst could be proved? How much more sensible -and profitable -to give dear Jack a little more time and, huh, rope."
"Huh?" I said.
"Consider. Partially choked and intimidated as he is now, Jack will no doubt content himself with throwing darts at photographs of naked pussy and grinding out run-of-the-mill cunt movies. But before long his warped egomania will reassert itself. He will again plan to produce a realistic twat movie. He will do more than plan -he will take action." "He will?"
"Of course. He will lure a trusting voluptuous teenage girl to his studio. He will drug her, strip her pussy-naked, string her up and -shoot one or two sequences of his realistic sadistic movie. Then another trusting, naive but voluptuous teenage girl. And another and another until his epic of cunt, cock and blood is finished."
"That's what the monster will do if we don't stop' him," I agreed.
"But supposing," said Sibyl, stretching lazily and idly scratching her left tit, "supposing we do nothing -until he has completed and released his realistic pussy film. It will, of course, be an instant success in the stag circuit. Its viewers will marvel at his obscene and horrible special effects -little surmising that no special effects have been employed. Jack will clean up. And then, then we will step in -and black mail him. Half for you, half for me."
"Hey," I said. "What a wonderful and profitable idea"
"Quite," said Sibyl. "And the, uh, implications of the plan do not disturb you?"
As I blithely answered, "No," Sibyl smiled and languidly let her hand drop to my right nipple.
"I have an idea that you'll make a good member of The Order," she said. "Would you like to become a Primary Cuntess?"
When I nodded, Sibyl was soon completely nude beside me. I was pleasantly thrilled when her sensuous mouth kissed me full on the lips. Then I really began to get a hot moist pussy as her mouth and tongue started on my titties. Sibyl's lips on my nip pies and the delicate flicking of her tongue made them stiffen into jutting pink erectness. As she kept nibbling each titty exciting shudders began to whip through my body and I couldn't help grinding my ass and my pussy. Sibyl's strong hands caressed and kneaded my thighs and buttocks until I invited her hand further by parting my thighs and exposing my glistening wet vaginal orifice. She rubbed two fingers gently up and down the outer lips and then while they were wet with my pussy-juice, put them in her mouth.
My cunny f quirmed with mounting desire as she then kissed my >elly, and then Sibyl suddenly zoomed her questing lips down on my blonde bush and tongued my button-hard clitoris. The feel of her lips and hot, darting tongue right up my vaginal hole gave me searing pleasure. I let out a happy scream as she brought me to a sharp, bliss-laden come that made my crack convulse in thrilling tremors, drenched with cunny-juice.
"You are now a Primary Cuntess, Dee I}ee," she smiled up at me.
16
When my naked pussy had stopped its delicious quivering I asked Sibyl "How do I become a Full Cuntess?"
I am too much of a cock-loving woman to ever go in for the lesbian bit, but if I ever changed my mind Sibyl was quite an expert. I am very adaptable and the pussy-sucking festival which had just happened between us was a very refreshing experience, Okay, occasionally.
Sibyl answered my question concerning The Order.
"Easy does it, Dee Dee. Everything goes by stages and nothing happens overnight. Take me foi example," she reminisced. "I took stock of myself when I was very young and went into the only business a good-looking girl can succeed at fast. I started out in a Chicago cathouse and then the syndicate sent me to the New York circuit. But I realized I'd be a junkie with a dried-up pussy at thirty if I kept being just an ordinary prosty."
"So I talked the syndicate boys into letting me handle a whorehouse for them, and I became one of the youngest madams in the business. But this house was in Havana, and after a while I got bored with the take and with the climate and Latin-type prick as well. Then Castro came. I missed the excitement of New York, so I came back here and went on the con.
After a few brushes with the law while working cons like the badger game, the missing heiress bit and phony stores, I realized a great truth. I was working against the law, and always risking jail. Why not work within the law?"
"And so you decided to start the "Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness?"
"Exactly. You may not be aware of it but there are literally hundreds of different religious cults in the New York area. The place is crawling with Swamis and self-styled religious leaders. And organizing your own cult is entirely legal, with dozens of legitimate, juicy profit angles for the leader of the cult. But I did a great deal of research in various fields before I started. Fields whose value had become apparent to me while I was investigating the more successful cults. Electronics. Abnormal psychology. Sexology. Hypnotism. Dramatics. Mythology. Also -well, the complete list would bore you. Suffice it to say that when, at the end of two years, I opened my first Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness, I was confident of success. And I was right. From a slow and cautious start I was able, within a couple of years, to finance the construction of the building in which you and I now loll drinking imported gin. This building" -she waved a languorous hand -"has set me back plenty. But" -her face took on a happy, greedy expression -"before long I expect to regain all my expenditures. And then move on to undreamed-of financial success."
She smiled at me. "And the real secret of my success can be summed up in one simple word. If you're intuitively perceptive as I think you are, you can no doubt tell me what word I'm referring to."
I looked at her. At her almost totally naked golden body, at her huge, out-thrust breasts -the nipples of which, I noted with belated surprise, were painted bright gold -at her full, juicy cunt, at her ample naked ass.
"Lust?" I inquired.
"Precisely. But no crude, obvious sex. Subtle, devious -and utterly pagan lust. That is the basic secret of the success of the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness."
"How masterfull" I gasped.
"Thank you. But please understand, I have not merely opened a house of pagan unbridled humping. No, I have created a complex and imaginative pagan religion of great, uh, complexity. The magnificent pagan edifice I have created is constructed of many bricks. Bricks carefully selected and tested. My new and extremely profitable -pagan religion is a composit -a careful selection of the worst features of dozens of pagan cults and rites."
"For instance?" I asked, wondering whether she had said "bricks" or "pricks."
She shrugged her naked shoulders. "The com plete list would take hours to enumerate -and would bore you. From the Dionysian revels of Ancient Greece I borrowed -certain things. From the emphasis upon the sexual delights of Paradise found in the Moslem religion I borrowed still more. From the Vedic rites of India, as characterized by the incredibly erotic copulating sculptures of where the hell is it? I forget the city -I borrowed other, uh, facets. I took bits of the lesser-known and more lewd -precepts of Zen. I dipped heavily into the lore of the Incas who did, as you no doubt know, rather horrible things to sacrificial maidens especially their hymens. I borrowed the most lewd Druidic rites, the more obscene Voodoo customs, the most shocking practices of the pagan Black Mass -liberally mixed with primitive fertility penile and vaginal rites. Add some of the less-publicized habits of African witch doctors, the essence of the Middle European vampire cult, the most degraded fuck perversions of the Roman emporors and -you have the basic formula of my new pagan religion."
"How wonderful," I cried. "It must be completely depraved."
"It is," said Sibyl, a trifle smugly. "However, on the surface at least, I've cleaned it up quite a bit. It's only after the suckers -I mean converts have fallen completely under my spell that they realize just what they've gotten into. And by that time, of course, it's much too late. Also, by that time they are so cock or cunt crazy they don't care any more. That, in short, is the secret of my success."
"Tell me more," I begged.
Sibyl smiled. "I'd rather show you," she said, climbing lazily to her feet. "Come."
I followed her through another curtain-hung archway. Now we were in an even bigger room. Except for the fact that there were silk cushions scat tered around the floor instead of seats, it was fixed up rather like a small theater, with a low platform stage at one end. Sibyl laughed. "Here's where I fleece the suckers. Some of the really dumb ones even fall for that"
I looked where she was pointing. A big crystal ball rested on a low table. I walked over and looked at it. She must have had it connected up to some hidden light source, because a little bright point of light seemed to spin in a circle inside the glass-ball. "How silly," I said. "Imagine anyone taking a crystal ball seriously, when there are so many other kinds of balls around."
"Ridiculous, isn't it?" agreed Sibyl. "However, I have some more ingenious gadgets." She picked up what looked like a tiny walkie-talkie. "Remote control panel," she explained. "No wires." She punched a button. "Look at the top of the stage."
I looked. All along the top of the wall that served as backdrop to the stage, white, heavy mist was pouring out of a twenty-foot long slot close to the ceiling. It was very heavy mist and it slid right down the wall like a huge waterfall of white smoke. When it hit the floor it just seemed to disappear -evidently being sucked into another long slot.
It looked real impressive -like a huge, wide movie screen -only made out of spooky-looking mist. Sibyl punched another button and all the lights in the room went out suddenly. "Watch," she said, and all of a sudden the huge curtain of mist in front of us began to glow with an eerie greenish light, while all the while it writhed and shimmered like a come-covered cunt in the throes of an orgasm.
"The effect," murmured Sibyl, "would have been more impressive if I hadn't first showed you my, heh, heh, Divisionary Perceptive Ectoplasm with the lights on. Watch. I'll project a few movies on the mist."
