Tom Markey had it made in more ways than one. As president and founder of EuropaMaid Domestic Employment Service he had all the tail any thirty-year-old bachelor could want. He had imported plenty of big blonde Swedes to work as maids for rich Americans and he had slept with many of them, but he had never seen such a beautiful girl in his life as Greta Johansen.
She sat across from him in his office, her long legs crossed. She was not a hulking farm girl like many of the Scandinavians he had seen, and she was not a giant. He would take her for about five-feet-eight. Where the others were ungainly, Greta was statuesque, a yellow-haired goddess with the most cushiony pair of tits he had ever laid eyes on. As he glanced at her tits again his cock leaped hotly in his pants, making him wonder what it would be like to squeeze those bulging mounds. Would she let me? he wondered. He had made it with a lot of Swedish imports on their first day in America, but this girl did not have the scared, eager look of other of her compatriots. She seemed poised and confident and not at all afraid of being alone in New York.
"I see you're from Stockholm," he said, glancing at her resume. That would explain her cosmopolitan air, he thought. She wasn't from the country like so many of them.
"Yes," she said carefully, "I am from there."
He noticed that she had only a charming trace of that singsong tonal dip so prevalent in the English of most Swedes. She did not sound comical, like the Gretas and Svens of dialect jokes. He continued to steal little glances at her as he looked from her back to the papers before him. She was big-boned but she had it under control, he decided. Hers was a natural grace, and she was impressive rather than gross. Her thighs were full and rounded just the way he liked them, not the shank-like boyish thighs of so many leggy New York girls. Her hips bloomed roundly out from them with a mouth-watering little crease at the junctures, proclaiming a solid handful of soft flesh.
God, that hair! It was as yellow as corn. What a pretty snatch she would have-a big mound of golden fuzz. They all have pretty snatches, he remember. The darkest one he had seen had been light brown.
"Do you like New York, what you've seen of it?" he asked, smiling.
"I tank so-ja. Yes," she corrected herself quickly.
The question had been an excuse to see her eyes and she gave him the full battery of the twin azure pools. They looked as cool and blue as a glacier in a wintery dawn ... and just as merciless. They were the kind of blue that made you think of knife blades or the flash of a revolver rather than cornflowers or summer skies. A damn cold blue that refused to plead with him.
He was used to being the savior, the rock, for a lot of lonely foreign chicks. This ice maiden apparently didn't need one. Her self-assurance made him want to screw her-screw the hell out of her and take that cool confidence off her face. No woman was ever cool when he was fucking her! His cock rose with the challenge and strained against his pants. It would be easy to lock up the office and ball for the rest of the afternoon on the sofa. No one else was coming in today and he had no secretary as yet.
"Well," he went on. "About the family that you'll be working for. They're the DeWitts," he said expansively, savoring the name and unable to prevent a smug smile from crossing his face. "One of New York's oldest and wealthiest families." He wondered what Greta Johansen would do if he should add: And I'm balling the daughter. Maybe that would take the frigid superior mask off her lovely face.
"There are three members of the family," he went on. "Mr. DeWitt, one of the captains of American industry, and his two children. Miss Grace DeWitt," he said lightly, smiling once more, "is twenty-six, and her brother Clayton is twenty-eight. Mr. DeWitt is a widower and neither of the children is married. The three of them occupy a penthouse here and various homes elsewhere."
The cool face of Greta Johansen came to life and took on the alertness of a fox peering out of its lair. She suppressed an eager smile.
"Der is no mistress of der house?" she asked. Her back had stiffened; she was sitting very straight, not touching the chair. In a flash, Tom Markey saw which way the wind blew. She's looking for a rich American husband, and old Pappy DeWitt will do just fine....for that matter so will Clayton-baby.
"No, Mrs. DeWitt died many years ago. Miss Grace is nominally the hostess, of course. She's quite nice." Damn nice! The five-star lay of the New York Social Register.
Tom swore that he could see the cash register clicking in that gorgeous blonde head. Greta's elegant fingers twitched a little, as though she already had her hands on the DeWitt fortune. She was no timid little maid, willing to stay in her place. She wanted the whole American pie in the sky! Most of them came over with the hopes of finding any American husband ... a postal clerk was a real catch for some of them. Greta Johansen was going to aim higher, much higher. For a moment, Tom almost laughed out loud. He and Greta had a lot in common. He, too, was a social climber. He, too, was trying his damndest to marry into the DeWitt family.
We're two of a kind, Greta-and right now I'd like us to be as one. She smiled at him suddenly, as though including him in her joyous expectations of what was in store for her in the DeWitt family. Her chest rose sharply in excitement until he could see the milky crease between her big jutting tits. The very thought of money was doing something to her! Tom knew that kind of excitement quite well; nothing stirred his sexuality like a rich girl.
Her eyes glittered like diamond chips sparkling in the sun. Tom stood up, his balls swollen with hot cum. Greta's gold-digging lust had excited him even more, until the tip of his cock felt weighted like a sphere of lead.
Greta's frosty blue eyes lowered to his crotch in an automatic glance that he did not miss. He saw the flush steal over her incredibly white skin, making her cheeks look like rose petals. Would she dare refuse him now that she wanted the DeWitt job so much? He was still the boss as far as that was concerned; it was in his power to ease her into something she wanted, so maybe she would let him ease into her. She was far too lethal a cookie to do anything to soil her chances now-a little roll in the hay wouldn't be any skin off of that beautiful ass.
He came around the desk and stood before her.
"I'm sure you're going to be happy in your new job," he said. "I know the DeWitts quite well and I'll be glad to do anything I can to make things as pleasant as possible for you."
She met his gaze with a total, brutal knowledge of what he meant. He reached out and took her hands and pulled her slowly to her feet. She yielded to him and let him press her curvaceous body to his. Her height matched his in the shoes that she wore; their groins came together in a hot collision. Tom shoved his hardened cock into the V of her legs and rotated his pelvis, grinding into the warm fleshy area at the base of her belly. Her mouth opened and received his wetly flicking tongue. A wave of heat slammed through his groin as he tasted her sweet rosy breath that wafted in his mouth and nostrils, mingling with the spicy scent that she wore. He captured her tongue and drew it into his mouth. He sucked hard until she emitted a responsive growl of pleasure from deep in her throat.
"Over here," he ordered, breaking reluctantly away from her and dragging her with him to the sofa. He locked the door and came back to her, pulling her down on the cushions and crushing her to him once more. His hands cupped her big tits and traced their bulging outline under her armpits, massaging and squeezing them while his thumbs sought out the hard peaks of her nipples. When he touched them she moaned hoarsely and tossed her head, breathing in short, struggling gasps.
"AAAAhhhh ... Ja, ja, ja. Is guuuuuud! Zo guuuuud!"
Tom pressed her back into the roomy confines of the sofa and unbuttoned her blouse. As he pushed it from her shoulders she helped him with a little shrugging motion, and let the silken sleeves slip down her beautifully moulded arms and fall to the floor. Her breasts billowed out of the lacy half-cups of her bra like two mounds of whipped cream. He unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, revealing the naked glory of her huge, tumbling tits-each one tipped with big hard nipples and the biggest, pinkest areolae he had ever seen, spreading out in mouth-watering circles from the passion-wrinkled flesh at the center.
Greta's arms rose over her head as she lay back and gave him full access to the nude upper part of her body. Tom rubbed his face between the warm, sweet-smelling tits and licked at the scented valley between them, tracing a tiny line of sweat in her cleavage. Greta's back arched as his tongue shot out and tickled the tip of her left breast, holding herself rigid as he licked the jutting nipple. He threw himself on top of her and sucked the whole tip of her breast into his mouth, gobbling the soft skin until she squealed in delight and rasped something in Swedish that he could not understand. Moaning and thrusting his lusty body into hers, he nursed noisily at her magnificent boob. A brutal need to bite and hurt came over him and he ground his teeth around the engorged pink tip.
"UUUUUUUHHHHH!" she grunted, her mouth stretching to a wide grimace of delight. Her torso writhed under his searching hands as she pressed his head into her mountainous breast, glorying in the pain he inflicted.
She rose up under him, tugging at her skirt and trying to lift it around her waist. Tom thrust his hands under her hem and pushed up skirt and slip until both bunched into a clumsy cumberbund, exposing her sinuous, wriggling torso, naked under the pale pantyhose.
"Yes! Undress me, do it to me!" she moaned. She lifted her hips and let him peel the hose from her; over her pale belly and down her thighs, down over her sleek calves. As soon as she was freed of the confining garment her legs parted for him, shamelessly exposing the wetly glistening slit of her golden cunt. Tom stared down at the hair-fringed pink lips as she separated them with her fingers and lifted her legs high above her torso. As he yanked at his zipper he watched her as she rubbed her palms over her nakedness, trailing them up over her heaving breasts and then down once more to her belly, rubbing and caressing in an orgy of self-adulation.
She moaned like an animal and clenched her blossomy cheeks as she waited with her legs open and lifted in a V of blatant invitation.
"Gif me good fuck," she gasped. "Do to me, do to me hard."
His cock bobbed out of his pants, stiff and huge and ready for action. He jumped between her legs and lifted them like a wheelbarrow's handles as he plowed down into her wriggling groin. His cockhead slid easily into her wet pussy.
"AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHH, go in, go in!" she begged, her voice breaking. She gyrated wildly, pushing up under his screwing groin and grinding her cunt at his prick. Her legs flew up and clasped around his back, jerking hard and bringing his cock deep into her hot cunt.
"Oooooh! Baby! Baby! You're so hot in there!"
The soft wetness of her pussy opened under his harsh downward thrust and flowered around his driving cock. Her hole took him effortlessly, swallowing his rigid shaft and contracting moistly around his sensitive cock-ridge. Tom kneaded the full moons of her jiggling buttocks as he shoved his prick deep into her hole until he struck the fleshy neck of her womb. At the contact of his cock with the sensitive terminus of her cunt, Greta thrashed wildly, slamming her groin up and squealing in joy.
"Var sa god! Var sa god!" she shrieked.
He knew enough to know that meant please. "You like your box banged hard, eh? Okay, here we go, baby!"
He pulled rapidly back from her streaming cunt until his inflamed cockhead lay just inside her wide-stretched entrance. Then he slammed forward, stabbing into the depths of her pussy with all his might. She screamed hoarsely and jerked upwards, pounding her upturned rump into his smacking testicles. He clasped her round plump thighs in his arms as he skewered deeper into her stretching cunt, driving his prick hard. An incoherent stream of Swedish mixed with grunting wails of delight tore from her lips as Tom fucked her cunt with long strokes of his bull-sized endowment, massaging her trembling walls with its big tip. Each time he withdrew and then thrust back into her straining pussy she screeched louder and clawed at his back. She would cum soon, he knew, as he felt the walls of her cunt begin to twitch under his assault. Her mouth opened wide as she gasped out the oncoming climax he was giving her. Even through his clothes he felt the searing heat of her soft inner thighs as they climbed ever higher on his pumping hips.
"God, you're hot, hot, hot! Oh, sweetheart, get it! Over the top ... that's a good babeeeeeOOOOOH! Come on, come on, spray me sweet! Christ!"
Her wails filled the room as her deep female gush met his hot spurt of cum within the pulsating walls of her pussy. She fluttered against his emptying prick, suckling its girth and drawing out its creamy cum. Tom reached for her tits and pinched their quivering nipples as her climax pounded through her, feeling an answering pulse of blood in their hard pink points. She would not stop thrashing, even when he lay spent on top of her. God, she could go another round! He wished he could understand what she was saying. She was giving him some intense set of instruction in a desperate, passion-filled voice.
"Ge mig mera! Ge mig mera!" she gasped. "More!"
Tom grabbed her flailing hands and held them over her head to stop her scratching at his face. He pushed his slick cock against her wet cunt and began to play with her breasts, stimulating himself anew on her magnificent body. Her lewd movements against his cock made him hot for her again in a few moments. His rod stretched out thickly, reaching into her cummy pussy and fucking slowly into its burning depths.
"Ah, ja! Ah, ja!" She wiggled frantically, impaling herself on his thickening prick. She needed very little this time, just a few bumps and grinds of her hair-fringed snatch against the base of his cock. She rubbed clumsily and frantically, like a teenager who's just discovered her clit, which was where she was having her second climax. She whimpered and stiffened, shoving up under him to get the needed friction on her tiny bud of pleasure. A quick gasp, a wracking shiver, and she was over the top again.
He looked down at her beautiful face. Her lips were dry and she licked them tiredly, making a little clicking sound in the sudden stillness.
She looked at him for a long moment, then her mouth curved into a smile.
"Det var mycket bra," she whispered.
"You want me to hand you your bra?" he asked. Her laugh was throaty and full of sex. "Nej . ... no. That mean, it was so good." Again the laugh, this time with a trace of mockery in it. "But you can gif me my bra, too."
A coolness crept over her once again as she began to dress with slow, deliberate movements, ignoring his presence and his watchful gaze. A bell of recognition sounded in his mind. He had been with some European whores when he was in the army. He thought of them now as he watched Greta smooth her stockings over her shapely legs and tug her bra down from the bottom after she had adjusted the straps. These were the gestures of a woman dressing alone, a woman who is unaware of the man with her. She had forgotten all about him already-he meant nothing to her. Just like an efficient soldier's whore, dressing efficiently and unaffectedly after a quick tumble.
Tom zipped up his pants, feeling like the soldier he had once been. The little mercenary wench, he thought, watching her. The big mercenary wench. She stood fully clothed, stately once more and wearing her frosty mask of self-assurance. He knew she had enjoyed their fucking, he knew it. But now it was over and past, out of her mind. Greta Johansen was a real case of frigidity-a hot cunt tied to a heart of ice.
Again that flash of sudden, lucid intuition as he thought: She's just like me. As much of a bitch as I am a bastard, and we have the same victims in common-the De Witts.
She raised an almost colorless eyebrow and spoke.
"You knooow, der hotel you name is zo dear! Dey charge zo many dollars. I haf to stay in ... tzree days more."
As he took out his wallet, Tom nearly laughed at the fool she had made him. It was all adding up to the old army scene. He had thought to take a little advantage of the hired help, but she had turned the tables on him. As he handed her fifty dollars he knew that he would see the day when she played for much higher stakes. I'm aiming higher too, baby Swede.
He unlocked the door for her and she left. Tom went back and sat down at his desk. Greta Johansen was going to be a kind of rival, it was as simple as that. He ought to hate her but she fascinated him too much for such small emotions as jealousy. She's like me, he thought, coming out of nowhere with a headlong determination to claw her way to the top. It takes one to know one....
He could be wrong, but he didn't think so. Greta would never be satisfied to rig up a cheap little paternity suit and get a pay-off, or let some Park Avenue bed-wetter in his dotage feel her up for a few extra bucks or some jewelry. It was going to be Cinderella or nothing.
He honestly didn't think she would get anywhere with Pappy DeWitt, as Grace called her dignified silver-haired father. He was the soul of aristocracy, far too refined to hit any kind of foolish age. And if he did, he would see to his carnal needs in a discreet, gentlemanly fashion.
But Clayton....
That was another matter. Grace's older brother was just the type of neurotic heir to marry the chambermaid. Stung to the quick by his father's obvious disappointment in him, Clayton would relish the newspaper publicity and the praises that would be sung to his loving and democratic spirit.
There was something wrong with Clayton; he was a real fruitcake despite his all-American good looks. Tom did not know what it was, but he did know that Clayton alone would be easy to shove aside. With a smart woman behind him, things in the DeWitt family might take a different turn.
His fist clenched tightly. Witnessing Greta's grasping soul made him more keenly aware of his own. It had been a long uphill struggle and now he was almost there. He had Grace cock-struck enough to marry him but there was something holding her back-what it was he did not know.
But Pappy liked him, said he was a real go-getter businessman-a comer. Tom chuckled, wondering what the old man would say if he knew how many times Tom had proved himself a real comer with Grace. God, she was hot! Hot and rich. Just the way he liked them.
CHAPTER TWO
It was another in an endless chain of parties. The men were in black tie and the women in bare boobs, or very nearly so. Clayton DeWitt took a stinger from the tray of a passing butler and walked out on the penthouse balcony to stare down at the line of canopies on the elegant Park Avenue apartment houses.
A well-bred but mocking laugh floated across the terrace. Clayton turned and saw his sister Grace eyeing him with amused scorn. She stood with her back to the concrete ledge, one foot propped on the railing to expose a long, slender leg encased in sheer cream-colored hose. A silver lame strap sparkled on her trim ankle. Her flawlessly sculptured shoulders, tanned from sailing off Nantucket, moved in a careless shrug as she responded to something that the eager, obviously captivated man beside her had said.
She was not paying any attention to him, though. She was watching her brother with provocative challenge. Clayton's mouth tightened as he tried to turn away but could not. Helplessly, his eyes left her face and trailed down to her low-cut gown. Christ, you could practically see the pink part of her nipples!
Clayton tried to think that the hot crawling feeling on the back of his neck was anger but he knew that it was something else, something very different from anger. He felt his ears growing red as he turned away from Grace's shameless, tempting smile. Goddamn her-the unnatural bitch! Wasn't it enough that she had fucked and sucked half of New York without laying it on the line for her own brother?
The laughter from the guests became a direct threat to Clayton. For a moment it seemed that they were all laughing at him, and at the bizarre, unspeakable situation in which he was enmeshed. If your ears burn that means someone is talking about you. How often he had heard that from Madame Laporte, their old governess. He moved away from the clump of potted miniature trees and stood in the cool breeze that whipped around the corner of the balcony. The scarlet flush did not fade easily from his blond complexion. He had been called Red Ears in prep school and at Yale, and now, at twenty-eight, he still had not escaped the cause of his nickname.
Grace's tinkling laughter sounded once again, carrying across to him as though she had flung it deliberately in his face. My sister, my love, he thought grimly.
His hand tightened around the stem of the cocktail glass and snapped it in two. The alcohol spilled over his cut finger, burning like fire, as the broken glass rolled off the ledge.
He felt suddenly ill as his head began to swim. It was those damn stingers, he told himself. They did it every-time, it was that mint taste in them that always turned his stomach. He peered quickly at the party in progress in the living room, then ducked behind one of the trees and vomited quickly and thoroughly. Again he heard the voice of the old governess. Let it come, it's badness, let it come.
He moved away from the spot and sat down on a stone bench, away from the couples who had drifted out on the terrace. His mind returned to that nightmarish summer of discovery and guilt, when he was fourteen and Grace twelve.
They spent summer vacations on the Long Island estate near Sag Harbor. Their mother had died the year before, leaving a stunned husband who threw himself into polo to forget his grief and a staff of servants who found themselves without a mistress. Everything was lax that first year, and no one was supervised closely. None of the servants worked very hard, and Clayton and Grace ran wild. There was an abandoned smokehouse far away from the house in which they played impromptu games of knights and castles but this day they did something quite different.
Grace looked at him strangely when the door was closed behind them. Her blue-gray eyes took on a sly, lascivious cast and her T-shirted chest rose and fell rapidly. Everything about her seemed like a bud about to burst into bloom. She had grown rapidly to become almost as tall as her brother but where he was still skinny, she had become rounder. Under the thin white T-shirt were two darkish circles surrounded by small mounds of flesh. His eyes lowered to her gently curving hips. The shorts, which had hung on her rangy form last year, were now stretched tight across her pelvis, the material creasing in a series of lines that dove into her crotch like so many V's drawn one over the other.
She smiled when she saw the direction of his eyes but it was not the babyish smile of impishness and missing teeth that he had always thought of when he bothered to think at all about his kid sister. It was the crafty smile of a wanton.
She drew her hand over her sweetly sloping belly and traced the mound of oval femaleness between her thighs.
"I'm getting hair here, Clay. Do you have hair on yours?"
His mouth went dry and his ears began to pound as the blood rushed through his veins.
"Show it to me," she whispered. "Nobody'll see us. We have to find out things, don't we? It's okay."
He instinctively backed away from her. "But-but you're my sister."
"That's all right. It's better to find out things from you than from boys, isn't it?"
There was mockery in her voice, in her strangely glinting eyes. He rose to the challenge. So he wasn't a boy! He'd show her!
"Take them off," she commanded, as his hands went to his fly. "I want to see the hair. Take everything off. If you do ... so will I," she added softly.
Suddenly he had to see what those darkish circles looked like, felt like, tasted like. And down below-that was the part he really wanted to get a good look at. The magazines the boys at school passed around never satisfied his curiosity about what girls had between their legs. All you could see was a triangle of thick hair, but he knew there had to be more. There was a hole in there someplace but it never showed in the pictures, because the models kept their legs together so that the hair looked just like a goatee.
It was cool and shadowy in the smokehouse. Outside, a bee hummed and buzzed in the hot summer afternoon. The lazy silence was broken only by the sounds of their harsh breathing as they tore off their clothes. Clayton staggered, one leg out of his pants and the other raised, its denim material caught over his foot. He fell back against the wall, his hardening young cock bobbing with his movement. He tossed his jeans and shorts together i;; a twisted heap on the floor.
They were naked. Grace's eyes devoured her brother's exposed, jutting prick. It was longer now, much longer than it had been last year, but still skinny. He wanted a big fat one like the senior-form boys at school. But now, with his sister's eyes fastened so hungrily on his stiffened penis, it felt bigger than it ever had before when it was up. She was making it bigger with her eyes, the way she was looking at it in such wide-eyed fascination. Clayton groaned, an involuntary, whimpering sound, half fear and half pleasure as his blood pulsed through his groin, filling and stretching his cock until it jerked and quivered into a sharp, perfect right angle from his slim loins.
Grace laughed, a merry sound like a little silver bell. "It moves! Make it move again. Jump so I can watch it bounce."
He rose up on his toes and fell back on his heels, as her laugh sounded again. It made his balls ache. The pressure in his crotch was so intense now that he could barely tell the difference between what felt good and what hurt. Everything seemed to ache in a delicious, hot exciting way that was new to him. His balls felt swollen and full, and the tip of his cock felt as though it had turned to lead. It tingled and itched until he could hardly bear it!
"Walk, and let's see if it moves then," Grace ordered, her mouth twitching at the corners.
He knew she was making him look silly. Suppose somebody saw him, jumping and marching around this little cabin in obedience to his sister's wishes? He looked like a skinny boy whose childish, wiry body had not caught up with the slick red cock that jiggled up and down between his legs.
"It wiggles when you walk," she giggled, "but so do my titties. Look!"
She walked toward him, landing hard on her heels so that the pointy little mounds of her sprouting bud-like bosom vibrated with each step.
"I've got two things that bounce," she jeered victoriously.
She kept coming closer to him, until he could smell the sweetish sweat of her body. It wasn't like his own sweat, which was stronger, almost rank. For the first time he was aware of the natural essence of the female body, and her nearness almost made him drunk, the way he had been that day he sampled his father's scotch. Clayton was fascinated with that different female smell. It seemed to come from her soft round throat whose childhood plumpness had changed to a mature swan-like gracefulness. Now there were shadowy hollows in her throat that seemed made for lips. As she drew still closer to him he inhaled the tangy aroma of hot pussy. Though he had never known it before, he now knew instinctively that what he smelled was female heat and the moisture of sexual desire that was saturating those fuzzy blond cunt lips.
The difference in their smells drove away his guilt because of the similarity of their blood. Clayton looked down and saw her hips move in a sexy little circle. He swallowed harshly as the lightly furred triangle came closer and closer to his jutting rod. She was going to touch it! He would know what a woman's pussy felt like on his prick!
Clayton closed his eyes and jerked his hips forward in a natural sex thrust, but Grace giggled and twisted away from him. The tip of his hot cock rammed her belly for a split second before she pulled away and jumped back.
"No, we can't do that. I'm too old now, and I could have a baby because I get the curse now."
Her suddenly prissy tones, reprimanding and cruel, almost made him weep. The exquisite feel of her velvety belly on his cockhead was unbearable, like thrusting into a satin pillow.
To his great shame and his continuing hatred of his sister, he started to beg.
"Please, Grace! Let me do it to you! I-" His voice broke, scaling up to a falsetto whine that made him hate himself even more than he hated her. But I don't hate her, I love her!-oh, I don't know!
