Prostitution, they say, is the oldest profession. We disagree. We say that salesmanship predates it. Because if that serpent, back in the Garden of Eden, didn't use salesmanship on Eve when he got her to take that bite in the apple that corrupted her, nobody ever sold anybody anything.
While there may be no glib-tongued serpents to corrupt our young ladies of today, the truth remains that growing numbers of our females still are being demoralized. In spite of the vast progress in the emancipation of their sex, young girls, and even older women, are still becoming prostitutes. In fact, an increasing number of teenagers are joining these ranks.
In many instances this influx is due to the inevitable link with narcotics. But psychologists, psychiatrists and even the law agree that it is not the only reason. These authorities know full well what these sisters of the street do and how they do it-but in many instances, the question is why they do it.
We can't speak for the majority. We can cite only one example-the case of Carol Francis, the leading character in Demoralized Virgin. We trace Carol's degradation from her very first sexual experience with a man old enough to be her father, through her exploits as a beautiful, much-sought-after, high-priced call girl. We share her heartaches and her disillusionments as well as her triumphs as we watch her fight valiantly to gain a respectability that she never really had, and try to realize what might very easily be termed "an impossible dream."
Demoralized Virgin is not a story of prostitution. It is the exciting step-by-step account of a lovely teenager's corruption and how she uses her breathtaking young body to full advantage to acquire the things that she wants-not always too successfully.
Demoralized Virgin is not a story that preaches, or even attempts to take sides. Instead, it is the vivid and realistic adventures of one of the thousands of young women who find themselves enmeshed in a web of circumstances far beyond their ability to cope with.
We are sure that the trials and tribulations of Carol Francis will not only thrill and shock you, but will also prove to be one of the most exciting and unforgettable experiences of a sexually obsessed young girl that you have ever read. We will feel rewarded, too, if within the framework of Demoralized Virgin, just one girl recognizes and successfully avoids the pitfalls that Carol Francis encounters, because not all girls may be so fortunate as Carol in arriving at a solution to their dilemma.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
As she half-dragged her benumbed body along the heavily carpeted corridor that led to the door of Roy Ferret's apartment, Carol Francis had some small idea what it felt like to walk that famous "last mile" before the death penalty was repealed. Because in a sense this could very well mean the end of everything for her, too. Everything that she had worked so hard to attain.
As lifeless as her limbs and body might have felt, her mind was perfectly clear as she halted before the door and hesitated a long moment, before pressing the bell. Carol knew exactly what was in store for her, once she stepped inside. She would have to submit to a man that she detested more than anyone that she had ever known. That covered a lot of territory. Because in her twenty years, she had known an awful lot of despicable characters, both socially and physically. But Roy Ferret topped the list.
Not only would she have to submit to him, but she also would have to let him do every perverted thing to her that he wanted. That was the agreement. That was the price for his silence. For his promise that he wouldn't ruin her life.
Whether or not he would keep his end of the bargain, Carol had no idea. But there was nothing else that she could do but take the gamble; accept his proposition on his terms.
She took a deep breath. A very deep breath, trying to put off the moment as long as she could. Then she reached out and placed her index finger on the bell. She couldn't hear the bell resound through the thickness of the walls. But after a slight pause, the door opened.
Roy Ferret stood in front of her. He was twenty-eight, and tall. Some people might think him rather handsome with his mod-long blond hair, rangy, wide-shouldered figure and chiseled features. Strong, except the chin. But Carol didn't see him that way at all. From their very first meeting, she saw a complete lack of trust in his close-set blue eyes and she couldn't stand his patronizing manner.
Right now, as he stood in front of her, greeting her with a much-too-set smile, he had on a Kelly-green silk lounging robe, a white ascot and a pair of scuffs. In his hand was a highball glass filled with scotch, soda and cracked ice.
"You're right on time, darling," he said all too cordially. "But then, that is one of the things Q. P. says he has always admired about you-always right on the dot."
His eyes swept over her form. It was a warm day, even for Southern California, and she had worn a lightweight summer dress that was cut low in front. Unfortunately all her gowns were cut low and the bra that she was wearing obviously was too small for her more-than-ample dimensions. The result was a deep, intriguing cleft of lush cleavage that caught and held his gaze.
Carol shivered. Even his eyes made her flesh crawl, and she pulled back away from him instinctively, as he reached for her arm and said, "Come in, darling."
There was a brief flash of resentment in his eyes. Then he smiled again, stepped to one side of the door and let her enter untouched. He closed the door behind them and led the way into the living room.
It was Carol's first visit to his apartment-and she hoped that it was the last-even though she had to admit that it was quite a layout-seven rooms, all smartly and expensively furnished.
"How about a drink?" was the first thing he asked her.
As a rule Carol wasn't a drinking woman. But right now a drink might be just what she needed to steady her nerves and make it possible for her to go through with what she knew she had to do. In fact, she almost wished that she could get really blasted, then maybe it wouldn't seem nearly so bad.
"Bourbon, please, if you have it," she said.
"Well, I see the old man's got you around to his way of thinking-drinking bourbon," Roy remarked as he went around behind the bar and reached for a glass and a bottle from the shelf. "But then-that's the secret of his success. Making everybody think as he does."
As Carol stepped to the bar and watched him fill her glass, she wished that he wouldn't refer to his stepfather as the "old man." Because Quincy Palmer wasn't old. He was only forty-seven and didn't look even near that. If he were really an "old man," she never would have wanted to marry him.
"Y'know, baby," Roy said as he set the glass of bourbon on a little, round doily in front of her and then came around from behind the bar to where she was standing. "I'm awfully glad you played it smart and didn't make me out a villain, make me do something I really didn't want to do."
She picked up her glass and looked at him over the rim of it, archly, as she brought it to her mouth.
"You don't believe me?" he asked, straight faced.
"Should I?" she countered.
He assumed his most innocent expression, as he emptied the contents of his glass, set it on the bar and took a step closer to her. "Baby, I'm a man and you're a woman." He paused to focus his gaze on her luscious cleavage. "And I mean you're a hell of a lot of woman! Christ, any guy who wouldn't take advantage of an opportunity of having a crack at somebody like you ought to turn in his prick."
Carol didn't flinch at his choice of words. By now she was case-hardened to such talk. Even though he had never had the audacity to speak to her like that before.
"Even if that somebody like me might be his future stepmother?" she put to him.
He grinned and showed two rows of sparkling white teeth, proof of an awful lot of scrubbing and visits to his dentist. "All the more reason. Keeps it all in the family."
Her hand itched to slap his face. But she knew that that would be the worst mistake she could make-for a lot of reasons. She said simply, "I thought we both understood that this was to be strictly a one-time-only deal."
"That's right, but what the hell-you can't rule a guy out for hoping," he said, holding his grin. Then his eyes went to her half-empty glass. "Bottoms up, baby."
She finished her drink and he took the empty glass and placed it on the bar, without taking his eyes off the vee of her neckline for an instant. Then he reached out and took hold of her shoulders and brought her toward him.
"Y'know something, baby," he said looking down at her delightfully shaped, moist red lips. "I've had a hard on for you ever since you first came to work in the office and I haven't kissed you yet. Not even when the old man announced he was going to marry you."
"No one else in the office has kissed me, either," Carol pointed out to him. "No one except your stepfather."
"Sure, the old bastard, that's his rule," Roy spit out bitterly, one of the first indications that he had ever given as to how much he really disliked his stepfather. "No fraternizing with the employees. And that applies to everybody. Everybody but him-the hypocritical son-of-a-bitch."
"I wish you wouldn't talk about Quincy that way," Carol said reprovingly.
"Suits me. I'd rather we forget all about the bastard," Roy agreed and pulled her still closer to him.
Carol trembled, seeing his face drawing closer and closer. She closed her eyes to blot out the image of him as he kissed her, a hard kiss, a dirty kiss that pried apart her lips and made her accept his exploring tongue. She tried to push away from him after a moment but her efforts were feeble. She could feel the kiss sending a most unwelcome warmth into her limbs. That wasn't all. Through the thinness of his silk robe and her flimsy summery dress, she could feel the heat and the rigidity of his penis against her belly, as he held her close to him. He pressed it harder against her belly.
"Like that, baby?" he whispered against her mouth. "That's for you. All nine inches. I'm going to shove it right up into that juicy cunt of yours and I'm going to fuck you 'til you scream. I'm going to fill your belly so full, your cunt's going to drip cum for the next month. Now let's start getting some of these goddamn clothes off."
As he spoke he brushed the straps of her summer dress from her shoulders and worked the dress down to her waist. Her two huge milk jugs swelled appetizingly over the top of the ready-to-burst fabric of her white bra, causing his eyes to pop.
Obviously, he was a man who liked to tease-himself as well as her. Because instead of stripping the bra off her, he was content, for the moment, to trace the border of the tit hammock with a finger, following the rise of each mound and then dip into her cleavage. In spite of her aversion for him, her breasts began to feel abnormally big and constricted in her bra and the itchy ache of her nipples became almost unbearable. Damn! If only she wasn't so passionate, her breasts so damned sensitive. There were times when she had experienced a complete orgasm by just having them kissed. Many times she had been glad to be so aroused. But not now. She didn't want to be aroused. Not by him. She didn't want to enjoy even one-split second that she was with him. She hated him that much.
"But unfortunately, her determination and her body weren't hooked up properly, because she shivered strongly and had to fight to control her breathing as he hugged her closely and put his wet mouth to the soft, satiny, white flesh of her right breast. Carol chewed hard on her lower lip to keep from enjoying his lips and tongue, as she felt his fingers struggle for a moment with the hooks at the back of her bra. Anyone else, she might have helped. But not him.
He needed no help. He finally got the hooks undone and the taut brassiere popped off and her naked tits jumped out like two huge balloons breaking loose from their moorings. His lips were there, ready and waiting, to capture her right nipple and pull it into his mouth, whipping it to further stiffness with his tongue. It was all she could do to stifle the cry of pleasure that his mouth and tongue brought her.
She was panting, her breasts rising and falling spasmodically as he took away his mouth and held her just far enough away from him so that he could stare down at her exquisite breasts-that had reached their full development when she was only sixteen and now were as big and as perfectly formed as mammaries can be. Their milky whiteness was made to look even more white by the overly developed bright pink areolas and huge, suckable darker-hued nipples.
"Jeez, I always knew you had the knockers!" he exclaimed coarsely. "But I never dreamed you had a pair like this. Christ, I don't wonder why the old man wants 'em all to himself."
His head dipped and his mouth was back at her breasts, doing incredible things to her senses, causing all reality to slip away, as his hands were busy at her skirt and her panties, working them down as one unit over her hips and legs, until they slid to the floor on their own.
Again he held her at arm's length and sucked in his breath in due homage-and for good reason. As were her breasts, Carol was as close to perfection as nature could make a woman. Standing in front of him, naked, except for her whisper-weight black hose and flimsy, black nylon garterbelt, she closed her eyes tightly, as his eyes roved her long, smooth, shapely legs that flowed into her flawless pale, pink-white body as exquisitely carved as the statue of a Grecian goddess. With her long, black hair hanging down almost to her slim waist, together with the jet black pelt, rich and luxuriant, that covered her mons, Carol was a breath-taking symphony in black and white.
After he had his fill of looking at her, he was back at her quivering breasts, sucking each nipple in turn until they glowed bright crimson, sparkling wet with his saliva, causing Carol to shiver and pant, her body contradicting the hatred that she felt for him. When he had finished, he pushed her backwards into one of the big, overstuffed easy chairs that adorned the living room.
"Now lean back and spread your legs," he instructed her. "Wider. I want to see your cunt."
Miserably and contemptuously, Carol did what he told her. She spread her thighs as far as they would go, exposing her entire vulva to his view. Like the rest of her anatomy, her vagina was of unquestionable perfection. A precious pink treasure nestled in her luxurious black foliage that was finer than mink or sable.
He reached down between her legs and with a thick, ruthless finger invaded her slit, digging it into her vagina. Carol's thighs jumped and she emitted a little sound of sudden shock. In spite of the excitement that he had aroused in her nipples, she was dry between her legs.
He drew back his hand, tore the white ascot from around his throat and threw open his robe. Against the kelly-green satin his flesh looked pale, his hairless body and limbs even skinnier than she had imagine. But there was nothing pale or skinny about his cock. He hadn't exaggerated when he said that it measured nine inches, proportionately thick around.
Carol had seen more than one prick in her life-a great many more-making her something of a connoisseur and, even though it rankled her, she had to begrudgingly admit, his was a phallus to be admired. Not only because of its size, but also because of the strength that it exuded curving up from his belly with masculine arrogance, its wet circumcised, purple-red head looking ready to burst.
Roy let her have a good look at his lustily-formed manhood, then with a slight smile twisting his lips, he kept staring down at her pussy and said, "Like I said, you're going to get it, baby. But you're going to have to make yourself wet first. I'm not about to take the skin off it, digging it into any dry hole like that. So start getting your cunt wet."
She looked up at him confusedly.
"Don't give me that innocent look," he rumbled. "You know goddamn well what I mean. Make yourself wet. Masturbate."
Carol was horrified. Of all the many things that she had done in her life, she had never even dreamed of masturbating in front of anyone. "Please no, Roy ... I ... I just couldn't."
His eyes narrowed. "Look, I'm not asking you, bitch. I'm telling you." He leaned into her, grabbed her left breast with ungentle fingers and squeezed it cruelly. "Now you start masturbating, or I'll twist this tit right off. You hear me?"
"Yes ... yes...." Carol felt tears of pain leap into her eyes. Slowly, miserably and with utter humiliation, she moved her hand downward over her tightening belly and through the silky mat that covered her cuntal lips. He was even more of a degenerate than she had imagined. To get any thrill or enjoyment out of watching a girl perform such a degrading act on herself was beyond her imagination. But that obviously was his idea. He wasn't going to be satisfied with merely making her submit to him. She could see now that his purpose was to mortify and degrade her to the lowest possible ebb. Why he would want to do such a terrible thing to her wasn't entirely clear in her mind. True, when she married Quincy Palmer, it would cut his inheritance, maybe even deny him succession to the ownership of the advertising firm. But that would happen no matter whom his stepfather married. The only answer Carol could give herself was that this was the way that he might treat any girl. That it brought pleasure and satisfaction to his perverted, male chauvinistic mind.
Eyes closed tightly, her hand was now down between her obscenely wide-splayed legs, coursing over the warm, satiny inner flesh of her trembling thighs, moving closer toward her broiling slit. She couldn't control the gasp that the first electrical shock of her fingers brushing over her cuntal lips caused her.
She reconciled herself to the fact that, as long as she had to do such an ugly, abnormal, embarrassing thing, she may as well get it over with as quickly as possible. Her trembling fingers slid easily into the moist foyer of her vaginal slit and found the swollen pearl of her turgid clitoris. A shuddering spasm of pleasure raked her near-naked body and she began massaging the ultrasensitive, denuded clit feverously, oblivious to the fact that he was still standing there in front of her, watching her with an excitement that made his cock throb more violently, a long, tacky thread of pre-cum drool extending from the vermilion tip almost to the deep knap carpet.
Carol could feel the harbinger of her approaching orgasm. It started in her undulating belly and seconds later a chain reaction set in that traveled down into her fired loins, as her fingers made an obscene sloshing noises going in and out of her now-flooding vagina. Carol may have thought that she was sitting still, but she was squirming around on the chair cushion as if an angry hornet had gotten up into her asshole.
But that wasn't the only sensation that she experienced. Roy had gotten into the act by leaning forward and fastening his lips to her right breast and pulling on the nipple strongly, adding to the intensity of her onrushing orgasm.
Oh, God, if only he would kiss her cunt at this moment. She might even have forgotten the way that she detested him, if only he would fasten his mouth to her pussy and suck, the way he was sucking on her nipple. But obviously, eating cunt wasn't his bag.
Both her hands were busy at her cunt now. The fingers of her left, clutching and peeling aside the lust-bloated, pink lips while with the middle finger of her right hand, she slashed away at the inflamed pea-like tip.
"Oooohhh ... Aaaahhh," she moaned loudly, almost deliriously, as the full force of her climax was unleashed, sending maddening, spine-bending sensations surging through her spasming body like a tidal wave in the wake of an underwater volcano. At such a moment in the past, she might have allowed herself to drift off into fantasy. But now with her tortured mind well aware that it was only the prelude to the indignities and horrors that she would have to go through at the hands of this devilish pervert, she could only find strength enough to look back over her shoulder ... to where it had all begun ... to the startling chain of events that had led up to this most horrible moment of her life ... or was it really ... Were some of the things that had happened to her in the past equally as bad? Perhaps even worse?"
CHAPTER TWO
Carol had started to develop at thirteen, much earlier than any of her classmates. By the time that she had reached fifteen, her breasts were bigger than those of a lot of mature women. They caused her considerable consternation particularly at school where they boys and even her male teachers eyed them longingly, and lost no opportunity to "accidentally" brush against them in the school yard, in the cloakroom, even when she rode the bus to and from school.
This not only embarrassed her, but also caused her mother a lot of concern, because she had tried desperately to keep Carol looking young, by making her crop her jet-black hair short, just to the lobes of the ears and wear pre-teenage clothes, so that no one would think that she had a "daughter that old." But as Carol continued to round out and her breasts to grow, even a tight bra and little girl clothes couldn't hide her precociously blooming young body.
That Carol was still a virgin and even more naive than the average girl of fifteen was something of a small miracle, although it may have had something to do with her mother and father, who were divorced before Carol was ten.
Her mother had said that they got a divorce because her father was unreasonable, impossible to live with. But Carol had a feeling that her mother was chiefly to blame. As a very young child, she remembered all the strange men that visited their home while her father was at work and how scantily dressed her mother used to be in their presence, sometimes wearing only a bra and panties, or a diaphanous negligee. She would always send Carol out of the house to play while the men were visiting; tell her not to come back until she was called-or she would get a thrashing.
Since Carol had started to grow up, her mother became a lot more discreet, even if Carol did hear strange sounds and male voices coming from her mother's bedroom, when she came in very late, and thought that Carol was asleep.
For the past year, ever since Carol's fourteenth birthday, Carol and her mother had been living in the upstairs half of a two-family brick house in the middle-class suburb of West Allis, about an hour's ride by bus from Milwaukee. Emily Francis, Carol's mother, worked in one of the downtown Milwaukee department stores. Since the store didn't close until six, it was always well past seven before she arrived home. Quite often, it was much, much later, because Emily, still in her early thirties, was a very attractive young woman, with no scarcity of male escorts.
Because of these late hours that her mother kept, Carol found herself alone in the apartment a great deal of the time after she got home from school. Until one day, Mr. Lecheur slipped on the ice on the bottom step of the front stoop of the house and broke his left leg.
Mr. Lecheur was fiftyish, a bachelor and lived by himself in the bottom-floor apartment directly below Carol and her mother's. Mr. Lecheur undoubtedly would have sued somebody for the ice on the bottom step, but it so happened that he owned the building as well as several other dwellings throughout the city.
Mr. Lecheur spent a couple of days in the hospital and when he came home with his leg in a cast and was advised to have someone come in and look after him and stay off his feet as much as possible for a few weeks, the hospital suggested a trained nurse. But a trained nurse would be expensive and no one had ever accused Mr. Lecheur of being a man who squandered his money. So he asked Mrs. Francis if she thought that her daughter would like to come in after school and straighten up the place for him-make the bed, wash his dirty dishes, take care of his laundry and maybe give the apartment a thorough cleaning once a week. For these chores he would be willing to pay Carol fifteen dollars a week, which was less than he might have to pay a trained nurse for a single day.
Mr. Lecheur's reputation in the community was impeccable. Just about everybody liked him because he always had a big smile and a friendly hello for his neighbors. In spite of this thriftiness, he was always right there with a donation for any worthy cause. Always the one most likely for people to entrust their canary birds, goldfish and other pets when they had to leave on extended vacations. So Mrs. Francis was quick to accept his offer for her daughter ... especially since that extra fifteen dollars would go toward meeting the rising cost of living expenses.
"Carol will be more than pleased to help out, Mr. Lecheur," the woman assured him. "Not only that, but she'll also be happy to prepare your evening meal if you like. Carol's an excellent cook, you know. A wonderful little housekeeper."
So the next afternoon, after school, Carol began taking care of Mr. Lecheur's needs. For the first two days, everything proceeded according to the book. Carol did all the things for him that her mother had promised, including preparing his evening meal. On each of these occasions, she managed to get home in time to change from her school clothes into a pair of denims and a sweatshirt, very careful to wear a bra. Sometimes wearing a bra embarrassed her, especially when she had to undress for gym in the school locker room with the other girls. She could see just by looking around the locker room that only the "squared" wore bras, which put her in a "drippy class" that she didn't like. But her mother insisted that she wear one at all times-and a full cup, support kind at that.
On the third day that she was to visit Mr. Lecheur's apartment, Carol was detained at school, missed the bus and didn't get home until rather late. So instead of going upstairs to change, she went right to Mr. Lecheur's apart merit, wearing her school clothes-a dark miniskirt, a white blouse, no stockings and black boots.
The moment that she took off her coat, she saw the way that his hot eyes roved the ample curves of her youthful body and zeroed in on the lushness of her fully packed blouse and the bare white flesh of her legs between the tops of her boots and the bottom of her skirt. She couldn't remember him ever looking at her quite the way that he was ogling her now. But by this time she was sort of used to being gawked at and didn't give it a second thought as she prepared to go about her chores.
"Your legs must get awfully cold, being bare in winter weather like this," he commented as he followed her into the bedroom in his wheel chair and watched her start to make the bed.
"You get used to it," was all she said, as she stretched across the bed to straighten the sheets at the far side. She felt the pressure of his eyes on the backs of her bare thighs as her skirt crept up.
"Carol," he exclaimed with a little gasp, "You haven't any panties on!"
She got off the bed quickly, and faced him. "But I do, Mr. Lecheur, I always wear panties."
"Prove it," he petitioned. "I'll bet you a whole dollar you don't have any pants on."
A whole dollar he was willing to bet her! Why that was like finding money, because she knew darn well that she had them on. "Prove it how?" she asked.
He shrugged. "How else-show me."
Carol gulped and retreated a step. "Show you?"
He chuckled disarmingly. "Good heavens, my child. Don't tell me you're afraid to show me your panties? Why, I'm old enough to be your father-twice over."
Carol took a moment to consider. She guessed that it was kind of silly to have qualms about showing a man his age a little thing like her panties. So she reached down and lifted one corner of her skirt very slowly, demurely.
Mr. Lecheur's eyes began to bug out of his head, as her skirt rose to show more and more of her smooth, white, nicely rounded young thighs-until she reached the border of her panties, then dropped her skirt quickly.
"There," she said, flushing a little.
He frowned disappointedly. 'That doesn't prove anything, darling. You didn't show me your panties. All I saw was a couple of inches of white nylon." He saw her reluctance and said, "I'll tell you what. I'll make it two dollars if you really prove to me that you have panties on. Two dollars we won't even tell your mother about. Two dollars all for yourself."
Carol gave his offer very serious consideration. Two dollars was a lot of money to a girl who never really had any of her own to spend, especially since he had said that they wouldn't tell her mother about it, because Carol knew damn well that she would never see any of the fifteen dollars that she was earning, that would go toward household expenses.
The idea of him watching her raise her skirt all the way somehow gave her a funny feeling. She hesitated a moment, then she said, "Close your eyes and ... and I'll tell you when I'm ready." He did as she requested.
Carol sucked in her breath and held it, her heart hammering as she again reached for the bottom of her skirt. She tried to remember exactly which panties she was wearing. Then she recalled putting on the plain white nylon pair that morning, because all the frilly lace ones that she had gotten for Christmas were upstairs in the dirty-clothes hamper waiting to be washed.
It wasn't until she raised the skirt all the way to her wiast and glanced at her reflection in the full-length wall mirror, that she realized how tight-fitting and scanty and sheer the panties were. Her face burned with shame because she could see the shadowy triangle of black hair that covered her prominent cuntal flesh, through the flimsy material. She would be mortified to death for him to see, too, and started to drop her skirt. But it was too late. His eyes were already open and he had seen as much as she. Enough for his cock to lift its eager head and swell out to full size, so that he had to bring the tails of his shirt over it to keep it concealed from the girl.
"You-you peeked," she scolded.
"And you're very lovely, my child," he whispered hoarsely, trying to hide the emotion clogging his throat. He held out a hand to her and beckoned her forward.
Carol was suddenly afraid. She didn't like the way that he was lecherously looking at her, or the way that he was starting to breathe so heavily.
She said, "I-I think maybe I'd better take a few minutes and go upstairs and put on my sweatshirt and denims."
But as she started to go past him, he caught her wrist. "Don't go, darling," he beseeched her. "Please. I'm a lonely old man. I have so very few pleasures-especially since I've been laid up with this thing." He indicated the plaster cast on his left leg that was partly covered with the names and initials and bright saying of many of his neighbors. "Every time that you're away from me, I keep counting the minutes until you come back." Still holding onto her wrist, he ran his free hand upward along her arm to her shoulder, then traced her chin and jawline and gently stroked her short black hair. "You're so lovely ... so young ... you make me feel young again ... even for the short time you're with me."
Carol couldn't understand her mixed feelings. She was still frightened, almost to the point of paralysis when he first grasped her wrist. But then his touch was so gentle, his voice so soft, his words so touching, so sincere, that she felt almost sorry for him. She made no attempt to step away from him. when he finally let her go and dug a hand into the pocket of his trousers and brought forth a roll of bills. He peeled off two singles and gave them to Carol. Then he held up a third single to her.
"You're so lovely," he said. "I'll-I'll give you this extra dollar-if you'll let me see your panties again." When she started to balk, he quickly added, "What harm can it do, darling? After all, I've already seen them."
