Collapsed now, her arms still around Harry's neck, Lena felt the relief and release from tension flowing through her like cooling water. Slowly her breathing returned to normal. Harry held her tenderly, gently stroking her smooth-skinned back.
Finally, she eased herself to a standing position. "Don't put on the lights until I get dressed, Harry."
While she was gone, Harry dressed and fixed himself a drink. When she came out of the bathroom, he was sitting in her swivel chair with his feet propped on her desk.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Celebrating."
She frowned. "Celebrating what."
"Our partnership."
" ... get out of that chair. Get out of this office. You're fired."
"Very well, Lena. But I could pass the word around that you're not so cold as you pretend. They don't try to get to you, but if they knew what I knew..."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you do, Lena. Now I'm sure you do. Seeing other people in action breaks down all your inhibitions..."
She sobbed for several minutes. "Harry," she said, getting some control again, "you couldn't make anybody believe a story like that. And even if you did, how could anyone arrange something like that for me to see."
"You'd be surprised. You see I arranged tonight's little show."
CHAPTER ONE
The two girls entered the small, cheap, lower Fifth Avenue hotel room, about eight-thirty this night. One was a redhead, the other a blonde. Both were young. College girl types, better looking than average; both were well stacked. They had a couple of drinks and sat and talked and then the redhead suddenly sprawled back on the hotel bed. The brunette came over to her and picked up the redhead's hand and began fondling, then kissing it. Soon, she sat beside the redhead and leaned over her and kissed her full on the lips, long, lingeringly and her hand slid up under the redhead's skirt, moved caressingly there. In a few moments, her other hand gently unbuttoned the top of the redhead's dress, moved inside. The redhead began to twist, to writhe, torturously.
The love-play between the two girls continued for several minutes and then the brunette rose and pulled the redhead to her feet with her. She began to undress the redhead, who stood now, trembling, with her eyes closed, her head thrown back and her long, silky, Titian red hair flowing softly...
The offices of Helena Troy, Inc. Cosmetics, officially closed at five o'clock. But this evening, at nine o'clock, several lights were still on in their small suite of offices in the building across from the hotel on lower Fifth Avenue. One was in the office of Lena Troy, herself. The other was in the office of Harry Fields, Promotion Manager. Both were working overtime, this stifling hot summer night.
Lena Troy, at 28, was the perfect picture of a Manhattan career woman. Perfectly coiffed and groomed, she was a strikingly handsome brunette, with the lushly mature figure of an Italian movie star. The bomb-like rounds of her full breasts filled to bursting the bodice of her smart $200 dress. The pouting plumpness of her tight, firm buttocks moved provocatively when she walked, outlined subtly by the sheen of the expensive material. Her face was almost perfectly featured, the long-lashed green eyes well set apart, the nose short and straight, the well-rouged month full and succulent without being sloppy looking.
At first glance, Lena Troy was the epitome of sex. But not at the second or third. Then you caught the haughty arrogance of her expression, the straight, too perceptive, too observing expression in her intelligent eyes. And you thought: What a shame, what a waste, because you sensed a coldness there that said it may be good looking but it sure wouldn't be good loving even if you coidd ever get to it, which was highly doubtful.
Actually, there was no coldness but just an indifference to sex. Because there was no time for it in Lena's carefully planned scheme of things, on her personal timetable. Not until she was thirty and had made her first million.
She had made up her mind about this when she was in college and made her first and only experiment on the subject. The man was a college boy of whom she was quite fond. She found the experience to be only mildly pleasurable and highly overrated. She was a little surprised at how soon it was over. Then and there she decided it was something she could and would live without. In this way she wouldn't ever be sidetracked from her determination to be a wealthy woman by the time she was thirty. There would be no chance of becoming pregnant or of getting over-attached to some man and want, perhaps, to marry him.
So for the rest of her college days, her first years in business and continuing after she began to really become successful, Lena Troy dated various men but seldom the same one more than once. She learned easily and quickly how to fend off even the most subtle and expert passes.
Frequently, though, during this time, she had strangely disturbing dreams that she could never completely remember after awakening. Sometimes, while showering, she would become a little alarmed at the seemingly over-sensitiveness of her breasts when she bathed them, at the throbbing arrogance of her distended nipples as her own fingers touched them and the hot flow of sensation that would instantly engulf her. But then she would quickly shake the feeling off, tell herself not to be ridiculous, force herself to think about business matters.
Now, this night, at a little after nine o'clock, after a stretch of going over the copy promoting a new line of lipstick her firm was putting out, Lena got up from her desk and stretched, then lit a cigarette and strolled to the window. She stood there, looking down onto the street and the sparse flow of traffic through this business area at this time of night.
When her attention was first attracted to the lighted hotel room window across the way, she wasn't exactly-sure. She caught what was going on in there with a passing glance, at first and then her gaze flashed back in a stunned double-take. She sucked in a startled breath, uncomprehending, unbelieving, at first.
She told herself that it couldn't be. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. But she could deny it only for a moment. Then she had to face the fact: the one woman was undressing the other. Right now. the brunette was peeling off the redhead's dress, then reaching behind her to unsnap the bra. The redhead's breasts were small but saucily tip-tilted, the lightly pink nipples aroused until they were unusually long and pointed.
The other girl now cupped both the redhead's bared breasts, squeezing, fondling and then bent and touched her lips first to one tender tip, then the other. The redhead seemed to shiver all over, hunching her shoulders.
Watching, Lena Troy was at first horrified, then embarrassed and wanted to stop looking, but somehow couldn't. She had heard about things like this, about women making love with women, even back in college but she had never known anyone, personally, who went in for that sort of thing, so she didn't really, seriously, believe it. Or assumed that the practice was a very seldom thing indulged in only by freakish, masculine type women with hair on their upper lip.
But that wasn't the case here, she noted. As she watched the brunette now gently peel a dainty pair of white silk panties down over the redhead's rounded hips and sleekly curving thighs, she saw that the redhead was completely feminine in very possible way.
Then the brunette quickly undressed herself. She, too, Lena saw, now, was all woman. Her breasts were larger, rounder than the-redhead's, the stiffened centers of them a dark maroon in color. Her hips were fuller, the mound of her belly a bit more pronounced, the thighs a little more plump but there was certainly nothing masculine about her.
Now the brunette moved toward the redhead, clasped her in close embrace. One hand caressed the jutting rounds of the redhead's buttocks and their gleamingly naked bodies moved together and the brunette's mouth sought the redhead's and buried against her lips in a long, twisting tumultuous kiss, with the same kind of passion with which a man would kiss a woman.
Lena became suddenly aware of her own quickened breathing, of her own nipples rising hard and aching against the confines of her bra. A strangely pleasant crawling sensation moved along her thighs, spread to other places and grew to become an almost unbearable pleasurable urgency and need that she'd never known before. She found herself moving her thighs together.
She wondered: What's happening to me? Why am I reacting like this? This is terrible. I should be disgusted, ashamed, turn away. Instead I'm getting all excited, aroused as I've never been before.
Then, across the way, the brunette suddenly led the redhead toward the bed, gently forced her down upon it. Then she kneeled beside her and while her hands busied themselves first with caressing the long, sleek sweep of soft, white fleshed thighs, eagerly spread, then with the up-thrust, pink-tipped breasts, she again kissed the redhead on the mouth. Then her lips moved to the hollow of the redhead's throat, then to her shoulders. They paused to sample the succulence of each pouting breast, then moved lower lower...
Now, Lena felt herself making a little outcry, as though those avidly searching lips were moving over her own body. She wondered why seeing the other women making love this way was arousing her so much but only for awhile, as the brunette's kisses and fondling became more bold and then she no longer cared. She was aware only of the terrible hot desire flooding her own body.
In a few minutes, as the naked figures in the hotel room over there now lay embracing with tangled limbs, rolling, writhing, tossing, Lena began groaning audibly. Her own hips began to move with a strange, wanton rhythm and the thought pounded through her mind: I've got to do something. I've got to do something! Oh, someone help me, please!"
Then, suddenly, from behind her, a man's voice said: "Lena! What is it? Is anything wrong?"
She turned, shocked, and saw Harry Fields standing in the doorway to her office, with a look of concern on his darkly good looking face.
"Oh!" she said. "No! No, it's nothing."
He frowned, puzzled. "I thought I heard you cry out as though you were being hurt."
"No. You were mistaken."
But he was not mistaken, now, as he saw her flushed face, the purplish darkness of her passionate eyes, the loose moistness of her ruby red lips. He had seen women with the look of passionate need, of readiness, before. He recognized it, instantly. He watched her, then, move guiltily away from the window. He, in turn, strode toward it. She put out a hand to stop him, saying: "No! Don't!"
But he was at the window, then, looking out and down a little and he saw the women in the hotel, lying quiet, now, sated and he instantly knew. He turned toward Lena Troy. He moved toward her. She watched him now with oddly combined expressions of nervousness and welcome.
He said: "What a terrible thing for you to have to see."
She nodded. "Yes," she said. "Oh, yes."
"It must have frightened you to death, you poor thing," Harry Fields said, then. He reached out and took hold of her hand. "Why, you're trembling," he said. "Here, let me comfort you."
He took her into his arms, then. She arched toward him, willingly, with a little moaning sound. Her hips ground against his. Her mouth opened under his and her tongue readily met his, thrashed against it. In a moment he was wild with need for her. She broke away from him, panting, and quickly moved toward the big leather couch in her office. She stood in front of it and with one hand suddenly ripped her dress down the front; then her bra, so that her heavy, proud, gourd-shaped breasts leaped forth, quivering gelatinously, the plum-like tips projecting invitingly; then she also tore away her filmy step-ins and except for the clinging shreds of material, was naked before him, her long, marble fleshed thighs gleaming.
"Oh, God, Harry, I don't know what's wrong with me, but hurry, Harry!" she begged, hoarsely. She sat on the couch and lay back, quivering, gasping.
He went to her and his hands .moved feverishly over her as she continued to call out to him to hurry. He moulded and kneaded the hot, fleshy mounds of her breasts, pinching and teasing the plumply aroused tips. His hands caressed the gentle slope of her belly, slid down, lingeringly, so as to throw her into an increased agony of need, to stroke and fondle the warm, marble smooth inner plumpness of her thighs.
Finally, cursing him for his delaying tactics, she roughly pulled him over her. Her hands moved to him now, demanding, urging, guiding. Then she abruptly let out a wailing cry of surprised delight. In seconds the twenty-eight years of her suppressed desire took over. Her fingernails dug into the back of his shoulders. Her teeth nipped with savage frenzy at the hollow of his collarbone. The furious, angry demand of her all but consumed him, left him, ten minutes later, more wilted and exhausted than he'd ever been before...
Afterward he murmured: "Oh, God, Lena, you were wonderful! I've known a lot of women but never any like you."
She didn't answer. She was enjoying now a pleasant lethargy, a quietness of nerves, that she had never felt before. Vaguely, she wondered what in the world had possessed her to do a thing like that with Harry Fields and why this time it had been so much different than her first experiment. Now she could understand what all the sound and fury was about; no wonder sex was such an important part of most people's lives, she thought.
Stretched out beside her, on the couch, Harry gave a warm little chuckle. He said: "You know, I've been wanting you for a long time, Lena. Hut I never figured there was even the ghost of a chance. I had you definitely figured for the iceberg type, strictly from frigid. How wrong can a guy be?"
"Maybe not so wrong," she told him. "That's the way I am, nine-nine percent of the time. This was well just a freak sort of thing."
"I know," he said. "You got all excited, watching those two dykes in the hotel across the street, didn't you?"
She felt a hot flush steal over her body. Almost angrily, she said: "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, okay," he said. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay with me."
She got up then, picked up the remnants of her clothing and held them in front of her, shielding herself a little. She said: "Let's get one thing straight, right now, Harry. As far as I'm concerned, this never happened. Don't get any ideas about it making any change in our business relationship. You understand?"
He looked surprised, then answered ruefully: "Well, sure, sure, Lena. If that's the way you want it."
"That's the way I want it." She turned and walked toward her private office lavatory, which held a shower and a closet in which she kept extra clothing. She went inside and showered and fixed her hair and put on some new clothes.
When she came out, Harry Fields was dressed again. He was standing by her desk. He said: "What did you think of those changes I made in the new lipstick copy?"
"I think they helped," she said, a little absently. "Sharpened the message a little."
"I have some other things I'd like to check through with you. I've had some problems getting an okay from some of the movie stars we had lined up for endorsements."
Lena put the back of hand to her forehead, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Look, Harry, I'm pooped, tonight. Let's let it go until morning, all right?"
He nodded agreement and picked up several letters he'd previously put on her desk. "Good enough." He looked at her now, his eyes admiring the way her fine large breasts bulged the bodice of her dress. "Look," he said, softly. "Can I give you a ride home? Or maybe we can stop and I'll buy you a drink, somewhere."
"No. No, thank you,' she refused.
He shrugged and turned away, headed for the door. "Good night, then."
"Good night, Harry," she said.
CHAPTER TWO
She stood, listening to the sounds of Harry exiting from the office. When she heard the outer door slam shut behind him, she turned and moved toward the window. She looked down and saw now, with a tinge of disappointment, that the light was out in the window of the hotel across the street where all the action had been visible before. She wondered for a moment, whether the two girls had left the room or if they were now curled up in the bed together, under the covers, perhaps renewing their strength for another passionate session, later. A sudden warmth flowed through her loins, remembering the things she had seen over there and her tumultuous surrender, later, to Harry Fields. Then. Surrender, hell, she thought, it had been more like an attack.
She felt a flash of shame, now, too, remembering that part of it and apprehension. What kind of a woman was she to be able to give herself so completely, on the spur of the moment to a man she cared absolutely nothing about, really? And that was true. She'd never given Harry Fields a second look before. He'd been just another employee, a fairly nice guy. Sure, he was attractive, she supposed, to a lot of women, but he'd never struck her that way, before. He didn't now, looking back at what had happened.
She realized that it had just been incidental that the man had been Harry Fields. It could have been any man at that moment, some hulking, sweating ape of a stevedore, even. It wouldn't have mattered. There had been anuncontrollable animal desire in her that demanded instant satisfaction. She had heard that it was that way with men, when they were what is commonly referred to as "hard-up" but she'd never known a woman could get that way. Apparently though, that was what had happened to her. After she'd become so inflamed by the lustful scene she'd witnessed in the hotel across the street.
She wondered, now, if she would have trouble with Harry Fields over the incident. Certainly, he'd been meek and understanding, enough when he'd left. But perhaps that was because he was still overwhelmed by her behavior. Perhaps later, when he thought about it, he would figure he'd latched onto a real good thing. He would undoubtedly want more. If nothing else, it would be awkward, fending him off. If he tried to use the incident as a hold over her, to force her to continue but that was ridiculous. What could he prove? It would be strictly her word against his. And who would believe him? She knew that she had a reputation among all the men she knew, as a cold potato. Harry, himself, had even thought of her as that.
Finally, she dismissed the incident from her mind. She told herself that it had just been a freak thing. It wouldn't happen again; she wouldn't let it. And that was all there was to it. Now, she was going home and going to bed for a good night's sleep, because she had a busy day tomorrow.
As she put out the light in her private office, she glanced toward the couch and a hot wave of sensation glided over her, momentarily, as she thought: God, but it was good, though, so damned good!
CHAPTER THREE
After he left the office building, Harry Fields stopped off at a small cocktail lounge on Twenty Third Street, on the way to his apartment, to drink things over. He was still amazed by the thing that had happened, tonight. God, that boss woman of his, Lena Troy, had been something. He could hardly believe it; it seemed almost like a dream, now that he was away from her. But then memory of her savagely voluptuous body sent a wave of heat through him, swelling his veins and he wanted to run back there, take her on again.
True, he told himself, sipping a martini, it had been too short but sweet but it had made up in quality what it had lacked in quantity. He had never had a woman quite shake him up, so. He figured that was what happened when a woman of Lena Troy's type finally let themselves go. He wondered if it would ever happen again, how it would affect his job. Maybe she'd be embarrassed to have him around now, would try to figure some way to get rid of him. But then again, maybe now, she'd want him around, in case the mood came on her again. He wished there was some way he could capitalize on the experience.
Hey, he thought to himself, suppose I got her pregnant; wouldn't that be something? And had to many her! He. thought about it; the broad must be worth a quarter million, maybe more. As her husband, he'd also be a partner in Helena Troy, Inc. The way business was going this year, the company would show another quarter of a million profit for the year. i
He ordered another drink and when Felix, the bartender, a distinguished looking, gray-haired, middle aged man, with a sensitive, intelligent face, came over to get his glass. Harry said:
"Felix, my good man, you're a smart cookie, self educated, I've heard, beyond most college graduates, even, so tell me something. You know anything about the psychology of sex?"
The lean, handsome bartender studied him for a moment, then quietly said: "You mean abnormal psychology."
"Well, could be?"
Felix shrugged. "I know a little, Harry. What's your problem?" He gave a quick, sardonic grin.
Harry Fields winced. "Not mine, you jerk. Listen, do dames get all excited, seeing something well, you know, sexy like, seeing somebody else doin' it? I mean like a man does?"
The bartender pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. I suppose it would arouse some degree of excitement. Although I've read that women are not as readily stimulated by visual stimuli as men are. What I mean is that, ordinarily, you show a picture of a handsome naked man to a woman and she'll be curious and perhaps a little aroused, but not the same degree that a man would be, similarly, by a picture of a beautiful naked woman. To give you an example, there is a term for voyeurs Peeping Toms. You've never heard of a Peeping Thomasina, have you? I've never heard of a woman being picked up by the police on such a charge; yet it happens frequently to men. So I would suspect that it would be pretty rare for a woman to get her kicks that way. That answer your question?"
Hurry frowned. "Well, yeah. But suppose I told you I know a dame goes wild with desire only when she first watches something like that let's say even if she sees two lezzies going at it, is that possible?"
"Anything is possible. Although I've never heard of it. Hut I suppose it could be with a woman that her sexual emotions could be triggered by sutch a thing. It would definitely have to be an aberration, of course. Especially if that was the only thing that could get her aroused. Is that what you mean?"
Harry Fields sipped at his martini and grinned, musingly, at the bartender. "Yeah," he said, dreamily. "Maybe it is. Just maybe it is."
Hey, he thought to himself, wouldn't that be something, if Lena Troy is some kind of a kook like that and the only time she wants a man is when she gets excited by seeing other people having a good time? I'd really have her all wrapped up in my hip pocket, if I'm the only one who knows that.
He finished his drink and continued on to his apartment. When he went in, he found Corinne, the little blonde from next door, sprawled out on the floor of his living room, watching TV. She was lying face down and although she was basically a very slim girl, she had a surprisingly developed derriere. Its plump twin rounds rose steeply and invitingly, clearly outlined beneath the skintight capris she wore. As she arched the top of her body up to look around at him, the hollow of her back was deepened, accentuating even more the pouting plumpness of her amazing buttocks.
Corinne had a cute, doll-like face, with kind of blank pale blue eyes. She had a whiney little voice: "How come you're so late getting home, Harry?"
He stood over her, looking down at her, marveling as he always did, at the arrogant protuberance of that amazing behind.
"Why'n't you make yourself at home, Corinne?" he said.
She pouted her moist red lips. "Well, you give me a key so's I can come in and watch TV whenever I want to, account of I don't have one."
"Yeah," he said. "I'm always doing stupid things like that."
"That ain't what you said, the way you acted last tune you came home and found me here," she complained. "What re you mad about, Harry?"
"I'm not mad," he said. "Only you just don't send me, tonight. You see, I already got laid."
The shock effect he'd intended didn't work. Instead, she was just curious. "You did? Who with?"
"With whom, stupid," he corrected.
"All right, with whom with, then?"
"My boss," he told her, coolly. "It was great, too. She really tore me up."
She giggled like a small child. "Oh, Harry, you're so funny, funny." She rolled over on her back so that her small, pointy breasts could be seen, braless, pricking at the front cloth of her blouse. Between giggles, she went on: "Oh, that's so funny. Your boss! Oh, Harry! Miss Troy, your boss, that cold cucumber, oh, you're so funny!"
"You see," he said, "you tell the truth and nobody believes you." Which was what he had figured or he never would have blurted out the information.
Abruptly, Corinne stopped giggling. Her big, baby blue eyes stared up at Harry speculatively. Her lips were still pouting. "You really don't want me here, do you?"
He stared back coldly at her. "You catch on quick, don't you?"
"Why, Harry?"
"I don't owe you any explanations. You came over here uninvited, didn't you?"
"Well, sure, but I'd like to know what's the matter? You tired of me, already? Golly, you've only known me a couple of weeks."
She seemed so genuinely hurt, Harry relented a little. Besides, if that was just a freak thing with Lena Troy and he never scored again, it was pretty handy to have a little sexpot like Corinne so readily available. He reached down and tousled her short cut, soft blonde hair.
