Although most people have never heard of him, a man named Erving Goffman is undoubtedly one of the greatest sociologists living today, and some critics claim that he is one of the best and most important writers. Goffman is a fifty-year-old professor at the University of Pennsylvania. Ever since being born in Toronto and educated in Chicago, he has done his best to stay out of the public eye, but the eight books he has published set forth his views on life and society. Although they tend to be on the pedantic side, those books are rewarding to read, even though most of Goffman's views are gloomy, pessimistic, and sometimes even frightening.
Goffman's earliest work, published in 1955, was the forerunner of such books as Games People Play, which came along considerably later. Although, as indicated, his densely packed volumes have never been written on the popular level and have thus never become bestsellers, his ideas are usually far ahead of the thinking of others and he probes them much more deeply. In the beginning, he thoroughly investigated the whole idea of "face." We often speak of the Oriental philosophy of "saving face," but Goffman stated that this is something everybody in the world does all the time. It is not something confined to the Chinese, Japanese, etc., but an ingrained habit of Western civilization as well.
In Goffman's view, this process has become virtually a religion in which each participant tacitly agrees to "conduct himself so as to maintain both his own face and the faces of the other participants." This kind of ritualism obviously has its drawbacks. Goffman goes on: "Every religious ceremony contains the possibility of a black mass. ... When a person volunteers a statement or message, however trivial or commonplace, he commits himself and those he addresses, and in a sense places everyone in jeopardy. By saying something, he opens himself to the possibility that the recipients will affront him by not listening, or take offense at what he has said."
If we interpret this correctly, what Goffman is saying is that even the smallest details of day-today living are fraught with peril, at least psychological peril. Virtually any imaginable situation can become awkward or embarrassing, even if it falls far short of physical violence. And the possibility of physical violence is always there, lurking somewhere beneath the most placid surface.
In his newest book, Relations in Public, Goffman carries this thesis to its logical extreme. As an example, he discusses the student rebellion at Columbia University, New York City, in April, 1968. The rebellious students, among other things, ransacked the office of Dr. Grayson Kirk, president of the university. Dr. Kirk has been widely quoted as saying, upon seeing his ruined office for the first time: "My God, how could human beings do a thing like this?" To which Goffman replies: "The great sociological question is not how it could be that human beings could do a thing like this, but how it is that human beings do this sort of thing so rarely. How come persons in authority have been so overwhelmingly successful in conning those beneath them into keeping the hell out of their offices?"
The world Goffman sees and describes is a frightening one in which violence can erupt at any time-and probably by the rules of logic ought to erupt more often than it does. But it is our world. And in this world no one can be considered wrong or illogical to expect violence and to try to prepare for it.
In the novel you are about to read, ... Until They Scream by James Montague, violence does erupt in an office of quite a different sort from Dr. Grayson Kirk's. It is the office of Roberta Colby, young but highly successful president of Roberta Colby Cosmetics. Roberta's firm is a leader in a very competitive but profitable field. She has built up an impressive business practically single-handed, and her office is a swank and comfortable one on Madison Avenue. But it is far from immune to explosive trouble.
The story opens with Roberta's discovery that Earl Lord, one of her account men, is resorting to blackmail to obtain new business. But it is not so much the fact that he is doing it that disturbs Roberta, it is his method. It is a method that, strangely enough, works even more effectively on Roberta than it does on the intended victim. Suddenly, her "face" is lost, her defenses have disappeared, and she is totally vulnerable herself-the unwilling slave of a cruel, conniving man.
But that is only the beginning. Roberta Colby is not an inexperienced, naive girl. She finds a way to strike back at Earl Lord-or at least to escape from him. But what she escapes to is the real crux of this gripping, perceptive story. James Montague, as always, presents a cast of fully rounded, deeply human characters who are individuals like all of us. He sets them in exciting situations, but situations that any one of us might find himself in. And the lessons this novel contains, though they are never overt or overemphasized, are as important to us as those in any ponderous sociological tome. Read the book, and judge for yourself.
The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
Roberta Colby awoke and realized she had fallen asleep on her office couch. The swank Madison Avenue offices of Roberta Colby Cosmetics were dark, and the homeward-bound noises of the masses on the street below had died down to scarcely the honk of a taxi horn now and then. Roberta sat up and wondered how it could have happened. She had been going over the monthly sales report and ... she remembered moving out from behind her desk, settling more comfortably on the couch and then ... the rest was a blank. God! she thought, I must have slept for two or three hours! Everyone has gone home!
But everyone hadn't. Now she heard muffled voices coming from the outer offices. She listened at her office door, opened it an inch, and peeked out.
"Do you have the files with you?" Earl Lord, one of her account men, asked.
"Just what you asked for, it went off as smooth as a baby's ass," the heavy-set man with the beady eyes answered.
"Well? What the hell are you stalling for? Let's see them." Earl Lord's voice thundered through the stillness of the closed offices.
"You mean right here?" The other man asked. "Are you sure we're alone? These films are pretty hot stuff."
"I would expect them to be. I wouldn't have hired you to get the goods on just any old chain department store purchasing agent. Before I parted with my money, I knew for damned sure Paul Mauro was a cunt man with a rusty load in his poke. Yes, we're alone, now let's see what you've got."
Roberta Colby watched, wide-eyed, as the fat man set up his projector on the reception room desk, focusing it on a blank wall. She didn't make a sound and even tried not to breathe.
"You wanted evidence on Paul Mauro and that's what you've got," Fat Man said, fooling with wires, adjusting knobs, and breathing just a bit heavier. The meaty hand flicked a switch on the projection machine and a multi-colored square appeared on a far wall, directly in Roberta's line of vision.
The scene was obviously a motel room interior.
Shadows, like a dark tongue, licked at the young girl's white tits. A man's finger unclenched slowly and slid over the soft meat of her breasts.
The wet palms rubbed sweat on them, making them gleam.
"Who's the chick?" Roberta heard Earl Lord ask.
"One of the salesgirls from his Long Island store. They've been using the same motel room every Thursday night for six weeks now. It cost us fifty clams in payoff to the night clerk to rig the room."
"Uh-huh."
Roberta listened ... and watched.
The girl let her mouth open a little wider, softly and teasingly letting her tongue creep out. It moved a slow, trembly circle around her lips, wetting them. It did an upward-cupping dance suggestively. The male star of the private movie nodded, sweated. The camera caught the girl's hardened nipples as they rose to stiff points.
It was obvious that the girl had been prompted before to kiss her lover's cock. Paul Mauro's face was a mask of passion. This was not her first look at Paul Mauro's penis, and she fell to her knees and grasped for it. It throbbed long and hard in front of her face. At first she just licked over it and occasionally let it slip briefly into her mouth. With a white hand, she reached out and grasped the jerking spear, massaging the gorged head that was swollen and mottled with lust ... a heart-shaped plum, aimed straight at her mouth.
Roberta could see vividly the cock slither from the girl's encircling lips, pulsing warm and rigid against her mouth, jumping again as she slid her tongue out and over it, licking it as her clenched hand tried to hold the lurching shaft still and buried in the oven of her working mouth.
The girl's lips stretched to a strained O by the thickness of his penis, the head plunging down her throat, almost gagging her until she adjusted to the long, thrusting strokes as he fucked the clinging ring of her lips with his cock. She pulled on it and sucked on it hard, her tongue always working, making slurping sounds.
It seemed to Roberta that Paul Mauro (she recognized him; had been trying to land his account for a long time) was going to pump his straining cock into that mouth forever. But then the familiar face of the man disappeared between the young redhead's legs, his wet tongue lapping at her tender slit, his lips sucking hungrily at her soft folds, opening them to purse his lips around her clit. The girl gasped again, arching up as he sucked at her cunt, rooting greedily at it, eating her until the hot juices were dripping out of her, all too vivid on the screen.
Paul Mauro quickly climbed up the redhead's thrashing body and took her with one long stroke of his spearing prick, filling her with its hardness and wringing a series of twists of exquisite pleasure from her body. Then the girl crouched over his body, her hands supporting herself by resting on his chest. Paul reached between her thighs and positioned his cock, guiding it between the cunt lips that were as moist as her mouth.
Her stockinged thighs, outstretched to make her cunt as tight as possible, were pressing into the bare flesh of his legs. She rode herself on his flagpole cock, the big prick easily slipping into the wet pussy, the muscular rod moving tightly, firmly, up the clenching and unclenching hole. He stroked her nipples as her eyes stared boldly into his. She twisted her hips sharply, her face giving expression to the feel of the penetration in every inch of her belly.
She churned her bottom around and around to make his prick leap in her cunt. They fucked in a steadily faster rhythm. They filled the screen, fucking until the girl's body was bounding up and down on his, her tits jumping and shaking with passion, her stiff red nipples painfully tight and hard, her eyes gleaming with boiling desire.
Paul Mauro's hands groped around to the cheeks of her ass. He was sitting up and holding firmly to her buttocks as they wobbled this way and that. Although the film was soundless, the girl was obviously screaming with delight.
Something inside Roberta Colby was screaming too. Roberta Colby, at twenty-nine, was the perfect picture of a Manhattan career woman. Perfectly coiffured and groomed, she was a strikingly handsome brunette, with a lushly mature figure. But there had been almost no time for the use of that body in Roberta's carefully planned scheme of things. She had decided that her first million would be made before age thirty. Her one-time sexual experience had been back in her college days, and then she considered it to be only mildly pleasurable and highly overrated.
Watching, Roberta was at first horrified, then embarrassed and wanted to stop peeking out from behind the door of her darkened office. Then she became suddenly aware of her own quickened breathing, of her own nipples rising hard and aching against the confines of her bra. A strangely pleasant crawling sensation moved along her thighs, spread up over her belly and fanned out to her breasts, growing to an almost unbearable urgency and need that she'd never known before. She found herself scissoring her moist thighs together, and she wondered, What's happening to me? This is terrible! I should be disgusted with that monster Earl Lord for trying to get his sales by what is obviously a blackmail attempt. But instead I'm getting all excited, wet inside and out, and I don't understand what's happening to me!
Roberta felt herself making a little outcry, as though that wonderful, thick cock was moving inside her own belly. She tore her eyes from the screen, aware only of the terrible hot desire flooding her own body and the pearls of passion running wetly down her thighs, her own hips began to move with a strange, wanton rhythm. She heard some scurried movements in the outer office and the front door being closed, but she couldn't think of that now. All her demanding brain kept saying back to her was, You have to do something. Oh, somebody help!
Suddenly, from behind her, Earl Lord's voice said, "Roberta! What is it? Is anything wrong? You look...."
She turned, flustered and trembling, and saw him standing in the doorway of her office, with the look of a little boy caught in the cookie jar on his darkly good-looking face. "I heard you cry out as though you were being hurt. I thought you had left for home long ago."
Then he put his scattered thoughts together as he saw her flushed face, the darkness of her passionate eyes, the soft, helpless moistness of her sensuous lips. He had seen woman with that look of passionate need, that please fuck me NOW! expression, before. He recognized it instantly.
"I see. You were watching our little erotica movie, too, is that it? And it got you all uptight, eh, boss lady?" His voice indicated he knew he was once again on safe ground with his lady employer. He reached out and took hold of her hand; the first time he had ever touched her. "Why, you're trembling. All that bad? Here, let me comfort you."
The heat of his body penetrated through her dress and Roberta lost whatever little control she had left. She arched toward him willingly and little moans escaped her lips, although she tried to hold them back.
He moved just slightly and she could feel his hard prick throbbing against her tummy. All her sanity was lost; the picture of a dipping cock still galloping through her brain. Her hips ground against his. Her soft mouth opened under his and her velvet tongue came forward to meet his. He moved her back toward the couch, hearing her fierce breathing.
"Get naked," he said.
She shook her head once, twice, but then obeyed, tossing clothing wildly through the air and over her desk. The proud gourd-shaped breasts leaped forth as the bra was peeled away. They quivered gelatinously, the grape-like tips projecting invitingly. Two thumbs were moving her filmy panties, and she was naked before him, her marble flesh gleaming in the night light of the semi-dark office.
"Say it," Earl Lord demanded. "Say fuck me."
"Oh, God, Earl. Don't be cruel! Yes, fuck me! But hurry! Oh, what's wrong with me?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong, baby." He was getting undressed too. "Nobody serviced you in a long time. Too busy making money, isn't that it? Don't worry, I'll take care of all your problems, bitch." He looked into her eyes, as if they could tell him if he had gone too far. He hadn't. The eyes were still pleading. She sat down on the couch and lay back, flesh quivering, breath gasping. She clung to him with the embrace of a sinking lover, sinking ... sinking ... sinking into the swaying ocean of desire.
Roberta felt the fine shreds of panic enveloping her like cords. Her hand became a cup, moving down between their bodies, farther into the pocket of his groin, and the erection darted between her whirling fingers. She cried, crying like a bird, like a gull, like a sea creature, as he bent into her, the full weight of him. Her body against his, bared and moving in almost juvenile eagerness, a juvenile's desperation.
She hurled her arms tighter around him, drawing him into her, and her breasts were bouncing and jostling around the lines of his mouth, his mouth feeling her nipples erect. Earl Lord sucked easily at them, feeling from within that her first orgasm was beginning to attack her like hidden fingers inside her belly.
She felt herself rising, rising, now set for the explosion itself, poised on its rim, wanting to let go, yet hoping this would never end.
"No," she screamed. "Stay with me, stay with me!" And she opened like an Amazon, an uncoiled spring against him, and the fleshy connection went deeper, ever deeper, and like a mad dog his unleashed prick dove into her, closer and closer to the core. Her nipples were grazing his cheek now, his cheeks inflating as he inhaled her flesh, her inner cunt muscles energetically dragging him into her, seeming to milk at his backbone through the tube of his cock.
As they fucked deeper and deeper, he lifted her buttocks from the couch, bearing down on her with his cock. He lunged the hard, thick meat deeper and faster into Roberta's wet and wild well, sucking furiously on her titties. She maneuvered her body so that her feet touched the floor. Earl's body moved frantically on top of hers, his toes too just on the floor, his thighs locked together between hers. The slipping down of her feet forced his cock to penetrate her from a new angle. It was driven almost vertically into her gulping pussy, the thick stem twisting upwards, digging hard into her, pushing against the clit with every forward spring, and she had to grip the sides of the couch for support.
His prick in tighter than ever now, Earl felt himself on the verge of coming, the excitement surging his body, dipped snugly in the clinging mass of her creamy liquid. He rammed her back cheeks together as his gush of sperm shot into her, feeling her ass tense and contract between his fingers, taking it all in greedy spasms, writhing madly with the warmth of its delivery, deep into her belly.
Her hands moved to his buttocks now, demanding, urging, guiding. Her fingernails dug into the flesh and she abruptly let out a wailing cry of surprised delight. The furious, angry demand of her all but consumed him, leaving him a limp huddle of male flesh on top of her body.
Later he whispered against her ear, "God, woman, you're too much! We've wasted a lot of time, know that?"
Roberta didn't answer, swimming in her own lethargy, nerves gently asleep, a feeling she had never experienced before.
Then, splitting the silence of the quiet office, she said, "You sonofabitch! I saw what a rotten bastard you are tonight, with that filthy movie:-well, I won't have it! If that's the only way you can earn your commission around here you can get the hell out and...."
"Hey, cool it, boss lady. Things are different between us now."
"Nothing is different between us. This never happened ... and will never happen again: Better believe it. I'd fire you right now but...."
"But you're afraid I'd spout my mouth off tomorrow, right? About what an act the cold Roberta Colby is putting on, what a hot bitch she really is, once you get to the nitty gritty of her, right?"
Roberta said nothing, but he could feel her trembling.
She got up off the couch, walked to the bathroom, picking up pieces of her clothing as she went. At the door, she turned, holding the dress over her tummy, hiding the soaked mound of hair from his view. "I repeat, this never happened. And if you're smart, you'll leave it that way. Or you just might find yourself on the unemployment line tomorrow."
Then she disappeared, and Earl stood there naked, hearing the shower run. He shrugged, closed one eye in deep concentration, and then bit his lip in a slightly worried gesture. Then he quickly dressed and made his way out of the office, down in the elevator, and out into the refreshing night breeze on Madison Avenue.
At the corner, he stopped for the first edition of the next day's New York Daily News.
"Bitch," he mumbled. "I'll fix her!"
"Huh?" the raggedy old newspaper woman said, holding her hand out for the dime.
"Nothing, forget it," Earl Lord grunted, and headed for the subway entrance.
Hanging onto a strap on the IRT subway, Earl Lord could feel the juices drying around his crotch and on his inner thighs.
Back in the office, Roberta stared at the wall where the ugly movie had played just a half hour before. Now it was blank, just as if this all had never happened. Had it? Yes, it did happen. She'd have to live with that. More important, she would have to live with asking herself, what kind of woman am I? A pig? God, it could have been anyone!
Sure, Earl Lord was attractive-but that isn't what had turned her into an animal. It was the movie. And then she realized, but didn't say it aloud. In that one mad moment, she would have fucked a snake if Earl Lord or some other man wasn't handy!
She tried to tell herself that it wouldn't happen again. But with a pang of shame that stung throughout her body, she realized that it probably would! This thought, though unconnected, led Roberta to look out the office window, down onto the alley that separated the building from the hotel next door. She had heard some of the girls in the office giggling over some of the scenes they had witnessed through the windows of that hotel. Midafternoon things, usually executives stealing "a quickie" with their secretaries, etc. But now the rooms were dark, or in some cases, the shades were drawn. But what puzzled Roberta was; why had she been drawn to even look? Hadn't she seen enough ugliness this night?
CHAPTER TWO
"Hello, brat, is your father home?" Earl Lord asked, standing at the door to his neighbor's apartment.
"I told you never to call me brat again, Earl Lord!" The teenager standing inside the doorway of apartment 2E, down the hall from Earl's own three room suite, was for the most part a series of fleshy dips and ovals, all well composed to make up an almost-woman body. She was dressed for bed, and Earl let his eyes glide down over the fullness of her flanks and belly, and lower to the satin incline. He gazed lustily at her plumply rising breasts, and through the filmy material he could almost see, as she inhaled deeply, the splendid brownish-rosy nipples as they expanded and firmed. She stood there and sighed, and Earl wondered if the sigh was her way of telling him that she was remembering the night, just a week before, when his hot and nuzzling lips had traveled over those nipples. With a quickening pulse, he remembered that last explosive interlude in his apartment when he'd inveigled her in.
What a stampede of girl fucking that had been! She had come to his apartment barefoot, and after an hour of her teasing, was bare-assed on his bed. Whew! What a hot bunch of tight-cunted madness she had been!
"I gotta talk to your father, is he in or not?"
"He's in, but how come you got the gall to come knocking at my apartment looking for my father, not me! Some crust, I'd say!"
"Simple. You are a brat, and your father is a psychiatrist, and at the moment I need to talk to a shrink, not a baby bundle of...."
"Sh-h-h, he'll hear you. He's in the shower, I'll call him. Say ... what the hell you need a psychiatrist for? Goin' bananas, eh? Why don't I sneak over to your place after he goes to bed-I could help your problem, ya know."
"That isn't my problem, tonight, cupcake. I need some professional advice-about a friend of mine."
"That's what they all say. If you're going freaky, admit it."
"Will you just go tell your father I'd like a minute of his time?"
"Can I come over and watch television later?"
"Give me an hour to shower and such. I've had a helluva day."
"Hmmm. I'll soothe you down, don't worry. I'll get Daddy. See you later, right?"
"Right."
She turned and walked toward the back of the plush apartment, and Earl had to swallow hard at the sight of the plump twin mounds of her amazingly developed derriere swinging under the thin nightdress.
"Hello, Earl," her father, Dr. Morton, said a few minutes later, coming out of the bathroom, his face as shiny clean as his bald head. "Understand you have a problem. Want a drink?"
"No thanks. Tell you what it's about, Doc. We have this fella working in our office, writing copy ads and that sort of stuff, and he wanted me to look over a book he's writing in his spare time. It's about this woman that ... well, I just wanted your professional opinion on whether his plot is valid. It has to do with abnormal sex psychology. In a woman, I mean."
"Oh?" The doctor gave a quick, sardonic grin. "Would you say it's believable that an otherwise normal woman could get herself all worked up to a point of losing all control just by looking at some ... er ... erotic pictures? Or maybe go ape just by seeing somebody else in ... er ... the sex act?"
"Certainly. There is a certain degree of voyeurism in most women. In some the degree is much higher than in others. Usually it is the latent result of an unhealthy and long period of sexual lethargy, no intercourse or even sexual desires over a lengthy period. But then the shock of seeing something highly erotic triggers a bursting of the dam, you might say. On the other hand, it is true that women are not as readily stimulated by visual stimuli as men are. I would suspect that it would be pretty rare for a woman to 'go ape' as you put it, by simply viewing something of a sexual nature. By that I mean it would definitely have to be an aberration, in my judgment. Particularly if that was the only thing that could get her aroused. I have heard of such cases, but they are very rare."
"Oh, she's rare, all right!"
"Beg pardon?"
"Huh? Oh ... nothin', Doc. Thanks.
The Morton girl was at Earl's apartment door one hour later, right on schedule.
"You know, if your father finds out you're paying me these little visits after he goes to bed, I'm a cinch for a statutory charge, little girl." And besides, Earl thought, watching her fold her long legs over the edge of his chair, I'm in no shape for one of your teenage attack and destroy missions tonight, after what I've been through! His mind was full of schemes and plans, not lust.
But she stretched across the chair like a cat, and he couldn't help letting his eyes be drawn to that arrogant protuberance of the amazing behind.
She cupped his big sensual face in her hands and pulled his open mouth hard against her own, parting her lips to encourage his softly charging tongue to enter and seek hers. A rasping cry tore loose from her throat as her hot lacy tongue curled tenaciously about his, and Earl's lips went crushing more deeply to suck the flicking tongue, then slid lower to suck the girl-like tilt of her chin. He removed her nightie and hungrily pressed the naked, resilient warmth of her body against his own. They were both breathing heavily and starting to perspire in the sultry apartment.
Earl's eyes again glazed with lust, for the second time this night, as he leaned back to get another full and greedy look at this young girl's body in the shadows-the moonlight filtering through the blinds and shimmering against the willowy loveliness of her flesh, hips so tapered and creamy in the lunar glow. The teenager's hair hung loose and lustrous about her shoulders, and as Earl made out the poignant design of her cupid face reaching once more towards his, he noted happily that all her makeup had been scrubbed off for the night, leaving the exquisite sculpture of her lips free and ripe for devouring. Now he was again tasting that "sweet young thing" freshness he always found in her kisses.
Weird little cunt, he thought, she'd probably been bangin' around since she was eleven. The doctor's little pussy child, giving him that delicious, crawling dirty-old-man feeling, as if he was getting her long lost cherry again every time he shoved his meat into that burning tight little cunt of hers.
Earl was gasping and moaning with the feel of her hands on his prick, her fingertips so hot they almost hurt.
"Gobble my box, the way you did last time," she smiled devilishly. "It was so groovy!" She dropped smoothly to the thickly carpeted floor and spread her long, trim legs wide. Her pelvis was twisting sensually, and Earl could hear the sound of her heavy breathing. He got up from his chair and knelt between her open legs.
"Oh, foxy man, let me open my pussy for you."
When she used her fingers to spread the lips of her cunt, revealing the tender coral-colored inner flesh of it, Earl's mouth actually began to ache for it. He kissed the little dimpled hollow on her thigh, about an inch from her vagina. He deliberately let his hot breath play across her inner thigh. The girl's reaction was almost violent.
He put his mouth flush on her cunt and flipped her clit with his tongue, burying his face in that sweet-tasting baby-like hole, sucking it, nibbling her pink clitoris, driving her wild. Then she was up on her hands and knees, and he was licking her from behind, dragging his tongue from the rear portion of her clinging gash up into her bitter-tasting asshole.
He turned her around and laid her on her back. He mounted her shoulders, pinning them down, and moaned when he felt her soft lips suck onto the head of his cock. He shifted his weight forward and drove his prick deep into her mouth. While her lips and tongue flitted over the spongy head, she jacked him off with the fingers of one hand and teased his nuts with the other. Earl Lord pumped his second load of the evening into the girl's mouth. Then he fell off her and felt her legs wrap around his hips and work his soft prick back and forth over the drenched slit of her vagina until it started to harden again.
Her breath became hotter on his cheek and she began to jack the hardening cock with her pussy lips ... slowly ... and then faster and faster. He could feel his nuts throbbing painfully as she tried to milk him dry, her amazing ass pumping up into the air and he held on to it for dear life with both hands. She closed her eyes and bit into her full lower lip, a look of the most sensuous agony washing over her young face.
Each time she lifted high on his prick, bringing it to the point where it seemed it most certainly must slip out, the coral lips of her pussy seemed to cling to it as if fearful they would lose that wonderful meat meal; when she drove down, pussy swallowing his prick to its deepest point, those same lips seemed to fold inward, savoring the belly-stuffed feel of it.
Earl didn't wake up until four in the morning. "Corinne?" he called. He was curled up in a ball on the living room rug. His little neighbor nymph was gone.