She weighed his words very carefully, as she fixed her gaze on the third dollar bill. Three dollars! That would be just enough for her to buy that darling charm bracelet that she stopped to admire every day in the jeweler's window, on the way from school. As he said, he had already seen her panties, so what difference would it make if he had another look ... and since she did want that bracelet so much....
Almost as if she were afraid that she might talk herself out of it and lose that third dollar, if she gave it too much thought, Carol closed her eyes and began pulling up her skirt again. She never stopped to realize that it would have been far better if she had raised her skirt quickly and gotten it over with; that inching it slowly up her bare thighs only teased and excited him that much more.
by the time that the skirt was above her hips, Mr. Lecheur's cock was throbbing uncontrollably inside his split-leg trousers. A thin line of perspiration had appeared on his upper lip and his burning eyes were focused hungrily on the gleaming bare flesh of her thighs, and on the taut white fabric of her panties that cupped her bountiful black bush and virgin cuntal lips.
Carol opened her eyes and a terrible fear gripped her as she saw the expression on his face. Boys as well as men had looked at her this way before as if they wanted to strip off her clothes and devour her. But never had she been as alone with anyone when it happened. Not as alone as she was with Mr. Lecheur right now. Terror streaked through her brain and she felt her stomach constrict and her knees start to buckle. She let her skirt drop and started to step back from him. But again he grasped her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap, careful to keep his left leg in cast out of the way so that she didn't strike it.
Carol cried out in protest as he bent her arm up behind her back, rendering her helpless. "Let me go, Mr. Lecheur. Please let me go!"
"I just want a kiss," he panted.
The mere thought of kissing him curdled everything in her stomach. "No! Let me go-or I'll scream!" she cried out as she struggled against him.
"Screaming won't get you anything," he told her, as he used his free hand to cup her face and force her to look up into his pale, watery eyes. "Your mother won't be home for hours yet-and there isn't a chance of any of the neighbors hearing you, because these houses are really built. You can't even hear the TV blaring next door. So relax and don't tease."
He kissed her and tried to get her to open her mouth, but she refused. But his wet, closemouthed kiss made her nauseous. Her limbs and body remained stiff and unresponsive as if solidly frozen.
"I said relax," he murmured muffledly against her lips as he ran his free hand over her silken black hair and down to her shoulder.
Carol tasted hot panic as his fingers began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She struggled against him with all her strength but he was a great deal more powerful than his slim body had led her to believe. He handled her easily. From all the things that she had read and all the things that she had heard the other girls talk about at school, she should have known better than to fall for the wager that he had made with her, that he simply wanted her to prove whether or not she had panties on, or to think, that he would stop there.
"Let me go," she hissed feverously as his hand parted the blouse and he stared at the swell of her breasts pushing up over the top of her bra.
"I just want a look," he told her as he licked away the bits of cotton that had formed at the corners of his mouth. He didn't bother to unsnap the hooks in back of her bra. He simply inserted his fingers inside the cups and gave a quick tug. The straps snapped and he pulled the bra down to her waist, allowing her beautiful big breasts to spring free.
"Wow, what a pair!" he uttered, causing the blush that started in Carol's cheeks to sweep down into the points of her breasts, that crinkled and hardened with fear. Girls had seen her naked. Some, out of curiosity, had even touched them, to compare them with their own. But this was the first man who had ever laid eyes on their luscious nakedness and she was humiliated to the point where she started to cry.
"There's no need for you to bawl," he told her. I'm not going to hurt you."
He began kissing her bare shoulders and the sides of her neck. He was aching to get his mouth on her lusciously young tits. But he wanted her to quiet down first. He didn't want a hysterical girl on his hands and that was where she was heading if he didn't damn soon get her confidence.
"Y'know what, Carol darling," he whispered close to her left ear. "I changed my mind. I'm not going to give you three dollars ... I'm going to give you five. I'll buy you a new brassiere and a pretty, new pair of panties, too. Anything you want, but you've got to stop crying."
She checked her sobs and looked at him. "Why should you buy me those things?"
"Because I want to."
"But why?"
"Because I want you to look pretty, prettier than any other girl in all West Allis," he murmured as he began to kiss his way down to her breasts. "But you've got to trust me. You've got to believe that I wouldn't harm you, my darling."
Still holding her right wrist bent up behind her with his left hand, so that she couldn't get away, he moistened the forefinger of his right hand with saliva and applied it to her left nipple. The edible pink nub responded by wrinkling and swelling up even more. The touch shocked her and caused her to gasp, but she couldn't deny the thrill that it brought her. At the same time it added to her fears, and again she begged him to turn her loose.
"Darling, you want all those lovely things I promised you, don't you?" he asked her and by her silence he knew that she did. His fingers toyed with her wet tingling nipples as he went back to gently kissing her shoulders and chest down to the rising swell of her resilient tit flesh. Her nipples were tingling, felt as if he were tickling them with a feather, his touch was so light.
Carol wanted to cry again at the thought that he was the first male ever to feast his eyes on her beautiful young tits, the first ever to actually touch them. She had it figured out so differently in her mind. All this was going to happen on her wedding night. A young man closer to her own age was going to do these things to her. Young and handsome and virile. Not an old man like Mr. Lecheur in a wheelchair.
The next thing that Carol knew, Mr. Lecheur's head dipped and suddenly his partly bald pate was rubbing under her chin and he was licking in circles around her quivering right nipple. Her back arched slowly and she began breathing through her mouth. "Oh, no ... no...."
He continued to lap at the excitingly distended nipple, then finally he took it between his thin, wet lips and began lashing it with his tongue. His left hand cradled the large, white, plump mound of flesh and he started to knead it as he sucked. Carol made a small, breathy sound as crazy frightening sensations came alive in her belly. She felt terrible for not trying harder to push away his mouth, but she had no idea that having her tits sucked would make her feel that way.
She wasn't aware that his hand had moved down from her breasts and up under her skirt until it was too late to bring her legs together protectively. It lifted her when his fingertips slid off the velvety skin of her inner thigh and made their first caress over the crotch of her nylon panties. What embarrassed her almost as much as the touch of his fingers was that she was so deliciously wet down there. Wet with the warm, sticky secretion that flooded her vagina whenever she got overly excited.
She writhed and struggled but the finesse of his deft fingers rapidly began draining all of her strength to resist him. Then she felt him working his middle finger up underneath the tight legband of her desire-soaked panties. It wiggled through the soft growth of black hair between her legs. When she felt its contact with her moist cuntal opening, she flinched and moaned aloud.
Why was she letting him do such a licentious thing to-her? Why was she not fighting harder to stop him? Good Lord, she wanted to in her mind. But her limbs and her body simply wouldn't respond.
"Please stop, Mr. Lecheur," she begged him as she pressed down on his arm, feebly, with her free hand, trying to push his hand from between her legs.
He paid no attention, but went on suckling her warm breasts, as he wormed his finger between her throbbing pussy lips and then deep into her vaginal passageway. For a moment, Carol thought that she was going to faint with the deep sweep of liquid pleasure that aroused every nerve in her body at this first entry ever of any finger but her own in her virginal tunnel.
As his fingers kept threading its way into the tight cuntal walls of her pussy, he found the membrane of her hymen.
"Well, I'll be damned," he uttered with surprise, "you're a virgin!"
"I didn't think that in this day and age a girl could keep her cherry that long," he said. The thought that she was a virgin turned him on even more to uncontrollable desire. He had a few virgin scalps hanging from his belt, gathered during his fifty-odd years. But as he had told her, they were getting harder and harder to come by ... especially when a man got to be his age.
Now his finger had moved forward in her clasping cuntal orifice to focus on the core of her womanhood, the little erectile stiff and swollen as a rudimentary penis. She was starting to get funny feelings in her belly, and down between her legs she felt all hot and wild, tight and tense. He was teasing her and the sensation was so new and overpowering that for an instant she ceased to resist him. She could hear her own breathing, ragged and uneven, and feel her thighs moving as if on their own. It was a terrible and frightening helplessness....
And then the next thing she knew, she was on the bed. She hadn't realized that he had wheeled the chair across the room, so that with a single motion he had been able to deposit her there. He had learned, too, how to maneuver himself out of the chair and onto the bed with only a minimum of effort and pain to his leg.
She saw him hovering over her, sandwiched between her legs. She tried to move away from him but he pinioned her down and tugged at her lust-soaked panties until they were off. She felt something hot and hard brushing lightly against the inside of her sensitive thighs. Though she had never been even close to a situation like this in her life before, she needed only her feminine intuition to tell her what it was. He had loosened his trousers and taken out his painfully pulsing cock. She had no desire whatsoever to look at it, even though she had never seen a man's organ-except in pictures and on the statues in the museum and they had always been flaccid, helpless looking little things. Nothing like the hot, rigid cudgel that he was moving toward the naked, moist crack of her hot, steaming little pussy.
She stiffened in shame and horror and helplessness at the thought of what he was going to do to her. He was going to stick that hot, hard thing into her ... rape her ... deflower her! In spite of the terror screaming in her brain and her weak efforts at fighting him off, she could feel a strange desire building up inside her and without conscious thought she spread her legs wider and wider apart as the bulging, desire-bloated head of his aching prick moved closer to its goal.
She made a last desperate appeal to him, tears bubbling out of her eyes, fear lodged in her throat. "Oh ... "Oh ... please, Mr. Lecheur ... I beg you ... don't do it...."
"It's got to happen sooner or later, my child," he whispered, breathing heavily, his eyes wild with passion and eager anticipation. "And you're lucky that it's happening with me. Somebody who knows his way around, who won't hurt and mangle you."
She felt the heavy head of his big cock reach the top of her thigh and touch the tender, fleshy mound of the cunt itself. Was this the kindly, considerate Mr. Lecheur that everybody in the neighborhood loved and thought so highly of? Could this be the same man, whom everyone trusted, that was doing this awful thing to her? Her mind was too confused to answer any of the countless questions that bombarded her spinning brain ... would it hurt ... would she dislike it as much as she imagined she would...? She hated herself for the enjoyment that she got out of him sucking her breasts, out of his finger play in her pussy. Could it be possible that she might like this, too? No ... no! She didn't want to get any pleasure out of something so evil, something that he was forcing her to do.
"I'll ... I'll tell my mother!" she screamed at the top of her lungs as she felt him press the fat knob of his hotly palpitating prick against the velvet folds of her outer vaginal lips.
He didn't hear her. He didn't want to hear her. Right now, he didn't give a damn if she told the whole world and he was put away for the rest of his life. Instead he pushed into her with a slow, relentless pressure.
Carol screamed again, bucked like a bronco coming out of a chute, tried to pull back away from the searing entry of his cock. But she didn't stand a chance as his hands went beneath her, grasped her trembling wet buttocks and lifted her and kept thrusting into her.
He groaned on his own as he felt her stubborn tissue give way. A few drops of her blood sprayed the inside of her thighs and his own. Mingled with her nervous perspiration and her cunt juice it felt warm on his fingers as he drew her closer to him.
Carol was sobbing piteously now, rolling her head from side to side and pushing up at his chest with both hands. "Oh, stop, Mr. Lecheur! You must stop! You're too big. I can't take it. You're going to murder me with that terrible thing!"
The girl's words aroused him to fever pitch. He liked to think of himself as big. But in his heart, he knew that it was because she was too goddamn tight! In all his fifty years, he couldn't remember a cunt as snug and unyielding as Carol's. For such a young girl, her inner muscles were like bands of tempered steel. When she learned how to manipulate them properly, she would be able to bring a man on just by flexing and reflexing them. But for right now it' was like trying to screw his prick into a hole -lined with corrugated metal. Every inch of his penetration was pure torture. Yet he wasn't about to give up. He was going to fuck her, even if she skinned every inch of flesh off his cock and left only the bone showing.
For Carol it was even worse torture. Her heart pounded. She screamed and twisted, but he showed her no quarter. He just kept shoving. His cock was like a sharp spear cutting into her belly. Sinking deeper and deeper. With that lancing pain that he caused her when he tore through her hymen, she thought surely that she could never survive. But now the feeling of the awful fullness of a man in her guts was even worse. The terrible sensation of thickness and stretching, the excruciating pain made her feel as if she were going to die.
And then, at long last, she emitted a sharp yip of pain as with an almost sadistic joy, he told her that he had bottomed. She didn't know for sure whether she should be proud of her womanly ability to adjust to his size, or ashamed that she had let him conquer her so easily. The pain, the searing, burning pain was so intense that it was impossible for her to think of anything with any degree of rationalism.
He lay there atop her, quietly for several moments, his entire length buried inside her, throbbing heavily, his bulk flattening her breasts, the sweat from his face dripping down on her warm flesh. She tried to squirm from beneath him, but succeeded only in spurring him into further action.
She felt him start moving against her, with a slow fucking movement. Up and down, in and out. Her strangling muscles threatening to pulverize his cock, until the copious secretion of her cunt mingled with the pre-cum from his cock and she felt her hole start to relax and her agony slowly fade.
"That's better now, isn't it?" he asked.
She turned her head to one side and closed her eyes and made no answer.
His lips drew back in a grimace of pleasure and he continued fucking her. Without really knowing what she was doing, she began moving her hips, rubbing her naked pussy against him, slowly and warily at first, then faster and faster until she was rhythmically humping right along with him with undisguised lust, as if she had been doing it all her life.
Carol had no longer any awareness of what she was doing, knowing only that she was racing toward some sort of an explosive climax. She clung to him, frantically, welcoming his heavy invasions as if she were trying to help him puncture some imaginary bubble of passion deep in her belly, let out all its pent-up ache. And then it hit her-the initial incredible shock of the first orgasm of her young life. Her straining stomach muscles sucked in and gripped his cock, tenaciously, as the whole body went stiff and arched backwards.
She made no attempt to muffle her scream as she threw back her head and her body began jerking and twitching violently as wave after wave of pleasurable sensations swept along her flaming nerve paths. She had no idea how long it lasted, but it seemed that at the very highest pitch she felt his cock swell to alarming proportions inside her and then buck and begin shooting round after round of white-hot sperm into her spasming guts. It was too much, much too much for a novice, a teenager like herself, to take from a grown man. Somewhere along the line she lost touch with reality and found herself slipping slowly and delightfully into a total and complete blackness....
CHAPTER THREE
Carol was in bed-her own bed upstairs-when her mother came home that night, some time after ten o'clock. Carol wasn't asleep. She was thinking about her experience with Mr. Lecheur that afternoon, downstairs in his apartment.
After he was done with her and she had regained consciousness, she began to cry bitterly. When finally he quieted her, he convinced her to take off what little remained of her clothing, go into the bathroom and soak in a hot tub for almost half an hour. He tried to get her to come back into bed with him, but she grabbed up her clothes and left his apartment-but not until he gave her the five dollars that he had promised her.
Carol's first thought when she heard her mother come in and go directly to her own bedroom was to get up and go to her and tell her what Mr. Lecheur had done. But then she remembered the five dollars that he had given her and the promise that he had made to buy her a new bra, a new pair of panties and anything else that she wanted. If she told her mother about it she would never get all those pretty things. In fact, her mother might even make her give that five dollars back to him and not let her go to his apartment again.
As disagreeable as the things he did to her may have been, she didn't want to give up both the money and the other things that he had promised her. Besides, had those things that he had done to her really been so bad? She dozed off thinking about them, but did very little sleeping. She kept tossing and turning, scissoring her legs, unable to make herself believe that Mr. Lecheur's cock wasn't still inside her, throbbing violently in her belly. Several times she awoke from her sex-filled dreams to find her pussy wet and itchy and sore from his heavy penetrations.
Each time she woke up, she battled the same thoughts. Should she go to her mother and tell her and risk losing all those nice things that he had promised her? Or should she pretend that nothing had happened? Of course, Carol was old enough to know that what she had let him do to her was wrong and that if she didn't tell her mother, she must at least promise herself that she would never let it happen again. She would go there after school, same as always. She would clean his apartment, make his bed, do his laundry and prepare his evening meal. But no matter what, she would never take off her clothes in front of him again, or show him her panties, or get into bed with him, or let him kiss her or put his hands on her.
She finally fell into sound sleep with that thought in mind. When she awakened next morning, she was even more determined that that was how it would be, and she would tell him so. Maybe there was some other way that she could earn all those things that he had promised her. But it wouldn't be through sex.
After she had showered and dried herself off, Carol stood in front of the full-length mirror in the back of the door in the bathroom. The girl that she saw in the mirror was no longer a virgin. Yet she didn't look any differently, and certainly she felt the same way that she had the previous morning after showering. The soreness and the impression of Mr. Lecheur's penis in her vagina were both gone. He had even put her mind to rest as to the possibility of her being "caught" and not having his baby.
Just before she went into the bathroom the afternoon before, he handed her, of all things, a six-ounce bottle of warm Coke. She thought at first that it was for her to drink and quiet her sobs. Instead, he told her to first get into the tub, then uncap the bottle, place her thumb over the top, shake it and then shove the neck of the bottle into her pussy.
"A most effective, effervescent douche," he assured her.
After she came out of the bathroom and dressed for school, she had breakfast with her mother. As usual, her mother sat with the morning paper propped up in front of her, so they had very little to say to each other. Carol was glad. This morning she didn't feel very much like talking to anyone. Especially to her mother, because her mother had a way of worming things out of her and she wanted more time to think, to be sure that she was making the right decision about not telling on Mr. Lecheur.
Nothing very unusual happened for the rest of the morning. She caught the school bus and got through the morning class with nothing much out of the ordinary happening-except that she may have been a little more preoccupied than usual. However, at lunch time, she stopped in at a discount store in the vicinity of the school to see what her five dollars would buy that she might want even more than the charm bracelet. She spied a body blouse. It was red and just her size. It originally had been priced at $22.00 and was now on sale for $12.99. But including tax that was $8.00 more than she had to spend.
All during afternoon classes, Carol kept thinking about that red body blouse and how it would look on her. When school was over, she took the bus home and when she got there, she did something that she found very difficult to explain to herself. Instead of putting on the sweatshirt and denims that she usually worked in, she first showered, then doused herself with her mother's most exotic perfume. Next she put on a pair of her mother's black lace panties and her favorite micro-mini see-through crochet dress with a scooped neckline. She wore no bra, since the dress was -lined with sheer nylon. The dress clung to her young full breasts to outline the tight thrust of her large nipples. She applied just enough lipstick to give her nicely shaped mouth a little color and used her mother's liner to accentuate the blue of her expressive eyes. She combed her short black hair and posed a moment in front of the mirror to make sure that everything was in order. Then she went downstairs to Mr. Lecheur's apartment.
He always left the door unlocked when he was expecting her, as he was today, hoping that what had happened the day before wouldn't stop her from coming to see him again. The instant that he heard the door open, he turned his head and saw her enter. His eyes popped at the sight of her and he leaned forward in his wheelchair for a better look at her, ogling the sensuous bounce of her young, braless breasts as she closed the door and came forward.
Even from across the room, she could see his cock come to life under his trousers, like a dancing cobra at the sound of its charmer's flute. For some reason that she found very difficult to justify, her eyes fastened on the growing snake, as awareness of a strange, mild stirring in her own loins. But in spite of that and the elaborate preparations that she had made to make herself look seductive and attractive for him, Carol kept insisting to herself that what had happened the day before wasn't going to be repeated today. She wasn't going to take off her clothes for him. She wasn't going to bed with him. It was all very contradictory and confusing, she knew, but that's how it was going to be.
"Is-is there anything I can get you before I start to clean house?" she asked him soberly.
He looked at her bare thighs where the microskirt ended. She was showing him an awful lot of white young flesh. He shook his head slowly, "No. You go ahead and do your work. If I think of anything I'll let you know."
Carol turned and went through the rooms, picking up books, newspaper, articles of clothing and other things that he had scattered about. Each time she bent forward, she could feel the weight of his hot, eager eyes on the backs of her thighs as her short skirt inched up. When she faced him and stooped, the loose-fitting scoop neckline of her dress would fall away and offer him a generous glimpse of her magnificent young globulars.
After she finished "picking up" the living room and dining room, she went into the kitchen where she washed and dried and put away his breakfast and luncheon dishes. Then she came back into the living room, where he sat patiently waiting for her in his wheel chair.
"I think I'll make the bed now," she told him, feeling a little uncomfortable at the silence that had reigned between them almost since she had first come in. Not anything like the usual run of chatter that passed between them. But then she still felt very strange with him, after the previous day. A little embarrassed, too, that she had made herself up in such a fashion, still not entirely sure exactly why she had done it. She couldn't help but wonder if he felt as uneasy as she did. Especially since all he had said about her making the bed was a "good idea."
Aside from the strained silence, Mr. Lecheur had behaved himself very nicely. Certainly nothing like she had expected. Of course, he lost no opportunity to admire her legs and boobs and the rest of her stunning anatomy. But she couldn't blame him for that. He was simply acting the way that any other male, young or old, might act. Certainly so far, he had given her not the slightest indication that there might be a repeat of what had happened the day before. He didn't even follow after her when she went into the bedroom. She was glad about that.
Whether or not he had slept in the bed the previous night, he hadn't bothered to change the sheets that were stained with a few drops of her dried virgin blood and his lust. Base, devil lust. As she started to strip the bed, she could smell the strong male odor with which the sheets still reeked. She felt a strange burning in her loins.
She was on the bed, putting on clean sheets, reaching across it for the corner of the sheet, when she heard his wheel chair behind her in the doorway. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder and saw him wheeling toward the bed. She straightened on the bed and faced him.
"Oh, no," she told him in no uncertain terms. "None of that stuff!"
He halted beside the bed, his face a mask of innocence. "None of what stuff, darling?"
"What happened yesterday."
"But of course not, my dear," he said with a benign smile as he locked the chair in place and started to slide onto the bed. "I wouldn't think of doing anything you didn't want me to do. You know that."
She felt his hot palm on her bare thigh just below the hem of her short skirt. She pushed his hand away. "Please, Mr. Lecheur. I-I asked you not to."
"Sorry," he said with mock apology as he sat beside her on the bed now, his eyes feasting on her deep cleavage and the rise of her breasts over the scooped neckline. "By the way, did you tell your mother about the five dollars I gave you yesterday?"
Carol swallowed uneasily. "No, sir."
His smile deepened. "Smart girl. That only would have opened the door to a lot of questions, wouldn't it? She might have even stopped you from coming here-and we wouldn't want that, would we? Because that would mean that you couldn't make any extra money-or have any of those pretty things I promised."
Carol didn't answer him and she didn't like at all that he could so easily interpret her thoughts.
"I suppose by now you have that five dollars all spent?" he fished.
"No," Carol replied.
"Saving it?"
"Yes."
What for?"
She told him and sort of hesitatingly added how much more the body blouse would cost, "Oh, I think we can very easily find a way for you to get that eight dollars more that you need," he whispered oilily as he placed his right hand on her left shoulder. He brushed away the scooped neckline and put his scalding wet mouth to her gleaming white flesh.
Carol shivered and made a half-hearted attempt to draw away from him as he ran his lips up her neck to her left ear, then down over her straining white throat to the voluptuous swell of her breasts, inhaling the warm fragrance of her girlish body.
"Please, Mr. Lecheur, no ... you're making my tummy feel all icky and crazy again ... you ... you promised you wouldn't," she breathed laboriously. K
"I said I wouldn't if you didn't want me to," he pointed out to her as his right hand slid down from her shoulder to the back of her dress, to slide open the long plastic zipper that he found there. As soon as the zipper was opened, the dress slipped down to bare her luscious left tit. "But you do want me to, don't you, my darling? You want to earn that eight dollars you need for that pretty red body blouse."
She didn't argue, nor did she make any further attempt to stop or dissuade him, because she wanted that blouse more than she ever wanted anything. No matter how many false promises she made to herself, in her heart she knew all along what she was going to have to do to get the additional money to buy it. Why else would she have gone to so much bother to make herself look more desirable to him?
Carol just half-sat, half-lay there on the rumpled bed beside him, letting him work the top of the gown down to her waist, baring both of her lovely, milky breasts, the nipples standing out pink and stiff as if waiting for him to kiss them.
He didn't disappoint them but kissed his way down to the tingling nubs, then licked and suckled, first one then the other, until they glowed like lighted tapers. His left hand, meantime, worked its way up under her short skirt to stroke her pussy to wetness through the spider web material of her mother's black panties. A moment later the panties and the dress were off and she was lying there in front of him on the bed, stark naked.
He dropped his mouth to her breasts, kissing and licking them all over, nibbling at the points. Then he left a trail of his saliva behind as he warmly and wetly licked his way downward over her flat belly, tonguing her navel, and skittering through the crop of black hair that covered her sweet-smelling crotch area. He tapped her legs farther apart, gently, then he had her draw her heels in toward her lovely bottom. With two fingers, he then parted the pink-red lips of her vagina so that he could see into the dark, palpitating tunnel that led into the very depths of her being.
"Pussies as a rule aren't very pretty," he told her. "At least not to my way of thinking they're not. But yours is. Yours is by far the prettiest I ever saw."
And it was. The outer lips were dark pink and as nicely shaped as a sweet mouth. The hair that surrounded it was rich black and shiny moist, coarser and curlier than the hair atop her head. The inner lips were almost shell-pink and covered with a gauzy film. The pearly-white clit situated at the tip of her opening was excited now, standing stiff and straight.
Mr. Lecheur didn't take too long a look. Again his head dipped forward and his lips skittered over the moist lips of her moist cunt, his tongue creeping into the foyer of her vulva, slick now, warm and wet with her secretion. The sweet musky aroma of her pussy seemed to inflame him further. Clutching her lust-bloated lips with his fingers, he peeled them back and slashed away at the swollen boil of her clit.
Carol moaned, shuddered and thrashed as her body became suddenly alive with uncontrollable passion. "Oh, no, Mr. Lecheur ... you mustn't ... you mustn't! It isn't right ... it's evil ... Oh, Please ... please ... stop...."