"Ah, Baby, I'm just tired and grouchy, I guess. Worked late tonight and had a lot of problems all day. Say; how'd you like to fix a quick dinner for me, while I shower and relax with a drink There's a couple of Spencer's in the frig and some lettuce and tomatoes and dressing. Okay?"
She jumped to her feet with the alacrity of a child, said: "Sure, hon. You go ahead."
As she headed for the kitchen, Harry helped her on her way with a hard but playful spank to her bottom. She paused, looked back over her shoulder and down at herself as she reached back and soothed her handsome backside, jutting out even more pronouncedly and straining at the cloth of the capris, in that awkward position.
"Ooooh, you meanie! That smarts!" she said, reprovingly. But her eyes glowed invitingly, at the same time. "Just for that, I won't give you any, later."
He grinned. "Just for that, I'll take it!"
She tossed her head, glanced back, archly. "Hah! Think you're man enough?"
He made a token gesture of starting after her and she ran, squealing in protest, out to the kitchen. Harry yanked off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and poured himself a quick, very dry martini from his portable bar. He took several fast sips and then carried the drink into the bathroom with him. He took a leisurely shower, put on a robe and went back out into the living room. He watched a TV quiz show while he finished that drink and another one. By that time, Corinne had the steaks and salad ready.
While they ate, Corinne chittered about irrelevancies and Harry Fields paid little attention, except to grunt in occasional vague acknowledgment. He was busy again, thinking about Lena Troy and the bonfire bundle of passion she had become there in the office. As he finished dinner and sipped a pony of brandy, remembering his session with Lena, he slowly became aroused and soon found himself staring at the points of Corinne's small, unfettered breasts, poking out the cloth of her blouse.
When she got up to take the dishes to the sink, he watched the tight, rolling motion of her unbelievably round and jutting fanny, under the revealing capris, which were so tight you could even see the edge of her panties limned under the cloth; which excited him all the more.
As she started to wash the dishes, Harry said: "Forget 'em for now."
She turned. "Forget what?"
"The dishes, you jerk. Come on. Hurry up. Go in the bedroom and when you come out, be wearing that little kitchen apron you've got on and nothing else except a pair of high heel shoes you'll probably find a pair of your size in the closet."
Her eyes looked at him, knowingly, serious and her tiny red tongue came out and flicked over her lips, moistening them. She became a little flushed and the points of her breasts became more noticeable through the blouse.
"All right, Harry," she said, softly.
When she left the kitchen, Harry poured himself another brandy and then went out in the living room, lowered himself into an easy chair. His heart began pounding in anticipation as he waited for Corinne to come back. She was only a few minutes.
She came out of the bedroom, with a sheepish look on her doll-like face. She was wearing nothing but the brief kitchen apron and the black patent leather high heel pumps. They weren't ordinary shoes. The heels were a good five inches high, specially made and reinforced with steel. To stand in them, Corinne had to arch her back somewhat. The position tautened the muscles of her thighs, making them look hard and smooth as marble, below the brief apron. The heels, too, made her legs look abnormally long and shapely.
"I feel kind of silly, Harry," she whispered.
He stared at her small breasts, not much larger than halves of oranges, child-like, except for the distended, pale pink hippies, as long as the tip of your finger.
"Never mind," he said huskily. "You look adorable." He pointed to a small feather duster on a nearby table. "Take that duster and go around the room, dusting things off starting with the top row of books on the book shelf."
She frowned, puzzled. "Does that give you lacks, Harry?"
"Yeah. Sometimes. Get going."
She did as she was told, tottering on the high heels, over to pick up the duster and then moved toward the bookcase. Harry Fields admired the rear view of her. Walking on the spiked heels accentuated more than ever the rolling, clenching plumpness of her jutting, high set, moon-round haunches. The deeply divided domes of saucy flesh were taut and baby-smooth, with a slightly rosy glow to them. Harry feasted his eyes; he thought that he could never get enough of looking at that adorable bottom.
He watched her reach up to dust the top shelf of books and the arching out of her buttocks became even more pronounced. As she half turned, the side view was superb, too, the small but well fleshed little breasts hobbling and jiggling provocatively.
As she worked, Harry said: "Corinne, tell me about that guy on the subway, again."
She looked around at him, again. "Which one?"
"You know. The one that was standing behind you, got all excited."
"Oh," she gasped, continuing to dust. "Oh, him! Oh, he was just awful, Harry. I've never been so embarrassed in my life."
"Okay, so tell me about it." He watched her bend over, now, her back to him, as she dusted a lower shelf. He could hardly restrain himself from running to her. Jeeze, but he had never seen such a beautiful fanny. She half turned around, then, squatting. A fold of the apron was caught high up between her thighs, tantalizingly preventing a more intimate view.
"Well," she said, a little breathlessly. "It was the rush hour and I've never seen the subway so crowded. You couldn't budge, even. Anyhow, all of a sudden I became aware of someone pushing up against me from behind. In a few seconds, of course, I knew it was a man and I also knew he was terribly excited. It was the strangest sensation."
"So what did you do?"
"I tried to move, to get away, but it was impossible. Then he began pressing harder and harder. You have no idea what it was like, Harry a strange man I'd never seen before in my life, right there in public, right in the middle of all those people, doing that to me."
"Doing what, Corinne."
"You know well pressing and moving and practically well ijou know."
"Where?" Harry said, his voice strained with excitement. "I mean what part of you was he doing this to?"
She turned sideways and jutted out her bare splendid rear architecture. "Back here." She reached back and slapped herself lightly. "And I mean he was really having himself a time."
"I'll bet he was. I'll bet he never had one like that before. You've really got it back there, baby; you have no idea."
"Well, he certainly seemed to enjoy it. First thing I knew, he took hold of both my hips, holding me, steadying me I guess because he was pushing so hard now, he was afraid I'd be thrown off balance. Oh, it was awful, Harry. I could have died."
"What else did he do?"
"Pretty soon, he was breathing awfully hard, gasping, almost and then I felt one of his hands leave my hip and it slid up under my blouse. I well I wanted to stop him; I tried but the crowd was jammed so close, my arms were pinned at my sides. I was helpless, Harry. Just as though I was bound with ropes or chains. I I had to let him."
"Let him what?"
"You know, with his hand under my blouse. Because it was so awfully hot and because I'm not so big that I need one, anyhow, I wasn't wearing any bra. So in a moment, there was that big rough hand of his right on my bare breast, just a squeezin' and feelin' and playin' with the nipple and all the time, he was still rammin' against me and "
"Oh, honey!" Harry gasped. He stood up and shrugged out of his robe and started toward her.
She turned and saw him and exclaimed: "Harry! You're naked! Oh, Lordy, look at that!"
"Shut up," he commanded, "and turn around and keep dusting those books."
When she did as he ordered, he came up behind her. He moved in close, carefully placed himself behind her and she let out a little cry of surprised delight. He reached around her and firmly cupped a saucy little moundlet, firmly squeezing, his fingers rubbing and then gently plucking at the long, tender aroused nipple.
"Like this?" he breathed. "Is this what he was doing?"
"YesI Oh, yes, Harry! Except except that he had clothes on, of course and so did I."
"Suppose you hadn't? This is what it would have been like, wouldn't it?"
"Y-y-yes, I I guess so." She was involuntarily pressing back against him, now, her back arched, forcing the swelling of her throbbing breast tighter into his fondling hand.
"Did you think about that?" he demanded.
"What?"
"What it would have been like if you were both undressed."
"Uh-uh," he said. "I I was so nervous I couldn't think about anything."
"But once he got going, you really didn't mind too much, did you? It was sort of kicks, wasn't it? Don't lie to me, Corinne. I've heard that a lot of women kind of enjoy it when a man does that to them in a crowd."
"I I don't know," she protested. "I guess maybe just a little. It's so bold of them, so unexpected and a woman feels so helpless. I guess after awhile you just sort of give up and figure well, since it's happening, you might as well get some kicks, too."
"So what finally happened?" Harry gasped.
"Oh, he just suddenly pressed in tighter than ever and stopped moving and just stayed there and let out a series of groans. Then the train came to a station and he just suddenly twisted away and pushed through the crowd and was gone. I never even saw what he looked like."
"Would that have made any difference?"
"Well, naturally, I guess you figure if it's got to be, it wouldn't be quite so bad if the guy was young and handsome."
He suddenly spun her around facing him and his hands filled with the smooth, round, resilient flesh of her jutting buttocks; his fingers dug into them as he arched her against him. He bent his head and his tongue darted around and about and onto her long, stiffened nipples and then his lips encircled them, nibbled on the tender, rubbery protrusions. Her head was thrown back, now, her eyes closed, her wet and shining red mouth slightly opened. She writhed and twisted and arched against him, murmuring: "Oh, Harry! Oh, Harry, darling, you're so kookie but so wonderful, you get me half crazy! Oh, don't tease me much longer, baby!"
He moved away from her, then, his eyes a little wild. "That's because you're such a little nympho slut!" he said, suddenly, savagely. "And I'm going to whip that beautiful butt of yours, for being that way!"
She pretended to wince and huddled, frightened. "No! Oh, no, Harry!" she whimpered. But her eyes were glazed and there was a note of excited anticipation in her voice.
He grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly toward a great three-foot-square satin covered pillow on the floor in the center of the room. He slung her down on it, face down, slid her forward until her hips and belly were centered, elevating her ripely round hind quarters. Then he knelt and raised his hand and brought it palm-down in a stinging whack that brought a wail of anguish from Corinne. The impact against the hard firm plumpness of those thrusting moons was so solid it hurt Harry's hand.
Cursing, Harry got up and grabbed a hair brush from the table. He used that, then, not swinging quite so hard, just enough to sting smartly and rosy-up the tender flesh, his arm rising and falling rapidly as Corinne cried out and twisted and squirmed on the big soft pillow, while his other hand pushed down in the hollow of her back, holding her there.
When he finally stopped, her hips arched and thrust backward, offering that round, rosy red target, as though begging for more.
That was when Harry tossed the brush aside and straddled her and eased slowly down. When intimate contact was made, both of them let out little groans of delight. Corinne wriggled her bottom ecstatically, momentarily preventing Harry from reaching his goal. This merely goaded him on to more determined efforts and a few moments later he thrust and surged and with a wild wail Corinne collapsed on the pillow, Harry's full weight now bearing her down. Her own hips began to move then, in perfect counterpoint to his rhythms, faster and faster and soon the room was ringing with their sounds of love-making until both of them were swept up on a curling, cresting wave that finally broke, shatteringly, achieving utter fulfillment for them both...
Later, Corinne got Harry a cigarette and fixed him a drink and sat at his feet and looked up at him, adoringly.
"Gee, honey," she purred. "I've never had anyone give me such a good time. You seem to know everything I like. I'm just crazy about you, Harry. I'd do anything for you."
He looked down at her speculatively. "Anything? You mean that?"
She nodded. "Uh-huh."
"Just remember that, then. I might take you up on it" Harry Fields was beginning to get an idea how Corinne might be useful, if it became necessary, in his efforts to put the make on Lena Troy again.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following day, Lena Troy had a business luncheon engagement with Bart Laramie, who owned one of the largest chains of drug stores in the Metropolitan area. For several months, Lena had been negotiating to get an exclusive for her line of cosmetics, with one of the executives of the firm. It would be an important deal to her, meaning many hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. She had just about given up on it, though, when she received a call first thing this morning, from Laramie, himself, asking her to have lunch with him.
As soon as they sat down at his reserved table in the expensive and fashionable restaurant called The Golden Peacock, Laramie got right down to business.
Lena had been pleasantly surprised to find him a handsome, charming man in his early thirties. He was a tall, rangy, broad shouldered man. His crisply curling black hair was prematurely dappled with gray at the temples. His uneven features held rugged good looks and when he grinned, his brown eyes crinkled at the comers and a dimple appeared in one cheek in a completely disarming, boyish way.
Lena found herself thinking, only a few minutes after she met him that here was the type of man she would eventually like to marry. But then they were busy talking business and she was happy to hear that except for a few details which needed to be ironed out, he was willing to give Helena Troy Cosmetics the exclusive in all his stores. They soon ironed out the details and shook hands in a firm agreement, and made arrangements for their lawyers to get together to draw up the contracts the next day.
The business details over with, they entered into pleasant chitchat Lena was pleased to note that Bart Laramie seemed quite taken with her. After awhile, he said: "You know, Lena I may call you by your first name, may I?"
"Of course, Bart," she said.
"Anyhow, Lena," he went on, "what I was going to say is that until I met you, talked to you for awhile, I still wasn't completely sold on this deal of letting you have an exclusive with our stores. But then when I did see you " He shook his head and grinned that almost shy. boyish smile. " Well, it was all over then. You know you are a walking advertisement for your own products. You are probably the most beautiful woman I've ever met."
She felt herself blushing faintly and her heart beating a little faster. "Well, thank you, sir," she said. "Does Mrs. Laramie happen to use our product? I'd be interested in hearing what she thought of it."
He shook his head. "There isn't any Mrs. Laramie. I'm not married. To be frank with you, I've been so busy the last few years, building up this string of drug stores, I haven't had much time for courting, as my Granddaddy would call it. This luncheon date, though, is beginning to make me see what I've been missing. Or maybe why I've waited." He sighed, glanced at his watch. "I actually hate to let you go back to work. Couldn't we both possibly play hookey for the rest of the day?"
Lena laughed. She twisted uncomfortably in her seat. The strangest feeling was pervading her. She had never felt this way with a man before in her life. A special kind of warmth seemed to suffuse her whole body, when his eyes looked deeply into hers the way they were, now; when he said nice things to her like that
"I'm afraid not" she said. "I have so many things to do back at the office, I don't know how I'm going to cram them all in, as it is. What could we do all afternoon, for goodness sake, anyhow?"
"Well, for one thing, the horses are running at Belmont, now and I have a season box in the Clubhouse. Do you like going to the races?"
"I've never been, but I'd love to go sometime."
He reached over and put his hand lightly on hers. Lena felt something like a warm electric shock run up her arm just at the touch of his palm over the back of her hand. She found herself looking down at his fingers, so lean and strong yet sensitive looking, the nails so clean and perfectly kept. She found herself wondering what it would be like to feel those hands intimately all over her body the way Harry Fields' had been, the night before. A chill of delightful anticipation ran through her, almost making her shiver and she felt the nipples of her breasts rise hard against the inside of her uia.
Quickly she drew her hand away as he said: "Well, let's go, then?".
She almost weakened under the magnetic effect of his eyes upon hers. She turned her gaze away, shook her head, regretfully. "I'm sorry, Bart. I'll have to take a rain check. Maybe, some Saturday ... My office is closed on Saturdays."
"Good," he said, quickly. "So is mine. How about next Saturday?"
She thought about it. She could remember no other engagements. She smiled and nodded, affirmatively. "You'll have to be patient with me, though. I know nothing about horses, the races."
"That's fine. Then, you should have beginner's luck and maybe some of it will rub off on me. Meanwhile, will you have a couple of drinks with me, after office hours tonight just to seal our business agreement?"
She started to say, no, then she thought, why not? What else will I do, go out and eat by myself and then go home and watch TV for an hour or so and then go to bed. Maybe it'll do me good to break the routine a little.
"All right, Bart?" she found herself saying. "But only two drinks, though, agreed? I don't like to drink too much on an empty stomach."
"Your wish is my command, to coin a brilliant cliche," he told he smiling.
They talked for a few more minutes about inconsequentials and then he escorted her back to her building and they made a date to meet at The Shipshape Cocktail Lounge at five o'clock.
The rest of the day, Lena was kept constantly busy, making arrangements with jobbers and others to increase the supply of her various cosmetic products so that they could take care of the immensely increased business that would accrue from the Laramie account.
About four o'clock, she called. Harry Fields into her office, to tell him to prepare a special promotion campaign built around the fact that Laramie would be handling their products, exclusively. He was pleasant and business-like, all during their talk but as he was about to leave, to go back to his own office, Harry said:
"Did you have pleasant dreams last night, Lena?"
She looked up from her work, saw the smirk on his thin, dark, shrewd looking face. She drew herself up coldly. "I don't think I know what you mean," she said.
"You don't, huh?"
"No. Furthermore, I don't like your tone or your manner. I am your employer, you know.'
"Oh, I know, I know, Lena." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And I love it. Nobody could have a nicer boss. I certainly can't complain about the way I'm treated. I love it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, all last night. You know, Lena, it's almost impossible for a man to have a taste of Heaven and then not want more. So I want more. I think you do, too, really. Don't you? Now be honest with me."
Her face flamed, partly from embarrassment, partly from temper. Her eyes fixed on him, coldly, now. "Let me put it this way," she told him, her voice dripping icicles. "I still don't know what you're talking about. I won't ever know. So if you insist on proceeding along this idiotic line of conversation, I'll have to assume that you're no longer mentally competent; in which case, you're hardly the man for the important job of Promotion Manager. I pay you $1500 a month, don't I?"
He nodded.
"That's a fair salary. I've heard of other men who would like your job, and would take it for less money. Don't misunderstand me, Harry. I like your work. I've been very happy with your work. But I won't put up with strange personality quirks."
He was getting angry, too, now. He jabbed his forefinger against his chest. "My strange personality quirks? Lady, I don't go off my rocker when I see something out the window, in another building. I don't-
"Shut up!" she screamed it at hirn, cutting him off. She pointed to the door. "Get out! Get out!"
"All right, Miss Troy," Fields said, thin-lipped. "What you're saying is, that it was all a mistake, eh and I'm to mark it off the books. I thought you were kidding about that last night, that you were just embarrassed. But you're serious, aren't you?"
"Very."
He nodded, thoughtfully. "I see. My mistake, Miss Troy. I uh I won't annoy you again. All right?"
She nodded and then picked up some papers from her desk, went back to work, as Harry Fields walked out of the office. When he was gone, Lena Troy looked up, stared at the closed door and a chill of apprehension came over her. She didn't like the way he had acted. She didn't like it at all. She had a feeling that the man had been lying, there, at the end, that he wasn't really about to drop the issue.
After awhile, she forced her mind back to her work. And then, before she knew it, it was close to five o'clock and her date with Bart.
The rest of the evening more than made up for her unpleasant session with Harry Fields. After she met Bart, she had two drinks with him and they both found out that they had a lot in common. They were both born under the same sign of the Zodiac; they liked the same foods, had similar political beliefs. They both hated Rock'N'RolI, and progressive jazz, loved Dixieland. They liked some foreign movies, thought others were over-rated, usually the same ones. After the second drink, Lena made a token gesture of having to leave. But she soon allowed Bart to talk her into having another.
"Look," he said. "You wouldn't want to spoil the nicest evening I've ever had, would you?" he begged. "Please. Just one more. We'll sip it, nurse it; we'll make it last all evening if you say so."
She sighed, happily. She didn't really want to go. "All right, Bart. But if I get tipsy, don't get angry. I can't usually take more than two drinks on an empty stomach."
"Don't you worry, Lena," he said. "I'll take care of you. We'll start right off by getting rid of the empty stomach hazard." He then ordered hors d'oeuvres from a passing waiter.
After that, she found that the third drink didn't bother her so much. She and Bart Laramie laughed and joked and it wasn't very difficult for him to talk her into having dinner with him. They went to an expensive French restaurant on Third Avenue and Lena who didn't read French, let Bart order for her. She was surprised and pleased at his fluent handling of the language and was delighted with the exotic delights he had ordered for her. She had never known food to taste so good.
After that rich meal, with the right wines served with every course, with two drinks of the harmless looking, pleasant tasting Green Chartreuse, which she didn't know, of course, was 100 proof, after a dessert designed for a gourmet, Lena was practically putty in Bait's hands. It didn't take much persuasion on his part, to talk her into going to a musical with him. And from there to a night club in the Village.
Then the night was over and they were sitting in the front seat of his car, parked in front of the narrow, swankly exclusive East Side apartment building where Lena Troy lived. Lena was sitting close to Bart, on the front seat of his Lincoln Continental.
"I had a wonderful evening, Bart," she told him. "I can't remember when I've had such a good time. Honestly."
"I'm glad," he said, softly. "I was hoping you'd enjoy it. Then we could do it again, real soon. I guess I don't have to tell you, Lena, that I'm crazy about you. I suppose that sounds like schoolboy stuff you know, the love at first sight, or at least at first date, bit. Or maybe a line. Believe me, it's neither. I've never had anything happen to me like this. I've heard of it happening with other people and was always a little cynical about it. Always, before, a date with a beautiful woman never meant anything except a prelude to getting in the hay with her at the end of the evening. Let me set you straight right now; it hasn't been that way with you. Just being with you, watching your face as you're enjoying yourself, just talking with you, being with you, has been enough."
"Thank you, Bart. That's a very pretty speech. I wish I could be sure you meant it.'