The following day, Roberta Colby had a business luncheon engagement with Tony Marsh, who owned one of the largest chains of drug stores in the metropolitan area. For several months, Roberta had been negotiating to get an exclusive for her line of cosmetics with one of the executives of the firm. It would be an important deal to her, meaning many hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. She had just about given up on it, though, when she received a call first thing in the morning from Marsh himself, asking her to have lunch with him.
As soon as they sat down at his reserved table in the expensive and fashionable restaurant called The Golden Peacock, Tony got right down to business. Roberta had been pleasantly surprised to find him a handsome, charming man in his early thirties. He was a tall, rangy, broad-shouldered man. His crisply curling black hair was prematurely dappled with gray at the temples. His uneven features held rugged good looks and, when he grinned, his brown eyes crinkled at the corners and a dimple appeared in one cheek in a completely disarming, boyish way. Roberta found herself thinking, only a few minutes after she met him that here was the type of man she would eventually like to marry. But then they were busy talking business and she was happy to hear that except for a few details which needed to be ironed out, he was willing to give Roberta Colby Cosmetics the exclusive in all his stores.
They soon ironed out the details and shook hands in a firm agreement. Then made arrangements for their lawyers to get together to draw up the contracts the next day. The business details over with, they entered into pleasant chitchat. Roberta was pleased to note that Tony Marsh seemed quite taken with her. After a while, he said, "You know, Robert-I may call you by your first name, may I?"
"Of course, Tony," she said.
"Anyhow, Roberta," he went on, "what I was going to say is that until I met you, talked to you for a while, I still wasn't completely sold on this deal of letting you have an exclusive with our stores. But then when I did see you-" he shook his head and grinned that almost shy, boyish smile. "-well, it was all over then. You know you are a walking advertisement for your own products. You are probably the most beautiful woman I've ever met."
She felt herself blushing faintly and her heart beating a little faster. "Well, thank you, sir," she said. "Does Mrs. Marsh happen to use our product? I'd be interested in hearing what she thought of it."
He shook his head. "There isn't any Mrs. Marsh. I'm not married. To be frank with you, I've been so busy the last few years, building up this string of drug stores, I haven't had much time for courting, as my granddaddy would call it. This luncheon date, though, is beginning to make me see what I've been missing. Or maybe why I've waited." He sighed, glanced at his watch. "I actually hate to let you go back to work. Couldn't we both possibly play hookey for the rest of the day?"
Roberta laughed. She twisted uncomfortably in her seat. The strangest feeling was pervading her. She had never felt this way with a man before in her life. A special kind of warmth seemed to suffuse her whole body, when his eyes looked deeply into hers the way they were now, when he said nice things to her like that.
"I'm afraid not," she said. "I have so many things to do back at the office. I don't know how I'm going to cram them all in, as it is. What could we do all afternoon, for goodness sake, anyhow?"
"Well, for one thing, the horses are running at Belmont and I have a season box in the clubhouse. Do you like going to the races?"
"I've never been, but I'd love to go sometime."
He reached over and put his hand lightly on hers. Roberta felt something like a warm electric shock run up her arm just at the touch of his palm over the back of her hand. She found herself looking down at his fingers, so lean and strong yet sensitive-looking, the nails so clean and perfectly kept. She found herself wondering what it would be like to feel those hands intimately all over her body the way Earl Lord's had been the night before. A chill of delightful anticipation ran through her, almost making her shiver, and she felt the nipples of her breasts rise hard against the inside of her bra.
Quickly she drew her hand away as he said, "Well, then let's go."
She almost weakened under the magnetic effect of his eyes upon hers. She turned her gaze away, shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Tony. I'll have to take a rain check. Maybe, some Saturday ... My office is closed on Saturdays."
"Good," he said, quickly. "So is mine. How about next Saturday?"
She thought about it. She could remember no other engagements. She smiled and nodded affirmatively. "You'll have to be patient with me, though. I know nothing about horses or the races."
"That's fine. Then you should have beginner's luck and maybe some of it will rub off on me. Meanwhile, will you have a couple of drinks with me, after office hours tonight-just to seal our business agreement?"
She started to say no, then she thought, why not? What else will I do, go out and eat by myself and then go home and watch TV for an hour or so and then go to bed. Maybe it'll do me good to break the routine a little.
"All right, Tony," she found herself saying. "But only two drinks, though, agreed? I don't like to drink too much on an empty stomach."
"Your wish is my command, to coin a brilliant cliche," he told her smiling.
They talked for a few more minutes about inconsequentials and then he escorted her back to her building and they made a date to meet at The Shipshape Cocktail Lounge at five o'clock.
The rest of the day, Roberta was kept constantly busy, making arrangements with jobbers and others to increase the supply of her various cosmetic products so that they could take care of the immensely increased business that would accrue from the Marsh account.
About four o'clock, she called Earl Lord into her office to tell him to prepare a special promotion campaign built around the fact that Marsh would be handling their products, excusively. He was pleasant and business-like all during their talk, but as he was about to leave to go back to his own office, Earl said, "Did you have pleasant dreams last night, Roberta?"
She looked up from her work, saw the smirk on his thin, dark, shrewd-looking face. She drew herself up coldly. "I don't think I know what you mean," she said.
"You don't, huh? What do we have to do this time, peek out your window at the sexy scenes in the hotel rooms across the street?"
"No. Furthermore, I don't like your tone or your manner. I am employer, you know."
"Oh, I know, I know, Roberta," His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And I love it. Nobody could have a nicer boss. I certainly can't complain about the way I'm treated. I love it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, all last night. You know, Roberta, it's almost impossible for a man to have a taste of heaven and then not want more. So I want more. I think you do, too, really. Don't you? Now be honest with me."
Her face flamed, partly from embarrassment, partly from temper. Her eyes fixed on him, coldly now. "Let me put it this way," she told him, her voice dripping icicles. "I still don't know what you're talking about. I won't ever know. So if you insist on proceeding along this idiotic line of conversation, I'll have to assume that you're no longer mentally competent; in which case, you're hardly the man for the important job of Promotion Manager. I pay you $1,500 a month, don't I?" He nodded.
"That's a fair salary. I've heard of other men who would like your job and would take it for less money. Don't misunderstand me, Earl. I like your work. I've been very happy with your work. But I don't put up with strange personality quirks."
He was getting angry, too, now. He jabbed his forefinger against his chest. "My strange personality quirks? Lady, I don't go off my rocker when I see something out the office door. I don't cream ... I don't-"
"Shut up!" she screamed at him, cutting him off. She pointed to the door. "Get out! Get out!"
"All right, Miss Colby," Lord said, thin-ipped. "What you're saying is, that it was all a mistake, eh, and I'm to mark it off the books. I thought you were kidding about that last night, that you were just embarrassed. But you're serious, aren't you?"
"Very,"
He nodded thoughtfully. "I see. My mistake, Miss Colby. I-uh-I won't annoy you again. All right?"
She nodded, then picked up some papers from her desk and went back to work as Earl Lord walked out of the office. When he was gone, Roberta Colby looked up, stared at the closed door and a chill of apprehension came over her. She didn't like the way he had acted. She didn't like it at all. She had a feeling that the man had been lying at the end, that he wasn't really about to drop the issue. After a while, she forced her mind back to her work. Before she knew it, it was close to five o'clock and her date with Tony.
The rest of the evening more than made up for her unpleasant session with Earl Lord. After she met Tony, she had two drinks with him and they both found out that they had a lot in common. They were both born under the same sign of the zodiac; they liked the same foods, had similar political beliefs. They both hated Rock 'n' Roll and progressive jazz, loved Dixieland. They liked some foreign movies, thought others were overrated, usually the same ones. After the second drink, Roberta made a token gesture of having to leave. But she soon allowed Tony to talk her into having another.
"Look," he said. "You wouldn't want to spoil the nicest evening I've ever had, would you?" he begged. "Please. Just one more. We'll sip it, nurse it; we'll make it last all evening if you say so."
She sighed happily. She didn't really want to go. "All right, Tony. But if I get tipsy, don't get angry. I can't usually take more than two drinks on an empty stomach."
"Don't you worry, Roberta," he said. "I'll take care of you. We'll start right off by getting rid of the empty stomach hazard." He then ordered hors d'oeuvres from a passing waiter.
After that, she found that the third drink didn't bother her so much. She and Tony Marsh laughed and joked and it wasn't very difficult for him to talk her into having dinner with him. They went to an expensive French restaurant on Third Avenue and Roberta, who didn't read French, let Tony order for her. She was surprised and pleased at his fluent handling of the language and was delighted with the exotic delights he had ordered for her. She had never known food to taste so good.
After that rich meal, with the right wines served with every course, with two drinks of the harmless-looking, pleasant-tasting Green Chartreuse, which she didn't know, of course, was 100 proof, after a dessert designed for a gourmet, Roberta was practically putty in Tony's hands. It didn't take much persuasion on his part, to talk her into going to a musical with him. And from there to a nightclub in the Village.
Then the night was over and they were sitting in the front seat of his car, parked in front of the narrow, swankly exclusive East Side apartment building where Roberta Colby lived. Roberta was sitting close to Tony, on the front seat of his Lincoln Continental.
"I had a wonderful evening, Tony," she told him. "I can't remember when I've had such a good time.
Honestly." Everything was real dreamy.
"I'm glad," he said softly. "I was hoping you'd enjoy it. Then we could do it again, real soon. I guess I don't have to tell you, Roberta, that I'm crazy about you. I suppose that sounds like schoolboy stuff-you know, the love at first sight bit. Or maybe a line. Believe me, it's neither. I've never had anything happen to me like this. I've heard of it happening with other people and was always a little cynical about it. Always, before, a date with a beautiful woman never meant anything except a prelude to getting in the hay with her at the end of the evening. Let me set you straight right now; it hasn't been that way with you. Just being with you, watching your face as you 're enjoying yourself, just talking with you, being with you, has been enough."
"Thank you, Tony. That's a very pretty speech. I wish I could be sure you meant it."
"I guess it is hard to believe. But let me add-it isn't that I wouldn't like to go to bed with you; any man would, I'm sure. But if and when that ever happens with you, I don't want it to be any spur of the moment thing-for either of us."
"It won't, Tony," she whispered.
He was holding her and now, gently, he put hit other arm around her, pulled her into the hollow of his shoulder. Then he tipped her face up toward his. His hand cupped her chin, his sensitive finger trailing gently along her jawbone. His voice husky, barely audible, then he said, "I do love you Ro berta. Like I've never loved before."
She felt her own heart pounding like a crazy thing now, slamming against her ribs. The warmth that flowed through her was almost feverish. Yet it was a different kind of heat than she'd experienced the night before in Earl Lord's arms.
Then Tony's wide, strong mouth moved toward hers. His lips touched hers lightly, brushing and then fitted gently over them, pressed them tenderly.
Roberta had never experienced such a kiss before. It seemed to light deep fires within her, not the fires of a quick savage passion but something deeper, more lasting. She returned the even, tender pressure of his lips as his hand curled around her upper arm, squeezed and caressed it gently, then moved up to cup her shoulder, hunching it. From there his hand slid up to caress the sensitive side of her throat, to toy affectionately with the lobe of her ear.
She was breathing hard now, greatly stirred, strangely stirred. At the same time she found herself hoping, wishing for his hands, his caresses, to become more intimate. She felt the tips of her breasts stiffen achingly. Conversely, some other power inside of her was crying out, "No! No! Don't let him. You can't! It's not right; it's dirty; it's evil!" And she instinctively knew that if his hand did move to her breast, something within her, something uncontrollable, would force her to brush his hand away, to become frightened. She let out a long, slow sigh when he didn't proceed further, but gently removed his mouth from hers and let his hands move away from her. She relaxed somewhat.
"Good night, Roberta," he said. "May I call you tomorrow?"
"Mmmmmm-hmmmmm. And thanks again, Tony--for everything."
Swiftly she slid along the seat away from him and waited until he got out and ran around to her side and opened the door for her. He escorted her inside and then left.
Upstairs in her apartment, Roberta undressed and got into bed. For several minutes before she went to sleep, she puzzled at her own behavior, her strange reactions to Tony Marsh. What kind of a nut am I, she asked herself. I let myself go insane with passion with a nobody, a wolf like Earl Lord, for whom I have no genuine affection-then balk and sweat it out like a silly, frightened school girl at even the anticipation that a man like Tony Marsh might try to become intimate. Especially when I'm already terribly fond of him, feel more strongly toward him than I have with any other man I've ever known. I must be crazy.
On that thought, she fell into troubled sleep. It was disturbed several times by wild dreams. In one of them, she was in some kind of a barn-like place, with pile of hay all around and she was naked and tied to a pole, a strange-looking pole, smooth and polished, like a huge policeman's nightstick, except for a peculiar mushroom-like knob at the top of it. Around her, couples were sprawled on the straw-covered floor and they were all naked, too. All of them were copulating wildly, savagely, like rutting animals and Roberta could hear the grunting and panting of them, the agonizedly ecstatic cries of the women. She watched them entwining and surging, the muscular, bulky bodies of the men and the soft white-fleshed bodies of the women, all of them sheened with sweat. The strange part was that all the couples were the same; they were duplicated. She knew this even though she couldn't see their faces; the faces were sort of blank.
All the while, she strained to break free from the thongs that bound her to the smooth pole that pressed so solidly between her shoulders, down her back, between her buttocks, against the backs of her thighs. After a while, the more she struggled against the pole to free herself from it, the more excited she seemed to get, until finally there was a great sweet surge of relief. Suddenly she was in another scene. She was swimming, bathing in a great sea of sweetly scented, oily liquid, which laved and soothed her heated body, slowly, gently, marvelously cooling it.
She awakened then, trembling and bathed with perspiration and was somehow calmed so that the trembling gradually stopped and she went back to sleep.
In the morning, she remembered none of the dreams.
CHAPTER THREE
Earl Lord was a man of infinite patience. For a long time he had been dreaming of the big time, of real money. He knew that he had gone about as far as he could go on his own limited abilities and background. That wasn't far enough. Earl Lord wanted the big eight thousand dollar convertibles; the estate in Pound Ridge or some equally expensive status-type neighborhood; the winters in Miami or Nassau, the summers in Bar Harbor. He wanted the $500 a throw call girls; a box at the races, maybe even his own private plane with some flunky to fly it for him while he entertained some sky-happy broad in the cabin.
He wanted the kind of things that required a quarter of a million dollars a year. He had a hunch, basic intuition that this was in his reach if he could capitalize on his affair with Roberta Colby the other night. He did not yet take her seriously, her rebuff of this afternoon. He had to make a test under the right conditions, perhaps two or three, before he would accept failure.
His first step in that direction, was to line up the proper cast. It didn't take him long to get the female lead. Corinne gave him some resistance for a while; he'd expected that. But then he broke her down.
"You're crazy, Earl," she told him at first. "I like you a lot. I'd do almost anything for you, but that's asking too much."
"Why?" he demanded.
"With some strange guy I've never even met? What kind of a girl do you think I am?"
He didn't tell her. Instead, he said: "What difference does that make? I tell you, he's a big, husky, nice-looking guy. You'll like him. As a matter-of-fact, I'm even a little leery that I might even lose you to him. He's really something."
Corinne's interest was piqued a little. "Honest, Earl? You wouldn't kid me, would you? You sure it ain't some old creep? I can't stand doin' it with some wrinkled old man."
"Of course not. The guy's young, virile. It should be a ball. Anyhow, even if you don't like him too much, what's the difference? You can put on an act, can't you? How long will it take, an hour or so, that's all. I'm asking you to give up an hour of your time for me, as a big favor, as an important thing for me that might change my whole life, make me rich-make us both rich, even."
"Who is he, Earl?"
"I told you, I can't tell you that. All I can tell you is that the biggest business deal of my life depends on it. Believe me. Listen, if this goes through, you and me'll have it made. We'll take luxury ocean cruises on big ocean liners. I'll take you to Paris, Rome, the Orient. Wouldn't you like to be a rich guy's broad?"
"Of course, Earl." Then, with intuitive shrewdness, "But are you sure all that'll happen, you ain't just using me, Earl, and then, when I've done you this big favor, you'll give me the ditch?"
He waved his hand disgustedly. "Oh, for Christ's sake, if you think something like that about me, forget it, will you. The hell with it. I can get some other girl. I know lots of 'em would just jump at this chance. I'm trying to give you a break, that's all."
That did it. She flung her arms around Earl's neck and, whimpering a little bit, finally agreed.
Picking the right man was kind of a problem. But Earl Lord finally got an idea. He knew somebody he was fairly sure would do it just for kicks and that was good because it meant Earl wouldn't have to lay out any cash.
The man's name was Van Jagger. He was about thirty-five. When he was twenty-five, Van had inherited something like three million dollars. From that moment on Van Jagger dedicated his life to the pursuit of something he could never get enough of, before, as a poor man-the various degrees of pleasure and excitement that women could offer him. He traveled all around the world several times, sampling the various erotica and accompanying stimuli that had been passed down in Greenwich Village, where he bought a small apartment house. He took the top floor for himself, furnishing it sumptuously. The other eight apartments were occupied by young females of varying types and degrees of beauty, nationality, race, and sexual accomplishment. They lived there rent free and with an allowance in cash that enabled them to live as well, if not better than if they worked a daytime job. Most of them were aspiring actresses, dancers, singers, or artists, marking time until the world "discovered" them. Meanwhile, through Van Jagger's generosity, they could pursue their careers without having to give up time to making a living. In return, they were to make themselves available whenever Van Jagger's demands might arise.
Earl Lord had known Van Jagger for some time. He had done Van several favors, at different times, tipping him off to girls he might be interested in as potential "queens" for his "harem." He had a hunch Van would help him out.
They sat around Van's luxuriously appointed apartment discussing the situation over a few drinks. Van Jagger was a big, ruggedly good-looking young man, with a thick mane of yellow blond hair. His facial structure was such that it so far had held off pretty well the ravages of dissipation. He looked thirty, instead of thirty-five.
After he listened to Earl's proposition, he said: "Man, that is a wild request. What kind of a chick is this that gets her kicks that way?"
"You say it's one of the models you use in your cosmetic ads?"
"Yeah," Earl said. "And let's leave that part of it lay, huh, Van? Like I said, I can't tell you any more about her. You know, her coming from a wealthy family and all."
"Okay." Van grinned. "I know how those things are. And this Corinne chick, you sure she isn't a dog?"
"Uh-uh. I kid you not, Van. I think you'll enjoy her for a quickie. She's not so hot you'd want it for a regular diet, but I think you won't mind it for a one shot."
"And she'll go along with it for anything I might want to do, for extra kicks?"
"Sure. No problem there. I'll tell her to do anything you say. I already told you she's got a pretty strong masochistic streak."
"Okay, pal," Van finally agreed. "You let me know the time and the place and I'll go along for the ride. What do I have to lose? Besides, I owe you a favor."
"That's just what I was hoping you would say." Earl grinned contentedly. "And now, since I'm here, what have you got in the building now in the way of goodies that you might like to share with a fellow connoisseur of femininity?"
Van got up and poured himself another drink. "Hey, that's an idea. I'm kind of in the mood for a little party, anyhow. Say, you remember that little Hawaiian girl, Tiko, you saw me out with one night?"
"Yeah. A gorgeous little creature. A little doll."
"So, how would you like a little of that?"
"How come? You through with her?"
"Yeah. You know, I don't usually share the wealth, unless I am. I'm getting rid of her next week."
"I often wondered about that," Earl mused. "How do you shake these broads when you're through with them? I should think they'd be like leeches and would fight like hell about giving up the good deal they have here."
"There are ways. With Tiko, it was easy. She's a fine dancer. So I just got a friend of mine in San Francisco to give her a job at his nightclub at a hundred bucks a week more than she's getting here in New York, Incidentally, did you ever see a hula done the way it should be done, the way it used to be done?"
"How's that?"
"Well, with just the grass skirt."
"You mean, no bra, nothing under the skirt?"
"That's the way."
Earl Lord thought about it and began to rub his hands together in anticipation. "I never have. But there's always a first time, isn't there?"
Van Jagger laughed, went over to an intercom system that he had hooked up with the rest of the apartments. He tipped a cam and said, when a girlish voice answered: "Tiko, you busy?"
"Not really," she answered.
"I'd like you to come up here and entertain a friend of mine for a few minutes. Put on your grass skirt and do a native dance for him. You know-the real way."
There was no answer for a moment and then Tiko asked: "Who is he?"
"A very important friend of mine. He books acts into the biggest spots in Europe. I've been telling him about you. He can't use a hula dancer right now, but will be able to just about the time you finish up at the San Francisco engagement. I mean, I just want him to catch your act, doll. No hanky panky ... Unless, of course, it's all right with you-if you feel like it. We might even get a little party going later and you can stick around if you feel like it. Okay?"
"All right, Van," she said. "Give me about ten minutes."
"Sure. And just bust right in without knocking. We'll be expecting you."
Van then came back and sat down. "Wait'll you see this dance. It'll drive you crazy, Earl. At least, it used to, me. I don't get much charge out of it anymore," he said, a little regretfully.
Then he got up and went over to a long, complicated looking hi-fi outfit, snapped some switches and, in a few minutes, lilting island music began to flow from the twin speakers. They talked some more and then there was the sound of the front door opening and they both looked around expectantly, toward the doorway from the hall.
When Earl Lord saw Tiko, she almost took his breath away. She was tiny, not quite five feet tall but she was built in perfect proportion. Her jet black hair, waist long and shimmering and shiny as wet Java silk, was brought over the front of her shoulders so that its cascading softness partially concealed her otherwise bared breasts. As she moved toward them, her naked thighs flashed through the whispering skirt of grass. They were the long, strong, smoothly muscled thighs of a professional dancer, firm and hard, yet completely feminine.
Her face was an exotic, almost mysterious blend of all the Oriental types of beauty, with a dash of the Latin there, too. Her nose was short and straight and so small it was almost like a child's. Her eyes, slightly slanting, were enormous, seeming to fill her whole face. They were thicklashed and held a passionate, moody expression. Her mouth was like a lotus bud, moist and shining and richly red.
She paused in front of Van and Earl Lord stared, goggle-eyed, at one of the girl's breasts, peekabooing out between strands of her long, silken black hair. The plump and tawny globe of firm, ripe flesh was apple-sized and perfectly formed. The coffee-colored nippled aroused by the tickling strands of hair against it, rose from the center like a large, hard brown pebble.
Tiko's teeth were small and even and white as she smiled a greeting to Van's introduction of Earl. Then, she asked, with just a trace of delightful Polynesian accent: "You wish I should begin right away?"
"Might as well," Van said, smiling. "After seeing you, I'm sure Earl can hardly wait."
Earl hardly could. He sat enthralled, as Tiko moved to the center of the room and began to perform, her little hips moved as though on ball bearings; they rolled and ground and the flimsy grass skirt permitted constant tantalizing flashes of her brown, naked thighs-and occasionally when the gyrations of the dance became particularly wild, even allowed a flashing peek at the jewel of her womanhood. As her long hair slithered about her shoulders, her widely set, nubile breasts kept bobbing back and forth into view, jiggling gelatinously, the dark tips seeming to become more and more aroused and erectile.
After a while, she turned to give the men a back view. The flimsy grass skirt swished back and forth with the movement of her hips, the stamping of her tiny, bare feet. It did little to hide the deeply divided mounds of her pertly plump derriere.
When she wheeled around to face them again, the music pounded into an even wilder beat and now Tiko flung her long hair completely back off her shoulders, baring the tawny skinned, taut-fleshed bombs of her bouncing breasts. They jiggled and swayed as though they were made out of Jello.
The finale, a highly suggestive series of movements, involving belly, hips, thighs and hands, had sweat standing out on Earl's forehead and rolling down his ribs. As the music stopped, Tiko stood breathless for a moment, smiling at them, her breasts still wildly heaving from her heavy breathing. Then she whispered to Earl, her dark, slanting eyes flashing with the eagerness of a child for applause: "You like, Earl?"
"God, honey, I loved it, not liked it! You drove me right out of my mind. Come over here, you adorable creature!"
With a little giggle, Tiko ran over and eased herself down on his lap. She said: "Tiko like you. Tiko happy you liked her dance."
Earl just groaned and buried his face against the exotically scented smoothness of her long, sleek black hair. His hand sought and found the warm, smooth sphere of firmly resilient breasts, squeezing, cupping, the stiffened nipple digging teasingly into his palm and catching between his fingers. His other hand sampled the hot, silken sleekness of her naked thigh, under the rustling coarseness of the grass skirt.
She raised his head then and brought her slightly opened mouth down upon his. Her mouth tasted as sweet as thought it was filled with honey as his tongue instantly drove into it. They clutched and clung as Earl's hands sampled all the delights of the hills and dales and dells of her voluptuous little body. As he paused to get into a more comfortable position, with a little laugh, Tiko jumped from his lap.
"Hey, what's the idea?" Earl demanded.
Tiko shook her finger at him mischievously, her teeth flashing as she giggled girlishly. "Not yet, Earl, darling. You must be patient."