He paused. "You like it, don't you? It feels good, doesn't it?"
"No!" she blurted out. "It's dirty ... and perverted ... It isn't nice ... I hate it...."
But it wasn't true. The feeling that his tongue rolling over her super-sensitive clitoris brought her as he returned to her honeycomb was incredible ... fantastic ... like nothing that she had ever known before. She wanted to scream ... cry. And if he didn't stop she was going to cum! And not more than ten seconds later, his lips siphoning her clit, his tongue sawing on its hot pearl, Carol experienced her first orgasm by cunnilingus.
Her hands jammed his face between her legs, suffocatingly; his head held imprisoned between her moist hot thighs until the throbbing and the erupting in her belly receded ... only then did she release him.
She lay there on her back, eyes closed, breathing through her mouth, unmindful of her nudity. She waited for his penetration, the feel of his hard cock easing between the hot, mucous-lined walls of her pussy. She was sure that she would have little difficulty accepting him today. His sucking down there had left her wet and open ... and maybe just a little more anxious than she should have been. But he didn't stay between her thighs and stick it in her as she had expected. Instead, she felt him drag his cast-encased leg up with great effort until he straddled her. She opened her eyes to see him moving forward until his bony asscheeks were positioned above her nude, upthrust breasts. For a moment, Carol didn't comprehend. She couldn't begin to imagine why he was positioning himself like this with his cock so close to her face. It was the first real close-up look that she had of it, and while it fascinated her somewhat, she couldn't help but be intimidated by its masculine strength.
And then, as he eased it just a little nearer to her face, it suddenly hit Carol what he wanted her to do-he wanted her to suck it! She had heard that some men liked it like this. But she had never dreamed that a man would ever ask anyone but a prostitute or a pervert to do it this way. Certainly she never dreamed that a man like Mr. Lecheur would ask a girl like her to do such a vile and perverted thing. But then, he had done the same thing to her down there!
It seemed even worse when he put it into words and said, "Kiss it ... eat it, darling."
"Please no, Mr. Lecheur," she implored him. "I-I don't even mind if you-if you do it to me like you did to me yesterday. But please don't ask me to do it like this. Please. It would make me deathly sick."
"It's all in your mind, darling," he said softly, but with unmistakable insistence in his voice. It was obvious that nothing would give him a bigger belt than having a pretty, young head like hers attached to the end of his cock, sucking on it. "You might even like it better than the other way."
She kept shaking her head, her expression leaving no doubt in his mind as to her abhorance. "I-I couldn't, Mr. Lecheur. The taste alone-"
"That's just it," he interrupted. "There's no taste to it, or hardly any."
She continued to shake her head. "No...."
"Tell you what," he suggested. "You try it ... just try it ... and if you don't like it, you can stop."
"No, please, don't ask me to."
"I'll make that eight dollars I promised-ten," he bargained as he eased forward, his buttocks pressing down, flattening her breast until the vermilion knob of his lust-swollen prick was less than an inch from her rouge-red lips.
Ten whole dollars, he had promised her! That was more money than she had ever had for herself in all her fifteen years. She felt him strain forward and brush the head of his cock over her lips.
She turned her face away with undisguised disgust and ran her tongue over her lips moist with the seepage from the slit in the livid red tip of his cock. She was surprised to discover that, as he had said, it had hardly any taste. A trifle salty perhaps but that was all. Maybe-just maybe-it wouldn't be nearly as bad as she had thought. And for ten dollars-!
Whether or not he surmised what she was thinking, he gave her no opportunity to reconsider. Reaching down he grabbed a handful of her short black hair and brought her face forward to his cock.
Her lips remained tightly until he gave her hair a cruel yank that made her lips soften and part slightly.
"I don't want to be rough with you, darling," he murmured between ragged breaths. "So don't make me." The sight of his immensely rigid cock poised at her half-opened mouth sent him suddenly wild. He rocked his hips from side-to-side and managed to let the lust-bloated prick slide lewdly over her lower lip and into the warm wet interior of her mouth.
Carol felt the underside of the throbbing insistent flesh slide over her tongue and its sensitive folds scrape against her teeth. She knew that it was futile to resist any longer. He was much too far along to stop now. Besides, as it had been when he fucked her, once the initial revulsion was past and she stopped thinking how degenerate it was, the mildly pungent taste and the heavy throbbing of him against her tongue and inside her mouth sent strange, intoxicating sensations into her brain. Once her taste buds became adjusted to it, the exotic flavor of his male juice was rather heady and not at all unpleasant. Maybe he had been right again? Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad, after all-certainly not when she considered that she was going to get ten dollars for doing it to him.
His right hand was still gripping her hair, but he had stopped tugging at it as he looked down again and saw her mouth filled and her cheeks puffed out with his cock. Adrift in a blood-red fog, he began instructing Carol in the fine art of sucking cock. He taught her how to torment the underside of his glans, how to slide her mouth up and down the underside of his shaft, suck and lick at the same time.
"Just the barest touch of your teeth, darling, as you go up and down," he panted. "Keep your lips tight and sucking all the time. Make believe he's riding your cunt and milk the hell out of him-especially when I start to cum. Wrap your lips around him and tug hard." He showed her how to turn her head slightly to the side so that she could get more of his length down her oral cavity.
Her eyes closed now, Carol's mouth went up and down the length of his desire-rigid organ, trying to remember all the things that he had told her, resigned and enjoying her servile chores more than she was willing to admit. Her jaws were beginning to ache and her lungs felt cramped for air-but she kept sucking, sucking.
He was wild now, pumping in and out of her suctioning mouth, heedless of the cumbersome cast thumping in rhythm. She coughed and moaned but she stayed right with it. Until all of a sudden she felt his hands grasp the sides of her head and keep her face locked against his sweating loins. She knew that he was starting to cum and tried to pull off him. But that wasn't his intention. He kept her face pinioned there, his prick deep in her throat as his cock exploded furiously.
Carol felt the hot, sticky wetness shoot out of him and splash the roof of her mouth. She again tried to dislodge his cock from her mouth but he continued to hold her there steadfastly, his cockhead banging and plowing her palate, her esophagus, the flat of her tongue, filling her mouth with his jetting sperm until she was forced to swallow it to keep from gagging. He kept pumping ferociously, until she had sucked every drop of cum out of him. Then he let go of her head and watched as she fell back onto the pillows, a trickle of his milk-like juice running from the corners of her mouth.
"Well, was it so bad, my dear?" Mr. Lecheur asked as he dropped onto the mattress alongside her.
She made no answer. She simply got off the bed and went into the bathroom. As she washed her face and rinsed out her mouth with a powerful wash, she could see why some women might prefer it that way.
CHAPTER FOUR
During the months that followed, Carol continued to visit Mr. Lecheur's apartment. Even after his leg knitted and he was able to remove the cast and take care of himself, she still came to see him two or three times a week, whenever he wanted her to. Because making his bed, doing his laundry, straightening up the apartment or even preparing his dinner were no longer the real reasons that she visited him. There was no longer any need for subterfuge. She went there to take care of his sexual needs ... and do it in any way he asked her to.
by mid-Spring, she had reached the point where she thought nothing of sucking him off, masturbating him, or having normal intercourse with him. It made no difference. She would open her blouse, or her dress, or roll up her sweater, take off her bra and let him nurse at her breasts. When the mood struck him, she would drop her panties and sit on the edge of a chair, or the floor, or a table, or the divan or lie on the bed and let him eat all the pussy that he wanted. In return, he paid her anywhere from three to five dollars every time that she came to see him; even more, if she needed something special. But after the first few practical things that she needed, such as dresses, coats, panties, bras, sweaters, shoes and pantyhose, she splurged on luxuries, such as costume jewelry, fake eyelashes and makeup. She even bought a blonde and a red wig to make her look different, as well as several pair of sheer-sheer nylons and a black lace garterbelt that Mr. Lecheur had her wear with nothing else when he wanted to feel especially horny.
At first, Carol was very careful about letting her mother see her in any of this new finery and kept most of the things downstairs in Mr. Lecheur's apartment. But after a while, she grew a little more daring and began to break out in her new clothes when her mother came home. When her mother asked her where she got the clothes, Carol told her the truth, that Mr. Lecheur bought them for her-but she didn't say the reason. To Carol's surprise and delight, her mother didn't seem to see anything wrong in a girl Carol's age receiving gifts from a man like Mr. Lecheur, or maybe she felt that the more he bought for her daughter, the less she would have to spend on the girl. So even if she continued to keep her libertine forays with Mr. Lecheur a secret, there was no reason for Carol not to wear her ill-gotten clothes to school, especially since her mother had reconciled herself to the fact that she could no longer deny that she had a growing daughter.
This marked change in Carol's appearance, coupled with the melting away of the last traces of her baby fat, and the fact that she had let her sleek black hair grow longer than shoulder length, didn't escape the notice of the males at school. Dates and invitations to parties became much more frequent. But even at sixteen, the age that she had now reached, Carol remained "true" to Mr. Lecheur. If she liked a boy well enough, she might go in for some open-mouthed kissing, or maybe let him put a hand down inside her bra, or up under the leg-band of her panties and feel her pussy. She might even go so far as to give him a "dry fuck" while saying goodnight to him, but that was it. Whether out of loyalty, or because she wanted to take no chance of killing the goose and cutting off her supply of golden eggs, that was where she drew the line for everyone, except for her benefactor.
In addition to all these rather remarkable changes that had taken place in her young life, Carol was no longer looked upon as a member of the "square set" at school. As a matter-of-fact, thanks to her sexual experiences with Mr. Lecheur, she became something of an authority on the subject and when she spoke-everyone listened. Her female classmates didn't have to resort to books to find out everything that they always wanted to know about sex. All they had to do was ask Carol and she would recite, graphically, details of her own experiences with Mr. Lecheur-without mentioning him by name, of course. This went on for quite a spell until one day, in late April, Olivia Grant overheard one of Carol's explicit, informative lectures on the subject of sex.
Olivia was one of the teachers at the high school that Carol attended. A tall, thirtyish spinster, Olivia had a figure that was more devoid of curves that most of her young students. However, with proper makeup and her mousy-colored hair arranged more flatteringly, instead of in the severe, pulled-back way that she wore it, she might have been rather attractive, because she had clean-cut, if somewhat bony features, expressive gray-green eyes behind her horn-rimmed glasses and a nicely shaped, full-lipped mouth. Olivia Grant was Carol's English teacher.
That same afternoon that Olivia Grant eavesdropped on Carol's discourse on sex, as the girl was leaving class, the teacher said, "Would you please wait a few moments, Carol? I'd like to talk with you."
When the last of the students had filed out of the room, Olivia got up and closed the door. Then she had Carol sit beside her at her desk. But strangely, she didn't mention a word about what she had overheard. Instead she took a folder from one of the desk drawers and spread it before her on the desk top. She said, "With the end of the school term only a couple of months away, I've gone over your record very carefully. I find that the credits you can receive from me will make the difference whether or not you are promoted. Of course, you could go to summer school and make them up. But I'm certain that a pretty and popular young girl like you could find more interesting ways to spend your vacation. Am I right?"
Carol wagged her head. "Yes, ma'am."
"Not only that," the teacher went on, "but you strike me as a far above-average young lady, who might aspire to something a great deal more than a mere humdrum existence. Am I correct in assuming that, too, darling?"
Again Carol nodded in accord, wondering what the teacher was leading up to.
"For someone like me to tell you this might sound ridiculous, since I have never married. But there have been reasons why I never did and, I assure you, that it was not because I didn't have the opportunity," Olivia imparted. "However, I have observed one truism and that is, if you must fall in love and you do marry, be judicious and remember this one bit of advice: it is just as easy to fall in love and marry a rich man, as it is a poor one."
"Yes, ma'am. My mother told me that."
"Good," the teacher said with a smile. "But did your mother tell you that it is much easier for a woman to find her rich man if she is well educated-providing, of course, she has all the other requisites that you have?"
"No, ma'am."
Olivia put her fingertips precisely together and studied the girl seated beside her for a long moment, then she said, "It isn't only that I'm a sentimentalist at heart and would like to see a girl with as many favorable qualities as you reach her goal, but it will be as much a discredit to me if you fail to get passing grades. It will mean I've failed you as your teacher. So, darling, if you're agreeable, I'd like to help you."
"Oh, I am, I am!" Carol assured the woman, emphatically.
Olivia smiled again, more intently. "Do you think you could arrange to come to my home, let's say, two nights a week, from now until the end of the term? We can begin tomorrow night and I'm sure we can make great strides."
Carol agreed to be at Olivia Grant's apartment the next night at seven.
"I would prefer, Carol darling, if this were kept quiet," was the teacher's parting shot. "I wouldn't want anyone to find out that I was showing preferential treatment-especially from any of your classmates."
The next evening at seven o'clock sharp, Carol stood in front of the door of Olivia Grant's frame house in the residential section of West Allis, about a mile from where she lived with her mother. She took a moment to smooth down the dress that she was wearing, made sure that her hair was neatly arranged, then she put her finger to the doorbell. There was a brief pause, then the door opened.
The teacher stood in front of her, smiling a gracious welcome. Carol couldn't help but be slightly taken aback to see Olivia in a lacy, white, almost transparent negligee; her brown hair combed out and hanging down almost to her shoulders, and without her glasses. Not only had Carol never seen the teacher looking like this, but it was also hardly the sort of, thing that she expected the woman to wear for a study session.
"Come in, Carol darling," Olivia said in her sweetest voice. And as Carol stepped across the threshold, the woman further amazed her by kissing her full on the lips. A warm, moist, soft-lipped kiss.
Whatever uneasiness that the kiss might have caused Carol, she blossomed into genuine apprehension when she felt the teacher's arm encircle her waist and the hand rest on her hip as Olivia walked her into the living room and toward the portable bar that stood in the far corner.
"Before we do any studying, I'm sure you'd like a drink," the teacher said as they halted at the bar. "What will you have, darling?"
"A-a Coke if you have one?"
Olivia nodded and went around behind the bar to pour Carol's drink as the girl climbed up onto one of the bar stools. It gave Carol an opportunity to glance around the living room. It was very nicely furnished to a woman's taste. And, by the way that the furniture was arranged and the drapes hung, it was obvious that Olivia Grant had a definite flare for the artistic. Only the oil paintings that adorned the walls injected a jarring note. Nudes and semi-nudes particularly of young females, none of them pornographic, yet each of them unmistakably depicting some mild feminine perversion. One showed two women in naked embrace. Another portrayed a woman cupping her partner's bountiful breasts from behind. A third had two lovely young girls close together in the bath.
"I see you're admiring my handiwork," Olivia interrupted as she came around from behind the bar and offered one of the two tall, iced drinks that she was holding to Carol. Olivia didn't get up onto one of the stools. She preferred to stand beside the girl, where she could look down at the liberal expanse of bare thighs that Carol's short skirt provided-with a great deal more than just passing interest.
Carol took the glass that Olivia held out to her and looked at the woman with profound surprise. "Did you paint those pictures, Miss Grant?"
Olivia smiled modestly. "One of my many well-guarded secrets," she said as she touched her glass to Carol's and took a sip. "Like them?"
"They're terrific!" Carol said alluding to the craftsmanship but with no mention of the embarrassing subject matter, as she put the glass to her lips and took a generous swallow. Immediately she choked, coughed and grimaced and held the glass away. 'This-this doesn't taste like Coke, Miss Grant?"
Olivia's smile deepened, almost impishly. "It's Coke, all right, darling. Coke with just a dash of rum in it."
Carol started to place the glass on the bar. "I-I don't think I ought to have any liquor, Miss Grant."
Olivia laughed amusedly. "Rum won't hurt you, darling. You're a big girl now. Drink up and we'll get busy with our studies." Again she touched Carol's glass with her own and proclaimed, "Here's to a very pleasant and fruitful relationship."
Carol faltered for a moment, then put the glass to her lips and swallowed. This time there was no choking, no coughing, no grimacing. In fact, the liquid was rather pleasant going down, made her tummy feel nice and warm. Olivia refilled both glasses, insisting that the Coke would go flat if they let it stand too long. This second drink Carol found even more palatable-even though it contained more than twice as much rum. It also made her feel considerably more relaxed, not nearly so tense and apprehensive. In fact, after a few moments, the paintings that had mildly shocked her began to take on a new glow, a new significance. She found herself wondering what it would be like to rub her naked body against that of another woman, to have a member of her own sex fondle her breasts.
She suddenly was aware of the teacher standing close beside her, draping an arm with studied nonchalance around her shoulders. She caught a whiff of the heady perfume that Olivia was wearing and, as the top of her negligee parted slightly, Carol got a close-up of the woman's conical, little-girl breasts that seemed to be almost all nipples and oversized areolas.
Olivia saw her looking and said, T don't have very much, do I, darling? I'd give anything to have breasts like yours."
Carol felt a mild return of apprehension when the woman punctuated her explanation with a kiss on the side of the neck close to her left ear, that sent shivers racing through her. But her concern was quickly dissolved in the quantity of alcohol that the woman had put into her drinks.
"Do you want to know a little secret, darling?" Olivia whispered. "Hear a little confession? Ever since I first saw you, long before you were even in my class, I've wanted to see your exciting breasts, your delightful young body-in the nude." She felt Carol stiffen and added quickly, 'To paint you, darling-to make you the subject of one of my oils." She hesitated a moment, waiting until Carol began to relax again. "I'm afraid I fibbed to you yesterday afternoon. It's true, I do want to help you with your studies, help you get a passing grade. But that isn't the only reason I asked you here. I wanted to see if I was right, if you are even lovelier naked and if you are, to pose for me."
The tenseness had almost completely gone out of Carol again, thanks to both the rum that she had consumed and the soft sincerity in Olivia's voice. She watched as Olivia's fingers slipped down from her shoulders and began slowly unbuttoning the front of her dress. Suddenly she grasped the woman's wrists.
"I-I don't know whether I should, Miss Grant," Carol said with embarrassment.
"It's no different than disrobing in front of the girls in the locker room at school," was the older woman's argument.
"Maybe-maybe it's because I'm sitting here, like this, at the bar," Carol groped.
Olivia smiled knowingly. "Of course, darling. You're so right. Come, let's go upstairs to my room where you'll feel much more comfortable."
Carol had no idea why she should feel any more at ease in the woman's bedroom than she did there in the living room. She had even less of an explanation why she obediently got down from the stool and went with the teacher across the living room to the door. She felt a little dizzy, she admitted, but she wondered if it was necessary for the woman to keep an arm around her waist-her fingers so close to the sides of her. large full breasts. Once or twice, the teacher even touched them, as they went up the stairs and into her bedroom.
Again, the room reflected the touch of an artistic woman with impeccable taste. The walls and ceiling were pink and off-white. The drapes at the windows and the furnishings followed the same color scheme. The focal point of the room, of course, was the queen-size canopied bed all done in pinkish frills and laces.
Olivia threw back the lacy spread and sat on the edge of the bed. She beckoned Carol forward. "Come, darling, stand here in front of me and let me undress you."
In spite of the fog of rum that hung in her brain, Carol took an uncertain step backward instead of forward.
Olivia frowned but she didn't allow herself to get too annoyed. "If it'll make you feel any less uncomfortable," she said simply as she unbelted her negligee, threw it open and let it slide down from her shoulders to the bed. 'There!"
Carol stared at the woman, sitting in front of her stark naked on the bed. Her slight rib-showing body looked even more immature than Carol's. Yet for such a skinny woman, she had rather meaty thighs and nicely shaped legs. She also had a considerable bush of thick, silky black hair that ran almost up to her belly-button and down between her legs.
"Make you feel any easier?" Olivia asked, unblushingly.
Carol wasn't sure that it did, or whether the woman's complete nudity made her feel even more uncomfortable. She took another step backward.
"Is this how you act in front of that man you visit?" Olivia hit her with.
"Man?" Carol echoed as her head cleared momentarily and fear replaced the cloudiness in her brain.
"Yes, Carol darling," the teacher replied with a sudden sharpness in her voice that made her sound more like the woman that Carol was used to hearing in the classroom. 'That man you were telling your girlfriends about yesterday afternoon. The man who taught you all those things about sex."
"I-I just made him up," Carol tried to bluff.
Olivia shook her mousy-colored head insistently. "No one could make up those things you told your friends, darling. They could come only from firsthand experience." Her voice softened, "Actually, my darling, I don't care who he is, or how many there were before him."
"There were no others," Carol blurted out, without thinking.
Olivia smiled at Carol's admittance and said, "I told you I don't really care, darling. If I did, I would have had your mother come to school and told her about it. All I want from you is to stop acting silly and do as I say. Now come closer."
Carol took a couple of mincing steps forward and halted directly in front of the woman. She was aware of the fog bank rolling back into her brain, muddying up her thinking again. She kept her hands at her side and stood submissively, making no attempt to stop Olivia's fingers from unbuttoning the front of her dress. She kept telling herself that all the woman wanted was to see what she looked like in the nude, to ascertain whether or not she would be a worthwhile subject to paint. She sincerely wanted to believe that. But in her heart, she knew differently. Once her clothes were off, it wouldn't stop there. The woman would want to make love to her and there was very little that she could do to stop her, now that she had told Carol that she knew about her affair with Mr. Lecheur-even if she might not have any idea who he was.
by now, Olivia had pulled Carol's short-sleeved dress down to the waist. The woman sat there looking up at the tautly filled bra for several moments, hungrily. Then she placed her hands on the girl's hips and turned her around so that she could reach the hooks at the back of her bra. Once the hooks were unfastened, she turned Carol to face her again, the straps of the bra hanging precariously from the girl's shoulders.
"Lean forward, darling," Olivia murmured.
Carol did as she was told and the straps slowly slipped down her arms and the cups slowly un covered her breasts. She could see Olivia's gray-green eyes, bright and shiny, as they fastened on her big, bared, dangling tits. The alcohol was really catching up with her now, making her feel giddy, causing her to sway slightly. "You're going to make love to me, aren't you, Miss Grant?"
"I'd like to," Olivia replied without evasion as she reached up and with gentle fingers cupped the girl's heavy, lush, white mounds of flesh, the deep pink nipples standing out like hard, wrinkled push-buttons against her sweaty palms.
Carol shivered under the woman's knowing touch and moved back quickly, reminding her, "I thought we were going to study."
"We have two whole months in which to study, darling," was Olivia's reply. 'Tonight I just want to get acquainted with you ... get to really know you."
The next thing that Carol knew, her dress was off and Olivia was pulling her down onto the bed beside her. Carol had nothing on except a pair of white lace panties that Mr. Lecheur had bought for her. She wished that the whooziness would go out of her head and she could think more clearly, as she brought the top sheet up over herself. Right now her brain was a whirlpool of confused, contradicting thoughts.
"This man you visit-tell me about him, darling?" Olivia whispered as she reached under the covers and clasped the girl's hand warmly. "Do you enjoy having sex with him?"
"Sometimes," Carol replied, not entirely sure why she had let the woman worm such an intimate confession out of her, so easily.
"Have you ever been made love to by another woman?" Olivia asked as she brought her other hand over and placed it on Carol's hip.
The girl shook her black-thatched head and became aware of the teacher's hand stroking her hip, then sliding lightly over her thinly covered cuntal area.
"That's the difference, darling," Olivia murmured. "With a woman it wouldn't be only sometimes-you'd enjoy it always."
Now the hand slid upward to Carol's left breast. The fingers spread wide in an impossible attempt to enclose the full swollen mass of firm, soft pink-white flesh. Carol's intake of breath was sharp.
Olivia caressed Carol's breast gently, fingers tormenting the hardened nipple, the puckered areola. She moved a little closer and kissed the girl's cheek, close to the corner of her mouth as she moved her hand over to the other breast to find its nub already aroused. Little by little, Carol's high, full breasts were uncovered.
All Carol's fears rushed back into her brain in a torrent. Olivia's touch was exciting her. The gentle hand was so soft and sure, the touch so light and delicate-so different from Mr. Lecheur's hard, bony hands. The rum had relaxed her, given her the false courage to allow this. But now with her passion aroused and her breathing grown ragged, she could only imagine what was going to happen. Since it was inevitable, she found herself wishing that the woman would stop teasing ... that the hand on her breasts would move down her body and that she would kiss her tingling nipples. She stirred restlessly.
"You excite easily, darling, same as I," Olivia said, her voice thickening with desire as she let go of Carol's hand and rose on her elbow to lean over her. 'That's very good. That means we'll have lots of good times together."
Carol saw Olivia's head loom over her. She waited and held her breath, then felt the first contact of lips. She let her own lips soften and mold to Olivia's. She tasted the sweetness, the warmth of another woman's mouth. She experienced a terrific hunger for air in her lungs. Her nostrils flared. She needed no urging to part her lips and accept Olivia's hot, inquisitive tongue.
Carol moaned with ecstasy. Her breasts felt as if the nipples would burst, if they weren't soon kissed. Her stomach was constricted with a fierce urgency.
She tore her mouth free and sucked air into her lungs. Her mind was no longer dulled, but somehow it didn't matter. Her vulva had been sparked by that kiss. She threw the sheet down to her waist.
Olivia accepted the invitation, willingly, and placed her warm wet mouth to Carol's left nipple, tightening her lips on it and sucking hungrily. It was impossible for Carol to hold back a deep sigh of pleasure. It felt so good, so very good! She couldn't remember herself getting this hot with Mr. Lecheur, or any of the boys that she had allowed to fondle her breasts. Oh, God, if only-if only the woman would touch her down there.
Almost as if Olivia had heard her silent wish, her gently hand began moving downward, sliding over the velvety skin of the girl's tense belly, stretching the elastic waistband of her panties and then moving down inside. Instinctively, Carol brought her legs together as she felt the insistent hand creep through the silken hair that covered her mound. Olivia made no comment but kept her mouth fastened to Carol's left nipple, sucking with as much relish as if the girl's breasts could give milk.