"We can play, though," she soothed, switching her tactics and her tone with lightning rapidity. Clayton's head swam with confusion. She had suggested this. What did she want? What did he want? It was awful, like a nightmare, and yet his throbbing stiff prick felt so good!
Quickly, she bent and lay down on her back on the stone floor.
"Ooooh! It's so cold!"
He looked down at her twisting, writhing body as she jerked and squealed on the flagstone slabs. Cold? How could anything be cold now!
"Come here," she commanded. "Give me your hand and I'll show you how to do something to me."
Wordlessly, he put his hand in hers and let her pull him down, with surprising strength, beside her. He rolled over on his side and loomed over her on his elbow, the way men did with women in the movies. His blood-engorged cock pressed against her firm white thigh and sent vibrating tremors all the way into his stomach. Grace rubbed her leg against him as she guided his hand to her tits.
"See? The tips are sticking up now. That's the part that feels the best, that and the pink circles around them. Rub your fingers over the hard parts ... that's it. Uuuummmmm, that feels good."
Her eyes closed and her arms stretched back over her head. Clayton rubbed the tip of his finger over the ripe nipples, thinking how they were like hard little berries. As much as Grace writhed and groaned under this stimulation, he wanted to do more. The soft little mounds of flesh tempted him and he let his whole palm engulf one of them. God, how could anything be so soft! It was like a plump, ripe tangerine that fit perfectly into his hand as though it was made for it! Now the hard-tipped nipple brushed the middle of his palm, so firm that for a moment it felt like a nail pressing into his flesh.
"The other one," she panted, tossing her head from side to side until her blond locks spread like a fan on the stone floor. "Lick it with your tongue, suck on it. Hurry!"
He needed no instructions now. The cherry tip was more inviting and delectable than anything he had ever eaten, and every taut nerve in his body screamed for it. He lowered his head and clamped his young mouth over the quivering tit and sucked hard, pushing the mound into his opening lips.
Her throaty moans drove him on in his lust. How grown-up her voice sounded now! It was so deep and chocolatey, instead of the shrill piping little girl's voice that he had heard all these years as they grew up together. Deep ... deep. The word made him think of what she was like down below, in the hole that all girls had between their legs. It was deep in there, deep and wet, and a man could put his cock in there and push way in until his hair was pressing against hers.
He shook uncontrollably at the mental picture his wildly tumbling thoughts evoked. A harsh groan escaped his lips as they moved wetly over the conical little tit and his tongue licked with fervent worship, flicking hotly over the stiffened point as Grace thrust her chest at him.
"Spread your legs ... please ... let me feel you down there."
Her face frightened him. Her eyes rolled in a terrible kind of way, showing their whites, until she looked convulsive. For a moment he felt nothing but frozen terror as he remembered stories of people having fits. Then his fear vanished as his groping fingers moved down her belly and dug into her crotch. When he felt how wet she was his masculine pride swelled and exploded in his brain like a rain of fireworks. This was what the guys meant when they talked about a woman being hot for you! She was hot-God, how hot! Her slippery little pussy opened up like a morning glory, all dewy and slick under his plowing fingers. Even the fuzzy little puff of hair was wet. It felt like the inside of someone's mouth, the same kind of skin that gums are made of. He had to see it, too!
He scurried down beside her on his knees, his cock throbbing.
"No!" she squealed, her voice bubbly and full of mirth. Her legs clamped together around his hand, the burning flesh of her inner thighs scalding him.
His eyes opened and he looked at her in feverish confusion. He knew she didn't mean it! Why did she say it, then? Her mouth curved into a mocking smile.
He wouldn't beg again, he wouldn't! But he did.
"You said I could play with you. I won't put my dick in ... just let me play with it, Grace, please!"
It was the magic word. Slowly her hot thighs parted once more, wider than before, spreading out obscenely until the straddling position split her creamy upturned cheeks to reveal her most intimate bodily area.
Clayton fell between her raised knees and gazed in awed delight at the pink slit of her cunt. The burning heat of her totally exposed loins felt like a blast furnace as he moved his face closer to study the incredibly complicated wet folds of flesh. So that was the mystery! That was what was under the triangle of hair! It was like a rose, unfolding into a dewy infinity of lush promise.
He panted lewdly as he poked his first two fingers into the gaping snatch. His prick felt like a balloon about to burst; his balls had become fat and hot against his thighs. If he could only release that throbbing ache in the pouting little hole that he saw at the base of her slit! That was the place, he was sure of it now. It all made sense now, and the whole man-woman delight rushed into his mind with overpowering clarity. His sister's hips rotated in a vulgar motion as she wiggled and snapped her pussy against his revolving fingers.
"Ummmmmmm, that's the way I like it. Yesssssss, Clay, oooooh."
A shaft of dark, murderous jealousy stabbed through him. How did she know how she liked it? Who had done this to her before? There weren't any boys around ... she went to a girl's school. Who did this to my sister? I'll beat him!
The thought was too horrible to bear and so he dismissed it for something else. She had done this to herself, incredible as it seemed to him. Girls didn't beat their meat, only boys did that. Or did they? Yes ... she had played with her own pussy, and now she would show him how to play with it. The accidental truth that he had stumbled upon did not shock him, compared to the terrible thought of Grace doing this with another boy.
"Don't touch the hole," she panted. "Go up top. Where the little thing is, like a nipple. Feel it? Right there. Rub it."
He slipped his exploring finger up the slit of her glistening pussy and touched the hooded apex of her clitoris. Now she really started to squirm! So that's where it felt good! But what about the hole? That's where he was supposed to stick his dong. But there was no doubt that what he was now doing with his finger was driving her as crazy as a girl could get with a boy.
"OOOOOOOHHHHHHH! It tingles when you do that! Feels....cold and hot ... at the same . ... time," she gasped.
Her wet slit was spread back, responsive to the slightest touch of his fingers. He stared down into it, unable to get enough of this beautiful, thrilling and somehow terrifying sight. She looked like an envelope of flesh down there, from the little bud that looked like a nipple to the plump, fuzz-lined lips, all the way down to the gaping, cum-filled hole.
His feverish mind experienced another assault of instinctive maturity. He remembered something he had heard one of the gardeners say once, when he was in hearing as they clipped the hedges. "Hell, why break your balls when you can eat a little? Nothing like it, man. Umm-umm, those legs wrapped around your neck ... Nothing like a little hair pie."
He had not understood then, but now he knew. His head darted forward, his mouth open, as he sank into the sugary delight of her rapidly creaming, lust-swollen gash and began to lick it with slathering lingual abandon.
Clayton held on to her hips as she jerked and thrust against his wildly consuming mouth. God, she loved it The men had been right, there was nothing like hair pie! He fitted his open mouth over her swollen, hair-fringed cunt lips and made his tongue spin madly over her protruding clit. A low howling sound started in her throat and grew louder and louder, until she was screeching as her pelvis pounded against his wet face.
"YEZZZZZ . ... You're making it throb so goood! OOOOOOHHHHH, it's pounding so harddddd!"
He felt her cunt lips clasp and unclasp like something alive and carnivorous. A gush of milky fluid came out of her and creamed his buried face. Clayton's breath was tight in his chest and he gulped for air amid the silken vise that held him, sliding his tongue down to the fascinating little opening that he wanted so desperately to explore. As she twisted and ground her hips he pressed the tip of his tongue against the gaping hole and felt it pulsate and flutter in reply.
At last her hips sank to the stone floor as her thigh muscles unlocked in his curved arms. Her flesh became soft once more under his hands.
"You know what that was that you made me do," she sighed. "It's called cuming. When everything feels so good you can't stand it, and then it's over. I read about it in a book I took from your room."
As she spoke the last sentence, her eyes moved and locked on his, watching his face carefully. Clayton swallowed and licked the sweat and sweet juice from his mouth. It was his fault-his fault for having the book that she could read, the book that her taught her the arts of lost innocence. Her sly soft-spoken words made him feel more guilty than what they had actually done on the floor. Worst of all, Clayton knew that their father would interpret the situation exactly the same way. Clayton would be blamed and punished, and Grace would, as always, go scot-free.
The icy fear that went through him as he imagined what would happen should their Jather find out about the book-and about this afternoon-relieved the pressure in his groin. Sex was lost in the face of retribution, and Clayton stammered out a pitiful plea.
"Did-did you put it back in my room? Don't let ... anybody know you got it from me-"
She laughed, her eyes merry with victory. She always looked like that when she got her way.
"Don't be silly! Nobody will find it where I've hidden it. I'll sneak it back to you. And besides," she pouted, "do you think I'd let you take the blame? I'd say it was my book," she soothed.
Her voice was as calming as the hiss of a snake. At that moment Clayton knew that he was going to be in a terrible bondage to Grace for the rest of his life. Somehow, it had all happened in a few brief moments in their childhood hideaway. He looked around; the innocent make-believe castle of the past was now a torture chamber, a dank cold dungeon of the heart that would be his prison.
Her wheat-colored brows rushed together. "Why're you looking like that? What's the matter-are you afraid?"
"No! What do you think I'm afraid for?"
She rolled to her side, her head propped languidly on her palm and her hip rising in sharp acclivity from the dip of her slender waist. Her fingers touched his chest and wove down his body as she smiled at him.
"The book said that people shouldn't be re-repressed," she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. "It said that people who think sex is evil are sick. Are you sick?"
The flat contempt in her tone filled him with another kind of fear: that she would think him a sissy. She was so competitive! She always had to win, to beat him. When she was a little girl she used to cry if he didn't let her win. Now she was determined to win this new game.
"Can I play with your ding-dong?" she crooned. Suddenly she gripped his cock in her hot clutching fingers and squeezed it tight. She pulled on it roughly and it leaped to life under her harsh fondling. A hot glow spread through Clayton's groin, going all the way back to his rectum. His eyes closed as he gave himself up to his sister. God, she knew what she was doing! She worked over the tip, rubbing her fingers and thumb back and forth over the thick ridged head, pushing the skin back until his red cockhead was completely exposed.
He lay on his back, stiffening his legs and jerking his hips up and down into the fist that held him. Grace made her hand into a tube that felt just like ... just like what a woman's hole must be like. He closed his eyes and imagined his hard prick dividing her wet pussy lips and screwing into that gushing hole that he had touched with his tongue. His imagination was so strong that for a brief moment it was all real-too real!
His eyes flew open and he saw her, straddling his body, dipping the tip of his cock into her divided slit. The muscles in her firm young thighs stood out as she spread them out wide around his hips, wide enough to open her fuzzy little cunt so that he could see the pink glistening folds.
"Stick it in!" he cried out, heaving his hips up into her spread crotch.
She laughed and rose up on her knees, escaping his tormented male thrust.
"I'll do it the way I want!" she laughed.
Her fist controlled his rock-hard cock and her body dominated his supine form. She was on top ... on top, as she would always be. He lay under her, eager for anything she was willing to give him, even for a brief, hot contact with her little-girl pussy. She held his cock with both hands, manipulating the head gently but expertly, rubbing the underside with her thumb and causing his body to jerk with fast-approaching orgasm. He didn't need much; he was so hot for her he couldn't last much longer! Hot for his own sister ... but that was all right, his confused mind argued. It wasn't wrong! It was like Grace had said-if she didn't experiment with him, she would do it with just any boy. This is a way of protecting my sister, as a big brother should.
The idea made up for the lewdly delightful things she was doing with his cock. Clayton forgot everything now except feeling as she swabbed his stiff rod far back under her hips. Ummmmmmm! God, she has the softest butt in the world! She was so hot back there, inside the crack where she was putting him now.
"You like that?" she gasped, wriggling her ass as she held his prick in her tightly clenched cheeks. "It's called a cheek squeeze."
Where did she learn that? She shouldn't know things like that. He'd have to keep her from such talk-protect her.
She reached down and spread her pussy lips with her fingers and fitted his jerking cock inside the lips, closing them around his tormented head. If only he could get in there and fuck her hard! But already it was too late; his cum started to spurt out, and his hips responded with jamming thrusts up toward her controlling pelvis.
It was the best thing he'd ever felt! Something made him cry out loudly, like a howling animal. He never did that when he brought himself off, but he had to yell now. He shivered harshly and shoved his still-showering prick against the hairy oval of wet flesh. Clayton looked proudly at his cum as it clung in milky droplets to her blond cunt. He had covered her with it, given her a bath in it. Never had so much jism come out of him before. He was a man all right, there was no doubt about that. A man-with his sister.
The hot searing contents of his balls dripped back down the softening shaft of his prick. Clayton's eyes closed for a moment as he sighed deeply. Grace threw her leg across his body and got up. He looked at her creamy nudity, her cherry-tipped tits, and the light downy fuzz between her legs. She stood over him, smiling, as though she were deliberately letting him look up her dress, except that she didn't have one on. She was still hot, he was sure she was. A pulse beat in her throat and the impudent tongue-like clitoris peeked from between her still-swollen slit. Her legs were sticky from the cum he had shot all over her. He'd give her some more if she wanted it!
"Get up!" she ordered harshly. She stepped back and stood in the corner by the chimney, away from the window, and grabbed her clothes.
Her voice was like an inundation of cold water. Slowly he rose and stood there dazed, a little dizzy, full of satisfaction and yet trembling with new desire for her. She tossed his clothes at him and he caught them clumsily, dropping his shirt and feeling like a fool as he bent, naked, to pick it up.
Grace laughed. "Your balls look funny from behind. I'm glad I don't look like that when I bend over." She turned and upended her ass in a saucy gesture of mockery, then stepped into her shorts.
When they were both dressed, she spoke again in tones that were as steely as her blue-gray eyes.
"Until I get old enough to have all the boys I want, you and I can have fun together. If you won't play, I'll-"
She broke off and smiled at him. The smile was more threatening than any words she could have uttered. It said: I'll stop at nothing. He followed her out into the hot summer afternoon as the bell from the big house sounded dinner. His mouth was dry with fear, yet he couldn't take his eyes off her compact little hips as he dragged miserably behind her.
CHAPTER THREE
Clayton DeWitt stood impatiently on the terrace, wishing the guests would hurry up and leave. He hated these damn parties. He looked down at his finger and picked at the tiny sliver of glass in the pad. Damn, but it hurt. He put it in his mouth and tried to draw out the splinter.
An elegant soprano laugh made him stiffen and whirl about. His sister stood there in her shimmering green gown, an empty champagne glass in her slim white-gloved hand.
"Poor baby brother. Him hurt him finger? Sister kiss and make well."
"Oh, shut up," he snapped, his face flushing darkly.
Her mouth took on a cruel, mocking twist. "You certainly were a big help to me this evening. With Pappy in Chicago you were supposed to play host, you know. You haven't done a thing except sulk out here all night, and spy on me. I saw you peeking around the potted palms."
"I wasn't the only one who saw your performance," Clayton retorted.
She shrugged lazily, lifting one creamy shoulder and letting it fall with languid grace. "So what? We weren't the only ones doing a little necking in this lovely summer air. Surely you understand such things?"
Clayton's mouth went dry for a moment at her insinuation. The word summer paralyzed him. So many times, she deliberately brushed close to the thing that he wanted so desperately to forget. He stared down at her fragile, lovely features and wondered what people* would think if they knew what she was really like-knew her as he knew her.
His temper flared.
"Listen, you and Tom Markey practically gave a supper show performance of Hair."
"Oh," she murmured archly. "So that's it? You still hate Tom, do you? Why?" she asked innocently.
"He's a fortune hunter and a social climber and you know it. EuropaMaid my ass!" Clayton burst out. "The only reason he went into the servant business was to get in with rich people, and if you're too dumb to see it-"
"EuropaMaid!" she laughed. "It's the white slave trade, brother darling, and I'm perfectly well aware of it. In fact, it amuses me. He imports big busty Swedish girls and sells their services-with a nice commission for himself," she added meaningfully. "He's a pimp. That's why he appeals to me. He's a gutter snipe on the make, and I love it!" she said huskily, her eyes glittering. "So don't think you have to protect your little sister. She's quite informed.
"What's the matter with you, fooling around with somebody like him?" Clayton demanded, hating himself for the jealous misery he heard in his own voice.
She laughed softly. "You're not much of a psychologist, are you? I have what the French call la nostalgie pour la boue."
"What the hell is that?" he snapped.
"I know your French is terrible, but mine is quite good-including the language," she said, winking slyly. "La nostalgie pour la boue means a taste for mud. A longing for depravity and decadence. Many rich girls have it. So do rich boys. All that money and luxury leads to naughty, forbidden things."
Clayton's head spun threateningly. For a brief moment he wanted to hit her, to maim that lovely face so that no man would look at her-including himself. Once again he heard the sound of lazing bees buzzing in the hot summer afternoon.
"In other words, you have a taste for slumming," he said at last. "In that case, Tom Markey is an ideal choice. Are you planning to marry that slug?" he demanded.
Her face stiffened. She waited a second before she replied. "Who knows? Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Pappy wants us both to get married, you know. He's getting worried about us. Why don't you get married?" she said suddenly.
In the darkness of the terrace her face was shadowed. Did she actually look troubled and tense or was it the light? He could not tell, but suddenly the anger drained out of him. How could he marry when he still wanted her? Wanted her as she had been on that long-ago afternoon-a little girl, tight and virginal and maddeningly desirable?
"I'll get married when I'm damn good and ready," he replied tonelessly.
She seemed to relax as a smile played at the corners of her mouth.
"You don't seem to be in any hurry. I suppose you're satisfied with things as they are now? Though I sometimes wonder. You're usually about as itchy as a sailor just back from sea-or a rapist just out of jail."
"What do you mean by that!"
Her delicate brows rose. "Why ... nothing. Just an observation on the chaste life you seem to lead. But maybe you're just more discreet than I am."
"I should hope so!" he sneered.
"Oh, don't be so jealous of Tom's open-air fun. By the way, he's gotten us a Swedish girl to replace Ruth. I do believe you've never banged any of the servants. Every rich young man is supposed to do a little of that backstairs poking. Maybe you could have some fun with Greta. She arrives day after tomorrow. Think about it," she said, and walked off.
He followed her as she began to say goodnight to their guests. He joined her in the marble foyer of the penthouse, gazing at the dancing burnished lights in her tawny hair as she stood in the path of the chandelier. How beautiful she was! The perfect lady, nodding and smiling in six different directions at once, as graceful as a swan.
"Goodnight. So glad you could come ... so nice to have seen you again," she murmured. A blue-haired English widow beamed at them both as she took Grace's extended hand.
"You remember my brother, Clay, don't you? Clay, this is Lady Prentiss-Ward."
As he bade goodnight to the elegant dowager he wanted to scream: Do you know that she once put out for her own brother, your Ladyship?
Immediately the censor in his brain began to argue with him. She didn't put out for you. She just let you fool around. You never got in, you never fucked her. You were just kids, both of you, and you stopped after a couple of years. So you really didn't do anything wrong, did you? Did you?...." so nice. Yes, we must have lunch . ... Darling!.. Please call me . ... yes, we'd love to."
At last they were gone. Clay breathed a sigh of relief that Grace heard. She turned and smiled.
"The night is young. In fact, it's only begun. Tom and I are going to have a ... nightcap, shall we say? See you."
She walked away from him, then paused and turned around, wriggling her hips ever so slightly like an alley cat lifting her tail to an interested torn.
Clayton stared helplessly after her. Why was she doing this to him? She had invited him to watch while she and Tom Markey had a good round of fucking! Why did she want to make him jealous, unless-unless she, too, was unable to forget their childhood lovemaking! Was it possible that she wanted him still, the way he wanted her? Clayton had watched her screw before-she always gave him an opportunity to see her perform. And he had taken many such opportunities, hating himself, hating her, yet loving her in a dark, twisted way all the while.
He gazed at her retreating form, watching as she shed the detachable train of her gown and pulled a diamond clip from her high-piled hair. She ran her fingers through her blond tresses and let them fall down her back, then rubbed and scratched her head with an earthy abandon. It excited Clayton to see her do that; there was something basic and animalistic in the way she relieved herself from the discomfort of the elegant coiffure. He knew it must have hurt, having her hair pinned up like that, and now she was digging at her scalp in a blunt defiance of her lady-like demeanor. There was a coarse streak in her that fascinated him. He had seen her make other such gestures. Once, after a hard game of tennis, she had stuck her hand down the front of her blouse and wiped the sweat from her breasts, unconcerned that everyone watched her. Perhaps she did have a taste for the gutter-la nostalgie pour la boue. Perhaps she was right that he did, too. Was there that decadence in both of them, that had caused them to do what they had done together, and caused him to-
A cold terror washed over him. What had she meant when she said he was like a rapist just out of jail? She couldn't possibly know his secret ... besides, he had not yielded to the temptation for a long time.
He stood so still that he seemed to have turned to stone. Clayton DeWitt, one of the richest young men in the country, was a rapist-a statutory rapist. A child molester with a yen for twelve-year-old girls. He whirled and took^the stairs two at a time as though fleeing a deadly pursuer.
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace sat on the luxurious gold sateen sofa, her hair under the yellow lamplight taking on a tawny sheen. She looked like a graceful, confident lionness as she watched Tom Markey pour them some brandy. Her shoes were on the floor in front of her and her long exquisite legs were tucked under her shimmering green gown but in spite of her pose there was something alert in her manner.
She cocked her head toward the upper regions of the penthouse and tried to listen for telltale sounds over the clinking that Tom made at the bar. She knew Clayton liked to watch her fuck-she wondered if he would tonight. He never missed a chance. The thought of it filled her with an amused contempt and a strange excitement.
Tom handed her a brandy.
"Nice party tonight," he said. "Too bad your father is out of town. I was hoping to ask his advice on some market tips." He grinned suddenly and ran his hand over her curving thigh. "Though in a way I'm glad he isn't here."
She made room for him beside her. "He'll be back Sunday. Why don't you come to dinner?"
A triumphant light flickered in his eyes. She knew that her money figured in his plans but she did not care. She was accustomed to being rich and was well aware that many men would see the value in having James Hartley DeWitt as a father-in-law. Pappy liked Tom and thought he was a real comer as a businessman. He wanted her to marry Tom but . ... A small panic grew in her. She did not want to marry anybody. Tom thrilled her as no other man ever had, but something held her back.
She glanced at him over the rim of her glass. His black hair was straight and shiny and his swarthy face had a gypsy cast to it. There was something Oriental or Slavic in his narrow, slanting black eyes that excited her to a hot pitch of lust. La nostalgie pour la boue . ... He put down the glass and reached for her. His mouth was hot and flavored with brandy as he pushed his tongue between her lips and flicked it over hers. Grace opened her mouth and let him explore her eagerly, rolling her tongue around his lips until he began to pant, his breath hot on her face. She moved against him, fitting her body to his and crushing the voluptuous orbs of her breasts against his chest, rubbing their upthrusting firmness over him in an insinuating assault. They had grown much larger than they had been that day in the smokehouse with her brother. No pointy cones now, but big bulging globes of quivering, perfectly shaped flesh. She twisted around to welcome his searching hands, her nipples aching as they grew hard. Her green gown, like all of her gowns, had been chosen not only for its beauty but for its speedy simplicity. One little tug at the zipper and her tits would be jutting in his face.
Their teeth collided and his hot tongue circled deep into the crevices of her mouth as he pushed her back on the sofa and locked his thighs around her hips. As his weight came down on her she felt his prick jabbing into her groin; she squealed in pleasure. God, it was big! A cock like that was worth a few million!
"Mmmmmrnmmm," she moaned, arching up against him. Her nipples felt like hot pinpoints burning through her dress. His hands grappled at the back of her gown, searching for the zipper. When he found it she lifted herself up and let him release her from the agony of its tight bodice.
Her quivering globes popped out of the braless top and swelled proudly, their big tips dark red with stimulation. Grace tossed from side to side in delicious freedom as she gazed proudly down at her huge fleshy tits. Her nipples stuck out like hard little tongues in the middle of her widespread areolae that were as big as silver dollars.
Markey's narrow eyes glittered with appreciation. "You've got the most succulent pair of tits I've ever seen," he whispered, his hands beginning to rove over her creamy mounds. Sensations of pleasure scurried down her ribs as his fingers tweaked her stiff nipples.
"Ummmmm, lick them ... suck them," she groaned, arching her back toward his lowered face.