Van Jagger, watching this byplay, chuckled and said: "Simmer down for the moment, Earl. I know how you feel but the night's young yet. I've got some other entertainment coming up that you and Tiko can watch together. It should be very inspiring.
With that, he went to the intercom, talking to two other girls in the building and got them to come up. A few minutes later, they entered the apartment. Their appearance together was startling. One of the girls was a blonde, a little on the buxom side, her face and her figure amazingly close to making her a double for Raquel Welch. The other was a tall slender, regal-looking Negress. She was over six feet tall. Her waist was so infinitesimal a man could close both hands around it. But her hips had a feminine flair and her high, pointy breasts stabbed out the cloth of her dress in a delightful manner. Her skin was a sleek, shiny black and her face was exquisitely pretty, finely featured, the nose thin, acquiline, the mouth small and pouting. Her eyes, set off beautifully by her high cheekbones were a liquid brown. She was a strikingly lovely woman.
Van introduced both girls to Earl. The blonde was Vivian; the colored girl, Estelle. While they talked for a while, got acquainted, Van made them all drinks from his well-stocked bar and Tiko went into the kitchen to prepare some snacks to go with the drinks.
After one drink, Van called in another girl from the building. This one, when she appeared, was a tiny Chinese girl, named Mai. Earl was amazed to see that she was no bigger than a ten-year-old child. Under the silk Mandarin pajamas she wore there was no visible sign of development.
"My God!" Earl exclaimed to Van, when the girl had moved away. "Isn't that dangerous, robbing the cradle like that? How old is she-ten-eleven, at the most?"
Van laughed. "I've got news for you. She's nineteen but she did stop growing when she was ten. And, believe me when it comes to making a man happy, she's no child. She's my latest kick. She's completely different. I've never had anything like it."
The group sat around, listening to music, talking and drinking and enjoying the snacks Tiko had prepared. Tiko was now sitting on the arm of Earl's chair and he was running his hand up and down the tawny smoothness of her well-fleshed thigh, wondering how long he could stand it before he would have to pick her up and carry her off to a bedroom.
Then Estelle, the tall Negress, brought Tiko a fresh drink. After she'd handed it to the girl, she stood staring down at one of Tiko's exposed breasts. Finally she reached out and cupped it gently, rubbing her thumb across the distended nipple. "Ah, honey," she said in liquid Southern tones. "That's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen."
Then, quickly, she bent her head and briefly kissed the aroused little nubbin. She straightened hastily though, when Vivian, the blonde, called out: "Hey, Estelle, cut that out, before I come over there and snatch you bald!"
Estelle showed her perfect, ivory white teeth in a cat like grin. "Oh, don't be such a jealous chile, sweetie. You got nothing to worry 'bout. You know I couldn't live without those big beauties of yours. I was just testing for comparison."
Then she glanced around at the others. "Hey, y'all, I've got an idea. Little Tiko here is practically naked and we're all fully clothed. How about the rest of us evening things up a little? As a matter-of-fact, while we're at it, let's go all the way. Let's all of us have us a nudist party. Everybody game?"
There was some jocular discussion of the idea and then it was unanimously agreed. Everybody began to strip, right on the spot. Tiko, of course, who had only to remove her grass skirt, was the first. Looking at her, Earl marveled that she was even more beautiful, completely nude. Her hips were exquisitely rounded, cutting in sharply at the top to her small waist.
Estelle, the Negress, was the second to completely strip. Her black body was a thing of striking beauty. Her legs were long and delicately curved, her stomach flat her hips slightly flared. Her breasts were high set and pear-shaped, thrusting out slightly to each side and tapering to sharply pointed black tips. Her flesh all over was as smooth-looking as black velvet.
Vivian, when finally nude, was a voluptuous specimen. Her abnormally large breasts billowed up surprisingly, without any sag. The nipples were as large as Malaga grapes. Her skin was milky white. Mai, the little Chinese girl, was even more surprising when she divested herself of her Mandarin pajamas. She looked more than ever like a child, with her short, baby-plump arms and legs. The tiny dark ringlets of her womanhood seemed incongruous, as did the tiny, tiny buds of her breasts, small, though completely shaped, as they were, hardly more than plum-sized.
Immediately, Estelle and Vivian began to dance. Next, Van Jagger took the diminutive Mai in his arms, the top of her head hardly coming to his chest. Then Tiko came toward Earl and said, smiling: "Shall we join them?" Then she glanced down, gasping a little and saying: "That is, if we can get close enough together."
"Oh, we'll manage it somehow," Earl said excitedly.
"I'm sure we will," Tiko said, nestling in his arms.
The touch of his body against hers drove Earl wild. In a few minutes he gave up all pretense at dancing. He just stood there, thrilling to the sensation of Tiko's hard nipples against his chest, her warm belly against his, the caress of her thighs against his own. His hands smoothed the hollow of her back and then glided down to the cute pouting of her firm little buttocks. He gripped them, sampling their resilience.
Meanwhile, they were both watching Vivian and Estelle, their black and white bodies in such violent contrast. Both women were rubbing against each other as they danced. Estelle's dark pointed breasts were digging into the big blooming white pillows of Vivian's flesh. Every once in a while, their mutually stiffened nipples would brush against each other. Finally, they stopped dancing and, with little moans, frankly embraced each other. Their mouths moved together and clung, twisting, opened, their tongues dueling.
A few minutes later, they collapsed onto a pile of silken pillows on the floor and began to make violent love to each other. Van and Mai and Earl and Tiko now, had stopped dancing and both couples were watching the two women on the pillows, while their hands moved caressingly about each other's genitalia and erogenous zones.
When Estelle and Vivian were finally ecstatically entwined, Earl could wait no longer. He led Tiko to a waiting divan and she lay upon it, reaching her arms to him. She was equally ready and received him willingly, while they both kept their eyes on the other lovers-the ones on the pillows and Van Jagger sitting on a chair with the tiny Mai astride him. It was a session Earl Lord would never forget.
After it was over, they all ate and drank some more until all of them were quite tipsy and it seemed perfectly in order to change partners. This time, Earl wound up with the miniature Oriental maiden, Mai, while Van sampled the abundant charms of Vivian. Tiko and the statuesque, dark Estelle rendered their own private version of the Passion Song. And Van had been right about Mai; she certainly wasn't any child when it came to lovemaking. She astounded Earl with a variety of sensual tricks.
She reached up for him and held him childishly tight and she began to breathe heavily. Her little hands clasped his neck and pulled his face down against her so that their cheeks caressed, as the other end of her tiny body pressed and bumped against him, rubbing the little mini-ass up and down against his cock. He buried his lips in her neck and moved his hand quiveringly down the smooth, flawless flesh of her upper back.
She moaned softly as she moved her bottom all over his thick, warm shaft as it jerked upwards. Earl let his hands wander downward until he could feel the intimate crease of her little pussy, and he slowly began to finger the pubic mound, searching for the tiny hair-lined slit and protective lips. He found the hard little clitty which he massaged gently while Mai reached around him and, with one finger, was tucking a long silky-soft ribbon in his rectum, inch by inch.
Her other hand caressed his throbbing cock, moving it along and back between her buttocks, dabbing it a second, then letting it go. Doing what she called a "Chinese fuck dance" on his lap, with his prick bending within her, she continued tucking the ribbon into his rectum with a determined finger. She tucked it, pressed it inch by inch into him. She seemed determined to bury the full length of the thin material. With barely an inch remaining and Earl going mad, she whispered, "Now ... just tell me when you're coming. Chinese ballet is beautiful."
Earl was hiccuping delicious moans and fucking madly up and into her. The tight cunt held him like a vise. He could hold it no longer, panting, "Now ... oh, now!" Earl flowed into the tight little shell of her and the ribbon was whipped out at the precise moment, sending stars shooting through his head. The ribbon was gone, his load was gone and the riot-like moment was over and in the silence he could feel Mai's tight little-girl body convulsing as she joined him in the melting moment, her teeth clenched and her body quivering every last dream out of it. Her little plum breasts went soft on his chest. They lay very still in that position for a few minutes and then, with his lips against hers, Earl whispered, "Happy Chinese New Year, sweet thing!"
By the time Earl staggered out of the building that night, his legs could barely carry the weight of his body. He had been sucked off once by the blonde, he screwed the Negress a galloping session in the ass, and while everyone watched and clapped their hands, he ate Mai's juiced little box until she screamed.
CHAPTER FOUR
During the next week, Roberta Colby saw a lot of Tony Marsh. They had lunch together nearly every day. They'd meet again after office hours for drinks, dinner, and a night on the town. The first several dates ended the same way, with Tony letting her out at her apartment, after a tender, almost solemn good-night kiss. Each time, though, Roberta could tell it was getting more and more difficult for him to stop with that. She wondered how much longer it would be before he would become more demanding. She had mixed emotions about that. Part of her wanted it to happen, couldn't wait. Another part of of her mind dreaded it, was sure that she couldn't allow him to touch her intimately.
All this time, Roberta found herself actually falling in love with the man. She was sure of it, after their fourth or fifth date. No man had ever held her interest so long before. She usually found them infantile and boring after one or two dates. But each time after she went out with Tony, she found herself eagerly looking forward to the next time. She found herself resenting the time she had to be away from him, at her business.
She even found herself thinking about marriage for the first time. Although she still wasn't worth a million dollars in liquid assets-the goal she'd set for herself, what did it matter now? Tony, himself, was a millionarie. As his wife, she would share half of his fortune. Then, too, she could sell her business for at least that much and thus acquire her goal. She could set that money aside, to remain independent financially, just in case things didn't work out. As for Tony, her woman's intuition told her that he was already hooked, would be more than willing to marry her as soon as she gave the word.
Friday night, when Tony Marsh brought her home, Roberta felt a hot current of physical need flow through her when he kissed her good-night, such as she'd never known before. Tony must have noticed it, too. He didn't seem surprised when she invited him upstairs to her apartment for a nightcap.
They sat side by side on her sofa, sipping B&B's and talking casually. As they finished their drinks, as though by mutual consent, they both set their glasses down at the same time and turned toward each other. Gently, Tony took her into his arms. Roberta let herself flow against him, thrilling to the sensation of her breasts being mashed against his strong chest. Their lips met, gently at first, twisting, seeking and then, with a shock of pleasure, Roberta felt Tony's tongue force itself between her lips. Her own leapt to meet it and now their mouths clung together, deeply, demandingly, their tongues feverishly lashing at each other, until both were gasping for breath.
All the time, Tony's big gentle hands were stroking, caressing the hollow of Roberta's spine, moving at the nape of her neck. As their passionate soul kissing grew in intensity, Roberta felt Tony's hand slide up her ribs and under her breast. She felt it close around the full blown fleshiness of it, fondling and feeling through the cloth of her dress and her bra. The sensation caused a wanton flood of excitement to flow through her. At the same time, she felt his other hand slide up under the hem of her dress, onto the smooth, warm inside of her thigh. It stroked and caressed there, moving ever higher, and then suddenly it touched her intimately through the frail thin silk of her panties.
Instantly passion fled from Roberta and she felt a strong surge of revulsion. She gasped and twisted away, reaching down to roughly push Tony's hand from under her skirt. She edged away from him on the couch.
He was instantly beside himself with remorse. "I-I'm sorry, Roberta. Honestly, I am. I just thought-well, you know-that you wanted me to do that. I should have known better. I shouldn't have tried to rush things."
She wanted to tell him that she had wanted him to-until it had happened. That he hadn't been rushing things, that she'd been just as anxious for further loving as he had been to give it. That was one minute, though. The next, she couldn't stand for him to touch her there. But she found it impossible to say any of that. She didn't know how to explain it. She thought it would sound ridiculous, as though she was a nut of some kind. So, all she said, was: "It's all right, Tony. I-I'm not angry. I guess-it's-well-as you said. You'll-just have to give me a little more time. I'm not really a prude, you know-or-or cold-natured. It's just that-"
"Honey," he butted in. "You don't have to explain to me. Listen, in a way, I'm glad you're like that. Believe me, there aren't many that are. And I guess I'm just old-fashioned enough to find such standards still desirable in a woman."
"Thanks, Tony," she said gratefully. "Just don't misunderstand, darling. It isn't because I don't like you, don't find you attractive. I do-terribly. In fact, sometimes I think maybe I even...." Her voice tapered off. She couldn't bring herself to finish.
"Say it," he begged. "You were going to say that you loved me, weren't you?"
She nodded and then flung herself into his embrace. He held her gently again. He whispered: "And I love you, too, Roberta. So much that I want to marry you. You will marry me, won't you?"
With that, Roberta Colby suddenly burst into tears. Her whole body was wracked with her sobbing. Tony held her tightly, murmuring: "There, there, honey! Let it all out. It'll do you good. But I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry I rushed things so, threw evelything at you all at once. It was only because I guess I'm so impatient, have been since the first moment I set eyes on you."
Roberta didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She sobbed for a few more minutes and then Tony dried her eyes with his handkerchief and in a few more minutes left.
After he had gone, Roberta tried to figure out what had gone wrong, what it was all about. It just didn't make sense. Here was a man with whom she was madly in love-a man whom she wanted to have her body-and she wanted to have his ... yet when the time came, she couldn't go through with it. Why couldn't she stand for him to touch her intimately? Why was it all right as long as they just necked or lightly petted like school kids but then when it began to go past that point it was just as suddenly all wrong? Roberta puzzled about the thing and got nowhere for several hours before she finally fell asleep.
The next day, Saturday, she and Tony Marsh went to the races at Belmont. They had drinks and dinner at a swank roadhouse out on Long Island afterward. That night, once again, Tony dropped her off at her apartment house after a tender goodnight kiss or two. He made no attempt to touch her intimately and Roberta was both relieved and disturbed by this. But she admired Tony for his restraint and for deciding that he had better let her hold the reins on their passion.
On Monday, she and Tony had lunch together but they made no date for that night. Roberta planned to work late at the office, going over the material that had been laid out for the promotion campaign connected with Tony's drug stores.
At five o'clock, the offices of Roberta Colby Cosmetics, began to empty out. By five-thirty, everybody was gone. Before she settled down to work, Roberta went into Earl Lord's office to make sure he wasn't hanging around. Even though he'd been polite and respectful and business-like, ever since she'd had that showdown with him, Roberta still didn't trust him completely. Several times she had caught him looking at her body, at the jut of her breasts and backside and there was an expression in his eyes like that of a lusting bull's around a cow in heat. It almost made her shudder.
Back in her own office, Roberta caught herself staring toward the window to look out at the hotel across the street. Several times she fought against it but then finally had to give in to it. She stood there, looking over at the hotel but there was nothing to see. Despite herself, she felt a little disappointment. She also caught herself thinking about the scene she had witnessed between the two on the screen and became excited just thinking about it. She told herself she was acting like a fool and turned back to her desk and buried her thoughts in her work.
An hour and a half later, Roberta had a sandwich and coffee at her desk, then took a break while she smoked a cigarette. It was now quite dark. As Roberta sat smoking, she wheeled her chair around so that she was facing the window. Her curiosity got the better of her and she got up to stand by the window, looking out.
She saw that several lights were on in windows of the hotel across the way now. But in only one of them were the occupants visible. In this one a man and a woman were sitting on a bed, smoking and talking. Roberta found her interest quickening as she saw that the man was wearing only shorts. He was a big man, with a heavy shock of wavy golden hair. The girl with him was kind of cute. She, too, was blonde. She was wearing a bra and brief panties. She was kind of a cute-looking girl in a baby-doll-faced sort of way. At the moment, the pair were doing nothing but apparently carrying on a conversation with each other.
Yet why were they undressed that way, Roberta wondered. She felt a pang of regret at the idea that maybe she'd looked out too late, that maybe they had been doing it and now were all through. Then she saw the man get up and go over and stamp his cigarette out in a tray on the dresser. Then he hooked a finger into the waistband of his shorts and forced them down over his hips and off. He stepped out of them naked and seeing him like that, Roberta Colby felt something like a flash of tingling fire run up her thighs and into her loins. She felt her breasts begin to throb and ache, especially when the man walked over and stood in front of the girl who was sitting on the bed and she pretended to be shocked and held her hand over her eyes, until he took it away and guided it toward himself. Her caressing then had an almost instant effect, which was obvious to Roberta, even this distance away. While the girl thus busied herself, the big blond man reached back over her shoulders and unhooked her bra. When it fell away, his hands instantly moved to her small shapely breasts, began to fondle them, teasing and toying with the elongated nipples.
Oh, look at them, look at them! Roberta thought. "Oh, if only they don't pull down the shade," she said, half aloud. Then, afraid that if they should happen to glance up here and see her, they might do that, she wheeled and raced to the wall switch, cut off the light in her office. Back at the window, she stood in the dark, watching.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Earl Lord found out that afternoon that Roberta was planning to work late at the office at night, he had to make plans fast. He got hold of Corinne right away but had a little trouble at first contacting Van Jagger. But he finally reached him. Next he had to go to that hotel across the street and make his arrangements there.
That wasn't too much of a problem. A five dollar bill to the room clerk got him the two rooms he wanted, next to each other on the right floor, on the right side of the building. One, of course, was for Van and Corinne. The other was for himself. He had to make sure that the show they were going to stage went on at just the right time. So he made arrangements with Van for a signal when Van was to start the action. He was to begin making love to Corinne when Earl pounded on the wall between the two rooms three times.
It started to get dark about eight o'clock. Standing out of sight behind the curtains in his room, Earl watched the window of Roberta's private office across the street. He wondered how long it would be before she came over and looked out the window-or if she ever would. Yet, he was almost sure she would have to, out of curiosity alone, if nothing else. He had made a point of mentioning the sexy scenes in the hotel rooms across the street every day lately, around the office. But as a half hour went by and she didn't show up, he began to wonder. Then a few minutes later, there she was. Earl Lord's heart began to pound. He waited a few minutes to be sure that she stayed at the window. He was just about to leave then when he saw her quickly turn away and Earl cursed. Something had gone wrong. Either she hadn't been looking in the right window or else Van had goofed it up, somehow.
Then he saw the light in Roberta's office go out. He sighed. That figured. She was all alone over there and she wouldn't want Van and Corinne to see her staring out the window at them. So she'd turned off the light. He couldn't see her but she was pretty sure that she was back at that window again, looking across at the hotel.
Earl left the room, took the elevator down to the lobby and left the hotel. He crossed the street-not too concerned about Roberta seeing him; she would hardly be looking down at the street, not with what was going on in the hotel room. He entered the office building and took the night elevator up to their floor. He used his own key to enter the outer office as silently as he could. Then he tiptoed to the doorway of Roberta's private office, stood there, looking in. He could see her figure, out-lined against the flashing of a neon glow from outside.
He could hear her breathing., She sounded as though she had been running for a mile. God, he thought, but Van and Corinne must be putting on a good show for her.
Roberta groaned out aloud and suddenly sucked in a ragged, noisy breath through her teeth. "Oh!" she cried out, "Oh, look at them! Oh, come on, that's right. Let him! Oh, good! Oh, my God, look at that."
Earl Lord stood there listening, excitement rising in him like flood water backing up behind a dam. He began to tingle arid throb with the heat building in him. He forced himself to wait a little longer. He didn't want to make a move too soon. Then he heard Roberta whisper hoarsely into the dark: "Oh, why don't I have somebody? I can hardly stand it. Oh, if only somebody was here. Why didn't Earl stay, like last time? Oh, heaven help me, where's Earl?"
He moved toward her then. "Here I am, baby," he said softly. "Don't tell me those orgiasts are at it again. You're in luck, .Roberta, that I stopped by to pick up some papers."
"Oh, Earl, is it really you?" she asked excitedly. Then he was close enough to see that it was.
"Oh, come here," she ordered breathlessly. "It isn't a movie screen this time; it's even better. It's a man and a woman. Look!"
Standing beside her at the window, Earl looked down and saw Van and Corinne. Just then they rolled over into a new position and now Corinne was taking the masculine role. Earl watched the rotating movement of Corinne's fine hips and out-thrust buttocks. "Like, wow!" he said.
He slid his arm around Roberta's waist and cupped one of her brassiered breasts briefly, as she whispered: "You should have been here earlier. You-you should have seen what she was doing to him before, before they did this! Oh, I've never seen anything like it. And she seemed to enjoy it so!"
Earl was hastily unzipping the back of Roberta's dress, forcing it down off her shoulders and over her hips. He unhooked her bra, feeling the feverish heat of her back against his fingers. The bra fell free and dropped to the floor and he reached around and his hands filled to overflowing with the great round bombs of Roberta's maturely voluptuous breasts. The hard peaks bored against his palms as he rotated them. At the same time, the soft rear rounds of her pushed back against him, covered only by the thin silk of her step-ins.
After a moment, he freed her breasts again, stepped back and swiftly undressed himself. Then he got a straight chair from one side of the office, brought it over by the window. He set it down. He reached and eased Roberta's panties down over her ample hips and long, full-fleshed thighs. He fixed the chair, sideways to the window and sat down on it.
"What are you doing?" Roberta asked huskily.
"Fixing things so you can watch them and enjoy yourself at the same time," he told her. "Come here." He reached out and pulled her between his parted legs. He reached around and cupped the great, soft, smooth rounds of her handsome der-riere, held her to him while he buried his face in the deep, soft, scented valley between her huge breasts. He moved his face back and forth there, savoring the soft, pillowing flesh while Roberta groaned with delight. Next, his lips coursed all over each thrusting, grapefruit-sized breast, his tongue active, finally seizing with his lips each achingly distended nipple. His lips teased and plucked at them while Roberta groaned and begged for him to help her out. A moment later he had mercy on her and adjusted both their positions. Then he slowly pulled her down onto him while he sat upon the chair.
Roberta made a little piercing cry as contact was made and began moving her hips. Earl was still holding her by the buttocks. Now he held her tightly and surged upward. Roberta wailed and at the same time lowered her own body in a contrapuntal action that brought them completely together. Her movements became wild and furious as she watched what was going on in the hotel room across the street. Stimulated to even greater efforts, she rammed his ramrod in her innards.
Earl's ardor soared, feeling her hands groping to explore, fondle, and then she had it, big, hard and fleshy, in the palm of her flexing, unflexing grip. She worked it back and forth slowly into her pussy and he was aware that he was not in as much control as he thought. Her fingers explored further to erogenous zones of Earl's body. Challenged, he could see her eyes large and glassy, lust-filled orbs, stripped naked to the core of her desire, sex crazy and drunk with passion for this great white flesh inside her belly. Both Earl's hands found those silken sponges that were her breasts.
Roberta convulsed and turned animal. "Oh, look! Isn't that wonderful! ... unbelievable?"
He pulled out of her and stood up. The gyrating anticipation about his hips increased and he clenched his fists as he felt his cock sink into her warm, wet mouth, behind those square, white teeth, and throb at the roof of her palate. The Great Lady was beside herself with passion. The doors of her inner soul flung open and the building crashed to the ground in raging hysteria as her tongue found the cock-eye slit and worked it into intoxicated convulsions.
Earl's knees trembled against the chair. Her mouth movement now was incessant, steady, bent on draining him. The sponge rubber of her thighs locked around his finger fucking and she sucked and sucked! Her licking, sucking, drawing, hot breathing had him on the edge of explosion! Ungovernable fury wracked Roberta's bones as his white tower rose and fell inside her mouth. He stopped pumping, unable to stand the pull of her.
Several times Roberta was able to bring herself to quick, animal satisfaction; the last time, after the couple across the street had untangled their limbs and lay back separately, in exhaustion. Collapsed, now, her arms still around Earl's neck, Roberta felt the relief and release from tension flowing through her, like cooling water on a hot summer day. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. All the time, Earl held her tenderly, gently stroking her smooth-skinned back. Finally, she eased to a standing position, whispered: "Don't put on the lights until I get dressed, Earl."
"Of course not," he said, restraining a chuckle at the idea of such false modesty after what they had just shared together. He moved over to the small pile of his own clothing and got dressed, then waited for her to finish dressing and go over and snap on the light and go into her private lavatory.
When she was gone, Earl Lord moved to the private bar across from Roberta's desk, opened it and helped himself to a good dollop of her private stock scotch, dropped an ice cube into it, and squirted soda from a siphon into the glass.
When she came out, he was sitting in her swivel chair, with his feet propped on her desk, swirling the ice around in his drink. Roberta stopped stock still and stared at him "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
"Having a drink. Celebrating. Join me?" he replied, coolly.
She frowned. "What? Celebrating what?"
"Our partnership."
"Are you out of your mind?"
He grinned at her. "No, but you were-a little while ago. You really go wild, baby. I mean you let off a real head of steam."
Roberta's temper snapped. She shouted: "You sonofabitch, get out of that chair. Get out of this office! You're fired."
He stared at her, the cynical grin still on his face. Then, very deliberately, he raised the glass to his mouth, finished the drink. He got up slowly. "Very well, Roberta, if that's the way you want it. But there's nothing to prevent me from passing around a choice bit of information to a bunch of the bigshots you do business with. You know, you're a beautiful woman, Roberta and a lot of men who've known you would love to get into your pants. They don't bother trying because they have you tabbed for an iceberg. Maybe if they knew what I know, they wouldn't find it so difficult."