As spontaneously as she had brought her thighs together, Carol parted them again as she felt Olivia's hand move down between them to brush softly over her throbbing, wet pussy lips. Without further hesitation, Olivia pushed a rigid finger into Carol's cuntal orifice.
Carol lifted herself, arching her back in answer to the wave of liquid pleasure that was washing through her nerves at the woman's seductive touch. The panting young girl hung there for a long moment, paralyzed by the beautiful sensations of complete sexual arousal that the older woman's finger was bringing her as she moved it in ever widening circles, stretching the vaginal opening wider and wider until she was able to wedge a second finger up into the hole.
Carol dropped back onto the bed and squirmed uncontrollably. The mouth on her tit and the hand in her cunt were going to make her cum! It wouldn't take two minutes ... or even one minute....
Olivia's mouth came to her lips again ... the hot serpent-like tongue ... the maddening fingers. Carol began to twist and turn more violently with the sensation. She had never been so high in her life before. Never!
Olivia pulled back, her mouth hovering just above Carol's, so close that the girl could feel the woman's panting breath, T love you, darling," Olivia purred. "You're so sweet and young and lovely. Now I'm going to show you what it's like to be made love to by a member of your own sex."
With the first sliding movement downward, the first kiss on her body, Carol knew what was going to happen. Panic streaked through her with the terrible thought that she might like it ... too much! That Olivia might make her become a lesbian like herself, because there was no doubt now in her mind that that was what the school teacher was. Carol didn't want to become a lesbian, because then she wouldn't want a man and that would keep her from achieving her goal.
"No, Miss Grant ... don't ... please no! I don't want you to do that to me!" she cried out.
But it was too late! A terrible weakness, a fierce urgency came over her with Olivia's kiss on the underside of her left breast ... then on her stomach ... on her belly-button. A slight movement and the tip sheet was gone. A gentle tug and Carol's panties were gone, too.
"No ... Please ... I don't want you to!"
"Of course you do."
Carol couldn't resist Olivia's lips as they kissed along the satiny insides of her thighs. She opened them wider, enough for the woman to get her mousy-colored thatched head between them. She lay there on her back, helplessly, breathing fast, deep, her mouth parched, her eyes staring up blankly at the ceiling.
She moaned as she felt the first brush of Olivia's tongue over the partly open, moist outer lips of her vagina, licking from her perineum all the way forward to the throbbing clitoris standing stiffly in the bow of her boat. She licked Carol's ultra-sensitive clit a few times, bringing the flat of her tongue over it. Then she moved her tongue down the insides of the girl's spreading, pink-lined lips, then darting in and out of her hole. But mainly she concentrated on the clitoris and upper lips, lapping and washing them with her saliva.
Carol was panting, moaning, twitching her buttocks around on the mattress, hanging onto the back of Olivia's head with both hands. Mr. Lecheur had performed cunnilingus on her many times, but it had never been like this. Never! Olivia was kissing and licking and sucking now, working on Carol's pussy as only another woman could, knowing precisely where and when to nibble and apply the pressure.
"Ooohhh ... God...." Carol cried out in wild abandon and thrust her pussy up against Olivia's mouth; her legs quivered and chills ran along her spine as a volcano erupted in the depths of her interior, threatening to tear apart her belly and scatter her guts!
With a supreme effort, Carol mustered every last ounce of strength inside her body and pushed the woman's head from between her legs. Then she lay there on her back, for eternal moments, unable even to think until her climax had receded.
"Was that enjoyable enough, my darling?" Olivia asked as she moved up and kissed the girl's mouth, the residue from Carol's orgasm still on her lips.
Carol made no answer.
Another kiss and Olivia said, "Now it's my turn."
Carol was a little repulsed at the thought. "You mean-me-do you?"
"Turnabout is only fair play, darling," Olivia said, panting heavily. "You surely wouldn't want to leave me like this?" She moved a little higher on the bed so that her conical breasts hung directly above Carol's face.
Carol looked up at them. She had always wondered what the big deal sucking a woman's breasts was all about. Now she was about to find out, as Olivia lowered herself slowly and dragged her right nipple over her partly opened mouth. Carol touched her tongue to the tip of it and Olivia squealed. The next instant, the pointed tit was in her mouth and she was pulling at it. She couldn't understand why it excited her so, unless it was the teacher's response, the way that she was wiggling and the sounds of pleasure that she was making. Certainly there was no taste to it, no nourishment.
Olivia took as much of the suckling as she could stand, then she shifted around until she was straddling Carol's head in the familiar "69" position that Mr. Lecheur had taught her.
Deliberately, Carol turned her head to the side to avert looking at the woman's cunt. For one awful moment, Carol told herself that she couldn't continue. What Olivia was asking her to do was completely against her nature, obscene, unnatural. It was for lesbians to do-and she wasn't one! She wasn't!
And then she felt the teacher's smooth, soft, knowledgeable tongue against her cuntal lips, arousing her again, filling her with lust, making her want to cum again! The warm feel of the downy insides of the woman's thighs against her cheeks, checked her panic. She forced herself to turn her head and look up at the totally naked pussy which Olivia was presenting to her.
She never really saw any female genitalia other than her own and the size of Olivia's cunt amazed her. It was slippery wet and --rimmed with thick, coarse black hair, much darker than the hair atop her head. But it was immaculately clean and smelled nice, too, since Olivia had sprayed it with a raspberry-flavored vaginal deodorant.
In a way, it was exciting and very tempting, and the timidity that Carol had felt before gradually grew weaker as she saw the rawly open slit coming closer and closer. Its lips were stretched wide apart, its complex of vulnerable flesh yielding up its deepest secrets.
Slowly, Carol raised her head to meet the descending cunt, pursing her lips and pressing them into the warm, wet bog to kiss the heart of the woman's most precious treasure. The sweet ness of the raspberry flavoring, blending with the intimate musk, presented a scent and a taste that was indescribable. Carol closed her eyes and just let her senses drift away.
She was aware of Olivia wrapping her arms around her and doing a complete rollover on the big bed, ending up with Carol on top and herself underneath, without even losing contact. If that was how the teacher wanted it, she had no objections. Right now she was concentrating entirely on the sense of touch and smell-ignoring all thought as to whether what she was doing was right or wrong. She applied herself wholly to the kissing and sucking of Olivia's throbbing, thoroughly inundated cunt, nibbling on the flaccid flanges, licking the clitoris, trying to remember all the things that the woman had done to her-and slowly becoming oblivious to everything else.
So deeply did Carol fall into this delirium of pleasure that she didn't hear a third party enter the room and climb onto the bed behind her. Even when she felt a hand caressing her back and hips and upturned buttocks, she thought that it was Olivia's hands.
It wasn't until she felt hard, ungentle fingers spreading apart her buttocks, traveling the length of her rear crease and then dipping into her tightly puckered asshole, that she suddenly realized that someone else was on the bed with her and Olivia. It jolted her back to sharp reality!
"Miss Grant!" she screamed in terror and made a desperate effort to try to look over her shoulder and see who it was. But the way that Olivia was clinging to her made the movement impossible. "Someone is on the bed with us. Someone is-"
"It's only Simon," Olivia said calmly, momentarily lifting her mouth from the girl's twat.
"Simon?" Carol echoed shrilly.
"My brother."
New horror streaked through Carol as she felt the hands of Olivia's brother still spreading apart the cheeks of her bottom, as far as possible. Then he leaned forward and Carol was shocked beyond words to feel his tongue start at the rear of her cunt, where his sister was sucking madly, and lick right up to the base of her spine, then down again to concentrate lasciviously on the hard, taut bump of Carol's anus. These were sensations that Carol had never experienced before and they were almost more than her mind and body could endure.
Oh, please, Miss Grant, make him stop!" Carol cried, struggling to get away from between the two of them. "You don't know what he's doing to me."
"I know," Olivia responded, unmoved, as she returned her mouth to Carol's pussy.
"Then make him stop! Please make him stop!" Carol yelled almost hysterically, moving helplessly now with the double thrill that they were bringing her.
"Stop? I can't make him stop, Carol darling. And if I were you, I wouldn't try, either," Olivia told her. "Simon gets very violent when people don't let him have his way. That's why I have to keep him locked up in his room most of the time."
Locked up in his room? Carol shivered in an ecstasy of fear. If he had to be locked up-! Merciful God-what had she gotten herself mixed up in?
She was too frightened now even to try to move, as she felt Simon applying a soft, smooth, jellylike substance to the exterior and interior of her anus, pushing his fingers in and out of the hole, trying to spread her as much as possible. Then she felt the heart of his cock against the backs of her thighs and her buttocks. The next thing she realized, he was pushing the greased head into her stranglingly tight asshole, ramming it upward.
She let out a scream of pain and tried to pull away from him. But the way that Olivia was holding her made escape impossible. Besides, it was too late to struggle. Already the slippery glans of Olivia's none-too-bright, lust-aroused brother's cock had wedged its way past the dry, muscle-tightened membranes of her anal opening and was now well into her aperture. One thing in her favor, he wasn't oversized, or he would have ripped her apart. As it was the pain was excruciating, as he kept pushing into her rectum, relentlessly. She made one last futile attempt to free herself, by shaking her buttock violently. But he was embedded too deeply inside her. Then he began to pump against her, faster and faster as his sister kept lashing away at Carol's cunt with her tongue.
Carol went limp and docile for long moments, letting the two of them have their way with her. She tried to ignore the pain that the unaccustomed invasion of her anus was causing her, tried not to feel either of them, or even think of what they were doing to her. But more and more, she became aware of the reblossoming of her arousal.
Slowly, the pain grew into pleasure that heated her brain and the perverted use of her body was gradually forgotten. She was ashamed and hated herself for being so weak, for allowing herself to enjoy it, even a little. But gradually the pleasure became so intense that it overcame her protests and her aversions and she dropped her head between Olivia's splayed legs and resumed sucking on the woman's cunt with a new vigor and vengeance.
She felt Olivia's first orgasm catch on, felt the spasming of her clit and cunt walls, tasted the fresh flow of warm, slick juice that the climax induced. She didn't let up. She kept sucking and chewing, poking at the woman's hole with her fingers until Olivia came again.
That was when she became aware of a blinding, building pressure in her loins, a shimmering bubble of expectancy in her belly. And then-at the very height of her rapture with her brain seething and her body as hot as an acetyelene torch, Simon blasted his load into her rectum, flooding her canal to overflowing, his sperm flowing out of her anus at both sides of his spurting cock to dribble down the insides of her widespread thighs.
So violent was the explosion inside her that it jarred loose her own orgasm, filling her with sensations that were more than her body could stand. With a long, loud moan she collapsed against the woman beneath her and lay there shaking and quivering as a complete and impregnable blackness swept every conscious thought from her bursting mind....
Once she recovered consciousness, it didn't take Carol very long to find out that while Simon wasn't a raving maniac, who needed the confinement of a padded cell, he was imbecilic enough for Olivia to keep him out of circulation. He also was a satyrist of the first order. Before the night was very far along, Carol learned, too, that while Olivia was an over-sexed lesbian, in her own right, she did what she could to accommodate her brother's sexual needs-with no guilt complex regarding incest. However, he often got too much for even her abnormal capacity and she brought in girls, like Carol, to service him.
Throughout the long, maddening, mind-racking night, the two of them shared Carol. Every time he could get the bone back into his tireless, by now beet-red organ, Simon fucked the sixteen-year-old girl like a sex-starved stallion at stud. During the intervals, his sister made love to her. At times the two of them went to work on her together.
When dawn finally brightened the drawn shades in Olivia's upstairs bedroom, Carol's body ache, every ounce of vitality drained from it. Even then, they didn't leave her alone to sleep.
"It's time for you to get up now, darling, and get on home," Olivia told her. "We wouldn't want your mother to worry about you."
Then Simon carried Carol into the bathroom, and stood her under the shower. But the sight of the water splashing down on her naked, white, young, big-breasted body proved too much for him and his sister. So he knelt behind Carol and his sister knelt in front of her and they brought the half-delirious girl again to orgasm by using their tongues on her twin holes.
CHAPTER FIVE
Luckily it was Saturday, because after the ordeal that she had gone through the night before, Carol never could have made it to school. After she finally was showered and dressed, Olivia drove her home in her VW. On the way, the teacher asked, "Is your mother likely to ask any questions about where you spent the night?"
Carol shook her head. She was too tired and worn out, every square inch of her anatomy too achy and sore, for her to even begin to have the strength to fib. She said, "She'll think I spent the night with a girlfriend. Mother doesn't keep very close tabs on me."
"Good," Olivia said as she reached over and placed a hand on Carol's bare thigh and gave it a loving squeeze, which Carol was too weary to even notice. "If you're smart, you'll say nothing to her, or anyone else about what happened last night. First of all, it would only be your word against mine-the word of a student against her teacher. And just in case anyone did believe you, it could cause an awful lot of trouble for you, as well as me. In fact, they just might put you away for quite a long time ... especially if I told them about the man you visit. Understand, my darling?" Carol nodded.
When they got to the house where Carol lived and Olivia pulled the car to a halt in front of the door, the teacher glanced out of the car at all sides to make sure that no one was watching. Then she pulled the girl close to her and kissed her on the lips.
"Umm-you make me feel so horny, darling," Olivia whispered as she drew back from Carol, her eyes hot, her breathing heavy. "I wish the night were just starting instead of ending."
Not for Carol! Before the woman could get any ideas about continuing it, Carol slapped open the car door and jumped out onto the sidewalk. She didn't linger long enough to turn, or even say goodbye. She ran up the few short steps to the front door, opened it and hurried inside. After she closed the door behind her, she leaned back with her back against it and closed her eyes. She stayed there for long moments until the seething inside her quieted sufficiently. Then she went to her room, without even bothering to look in on her mother who was sleeping soundly after an arduous night of her own. Carol undressed quickly, mechanically, and got into bed.
Her breasts, her vagina, her anus-every part of her hurt, making her uncertain as to whether it was one big ache, or a lot of little ones. She couldn't help but wonder if, after the night before, she would ever be the same again? The last thing that she promised herself before she fell onto deep, welcome sleep, was that no matter what-she was never going to let it happen again!
Olivia Grant, however, was of a different opinion. On Monday, despite Carol's efforts to avoid her, even to the extent of skipping her class, the woman managed to corner her.
"I want you to be at my house again tonight for another study session," the teacher said. "Simon has been asking for you, darling."
Carol shivered at the thought of being exposed to the woman's sex-crazed brother again. But she made no reply. As far as "studying" was concerned, Olivia had assured her that she need have no worry about passing, that as long as she did what was required of her sexually, Olivia would make sure that she got a passing grade.
Even at the risk of arousing her anger and causing the woman to flunk her, Carol didn't go to the Grants' home that night, nor did she go there on any of the succeeding nights that Olivia invited her. Consequently, Olivia kept getting angrier and angrier, until she became absolutely infuriated with Carol's noncompliance with her instructions and demands. Finally, one afternoon, after school, Olivia took herself to the downtown Milwaukee department store, where Carol's mother worked. She introduced herself and, pretending that she had Carol's best interests at heart, she told her mother that if she thought anything of her daughter's welfare, she would check very carefully on what the girl did with her afternoon after school was over.
More for her own benefit than for Carol's, fearful that if her daughter was doing anything wrong and should get into any trouble, it might get back to the store management and cause her to lose her job, Emily Francis decided to take the school teacher's advice and do a little investigating. So the very next day, she stayed home from work without Carol knowing, of course. At three o'clock, she went to the high school that Carol attended and waited until the girl came out. Then, without letting Carol see her, Emily followed her daughter home, watched her go directly to Mr. Lecheur's apartment. So far, she had seen Carol do nothing wrong. But when Carol failed to come out long after the allotted time that it would take her to do her chores, Emily decided to have a look-see for herself.
She tried the door to Mr. Lecheur's apartment and found that Carol had neglected to lock it after her. It would have made little difference. All the locks in the house were alike. A single key would open any of them.
Emily pushed open the door, quietly, and stepped into the living room. No one was there. She paused a moment and listened. She heard grunts and sighs coupled with obscene wet sloshing sounds coming from the bedroom. They grew louder as she tiptoed stealthily toward the bedroom door, where she halted on the threshold with a silent gasp, her eyes focused on the two stark-naked figures on the bed. One of them, Emily recognized at once, was Carol, sprawled out to her full-length on her back. The other was Mr. Lecheur. lying atop her, sandwiched between her splayed legs, his bony ass bouncing up and down like a partly deflated pink beach ball, as his man-sized cock went in and out her young cunt wetly.
Emily would have called out and stopped them, or she could have stepped forward and given him a resounding slap across the buttocks that would have made his cock shrivel. But Emily had a mild sadistic streak in her and she wasn't about to let him off that easily-in such a routine manner. Without either of them seeing, or hearing her, she moved to the side of the bed, reached between his skinny legs and grasped his dangling balls. She gave them a wicked squeeze, then pulled back hard and cruelly on them, yanking his fat cock, inflamed and glistening with cunt juice, from her daughter's yawning, suctioning pussy.
Mr. Lecheur let out a wild yell of pain and turned his head to see who had hold of his balls. "Mrs. Francis!" he gasped shrilly.
Carol's eyes popped open. "Mother!"
Emily gave Mr. Lecheur's scrotum another painful yank and his cock started to shrink away like a popsickle exposed to searing sun rays. "You dirty old son-of-a-bitch!" She railed at him. "Screwing a sixteen-year-old kid!"
"My balls!" Mr. Lecheur cried out, piteously. "Oh, God! My balls! Let go! You're killing me!"
"I've got a good mind to pull 'em right off you," Emily blazed, giving them another cruel tug. "For what you're doing to my daughter."
"Mother, please!" Carol cried out as she jackknifed up on the bed and brought her legs together. "It's my fault as much as his."
"You keep your filthy little mouth closed and get off that bed and upstairs," her mother barked angrily.
Carol obeyed at once. She crawled quickly to the far side of the bed, slipped off it and without even bothering to pick up her clothes hurried through the apartment and upstairs.
Emily waited until the girl was gone. Then she let go of Mr. Lecheur's testicles, but as they swung down between his thighs, she gave them a vicious slap that made the poor man fall backwards onto the bed, curled up in a fetal position, yowling like a banshee with its tit caught in a vise.
"You horny old bastard," she spit at him, without even a trace of compassion. Don't think I'm through with you. I'm gonna see you spend the rest of your rotten days behind bars, where you belong."
Then, without further ado, she turned and went after Carol. When she got there, she slammed the door and followed the girl into her bedroom. When Carol tried to speak, her mother struck her cruelly across the mouth.
"A fine goddamn daughter you turned out to be," the woman stormed, her mouth ugly, her eyes filled with contempt, using words that Carol had never even heard before. "There I am, working my ass off in a stinky department store, trying to see that you get a decent upbringing-and all the while you're peddling your young ass. How many others have there been?"
"None," Carol cried, tears bubbling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She didn't want to tell her mother about Olivia Grant and her brother. She was afraid of repercussions. Besides, none of that had been her fault.
"And how long has that dirty old bastard downstairs been fucking you?" her mother demanded.
"Since I first started going down there, when he broke his leg," Carol replied truthfully.
"So that's why he's been giving you all those dresses and things, I suppose?" Emily guessed.
Carol wagged her head, timidly. She was glad that her mother didn't ask her if Mr. Lecheur ever gave her any money, in addition to the clothes. She had managed to save almost two hundred dollars of that money and she knew that if her mother found out about it, she would have to give it to her. Not that she wanted to hold out on her mother, but that fifteen dollars that Mr. Lecheur was paying her to take care of his apartment was going to her mother and she never saw one penny of it. She felt that that was a fair enough division of the spoils.
Her mother didn't say very much more to Carol after that. She simply told the girl that she didn't want her to visit Mr. Lecheur's apartment, alone, ever again. Then she left her daughter and went to her room. Carol would have been quite amazed at what transpired after her mother got there, or what was going on inside her mother's mercenary brain.
First of all, Emily stripped off every article of clothing that she was wearing. Then she went into the bathroom and showered, stayed under the hot spray until her body took on a pink glow. After she dried herself off, she powdered herself down, sprayed herself with her most exotic perfume and roughed her nipples and the outer lips of her vagina. Then she combed out her hair, that naturally was as black as her daughter's, but rather than dye the few gray hairs that were starting to show, she had bleached it ash-blonde. When her toilet was quite completed, she studied herself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom.
Despite her thirty-odd years, Emily Francis was remarkably well-preserved. Her face was still youthful and free of wrinkles. Her body that followed the same lines as her daughter's hadn't an excess ounce of flesh any place on it. In fact, she weighed only a few pounds more than she did when she was Carol's age. Her breasts, like her daughter's, were things of beauty, high and lush, with not a trace of sag or flab in them. Yes, Emily had good reason to be very proud of her figure and, as always, she had decided to use it to full advantage.
She took a transparent, black negligee from the closet in her bedroom, toed into a pair of black, patent-leather spike heels, made sure that everything was in order, and then she quietly proceeded downstairs to Mr. Lecheur's apartment and tapped lightly on the door. She waited a moment, then the door opened.
Mr. Lecheur had put on his flannel bathrobe and slippers. His face drained of color when he saw her. He started to say something in the way of an apology, but she interrupted and asked, "May I come in?"
He swallowed uneasily and opened the door wider so that she could enter. She could feel his eyes following the sensuous movements of her backside as she walked across the living room and sat on the divan in front of her. She crossed her legs at the knees so that the negligee fell open in front, showing him plenty of shapely bare thighs. She could see his cock stir under the front of his bathrobe.
He's a horny old bastard, all right, she thought to herself. But that was good She couldn't understand why she had overlooked him before. Never even considered him.
"I'm sorry about the way I acted before," she said softly. "But Carol is just a child. I only hope I didn't hurt you too badly."
"It hurt pretty bad for a while," Mr. Lecheur affirmed. "But it's okay now."
"Are you sure?" Emily asked with feigned concern. "Let me see and make sure."
Whether or not he would have even tried to stop her, before he realized it, Emily had put her hands on his hips and pulled him toward her. Then she unbelted his bathrobe and threw it open. His hardened cock jumped out and stood vibrating before her face at a forty-five-degree angle.
The next thing he knew, her hand was between his thighs, cupping his balls and lifting them, very tenderly this time.
"I'm sorry," she said to his testicles as if they were capable of understanding her. "I didn't mean to hurt you." She brought them nearer to her mouth and kissed them, licking lightly all over them, with his cock throbbing directly above her. Then she took one of his testicles, then the other into her mouth, very, very gently, rolling them, around on her tongue. As she let them slip out of her mouth, she looked up at him and said, "It was mean of me, too, to interrupt what I did. I know how very frustrating it is to a man. I want to make it up to you."
Slowly she ran her tongue upward along the underside of his rampant prick, licked the ooze from the head of it, then took it into her mouth. Emily loved sucking cock and therefore had mastered the technique. She kept applying more and more suction to it as she let it slide deeper into her throat, her tongue never idle for a moment, until he was ready to spill. Even then she kept sucking and licking, all through his throbbing climax, never letting go until all the cum was out of him and down into her belly. Only then, did she let his limp tool slip from her mouth as she threw open her negligee and leaned back against the divan and looked up at him.
"What you want is a woman, Mr. Lecheur," she said. "Not a sixteen-year-old girl. From now on, I'm going to personally take care of all your needs-as a dutiful wife should."
His face blanched and his eyes grew wide. "Wife?"
She smiled. "But of course. What else? You don't think I'd be so concerned about a man who wasn't going to be my husband, do you?"
"But I don't have any plans to marry," he said. "For more than fifty years-"
Her smile deepened, "You've managed to steer clear of marriage, I know. But now all that's ended. You and I are going to be married just as soon as we can."
"Oh, no, we're not!" he insisted.
Her eyes narrowed just a little and her smile turned icy, her voice firm and authoritative. "Either that, Mr. Lecheur, or you go to prison for statutory rape ... and just in case you aren't up on your facts and figures ... in the state of Wisconsin statutory rape carries a maximum sentence of thirty-five years."
CHAPTER SIX
Emily Francis and Harvey Lecheur had their blood tests and waited the five days as required by Wisconsin state law, then they were wed in a simple civil ceremony. Carol attended the wedding and her mother even asked her if she would like to go along with them on the honeymoon. Carol, of course, refused. As a matter-of-fact, while they were away, she did an awful lot of thinking.
After doing almost every imaginable thing, in the way of sex, with Mr. Lecheur, it was going to be awfully difficult living with him and her mother. He wasn't the type of man who would let a little thing, like him being married to her mother, stop him from wanting to go to bed with him, on occasions. They had been far too intimate for him to let it end so easily. Somehow Carol just couldn't picture herself having sexual relations of any kind with the same man with whom her mother was having. The mere thought of such a thing repulsed her.
She would be seventeen soon and certainly would be far more experienced than most girls her age. True, she still had another year to go before she was graduated from high school. But from the way that things looked now, with Olivia Grant still furious with her because she refused to do her bidding and have anything more to do with her or her brother, it didn't look as if her chances of being graduated, or even being promoted into the next grade, were very promising if she remained in West Allis. After much thought, Carol finally decided that the smartest and safest thing to do was to pack her things and leave town. She was certain that her mother wouldn't object too strenuously, or put a great deal of effort into trying to find her. In fact, she wasn't sure that her mother might even be a little relieved to have her gone, because then she would have all of Mr. Lecheur's money for herself.
Two days before her mother and the new stepfather were due back from their one week's honeymoon, Carol gathered together what things she would need and stuffed them into a couple of suitcases. Then she took herself to the bank and closed out her savings account. That, together with interest, totaled $252.75. From there she went to the bus terminal in Milwaukee. She had given almost as much consideration to where she would go as she had to leaving.