His mouth came down on her excited mounds as he continued to pull the zipper down to the base of her spine. Grace lifted her hips and let him divest her of the shimmering length of silk. It dropped to the floor with a soft crushing sound, leaving her naked except for her garter belt and a pair of lace bikini panties.
Tom stood up, his black hair tousled, and began to tear off his own clothes, looking quickly around into the dark vast foyer of the penthouse.
"Will anybody see us?" he said hoarsely.
"No ... no." Except my Peeping Tom brother!
She watched him eagerly as he stripped off his shorts and revealed his big thick cock. The whole front of his body was covered with black curly hair. From the thick hair at his groin his ferocious red cock stood out stiff and straight, laced with passion-bursting networks of tiny veins and fanning out at the tip into a gigantic, pleasure-giving head.
He stepped over his pile of clothes, grinning at her as he saw the direction of her eyes. He was proud of his big dick. He ran his hands over her thighs. He eased his fingers between them and slowly but masterfully pulled them open and stood between them. Her body wriggled in invitation as she lifted her bikini-clad rump high and thrust the mound of her cunt at him. It rose enticingly from the flat planes of her belly and strained against the crotch of her panties. A few golden strands of pussy hair were caught in the legbands and glistened in the light.
Markey made no move to take off her panties. Instead he knelt on the floor in the vise of her satiny legs and traced her crotch oval with his finger.
Grace jerked and shivered as fiery sparks of passion welled up in her loins. Lubrication gushed from her fast-swelling vaginal lips and soaked through the sheer panties. She stretched her legs wide, raising one to the back of the sofa and putting the other on the floor.
The tip of his finger tugged at the elastic and slipped into the crotchpiece to separate the slick lips of her cunt. Her head lolled drunkenly as she strained against the maddening tickle.
"It's better when you have to work for it," he said, laughing softly.
Heat slammed through her belly and sent tremors scurrying along her spread thighs from the perversely delightful torment he was inflicting on her tingling pussy. It was torture to keep her pants on while he played through her slit, but such torture! The best kind of torture, to hold something back like this....
Clay and I held something back. He never fucked me, never put it in, I wouldn't let him! So we didn't really do anything wrong!
Why must she think of her brother now? It was over, all over. My God, that happened so often between brothers and sisters, far more often than people knew or were willing to admit. Perfectly commonplace, a little messing around between siblings. They were only experimenting. She found out things with Clay that she would have found out with other boys, boys who might have talked or caused trouble. Clay couldn't-he would not have dared to. Her mind whirled with fragmented thoughts and memories. Don't think about it now! Stop it!
Tom Markey's stiff cock lay against her thigh, pressing hotly into her soft flesh. She whimpered and reached down for it, clutching its big head and squeezing hard. A hoarse growl of response came from his throat as he thrust into her fist.
"You've got a hardon, too," he panted, rubbing his fingertip over her erect clitoris. "Baby, you're so hot, so good. God, you're hot...."
His searching fingers tore her panties a little as he pressed down into her cunt, screwing into the pulsating hole and palpitating the responsive sling of muscles at her entrance. God, she had never wanted anything inside her cunt the way she did now! The steady friction of his touch combined with the irritating tug of her strained panties against her leg made her entire pussy quiver with incredible excitement.
Suddenly he pulled his hand from between her legs, leaving her cunt palpitating in agony as he stopped his expert fondling. His hands moved to the waistband of her panties and jerked hard, ripping them down the front with an effortless twist of his wrist. The lacy material gave like paper under his savage assault. Grace uttered a cry of surprise and delight. Something primitive and brutal came over her. He was tearing her clothes off, something no man had ever dared to do to her, and she loved it!
"Oh, yes! Take it off, baby, take everything off. Quickly!"
His dark face split into a knowing grin as he loomed over her. Her garter belt was jerked from her hips and dragged down her naked thighs with the stockings still attached. As he tossed it aside they looked like filmy snakes twined together on the floor. A dark thrill throbbed in her brain and spread through her body as she sensed his intent to degrade her. He was tormenting her, her, treating her with abandon and making her beg for more. He was not afraid of her as other men had been-as Clay still was. He was a bastard! And she was a bitch. She had met her match at last.
He knelt between her thighs and spread her pussy lips apart while he toyed with her throbbing vaginal entrance, easing his finger into the readied hole. She turned into an inferno of longing, gushing out female cum in reply to his digital probing. She began to groan and squirm, grinding her splayed torso hard onto the cushion to drive his finger all the way up her cunt. He laughed softly and screwed in deeper, thrusting a second finger beside the first and stretching her walls. She longed to claw at his bare skin, to bite, kick, pound him with her fists but all she could do was go limp and let him have his way with her. He lay against her on the sofa, his cock ramming her naked thigh. She moved against it with shameless longing, savoring its hardness and thinking of the final assault he would make on her with it.
She jerked suddenly as she felt the hard tips of his fingers ram her cervix, then pull out of her quivering pussy as he manipulated her wet entrance. He loomed over her, smiling down into her reddened face while he handled her in his lewd, insinuating way.
"Yes ... do it again," she whispered. "I love it. Fingerfuck me, darling. Go way up, all the way. Uuuuuuummmmm, yeeeeees."
She lifted her legs and bent her knees until they were nearly even with her breasts, offering him the full, open glory of her cunt. His arm shot forward as he ripped through her channel once more and pummeled her so roughly that her body rocked to and fro. Her moans and cries rose in the quiet room as his fingers disappeared in merciless pleasure-giving thrusts.
"AAAAGGGGGHHHH! OOOOOOOhhhhhh, my God!" He had put three fingers in now, three long, stiff fingers knitted together into a giant, pronged prick that ripped into her vagina in burning rape. Her wet cunt suckled his thudding hand and made slip-slap sounds of vulgar, uninhibited delight that excited her beyond all caring. His arm worked in and out of her pussy as he took her rigid nipples into his mouth and rolled his tongue expertly over them until she heaved and kicked.
"Yes, darling, fuck it hard! Oh, what you do to me!"
She had never called anybody darling before, never begged for it as she was begging now. He was making her do these things, and thus winning a victory over her that no one else had ever attained.
"Aaaaaahhhhh, it's so good . ... Hit it again, up high-AAAWWGGH! That's it."
His fingers plowed up, up, up, circling and tickling inside her snatch, evoking unbearable sensations as they jabbed against her womb, stabbing into her hidden fe-maleness and urging her cunt into a vigorous, throbbing reply. She couldn't bear it any longer; she had to have a real fuck now! Her hand grabbed at his lust-hardened rod as she begged again.
"Give me cock, come on, baby, give it to me. Fuck me with it, Tom! Oh, please, I need it sooooo bad."
Her voice broke on a sob and to her horror two tears rolled down her cheeks. Tom grabbed her hand and molded it into a fist around his rigid cock, pressing her fingers around the head and thrusting his hips against the vise she formed.
"That what you want?" he panted, his eyes glittering. "Tell me what you want me to do with it. Tell me!"
She mumbled rotely the words he wanted to hear. "Get between my legs and stick your cock up my cunt and fuck the hell out of me!"
"That's better!"
He parted her thighs with his leg and eased into the V they made, his hardon brushing her hair-covered slit. At the first touch of his big cock on her pussy Grace lifted her buttocks and tried to impale her vagina on it but he chuckled and dodged her upthrusting hips. The smooth head of his cock dipped into the wet cleft of her slit and began to move up and down in the seeping valley, brushing maddeningly against her slickened inner lips.
"Oh, shit, don't do that!" she moaned. "Stick it in!"
She felt her pussy stretch into a demanding glove of need as the thick cock slithered up and down through her sore, aching vulva and left the tingling friction of unsatisfied longing in its path.
"Oh, I can't stand it ... go in me, fuck me hard!" she whimpered, gyrating wildly under him.
She felt him lower his hips until his big cockhead pressed against her hole. He let it rest there lightly for a few seconds, tormenting her once more before his body moved forward. His arms reached down and circled her spread thighs and pushed them up, shaping her waiting body into a sprawled cartwheel of generous, fuckable femaleness. Her vagina nibbled instinctively at his shaft as he began to move it with maddening slowness into her eager channel. Suddenly he jerked brutally against her and impaled her streaming cunt with one swift motion that sent her heaving backwards on the crowded sofa.
"All! All! All!" It was in her. His cock ground into her cunt now with all the force that he had withheld before. She couldn't believe what she was feeling as the burning rod pushed cruelly against her already-sore vaginal sheath. He was hurting her, hurting her like a virgin! His fist-like circumference was bigger than any cock she had ever taken in her life; her tender, burning pussy walls seemed ready to split under his assault. But what a welcome pain it was to have this bull tearing into her hole. She wrapped her long legs high around his back and pulled him down hard into her, grunting hoarsely as he filled her with eight inches of thick cock.
"I've never ... had ... anything ... as big as ... OOOOOOOOHHHHHH ... this is heaven!" What a fool she was to tell him such a thing! She would be in his power now! She never said things like this, even when it was true! But now she had lost all pride and cunning to this dark, grinning stud on top of her.
He pulled back, yanking his thrashing prick nearly out of her sore pussy until only the head remained in her. Then he came forward with a crashing assault of maleness, ramming her high and hard and grinding against her palpitating muscles. Grace's head swam with giddiness until she thought she would faint. She became mindless with lust as all thoughts and fears vanished, leaving nothing except searing female heat determined to glory in this rape he was inflicting upon her. Her embattled vaginal muscles clenched wetly around his cock and rippled in response, wrapping snugly around him each time he thrust forward.
Christ, we're almost off the sofa! What I'd give now for one of those nice big aquabeds filled with warm water. Tom Markey looked down at the red, grimacing face of Grace DeWitt and felt a burst of power. To hear about all the guys she fucked, you might think that her cunt had been shot to hell long ago, but it wasn't at all. In fact, it was sweet and tight, with a good grip on things.
He concentrated on ramming in and out of her juice-slathered cunt, savoring the wet smacking noise that his thrusts produced. His hands grasped her billowing ass and kneaded it brutally, giving her what he knew would be a fuck-and-tell set of bruises that she wouldn't dare show to anybody for a week. Her ass clenched under his fingers and jiggled up and down on the cushiony sofa as he skewered powerfully down into her hot cunt.
"You like to fuck, don't you sweetheart? Give it to me, let me feel how good you can fuck. Come on, wiggle that pretty little ass!"
She came up with a slamming collision of her naked sweaty body, impaling herself on his swollen prick and smearing it with the fuck juice that was pouring out of her pussy. Victory coursed through him. Look at that debutante hump! No debutante now but a coarse, foul-mouthed slut getting a piece of what was good for her. The inside of her pussy felt like a sucking mouth as it caressed his cock and slammed up against his grinding pelvis. She was getting enormous in there now, swelling out in a peaking ecstasy. He had her bent almost double with her ass in the air and her cheeks stretched wide under his jiggling sperm-fat balls.
He wanted to make her talk dirty, to undo every single thing that had ever been part of her birthright, to strip off every layer of polish put there by every finishing school she had ever attended.
"Tell me what I'm doing to you," he commanded. "Tell me what you're feeling!"
"My cunt's getting sooooo big ... your cock's so big and hot in there, just like a red-hot iron. It feels wonderful when you bang aginst me ... I love it slammed in there hard! Ummmmmmm, yes, that's the way-OOOOHHHH! Your balls are so swollen and hot ... I love it when they bounce against my cheeks like that ... Ahhhhhh, yes! yes! Like that ... oooooo ... they're making my asshole feel as good as my cunt ... the best fuckin' time I ... ever ... had! AAAAAHHHHHHH!"
She screeched and clawed at his back, throwing her legs in the air and giving him all she could of her straining pussy. Their bellies ground together as he fucked her cunt for all he was worth. He felt his cock jerk with the first spurt of cum as her vaginal walls opened and closed around it, massaging and snapping in delight as she moaned out her pleasure.
"We're cuming, baby, both of us!" he crooned, rocking to and fro in the cradle of her clasping legs. They were hot around him, locked and trembling against his bare back as she stiffened and lifted her ass in a spasm of little wiggles.
"You're filling me up with it," she gasped. "You've got the hottest cum in the world OOOOOOOOOOH H HHHHHUMMMMM, I can feel it, I can feeeeeel it!"
He jerked her to him, mashing her tits against his chest as he shuddered against the onslaught of his climax. For a moment, Tom forgot her money, his hopes of marrying her. All he could do now was feel her, the satiny vise of her throbbing pussy, the crawling delight of her feet along the backs of his legs.
At last her moist slit ceased pounding and was still except for a tiny tremor far up in her hole that he felt around the tip of his cock. He thought it was like the pulse of some small dying animal, fading and growing faint until at last it was still. Tom rose to his knees and let his slick cock emerge from her coral flesh. Her eyes were closed and her mouth smiled tautly. As the head of his prick withdrew from her pussy he saw her wince a little as though savoring the last contact with him. There was nothing quite like the face of a well-fucked broad with a cunt full of cum. He started to smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
Clayton's cock jutted stiffly out from his pants in an agonized longing as he watched his sister's ass rise up off the sofa to meet the gigantic hairy balls that swung rhythmically against her. He could see the pinkish interior of her crack and the sore-looking red blotches on her cheeks from Tom Markey's pinching fingers. Her feet rubbed sinuously over his downy ass, digging and sliding down his legs as he pumped that enormous red cock of his into her hungry pussy. Such a beautiful pussy! Clayton's blood surged into his groin as he looked at the sweet triangle when Markey had ripped off her skimpy panties. No matter how many times Clayton saw his sister get her ass banged he still expected her little slit to look as it had when they were kids together. Then it had been so gragile-looking and blonde, really blonde, yellow-haired and tiny. A little girl's pussy, pink and firmly succulent, like a fuzzy little egg.
Now that she was a matured woman he could not quite believe the difference in her down there; he could therefore tell himself that this wasn't really his sister as he knew her. That made it all right-he could watch then, without feeling guilty.
Now her pussy was a glorious womanly thing, hairy, very hairy, with an abundance of darker curls. It was a burnished gold shade now, the color of ripe wheat. You couldn't see the slit anymore; it was covered up with that magnificent hair. That made it seem closed and safe-safe from him, her brother.
Now he could not see it at all; he could only see her white gleaming legs spread out around Markey's humping ass. Clayton supressed a moan as Markey's fingers twisted her nipple and pulled the bright pink peak up. He heard her squeal in pleasure as the man continued to play with her tits. She loved that, Clayton knew, remembering how her shoulders had thrust out at him when he had diddled her there.
His cock was ready to split through his pants. He felt it, hard and thick beneath his clothes and could bear it no longer. He opened his fly and took it out, gasping in pleasure as it bobbed stiffly under his fingers. He knelt down, his thighs opened wide, and aimed his jutting maleness at the scene on the couch. He was proud of his cock, damn proud. It was as big as Tom Markey's! Much bigger than it had been when he was fourteen. There wasn't a woman who wouldn't love to have such a nice think thing up her cunt. That girl on the sofa ... she'd love it! She'd go to town with it rammed up inside her!
He watched Grace hook her foot over the back of the sofa and ram herself into Markey's thrusting groin. Clayton shivered in ecstasy at the sound their colliding loins made ... so wet and sexy! The love juices were flowing. He was really throwing it to her. And she loved it! Her cunt would be a pit of molten longing now, ready to explode in a climax. Clayton squeezed his cockhead and jerked his hips forward, his eyes closing as he remembered his own times in Grace's cunt.
He never got in and really got a piece, of course. She couldn't let him do that. But they had played around between each other's legs. Her pussy had been tight that first time he stuck in his finger, and he had torn her cherry for her. She had cried a little and said it burned, and his finger was covered with blood, but afterwards it hadn't hurt her at all. She loved being fingerfucked, just the way she had loved it tonight when Markey did it.
But I did it first! I got in there before anybody else-I know!
But then it had stopped. Her nubile little body with its tight virginal twat had begun to fill out and grow. Suddenly there were lots of grown-up clothes, parties, makeup-and boys. Lots of boys, in white flannel trousers and blazers; boys with wandering hands and hardons. Clayton's heart wrenched at the memory of Grace's sub-deb days. She had the whole student body of Choate walking around with a punch cup in one hand and an erect cock in the other. He had seen her behind doorways and in dark corners; on the boat, in the garden ... everywhere. He remembered her dry screwing, when she came into the house with the front of her dress full of wrinkles and the back full of grass stains. That period had almost been a blessing to Clayton, because he knew that as long as she showed that kind of evidence she was still a virgin as far as the real thing was concerned. Until she actually fucked, she was still his!
But then when she was seventeen, it had happened. She told him all about it in lewd detail, and then let him watch her through a porthole outside the cabin on the boat.
He himself was only nineteen at the time ... and a virgin. Not long afterwards he lost his cherry, too. With a twelve-year-old girl.
His cock was hot! He rubbed the swollen head and squeezed the underside of its ridge and remembered the Saturday afternoon he had gone to the roller rink in New Haven. He was at Yale, a sophomore, with his own apartment in the best part of the city. It wasn't hard to get a teenybopper to put out for an "older man" of nineteen who had money and looks. The girl's name was Ellen. Her eyes were wise beyond her years and caked with bright green shadow. She had stolen hungry glances at his crotch as he stood on the sidelines watching her skate around the rink. What a smart little grafter she was-he had to go through the whole bit, or at least her version of gold-digging. She didn't have enough sense to demand anything more than a double chocolate malted and a cheeze blintz at the local teen hangout, but she demanded it with the flinty expression of a woman who knows that she can get anything she wants out of a man who wants her body. Clayton was sure that by the time she was thirty, Ellen would have a collection of diamonds that would rival the crown jewels. She was a born hooker, all four-feet-ten of her.
In the car, she snuggled up appreciatively, giggled knowingly, and put her little hand on his bulging crotch. She kept it there as he drove home, rubbing his hardon with knowledgeable but tiny hands. He almost creamed his pants, she was so good.
In the apartment, when he had her in bed, her budding little body immediately became a pubescent lash of desire. As Clayton swabbed his finger up and down her gooey, tight little slit he could close his eyes and return to the smokehouse on that unforgettable summer afternoon with Grace. His big cock jerked and heaved against Ellen's slender thigh as he stroked her sweet cunt. Twelve years old, his mind screamed. Twelve! At that moment he knew what he was and what he would remain-a child molester. He was a prisoner of his memory of his unnatural love for his sister. For a brief instant he almost sprang from the bed and out of the apartment, to turn himself in to the police, who would get him one day anyhow. But then he sank down into the abyss of youth as Ellen thrust her tits at him and let him squeeze their pink little peaks.
She sighed and moaned in imitation of what she had seen in movies to which she shouldn't have been admitted, squirming and gazing up at him to see his reaction. His fingers played at her moist pussy, then he allowed the tip of one to enter her, gently and carefully. Got to take care of my sister ... can't let anybody hurt my sister. Her legs opened and her hips began to rotate with encouragement as his digital probing made her good and hot for him. He eased into the delicate young snatch and revolved his fingertip in the tight hole. She gasped as he went higher but he soothed her with whispered words.
"Nice little pussy ... you know I wouldn't hurt it. There, I'm past the opening now, doesn't that feel nice? Now I can put my cock in and that'll feel even better." The baby talk filled him with a flash of self-disgust but it vanished when he felt her short legs rise up and clasp his lowering hips.
"Ooooooh, that feels good," she whispered, as the big ball of his cockhead touched her fuzzy lips. She spread her legs wider and gave herself up to the delicious friction of his rod on her outer lips. Clayton rubbed it up and down her slit until she bounced under him and her swollen clitoris encountered his hard shaft. Her thin pink slit felt wonderfully tiny against his enormous jutting cock, and suddenly he wanted to skewer her hard and fast until she screamed and begged for mercy. He jabbed the smooth rubbery head of his organ against her vagina and screwed at the tense, slippery flesh as her eyes flew open in surprise.
"That's right," he panted. "This is it. This is what it feels like to have a prick going in you, and you'll love it, I promise."
The narrow circumference of her hole felt like a miniature ring of flesh that would never fit around his outsized cock but he pushed hard against it and felt it yield to his big cockhead.
"EEEEEEEEGGGGHHHHH" she shrieked, twisting away from him. The whites of her eyes showed in her terror and renewed his hot lust for her snug little slit. Clayton pushed again at the hair-fringed hole and sank still deeper into the vise of this barely developed little cunt, digging his gigantic rod into the heaving virgnity under him. Clayton ground his teeth against the feel of tightness in her baby twat, delighting in the pain that she gave him. He slid slowly up her bursting channel as her nails raked his shoulders, aching under the delicious pressure of a vagina that was much too tight for his big cock. I'm your older brother ... older brother, I'm bigger than you are!
"Ooooooooh, it's hurting," she wailed, the veins in her throat standing out like ropes. She was flushed and sweating, biting her lips in pain, but something told him she loved being hurt like this. Her thighs began a clasping, instinctive movement against his hips as though she were trying to pull him down into her fiery babyish cunt. Inside, he felt her maidenly dryness suddenly vanish as she gushed a sweet shower of encouragement on his plowing cock. Her internal muscles began to contract and her vaginal sheath stretched a little. He shoved a little more of his prick in her until he felt the base of her womb and dared go no further. She was warm and velvety and streaming with cum. He began a short, quick jabbing movement in and out of her delicate little hole.
"Ummmmmm, I like it now," she said wonderingly, her taut body relaxing under his weight. She began to fuck back in uncertain but enthusiastic little prods, uneven and squirming at first but quickly getting the hang of the in-and-out rhythm. Soon she was rocking like a hammock under him, her compact little ass nestling against his swinging balls just right. Once again she stretched inside, this time with a quivering, heaving expansion that drew him up into her depths. It must have felt good to her, too, because she moaned out her pleasure in a deep, womanly voice, sounding suddenly mature and experienced. Her warm wet flesh sucked deliciously around the shaft of his pussy-swallowed cock as she rose up to meet him, rubbing her mound of crotch hair against his own wiry blond bush.
Oh, God, his balls were going to explode if he didn't shoot! Could she have a baby? Was she old enough? What in the hell would he do? His father ... money ... blackmail. Some little girl he picked up at a skating rink. Trouble, pay-offs ... father ... cops-
AWWWWWWW! BABY, BABY, WHAT A LOAD YOU'RE TAKING! It was too late now to do anything, impossible to pull it out now when that sweet little pussy was sucking so wildly around his spewing cock! Her burning vagina contracted in spasms as she milked his balls dry with a series of climaxes. Her contorted features were a mixture of surprise and fear and mindless passion, so that he was sure she really did not understand fully what was happening to her.
"It's pounding so goooood!" she groaned. "Ooooh, make it do it some more."
She twisted erratically, mashing her loins up into his belly with such enthusiasm that his still-throbbing prick slipped out of her slick, well-stretched pussy. But even then she would not stop as her excited pussy rubbed itself into a clitoral spasm before she at last sank down in a quivering little heap under his sprawled body.
The memory of the little girl was too much for Clayton as he watched his sister tumble over the sofa with her legs around Tom Markey's bouncing butt. His prick demanded release from the hot cum that filled it. He slipped the foreskin back and forth over the swollen cockhead, forcing himself to think of the little nymphet Ellen as he stared at his sister's wildly fucking ass. His thighs went stiff and his pelvis jutted obscenely forward from his splayed legs as his fingers moved faster. Think of Ellen, think of the kid ... think of one of your other little girls! But it wouldn't work. His mounting climax destroyed every barrier of decency in his mind. He gazed down in rapture at his magnificent red cock and saw it jerk with release. His cum arched up and landed with a sharp splat on the floor, directly in a line with Grace's flying legs. Clayton continued to drain his aching cock of its cum, imagining his sister's eager cries of delight were for him instead of Tom Markey.
CHAPTER SIX
Grace heard a door close quietly upstairs and smiled to herself. It was Clayton, she knew, sneaking off to his room after watching her and Markey fucking up a storm. He would not stay and watch any more because he had probably gotten his jollies about the same time she got hers. Now he was overcome with guilt, undoubtedly, and had scurried off like a scared rabbit.
"What was that noise?" Markey said, his body tensing. His arms tightened around her and he seemed poised for sudden danger.
"Oh, who knows?" she sighed. "Who cares?"
He looked down at her curiously. "Aren't you afraid that one of the servants might see us?"