The flush of temper faded from her face, leaving it white. Her lower lip began to quiver. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do, Roberta ... now. Maybe not the first time, but now I'm sure you do. Seeing other people in action is just like administering a dose of Spanish Fly to you, honey. It breaks down all your inhibitions-and then some. For some psychological reason, this is the only way you can get aroused. I'll bet my salary against your income nobody else has ever had you the way I have these two times."
She just stared at him for a moment and then the import of what he had said sunk home and she began to cry. She put her face in her hands and sunk down into a chair. She sobbed for several minutes.
Earl Lord fixed himself another drink and waited patiently for her weeping to stop. When it finally did, she dabbed at her eyes and looked at him beseechingly. "Earl-you wouldn't ever tell about this to anybody, would you? That would be a rotten trick."
"Well, I'm a pretty rotten guy when big stakes are involved," he said. "But then, of course, I wouldn't. Why would I want to tell anybody anything like that about my partner? Besides I'd kind of like to keep it all to myself."
"Are you trying to blackmail me, Earl?"
"If you'd like to be crude and refer to it that way. Actually, I'd say I was making you a business proposition. I'll be a good partner. I know the business. I'll handle my end of the load. Actually, I've got several ideas that might make us both a lot of money."
"That's ridiculous. After all the work and sweat I've personally put in to build this business up to where it is now? Because you've stumbled onto some strange psychological quirk of mine."
He smiled. "It really is pretty weird, isn't it? I'd love to know the origin of it."
"Earl," Roberta said, getting some control again, "you couldn't make anybody believe a story like that. And even if you did, how could anyone arrange something like that for me to see? So what good would it do a man to know it?"
"You'd be surprised. You see, I arranged tonight's little show." Quickly, he explained it to her how he had done it. As he talked, Roberta again turned red with fury and then pale with the sick knowledge of what she'd been subjected to.
"It wouldn't be too difficult to arrange in various ways," he went on. "For instance, I have an idea you might be affected almost as much by looking at pornographic photos. Or reading really pornographic books. Or watching that kind of movie. All right, let's say, for instance, a man gets hold of a set of pornographic photos. He mails them to you so that you'd get them on a Saturday morning. He walks in on you right after you've opened up the mail and looked at the pictures. Get it? And that's only one way. Men are ingenious about things like this, especially where a woman as beautiful as yourself is involved. A lot of men would find this quite a challenge."
Roberta thought about this. She saw where it could be possible. She wondered if she would get excited looking at pornography, and a small streak of heat flushed through her and she knew that she would.
She thought for quite a while. It certainly looked as though Earl Lord had her by the short hairs. Yet she couldn't let him get away with this. There had to be some way out. What she needed right now was time. The only way to get that was to pretend to give in. She stood up, letting out a big sigh. "All right, Earl," she said resignedly. "You win. We'll go see my lawyers tomorrow."
He grinned, raised his glass toward her. "Good. Here's a toast to the new partners. May our business always flourish."
Roberta Colby didn't say anything. She turned and walked out of the office, leaving him sitting there.
She spent almost a sleepless night. It was about dawn when she finally fell into exhausted slumber. It seemed that she had just dozed off when the alarm rang at seven-thirty. But this morning it was more clear than ever what she had to do. It was the only answer.
She showered and dressed and went out for breakfast. She was at her lawyer's office sharply at nine o'clock and made them cancel other appointments. She told them simply that she was very tired and wanted to sell the business, go on a long vacation. She was going to leave immediately she said, if they would draw up papers giving them power of attorney to handle the sale for her. She would write and inform them as soon as she got there. She instructed them to close her office immediately, giving all the employees severance pay and a bonus. That is, all but Earl Lord.
When she left the lawyer's offices, Roberta went to her bank, closed out her personal account of about eight thousand dollars and had it put into Traveler's Checks. Then she went back to her apartment, saw her landlord, and bought her way out of her lease with two months' extra rent. She called a storage company to come and get her furniture and belongings, except for what she could put in a suitcase. When that was done, Roberta left the house and got into a cab to Penn Station. There she checked her bag and went and sat in the waiting room, while she made up her mind where to go.
Her heart ached when she thought about not seeing Tony Marsh again-at least not any time soon. But she consoled herself with the thought that he was well off. He was lucky to be rid of a psychopathic character like herself. The only thing was, Tony was stubborn. He would probably come looking for her. She would have to go someplace where he wouldn't think of searching for her. She didn't want him to find her.
So she couldn't go to any of the obvious summer resorts. Then the idea came to her that the safest place would be to go to the opposite kind of resort-to a winter resort, like Florida. She had never been there. She had heard that it wasn't really so unpleasant in the summer; actually wasn't as bad as New York or some other of the large northern cities. Next she decided that it would be best to drive there. That way, Tony couldn't check the railroad stations or airlines for a record of where she'd gone.
She picked up her suitcase and took a cab to the nearest automobile dealership. She bought a compact convertible for a little over three thousand dollars and drove off, heading for the Holland Tunnel. An hour later, she was skimming along the Jersey turnpike with the top down and the wind blowing her hair. She felt almost at peace. It was a strange sensation. For the first time in ten years, she had no sense of responsibility, nobody to think about but herself, no employees, no rivals, no business deals. She felt almost like a schoolgirl again.
But then, suddenly, memory of what had brought all this about cast a dark shadow over her happiness. She wondered what she could do about that The only sensible thing to do would be to go see a good psychiatrist as soon as she got to Florida. She was sure that they'd have some there.
CHAPTER SIX
Lew Mazza was tired. He wished to God he was anywhere but in this creepy roadhouse club in the northern part of Florida. The place was thick with smoke; the lousy band was too loud and brassy. The floor show had been bad. And now he had to sit here and listen to the silly, drunken chatter of his silly Dolores broad and his junior partner, Aldo Hines. Well, the whole bit was one of the occupational hazards of being a theatrical agent.
He and Aldo had spotted this Dolores dame in a cheap Miami joint and both of them agreed she could really sing and had something special which could be brought out, would make her into the big time, if she was handled right. Handled right, Lew thought with irony. Boy, Aldo was sure "handling her right," had been ever since they started on the trip. The big handsome guy by now had her having the hots for him so bad she could hardly sit still. He envied the younger man in a way. It would be something to get into that when they went back to the motel. And there was no question Aldo was going to make it.
Of course, by the time they got her to New York, Aldo would be already tired of her and looking for the next one. But that was all right. It was just as well; then Aldo could be more objective about her, as a client. And they couldn't lose her even if she got mad at Aldo. They had wrapped her up on a good tight contract. The funny thing was, though, Aldo's broads seldom got PO'd at him when he threw them over. They seemed to accept it as inevitable. It was as though they knew that his talent made any other answer impossible.
Then Lew Mazza began to pay some attention to their conversation because right now, it was his talent, his speciality, that Aldo Hines and Dolores were discussing. It was real neat, Lew thought, the way Aldo could lead a conversation onto that subject, get a broad so excited and piqued with curiosity about this particular prowess, they could hardly wait to get alone with him. Lew Mazza listened now.
"Oh, come off it, Aldo, honey," Dolores was saying in that rich, sexy voice of hers. "You trying to make me believe that woman paid you five hundred dollars just to do that for her once a week?"
Aldo held up his right hand. "Scout's honor, kid! Listen, you wouldn't question it if you'd ever had it done. And you've got to realize this woman was loaded with loot. Five hundred to her was like five bucks to you or me. Now, sweetie, you mean to say that if it's as good as I say, you wouldn't pay me a fin to do it for you?
She laughed and her fine, plump breasts jiggled, free of any bra, under the thin T-shirt she was wearing. Lew Mazza watched that, noting that Aldo had her plenty excited already just talking out loud about it, the way the peaks of those pretty boobs were spiking out the cloth. Both Aldo and Dolores were pretty drunk, Lew noted. And Aldo was something more than that! His eyes were glittering wildly and he was more excited than Lew had ever seen him in a weird kind of way, sort of like a mad scientist, or something, being challenged by a difficult, earthshaking experiment.
"Oh, Aldo, you're terrible!" Dolores said, giggling. "I don't know why I even let you talk to me about such awful things. Any other man, I'd probably slap his face."
"It's not so awful, baby," Aldo said. "Listen, any doctor, any psychiatrist will tell you that when a guy and a gal are crazy for each other that anything that's pleasurable for them both is perfectly okay." He shook his head ruefully. "You know, Dolores, sweetie, it's hard for me to believe, almost impossible."
"What is?"
"That a beautiful, adorable, sweet, and lovable kid as you has never had that wonderful experience."
"Oh, Aldo! You do say the sweetest things!"
Lew Mazza sat there listening, marveling at Aldo's verbal technique for seduction. It was so effective that Dolores seemed to have even forgotten that he was there. Mazza looked up as a beautiful woman entered alone and was led by a waitress to a booth next to theirs. Mazza's eyes lighted with interest as he noticed the woman's erect, regal carriage, her facial beauty, the gentle hobbling of her majestic bosom beneath the light summer dress she was wearing. Mazza thought to himself, there is a real woman, interesting, not just some silly pretty kid. Now there was one who could get him excited! His attention was brought back to what the couple sitting with him were saying. Aldo was pouring it on again.
"Sure, honey, a lot of these famous, glamour girl movie stars love it that way. Believe me. It's extra kicks for them. Hey, did I ever tell you about what happened at a famous Hollywood nightclub one night?"
Dolores shook her head. "Uh-uh, she said.
"Well, I don't dare tell you their actual names; very few people do actually know them. But I happen to. Anyhow, the guy is a famous Hollywood director; the woman a big star; at least she was at that time; she's not very active anymore. And bear in mind, sugar, this is a true story. Everyone in movie town knows about it. It was the talk of the film colony for months."
"Yeah?" Dolores said.
"Uh-huh. And it happened at this famous nightclub. We'll call it the Falstaff Club, just for convenience, though the actual place this happened was very big and famous. Anyhow, this director and this actress met for the first time at this nightclub party. There were two other couples along, mind you, so the incident was well witnessed, so to speak, certified. Well, there was a lot of boozing and this director and the actress got the hots for each other right off and did some smooching right there in that nightclub booth and a little hand holding and other things under the table. Both of them got pretty worked up. First thing you know, the director and the actress are talking about-well, you know-what you and I have been discussing tonight. First thing you know, this crazy director tells the girl that he's so crazy about her, wants her so much that he can't even wait. He'd be willing to do something for her, right there at the club, right at the table."
"What?" Dolores gasped.
"No kidding. That's exactly what he said. Everybody heard it. And they all started razzing the poor guy, telling him he was crazy, he didn't have the moxie to do such a thing, and like that. Some other guy bet him a thousand bucks he wouldn't dare. Well, that tore it. Especially when the woman told this director that she wouldn't care but she didn't think he had the nerve to go through with it either. With that, the guy promptly slid under the table and right there in a busy nightclub he committed an act of-"
"Oh, no!" Dolores cut in. "You're kidding!" Her giggle was almost hysterical now and her voice throbbed with a strange excitement.
"That's the honest truth, angel," Aldo swore. "Listen, a few days later the story was all over Hollywood and a famous gossip columnist even mentioned it in his column."
"He did? What could be possible say about a thing like that?"
"He was pretty clever. He just ran an item that said: 'I hear they're now serving box lunches at . the Falstaff.' "
Dolores laughed until tears came to her eyes. She dabbed them away then said: "Oh, that's awful!"
"She didn't think so," Aldo said. "The girl involved."
Lew Mazza had heard this story before. But he was interested now in Dolores' reaction and also the strange way Aldo was acting. He knew Aldo well enough to know the guy was building up to something.
"That really did take a lot of guts for a guy to do," Lew commented.
"You think so?" Aldo asked. "I don't. Listen, you pick the right moment when nobody's looking to slide under the table and who's going to know the difference-except the people who're sitting right there at that table. If anyone did see it, they'd just think the guy dropped something and was looking for it. And in one sense they'd be right."
"Yeah, I suppose so," Lew admitted. "Still and all, it's a wild gig."
"Nah!" Aldo said excitedly. "Tell you what. You bet me ten bucks I won't and I'll do it. Right here and now."
Lew Mazza looked at him with interest. He heard Dolores gasp, "Oh, no, Al!" but he didn't pay too much attention to her. He thought about it. He decided that ten bucks would be a cheap price to be on hand for such a stunt. He said, "Okay, kid, you're on...."
In the next booth, Roberta Colby sat listening to the conversation as she sipped a Scotch Mist. She could hardly believe her ears. Her face felt hot and flushed. Even though the people in the other booth were talking quietly and the band was so noisy that the conversation should have been drowned out to all except the actual occupants of that table, by some strange trick of acoustics, Roberta could hear every word quite plainly. In addition to that, because of the placement of a wall mirror, Roberta could see and watch the people in the next booth quite clearly.
Several times she'd told herself that they couldn't possibly be talking about what she thought, yet what other interpretation was there? Especially since Roberta had heard the same story about the director and the actress. Oh, no, she told herself, as she listened to Aldo's proposition, this is terrible; it can't be happening.
Yet she knew it was and she was fascinated in spite of herself. The conversation started all kinds of erotic images and imaginings running though her mind. Almost vividly she could picture the intimate details. She found herself beginning to perspire and tremble all over. Heat like a fiery stain was again beginning to crawl up her thighs and wild urges and needs and desires flowed through her. She felt weak and filled with an almost sickening sweetness of acutely pleasurable sensation.
She heard the younger man, Aldo, say: "Oh, come on, Dolores, don't be chicken. Nobody'll know, except us. It'll be a wild kick. You told me you liked to get kicks, well, this'll be a new one, a big one for you. Nobody can see anything, not with this long tablecloth hanging down on all sides. What do you say, doll, okay?"
Dolores was staring at Aldo now with wild-eyed fascination. The pert globes of her breasts rose and fell excitedly under her T-shirt, the sharp nipples looking as though they'd burst through the cloth. "Oh, I couldn't, honey!" she gasped.
"You don't have to do anything," he coaxed. "Just sit there. You're going to let me, aren't you? Come on, now."
Dolores was speechless. She could only shake her head negatively and rather weakly as she glanced around to see if anybody was looking. She missed seeing Roberta watching them in the mirror.
Aldo too was glancing around. Excitedly, he told Dolores: "I'm going to do it. And listen, baby, you'd better not try to get away, to stop me, because if you do, I'll tip the damned table over and I'll tell everybody why I did it. How does that grab you? And don't think I won't because I've got to go through with this now. I've got to." Then he saw that nobody was paying any attention and quickly slid off his chair, ducked under the long-hanging tablecloth and disappeared from sight.
"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch!" Lew Mazza breathed in awed admiration.
Witnessing this in the mirror, Roberta Colby could hardly believe her eyes. The man couldn't be under the table and about to ... Yet, if not, where had he gone? There was no other answer. Then she saw the pretty young woman, Dolores, push her fingertips up into the hair at her temples and stiffen, her eyes going big and wide, as she murmured: "Oh, Jeeze, no!" But it was more of an exclamation of disbelief than denial.
Dolores sat there stiffly, as though frozen, and Roberta's imagination about what was going on ran wild. She was beside herself with arousal now. She could hardly sit still. It was almost as though it was happening to her. Then, abruptly, Dolores' eyes went even bigger and her moist red mouth opened and she uttered a little animal-like cry and started to slump back in her chair. Her hands were on the table in front of her, twining and untwining her itchy fingers nervously. Her eyes took on a glazed look and her mouth remained open to take care of her quickened breathing. She shuddered a couple of times and slid lower in her seat. In a few moments she let out a couple of hoarse groans, unheard by the rest of the patrons, under cover of the noise of the band.
It went on and on and Roberta thought it would never stop. She wanted to tear her gaze away from the mirror: she wanted to get up and run from this awful place, away from these awful people but she couldn't. She remained rooted while wild desires and needs began to build up terrible, unbearable tensions within her as she watched Dolores' expression. The other girl now was slumped down in her seat, her head back, her mouth opened, her eyes walled back. Her hands were under the tablecloth. She was gasping and groaning as though she was dying. Finally, she let out a big sigh and relaxed all over.
"Well, I will be a sonofabitch!" Lew Mazza said. At the same time he looked around worriedly to see if anybody had noticed what had happened. Apparently nobody had ... then he saw Roberta Colby's reflection in the mirror and knew that she had. He kept his eyes on her reflection as Aldo bobbed back up from under the tablecloth. He heard Dolores whisper weakly: "Oh, Aldo, darling!"
Lew Mazza saw that the girl in the next booth wasn't aware yet that he was watching her. She still had her gaze on Dolores. He saw, too, the unmistakable signs in Roberta's expression of a woman tormented by almost unbearable desire. It was so obvious that he immediately felt his. own life juices leap in response. Hell, he told himself, watching that little incident really got that beautiful chick, really got to her. She's hotter right now than a pistol. Oh, is that peach ever ripe for picking!
Suddenly, in the mirror, Roberta's gaze caught at Lew's. Their eyes met and held for an instant and Lew smiled slowly, knowingly, and winked. The woman blushed furiously then grabbed up her purse, dug into it and took out a bill and dropped it on the table. She got up so fast that she knocked the remains of her drink over. She pushed away from the table and headed for the exit.
Lew Mazza, an opportunist all his life, wasn't about to let this one get away. He hurriedly arose, too, left their table. He ignored Aldo's query: "Hey, where you goin', Lew?" He ran toward the exit.
When he stepped outside, Roberta Colby was standing in the driveway, looking around wildly, swaying a little. Lew went over to her, taking a last drag on his cigar before throwing it away. "Miss, is anything wrong? Can I help you?"
She looked around, startled. She almost jumped. "I-no-I feel better now. I was feeling a little ill."
"Well, then, maybe you'd better let me help you to your car."
"No," she started to protest. Then she felt his fat strong fingers encircle her arm. The contact sent flames of desire darting all through her; for an instant she felt faint with it. She was trembling all over. "Well, all right, then," she said and went along with him almost docilely.
The parking lot was pitch black. Roberta's car was far in the back, deep in some shadows under a tree, with no other cars near it. As they entered that deeper darkness, Lew Mazza said excitedly: "Baby, I'm sorry, but I don't think you're sick at all-unless it's from that old Hawaiian disease, Lakanookie. I figure that Aldo and Dolores' little exhibition got you all excited, right?"
With that, he took his hand from her arm and reached around and rested it on the high rise of her big, round buttocks. He stroked and squeezed experimentally, as she said: "I-I don't know what you're talking about." But her voice was faint and weak.
"Sure you do, doll," Lew said. He stopped and took her into his arms. His arms went around her and his hands seized her backside firmly, yanked her to him. He jammed himself against her, excited by the sensation of her large hard-tipped breasts pillowed against his chest. He ground his mouth down hard on hers and his tongue forced its way between her lips, lashed at her own. He felt her slump willingly against him as a little sigh came from deep in her throat.
Roberta could smell and taste the odor of the stale cigar in his mouth but rather than disgust her, the masculine aroma excited her. She became aware of the manliness of his big-bellied body and instincitively ground her hips against him.
He finally removed his mouth from hers, whispered breathlessly: "Let's get in the car, baby."
"Yes," she murmured. "Oh, yes."
Lew practically shoved her into the car. Hastily, roughly, he loosened most of her clothes, then removed her panties. His hands were eager, avid, almost cruel, on the great sweet swells of her bared breasts, on the taut nipples, on the long, full-fleshed curves of her naked thighs.
"Oh, sweetie!" he moaned delightfully. "What a lot of woman you are!"
Then he was over her, his weight almost unbearable. She was sitting on the back seat with her knees drawn up, rubbing them vigorously at his working hips. His hands struggled under her to get a firm hold on her buttocks. Roberta pulled herself back until her head rested on the top of the seat. He drove himself into her, shuddered and paused for a moment while her velvet-tight cunt swirled itself around his cock, caressing him, exciting him.
Then he could wait no longer and he began again to drive and thrust, pulling and pinching her flesh, his face wet with sweat, bearing down on her body, grunting and groaning. Suddenly he jerked upright, almost throwing her off the seat. A primitive urge shocked through her body with the force of an electric current. He grasped her body, pinning her arms to her sides. His grip tightened.
He was panting hard now, his eyes glinting, his mouth hot. Roberta twisted her head and cried out, her eyes rolling wildly, her body writhing deliciously under his force. He thrust and rode, thrust and rode brutally. Roberta was rolling with him now, pushing up against his thrusts. Animal sounds came from her throat, sounds of joy as primitive as his own.
There were moments of relishing the sticky warmth of his meat locked inside her. All at once he exploded, spilling himself into her cock-swallowing cunt. His thick cream shot deep into her belly and she thought she would suffocate in the cramped confines of the car. Then the thing for which she had been driven to such terrible need happened. She let out a long, low cry of acceptance and her arms hugged him and her legs encircled him and she stayed with him exchanging frenzied surge for frenetic heave. It went on and on until she thought she would faint with satisfaction....
When it was over, she practically kicked Lew Mazza out of the car as she cried with rage at the realization of how she had humiliated herself with a total and complete stranger.
Later, at the motel, she showered and scrubbed herself but still couldn't get to feeling clean. She kept thinking over and over: "How could I? How could I-with that foul, cigar-stinking, dirty old man." But mixed in with the remorse and the self-recrimination, she alternately thought about the scene in the nightclub. She thought about it again and again, of Aldo and Dolores, and recognized the fact that she now felt physically calmed and totally at ease. Later, when she went to bed, she fell instantly asleep....
Back at the roadhouse, when Lew Mazza returned to their table, Aldo looked at him curiously and asked: "Where the hell have you been? Where did you go?"
Lew Mazza chuckled, expansively lit a cigar and signaled a waitress for drinks all around. "I just did something I haven't done since I was eighteen."
"Yeah, What was that?"
"Knocked off a quickie in a car in the parking lot. And not really such a quickie, at that," He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Man, was that broad something."
"No kidding," Aldo said. "Which one?"
Then Lew Mazza told them what had happened.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Back in New York, Earl Lord was drunk; crazy, roaring drunk. He had been for three days now, ever since he learned that Roberta Colby had sold her business and skipped town. The dirty little doublecrossing bitch, he thought, how dare she do something like this to me?
It was the one event that Earl Lord hadn't counted on. He didn't know why it had never occurred to him. Actually it was a perfectly plausible thing for her to do, he supposed. He cursed himself for being such a stupid, short-sighted clod.
But he'd fixed her, Goddamn it. He really had. He'd learned that she'd been having an affair with Tony Marsh and that Marsh had told all his friends he was crazy about Roberta and wanted to marry her. Well, Tony wouldn't want to, now. Yesterday, Earl had bumped into Tony at a bar and told him the whole bit about Roberta. Tony had promptly told him that he was a dirty-mouthed, lying little bastard, then slugged him cold with a solid right to the jaw. But Earl didn't care much about that. He was pretty sure that Tony would realize it was the truth, that nobody could think up a story like that. So at least he had screwed that bitch, Roberta Colby, out of something.
But the frustration and anger had been building up in Earl Lord during this three days, too. It compounded itself, the more he drank. It was just waiting for a release when the doorbell rang and it was Corinne. She looked prettier than he'd ever seen her. He hadn't seen her for several days now ever since he'd arranged that show she put on with Van Jagger. He wondered where the hell she had been.
"Come in, baby, come on in," he welcomed her. He took her arm and pulled her into the apartment. The door shut behind her but didn't quite close tightly. He led her into the living room, swaying a little. "God, am I glad to see you, honey," he told her. He reached up to fondle her breast but she pulled away from him.
"Don't, please, Earl," she pleaded. "You're drunk."
He started to get mad but then the obviousness of her silly remark struck him funny and he grinned instead. "No kidding?" he said sarcastically. "Corinne, your powers of observation are amazing. Listen, I asked you where you'd been. Goddamn it, how come when I need you like crazy, you run off some place, huh?"
"I've been with Van," she said quietly. There was a strange, almost beatific look on her pretty doll face that puzzled Earl-and at the same time began to infuriate him.
"With Van! You mean Van Jagger? All this time? For Christ's sake! What the hell would he want with you all this time-for four days?"
Her fingers plucked at each other nervously. "Well, you see, Earl, somethin' happened. You see-I-I fell in love with Van and-"
His roar of laughter interrupted her. "Love?" he bellowed, choking on his drunken laughter. "Baby, I'll show you what love is. Take your damned clothes off. I want you. Right now!"
He reached out and started to unbutton the front of her dress. Shs knocked his hand away and stepped back. "No, Earl," she said in a firm, but slightly frightened voice. "That's what I came to tell you; that it's all over with you and me. I can't do it with you no more, Earl. Van and me-"
"I don't want to hear about you and that jerk, you silly little slut!" he interrupted. "And I'll show you what you're going to do or not going to do." He stepped toward her, his eyes glittering with wild, drunken rage and desire mixed together. His arm swung and he slapped her so hard she fell to the floor. As she started to cry, he kicked at her. The blow caught her in the breast and she clutched at the injured part, gave a wail of pain.