I heard the click of another button -and all of a sudden the curtain of mist seemed to pulse and throb like a big spurting cock with a million colored lights. It spun and whirled and shot out light in all directiones. Then it dimmed again, and all at once two enormous glowing eyes seemed to stare out at me -huge eyes, horrible, malignant eyes. Then the eyes faded and a lurching, wavering monster seemed to come right at me -an awful-looking thing, sort of half human and half animal.
"The Egyptian God Isis, their Queen Mother of Hump," murmured Sibyl. "Or, to be exact, a color movie of Sardar Parker dressed in a monster costume. Looks unpleasantly real, doesn't he? The mist gives a three-dimensional quality to anything projected on it."
"Uh, yeah," I said. Actually, though now that I knew the horrible three-dimensional monster was only Sardar Parker being projected on a curtain of phony mist, I hardly felt frightened at all.
"You don't sound very impressed," laughed Sibyl. "But remember that you know you're looking at a chemically produced fog -not ectoplasm. You know I'm projecting color movies onto it. The suckers don't, of course. They think the whole thing's for real."
"How dumb of them," I said. "Perhaps. But bear in mind that the suckers don't just sit down cold to watch my -well, my artificial visual hallucinations. Long before they enter this heh, heh, Inner Temple, they've been subjected to several hours of careful prick and twat conditioning among other things. To begin with, I've given them a glass of judiciously drugged wine." "Hard-on drops, and pussy stimulators?" "Not at all," said Sibyl. "A much more subtle and complex blend. A dash of tincture of opium. A trace of LSD, the chemical that produces schizophrenic fantasies. A little extract of hallucinogenic mushrooms. A wee bit of liquified Spanish fly. Plus -well, a number of other ingredients. I spent almost a year perfecting my formula. And in addition I subject the poor chumps to sublimal hypnotic suggestion. The result -when they enter this Inner Temple they're in a near-hypnotic trance. Ready to believe almost anything they see. And," she said, with a laugh -a cold, dry laugh -"they see plenty. Whatever I want them to see . . . Such as fear ..."
I heard the click of another button being pressed -and suddenly the air was drenched with horrible, screaming, banshee-type sounds. It was indescribable. It was as if a million subway trains were roaring all around me. And then out of the mist, hurtling straight toward me, came a horrible winged serpent, its jaws wide open, its fangs getting closer and closer -It looked like the most monstrous cock in the world, fire and smoke seething from its peehole!
Despite the fact that I am not allergic to pricks in any form, I yelped and jumped back a foot or so.
The monster-cock -and the horrible sounds like a gorilla having an orgasm -vanished abruptly.
"Or," murmured Sibyl, "to show them raw, naked fuck ..." And all at once the mist took on the shape of a writhing, twisting, totally naked girl. Closer and closer she came, her exposed pink, wet cunt churning frantically, her titties shaking and swaying -closer and closer . . . until the huge coral vagina and its immense hole seemed about to swallow me up!
"Huh," I said. "She didn't strike me as being all that twat-exciting."
"That," said Sibyl, "is because you're a female. A male would develop a wild, uncontrollable hardon -ready to shove it up the first nooky he sees."
"Maybe," I said. "Beside glorified penis and pussy, what else do you project onto this phony mist?"
For a long moment there was silence. Then Sibyl said, in a real strange voice, "Images -of the dead."
"Oh," I said. "I know that racket. I've read about that stunt in magazine articles. These people who run phony seances, they get hold of old snapshots and project them. Like, some stupid old bitch comes to them and says she wants to talk to her dead husband, and they talk a lot of mumbo-jumbo -and then project a photograph of the dame's husband on a smoke-pot or something. And the stupid dogtwat thinks she's really looking at her departed prick-pusher in Heaven or someplace. That's a corny racket. Nobody would fall for that."
"Really?" asked Sibyl, her voice kind of cold and purring at the same time. "Credit me with having improved upon old tricks. Look in the mist now, Dee Dee -you remember, you are not drugged and susceptible -you know I'm merely using scientific hokus-pokus. Knowing all this -I defy you to gaze into the mist with impunity!"
Big deal. She was trying to impress me. I yawned and stared into the mist. And as I stared the mist seemed to glow and creep out toward me like creamy come and all at once there was mist all around me and it was like I was standing alone in the middle of a lonely plain with nothing but glowing mist all about me.
And for no reason I suddenly felt fear, awful fear deep down inside me, and my ears started to ring, and then -out of the mist, walking slowly, very slowly toward me came a man.
A man who looked like -Luke! Luke, the only man I'd ever really loved, the man who but it couldn't be. Luke was dead -I'd seen him killed, seen his head smashed in by a rifle butt . . .
But it was Luke. He walked slowly toward me, kind of dragging his feet, his face looking hurt and bewildered and lost. He reached out his arms to me, hopelessly, helplessly . . . Dee Dee! he cried, Dee Dee, where are you?
I heard myself scream. It was Luke, it was and he was alive! He -and then the mist seemed to clear and I saw, with awful clarity, that the whole side of his head was horribly smashed in and dripping with blood . . .
I clapped my hands to my eyes and screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed.
Then all at once I saw through my fingers that the lights in the room had come on again, and I felt Sibyl shake my shoulder and heard her say, "Forgive me, child. I didn't think you'd -that there was anyone that close to you who's just -forgive me, Dee Dee. Whoever you saw you must have loved him or her very deeply."
I took my hands away from my eyes and looked at her. Then I looked around. The room was bare, empty. Even the mist no longer streamed down the wall like liquid come-juice in front of me.
"Have some more gin," said Sibyl. I took the glass and drank it down.
"How did you do it?" I asked. "How? That wasn't a photograph of Luke -that was Luke right down to the bulge his cock and balls made in his pants! How did you do it?"
"Calm yourself, child," she said. 'Tve already told you I'm sorry. I had no idea that -" she shruged. "One can't always judge the effects one pro duces."
I poured myself some more gin. My hands were still shaking. "How did you do it?" I repeated. "How did you project Luke like that?"
"I didn't," Sibyl said. "I haven't the slightest idea who Luke is -or was. You projected him. Posthypnotic suggestion, they call it. Don't look so dubious. There's nothing mysterious or occult about hypnotism. You can read about it in any textbook. That crystal ball you glanced at -I used it to hypnotize you. You think -now -that you looked at it for no more than a second or two. Actually I had you in a deep hypnotic trance for over two minutes. During that time I implanted two or three posthypnotic commands in your mind. The first being that, within a few seconds after you heard the phrase, gaze into the mist, you would suddenly see the image of someone you'd once known who was now dead."
She shrugged. "Since I was merely giving you a demonstration, I was deliberately non-specific. You might have seen anyone or anything -a dead pet, a distant relative who'd died. I had no intention of stirring up memories of the only guy whose cock you ever really cared for. Forgive me?"
I hesitated. "Yeah," I said. "I guess it wasn't your fault. But tell me, is this post-hypnotic suggestion stuff for real?"
She laughed. "You should know. But yes, seriously, it's very real -though not too widely known." She lit a cigarette, blew smoke out thoughtfully. "There's on classic case, mentioned in many textbooks, of a college professor who was hypnotized during a demonstration and told that, when he heard a bell ring twice, he'd see a parrot. For some reason the demonstration wasn't completed. Five weeks five weeks -later, the professor was lecturing before a class when he suddenly screamed and flung up his hands. He'd seen a giant parrot flying toward his face. Why? Because a bell on the campus had rung twice."
"Golly," I said.
"Precisely," said Sibyl. "Cogitate -think over, that is -just how effective a weapon post-hypnotic suggestion could be if used by a totally unscrupulous person -such as myself."
I thought it over. She was right. If she could shake me right up and down my cunt, among other places -after telling me she was going to fool me
-what couldn't she do to some susceptible old cunt-lapper who didn't know from nothing? She could con him into doing just about anything, like
-I broke off thinking and grinned at her.
"Hey," I said. "I just figured out how you make this phony pagan religion pay off -you post-hypnotic the old bastards and cock-crazy old cuties into giving you all their dough."
Sibyl smiled. "Certainly not," she said, "If I did, the district attorney would be on my neck in ten minutes. No, I use much more devious means," She stabbed a finger at me suddenly. "Dee Dee, if you had ten thousand dollars -what would you do with it? Quick now!"
"That's easy," I said. "I'd invest it in Greenland Oil. It's a small company, not much thought of, but I'm just about sure it's going to pay off big in a few months."
Sibyl smiled. "There are no oil wells in Greenland, Dee Dee. And there is no such company. The phrase quickly now simply triggered the second of the post-hypnotic suggestions I gave you."
I scratched my head. "You sure there isn't a company with that name?"
'Positive. However, there are quite a few small, worthless companies -wholly owned by me under other names -into which my rich suckers, I mean converts -continually pour their money. Poor dears. They always end up losing every dollar they were ever stupid enough to invest. I, however, do very well. And who can prove -or even suspect -a thing? Yes, post-hypnotic suggestion can be a wonderful thing. For the hypnotist."
"Miss Sibyl," I said, "You're a female genius. I'd love to join The Order. If I may."