At first, she thought of going to New York. But in spite of all the things that she had learned from Mr. Lecheur and Olivia Grant and her sex-mad brother, she was still an incurable romanticist, trusting and woefully naive. So she finally decided on Hollywood.
In her fanciful young mind, Carol saw Hollywood as it had been depicted in films of the twenties and thirties that she had seen on television. She remembered all the storybook tales that were told about how girls were discovered in drug stores, supermarkets, while attending parties and simply walking along the streets of what had once been the cinema capital of the world. Discovered and zoomed to fame overnight.
All a girl had to be was pretty, and she was all of that. Everyone told her so. Everyone who saw her body said that that was beautiful, too. If all those other girls had made it, there was no reason why she couldn't make it, too. All she had to do was to be discovered. So with this thought firmly entrenched in her adolescent mind, Carol bought a one-way bus ticket to Hollywood, hoping that it would be the first big step along the "yellow brick road" to fame and fortune and happiness.
Carol had no idea that it was so far from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to California and when the bus finally deposited her at Hollywood and Vine, at mid-afternoon, she was a thoroughly "beat" young lady. The first thing that she did was to check into a nearby hotel. She rode up in the elevator and followed the uniformed bellboy into a single room on the twelfth floor. As he fussed with the air conditioner and lights and her bags, Carol stepped to the window and looked out. If it hadn't been for the smog, she could have seen all the way to Beverly Hills and farther. What she did see of the city along Hollywood Boulevard with its marquees and garish store fronts made her pulse beat faster. It was exciting to be a part of a city like Hollywood and that was what she was going to be-a tangible part of it ... maybe with her name upon one of those marquees?
"Will that be all, Miss Francis?" the bellboy asked, solicitously.
Carol turned and smiled, "Yes, thank you."
In her seersucker suit and her hair arranged in an upsweep so that it wouldn't have blown wild during the long trip, she looked much older than almost her seventeen years and there was no denying that her voluptuous body belied her tender age. She had traveled back and forth from Milwaukee to Chicago enough times with her mother, to know that bellboys expected tips for their service, so she gave him one.
The bellboy who was no taller than she, and didn't look a great deal older, accepted the tip with a whisper of phony gratitude. He looked at her bountiful bust and gorgeously curved legs and trim ankles and said, "If there's anything you want, Miss Francis, any way I can be of service." He paused for effect, "Just pick up the phone and call the desk and ask for Benny." Then he opened the door and went out.
Carol relaxed slowly and locked the door. Then, without even bothering to unpack, she stripped down to her panties and bra, threw herself across the bed and was soon asleep, dreaming of the exciting new life ahead of her, wondering exactly what it would bring.
Carol's baptismal of fire in Hollywood came quickly. She couldn't have been asleep more than a couple of hours when the phone bell awakened her. She had no idea who it could be. Certainly her mother couldn't have picked up her trail in so short a time. Wondering, she picked up the phone.
"Yes?"
"Miss Francis?" asked a masculine voice at the other end of the wire. "Yes?"
"My name is Haynes. Wally Haynes. You don't know me, of course," the voice came through the transceiver. "But I'm a guest here at this hotel, same as you. You can verify it at the desk, if you care to. In any event, I saw you when you registered this afternoon and I was rather impressed, if you don't mind my being so bold. I thought I'd give you a chance to rest up and then call and ask if you'd like to have dinner with me this evening."
"Dinner?" Carol echoed with surprise.
"Yes. I-er-I'd like to talk to you. I have quite a few contacts here in Hollywood and I thought if you were planning to stay here awhile...."
Carol didn't really hear what else he had said. Her heart suddenly began beating faster, her brain starting to spin. In Hollywood only a couple of hours and already she had been noticed! Gosh, maybe he was a big movie director, or a producer, or somebody else very important?
His voice came again. "Will you have dinner with me, Miss Francis?"
How could she say no? How could she possibly afford to pass up such a wonderful opportunity? Hiding her excitement as much as she could, she said, "I'll-I'll be very happy to have dinner with you, Mr. ... Mr...?"
"Haynes," he supplemented. "I'll be waiting for you in the lobby at eight."
"But how will I know you?" she asked.
"Don't worry. "I'll know you, my dear," he told her. Then he hung up.
Her body scrubbed and perfumed, her hair meticulously coiffured, and her face artfully made up, even to wearing false eyelashes to make her look older, Carol rode down to the main floor in the elevator. She wanted to be sure that Wally Haynes missed none of her charms, so she wore a semi-formal evening gown that Mr. Lecheur had bought for her to wear when he wanted her to look grown up and particularly sexy. It was a form-fitting gown with which she couldn't wear a bra because it was cut so low, almost down to the start of her areolas. The skirt, too, was scant-cut to leave no doubt as to the shapeliness of her exquisite legs and thighs.
It was the first time that she had worn the gown in public. The first time anyone had seen her in it except Mr. Lecheur. She paused for a moment as she stepped off the elevator, taking a deep breath to ease the nervous flutter of embarrassment as one man nudged another until every male eye in the lobby was looking at her. What surprised her mainly was that she could attract this much attention in a blase town like Hollywood.
She braced herself and started to walk toward the desk. The men followed the movements of her flexing buttocks and the seductive jouncing of her lightly covered breasts with undisguised admiration. The women in the lobby eyed her lovely face and youthful figure with open envy and jealousy.
She didn't get more than halfway to the bar when a short, fat man with a bald head, pig jowls and wearing a white dinner jacket and a red carnation approached her. "Good evening, Miss Francis," he said cordially. "I'm Wally Haynes."
Carol tried to hide her disappointment, because he certainly was nothing like she had imagined that he might be. He looked more like a butcher, or a delicatessen store man back home in Wisconsin, than he did as her conception of a director or a producer. Certainly he wasn't the least bit romantic looking. But then, she wasn't here for romance. She was here to be discovered. She managed to hide her disappointment admirably, smiled and said, "I hope I'm not late?"
"Right on," he replied, his eyeballs looking as if they were going to jump right out of his fat face and roll down her cleavage. "You really are beautiful."
Almost as if he were afraid that the rest of the wolf pack in the lobby might swoop down on her and rob him of his tasty prize, Haynes hurried Carol out of the hotel and into a taxicab. Carol had no idea where he was taking her. But they ended up in a Mexican restaurant, far removed from the high-rent district, complete with dim lights, belly-burning food and warm Tequila.
It wasn't very long before Carol discovered that Wally Haynes was like nobody that she had ever met in West Allis, Milwaukee, Chicago, or any place else. He spoke in high-grade double-talk that left Carol some place out in right field. He kept saying that he had lots of big connections-in the movies, television, in night clubs and that he could get her a job any place that she wanted. He didn't say where, or exactly how this was going to happen. He never once told her whether he was a director, a producer, an agent, a talent scout, or what. Furthermore, he didn't ask her whether she could sing, or dance, or had one ounce of talent. He kept repeating over and over that a gal with her looks didn't have to worry-not with him to guide her.
Carol, in her unworldliness, never even stopped to question him. He was telling her all the beautiful things that she wanted to hear and in her wide-eyed innocence, she had no reason to disbelieve him. Maybe this was the way they did things in Hollywood? Maybe this was the way they happened?
She wouldn't deny that she felt a little uneasy about the way that he kept squeezing her hand, brushing his legs against hers under the table and trying to work the top of her gown down with his eyes. But she did nothing to stop him. After all, if he was going to do so much for her-even if she were a little confused as to precisely what it was that he was going to do-she didn't want to offend him. Besides, by the time that they had consumed a second bottle of Tequila, all her apprehensions had disappeared. She didn't even object too strenously when he slipped a hand under the tablecloth and ran his fingers over the velvety skin of her bare thighs. He might have gone all the way and had himself a feel of her pussy, hadn't the waiter interrupted and placed the bill facedown on the table in front of him. Which was Carol's cue to excuse herself, get up and disappear through a door marked "Senoritas-Senoras." It wasn't until she got inside that Carol realized how groggy she was from all the Tequila that she had consumed. She felt the same way she did the night with Olivia Grant, when she drank all that rum-and-Coke.
The rotund little man named Haynes was waiting for her at the counter in the front of the restaurant when she reappeared. He took her arm and escorted her out the door, where a seedy-looking doorman hailed a taxicab for them.
Carol didn't remember very much about the ride back to the hotel, except, that Haynes put an arm around her and began pawing her, slobbering over her with wet kisses. One of his fat, sweaty hands fumbled its way down inside the decolletage of her gown and found her big, ripe breasts.
"Jeez, kid," he breathed as he squeezed and fondled, first one breast, then the other. "You sure got the tits. How the hell old're you, anyway?"
"Eighteen," she said sort of thick-tongued.
She might have said nineteen or twenty, but even in her half-drunken stupor, she didn't think that he would buy that.
"I figured you were somewhere around there," he said as his fingers tweaked her big nipples and rubbed them to full erection. "You sure are stacked."
Carol was never exactly sure what her feelings were right then, whether she should try to stop his hands on her breasts. She had some slight recollection of shrinking away from him and pushing down on his hand as his seeking fingers slipped up beneath her skirt and invaded her crotch. But she guessed that she didn't struggle nearly hard enough because she felt his hand go under her panties, a rough fat finger invading her slit, digging into her vagina. He probably would have kept poking at her until he brought her to orgasm, had it not been that the ride to the hotel was all too short.
He paid off the driver with fingers wet from her pussy juice and, with an arm around her waist, he guided her through the lobby and into the elevator without causing undue attention. They rode up to the twelfth floor, then he led the way to the door of her room. If she had thought that it was going to be a kiss at the door and then "goodnight," she was sadly mistaken. He opened the door for her and followed her inside.
"I'm-I'm really awfully tired, Mr. Haynes," she said.
He closed the door and locked it after them and said, "Best place for people who are tired is bed. So let's you and me get there."
"But I hardly know you," she protested.
"So we'll start getting acquainted," he told her and, with one arm around her, began pulling at her clothes until all that remained was a small heart-shaped locket on a chain that she got from Mr. Lecheur. Then he pushed her down onto the bed on her back, roughly.
Carol doubted whether she would have been able to get up even if she had tried. The Tequila seemed to have numbed her limbs and body. She didn't even look up at him while he undressed. Instead she threw one arm across her eyes to shield it from the glaring overhead light and lay there motionless, with one leg drawn up at the knee, the other leg stretched out tautly, unmindful that he could see the pink dampness of her pussy. She felt the bed sag as he got on it and knelt between her legs.
He leaned forward and licked over her belly and breasts, then chewed on her nipples. But the Tequila had made her immune to any pain that he might have caused her. Dimly she heard him say, "Spread your legs, kid-nice and wide."
She did better than that. With her hands at the insides of her thighs, just above the knees, she straightened her legs and parted them, holding them up that way, stretched out stiffly to the sides like a human wishbone. Her pink cuntal lips, her shiny wet perineum and her puckered nutmeg of an anus, all --rimmed with fine, silky black hair presented a breath-taking picture that no man could resist. And from the looks of the fat, rigid club of gleaming flesh standing out from his hairy pot belly, there was no question that Wally Haynes was all man!
Carol heard his heavy breathing draw closer as he shoved his heated length into her front hole. She caught her breath and held it as she felt him slide into her easily, the wet, spongy walls of her vagina stretching and molding to the size and shape of his cock like soft, wet putty.
She hadn't stopped to realize that she hadn't been laid since that afternoon when her mother grabbed Mr. Lecheur's balls and yanked his prick out of her pussy. That had happened more than two weeks before. It was the longest that she had gone without getting screwed since that first day that Mr. Lecheur took her cherry. She hadn't been aware that she wanted, needed a cock so much. Might it have been the Tequila that had heated her blood and her brain, made her feel so horny? Or perhaps all the promises that Haynes had made her, had stimulated her to the point where she would do anything he asked, same as she used to do for Mr. Lecheur?
Whatever the reason, Carol was determined to give him a good screw and enjoy it herself as much as she could. To this end, her legs began climbing until they were locked at the ankles behind his backbone. Then she began pounding up at him, matching him thrust for thrust as he slapped his loins against hers. In no time at all, it seemed, she felt his cock start to swell abnormally deep up inside her vagina. His belly quivered, his mouth opened wide to suck in air and his eyes closed tightly. "Ooohhh ... aaahhh," he grunted. "It's here! Oh-fuck it!"
The next moment his whole body jerked, then his cock began to buck violently and he shot his first blast into her. With that first jet of torrid sperm, an uncontrollable chain reaction started simultaneously in Carol's anus and in her stomach. They roared forward like two onrushing locomotives to meet head-on in her vulva. She let out a scream and as his white hot sperm splashed her guts, the cork blew out of her own private world and, as her cunt continued to throb out her orgasm to the beat of his cock, her consciousness was slowly devoured in a burst of hungry flame....
The long days and nights that she had been on the bus from Milwaukee without proper rest, plus the excitement of her first night in Hollywood, proved to be more than Carol's teenage body could endure. She never heard Haynes get off the bed, dress and leave her hotel room. She never even heard the maid who came to make up her bed, banging on the door. She remained dead to the world until long past noon the next day.
When finally she awoke, she had a difficult time separating fact from fancy as far as the night before was concerned. How much of it had really happened and how much of it had she dreamed? Her first indulgence with Tequila had really belted her for a loop and left her with a slight hangover headache. Of course, she remembered having dinner with Wally Haynes and most of the promises that he made. All that was for real. But what happened exactly after they left the restaurant and came back to her room? Did he really lay her? Was she really such a pushover for him? Something must have happened, or else why had she slept in the nude? She had never done that. The bed was soiled, too. The sheets had the same smell of male lust that Mr. Lecheur's sheets used to have after he finished with her. But it wasn't until she got off the bed and started toward the bathroom and she felt the sperm he had left inside her, ooze out of her cunt and down the insides of her thighs, that she knew for sure that it had been no dream. Ordinarily, she might have had cause to worry. But Mr. Lecheur had started her on the Pill shortly after their affair began and she now took them, more or less, as force of habit.
Carol felt a lot better after she had soaked for a while in the tub. Then she dressed and got ready to go to breakfast. She remembered seeing a luncheonette right next door to the hotel. She would have breakfast, or brunch or whatever they were serving now. In fact, she had planned to have dinner there the night before, before Wally Haynes had invited her to dine with him.
Wally Haynes! She didn't want to appear overanxious, or give him the impression that she was going to throw herself at him. He hardly was her type. But all those things that he had promised her-she damn sure didn't want any of those opportunities to slip away. What she would do when she got downstairs was to find out his room number and call him on the house phone, thank him for dinner. But when she got to the desk in the lobby, she was in for something of a mild shock.
"Mr. Haynes?" the desk clerk on duty repeated in answer to her question. "I'm afraid Mr. Haynes is no longer registered here, Miss Francis. He checked out during the night."
Carol swallowed. "Did-did he leave a forwarding address?"
The clerk shook his head. "I'm sorry. He was just a transient; was registered here at the hotel for only one day."
Carol thanked the clerk for the information, then turned and went out through the revolving door. She concealed her shock and disappointment until she got out onto the sidewalk. Then she leaned against the side of the building to steady herself.
Had she ever been taken! Swallowed every lie that Wally Haynes had told her. Gave herself to him for the price of a lousy Mexican dinner that she didn't even enjoy. So this was Hollywood? This was how they did things in the city that she planned to make her home? The place where she expected to make her way, carve her niche? Maybe it was a good thing that it had happened, right away as it did? Next time she would know better. Next time she wouldn't just take somebody's word for anything. She would be on her guard and before she let anybody get into her again, she would make damn sure that she was going to get something in return-something more than a cheap Mexican dinner.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If her mother had taught Carol nothing else, the girl had learned the value of money from her; how to be frugal. Otherwise, she would never have saved a penny from the money that Mr. Lecheur had given her. Nor would she have stopped to think now that the slightly more than $200 that she had left wouldn't last her very long if she continued to stay at a hotel. So she did some checking around and found a place for single girls just off Sunset Boulevard and moved into the tenement the next morning.
Here, she decided, she would establish "headquarters" and sally forth, like Don Quixote, to conquer the grist-mills of Hollywood. However, during the next few months her confidence suffered a series of very discouraging jolts when she found out that the city was overflowing with a pulchritude of big-busted girls ... all with the same far-flung dreams as hers. At the movie and television studios, she couldn't even get past the receptionists or guards. A lot of ten-percenters said that they would be only too happy to "handle" her, in the true sense of the word. But after her calamitous experience with Wally Haynes, she insisted on "payment on delivery" and no agent was about to agree to those kinds of terms without a semblance of talent, or experience, no matter how desirable she might be. The employment agencies and business offices that she visited were the same. With no business experience and no training or references of any kind, they wouldn't even consider her.
She managed to get a few jobs like ushering at an X-rated Sunset Boulevard movie house. But the customers seemed to think that she was there for them to pinch and goose and try to date, when she showed them to their seats. She also worked for a couple of weeks demonstrating cosmetics in a five-an-ten store. But that had a proposition attached to it, as did all the other jobs that she had tried, which meant that it got rougher and rougher for her to find anything to do, to pay the rent and keep eating regularly.
Carol was well past her seventeenth birthday by now. Her original bankroll was long since gone, as was the rest of the money that she had earned during the months that she had been in Los Angeles. She was convinced by this time that being "discovered" wasn't going to be as easy as she had imagined. It was going to take a great deal longer than she thought-if ever. It was under these conditions that she finally landed a job working for Joe Papadosos.
Joe owned the Parthenon, a drive-in restaurant in Burbank. The Parthenon covered several acres at a busy intersection not too far from the major TV centers. At night, the building that stood in the center of the lot looked very impressive with its miles of neon lighting. But actually it was a bandbox, with a kitchen just big enough to move around in. The parking spaces were designed in the form of a wheel. As many as twenty-five to fifty customers could be taken care of at the same time, depending on the female carhops who served them.
Carol didn't start working at the Parthenon as a carhop. None of the girls did. Joe told her that everybody had to work their way up from "the bottom," which to Joe had a couple of meanings. One meant that before a girl donned one of the risque uniforms that his girls wore, she had to first wash dishes in the kitchen.
As Carol discovered, this was sort of a "proving grounds." Since the sink was situated between the refrigerator and the stove, and the kitchen was small, to get back and forth was a tight squeeze. Which meant that Joe had to brush against the fanny of the girl who might be standing at the sink, washing dishes.
Joe wasn't a very large man, but he had a considerable belly, much bigger than Wally Haynes. And even though he wore a long white apron most of the time, it didn't hide his almost constant erection. Which gave Joe ample opportunity to sample the buttocks of every girl who worked for him, which for Joe, being Greek, was very important. Carol wasn't sure whether it was because Joe liked to rub up against her fanny, or because he didn't think that she was ready to serve customers yet. But from what she could gather from the other girls, he kept her washing dishes for a much longer time than usual.
It was while she was still working in the kitchen, getting her pretty hands parboiled in dishwater, that she ran into a minor problem. She owed the landlady, at the "singles" house where she was living, two weeks rent which amounted to more than twenty-five dollars and the woman was making noises about it. Even though Carol promised to pay the woman, the landlady said that she had to have the money right away to meet her taxes. Since there was no place else that she could get the money, Carol decided to ask Joe Papadosos to loan her the money as an advance on her salary.
Joe, who could easily have answered to Mr. Five-by-five, glared at her with small, sly, black eyes from beneath his black beetle-brows that left little forehead between them and his low-cut hairline. "I don't loan money to nobody," he told her in English laced very heavily with Greek.
Carol was completely taken aback. "But I'll be working right here for you. Mr. Papadosos. You can deduct it from my salary."
"No loan," he replied, resolutely shaking his thick black-thatched head. Then his hot gaze slowly traveled over her bountiful breasts and the liberal curve of her hips under the dark skirt and white apron that she was wearing. He stroked his jutting, blue-black jaw, reflectively, and added, "But maybe you would like to earn the extra money?"
Carol frowned and swallowed uncomfortably. "What-what would I have to do?"
He grinned lasciviously. "Stay for a little while after we close up tonight."
Carol's uneasiness mounted. "I-I'm not sure I'd care very much about working overtime, Mr. Papadosos."
He shrugged and continued his bold appraisal of her sensuous young body. 'That's too bad. I was just thinking about letting you leave the kitchen and move up to serving cars." He shrugged again and shook his head. "But that would mean working overtime many nights-and if a girl does not want to do that...." When Carol made no reply, Joe made another appraisal of her abundance of youthful charms and said, "You think it over, kid. You still need the money and want the new job, you let me know. Okay?" Then he returned to his cooking.
Carol thought it over very carefully for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. There was no place for her to go and no way for her to earn the money. Like Wally Haynes-Joe Papadosos with his beer-barrel torso, long, hairy arms and bullet-shaped head that seemed to grow right out of his sloping shoulders, without benefit of a neck, wasn't her idea of a Romeo and certainly not conducive to sex. But at least, it would be better than picking up some stranger off the street.
At ten-thirty, half-an-hour before the Parthenon was slated to close, Carol stepped away from the sink and, drying her hands in the skirt of her apron, approached Joe, sort of gingerly. "Mr. Papadosos," she said as he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "I've-I've decided I'd like to stay after work, after all."
His dark face brightened as he turned to face her. "Good ... good ... when we close up, you wait for me in the ladies room."
As Carol turned and started to walk away from him, he took a quick step after her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He cupped her breasts and pulled her close to him and through the thinness of her clothing, she could feel the hardness of his huge cock against her cushiony buttocks.
"You show me a good time, kid," he whispered, his hot, spice-laden breath against her cheek, "And you got it made. You won't never have to worry about having a place to sleep again."
At 10:55 p.m., with only a couple of cars left in the parking spaces outside, Joe Papadosos began putting out the neon lights. By 11:15, the last customer was gone and all of the carhops had changed out of their costumes and left. But not without a knowing, parting glance at Carol, who was staying behind. It was as if they had all been through-the-mill with the proprietor and were asking, "I wonder if the poor kid knows what she's in for!"
There was still time for Carol to change her mind and leave, too. But her situation hadn't changed. She still needed the money, and to disappoint Joe now would probably cost her the job.
Carol was alone in the ladies room, when Joe came in. After locking all the doors and putting out all the lights except a night bulb over the stove in the kitchen, it was almost 11:20 and Joe could hardly contain his anxiousness. He closed the door after him, so that no light would show outside. He had removed his grease-splattered, long, white apron, his tall white chef s hat, his black bow tie and opened the neck of his white shirt.
by his expression, he hadn't expected to find Carol sprawled out on her back on the couch, with the lower folds of the smock that she had put on over her bra and panties, open in such a way as to expose her perfectly shaped, nylon-encased legs more than halfway up her thighs. She had remembered Mr. Lecheur's onetime advice that a woman's legs always look "more beautiful in shoes" and had put on her tall white heels.
Since there was no question in her mind what she was there for, Carol made no move to get up. Instead, she glimpsed his jumbo erection beneath the material of his dark trousers and, as he started to move toward the couch, closed her eyes. She heard him halt beside her and felt a hot hand on her thighs. She clenched them together tightly as the hand moved slowly upward under her smock, off her nylon hose and onto the silky flesh of her upper thighs.
As it had first been with Mr. Lecheur, then with Olivia Grant and her brother and again with Wally Haynes, Carol tried hard to ignore what he was doing to her, try to think of something else. But the moment his hand glided over her diaphanous panties and began to rub her hair-covered cunt through the material, it was as if a furry animal had suddenly come to life in her belly to cause itchy, burning sensations, to surge through her body and center in her cunt. She could feel the stiffening of her ultra-sensitive clitoris and her liquid desire wetting the crotch of her panties. Damn! Why did she heat up so easily? Why did her vagina always get so wet, so quickly? It was impossible for her to pretend that she wasn't affected when her body betrayed her this way, all the time.
It wasn't long before she gave in completely to his stroking, squirming her behind around on the couch, parting her legs so that he could get his hand down between them and rub his fingers over her eager pussy. It had been such a long time since anyone had played with her down there, since anyone had screwed her. If ever a girl was ready to be fucked, it was Carol at that moment. She wished that he would pull off her panties and dig into her. He said that he wanted a good time-well, she would show him one. His repulsiveness needn't bother her. She could close her eyes and picture all sorts of far more desirable men-younger men, closer her own age. That young surfer that she had seen at Santa Monica, with the sun-bleached blond hair and wide, tanned shoulders ... that box boy with the almost-too-white teeth who always smiled at her when she shopped at the supermarket. She could have her choice of lovers. All she had to do was use her imagination and perform all sorts of wild, erotic, outrageous acts with them.
She opened her eyes almost disappointedly when she felt Joe take his hand from her crotch to start undoing the snaps that ran down the front of her smock. For all the black, hairy stubbiness of his fingers, his touch was light and sure. In a moment he had the smock unsnapped and thrown it open to stare down at her straining breasts, the creamy-white, flesh bulging over the top of her tight bra, enticingly. He did something that never failed to cause her a tremor of sensation. He fitted a finger down inside her snug bra and wiggled it over her aroused nipple. She felt like reaching out and grabbing his cock and squeezing him. But that would have been a little too bold, make her look much too anxious.
She lay there as his hands went behind her, lifting herself just enough so that he could unfasten the hooks at the back of her bra. Once the bra was off, he put his hairy-backed hands on her beautiful, big breasts. His fingers pinched her nipples.
Carol inhaled sharply and made a pretense of resisting.
Joe ignored her weak objections and sank his fingers into her soft-firm flesh. He gloated and watched her expression, then her breasts as he squeezed and molded them into crazy weird shapes. Her nipples were bloated with arousal-wrinkled, stiff, sensitive. He was sitting on the bed now, his body twisted at the waist so that he could look down at her. He tried to kiss her lips. But she turned her head away-until he cupped her chin and twisted her face around. She was panting with dread. She wouldn't have minded if he had simply gone ahead and fucked her. But to have to kiss him-!