"I guess it is hard to believe. But let me add it isn't that I wouldn't like to go to bed with you. That would be ridiculous; any man would, I'm sure. But if and when that ever happens, with you, I don't want it to be any spur of the moment thing for either of us."
"It won't be, Bart," she whispered.
He was holding her hand, now. Gently, he put his other arm around her, pulled her into the hollow of his shoulder. Then he tipped her face up toward his. His hand cupped her chin, his sensitive fingers trailing gently along her jawbone. His voice husky, barely audible, then, he said: "I do love you, Lena."
She felt her own heart pounding like a crazy thing now, slamming against her ribs. The warmth that flowed through her was almost feverish. Yet it was a different kind of heat than she'd experienced the night before in Harry Fields' arms.
Then Bart's wide, strong mouth moved toward hers. His lips touched her lightly, brushing and then fitted gently over them, pressed them tenderly.
Lena had never experienced such . a kiss, before. It seemed to light deep fires within her, not the fires of quick savage passion but something deeper, more lasting. She returned the even, tender pressure of his lips as his hand curled around her upper arm, squeezed and caressed it gently, then moved up to cup her shoulder, hunching it. From there his hand slid up to caress the sensitive side of her throat, to toy affectionately with the lobe of her ear.
She was breathing hard, now, greatly stirred, strangely stirred. At the same time she found herself hoping, wishing for his hands, his caresses, to become more intimate. She felt the tips of her breasts stiffen, achingly. Conversely, some other power inside of her was crying out, "No! No! Don't let him. You can't! It's not right; it's dirty; it's evil!" And she instinctively knew that if his hand did move to her breast, something within her, something uncontrollable, would force her to brush his hand away, to become frightened.
She let out a long, slow sigh, then, when he didn't proceed further but gently removed his mouth from hers and let his hands move away from her.
"Good night, Lena," he said. "May I call you tomorrow?"
"Mmmmmm-hmm. And thanks again, Bart for everything."
Swiftly she slid along the seat away from him and waited while he got out and ran around to her side and opened the door for her. He escorted her inside.and then left.
Upstairs in her apartment, Lena undressed and got into bed. For several minutes before she went to sleep, she puzzled at her own behavior, her strange reactions to Bart Laramie. What kind of a nut am I? she asked herself? I let myself go insane with passion with a nobody, a nothing-little-wolf like Harry Fields, for whom I have no genuine affection then balk and sweat it out like a silly, frightened school girl, at even the anticipation that a man like Bart Laramie might try to become intimate. Especially when I'm already terribly fond of him, feel more strongly toward him than I have with any other man I've ever known. I must be crazy.
On that thought, she fell into troubled sleep. It was disturbed several times by wild dreams. In one of them, she was in some kind of a barn-like place, with piles of hay all around and she was naked and tied to a pole, a strange looking pole, smooth and polished, like a huge policeman's nightstick, except for a peculiar mushroom-like knob at the top of it. And all around her, couples were sprawled on the straw covered floor and they were all naked, too. And all of them were copulating wildly, savagely, like rutting animals and Lena could hear the grunting and panting of them, the agonizedly ecstatic cries of the women. She watched them entwining and surging, the muscular, bulky bodies of the men and the soft white-fleshed bodies of the women, all of them sheened with sweat.
The strange part was that all the couples were the same; they were duplicated; she knew this even though she couldn't see their faces; the faces were sort of blank.
And all the while, she strained to break free from the thongs that hound her to the smooth pole that pressed so solidly between her shoulders, down her back, between her buttocks, against the backs of her thighs. After awhile the more she struggled against the pole, to free herself from it, the more excited she seemed to get, until finally there was a great sweet surge of relief. And suddenly she was in another scene. She was swimming, bathing in a great sea of sweetly scented, oily liquid, which laved and soothed her heated body, slowly, gently, marvelously cooling it...
She awakened then, trembling and bathed with perspiration and was somehow calmed so that the trembling gradually stopped and she went back to sleep.
In the morning, she remembered none of the dreams.
CHAPTER FIVE
Harry Fields was a man of infinite patience. For a long time he had been dreaming of the big time, of real money He knew that he had gone about as far as he could go on his own limited abilities and background. That wasn't far enough. Harry Fields wanted the big eight thousand dollar convertibles; the estate in Pound Ridge or some equally expensive status-type neighborhood; the winters in Miami or Nassau, the summers in Bar Harbor. He wanted the $500 a throw call girls; a box at the races, maybe even his own private plane with some flunky to fly it for him, while he entertained some sky-happy broad in the cabin.
He wanted the kind of things that required a quarter of a million dollars a year. He had a hunch, a basic intuition that this was in his reach if he could capitalize on his affair with Lena Troy, the other night He did not yet take her seriously, her rebuff of this afternoon. He had to make a test under the right conditions, perhaps two or three, before he would accept failure.
His first step in that direction, was to line up the proper cast. It didn't take him long to get the female lead. Corinne gave him some resistance for awhile; he'd expected that. But then he broke her down.
"You're crazy, Harry," she told him at first "I like you a lot. I'd do almost anything for you, but that's asking too much."
"Why?" he demanded.
With some strange guy I've never even met? What kind of a girl do you think I am?"
He didn't tell her. Instead, he said: "What difference does that make. I tell you, he's a big, husky, nice looking guy. You'll like him. As a matter-of-fact, I'm even a little leery that I might even lose you to him. He's really something."
Corinne's interest was piqued a little. "Honest, Harry? You wouldn't kid me, would you? You sure it ain't some old creep? I can't stand doing it with some wrinkled old man."
"Of course not. The guy's young, virile. It should he a ball. Anyhow, even if you don't like him, too much, what's the difference? You can put on an act, can't you? How long will it take, an hour or so, that's all. I'm asking you to give up an hour of your time for me, as a big favor, as an important thing for me that might change my whole life, make me rich make us both rich, even."
"Who is he, Harry?"
"I told you, I can't tell you that. All I can tell you is that the biggest business deal of my life depends on it. Believe me. Listen, if this goes through, you and me'll have it made. We'll take luxury ocean cruises on big ocean liners. I'll take you to Paris, Rome, the Orient. Wouldn't you like to be a rich guy's broad?"
"Of course, Harry." Then, with intuitive shrewdness. "But are you sure all that'll happen, you ain't just using me, Harry and then when I've done you this big favor, you'll give me the ditch?"
He waved his hand disgustedly. "Oh, for Christ's sake, if you think something like that about me, forget it, will you. The hell with it. I can get some other girl. I know lots of em would just jump at this chance. I'm trying to give you a break, that's all."
That did it. She flung her arms around Harry's neck and whimpering a little bit, finally agreed.
Picking the right man was kind of a problem. But Harry Fields finally got an idea. He knew somebody he was fairly sure would do it just for kicks and that was good because it meant Harry wouldn't have to lay out any cash.
The man's name was Van Jagger. He was about thirty-five. When he was twenty-five, Van had inherited something like three million dollars. From that moment on Van Jagger dedicated his life to the pursuit of something he could never get enough of, before, as a poor man the various degrees of pleasure and excitement that women could offer him. He traveled all around the world several times, sampling the various erotica and accompanying stimuli that had been passed down through the ages in Asia, Europe, Africa and the Orient. In the last year or so, Van Jagger had settled down in Greenwich Village, where he bought a small apartment house. He took the top floor for himself, furnishing it, sumptuously. The other eight apartments were occupied by young females of varying types and degrees of beauty, nationality, race and sexual accomplishment. They lived there rent free and with an allowance in cash that enabled them to five as well, if not better than if they worked a daytime job. Most of them were aspiring actresses, dancers, singers or artists, marking time until the world "discovered" them. Meanwhile, through Van Jagger's generosity, they could pursue their careers without having to give up time to making a living. In return, they were to make themselves available whenever Van Jagger's demands might arise.
Harry Fields had known Van Jagger for some time. He had done Van several favors, at different times, tipping him off to girls he might be interested in as potential "queens" for his "harem." He had a hunch Van would help him out.
They sat around Van's luxuriously appointed apartment discussing the situation over a few drinks. Van Jagger was a big, ruggedly good looking young man, with a thick mane of yellow blonde hair. His facial structure was such that it so far had held off pretty well, the ravages of dissipation. He looked thirty, instead of thirty-five.
After he listened to Harry's proposition, he said: "Man, that is a wild request. What kind of a chick is this, that gets her kicks that way?"
"Pretty weird," Harry answered. "But it's worth it, believe me."
"You say it's one of the models you use in your cosmetic ads."
"Yeah," Harry said. "And let's leave that part of it lay, huh, Van. like I said, I can't tell you any more about her. You know, her coming from a wealthy family and all."
"Okay." Van grinned. "I know how those things are. And this Corinne chick, you sure she isn't a dog?"
"Uh-uh. I kid you not, Van. I think you'll enjoy her for a quickie. She's not so hot you'd want it for a regular diet but I think you won't mind it for a one-shot."
"And she'll go along with it for anything I might want to do, for extra kicks?"
"Sure. No problem there. I'll tell her to do anything you say. I already told you she's got a pretty strong masochistic streak."
"Okay, Pal," Van finally agreed. "You let me know the time and the place and I'll go along for the ride. What do I have to lose? Besides, I owe you a favor."
"That's just what I was hoping you would say." Harry grinned, contentedly. "And now, since I'm here, what have you got in the building, now, in the way of goodies that you might like to share with a pal?"
Van got up and poured himself another drink. "Hey, that's an idea. I'm kind of in the mood for a little party, anyhow. Say, you remember that little Hawaiian girl, Tiko, you saw me out with one night?"
"Yeah. A gorgeous little creature. A little doll."
"So. how would you like a little of that?"
"How come? You through with her?"
"Yeah. You know, I don't usually share the wealth, unless I am. I'm getting rid of her next week."
"I often wondered about that," Harry mused. "How do you shake these broads when you're through with them? I should think they'd be like leeches and would fight like hell about giving up the good deal they have here."
"There are ways. With Tiko, it was easy. She's a fine dancer. So I just got a friend of mine in San Francisco to give her a job at his night club at a hundred bucks a week more than she's getting here in New York. Incidentally, did you ever see a Hula done the way it should be done, the way it used to be done?"
"How's that?"
"Well, with just the grass skirt."
"You mean, no bra, nothing under the skirt?"
"That's the way."
Harry Fields thought about it and began to rub his hands together in anticipation. "I never have. But there's always a first time, isn't there."
Van Jagger laughed, went over to an intercom system that he had hooked up with the rest of the apartments. He tipped a cam and said, when a girlish voice answered: "Tiko, you busy?"
"Not really," she answered.
"I'd like you to come up here and entertain a friend of mine for a few minutes. Put on your grass skirt and do a native dance for him. You know the real way."
There was no answer for a moment and then Tiko asked: "Who is he?"
"A very important friend of mine. He books acts into the biggest spots in Europe. I've been telling him about you. He can't use a Hula dancer right now, but will be able to just about the time yon finish up that San Francisco engagement. I mean, I just want him to catch your act, doll. No hanky panky ... Unless, of course, it's all right with you if you feel like it. We might even get a little party going, later and you can stick around if you feel like it. Okay?"
"All right. Van," she said. "Give me about ten minutes."
"Sure. And just bust right in without knocking. We'll be expecting you."
Van then came back and sat down. "WaitTl you see this dance. It'll drive you crazy, Harry. At least, it used to, me. I don't get much charge out of it any more," he said, a little regretfully.
Then he got up and went over to a long, complicated looking Hi-Fi outfit, snapped some switches and in a few minutes, lilting Island music began to flow from the twin speakers. They talked some more and then there was the sound of the front door opening and they both looked around, expectantly, toward the doorway from the hall.
When Harry Fields saw Tiko, she almost took his breath away. She was tiny, not quite five feet tall but she was built in perfect proportion. Her jet black hair, waist long and shimmering and shiny as wet Java silk, was brought over the front of her shoulders so that its cascading softness partially concealed her otherwise bared breasts. As she moved toward them, her naked thighs flashed through the whispering skirt of grass. They were the long, strong, smoothly muscled thighs of a professional dancer, firm and hard, yet completely feminine.
Her face was an exotic, almost mysterious blend of all the oriental types of beauty, with a dash of the Latin there, too. Her nose was short and straight and so small it was almost like a child's. Her eyes, slightly slanting, were enormous, seeming to fill her whole face. They were thick-lashed and held a passionate, moody expression. Her mouth was like a Lotus bud, moist and shining and richly red.
She paused in front of Van and Harry Fields stared, goggle-eyed at one of the girl's breasts, peekabooing out between strands of her long, silken black hair. The plump and tawny globe of firm ripe flesh was apple-sized and perfectly formed. The coffee-colored nipple aroused by the tickling strands of hair against it, rose from the center like a large, hard brown pebble.
Tiko's teeth were small and even and white as she smiled a greeting to Van's introduction of Harry. Then, she asked, with just a trace of delightful Polynesian accent: "You wish I should begin right away?"
"Might as well," Van said, smiling. "After seeing you, I'm sure Harry can hardly wait"
Harry hardly could. He sat, enthralled, then, as Tiko moved to the center of the room and began to perform. As she began the ritual of the native dance, in perfect rhythm to the Island music pouring from the Hi-Fi, her lithe hips moved as though on ball-bearings; they rolled and ground and the flimsy grass skirt permitted constant tantalizing flashes of her brown, naked thighs and occasionally, when the gyrations of the dance became particularly wild, even allowed a flashing peek at the jewel of her womanhood. And as her long hair slithered about her shoulders, her widely set, nubile breasts kept bobbing back and forth into view, jiggling gelatinously, the dark tips seeming to become more and more aroused and erectile.
After awhile, she turned to give the men a back view. The flimsy grass skirt swished back and forth with the movement of her hips, the stamping of her tiny bare feet. It did little to hide the deeply divided mounds of her pertly plump derriere.
When she wheeled around to face them again, the music pounded into an even wilder beat and now Tiko flung her long hair completely back off her shoulders, baring the tawny skinned, taut-fleshed bombs of her bouncing breasts. They jiggled and swayed as though they were made out of jello.
The finale, a highly suggestive series of movements, involving belly, hips, thighs and hands, had sweat standing out on Harry's forehead and rolling down his ribs. As the music stopped, Tiko stood breathless for a moment, smiling at them, her breasts still wilding heaving from her heavy breathing. Then, she whispered to Harry, her dark, slanting eyes flashing with the eagerness of a child for applause: "You like, 'Arry?"
"God. honey, I loved it, not liked it! You drove me right out of my mind. Come over here, you adorable creature!"
With a little giggle, Tiko ran over and eased herself down on his lap. She said: "Tiko like you. Tiko happy you liked her dance."
Harry just groaned and buried his face against the exotically scented smoothness of her long, sleek black hair. His hand sought and found the warm, smooth sphere of a firmly resilient breast, squeezing, cupping, the stiffened nipple digging teasingly into his palm and catching between his fingers. His other hand sampled the hot, silken sleekness of her naked thigh, under the rustling coarseness of the grass skirt.
She raised his head then and brought her slightly opened mouth down upon his. Her mouth tasted as sweet as though it was filled with honey as his tongue instantly drove into it. They clutched and clung as Harry's hands sampled all the delights of the hills and dales and dells of her voluptuous little body.
Then, as he paused to get into a more comfortable position, with a little laugh, Tiko jumped from his lap.
"Hey, what's the idea?" Harry demanded.
Tiko shook her finger at him, mischievously, her teeth flashing as she giggled, girlishly. "Not yet, 'Any, darling. You must be patient"
Van Jagger, watching this byplay, chuckled, said: "Simmer down for the moment, Harry. I know how you feel but the night's young yet I've got some other entertainment coming up that you and Tiko can watch together. It should be very inspiring."
With that he went to the intercom, talked to two other girls in the building and got them to come up. A few minutes later, they entered the apartment. Their appearance together was startling. One of the girls was a blonde, a little on the buxom side, her face and her figure amazingly close to making her a double for Jayne Mansfield. The other was a tall slender, regal looking negress. She was over six feet tall. Her waist was so infinitesimal a man could close both hands around it. But her hips had a feminine flair and her high, pointy breasts stabbed out the cloth of her dress in a delightful manner. Her skin was a sleek, shiny black and her face was exquisitely pretty, finely featured, the nose thin, aquiline, the mouth small and pouting. Her eyes, set off beautifully by her high cheekbones were a liquid brown. She was a strikingly lovely woman.
Van introduced both girls to Harry. The blonde was Vivian; the colored girl, Estelle. While they talked for awhile, got acquainted, Van made them all drinks from his well stocked bar and Tiko went out into the kitchen to prepare some snacks to go with the drinks.
After one drink, Van called in another girl from the building. This one when she appeared, was a tiny Chinese girl, named Mai. Harry was amazed to see that she was no bigger than a ten year old child. Under the silk Mandarin pajamas she wore there was no visible sign of development.
"My God!" Harry exclaimed to Van, when the girl had moved away. "Isn't that dangerous, robbing the cradle like that? How old is she ten eleven, at the most?"
Van laughed. "I've got news for you. She's nineteen but she did stop growing when she was ten. And believe me when it comes to making a man happy, she's no child. She's my latest kick. She's completely different. It's like a Lolita gig except that it's pretty legal. I've never had anything like it"
The group sat around, listening to music, talking and drinking and enjoying the kitchen snacks Tiko had prepared. Tiko was now sitting on the arm of Harry's chair and he was running his hand up and down the tawny smoothness of her well fleshed thigh, wondering how long he could stand it before he would have to pick her up and carry her off to a bedroom.
Then Estelle, the tall negress, brought Tiko a fresh drink. After she'd handed it to the girl, she stood there staring down at one of Tiko's exposed breasts. Finally she reached out and cupped it gently, rubbing her thumb across the distended nipple.
"Ah, honey," she said, in liquid Southern tones. "That's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen."
Then, quickly, she bent her head and briefly kissed the aroused little nubbin. She straightened, hastily, though, when Vivian, the blonde, called out: "Hey Estelle, cut that out, before I come over there and snatch you bald!"
Estelle showed her perfect, ivory white teeth in a cat-like grin. "Oh, don't be such a jealous chile, sweetie. You got nothing to worry 'bout. You know I couldn't live without those big beauties of yours. I was just testing for comparison."
Then she glanced around at the others. "Hey, Y'all, I've got an idea. Little Tiko, here, is practically naked and were all fully clothed. How about the rest of us evening things up a little? As a-matter-of-fact, while we're at it; let's go all the way. Let's all of us have us a nudist party. Everybody game?"
There was some jocular discussion of the idea and then it was unanimously agreed. Everybody began to strip, right on the spot Tiko, of course, who had only to remove her grass skirt, was the first. Looking at her, Harry marveled that she was even more beautiful, completely nude. Her hips were exquisitely rounded, cutting in sharply at the top to her .small waist.
Estelle, the negress, was the second to completely strip. Her black body was a thing of striking beauty. Her legs were long and delicately curved, her stomach flat, her hips slightly flared. Her breasts were high set and pear-shaped, thrusting slightly out to each side and tapering to sharply pointed black tips. Her flesh all over was as smooth looking as black velvet
Vivian, when finally nude, was a voluptuous specimen. Her abnormally large breasts billowed up, surprisingly without any sag. The nipples were as large as Malaga grapes. Her skin was milky white.
Mai, the little Chinese girl, was even more surprising, when she divested herself of her mandarin pajamas. She looked more than ever like a child, with her short, baby-plump arms and legs. But like a child which has matured too early. The tiny dark ringlets of her womanhood seemed incongruous, as did the tiny, tiny buds of her breasts, small, though completely shaped, as they were, hardly more than plum-sized.
Immediately, Estelle and Vivian began to dance. Next, Van Jagger took the diminutive Mai in his arms, the top of her head hardly coming to his chest Then Tiko came toward Harry and said, smiling: "Shall we join them?" Then she glanced down, gasping a little and saying: "That is, if we can get close enough together."
"Oh, we'll manage it, somehow," Harry said, excitedly.
"I'm sure we will," Tiko said, nestling in his arms.
The touch of his body against hers, drove Harry wild. In a few minutes he gave up all pretense at dancing. He just stood there, thrilling to the sensation of Tiko's hard nipples against his chest, her warm belly against his, the caress of her thighs against his own. His hands smoothed the hollow of her back and then glided down to the cute pouting of her firm little buttocks. He gripped them, sampling their resilience.
Meanwhile they were both watching Vivian and Estelle, their black and white bodies in such violent contrast. Both women were rubbing against each other, now, as they danced. Estelle's dark, pointed breasts were digging into the big, blooming white pillows of Vivian's flesh. Every once in awhile, their mutually stiffened nipples would brush against each other. Finally, they stopped dancing and with little moans, frankly embraced each other. Their mouths moved together and clung, twisting, opened, their tongues dueling.
A few minutes later, they collapsed onto a pile of silken pillows on the floor and began to make violent love to each other. Van and Mai and Harry and Tiko, now, had stopped dancing and both couples were watching the two women on the pillows, while their hands moved caressingly about each other.