"Yes, Dee Dee," Sibyl answered thoughtfully. "I think you'll make out all right. You impress me as being a young girl with great potential," both pussy-wise and otherwise."
"All my men friends have told me the same thing," I said.
"Let me outline the setup of The Order so you'll know what's what," Sibyl continued. "Besides the house servants, there are at present seventeen healthy, sexy, pleasantly morally depraved young cock and cunt members of The Order. There are seven male Full Cocksters and ten female Full Cuntessas, the female Full Cuntessas also perform the duties of Tabernacle Virgins."
I didn't interrupt her to ask what a Tabernacle Virgin did.
"You are now officially a member of The Order," Sibyl intoned.
"Thank you," I said.
"You will now be given the official welcome of The Order to Primary Cuntessas. After that Dee Dee, you will be considered a Full Cuntessas, Sibyl said with a sly glance at my pussy.
She left the room, and if I had known what the official welcome routine gimmick was like, I would have left too.
17
I settled my ass on the luxurious gold velvetcovered couch to receive my official welcome into the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness. For some strange reason, maybe the feel of the velvet rubbing against my bare buttocks, my nipples began to stiffen and jut out. I was thinking of Vic Vellick, the biggest cock-wielder I ever met and maybe that had something to do with the horny tingling I had running through my cunny.
A handsome young man, apparently one of the welcoming committee, entered the room, and I promptly forgot about Vellick's bull-prick. He was a real doll, with lovely sculptured muscles. The little bikini thing he was wearing around his loins coudn't conceal the fact that he outdid even the great Vellick in the super-cock and balls department. I drooled, waiting for him to come closer to my naked behind.
He walked slowly up to me and looked at my tits and blonde bushed pussy which I had artfully exposed. Then he spat at me "Boy!" he scoffed"Sibyl's really scraping the bottom of the barrel for her new Vestal Virgins. A pig," he sneered, "a fat pig lying wallowing in a mud bath would have a more appealing cunt than you." He hauled back and slapped me real hard across the ass. Both ass-cheeks.
I went livid with rage. I flung back my arm to slap his nuts till they rang like bells and -my arm kind of froze in mid-air. I tried to slap them and I couldn't. I just couldn't.
"Wanna slap, huh?" he sneered. "All right, take this!" And with that he slapped me on the right titty just as hard as he could. "And this!" he added, slap ping my left nipple just as hard. "And this! he slapped my twat's bush so hard it sounded like a carpetbeater slamming against a carpet. He walked around me. Slap, slap! I felt my ass sting like crazy.
"Don't do that!" I screamed.
"So stop me," he sneered.
I tried to stop him. I couldn't. Slap, slap, slap slap, slap! I felt my body nakedness jerk and quiver as he slapped me all over. And every time I raised my fist to slug him back -my fist wouldn't slug.
"What a fat, repulsive cunt you are," he sneeredHe yawned. "However, if you beg me, really beg me on your knees -why, I guess I'll permit you to suck my asshole."
"Never!" I yelled. Thud, thud-Something against my knees. The floor. Without intending to, I'd dropped to my knees before him.
"Crawl toward me," he ordered.
"No!" I gasped, crawling toward him, my bush scraping along the floor.
"Embrace me," he ordered.
"I'd sooner die," I snarled, wrapping my arms around his ass and hugging him hard, pressing the ripe fullness of my titties crushingly tight against the front of his hard, big thick cock.
"That's better," he sneered. "Now suck it passionately."
I opened my mouth to tell him what he could go suck -but I didn't tell him. Instead, I heard myself asking, in a real meek voice, "Where shall I begin?"
"Suck me," he said, "right -there," pointing to the. tremendous head of his super-prick.
"Are your nuts scrambled?" I gasped. "I wouldn't suck that dirty looking foreskin if you had the last prick on Earth. Especially I wouldn't suck -" I broke off. Talking was impossible now. My lips were fully occupied with pushing the foreskin on his cock-head back so I could suck his naked knob "Ah," I heard him say, "that's more like it. Repulsive though you are in general, I have to admit your lips are pleasantly ripe, soft, liquid and caressing. Now really start sucking -tongue and all."
Never! I cried, but only mentally. Physically I was already sucking his huge, hot dong with my mouth as well as my lips. And tonguing, all up and down that solid, slippery shaft. Passionately,-teasingly, tormentingly. On and on I kept sucking and tonguing, all up and down that solid, slippery shaft, while very fiber of my being rebelled. On and on. And on. And on.
Soon, very soon now, he was going to have to tell me to stop. Because if he didn't -He didn't. I went on sucking it with my lips, and my mouth . . I had his foreskin between my teeth, while his head and stiff shaft were plunging down my throat.
Until at last -I went on hotly mouthing his burning shaft, while his huge head tickled my tonsils. Passionately. I just couldn't help it, the head and foreskin of his cock actually tasted delicious. But I was sure helping that ramrod of his. Helping him have a lewd lascivious ball. Finally, a long long time later, he gasped in a funny kind of way and pushed me away. Pushed me away real rudely by putting his hands against my face and shoving.
"That," he gasped, "will do. In fact, I think you did just about all you needed to do twenty or thirty sucks back."
"You're telling me," I choked, still swallowing the globs of hot, glutinous semen Which his pecker had propelled down my throat like a rocket launcher.
He stood in front of me gasping and holding his wet dick, suddenly limp and depleted. "Don't fight it, kid," he laughed. "Roll with it."
I bared my teeth in a snarl. "You swine," I snarled. "You're lucky I didn't bite it off, your come almost suffocated me!"
He laughed again. "You bet I am," he gasped. Then he turned and walked out. A little unsteadily. And in walked -another rugged teenage superdong. He sneered at me, flexed his ripling muscles, and took off his loin cloth, exposing a cock as long and thick as a boa-constrictor.
I staggered to my feet. "No!" I gasped. "Positively no!"
He walked over to me, sneering. Then he raised one foot, planted it right in my golden-haired bush, and shoved. Down I went my ass on the cushions again.
"Wiggle your twat," ordered the new teenage muscular boy. "Invitingly."
"Never!" I squealed.
He snickered. "In that case -why did you just do that?"
I raised my head and looked down at myself. By Heaven, I had\
He yawned then strolled over until he was standing just in front of me. "Beg me," he ordered. "Beg me to shove it up your cunt"
And, shameful though it is to admit, I begged him to ram his cock up my hot vaginal orifice.
"Okay," he said. "If you insist." And with that he let himself just topple forward. Like a giant falling tree his abnormally huge hardon fell too right against me. Thud! Boy, did that stiff dong land hard. His balls and bazooka bounced a little -my breasts are very resilient -but I sure felt his body make contact with mine. Not only did I feel his burly chest thud against my ripe tender breasts, but I felt -for some strange reason -as if I'd suddenly been struck hard by a great "club-cock" is the only way I can discribe it.
"I've been struck!" I gasped. "By a great clubcock."
"You ain't kidding," he sneered. "Arch up that belly and pussy honey. Arch up all the way -and shake 'em."
And shaking with rage and frustration and humiliation, I arched right off the floor and began to shake my belly and cunny. And then he rammed the head of his unbelievable prick in.
"It's impossible," I kept telling myself. "Absolutely impossible. A female such as myself simply doesn't have the muscular ability to arch herself right off the ground -not when a hundred and ninety-odd-pound teen-age male with a club-cock and coconut balls is in her cunt. And even if she could -she certainly wouldn't have the physical strength to hold him up in the air while her ass and twat churned and shook and twisted -while her belly shook him the way a horse might shake a mount.
But even while I was thinking this, my arms were arched way up off the floor while my twat, tits and bush twisted and gyrated -tossing my muscular teen-age prick-pusher around like he was a sack of straw.
"Impossible!" I gasped, even as my ass-cheeks remained a good six inches off the floor, while my vagina bucked and twisted and writhed in licentious abandon. But even as I thought this I realized that what I was doing was possible. Not just because I was doing it, but because I remembered this magazine article I'd read about people who'd been hypnotized.
According to the magazine article I'd read, people who've been hypnotized can be given ten times their normal muscular strength. Like, a person who's been hypnotized can be told to hold his body stiff and rigid -and then he can be pricked up like he was a plank or something, and his head rested on one chair while his heels are rested on another chair, and five or six heavy men can then climb on his stomach and jump up and down -without bending the hypnotized person a bit.
That, I realized, was what had happened to me. Sibyl, the classy cocksucker, had post-hypnotically suggested me into having superhuman muscular strength. That was why I could arch my ass up so that only my shoulder-blades and heels were resting on the floor -even though I was supporting, and bouncing and shaking, a muscular teen-age boy, monster dong and all.
The muscular teen-age human penis I was shaking and bouncing laughed and said, "You dig this, don't you?" He shoved his shaft in so far that his balls slapped against my anus.