When Joe pressed his mouth against her closed lips, a terrible weakness surged through her. His wet, open mouth was like a flaming torch to her. Her chest was heaving. Her heart was pounding. Her right tit, clutched in his vise-like grip, burned with a strange warmth. It was almost with relief that he broke the kiss and moved his mouth down to the breast that he had been torturing. He began to lick and suck, sending wild sensations coursing through Carol's body.
His wet sucking mouth moved from nipple to nipple, washing each one thoroughly with his tongue before taking the tingling flesh-buds between his lips. He sucked and licked them with his hot, fat tongue. He nibbled at the nubs of erectile tissue and sharp, hot delight darted through Carol's breasts.
She moaned and writhed against his face, causing her taut breasts to quiver and her nipples to pop out of his mouth, arousing him to a fever heat as he went after them to capture them again with his lips. He caressed her trembling tummy, then slid his hand down beneath her panties and through the silky black hair that covered her mound. Lower, his hand moved until it was between her parted thighs. He pressed the callused heel of his hand against the heated, wet lips of her cunt.
Carol closed her eyes against the tremulous sensations that rocked her head to toe. And then, as his fingers petted her pussy and slid into her between her wet, fluid vaginal lips, she felt as if she must cry out and beg him to take her.
He kept working his fingers in and out of her cunt, stroking her clit, his hands wet now almost to his wrist with her warm, sticky girl-juices. The next thing Carol knew her panties were off and his face was wedged between her legs, his tongue licking the soft, warm, filmsy-moist insides of her thighs from her stocking-tops up to the flaming flanges of her pussy.
She couldn't resist spreading her legs wide apart for him, allowing him complete access to her gentalia. he responded by gluing his open mouth to her cuntal lips in a suctioning kiss, while his flicking tongue began long, slow lickings of her flooded foyer and stiffened clit. She watched for a moment with her head lifted, then she let her head drop back onto the couch. She was going to climax! She thought back to when Olivia Grant had performed cunnilingus on her. How strong her orgasm had been! This one promised to be every bit as intense-because it had been so long, much, much too long!
She felt herself getting all hot and quivery inside and outside of her cunt. Her belly was moving in and out like a bellows. Carol sobbed in her ecstasy and began undulating her box against Joe Papadosos' flowing mouth. His tongue never stopped for an instant, never missed a stroke on her clit.
It was as if she were hammering on the door to Paradise and it was starting to slowly open to admit her. She began panting, faster, deeper. Her head came up again. She stared blindly at his black-topped head as it rose and fell between her clutching thighs. Her fingers clawed deep into the couch. She shuddered. Again and again. Her face was a mask of exquisite torture. Her head rolled from side to side. Her breasts threatened to burst. Her nipples ached in her passion. Carol's belly was crawling with worms! Scalding, squirming, immeshed serpents of unenduring pleasure. Her hips squirmed with the worms in helpless abandon. She was wholly unaware of the pagan sounds that she was making. She teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
After what seemed an eternity, Carol felt the pleasure relax its strangling grip on her mind and her body and she could no longer stand the cutting sensations of the restaurant-owner's tongue on her clitoris, inside her cunt.
"No more ... no more please," she panted as she forced Joe's bullet head up from between her thighs and clamped her legs together.
Joe sat up, wiped his mouth, with the hairy back of his hand and grinned. "You must be awful young. Only a young cunt could taste as sweet as yours. Joe knows."
He got up from the couch, unzipped his fly and pushed the trousers and shorts down his legs as one unit. He had a full-blown hard on.
He stepped out of his trousers and shorts and pulled off his shirt. He reminded Carol of something out of French postcard that one of the girls back at school passed around one day, showing a man with an erection standing over a woman, wearing only his black socks and shoes. The thought vanished instantly as Joe reached forward and grabbed her ankles. Pushing outward, he spread her legs apart. The result was that her crotch and her ass were laid open to his hot, licentious gaze. It was different when Mr. Lecheur looked at her this way. She was used to his eyes. And with Wally Haynes, she was well-laced with Tequila at the time. Now with Joe Papadosos, her cheeks burned with mortification as his hot eyes pried into the pink slit that was still wet with his saliva and the slick juice of her orgasm.
She could see his prick pounding with blood as he gazed at the perfection of her thighs, so creamy white and smooth above the tops of her sheer stockings, as they converged on the black hair-fringed beauty of her youthful cunt-then at the hole itself, partly open now as he continued to hold her legs well apart.
As he might upend a wheelbarrow, Joe, still gripping her handles flipped her over onto her stomach and then let her go. As she lay there in front of him, she felt his finger move like a paintbrush down and then up between her buttocks cleft, lingering at the pinkish-brown, puckered hole between her white, firm loaves of ass flesh.
A kind of delirious excitement surged through her as she felt him work a digit into the constricting opening. It brought back the memory of Olivia's brother, Simon, fucking her back there. She didn't like it that day. She didn't like it one damn bit! She wondered with dread anticipation if Joe intended to do her that way now.
He kept fingering her asshole. "You're awful tight. You ever had it Greek style?"
She knew what he meant by "Greek style" and shook her head. She didn't want him to know, for fear he might think she was experienced at such a perversion. Maybe if he thought that it had never happened, she might be able to talk him out of it.
"Some women like it better in the rear than they do up front," Joe said as he took his finger out of her anus and began swiping the drooling head of his cock along the crease of her backside. "Maybe you will, too?"
"No, I won't!" she cried out. "I lied to you, Mr. Papadosos. I have tried it. Somebody made me do it and I hated it."
"Was he Greek?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Ahh. that's why," Joe rationalized. "Only a Greek can make you like it. You'll see."
Carol made a valiant attempt to get up, to turn over on her back. But his heavy hand on the small of her back kept her prone, face-down on the couch.
He forced her legs open and then got onto the couch on his knees, between them. Then he slipped a hand beneath her belly and, as his fingers cupped her mound, he raised her rump so that it made a perfect target for him to aim his prick at. It was no longer necessary to keep a hand on her back and hold her down. It was impossible for her even to crawl away from him. So he moved his right hand to the base of his cock and nudged the head of it into the nutmeg-like hole between her buttocks. His prick seemed as big as a fence-post and she was too tight to accept him.
That brought on more finger manipulations and the transporting of the love oil from her cunt to her anus. She writhed sensually in spite of the abhorrance that she felt for this unnatural act, as his finger, with a thick, slippery coating of her juice and his own, slipped in and out of her rear hole, stretching her until the sphincter muscle at the entrance relaxed and he was able to get two and then three fingers inside her at the same time.
It wasn't until her rosebud was thoroughly anointed with both their juices that he pulled his fingers out of her, replacing them with the tip of his trembling prick.
"Relax, kid, and enjoy it," he breathed against her bare back, the excitement reaching a crest inside him as he put the thought of what he was about to do to her into words. "I'm gonna fuck that rosy-red, little asshole of yours 'til your belly's fulled with cum. Like I told you, nobody can dig an asshole like a Greek."
His left hand still on her mons, his right hand held his cock firmly against the cavity that he sought to dig. He drove himself forward. Her ass held firm and tight for a moment, resisting the pressure that he was applying. Then everything seemed to collapse and his tool slipped into the opening with a sudden darting motion. Carol screamed, shuddered and gasped as his prick sent a stab of white-hot pain tearing through her ass. His cock was far bigger than his three fingers, much bigger than Simon Grant's cock had been. But Joe didn't let up. He drove into her with a relentless determination to ream her.
She rocked from side to side, trying to dislodge him as she had with Simon. But his cock was now more than halfway inside her and he kept pushing, pushing until he was all the way in. He plastered his loins against her rump, grinding the hair at the base of his massive cock into her buttocks and jiggling slightly, trying to work himself up to a quick climax.
His balls, dangling low and packed with seed, slapped against the lips of her cunt in a way that added pleasure. Now that he was implanted inside her rectum, he slipped his right hand beneath her to play with her dangling tits, while the fingers of his left hand reached further down between her thighs and into her dripping cunt to hone her clit.
It wasn't long before she felt him tighten against her and ram his cock as deep into her as her buttocks would allow. He groaned, "Oh-Christ-I'm startin' ... I'm startin' to cum!"
His cock burst inside her bowels like a Roman candle. The cum arched out of his cock, thoroughly flooding the narrow, super-sensitive passageway into which it was jammed.
Carol's orgasm, brought on by his masturbating fingers, wasn't far behind. Frantic with lust and tingling from head to foot, she made no attempt to hold back. She let her climax completely overwhelm her and run its course. When finally his cock stopped belching inside her, she expected him to pull out. But that was wistful thinking. He stayed right in her snug asshole and did her a second time. Only then was he done with her-at least, for the immediate present. Only then did he release her and let her flop down onto the couch and lie there, unmolested, in utter exhaustion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Whatever else he might be, Joe Papadosos was a man of his word. He gave Carol the money, as promised, before she left the restaurant that night, and the next day he hired someone else to wash dishes and help out in the kitchen, and promoted Carol to carhop.
If Joe had any idea that Carol's beautiful, oversize breasts, gorgeously shaped legs and youthful body all wrapped up in one of his female Greek warrior costumes would prove to be such a traffic stopper, he would never have kept her in the kitchen as long as he had. As it had been in that X-rated movie house, where she had worked as an usher, the toughest part of Carol's job wasn't serving food to people in their cars, it was avoiding male hands and diplomatically parrying propositions without offending the paying customers. Not once, but several times a day, Carol heard the same tired line: "What's a girl like you doing working in a place like this?" Most always it was followed by the promise of making her a big movie or TV star. Unfortunately, it also included a proposal of dinner, or a visit to that person's studio or apartment, never to their place of business.
Carol, of course, was flattered by all this attention and Joe was delighted, because it was good for business. But her experience with Wally Haynes was still fresh in her mind, even though it had happened months before. So, since it was impossible for Carol to differentiate between a pass and the real McCoy, she accepted none of those "generous offers" and went on working at the Parthenon. Not that her lot with Joe Papadosos was any lark. But with him, she at least was sure of getting something for her efforts.
He paid her well and even arranged her hours, so that she could resume going to school during the day and get her diploma from high school. Because of the advice that Olivia Grant had given her back in West Allis, about getting an education, Carol made it her first goal.
As Joe had also told her, she had no more worries about a place to live. At first he wanted her to move in with him. But when he found out that she wasn't yet eighteen, he changed his mind. Engaging her in sexual relations didn't seem to bother him a great deal. He had a lot of friends in high places, he liked to brag, and he figured that he could always find a loophole through which he could wiggle out. But since she was going to school and had to have a permanent address, it would be too easy to nail him if she were living with him. So he had her take a room at the local "Y", which he paid for, and took her home with him several nights a week.
While Joe was admittedly a "back-door man," who liked nothing better than to pull down a girl's panties, kiss and lick all over her buttocks then shoot his load into her rear bung, he went in for all the other sexual practices, too. Cunnilingus, fellatio, mammary intercourse, he performed them all with Carol. Once in a while, when the mood struck him, he even gave her a normal, old-fashioned screw.
This arrangement went on for almost two months, until one evening shortly after dark, a big, black, underslung Caddy convertible pulled into one of the parking spaces at the Parthenon. Behind the wheel of the car sat a woman whom Carol judged to be somewhere in her late thirties. She was a rather pretty woman with a pleasant, white-toothed smile and incisive dark-brown eyes. Her frosted brown hair was arranged in a smart upsweep that accentuated the clean-cut of her classic jaw. Her clothes were expensive and high-fashioned.
Carol remembered the car and the woman as having visited the drive-in a couple of times during the past week and that it always was parked in one of her stations. But except to order and then thank Carol for the service that she rendered, the woman had never really spoken to her. Carol particularly remembered the woman because each time she left a sizable tip.
That night, for the first time, as Carol was taking her order the woman started a conversation, by asking, "What's your name, my dear?"
Carol told her.
"I'm Mrs. Allen, Zina Allen," the woman responded as she eyed Carol's breasts that were pushed up high by an uplift bra to show a lot of cleavage. Then she met Carol's gaze. "You're a very lovely young girl-but I'm sure you're quite aware of that."
Carol blushed a little. As many times as she might have heard it, being told that she was "lovely" right to her face, it never failed to embarrass her. "Thank you," she murmured.
"I should think that a girl as pretty as you and with such a darling figure would be battering down the doors of some movie or television studio," Zina said.
Carol made no reply. She saw little point in telling a perfect stranger that she had been all through that routine-very unsuccessfully. She just waited for the woman to order.
"I'm curious, my dear," the woman continued. "But is it possible you're contented working in a place like this? That this is the height of your ambition?"
It was the same old familiar wheeze that so many men had used on her. But this was the first time that she had heard it from a woman. Her first thought was that Zina Allen might be a member of the same club as Olivia Grant and she had no desire to get mixed up with another lesbian.
"You haven't answered my question, my dear?" Zina persisted. "Wouldn't you like something a little more exciting, more fruitful, more suitable than merely being a carhop?"
Carol flared resentfully that someone that she didn't even know should have the audacity to ask such a question. With a cold, indignant politeness, she replied, "Yes, ma'am, I would. That's exactly why I go to school during the day."
The woman in the car smiled and asked an even more pertinent question. "Just what is your ambition, Carol? What is your goal?"
Almost sarcastically, Carol ran her eyes over the length of the black Cadillac, then said, 'To have a big expensive car like this-plus all the things that go with it."
Instead of being rebuked by the girl's answer, Zina Allen beamed. "Admirable, my dear." Then with a strange new enthusiasm and interest, "Perhaps I can help you achieve your goals?"
Carol felt a mild twinge of disgust. So the woman is a lesbian, she said to herself. She froze up and, with studied indifference, said, 'Thank you, but I think I'd prefer to manage by myself." She glanced toward the building that stood in the center of the lot, significantly, and added, "I hope you'll understand, ma'am. But the boss doesn't like any of the girls to stand and talk too long. So if you'll please let me have your order...."
Zina met Carol's gaze with amusement. "You think I'm trying to proposition you, don't you, darling?" she chuckled. "I can't say that I blame you. Hollywood and vicinity is overrun with wolves and wolverines of the two-legged variety. A girl as pretty as you can't be too careful. But I assure you, my dear, that isn't the case. I'm not a female homosexual, if that's what's troubling you. Far from it." She took a slip of paper and a ballpoint pen from her handbag and jotted down an address and phone number on it. "I'm really serious, Carol darling. I do want to help you, and that's why I came back here several times to study you before I spoke to you." She handed the slip of paper out the car window to Carol. "Think it over my dear, and if you decide you'd like my help-call me. If not-well, I wish you every success on your own."
Then without waiting to order, she backed the big car out of the parking space and drove away and left Carol standing there, staring after her, bewilderedly.
Carol didn't go home with Joe Papadosos that night. She told him that she had an important test next day and that she had to study. So after the restaurant closed, he drove her to the "Y" But before he let her go, he found a dark spot where they could park for a little while. He played with her tits and fingered her cunt underneath her panties for a few minutes, then he said, "Y'know-I ain't had a hand job for a hell of a long time. How's about you taking it out and jacking me off?"
Carol knew that it would be a waste of time to argue with him, so while he kept his hand up under her miniskirt, fingering her wet crotch, she unzipped his fly, dug a hand inside and brought out his big, hard prick. She knew that no one could see them in the darkness especially with the dashboard lights out, so she squeezed the fat length of him and then began to stroke him, slowly, up and down his spongy shaft. She was ashamed of the sensual thrill that it gave her and subconsciously opened her thighs wider, to let his hand do what it would. His fingers began moving faster in her slot, making her wildly excited, especially when he brushed over her swollen, sensitive pleasure spot. The sensation was a sweet flare up of deliciousness and the tight, funny feeling in her belly told her that she was going to cum very soon! She shivered more strongly, panting audibly as a big hot flower spread its petals wide open between her thighs. She held her breath and went all tight. "Oooh, Joeee!" The climax was beautifully strong.
Joe knew that she was cumming and took away his hand so that she could enjoy it to the fullest. He waited, then put his hand back between her legs. "Want to go off again?"
She shook her head. "You have a handkerchief?"
He reached one from his back pocket and gave it to her. She spread it across his right thigh where it would be ready when she needed it. She had stopped masturbating him while she rode out her orgasm. Now once again, she encircled the fat, spongy middle of his prick with her fingers and began an exciting up and down stroking of the rigid flesh. She moved her hand slowly at first, then faster and faster. His cock felt hot against her palm, but at the same time it was slippery and clammy from his flow of precoital fluid. Her sole purpose was to make him cum as quickly as she could and get the distasteful chore over with as quickly as possible, so she could get home. To this end, she dug her free hand inside his open fly to cup and squeeze his balls softly, while she continued to stroke his prick.
One of his hands was down inside her bra, fondling her breasts; the other was beneath her skirt again rubbing the thin crotch of her pink nylon panties. He was trying to make her cum again and if he didn't stop, even though she might will it, she was going to oblige him.
She kept her fist moving and could sense his approaching climax by the way that he was breathing, moving his hands over her tits and vagina. She could feel his big cock becoming hotter, stiffer, its flexibility less noticeable. His hips and pot belly were jerking up and down with the rhythm of her stroking hand. "Oh, yeah ... oh, yeah, man!"
Carol watched the bright purple-red head of his cock swell up as her small hand was a blur. He made a sound of torturous pleasure. Carol felt a definite convulsion surge through his prick ... he grunted ... and then a blob of cum shot up in a high arc and fell onto the car seat between his splayed legs. She grabbed up the handkerchief in her left hand and held it, so she could catch the succeeding gobs that shot out of him.
Having done the same thing to Mr. Lecheur several times, Carol knew enough to keep pumping him, until he finally stopped ejaculating. Then he pulled his hand from her breasts and from between her legs and leaned against the back of the seat, with a contented sigh. "Christ-that was good! I forgot just how good a handoff can be!"
He was no longer interested in trying to make her cum a second time. For the moment, he wasn't interested in sex in any shape or form and Carol was glad. He tucked away his wilted cock, started the car and drove her to the "Y".
After she had washed and changed into her nightie, Carol got out her school books, propped herself up on the bed and began to study. But she didn't get very far, when she thought of the piece of paper that Zina Allen had given her earlier in the evening. It was in her handbag within easy reach of the bed. She hadn't even bothered to look at the address until now and was surprised to find that the woman lived in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Beverly Hills.
The woman had assured her that she wasn't a lesbian. What then could she want of her? Why should a perfect stranger want to help her? Maybe the woman was a movie or television producer? There were some women in the business. Or she might even be an agent? There were even more of them. The more Carol thought about it, the more curious, the more intrigued she became. What harm could it do for her to investigate? To call the woman, even go see her and find out what she wanted?
Carol didn't do a great deal of studying after that. In fact, she fell asleep wondering if she should try to find out what the woman wanted of her.
* * *
As usual, Carol attended classes next morning. But by lunchtime, the mystery as to what Zina Allen might want of her got too much for Carol, so she went into a public phone booth and dialed the number that the woman had scribbled on the piece of paper that she had given her. Zina herself answered the phone and sounded delighted, if not too greatly surprised, that Carol had called her and that she would like to see her, but that the earliest that she could get there would be after school. Zina said that it would be convenient enough at that time and told the girl to take a taxicab from the school to her home, that she would pay the driver when they arrived. Carol followed her instructions to the letter, and at three-thirty she was standing in front of Zina Allen amid the splendor of the woman's spacious living room.
Compared to this, Olivia Grant's home, that Carol had thought was so beautiful, was nothing. Everything in Zina's place was of the very finest, the drapes, carpeting, the furnishings were from all around the world. The lighting was indirect and picturesque. The furniture was massive and costly. Original Renoirs, Picassos and Lautrecs adorned the walls.
As for the woman herself, Carol couldn't help but be impressed. It was the first time that she had seen Zina Allen standing and found that the woman was much taller than she had imagined, with a bustline that matched hers in size and beauty and a figure that Carol couldn't help but wish that she could have when she would be Zina's age. After they were comfortably seated across from each other in the living room, Zina told Carol that she would like her to work for her. She didn't come right out and tell Carol what the job would be, except that it would put her in direct touch with the kind of people that Carol said she wanted to meet. Zina was somewhat taken aback and disappointed when she learned that Carol had a good six months to go before she was eighteen.
"As a rule, I don't have girls working for me unless they are at least eighteen," Zina said, studying Carol's face and figure, especially her legs and breasts, seated in the chair across from her. "But you appear to be such a promising prospect, that I just might consider you. Especially since you'll be continuing your studies and it will take quite a while to train you. As a matter-of-fact, I'd like you move right in here with me, if you can arrange it, so that I might personally take you under my wing."
Carol frowned. "That'll mean giving up my job."
Zina smiled. "The sooner you do that, my dear, the better it will be."
"But without a job, I won't have any money," Carol pointed out.
"You won't need any, darling. You won't need a thing," Zina assured her. "Not as long as you're with me. Everything you can possibly need will be yours."
To Carol it sounded almost too good to be true, even if she had no idea of what her job with the woman would be. Actually it didn't matter too much, so long as Zina guaranteed that she wasn't a lez. The important thing was that Zina was offering her a chance to realize her ambition and to get away from the job that she had come to dislike increasingly more, as well as from Joe Papadosos and his abnormal way of making 'love" that she detested even more.
It wasn't because she wanted to present any obstacles, she simply wanted to be sure that she touched all the bases, which is why Carol said, "The high school I'm attending is pretty far away."
Zina thought a moment then she replied, "You could transfer to Beverly Hills High, I suppose. But that might only present problems. So we'll arrange for your transportation to and from the school you're attending now-even if you have to use a taxicab as you did today."
Carol should have suspected that whatever the job that Zina planned to groom her for must have been rather unusual, for the woman not to want Carol to change schools, or let anyone know that she would be staying with her. In fact, she even insisted that Carol keep her old address at the "Y" and that she would pay for it. Carol in her anxiousness was afraid to ask too many questions, right off the bat, for fear that one of them might prick her pretty dream balloon and cause her to wake up. After all, what possibly could be worse than what she had already gone through-and it just might turn out to be a thousand times better-the answer to everything she had ever hoped and prayed for.
* * *
Joe Papadosos was far from a happy man when Carol told him that same evening that she would be leaving him at the end of the week. At first he threatened her, then tried to cajole her and finally offered her all sorts of inducements to stay with him-a generous raise in salary, shorter hours, less sexual demands. In a final emotional outburst, he even proposed marriage to her. Carol told him how flattered, how really and truly moved she was by his offers-especially to become his wife. But she tried to make him understand that she couldn't marry him, because she didn't love him; couldn't stay on the job because she had another job to go to. No matter what the other job offered, he told her, he would better it. But she knew that that was impossible.
She finished out the week at the restaurant. Then on the last night, Joe made her wait around until after everyone else was gone before he paid her. That wasn't all. He made one last frantic appeal to her to stay with him. When she again refused, he went wild with anger. He grabbed her and in spite of her screaming and struggling, he picked her up and carried her into the ladies room. Then he placed her on the couch, stripped off most of her clothes and raped her-Greek style, of course!
CHAPTER NINE
Carol didn't get to Zina Allen's house until after four o'clock the next afternoon. The trip from Burbank where she went to school, to Beverly Hills, took up most of the time. Even at that, nothing much happened until after she and Zina had dinner. Then the woman took Carol into a sort of study that was set off from the rest of the house. Carol was quite surprised to find out that the books that filled the shelves that -lined two of the walls, floor-to-ceiling, dealt exclusively with sex. From what she could see at first glance, they seemed to cover every phase of the subject. There were even shelves devoted to out-and-out pronography manuals.
"I'm going to ask you a rather personal question, Carol," Zina said after she had given the girl a chance to look around and become a little more acquainted. "Are you a virgin, darling?"
Carol dropped her gaze to the floor, too embarrassed with the sudden bluntness of the question to answer.
Zina smiled tolerantly. "I've got to know, Carol. It's rather important." She repeated her query. "Are you a virgin?"
Carol swallowed and answered in a small, timid voice. "No ... ma'am....
"Have there been many men?" Zina asked. When Carol hesitated, she reassured the girl. "I promise you, darling, whatever you tell me will go no further than this room. It's simply that before I start to work with you, I've got to know. Now-have there been many men?"
Carol hesitated, then said reluctantly, "Not ... not too many."
"Good," the woman declared. 'That means the first thing we have to do is make you forget everything you've learned about sex, in any shape or form, and start all over again and teach you properly. In fact, darling, I'm going to remake you, completely. I'm going to teach you how to walk and talk and conduct yourself in a way that will appear both demure and seductive at the same time. You're going to eat the right kinds of foods so that you'll never have even the slightest blemish on your lovely face or body. We're going to exercise daily, so that your delightful curves remain, but without an excess ounce of flesh anywhere on your limbs of body. You'll be taught how to make up your face and arrange your hair to best advantage. So that when your training is over, no man will be able to resist you."
As it might have been with any girl of Carols age, with a headful of romantic dreams and notions, she was thrilled beyond comprehension at the things that Zina was telling her. Even when the woman told her to take off her clothes, Carol's enthusiasm didn't dim. With the promise of all the things that Zina said was going to happen to her, Carol wasn't sure if she would have objected too much if the woman had been a lez. But she was not. Even when Carol stood stark naked in front of her in the studio-study, Zina didn't begin to make a pass at her. Instead she told the girl, "No, no, darling. That's no way to take off your clothes. There's an art to disrobing. A former burlesque queen, made a film-HOW TO STRIP. I have it in my library."
She went into a closet off to one side of the room and came back with the film. She put it on the 16mm projector in the room and showed it a couple of times on the big screen, carefully pointing out all the intricate details in the film, on the fine art of stripping.