She lifted one naked shoulder in a tired, happy shrug. "And what if they did?" she asked. "Who would tell the head of the house that his little girl got some nookie on the sofa? The first thing Pappy would do is fire anyone who even mentioned me in such a context." She stretched gracefully. "And they know it, too. Besides, I'm nice to them. I like them and they like me. I'm safe."
Markey's black eyes flickered in a curious way. He studied her for a moment, gazing appraisingly at her delicately arched gold brows, patrician nose and firmly moulded mouth. What a well-bred, aristocratic face she had! You could look at her and see that she had seven generations of blood and money behind her. Goddamn her. She had millions just for being who she was, and he had had to break his balls all his life to survive. His mouth curled into a jaunty, contemptuous smirk.
"Hey babe, you like to suck cock?" he growled lewdly. He watched her eyes flicker in shocked surprise, then darken with excitement. She loved to be treated rough-Christ, did she eat it up! How many guys ever talked to her like this? She had known too many gentlemen ... now she wanted to try a roughneck. Well, she had one.
He pushed his hardening pecker into her belly and held it there, pressed into her soft flesh. "I'm all juiced up again, sweetheart. Why don't you french me?"
Markey knew she had sucked plenty of cock before, but his instincts told him how it had happened. Some namby-pamby "gentleman" had whispered nervously: Would you ... do something for me? Hell! Nothing got a dame hotter than dirty talk in the sack; they all got turned on by it. The classier the dame, the dirtier they liked it. It relieved them of the endless, boring necessity of being a lady.
"Come here," he muttered, grabbing her long hair. He pulled her down over his loins and held her head above his hardening prick as he sank down to the base of his spine and thrust his dark, stiffening rod proudly out. It jerked and swelled in obedience to his will until it grew into a juicy red shaft that rose straight from his wiry bush of dark hair.
Grace quivered in passion as she reached for it but he jerked her down on the floor and squeezed his naked legs around her creamy white hips. He wanted her to take it on her knees, to kneel down and beg for it, just to even up the score for all those years she had gotten things brought to her on a silver tray, while he had to work his ass off.
Her head jerked back against the harsh tug on her hair. "Ooooh, you're hurting me," she protested, twisting before him.
"Suck, baby suck!"
He let go of her hair and lay back on the sofa, circling his hips in a vulgar, suggestive way. As she stared at the huge cock just inches from her face, her mouth actually watered for it. God, it was beautiful! Ready to burst with hot cum! Her head shot forward as she grasped the thick circumference in her fist and guided the head to her eager lips. Her breasts bobbed against his knees and tingled as the nipples rubbed into his hard masculine planes. A hot thrill covered her as she imagined the picture they made, sprawled here like this. She was a slut, a cocksucking broad, not Grace DeWitt of Park Avenue. Her fist tightened around his vein-laced cock and drew the thick shaft closer. There was a drop of cum on his cockhead and her tongue shot out with lascivious appetite and licked it off.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHUUUUMMMMM .. big gorgeous cock mmmmmmmyessssss."
How big the head was! The most delectable thing she had ever tasted. She clamped her lips around the stiff ring of his foreskin and held tightly as she moved her head to and fro, back and forth, pulling on it with gentle strength as her tongue continued to flick over the tiny slit. She sucked slowly and leisurely, wanting it to go on all night. Markey worked his legs around her kneeling body, rubbing his calves against her bulging breasts. He looked as confident as a sultan as he lay back and took her oral delights. Her mouth salivated as she felt his hot cock jerk in her mouth. Feverishly she ran her tongue around the hard, knotty underside of his head, turning her head to gasp for breath before she lapped again at the ridge. Oh, he was more than a mouthful! Her jaws ached already as she held them wide to receive his hardon. Nothing had ever excited her this much. Her cunt was dripping and swollen with lust, aching between her legs and demanding a return of the favor she was now bestowing. She shivered and squeezed her thighs together, moaning as her clitoris throbbed in its slick trap of her cunt lips. A tickly pulsation shot through her rectum and tormented her with fluttery insistence until she began to clench her ass muscles in time to her wildly sucking mouth. She wanted his cock everywhere at once, and the impossibility of her wish made her groan with frustration.
"Baby, you've got a beautiful mouth," Markey crooned. "The best fuckin' mouth in the world. Suck it all, every bit of it, and I'll eat the cream out of your pussy."
The dirty talk spurred her on to a new height of passion. He was degrading her and she loved it, how she loved it! Wild thoughts tumbled through her brain and she saw herself in a receiving line, with white gloves up to her elbows, nodding and smiling and saying all the things Tom was murmuring to her now. A lovely cock ... so juicy ... do cum again in my pussy, won't you? ... I did so enjoy it, really the best fuck of the season. Won't you have another tit? They're so delectable. Miss Grace DeWitt requests the honor of your presence at a COCKTAIL party!
Something was happening to her, she was losing the mask that she had worn all these years of her double life. Tom Markey had brought out a dangerous, destructive element in her that she had always managed to contain. He was different from any man she had ever known, different and threatening. She felt part of her precious, controlled inner self slipping away as she responded to the relentless masculinity of the man. He was controlling her on the end of his big cock just as a puppet master controls his dolls on the end of a string.
Her fears receded as she felt his prick swell and jerk in her mouth. It was as though she had a snake halfway down her throat, a monstrous, beautiful cobra whose head hood was swelling in angry, thundering response. It was so good!
"Suck it, babe! Deep!" he commanded, and she weakly obeyed, thrusting him into the deepest confines of her streaming mouth. She clamped her lips over the gigantic head until her face ached, gagging involuntarily as he jabbed at the back of her throat. She squeezed her fist around the base of his cock and shook it hard, vibrating the shaft inside her mouth until he jerked and moaned his appreciation. Nothing was important to her at that moment but to give him the best blowjob he had ever received from any woman. Nothing mattered so much as to be proclaimed the best french whore he had ever had.
"MMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm ... love to suck you ... gooooood cockmmmmmmm." Her saliva ran down her chin as she worked voraciously over the throbbing head of his luscious rod. The slapping, squirting sounds she made filled her with abandon and wantonness, seeming to spell S-E-X in flaming red letters. He groaned sharply and stiffened his legs out around her kneeling body, digging his heels into the thick carpet.
"UUUUUUUUMMMMMMMM!" He came copiously and violently, spurting a load of thick cum into her frantically working mouth. Her eyes closed and she tilted her head back, her lips still moving around his trapped prick. She swallowed greedily, gasped for breath, and took the last of his cum as he shot again. Grace heaved a shuddering sigh and licked weakly at her lips, still clutching his moist prick in her fingers.
Tom embraced her with his legs and pulled her against his lap.
"God, you really know what to do with a dick, don't you? You got the hottest mouth in town, baby." She lay weakly against him, brushing her face over the black hair on his hard thigh. He laughed shortly and pulled her up on the sofa, dragging her over his body until she straddled him.
"Turn about's fair play," he said, sliding down under her opened thighs. He came up under her pussy with his tongue ready, furrowing her with it in lusty abandon. She squealed in delight and stiffened, arching her back and grabbing his shoulders. His fingers spread the lips of her pussy and laid them back while he fitted his open mouth over her glistening wet flesh. Slowly and steadily he revolved his tongue over her lust-hardened clitoris while the underside of his lower lip moved over her cunt-al valley.
"Ahhhhhhh ... Tom, Tom! Eat it, darling. Oh, you do that so beautifully."
Her wet pink gash tingled with hot delight as he speared his tongue at the sensitive hood of her clitoris until the tiny organ was distended in hardness. Grace whipped her hips against his devouring mouth, growing wilder as he pressed on into her straining twat. Behind her, his fingers pulled her tautly held cheeks apart and dipped into the most secret recess of her body. When he pressed her tightly clamped anal ring a tingling longing swept through her and began to pound with an unmistakable desire.
"Yes," she moaned hoarsely. "Do it there, too. Ummmmmm, stick your finger in my ass. Oooooh, that feels wonderful!"
The tip of his finger entered the firm tight walls of her rectum and pushed up, pummeling in the same rhythm that she felt on her gushing cunt. Her ass muscles clenched instinctively around the invader. Nothing had ever felt so obscenely thrilling as this dual torture. His finger rose higher and higher into her rectum until it felt as though he were crawling through her bowels, wriggling inside of her like a determined eel until he was all the way in, right up to the palm of his hand.
"I can feel it so deep," she cried. "It's as though you were ... crawling up ... to my ... throat. AAAAGGGGHHH! Fuck my ass, baby, fuck it, fuck it!"
He slammed up hard, filling her with a hot pain and an even hotter delight while his laving tongue slithered into her wet pussy. Both at once! It was heaven, the most delicious madness she had ever known. The wet sucking sounds at her naked loins drove her into a sexual frenzy, her body jerking and snapping over his buried face. His eyelids fluttered in ecstasy as he savored her womanly essences, rubbing his already smeared face into her streaming gash. The leaping flames of desire that he aroused in her anal passage sent her into an erotic frenzy unlike any other. How she wished it were his big cock ramming her ass! Suddenly she wanted to be assfucked by him, though she had never done it with any man in her life. It seemed deliciously lewd and frightening as she thought of it, bouncing up and down on his straining, extended finger. Oh, God, what was he doing to her?
"I'm cuming! Oh, I'm cuming everywhere! TOM, TOM, FUCK ME, SUCK ME-OOOOOHHH!"
Wave after wave of tingling sparks attacked her entire body. She clamped her anal ring around his invading finger and pushed her gushing cunt into his upturned face. His tongue was high in her pussy, flicking madly, while his finger pressed her anal cavity against her female walls. She throbbed everywhere at once with a climax so intense she could not tell where it began nor where it ended; she had turned into a single molten pit.
"Oh ... I don't believe it ... what ... how ... wonderful!" she cried weakly, tumbling to the sofa. He sprawled over her, his face close to hers, grinning in victory.
When Tom left later on and she lay happily exhausted in the bath, Grace tried to think. What would it be like to be married to Tom Markey? she wondered. Pappy would take him into the family's financial operations, delighted to acquire a son with a good head for business. Pappy was disappointed in Clayton, who was woefully inept when it came to being a hard-driving tycoon. Poor Clay ... he knew nothing about business and cared less.
She was almost twenty-seven. Pappy kept bugging and hinting about marriage, asking her why she didn't accept Tom's proposal. She could not quite explain her reluctance to him-for that matter she could not explain it to herself.
She stretched out languidly in the sunken marble tub and inhaled the musky fragrance of the bath oil. She was almost certain that Clay had watched her and Tom. At the thought, a spiraling thrill covered her and she shivered. How cold she felt all of a sudden-the hot water lapped lazily over her body and she lowered herself into it as she would snuggle into a blanket on a cold night. The trembling passed after a while and she grew drowsy. It was dangerous to fall asleep in the tub, she should get out and get into bed. But it was so warm and safe in the water....
She was not entirely unconscious when the dream began, so that the marble walls of the bathroom remained as part of the scene. It was a wedding-her own wedding, and the church was built of brightly polished marble. A redolent musky scent of candles or incense was everywhere. She saw herself coming up the aisle on Pappy's arm, smiling brightly and crying with happiness. Pappy looked overjoyed and ready to burst with pride. The bridegroom waited at the altar with his back toward the approaching wedding party. He would not turn around! What was wrong with him? Didn't he want to see his bride?
Suddenly, he whirled to face them, and the onlookers gasped in horror. II was Clay! Pappy's face twisted in sick loathing and he started to vomit a thick, foul bile. The audience started to shriek, "She won't change her name! It's unnatural if she keeps her maiden name!" She pulled away from her father and rushed to the altar, her hands outstretched, and fell into her brother's arms. As soon as they touched each other their bodies started to shrink, until they were both children, and the wedding clothes hung in folds around their young forms....
"Ahhh!" A splash of water, a sickening taste of soap in her mouth. She struggled up and spat, choking and coughing. For a moment she could not remember where she was, or that she was awake. Her eyes rose to the same marble walls she had seen in her dream.
"Dear God...." she murmured, reaching blindly for a cloth to wipe her stinging eyes. She had only been asleep for a few seconds; it couldn't have been any longer than that. She had gone under ... she could have drowned. She stood up and climbed out of the tub, groping for a towel. When she had dried herself she leaned weakly against the dressing table, her heart thudding. The bathroom was filled with milky steam that reminded her of a swamp mist. How faint she felt ... the water had been too hot ... she had soaked too long. It wasn't good for you, it-
The cold water that she splashed on her face revived her somewhat. As she brushed her teeth she could not bring herself to look into the mirror before her. The dream rushed her once more, seeming hideous. Her own stomach turned over as she remembered the disgusting fountain of vomit that had poured from her father's mouth.
She put on the gown and peignoir that the maid had laid out for her. She needed something-she wasn't quite sure what. Some tea, a cigarette. It was impossible to sleep now. It was four in the morning; she couldn't very well ring at this hour.
It was dark on the landing as she made her way to the stairs. The lights that she and Tom had left on still shone, and she waited until her eyes grew used to the dimness. Carefully, she felt her way down the steps, heading for the soft glow of lamplight in the living room below.
She stopped suddenly and looked down. Yes-the head of the stairs was in a direct line with the sofa in the living room. If Clay had stayed back in the shadows he could have seen everything through the bannisters. What did he feel when he watched her? Excitement ... lust. Yes, she was sure of it. But what else? Did he know jealousy ... and love?
She crossed into the kitchen and switched on the light, standing for a moment and studying the gleaming expanse of formica, polished copper and cookery. It was an enormous kitchen and she hardly ever went into it. She did not know where anything was kept; housekeeping was a mystery to her but she had to have a cup of tea. Her head throbbed relentlessly and her mouth tasted sickish.
After opening six cabinets she finally found a cannister of tea bags and a pan for the water. When she placed it, filled with water, on the stove, she could not find the right burner switch. The stove looked like an involved dashboard from a space ship and she could only press every button in sight until the nearest plate glowed with an orange electric heat.
"Damn," she murmured, yanking the trailing sleeve of her peignoir out of the way. By reading the designations carefully she managed to get the other burners safely off, and then sat down to wait for the water to boil.
How helpless it all made her feel. Useless and unimportant. She supposed other people hated the rich, but couldn't they understand that rich people have feelings, too?
She had known this sense of helpless, useless stupidity before-when she was eleven, and her mother died. The elegantly beautiful Mrs. James DeWitt had looked decorative but in reality she had been efficient and knowledgeable, running as many as six homes in various parts of the world and handling a huge staff of servants.
When she died everyone, including Pappy, had said to Grace: "You're the mistress of the house now. You must take over as hostess. You're the lady of the family now."
They had said it half jokingly, to ease her sorrow and to take her mind off her mother's death. But to Grace it was a challenge to grow up, to stop being a little girl.
But it was too much for me to fill Mother's shoes that way. I grew up the only way I knew how, the easy way. With sex! I had to be a big girl fast and I forced Clay to make me one! Then, as soon as Pappy let me, I had real boyfriends. I've been fucking like a bunny ever since, but it's still an effort to make a cup of tea....
CHAPTER SEVEN
Greta Johansen buttoned the top button of her blue maid's uniform, saw that the material strained across her large breasts, and unbuttoned it again. She was pleased with the effect as she studied her swelling cleavage and the shadows cast by her beautifully moulded collarbone.
As she continued to gaze at her reflection in the new uniform her cold eyes narrowed into resentful slits.
I do not like the color, she thought. Though blue heightened her magnificent pale blue eyes, Greta hated it because it was the color of servants' garb, the mark of her station. A brutal shock of discontent washed over her and she clenched her fists and ground out a curse under her breath. Now that she had what she wanted so badly, a job in Amerika, her insatiable ambition only gnawed at her more. Each time Greta achieved a goal, she only wanted more. She had longed to work in the DeWitt home; now that she had seen it, she wanted to own it. She should have a home like this! It was what she deserved!
She forced down her anger and struggled for control.
She must take it easy and not want everything at once. That mistake must not be made again; if she were wise, everything would come to her. She had her looks, and though her English wasn't fluent she knew that her mistakes would only be considered charming. The most important word in the entire language was already branded on her barin-money! And how much money the DeWitts had ... she had never seen anything like this enormous apartment. Rich people in Sweden did not have such things as this. She had been sick with envy when she saw it this morning.
The bright sunlight poured through the window into her new room. Greta looked gratefully at the cheerful exposure and watched the play of dancing light on the white walls. How different it was from Stockholm where the days were so short and dark. There was never any light in the dreary flat where she had lived with her father and brother. She shivered as she remembered that hideous winter afternoon....
It was dark by three o'clock, but even before that the cramped, foul-smelling flat gave off an impression of nocturnal evil. The furniture was old second-hand junk in black cherry wood that reminded her of a funeral parlor. The place reeked of the thick black beer that her father was always drinking. That day he had passed out and lay snoring and gasping like a huge flaxen-haired pig gorged on swill.
Greta was thirteen and her brother Thor seventeen. He was a giant, big even for a Swede, with hands like hams. There was something the matter with him. "Not bright," they said, and they had put him in a different kind of school, where they carried tool chests instead of books. Greta hated Thor. His mouth was a loose, slack line of flesh that always looked wet, and he was always touching himself.
She had been standing at the sink, scrubbing at the congealed globs of food on the piled-up dishes, trying without success to wash them clean under the trickle of cold water that came out of the rusty spigot. Thor came into the kitchen and she turned.
He looked like someone in pain; his face was screwed up into a taut red mass of flesh and his hand gripped tightly at his groin. For a moment Greta thought that he was going to fall forward in a convulsion and stepped back instinctively, striking her back cruelly on the harsh sandstone sink.
Then she saw the outline of his giant cock in his pants. It was trapped inside his pants leg and lay like a piece of pipe along his thigh. Nothing that big could grow on a human body! She knew in that instant what was going to happen to her, even before his fingers brought the thick and rigid shaft of flesh out of his opened fly. She turned to stone when she saw it; unable to either move or scream, she stood locked in place as he grabbed her and stuffed a towel into her mouth. He forced her to the floor and strapped her wrists together with his belt, dragging her arms over her head and tying the other end of the strap to a pipe beside the sink.
Then the big rough hands were under her dress, pulling at her pants and dragging them off of her. He flipped back her skirt and exposed her hair-fringed virgin pussy, drooling lewdly over it as he fell to his knees and pulled open her long white thighs. She struggled to disgorge the towel.
"Nej! Nej!" she choked. Hjalp! Far! Far!" But her father would not help her in his drunken stupor.
Thor growled, slapping her hard across the face. He grabbed the towel and bound her securely around the head, his hot giant of a prick stabbing into her stomach as he loomed over her body.
He scrambled between her open thighs and aimed his fleshy battering ram into her blond undeveloped cunt, grunting like an animal as the big head of his monster cock touched the helpless pink flesh. His girth was so abnormally big that the whole of his cockhead equaled the size of her external slit! he jabbed her with blind lust and frustrated rage, neither knowing where her opening was nor caring, as long as the moist softness of a female lay at the end of his lust-crazed cock.
A blunt, burning pain shot up through Greta's stomach. Instinctively, to save herself from his ignorant assault, she lifted her hips and fit her cunt to his pounding shaft. She had to let him do it and get it over with! She had seen him when he was enraged by failure; he would kill her if he couldn't fuck her!
His prick was crammed up against her tight, hymen-covered cunt entrance as he grunted and pushed it against her unyielding body. Her hole strained and fought him as he jammed against it, howling and sweating over her like something inhuman. Waves of pain and nausea mingled in her body as he skewered through the bleeding tender maidenhead and pushed all the way into her.
AAARRRRGGGHHH! her mind shrieked. Her flesh tore cruelly under his onslaught as his cock thrust deeper into her raw cunt until she thought it would pop out of her throat. She was stuffed full of his rock-like shaft but still he worked, pummeling more of the endless trunk of flesh into her bleeding vagina.
A blackness formed over her vision and she felt herself falling away from him in the blessed release of unconsciousness. From far away, she heard his snorting whoops of pleasure as he started to pour spurts of cum into the wound he had made.
Her consciousness returned as he stood over her, rubbing his flaccid cock with one hand and his drooling mouth with the other. Blind killing rage filled her as she struggled against the belt and gag. Thor staggered back and, casting a quick glance at their sleeping father, stuffed his prick back into his pants. He bent down and untied her, slapping her once again as she raised a freed arm to rake his face.
Greta staggered to her feet, lurching at the sink to grab the knife that lay there but her knees gave way under her and she sank to the floor once again as unbearable pains shot through her legs and stomach. Thor backed clumsily away from her and ran out of the flat.
She gave him a chance to get away, then hobbled down the black smelling hall to the bathroom that they shared with three other families. Her thighs streamed blood and a thick whitish fluid that terrified her more because it was so unfamiliar. As she tried to wash herself and staunch the blood, an old neighbor woman came into the room.
"Ga ut!" Greta screamed, covering herself and shrinking back against the wall.
"Vad ar del som har hant?" the woman demanded.
"Min brorl Min brorl Polis!"
At the word brother the woman's eyes widened in horror as she stared at Greta's raised skirt and bloody legs. Suddenly the faintness came over Greta once again and she careened against the woman, mumbling incoherently before she slipped to the floor.
When she woke, a doctor was standing over her, shaking his head and saying something about the things that went on with these slum people.
They took her to the hospital and sewed up the tears in her sex parts. A shocked woman official of the health board heard her story and had her removed from her father's care to an orphanage until she was sixteen. The home trained the young inmates for the lowest kind of jobs, and Greta was placed in domestic service as a maid.
It was the final insult. Like her brother's rape, it was proof that she was poor. Poor girls are maids. What happened to her at Thor's hands was also something that happened to poor people. Only a poor home contained a father home in the daytime, a father so drunk that he could not prevent an incestuous assault. Only poor families produced imbeciles like Thor, more animal than human. The doctor's words had stung and she would never forget them; she was of the slums.
But that did not mean she would stay there!
Determined rage grew to monster proportions in her as she lived in rich homes. She came to understand that there are two kinds of power-one for each sex. Men have money and women have beauty. A man with money can get a beautiful woman, and a beautiful woman can get a rich man. It was as simple as that, and liking or not liking sex had nothing to do with it.
She thought she would hate sex forever but she was wrong. Money was power for men, and sex was power for her. The two got so intermingled in her mind that because she adored money, she came to feel the same way about fucking.
Her first job was in the home of a government minister. He was a massive, portly man in his fifties with a wooly cap of gray hair and a thick sensual mouth. In contrast to the animal vitality he radiated, his wife was like a frail wren; a papery, skittish woman who seemed to have been worn out years before by her husband's insatiable appetites.
His face grew florid and his breathing became wheezy and asthmatic whenever he was around Greta. She was the only servant in the home and his wife was often ill and in her room. It was very easy to be alone with him. One day she met him on the landing as she was on her way up to her small attic room. His beady eyes, embedded in his pink jowls, glittered with desire.
Greta smiled invitingly at him, sensing that this was the moment for which she had waited. She turned to walk up the stairs. She went slowly, waving her full buttocks from side to side. She could hear his breathing increase before he lumbered clumsily up behind her and grasped her ass roughly in his hands.
He sounded like a bellows as he panted into her ear, his lips taking biting chunks at the soft pink lobes.
"You are beautiful, Greta! You make me feel like a man. She was always sick and weak-she made me feel like a beast! She couldn't take it, never, even when we first married."
His hands squeezed her butt cheeks and jiggled them like balls, sliding down the backs of her thighs and digging between them. He mumbled and panted as he pinched her generous ass.
"There's something the matter with her, she's so tiny down there. I always had to be so careful. But not with you, eh? You're such a big, strong girl-big the way a woman should be! We'll make each other happy. I'm big the way a man should be. Here, feel this! Feel it!" he gasped, stepping behind her and rubbing his stomach into her already sore cheeks. His breath was hot on her neck as he held her by the hips and pushed his fist-like penis against her ass crack.
"Nej, Min Her!" she protested, making her voice tremble with fear and pulling away from him.
Olafsen yanked her around and jerked her body to his, his face maroon with ecstasy as he ran his hands over her straining tits and dug into the V of her dress with his thick fingers. He fumbled in her bra and tried to pull it away to reach her nipples.
"You give me a little present," he wheedled, "and I'll give you one ... a hundred kronor, eh? A little extra for a pretty new dress?"