When Estelle and Vivian were finally ecstatically entwined, Harry could wait no longer. He led Tiko to a waiting divan and she lay upon it, reaching her arms to him. She was equally ready and received him willingly, while they both kept their eyes on the other lovers the ones on the pillows and Van Jagger sitting on a chair, with the tiny Mai astride him. It was a session Harry Fields would never forget
After it was over, they all ate and drank some more until all of them were quite tipsy and it seemed perfectly in order to change partners. This time, Harry wound up with the miniature oriental-, maiden, Mai, while Van sampled the abundant charms of Vivian. Tiko and the statuesque, dark Estelle, rendered their own private version of the Passion Song. And Van had been right about Mai; she certainly wasn't any child when it came to love-making. She astounded Harry with a variety of sensual tricks that he had never known before...
CHAPTER SIX
During the next week, Lena Troy saw a lot of Bart Laramie. They had lunch together nearly every day. They'd meet again after office hours for drinks, dinner and a night on the town. The first several dates ended the same way, with Bart letting her out at her apartment, after a tender, almost solemn goodnight kiss. Each time, though, Lena could tell it was getting more and more difficult for him to stop with that. She wondered how much longer it would be before he would become more demanding. She had mixed emotions about that. Part of her wanted it to happen, couldn't wait. Another part of her mind dreaded it, was sure that she couldn't allow him to touch her intimately.
All this time, Lena found herself actually falling in love with the man. She was sure of it, after their fourth or fifth date. No man had ever held her interest so long before. She usually found them infantile and boring after one or two dates. But each time after she went out with Bart, she found herself eagerly looking forward to the next time. She found herself resenting the time she had to be away from him; at her business.
She even found herself thinking about marriage, for the first time. Although she still wasn't worth a million dollars in liquid assets the goal she'd set for herself, what did it matter, now? Bart, himself, was a millionaire. As his wife, she would share half of his fortune. Then, too, she could sell her business for at least that much and thus acquire her goal. She could set that money aside, to remain independent financially, just in case things didn't work out.
As for Bart, her woman's intuition told her that he was already hooked, would be more than willing to marry her, as soon as she gave the word.
Friday night, when Bart Laramie brought her home, Lena felt a hot current of physical need flow through her, when he kissed her goodnight, such as she'd never known before. Bart must have noticed it, too. He didn't seem surprised when she invited him upstairs to her apartment for a nightcap.
They sat side by side on her sofa, sipping B&B's and talking casually. As they finished their drinks, as though by mutual agreement, they both set their glasses down at the same time and turned toward each other. Gently, Bart took her into his arms. Lena let herself flow against him, thrilling to the sensation of her breasts being mashed against his strong chest. Their lips met, gently, at first, twisting, seeking and then with a shock of pleasure, Lena felt Bart's tongue force itself between her lips. Her own leapt to meet it and now their mouths clung together, deeply, demandingly, their tongues feverishly lashing at each other, until both were gasping for breath.
All the time, Bart's big, gentle hands were stroking, caressing the hollow of Lena's spine, moving at the nape of her neck. And now, as their passionate soul-kissing grew in intensity, Lena felt Bart's hand slide up her ribs and under her breast. She felt it close around the full blown fleshiness of it, fondling and feeling through the cloth of her dress and the bra. The sensation caused a wanton flood of excitement to flow through her. At the same time, she felt his other hand slide up under the hem of her dress, onto the smooth, warm inside of her thigh. It stroked and caressed there, moving ever higher and then suddenly it touched her, intimately, through the frail thin silk of her panties.
Instantly passion fled from Lena and she felt a strong surge of revulsion. She gasped and twisted away, reaching down to roughly push Bart's hand from tinder her skirt. She edged away from him on the couch.
He was instantly beside himself with remorse. I I'm sorry, Lena. Honestly, I am. I just thought well, you know that you wanted me to do that I should have known better. I shouldn't have tried to rush things."
She wanted to tell him that she had wanted him to until it had happened. That he hadn't been rushing things, that she'd been just as anxious for further loving as he had been to give it. That was one minute, though. The next she couldn't stand for him to touch her there. But she found it impossible to say any of that She didn't know how to explain it She thought it would sound ridiculous, as though she was a nut of some kind. So, all she said, was:
"It's all right, Bart. I I'm not angry. I guess it's well as you said. You'll just have to give me a little more time. I'm not really a prude, you know or or cold natured. It's just that "
"Honey," he butted in. "You don't have to explain to me. Listen, in a way, I'm glad you're like that. Believe me, there aren't many that are. And I guess I'm just old fashioned enough to find such standards desirable in a woman, still."
"Thanks, Bart," she said, gratefully. "Just don't misunderstand, darling. It isn't because I don't like you, don't find you attractive. I do terribly. In fact sometimes I think maybe I even..."
Her voice tapered off. She couldn't bring herself to finish.
"Say it," he begged. "You were going to say that you loved me, weren't you?"
She nodded and then flung herself into his embrace. He held her gently, again, now. He whispered: "And I love you, too, Lena. So much that I want to marry you. You will marry me, won't you?"
With that Lena Troy suddenly burst into tears. Her whole body was wracked with her sobbing. Bart held her tightly, murmuring: "There, there, honey! Let it all out. It'll do you good. But I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry I rushed things so, threw everything at you all at once. It was only because I guess I'm so impatient, have been since the first moment I set eyes on you."
Lena didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She sobbed for a few more minutes and then Bart dried her eyes with his handkerchief and in a few more minutes left.
After he had gone, Lena tried to figure out what had gone wrong, what it was all about. It just didn't make sense. Here was a man with whom she was madly in love a man whom she wanted to have her body and she wanted to have his ... yet when the time came, she couldn't go through with it. Not even that, but could hardly get started. Why couldn't she stand for him to touch her intimately? Why was it all right as long as they just necked or lightly petted like school kids but then when it began to go past that point it was just as suddenly all wrong?
Lena puzzled about the thing and got nowhere, for several hours, before she finally fell asleep.
The next day, Saturday, she and Bart Laramie went to the races at Belmont. They had drinks and dinner at a swank roadhouse out on Long Island, afterward. That night, once again, Bart dropped her off at her apartment house, after a tender good night kiss or two. He made no attempt to touch her intimately this evening and Lena, strangely, was both relieved and disturbed by this. But she admired Bart for his restraint and for figuring it out that he had better let her hold the reins on their passion.
On Monday, she and Bart had lunch together but they made no date for that night. Lena planned to work late at the office, going over the material that had been laid out for the promotion campaign connected with Bart's drug stores.
At five o'clock, the offices of Helena Troy Cosmetics, Inc., began to empty out By five thirty, everybody was gone. Before she settled down to work, Lena went into Harry Fields office to make sure he wasn't hanging around. Even though he'd been polite and respectful and business-like, ever since she'd had that showdown with him, Lena still didn't trust him completely. Several times she had caught him looking at her body, at the jut of her breasts and backside and there was an expression in his eyes like that of a lusting bull's around a cow in heat. It almost made her shudder.
Back in her own office, Lena caught herself staring toward the window, to look out at ,the hotel across the street. Several times she fought against it but then finally had to give in to it She stood there, looking over at the hotel but there was nothing to see. In the first place, it was not yet dark, this being daylight saving time and you couldn't see into the rooms, anyhow. Despite herself, she felt a little disappointment. She also caught herself thinking about the scene she had witnessed between the two lesbians and beginning to get excited, just thinking about it.
But then she told herself she was acting like a fool and turned back to her desk and buried her thoughts in her work.
And hour and a half later, Lena sent out for a sandwich and coffee, ate it and drank it at her desk and then took a break while she smoked a cigarette. It was now quite dark. As Lena sat smoking, she wheeled her chair around so that she was facing the window. She watched the faint flash and fade of a neon sign out there in the dark and then her curiosity got the better of her, She got up and stood by the window, looking out.
She saw that several lights were on in windows of the hotel across the way, now. But in only one of them were the occupants visible. In this one a man and a woman were sitting on a bed, smoking and talking. Lena found her interest quickening as she saw that the man was wearing nothing but shorts. He was a big man, with a heavy shock of wavy golden hair. The girl with him was land of cute. She too, was blonde. She was wearing nothing but a bra and brief panties. She was kind of a cute looking girl in a baby-doll-faced sort of way. At the moment, the pair were doing nothing but apparently carrying on a conversation.
Yet why were they undressed that way? Lena wondered. She felt a pang of regret at the idea that maybe she'd looked out too late, that maybe they had been doing it and now were all through. Then she saw the man get up and go over and stamp his. cigarette out in a tray on the dresser. Then he hooked a finger into the waistband of his shorts and forced them down over his hips and off. He stepped out of them naked and seeing him like that, Lena Troy felt something like a flash of tingling fire run up her thighs and into her loins. She felt her breasts begin to throb and ache, especially when the man walked over and stood in front of the girl who was sitting on the bed and she pretended to be shocked and held her hand over her eyes, until he took it away and guided it toward himself. Her caressing then had an almost instant effect, which was obvious to Lena, even this distance away. While the girl thus busied herself, the big blonde man reached back over her shoulders and unhooked her bra. When it fell away, his hands instantly moved to her small shapely breasts, began to fondle them, teasing and toying with the elongated nipples, Oh, look at them, look at them! Lena thought. "Oh, if only they don't pull down the shade," she said, half aloud.
Then, afraid that if they should happen to glance up here and see her, they might do that, she wheeled and raced to the wall switch, cut off the light in her office. Back at the window, then, she stood there in the dark, watching.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Harry Fields found out that afternoon, that Lena was planning to work late at the office, tonight, he had to make plans fast. He got hold of Corinne right away but had a little trouble at first contacting Van Jagger. But he finally reached him, Next he had to go to that hotel across the street and make his arrangements there.
That wasn't too much of a problem. A five dollar bill to the room clerk got him the two rooms he wanted, next to each other, on the right floor, on the right side of the building. One, of course, was for Van and Corinne. The other was for himself. He had to make sure that the show they were going to stage, went on at just the right time. So he made arrangements with Van for a signal when Van was to start the action. He was to begin making love to Corinne when Harry pounded three times on the wall between the two rooms.
It started to get dark about eight o'clock. Standing out of sight behind the curtains in his room, Harry watched the window of Lena's private office across the street. He wondered how long it would be before she came over and looked out the window or if she ever would. Yet, he was almost sure she would have to, out of curiosity, alone, if nothing else. Almost anybody would, after witnessing the sight she'd seen the last time.
But as a half hour went by and she didn't show up, he began to wonder. Then a few minutes later, there she was. Harry Fields' heart began to pound. He waited a few minutes to be sure that she stayed at the window.
He was just about to leave, then, when he saw her quickly turn away and Harry cursed. Something had gone wrong. Either she hadn't been looking in the right window or else Van had goofed it up, somehow.
Then he saw the light in Lena's office go out. He sighed. That figured. She was all alone over there and she wouldn't want Van and Corinne to see her staring out the window at them. So she'd turned off the light. He couldn't see her but he was pretty sure that she was back at that window again, looking across at the hotel.
Harry left the room, took the elevator down to the lobby and left the hotel. He crossed the street not too concerned about Lena seeing him; she would hardly be looking down at the street, not with what was going on in the hotel room. He entered the office building and took the night elevator up to their floor. He used his own key to enter the outer office as silently as he could. Then he tiptoed to the doorway of Lena's private office, stood there, looking in. He could see her figure, outlined against the flashing of a neon glow from outside.
He could hear her breathing. She sounded as though she had been running for a mile. Cod, he thought, but Van and Corinne must be putting on a good show for her.
Lena groaned out loud, then and sucked a ragged, noisy breath in through her teeth. "Oh!" she cried out, then. "Oh, look at them! Oh. come on, that's right! Let him! Oh, good! Oh, my God, look at that"
Harry Fields stood there listening, excitement rising in him like floodwater backing up behind Adam. He began to tingle and throb with the heat building in him. He forced himself to wait a little longer. He didn't want to make a move too soon. Then he heard Lena whisper hoarsely into the dark:
"Oh, why don't I have somebody? I can hardly stand it. Oh, if only somebody was here. Why didn't Harry stay, like last time? Oh, Heaven help me, where's Harry?"
He moved toward her then. "Here I am, Baby," he said, softly. "Don't tell me those two girls are at it again.
You're in luck, Lena, that I stopped by to pick up some papers."
"Oh, Harry, is it really you?" she asked, excitedly. Then he was close enough to see that it was. "Oh, come here," she ordered breathlessly. "It isn't the two girls, this time. It's even better. It's a man and a woman. Look!"
Standing beside her at the window, Hairy looked down and saw Van and Corinne. Just then, they rolled over into a new position and now Corinne was taking the masculine role. Harry watched the rotating movement of Corinne's fine hips and outthrust buttocks.
"Like, wow!" he said.
He slid his arm around Lena's waist and cupped one of her brassiered breasts, briefly, as she whispered: "You should have been here, earlier. You you should have seen what she was doing to him, before, before they did this! Oh, I've never seen anything like it. And she seemed to enjoy it so!"
Now, Harry was hastily unzipping the back of Lena's dress, then forcing it down off her shoulders and over her hips. Then he unhooked her bra, feeling the feverish heat of her back against his fingers. The bra fell free and dropped to the floor and he reached around and his hands filled to overflowing with the great round bombs of Lena's maturely voluptuous breasts. The hard peaks bored against his palms as he rotated them. At the same time, the soft rear rounds of her pushed back against him, covered only by the thin silk of her step ins.
After a moment he freed her breasts again and stepped back, swiftly undressed himself. Then he got a straight chair from one side of the office, brought it over by the window. He set it down. He reached and eased Lena's panties whispering down over her ample hips and long, full-fleshed thighs. Then he fixed the chair, sideways to the window and sat down on it
"What are you doing?" Lena asked, huskily.
"Fixing things-so you can watch them and enjoy yourself, at the same time," he told her. "Come here." He reached out and pulled her between his parted legs. He reached around and cupped the great, soft, smooth rounds of her handsome derriere. held her to him, while he buried his face in the deep, soft, scented valley between her huge breasts. He moved his face back and forth there, savoring the soft, pillowing flesh, while Lena groaned with delight. Next, his lips coursed all over each thrusting, grapefruit sized breast, his tongue active, finally seizing with his lips, each achingly distended nipple. His lips teased and plucked at them while Lena groaned and begged for him to help her out.
A moment later he had mercy on her and adjusted both their positions. Then he slowly pulled her down onto him while he sat upon the chair.
Lena made a little piercing cry as contact was made and began moving her hips. Harry was still holding her by the buttocks. Now he held her tightly and surged upward. Lena wailed and at the same time lowered her own body, in a contrapuntal action that brought them completely together. Her movements became wild and furious, then, as she watched what was going on in the hotel room across the street, stimulated by that to even greater efforts.
Several times Lena was able to bring herself, crying out, to quick, animal satisfaction; the last time, after the couple across the street had untangled their limbs and lay back separately, in exhaustion. Then once more when Harry Fields was no longer able to restrain himself.
Collapsed, now, her arms still around Harry's neck, Lena felt the relief and release from tension flowing through her, like cooling water on a hot summer day. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. And all the time, Harry held her tenderly, gently stroking her smooth-skinned back.
Finally, she eased to a standing position, whispered: "Don't put on the fights until I get dressed, Harry."
"Of course not," he said, restraining a chuckle at the idea of such false modesty after what they had just shared together. He moved over to the small pile of his own clothing and got dressed, then waited for her to finish dressing and go over and snap on the light and go into her private lavatory.
While she was gone, Harry Fields moved to the private bar across from Lena's desk, opened it and helped himself to a good dollop of her Private Stock scotch, dropped an ice cube into it and squirted soda from a siphon into the glass.
When she came out, he was sitting in her swivel chair, with his feet propped on her desk, swirling the ice around in his drink. Lena stopped stock still and stared at him.
"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Having a drink. Celebrating. Join me?" he replied, coolly.
She frowned. "What? Celebrating what?"
"Our partnership."
"Are you out of your mind?"
He grinned at her. "No, but you were a little while ago. You really go wild, Baby, you know that. I mean you let off a real head of steam."
Lena's temper snapped, then. She shouted: "You son of a bitch, get out of that chair; get out of this office. You're fired."
He stared at her, the cynical grin still on his face. Then, very deliberately, he raised the glass to his mouth, finished the drink. He got up slowly. "Very well, Lena. If that's the way you want it. But there's nothing to prevent me from passing around a choice bit of information to a lot of the bigshots you do business with. You know, you're a beautiful woman, Lena and a lot of men who've known you would love to get into your pants. But they don't bother trying because they have you tabbed for an iceberg. But maybe if they knew what I knew, they wouldn't find it so difficult."
The flush of temper faded from her face, leaving it white. Her lower lip began to quiver. "I I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do, Lena ... Now. Maybe not the first time, but now I'm sure you do. Seeing other people in action is just like administering a dose of Spanish Fly to you, honey. It breaks down all your inhibitions and then some. For some psychological reason, this is the only way you can get aroused. I'll bet my salary against your income nobody else has ever had you the way I have, these two tunes."
She just stared at him for a moment and then the import of what he had said, sunk home and she began to cry. She put her face in her hands and sunk down into a chair. She sobbed for several minutes.
Harry Fields fixed himself another drink and waited patiently for her weeping to stop. When it finally did, she dabbed at her eyes and looked at him, beseechingly. "Harry you, you wouldn't ever tell about this to anybody, would you? That would be a rotten trick."
"Well, I'm a pretty rotten guy, when big stakes are involved," he said. "But then, of course, I wouldn't Why would I want to tell anybody anything like that about my partner? Besides I'd kind of like to keep it all to myself."
"Are you trying to blackmail me, Harry?"
"If you'd like to be crude and refer to it that way. Actually I'd say I was making you a business proposition. I'll be a good partner. I know the business. I'll handle my end of the load. Actually, I've got several ideas that might make us both a lot more money."
"That's ridiculous. After all the work and sweat I've personally put in to build tins business up to where it is now? You think I'm going to throw half of that away, to you? Because you've stumbled onto some strange psychological quirk of mine."
He smiled. "It really is pretty weird, isn't it? I'd love to know the origin of it I wish I was a bug doctor."
"Harry," Lena said, getting some control again, "you couldn't make anybody believe a story like that. And even if you did, how could anyone arrange something like that for me to see? So what good would it do a man to know it?"
"You'd be surprised. You see, I arranged tonight's little show." Quickly, he explained to her how he had done it. As he talked, Lena again turned red with fury and then pale with the sick knowledge of what she'd been subjected to.
"It wouldn't be too difficult to arrange in various ways," he went on. "For instance, I have an idea you might be affected almost as much by looking at pornographic photos. Or reading really pornographic books. Or watching that kind of movie. All right, let's say, for instance, a man gets hold of a set of pornographic photos. He mails them to you so that you'd get them on a Saturday morning. He walks in on you, light after you've opened the mail and looked at the pictures. Get it? And that's only one way. Men are ingenious about "things like this, especially where a woman as beautiful as yourself is involved. A lot of men would find this quite a challenge."
Lena thought about this. She saw where it could be possible. She wondered if she would get excited, looking at pornography and a small streak of heat flushed through her and he knew that she would.
She thought for quite awhile. It certainly looked as though Harry Fields had her by the short hairs. Yet she couldn't let him get away with this. There had to be some way out. What she needed right now, though, was time. The only way to get that was to pretend to give in. She stood up, letting out a big sigh.
"All right, Harry," she said, resignedly. "You win. We'll go see my lawyers, tomorrow."
He grinned, raised his glass toward her. "Good. Here's a toast to the new partners. May our business always flourish."
Lena Troy didn't say anything. She turned and walked out of the office, leaving him sitting there.
CHAPTER EIGHT
She spent almost a sleepless night. It was almost dawn when she finally fell into exhausted slumber. It seemed that she had just dozed off when the alarm rang at seven thirty. But this morning, it was more clear than ever, what she had to do. It was the only answer.
She showered and dressed and went out for breakfast. She was at her lawyers' offices sharply at nine o'clock and made them cancel other appointments. She told them simply, that she was very tired and wanted to sell the business, go on a long vacation. She was going to leave immediately, she said, if they would draw up papers, giving them power of attorney, to handle the sale for her. She would write and inform them as soon as she got there. She instructed them to close her office immediately, giving all the employees severance pay and a bonus. That is, all except Harry Fields.
When she left the lawyer's offices, Lena went to her bank, closed out her personal account of about eight thousand dollars and had it put into Traveler's Checks. Then she went back to her apartment, saw her landlord and bought her way out of her lease, with two months' extra rent. She called a storage company to come and get her furniture and belongings, except for what she could put in a suitcase. When that was done, Lena left the house and got into a cab to Penn Station. There she checked her bag and went and sat in the waiting room, while she made up her mind where to gc.