That was how Carol's new life with Zina Allen began, learning how to take off her clothes properly. It didn't take very long after that for Carol to find out exactly what Zina did to own a couple of Caddies, maintain a veritable mansion in Beverly Hills, a beach house at Corona Del Mar, an expensive high fashion wardrobe that included a couple of minks, plus unlimited real estate, stocks and bonds and a bank account that ran into six figures. Zina Allen maintained a high-class call-girl service, who received anywhere from one hundred to five hundred dollars a trick, from a hand-picked clientele.
As Zina explained it to Carol, because of the high caliber of her customers and the prices that she charged, her girls had to do more than just satisfy. They had to be trained to needle-point sharpness, perfected in the art of love-making until they became expert in every phase of the art of their chosen profession. In her studio-study, Zina had the makings of a miniature classroom, unlike any other perhaps in the entire world. Here she taught her girls everything that they needed to know about pleasing a man. Not because she considered men superior beings. In fact, on more than one occasion, Carol heard the woman say that men were stupid, believing such old wives' tales as the ones about women with big breasts or an over-abundance of pubic hair being more passionate.
"That's why I had silicone pads put in my breasts when I was younger," Zina confessed to Carol. "So the dumb bastards would think I was sexier."
To illustrate her lectures, Zina used charts, motion pictures and even live models-usually young boys, anxious to pick up a few extra bucks. At times, these live models went through some strange and racking experiences at the hands of Zina and her "students." Once, Carol remembered, when Zina called in several of her girls for a "refresher" course, they got a hold of a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen. First, they engaged him in intercourse. Then, made him perform cunnilingus on them while they masturbated him. After that, they took turns sucking him off, until the poor kid passed out cold.
At high school, as part of an art course that she took, Carol had learned the bone structure of the human body, as well as a smattering of anatomy.
But Zina's teachings went much further than that. She pointed out each and every erogenous part of the body and how it affected the brain and nerve centers.
Carol was shown how to arouse a man; how to hold and caress him; how to sustain his ecstasy until he cried "Uncle." She learned the intricate secrets of revitalizing a man, even when he was sure that he couldn't possibly get it up again.
She was taught the French way, the Swedish way, the Oriental way, and all the other fifty or more different methods-including the Greek way, in which after Joe Papadosos, she hardly needed any instruction. There were many other things that Zina told her about pleasing a male-including exciting his sense of sight and smell with the proper color of her underthings, the right scent of her perfume.
Carol couldn't help but be amazed at Zina's thoroughness, that the woman had actually made a scientific study of the art of of sex. It was no small wonder that she had once snared a millionaire for a husband, who put her in a position to conduct the kind of business that she was in, on such an elaborate scale. The surprise was that Zina had been careless and promiscuous enough to let him divorce her. Carol was positive that if ever she were lucky enough to snare a millionaire, never would she ever let him get away.
by the time that Carol was ready to "graduate" from Zina's school of sex and take her rightful place along with the rest of the "alumni," she was as right as knowledge could make her. She was well past her eighteenth birthday now and not only did she have her high school diploma, but she also had several months of business administration and typing and shorthand. This was for more than just insurance, in the event that the bottom dropped out of her dream world. Like Olivia Grant, back in West Allis, Zina was a staunch advocate of education. As a rule, her girls were recruited from colleges around the country. Carol had been the exception. Zina took a chance with her, because she saw in the girl such tremendous potential.
During the two years that followed, Carol more than lived up to Zina's expectations. She threw herself into her work with a zeal and enthusiasm that few of the other girls had shown. Not necessarily because she liked it, but because it had become a part of Carol's nature to try to do her best in whatever she might attempt. That's why, once she was on her own, she became such a good student and why in a very short time, she became one of Zina's most sought-after girls.
To say that some of her experiences were strange and erotically bizarre would have been a gross understatement. There was the man, for example, who wanted to pretend that he was her little baby; had her bathe him, powder his bottom and then cuddle in her lap and nurse at her breasts while she fondled his penis.
Another client insisted on dressing up like a Nazi officer and have her make believe that she was a French peasant whom he stripped and raped. Then made her pretend that she liked it so much that she performed fellatio on him.
Then there was the sixty-eight-year-old man who paid Zina two hundred dollars just to have Carol visit with him. so he could undress her, fondle her and have her warm his cold bed. He insisted that he was impotent, that he hadn't had a proper erection since his wife had died more than three years before. Carol not only got his cock hard, but also prepared him to engage her in coitus. He was so profoundly grateful that he wept openly against her naked breasts and when she left he gave her an extra hundred dollars all for herself.
There was the guy who wanted her to play Jane to his Tarzan, while he beat his chest and swung through the rooms on the drapes and chandeliers, but unfortunately his yell was the only big thing about him ... And the man who wouldn't do it any way but on a mink coat because he said he liked the way the fur tickled his balls and insisted that it made a girl feel more horny. When it was over he gave the coat to Carol-her first mink.
Some men wanted to buy her, keep her as their own exclusive property. Others offered to set her up in her own place, to entertain them and friends. Mixed in were several proposals of marriage, but unfortunately none of the men met the requirements that she had set up for herself-which included a little thing called love.
Several months before Carol was graduated from junior college, she began to get restless. She told Zina in the beginning that she didn't want to spend the rest of her life as a call-girl. Now she informed Zina that she was getting a little weary, bedding down with every John-and even an occasional Jane-who might pay for her services, and that she wanted to try to move up the next rung on the ladder. Instead of being angry, Zina understood and sympathized with her.
Not that Zina wanted to lose one of her best money-makers, but Zina wasn't running a white slave mart. Zina was a practical businesswoman and had been through the mill herself. She therefore arranged with each girl that when she had earned enough to pay for her training several times over, the way Carol had, she could be free to go if she wanted to. Besides, Carol's was an unusual case. During more than the two years that Carol had been with her, Zina had acquired a great fondness for her, much more so than for any of the other girls. Carol and Zina's association bordered very closely on a mother-and-daughter relationship and Zina sincerely wanted to see Carol have an opportunity to achieve her goal.
So she began an entirely different phase of Carol's training. She still went out on calls, servicing Zina's clientele. But whenever the occasion presented itself, Zina took Carol on a round of Los Angeles' legit shows, concerts, smart supper clubs, the races, tennis matches, art shows and fashionable restaurants.
"These are the kinds of places where you'll meet the type of man you're looking for, darling," Zina told Carol. But after a couple of months of this sort of thing, Carol began to wonder if Zina was right, or whether they were just wasting their time visiting all these places. Until finally, one night lightning struck-exactly the way that Zina had said it would.
Carol and Zina had just paid their bill and were on their way out of a Sunset Strip bistro, when he came in through the front entrance. He had a girl with him. But Carol hardly even saw her. She centered her gaze on him.
She had guessed that he must be somewhere in his late-forties, tall, with an aquiline nose and a strong jaw that made him look ruggedly handsome. His even clothes, made by one of the city's finest tailors, seemed as much a part of him as his dark hair which had begun to gray, distinguishably at the temples.
Carol caught his penetrating brown-eyed gaze and held it for one long, magical moment, that made her feel as if she were starting down the highest hump on a roller coaster. So intense was the feeling that she was sure that if he had stepped forward, put his arms around her and kissed her, she would have experienced a full-scale orgasm.
Zina's light touch on her arm shook Carol back to reality. She turned and followed the older woman out the door. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the backs of her shapely, nylon-encased legs, and self-consciously fought to keep her girdleless buttocks from wiggling too sensuously under the silky material of her miniskirt gown.
The moment that they reached the sidewalk, Carol grabbed Zina's arm and declared, emotionally, 'That's him!"
Zina frowned. 'That's who?"
"The man I've been looking for," Carol said.
Zina followed the girl's gaze through the glass door. The man and the girl were still standing inside the lobby, waiting for the maitre d' to show them to their table. Zina's frown deepened and she shook her head. "You certainly picked yourself something to shoot for."
"You know him?" Carol asked eagerly. Zina nodded and the girl asked, "What's his name?"
"Quincy Palmer," Zina replied. "Owns the Palmer Advertising Agency. Has offices all over the world. According to Dun and Bradstreet he's worth in excess of thirty million."
Carol felt suddenly dizzy. Then sort of hesitatingly, she asked, "I-I don't suppose he's listed among your clientele?"
Zina smiled. "If only he were. But no such luck. A man with his money doesn't need anybody like me. All he has to do is flash his checkbook and he can have his pick."
Carol didn't know why, but she felt very relieved that he was not on Zina's list. As they stood there on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant waiting for the doorman to flag down a taxicab for them, Carol asked, "Was that his wife with him?"
Zina shook her fashionably-coiffured head.
"But I suppose he is married?" Carol exacted as she turned her head for one last look at him as the taxi pulled into the curb.
"He's had two wives," Zina said as she climbed into the taxicab.
"I'm going to be wife number three," Carol proclaimed as she followed after the woman.
Zina was amused by the girl's confidence. "You've really cut yourself an awfully big slice of cake to swallow."
"I'll find a way," Carol declared, settling herself into the back seat of the cab as it pulled away from in front of the restaurant.
It didn't take Carol long to appreciate the wisdom of Zina's words, to find out that Quincy Palmer, as far as accessibility was concerned, was a worthy counterpart of Howard Hughes. Several times she returned to the restaurant, hoping to see him. But the maitre d' told her that he hadn't been there since the night she had been there with Zina. From Dun and Bradstreet, as well as several sources, Carol learned about his hobbies and avocations; that he owned a stable of thoroughbred race horses, liked automobile racing, swimming, tennis. She made it a point to visit all these events. But there wasn't even a sign of him. Then one day, she read in the newspaper that he had flown to Paris to open a new branch office and that he would be gone for more than a month.
Carol used this one month to full advantage. She told Zina that she wanted a job with the Palmer Advertising Agency. Zina tried to talk her out of it. But when she realized that Carol was stubbornly determined, she applied a little pressure and managed a job for Carol in the agency's Radio-Television Department, as a stenographer.
Carol reverted to her innocent, scrubbed look and, making sure that she always wore her most modest dresses and only a minimum of makeup, she began work in the steno-pen. But even a snug bra and a demure costume couldn't hide Carol's voluptuous breasts and it wasn't long before the males in the office-from account executives down to office boys-began swarming around her desk like drones around a queen bee. Some of them were very attractive; some of them had rather lucrative jobs. But Carol very diplomatically brushed off each and every one, which was no small feat, since some of the men were very insistent. But if all Carol wanted was a man and some money, she could go back to working for Zina, who called several times to try to get Carol to take on an "assignment." But Carol gave Zina the same answer that she gave when refusing her fellow employees-she wasn't about to settle for anyone except the top man.
Among those in the office who were interested in Carol was her immediate superior-Floyd Bedell. Floyd was the office manager, a frail, mousy-looking man, no taller than Carol. He had sparse hair, hardly any chin and wore owlish, black-rimmed glasses-and a perpetually worried look. The interest and consideration that he showed Carol might have proven rather sticky-except for the fact that the "silver cord" with which he was attached to his mother was more in the form of a heavy, cast-iron link chain.
According to the other girls in the pen, this was the first time that Floyd took even a second look at any of the office girls. In fact, one of the gals, more outspoken than the others, took Carol aside one day and with a giggle told her that she had actually seen signs of life in the office manager's groin area when he stole a peek down Carol's decolletage. However, Floyd kept a discreet distance from Carol and, unlike the others, didn't even ask her to have lunch or dinner with him.
It wasn't until Carol's fifth week on the job, still successfully parrying all proposals, that the news circulated throughout the office that "the big boss" was coming back from Europe. Carol found it impossible to keep her heart from thumping with the thought of actually meeting him.
The first day he returned to the office, after his five weeks' stay in Europe, Carol made sure that she looked her loveliest. She arranged her hair in its most flattering style and wore the most attention-getting dress in her wardrobe-but one she made sure that wouldn't make her look cheap of too seductive.
From the moment that Carol first heard that Quincy Palmer was in the building, she kept hoping and praying that he would come to the Radio-TV department from his suite of offices. But Floyd told her that "QP" very seldom visited the Radio-TV department.
When it got to be about four o'clock, Carol's hopes began to abate. She guessed that Quincy Palmer wasn't going to see them after all. So she decided to button-hole one of the office boys, who spent considerable time in the immediate vicinity of her desk. She told him that she would give him five dollars if he would keep his eye peeled for the big boss and let her know when he was leaving for the day.
At 4:45, the boy called Carol on her extension and whispered, "He's on his way, Miss Francis."
Carol grabbed her handbag and told Floyd that she had a headache and that she would like to get home before the five-o'clock rush began, and that she would make up the time the following day.
She hurried into the corridor, figured out how long it would take Quincy Palmer to walk from his office, which Was located two floors above Carol's office, to the elevators and watched the lights above the bank of cars. One of the cars stopped at "QP's" floor. She pressed the DOWN button and whispered a tiny prayer. There was a pause, then the door to the elevator slid open.
Carol caught her breath and was sure that she was going to pass out. After all her waiting, all her chasing after him-there, except for the operator, he stood alone in the car. She met his eyes and fet a terrible weakness in her knees, as that self-same sensation that she had experienced that night when she first saw him in the bistro swept through her.
"Going down?" The operator's voice shook her back to her senses. Her heart hammering, she dropped her eyes and stepped into the car.
Quincy Palmer removed his hat and kept staring at her. She could feel his eyes on her but she didn't dare look up. The car stopped only once before reaching the ground floor. The door puffed open. Carol got out and took no more than half-a-dozen steps when a voice close behind her stopped her. "I beg your pardon...."
She turned and looked up and saw him standing there.
"It's a rather corny line, I know, but haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he asked.
She tried to quiet the upheaval going on insode her and managed to say, 'It's quite likely, Mr. Palmer, I work in your Radio-TV department."
She wanted so very much to stand there and go on talking to him, hoping that he might ask her to join him for a cocktail, or perhaps even have dinner with him. When he didn't, she simply turned and walked away, difficult as it may have been for her. One thing that she had learned for Zina-never try to take the reins away from a man you care for. Let him be the driver, the hunter. Besides, she had gained her objective, her purpose. She had let him know where he could find her, if he wanted to see her again.
* * *
The next day proved to be another of hoping and waiting. Every time that the door to the Radio-TV department opened, Carol's heart would begin pounding inside her ribcage, until she turned her head and saw that it wasn't him. If it had been him, she had made damn sure that he got an eyeful, because today for the first time, for his special benefit, she had worn a sexy-looking dress to the office. The micro-skirt was especially designed to show off her exquisitely shaped legs and the neckline cut just low enough to spike any man's interest and give proof that her luscious breasts were all her own.
Whether or not Quincy Palmer ever got a look at her charms in the outfit certainly caused a furor of excitement among the males on Carol's floor. She even saw Floyd Bedell wipe the perspiration off his black-rimmed glasses several times so that he could have himself a better look.
by the time three o'clock rolled around, Carol again felt all her hopes begin to sink, because it looked as if he were going to disappoint her once more and not visit her floor. Maybe she had overplayed her hand the day before? Maybe she had been just a little too over-confident, played it too cool? Maybe she should have taken advantage of the situation and not let him get away so easily. But it was too late to worry about that now.
Then at 3:30, word crackled through the department like forked lightning. "QP is here! QP just got off the elevator! He's on this floor, coming toward the Radio-TV department!"
The place suddenly became a beehive of activity. But it was nothing compared to the buzzing going on inside Carol's brain and tummy as she twisted in her Steelcase chair and saw him coming through the front door. Even more startling was the fact that he was heading straight for the low railing that enclosed the steno-pen. He halted directly alongside her desk.
Watching from his partitioned-off office, Floyd Bedell shivered from fear. He was deathly afraid of Quincy Palmer, because he knew that his job, his future, his whole life could be wiped out by the man's slightest whim. But Floyd knew that something must be wrong when, earlier in the afternoon, "QP" had sent down for one of the TV scripts that Carol had typed. Maybe "QP" had heard about, or even caught a glimpse of that "perfectly dreadful, all-revealing dress" that Carol was wearing and had come down to reprimand her. Maybe even fire her! But why would he be going through so much trouble? All he would have to do was call the personnel office and have her discharged-and certainly it didn't explain why he wanted to see one of the scripts that she had typed.
Fearfully, Floyd minced out of his office and slunk up behind the big boss, just as he saw "QP" hand the script to Carol and heard him ask, "Is this a sample of your typing, Miss Francis?"
"Yes, sir," Carol replied.
Floyd standing directly behind the big man now, swallowed nervously, and felt that it might be a reflection on him, if a girl's work didn't come up to "QP's" high standards. Bowing dutifully he squeaked out, "Miss Francis has only been with the agency a few weeks, sir. She was hired while you were in Europe, sir. If her typing isn't satisfactory-"
Quincy turned his head and looked down at the office manager with slight annoyance, "Who said it wasn't satisfactory? I think it's an excellent job. That's why I came down here to tell her so. I always like to let our employees know when I'm pleased with their work."
"Yes, sir," Floyd acquiesced, shivering violently. It was the very first time that he had ever known "QP" to personally praise anyone in the department. Could that mean that no one else's work had ever been satisfactory?
Meanwhile, Carol took advantage of the opportunity, to move her hair back and bring her knees out from under the cubby-hole desk so that Quincy Palmer could see her shapely legs encased in the sheerest of sheer black hose. At the same time she leaned forward just enough to afford him a glimpse of her milky-white breasts almost down to her areolas. It was done very subtly, so that "QP" would have no reason to believe that she had done it solely for his benefit, no more than he could begin to suspect that she had dressed this way for him-that it was all part of the tender trap.
But she didn't fool Floyd Bedell for one instant. After Quincy Palmer was gone, Floyd called her into his office and perspiring profusely, scolded her. "That was the most brazen, most unbusiness-like exhibition I've ever seen. Miss Francis."
Carol put on her most innocent face. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Bedell."
"Oh, yes you do!" he reprimanded. "Showing off your legs-letting him see-" He didn't say the word, he simply indicated her breasts with a bob of his head. "Don't be surprised if Mr. Palmer fires you."
Carol made no reply.
Shortly before five o'clock, Floyd emerged from his office and halted beside Carol's desk. He shifted uneasily for a moment, coughed and said, "I hope you have nothing planned for this evening, Miss Francis. I have some very important letters to get out. I'd like you to stay and work on them with me."
Carol agreed to stay. At six-thirty, when the office was cleared of everyone except Floyd and herself, he said to her, "I'm afraid we're going to have to work a lot later than I figured. So maybe we'd better knock off for an hour or so and have some dinner."
During the dinner Floyd said, "I've got a confession to make, Miss Francis," his speech just a little garbled. "I didn't really object to you giving the old boy a free show this afternoon. Probably gave him a rise-I know that it gave me one."
She pretended that she hadn't heard him and that she was unaware of his arm around her-until she felt his fingers start to slide down toward her breasts-and his free hand rest on her thigh and push up under her skirt. Then she tried to push him away. But he persisted.
"I got another confession to make," he went on. "I never went for any of the other girls in the department. But you-I've had my eye on you ever since you first came to work for the company. But I never thought I'd ever have the courage to even ask you out."
His left hand was almost down inside her neckline; his right dangerously close to the lace border of her abbreviated panties.
"Please, Mr. Bedell-stop it!"
He began to breathe heavily, pushing against her hands that were blocking his further progress. "You don't understand-a man in my position-I can do an awful lot for you. I can give you all the time off you want ... maybe get you a nice fat raise ... see that you don't have to work too hard."
"Please-take your hands away," Carol begged him.
"Look, I'm not asking much, I only want you to be nice to me," he said, passionately. "I even called my mother. I told her I might have to work all night. I figured maybe you and I could go to a motel ... maybe even to your place...."
"What about all those letters we have to get out?"
His hand eluded hers and brushed over her flimsy panties. "That was just an excuse. You knew that, it was an excuse. I guess I just didn't have the nerve to come right out and ask you to have dinner with me."
She felt his fingers worming their way up beneath the tight leg-opening of her panties. She clenched her legs together, tightly, then pushed him away, so that she could slide out of the booth and stand up.
He frowned disappointedly. "What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry," she said flatly. "But I'm afraid you just aren't my type."
His anger flared and his frown turned into a glare, his mouth ugly. "Okay-okay-but you're gonna be sorry ... and I really mean sorry!"
Carol made no reply. She simply turned on her spike heels and walked away and left him sitting there, stewing in his fury.
CHAPTER TEN
A night's sleep didn't cool Floyd Bedell's anger one bit. At about ten o'clock the next morning, without even bothering to see whether or not Carol was at her desk, he stormed to the head of the personnel department and said that he wanted the girl fired.
The woman in charge of hiring and firing for the agency looked up at him from behind her desk, ironically, and said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to take that up with Mr. Palmer personally."
Floyd broke out in a cold sweat. "Mr. Palmer?"
"That's right, Mr. Bedell," the woman explained. "Mr. Palmer asked for Miss Francis' personnel file late yesterday afternoon and first thing this morning he requested that she be transferred to his personal secretarial staff."
From that point on, things moved fast and furiously for Carol. So fast, in fact, that many of the details were lost and forgotten along the way. From being just one of several girls on Quincy Palmer's secretarial staff, Carol advanced rapidly, taking on more and more responsibilities, until his private secretary of more than twelve years resigned and he moved Carol up to take the woman's place. But none of these moves put Carol any closer to her goal. The possibility of her ever becoming the third Mrs. Quincy Palmer remained as remote as ever.
He made it perfectly clear to her, as he had to the rest of his personal staff, that he didn't mix business with his social activities. Regardless of what people might say or think, or how desirable he might find Carol, he kept their relationship on a strictly business and platonic basis. He let it be known, too, that he had a wife to whom he had been married for more than ten years and that though he might "play the field," he made sure that all these affairs were far removed from business and never included one of his staff. Which couldn't help but make Carol wonder whether once again she had played the wrong hand, whether the path that she had figured would lead her to the altar with him had boomeranged? Whether it mightn't have been better to try to meet him some other way and have a more intimate relationship with him? This was especially true when the hot winds blew and stirred the passions deep within her and her tormented body cried out for him. But fortunately, most of the time she was contended just to be near him, hear the sound of his voice, see the strange look deep in his eyes when she could catch him studying her.
All in all, Carol admitted that it was one of the happiest periods in her young life. While she mightn't have been making nearly as much money as she had with Zina, she was living respectably and advancing herself mentally and socially with each passing day-and she was near the man whom she wanted to be near more than anything else in the world, even if he did keep her at arm's length.
There was, however, one disturbing factor in this new life that Carol had carved out for herself. He was Roy Ferret, Quincy Palmer's stepson by his present wife. Roy was also first vice president of the firm and was looked upon as his stepfather's logical successor, if and when Quincy decided to step down.
From the very first time that she saw him, Carol instinctively disliked the man. She didn't know exactly why. Certainly he was good looking enough-at least most of the girls in the ad agency thought so and went far afield to make a play for him. Maybe it was his manner, the dirty way that he looked at her, or simply an unfavorable chemical reaction.
Of course, he treated her with respect, the same as he did the rest of the girls on his stepfather's personal staff. This was an unwritten law. These girls were untouchable-for Quincy as well as everyone else in the firm. Yet, Carol couldn't help but have the uneasy feeling that if, by chance, her relationship with his stepfather did develop into something more than a secretary-employer association, Roy Ferret would try to do something to sever it. What it would be, she had no idea. But she was sure that it would be something very unpleasant.
Carol had been working as Quincy's private secretary for more than four months, then he called her into his office one day in the middle of dictating a letter to her, he dropped a bombshell in her lap.
"I'm sailing for London in two weeks, Carol," he told her. "I could fly. But I'd like to just relax for a few days, so I'm going by ocean liner." He paused and looked at her intently. "I'd like you to go with me."
Carol's heart skipped many beats, then began thumping wildly. Quincy Palmer was asking her to go to London with him! It was an unprecedented happening in that company. Never had he ever taken a female employee with him, anywhere. She was the first!
However, she dared not attribute too much significance to it. Even after their first day at sea, he gave absolutely no indication that it would be anything but a very pleasant business trip without any amorous or sensual overtones.
Many times during the ocean voyage she remembered that very first time when she saw him in that Sunset Strip bistro; how she had felt just looking at him; how she had imagined that if he ever took her in his arms and kissed her, she would experience a climax.
One evening, after dinner and after a nightcap at the bar, he walked her to the door of her cabin, right next to his. With a romantic schoolgirl's sentiments, she wished that he would take her in his arms-if only to kiss her goodnight. Instead, he simply opened the door for her, bid her
"pleasant dreams" and left her standing there, disappointedly.
When she got inside her cabin and closed the door, she stripped off her gown and her bra and panties and stood in front of the full-length mirror. If anything, maturity had made her body even more beautiful. Her breasts were high and firm and even fuller than they had been before. Her stomach was flat, her waist almost nonexistent and her hips and thighs sensuously moulded. Zina had helped her attain this perfection and had told her that no man would ever be able to resist her. But the one man that she wanted in the whole world was resisting her and she wasn't entirely sure in her own mind how much longer she could nurse along her frustrations, how much longer it would be before she took the initiative and let him know how much she wanted him-even if it cost her job.
With an aching inside her body and her loins burning, she put on one of the filmy black nighties that she had taken expressly and hopefully for this voyage that she was making with him. She took one last look of longing at the door that separated her cabin from his. Then she put out the light and got into bed.
She lay there in the darkness, listening to the rhythmic throb of the powerful liner's engines. It seemed to match the tempo of the throbbing in her womb, in her entire body. She could see the image of him standing there in front of her, naked, beautiful and magnificent, staring down at her in that moment before he would take her.
Suddenly she felt her own hands begin to slide downward over her tummy. Oh, God, she cried out in her brain, what a terribly ironic thing it would be if, with him only a few feet away from her in his cabin, she would have to masturbate! Bu the pressure in her loins was too fierce, the urgency too intense and demanding that somehow she must find relief ... !