I considered this. He was right I dug it the most. And I knew why. I dug it the most because never, ever before had I been so totally, so completely thrilled and satisfied by a male human being. More post-hypnotic suggestion from that witch Sibyl, no doubt. She'd undoubtedly impressed upon my subconscious that I would shortly be thrilled physically speaking -with an intensity ten times greater than I'd ever experienced before. That I'd be so stirred and excited and thrilled that nothing, nothing in the world would matter save the churning, burning, exciting, stimulating and satisfying feeling I got by fucking this club-cocked teen-ager. Screwing him in such a manner that my love-hole was being thoroughly thrilled and excited and satisfied.
And that was the way my pussy was being stimulated all right. Every time I shook my rump from side to side, or bounced and gyrated or churned my vaginal-walls -every time I did this it was as if a million Roman candles were exploding somewhere within me, as if a red-hot cement-mixer was spinning out of control around and around and around.
And I dug it.
I dug that club-cock right up to those everloving coconut balls swinging against my asshole.
"You dig this, don't you?" crooned the teen-age cockster who was riding me. "You dig this all the way up, right?"
No\ I wanted to cry. "Yes!" I screamed aloud.
"Want me to hurt you a little?" he asked, grunting with pleasure as I twisted and thrust my hot, moist cunny around to afford him the most excitement possible.
No! I shrieked, inwardly. "Please do!" I said aloud.
"Okay," he grunted, and slid his brutal masculine hands down until he was cupping my soft, quivering buttocks. And then he squeezed -digging his fingers cruelly into the soft, yielding asscheeks until I shuddered with pain -and delight. Harder and harder he squeezed me, and the harder he squeezed me the more my twat twisted and shuddered with depraved delight. I shuddered and moaned and squirmed and panted -while his fingers dug ever more cruelly, ever more savagely into my delicate flesh.
"Squirm!" he ordered, and I squirmed.
"Whimper with masochistic pleasure!" he shouted, and I whimpered.
"Shriek with luscious suffering!" he yelled, and I shrieked.
Then I felt his hands slide cruelly up my body to cup and grasp the ripe, soft helplessness of my breasts. Cup and grasp -and squeeze. And twist and knead and punish. And I squirmed with unholy delight. His brutal fingers coaxed my red nipples in pulsing, tender, helpless erectness -and then he pinched the jutting coral buttocks with brutal amusement. And I gasped with agonized pleasure. He pinched my throbbing titties even tighter and twirled and spun them as if they were combination locks -and the lock of utter, shameless ecstasy opened and I squealed like the depraved cunt I was.
Now his hands were roughly encircling my breasts in their eager, quivering entirety -probing and thrusting his fingertips deep into the glossy spheres of the most tender, most feminine projections of my body. Harder and harder he squeezed and kneaded my knockers -while I moaned and writhed with pain and shameless pleasure.
Then I felt the pressure of his brutal fingers relent and at the same time I noted, dimly, that he was twisting his head down -down until his gleaming white teeth were poised above my helpless, trembling left bubby. Then his head lowered and I felt the knife-like pain of his teeth sinking deep into my soft tit.
I screamed aloud -with pain and degraded, masochistic pleasure. I screamed and shouted, "Bite the other one -bite it harder!"
And he twisted his body and sank his teeth cruelly deep into my right breast
I screamed. I screamed -well, Fm almost ashamed to confess just what I screamed. What I screamed was, "Bite my tits harder, you big sissy!"
And he bit harder, while I writhed in happy agony. I knew his teeth must be sinking horribly far into the tender nipples of my breast, sinking in far enough to leave bruises that would last for days
-if in fact he wasn't drawing blood.
But I didn't care. All I cared about was the waves of ecstatic agony that were shooting through my white-hot cunt. Waves that seemed to mix and coalesce with the waves of wanton torment that were pulsing through my hard up crack constantly.
I was being transfixed, run through, split asunder by the very biggest prick possible and I dug it. I dug being all but split assunder, at being cruelly violated, at having the innermost thoughts of my female desires explored in wanton, this wanton brutal tool thrusting into my slit. All of a sudden it seemed right and natural that my soft, feminine vulva should be regarded as nothing but an overstuffed toy designed for the momentary amusement of a piston-like pecker.
"Debase me!" I screamed. "Degrade, defile, illtreat and mistreat me!" And his prodigious prong proceeded to do just that -pulsingly, selfishly, masculinely . . .
And then all at once it was as if an exploding rocket had erupted, burning very furiously ... as if a pulsing firehouse of molten steel had been hosed into my hot sheathe ... as if it were a squirming target against which were being fired rifle bullets of brutal force.
And I exploded. My whole cunt cavity seemed to shake and shiver and react convulsively, spasmodically, rhapsodically ... It was a pagan vessel overflowing with all-consuming fire, a willingly subservient softness yielding to rampant male comejuices spurting into it in a drenching deluge . . .
And then my orgasm was over. And I collapsed, exhausted, onto the silk pillows beneath me.
My eyes closed and I lay as if dead. In a manner of speaking I was dead. Finished . . . Pooped. Humped-out . . . done.
Dimly, faintly, I felt the limp prick of the teen-ager pull out of my pussy. I heard, distantly, his footsteps stagger away. Alone at last.
I rolled over and tried, wearily, to dry the semen running down my legs. I couldn't. So I settled for keeping on all fours -and crawling weakly away from the scene of my deliciously satisfying rape.
I crawled about five feet. Then -thud\ Somebody or something settled on me -like I was a horse or something he or it was riding. I turned my head around. Yet another virile looking teen-ager. Without a loin-cloth super-hardon all ready to screw. Sitting astride my back and sneering -like I was some filly he intended to break. And ride.
"No," I groaned.
"Yes!" he sneered, tugging at my hair. "Giddup!"
"Like hell I will," I said, at the same time obediently crawling around on all fours while he tugged at my hair as if it was a pair of reins, and actually whipped my dangling titties with his cock. Around and around I crawled, while the prick on my back laughed and sang old cowboy songs like Don't Fence Me In, and Wanna' Ride the Ole Mare Again, and so forth.
Then he snickered and said. "Whoa!" and I halted. He must have lost his balance, then -at least, he slid off me backward. I had a feeling he was going to mount me again, though. And I was right.
"Steady there, Jenny," he snickered. He was about to climb back on me, all right. I felt his chest and chin slide along my back, felt his hands wind around me, first patting and caressing my bush and then, as he pushed himself forward, squeezing and fondling my tits. Then I felt the fronts of his legs bump against the backs of my legs. All of a sudden my rectal opening puckered in self-defense. He was shoving his big prick into my anus. There were some drops of glad-come in his head peehole that lubricated the dry hole, as he scorched my shit-tube driving the stiff shaft all the way in. The cock felt as if it were coated with hot grease once it rammed past the tight asshole sphincter.
Then I felt his thick prick kind of sway back -and then thrust up again. And at the same moment I heard him sigh. A deep, satisfied sigh. "That's a good filly," he said. "Or are you a filly? You're obviously some kind of dumb animal" I gritted my teeth in helpless rage -but what kind of dumb animal? Maybe you're really a fluffy little dog. With a tail you like to wag. Wag your imaginary tail, sugar" he ordered, slapping my ass.
What a stupid order, I thought I didn't have a tail except the one he was shoving up my rectum. I was strangely powerless to disobey his order. Or any order given by a male, for that matter. That bitch Sibyl, doubtless for laughs, had post-hypnotically fucked me up good.
I proceeded to pretend to way my big "cocktail" that was sliding in and out of my asshole mostly by sort of switching my ass left and right in a happy, enthusistic manner.
"That's good, honey," gasped the shit-lover who was giving my anus such a hard time. "That's just great. Wag a little faster, please."
So I pretended to wag my "cocktail" just as hard and as fast as I could. The louse who was shoving the "cocktail" in and out of my rump-hole seemed quite appreciative. At least, after a while, he became quite demonstrative. Very demonstrative, right up to his very balls banging on my buttocks. He yelled like a cowboy as his gushing come shot up my colon, and began dribbling out, coffee-colored cream smearing my white ass-cheeks.
After he'd climbed to his feet and staggered away, it was all I could do to just lie -sprawled on my stomach, coddling my sore, flooded asshole. All I wanted right then was to be left alone. Surely that wasn't too much to ask, was it? It was.
I felt a hard, teenage dong slap against my ribs. "Roll over," commanded a lusty, teenage hardon-type voice. I obediently rolled over on my back.
'Thank you," said the latest penis-propeller, lowering himself into a sitting position astride my blonde bush. I stared at him with glazed, dazed eyes. He leered at me.
"What plump, full and tempting titties you have," he noted, reaching out and gripping the nipples with his strong, teenage fingers. He shook them around a little. Then a whole lot. Then he kind of patted them and cuffed them and lightly punched them. "Real swinging breasts," he commented. "A man could have a lot of fun, one way or another, with a pair of boobs like yours."