Her heart ached when she thought about not seeing
Bart Laramie again at least not any time soon. But she consoled herself with the thought that he was well off. He was lucky to be rid of a psychopathic character like herself. The only thing was, Bait was stubborn. He would probably come looking for her. She would have to go someplace where he wouldn't think of searching for her. She didn't want him to find her.
So she couldn't go to any of the obvious summer resorts. Then the idea came to her that the safest place would be to go to the opposite kind of resort to a winter resort, like Florida. She had never been there. She had heard that it wasn't really so unpleasant in the summer; actually wasn't as bad as New York or some of the other large northern cities. Next she decided that it would be best to drive there. That way, Bart couldn't check the railroad stations or airlines for a record of where she'd gone.
She picked up her suitcase and took a cab to the nearest automobile dealership. She bought a compact convertible for a little over three thousand dollars and drove off, heading for the Holland Tunnel. An hour later, she was skimming along the Jersey turnpike with the top down and the wind blowing her hair. She felt almost at peace. It was a strange sensation. For the first time in ten years, she had no sense of responsibility, nobody to think about but herself, no employees, no rivals, no business deals. She felt almost like a school girl again.
But then, suddenly, memory of what had brought all this about cast a dark shadow over her happiness. She wondered what she could do about that. The only sensible thing to do would be to go see a good psychiatrist as soon as she got to Florida. She was sure that they'd have some there.
CHAPTER NINE
Lew Mazza was tired. He wished to Cod he was anywhere but in this creepy roadhouse club in the northern part of Florida. The place was thick with smoke; the lousy band was too loud and brassy. The floor show had been bad. And now he had to sit here and listen to the silly, drunken chatter of this silly Dolores broad and his junior partner, Aldo Hines. Well, the whole bit was one of the occupational hazards of being a theatrical agent.
He and Aldo had spotted this Dolores dame in a cheap Miami joint and both of them agreed she could really sing and had something special which could be brought out, would make her into the big time, if she was handled right. Handled right, Lew thought with irony. Boy, Aldo was sine "handling her right," had been ever since they started on the trip. The big handsome guy by now had her having the hots for him so bad she could hardly sit still. He envied the younger man hi a way. It would be something to get into that when they went back to the motel. And there was no question Aldo was going to make it.
Of course, by the time they got her to New York, Aldo would be already tired of her and looking for the next one. But that was all right; it was just as well; then Aldo could be more objective about her, as a client. And they couldn't lose her even if she got mad at Aldo. They had wrapped her up in a good tight contract. The funny thing was, though, Aldo s broads seldom got PO'd at him when he threw them over. They seemed to accept it as inevitable. It was as though they knew that his talent made any other answer impossible.
And then Lew Mazza began to pay some attention to their conversation because right now, it was his talent, his specialty, that Aldo Hines and Dolores were discussing. It was real neat, Lew thought, the way Aldo could lead a conversation onto that subject, get a broad so excited and piqued with curiosity about this particular prowess, they could hardly wait to get alone with him. Lew Mazza listened, now.
"Oh, come off k, Aldo, honey," Dolores was saying, in that rich, sexy voice of hers. "You trying to make me believe that woman paid you five hundred dollars, just to do that for her, once a week?"
Aldo held up his right hand. "Scout's honor, kid! Listen, you wouldn't question it, if you'd ever had it done. And you've got to realize this woman was loaded with loot. Five hundred to her was like five bucks to you or me. Now, sweetie, you mean to say that if it's as good as I say, you wouldn't pay me a fin to do it for you?"
She laughed and her fine, plump breasts jiggled, free of any bra, under the thin T-shirt she was wearing. Lew Mazza watched that, noting that Aldo had her plenty excited already, just talking about it, the way the peaks of those pretty boobs were spiking out the cloth. Both Aldo and Dolores were pretty drunk. Lew noted. And Aldo was something more than that, Lew saw. His eyes were glittering wildly and he was more excited than Lew had ever seen him, in a weird kind of way, sort of like a mad scientist, or something, being challenged by a difficult, earth-shaking experiment.
"Oh, Aldo, you're terrible!" Dolores said, giggling. "I don't know why I even let you talk to me about such awful things. Any other man I'd probably slap his face."
"It's not so awful, Baby," Aldo said. "Listen, any doctor, any psychiatrist will tell you that when a guy and gal are crazy for each other that anything that's pleasurable for them both, is perfectly okay."
Then he shook his head, ruefully. "You know, Dolores, sweetie, it's hard for me to believe, almost impossible."
"What is?"
"That as beautiful, adorable, sweet and lovable kid as you are, has never had that wonderful experience."
"Oh, Aldo! You do say the sweetest things!"
Lew Mazza sat there, listening, marveling at Aldo's verbal technique for seduction. It was so effective that Dolores seemed to have even forgotten that he was there. Mazza looked up, then, as a beautiful woman entered, alone and was led by a waitress to the booth next to theirs. Mazza's eyes lighted with interest as he noticed the woman's erect, regal carriage, her facial beauty, the gentle hobbling, beneath the light summer dress she wore, of her majestic bosom.
Now there, Mazza thought to himself, is a real woman, mature, interesting, not just some silly, pretty kid. Now there was one who could get him excited, even.
Then his attention was brought back to what the couple sitting with him, were saying. Aldo was pouring it on again.
"Sure, honey, a lot of these famous, glamour girl movie stars love it that way. Believe me. It's extra kicks for them. Hey, did I ever tell you about what happened at a famous Hollywood nightclub, one night?"
Dolores shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said.
"Well, I don't dare tell you their actual names; very few people do actually know them. But I happen to. Anyhow, the guy is a famous Hollywood director; the woman a big star; at least she was, at that time; she's not very active any more. And bear in mind, Sugar, this is a true story. Everyone in Movietown knows about it. It was the talk of the film colony for months."
"Yeah?" Dolores said.
"Uh-huh. And it happened at this famous night club. We'll call it the Falstaff Club, just for convenience, al-thought the actual place this happened was very big and famous. Anyhow, this director and this actress met for the first time at this night club party. There were two other couples along, and you, so the incident was well witnessed, so to speak, certified. Well, there was a lot of boozing and this director and the actress got the hots for each other right off and did some smooching right there in that night club booth and a little hand holding and other things under the table. Anyhow, both of them got pretty worked up. First thing you know, the director and the girl are talking about well, you know what you and I have been discussing, tonight. First thing you know, this crazy director tells the girl that he's so crazy about her. wants her so much that he can't even wait. He'd be willing to do something for her, right there, at the club; right at the table."
"What?" Dolores gasped.
"No kidding. That's exactly what he said. Everybody heard it. And they all started razzing the poor guy, telling him ho was crazy, he didn't have the moxie to do such a thing, and like that. Some other guy bet him a thousand bucks, he wouldn't dare. Well that tore it. Especially when the woman told this director that she wouldn't care but she didn't think he had the nerve to go through with it, either. With that, the guy promptly slid under the table and right there in a busy night club, he--"
"Oh, no!" Dolores cut in. "You're kidding!" Her giggle was almost hysterical, now and her voice throbbed with a strange excitement.
"That's the honest truth, angel," Aldo swore. "Listen, a few days later the story was all over Hollywood and a famous gossip columnist even mentioned it in his column."
"He did? What could he possibly say about a thing like that?"
"He was pretty clever. He just ran an item that said: 'I hear they're now serving box lunches at the Falstalf.'"
Dolores laughed until tears came to her eyes. She dabbed them away, then said: "Oh, that's awfu!"
"She didn't think so," Aldo said. "The girl involved."
Lew Mazza had heard this story before. But he was interested now in Dolores' reaction and also the strange way Aldo was acting. He knew Aldo well enough to know the guy was building up to something.
That really did take a lot of guts for a guy to do," Lew commented.
"You think so?" Aldo said, deprecatingly. "I don't Listen, you pick the right moment, when nobody's looking, to slide under the table, who's going to know the difference except the people whore sitting right there at that table. If any one did see it, they'd just think tie guy dropped something, was looking for it."'
"Yeah, I suppose so," Lew admitted. "Still and all, it's a wild gig."
"Nah!" Aldo said, excitedly. "Tell you what You bet me ten bucks I won't end I'll do it Bight here and now."
Lew Mazza looked at him with interest He heard Dolores gasp, "Oh, no, Al!" but he didn't pay too much attention to her. He thought about it He decided that ten bucks would be a cheap price to be on hand for such a stunt. He said: "Okay, kid. You're on."...
In the next booth, Lena Troy sat listening to the conversation, as she sipped a Scotch Mist. She could hardly believe her ears. Her face felt hot and flushed. Even though the people in the other booth were talking quietly and the "band in the place was making so much noise the conversation should have been drowned out to all except the actual occupants of that table, by some strange trick of acoustics, Lena could hear every word, quite plainly. In addition to that because of the placement of a wall mirror, Lena could see and watch the people in the next booth, quite clearly.
Several times she'd told herself that they couldn't possibly be talking about what she thought yet what other interpretation was there? Especially since Lena, once, had heard the same story about the director and the actress. Oh, no, she told herself, now, as she listened to Aldo's proposition, this is terrible; it can't be happening.
Yet at the same time, she knew it was and she was fascinated, in spite of herself. The conversation started all kinds of erotic images and imaginings running through her mind. Almost vividly she could picture the intimate details. She found herself beginning to perspire and trembling all over. Heat like a fiery stain was again beginning to crawl up her thighs and wild urges and needs and desires flowed through her. She felt weak and filled with an almost sickening sweetness of acutely pleasurable sensation.
She heard the younger man, Aldo, say: "Oh, come on, Dolores, don't be chicken. Nobody'll know, except us. It'll be a wild kick. You told me you liked to get kicks, well this'll be a new one, a big one for you. Nobody can see anything, not with this long table cloth hanging down on all sides. What do you say, doll, okay?"
Dolores was staring at Aldo now with wild-eyed fascination and poorly veiled interest. The pert globes of her breasts rose and fell excitedly under her T-shirt, the sharp nipples looking as though they'd burst through the cloth.
"Oh, I couldn't, honey!" she gasped.
"Tow don't have to do anything," he coaxed. "Just sit there. You're going to let me, aren't you? Come on, now."
Dolores was speechless by now. She could only shake her head, negatively and rather weakly, as she glanced around to see if anybody was looking. She missed seeing Lena watching them in the mirror.
Now, Aldo, too, was glancing around. Excitedly, he told Dolores: "I'm going to do it. And listen, Baby, you'd better not try to get away, to stop me, because if you do, I'll tip the damned table over and I'll tell everybody why I did it. How does that grab you? And don't think I won't because I've got to go through with this now. I've got to."
Then he saw that nobody was paying any attention and quickly slid off his chair and ducked under the long-hanging table cloth, disappeared from sight.
"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch!" Lew Mazza breathed in awed admiration
Witnessing this in the mirror, Lena Troy could hardly believe her eyes. The man couldn't now be under the table and about to ... Yet, if not, where had he gone? There was no other answer.
Then she saw the pretty young woman, Dolores, push her fingertips up into the hair at her temples and stiffen, her eyes going big and wide, as she murmured: "Oh, Jeeze, no!" But it was more of an exclamation of disbelief than denial.
Now, Dolores sat there, stiffly, as though frozen and Lena's imagination about what was going on, ran wild. She was beside herself with arousement, now. She could hardly sit still. It was almost as though it was happening to her.
Then, abruptly, Dolores' eyes went even bigger and her moist red mouth opened and she uttered a little animal-like cry and started to slump back in her chair. Her hands were on the table in front of her, twining and untwinig her fingers, nervously. Now her eyes took on a glazed look and her mouth remained open to take care of her quickened breathing. She shuddered a couple of times and slid lower in her seat. Then in a few moments she let out a couple of hoarse groans, unheard by the rest of the patrons, under cover of the noise of the band.
It went on and on and Lena thought it would never stop. She wanted to tear her gaze away from the mirror; she wanted to get up and run from this awful place, away from these awful people, but she couldn't She remained rooted and wild desires and needs began to build up terrible, unbearable tensions within her, as she watched Dolores' expression. The other girl now was slumped way down in her seat her head back, her mouth opened, her eyes walled back. Her hands were now down under the table cloth. She was gasping and groaning as though she was dying. And then, finally, she let out a big sigh and relaxed all over.
"Well, I I'm be a son of a bitch!" Lew Mazza said. At the same time he looked around, worriedly, to see if anybody had noticed what had happened. Apparently nobody had ... And then he saw Lena Troy's reflection in the minor and knew that she had. He kept his eyes on her reflection, now, as Aldo bobbed back up from under the table cloth. He heard Dolores whimper weakly:-Oh, Aldo, darlinpi"
Lew Mazza saw that the girl in the next booth wasn't aware yet that he was watching her. She still had her gaze on Dolores. He saw, too, the unmistakable signs in Lena's expression, of a woman tormented by almost unbearable desire. It was so obvious that he immediately felt his own life juices leap in response.
"Hell." he told himself. "Watching that little incident really Rot that beautiful chick, really got to her. She's hotter right now than a three buck pistol. Oh, is that peach ever ripe for plucking!"
Then suddenly, in the mirror, Lena's gaze caught at Lew's. Their eyes met and held for an instant and Lew smiled slowly, knowingly and winked. The woman blushed furiously and then grabbed up her purse, dug into it and took out a bill and dropped it on the table. She got up so fast, then, she knocked the remains of her drink over. She pushed away from the table and headed for the exit.
Lew Mazza, an opportunist all his life, wasn't about to let this one get away. He hurriedly arose, too, left their table. He ignored Aldo's query: "Hey, where you going, Lew?" He ran toward the exit. When he stepped outside, Lena Troy was standing in the driveway, looking around wildly, swaying a little.
Lew went up to her, taking a last drag on his cigar before throwing it away. "Miss, is anything wrong? Can I help you?"
She looked around, startled. She almost jumped. T no I feel better now. I was feeling a little ill."
"Well, then, maybe you'd better let me help you to your car."
"No," she started to protest Then she felt his fat, strong fingers encircle her arm. The contact sent flames of desire darting all through her; for an instant she felt faint with it. She was trembling all over.
"Well, all right, then," she said and went along with him, almost docilely.
The parking lot was pitch black. Lena's car was far in the back, deep in some shadows under a tree, with no other ears near it As they entered that deeper darkness under the tree. Lew Mazza said, excitedly: "Baby, I'm sorry, but I don't think you're sick at all unless it's from that old Hawaiian disease Lakanookie. I figure it that Aldo and Dolores little exhibition got you all excited, right?"
With that he took his hand from her arm and reached around and rested it on the high rise of her big, round buttocks. He stroked and squeezed experimentally, as she said: "I I don't know what you're talking about" But her voice was faint and weak.
"Sure you do, doll," Lew said. He stopped and took her into his arms. His arms went around her and his hands seized her backside firmly, yanked her to him. He jammed himself against her, excited by the sensation of her large hard-tipped breasts pillowed against his chest He ground his mouth down hard on hers and his tongue forced its way between her lips, lashed at her own. He felt her slump willingly against him, as a little sigh came from deep in her throat.
Lena could smell and taste the odor of the stale cigar in his mouth but rather than disgust her, now, the masculine aroma excited her. She became aware of the manliness of his big-bellied body and instinctively ground her hips against him.
He finally removed his mouth from hers, whispered, breathlessly: "Let's get in the car, Babe."
"Yes," she murmured. "Oh, yes."
Lew practically shoved her into the car. Hastily, roughly he loosened most of her clothes, then removed her panties. His hands were eager, avid, almost cruel, on the great swells of her bared breasts, on the taut nipples, on the long, full-fleshed curves of her naked thighs.
"Oh, sweetie!" he moaned. "What a lot of woman you are!"
Then he was over her, his weight almost unbearable in the cramped confines of the car. And then the thing for which she had been driven to such terrible need, happened. She let out a long, low cry of acceptance and her arms hugged him and her legs encircled him and she stayed with him, frenzied surge for frenetic heave. And it went on and on until she thought she would faint with satisfaction...
When it was over, she practically lacked Lew Mazza out of the car, as she cried with rage at the realization of how she had again humiliated herself. Later, at the motel, she showered and scrubbed herself but still couldn't get to feeling clean. She kept thinking over and over: "How could I? How could I with that foul cigar stinking, dirty old man." But mixed in with the remorse and the self-recrimination, she alternately thought about the scene in the night club between Aldo and Dolores, which had so aroused her and recognized the fact that she felt physically calmed and at ease. And later, when she went to bed, she fell instantly asleep...
Back at the roadhouse, when Lew Mazza returned to their table, Aldo looked at him, curiously, asked: "Where the hell have you been, where did you go?"
Lew Mazza chuckled, expansively lit a cigar and signalled a waitress for drinks all around. "I just did something I haven't done since I was eighteen."
"Yeah. What was that?"
"Knocked off a quickie in a car in the parking lot. And not really such a quickie, at that." He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Man, was that broad something."
"No kidding," Aldo said. "Which one?"
Then Lew Mazza told them what had happened.
CHAPTER TEN
Back in. New York, Harry Fields was drunk; crazy, roaring drunk. He had been for three days, now, ever since he learned that Lena Troy had sold her business and skipped town. The dirty little double-crossing bitch, he thought. How dare she do something like this to me.
It was the one event that Harry Fields hadn't counted on. He hadn't even thought of it, really. He didn't know why it had never occurred to him. Actually it was a perfectly plausible thing for her to do, he supposed. He cursed himself for being such a stupid, short-sighted clod.
But he'd fixed her, God damn it. He really had. He'd learned that she'd been having an affair with Bart Laramie and that Laramie had told all his friends he was crazy about Lena and wanted to marry her. Well, Bart wouldn't want to, now. Yesterday, Harry had bumped into Bart at a bar and told him the whole bit about Lena. Bart had promptly told him that he was lying, a dirty-mouthed, lying little bastard, he'd called him. And then slugged him cold with a solid right to the jaw. But Harry didn't care much about that. He was pretty sure that Bart would realize it was the truth, that nobody could think up a story like that. So, at least he had screwed that bitch, Lena Troy, out of something.
But the frustration and anger had been building up in Hairy Fields during this three days, too. It compounded itself, the more he drank. It was just waiting for a release, when the doorbell rang and it was Corinne. She looked prettier than he'd ever seen her. She looked luscious to his drunken eyes, that moment. He hadn't seen her for several days now, ever since he'd arranged that show she put on with Van Jagger. He wondered where the hell she had been.
"Come in, Baby, come on in," he welcomed her. He took her arm and pulled her into the apartment. The door shut behind her but didn't quite close tightly. He led her into the living room, swaying a little. "God, am I glad to see you, honey," he told her. He reached up to fondle her breast but she pulled away from him.
"Don't, please, Harry," she pleaded. "You're drunk."
He started to get mad but then the obviousness of her silly remark struck him funny and he grinned, instead. "No kidding?" he said, sarcastically. "Corinne, your powers of observation are amazing. Listen, I asked you where you'd been. God damn it, how come when I need you like crazy, you run off some place, huh?"
"I've been with Van," she said quietly. There was a strange, almost beatific look on her pretty doll face that puzzled Harry and at the same time began to infuriate him.
"With Van! You mean Van Jagger? All this time? For Christ's sake! What the hell would he want with you all this time for four days?"
Her fingers plucked at each other nervously. "Well, you see, Harry, somethin' happened. You see I I fell in love with Van and "
His roar of laughter interrupted her. "Love?" he bellowed, choking on his drunken laughter. "Baby, I'll show you what love is. Take your damned clothes off. I want you. Right now!"
He reached out and started to unbutton the front of her dress. She knocked his hand away and stepped back. "No, Harry," she said, in a firm but slightly frightened voice. "That's what I came to tell you, that it's all over with you and me. I can't do it with you no more, Harry. Van and me "
T don't want to hear about you and that jerk, you silly little slut!" he interrupted. "And I'll show you what you're going to do or not going to do." He stepped toward her, his eyes glittering with wild, drunken anger and desire, mixed. His arm swung and he slapped her so hard she fell to the floor. As she started to cry, he kicked at her. The blow caught her in the breast and she clutched at the injured part, gave a wail of pain.
She tried to roll away from him, crying out: "No Harry, please. No more, Harry!"
He went after her, bent and grabbed the front of her dress, ripped. The whole front came apart in two pieces. The sight of her, naked now, without a bra, as usual and wearing only dainty, lace trimmed panties, somehow infuriated him all the more. He reached down and grabbed the waist of her panties, ripped them clean away from her in two sections. He saw the bruise on her small, lovely formed breast where he had kicked her. He also saw that her nipples had stiffened out long and sharply.
"Oh, you cute, stupid little bitch!" he said.
All Corinne could do, now, was to cry.
"Spending all that time with that jerk, Van, when I needed you, giving me that bit you ain't going to perform for me any more. I'll show you who's boss."