He had spoken the magic words. A hundred kronor was as much as she made in two weeks. He became suddenly attractive to her in his lewd, red-faced way and she began to feel a crawling heat at her cunt as it swelled with excitement and longing. The nipples that he was pinching with his clumsy fingers ached and prickled; she thrust her big boobs at him and moved her chest back and forth in teasing encouragement.
"You like that, eh? I'll make your tits feel nice, know how to do it. I know how to do it all so you'll like it. I'll give you a good piece of meat, eh!" He grabbed her hand and guided it against his flaming loins, jerking his hips in obscene meaning as he placed her finger around his thick penis. It felt like a knotty length of firm rope, its heat incredible even through his pants. He heaved a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes as she fondled him, jerking at her skirt and roaming his hand up her plump, perfectly formed thigh. His finger found the band of her pants leg and slipped under it.
"Ja, ja ... such a sweet little slice, the best place in the world to be! Ooh, you're wet down there, eh? Wet for me. I'll put some meat in there for you and make it fee good!"
He dragged her upstairs and shoved her into her tiny room and closed the door. He ripped off his pants and jacket and kicked his shoes from his feet, never taking his eyes from her as she unbuttoned her uniform and reached back to unhook her bra. His eyes popped when her heavy boobs tumbled free and heaved with excitement. She was so hot! His very ugliness was exciting her his fat belly and its mat of curly gray hair. The reason flashed through her victorious brain. Fat old men had money, slim young men did not.
"Let me take your panties off ... I love to do that for pretty girls," he gasped, barreling to her. He wore his shirt still, and a long red tie that somehow matched the enormous swollen cock that jutted out under the white shirttail. He slid his palms down her panties along her hips and peeled them over her firm-fleshed thighs, nibbling her hairy mound as, he dragged the panties down to her feet. He sank to his knees before her and licked furiously at her pussy as he pushed her back onto the bed, her legs sprawling open as she fell on her ass.
"Oh, it's so good to lick such a pretty pink girl! You like my tongue up your sweet hole, eh? Mmmmmmmm ... soooo nice ... aaaahhhhh."
Greta arched her back as his tongue slithered up her cunt and wriggled enticingly, whipping her cunt into flame. His wet mouth-sounds thrilled her almost as much as his ravenous tongue. She lifted her legs high and wide and held her pussy open for him as he rubbed his hot wheezing face into the juicy folds of her pussy lips. His beard stubble scratched the tender coral skin and sent pricking darts of feeling into her thrusting clitoris.
He smacked his lips and sighed with ecstasy as he withdrew his tongue from her stretched hole and lumbered over her, his fingers pinching his hardon as he lowered his thick body between her hot thighs.
"Now I'll poke you nice and make you have a real party in there," he panted. His fierce juiced-up cock slid between her opened lips and rammed with bullish fervor into her hole. Greta gasped in pleasure, astounded at how magnificent it felt as his swollen cockhead pushed aside the fold of muscles at her entrance. Her hot and ready cunt stretched naturally and easily to accept his gigantic girth, and as he pushed higher into its streaming channel she felt herself become alive down there. Her pussy walls turned into a nibbling little mouth, sucking in the rigid length of cock that drilled it. UUUUMMMMMMM! She felt thick with cock. crammed full of cock, and still she wanted more! She shivered in unbearable delight as she felt the ridge of his foreskin rub against her cunt walls.
"You like that, eh? You need a big man inside you ... all pretty girls do. Come up against me, hard, hard, hard!"
"AGGGGHHHJOOOOOOOmmmmmmm," she choked out, as he slammed into her wet pussy with his driving prick. A widening ripple of delicious chills exploded in her belly and drove her into an answering thrust. Her hips churned under his heavy weight, bouncing up and down against his humping loins. The coarse gray hair of his massive chest rubbed her bare breasts as he flattened her on the bed. His weight nearly drove the breath out of her as he heaved and battered her into the downy mattress.
"Give me your pretty ass, hold it up high! Higher!" he gasped, grappling under her thrashing bottom. He pulled her nearly upside down as he rampaged on in her lust-stretched pussy. His balls swung and slapped against her bottom, tickling her with their fuzzy growth of hair in a delicious way.
Suddenly the concentric ripples of feeling burst into a torrent of throbbing deep within her. She grunted hoarsely and tossed wildly to and fro as she was swept into her first orgasm while he shot his load of cum into her.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! You feel it now, eh? You're like a furnace in there! Ah, so good! So good to have my cock in such a happy little hole...."
His face had turned a frightening reddish-purple and glistened with sweat. Droplets of it clung to his bristly gray mustache. His eyes rolled in maniacal lechery as he pumped the last of his immense deposit of cum into her fluttering cunt.
"Ah, you're a perfect girl, perfect lover," he crooned.
"You know how to pinch my prick so nice that he gives you everything he's got."
Reluctantly, he pulled away from her and stood up. Now his prick looked more like his necktie than ever. A stealthy unease came over him as he peered clandestinely at his watch and began to throw on his clothes. Greta dressed quickly, feeling the cummy deposit of sex fluids seep onto her thighs as she sat down on the edge of the tumbled bed and waited.
Where was the hundred kronor? She gazed up at him expectantly, her icy blue eyes locking on his beady gray ones. Her face seemed to freeze over into a mask.
"Ja, ja, you are a good girl. Here, here is your present." He fumbled in his pants and took out a fat purse.
She extended her hand and put the money into her bra.
Olafsen tiptoed over to her and patted her hand resoundingly.
"Greta, we must be careful. You see ... well, maybe you have heard that I am to become an ambassador. I cannot have a scandal."
She saw the pleading fear in his eyes and some nameless signal clicked in her brain. She did not form any plan at that moment, but she knew with a vulpine instinct that this was to be her trump card sooner or later, one way or another.
Her chance came in a hideous way that she did not expect. His wife was out of the house, to return for a dinner party they were to give for a group of his political supporters. He came to Greta's room wearing his evening clothes.
"I need you, my beauty. Quick, give me your mouth. Put it on me."
He opened his fly and took out his cock, sitting on the 97 edge of the bed as she knelt before him. He locked his thumbs behind her jaw and held her face in a vise as he rubbed his glistening cockhead over her soft lips. She flicked her tongue over the smooth skin of his head as her fingers teased its sensitive underside.
Olafsen lay back on the bed, his fingers tangled in her streaming golden hair, holding her head between his legs and staring lasciviously down at her as she sucked hard and fast at his swelling prick. Her cheeks made a vigor-our in-and-out motion as she drew on the sperm-filled shaft and thrust it far back in her throat. Suddenly she felt his whole body grow as stiff as his buried maleness. He gasped and began to jerk convulsively, trying to speak but producing only a rasping cry. He held her fast, his fingers locking painfully in her hair. She gagged and struggled but she could not get away from him.
He shuddered convulsively and was still. Even though she could not raise her head to look at him she knew that he was dead. She uttered a muffled scream, his cock still shoved deeply into her mouth. She could not move! His hands had turned into steel gauntlets in her hair.
At last she was able to free her mouth from his still-rigid prick but try as she might she could not dislodge his hands. When she twisted her head up to look at him his eyes seemed to have exploded from their sockets. They looked like eggs-nothing but bulging white ovals in his twisted face.
The moments dragged by. Her scalp burned from her futile efforts to tear herself from the death trap of his hands. There were footsteps on the lower stairs, and she heard his wife calling him. A heavier tread reverberated and seemed to come closer. They were coming up!
"Greta? Greta?"
The steps came closer, on the attic stairs now. She tore back, jerking her trailing hair away from the rigid supine form but he held her fast.
The bird-like form of Greta's mistress entered the room and shrunk back in horror.
"Vad! Vad-"
She turned and fled, screaming, falling against one of the men in a faint. They stared into the room at the morbid tableau, their faces frozen above their medal-bedecked bandoliers.
They paid well for her silence, fearing for their political party and their individual reputations when she threatened to say that it had been an orgy, with everyone participating. She knew she would have nothing to fear from the widow; Fru Olafsen collapsed and was taken to a sanatarium.
She was paid the equivalent of ten thousand dollars but immediately her fevered brain began to imagine what double that amount would buy, or triple, or ten times. Her dissatisfaction was instantaneous and vicious. It would not last forever; eventually she would have nothing once again. Next time, she swore grimly. Next time....
She began to long for a job in America, where the richest people in the world lived. Sweden had no millionaires such as they had in America! She would go to America. They wanted Scandinavian maids there; someone at the employment agency translated for her the meaning of the American expression, "the latest thing." That's what Swedish girls were in the great homes of New York. It was fashionable to have them as servants and governesses, where it had once been fashionable to have English nannies.
Now, as Greta stood in her room in the DeWitt home, she fought down her familiar dissatisfaction. "Take it easy," as the Americans said. This time there would be no wheezing old man with a hundred-kronor present. She would be smarter, much smarter....
CHAPTER EIGHT
James DeWitt was the picture of an aristocrat from the swan's wing tips of his wavy white hair to his debonairly crossed ankles.
He had just returned from Chicago and sat talking with Grace in the library.
"My dear, I don't know what to make of you two children. I suppose I should be glad that you're still with me, since I'm a widower. But I'm not a selfish man, Grace, as I hope you know."
Grace shifted uncomfortably as he approached the topic of marriage. The dream she had in the tub came back to her with painful clarity. It didn't mean anything! Dreams are so stupid!
"I know you're not, Pappy darling," she murmured.
He leaned forward intently, his handsome face full of concern.
"You know I like young Markey," he said earnestly. "He's a real-"
"-Comer," Grace interrupted, smiling slightly. "Yes, Pappy, you've said that before."
"Well, it's true. I hope that you're not procrastinating because...." DeWitt hesitated a moment. "Because of his background. That would be very snobbish of you, Grace. You know, your great-grandfather started out just as Markey did, with nothing but his wits. All great American fortunes had lowly beginnings. I can tell you truthfully that I need Markey. I won't last forever and Clay...." The older man sighed. "He's never had a head for business and he never will. Grace, it's time you were married. You're ... well, a normal young woman. You should want ... a husband and all that."
Oh, Pappy! her mind screamed. How could he be so blind? Didn't he know anything? He thought she was still a virgin, dying on the vine and getting dangerously itchy.
"Of course I do," she said slowly. But she didn't! She couldn't marry-anybody! Fear washed over her.
"Clay might improve if he had a good woman behind him," DeWitt ruminated. "That sometimes helps a man to shape up."
"Pappy, you're a matchmaker, just like an old yenta."
"Please promise me you'll think about Markey," he urged. "I was quite pleased to hear you'd invited him tonight."
At that moment, the housekeeper entered, followed by Greta bearing sherry on a silver tray.
"Mr. DeWitt, Miss Grace," the housekeeper began. "This is your new girl, Greta Johansen."
DeWitt smiled up at her. "Welcome to America, my dear. I hope you'll be happy with us."
Greta gave a barely noticeable little curtsy. "Thank you, sir. I wish ... you to please." She frowned, Grace saw, as if she knew there was something wrong with her arrangement of the English words, but could not tell what it was.
A plaintive rush of feeling came over her as she looked at the statuesque Swedish girl. She looks like a queen, not a maid, Grace thought. A tall, regal Nordic goddess. There was something formidably noble about her high-held head and her graceful but imposing figure. What an overwhelming beauty!
Greta turned to her and gave another slight acquiescence.
"How ... is ... how do you do, Miss?"
"I'm pleased to meet you, Greta," Grace replied. In spite of her lifelong association with servants, seeing them and yet not really seeing them, Grace experienced a strange sense of this girl's own special individuality. It confused her for a moment, but then she understood with frightening clarity. Good God, she's like mother when I was a little girl! She has that same air of assured confidence, that same stiff proud way about her....
The library doors opened and Clayton walked in, dressed for dinner. Without knowing quite why she did it, Grace whirled to face him, her eyes shrewdly appraising as she watched him look at the new servant. He nodded to the housekeeper and frowned quizzically at Greta, his gaze slipping automatically down her body. No, Grace said to herself. No! Her father spoke again.
"Ah, here's the other member of the household, Greta. My son, Mr. Clayton. This is Greta Johansen, Clay. She's joining the staff, I'm happy to say."
Clay smiled easily, with a natural polish that he never showed with their many guests and friends.
"Hurstar del till?" he said, a little haltingly.
Greta brightened in recognition. "Tack, mycket bra, och hurstar det tillmed Er?"
Clayton's Swedish gave out and he nodded again, his smile getting broader as he sat down.
"Likewise, I'm sure," he retorted.
As Greta served the sherry and left with the housekeeper, Grace found herself breathing a sigh of relief. She continued to study her brother, musing over his odd ability to be easy with the servants. It had always been that way, but it had come to be more apparent in the last few years. He was stiff and unsure of himself with his peers; he had never learned the art of being a friendly equal. But with everyone else he was quite charming and at ease. He was very good with "little people," she thought, and surprisingly good with children, something she could not begin to match. She couldn't stand the little brats.
"A nice young woman," James DeWitt commented. A pensive frown crossed his face. "Isn't it interesting what an unfamiliar language does to one? It makes you seem rather charmingly child-like and innocent, to stumble and hesitate over new words. I was thinking, while Greta was here, that perhaps that's the reason we like our foreign actresses to retain their accents."
Clayton's hand moved in an erratic gesture. Grace jumped as his sherry glass crashed to the floor.
There was an ominous silence for a moment, as though a mood of quiet fear had passed over their heads. Clayton's mouth trembled, then settled into a grim line.
"Sorry," he said, kicking the glass aside. He poured himself another and settled back, crossing his legs. Grace noticed that his hands were shaking.
"Well," DeWitt said. "Tom did well by us. I'm sure she'll be satisfactory. She's a sweet little thing."
"Yes, she is," Grace murmured automatically. But she isn't! To her, Greta Johansen was anything but a sweet little thing. She was a figure from the past, a superior being whom she had never ceased to miss, and whose death had changed her whole life. Did Clay see that elusive resemblance to mother? she wondered. Or did he see something else, something vastly different but equally disturbing? Their father's idle observation had upset him, she was sure. The words child-like and innocent gnawed at her brain.
Then she remembered.
The other night, when she had said that he acted like a rapist just out of prison; Grace remembered how angry he had gotten, demanding to know what she had meant. She looked at her brother, understanding everything now. So that's the way it is-young girls. But how young? And who were they? She tried to remember the various teenage daughters of their friends. Surely not any of those-it would be too dangerous.
There was only one other possibility, and that was pick-ups. Strangers. Little girls. Where did he find them? Suddenly she was sickened to the very depths of her soul. They would be twelve-year-old girls, as she had once been.
CHAPTER NINE
Clayton's cock jerked up, sticking out from his well-built body, aching and tingling for the luscious contact with the full womanly flesh of Greta Johansen. She sat on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms crossed over her overflowing breasts that were covered only by a tight brassiere, so tight that it only emphasized the enormity of the breasts that were squeezed within its confines.
She was crying softly and saying "Nej ... nej" in a charming frightened way that made his loins throb with painful wanting. Her trembling reluctance combined with her hot wet kisses made her seem like the little girl that he desired, yet her tall strength and fully developed body made her all woman. She was his salvation-woman and child in the same body, the only adult female he could fuck. Now he could stop his stealthy, dangerous pursuit of pubescent children. Now his life would be normal, and he would be like other men, unafraid of women, unafraid of the law.
Greta sobbed. "I am virgin ... please! Gif me my clothes."
"No, darling, I've got to have you. I won't hurt you, I promise. I'll be careful and gentle. Greta, I'm going to make love to you!"
He savored the masterful tone in his own voice and knew a fierce burst of joy. Her drawn-up legs revealed a multitude of evidence of her complete physical maturity. In spite of her near-colorless blondness there was a patch of whitish hair growing on the undersides of her thighs, surprisingly abundant and exciting beyond all belief. Up where her thighs joined the patch of panty-covered crotch the hair grew thicker and more yellow; he could see a few wiry strands peeping out of the leg bands. Blood pounded into his prick until his whole groin felt ballooned. A grown-up woman with a nice hairy snatch! His safety lay between those puffy pink cunt lips. No more peach-like fuzz for him; he could function like a man now!
He went to the bed and sat down beside her, reaching behind her back for her bra hooks. She stiffened as she felt them come undone and pushed weakly at his bare chest. When her big white tits tumbled free Clayton's mouth watered for them. They were so big they touched, and quivered with every breath she took. He looked at the nipples in amazement, unused to anything bigger than nickels. Greta's spread like pasties over the tips of her breasts and looked hot-really hot. They were darkened with passion, the color of overripe cherries, and the skin around the jutting nipples was puckered into two little erections.
"God, you're a big girl, aren't you? The biggest girl I've ever seen." He dove for her tits, his mouth open and ravenous. He sucked hard on a stiff nipple as his fingers twisted the other so hard that she squealed and moaned.
"Now let's get your panties off and do it right," he mumbled. He yanked them down over her twisting hips and drew them away from her thighs, all the while staring at the golden mound of her pussy. It was like Grace's pussy except that the hair was lighter, not burnished but actually yellow. But he had never been this close to Grace's since those long-ago childhood days, so in a way this was the first real view of a woman's cunt he had ever seen! And what a view-Greta's legs parted slightly, just enough for him to see how swollen her pink inner lips were. Her gash sat open in a way a little girl's did not. The hair-covered sides looked looser than the firm, tiny ovals of a child, and the moist inner lips stuck out between, revealing the extent of her passion.
"I want to kiss you all over ... taste every inch of you," he panted, falling down beside her. He threw a leg over her sumptuous pelvis and rubbed his hardon into her hip, aching to shoot his cum over her entire body, to cover her with it and then lick her glistening skin.
"Touch me!" he commanded, grabbing her hand and forcing it down to his thick, hard cock. She struggled, pulling back, protesting in a hysterical Swedish whisper.
"I never do dot," she whimpered."Do not make me...."
"Yes! Squeeze it nice, rub it on the end . ... Here, underneath, that's where it feels best. Oooooh, yeah! You found the spot."
As she played with his cock, Clayton licked her magnificent breasts, savoring the strong taste of female flesh and relishing its newness and pungent strength. He devoured the fat nipple, pulling it into his mouth and clamping his teeth around it as his tongue flicked at its tip. He moaned in agony as he felt two or three little hairs on it. Did all women have those fine little growths on their tits? He loved them! Her hand was wrapped around his cock as though she were beginning to enjoy petting him.
He reached for her cunt and knitted his fingers through the lovely bush that grew over the base of her belly, digging down further and forcing her thighs apart GOD! OH GOD, WAS SHE BIG AND SWEET DOWN THERE! His finger opened her wet folds in a rough, urgent exploration that evoked a swift and sexy response from her. Her legs flung out and gave him full access to her pussy, laying the hairy lips back and exposing the glory of the slippery valley between. His fingers slid through the rapidly creaming slit to the entrance o her vagina. Fireworks exploded in Clayton's brain as he felt the puddle of female lubrication there. Her hole was puckery and elastic under his probing finger, burning ho and palpitating with excitement. He stuck his finger hare into the tempting hole.
"Ooooh, please stop! You hurt ... you hurt it!"
Her body went rigid and her legs snapped together like a scissors over his exploring hand.
"It won't hurt, it'll feel great, open up ... come on open up nice and wide like before."
"Nej...."
"Yes! I'm a man and you're a woman and we're going to establish that right now. Fuck, baby, fuck! Now!"
His leg dug into hers and pushed them apart. She was looking up at him with the most pleading, frightened expression he had ever seen, but he felt her body relax as she stretched her legs out and raised her cunt to meet his stabbing prick.
When his swollen cockhead touched her slick cunt lips Clayton nearly came instantly. He fought for control then pressed his cock to the opening of her pussy and jabbed quickly against the clenched, frightened muscles.
"AAAGGGGHHH! Ah-do not-"
She felt like a solid wall of flesh. "Relax ... take a deep breath," he panted. "Push it up against me ... now!"
He rammed into her cunt without mercy, not caring whether he hurt her or not in his lust to be inside that hot wetness. She cried out, her head twisting from side to side and her face twisted in a grimace of pain. He felt her flesh give and spring open as she took the first inch of cock. A fire seemed to grow over his thundering rod as he shoved it deeper into her clenching hole. Her hot walls fluttered with spasmodic movement, squeezing and fucking in an instinctive womanly invitation. Greta began to moan and murmur as she writhed her hips under him and lifted them up to his jerking cock.
"Ah ... ahhhh...." she whimpered, raking at his back with her hard nails. Her crotch moved like a piston under his thrusting cock as she dug in her heels and pumped back at his driving hips.
He drove into her cunt, savoring the wetness of her widening channel. Her pussy clung to him in little nibbling throbs, holding him tightly inside its hungry wetness as he slammed and drove into its depths with all his might. He filled her up with a rampaging, determined cock, evoking moans of pleasure from her lovely moist mouth.
He clutched under her raised hips and grabbed her ass in his hands, lifting her off the mattress as he heaved his prick down on her open twat. Her ass cheeks began a flexing movement as she urged his fingers to explore its charms. Clayton tore the warm hills of flesh wide apart and fumbled between them, poking a finger at the tiny crinkled rim of her asshole. Beautiful, beautiful woman! The snug hole was slick with a stream of cummy juice from her eagerly responding cunt, so that it was as lubricated as the rest of her. He pushed into the sphincter muscle and felt it pop open as she offered him another hole to explore.
"Oooooooh," she crooned, wiggling her ass high in the air.
He sunk his finger into her asshole and drove it upward, not stopping until his palm was flat against her thrashing ass. Her eyes widened in ecstasy at the dual fucking she was getting.
Furiously, Clayton fucked away into her fully expanded pussy, going down into its quivering depths with lust-maddened strokes of his big cock. God, he was giving her all the screwing a woman could ever dream of! The wet, sucking sounds of their slapping crotches made him dizzy with a lewd delight such as he had never felt. Her asshole heaved and churned around his digging finger, gulping it in as though she couldn't get enough.
She was as hot as a furnace inside now, seething and expanding and reveling in the thrusting cock that plunged in and out of her wet pussy. Her legs circled around his waist and dragged hotly over his naked back until her knees almost touched her bouncing tits. Her ankles locked over his shoulders as she turned herself completely bottom up for the final glory of the fuck that he was giving her. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lovely face had become gloriously ugly in its grimace of passion. No wide-eyed dewy look for her, he thought in triumph. She was no curious schoolgirl but a woman ready and lusty to have her cunt banged to hell and back! She was all animal now, sweating and tangle-haired and flushed to a mottled crimson as she rode shamelessly up his prick to bring it to the deepest part of her femaleness.
"AAAAAAuuuuuuuummmmmm! Nu! Nu! Nu! she screeched, contorting her whole body in a heaving upward thrust against his slapping hips. She shook all over, gushing out her cunt fluid. Clayton jerked her against him, crushing her under his weight as he plunged his cock into her pussy depths.
The agony of his own climax met hers full on as he exploded into her cunt with a spurt of cum, white and thick and endless, a release unlike any other he had ever experienced. He shuddered and grunted unintelligible gibberish against her open, working mouth, bruising her lips as she bruised his, neither of them speaking any language at all now except the mindless sounds of sexual peaking.
It seemed as though his prick would never stop jerking and spurting out its cum. At last, when it was finally over, Clayton sank down on her and trembled in her arms. I love her ... oh, God, I love her! I can't let her leave me, ever.
In a few moments she breathed against his ear, "Tack ... tack. You haf made me real voman. Now I know what is like. It vas vonderful."
Mingled pride and guilt came to him as he remembered her virginity, and the first solid mass of flesh that he had broken through before her cunt had begun to welcome him.
"Greta ... darling, I hope I didn't give you too much pain."
"Nej, not too much. It good, the pain like that." He climbed out of the circle of her legs and lay down beside her.
"Greta...." he began. "I ... don't think I'm crazy but-" He broke off, fearful that she would think he was a typical rich playboy of the sort she must have met before, working as she did as a servant. She would think he was handing her a line, lying to her in the crudest way, seeing how far he could string her along. It even sounded crazy to him, now that he knew what he wanted. Oh, what the hell! It had been done before. Rich men married poor girls and everybody ate it up, especially Americans with their touted democracy. A Rockefeller had done it! And as rich as they were, the DeWitts weren't Rockefellers. Why couldn't he do it? Pappy ... hell, he wouldn't mind. He was always bragging about great-grandfather's penniless beginnings. Let him put his money where his mouth was!