I groaned and closed my eyes. What was he about to do? I felt both his hands close over my left titty and squeeze it hard. Then he gripped my right boobie with both hands and squeezed. After that he grabbed the outer surfaces of both knockers and pushed inward so that the inner surfaces of my breasts were pressed close together. At the same time his other hand was more or less pushing them apart as he -my thoughts ground to a halt. If his right hand was pressing against the outer part of my breast, and his left hand was pushing against the outer curve of my right breast -then he couldn't be pushing my breasts apart. Not unless, he had three hands. So he must have three hands. I was being frigged by a freak.
I opened my eyes and looked. No, he wasn't a freak. It'd just been my fevered imagination that had imagined he had three hands. He was only using two hands to play with my breasts. He was sure enjoying himself, though as he slid his stiff shaft between my titties. Its knobby head looked me right in the eye with every forward thrust.
He continued to shove it between my tits for quite a long time. A surprisingly long time. And then -well, did you ever have a shower-bath of hot teen-age squshy semen between your tities, splashing up your nostrils, dribbling down your bush? I did, when my teenager had himself a "titty-come," courtesy of my hot titties.
And then I was alone. At last.
About time, too. Any more prick activity and -well, I'd had just about all the cock-action I could take. By a superhuman effort I climbed to my feet. I forced myself to open my weary eyelids and saw Another lusty-looking teenage boy. He was, in fact, the biggest and most lusty-looking teenage prick-artist I'd ever seen. And I've just seen plenty.
"What," I gasped, staggering back a few feet/ "do you want me to do?"
He told me.
"No!" I cried. "No -you can't mean it! No man would ask any decent girl to -" I stopped. I couldn't, in all honesty, describe myself as a decent girl.
After all, I thought, he isn't asking me for anything I haven't done for Vic Vellick, and a few other guys that I've liked. He was built very appealingly too, with a cock like only Hercules must have dangled. It was hard for me to believe that this latest super-prick was for real. In the next couple of minutes, I realized that it was, as it reamed in and out of my come-slippery crack like a big thick highpressure hose. His love-juice spurted in my twat like hot lava. This prick-pusher was insatiable. He want ed it again and again.
I didn't mind obliging him on the straight screwing he wanted, it was those few variations that I'd nevei heard of before and can't bring myself to describe.
"Are you absolutely sure you want me to suck you right after you've taken it out of that spot?" I asked him again.
"You catch on Dee Dee," he grinned.
I ducked my head toward his delirious dong and started with a tantalizing pleasure rhythm, my tongue and lips thrilling and vibrating between his pee-hole. Then the whole stiff shaft. He soon clutched my blonde hair as his pecker quivered and convulsed spurting ecstasy-juice like mouthwash down my throat . . .
The orgasm he just had was so good, I thought he might forget those extra details he said he wanted and I looked up at him questioningly.
PS... He got the extras.
18
I, Dee Dee Summers was certainly no babe in the woods when it comes to a hot screw in the hay, but the fuck workout I had just had was absolutely the top session in my young life. I fell asleep and slept like, a log. I didn't even dream about Vic Vellick. How could I? After the five fabulous cocks I had taken on -he was built like a midget. Well, live and learn.
It did my girlish heart good to know that there were virile young pricks like that right under the same roof with me in the Tabernacle. I would sure never be lonely, no matter what happened. I really had to congratulate Sibyl on what I had seen and sampled of her cock-stable so far. I also wondered what my ultimate humping capacity as far as men were concerned was. Here I had just frigged five in rapid succession. Just how many cunt-crazy males could I handle without throwing in the sponge?
I was awakened in a highly unusual manner. I had fallen asleep naked and someone was kissing my pussy-lips in a highly expert manner. As I felt the nibbles of warm lips and the darting delight of an eager tongue and mouth, my cunny and buttocks went into undulating rhythm. I closed my eyes and let the glorious sensation continue. Before I even knew who it was, my twat was convulsing ecstatically in a surge of warm flooding come bliss.
"Open your eyes, sleeply head, and follow me to my office," Sibyl was saying tenderly. "You are now a Full Cuntessa."
When we were in her office and I had signed my contract with Sibyl, I said, "Seems to me I made it the hard way, no pun intended."
"Not at all, Dee Dee," Sibyl explained. "It was the usual tough-ass tryout. I've given you a posthynotic suggestion to give yourself sexually to any man, or number of men, no matter what they want. The boys were treating you rough deliberately. The fact that you were powerless to refuse to fuck for them in any way they demanded, even though you wanted to consciously, shows that the subconscious post-hypnotic command is working.
"I understand," I said. "Uh, how long will this post-hypnotic command last?"
Sibyl glanced at a calendar on her desk. "Four months. For the next four months you will find yourself unable to deny any man any pussy favor he may request. Or even hint at. The more depraved and obscene his request -the more you will feel compelled to obey him."
"Listen," I said, "you didn't have to give me a post-hypnotic order like that-I mean, I wouldn't anyhow refuse to hump in any unusual way with a man. Even something shocking and depraved. Especially something shocking and depraved. So long as he asked me nicely, that is."
Sibyl's lip curled. "Some of my suckers -converts, I mean -are old men who can't even get a real hardon anymore. And, in the delusion and hallucination-ridden state to which I frequently reduce them for my ultimate financial profit, they are not likely to ask you for humps nicely. And it would shatter their willing suspension of disbelief in my synthetic pagan religion if any of my Primary Cuntessas or Vestal Virgins should suddenly get coy or run screaming from their futile fuck tools. Understandably, I can't risk that happening. Hence all my Vestal Virgins are, as it were, post-hypnotically brainwashed. It is pussy a man wants -pussy is what they give him. Any time, any way, any how. Whether they .feel like fucking or not. Yes, a question?"
"Yes ma'am. Am I a Primary Cuntessa or a Vestal Virgin?"
"Do you know what their functions are?"
"Oh sure," I said. "She -well -no, I don't know."
"I didn't think you did. Vestal Virgins, my dear Dee Dee, were -utilized -by a remarkable number of old pagan religions all over the world. Their function was simple -and effective. The pagan executives who ran the old pagan religions were shrewd enough to realize that most men spend most of their waking hours thinking idly -or intensively -about cunt."
"That's true," I said. "At least from my personal humping experience."
"Quite. Well, this bugged the pagan bigshots who ran the old pagan religions. How, they asked themselves, can a man pay proper respects to our pagan idol if half his mind is occupied with pussy thoughts. They hit upon a simple solution: Vestal Virgins.
"Outside their pagan temples they constructed sumptuous -well, we'd call them cathouses of joyous repute. And they stocked them with young luscious, twats, scantily clad maidens. Get the picture, before he could even get to the pagan temple of his choice, the would-be pagan worshiper had to walk through a corridor with these fuck-ready pussy-peddlers -each urging him to sample her charms. For free.
"The male pagan worshipper smiled at the Vestal Virgin of his choice, allowed himself to be dragged into her private chambers -and there she flung off what few garments she was wearing. And the would-be pagan worshipper rammed his hardon between the willing thighs of the Vestal Virgin. Pagan bedsprings squeaked for an hour or so and then, temporarily hump-satisfied -and hence able to think of other things besides pussy -the pagan worshipper tottered into the temple to pay his respects to the pagan idol"
"Hey," I said, "what a swinging, if horny, concept"
"Exactly. I have revived the practice of employing Vestal Virgins. And man, does it pay off." She chuckled. "Obviously, in the phrase 'Vestal Virgin' the word 'virgin' is not taken seriously. It represented, one might say, one of the earliest pre-Madison Avenue pieces of bullshit."
"Yes ma'am, I said. "I think I'm going to like being a Vestal Virgin. It's the kind of job I've really got the physical equipment for."
"So I intuitively decided the moment I saw you. Now, to return to the terms of your enlistment." She tapped my Enlistment Papers, which I'd already signed. "Your enlistment, as you may have surmised, is for four months only. If I kept any of my horny staff longer than that, my more jaded, uh, converts would begin to complain. It i� essential that I regularly inject new, ah, talented ass on my team." "Oh," I said.
"During the four months you will serve on my team I demand unswerving obedience and a willingness, nay, eagerness to screw my pagan converts at any hour of the day or night. In return I will supply you with bed and board -and give you five thousand dollars, tax-free, on the day of your discharge. Agreed."
"You bet!" I said.
"Splendid." She picked up my Enlistment Papers and stuck them in a desk drawer. "I'll take you on a complete tour of this establishment later. Suffice it to say, for the time being, that this house is an old mansion near Atlantic Beach which I have completely remodeled. On this floor is my personal suite and business offices. The second floor has been converted into sumptuous living quarters for my staff -that's where you'll live. The first floor, of course, consists of synthetic pagan temples wherein I cock and cunt-craze, then fleece the suckers -I mean converts. Come, I'll introduce you to your co-workers".
I followed her downstairs to the second floor and got introduced to my co-workers -ten shapely teenage Cuntessas and five lusty-looking teenage cocksters. The males, of course, I'd already met -or at least had up my love nook -the previous evening.