He reached down and took the smooth, soft, plump white flesh on the inside of one of her thighs and pinched it, cruelly, leaving the red and already turning black-and-blue imprint of his fingers there. Corinne screamed with pain. He bent and slapped her hard across the face again.
"No screaming!" he ordered, his voice almost falsetto with mixed anger and excitement "No God damned screaming!"
She continued to make muffled sobs behind her fist stuffed against her mouth as she stared up at him, frightened as a child.
"I'm going to fix you good, this time, Corinne," he told her. "Thinking you can walk out on me just because I haven't got a job anymore, just because I'm having a hard time finding another one, because of that stinking female of a boss of mine. I'll fix her and you, both, all females!" His voice rose shrilly, at the end.
He reached down and grabbed Corinne by her short blonde hair. He dragged her across the room as she moaned and groaned and sobbed with pain and humiliation. He lifted her and flung her into a chair. He stood in front of her.
"All right," he said. "Now, give me a show. A good show. You know the kind I like. Put your hands on those pretty little things, squeeze them, tell me how much I'll like 'em."
When she didn't obey right away, Harry Fields whipped off his belt. He said: "All right. I'll teach you not to do as you're told."
"No, Harry!" she cried out. "All right, Harry. I will, Harry. I will!"
Her hands flew to her small, pretty breasts. She fondled and squeezed the pert little mounds, her thumbs rubbing against the stiffened, popped-out tips, while she quickly mouthed invitations to him.
After awhile of watching her, Harry said: "All right, now do the other thing to yourself that I like!"
She did that, too and Harry watched, avidly, his breath coming and going now in great gulps, as he stood swaying, drunkenly. He waited until her own mouth was gaping for breath and her hips were beginning to move involuntarily. Then he reached out and seized her by the hair again, yanked her roughly off the chair, sprawling face down on the floor, as he roared: "That's enough, God damn it! Save some for me!"
All of the torn pieces of her clothing were off, now. She was stark naked. Harry Fields stood over her, with the loosely folded belt, with its brass buckle, still in his hands. He looked down at her, at the shining white, smooth rondures of her prominent fanny jutting up at him. He hefted the belt. "I ought to give you a few good licks with this. How would you like that?"
Her eyes were staring, fascinated, at the belt. She said, weakly, without much conviction: "No, please, no, Harry!"
"By Jeeze!" he said, amazed. "I think you do, really want it!"
He saw her marble smooth, round buttocks quiver. A seething, blind excitement seized Harry, then and almost unaware of what he was doing, he raised the belt, the buckle end hanging down and brought it whipping down across her backside. Her body hunched up quivering from the floor and a welt marred the smooth flesh, showing tiny pearls of blood. She let out a half moan, half cry. The sight of her, writhing, twisting, but making no real' effort to get away; the sound of her, increased Harry's sadistic fury and mounting excitement. He swung the belt again. And again. The white flesh was soon laced with welts.
And now Corinne was sobbing out: "Oh, Daddy, Daddy, thank you, Daddy! Now you're paying some attention to me. Now you're whippin' me, just like you do my brother, Johnny! Oh, Daddy, now I know you love me, too!" Her eyes were glazed and unseeing.
Harry Fields applied the belt twice more and this time it landed on top of old wounds and Corinne screamed with pain. Harry didn't even hear her, though. He raised the belt again. But this time he didn't swing it.
Someone grabbed it and yanked it. out of his hands so hard, it spun him around, almost knocked him over. He blinked and stared, unbelieving, at Van Jagger, standing in front of him. Van's big fists were clenched at his sides. His face was almost black with the blood of rage gorging it. He shouted: "You filthy, sadistic bastard! What do you think you're doing to her? How dare you do that to my girl!"
Harry Fields did and said the wrong thing. He laughed. He said: "Tour girl, Van? You must be kidding. That little whore! You shouldn't have stopped me Van, she loved it."
"You stop talking about her that way," Van said, his voice breaking. Strands of thick blonde hair half fell over his eyes. "I know it sounds crazy. I can't help it. After all the women I've known, something happened when I met Corinne. Maybe it's because she is so simple and sad and kind of needs me or something. What the hell's the difference? I don't care. For the first time in my life I'm in love and here I catch you doing "
Harry Fields' almost hysterical laughter stopped him in mid sentence. "Oh, that's too much!" Harry roared.
"You dirty son of a bitch, shut up!" Van said through his teeth. "You hurt her!" He stepped in quickly and his forearm chopped out and the side of his hand caught Harry Fields across the bridge of his nose. The broken cartilage made a crunching noise. Blood came in a gush all over Harry's mouth and chin and down the front of his shirt. Pain was like a wild, bursting bomb, all inside his head.
He lunged at Van Jagger, swinging haphazardly. Van stepped aside and belted Harry a solid left flush into the belly. Harry stopped as though he'd run into a brick wall and bent over very slowly, holding his stomach, his eyes looking as though they might roll down his cheeks. His mouth was a wide O, sucking in breath, or trying to.
Then Van grabbed Harry by the hair and brought his knee up jarring hard into Harry's face. Harry straightened, spitting out pieces of teeth. His mouth was one gaping, bloody wound. Now, Van moved in on him. He pulled his punches just a little, so Harry would stay conscious. He belted him in the ribs, fracturing one of them. He spun him half around, walloped his big fist into Harry's kidney. Harry staggered backward against a wall, moaning. His body was now one huge maw of lightning-flashing pain. The strange thing about it was, Harry thought, murkily, is that it's beginning to feel good; I like it; I like it. It was true. Sadism and Masochism, according to the psychiatrists, are closely related; one often prompts or leads into the other in a strange blending. It was that way with Harry, now, as Van in an uncontrollable rage, held him against the wall and beat him, brutally.
The last thing Harry Fields was aware of, just before one last blow knocked him unconscious, was an almost unbearably exquisite sensation that he had previously known only in connection with a woman.
For several minutes after Harry Fields slumped unconscious, Van Jagger continued to hit him with one hand while he held him up with the other. Now he was whacking him around the head. Van's right fist was a swollen blob from the force of the blows.
It was another minute or so before the sound of Corinne's voice broke through the deafness of Van's rage. He heard her scream: "Stop it, Van! That's enough. You're killing him."
Only then did Van Jagger permit Harry's bloody hulk to slump to the floor.
Van turned slowly, then and looked, almost blindly, at the naked Corinne, then turned toward the doorway, where several neighbors were crowded, gawking, frightened, shock-faced. They had been summoned by the sound of Corinne's screaming, found the front door open a little, as first Harry had left it and then Van when he'd burst in.
"Oh, my God," a woman said weakly. "Look at that poor mail on the floor!"
"The hell with him," a moronic youth snuffled. "Look at that babe without any clothes!"
Then Corinne fainted and Van went to her, bent over her, chafing her wrists, trying to comfort her. That was the way the police found them.
Harry Fields died three days later from brain and severe internal injuries. Van Jagger was held on a manslaughter charge. His expensive lawyers eventually got him off with one year. Corinne later went back to the small Indiana village where she'd been born and married a young farmer who used to carry her books home from the country school house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Instead of going to Miami, Lena Troy headed for the West Coast of Florida, stopped at a small beach resort town north of St. Petersburg, fell in love with the place and decided to stay there, for awhile, at least. She found the weather warm, especially in the sun but not unbearably so. There was always a breeze blowing in off the blue-green waters of the Gulf and if you stayed in the shade it was quite comfortable.
The first day, she phoned her lawyers and learned that the sale of her business was progressing. She cautioned the lawyers about giving her address to anybody else. She didn't want anyone, yet, to know where she was. She was shocked when the lawyer told her about the death of Harry Fields and wondered briefly if it could have had any connection with her. Instantly she dismissed that thought. It was ridiculous.
The third day there, Lena forced herself to go see a psychiatrist in Clearwater. She had to force herself because under the clean, lazy spell of this little Florida resort town on the beach, all that other began to seem unreal, as though it had never happened. But she knew that it was something the would eventually have to do, so she might just as well get started.
Dr. Kleaver was a small, quiet, self contained man, partially bald and with a small, clipped mustache. He had a level, cool, impersonal expression in his gray eyes that somehow made it easier to come right out with what she thought of as her horrible problem. When she had finally blurted out the ugly facts, Dr. Kleaver merely steepled his fingers together on the desk and said: T see. How frequently has this happened?"
She told him. He nodded again, then said: "Miss Troy, a lot of people expect instant miracles from psychotherapy. They don't happen." He smiled, gently. "Except, perhaps on TV. I believe I can help you, but it might take a considerable length of time. I would want you to see me for an hour, twice a week, beginning the day after tomorrow. Would you be willing to do that?"
Lena thought about it. Then she said. T guess I don't really have much choice, do I?"
"Not if you want to get well."
They talked some more and he gave her some forms to fill out and some tests to take, after she left his office and then that session was all over. In his reception room, where she sat at a desk, doing the tests, so that when she was finished she could turn them over to the doctor's receptionist, Lena noticed a funny question on one of the forms. At least it struck her as strange; particularly her own reaction to it
The question stated: Starting at age I, if possible, right up to the present year, opposite the list of numbers sc-companying this question, put down in one word the first word that comes to mind, no matter how silly it may sound at the moment what you remember about that particular year of your life.
Lena started on the question. She couldn't remember anything before she was three years old. Opposite three, she wrote doll at 4, she wrote, Christmas at 5, she wrote, School at 6, dog and so on, until she came to the 13th year. Then her pencil paused. (She had been writing quite rapidly, before.) For some reason, she couldn't think of anything connected with her thirteenth year; no word at all, would come in fact, search her mind as she could, she had no memory at all of that year. So she left it blank. The rest of the years, right up to the present, a descriptive or associative word camc readily to mind again.
A few minutes later, she was finished with the tests, turned the papers over to Dr. Kleaver's pretty little receptionist and left.
The following day, Lena Troy was forced to leave the motel where she'd been staying. She got into a big argument with one of the owners. The motel was run by a rather plain young woman and her husband, who was a veritable Apollo of a young man, physically. Mentally, he had the IQ of a 12 year old. Rather than being attracted to the man, Lena found his corny, juvenile remarks to her, the leering way he looked at her, repulsive. She practically told him so, several times, hoping that he'd take the hint and wouldn't even bother speaking to her. Then suddenly, his wife braced Lena and accused her of flirting with her Tom and making passes at him.
This amused Lena at first but then when she saw how serious and angry the woman was, it enraged her. They had a big name-calling argument and an hour later, Lena was packed and checked out. She soon found another motel at the other end of the beach, that was even nicer, if anything. This one was run by two women. One of them was a statuesque but well proportioned and well-preserved woman of forty. She was red-haired and pleasant-faced, though not quite pretty. Her name was Emmy Johns. Her partner was a small, dark-haired little woman, named Anita, who was quite pretty, with a soft, gentle smile. She was about ten years younger than Emmy and had a terrific figure. They both welcomed Lena to their Tarry-Ho Motel and hoped she'd have a long and pleasant stay with them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After they'd escorted Lena Troy to her unit, Emmy and Anita went back to the office. Emmy lighted a cigarette, reached out and put it between Anita's sweet, rosy lips. She said: "Pretty little thing, wasn't she?"
Anita blushed, averted her gaze from the other woman and nodded affirmatively.
Then Emmy said: "What do you think, honey?"
"I don't know." Anita shrugged. "You're a better judge than I am."
Emmy lit a cigarette for herself, puffed on it, reflectively. "Well, she wasn't wearing a wedding ring and there was no sign that she had been wearing one and had taken it off. She's a beautiful woman educated, poised seems to have plenty of money, a nice car and even-thing. So why is she traveling alone? She's got everything a man could want. There's got to be some reason."
"I suppose so."
"You know what I think?"
"No," said Anita.
"Maybe latent or maybe Bi, you know? I think it's worth a try, don't you? Gee, Anita we haven't had a good threesome in a long time, have we?"
"Uh-uh."
"So, I think I'll take a chance with our test. Well see what happens. Okay."
"If you say so, Emmy."
Emmy went outside, then, to keep an eye on Unit 4, so she could see when Lena Troy left, to go somewhere.
While she waited, Emmy thought about what a great setup this hotel was for both her and Anita. Not only did they make a hell of a good living from it but also provided a perfect means of meeting "partners" as she liked to call them, for her and Anita. It was a strange thing about this part of Florida, she had learned. You didn't get the glamour girls like you did in Miami, nor the glamour boys, either; What you got here, mostly, were school teachers and bank tellers and stenogs and clerks, attracted by the unusually low summer rates. And often, they were the introverted, lonesome types that fell easy prey to any kind of affection offered them. Emmy and Anita made frequent scores. But this summer, so far, had been a disappointment. There had been only one girl who had interested them and been willing and she had stayed only a few days.
Emmy smoked and thought about this Lena Troy. She thought about the way her large, shapely breasts bulged out the top of her play suit the long firm, womanly fleshiness of her lovely thighs, with the tight edges of her shorts biting into the creamy flesh, up so high, so delightfully high. This one would be something of they could get her-if she passed the test The test, Emmy had found, was almost infallible. If the woman just looked at the pictures, curiously and then threw them away, Emmy and Anita were out; they knew they couldn't score. But if the woman had any of the other reactions after looking at the pictures, Emmy would move in fast and then Anita would join her. It almost always worked out. She had only been rebuffed a couple of times.
The beauty of it was, that if any cold turkey kicked up a fuss, what could they prove? All they could do was move.
Then Emmy saw Lena Troy come out and get into her car and drive off. Emmy turned back into the office and went to a locked file cabinet, unlocked it and took out a large manila envelope, rather thick. She patted it and smiled at Anita who was busy talking on the phone and went out.
She opened the door to Lena's unit with a master key, stepped inside. She placed the big manila envelope into one of the dresser drawers, an empty one, leaving, the drawer open the fraction of an inch, leaving the tab of the envelope protruding just a little. She left, then, satisfied that the bait had been well set. She knew that out of basic curiosity and boredom, most people in hotel and motel rooms look through drawers to see if anything of value or interest might have been left by a previous occupant. She knew that Lena would find the envelope, examine its contents.
Then, outside, Emmy turned to the unit next door, used the master key and entered. It had a musty, unused smell and she opened the windows, turned on the air conditioning. Then she went into the shower room and looked through several cleverly designed holes bored through the wall into the shower room of the next unit. The holes were quite large at this side but tapered so they wouldn't be noticeable. But with this room dark and with the light on in there, from this side, you could see in through the holes, quite clearly. Satisfied that the holes hadn't gotten plugged up with dirt, Emmy then went out into the main room of the motel unit, where the bed and dresser were. Here again, in the wall that was against Lena's unit, were several more similar holes at eye level. Emmy inspected these, too, saw that they offered a clear view and then she left the unit.
The rest of the afternoon, Emmy and Anita took turns, watching for Lena Troy to return. It was about five o'clock when she returned. Emmy waited until Lena had entered her unit and then she said to Anita: "Come on!"
Both women were flushed with anticipation as they left and locked the office, with a sign on the door that said, CLOSED BE BACK AT SEVEN O'CLOCK.
Then they raced to the unit next door to Lena's.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lena Troy had gone into town to buy a new bathing suit. It was her first bikini and she was dying to try it on. As soon as she entered the unit and shut the door, she stripped and ran in to take a shower. She showered leisurely, soaping herself, lathering herself well. After that she dusted talcum all over her body and ran into the other room, to try on the suit before the mirror...
In the other unit, Emmy and Anita were busy, running back and forth to the various peepholes. When they first watched Lena undress, Emmy gasped with delight, as Lena removed her halter, revealing that she had worn no bra under it.
"Oh, Anita," Emmy said, almost reverently. "Look at those twin beauties, will you! Oh, Lordy, aren't they simply delicious? I was almost sure she didn't need an uplift. Oh, I can't wait to get my hands on those lovelies. Just look at the way they stand straight out!"
"Yeah," Anita echoed, awed. "The way they bounce and swing and sway when she moves."
"She's going to be the best we've ever had," Emmy said. "Oh, hon, now she's taking off the shorts and the panties under them. She's all nice and bare. Oh, wouldn't that take your breath away."
"But suppose she doesn't "
"Don't say that. She has to," Anita cut in. "Even if I have to rape the sweet dear. Just look at the way those nipple.'! pop out, will you and she's not even excited."
"And the size of them!"
Then Lena trotted into the bathroom and the two women in the other unit quickly ran to their stations in that room. Emmy almost swooned while she watched Lena shower and lather herself. She began to fidget and shift from foot to foot. She whispered to Anita how she, Emmy would love to be doing that for Lena. While they watched, Emmy and Anita's hands roved over each' other, caressing, stimulating, until they were both gasping and literally themselves in a lather of desire.
Then Lena left the shower and the other two ran into the living room to peek as Lena tried on the bikini.
"Doesn't she look adorable in it?" Anita' said.
"Yeah, except that tiny strip of bra was hardly made to hold two luscious bombs like those. If she's not careful how she moves, they might pop right out. And if that ever happened on a beach, she'd start a riot."
"Yeah, Emmy. Oh, and look at that rear view. The suit barely covers that magnificent behind."
"Barely, is right," Emmy giggled.
They could tell by Lena's expression as she looked at herself in the mirror that she wasn't too happy about the bikini. , "She doesn't like it," Emmy said. "Probably feels that it's too revealing. Isn't that a funny thing some of the ugly bags that wear those things and think nothing about it and then you take a beautiful woman like this, who should be proud of her gorgeous body and she doesn't want anybody to see too much of it"
"Not in public, anyhow."
Then they watched Lena peel out of the bikini again and nude, walk over to her suitcase and take out a flimsy negligee, shrug into it. She didn't bother to close the front of it. Then she walked over to the TV set, switched it on and stood back, waiting for the tube to warm up, "Oh, damn!" Emmy groaned. "She's going to watch TV.. Now she won't find those pictures."
Then the picture came on. There was a Quiz show on that channel. Lena moved forward and switched to another. This time it was an old western movie. She snicked that off. The next channel was featuring a wrestling match between two blubbery behemoths who awkwardly pretended to wreak mayhem on each other.
Lena sighed, snapped off the television set and straightened up. She glanced around the room, went over to the telephone book and skimmed through it. Then she read the ads for restaurants, dry cleaners and movie theatres, under the glass top of the telephone table. Next, she brought her suitcase over near the dresser, started to unpack and put some of her clothes into the dresser drawer.
In the other unit, watching, Emmy said: "Now Anita! Oh, God. now, honey!"
A few moments later, their patience was rewarded. Lena saw the flap of the large manila envelope sticking out of the drawer. She opened the drawer, took out the envelope and studied it curiously. Then she opened the top and peeked inside. Her hand reached in and withdrew, partially, a sheaf of eight-by-ten glossy photos. She saw, then, what the first picture was. It showed two young girls, college age, standing in a meadow, face to face, hugging and kissing. Both of them-were naked. Their nubile breasts were mashed together. One had her thigh thrust up between the other one's legs. The blonde one held the brunette one tight against her with both hands digging into her plump buttocks.
Lena Troy stared at the picture, unbelieving. Then she let out a gasp of dismay and excitement, mixed. She quickly stuffed the pictures back into the envelope and thrust the envelope back into the drawer, slammed the drawer shut. She glanced around furtively, guiltily, as though to see if anyone was watching her. Then she backed off from the dresser, stood staring at it, her fingers pushed up into her hair at the temples.
"Oh, no!" she said, half aloud. She shook her head, as though to clear it of the vision she had just seen.
Then, slowly, almost frightened looking, she again moved to the dresser. Slowly, as though it contained something alive, she opened it. Her hand dipped in, touched the envelope, held it for a moment then drew it but. Now, hastily, her fingers nervous and fumbling, Lena took all the pictures out of the envelope. She set them down on top of the dresser and began to look through them, one by one. She saw that there were four sets of about a dozen photos, each. The first series, of the blonde and the brunette, in the meadow, moved in quick sequence from the first torrid embrace, standing up, to much more intimate ones in a variety of positions on the grass.
"They're doing the same thing as those two women I saw in he hotel room," Lena told herself.
After looking at only the first set of pictures, Lena was throbbing all over with sensual desire. The old familiar needs and wants were building rapidly. The flesh of her thighs felt as though it was crawling with tickling, caressing fingers. The plump tips of her breasts stiffened out to twice their normal size. The breasts themselves ached for caresses.
The next set displayed two buxom country-type lassies in a hayloft. They were shown doing essentially the same things as the other sets. Yet Lena was constantly surprised by what seemed the infinite variety of positions involved.
The fourth group of photos introduced four young girls one of them, with her budding breasts and baby-fat body, hardly into her teens indulging in the same type of amorous acrobatics. The photos showed a constant change of partners. Several shots showed one of the young ladies using an apparatus which Lena had heard of but had never seen before an object which was supposed to have originated in Japan, a favorite of women often left alone, neglected by their husbands. Lena was amazed at the detailed accuracy of this reproduction shown in a close-up. She .found herself wishing that she had one, right now.