"Greta, I love you. I want to marry you. I've got to marry you!"
His voice broke like a teenager's. He was desperate for the safety that she offered him. Marriage to Greta would be a haven from the secret evil that he had lived with so long.
She turned to him, looking innocent and stunned and enticing with her legs spread a little still and her crotch glistening with their combined love juices.
"I could never belief! Oh, ja! I love you!"
In the five weeks since she had worked for the DeWitts, Greta formed certain opinions on her employers. They were primitive, instinctual opinions, rising up like a primeval mist from the dangerous swamp of her soul. First of all, she had eliminated Mr. DeWitt from any long-range plans. He was that rare being, a gentleman from another age and another world. She noted this without either admiration or contempt; merely sniffing it out like a fox with its nose raised to the breeze. She made no observation on it at all because it did not fit in with the sort of thing she made observations about. All she knew was that it eliminated him.
She was not at all surprised by the funny little thing that lay between Miss Grace and Mr. Clayton. After all, hadn't her own brother wanted her, too? She felt a brief, fiendish glee that it could happen in rich families, too. She had seen them looking at one another in that secret way. Miss Grace stubbornly refused to marry Mr. Markey; Greta had overhead the arguments about that. And Mr. Clayton had no one to refuse to marry. She had listened to him admitting that to his father. She had seen how uncomfortable Mr. Clayton was around the rich young women who came to the house. Yet he was so nice and easy with the servants....
Mr. Clayton had no confidence in himself as a man, and his father had no faith in him as a businessman. Mr. Clayton would long to do something brave and noble, to prove that he really did have strength. Something to prove that he wasn't afraid ... like marrying a poor girl and making everyone accept her.
CHAPTER TEN
Greta came into the library when summoned and sat docilely next to Clayton on the sofa. Clayton had rehearsed the whole situation with her and gathered his family for the announcement they would make. It was her evening off, and she wore a simple black dress that made her hair look silvery. On her left hand was a six-carat diamond. She saw Grace spot it with a quick and female divining stare.
"I have something to tell you both," Clayton began, "and I hope you'll be happy to hear it. I am going to marry Greta." He swallowed. "We love each other."
Neither father nor daughter moved for a moment. DeWitt blinked and moved his mouth in a befuddled smile as he looked from one to the other. Grace sat like a statue, her face frozen and immobile. In that first moment of shock she did not think of Greta at all; the girl was merely the girl who happened to be sitting next to her brother. It could have been the season's most sought-after debutante. All that mattered was the horrible realization that Clay was going to go away from her.
He can't get married! He can't! her mind shrieked.
DeWitt coughed lightly and spoke. "Well, I must admit I'm surprised, but ... I am happy to hear it. I was a most uxorious man in my own marriage, as you know, Clay. I've always wanted my children to have an equally happy life."
Greta had frowned at the unfamiliar word and tilted her head in a charming way. Clayton's face seemed to melt as he saw it. He patted her hand and explained.
"Uxorious means wife-loving," he said happily.
"Ah...." Greta said, nodding. Grace perceived a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth and thought, How sweet and simple is she?
Clayton pursed his mouth as though confused that he was getting no argument.
"I suppose there'll be some people who won't be so agreeable," he sighed.
DeWitt waved a hand in a contemptuous gesture. "Without bragging I'll simply say that they haven't been rich for enough generations to lose their taste for snobbery. After all, they say it takes three generations to make a gentleman, and a gentleman marries the woman he loves. Cads don't."
Grace looked at her father in carefully concealed despair. He had always had the honor of a Spanish grandee but now it hit her with all its dangerous implications. Because he's a gentleman he thinks everyone else is. You can get screwed that way. She didn't give a good goddamn that Greta was a maid-she agreed with Pappy about that. But who was Greta? What kind of girl was she? The antennae of Grace's feminine intuition gave a vigorous wave.
There was a good deal of talk about plans and arrangements that she only half heard, mumbling replies when she was asked her opinions. She heard herself saying appropriate things, but when Clayton and Greta had gone she could not remember what she had said.
DeWitt turned to her, his mouth pursed in his familiar gesture of careful thought.
"Of course," he said, "this will cause quite a horrendous servant problem. I imagine most of them will refuse to stay on and wait upon Greta as their new mistress. They're like that, you know," he said needlessly.
Anger bubbled to her lips at the words "new mistress." She was still the mistress of this house! But she could not challenge him; jealousy seemed like such a petty, ignoble emotion in the face of her father's incredibly stupid largesse! How could he think of a few maids quitting at a time like this?
"Don't worry about that, Pappy, for heaven's sake. That's my chore, remember?" The slight nudge about her position in the family made her feel better.
DeWitt clapped his palms over his knees and sighed. "Well, she's a good solid girl."
Solid is right, Grace thought, shaking. I wonder what those tits look like when they come loose? A mental picture of Greta in the nude flashed in front of her eyes. Suddenly raw shock overwhelmed her as she felt a spiraling wave of feeling burst in her belly. Her mouth went dry as she realized what it was she had felt.
She stood up, her knees weak. "I have a date with Tom," she said. Her body betrayed her once more as a fiery lust spread through her loins and left her thighs like jelly. She would fuck tonight, goddamnit! Fuck out all the rage and confusion that was in her!
DeWitt smiled. "Good, good. Maybe you'll be next? Who knows? Weddings are contagious, so they say."
So is the black plague! "Who knows," she repeated dully.
As the chauffeur drove her to Tom's apartment she clutched her fingers together and trembled so violently that her stockinged legs made a steady swishing sound. Clay married! The stupid, cunt-struck bastard! She had thought he would never marry-he was almost thirty now. She felt betrayed, almost bereaved, in some dark fashion that she would not allow herself to think about. Greta would have Clay ... sleep with him, if they hadn't done so already.
She wondered desperately if they had fucked. Suddenly it seemed like the most important thing in the world. Greta would have Clay, any time she wanted him, and it would be perfectly legal. I hate her! I hate Greta!
But she didn't hate Greta, not really. She hated only the thought of Greta having Clay. But Greta herself ... She forgot about her sudden, intuitive distrust of the girl as a vision of her long-dead mother came to her.
"Oh, God, I'm so confused ... so confused," she mumbled.
"Beg pardon, Miss?"
She looked up with a start at the chauffeur's back. "Nothing ... nothing."
When she came to Tom's building she jumped out before the man could help her. I won't tell Tom, she thought. She couldn't bear the idea of talking about it to anyone. She didn't want to talk at all tonight; all she wanted to do was fuck!
She pushed him over on his back, her hair streaming in her face, eyes wild and hands grabbing greedily at his rigid cock.
"I want to kiss it and suck it ... give me some, come on, give me some of that juicy prick."
He watched her, entranced, as she moved down between his legs and knelt on all fours like an animal, her mouth open as she lowered her face into the upthrust rod. Its blood-inflated head disappeared into her sucking mouth and went far back into her throat. Tom grimaced with unbearable pleasure as her maddened tongue licked every inch of his cock; the cockhead with its slit, the tough ridge, the length of his shaft that she could cram into her lovely lewd mouth. Good God, what had gotten into her! She gave a great blowjob but he had never seen her or any woman drool and gurgle over a cock as she was doing now!
He shoved himself up on his elbows to watch her, trying to imagine a three-column shot of it in Woman's Wear Daily. "Miss Grace DeWitt, shown here with a cock in her mouth, looked elegant last night...."
He watched her cheeks hollow and expand as she drew on his slickly glistening member, her grotesquely clamping lips swirling around its engorged width like a child with a fast-dripping popsicle.
Suddenly she stopped, whipping his cock out of her mouth and climbing over his sprawled body.
"It's hard, good and hard," she gasped, positioning herself on her hands and knees. "And all slicked up and lubricated. Now shove it up my ass!"
"Baby, nothing would be nicer!"
She emitted a crude laugh and waved her gorgeous creamy buttocks at him as she spread her thighs out, looking as if she were going into a split. Her feet touched either edge of the wide bed as she levered herself with her hands around the headboard spokes. What a mouth-watering sight she was! Tom stared down into the shamelessly split ass cheeks and clutched his cock in his fingers as he knelt behind her, gazing in rapture at the tiny brown asshole that puckered up so temptingly in its fuzzy circle of hair.
He leaned forward, his hungry tongue leaping out, and licked the tight-looking slit with a wet sound.
"Oooooooooo, that feels like heaven!" she groaned, shaking her buttocks against his face. Tom rubbed against them with a harsh scraping motion, loving her squeals of pain and delight as his beard scratched her tender flesh.
"Fuck it!" she cried. "Stick it way in and ram me hard! Oh, Tom, darling. Tommy ... bang my ass, pleeeeeeezzzz!"
He had never seen her so hot or heard her so lewd. As always, Tom thrilled as much to the idea of her capitulation to him as he did to the frank pleasures of her body. Now her surrender would be complete. He had done everything else to her but this, and it was the most animal delight of all.
He looked down at his cock and grinned.
His hands spread her already-split cheeks even more, until they were as wide apart as they would go. Tom brought his prick up to her crack and shoved it next to her waiting asshole, nestling it into the hot place and beginning a rocking motion with his hips. Screw it in nice, he told himself, or you'll rip her to pieces. Rock and tip, rock and tip, a little harder each time until-
"UUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH!" she howled, arching her back against the sudden expansion of her asshole. The enormous tip of his cock was inside her puckery little virgin ass and going slowly up into the tightly clenched muscles of her bowels.
Relax, her mind screamed. Relax your ass and just let him slide in the way he slides into your cunt. Grace grunted hoarsely as he gave her a fierce jab with his big prick, sending an unbearable cramp throughout her belly. Oooooooh, I can't do it, I can't take that murderous pole of a cock up my asshole!
But I have to! I must do it ... I must make him hurt me and degrade me! She imagined what they must look like now. She saw herself, another self, standing off and watching the lewd performance of sodomy that was going on in this room, on this bed. She, with her legs sprawled out and her ass up in the air, being impaled on a big cock.
The fantasy sparked the unnatural lust that physical pain had quenched. The vision of herself being assfucked caused a masochistic peace to settle over her embattled body and she relaxed suddenly and easily. Now Tom would make her another kind of whore!
The mental picture of her own shame and degradation as someone else might see it sparked a desperate need in her to enjoy the act. Her body responded to her mind's needs. It felt good now! Her asshole suckled hungrily, expanding into an inviting hollow channel and taking the enormous length of cock that Tom fucked into it.
"Baby, you're opening up!" he cried, thrusting deeper into her. "God, this feels so good! Baby, your ass is better than your cunt!"
She heard the words with erotic delight, but another part of her mind told her that they were an insult, the worst insult a man could give a woman. Nothing was supposed to be nicer than her cunt! He was mocking her very femininity, but she did not care as she relished the slur.
Her own moans of helpless surrender drove her mad with lust for this new and different thrill. What a cock he had! She made her hips dance obscenely as she screwed back into his pumping crotch, colliding into his pubic hair and rubbing her sore ass against it. Her congested rectum tingled and quivered with ravenous appreciation of his lunging prick and she knew the full impact of her first ass hole climax.
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH God, it's happening! I'm getting it in there ... everywhere, oh God!"
His hips jammed her cheeks without mercy while his fingers came around her thighs to her drenched and heretofore ignored pussy. AAAAAHHHHH! He was diddling her clit and making her cum there, too! Oh, it was HEAVEN! In her intense excitement it took very little to make her pussy cum. She screeched and tossed as the moist lips fluttered in response to his rhythmic, tickling fingers and her vagina throbbed and gulped in a torrent of ecstasy.
"Oooooooooh, baby, what a wad I'm gonna blow!" he groaned, humping her with wild abandon. Her climaxing body careened forward under the strength of his plowing hips. Inside her ass, his cock tensed and then he spurted his jism into her bowels, the biggest load of cum Grace had ever felt!
"YOU'RE CUMING! OH, CHRIST ARE YOU CUMING!" she yelled.
He stiffened after the first copious spurt, then jiggled against her and gave her some more cream, his cock jerking inside of her anal passage like something trapped and alive and moving frantically.
At last he was finished. They sank down in a heap, still joined front to back, and Grace savored the pulsation of his exhausted rod in her flooded passage.
"A real comer," she panted. "That's what Pappy always calls you. He's right, but he doesn't know how right."
The idea came to her in that instant, so simple and easily realized that she knew it must have been in the back of her mind all the time, from the moment Clayton and Greta made their announcement. She would get even, go him one better and show him she didn't give a damn!
"Tom," she said softly. "I'll marry you."
He made a muffled sound of surprise and rose up on his elbow to look down at her hair-strewn face. She pushed back the tangled blond strands and gazed un-smilingly into his fierce dark eyes. There was a dancing light of incredulous joy in their depths.
"Do you mean it? When?"
"Why not tonight?" she said.
He grinned. "You mean, drive down to Maryland?"
"That's supposed to be the place, isn't it? What's it called? Elkton? Ellicott City?"
He rolled over her body and off the bed on the other side, bounding to the floor and pulling her up against him. There was no mistaking the look on his face. It was lust, yet he could not possibly be felling actual lust after what they had just finished doing. She knew what it was. He looked like the man who has found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
His face struggled for dissimulation and rectitude as he remembered his lines.
"Darling, this is wonderful. I've loved you for such a long time." Grace smiled and kissed him gently. If she had been one of those typical horsey debutantes it would have bothered her that a man was marrying her for her money, but she knew that she had all the other things that captivated men, too. She didn't give a damn what he was marrying her for. All she wanted to do was hurt Clayton and show him-show him!
As they drove through the night on their way south, she thought: show him what? Fragmentary memories flashed through her mind. The abandoned smokehouse at the country place, Clay's fascinated, reverent face as he lay between her legs, drinking in his first sight of the female mystery-her mystery! The little girl she had been then. What had Pappy said about Greta? Something about her faltering, uncertain English making her seem child-like. Greta is replacing me! Me, the child that Clay loved. But he can't replace me if I'm already gone from him-you can't replace something that you've already lost. I'll give myself to Tom before Clay marries Greta-that way I'll be the one who ended it, not him.
"What about your father?" Tom asked.
"I'll call him after we're married," she said dully. She looked at Tom's profile in the dark car. How satanic he looks, not handsome but dark and compelling, she thought. His features seemed sharp as the lights from the highway played over them, drenching his face for a brief second and then vanishing, leaving him in shadows. She realized with a welling flash of despair that there was nothing child-like about Tom. He was hard and mercilessy controlled and entirely adult. Completely and totally different from Clay as he had been and as he was now. Marriage to Tom would close off a door in her life, seal off her childhood forever. So different from Clay, so different.
They came to Maryland and turned off into one of its marriage towns. It seemed to be one big neon sign that read Marriages Performed. Motels were everywhere, with more signs that read Honeymoon Rates. Everything looked cheap. A warm glow spread through Grace as she looked at the garish lights blinking on and off. She was living in a dime store that was full of cheap, sparkling baubles. Cheap ... cheap! Suddenly she wanted to stay in the most tawdry motel there was. Someplace of the kind she had read about, with a leering desk clerk, unshaded light bulbs and fly-specked walls. Someplace low-down and dirty!
The justice of the peace who married them was in his shirtsleeves when they knocked and did not bother to put on a jacket. His cramped living room was suffocatingly hot, full of noisy electric fans that only fluttered the grayish-white curtains at the peeling windows. His glasses reflected the light and bounced it back in their faces as they stood before him while he mumbled through the brief service. He did not recognize her name but seemed to sense that she was rich-that they were rich. She saw him peer outside to see what kind of car they had. His wife yawned through the service, scratching a mosquito bite on her arm. Grace watched, entranced, as the woman lifted a hard little scab with her nail and flicked it on the floor. A dot of blood appeared.
Grace wanted to shriek with hysterical mirth. It was the blood that she herself should shed tonight but wouldn't. Her virginity was so far gone that this dumpy, not-too-clean harridan had to provide her with wedding-night blood from an old scab!
An odor of fried pork lingered in the house. There was a greasy film over everything in the room, a smeary look that suggested someone had dusted with a lick and a promise and a dirty rag after putting it off for weeks. If they could only stay here tonight-ask them if they had a spare room. It would be perfect, perfect! Miss Grace DeWitt going down the hall to a sour-smelling bathroom in this filthy house.
But now she wasn't Grace DeWitt any longer. Tom was giving the man a twenty-dollar bill and the woman smirked her congratulations at them through swollen sleepy eyes, still scratching her arm. The blood was smeared now but still she dug at it.
"You can get a ring tomorrow," the man said. "Lots of places sell 'em. Just about every place in town, in fact."
"That's a fact," the wife echoed. Her voice contained that perpetual whine of the common woman, full of congenital discontent and stupidity.
Outside, Tom said, "I'll bet this will be the first time somebody looks to see if you have a ring on. Wouldn't that be rich?"
He stiffened a little as he heard the word he had spoken. Grace wanted to scream with laughter as she saw him try to pass it over.
"Will you buy me one of those rings tomorrow?" she said suddenly. "From a dime store or something?"
He laughed. "Okay, why not?" He obviously considered her request as an amusing example of make-believe, a little game of slumming. He had no idea how important it was to her!
"And tonight, I want to stay in the worst motel we can find."
He looked into her feverish eyes and grinned. "Name your poison. We've got a wide choice from what I saw coming in."
They drove around to three places but none of them satisfied her. "No," she said flatly, feverish with impatience. "I want the kind that have separate wooden cabins, like outhouses."
They found a ramshackle collection of buildings out on the highway, peeling paint and embedded in tall weeds.
Tom, beyond annoyance, made a wry face through his grin.
"That? Surely not."
"That's it," she said softly. "That's exactly what I want."
The humid night made the buildings seem to sweat. They were not air-conditioned, she saw, so that she and Tom would sweat too. There was something deliciously repulsive about the idea, evoking a longing so intense in her that she cared nothing for the absence of the luxury that she had taken for granted all her life.
The blinking red neon sign on the office was missing the letter T so that the word read: MO EL.
"Mole," she laughed. "Isn't that perfect? Something that holes up in a dark little place."
"This must have been one of the first motels ever built," Tom remarked. "Back in the days when they weren't respectable yet-if they've ever been respectable."
He signed for the cabin and then drove the car over the bumpy road to a place near a clump of trees. The earth was damp as she sludged through the tall grass, and her heels sank down into the black dirt. They went into the cabin.
"Jesus!" Tom exclaimed.
Perfect, perfect, Grace thought. The kind of place next to a roadhouse where girls go and let a man buy them a few beers, and then ... She could hear the twang of country music, smell the sour rank odor of stale beer....
The plaster was cracked and the wallpaper torn in several places, splotched here and there with brown rusty stains. In the corner was a narrow radiator that leaned sharply to one side, threatening to crash to the floor. It had been painted over countless times and was now a tinny silver gray.
"I think the sheets are made from flour sacks," Tom said. "And there's no phone. How are you going to call your father?"
"Oh ... I'll do it tomorrow. He won't panic if I'm not home. In fact, he won't even know it." She almost laughed in his face. He could never comprehend the fact that some people lived in places so big that they did not know if anyone else were home or not.
Grace smiled a slow hot smile. Her pussy grew hot and moist between her legs; her clit became a nub of tingling madness. In the airless room her face quickly beaded with sweat, and a trickle rolled down between her breasts. Hot, hot, hot!
"Let's screw!" she cried.
They tore off their clothes and fell down on the bed. His prick lay heavy against her thigh while his hands rolled and glided over the heaving countours of her ready body. She flung her legs wide as he dipped into the velvety slit of her cunt and swabbed up and down through its petals. Uncontrollable moans and purrs rose up from her throat as his thumb flicked at her throbbing clitoris.
"I'm ready," she moaned. "For Christ's sake fuck my cunt with your big beautiful prick! Fuck it good and hard, ride me like a bull! Tom, do it!"
Her urgency fired him. "Sit on it! I want to watch it sink up your pussy."
She eagerly straddled him as he lay down on his back and jutted his swollen cock in obscene invitation. Her back was turned to him so that she could look at the shabby room while she got her first married fuck. It was to be a ceremony of degredation and animal humping and she wanted no face-to-face contact.
His cock was hot and hard as she took it in her hand and slid her wet pussy over it, stretching out her legs wide around him in a vulgar, whorish split. Her head fell back and rolled drunkenly as she divided her cunt lips with his prick and rubbed her clitoris against his big cockhead. An answering ray of sparks reverberated from the jutting little nub and spread into her stretching pussy. She could cum just from this! She went mad with sex, squirming and wriggling and slapping his cock against her hole.
She had to stick it in her before it was too late! Almost reluctantly, she moved the head down her slit and fitted it to the hole. Immediately, an intense sensual throb went through her as her cunt mouth nibbled voraciously at the magnificent length of meat that was screwing into it. From high up in her cunt a rivulet of juice seeped down and creamed the entering cock, slickening it and running down its red shaft.
"Fuck it, baby! Fuck!" Tom yelled, arching under her with merciless intent. "Oooooooaaaaggh!" It went in with a crashing force, hard and thundering against her gaping walls. Grace lifted her hips and rammed herself down as hard as she could, filling herself up with an endless length of thick, hard cock. It hurt this way! She was tighter up there in the upright position and a dull thud of pain split her crotch with agonizing intensity.
Her legs stretched out obscenely until they were almost flat across the bed. She balanced herself with her palms on Tom's hard thighs and pistoned her cunt in slippery, greedy delight over the big fucker that had plugged it.
Ah, it was a fucking heaven! Her hands reached down to cup his jiggling, hairy balls as she banged herself over his crotch, screwing down as far as she could on the huge shaft that plunged the depths of her cunt. She could see the base of it, fiery red and slicked with her excitement, moving in and out of her pussy. She touched it, holding it into her slit and felt the dual throbbing of his loins and her own. Wild sensations of wanton sexual need flooded her as she slid up and down on his hardon. Her breasts burned and ached with each violent thud onto his lap.
"UMMMMMMM! God, your hair feels so goooood against my ass! Like ... sitting down hard in a ... briar patch! Ooooooh, I love it, I love to fuck!" she cried.
Sweat poured from her, rolling down her face and ribs as she rammed his prick against the back of her womb. Each time it struck bottom a flaming glow spread through her belly and made her shake convulsively. Her eyes darted wildly about the threadbare room, flitting lovingly to the torn wallpaper, the sagging dresser with the broken drawer, the crumbling tile in the dank bathroom. Suddenly it seemed to her that the room and not Tom was her partner in lust. It was the room that she looked at while she fucked, not his face. He wasn't even there! Only his prick was there, but there was no man attached to her. Just her and her degrading surroundings.
His hips fucked up in a sharp muscular arc and held her high in the air as he crammed her cunt full of cock, grunting and gasping behind her and urging her on with a string of foul obscenities.
"Stroke it, baby, suck it nice ... snap at it! Christ, I'm gonna fill you up with cum!"
She squirmed hard into his legs, tensing her internal muscles around the swelling tip that dug into her clamping walls. She worked hungrily to swallow up his fierce strokes, drawing her body up in a tight clamping caress around his shaft and then crashing down once more. The slurping, suction sounds were the vilest, most beautiful and exciting things she had ever heard. Her hands began playing with her breasts, tweaking the nipples and rubbing wildly over the bouncing roundness in a solitary lewdness. In the middle of her greedy pussy her clitoris protruded in a prurient thrust, a swollen pink tip of skin that lusted for rhythmic contact. She tickled it with her fingers and jerked at the immediate and powerful pinpricks of response that dove through it.
Now ... now ... NOW!
She writhed in a final assault on the trapped cock, as spasms of erotic sensations throbbed around it. She gushed out a shower of climaxing cream and felt it drip back down again, wetting her grinding ass as she squirmed hard around the base of his prick. Tom's hips bucked like a wild bronco as he sprayed a fountain of hot cum into the hot depths of her cunt, his legs scissoring wildly on the mattress in front of her.
"Christ, we're swimming, baby!" Tom gasped.
She struggled weakly off of him, her legs stiff and cramped from the unnatural split.
"Oooooh, my pussy's so sore," she murmured. "Everything's sore." She was as red as fire between her legs, and already she could feel the chafing skin start to burn.