Everybody was very nice to me. The boys apologized for having given me a hard time. I told them to think nothing of it, that I understood now that they'd just been following orders, and the girls slapped me on my behind and shook my hand and welcomed me to the Order. It was all real friendly.
I decided I was going to like working at the Tabernacle of the Cosmic Consciousness. For one thing the Recreation Room, where I met the Order, was a real comfortable looking place -a huge room with easy chairs and magazine racks and color TV sets scattered all around the place, along with a couple of pingpong tables.
"Come." said Sibyl, "I'll show you your room."
Which she did. And my room looked just great -a big, comfortable bedroom with a double bed and a wonderful view of the Atlantic through the bars on the window.
"The Atlantic!" I gasped. "The ocean of my dreams! I can hardly wait to go out and stroll around. Uh, when am I off duty?"
Silence. I turned around. Sibyl was sprawled on the bed lighting a cigarette. "Obviously," she said, you didn't read the fine print in your Enlistment Papers. For the four months you will be employed here, your ass so to speak is continually on duty or at least in a state of standby alert."
"You mean," I said, "I'm a prisoner here -I can't go out?"
"You cannot go out, no -but you can hardly consider yourself a prisoner. You have all the comforts of home. TV. Radio. Newspapers and magazines of all kinds. Pingpong. A swimming pool in the basement. Excellent food and drink. Plus, uh, companionship. By which I mean my Pagan Choir Boys and Vestal Virgins are quite free to fuck it up among themselves -on their own time. Just consider yourself a permanent -and well-paid -guest of mine for the next four months.
"I don't like not being able to go out," I said.
Sibyl's eyes flashed -and for the first time I realized that she had a hard, mean streak in her. Real hard and real mean. "Like it or not," she snapped, "that's the way it is." Then she relaxed and said in a more friendly tone of voice, "Consider things from my point of view, Dee Dee. I've invested a fortune in this establishment -and I'm paying you and your co-workers big money. I can't risk losing all or any part of my potential profits. And I'd be risking everything if I permitted you -or any of your co-workers -to wander around, fucking strangers for free."
"I don't know about the others," I said. "But if you think I'd blab about my profitable if horny job to strangers -why, you're dead wrong. I have a strong sense of company loyalty, especially where my pussy is concerned."
"No doubt," purred Sibyl. "But it isn't the chance of your humping out of turn that worries me -so much as your being seen. To the rich, usually elderly suckers -I mean converts -who patronize this pagan temple, you and your fellow fuck-artists are mysterious, exotic, erotic Vestal Virgins. Think how disillusioned they'd be if they bumped into a Vestal Virgin strolling through a dime store or eating popcorn in a movie lobby. That girl looked like a mysterious and dedicated pagan during the Ritual Revels last night, they'd say to themselves. But now I see she's merely a common-looking teenage piece of pussy-They'd begin to suspect I was running a racket. Right?"
I thought over what she'd said. She was right. It wouldn't do for her Vestal Virgins and Pagan Choir Boys to be seen in p*ublic. Also, it suddenly struck me that, while I didn't like the idea of not being able to go outdoors for four months, it probably would be the wisest thing, all things considered. Like, if the cops were looking for me, they'd never find me in The Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness. In a way it was a perfect setup. I could have a good time fucking all corners in perfect safety and near luxury for the next four months. And when I left, not only would the heat be off, but I'd have five thousand bucks free and clear. More than enough to finance my plan to unload my diamonds.
"Okay," I said. "I accept the terms of my enlistment. I won't try to leave the premises." I looked around my new room. Even though it was comfortable, it was kind of bare looking. Like, there wasn't even a closet or a chest of drawers. "Uh, where do I put my clothes?" I asked.
Sibyl rose to her feet, smiling. "You don't. Your clothes -I had Sardar Parker pick up your belongings from your former rooming house -will be returned to you on the day of your honorable discharge. Until then you won't have need of clothes. A further safeguard against you or any of your coworkers trying to slip out for a stroll. Surely you noticed that all your co-workers were sitting around the Recreation Room stark naked?"
"Well, yes," I admitted. "But I figured they were just being informal."
"Clothes," repeated Sibyl, "are not needed or worn by my Team when off duty. On duty, of course, you will wear a costume, just the merest cunny covers and asshole protectors. Your costumes are in there." She pointed to a small wooden box on my table.
I opened the box. A tube of liquid adhesive and a bunch of synthetic diamonds, rubies and emeralds.
"These are costumes?" I asked.
"Precisely. The working costume for a Vestal Virgin consists of a single jewel set in the navel, in addition to the twat and asshole protectors.
"Oh," I said.
"I must leave you now," said Sibyl, glancing at her wristwatch. "I'll give you more detailed instruction concerning your penis duties later. Meanwhile, why don't you stroll down to the Recreation Room and get better acquainted with your co-workers? They're a grand bunch of kids. Around here," she added, "we're just one big fucking family."
With that she went out. I took her advise and strolled down to the Recreation Room where I spent the next few hours chatting with those Vestal Virgins and Pagan Choir Boys who weren't on duty which was most of them. Mornings, I learned, were a slack cock and cunt time around the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness.
Like Sibyl had said, they were nice kids. Most of them were a little older than me -eighteen or nineteen -and, aside from a couple of whores Sibyl had discovered in a house of joyous repute, they were just about all would-be TV actors and actresses.
They all seemed to like their jobs, too. As one of the Pagan Choir Boys -Tony, his name was put it, "A deal like this is a real cock-happy ball for me. As a struggling actor I was having it real tough before I answered a blind ad and got hired by Sibyl. Sure I'm out of circulation for a few months. But I'm not really out of touch. Variety and the Hollywood Reporter get delivered here every day. And we have a flourishing amateur dramatic society. Also I'm studying books on acting -Sardar Parker goes to New York Public Library twice a week; just give him a list of the books you want and he brings them back. Sibyl encourages us to improve our minds in addition to our humping techniques. But best of all, when I leave here I'll have five thousand bucks -enough to grubstake me a year, if I'm careful."
"I'm happy for you," I said. A thought struck me. "You've been here a month," I said. "Have any of the old, uh, graduates been back to see you -or written?"
"You bet," said Tony. "They drop by all the time. Just last week old Hank -he left a month ago -ducked in. Looked great. Said he was working steady at TV jobs. Not having to hold down part-time jobs had really helped his career. A lot of the old grads drop by from time to time. Julie. Grace. Mikey -people you wouldn't know. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," I said. But for some reason I felt a whole lot better.
"Yes," said Tony, "Fucking for a living sure is great. Short, zippy working hours -and lots of hump time off. Speaking of hump," he added, reaching out and grabbing my breasts, "are you fanatically prudish -or do you feel like having a ball?"
"Any time," I said, snuggling up close to him and letting my hands cup his balls and rub the foreskin on his blooming dong. "Uh, shall we tear off a piece in my room -or yours?"
"Why bother?" said Tony, pulling my ass down on the floor. "All the kids are hip. Hey, kids!" he yelled. Dee Dee and I are going to have a little fun. Wanna join in?"
"You bet!" everybody yelled, and all at once they started piling on top of Tony and me. On top and all around and in between. And then -well, you wouldn't believe all the swinging, pagan things I did. Like there was this big penis that zoomed right up my asshole, then the cock that filled my mouth full of come at the same time, and the juicy cunt pressed to my lips before I could swallow the male love-juice . . . and then somebody put some chocolate syrup on my cunny and Tony started to lick it clean again ...
So what with one thing and another, the morn ing passed real fast.
What a wonderful job! How could I have been so dumb as to feel vaguely uneasy about this frigging set-up?
In the afternoon we had a going-away party for a girl named Georgette, a slender -though wel stacked -dark-haired cunt who had completed her four months as a Vestal Virgin and was being hon orably discharged. In fact, my pussy was replacing hers.
We all got slightly drunk and sang songs like Till We Fuck Again, and got real maudlin and sen timental. Then Georgette excused herself and came back, smiling through her tears, all dressed up in a sweater and skirt. She looked real conspicuous, considering the rest of us were all stark naked.
"Good-bye, gang," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'm on my way upstairs now to get my five thousand dollars and say good-bye to Sibyl. But I won't forget you -and I'll be back every week to tell you how I'm doing on the outside."
And with that, dabbing at her eyes, she walked out of the Recreation Room.
Everybody waved good-bye to her. Everybody but me, that is. Me, I felt vaguely uneasy.
"Excuse me," I said, wriggling the cock of the naked teen-age boy I was sprawled under out of my pussy. "I'm just going to my room for a moment."
But once out of the Recreation Room I turned and sneaked, quietly, upstairs. And as I sneaked I suddenly realized why I felt vaguely disturbed. What was disturbing me was the thought that, if Sibyl couldn't risk having her Vestal Virgins and Pagan Choir Boys walking the streets while they were employed -how come she didn't mind them walking around after they'd been discharged? The obvious implications made me shiver all over.