When she'd gone through the whole set of pictures once, with a little sigh of torment, Lena turned away from them, briefly. She felt as though she was on fire with fever, now. She felt that if she didn't achieve some satisfaction, get some release, somehow, she would go mad. Her hands moved under the negligee, caressing her own burning flesh. She cupped her breasts, marveling at the solid weight of them. Gently she. tweaked the out-thrust, aching nipples.
Then, impatiently, she shrugged out of the negligee, let it fall to the floor. She stood there, naked and turned to the mirror, to look at herself. She" saw that her whole body was flushed to a rosy glow and her eyes, had a wild, glazed look. She thought how crazy some man would go to see her like this any man. She found herself wishing one would come in the door. She would hardly care who he was, what he was, so long as he could relieve the terrible wanting ache burning her up.
She thought about going out and picking a man up. But that would take too much time; there'd be too big a delay. She needed help right now! She couldn't wait.
She cursed the motel for not having some kind of a bellhop or handy man that she could call for. She thought about the two women who ran the motel. Her first impression of the older one, Emmy, had been that the woman might be a lesbian. Not that she looked like one, exactly. She was certainly feminine enough looking. But there'd been just something about her perhaps the way her gaze had lingered just a little too long on Lena's bulging bosom, then slid down to look at her bare legs below her shorts.
If she was that, Lena thought, I think I'd even call for her. That might not be so bad. Certainly those two women in the hotel had enjoyed it and the girls and women in those photos. And she, Lena, wouldn't have to take any active part she could remain passive. Lena had heard that being made love to by another woman could be an even more exciting experience than being with a man.
But it was stupid to even think about that, she realized. Even if Emmy was that way, she was probably all tied up with that sweet, pretty little partner of hers, Anita.
Then Lena's eyes were drawn back to the pictures on the dresser once again. As though hypnotized, she walked back over there, began to look through the pictures again, just glancing at some, lingering on others that for some reason or other, particularly excited her. And the more she looked, the more the flood tides of passion rose in her; she could hardly even stand still, now. Her feverish body ached all over.
She was so excited, so busy, looking at the pictures, she didn't even hear the click of the master key in the lock. The first thing she heard was Emmy's low, sultry voice, saying: "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in. I should have knocked but I saw you go out before and didn't see you return and I just wanted to check to make sure you had clean towels."
At the first sound of Emmy's voice, Lena whirled around, her heart walloping hard against her rib cage. For the instant, she forgot that she was naked. She was thinking only about getting caught with those terrible pictures. Quickly, she scooped them up and thrust them in the drawer, shut it. She tui'-:d, leaning back against the dresser. She watched Emmy moving toward her, saw the older woman's eyes glued to the sight of Lena's jutting, full fleshed breasts.
"Honey, is anything the matter?" Emmy crooned, as she came close. "You look all upset about something. Is anything bothering you? Can I help you in any way?"
She reached up and soothed her hand across Lena's damp forehead.
"No! No!" Lena managed. Her voice sounded strange even to herself. "I'm all right."
"But you feel so feverish, my dear. I wish I had some rubbing alcohol here, I'd give you a quick rubdown. Maybe that would help."
Emmy's eyes were looking straight-into Lena's, now. They held the same strong, confident expression that she'd seen in Harry's gaze the first time he'd caught her in this same kind of a predicament. Oh, God, Lena thought, she knows, she knows!
"Not that it wouldn't be kind of hard to keep" my mind on my work," Emmy said, now. "I probably wouldn't even get past these pretty things." With that her hand reached out and boldly cupped around Lena's breast, gently squeezing, kneading the solid, rounded flesh, lightly brushing against and teasing the erect nipple. "So beautiful!" Emmy crooned. "You beautiful darling, you!"
Lena closed her eyes, shuddering with delicious sensation that flowed through her, now, uncontrollably. Weakly she murmured: "Oh, no! Please, don't! Please!"
Emmy's hand moved to the other breast, tried to capture its overflowing fullness. "Which do you mean, angel?" she asked, hoarsely. "Don't or please?"
Lena felt weak at the knees. "I don't know. I I don't know what's the matter with me."
"Well, I do," Emmy said. "It's very obvious. You need some good loving. Don't fight it, hon. There's nothing wrong with that. AH of us do at one time or another. I'll be honest, Lena, I don't know what's the matter with me, either. You know, I've never done this to another woman, before, never felt the way I do about you. I don't understand it. I just can't help it, coming in here like this, seeing you so beautiful and naked and all. It seems all I want to do is touch you, kiss you, caress you. Maybe it was just meant to be, my coming in here like this, at just this time. Because I have a feeling you want me, too, need me, don't you, Adorable?"
Lena was shivering all over now, as the other woman's hands moved to her feverish thighs, stroked them, sampling the firm, round, tenderly smooth flesh.
"I I don't know," Lena whispered. "I just feel so strange."
"Just don't think about it, dearest," Emmy ordered. "Just feel, enjoy." She took Lena's arm, pulled gently, leading her toward the bed. "Come on over here, where you'll be more comfortable."
Lena didn't want to do this; she knew that it was wrong, against all her basic precepts but she seemed willess, suddenly. She had no power to fight against anything. She allowed herself to be led toward the bed. Then she was being eased down onto it, gently, so gently but so firmly, too.
She looked up, then, saw the older woman starting to undress. She wanted to cry out to tell her to stop but she could get no words out. Instead, she kept remembering the actions she'd seen taking place in those pictures, the ecstatic expression on the faces of the girls taking part. Instead she was only aware of the increasing heat and need and want in her own tortured body.
Emmy's blouse came off, first, then her capris. She was-now clad only in brief peach colored panties and a bra to match. As she reached back to unhook the bra, Emmy said: "Now, you'll see why I admire your beautiful bosom, so much." Her padded bra fell free and Lena saw that her figure was almost boyish. Her breasts were merely faint swellings, with tiny rust-colored nipples. Her shoulders were broad and smooth, too and Lena thought: It will seem like a man, almost like a man, if I keep my eyes closed. She closed them quickly.
A moment later, Emmy's hands were again on her breasts, this time, more roughly, more demanding!, more satisfying! The other hand was now boldly caressing the soft, gentle mound of her belly, then opening her thighs, coursing up and down the smooth, sleek white flesh there, gently kneading. The fiery longing in Lena flamed higher, with growing intensity.
A moment later, she felt the bed give with the weight of Emmy's body as she lay down beside her. She felt the other woman's leg thrown over her own. The contact of their flesh sent shocks of sensation rioting through Lena. The next instant she felt the wet warmness of Emmy's mouth on her breasts, as her lips plucked excitingly at the aroused nipples. Lena gave one big quiver of delight and gave up, then. She hugged the other woman's head to her breast and moaned: "Yes! Yes, oh, yes I"
The moist kisses left her breasts, then, roved over her shoulders and arms, down across the soft slope of her belly. They tingled up and down her thighs and now Lena was panting, twisting and writhing, begging: "Please! Please!"
Then, suddenly, it happened. Acute sensation such as she'd never experienced before, burst through Lena in a white-hot flash and her back arched upward, hips quivering as she uttered an agonized but welcoming cry from deep in her throat. Her hands found Emmy's hair and tangled in it, caressing, holding. The following moments became eternity for Lena. She soared again and again to the heights of breathtaking fulfillment, no longer aware of time nor place nor anything but the demands and satisfactions of her own body...
When it was over, she lay there, gasping, practically in a faint. For long moments, she felt too weak to even open her eyes. She thought, several times, she heard other voices, whispering but assumed it was merely a figment of her imagination, a sort of aftermath delirium following the fever in her that had just been purged.
But then she knew she heard two people whispering. She opened her eyes and turned her head. She saw now that the other woman, Anita, had sneaked into the room. How long had she been there, Lena wondered, how much had she seen? In her pleasantly lethargic state, though, Lena hardly cared too much. She wasn't even surprised to see that Emmy was undressing Anita, already had the other woman practically nude.
Then Anita's panties and wisp of brassiere were off and Lena saw that the smaller woman had an exciting body. Her breasts were full and round, the nipples small in circumference but perfectly pointed. Her hips and thighs were well proportioned.
Lena watched now, as the two nude women embraced and kissed. She felt strange, witnessing this scene. Somehow, it didn't shock her, nor excite her at this moment. It was as though it was something she was seeing in a dream, in a half Waking, half sleeping dream, so that she didn't really believe it
Emmy and Anita stood locked-in an embrace, for long moments, with Anita whimpering endearments as the older woman caressed her lavishly. And then she watched Emmy pull the other woman down onto the empty bed next to Lena's. What followed, Lena didn't think she would ever forget. The session she had witnessed between the two women in the hotel room, the scenes depicted in the pornographic photos, even, were mild, compared to the passionate extremes .that Emmy and Anita drove each other to.
In a few moments, Lena found herself once more becoming consumed by a renewed, even greater desire of her own, being forced to watch the wild tanglings and entwinings of the two women on the other bed; by the sound of their passionate outcries and groanings. The bed literally shook with the thrashing of their legs, the gyrations of their hips.
After fifteen minutes, Emmy arose, leaving Anita lying limply, unmoving, in complete repose. She turned to Lena again and instantly saw the tortured need burning in Lena's eyes, in her whole expression. She moved to her and her hands drove to Lena's breasts, digging into them and Lena moaned her acquiescence, as the weight of Emmy's body bore down on her. This time Lena responded, with nothing held back, was, herself, as wildly wanton as Emmy ... And it went on and on...
She did not even remember falling asleep or the other women leaving. When she awakened, it was dark in the motel room. She lay for long moments, aware that she was still naked. Aware that physically, she felt drained, weakened, yet peculiarly at rest, with no muscular tension, no nervous tension at all. But then memory of those sordid hours with Emmy and Anita began to come back in detail. She cried out into the dark, a wail of protest at allowing herself to be so used, so degraded. Suddenly, then, she felt filthy, physically, as well as morally. She forced herself to get up, go into the shower room and she soaped herself down, thoroughly, under water as hot as she could stand it. Then she let cold water needle-down onto her.
She was somewhat refreshed then. She noticed that the manila folder of photos was no longer in the room. She knew that Emmy had taken them and she assumed now, that the motel owner had planted them there, knowing she would find them, knowing she would be aroused by them, become easy prey to her own twisted needs.
But how had she known that? Lena demanded of herself. Was it that obvious, now, for experienced lechers, either male of female, just to look at her?
She thought about it for a long time. It was getting to be too much. Where was she headed, when she could become such an easy victim to strange men or women? She thought about the psychiatric treatment she had just started. It would take a long time, Dr. Kleaver had said. Well, she couldn't wait. How many more such degrading experiences could she go through?
She didn't know. After awhile, it became so painful to think about yet she couldn't seem to stop thinking about it that she went out and bought herself a fifth of Scotch. Alone in the motel room, she got slowly, deliberately, cockeyed drunk, to the point where she finally fell over onto the bed, still fully dressed, with the lights still on, in a drunken stupor that swiftly became a dead sleep.
At five o'clock in the morning, she awakened and got dressed and packed and left the motel. She couldn't stay there, face either of those women. She knew that somehow they'd figure out another way to lure her again into the trap of their own depravity.
She drove over into Clearwater and checked into a hotel, there.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It had been a week, now, since Lena Troy had left town and Bart Laramie missed her more than ever. He had spent a bad night after that scene with Harry Fields, in which Lena's promotion manager had told him that weird story about Lena and that he, Harry, had twice been intimate with Lena in her office, after hours. At first he had tried to tell himself that the whole thing was ridiculous, a figment of the other man's vile imagination. Yet the more he mulled it, the more obvious it became that Harry must have been telling the truth. Nobody could concoct such a fey story about a woman. In the first place, a man like Harry wouldn't have the imagination. Even now, it was still a little hard for Bart to believe.
In the past week, Bart Laramie had told himself that he would have to forget Lena Troy. He knew that he could never forgive her. No matter how much he tried, if he ever saw her again, Harry's story would stay in his mind. He did everything he could, to follow through on that, to try to forget. He got drunk every night. He consorted with expensive call girls, sometimes even with several of them at one time. None of this did any good. None of it worked. He remained hooked on Lena Troy. He knew then that he was, for the first time in his life, really and truly in love. And that unless he got Lena back, nothing else in his life would ever mean anything to him.
Now, this morning, while he was showering, Bart made a decision. He told himself that Lena must be emotionally ill. He told himself that if she were physically sick, he wouldn't desert her, would he? He would try to help her. Well, the sensible thing to do was to approach this the same way. He would find her, somehow and get her to have psychiatric help. He knew that they performed wonders in that field, these days.
The big problem, though, of course, would be to find Lena. Her lawyers had already told Bart that they didn't know where she was. But he sensed they had been lying. They would almost have to know. He set about trying to figure some way to get that information out of them...
In Dr. Kleaver's office, Lena Troy broke down, after d e related to him the incident with the two lesbians in her motel room. Sobbing as though her heart would break, with her face in her hands, she cried: "What am I going to do? I've got to do something fast. I can't go through any more such experiences.'
Dr. Weaver let her cry, for awhile, and then got her a box of tissues. When her sobbing had subsided, he said: "You're perfectly right, Miss Troy. I hadn't realized that situation had become quite this extreme. We'll see if we can't take some kind of drastic measures. I would have preferred not to but apparently there's no other choice, now. But first of all, I want you to get something straight in your own mind."
"Wh what is that?' she asked, still sniffling, dabbing tears from her eyes.
"About this latest experience." Dr. Kleaver looked at her sternly and smoothed down his clipped mustache with the edge of his fingernail. "I want you to get any idea out of your head that you might have lesbian tendencies even latent. You haven't. This experience was brought upon you. It wasn't anything voluntary. You were under terrible emotional stimuli. The same thing could have happened to any woman in a similar situation, in u similar condition. It happens in "women's prisons, all too frequently and in women's Army corps. It even rather frequently happens to very young girls who are seduced by older more experienced women. It even happens to men. at some time in their life. You see, the sexual demands of the human body are almost as strong as; let's say hunger or self preservation. Under these latter stresses, a desperate person will even steal. But that doesn't mean he's basically a thief. It's only a circumstantial deviation. The same thing applies to you and this latest experience. Neither are you a nymphomaniac, in the ordinary sense of the word. Now, I want you to be completely assured of this and I'll tell you what we are going to do."
Lena thought about the things he had said and they made sense: she hoped they were true. "All right," she said, now. "I'll accept that."
"All right, then. Now, here's the situation. I don't ordinarily like to do this, because a problem like yours is nearly always tied in with .a lot of secondary behavior problems, such as your obsession about becoming wealthy, to the point where you've denied yourself ordinary female social activities. This is not too wholesome, either, but it's part of your general problem. There are other facets to it, also, I'm sure. But I think we'd better root out the cause, even though it will require extreme measures to do so."
"Like what?" Lena asked, nervously.
"Have you ever been hypnotized, Lena?"
She shook her head. "Uh-uh."
"It makes no difference. I'm almost sure you'll be a good subject. Ami please be assured, medical hypnosis is nothing like the parlor trick stuff you see on TV and in nightclubs or the movies. It has become as scientific as other aspects of medical treatment. It will not harm you in any way, will not be an unpleasant experience."
"But what will it do for me?"
Dr. Kleaver drummed his fingers on the desk, swung around on his swivel chair. "I've become almost certain and it's especially indicated in your tests that you must have suffered some kind of traumatic experience when you were thirteen years old."
Lena shook her head. "I don't remember anything about it."
"That's just the point. The experience was so unpleasant, so shocking, that you can't face it. Consequently, it has become buried deep in your subconscious. We must bring it out, let you face it, see it as it really was and that, in all actuality, it has no bearing on your present life. ... You say you remember nothing about your thirteenth year. Nothing at all?"
It came to Lena, then. She wondered why it hadn't, the other day. "Why, yes," she said. "I remember that was the year my father died." With that, she again burst out sobbing.
When she fought for control once more, Dr.' Kleaver said: "I've made arrangements with a colleague of mine, who specializes in hypnosis. He's one of the best in the country. If you're ready, we'll go to his office, now. It's right here in the building. I'll be right there with you, too, taking notes. Are you willing?"
Lena didn't have much time to think about it. But she was so desperate for help, she had to agree. She finally said, yes, a little dubiously. Dr. Kleaver then got a folder from his desk drawer, stuck a pen in his pocket and escorted her to the door. They rode on the elevator, to the top floor of the building, entered a door on which was lettered:
F. M. RICHMAN, M.D. , Office Hours 10 A.M. 12 M. I 4 P.M.
Lena was trembling, now, as she was led into the office. Dr. Kleaver said good morning to the receptionist, went right past her and into the inner office. It was furnished in simple good taste, similar to Dr. Kleaver's office, with the exception of a long leather couch at one side of the office. Dr. Richman was a tall, slender man with bushy white hair and a kind of sad, lined face. Lena liked him' and his gentle smile and soft way of speaking and took confidence in him, right away.
First he explained to her what was going to happen. He said: "We don't swing a bright object in front of your-eyes. Miss Troy, or any of that dramatic nonsense. It's a simple verbal procedure by which I gain the rapport and the confidence of the subject. The first stages are merely a matter of achieving your complete relaxation. As we proceed to the deeper stages, I will attempt to regress you to earlier ages, gradually, until we get you back to your thirteenth year. At that point, we hope that you will relive for the moment and tell us about, various experiences you had during that period."
He gave her some more simple instructions and led her to the leather couch, where he instructed her to lie down and assume as comfortable a position as possible. She obeyed and was then subjected to the first stage of hypnosis, which she found to be just as Dr. Richman had stated and quite pleasant. But soon she advanced into a deeper stage and lost awareness of all things except the sound of Dr. Richman's voice and her own thoughts. She felt body less, a person apart from herself. Soon, she found herself reliving and telling about a weekend at an amusement park, when she was 20 years old, with a group of college girls. It was actually as though she was right back there, at that age, living through again and enjoying every moment of the experience, which came to her in clearest, minutest detail.
She regressed then, back to age 18 then to 15. And then she was back in her thirteenth year...
She and her mother and father had been visiting, spending their vacation, at a farm they owned, in Connecticut. Her parents were quite wealthy, at the time. Lena had always been a big girl for her age. At twelve, she started to develop. At thirteen, she was in the full bloom of young womanhood, already, at least, physically. In spite of this or possibly even because of it she was rather a shy girl, who found boys attractive but a little frightening. She had had several experiences by this summer, when alone with boys, when they had tried to feel her ripe breasts, dip their hands down inside her blouse and even run their hands up under her dress.
Her mother had previously warned her that this might happen and told her that she mustn't let it and advised her how to handle such a situation. Lena followed through and found that it was remarkably simple to dissuade these ardent young swains. Yet at the same time, she found herself tempted not to, some time, just to see what it was all about. She found that when they made such overtures, they had a strangely exciting effect upon her. Later, when she'd think about it, the tender tips of her breasts would rise and acquire a gentle, pleasant ache .and her thighs would tingle and strange sensations would invade her young loins.
The early weeks at the farm, were quite pleasant. There was a handyman named Wade Hamlin, who was very kind to her, often let her accompany him on his farm chores. He was not a formally educated man but was well read and an interesting talker. He was about forty but somehow, Lena never thought of him as being old. He was slender, well built and there was only a light sprinkling of gray at the temples of his crisp black hair. In a few weeks she been quite fond of him, in fact, actually had what amounted to a school girl crush on him.
Wade had worked on the farm for years, in fact, almost ran the place. Lena's mother and father quite trusted him.
The first intimation of what was going to happen, later, occurred one warm afternoon, down by the pigpen. Lena was a little disturbed about it at the time, but later dismissed the incident, forgot about it. She was wearing a middy blouse, that day because it was so hot, hadn't bothered to put on a brassiere. At first she wasn't at all self conscious of her unusually large, ripe young breasts swinging and jouncing unfettered beneath the cloth of the blouse; nor of the way her big nipples were limned by the cloth. But then she noticed that Wade was stealing covert glances at them, every chance he could and there was an expression in his eyes she'd never seen before. It didn't exactly frighten her but it disturbed her. And then, soon, she noticed that Wade was taking every opportunity to get her to bend over in front of him. Since she had broken off the top button on the blouse, when she bent forward, it billowed out, considerably.
One time she caught Wade looking down into the front of her blouse and when she glanced down, herself, to her alarm and confusion, she saw that both great, billowing white mounds, including the strawberry-like nipple decorating the center of each, were clearly visible to him. She straightened quickly, blushing severely.
She was careful, then, not to bend over in front of Wade and she swore to herself that she would never go without a bra again.
They were out of sight of the house, now and a few moments later, Wade said, with mock alarm, which she didn't recognize right away: "Hey, Lena, a flying ant just crawled down inside your blouse!"
She was deathly afraid of flying ants, having been bitten by one, that summer, once before when she was with Wade.