She tried to roll away from him, crying out:
"No Earl, please. No more, Earl!"
He went after her, bent and grabbed the front of her dress and ripped. The whole front came apart in two pieces. The sight of her naked now, without a bra as usual and wearing only dainty, lace-trimmed panties, somehow infuriated him all the more. He reached down and grabbed the waist of her panties, ripped them clean away from her in two sections. He saw the bruise on her small, lovely breast where he had kicked her. He also saw that her nipples had stiffened out long and sharply.
"Oh, you cute, stupid little bitch!" he said.
All Corinne could do now was to cry.
"Spending all that time with that jerk, Van, when I needed you, giving me that bit you ain't going to perform for me anymore. I'll show you who's boss."
He reached down and took the smooth, soft, plump white flesh on the inside of one of her thighs and pinched it cruelly, leaving the red and already turning black-and-blue imprint of his fingers there. Corinne screamed with pain. He bent and slapped her hard across the face again.
"No screaming!" he ordered, his voice almost falsetto with mixed anger and excitement. "No Goddamned screaming!"
She continued to make muffled sobs behind her fist stuffed against her mouth as she stared up at him, frightened as a child.
"I'm going to fix you good this time, Corinne," he told her. "Thinking you can walk out on me just because I haven't got a job anymore, just because I'm having a hard time finding another one, because of that stinking female of a boss of mine. I'll fix her and you both, all females!" His voice rose shrilly at the end.
He reached down and grabbed Corinne by her short blonde hair. He dragged her across the room as she moaned and groaned and sobbed with pain and humiliation. He lifted her and flung her into a chair. He stood in front of her.
"All right," he said. "Now give me a show. A good show. You know the kind I like. Put your hands on those pretty little things, squeeze them, tell me how much I'll like 'em."
When she didn't obey right away, Earl Lord whipped off his belt. He said: "All right. I'll teach you not to do as you're told."
"No, Earl!" she cried out. "All right, Earl. I will, Earl. I will!" Her hands flew to her small, pretty breasts. She fondled and squeezed the pert little mounds, her thumbs rubbing against the stiffened, popped-out tips while she quickly mouthed invitations to him.
After a while of watching her, Earl said: "All right, now do the other thing to yourself that I like to watch!"
She did that, too, and Earl watched avidly, his breath coming and going now in great gulps as he stood swaying drunkenly. He waited until her own mouth was gaping for breath and her hips were beginning to move involuntarily. Then he reached out and seized her by the hair again, yanked her roughly off the chair, sprawling facedown on the floor as he roared: "That's enough, Goddamn it! Save some for me!"
All of the torn pieces of her clothing were off now. She was stark naked. Earl Lord stood over her with the loosely folded belt with its brass buckle still in his hands. He looked down at her, at the shining white, smooth roundness of her prominent fanny jutting up at him. He hefted the belt. "I ought to give you a few good licks with this. How would you like that?"
Her eyes were staring, fascinated, at the belt. She said weakly, without much conviction: "No, please, no, Earl!"
"By Jeeze!" he said amazed. "I think you really do want it!"
He saw her marble-smooth, round buttocks quiver. A seething, blind excitement seized Earl then and almost unaware of what he was doing, he raised the belt, the buckle end hanging down and brought it whipping down across her backside. Her body hunched up quivering from the floor and a welt marred the smooth flesh, showing tiny pearls of blood. She let out a half moan, half cry. The sight of her, writhing, twisting, but making no real effort to get away; the sound of her, increased Earl's sadistic violent fury and mounting excitement. He swung the belt again. And again. The white flesh was soon laced with welts.
Now Corinne was sobbing out: "Oh, Daddy, Daddy, thank you, Daddy! Now you're paying some attention to me. Not to your damned patients! Oh why didn't you ever beat me before? Oh, Daddy, now I know you love me, too!" Her eyes were glazed and unseeing.
Earl Lord applied the belt twice more and this time it landed on top of old wounds and Corinne screamed with pain. Earl didn't even hear her. He raised the belt again. But this time he didn't swing it.
Someone grabbed it and yanked it out of his hands so hard it spun him around, almost knocked him over. He blinked and stared, unbelieving, at Van Jagger, standing in from of him. Van's big fists were clenched at his sides. His face was almost black with the blood of rage gourging it. He shouted: "You filthy, sadistic bastard! What do you think you're doing to her? How dare you do that to my girl!"
Earl Lord laughed. He said: "Your girl, Van? You must be kidding. That little whore! You shouldn't have stopped me, Van; she loved it."
"You stop talking about her that way," Van said, his voice breaking. Strands of thick blond hair fell half over his eyes. "I know it sounds crazy. I can't help it. After all the women I've known, something happened when I met Corinne. Maybe it's because she is so simple and sad and kind of needs me or something. What the hell's the difference? I don't care. For the first time in my life I'm in love and here I catch you doing-"
Earl Lord's almost hysterical laughter stopped him in midsentence. "Oh, that's too much!" Earl roared.
"You dirty sonofabitch, shut up!" Van said through his teeth. "You hurt her!" He stepped in quickly and his forearm chopped out and the side of his hand caught Earl Lord across the bridge of his nose. The broken cartilage made a crunching noise. Blood came in a gush all over Earl's mouth and chin and down the front of his shirt. Pain was bursting inside his head.
He lunged at Van Jagger, swinging haphazardly. Van stepped aside and belted Earl a solid left flush into the belly. Earl stopped as though he'd run into a brick wall and bent over very slowly, holding his stomach, his eyes looking as though they might roll down his cheeks. His mouth was a wide O, sucking in breath, or trying to.
Then Van grabbed Earl by the hair and brought his knee up jarring hard into Earl's face. Earl straightened, spitting out pieces of teeth. His mouth was one gaping, bloody wound. Van moved in on him. He pulled his punches just a little, so Earl would stay conscious. He belted him in the ribs, fracturing one of them. He spun him half around, walloped his big fist into Earl's kidney. Earl staggered backward against a wall, moaning. His body was now one huge maw of lightning-flashing pain. The strange thing about it was, Earl thought, murkily, is that it's beginning to feel good; I like it; I like it. It was true. Sadism and masochism, according to the psychiatrists, are closely related; one often prompts or leads into the other in a strange blending. It was that way with Earl now, as Van, in an uncontrollable rage, held him against the wall and beat him brutally.
The last thing Earl Lord was aware of, just before one last blow knocked him unconscious, was an almost unbearably exquisite sensation that he had previously known only in connection with a woman.
For several minutes after Earl Lord slumped unconscious, Van Jagger continued to hit him with one hand while he held him up with the other. Now he was whacking him around the head. Van's right fist was a swollen blob from the force of the blows.
It was another minute or so before the sound of Corinne's voice broke through the deafness of Van's rage. He heard her scream: "Stop it, Van! That's enough. You're killing him."
Only then did Van Jagger permit Earl's bloody bulk to slump to the floor.
Van turned slowly and looked almost blindly at the naked young teenager. Then he turned toward the door, where several neighbors were crowded, gawking, frightened, and yelling, "Get Doctor Morgan!"
"Oh, my God," a woman said weakly. "Look at poor Mr. Lord!"
"The hell with him, look at the doctor's daughter! Naked as the day she was born Wowe-e-e!" a moronic youth giggled.
Then Corinne fainted and Van bent over her, rubbing her wrists, trying to bring her to. That was the way the police found them.
Earl Lord died three days later in the hospital. Van Jagger was held on manslaughter charges, but he could afford the country's best defense counsel, and he got off on probation. One of the terms of the probation was that he never see Doctor Morgan's daughter again.
Doctor Morgan made sure of that. He sent his daughter to a school in California. It was only a few weeks later that the girl disappeared with a hippie cult in the mountains near Los Angeles.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Instead of going to Miami, Roberta Colby headed for the West Coast of Florida, stopped at a small beach resort town north of St. Petersburg, fell in love with the place and decided to stay there for awhile. She found the weather warm, especially in the sun but not unbearably so. There was a breeze blowing in off the blue-green waters of the Gulf and if she stayed in the shade it was quite comfortable.
The first day she phoned her lawyers and learned that the sale of the business was progressing. She cautioned the lawyers about giving her address to anybody else. She didn't want anyone to know where she was. She was shocked when the lawyer told her about the death of Earl Lord-and wondered briefly if it could have had any connection with her. Instantly she dismissed that thought. It was ridiculous.
The third day there, Roberta forced herself to go see a psychiatrist in Clearwater. She had to force herself because under the clean, lazy spell of this little Florida resort town on the beach, all that other began to seem unreal, as though it had never happened. But she knew that it was something she would eventually have to do, so she might just as well get started.
Dr. Kleaver was a small, quiet, self-contained man, partially bald and with a small, clipped mustache. He had a level, cool, impersonal expression in his gray eyes that somehow made it easier to come right out with what she thought was her horrible problem. When she had finally blurted out the ugly facts, Dr. Kleaver merely steepled his fingers together on the desk and said: "I see. How frequently has this happened.
She told him. He nodded again, then said: "Miss Colby, a lot of people expect instant miracles from psychotherapy. They don't happen." He smiled, gently. "Except perhaps on TV. I believe I can help you, but it might take a considerable length of time. I would want you to see me for an hour, twice a week, beginning the day after tomorrow. Would you be willing to do that?"
Roberta thought about it. Then she said: "I guess I don't really have much choice, do I?"
"Not if you want to get well."
They talked some more and he gave her some forms to fill out and some tests to take. In his reception room, where she sat at a desk doing the damn tests, Roberta noticed a funny question on one of the forms. At least it struck her as strange; particularly her own reaction to it.
The question stated: Starting at age one, if possible, right up to the present year, opposite the list of numbers accompanying this question, put down in one word-the first word that comes to mind, no matter how silly it may sound at the moment-what you remember about that particular year of your life.
Roberta started on the question. She couldn't remember anything before she was three years old. Opposite three, she wrote doll-at four, she wrote, Christmas-at five, she wrote, School-at six, dog-and so on, until she came to the thirteenth year. Then her pencil paused. She had been writing quite rapidly until then. For some reason, she couldn't think of anything connected with her thirteenth year; no word at all, would come-in fact, search her mind as she could, she had no memory at all of that year. So she left it blank. The rest of the years, right up to the present, a descriptive or associative word came readily to mind again.
A few minutes later she finished the tests, turned the papers over to Dr. Kleaver's pretty little receptionist, and left.
The following day, Roberta Colby was forced to leave the motel where she'd been staying. She got into a big argument with one of the owners. The motel was run by a rather plain young woman and her husband, who was a veritable Apollo of a young man physically. Mentally, he had the IQ of a twelve-year-old. Rather than being attracted to the man, Roberta found his corny, juvenile remarks to her, the leering way he looked at her, repulsive. She practically told him so, several times, hoping that he'd take the hint and wouldn't even bother speaking to her. Then suddenly, his wife faced Roberta and accused her of flirting with her Tom and making passes at him.
This amused Roberta at first but then when she saw how serious and angry the woman was, it enraged her. They had a big name-calling argument and an hour later Roberta was packed and checked out. She soon found another motel at the other end of the beach, that was even nicer, if anything. This one was run by two women. One of them was a statuesque but well-proportioned and well-preserved woman of forty. She was red-haired and pleasant-faced. Her name was Emmy Johns. Her partner was a small, dark-haired little woman, named Anita, who was quite pretty, with a soft, gentle smile. She was about ten years younger than Emmy and had a terrific figure. They both welcomed Roberta to their Tarry-Ho Hotel and hoped she'd have a long and pleasant stay with them.
After they'd escorted Roberta Colby to her unit, Emmy and Anita went back to the office. Emmy lit a cigarette and reached out to put it between Anita's sweet, rosy lips. She said: "Pretty little thing, wasn't she?"
Anita blushed, averted her gaze from the other woman and nodded affirmatively.
Then Emmy said: "What do you think, honey?"
"I don't know." Anita shrugged. "You're a better judge than I am."
Emmy lit a cigarette for herself, puffed on it, reflectively. "Well, she wasn't wearing a wedding ring and there was no sign that she had been wearing one and had taken it off. She's a beautiful woman, educated, poised-seems to have plenty of money, a nice car and everything. So why is she traveling alone? She's got everything a man could want. There's got to be some reason."
"I suppose so."
"You know what I think?"
"No," said Anita.
"Maybe latent-or maybe Bi-y'know? I think it's worth a try, don't you? Gee, Anita we haven't had a good threesome in a long time, have we?"
"Uh-uh."
"So, I think I'll take a chance with our test. We'll see what happens. Okay?"
"If you say so, Emmy."
Emmy went outside then, to keep an eye on Unit 4, so she could see when Roberta Colby left to go somewhere.
While she waited, Emmy thought about what a great setup this hotel was for both her and Anita. Not only did they make a hell of a good living, but it also provided a perfect means of meeting "partners" as she liked to call them, for her and Anita. It was a strange thing about this part of Florida, she had learned. They didn't get the glamour girls like in Miami, nor the glamour boys, either. Their guests mostly were school teachers and bank tellers and stenographers and clerks attracted by the unusually low summer rates. Often, they were introverted, lonesome types that fell easy prey to any kind of affection offered them. Emmy and Anita made frequent scores, however this summer, so far, had been a disappointment. There had been only one girl who had interested them and been willing but she had stayed only a few days.
Emmy smoked and thought about Roberta Colby. She thought about the way her large, shapely breasts bulged out the top of her playsuit-the long, firm, womanly fleshiness of her lovely thighs, with the tight edges of her shorts biting into the creamy flesh up so high, so delightfully high.
This one would be something if they could get her-if she passed the test.
The test, Emmy had found, was almost infallible. If the woman just looked at the pictures curiously, then threw them away, Emmy and Anita were out; they knew they couldn't score. But if the woman had any of the other reactions after looking at the pictures, Emmy would move in fast and then Anita would join her. It almost always worked out.
Then Emmy saw Roberta Colby come out and get into her car and drive off. Emmy turned back into the office and went to a locked file cabinet, unlocked it and took out a large, rather thick manila envelope. She patted it and smiled at Anita, who was busy talking on the phone, and went out.
She opened the door to Roberta's unit with a master key, stepped inside, and looked around. She placed the manila envelope into one of the dresser drawers, an empty one, leaving the drawer open the fraction of an inch, leaving the tab of the envelope protruding just a little. She left then, satisfied that the bait had been well set. She knew that, out of basic curiosity, most people in hotel and motel rooms look through drawers to see if anything of value or interest might have been left by a previous occupant. She knew that Roberta would find the envelope and examine its contents.
Outside, Emmy turned to the unit next door, used the master key and entered. It had a musty, unused smell and she opened the windows and turned on the air conditioning. Then she went into the shower room and looked through several cleverly designed holes bored through the wall into the shower room of the next unit. The holes were quite large at this side but tapered so they wouldn't be noticeable. With this room dark and with the light on in there, from this side she could see in through the holes quite clearly. Satisfied that the holes hadn't gotten plugged up with dirt, Emmy then went out into the main room of the motel unit where the bed and dresser were. Here again in the wall that was against Roberta's unit, were several more similar holes at eye level. Emmy inspected these, too, saw they offered a clear view, then she left the unit.
The rest of the afternoon, Emmy and Anita took turns watching for Roberta Colby to return. It was about five o'clock when she returned. Emmy waited until Roberta had entered her unit, then she said to Anita: "Come on!"
Both women were flushed with anticipation as they left and locked the office with a sign on the door that said: CLOSED-BE BACK AT SEVEN O'CLOCK. They raced to the unit next to Roberta's.
Roberta Colby had gone into town to buy a new bathing suit. It was her first bikini and she was dying to try it on. As soon as she entered the unit and shut the door, she stripped and ran in to take a shower. She showered leisurely, soaping herself, lathering herself well. After that she dusted talcum all over her body and ran into the other room to try on the suit before the mirror.
In the other unit, Emmy and Anita were busy running back and forth to the various peepholes. When they first watched Roberta undress, Emmy gasped with delight, as Roberta removed her halter, revealing that she had worn no bra under it.
"Oh, Anita," Emmy said, almost reverently. "Look at those twin beauties, will you! Oh, Lordy, aren't they simply delicious? I was almost sure she didn't need an uplift. Oh, I can't wait to get my hands on those lovelies. Just look at the way they stand straight out!"
"Yeah," Anita echoed, awed. "The way they bounce and swing and sway when she moves."
"She's going to be the best we've ever had," Emmy said. "Oh, hon, now she's taking off the shorts-and-and the panties under them. She's all nice and bare. Oh, wouldn't that take your breath away."
"But suppose she doesn't-"
"Don't say that. She has to," Anita cut in. "Even if I have to rape the sweet dear. Just look at the way those nipples pop out, will you, and she's not even excited."
"And the size of them!"
Then Roberta trotted into the bathroom and the two women in the other unit quickly ran to their stations in that room. Emmy almost swooned while she watched Roberta shower and lather herself. She began to fidget and shift from foot to foot. She whispered to Anita how she, Emmy, would love to be doing that for Roberta. While they watched, Emmy and Anita's hands roved over each other, caressing, stimulating, until they were both gasping and beside themselves in a lather of desire. Roberta left the shower and the other two ran into the living room to peek as Roberta tried on the bikini.
"Doesn't she look adorable in it?" Anita said. "Yeah, except that tiny strip of bra was hardly made to hold two luscious bombs like those. If she's not careful how she moves, they might pop right out. And if that ever happened on a beach, she'd start a rip-roaring riot."
"Yeah, Emmy. Oh, and look at that rear view. The suit barely covers that magnificent behind."
"Barely is right," Emmy giggled.
They could tell by Roberta's expression as she looked at herself in the mirror that she wasn't too happy about the bikini.
"She doesn't like it," Emmy said. "Probably feels that it's too revealing. Isn't that a funny thing-some of the ugly bags that wear those things and think nothing about it-and then you take a beautiful woman like this, who should be proud of her gorgeous body and she doesn't want anybody to see too much of it."
"Not in public, anyhow."
They watched Roberta peel out of the bikini again and, nude, walk over to her suitcase, take out a flimsy negligee and shrug into it. She didn't bother to close the front of it. She walked over to the TV set, switched it on and stood back, waiting for the tube to warm up.
"Oh, damn!" Emmy groaned. "She's going to watch TV. Now she won't find those pictures!"
The picture came on. There was a quiz show on that particular channel. Roberta moved forward and switched to another. This time it was an old Western. She switched that off. The next channel was featuring a wrestling match between two blubbery behemoths who awkwardly pretended to wreak mayhem on each other.
Roberta sighed, snapped off the television set, and straightened up. She glanced around the room, went over to the telephone book and skimmed through it. Then she read the ads for restaurants, dry cleaners, and movie theatres under the glass top of the telephone table. Next, she brought her suitcase over near the dresser, started to unpack and put some of her clothes into the dresser drawer.
In the other unit, watching, Emmy said: "Now, Anita! Oh, God, honey, now!"
A few moments later, their patience was rewarded. Roberta saw the loose flap of the manila envelope sticking out of the drawer. She opened the drawer, took out the envelope and studied it curiously. Then she opened the top and peeked inside. Her hand reached in and withdrew partially a sheaf of eight-by-tens. She saw then what the first picture was. It showed two young girls, college age, standing in a meadow, face to face, hugging and kissing. Both of them were naked. Their nubile breasts were mashed together. One had her thigh thrust up between the other one's legs. The blonde one held the brunette one tight against her with both hands digging into her plump buttocks.
Roberta Colby stared at the picture, unbelieving. Then she let out a gasp of dismay and excitement, mixed. She quickly stuffed the pictures back into the envelope and thrust the envelope back into the drawer, slammed the drawer shut. She glanced around furtively, guiltily, as though to see if anyone was watching her. Then she backed off from the dresser, stood staring at it, her fingers pushed up into her hair at the temples.
"Oh, no!" she said, half aloud. She shook her head, as though to clear it of the vision she had just seen.
Then, slowly almost frightened looking, she again moved to the dresser. Slowly, as though it contained something alive, she opened it. Her hand dipped in, touched the envelope, held it for a moment, then drew it out. Hastily, her fingers nervous and fumbling, Roberta took all the pictures out of the envelope. She set them down on top of the dresser and began to look through them, one by one. She saw that there were four sets of about a dozen photos each. The first series, of the blonde and the brunette in the meadow, moved in quick sequence from the first torrid embrace, standing up, to much more intimate ones in a variety of positions on the grass.
After looking at only the first set of pictures, Roberta was throbbing all over with sensual desire. The old familiar needs and wants were building rapidly. The flesh of her thighs felt as though it was crawling with tickling, caressing fingers. The plump tips of her breasts stiffened out to twice their normal size. The breasts themselves ached for caresses.
The next set displayed two buxom country-stype lassies in a hayloft. They were shown doing essentially the same things as pictured in the other sets. Yet Roberta was constantly surprised by what seemed the infinite variety of positions involved.
The fourth group of photos introduced four young girls indulging in the same type of amorous acrobatics. The photos showed a constant change of positions and partners. Several shots showed one of the young ladies using an apparatus which Roberta had heard of but had never seen before-an object which was supposed to have originated in Japan, a favorite of women often left alone, neglected by their husbands. Roberta was amazed at the detailed accuracy of this reproduction shown in a close-up. She found herself wishing that she had one, right now.
When she'd gone through the whole set of pictures once, with a little sigh of torment, Roberta turned away from them briefly. She felt as though she was on fire with fever now. She felt that if she didn't achieve some satisfaction, get some release, somehow, she would go mad. Her hands moved under the negligee, caressing her own burning flesh. She cupped her breasts, marveling at the solid weight of them. Gently she tweaked the out-thrust, aching nipples.
Impatiently, she shrugged out of the negligee, let it fall to the floor. She stood there, naked and turned to the mirror, too hot to control herself. She saw that her whole body was flushed to a rosy glow and her eyes had a wild, glazed look. She thought how crazy some man would be to see her like this-any man. She found herself wishing one would come in the door. She would hardly care who he was, what he was, so long as he could relieve the terrible wanting ache burning her up.
She thought about going out and picking up a man. But that would take too much time; there'd be too big a delay. She needed help right now. She couldn't wait.
She cursed the motel for not having some kind of a bellhop or handy man that she could call for. She thought about the two women who ran the motel. Her first impression of the older one, Emmy, had been that the woman might be a lesbian. Not that she looked like one, exactly. She was certainly feminine enough looking. But there'd been just something about her-perhaps the way her gaze had lingered just a little too long on Roberta's bulging bosom, then slid down to look at her bare legs below her shorts.
If she was that, Roberta thought, I think I'd even call for her. That might not be so bad. Certainly those two women in the hotel had enjoyed it-and the girls and women in those photos. And she, Roberta, wouldn't have to take any active part-she could remain passive. Roberta had heard that being made love to by another woman could be an even more exciting experience than being with a man.
But it was stupid to even think about that, she realized. Even if Emmy was that way, she probably was all tied up with that sweet, pretty little partner of hers, Anita.
Roberta's eyes were drawn back to the pictures on the dresser once again. As though hypnotized, she walked back and began to look through the pictures again, glancing at some, lingering on others that for some reason or other particularly excited her. The more she looked, the more the flood-tides of passion rose in her; she could hardly even stand still now. Her feverish body ached all over.
She was so excited, so busy, looking at the pictures, she didn't even hear the click of the master key in the lock. The first thing she heard was Emmy's low, sultry voice saying: "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in. I should have knocked but I saw you go out before and didn't see you return and I just wanted to check to make sure you had clean towels."
At the first sound of Emmy's voice, Roberta whirled around, her heart walloping hard against her rib cage. For the instant, she forgot that she was naked. She was thinking only about getting caught with those terrible pictures. Quickly, she scooped them up and thrust them in the drawer and shut it. She turned, leaning back against the dresser. She watched Emmy moving toward her, saw the older woman's eyes glued to the sight of Roberta's jutting, full-fleshed breasts.
"Honey, is anything the matter?" Emmy crooned, as she came close. "You look all upset about something. Is anything bothering you? Can I help you in any way?" She reached up and soothed her hand across Roberta's damp forehead.
"No! No!" Roberta managed. Her voice sounded strange even to herself. "I'm all right."
"But you feel so feverish, my dear. I wish I had some rubbing alcohol here. I'd give you a quick rubdown. Maybe that would help."
Emmy's eyes were looking straight into Roberta's now. They held the same strong, confident expression that she'd seen in Earl's gaze the first time he'd caught her in this same kind of a predicament. Oh, God, Roberta thought, she knows, she knows!
"Not that it wouldn't be kind of hard to keep my mind on my work," Emmy said now. "I probably wouldn't even get past these pretty things." With that her hand reached out and boldly cupped around Roberta's breast, gently squeezing, kneading the solid rounded flesh, lightly brushing against and teasing the erect nipple. "So beautiful!" Emmy crooned. "You beautiful darling you!"
Roberta closed her eyes, shuddering with delicious sensation that flowered through her now uncontrollably. Weakly she murmured: "Oh, no! Please, don't! Please!"
Emmy's hand moved to the other breast, tried to capture its overflowing fullness. "Which do you mean, angel?" she asked hoarsely. "Don't or please?"