Upstairs, on Sibyl's private floor, I paused outside her half-open office door and peeked in. Georgette, still dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, was standing in front of Sibyl's desk.
"And I," purred Sibyl "Owe you quite a bit, too." She turned, opened a wall safe behind her, and took out handfuls of greenbacks. "Five thousand dollars," she said. "Plus," she added, "a thousand-dollar bonus for perverted fuck services beyond and above the call of duty."
"Oh thank you -thank you ever so much!" sobbed Georgette, while Sibyl stuffed the money into a large manila envelope. "You're so kind and generous and -and generous."
I shrank back a little, feeling guilty. How could I have suspected a generous super-madam like Sibyl? After all, there is such a thing as the code of the cathouse.
"Perhaps," I heard Sibyl say, "you'd like to take this with you as a souvenir. It's the synthetic diamond you used to wear over your cute bush. Look at it. Pretty, isn't it?"
I peeked through the half-open door again. Geogette was staring at a synthetic diamond Sibyl was holding in front of her. The light sparkled almost hypnotically on it. Georgette stared at the glittering stone -and then suddenly went stiff and rigid as one of my teen-ager's hardons.
"You are in a trance," crooned Sibyl. "A deep hypnotic trance."
Georgette nodded her head mechanically.
"Good," snapped Sibyl, opening the manila envelope, removing all the money ,and shoving it back into her wall safe. Then she pulled open a desk drawer, pulled out a handful of blank white paper, and stuffed that into the envelope instead. After which she carefully resealed the envelope.
Then, humming cheerfully to herself, she picked up the telephone and dialed. A pause. Then, "Hello, Jack? This is Sibyl. Now don't talk that way, Jack. Sure I snatched Dee Dee's naked and voluptuous twat away from you -but only because my need for her cunty charms were greater than yours. You'll get her back, eventually. Yes. Of course. Certainly you can do anything you want to her naked, writhing ass. After I'm finished with her, that is. Okay. Now, I have another surplus teen-age pussy-package on my hands. Name of Georgette. Rather slim but well-stacked. Want to buy her from me? No, I don't give a damn what horrible things you do to her -or how loud she screams while you do them. All I want is five hundred dollars for her first-class fuck equipment. Oh. You're too busy working on a missile-training movie for General Defense Corporation to shoot any realistic screw movie scenes? Yes. No, I can't keep Georgette on ice for a few days. I'll have to dispose of her some other way. No I can't stuff her alive and screaming into the giant garbage-disposal unit in my basement -the damn thing's out of order and I can't get a plumber. All right. Never mind. I'll manage some other way. Okay, I'll call you next week. I'll have another sexy slut to dispose of by then. Good bye."
She hung up and then stared at Georgette who was still staring hypnotically into space -in a morose, speculative manner.
Then she brightened. "Georgette," she said cheerfully, "when I snap my fingers hypnotically, you'll come out of your hypnotic trance and walk briskly out of this building. You will not, however, so much as glance into the manila envelope full of, heh, heh, money -instead you will use this ten-dollar bill -" She fumbled in her desk drawer, came up with a ten-dollar bill, and thrust it into Georgette's hand. "You will use this ten-dollar bill to hire a taxi to take you to the Brooklyn Bridge. In Brooklyn you will walk briskly to the rail and without bothering to divest yourself of clothing, you will jump from the bridge. You'll heh, heh, like it in Brooklyn, Georgette. Got that, Georgette?"
Georgette nodded mechanically.
"Good," chuckled Sibyl. She snapped he: fingers. Georgette came out of her trance instantly. "Uh, good-bye for now, Miss Sibyl," she said, dabbing at her eyes again. "I'm off to Brooklyn for some reason. And from there I'll go to the Bridge -for some reason. Anyhow, good-bye -and thank you!"
"Don't," chuckled Sibyl, "thank me. Have a good swim -I mean trip."
And with that, Georgette, bowing and blowing kisses toward Sibyl, backed her way out of the office. I turned and sprinted silently down the corridor and then down the stairs to the Recreation Room.
Then I found Tony curled up in an easy chair watching TV. "Tony," I said, tugging at his peter to get his attention. "Tony, I'm new in New York. How far is the Brooklyn Bridge?"
"I don't know," said Tony, his eyes still glued to the TV screen. "Thirty or forty miles, maybe."
"Oh," I said. "Tony if a girl -a girl such as Georgette -jumped from the Brooklyn Bridge would she make it?"
"Of course not," said Tony. "Especially not Georgette. She can hardly swim a stroke, providing she didn't die when she hit the water."
"That," I said, "is what I figured, Tony. Those former Vestal Virgins and Pagan Choir Boys who came back to visit you and the rest of the gang just how well do you recall their visit?"
Tony turned and glared at me. "Do you have to talk while I'm watching Singalong With Larry? Well, let's see. The last old grad I saw was -Grace. I remember the occasion very well. I remember I got very drunk that night, went to my room and passed out for a while. Sort of wavering she was. And I remember her saying, in a real funny, kind of ringing voice, 'Don't beleive any of those awful rumors about nobody leaving this place alive, Tony. I left and I'm still alive -and happily humping a rich sugar-daddy, too. Then she seemed to waver and dissolve -I guess I was awful drunk -and that's the last I saw of her."
"Uh-huh," I said. "Tony, did it ever occur to you that maybe you didn't see any of the former Vestal Virgins and Pagan Choir Boys alive -that you merely got post-hypnotically suggested into thinking you'd seen them?"
"You're getting hump-happy," said Tony.
I didn't say a word. I just tiptoed out of the Recreation Room -I ripped one of the curtains off my window and tied it around me. It would pass for a wraparound skirt. I grabbed one of the silk cushions, tore apart the seams and poked two holes for arms, then pulled it over my head. It would pass for a poorly tailored silk blouse. The main thing was, I was dressed. True, I had no shoes -So I was a hippie!
I slipped out of my room and ran downstairs. Before me loomed the front door. I grabbed the door handle and twisted it and -wham! I was sitting on my ass five feet away, wondering what had hit me.
I got to my feet and grabbed the door handle again -and once again I was flung backward. Ob viously the door handle was hooked up to a highvoltage source. I glared at the door handle It it was made of glass! Even though I'd flunked high school physics, I remembered enough so that I knew glass couldn't conduct electricity. Which meant . . .
And at that moment the lights snapped on and there stood Sibyl, glaring down at me.
"So," she hissed, "you're already trying to escape. Though by the dazed, pain-ridden look in your eyes I see you've already discovered the strength of post-hypnotic suggestion number fourteen namely, that every time you try to open a door leading to the outside, you feel an imaginary current of high-voltage shooting through your twat. Fool! Nobody escapes me -alive. Follow me!"
"Like hell I will," I said. But even as I said it I was obediently climbing to my feet and following her. I followed her, reluctantly, all the way up to her office on the third floor.
There she turned and looked at me. Malignantly. "What," she said softly,"am I to do with you. Dee Dee?" She stared at me, then laughed. "It's obvious what you would like to do to me. You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you?"
She turned, took a wicked-looking knife out of her desk and handed it to me. "So kill me."
"With pleasure," I gasped, and shoved the knife right at her. Wham -the knife stopped halfway. Like it'd hit a wall of glass or something. I pulled it back and stabbed again and again. No use. I couldn't get the point within an inch of her soft, vulnerable tits. I just about wept with rage and frustration.
"Now," laughed Sibyl, "you realize that you are powerless to do me any physical harm. Post-hypnotic suggestion number forty-three -I gave you over a hundred post-hypnotic commands, by the way -prevents you from doing so. To repeat, what shall I do with you? You have just the kind of ripe, pagan pussy my depraved old whoremasters crave -yet there is a basic stubbornness in you. Proven by the fact that you are obviously resisting posthypnotic command number fifty-four, namely, that you should not suspect any of my actions."
I glared at her. She took the knife from me.
"So I'm posed with a problem. Should I attempt to tame you and brainwash you further -or merely dispose of you?" Her eyes gleamed with malignant humor. "I'd better dispose of you."
She turned, took a copy of the New York Times off her desk, and spread it carefully on the floor. "So your blood won't stain my carpet," she explained. She picked up a silk cushion, tossed it onto the center of the spread newspapers. "Kneel on that," she ordered.
"Like hell I will!" I snarled -but even while I was snarling my ass was obediently moving toward the pillow, then kneeling myself down on it.
"Sit back on your haunches," she commanded. I glared at her -and sat back on my haunches.
She handed me the knife again. "Grasp that with both hands," she commanded, "holding it so that the hideously sharp point is only inches from the lowest part of your soft, quivering belly, just above the triangle of your golden hairy bush. That's right. That's perfect. Now," she snapped her fingers twice, "obey post-hypnotic command number ninety-four." She snapped her fingers again. "You remember it, don't you?"