Tom lay back and weakly lit a cigarette. He smoked in silence, watching her appraisingly, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. She sensed a challenge in the expression and met it head on, giving him stare for stare. In that brief silence, she knew somehow that a turning point had come in her life.
"Christ," he sighed, smiling in amusement. "This room is as hot and sticky as ... well, you know what I mean. Why did you want to come here?" he said softly.
"Oh, just because. It's different."
He already knew the answer, she was certain. She didn't care! She had what she wanted: revenge on Clay-and the debasement that she felt sure Tom would give her.
They slept. In the middle of the night, near dawn, Grace awoke to a thunderstorm. Tom stirred and mumbled in his sleep as she sat up with a start. She got up and went to the window to look out. For a long time she stared into the splashing puddles, until the sky lightened. The tiny cabin seemed to be an island in the middle of a muddy sea. She gazed down into the flattened, mired grass and smiled. La boue. . the mud!
She rose tiredly, her bones heavy and aching, and wandered into the bathroom. Along the cracks in the tile were thin fingers of encrusted dirt so solidly impacted that it seemed to be the sealing medium rather than cement. A faint buzzing sound came to her and she turned to see a fly making a languid circle in the shower stall.
She laughed aloud in wracking silent hysteria, as she held out her hand. She had spent her wedding night on hot, scratchy muslin sheets. Now they would go out to the dime store for her ring. She grabbed at the fly and came away with an empty, clenched fist, stumbling a little on the frayed bath mat.
She clung weakly to the torn shower curtain, watching the progress of the insect. It did not try very hard to escape her swatting. She though that it did not care what happened to it; it actually liked it back there in that humid, slimy shower. She laughed again, doubling over against the pain in her stomach. She wondered where the fly had been, what was on its gluey feet.
Desire surged through her pelvis and trembled in her thighs. I'm going to fuck and suck and blow that man down! She ran back to the bed and crawled over Tom's naked body, fitting her legs around him as she thrust her tongue into his mouth and rolled it around enticingly. Her hips woke his loins with their frantic grinding.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
James DeWitt was genially astounded when Grace told him she was married. All of them sat together in the living room the next day, when Grace and Tom had returned from Maryland. As DeWitt smiled happily each of them tried to arrange his face in a suitable expression. Tom's was a study in restraint as he cast darting glances at the lavish room. Grace was skittishly noncommital; Clayton stiff and forced. As for Greta, she wore the polite, fixed smile of someone who does not understand half of what is said, all the while gazing thoughtfully at her new in-laws.
"Well," DeWitt sighed, shaking his head in mock despair. "I think you two children planned all of this between you, just to jolt the old man. You used to cook up schemes when you were small, don't think I don't remember them," he laughed, wagging a finger.
If only he would stop calling them children! Grace smiled at her father and then cut her eyes quickly to Clayton. He stared at her with an expressionless intensity and then looked down at the rug.
"We'll have to find some places for all these new families to live," DeWitt said, tapping his fingertips together. "I wish your mother were here. She'd love this sort of thing ... ordering painters and decorators around, making lists of everything under the sun." His tone was plaintive. At the mention of her mother's organizational abilities Grace knew a tug of despair. Her thoughts were interrupted by her brother's firm voice.
"I want to live here," he said adamantly, taking Greta's hand.
"So do I," Grace snapped. Tom blinked in surprise and cocked his head, thinking undoubtedly about the Beekman Place house that belonged to her.
DeWitt looked from one to the other. "Well, of course you can, both of you. I daresay we'll all fit if we watch our diets." He smiled his elegant smile. "I must say you make me feel like an unusually successful parent. Most children tend to flee the nest."
Grace did not realize the significance of her sudden decision to remain at the penthouse. She hadn't intended to live there after she was married-something suddenly came over her when she saw Clay take Greta's hand. She would not leave them alone together! Nor would Greta replace her or her mother as mistress of the house.
Upstairs in the suite that had been prepared for them, Tom turned to her with a perplexed frown.
"What is this, the welfare hotel? Every married couple should have their own home-"
"I want to stay here!" she burst out. They stared, straining forward, at one another, then she spoke more calmly. "Just for a while," she said vaguely, "I can't leave Pappy right away. He's a widower and ... well, Clay and I both suddenly up and marry. We should have done it more gradually. You know...." She tapered off.
Tom's face darkened. "By the way ... how come you didn't tell me about Clay's engagement? You could have knocked me over with a feather when we got back here and I heard about it. Your father must have seen that I didn't know about it."
She turned on him in a fury.
"What difference does it make to me whether Clay's engaged or not!"
"Cool it, baby," he said in a menacing voice. His narrow slanting eyes became mere slits as he studied her without speaking.
"What are you looking at me like that for?" she shouted, her voice breaking.
"A cat can look at a king," he shrugged.
As he dressed for dinner, Tom smiled at himself in the mirror. His predictions had come true. Greta had bagged a DeWitt, and so had he. They had a lot in common ... a lot. The two little guttersnipes out to grab whatever the freight would bear, the starlings in a nest of plumed peacocks. Starlings were very dangerous birds; they caused a lot of trouble and they were scavengers.
Goddamn that gorgeous cunt, he had to hand it to her. He tied his silk bow and affixed his cuff links, his mind clocking forward as he assessed the new situations that he would have to cope with.
Greta as a sister-in-law-and fellow heir. He'd sooner have Lucrezia Borgia as his friendly neighborhood pharmacist. As things stood, she was really something of an enemy, and he'd much rather have her as a friend. When you looked at it, they were on opposite sides in a way. The ideal situation would be a mutual solidarity. Too bad.
He brightened as he thought of the wedding next month. Clay, for want of anyone better to ask, had asked Tom to be best man. It was practically required now that they were brothers-in-law but that didn't bother Tom. The important thing was that he had been asked, for whatever reasons. There would be a big write-up in the papers, with pictures. Champagne spewing out of fountains, a police line at the church, and gushing society reporters under every canape. He looked in the mirror and smiled.
After dinner, DeWitt took him into the den and talked business with him, revealing a host of new ventures and ideas that all included his son-in-law.
"I've been planning to form a corporation with this for a long time, but I didn't have anyone to run it. Clay ... well, he's interested in more artistic things. He never cared for business, but I've had my eye on you for a long time, Tom. I want you to take over this whole thing for me."
It was amazing how bully DeWitt could become when he was doing business. Gone was the air of the genteel aristocrat and the old-world gentleman. Now he looked steely and firm. When he named the salary Tom's head buzzed as though he had drunk a whole pitcher full of martinis.
They stayed in the den until long past midnight. Grace grew more and more irritated as time passed, feeling like an abandoned bride. She listened at the door to their impersonal masculine voices, sensing that she was shut out from both of their minds.
"...holding that in escrow ... he'll sell, you wait and see ... we'll hang onto it for now. The time isn't ripe yet...."
She knew that sense of uselessness, of decorative expendability that comes over a woman when she hears men discussing important deals.
So ... Pappy hadn't lost a daughter but gained a son! She smiled to herself. And I haven't lost a brother because he's still here, under the same roof. Nothing has changed, we're all living together. She heard Clay come in from taking Greta home. In a protective mood DeWitt had leased a hotel suite for Greta until the marriage. Grace had nearly choked with glee when she heard about it. Trying to protect Clay from pre-marital dishonor! How like Pappy to think of such things. But he hadn't thought of something else, something far more dangerous.
She went slowly up the stairs toward the open door of her brother's room, wondering if he had given Greta a quick bang when he dropped her off. As she climbed to the head of the stairs he came out of his room and stared at her, his eyes widening in a kind of fear.
"Is she all tucked in?"
"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you," he said stonily. "You have a husband of your own to tuck in now."
"I do? Well, Pappy must be holding him for more ransom."
"Listen," Clayton said, his voice lowering to a hiss. "You know as well as I do what this means. Pappy's going to give that louse everything-"
"Everything? What do you mean?"
"I mean the businesses to run. He's going to worm his way into the director's chair."
"Well, you can't do it so someone has to," she snapped. "After all, you've got to be able to cut the mustard...."
His mouth tightened. Grace felt herself swaying forward in a kind of trance, waiting for him to reach for her. I want it! I want him to, I-
But he turned with a snort of disgust and slammed into his room.
She stared at the closed door, then turned to look down the stairs at the other closed door. Husband, father and brother-they had all tossed her out. She went to her suite in a seething rage. I'll fix them ... somehow, some way, I'll do something that'll fix every last one of them!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Greta spent the month before her wedding occupied with English lessons and deep thought. The worst of her fears had come to pass; Tom Markey was a member of the family now and she both hated and distrusted him. Ever since his marriage to Grace he had been closeted with Mr. DeWitt talking business. No one saw much of either of them now. Mr. DeWitt was well into his sixties, and when he died Tom would become the director of all the vast financial empire that Greta coveted. Clayton said so, but she didn't need him to tell her; it was perfectly obvious.
Tom was going to screw her!
Her English was much better now. She already knew that screw meant to fuck and now she had learned that it also meant to cheat. It made perfect sense to her mind and she was sure that English would come easily to her if it contained such logical associations.
She sat in the luxurious white bedroom of her new suite and held her word book against her breasts, staring out the window and thinking.
Just because Clayton was the son of the family did not mean that Mr. DeWitt trusted him. He didn't. Clayton had no idea what was going on in the business end of things. He couldn't ... what did they call it? He couldn't cut the mustard. That was another of the slang expressions that stuck in her mind because it had to do with both fucking and high finance.
Of course Clayton had an enormous trust fund, as did Grace, but-Ach! She would be bestulen ... what was the word for bestulen? She looked in her dictionary. Bestulen ... robbed.
She wanted it all, not just the trust fund. Mr. DeWitt would put everything big in Markey's hands and she would be bestulen-screwed. Clayton's money had seemed like so much at first, but now it dwindled in Greta's mind to a mere pittance as she realized how much more there was that she would not be able to get her hands on. Oh, that Markey! Grace was getting the best man, and she didn't need him; she had had everything all of her life. What was a trust fund compared to all those buildings and factories, the controlling right in big business enterprises? Little old ladies had trust funds; Greta had seen them hobbling around the bank one day when Mr. DeWitt met her for lunch.
She stood up and walked impatiently to and fro across the lovely old rose carpet. The word pounded through her brain: MORE!
Her delicately arched flaxen brows met over her nose. There was an old fairy tale that her mother had recited to her when she was very small, called "The Vinegar Jug." Crazy that she should think about it now. It was about an old couple who lived in a vinegar jug. The husband was content with his lot but the wife wanted a little cottage with a garden. One day she went to the magic fish in the river and asked for it and the fish granted her wish.
Yet as soon as she set foot in the cottage she wanted a castle, and then she wanted to be Queen, Empress, and finally Pope. The fish granted all of these wishes without question. One day, the woman went to the fish and demanded that he make her God. Then-back she was in the vinegar jug....
Greta could still hear her mother's voice telling her the story. Jag vill ... jag vill ... I want, I want, I want!
She shook her head and dismissed the flicker of sadness she felt. She would figure out some way to best Markey. She had come this far; she would go still farther.
The wedding took New York society by storm. Many disapproved but all were fascinated with the Cinderella-come-to-life that Greta represented. Life magazine did a feature story on them and they made the centerfold in the Daily News. Greta relished the publicity and envy but lost her temper over the plans Clayton had made for their honeymoon.
"We're going to the place at Sag Harbor for a week," he announced.
"Vat? One week honeymoon in Yewnited States? Ve go to Paris, Japan, ve take cruise long time!"
He looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes.
"I can't be away that long," he said slowly. "There's too much to do ... I want to be around here."
"Too much to do? You do notting now!"
"I've got some ... deals coming up. The market ... this merger," he rambled. "Just because I don't go to work everyday...."
She opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind as she experienced a sudden click of comprehension. Everything tumbled together in her mind in a kind of psychological avalanche.
He did not want to leave his sister alone with a man!
Grace and Tom had not taken any honeymoon at all. Both Clayton and Grace sat around guarding each other like jealous spouses. As soon as Grace discovered that
Clayton wanted to live at the penthouse, she had decided to live there, too. They refused to be separated by their respective marriages; they wanted everything to be just like before, just like the old days.
Greta pondered. And what exactly were the old days like? She had caught on to their little sexual hang-up for each other but she hadn't believed it to be this serious.
She decided to tuck the information away and wait. That was the important lesson she had learned from her old fool of an employer and his hundred-kronor payments. Wait for the big chance....
It was beautiful on the estate and the weather was hot. On their first day there Clayton told her to put on a pair of shorts and come for a walk with him.
"I want to show you where I used to play. It's an old smokehouse," he said, his eyes hot with excitement. When they got inside the cool stone building he grabbed her and thrust his tongue in her ear, his breath like a bellows.
"Take your clothes off," he panted. "All of them, everything. Get down on the floor, hurry!"
As Greta unzipped her shorts and let them fall over her legs she sensed that at last she was going to get somewhere and find out something. She had never seen a man like this, so hungry for her and yet so frightened and unsure of himself. When she was entirely naked she stood waiting, wondering what he would do. His eyes expressed an eager fear, like the eyes of a child at a horror movie.
When she sank to the floor in obedience to his gesture he grinned broadly as she made a shrill sound of surprise.
"Cold, isn't it?" he said breathlessly. "It's cold on that pretty ass of yours."
He took off his clothes and fingered his penis as he gazed down at her supine form, rubbing the loose flesh over his cockhead, stimulating the thick prick until it blossomed out into a big red ball of sensual desire.
"Spread your legs," he said thicly. "I want to see what that pretty golden pussy really looks like."
Her thighs parted wide, until she could not open them farther without pulling painfully on the joints at her torso. A coolness struck her pussy, like a draught of frigid air. How chilly it was in this place! There was something about its chilliness, particularly the slabs of stone on the floor, that was very important to her new husband.
He knelt down in the space of her opened thighs and gazed in rapture at the fuzzy pink slit of her cunt. She felt his finger slide with a maddening tickle down the crevice and push apart her outer lips, tangling in the long wiry golden hair. She squirmed in lewd encouragement, gasping a little as his tantalizing fingertip began a circular massage of her moistening vaginal entrance. Slick gobs of love juice seeped from the surrounding glands as the gates of her excited cunt opened under his stimulation.
"AAAAmmmmmmmm," she breathed, twisting sinuously as he inserted his index finger into her wet hole and pushed it all the way up. She sucked it with her powerful muscles and pressed her buttocks down in an answering thrust. How nice this was! A pleasant change from everyday fucking-a nice leisurely party for her that he seemed perfectly content to give her. Why was he doing this? It wasn't a man's play ... more like a boy's curious yet undemanding sexual exploration-
Ah ... so that was it! This was where he used to play, eh? Play with his sister! Now she would find out just what had happened between Clayton and Grace. He would do only the things they had done together and no more because he was reliving a moment from the past and he wanted it to be authentic.
He slid easily into the hot moistness of her pussy like a long thin prick-a young boy's prick, growing but not grown, with none of the angry, swollen-cock thunder of a man's. He circled it around inside of her cunt, making her moan and undulate her hips. She gasped as he stretched out the walls and pressed her cunt down against her rectum, sending spiraling chills dancing through her crotch.
"Now I'm going to lick it again," he whispered. He stretched out, half on his side to protect his massive hard-on, and lowered his head to her steaming cunt, keeping his finger high up in the soft vise of her vagina. His tongue slathered hotly through her streaming slit, hovering lazily at the place just below her clitoris that felt so sensitive and tingly. He circled over her loose inner lips, covering them with his big, eager tongue as he made ravenous hungry sounds of contact. The nub of her clitoris stretched into a hard miniature prick that sent shivery waves of pleasure up her spine as he sucked gently on it, drawing it between his wet lips and clasping it in a delightful little pinch.
"...Mmmmmmmm ... so good ... sweet little girl pussy mmmmmmmm."
She watched him, enchanged at the sight of his lowered head between he spread crotch, trapped in the yoke of her creamy flesh and laboring in her cunt.
She couldn't stand it any more! The lewd slurping sounds stirred her into a throbbing need that pushed her relentlessly toward the height of pleasure. Her curvaceous hips rose off the floor and waggled up against his face, spinning wildly under him as she clawed at his hair.
"Ahhhhhhhh ... ooooooooh!"
His finger jabbed mercilessly, stirring her inner parts into flame. Her walls swelled out from his fucking digit and fluttered in an intense vaginal orgasm that joined her clitoral ecstasy until she could not tell one from the other.
"Ah ... Clay ... is ... so good!" she panted.
He scrambled up to her and wrenched her hand down to his thick cock, wrapping her fingers tightly around it.
"Play with it nice ... give me a good handjob, jack me off, sweetheart," he pleaded.
The fleshy rigidity of his big cock made her gasp in an odd shock. It felt so big after his finger! She, too, had been caught up in the adolescent thing they had done, so that now the feel of such overwhelming masculinity brought her back to reality with a sharp jolt. How vital the memory of his boyhood with Grace must be, if she, too, had become a part of it for those few moments.
Her fingers encircled his cockhead like a ring and manipulated the ridge until he began to push in and out of her hand in a smooth stroking fuck. Her grip tightened so that his foreskin slid back and forth over his stiff shaft with each powerful thrust of his working hips. It wouldn't take him long the way he was going; his cock seemed to expand to even more massive proportions as he started to climax in uneven, jerking movements.
"Grace!" he whimpered, moaning. "Oh, Grace...."
The spurts of cum spread in a sticky mass over Greta's palm, dribbling between her clenched fingers. He kept pumping, murmuring his sister's name and shooting his cum all over his wife.
Afterwards, they lay quietly in each other's arms. Had someone peered into the window and saw them it would have been the cause of an understanding chuckle. Greta smiled at the irony of it. They were anything but normal honeymooners. She wasn't surprised that he had called out his sister's name at his sexual peak. Since their engagement had been announced Greta had learned what a sick man Clayton was. Since the night he had told his father they were going to be married he had not laid a hand on her until this afternoon. Each time he took her back to her hotel suite he kissed her on the tip of her nose and said, "Bye-bye, be a good girl." She had played his game because it was wise to do so, but her suspicions about his personality had caused her much wonder.
Now it was all clear. He had done with Grace what he had just done with her, when Grace was a little girl. He wanted his little-girl sister back.
Her mind spun on, casting intricately woven webs about fleeting half-formed plans, savoring and discarding.
She would still have to wait awhile, but she was getting warmer now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grace stormed at Tom, pounding her fists on his coldly turned back.
"Business, business, business! All the time, that's all you think about! I might as well not exist!"
He sighed heavily. "I told you that I'm working hard. Surely you didn't want to marry a playboy or a fortune-hunter who sat around and soaked up everything without giving something in return, did you?"
His priggish tone enraged her. "Don't be so holier-than-thou! What about a good fuck once in a while? Or did you get your cock caught in the ticker-tape machine?"
"It can't always be a honeymoon, Grace. When a man works hard it takes something out of him-"
"Can't always be a honeymoon! We've only been married three months! You sound as though it's been thirty years-and you act like it."
He spread his hands and let them fall to his sides. "Can't you women ever understand the way a man feels about important work? I'm sorry but I can't carry this on any longer. Pappy and I are going to Chicago this afternoon."
He turned and went out of the room, going down the steps at a fast shuffle to the entry, where his suitcase stood waiting for him. Oh, goddamn him! Grace wanted to throw something, do anything to relieve the tension and frustrated anger she felt. There was nothing to do but have a drink, so she mixed herself a martini and sipped at it as she walked up and down the floor.
She supposed Pappy had heard them fighting but she didn't care. A little dart of shame covered her as she remembered her mother. She had never complained, but then mother had been fastidious and probably frigid, only too happy to have a husband exhaust himself in work.
But I'm different from her!
The angry admission only heightened her shame. Yes ... I'm different from mother, she thought, reluctant as always to face the comparison. She finished the drink in one deep swallow and savored its icy warmth as it curled through her insides. It made her feel better; she mixed another, a double. When that was gone a few moments later she felt light-headed and garrulous. She had to talk to somebody, she had to! Greta-she was in the mood for a good girl-talk bitch session, and if she said too much, her sister-in-law probably wouldn't understand her anyhow. She fixed another drink and went up to Clayton's wing.
"Hi," she said, weaving into the room a little unsteadily. "Thought I'd join you and gab for a while."
She thought she saw an eager light flash behind Greta's pale blue eyes but she was already too drunk to analyze it properly.
"Yes, zit down. I am glad you come."
In her loneliness, the warm sincerity she heard in the girl's voice made her sad for an instant, and then gratefully happy. She smiled, her eyes flickering over the unearthly pale blond tones of Greta's hair. Mother ... oh, mother. I wish it were you here instead of her.
"Clay is to Philadelphia to buy painting," Greta said. "They have a ... er, when they call out money and highest win?"
"An auction," Grace supplied.
"Ah! Tack"
How sweet she was! So grateful for the assist....Grace suddenly wanted to cry. She cast around for something particularly personal to say.
"Say, you can help me with my ski technique, I'll bet." She pronounced it shee under the influence of the martinis and Greta burst into a merry laugh.
"Oh...." Grace said, reddening. "I meant ski."
"No! You pronounce it right in Swedish! It is shee." She reached out and gave Grace a quick, warm squeeze. "Now we have two Swedes, hah?"
Grace thought wildly, I like her! She's so dear and natural, and so pretty ... so terribly pretty. An ingratiating warmth spread through her body that would have terrified her had she been sober. She finished the cocktail in her hand and looked disconsolently at the empty glass.
"Here, I fix more. One for me, too," Greta said, getting up. She worked intently at the bar, her tongue clamped between her teeth like a little girl.
What is this little-girl bit? Grace thought wildly. It's gotten to me, too. First Clay and now me. She looked sharply at Greta, her brother's wife, the woman who had him now. The little girl in her reminds me of the little girl I was when I had him. I identify with her ... it's like she were me.
Greta returned with the drinks. Martini-mixing was not an American custom that she had mastered yet-she had forgotten to put any vermouth in it. Grace tried to control a shudder as the straight gin seared her throat. "Is good?" Greta asked.
"Oh, yes. Lovely."
"Why do we all say Pappy?" Greta asked, cocking her head appealingly.
"Hm? Oh ... that's from the funny papers. Pappy Yokum. I started it when I was little and Clay got in the habit." I started a lot of things that proved habit-forming to him.
The final drink loosened her tongue completely.
"You know, Greta, Tom married me for my money. But you know something else? He's not spending it-he just wants to use it to make more."
Greta seemed to sway forward. "More?" she said slowly.
"Yes. He's not a fortune-hunter in the strict sense of the word. He just wanted to jockey into position so he could run a bunch of businesses-and run them damn well, too." Her eyes darkened. "Pappy's nuts about him! Always talking business together. And, Pappy changed his will!"
"Will?" Greta repeated.
"Yes. Oh, he hasn't disinherited anybody. I get my money and Clay gets his, but Tom gets controlling interest in everything!"
She drank some more. This time the gin didn't burn at all.
"You know ... Tom has hardly touched me for ... I don't know how long. Now that he's got power his cock is hibernating. That's always the way. People who make a lot of money lose their sex drive. It's either power or sex, but you don't have both. There just isn't enough energy for both."
She looked up at the silent Greta and smiled slowly. "Say ... tell me something, just woman to woman. It's only natural to be curious, I guess. How's old Clay in the sack? Does he deliver the goods?"
"You mean is he good lover?"
"Yes," Grace said eagerly. "Don't you know?" Grace stiffened. "What do you mean? How could I know?"
Greta smiled and spread her hands. "Well, other girls he have. You know them, they tell you something maybe?"
Grace sank down in the chair, suddenly relaxed. How foolish of her to think that Clay had told his wife anything. Of course he hadn't, he wouldn't dare.
"No, not a one," she answered. "He never had any girls until you came along. That's one of the reasons why I want to know. So...." She sat forward intently. "What's he like? Good?"
Greta shrugged. "I suppose. I have no one to compare."
"Oh," Grace said, brought up short. "You're ... you were a virgin before?" As Greta nodded with a modest assent, Grace felt a sudden longing for her own girlhood innocence and virginity. Again, she saw her former self in the Swedish girl. Regret filled her for all the screwing around she had done as she wondered what it would be like to be a virgin again.