Roberta felt weak at the knees. "I don't know. I
-I don't know what's the matter with me."
"Well, I do," Emmy said, "It's very obvious. You need some good loving. Don't fight it, hon. There's nothing wrong with that. All of us do at one time or another. I'll be honest, Roberta, I don't know what's the matter with me, either. You know, I've never done this to another woman, before, never felt the way I do about you. I don't understand it. I just can't help it, coming in here like this, seeing you so beautiful and naked and all. It seems all I want to do is touch you, kiss you, caress you. Maybe it was just meant to be, my coming in here like this, at just this time. Because I feel deep down inside of me that you want me too, need me, don't you, adorable?"
Roberta was shivering all over now, as the other woman's hands moved to her feverish thighs, stroked them, sampling the firm, round, tenderly smooth flesh.
"I-I don't know," Roberta whispered. "I just feel so strange!"
"Just don't think about it, dearest," Emmy ordered. "Just feel, enjoy," She took Roberta's arm, pulled gently, leading her toward the bed. "Come here, where you'll be more comfortable."
Roberta didn't want to do this; she knew that it was wrong, against all her basic precepts, but she seemed without power to fight against anything. She allowed herself to be led toward the bed. Then she was being eased down onto it gently, so gently but so firmly, too.
She looked up then, saw the older woman starting to undress. She wanted to cry out to tell her to stop but she could get no words out. Instead, she kept remembering the actions she'd seen taking place in those pictures, the ecstatic expression on the faces of the girls taking part. She was only aware of the increasing heat and need and want in her own tortured body.
Emmy's bountiful blouse came off first then her capris. She was now clad only in brief pale peach-colored panties and a bra to match. As she reached back to unhook the bra, Emmy said: "Now you'll see why I admire your beautiful bosom so much." Her padded bra fell free and Roberta saw that her figure was almost boyish. Her breasts were merely faint swellings, with tiny rust-colored nipples. Her shoulders were broad and smooth, and Roberta thought: It will seem like a man almost, if I keep my eyes closed. She closed them quickly.
A moment later, Emmy's hands were again on her breasts, this time more roughly, more demandingly, more satisfyingly. The other hand was now boldly caressing the soft gentle mound of her belly then opening her thighs, coursing up and down the smooth, sleek white flesh there, gently kneading. The fiery longing in Roberta flamed higher with growing intensity.
A moment later, she felt the bed give with the weight of Emmy's body as she lay down beside her. She felt the other woman's leg thrown over her own. The contact of their flesh sent shocks of sensation rioting through Roberta. The next instant she felt the wet warmness of Emmy's mouth on her breasts, as her lips plucked excitement at the aroused nipples. Roberta gave one big quiver of delight and gave up then. She hugged the other woman's head to her breast and moaned: "Yes! Yes, oh, yes!"
The moist kisses left her breasts, then roved over her shoulders and arms, down across the soft slope of her belly. They tingled up and down her thighs and now Roberta was panting, twisting, and writhing, begging: "Please! Please!"
Suddenly it happened. Acute sensation such as she'd never experienced before burst through Roberta in a white-hot flash and her back arched upward, hips quivering as she uttered an agonized but welcoming cry from deep in her throat. Her hands found Emmy's hair and tangled in it, caressing, holding. The following moments became eternity.
They brought their naked bodies together and automatically Emmy reached out, running her hands again and again over the pulsing flesh of Roberta's breasts, pausing to finger the nipples which grew lovingly stiff beneath the rough touch. Roberta's bronzed body was stretching and twisting provocatively. Her breasts rolled back and forth enticingly, her hips moved suggestively, and her long, trim legs flexed open in invitation.
Emmy knew exactly what she wanted. She reached out for Roberta's waist, pulling her close, and sank her teeth into Roberta's bare shoulder. Roberta winced, but at the same time shuddered in pleasant anticipation, slithered forward, and, as the tips of her tits grazed the other woman's, she could feel Emmy's nipples respond too.
Emmy murmured a passionate animal sound and brought her face expectantly towards Roberta's. They pressed their open mouths together, and the tongue duel was on, first in Roberta's mouth, then in Emmy's. Emmy's hands moved along her back, then down, coming to rest demandingly on the firm twin mounds of Roberta's lovely ass, pulling the moaning woman in even closer. Roberta felt the fingers gripping her buttocks, then moving down into the cleft valley, nudging at the rectal slit. Roberta gasped as the finger entered-a sweet delicious feeling. Roberta could feel Emmy's heart beating rapidly beneath the small breasts that massaged her own full tits.
Emmy began nipping excitedly at Roberta's ear, but suddenly she moved quickly away and reversed her position on the bed. "Oh, baby," she murmured, "we gotta-"
Emmy's body contorted in ecstasy as she made sweet lesbian love to Roberta, her hair tickling at the wide-open legs, the hard little breasts raking Roberta's moving stomach.
Emmy emitted a soft cry through gritting teeth, and the heat of her murmur breathed deep into Roberta's cunt. Her nails raked Roberta's buttocks, greedily wanting more, MORE! ALL OF IT! Her strong legs flailed around Roberta's ears as fleshy spasms overtook them both. That warm tongue was working away with renewed passion deep inside Roberta's belly, blazing a stimulating trail that had Roberta's whole body tingling.
"Ohhh, I can't stand it anymore. Chew the inside out of me! Take me!" Roberta groaned out her lost-foundling cries, as Emmy's tongue went plowing and owning, and she flung her legs high and apart, the mouth forever dipping and sucking at her, full of the endless, flavored flow of her. That taffy jewel was slipping and sliding in Emmy's mouth, and Roberta soared to even new summits as she moaned and shot her bottom upwards in fresh and covetous hunger. She soared again and again to the heights of breathtaking fulfillment, no longer aware of time nor place nor anything but the demands and satisfactions of her own body.
When it was over she lay there gasping, practically in a faint. For long moments, she felt too weak to even open her eyes. She thought several times she heard other voices, whispering, but assumed it was merely imagination, a sort of aftermath delirium following the fever in her that had just been purged.
But then she knew she heard two people whispering. She opened her eyes and turned her head. She saw now that the other woman, Anita, had sneaked into the room. How long had she been there, Roberta wondered, how much had she seen?
In her pleasantly lethargic state, though, Roberta hardly cared. She wasn't even surprised to see that Emmy was undressing Anita and already had the other woman practically nude.
Then Anita's panties and wisp of bra were off and Roberta saw the smaller woman had an exciting body. Her breasts were full and round, the nipples small in circumference but perfectly pointed. Her hips and thighs were well proportioned.
Roberta watched now as the two nude women embraced and kissed. She felt strange, witnessing these kind of scenes. Somehow, it didn't shock her, nor excite her. It was as though it was something she was seeing in a dream, in a half-waking, half-sleeping dream, so that she didn't really believe it.
Emmy and Anita stood locked in an embrace for long moments with Anita whimpering endearments as the older woman caressed her lavishly. She watched Emmy pull the other woman down onto the empty bed next to Roberta's. What followed Roberta didn't think she would ever forget. The session she had witnessed between the couple in the hotel room, the scenes depicted in the pornographic photos even, were mild compared to the passionate extremes that Emmy and Anita drove each other to.
In a few moments, Roberta found herself once more becoming consumed by a newly revived and even greater desire of her own, being forced to watch the wild tanglings and entwinings of the other two woman on the bed. She shuddered at the sound of their passionate outcries and groanings. The bed literally shook with the thrashing of their legs, the gyrations of their hips.
After fifteen minutes, Emmy arose, leaving Anita lying limply, unmoving, in complete repose. She turned to Roberta again and instantly saw the tortured need burning in Roberta's eyes, in her whole expression. She moved to her and her hands drove to Roberta's breasts, digging into them. Roberta moaned her acquiescence as the weight of Emmy's body bore down on her. This time Roberta responded with nothing held back, was, herself, as wildly wanton as Emmy ... and it went on and on....
She did not even remember falling asleep or the other women leaving. When she awakened, it was dark in the motel room. She lay for long moments, suddenly aware that she was still naked. Aware that physically she felt drained, weakened, yet peculiarly at rest with no muscular tension, no nervous tension at all. Then memory of those sordid hours with Emmy and Anita began to come back in detail. She cried out into the dark, a wail of protest at allowing herself to be so used, so degraded. Suddenly, she felt filthy, physically as well as morally. She forced herself to get up, go into the shower room, and she soaped herself down thoroughly under water as hot as she could stand it. Then she let cold water needle down onto her.
She was somewhat refreshed then. She noticed that the manila folder of photos was no longer in the room. She knew that Emmy had taken them and she assumed now that the motel owner had planted them there, knowing she would find them, knowing she would be aroused by them, become easy prey to her own twisted needs.
But how had she known that, Roberta demanded of herself. Was it that obvious now for experienced lesbians and male lechers to just look at her and tell?
She thought about it for a long time. It was getting to be too much. Where was she headed, when she could become such an easy victim to strange men-or women? She thought about the psychiatric treatment she had just started. It would take a long time, Dr. Kleaver had said. Well, she couldn't wait. How many more such degrading experiences could she go through?
She didn't know. After a while, it became so painful to think about-yet she couldn't seem to stop thinking about it-that she went out and bought herself a fifth of scotch. Alone in the motel room, she got slowly, deliberately, cockeyed drunk, to the point where she finally fell over onto the bed, still fully dressed, with the lights still on, in a drunken stupor that swiftly became a dead sleep.
At five o'clock in the morning, she awakened and got dressed and packed and left the motel. She couldn't stay there, face either of those women. She knew that somehow they'd figure out another way to lure her again into the trap of their own depravity.
She drove over to Clearwater and checked into a hotel there.
At the very moment, just after dawn that morning, that Roberta Colby was checking into the hotel in Clearwater, a young teenage girl by the name of Sharon McEvers was sitting in that town's police station, waiting to be questioned by Homicide Detective Chet Carter. Although Roberta didn't know it at the time, the remarkable events that had happened in young Sharon McEver's life in the past few weeks, would play an important part in her own during the next few days.
CHAPTER NINE
Sharon sat in the police station, wondering if she should tell the detective in the next room the whole story. She wondered if her mother had, just before they carted her off to the Women's House of Detention, ten minutes before. She looked through the glass window at the gray-haired cop that would be asking her a million questions in just a few minutes. He looked friendly enough, maybe she would. And he had a nice name-like something out of a private-eye movie; Chet Carter. Detective Chet Carter. It sounded groovy. Maybe she would level with him at that-if she only knew how much her mother had told.
Marion McEvers had indeed told quite a story, and at this moment Detective Chet Carter was trying to put it all in place inside his head. Best he could figure, from the notes on the yellow foolscap pad in front of him:
Marion McEvers still remembered that Tuesday afternoon she let Ritchie Denhault take her home from work. She had told Carter that she remembered it was raining when she left the office building, and since her car was in the garage getting overhauled, she was standing under the overhang debating what to do when she heard Ritchie call out to her: "Hey! Over here, Mrs. McEvers! I go your way!" And he pulled up in his 1961 Chewy.
Marion smiled thinly, thinking that a ride with Ritchie would be better than getting wet. Besides, she liked the boy. Only eighteen years old, a tall, nice-looking adolescent, Ritchie was always clowning around-and definitely considered himself a rake with the girls. She didn't have to worry about that-she had assumed Ritchie knew she was a divorcee with a teenage daughter.
Sharon's mother had accepted Ritchie's offer to drive her home-and was absolutely flabbergasted when she felt his hand on her knee after he stopped in front of her house. But she was even more astonished when she found she enjoyed the feel of his hand moving higher! She did not attempt to remove his fingers, slowly crawling up her leg, along her thighs, past the top of her stocking ... underneath the elastic of her panties, until they were actually thrusting through the hot moist lips.
"She remembered too, glaring hot-eyed out the car's window at the sprinkle of rain, not daring to look at the boy's face-for it would remind her that he was twenty years younger than she. "I have to go in now," she said, but not convincingly, an still not looking at him.
"Don't you like it, huh, Mrs. McEvers?"
"It-it's not that. I-"
"Because I'm a kid?"
"No, no. Oh, Ritchie, I've been lonely, so lonely, but...."
The finger kept at its circling motion, inside her cunt. She was having trouble getting her breath. Her attractive face was becoming filmed with perspiration. But she didn't move out of the car. She had told the detective that now she wished she had.
"Just put your hand on this hard-on a minute, that's all, Mrs. McEvers. Gee, I watch you walkin' around the office all day and...."
His finger was working a new and faster rhythm, flicking at the moist lips of her vulva. Marion gasped in sheer delight, naked passion claiming her entire body, heating her vagina to a white-hot rage. Yet she still remembered where she was and-My God, I'm-I-I'm o-old enough to be his-his m-mother-I-She muttered, but not loudly, certainly not at all convincingly...."N-No! NO! Y-You must-not-I-oohhhhhhhhhh."
The rain continued to tip-tap on the car, clouding the windows and Ritchie, his face a mask of half grin and all lust, continued to work his fingers in Marion's vulva. She opened her thighs to permit betteringress, moaned slightly when she felt his other hand move to her breasts.
"L-let's-l-let's go inside," Ritchie whispered. "Let's-g-go-in-your house-and have some fun-huh!"
Marion wanted to-God! How I want to!-But she had to shake her head. "We-we can't! My-d-daughter-she'll be-be home from school. FASTER! DO IT-IT-DO IT FASTERRRRRR. Uhhhhhh!"
"I've got-got a big hard-on!" Ritchie said, a whine to his voice. He knew how Marion was at fever pitch and figured if he insisted, if he pushed long enough, she would consent. She was hardly conscious of his words, lost completely in her first orgasm, and as the intense heavenly joy of come began to subside, she suddenly was possessed with the all-consuming desire to see his prick. She wanted to feel it, pull it, twist it. She wanted it in her mouth.
She put her hand on Ritchie's lap, felt the stiff hardness, the throbbing rise imprisoned within his struggling trousers. Not caring that he might think her sex-possessed, Marion unzipped the . youth's trousers and pulled out his penis, gasping when she saw the size of the handsome prick-very white and bigger than what her ex-husbands had possessed ... a long, thick circumcised cock, the size of which triggered another orgasm in her. She began to masturbate Ritchie, firmly clutching the hard, pulsating shaft, working it with an experienced hand.
With jerky movements, Ritchie continued to finger fuck her ... gasping and sobbing, twisting and squirming, as Marion's hand raced up and down on his cock.
"L-let-m-me-p-put-on-a-r-rubber," he sobbed, feebly attempting to open the compartment in the dash. Marion ignored his request, continued to jack him ... working her hand faster and FASTER over his inflamed peter.
"Ohhhh-uhhhhhhhh!" he finally cried, automatically raising his loins and ejaculating with such intensity that some of his semen splattered on the windshield over the dash. Then Marion cried, having still another orgasm, which even pulled at the roots of her hair.
Marion met Ritchie that very same night and they went straight to the Blue Dot Motel. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Ritchie was experienced, not at all nervous and unsure of himself as most boys his age would have been. There was nothing Marion could teach the youth, notwithstanding her having to tell him how she preferred having her cunt sucked. Ritchie dearly loved fellatio, but not in the 69 position, telling Marion he could not concentrate because...."I like to watch your mouth going up and down on my dick, and I can't see that when I'm eating your pussy."
They ignored each other at work, but continued to meet after work and make love-two and three times a week-yet never at Marion's house, a state of affairs not to Ritchie's liking.
"Why can't we go to your pad, hon?" Ritchie would ask. "That would be more convenient. Why can't we? Now tell me, why can't we?"
Patiently, Marion would tell the boy. "Ritchie, dear, I've told you over and over why we can't Because of your age. There's no way I could explain you to my daughter--and don't call my home a "'pad,' you silly boy."
"BUtr-"
"Why-you should be dating Sharon, not me!" Marion would say. "I've told you: you can't come to my p-my home. That's all there is to it."
"But it costs like crazy at a motel!" Ritchie protested.
"Ritchie, dear, I don't mind paying for it; I've got the money. Nor do I mind helping out with your tuition. I can afford it; so don't worry about it. Now fuck me!"
Finally, however, Marion and Ritchie did make love in her home ... one day when Sharon was at school and Marion was off from work with a cold. They were in bed together ... Marion riding Ritchie while he pinched her nipples, when Sharon walked in on them....
When Detective Carter told her what he knew so far, Sharon eagerly filled in the gaps; "It was-well, it was an accident the way I walked in on Mom and Ritchie. I hadn't had my flu shot and when one of the kids at school came down with the virus, all us kids who hadn't had shots were sent home. I usually didn't get home until about three-thirty, but that day I got home a little after one. They sure weren't expecting me. I walked in the house and heard them screwing up a storm in Mom's bedroom. Sure, I knew they were fucking, because-what the hell you mean, telling me I shouldn't talk dirty! Let me tell you, Mister Fuzz, I'm not a square when it comes to knowing what boys do to girls. Man, you're not with it when it comes to knowing what goes on! Hell's bells! Andy Masson popped my cherry when I was only twelve!
"So I walked in on Mom and caught her fucking-so what! I really didn't think nothing of it. After all, like I mean she had a right to her peter. You know, a gal's gotta have her prick every now and then. I sure do, but me and my dates have to rely on a set of wheels, you know ... like Bernie Macaluso, calls his car a 'traveling whorehouse!-ha ha ha ha!
"What do you think Mom did when she saw me standing there, grinning at her and Ritchie. Man, that's a dumb ass question. You're not hip to anything, are you? Mom screamed at me to get the hell out. She jumped off the bed as if I was the devil himself, and Ritchie, he just sat up and grinned.
"'Aw, hon, let her stay,' he said. 'She knows the score ... probably has had a lot of cocks in her. After all, she ain't no baby."
"He was sure right about that. But I don't screw as often as a lot of girls I pal with. And I won't fuck just any old joint, either.
"Ritchie finally convinced Mom that it would be a good thing for me to stay and see them doing it, but at first Mom would have none of it. But Ritchie told her that if she didn't let me stay, he would get up, put on his clothes and never come back. Mom sure must have considered him good fucking material, because his threat sure brought her over to his way of thinking-mine, too! I wanted to stay, all along hoping he'd diddle me-ain't I nasty? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay! Okay, don't rush me....
"After Mom reluctantly agreed to let me stay and see them fuck, Ritchie said, 'Sharon, take your clothes all off and sit on the bed and-'
"'Now Ritchie, you're not going to screw her!' Mom said anxiously.
"'Well, she got a cunt, ain't she?' Ritchie said. 'And don't tell me she ain't had a cock in her before!'
"Me-I laughed at Mom's ignorance! You bet your sweet bippy I'd had peters before! And did I shock the old lady when I said, 'Mom, I've been on the Pill for over a year!' She looked at me as if I had just announced I was Jesus Christ, and I told her-'I've been getting it from one of my girl friends, who swipes it from her mother!'
"Mom was on the verge of saying something, but Ritchie began fingering her cunt and sucking her boobs, and that sent her off again. Forgetting all about me, she began to moan, clutching at Ritchie, pulling him to her. Now me, I know a good thing when I see it. I stripped off and sat on the edge of the bed, playing with myself and getting hotter and hotter by the minute. I kept staring at Ritchie's prick. It fascinated me and I longed to have it inside my cunt. Mom popped off finally-it shouldn't have taken her that long, not the way he was finger fucking her. Ritchie stopped chewing her ninnies, said he was going to fuck her, and for her to spread out.
"They really fucked up a storm! You'd have thought Mom was a virgin getting her first peter, the way she wrapped her legs around Ritchie and gave it to him-and he really prick pounded the old lady. Mister, what a fucker he was! The way he rammed that root of his!
"You'd have thought my old lady was half nuts, the way she carried on! 'Course, I sort of flip my wig myself when I'm ready to get my jollies! 'OHHHHH!' Mom almost yelled. 'D-do-i-it, honey! F-faster, love-daddy! Ohohohoh! F-fuck me! Oh-Ahhhhhh.... Drill-a-h-hole in-my-my c-cunt with y-your pric-prickkkkk-Ohhh!
"A-am I-I g-giving it-it-to y-you all right?' Ritchie sobbed.
"And I'll tell you something, Mr. Fuzz. I popped off too, just watching them!
"Then Ritchie got the bright idea that Mom should suck him off-right there in front of me. Like I mean they weren't two feet from me. Mom didn't like that idea much, but we both urged her to give him a blow job.
"'Come on, Mom, show me how you do it.' I said.
"She finally agreed, saying that since I'd seen them fucking-well, she figured I might as well see her blowin' Ritchie. 'But I still think it's a nasty thing to do in front of my own daughter,' she tells me. Kinda sounds funny, now.
"Ritchie sat on the edge of the bed and Mom got down on her knees between his legs. I sat there next to Ritchie, fascinated, watching, and after Mom took his limp cock in her mouth, he began playing with my tits. She sure knew how to do it, my mother did, and soon Ritchie's cock was hard-and man! what a prick he had. Big and hairy! But she didn't make him come, because it was too soon after a fuck for him to build up another charge.
"After a time, Ritchie told Mom he had had enough, and for her to sit on the bed so that he could eat her pussy. And that's what he did, sucked her pussy a long time. I just sat there, getting hotter and hotter. Then Ritchie got up and said he was going to fuck Mom between her tits, and she asked, 'You want me to catch your come with my mouth when you come?'
"'llh-huh,' Ritchie said, matter-of-factly. 'I feel like I got another big load!'
"He crawled up between Mom's boobs, laid his cock in the valley, squeezed her boobs together and began fucking her like that. That really sent me, 'cause I had never been screwed like that-and when he shot off! Man, he had a load of white stuff that would have choked Norma Baines. Who? Oh, her! Norma's in my class at school and we call her 'pussy mouth.' That's all she wants to do, suck a boy off. She's got a thing about peters. Will blow a guy at the drop of a rubber, but won't let a guy screw her!
"That's all Mom and Ritchie did that first time I was there. But they had another go-round a week later when I was present. Mom and Ritchie went at it so fast and furious that she forgot all about fixing dinner. I got so damned disgusted that I left the bedroom and fixed myself some bacon and eggs, and when I went back into the bedroom, they were still at it! This time, Mom was on her hands and knees and Ritchie was diddling her dog-fashion. I sat down on the bed next to them and began to jack myself, then Ritchie got the idea that maybe I needed some sex satisfaction, " 'How do you feel, Sharon?' he asked. 'That twat of yours on fire?'
"I told him the truth. 'It sure is,' I said. 'I'm burning up!'
"Rubbing her tits, Mom said, 'Well, you're not going to fuck her, Ritchie. I won't have it. It's disgraceful! Bad enough we do it in front of her, she's only a baby and ... '
"HA HA! Imagine that! Me! A 'baby.' Well, Mr. Fuzz, Mom rattled on and on, but as usual, Ritchie finally got his way, and before you could say fiddle-de-fuck, I was all spread out for Ritchie and he was between my legs, rubbing the head of his cock between my pussy lips. Mom sat there watching, and I could tell by the hotness in her eyes, she was enjoying every second of it, was just as sizzling as I was....
"'llHH!' I gasped when Ritchie shoved his big prong in my snatch. The way that guy was hung, and how he could fuck! I wrapped my legs around his back, threw my arms around his neck and began to help the screw along, rolling up my ass when he came plunging down, reaming my snatch with his big screwer. I got with it in a hurry, giving Ritchie all I had, using every trick at my command. After all, I'm no dummy. I knew what side my future fucks were buttered on!
"I tell you-in no time at all, Ritchie had me more excited than I had ever been in my life! My tits were swollen up, my ninnies so hard they hurt, and my cunt felt like the sun-only hotter! It didn't matter that Mom was watching. How could it? I'd seen Ritchie fucking her and had seen her sucking his noodle. HA HA HA! You might say it was all in the family! HAH AH A!
"Ritchie, he really sent me! 'D-do-do-it-f-faster-FASTER!' I got to crying, wanting to have my comsie in one big hurry. I tightened my arms around his neck, feeling that his skin was wet and slippery with sweat ... feeling his hot breath blowing on the side of my neck.
"'You-y-you-'bout-r-ready?' he asked. 'Can-you-I-I-g-going to have-UH!'
"'G-go o-on!' I told him. 'I'm-I'm w-waiting f-for y-you. D-do it h-hard-HARD! l-ohohl I'm going-uh-oh-I-l-OHOHOHOHOHOHOH! U H HH H Hhuhuhuhuhu!'
"For a moment, well, I thought I'd just die! It felt like my cunny was made of glass and someone had shattered it. I could feel Ritchie'a big boomer expanding within, jerking, and slamming his spunk into my little cunny. His rush of cream-that big daddy really shot his wad, I tell you. I mean I could feel his stiff meat against my cunt, spitting a big mush of stuff against my wombsie! I tightened him to me like a vise, wanting to get his whole cock, even his balls in me! All along I kept right on coming, almost howling in my jollies.
"After me and Ritchie got through fucking, Mom calmly announced that she wanted to go down on him, which was just fine with Ritchie. He loved mouth jobs-and he asked me, 'Honey bunch, you ever eaten peter? Ever had any come in your mouth?'