In instant terror, she yanked the top of her blouse open and looked down in it. "Where? Where?" she cried. "I don't see it. Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw it," he said, quickly. "Better let me get him out of there, before he bites you."
By now she was so terrified, she couldn't think of anything else. Innocently, in her terrible fright, she held the blouse top open, now, while Wade looked down inside it and then, suddenly said: "I see it! I see it! Let me get it out for you."
She didn't even think anything about it at the moment. The next instant she was aware of Wade's big, rough hand down inside her blouse, rubbing against her breasts, delving deep into the steep-sided valley between them. She heard him say, excitedly: "Just a minute, now. I've' almost got him. Ah, there he is! Now you needn't fear any more, honey. I just squished him between my fingers. I surely wouldn't want him to hurt these pretty things, for anything!"
Then, Lena became aware of Wade's hand cupping and lifting and eagerly feeling the large, firm swell of her virginal breast, holding it like a dove, while his thumb delicately rubbed the prominent nipple which immediately stiffened to twice its normal size. For a moment, Lena was so surprised, she didn't know what to say, what to do. At the same time, exotic sensations that she'd never experienced before, suffused her whole body. She wanted him to continue holding her breast, fondling it yet she knew she couldn't let him.
"No, Wade, don't!" she cried, then. "Please don't." And she grabbed his wrist, violently forced his hand to withdraw from inside her blouse.
Then tears of anger and hurt welled into her eyes. Quickly, Wade said: "Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I I didn't mean to do that. I won't ever do it again, I swear. I just got carried away, I guess, because your breasts are so beautiful, so soft and warm and full they're the most beautiful I've ever seen, even nicer than any movie star's."
In spite of herself, Lena felt a little thrilled by the compliment. So that when Wade said: "Don't cry, honey, please! It's all right, now. I won't do anything more," and he took her into his arms, held her face against his chest and dried her tears, she let him. ... Until she became aware of a pressure from his body that was completely unfamiliar. Then she pulled away and glanced down and was shocked and quite frightened, so that she ran from him and hid behind the smokehouse.
He followed her and stood some distance away and pleaded so eloquently for forgiveness and promised so heatedly that he would never touch her again, that she believed him.
The next few days there were no more incidents and Lena almost forgot about it. She couldn't quite forget, though. Sometimes, at night, in bed, she would remember the feel of his hand caressing her breast and the feel of him against her and she would wonder at the fact that a grown man and such an attractive one, was interested in her in that way. Maybe it meant that she wasn't a girl anymore, had become a woman. This thrilled her, in spite of some of the unpleasant aspects of the incident. And reliving it in her mind, she would find herself becoming strangely excited and she would catch herself wondering what would have happened if she hadn't stopped him and supposing then he'd put his big, rough hand up under her skirt and she hadn't stopped him and sensation coursed along her firm young thighs just as though his hand was there. And then supposing he kept on and pretty soon his hand touched here there oh, golly, what what would she do then, what would that have been like? And she experienced a sensation as though it was actually happening and found her own hand moving to experiment and then wild and terrible things happened to her quickly. ... Later, she would lie, looking into the dark of her room and tell herself how awful she had been, that it was bad, she must never do that again. ... But, of course, a few days later, she did, and the experiment soon became separated from anything that had to do with Wade Hamlin and became an experience solely of its own volition and pleasure.
A week went by and consciously, at least, she had all but forgotten about Wade's stunt about the flying ant. They were now back on their strictly buddy-type relationship and Lena was again enjoying his company and the farm chores into which he initiated her.
Then, one day, he asked her how she'd like to explore the old farmhouse nearby, that was supposed to be haunted. It was an abandoned farm building, on neighboring acreage and Lena, was of course, thrilled by the prospect. They reached it in about a fifteen minute walk, on a short cut through some woods. Together they explored the old, abandoned building and Lena was a little disappointed although she didn't really know what she had expected.
From time to time, she noticed Wade looking at his wrist watch and wondered why he was worrying about the time. It was his day off from farm chores. Finally, rather abruptly, he said: "Well, so much for this haunted house. Now, let's go take a look at the barn. Maybe we'll find a skeleton or something in there."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
They didn't, of course. The barn was merely a hot, musty place with some old, rusted farm implements and broken harness straps and part of an old surrey, in it. But Lena found it interesting. Then they climbed up into the haymow. They had scarcely gotten up there, when there was the sound of a car, coming up the driveway. It drove around in back of the barn and parked.
Lena said: "For goodness sakes, I wonder who that is."
Wade looked at her and grinned and his eyes were hot and bright looking, his face a little flushed. She could see a pulse beating at his temple. He put his finger to his lips. "Shhhh!" he warned. "I forgot to tell you. About this time every day, a fella and girl from the village come here."
"What on earth for?" Lena wondered.
"Oh, just to smooch a little, hug and kiss, some. Look!" He suddenly lay down on the rough boards of the hayloft and put his eyes to a crack between the boards. "If you lie down like this, you can see down below see everything that goes in. Let's spy on them. They won't know we're up here. It'll be fun."
"But suppose they catch us?" Lena said.
"They won't if we're really quiet. Get down here. Hurry up. They're coming in. Don't make a sound, now."
Curious and a little excited about this strange game, Lena got down on the floor, next to Wade and put her eyes to a crack. She saw that it was true. You could see quite clearly into the. bam below. She saw a boy about seventeen and a girl about fourteen, come furtively into the structure, holding hands and looking all around.
"You're sure it's all right, Jerome?" the girl said. "Suppose someone comes? I get scared every time I come here. If we should ever get caught..."
"Oh, don't be sue a scare-cat, Sally," the boy said. "Who'd come here? We're as alone as if we were on a desert island." He went over then and removed a long, leather covered seat from the abandoned surrey. He set it down on the floor, sat down on it and pulled the girl down next to him.
Immediately, they began hugging and kissing and whispering endearments to each other and Lena, watching, could hardly keep from giggling. Wade was right, she thought, this was fun. They looked and sounded so silly to her.
But then a moment later, while they were kissing, Lena saw the boy, Jerome, unbutton the front of Sally's dress and slide his hand in there. Lena knew, of course, what Jerome was doing the same thing Wade had done to her, that day.
She kept waiting for the girl, Sally, to get angry, make Jerome take his hand away from her breasts. But she didn't. In fact she placed her hand over his, held it there, seemed to enjoy the forbidden caressing.
Then Lena saw Jerome's other hand go up under Sally's dress all the way up. And it stayed there. Sally's dress was now pushed halfway up her thighs and Jerome's hand was up under it even further and Lena knew that it was up there, all the way! She watched Sally's thighs open and close spasmodically. Then their lips broke apart from the kiss and Sally hugged Jerome's neck and crooned: "'Oh, Jer, honey, you know just how to drive me crazy, you know that! ... Oh, honey, I can hardly stand it! ... Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!"
Jerome didn't. But with his other hand, now, he opened the top of Sally's dress all the way to her waist and pulled it apart and off her shoulders, so that she was bare to the waist. Now she lay back on the seat and Jerome's free hand moved to first one apple-hard-and-round breast, to the other, feeling, squeezing, teasing the aroused tips.
Watching all this, Lena found herself breathing hard and now almost consumed by the same urges and desires she sometimes brought upon herself in bed. She also felt shame at spying on a scene such as this. And at the same time, a terrible undeniable curiosity to see the rest of it; she somehow knew there would be more. She wanted to get up and run away from this terrible yet wonderful thing, or at least roll over and not be a party to watching it anymore. But she couldn't do that; it was as though she was frozen, hypnotized by the scene below.
Below her, now, Jerome had paused in his caressing, to completely remove Sally's dress and then her cheap, cotton underpants. Next, he himself undressed and it was all Lena could do to suppress a gasp of surprise, shock and admiration, commingled, when she saw him.
Lena was so wrapped up in the happenings in the barn below her that for several moments she wasn't aware, even, of Wade's hand, under her skirt, on the smooth plump backs of her thighs. When she finally was aware, it was in a not unpleasant way at all. His hand felt good there. Yet she knew she couldn't allow him to do that. Impatiently, she reached back and forced his hand away.
A few moments later it was back again, but Lena was so interested in what was going on below, now, that she couldn't be bothered with such a minor detail. What was happening below now, she had heard about, had talked about with other girls her own age, but it was something which she really had never been able to comprehend; she had never been quite sure it wasn't just talk or something.
But it certainly wasn't, she saw now. Sally and Jerome were both on their sides, now, facing each other and Lena could plainly see what they were doing. The amazing part to her was, that she could tell, by the things Sally was saying and by what she was doing, the way she was helping Jerome, that she wanted it to happen. Lena had always assumed that it probably really wasn't very pleasant for a woman or a girl-how could it be and that the man would probably have to force the issue. She saw, now, of course, that wasn't so at all. It was Sally who was forcing the issue, so to speak. Then she heard Sally let out a great cry of what was unmistakably animal pleasure. And then they moved close together in a verede embrace. Then the rolling and heaving and surging began...
By then, Wade's hand had progressed in its subtle approach up the back of Lena's thighs, under her skirt, until it had achieved, unnoticed by her in her excitement at what she was viewing below, to its predestined goal. As she became aware of what he was doing, she also became aware that her own breathing was labored and that wild pleasures were flashing through her, centered in her most intimate parts. It seemed almost as though there was some correlation between what was happening below and what was happening to her. It was at that moment almost as though she was Sally and Sally was she and the two activities had blended into one.
After awhile, the two below, rolled apart and lay limply, getting their breath back. By now, though, Lena was experiencing such new, such exquisite sensations, she could no longer fight them. She just gave in, accepted. She put her mouth over her wrist, bit it, to prevent herself from crying out the way Sally had done below.
Soon, then, the girl and the boy below, swiftly dressed and almost sheepishly, left the barn. Lena heard the sound of their car driving away. She wanted to move, knew that she should but then that would stop the delicious feelings coursing all through her. Too, she managed to convince herself that she could hardly stop Wade, if she wanted to; he might get angry and hurt her. Then, too, he would probably get tired in a minute, anyhow, and stop of his own accord.
But that didn't happen. What happened was that soon
Lena felt renewed fumbling beneath her skirt, felt her panties being withdrawn and when she tried to protest, Wade's hand pushed down in the middle of her back, rendering her practically helpless. Then she felt his weight over her and something else happened then. She knew what it was but couldn't let herself think about it, even; she could only endure. Then she screamed for him to stop but of course, there was nobody to hear her.
The year before, while riding horseback, Lena had lost any physical attributes of virginity, so that there wasn't considerable pain and soon what little there was, was outweighed by other compensations and Lena found herself not only yielding but enjoying. The weight upon her and the rhythmic motion seemed then, to become the only, the most natural thing, in the world. She could hear the sound of her own pleasurable moaning.
After a few moments, Wade moved and quickly turned her over. He just as quickly assumed his own same position. Only now, he leaned up over her on one hand and with the other, unbuttoned her blouse all the way, loosened her bra. Then that hand was on her breasts, squeezing, moulding, while the rhythmic movements went on, unabated. Finally, his lips replaced his hand and the rhythms speeded up and Lena had never known anything like it and thought that if it didn't end soon, she would surely die because how could anyone long endure such acute pleasure that was almost painful and unbelievable...
When it was over she cried and would not let Wade comfort her. She told him that she never wanted to see him again. But he talked to her, softly, gently and persuasively, reminding her that the girl, Sally, hadn't minded, hadn't thought anything about it and that lots of girls did that and what was the difference as long as nobody knew? He lectured her on what would happen, if she told anybody. He swore that he would say she led him on and that she was a bad girl and he'd seen a boy from the village doing it to her, too. He frightened her half to death hut he got his message across. When he was finished, Lena wouldn't have told anybody for the world.
She was surprised, when she got back home to her room, to look in the mirror and see that she wasn't changed in any way, that nothing showed; she was apparently no different than usual.
But she could hardly look at Wade, the next day, nor for several days after that. But then, at night, she began to remember and dwell on what had happened in the barn and what she had seen with Sally and Jerome. And she wondered if it would really be so awful, if it really mattered, anyhow, if she let it happen once more, just once more, of course.
So it did, the next day, after they again watched Sally and Jerome. This time, Wade told her that she was just naturally a very healthy, extremely passionate young lady and since she was going to do it anyhow, the best thing was to completely let herself go, not to be embarrassed, nor have any inhibitions.
This time, she did that.
For the rest of the summer, Lena received, between watching Sally and Jerome, first and being tutored by Wade, later, a thorough education in all the subtle and various ways of physical love. And secretly enjoyed every moment of it, despite the in between times when she was often consumed with guilt feelings and fears of being caught. But the prematurely aroused natural urges in her were stronger.
Then the terrible thing happened. One day Lena's father, suspicious for some time, now, followed them and caught them. There was a big fight in the bam between her father and Wade. Her father finally lost, got knocked out by Wade, who ran from the place and none of them ever saw him again. But seeing her father lying there so still, his face all bloodied, Lena was sure that he was dead and it was all her fault. She screamed and became hysterical and finally fainted.
When she came to, her father was kneeling beside her, tears in his eyes, telling her that it was going to be all right, everything was going to be all right. Later he and her mother had a long talk with Lena, explaining to her all about seduction and that there was nothing intrinsically wrong in the actual act of what she had done, but that she was indulging in it prematurely. They explained in long detail which she understood, why this was bad and wrong and why it must never happen again.
Lena was grateful to them, for being so understanding and helpful, yet she couldn't control the terrible guilt feelings that now engulfed her. The following week, she learned that her father's business had suddenly failed. From being a practically wealthy man, he was not reduced to being almost penniless. They had to sell the farm and their big house in Hartford, the car and most of their possessions, to pay debts.
In Lena's juvenile mind, she twisted this around to believe that it was her fault that it had happened. It was God's way of punishing her. Then a week after that, Lena's father shot himself. Lena again became convinced that this too, was a direct result of her own sinful acts. She was so shocked by her father's sudden death that she went into cataleptic shock and had to be taken to a hospital for treatment. For awhile, she almost died, herself. When she came out of it, she no longer could even remember Wade Hamlin or the events that had happened between them, that summer.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
All the foregoing came to light, from Lena's own lips while she was in deep hypnosis. When it was all over, Dr. Richman administered post-hypnotic suggestions as to the fact that when she awoke, she would again remember all that she had just told them and be able to calmly and intelligently discuss the matter with Dr. Kleaver and be able to fully accept his prognosis, his explanation of how she should feel about the situation, now and adjust per his instructions.
When she was gradually brought out of hypnosis, she was able to do that. Dr. Kleaver explained to her the connection between her guilt feelings about this juvenile experience and her later denial of any of her natural sexual needs as an adult woman. He also explained how the association of visual stimulae such as that which had first made her amiable to seduction, was so stronglyingrained that when she again was subjected to it, her long suppressed natural instincts, burst their neurotic bonds and came violently into play, in an uncontrollable manner.
He explained to her that from now on, when she met some man she really cared for, that she would probably at first still have to fight against some residue of revulsion but that if she and the man both were patient, she would be able to overcome it and still enjoy a natural relationship.
As to her being abnormally stimulated by visual eroticism, either in person or in printed or photographic phenomena, he didn't think she would any longer be so violently affected, now that she was completely aware of the source of this neurosis. At least not any more so than the average woman would be. It would not be uncontrollable.
When she left Dr. Kleaver's office, Lena Troy felt better, more relieved, more at peace with herself and the world than she'd ever felt before in her whole life. During the next few days, she began to take up oil painting, something which she'd always wanted to do before. She spent long, lazy hours on the long, broad, white-sanded Clearwater beach. She knew, as Dr. Kleaver had told her, that she would still have to continue psychiatric therapy, that she had other behavior problems which she had told him about, which required treatment and to prevent any recurrence, for any reason, of the big, basic problem. But the prospect of this, did not bother her. In fact, she kind of looked forward to it.
Then, one evening she came back to her hotel room from the beach and found Bart Laramie there. They embraced and she clung to him for a long time, sobbing, partly from joy at seeing him partly from embarrassment. He told her, then, that he had bribed one of her lawyer's secretaries to find out where she was. Made her promise not to make trouble for the girl, though.
Lena said she wouldn't. Then, blushing, she listened to Bart tell her that he knew about her trouble; about Harry Fields telling him about her. He quickly told her that it didn't matter to him, that it didn't really mean anything, except that he wanted, now, to be able to help her.
She told him, then, about her session under hypnosis and briefly outlined the cause of her trouble and how she had been cured.
Bart fully accepted this, of course and seemed relieved and overjoyed. They had dinner together that night, at a waterfront restaurant and later, walked on the soft sand of the beach, in the moonlight They walked with their arms around each other and Bart never attempted to even kiss her. Lena was grateful for that. She didn't know yet whether she was quite ready to take a chance with the man she now knew she loved, of hurting him, humiliating him, if she wasn't quite ready for the natural fulfillment of their love.
For three days they spent most of their waking hours together in the bland manner of school time sweethearts. Then, one night at dinner, Bart began insisting that they be married, right away; he couldn't wait any longer. Lena, with all of her being, wanted to tell him yes, that she knew now that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. But she had to wait. She asked him to wait just a little while longer for her answer. And she knew, then, she had to find out, without further delay.
After dinner they went to a jazz joint on the beach and had several drinks. Back at the hotel, Lena asked him into her room. They had another drink there. After their glasses were empty, Lena suddenly went over and put out the lights.
"Hey!" Bart cried, surprised. "What's this all about?"
She came and stood very close to him. She was trembling. Impulsively, she said, then, her voice breaking: "Bart! Make love to me darling. All the way. I want to be sure that I'm really ready to be your wife."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He took her gently into his arms and began kissing her, caressing the round flesh of her upper arms and her shoulders. His fingertips raised little fire trails along her arms and in the hollow of her throat and the nape of her neck and on her ear lobes. All the while he kept kissing her gently, soothingly, with only slightly increasing ardor.
Then his hands began tenderly to undress her. He helped her get fully unclothed, without even touching her, intimately, and now Lena was beginning to wonder what was the matter with him; she began to ache with the need to feel his hands upon her. When she was completely naked, he led her by the hand, toward the bed.
She lay upon it, while she listened to the rustling sounds of him undressing in the darkness.
Soon, he was beside her on the bed and again his hand cupped her chin and his lips touched hers and again it was not a particularly passionate kiss, but somehow, it stirred Lena all the more, because of that. The next thing she knew, suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt the fiery touch of his tongue just lightly brushing one of her distended nipples. The sensation was delightful. She cried out:
"Oh, Bart! Oh, my darling!"
Then he transferred his attention to her other breast, still in a light, teasing, almost imperceptible way. The fairy lightness of the caress almost drove her frantic. The fact that there was no savage lust motivating them but only the tender, patient passion of true love. While his lips and tongue caressed her throbbing breasts, she held his head, stroking it, digging her nails lightly into the short hairs on the nape of his neck.
Now, his hands were ministering to the fevered, soft, smooth flesh of her thighs in the same manner that his lips were paying homage to her breasts. They would move close, closer, while Lena breathlessly waited, but then never quite touched.
When he finally raised his mouth to hers, again, this time, Lena could no longer wait. She grasped his head and held it and her own mouth suddenly drove deep against his and her tongue forced its way between his teeth, found his and engaged it in a torrid duel. With that, Bart's hands began to run over her pulsing, twisting body, more demandingly.
Lena soon found her own hands seeking him out, exploring, finding, adoring. They extended their torrid love play almost past the point of endurance and then, finally, when she begged him, Bart placed them both in a comfortable position, catering more to her comfort than his own, which was rather awkward.
And then he brought about their union in the most natural, inevitable manner and they were joined and giving to as well as taking from each other, in ever increasing mutual, ecstasy, with Bart's expert hands and lips, constantly caressing, adding to her enjoyment, as they moved. It was better for both of them than it had ever been with anybody before.
After awhile they both surrendered to the no longer able to be denied needs of them both and soared together into the rainbow hued clouds of utter and final fulfillment, where there was nobody else in the world...
The pleasant aftermath, with Bart lighting cigarettes for them both, getting them drinks to sip in the darkness, made up the next most pleasant moments Lena had ever enjoyed in her life.
When they were finished with the cigarettes and drinks, they talked for awhile and then suddenly they were both, almost as if by signal, by mutual agreement, no longer needing to talk any more. Not with words, anyhow. They again let their hands and their lips speak for them, in the age-old language of love.
And this time was even better. They lingered and toyed and experimented and slowly, step by beautiful step, climbed the stairs to Paradise. It was during this session, too, that Lena learned that with Bart as her lover, her future husband, she would never, never have to yearn or even think about the kind of satisfaction that she had been led to believe only another woman could give her. Bart was more tender, considerate, catering than any woman could be. He knew everything, she learned, and some. The most pleasant variations from his usual masterful, masculine regular role.
She could hardly wait for tomorrow when they would be married and she would then know she would have him all to herself, for ever and ever.