Then her longing for lost innocence changed into a longing for Greta herself, the symbol of it. She rose unsteadily, seeing a faint image of her dead mother through her drunken haze.
"Greta...." she cried weakly.
The glacial blue eyes flashed the same eagerness that she had noted before. They came closer and closer until-
"Ahhhhhhhh ... oh, God," Grace rasped, as their tall slender bodies ground together in a desperate, undulating embrace.
Grace's opened mouth clamped wetly on her sister-inlaw's full, sensuous lips and sucked ravenously at the cool and slightly gin-flavored breath that sighed through. Greta's tongue began a slow circular path into Grace's trembling lips, licking and tasting as she explored the hot mouth.
Grace groaned hoarsely and let her hands slide down to Greta's curvaceous ass, squeezing the incredible softness and marveling at the combination of plumpness and trimness that met her touch. What a beautiful broad ass a woman has! She was so used to the compact buttocks of men-this was a thousand times more sexy and delectable! She wants me! Tom doesn't. Clay doesn't, mother's dead-but Greta wants me!
The taste of lipstick on another mouth reminded her of a field of succulent strawberries and she longed to eat it off with gnawing kisses. She captured Greta's tongue and sucked it hard until both of them made rutting sounds like animals in a barnyard.
"Quick, let's go in the bedroom," Grace panted. "Lock the door."
Nearly blinded with lust and alcohol, Grace stumbled into the room, tearing at her clothes, her mouth still burning from their devouring kisses. Greta drew the long zipper of her dress down from her neck to the base of her spine and let the soft material fall off to her voluptuous body. She stepped out of it and stood before Grace, smiling. She wore nothing but thin panties and a half-cup bra that nearly exposed her huge boobs. Two half-moons of pink flesh peeked out at the tips, making Grace's mouth water as she looked at them. Her eyes trailed down to Greta's long plump thighs-thighs too plump for American fashion taste, but not for hers! Between the tops of her dark stockings and the snug leg band of her panties were two swelling areas of unbelievably white flesh that met with a cushiony softness under the tempting V of her crotch.
Grace sprang forward, nearly nude in flesh-colored transparent bikinis and bra. Their stockinged legs met and rubbed together in a swishing sound as they pushed between each other's thighs to grind their panty-covered crotches together. Grace reached up to Greta's broad sumptuous shoulders, pulled her bra straps down over her arms and jerked the tight cups away from the straining breasts.
The released flesh sprang out, the dark pink nipples quivering and poking out in tempting suggestiveness. Grace groaned as she grabbed the luscious pair of tits and squeezed them in her shaking hands.
"Mine, too," she panted. "Take it off for me."
Greta's long arms reached around her back and unhooked her bra with a quick flicking motion. She let it fall over her arms to the floor, then arched her back and thrust her own billowing globes against the massive pair of her sister-in-law.
"Ooooooooh, that's so goooood! Rub your tits over mine, make them meet. YESSSSSSSSSS!"
Their stiff, lust-sore nipples felt like piercing nails as they matched them and rubbed sinuously together. Spirals of hot waves coursed down their ribs and made them shiver together, grinding closer and closer as they dug under the panties and sought each other's creamy ass cheeks.
Greta dragged her onto the bed, pulling her panties down her thighs.
Grace kicked off the panties and dove onto the mattress beside Greta, who was divesting herself of the last confining garment. They grabbed one another and rolled to and fro in a rocking urgency as they kissed deeply, thrusting their tongues into each other's hungry mouths. Grace struggled at last out of the embrace and threw herself over Greta's quivering form, spreading out her legs around her and grinding her crotch into the firm pelvis beneath. She bit the enormous nipples of her sister-in-law's breasts, sucking madly at the passion-dark nipples. Greta's hands came up and held the perfect spheres out to her, urging her on and murmuring deep in her throat.
"God, Greta, they're so big and gorgeous!"
She couldn't get enough of the rubbery swollen nipples and their sweet, slightly roughened surfaces. A powerful awareness of her own femininity coursed through her as she sucked and slurped with abandon at another woman. Greta urged a raised knee between her legs and thrust it hard against her crotch, rubbing it over Grace's swollen pussy.
"Oh, God, you're making me cum already!"
Greta moaned, massaging the gaping cunt with her thigh. The muscles in her leg stiffened and pushed harder, lifting Grace at the crotch and pushing against her throbbing, streaming slit.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH ... ooooooh, you're making me cum, God! That feels so wonderful."
She wriggled and squirmed over the solid plump leg beneath her, sparks coursing through her clitoris and diving into the small of her back. Still she could not stop, but only desired more of the same. She panted for breath, the tit falling from her suckling lips, then she bit it again. I can't stop! I'm ready all over again!
She ran her hand over Greta's undulating belly and slipped down into the creaming cunt, knitting her fingers in the slickened growth of hair. The heat of the excited lips felt like warm honey as she stroked and circled through the pussy valley. Greta arched her back and waggled her mound in encouragement, panting with uncontrollable lust. Grace dabbed rhythmically at the incredibly turgid clitoris, flicking it with her thumb as her long fingers wormed against Greta's vaginal entrance. God, it was sitting open like a mouth! She knitted her fingers together, taking care not to pierce the flesh with her nails, and thrust three of them into the hole.
"Ahhhhhhh," Greta sighed. Her body jerked up as she lifted her legs high and pushed against the rising fingers in her cunt. Grace moved far up into the wet channel, rubbing it with short, quick jabs and marveling at its answering expansion. How big she was getting in there! Clay must have stretched her open good in record time. Obscene fragmentary thoughts spun through her brain. This is where Clay has been, where he's put his cock. Now I'm where his cock was! The realization drenched her with insatiable lust. She was reaching her brother this way, communing with him sexually as she finger-fucked his bride!
"You feel like the inside of a balloon! What a beautiful big snatch you've got! I want to crawl in and rub all of myself against it!"
Greta's hands massaged Grace's bouncing breasts, tweaking and pinching the nipples into jutting erection. Her knees were bent far back, giving Grace full access to her gloriously hot and quivering pussy. She wiggled her cheeks into the mattress as the probing fingers swirled within her cunt, gasping as she approached her climax. Grace felt it coming on, experiencing a frightening understanding of female lust at its highest pitch. The walls of the peaking cunt coursed with throes of rhythmic movement as they sprayed out a thick fluid. Suddenly Grace's fingers were drenched with it. Greta cried out and heaved violently, slapping her legs together as she twisted and rolled back and forth on the bed, her cunt palpitating for an endless moment, nibbling and suckling the pleasure-giving fingers within. At last her clenched muscles loosened and her cunt began to reduce its generous girth as the throbbing ceased.
"I made you cum," Grace planted in wonder. "I did it for you ... as good as Clay, every bit as good."
Her own pussy was wild with desire. She climbed over Greta's face and spread her knees wide around the tumbled flaxen hair, shivering at its silken feel. Slowly, she lowered her crotch over her sister-in-law's face and rubbed the wet hair against her lips.
Greta's mouth opened and her tongue shot out to separate the puffy lips and plow through the slathered slit. Grace moaned and jerked, undulating her pussy up and down over the full, hot mouth. Greta's fingers reached around her hips and rubbed suggestively at her ass, going in between the cheeks to tickle her cum-smeared anus.
"Yes! Oh, do that to me! I loooooove it...." she whimpered, moving her ass closer to the searching digit. The fingertip pressed against the puckered rim of her asshole and screwed in tantalizing insistence into the hole. It popped in and slithered far up, trailing fiery delight in its path. Grace crooned and thrust, cramming herself down on the impaling pleasure and clamping it tightly with her churning muscles.
The dual assaults on her crotch were unbearable. Greta's tongue worked on, sluicing through the frantically wiggling cunt against her face. She licked the clitoris with slavish and thorough delight, making it jerk up hard under its hood and swell into an impudent erection. Her face and chin were smeared with glistening cunt juice as Grace's responding loins streamed with lust.
She spun her widespread hips harder as the plunging finger sent tremors of feeling far up into her ass. Greta's warm palm lay flat on her cheeks, cupping them firmly as she moved her deeply buried digit in an agonizing circle high up in Grace's entrails.
At last she could bear it no longer, though she wished it would never end. Her vagina heaved as it caught the sparks from her jerking clitoris and throbbed out a finale of release and sex juice. She toppled forward, feeling the cuntal orgasm spread through the thin dividing wall and into her clenching asshole.
They rolled together in a heap of legs and arms, twining weakly around one another. Grace was feverish with a new joy such as she had never expected to feel in her life. This was lesbianism, something she would not have dreamed could ever apply to herself, but now she wanted it and this woman as she had never wanted anything. A loneliness in her, never before assuaged, was now stilled. The stately blonde who had left her long ago had now returned, like a goddess from a threatening black forest who appears in a clearing and holds out her arms.
"Greta ... you were here all the time, and I never knew ... I never knew!"
"Shhh, is all right. I am here," came the lilting voice.
After a few moments, Grace sat up, eyes sparkling and happy. A wild conviviality assailed her. The men were all gone! They had the house to themselves and they could play, like little girls and like big girls.
"Let's have another drink!" she said, springing up. When she brought the glasses back to the bed, Greta took a ceremonial sip from hers and put it firmly away, her eyes on Grace. Her studious expression of concentration was reminiscent of a chicken hawk circling a hen house.
Grace drank deeply, her eyes roving over the sumptuous body next to her.
"If I know my little brother, and I do," she said meaningfully, "he doesn't give you what you need. He's too uptight, and I think I know about what."
"What do you think?" Greta encouraged, feigning suspenseful attention.
"He likes little girls. He's a Humbert!" she spat out, laughing coarsely. "I mean real little girls. Before they're grown up. Say about seventh grade or thereabouts?" Her tongue was thick and furry.
"Why you say so?" Greta asked, this time feigning alarm.
"Because Grace trailed off, uncertain. She took another big swallow of the gin and went on, taking daring from her renewing drunkenness. "Because one time I was teasing him and said he was as itchy as a rapist just out of jail. Christ, did he get mad! It hit him where he lives."
Greta bit her lower lip. "Ah," she said, shaking her head. "Is not possible."
Before Grace could go on, Greta looked apprehensively at the clock.
"They will call the dinner soon. We must be dressing." She smiled brilliantly at Grace and caressed her breast, flicking suggestively over the nipple.
"We will be together again, yes?"
Grace rose reluctantly. "Oh, Greta, yes!" A harsh sob tore without warning at her throat. "Oh, God, I wish we could go away together and leave them all!"
Greta smiled up at her. "Perhaps we will. You make me happy ... so happy. Now we are true sisters, are we not?"
Greta was relieved to find that they had guests for dinner. Her English had improved greatly but she had not let anyone know, working on the instinctive assumption that the more secrets she had the better off she was. The guests and Grace carried on a sprightly conversation, directing only a few polite remarks on general subjects to her. She smiled brightly and a little blankly, while her thoughts rolled on like caissons.
Clay would come back tonight, so that she would not have to have sex with Grace again just yet. She did not dislike what they had done, but she had not liked it, either. Her climax had been automatic, a purely physical response that she would have experienced had a man been fucking up her cunt with his finger. That part was all right, but the other, licking Grace's pussy-ugh! She had not liked that at all. It was funny. She should like it, according to the psychology that Americans always discussed at parties. After what her brother Thor had done to her, she should have turned against men and become a lesbian. But that was ... what was the expression? That was neither there nor here. Ach! ... neither here nor there. It was men who had power and money, and therefore it was men she liked. After all, it was not Grace's money she was after; her sister-in-law was just a link in the chain. She sighed sharply. Psychology made things so complicated!
She would have to keep on with Grace for a while whether she liked it or not, but that was not the point. There was no room for such a luxury as liking or disliking. It was necessary, and that was that.
Her mind flitted over many things. She was like a musical genius who hears one major melody in his head and decides to write a symphony around it. He does not know what the minute structural pattern will be, nor what each instrument will do, yet he has a clear conception of his theme.
The telephone rang and a maid came to whisper to Grace.
"It's Mr. Markey, madame," she said worriedly.
Grace looked up, frowning, and excused herself. In another moment, she rushed back into the dining room.
"Pappy's had a stroke!" she said. "He's dead!"
Amid the shocked gasps of the guests, Greta gazed slowly at her sister-in-law as the symphony clicked into place.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After the funeral Tom moved into the director's chair of DeWitt Enterprises.
Grace held up a copy of Fortune magazine with his picture on the cover and smiled wryly.
"Isn't it sweet of them?" she purred. "I have a paper doll of my husband to cut out when he's not here. I can put it in my bed to keep me warm."
"Oh, for God's sake...." he sighed.
She didn't care any more but she loved to taunt him for his vanished manhood. She had Greta now, and soon she would have her for good! Wait just a little while longer . ... Greta kept telling her that but she was impatient now. The sight of Tom made her sick! He had changed in the most important way.
"You are the most honorable, upright, hard-working man I ever met," she said flatly. "Even more than Pappy. I used to love you for your depraved little ways, but they're all gone."
"I'm sorry," he said lightly. "I realize degredation is your favorite indoor sport. Our wedding night comes to mind, for some reason." His voice was turgid with sarcasm and cold disdain. He smiled tightly at her.
She threw down the magazine and sprang from her chair.
"You thieving bastard!" she screamed, shaking from head to toe.
"I didn't steal anything! It was given to me by your father, who, I might add, I got to like and admire very much, however much of a gutter fighter I started out to be."
"Then you admit-"
"Yes, I admit. I married you because of who you were. I always dreamed of being a big businessman and you were the means to that end. I knew Pappy liked me, everyone knew it. The fact that you were a good-looking broad didn't hurt matters any, though."
"A hell of a lot you care about my ass now," she ground out.
"That's true," he said calmly, crossing his legs. "Something went out of me when I got power-real power, not prick power." He shrugged. "It just doesn't seem to matter any more. Oh, sure ... once in a while, but not what you consider par for the course. I'll be honest with you."
"Tom, I want a divorce."
"Okay."
His light answer threw her for a moment. "And I want you out of here. This is still my property, even though you got the lion's share."
"Okay," he said again.
"Tonight!" she screamed. "Do you hear me, tonight?"
"Okay," he repeated.
She watched while he packed some clothes and had the chauffeur drive him to the hotel suite that DeWitt had always kept. She saw her lawyer the following morning and arranged for a quick Alabama decree. It was agony to be away from Greta, even for those few days, but she could comfort herself with the knowledge that Greta would soon be rid of Clay, and then they would be free to go where they wanted. They had planned it all very carefully; first she would get her divorce and then Greta would get one from Clay. Greta would tell him that she was divorcing him, and then wait for Grace at the Beekman Place house. When they both had their decrees, they would go to Europe together. To hell with what everyone thought! There was plenty of money-money for parties, cruises; they would buy an island in the Aegean. The value of her New York real estate alone would take care of that.
It was torture to dream about it and so she had a drink, and then another ... and then another still. I have to cut down on these damn martinis, they give me such a headache afterwards, Grace thought. They made me feel wild, crazy.
She poured the last of the gin into the glass and blinked drunkenly when she saw the empty bottle. Oh, hell! And with Alabama's stupid liquor laws! The ABC stores closed up at some ungodly hour, like nine, and it was eleven now.
She rang for service, stumbling to her purse and taking out a ten-dollar bill. When the doorbell sounded she opened it to find a scrawny young bellhop looking at her with popping eyes.
"I want some gin, if you can-" She stopped, wondering for a moment what was the matter with him. Then she realized that her robe was open, and she had nothing under it.
She stepped back and looked at him carefully. He was about sixteen, surely not much more. Tow-headed ... hair the color of corn.
"Come in a minute," she said softly. When he had shut the door behind him she smiled and tucked the bill into his jacket pocket.
"I wanted some gin but ... now I'd rather have something else."
She lowered her hand to his crotch and rubbed the lump of flesh, thrilling as she felt it spring to life under her touch. His face flamed and he began breathing hard. His cock swelled to hardness, long and thick and thoroughly developed.
She laughed and threw off her robe, backing away from him until her knees struck the edge of the bed. She sat down hard and lay back, spreading out her legs and rotating her crotch in vulgar insinuations.
"Want some pussy?" she crooned. "Come and get some pussy. Let's see how you Southern boys fuck. I've heard it's good. Show me how good."
He fumbled in a frenzy with his zipper and pulled out a beautiful length of fat, ready cock, angry red and thrusting out at a perfect right angle to his body. He came at her with it clutched in his hand, falling down between her sprawling legs and making a whimpering, almost sobbing sound as he touched her gaping cunt lips with it.
"Oh, God, you're so purty," he sing-songed. "I ... I...."
He was swabbing her uncontrollably, seeking her entrance but too inexperienced and overcome to find it. She reached down and took his hardon between her first two fingers and thrust it into her pussy, pulling him down on her with her other arm. He sank into her with a groan of bliss, his eyelids fluttering spasmatically.
"Come on, big boy, ride it hard!"
He pushed all the way down into her spread crotch as his hands came up and pinched her nipples. He ground into her crotch with frantic, indiscriminate movements, circling his hips like a drill. She dug into the mattress with her heels and slammed up at him, forcing him into the pumping motions of sex. He caught on to what she wanted and slid his cock back, then hurled it forward.
"That's it!" she urged. "Come on, do it again!"
But he had already had as much as he could take. He yelped like a stuck pig and chewed at her neck as he filled her up with hot cum. She moved frantically against him, desperate for a climax as she felt the delightful load of cum fill her up. God, how much it was! These kids could really blow a wad! It kept spurting and spurting, flooding her cunt and dribbling out on the bedspread.
"Don't move!" she commanded. "Wait...."
Her clitoris fluttered to life and pounded sparks of pleasure throughout her cunt as she rubbed and writhed against his pants. When at last he had the strength to get up, his whole fly area was smeared with her juices.
"God," he muttered, staggering. "God, you shore are wonderful."
For a moment she thought he was going to faint. He looked down at the unmistakable stain on his pants and rubbed at it weakly, making it worse. Without warning, her heart went out to him. How young he was! Young and skinny, like a gawky colt. Just like-
She got up and took him into the bathroom and rubbed his pants dry with a wet cloth. As she bent over him she saw his large dangling hands, uncertain and clumsy looking. His jacket was too small for him, and his cuffs far too short for his fast-growing legs.
"Get out now," she whispered. "Go on."
"Kin ... kin I come see you agin?"
"No, I'm going home tomorrow. Go on!"
She practically pushed him out the door. When he was gone she sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. What had she done! Clay ... Clay!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Clay's face was white as Greta taunted him.
"I am sick of being little girl! Your pretty little flicka! I am woman! But you do not want a woman, do you? You want a child to play with, a little girl with little titties. I find out about what you really are."
His mouth worked silently but no words came out. She watched him carefully, certain that she had hit on the truth. It was a shot in the dark but a calculated one, one that she was willing to risk. She knew he would never consent to a divorce unless she threatened him with this one horrible secret; then he would crumble to pieces and agree to whatever she demanded.
"I leave you!" she shouted. "I go to other house and live apart from you. Go to your little girls. I wish you joy of them!"
She was able to storm out then and there, since it had all been planned beforehand and her clothes were at Beekman Place. Now she could really come in to her own! It was all planned. She let herself out, having dismissed the servants before the showdown. Great ladies did not argue before the help, and she would be a really great lady soon. Nor did they slam doors. She closed it softly behind her.
When she had gone. Clay wept in wracking, dry sobs. It would all start again now, he would go back to his stealthy pursuit of young girls, and one day he would be caught. He had a certain amount of leeway, for a while anyhow. Money bought anything, and honor wasn't all it was cracked up to be. There would be parents whose wrath could be silenced by a payoff despite their noble mouthings about their pure innocent daughters. Those same pure innocent daughters needed clothes-lots of them at that age because they were still growing. And later on, they would need to educate those same pure holy vessels.
But one day he would not be so lucky. He shivered, imagining a cell block, a burly guard with a wad of tobacco in his cheek, the walled-in recreation area. For a brief irrelevant moment he even wondered what it was like to eat with only a spoon. He supposed he had done it once, but he couldn't remember. He laughed bitterly. They would put him in prison for wanting little girls, and in the process of rehabilitation they would make him a child again.
He rose with a ragged sigh and went to his room. In the bureau was a mod sweatshirt with a peace symbol on it. He undressed and put it on, then took a pair of red corduroy bellbottoms from the closet. Last, he donned some beads. The things were left over from a masquerade that he had attended as a hippie. They would make him look a little younger; after all, he was thirty now and he looked it.
Where would he go? It was too late to go to the rock concert. You needed tickets weeks in advance. From his wallet he took a list of the skating rinks in the Bronx and checked their closing times, glancing at his watch. Funny, he had kept that list all this time, even after his marriage. It was as if he knew that one day he would need it again.
He was on his way down the stairs when Grace came in the front door. They froze, staring at one another for a long moment without speaking. Then she broke the tableau with a ragged gesture and a sharp cry. "No! No, Clay. No."
She came slowly up the stairs and touched his arm. "It won't work, and I won't let you do it. You don't look any younger in those clothes. They have sharp eyes nowadays, always looking for a generation gap." She shrugged. "Gaps! There are too many gaps. Too many taboos...."
"Grace...."
They walked slowly up to his room. He switched off the lights and pulled the heavy draperies over the bright lights of the city. When he turned around she was naked, waiting for him on the bed. She could see nothing; it was like being blind. She made her eyes wide and stared into the darkness, seeing nothing. For a moment she imagined that she was blind, suddenly, hopelessly blind as punishment for what she was going to do.
He fell down beside her with a tortured moan and grabbed her to him. When his mouth opened on her nipple she jerked up under his lowered head and thrust her chest against his face. Ummmmmm, his cock was huge against her leg, thicker than Tom's.
"Now!" she whispered. This first time would have to be quick, so neither of them would have time to think. And then, after that. ... well, they had their whole lives. They would live together, just as before.
He climbed between her legs and pushed her thighs up, holding them far back on her body to give himself the full exquisite split of her crotch. He came down with a swift, sure aim-
"Ahhhhhhh, at last!" she whispered.
His enormous cockhead felt like a ball of hot lead cramming into her pussy. HER BROTHER'S BIG
FAT BEAUTIFUL COCK WAS SINKING INTO HER CUNT! She rocked her hips, sliding up against the impaling length of cock he was giving her, thrusting her groin at him in lewd abandonment. He fucked deep and hard, grunting and straining against her ear, his hips careening with lovely hard slams against her quivering pussy. The wet, slapping feel of his balls against her upturned ass was heaven. Oooooh, how fat they were, too! Hot and loaded with thick cum that would flush her out to her heart's content.
Thank God for that scrawny little bellhop. If it hadn't been for him she never would have known, never! She wriggled up against Clay, moving every inch of her lovely body in her desperate need to make contact with every part of him. Her stiff nipples rubbed sinuously into his bare chest and he grunted in pleasure as he bore down on them with an answering thrust. It was the most beautiful fucking she had ever had-rock and bang, rock and bang. The ridge of his cockhead was doing fiendishly wonderful things to her sensitive cunt walls, rubbing and sliding and sending chills of response high up into her belly. Her stiff little clitoris was pressed hard against his wiry pubic hair and pulsating with waves of hot delight. Now, now ... NOW!
EPILOGUE
It turned out for the best, Greta thought. This way, she didn't have a demanding Grace on her hands. Something had told her that once brother and sister were left alone in the house together, there would be no further problem for her.
The worst that could have happened was for Grace to reject Clay and come back to her. That would have meant a few weeks of living together and pretending to be a lesbian, but after her divorce became final she would have left Grace to marry Tom Markey.
Which is exactly what she did anyway, at the first possible moment.
It wasn't hard to get him. He was tired of Grace, having gotten what he wanted from her. Of course he wasn't very interested in fucking, but that was all right; she could get that for free from many sources, but the best things in life cost money. Tom made money.
He was attached to her in his own way, though. He kept saying, "You and I are two of a kind." All in all, she enjoyed being married to him. They went to many glamourous functions and she met so many rich men. Fortune magazine published a list of the hundred richest men in America and Tom was number ninety-six. She kept the list folded up in her wallet, just as Clayton had kept his list of skating rinks in his. She had found it one day during an exercise in general all-around snooping. It was a very good idea to keep lists of things you were sure to need someday.