"I giggled. That Ritchie! Asking me a question like that-I mean like asking me in front of my very own mother, and like I was just supposed to come out and say, 'Sure, I've gone down on a guy. All of us girls do it to our dates, or we wouldn't have any boyfriends. The boys take us out and spend loot on us, so why shouldn't we return the favor by blowing them!'
"I played it cool and shook my head, acting like I was a square and didn't know a thing about playing a flute. Like I figured it was none of their damn business, you know. Like I was stupid and didn't know what Ritchie was hinting for me to do.
"'No,' I said, sort of innocent-like. 'I've never sucked a guy."
"HAH AH A! Ritchie's eyes got as bright as two flashlights. 'I think then it's about time you learned how. Why, you're almost sixteen!' And he said to Mom, 'Honey, you show her how I like to be blowed.' That Ritchie, he sure was excited.
"Ritchie, he spread his legs as wide as he could and leaned back on the side of the bed, his hands under his head ... hands and head resting back on three pillows. 'An don't you two turn your heads sideways while you suck me,' he said. 'I want to see my peter going in and out of your mouths."
"Right off, I expected Mom to blow her top over Ritchie's wanting me to toddle his flute-as if I didn't know how. I mean, like him wanting her to show me how! Of course, they didn't realize I knew how. But that wasn't the point. But Mom, she didn't say anything, didn't raise any kind of hell, or go off her nut ... you know ... on any kind of holy stuff speech. Hell's bells! She seemed to be as excited as me, as we got down between Ritchie's legs and made ready to go down on him.
"Mom said, 'You watch how I do it, Sharon.' She took Ritchie's half-hard cock in her hand. 'You watch how I do it, then you can try."
"She popped the head of Ritchie's prick into her mouth and began sucking on it, running her mouth up and down over it. She also squeezed the shaft and played with his balls. For a few minutes she sucked on his peter; then she pulled the head from her mouth, licked her lips, you know, like she enjoyed the taste.
"'All right, you try it,' Mom said, still holding onto his dick. 'llse your tongue and lips all you want, honey, but don't bite his prick with your teeth-and do you see this spot right here?'
"She indicated a piece of skin shaped like a little cord that seemed to anchor the head to the main part of the peter. 'Right here,' Mom said. 'You lick good right on this spot. It's the most of the whole blow! He'll come in a big hurry when you lick there and apply a lot of tongue pressure.' "
"Look, Mister Carter, I know what you must be thinkin' while I'm telling you all this. But I got my reasons. I ain't just mouthin' off to hear myself. Okay?"
"No, no, Miss McEvers. Go on. It's very interesting."
"Well now-I mean like I really didn't know that! About where to suck, I mean. " 'You try it,' Mom said.
"I took Ritchie's cock and put the head in my mouth, began running my tongue over the wet, salty-tasting knob. I liked doing it, and then-you know what? That damned Ritchie said I wasn't doing it right! As if I had never sucked a guy before!
"He said, 'You got to suck it harder-and try to get more of my cock in your mouth. You show her how to do it, dear. You show her!'
"'All right, dear,' Mamma said, popping his piddle in her mouth once more. The old fool had sure flipped her wig over that stud. Don't ask me why. He wasn't a really good-looking guy and was kind of skinny, and he had some pimples on his face. But what a corn on the cob he had! I tell you, Mom sure had the hots for him.
"What she did, she ran her mouth down over his cock, taking almost all of it. It's a wonder the head didn't pop out of her poop hole! Up and down she went, her mouth full of peter, while Ritchie and I watched. I don't mind telling you, I was fascinated. Up and down, like she was some kind of automatic machine geared to automatic slurping, ya' know? What happened-Ritchie got real excited, leaned down and pulled her off his cock.
"'I d-don't-don't w-want to come in your mouth,' he said, breathing heavy. 'I want to come in hers. You do it now, Sharon. Do it like your mother did it and I'll come in you."
"'I'll hold his prick for you,' Mom said, taking hold of Ritchie's prick. 'Get as much of it in your mouth as you can."
"So while Mom held her lover's cock, I sucked on it, giving him a big blow that surprised not only him but my mother! I'd show them! In no time at all, I had Ritchie rising like a rocket-and his hot gun boomed off, giving me a blast of pure-dee come. Like it was a big shoot that was extra hot, but not as tasty as I thought it would be. You know, not all come tastes alike. Norma-and that little cocksucker ought to know-Norma, she says that a black's come tastes sweeter than a white man's.
"Ritchie shot so much stuff in my mouth I couldn't swallow it all, and some of it dribbled down my lips. But he really liked the way I did it. He got so excited that he sucked my pussy, while Mom lay on the floor, under him, and he fucked her in the mouth."
Sharon McEvers continued with her hideous confession to the homicide detective.
""After that first time with Ritchie and Mom, like the first time I had sex with them-after that, I screwed around with them lots of times, the three of us doing all sorts of things. I got to sucking Mom's cunt, and she'd blow Ritchie while I ate her, like I'd suck his cock, while she got between my legs and had her box meal. The things the three of us did, you know, like daisy chains, stuff like that.
"Like ... yesterday afternoon when Mom got the idea that me and her would blow him at the same time. I mean she meant we'd suck him together. Mom was sure an old whore and knew all the tricks, but her suggestion was sure a new one to me. And Ritchie too. We just stared at her.
"'How you and Sharon going to do that?' Ritchie asked, lookin' dumb.
"'Yeah, Mom, how can we both blow him at the same time?' I chimed in.
"Mom laughed, and went on to explain that it was really a very simple sort of thing. She said that while I sucked his peter, she would eat his balls-'Or you can suck on his nuts and I'll blow him,' Mom finished. That seemed sort of screwy to me, but I said okay, so we gave him a double job. That's what we did.
"Ritchie lay flat on his back and I got to the side of him, on my knees I pulled back on his cock, pushing it almost to his belly. I took the head in my mouth and began sucking on it. Mom, flat on her stomach between his legs, had taken his marbles in her mouth and was sucking on them, sort of sucking and chewing gently on the wrinkled skin. I figured it was one wild way to give a man his jollies, but Mom knew all kinds of tricks, you know, like slipping a finger in a man's poop hole and jacking him back there while you blow him. But I didn't get Ritchie's soup in my mouth that trip. Before his gun could go boom and deliver the goods, me and Mom exchanged places. I sucked his nuts and she mouth-conked his cock, getting his wad.
"All three of us felt pretty silly when we looked up and saw my father standing there in the bedroom doorway. He had always paid Mom child support for me and so the bastard had the right to come around and see me now and then. I didn't like him at all, but I always put on a sweet act to get a few extra bucks out of him, like, you know, a new dress ... things like that. What had happened-so I found out later-my old man had come around and Mom had forgotten to lock the door. The bastard just walked in.
"I just stared at my father, frozen with a kind of numbness. Mom, she sort of gurgled, and I thought her eyeballs were going to pop out of-her head. Ritchie lay there, his mouth wide open, his eyes staring at my father.
"It's kind of hazy, I mean what followed. Dad let out some kind of crazy gasp and rushed into the room. I fell off the bed and-I don't remember it too well. I do remember him trying to choke Mom, and Ritchie-the way that stud split! Running out of the bedroom like a scared chicken, his cock flapping up and down like an old-fashioned pump handle.
"Don't ask me who called the fuzz! I crawled under the bed, scared to death, listening to my mom and my old man screaming and yelling at each other. Somehow, Mom had broken away from him, and was calling him a sonofabitch, and he was calling her a lousy child-fucking slut-I guess he meant because of me-and he was going to kill her."
Detective Carter took a deep sigh and rolled a pencil between his thumb and forefinger, studying it. "Tell me, Sharon, why are you telling me all this? I mean ... including all the gory details. You don't have to, you know."
"Well, the way I figure it, me and Mom only got one chance."
"Oh? What's that?"
"Pleading insanity. And you gotta admit, it's a pretty nutty bit, just the way it stands. All the truth, though, nutty as it sounds."
"Sure you didn't ... dramatize things a bit? Especially the sex part?"
"Look, I'm in a pretty bad scrape. I decided to tell you the truth and cop out on an insanity route."
"Maybe you read too many books or see too many movies, eh? I don't think the District Attorney will have any charges to present against you. You won't even be sixteen until next month. Of course, you may have to go to some state school for a while but...."
"What about Mom?"
"Well, Sharon, your mother is charged with murder. She confessed to stabbing your father to death. That matter will be in the hands of the courts. It seems to me you've been handed a pretty bad break, kid. The problem is, how can we help you, that's what I'm concerned with at the moment."
The first step Detective Chet Carter took to help Sharon was to put her in the hands of a private psychiatrist by the name of Dr. Kleaver. And that is how the tape recording of Sharon's statement to Detective Carter came to be in the doctor's office when Roberta reported there for her second visit.
CHAPTER TEN
It had been a week now since Roberta Colby had left town and Tony Marsh missed her more than ever. He had spent a bad night after that scene with Earl Lord in which Roberta's promotion manager had told him that weird story about Roberta and that he, Earl, had twice been inimate with Roberta in her office after hours. At first he tried to tell himself that the whole thing was ridiculous, a figment of the other man's vile imagination. Yet the more he mulled it, the more obvious it became that Earl must have been telling the truth. Nobody could concoct such a fey story about a woman. In the first place, a man like Earl wouldn't have the imagination. Even now, it still was a little hard for Tony to believe.
In the past week, Tony Marsh had told himself that he would have to forget Roberta Colby. He knew that he could never forgive her. No matter how much he tried, if he ever saw her again, Earl's story would stay in his mind. He did everything he could to follow through on that, to try to forget. He got drunk every night. He consorted with expensive call girls, sometimes even with several of them at one time. None of this did any good. None of it worked. He remained hooked on Roberta Colby. He knew then that he was, for the first time in his life, really and truly in love. And that unless he got Roberta back, nothing else in his life would ever mean anything to him.
Now, this morning, while he was showering, Tony made a decision. He told himself that Roberta must be emotionally ill. He told himself that if she were physically sick, he wouldn't desert her, would he? He would try to help her. Well, the sensible thing to do was to approach this the same way. He would find her somehow and get her to have psychiatric help. He knew that they performed wonders in that field these days.
The big problem, though, of course, would be to find Roberta. Her lawyers had already told Tony that they didn't know where she was. But he sensed they had been lying. They would almost have to know. He set about trying to figure some way to get that information out of them.
In Dr. Kleaver's office, Roberta Colby broke down after she related to him the incident with the two lesbians in her motel room. Sobbing as though her heart would break, with her face in her hands, she cried: "What am I going to do? I've got to do something fast. I can't go through any more such experiences."
Dr. Kleaver let her cry for a while and then got her a box of tissues. When her sobbing had subsided, he said: "You're perfectly right, Miss Colby. I hadn't realized that the situation had become quite this extreme. We'll see if we can't take some kind of drastic measures. I would have preferred not to, but apparently there's no other choice now. Very often a patient is so involved with their own problems that they become convinced that they are the only ones with any problem at all. This is especially true with sexual paradoxes. Now we have been quite successful in a new approach, particularly when we are reasonably certain that we have interpreted the patterns of the patient's conflict."
"Doctor, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. Can you put it in my language?"
"Of course, forgive me. What I'm saying is I have studied the papers you filled out the other day, and I have a pretty good idea what the trouble is. It lies in your thirteenth year of life-something happened when you were thirteen, and you are rejecting any memory of it. I am going to play a tape recording of a police case that I have been consulted on. It is the voice of a young girl, and you will never know her name, so I am not actually betraying her by permitting you to hear it. My hope is that by listening to another person telling what happened to them, you may be willing to admit to yourself that something of a simi-liar experience happened to you at that age. The theory is what is used in group therapy. When you hear someone else say something right out in the open, you feel it is not so terrible to say it yourself. Now this girl's statement is, to say the least, rather frank and earthy in its language. So do not be shocked. I am only interested in seeing your reaction to it."
"All right," Roberta said, then in a lower, sadder voice, "I'll try anything."
Dr. Kleaver threaded Sharon McEver's tape into the tape recorder, pushed the PLAY button and sat back to watch Roberta's reaction.
Dr. Kleaver was not surprised that by the end of the recording Roberta Colby was crying uncontrollably, great sobs of emotion-but she still could not say anything-still could not directly refer to the events of her thirteenth year.
"Did it excite you sexually, Roberta?"
"To a degree, Doctor. But mostly-Oh God! I am so sorry for that poor girl. It-it's almost like it was me."
"Yes, yes ... go on."
But Roberta's mind was a blank. She couldn't go on.
"All right, all right, Roberta, just relax. We are making progress. At least we've got our finger on the sore spot, that's obvious. Now we'll keep our finger there and try a different approach. I am confident we are opening doors. But first of all, I want you to get something straight in your own mind."
"Wh-what is that?" she asked, still sniffling, dabbing tears from her eyes.
"About this latest experience." Dr. Kleaver looked at her sternly and smoothed down his clipped mustache with the edge of his fingernail. "I want you to get any idea out of your head that you might have lesbian tendencies-even latent. You haven't. This experience was brought upon you. It wasn't anything voluntary. You were under emotional stimuli. The same thing could have happened to any woman in a similar situation, in a similar condition. It happens in women's prisons, all too frequently. It even rather frequently happens to very young girls who are seduced by older, more experienced women. It even happens to men, at some time in their life.
You see, the sexual demands of the human body are almost as strong as-let's say-hunger or self-preservation. Under these latter stresses, a desperate person will even steal. But that doesn't mean he's basically a thief. It's only a circumstantial deviation. The same thing applies to you and this latest experience. Neither are you a nymphomaniac, in the ordinary sense of the word. I want you to be completely assured of this and I'll tell you what we are going to do."
"Like what?" Roberta asked nervously.
"Have you ever been hypnotized, Roberta?"
She shook her head. "Uh-uh."
"It makes no difference. I'm almost sure you'll be a good subject. And please be assured, medical hypnosis is nothing like the parlor-trick stuff you see on TV and in nightclubs or the movies. It has become as scientific as other aspects of medical treatment. It will not harm you in any way; you will not become another person, nor will it be an unpleasant experience."
"But what will it do for me?"
Dr. Kleaver drummed his fingers on the desk, swung around on his swivel chair. "I've become almost certain-and it's especially indicated in your tests-that you must have suffered some kind of traumatic experience when you were thirteen years old."
Roberta shook her head. "I don't remember anything about it."
"That's just the point. The experience was so unpleasant, so shocking, that you can't face it. Consequently, it has become buried deep in your subconscious. We must bring it out, let you face it, see it as it really was and that, in all actuality, it has no bearing on your present life. You say you remember nothing about your thirteenth year. Nothing at all?"
It came to Roberta then. She wondered why it hadn't the other day. "Why, yes," she said. "I remember that was the year my father died." With that, she again burst out sobbing.
When she fought for control once more, Dr. Kleaver said: "I've made arrangements with a colleague of mine, who specializes in hypnosis. He's one of the best in the country. If you're ready, we'll go to his office now. It's right here in the building. I'll be right there with you, too, taking notes. Are you willing?"
Roberta didn't have much time to think about it. But she was so desperate for help she had to agree. She finally said yes a little dubiously. Dr. Kleaver then got a folder from his desk drawer, stuck a pen in his pocket and escorted her to the door. They rode on the elevator to the top floor of the building, entered a door on which was lettered: F.M. RICHMAN, M.D.
Roberta was trembling as she was led into the office. Dr. Kleaver said good morning to the receptionist, went right past her and into the inner office. It was furnished in simple good taste, similar to Dr. Weaver's office, with the exception of a long leather couch at one side of the office. Dr. Richman was a tall, slender man with bushy white hair and a kind of sad, lined face. Roberta liked him and his gentle smile and soft way of speaking and took confidence in him right away.
First he explained to her what was going to happen. He said: "We don't swing a bright object in front of your eyes, Miss Colby, or any of that nonsense. There's a simple verbal procedure by which I gain the rapport and the confidence of the subject. The first stages are merely a matter of achieving your complete relaxation. As we proceed to the deeper stages, I will attempt to regress you to earlier ages, gradually until we get you back to your thirteenth year. At that point, we hope that you will relive for the moment and tell us about various experiences you had during that period."
He gave her some simple instructions and led her to the leather couch where he instructed her to lie down and assume as comfortable a position as possible. She obeyed and was then subjected to the first stage of hypnosis which she found to be just as Dr. Richman had stated and quite pleasant. But soon she advanced into a deeper stage and lost awareness of all things except the sound of Dr. Richman's voice and her own thoughts. She felt bodiless, a person apart from herself. Soon she found herself reliving and telling about a weekend at an amusement park when she was twenty years old with a group of college girls. It was actually as though she was right back there at that age, enjoying every moment of the experience, which came to her in clearest, minutest detail. She regressed then back to age eighteen-then to fifteen. And then she was back in her thirteenth year....
She and her mother and father had been spending their vacation at a farm they owned in Connecticut. Her parents were quite wealthy at the time. Roberta had always been a big girl for her age. At twelve, she'd started to develop. At thirteen she was in the full bloom of young womanhood, at least physically. In spite of this-or possibly even because of it-she was rather a shy girl who found boys attractive but a little frightening. She had had several experiences when boys had tried to feel her ripe breasts, dip their hands down inside her blouse-and even run their hands up under her dress.
Her mother had previously warned her that this might happen and told her that she mustn't let it and advised her how to handle such a situation. Roberta followed through and found that it was remarkably simple to dissuade these ardent young swains. Yet at the same time, she found herself tempted not to, some time, just to see what it was all about. She found that when they made such overtures, they had a strangely exciting effect upon her. Later, when she'd think about it, the tender tips of her breasts would rise and acquire a gentle, pleasant ache and her thighs would tingle and strange sensations would invade her young loins.
The early weeks at the farm were quite pleasant. There was a handyman named Wade Hamlin who was very kind to her, often let her accompany him on his farm chores. He was not a formally educated man but was well read and an interesting talker. He was about forty but somehow Roberta never thought of him as being old. He was slender, well built and there was only a light sprinkling of gray at the temples of his crisp black hair. In a few weeks she became quite fond of him; in fact, actually had what amounted to a schoolgirl crush and sexual fantasies about the handyman.
Wade had worked on the farm for years; in fact, almost ran the place. Roberta's mother and father quite trusted him. The first intimation of what was going to happen later occurred one warm afternoon down by the pigpen. Roberta was a little disturbed about it at the time, but later dismissed the incident, forgot all about it. She was wearing a middy blouse that day because it was so hot and she hadn't bothered to put on a bra. At first she wasn't at all self-conscious of her unusually large, ripe young breasts swinging and jouncing unfettered beneath the cloth of the blouse; nor of the way her big nipples were limned by the cloth. But then she noticed that Wade was stealing covert glances at them every chance he could and there was an expression in his eyes she'd never seen before. It didn't exactly frighten her but it disturbed her. Soon she noticed that Wade was taking every opportunity to get her to bend over in front of him. Since she had broken off the top button on the blouse, when she bent forward it billowed out considerably.
One time she caught Wade looking down into the front of her blouse and when she glanced down herself, to her alarm and confusion, she saw that both great billowing white mounds including the strawberry-like nipple decorating the center of each were clearly visible to him. She straightened quickly, blushing severely. She was careful then not to bend over in front of Wade and she swore to herself that she would never go without a bra again.
When they were out of sight of the house Wade said, with mock alarm which she didn't recognize right away: "Hey, Roberta, a flying ant just crawled down inside your blouse!"
She was deathly afraid of flying ants, having been bitten by one that summer once before when she was with Wade. In instant terror, she yanked the top of her blouse open and looked down in it. "Where? Where?" she cried. "I don't see it. Are you sure?"
"Yes. I saw it," he said quickly. "Better let me get him out of there before he bites you."
By now she was so terrified she couldn't think of anything else. Innocently, in her terrible fright, she held the blouse top open now while Wade looked down inside it and then suddenly said: "I see it! I see it! Let me get it out for you."
She didn't even think anything about it at the moment. The next instant she was aware of Wade's big rough hand down inside her blouse, rubbing against her breasts, delving deep into the steep-sided valley between them. She heard him say excitedly: "Just a minute now, I've got him almost. Ah, there he is! Now you needn't fear anymore, honey. I just squished him between my fingers. I surely wouldn't want him to hurt these pretty things for anything!"
Then Roberta became aware of Wade's hand cupping and lifting and eagerly feeling the large, firm swell of her virginal breast, holding it like a dove, while his thumb delicately rubbed the prominent nipple which immediately stiffened to twice its normal size. For a moment, Roberta was so surprised she didn't know what to say, what to do. At the same time, exotic sensations that she'd never experienced before suffused her whole body. She wanted him to continue holding her breast, fondling it-yet she knew she couldn't let him.
"No, Wade, don't!" she cried then, "Please, don't" And she grabbed his wrist violently and forced his hand to withdraw from inside her blouse.
Tears of anger and hurt welled into her eyes. Quickly, Wade said: "Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I-I didn't mean to do that. I won't ever do it again, I swear. I just got carried away, I guess, because your breasts are so beautiful, so soft and warm and full-they're the most beautiful I've ever seen, even nicer than any movie star's."
In spite of herself, Roberta felt a little thrilled by the compliment, so that when Wade said: "Don't cry, honey, please! It's all right now. I won't do anything more," and he took her into his arms, held her face against his chest and dried her tears, she let him-until she became aware of a pressure from his body that was completely unfamiliar. Then she pulled away and glanced down. Shocked and quite frightened by what she saw, she ran from him and hid behind the smokehouse. He followed her and stood some distance away and pleaded so eloquently for forgiveness and promised so fervently that he would never touch her again, that she believed him.
The next few days there were no more incidents and Roberta almost forgot about it. She couldn't quite forget, though. Sometimes at night in bed she would remember the feel of his hand caressing her breast and the feel of him against her' and she would wonder at the fact that a grown man, and such an attractive one, was interested in her that way. Maybe it meant that she Wasn't a girl anymore, had become a woman. This thrilled her, in spite of some of the unpleasant aspects of the incident.
Reliving it in her mind, she would find herself becoming strangely excited and she would catch herself wondering what would have happened if she hadn't stopped him and supposing then he'd put his big, rough hand up under her skirt and she hadn't stopped him and sensation coursed along her firm young thighs just as though his hand was there. Then supposing he kept on and pretty soon his hand touched her there-oh, golly, what would she do then, what would that have been like?
She experienced a sensation as though it was actually happening and found her own hand moving to experiment and then wild and terrible things happened to her quickly. Later, she would lie looking into the dark of her room and tell herself how awful she had been, that it was bad, she must never do that again----But, of course, a few days later she did, and the experiment soon became separated from anything that had to do with Wade Hamlin and became an experience solely of its own volition and pleasure.
A week went by and consciously at least, she had all but forgotten about Wade's stunt about the flying ant. They were now back on their strictly buddy-type relationship and Roberta was again enjoying his company and the farm chores into which he initiated her.
Then, one day, he asked her how she'd like to explore the old farmhouse nearby that was supposed to be haunted. It was an abandoned farm building on neighboring acreage and Roberta was of course thrilled by the prospect. They reached it in about a fifteen-minute walk on a short cut through some woods. Together they explored the old, abandoned building and Roberta was a little disappointed although she didn't really know what she had expected.
From time to time, she noticed Wade looking at his wristwatch and wondered why he was worrying about the time. It was his day off from farm chores. Finally, rather abruptly, he said: "Well, so much for this haunted house. Now let's go take a look at the barn. Maybe we'll find a skeleton or something in there."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They didn't, of course. The barn was merely a hot, musty place with some old, rusted farm implements and broken harness straps and part of an old surrey in it. But Roberta found it interesting. Then they climbed up into the haymow. They had scarcely gotten up there when there was the sound of a car coming up the driveway. It drove around the back of the barn and parked.
Roberta said: "For goodness sakes, I wonder who that is?"
Wade looked at her and grinned and his eyes were hot and bright-looking, his face a little flushed. She could see a pulse beating at his temple. He put his finger to his lips. "Shhhh!" he warned. "I forgot to tell you. About this time every day, a fella and girl from the village come here."
"What on earth for?" Roberta wondered.
"Oh, just to smooch a little, hug and kiss, some.
Look!" Suddenly he lay down on the rough boards of the hayloft and put his eyes to a crack between the boards. "If you lie down like this, you can see down below-see everything that goes on. Let's spy on them. They won't know we're up here. It'll be fun."
"But suppose they catch us?" Roberta said.
"They won't if we're really quiet. Get down here. Hurry up. They're coming in. Don't make a sound now."
Curious and a little excited about this strange game, Roberta got down on the floor next to Wade and put her eyes to a crack. She saw that it was true. You could see quite clearly into the barn below. She saw a boy about seventeen and a girl about fourteen come furtively into the structure holding hands and looking all around.
"You're sure it's all right, Jerome?" the girl said. "Suppose someone comes? I get scared every time I come here. If we should ever get caught...."
"Oh, don't be such a scare-cat, Sally," the boy said. "Who'd come here? We're as alone as if we were on a desert island." He went over then and removed a long, leather-covered seat from the abandoned surrey. He set it down on the floor, sat down on it, and pulled the girl down next to him.