And then an incredible thing happened. There was a faint tapping on the door. At first, she was sure that it was just her imagination playing cruel tricks with her. But the tapping resounded again.
With her stomach fluttering and the blood pounding in her ears, Carol sprang off the bed and hurried to the door. "Is-is that you, Mr. Palmer?" she whispered, trying to quiet her jumpy nerves.
"Yes, Carol," he answered. "I hope I didn't wake you?"
It was difficult for her to answer him in her normal voice, she was so excited. "No ... I ... I haven't been able to sleep."
"Neither have I," he told her. "I was wondering if-well-if maybe you'd like to-to open the door-and perhaps talk for a little while?"
"Oh-I would very much!" she blurted out. "Just let me put on a wrap. I won't be a minute."
When she returned and opened the door she saw that he was wearing a navy blue satin bathrobe over striped silk pajamas. A white ascot and black patent-leather slippers completed his apparel.
Carol couldn't help but stare at him, not only because he looked so handsome with his hair slightly mussed, but also because it was the very first time that she had ever seen him in anything but business suits or formal dress.
He did considerably staring, too, and for good reason. Neither the nightie nor the negligee, combined, even began to offer her adequate covering. Through the diaphonous garments, he could lasciviously see her jutting breasts and her hard, pointed pink nipples, the shadow triangle of black hair that covered her throbbing crotch, and the pleasure-promising curves of her luscious young body.
If he came to talk, he never got around to it-at least, not for quite some time. Without conscious thought, doing only what her reflexes demanded, Carol took a step toward him. He seemed momentarily paralyzed as if his sense of what was right and wrong were in command of his limbs and body. But then his arms were around her and he was drawing her softness close to his body. She lifted her lips and he brought his mouth down to meet them.
The kiss lasted a long time, bringing her to the brink of the climax that she had so long anticipated would happen. But she didn't want it to happen so casually. Now that the seal had been broken, she wanted to go all the way with him. She wanted that wonderful, big stiffness that burning against her belly, through the thinness of her clothing, inside her.
He brushed the negligee and the strap of her nightie off her right shoulder and put his hot mouth to her naked flesh.
"I love you, Carol darling," he barely whispered, but to her ears the words came like the crescendo of a mighty symphony, complete with violins and harps and timpani. "I don't want you to think of it as cheap ... that I'm just on the make for you...."
Her heart sang right along with the violins as he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. The negligee had fallen open and his mouth, greedy and ravenous, were on her lightly covered, throbbing breasts. Carol clung to him joyously, giving herself up completely to his sucklings, moaning at the sensations that he was bringing her. Try as she did, she failed to hold back her first orgasm. The anxiety, the wanting and the maddening frustrations that she had suffered proved just too much for her and she felt her first climax catch on even before he deposited her on the bed, while he was still carrying her in his arms. True, it was only of the "skimming" variety, with the peak not nearly as high as a full-scale orgasm, but exquisitely gratifying, nonetheless.
Then she was on the bed and his hands were stripping her, and her fingernails were clawing at the bedsheets with impatience. "Oh, hurry, darling," she begged him breathlessly. "Ooohhh, hurry...."
But Quincy wanted to admire each and every delightfully exciting part of her fabulous body as it became bared, kissing her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, her nipples, her navel and then through the silky black forest that grew down between her thighs. But as he started to move his tongue down between them, she grasped his head in both hands and lifted him away. "Oh, God, no, darling," she panted. "I couldn't take it. Not now. I want you. I want to see you."
He drew himself erect and began to pull at his clothes.
Carol's senses whirled as she watched the lines of his strong body become bared. His pajamas bottom was the last to fall and she stared fixedly at his cock. It was huge and intriguing and exciting as it stood up arrogantly out from his flat belly. It was uncircumcised, and Carol felt a hot stab of ecstasy shoot up through her body as she saw the velvety-soft, vermilion glans peeking out wetly from beneath the gripping foreskin. She never knew why, but she had always preferred a man who wasn't circumcised.
He came to her on the bed, their bodies meeting and clinging tightly to each other, their mouths fusing and devouring with unashamed hunger.
She welcomed his kisses and the intimate contacts with his flesh. And then she felt him start to climb atop her and she spread her wet, tingling thighs wide apart so that he could get between them.
Her whole body was alive with a frenzied passion that threatened to eat her alive as she prepared herself for his glorious entry. She was driving herself out of her mind as she watched him position his cock. God-she was hot! Hotter than she had ever been before in her life.
Ooohhh, hurry, my lover ... hurry and put it in me!
She had all that she could do to lie still as she felt the heat of his desire-swollen cock brush lightly against the ultra-sensitive wet lips of her cuntal opening. Up and down the length of her labia the erection went, inching ever so slowly into her velvet-lined trap. Slowly, without him being too acutely aware of it, she lifted herself and sucked him subtly deeper and deeper between the spongy walls of her hotly palpitating cunt until she had devoured his entire blood-bloated length. It was like nothing else-absolutely nothing that she had ever experienced before. No man, out of all she had known, no matter how big or small they might have been, no matter how proficient they may have been in their love-making, had ever even begun to bring her the thrill that Quincy was bringing her now. The difference, of course, was that this was a great deal more than mere physical satisfaction, this was the real thing, this was love!
Carol had him lie still atop her for several long moments, his cock buried inside her so deep that she could feel the tip of it pressing against her womb, while she nibbled at his throbbing flesh with her inner cuntal lips. When he began to move against her, she humped right along with him, falling easily into his rhythm, speeding up when he wanted to, slowing down when he slowed down, until the flame of their passion ignited the tapestry in their minds and they both were suddenly out of control. Then her legs climbed instinctively, finding their way on the backs of his long legs, her hips pounding up at him as fiercely as he was pistoning his big pulsing cock in and out of her warmly wet cuntal channel.
She felt his cock swell inside her and gasped as the first jet of his searing hot sperm spurted into her belly. Then she wrapped her arms and legs around him and clung to him, milking him slowly, lovingly with the band of muscles that encircled the bulging, sensitive knob of his penis. Somewhere along the way, he tripped her mechanism and filled her with exquisite sensations as his bulging cock-head throbbed and rubbed back and forth over the sensitive pearl of her clitoris. Her orgasm was intense, violent, cataclysmic-sending her soaring out of reality....
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The London trip of Carol and Quincy was cut short by the news that his wife had taken a turn for the worse. Less than two weeks after they had hurried back to California, the illness that had kept her bed ridden for so many years finally took its toll.
Immediately following his wife's burial, Quincy returned to London-but this time he went alone.
Carol understood. But, at the same time, she couldn't help but be concerned. Nor could she close her ears to the gossip that traveled throughout the office. Now that he was free, would he want to marry again, after his first wife divorcing him and his second wife dying? And if he did remarry, would he choose someone in his own social sphere as his first two wives had been, and perhaps keep Carol as his mistress?
Quincy stayed in England for almost a month. Of course he wrote and cabled the office, but always it concerned business, never was there any hint of their continued romance. Then on the very night that he returned home, he and Carol dined alone together at one of the city's smartest and most exclusive restaurants. She knew that he had something very important on his mind, something that he wanted to say to her. Curious as she might have been, she knew that when the time came, he would tell her what it was.
After dinner, they returned to her apartment.
Carol had tried to make herself look as attractive for him as she could in a poetic gown of white satin with an empire bodice, little cap sleeves and a deeply-cut V-neckline. It created a charmingly innocent, yet, at the same time, startlingly seductive picture.
Quincy put his lips to the deep cleavage between her glorious breasts. With just the slightest dip of her left shoulder, the strap slipped down to expose her braless left breast almost in its entirety. The heated perfume of her body excited him further and with a nudge of his chin, he bared her left nipple, pink and wrinkled and hard.
Goose bumps sprouted from all over her trembling body as he put his mouth to the nub and ran his fiery tongue over its pebble-grained surface. A flame licked at her loins and she wanted him even more desperately than she did that first night aboard ship.
"I love you, Carol," he whispered quite simply, reaffirming what he had told her that night in the cabin. "That's why I went away by myself. I had to know, I had to prove to myself how much I really did love you. Carol, my darling, I want you to be my wife."
With both hands on his cheeks, she tilted his face upward and brought her fevered lips down to meet his, digging her tongue deep into his eager oral cavity. "You'll know how long, how much I've wanted to hear you say that," she whispered as ecstatic sensations danced along her spine. "Oh, darling, I want you ... want you so much!"
He started to get up and move her backwards toward the divan where he could grant her wish. But with her hands on his broad shoulders, she kept him there in place and told him, "Sit still, darling, please. You've made me feel as wonderful as any man could make a woman feel. Now I want to make you feel the same way."
With one quick yank, she opened the long zipper at the back of her gown. Then she leaned forward so that the gown slipped down to her waist, baring her bountiful breasts to his suckling mouth. Without interrupting him, she slipped off his dinner jacket, then unzipped his trousers. The next moment she could feel the delightful warmth of his swollen penis against the bare flesh of her thighs above the tops of her hose.
Whipping off her gown over her head, she straddled him, a bent knee at either side of his hips. Her vagina was wet and ready for him and he slid into her with ease as she slowly kept lowering herself to him until her damp pubic hand was entwined with his and she had swallowed up his entire throbbing length. Then, with that tiny band of muscles deep in her interior, that both Mr. Lecheur and Zina Allen had so painstakingly showed her how to manipulate to full advantage, Carol gave the man that she loved a mild sampling of what was in store for him when she became his wife.
Centering her attention on the ever-expanding tip of his huge cock, she brought him a succession of thrills with that ring of muscles that built to a new high in sensations for him-until the passion bottled up inside him exploded with a violence that threatened to shatter his nerve centers, sending the boiling liquid of his relief thundering into her own spasming interior.
As she continued to sit there straddling him, clinging to him tightly, Carol wished, as she had so many times in the past, that she could tell him all about herself-what she had been, what she had done. But she knew that now, more than at any time since she had known him, wasn't the appropriate time to bare her soul to him, even if she had bared everything else. This was all far too beautiful to spoil with any confession. But she was determined that she would tell him before they were married. However, it must be done at a more propitious moment and explained carefully, judiciously, in small doses at a time-else, like more than any other man, he just might not understand.
* * *
In deference to Quincy's late wife, it was decided that, even though they announced their plans to marry, they would wait a respectful time of six months before holding the ceremony.
Apparently, Roy Ferret, Quincy's stepson by his second wife, hadn't taken his stepfather's affair with Carol very seriously because he had stayed in the background all this while, according the girl his utmost respect, even during Quincy's brief stay in England. But with the announcement of their forthcoming marriage, he came crawling out from under his rock, with poisonous stingers bared.
As Carol had suspected all along, he wasn't the type to let anyone, especially a girl like her, step in and do him out of hog's share of his inheritance and maybe even threaten his ascent to the presidency of the firm. But in her wildest imaginings, she never suspected that he would go to the vicious extreme that he did.
He bided his time, carefully. He waited until his stepfather was away on a business trip, then invited Carol to have dinner with him, under the guise of congratulating her and welcoming her into the family. But they had barely downed their aperitifs, when Roy laid his cards face upon the table to show Carol how very carefully and precisely he had dealt himself a winning hand.
He had investigated her background with amazing thoroughness. He had compiled a dossier of facts and figures that dated all the way back to West Allis and her first sexual encounters with Mr. Lecheur, through her harrowing experience with Joe Papadosos, climaxing it with the two years that she had spent as one of Zina Allen's high-priced call girls. It was all there, in black and white-names, places, dates-so that it was impossible for her to even attempt to deny it.
He smiled contemptuously, while he told her about all this information on her that he had gathered together, concluding with the staggering proposition that was to ultimately bring her to his apartment. "I'm not an unreasonable man, Carol," he told her as he reached across the table and patted her hand, affectionately. "In fact, I think that if you'll just take the trouble to find out, you'll discover that I'm quite human, with all the frailties and desires of a man. Now, if I were to pass on this information I've acquired on you, to my beloved stepfather, I'm sure he would have second thoughts about your forthcoming marriage." He licked his lips and surveyed her luscious breasts. "However, I just might be persuaded to shelve all this damaging evidence, if you'd go out of your way a little and, shall we say, allow me to sample some of your favors that my stepfather seems to find so exciting."
Normally, Carol would have reached across the table and slapped his sneery face, and then left him. But everything she had aimed for, worked for, dreamed of, depended on her being "nice" to him. Whether or not he would keep his part of the bargain, Carol had no way of knowing. But for her there was no alternative, except to do exactly as he had suggested....
* * *
Now Carol's reminiscence of her past was over and she was there in his apartment, nude, except for her wispy black garter belt and full-fashioned, sheer-sheer black hose that made her a symphony in black-and-white with crimson-tipped breasts. She had finished her enforced masturbation and her climax had receded. But her cheeks still burned with humiliation, her insides seething with anger that he had made her commit such a vile, intimate, humiliating act in his presence. She was no longer seated in the easy chair, however. He had told her to get up and move to the divan.
Watching her autoeroticism seemed to have made his already enormous, thick-veined cock expand to even greater proportions, its bludgeon-like length glistening with the slippery secretion that ran down from the slit in its breathing head. There was no question that he was hot and eager to get into her cunt as he stepped alongside the divan and pushed her sprawling backwards until she was flat on her back. With both hands, he spread apart her legs and had another look at her unwilling pussy. It was open and sparkling with the dew left by her own finger exercises. He threw off his green robe and got down onto the sofa between her parted legs.
Carol guessed that he must have envisioned himself as some great, irresistible lover by the way that he slobbered over her tits, kissing and licking all the way down to her navel. Then he began wagging his cock over her belly and along the insides of her filmy thighs, coating her with his precoital cum. Then he teased along the raw, pink rim of her cuntal opening with the bulbous knob of his prick, and she felt the rubbery, purplish head of his rigid erection spread the soft fleshy lips of her cuntal mouth.
As much as she despised him, dreaded the thought of him taking her, she knew that it would be pointless to struggle, or argue against him. It would only prolong the misery. Better that she cooperate and let him fuck her and get it over with. But in spite of her intentions to hide her true feelings, she shuddered and muffled a sound of revulsion as she felt the bulbous tip of his hot prick slip deeper and deeper between her pussy lips. She managed to bring herself to look up at him and saw his face twisted into a grotesque mask of pleasure, triumph and lust.
He kept easing his thickness into her, spreading apart the clinging walls of her cunt, until his lust became too strong for him to hold back and he collapsed with his full weight upon her naked body, driving his massive prong all the way into her with sadistic enjoyment.
With a lewd smacking sound, his belly and his sperm-laden balls began slapping against her flesh as his passion-incited cock sloshed in and out of her flooded vagina. She didn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that she, too, was enjoying it.
With his blood-distended cock buried to the hilt inside her impaled cunt, he began fucking her. She held out against the sensations that he was awakening inside her as long as she could. But the demands of her body, the fierceness of her impending ejaculation proved to be too much. With a sudden impulse, she grabbed his hips in both hands and encouraged him to pump faster, harder. "Fuck it!" she shrilled in a sort of delirium. "You wanted it, you son-of-a-bitch! Now fuck it!"
Her clenched teeth showed white against her drawn-back lips. Her hips pushed and ground up at him, encouraging deeper and deeper thrusts of his skewing prick. Her whole body twitched and groveled beneath him and a low continuing moan of passionate pleasure came unwilling from her panting throat. She began scissoring her legs around his humping hips, doing lewd and lascivious things with her wildly burning cunt and tits and belly, as he continued to hammer his lust-glutted cock into her feverish, audible sucking vaginal slit.
His assault grew more vicious as she thrashed convulsively beneath him. He knew that she was about to orgasm and he wanted to cum with her. His lust-filled cock was really whopping her now, reaching relentlessly up into the ravished depths of her cunt.
Carol began a chant of passion, her face twisted in anguish and wanton ecstasy. Roy was grunting loudly, his cock making obscene noises as it battered its way in and out of her tightly grasping cuntal depths. Her breasts were heaving and her eyes were closed as she sucked in gobs of air ... and then she let out a wild scream. "OOOOHHH ... AAAHHHH ... I'M CUMMMMINNNNG!"
Her cunt suddenly opened like a greedy mouth as his battering cock swam in a flood of her hot juices. He banged ever harder. She was cumming-he wanted to cum, too!
Carol could feel the waves of her orgasm break over her like an angry surf. It was very strong, but not nearly as beautiful and strong as when she came with Quincy.
And then he was cumming! He began shooting his sperm into her. Thick globs of white hot semen splashed against the entrance to her womb, coated her ovaries as it sought out every nook and crevice inside her spasming guts.
It would have been merciful if when Roy had pulled out of her and lifted himself from between his legs, it had ended. But unfortunately, it was only the beginning of her ordeal, because Roy Ferret didn't even begin to understand the meaning of the word "mercy."
Carol turned her head just enough to watch him cross to a door that led into an adjoining room, his limp meat slapping against his naked thighs and leaving drips of his spent lust behind him on the carpet. When he got to the door, he opened it and mumbled something that Carol couldn't decipher. She tightened a little as she saw two men emerge from the next room and walk with Roy toward the couch.
"This is Bruce," Roy said to Carol by way of introduction, indicating to the taller of the two men, as they halted beside her. Then pointing to the shorter man, he added, "And this is Aram."
Carol paid little attention to their names or what they looked at. What concerned and alarmed her was that both men were as naked as Roy and both of them had huge cocks that curved up rigidly and menacingly from their masculine bellies.
"Bruce and Aram are my buddies," Roy said with a maniacal gleam in his close-set eyes. "I've been bragging to them what a terrific piece of ass you are. Now I want you to demonstrate."
"No!" Carol yelled as terror streaked through her brain. In a flash she was off the divan and heading toward the doorway that led into the hallway. Where she would go without a stitch of clothes on, she had no idea. It didn't matter anyway, because Bruce caught her arms before she had gone half-a-dozen steps. He maintained his hold on her and brought her back close against his sweaty, nude body; his huge stiff prick sandwiched perpendicularly between the cushions of her young ass.
With his friend holding her arms from behind, Aram came forward and cupped her voluptuous breasts. He lifted them, jounced them and then licked and suckled first one, then the other. Then gave her a thorough tongue bath, from her chin to her knees.
Carol looked at Roy, piteously, begging him to make them stop. After all, she had kept her part of the bargain. But he studiedly ignored her pleas and stood by watching with considerable amusement.
Finished with his tongue wash, Aram grabbed several pillows from the divan and made a bed of them on the floor. Then he lay down on them on his back, while Bruce made Carol straddle his friend's middle.
Carol felt Aram's short fat fingers reach between her parted thighs and spread the wet, pinkly inflamed flanges of her pussy lewdly apart. Then as he forced her to squat, Aram worked his fat cock up into her open cunt, until she was impaled on the unbending flesh. Unwanted sensations began coursing through her body, the same as they always had when she felt a strange cock inside her. On its own, her pelvis spasmed and the lips of her vagina palpitated, clasping and unclasping against the shaft of rigid meat that it sucked between her thighs.
And then she felt Bruce's heavy hand between her shoulder blades, shoving her forward and downward upon Aram, so that he could fit his large cock into her anus.
"Oh, no-oh, God, no!" she cried out in mild panic as Aram wrapped both his arms around her so that she couldn't get away, his mouth fastened on her tits. He gave a stab with his cock up into her belly that caused her buttocks to spasm back against Bruce's loins and her asscheeks to spread and make it easy for the taller man behind her, to spear his prick into her anus.
"Please! Please stop! Not this way! Not both of you at once! I can't take it-I can't!" Carol wailed as she tried to wiggle her buttocks and her cunt at the same time, hoping to free herself from them. But her squirming only made it that much more interesting and delicious for the two men.
Then, strangely, little by little, her twin holes began to adjust to the strangeness of both being plugged simultaneously and her body began to respond to the tremendous stimulation that they were bringing her. Weird sensations began to finger their way along her spine from her rectum to her brain and then down again through her belly to her vulva. The frenzy that she began to feel seemed contagious, spreading to the two men, and it was as if they were trying to give her a taste of unendurable thrills, to see just how much she could take.
Apparently, excited by this salacious spectacle, Roy insisted on getting into the act. Not until he grabbed a handful of her long black hair and cruelly jerked her head around to face him, did Carol realize that he had dropped to his knees close to her head. His cock had by now become hard again and now stood up stiff and straight in front of her face. With no other holes left, he ordered, "Suck it!"
Half-crazed with passion, scarcely aware of what was happening, Carol felt him rub the scalding wet head of his cock over her lips. He gave her hair another ungentle yank and she opened her mouth. The next instant he was pushing his cock into her mouth, making her feel as if it were one of three open wounds and that the three of them were stabbing her to death with their awesome weapons.
She felt the insistent flesh pound inside her mouth as it scraped over her teeth on its way into the depths of her protesting throat. The huge head of it felt enormous, making her gag. She was being used ruthlessly, thoughtlessly by these three lust-riddled beasts; used as she had never been used before.
"Let's hold back, let's see if we can all make it together," she heard Roy breath tensely as she began lavering the underside of his glans with her tongue, sucking hard to try to make him cum-and get it over with as quickly as possible.
Each of them did as he suggested, holding back, indefinitely prolong their ejaculations, maybe hoping to blow her mind in the process. How many skimming climaxes she experienced during the interim made no difference to them.
"Everybody count to twenty, real slowly," Roy barked. "Then we let go! Okay-start counting!"
Like a death-toll, the countdown started, because for all that Carol knew that was what might be for her. She didn't know whether it was humanly possible for her to take three discharges at the same time.
Everybody was more than ready when finally Roy reeled off, " ... twenty. Let it go!"
Carol choked and gagged as she felt Roy's load ricochet in her mouth and splatter down her throat. Aram came simultaneously in her vagina, triggering another orgasm for her. She guessed that Bruce must have climaxed at the same time in her anal canal. She never was sure, because, as she had guessed, the multiple eruption inside her proved too much for her frail body to endure-and she was swallowed up in merciful blackness....
Did this end her nightmare? Now, would Roy Ferret be done with her and let her go? If she thought so, it was wishful thinking. After it was all over and she came back to join the living, he told her that he would make no further claims on her, sexually. But as far as her ever becoming his stepmother, she may as well forget about it, because, as he showed her, one of the walls in his living room had a two-way mirror built into it and on the other side of the mirror was a movie camera that had recorded in vivid, living color and sound every detail of what had just taken place there in his living room. Every sexual act that she had performed with him and with his two friends was all there on film.
"And if you don't play it real smart and do a very sudden and lasting fadeout, I'll show the films to my stepfather and tell him all about your sordid background," Roy concluded. "As liberal-minded as the old boy likes to think he is, I don't believe he'd care to have himself a wife with such promiscuous talents."
It wasn't so much Quincy finding out about her past. After all, she had planned to tell him, herself. It was coming from someone else that she was sure that he wouldn't understand, or appreciate. It was her being so damned foolishly desperate as to believe someone like Roy Ferret and put herself in such a compromising position-and let him get every last sound and gesture down on film. Better that the film and her past stay buried and let Quincy think that she had changed her mind about wanting to marry him. She would even send him a note to that effect. She would rather have him believe that, than let him think that she had cheated on him and given herself to his stepson and his friends.
So, Carol packed what things she would need and checked out of the apartment. She could have her remaining things shipped to her later. Where she would go, she had no idea. But she couldn't stay there or go any place where Quincy could find her. After much deliberation, she finally decided to fly to New York, try to get a job there and lose herself in the crowd.
Everything went according to plan. She bought a one-way ticket to New York, checked her luggage and made herself comfortable in a seat next to the window. She was starting to fasten her seat belt when a shadow fell across her lap and a familiar voice asked, "Pardon me, but is this seat taken?"
Carol turned her head quickly and looked up. The air hissed out of her and her heart began to beat at a pace that she had never known it to beat before, as she saw Quincy Palmer standing there in front of her in the aisle. She couldn't even begin to form words to answer him, she was so taken aback.
"I guess it isn't taken," he said with a shrug and a straight face as he placed his one-suiter in the overhead rack and sat down beside her and began to fasten his seat belt. He waited until she had partly recovered from the shock of seeing him, then in all seriousness, he said, "I don't care particularly for these sudden flights, Miss Francis. I wish you had let me know, so I could have prepared for it, properly."
Carol knew that he was playing cat-and-mouse with her. She turned to face him as squarely as the seat belt would allow. She met his gaze waveringly, swallowed and with no small amount of effort, said, "There's-there's something I've got to tell you."
Almost as if he didn't hear her, he asked, "Have you ever seen three rolls of film go up in flame? It creates quite a conflagration."
She held her breath, "You-you mean-you saw the films Roy had?"
He shook his head. "No, I didn't see them. I couldn't seem to make my stepson understand that I simply can't stand watching home movies-especially when the plot concerns balckmail."
Carol held back a moment, then she reached over and squeezed his hand, appreciatively. "Thank you," she murmured emotionally. "But-but there's much more to it than just the film...."
"Oh, yes-there's a woman named Zina Allen," he interrupted. "And a man named Lecheur and a restaurant owner called Joe Papadosos."
"You-you know about them?" she asked in amazement.
"I knew about them long before I asked you to go to London with me, long before I asked you to be my wife," he replied.
Again she held her breath. "And...?"
A smile creased his ruggedly handsome face and he said, "They all went up in smoke along with those films."
She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She wanted to unfasten her seat belt and crawl over into his lap and hug and kiss and do all the other things that a woman might want to do to show her appreciation to the man that she loves. But instead she glanced out the window and asked, "How long will it take to get to New York, darling?"
"About three-and-a-half hours."
"Golly, three-and-a-half hours?" she echoed as, with an impish smile, she began running a finger upward along the sharp crease of his trousers, discreetly stopping just short of the wonderful big throbbing lump that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide with the tail of his jacket. How, she wondered longingly, was she ever going to hold out for three-and-a-half long hours?
by the strangest coincidence, he was having the self-same thought!