"No!" I gasped, but even as I gasped no I heard my own voice saying, in a real mechanical fashion. Post-hypnotic command number ninetyfour. I am a high class Japanese Geisha-girl who has disgraced herself. Consequently I am about to commit hari-kari.
"Good!" gloated Sibyl. "You remember. Now, commit hari-kari. You know how, don't you? A simple, two part movement. First you plunge the knife deep into the lowest part of your belly -then you bring it up with a sweeping cutting motion cutting yourself open from stomach to tits. Do so!"
"No!" I screamed, but even as I screamed I felt the muscles of my arms quiver -and then thrust inward. I felt the horribly sharp knife plunge deep, deep; into the lowest, most tender part of my body. I felt agonizing waves of pain shoot all through me as the sharp point plunged right into me until it all but grated against my backbone.
Through a red haze of unimaginable pain, I saw Sibyl standing in front of me with sadistic pleasure. "Finish the job!" she screamed. "Cut yourself open all the way!"
"I won't!" I screamed, at the same instant as my arms jerked forcefully upyard -slicing the razor-sharp blade up through the whole length of my middle, all the way up to my breastbone. I felt the pain as I'd never dreamed of, felt blood spurt out over my clenched fingers, felt excruciating waves of agony pulse through me even as blood splashed and ran down my body. A wave of suffering passed over me, and then a wave of paralyzed weakness as I felt my life's blood gush from my gashed belly and I fell, dying, backward.
Dimly, as if a million miles away, I saw Sibyl's twat standing over me -laughing. "Get up!" she ordered.
"I -I can't!" I gasped. "All -all my insides would fall out if I did. I'm cut open from middle to breastbone ..."
"Get up!" ordered Sibyl.
Slowly, I got up. Weakly. I looked down at my self. No blood. Not even a scratch on my stomach. I looked at the knife still in my clenched hands. No knife. Just a hilt without any blade.
"The knife I gave you," purred Sibyl, "was a stage knife. The blade disappeared into the hilt the moment you put presure on it. All the horrible, agonizing pain you felt -was in your mind. Planted by my post-hypnotic command!"
"No," I gasped, dropping the hilt of the knife and patting my stomach to make sure it was in one piece. "No -it can't be! I felt the knife go into me!"
"Indeed you did, child," said Sibyl. "In your mind. Obviously," she chuckled, "you have never read even the most elementary textbook on hypnotism. If you had, you'd know that one of the most elementary -and dangerous -demonstrations of hypnotism is that in which a subject's hand is plunged into a bucket of cold water -at the same time as the subject is told that the bucket contains boiling water. The result? The subject screams with agony and -believe it or not -his hand instantly turns bright red and swells into a mass of burn blisters. All induced -effectively -by the subject's mind. Compared to such an actual physical reaction, your imagined pain is as nothing."
I stared at her, still patting myself above my bush to make sure my belly wasn't all sliced up.
"Go to your room," she commanded. "And remember the futility of trying to disobey my commands. That stage knife I handed you could have been a real one -in which case your stupid fat stomach would now be sliced up all the way. Go to your room. And remember, nobody can flout the wishes of Sibyl -High Priestess of the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness!"
What to do now? My situation sure looked hopeless. I couldn't so much as touch a doorknob lead ing to the outside without a bolt of electricity shooting through my sensitive vagina. Hypnotically induced electricity it might be -but just as painful as the real stuff to my. twitching cunny.
And I couldn't so much as lift a finger toward Sibyl -I'd found that out already.
All I could do was remain her helpless prisoner. Remain helpless while she hypnotized and brainwashed me more and more -until she'd turned me into just the kind of fuzzy-minded, ripe-assed Vestal Virgin she wanted.
For a few months. After which she'd dispose of me. Most likely to Jack, who'd torture me sexually in just about the most horrible, agonizing manner imaginable.
And there was nothing I could do. I couldn't escape -or even try to escape. I couldn't slug or bump off Sibyl. I couldn't, in short, do anything.
Unless, that is, I thought of something real clever . . .
And, being an imaginative sort of girl, I naturally thought of something. Real clever.
A week later Sibyl stood tiffly in front of her desk, staring hypnotically at the synthetic ruby (designed to decorate my navel) which I'd cleverly tricked her into staring at, and said. "That, oh Mighty Dee Dee, is the last of my business secrets"
"Good," I said, scribbling a last comment into the notebook with a snap and settled my ass-cheeks comfortably in her leather chair. Sibyl, meanwhile stood stiff and obedient before me.
"You know," I said, yawning and pouring myself a drink of her imported gin, "where the one weak point in your cleverly constructed defenses was?"
"No, Oh, Mighty Dee Dee," said Sibyl in a real mechanical fashion -using the intonation that both
Krotzov-Kalinsky and Gebrunheidt-Gheronsky emphasize is so typical of a subject in a deep hypnotic trance.
"Your one weak point," I said, sipping her imported gin thirstily, "was in permitting -nay, encouraging Sardar Parker to go to the New York public library twice a week, there to check out any books your Order might request. It never penetrated your thick twat-head that I might have him bring me all the textbooks on hypnotism that the New York library possessed. Or that I might study these to such good effect that I could hypnotize you. No," I said, pouring more of her gin into my glass, "you really goofed there. And as a result of your goof, I'm in the driver's seat now."
"Yes, Oh Mighty Dee Dee," intoned Sibyl.
"Precisely," I said. "Now do you remember post-hynotic command number eight?"
"Yes, Oh Mighty Dee Dee," said Sibyl, jerking her head forward in the subservient manner so perceptively dealt with by both Makolosky and Von Schidthaus in their textbooks on hypnotic trances. "I am to drive at once to Long Beach, walk to the beach, and then commence to swim toward Lisbon, Portugal."
"Start to carry out my swim order," I commanded her.
As Sibyl walked out of the door on her way to Lisbon, Portugal, I turned my attention to the wall safe in the office. I had gotten the combination from Sibyl during one of our hypnotic question and answer periods. I whistled when I saw the neatly stacked money in the safe. This was a profitable racket. I began to study the private name and address files of Tabernacle visitors and whistled some more as I recognized some prominent names in politics, the professions and the entertainment world.
Any other young girl in my position, who had sort of turned the tables on a miserable death that was scheduled for her in four months, would have pulled up stakes and lit out, but fast. But as you have probably gathered by now, I don't mind taking a chance, especially when there is a possibility of profit. And the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness looked like the kind of business I had a natural talent for, since pussy played such an important part.
I picked up the public address system intercom mike on Sibyl's desk and flipped the switch. "All Tabernacle personnel will report to the main ~ lounge," I announced.
When the male and female Full Cocksters and Cuntessas were gathered before me, I announced that I was taking over the Tabernacle and that I would now be Dee Dee the Sacred Twatessa-They bowed and intoned that I was Dee Dee the Sacred Twatesa as I had expected them to, since I had transferred Sibyl's hypnotic control over them to myself. They were my complete slaves now, but at the end of four months I certainly wouldn't do to them what Sibyl had done. They were all much too good looking.
"Rejoice," I told them. "I am declaring a one day free-for-all fucking period for everyone. Anything goes, so have fun for twenty-four hours kids."
I motioned to prick-pusher number five of my hazing period, my friend, Tony. He was the one who had made bull-prick Vellick look like a midget.
"Come into my private office, Tony," I beckoned him. "There's some unfinished business I want to take up with you."
I laid my lush ass on the couch in my private office after telling Tony just what unfinished business I wanted him to take care of. I thrilled as his handsome, muscular figure embraced me and his lips nibbled my deep pink nipples. As I became more and more excited they became stiff and jutted out to almost twice their normal size. I wriggled my belly and blonde bushed steaming slit invitingly and sighed as Tony's lithe body decked me. His strong hands kneaded my hot ass and then cozily cupped my quivering buttock cheeks. My vagina began to drool copious pussy-juice as he cutely shoved his index finger up my asshole.
I felt his super-cock lustily straining in my hands and impatiently, lifted my knee. As I guided his tremendous dong into my soft, hot orifice, he lunged into me right up to his two testicles and I gasped at what this boy had on the ball, so to speak. All thought left me in a flurry of dick-driving thrusts by Tony, that I matched with my churning cunt. I let out a happy scream as Tony's huge tool thrust to a climax, ejaculating torrents of sizzling come into the Sacred Twatess. Tony groaned in ecstasy as I twitched my trained vaginal muscles like a mouth around the big head of his come dribbling cock and began milking the very last drop out of his pee-hole. My pussy was drenched with a mixture of my own come-juice and Tony's semen.
"This is good to the last drop," I sighed as my twitching cunt kept collecting his drops of cock cream.
I rested in Tony's strong arms and came back to earth again. I looked at his fabulous, unbelievable prick once again and saw that he certainly had what it took to give me the business. "With your talent boy, you may become The Sacred Cuntmaster of this joint -just keep plugging away," I encouraged Tony.
I, Dee Dee Summers the Sacred Twatess was content for the moment THE END