Immediately, they began hugging and kissing and whispering endearments to each other and Roberta, watching, could hardly keep from giggling. Wade was right, she thought, this was fun. They looked and sounded so silly to her. But then Roberta saw the boy, Jerome, unbutton the front of Sally's dress and slide his hand in there. Roberta knew, of course, what Jerome was doing-the same thing Wade had done to her that day.
She kept waiting for the girl Sally to get angry, make Jerome take his hand away from her breasts. But she didn't. In fact she placed her hand over his, held it there, seemed to enjoy the forbidden caressing. Roberta saw Jerome's other hand go up under Sally's dress-all the way up. It stayed there. Sally's dress was now pushed halfway up her thighs and Jerome's hand was up under it even farther and Roberta knew that it was up there, all the way! She watched Sally's thighs open and close spasmodically. Their lips broke apart from a kiss and Sally hugged Jerome's neck and crooned: "Oh, Jer, honey, you know just how to drive me crazy. Oh, honey, I can hardly stand it! Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!"
Jerome didn't. With his other hand, he opened the top of Sally's dress all the way to her waist, pulled it apart and off her shoulders so that she was bare to the waist. She lay back on the seat and Jerome's free hand moved to first one apple-hard-and-round breast, to the other, feeling, squeezing, teasing the aroused tips.
Watching all this, Roberta found herself breathing hard and was almost consumed by the same urges and desires she sometimes brought upon herself in bed. She also felt shame at spying on a scene such as this. At the same time, she had a terrible undeniable curiosity to see the rest of it; she somehow knew there would be more. She wanted to get up and run away from this terrible yet wonderful thing, or at least roll over and not be a party to watching it anymore. But she couldn't do that; it was as though she was frozen, hypnotized by the scene below.
Below her, Jerome had paused in his caressing to completely remove Sally's dress and her thin cotton underpants. Next, he himself undressed and it was all Roberta could do to suppress a gasp of surprise, shock, and admiration comingled when she saw him.
Roberta was so wrapped up in the happenings below her that for several moments she wasn't aware even of Wade's hand under her skirt on the smooth plump backs of her thighs. When she finally was aware, it was in a not unpleasant way at all. His hand felt good there. Yet she knew she couldn't allow him to do that. Impatiently, she reached back and forced his hand away.
A few moments later it was back again, but Roberta was so interested in what was going on below now that she couldn't be bothered with such a minor detail. What was happening below now, she had heard about, had talked about with other girls her own age, but it was something which she really had never been able to comprehend; she had never been quite sure it wasn't just talk or something.
But it certainly wasn't, she saw now. Sally and Jerome were both on their sides facing each other and Roberta could plainly see what they were doing. The amazing part to her was, that she could tell, by the things Sally was saying and by what was happening to her, the way she was helping Jerome, that she wanted it to happen. Roberta had always assumed that it probably really wasn't very pleasant for a woman or a girl-how could it be-and that the man would probably have to force the issue. She saw now, of course, that wasn't so at all. It was Sally who was forcing the issue, so to speak. She heard Sally let out a great cry of what was unmistakably animal pleasure. Then they moved close together and the rolling and heaving and surging began.
By then Wade's hand had progressed in its subtle approach up the back of Roberta's thighs, under her skirt, until it had achieved, unnoticed by her in her excitement at what she was viewing below, to its predestined goal. As she became aware of what he was doing, she also became aware that her own breathing was labored and that wild pleasures were flashing through her, centered in her most intimate parts. It seemed almost as though there was some correlation between what was happening below and what was happening to her. It was at that moment almost as though she was Sally and Sally was she and the two activities had blended into one.
After a while, the two below rolled apart and lay limply, getting their breath back. By now, though, Roberta was aware that Wade was parting her legs as wide as they would go, kneeling behind her, staring at her wet pussy and her back hole, and then ... and then ... pressing his face against her buttocks, flicking his tongue against its tender center and beginning to lick ... licking and wetting the crotch of her panties, chewing at them madly.
Roberta stiffened and turned around. Her panties tore between his teeth. "You shouldn't kiss me there, Wade."
"You liked it though, didn't you?" His mouth was back, nudging the panties aside a bit, kissing her ass cheeks with tiny pecks.
Roberta threw her head back in agony as his fingers crept under her, touching at her pussy, holding there. She rolled back and forth. She bunched up her blouse under her face and bit it hard. "Don't do that!" she said.
Removing his finger from its cunny nudging, Wade looked at her young writhing body again. His face came close to her cunt and this time he blew gently against it, through the thin material. His head was sliding back and forth between her legs, while his hand worked freely up and down in the crack of her ass. Lower, she could feel his hard cock sliding up and down on her ankle. As the warmth swept over her body, she had the strangest desire to hold that thick cock, do wild things with it, suck it, stick it inside of her, sit her ass on it. By now, Roberta was experiencing such new exquisite sensations she could no longer fight them. She just gave in, accepted. She put her mouth over her wrist, bit it to prevent herself from crying out the way Sally had done.
Soon the girl and the boy below swiftly dressed and almost sheepishly left the barn. Roberta heard the sound of their car driving away. She wanted to move, knew that she should, but then that would stop the delicious feelings coursing all through her. She managed to convince herself that she could hardly stop Wade if she wanted to; he might get angry and hurt her. Then, too, he would probably get tired in a minute, anyhow, and stop of his own accord.
But that didn't happen. What happened was that soon Roberta felt renewed fumbling beneath her skirt, felt her panties being withdrawn and when she tried to protest, Wade's hand pushed down in the middle of her back, rendering her practically helpless. Then she felt his weight over her and something else happened then. She knew what it was but couldn't let herself think about it; she could only endure. She screamed for him to stop but of course there was nobody to hear her.
The year before, while riding horseback, Roberta had lost any physical attributes of virginity, so there wasn't considerable pain and what little there was, was outweighed by other compensations and Roberta found herself wiggling her hips downward, sliding further down on his cock. Then the tip of his prick was pulsing hotly against her cunny. Wade's big hands gripped at her hips. He pushed and suddenly she could feel her body give, her belly accept. He entered slowly and she groaned. He dropped forward until he was all the way into the tight grasp of her pussy. As he settled on her back, he looked at her turned head. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was all twisted, half smiling, half screaming.
Now she parted her own legs wide under him and drove her hips against him. She pressed her buttocks hard against his stomach and started to roll her ass back and forth. Then she moaned and parted her legs more. She drove herself back against him and held his legs with her hands. "It feels so good, so good, Wade!"
He plunged harder and harder and Roberta felt the rumbling new fever shafting deep inside as he again and again sank into the warm caress and grip of that brand-new, unused satiny entrapment. Her taut and clamping body poised and strained to receive the gentle-hard ease of what he offered to her insides. The long hot tusk found its deepest yielding niche, basking in the warm fluid rushing there, readying as if to explode within her, to blow her apart with newfound contentment. She clutched and pressed the inside of her legs against his haunches, not only yielding but enjoying. The weight upon he and the rhythmic motion seemed to become the most natural thing in the world. She could hear the sound of her own pleasurable moaning.
After a few moments, Wade moved and quickly turned her over. He just as quickly assumed his same position. Only now he leaned up over her on one hand and while the other unbuttoned her blouse and loosened her bra, he smiled. Then that hand was on her breasts, squeezing, mounding, while the rhythmic movements went on unabated. Finally, his lips replaced his hand and the rhythms speeded up. Roberta had never known anything like it and thought that if it didn't end soon, she would surely die because how could anyone long endure such acute pleasure?
When it was over, she cried and would not let Wade comfort her. She told him that she never wanted to see him again. But he talked, to her softly, gently, and persuasively, reminding her that the girl, Sally, hadn't minded, hadn't thought anything about it and that lots of girls did and what was the difference as long as nobody knew? He lectured her on what would happen if she told anybody. He swore that he would say she led him on and that she was a bad girl and he'd seen a boy from the village doing it to her too. He frightened her half to death but he got his message across. When he was finished, Roberta wouldn't have told anybody for the world.
She was surprised when she got back home to her room to look in the mirror and see that she wasn't changed in any way, that nothing showed; she was apparently no different than usual.
But she could hardly look at Wade the next day, nor for several days after that. At night, she began to remember and dwell on what had happened in the barn and what she had seen with Sally and Jerome. And she wondered if it would really be so awful, if it really mattered, anyhow, if she let it happen once more.
It did, the next day, after they again watched Sally and Jerome. This time Wade told her that she was just naturally a very healthy, extremely passionate young lady and since she was going to do it anyhow, the best thing was to completely let herself go, not to be embarrassed nor have any inhibitions. This time she did that.
For the rest of the summer Roberta received, between watching Sally and Jerome and being tutored by Wade, a thorough education in all the subtle and various ways of physical love. Secretly, she enjoyed every moment of it, despite the in-between times when she was often consumed with guilt feelings and fears of being caught. But the prematurely aroused natural urges in her were stronger.
Then the terrible thing happened. One day Roberta's father, suspicious for some time now, followed them and caught them. There was a big fight in the barn between her father and Wade. Her father finally lost, got knocked out by Wade, who ran from the place and none of them ever saw him again. But seeing her father lying there so still, his face all bloodied, Roberta was sure that he was dead and it was all her fault. She screamed and became hysterical and finally fainted.
When she came to, her father was kneeling beside her, tears in his eyes, telling her that it was going to be all right, everything was going to be all right. Later he and her mother had a long talk with Roberta, explaining to her all about seduction and that there was nothing intrinsically wrong in the actual act of what she had done, but that she was indulging in it prematurely. They explained, in long detail which she understood, why this was bad and wrong and why it must never happen again.
Roberta was grateful to them for being so understanding and helpful, yet she couldn't control the terrible guilt feelings that now engulfed her. The following week, she learned that her father's business had suddenly failed. From being a practically wealthy man, he was now reduced to being almost penniless. They had to sell the farm and their big house in Hartford, the car, and most of their possessions to pay debts.
In Roberta's juvenile mind, she twisted this around to believe that it was her fault it had happened. It was God's way of punishing her. Then a week after that, Roberta's father shot himself. Roberta again became convinced that this too, was a direct result of her own sinful acts. She was so shocked by her father's sudden death that she went into cataleptic shock and had to be taken to a hospital for treatment. For a while her mother had thought she was going to die. When she pulled out of it, though, she no longer could even remember Wade Hamlin or the events that had happened between them that summer.
All the foregoing came to light from Roberta's own lips while she was in deep hypnosis. When it was all over, Dr. Richman administered post-hypnotic suggestions as to the fact that when she awoke, she would again remember all that she had just told them and be able to calmly and intelligently accept his prognosis, his explanation of how she should feel about the situation now, and adjust per his instructions.
When she was gradually brought out of hypnosis, she was able to do that. Dr. Kleaver explained to her the connection between her guilt feelings about this juvenile experience and her later denial of any of her natural sexual needs as an adult woman. He also explained how the association of visual stimuli such as that which had first made her amiable to seduction, was so strongly ingrained that when she again was subjected to it, her long-suppressed natural instincts burst their neurotic bonds and came violently into play in an uncontrollable manner.
He explained to her that from now on when she met some man she really cared for, that she would probably at first still have to fight against some residue of revulsion but that if she and the man both were patient, she would be able to overcome it and still enjoy a natural relationship.
As to her being abnormally stimulated by visual eroticism, either in person or in printed or photographic phenomena, he didn't think she would any longer be so violently affected now that she was completely aware of the source of this neurosis. At least not any more so than the average woman would be. It would not be uncontrollable.
When she left Dr. Kleaver's office, Roberta Colby felt better, more relieved, more at peace with herself and the world than she'd ever felt before in her whole life. During the next few days, she began to take up painting in oils, something she'd always wanted to do before. She spent long, lazy hours on the long, broad, white-sanded Clearwater beach. She knew, as Dr. Kleaver had told her, that she would still have to continue psychiatric therapy, that she had other behavior problems which she had told him about, which required treatment and to prevent any recurrence, for any reason, of the big, basic problem. But the prospect of this did not bother her. In fact, she kind of looked forward to it.
Then one evening she came back to her hotel room from the beach and found Tony Marsh there. They embraced and she clung to him for a long time, sobbing, partly from joy at seeing him, partly from embarrassment. He told her that he had bribed one of her lawyers' secretaries to find out where she was. Made her promise not to make trouble for the girl, though.
Roberta said she wouldn't. Blushing, she listened to Tony tell her that he knew about her trouble; about Earl Lord telling him about her. He quickly told her that it didn't matter to him, that it didn't really mean anything, except that he wanted now to be able to help her.
She told him about her session under hypnosis, briefly out-lined and elaborated the cause of her trouble, and how she had been cured.
Tony fully accepted this and seemed relieved and overjoyed. They had dinner together that night at a waterfront restaurant and later strolled on the soft sand of the beach in the moonlight. They walked with their arms around each other and Tony never attempted to even kiss her. Roberta was grateful that he didn't. She didn't know yet whether she was quite ready to take a chance with the man she now knew she loved, of hurting him, humiliating him, if she wasn't quite ready for the natural fulfillment of their love.
For three days they spent most of their waking hours together in the bland manner of school time sweethearts. Then, one night at dinner, Tony began insisting that they be married right away; he couldn't wait any longer. Roberta, with all of her being, wanted to tell him yes, that she knew now that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. But she had to wait. She asked him to wait just a little longer for her answer. She knew, then, she had to find out without further delay.
After dinner they went to see a jazz band playing at a joint on the beach and had several drinks. Back at the hotel, Roberta asked him into her room. They had another drink there. After their glasses were empty, Roberta suddenly went over and put out the lights.
"Hey!" Tony cried surprised. "What's this all about?"
She came and stood very close to him. She was trembling. Impulsively, she said: "Tony! Make love to me, darling. All the way. I want to be sure that I'm really ready to be your wife."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He took her gently into his arms and began kissing her, caressing the round flesh of her upper arms and her shoulders. His fingertips raised little fire trails along her arms and in the hollow of her throat and the nape of her neck and on her earlobes. All the while he kept kissing gently, soothingly, with only slightly increasing ardor.
Then his hands began tenderly to undress her. He helped her get fully unclothed without even touching her intimately, and now Roberta was beginning to wonder what was the matter with him; she began to ache with the need to feel his hands on her. When she was completely naked, he led her by the hand, toward the bed. She lay upon it while she listened to the rustling sounds of him undressing in the darkness.
Soon he was beside her on the bed and again his hand cupped her chin and his lips touched hers and again it was not a particularly passionate kiss, but somehow, it stirred Roberta all the more. The next thing she knew suddenly, unexpectedly, she felt the fiery touch of his tongue just lightly brushing one of her distended nipples. The sensation was delightful. She cried out: "Oh, Tony! Oh, my darling!"
He transferred his attention to her other breast, still in a light teasing way. The fairy lightness of the caress almost drove her frantic. There was no savage lust motivating them but only the tender, patient passion of true love. While his lips and tongue caressed her throbbing breasts, she held his head, stroking it, digging her nails lightly into the short hairs on the nape of his neck.
Now his hands were ministering to the soft, smooth flesh of her thighs in the same manner that his lips were paying homage to her breasts. They would move close, closer, while Roberta breathlessly waited, but then never quite touched her. When he finally raised his mouth to hers, Roberta could no longer wait. She grasped his head and held it and her own mouth suddenly drove deep against his and her tongue forced its way between his teeth, found his and engaged it in a torrid duel. With that, Tony's hands began to run over her pulsing, twisting body, more demandingly.
Roberta soon found her own hands seeking him out, exploring, finding, adoring. They extended their torrid love play almost past the point of endurance and finally, when she begged him, Tony placed them both in a comfortable position, catering more to her comfort than his own, which was rather awkward.
Then he brought about their union in the most natural, inevitable manner, and they were joined and giving to as well as taking from each other, in ever-increasing mutual ecstasy, with Tony's expert hands and lips constantly caressing, adding to her enjoyment as they moved. It was better for both of them than it had ever been with anybody before.
They surrendered to their needs and soared together into the rainbow-hued clouds of utter and final fulfillment; nobody else in the world.
The pleasant aftermath, with Tony lighting cigarettes for them both, getting them drinks to sip in the darkness, made up the next most pleasant moments Roberta had ever enjoyed in her life. When they were finished with the cigarettes and drinks, they talked for a while and then they were both, almost as if by signal but without words, as if by mutual silent agreement, no longer needing to talk any more. Not with words, anyhow. They again let their hands and their lips speak for them in the age-old language of love.
This time was even better. They lingered and toyed and experimented with each other and slowly, step by beautiful step, climbed the stairs to paradise. It was during this session, too, that Roberta learned that with Tony as her lover, her future husband, she would never have to yearn or even think about the kind of satisfaction that she had been led to believe only another woman could give her. Tony was more tender, considerate, catering than any woman could be. He knew everything, she learned.
She could hardly wait for tomorrow when they would be married and she would then know she would have him all to herself, for ever and ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sharon McEvers arrived in New York on the eve of Thanksgiving. At Kennedy airport, Roberta and Tony Marsh watched each passenger file out the door of the 707.
"Something tells me you've bitten off more than either you nor I can chew, Roberta," Tony said.
"I have to do this, Tony, please try to understand. I wrote to Dr. Kleaver about the girl because it haunted me. Her mother in prison for life with no possibility of parole, her father dead. The girl faces three years in a girls' home-until she's eighteen. Just think of what she would be exposed to therel We can save her from that. We have so much, Tony, and we've been so lucky. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't share some of that luck with someone. And ... my God! The same thing could happen to this girl that happened to me, unless she's guided in the right direction. Think of all those years I wasted because of an experience very much the same as what this girl went through."
"But being responsible for a fifteen-year-old girl, and a pretty wild one at that. I just don't...."
"Sh-h-h, Tony. There she is. That must be her. She's awfully pretty, isn't she?"
Sharon was dressed in a simple blouse and skirt and wore a light sweater that arched down over her ripe, full bosom. Roberta waved and the girl walked toward them. Tony leaned down to whisper in Roberta's ear, "Yeah ... too damn pretty! Try and figure out how we're going to keep the wolf hands off that in this city!"
"I don't intend to even try," Roberta whispered back. "If I had let nature take its course when I looked like that, I wouldn't have ended up in analysis."
Sharon was wide-eyed at the luxurious apartment on Park Avenue where the Marsh couple lived. "What's the catch? This is gonna be my pad? Gotta be a catch."
"No catch, Sharon. We ... er ... just have reason to want to give you an even start on life."
"Even start? Oh, wow, I ain't never saw such a swingin' pad!" Sharon gaped in awe as she wandered around the apartment, her baby-blue eyes bulging with astonishment at everything she saw-the lavish furniture and draperies and rare books, the walls adorned with original paintings, the concert piano and stereo and color televisions. "You must be one helluva crook, Mr. Marsh. Nobody gets this rich honest-like."
Roberta laughed ... but Tony didn't. His thoughts were too busy trailing Sharon's every step, the tightly packed spheres of her behind looking as tempting to him as two ripe peaches. He coughed in embarrassment and excused himself from the room.
Roberta followed Sharon into what was to be the girl's bedroom. Sharon moved swiftly across the room to the windows and gazed out at the breathtaking view, dazzled by the display of towers and ant-like people far below. "Jeez-it's so beautiful I could cry."
Roberta laughed at the guileless excitement on the young girl's face. "I'll leave you now to freshen up and rest awhile, Sharon. And ... you will note a telephone number by the phone. You may just want to call that number later."
"What for? I don't know nobody in New York."
"I think you do, Sharon. An old and dear friend."
"I ain't got no old and dear friends. You some kinda nut?"
Roberta laughed again. "I almost turned out that way. And it's just what I'm hoping to prevent you from being."
"What the hell you mean by that crack? Whose phone number is this, anyway?"
"His name is Ritchie."
"Ritchie!"
"I thought you'd be happy about that. I had a private detective down in Florida find him for you, and I paid his bus fare up here, Arrived yesterday. He went to work in one of Mr. Marsh's stores this morning. I ... I just didn't want you to be lonely in this big city, Sharon. I know what loneliness can be."
"You? Lonely? Living in a joint like this?"
"I'm not lonely anymore, Sharon. But for years ... oh, well, that's another story. Anyway, feel free to invite Ritchie up for Thanksgiving day dinner tomorrow. I think you can handle it from there, right?"
"You bet your sweet ass I can! Ritchie! Man, how I've missed that dude!"
"I know, Sharon. I know," Roberta smiled, and backed out of the room, winking an eye.
It was after turkey the next day that Roberta said: "Well, kids, you don't want us two old bags around. I imagine you two have a lot of things to talk over. Why don't you take Ritchie to your room, Sharon, and play some records? I put some brand-new ones on top of your stereo by the bed."
"Yeah," Sharon said, finishing the last of her plum pudding. "Imagine that, Ritchie? I got my own stereo in my room. Left it on all night, even after I fell asleep. The room's soundproof, too, so's I can play it any time I want. C'mon, I'll show ya' what I learned since we last balled."
After the young couple disappeared into Sharon's bedroom, Roberta turned to Tony. "Well? Shall we retire to our room, love?"
"You know what you're doing, don't you, Roberta? Keep this game up and you'll have that girl pregnant in no time. And who's gonna marry her? That horn little bastard? Then what am I supposed to do, make him vice president of my stores, so he can support her?"
"Mr. Tony Marsh, do you think I'm stupid? I introduced Sharon to the use of the Pill. She will be perfectly safe. And equally safe from any fears of sex. What I think will go on in that bedroom tonight is the most natural thing in the world. If my parents had realized that, I wouldn't have lost twelve years of my life."
"I got a hunch that little bundle of torment is never going to lose a minute of her life!"
"I hope not," Roberta said sadly.
Undressed and sitting on the side of their bed that evening, Roberta and Tony kept their eyes glued to the see-through mirror that Roberta had had installed just the week before.
"I'm not too sure your motives are all charitable, Roberta," Tony said worriedly.
"Don't worry, dear. Allow me my fun. I'm in no danger anymore. I have you right beside me when I can't stand to watch anymore. And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have near at a moment like that."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least!"
Through the see-through mirror, they watched Sharon stroke the top of Ritchie's head, then move his face to her own. The kiss was open-mouthed, warm and long.
Sharon jumped on the bed like a cat, with her pouty naked breasts bouncing. Ritchie crawled up her thighs and greedily bent and began ravaging her pussy. Sharon bent her knees and raised her legs high to crook them around him. His hands massaged her breasts and shoulder and belly as he attended her pussy with love bites and sucking.
She winced with delighted pain as he bit her. He took her clitty in his teeth and delicately bit and licked it. His tongue greedily licked the love juice from her thighs as it flowed more heavily. Then his face was buried between those thighs again, and his tongue was thrust deeply into her slit.
Her legs went wild, up in the air. He forced them down with his hands and his nibbling teeth bit into her buttocks, like an animal after a flea. Sweet, long convulsions were sweeping Sharon. Ritchie squirmed cat-like into her crevices and hollows and silken flesh. Cock to pussy now, he rubbed against her. Sharon was breathing harshly at his throat, and her mouth bit into the tender flesh of his shoulder.
Ritchie whirled around and lay with his thighs at her face. Sharon took his buttocks hungrily into her hands and ran her open mouth down over the swollen-purple head of his prick, lapping up the acrid sweetness in her young mouth.
Ritchie's hands were between them, stroking over the tight nipples of the girl's tits, then under her buttocks, hole searching. There was hardly a lost motion as he straddled her upside down and brought her sweet pussy again up to his mouth. Never for an instant did Sharon's talented tongue stop licking at the cock, remembering in the fiery moment the little underneath cord that her mother had taught her to concentrate on.
Meanwhile, Ritchie's closed teeth grasped her clitty and pulled, gently at first but then harder and harder as his cock swelled inside her mouth. Her fingers played into his ass and her tongue followed, licking and probing and playing there. Unharnessed from all sanity, her sweet young body had a wild turbulence of desire pouring out from every inch of hot flesh.
Ritchie looked down between their bodies to see her hot mouth claim the towering head of his cock again and again. The tight, elastic cartilage rings of her esophagus now fitted snugly in a firm squeeze about the pulsing captive. She began to move back and forth along the length of the painfully rigid meat, slowly raising her head to allow the hefty staff to swoop and glide back in, disappearing in the warmth and flesh of her lips, tongue and throat, her mouth full and growling against it, fingers tapping, tickling the undersides of him, then running along the bulge each time it exited. She was moaning and shooting her little bottom upwards in fresh hunger for his chewing at her. And then....
For the GIANT moment of coming, Sharon entertained the whole of the shooting organ in her gullet, her lips squirming in the mat of hair at the very base of Ritchie's cock. With thick runnings of white come dripping from the corners of her blood-drained lips, her mouth moved gently to capture the pulsing of his balls, unwilling to sever the coupling. Finally, they reversed on the bed and fucked endlessly, like two mad animals.
Roberta tore her eyes from the see-through mirror, curled her white fingers around Tony's upright cock, and screamed: "Oh God! Take me! Take me, Tony!"
