"You're getting into an earthy, rough business. You're going to meet some strange sorts of people ... and you're going to be on your own," Kurt Reichard, the motel manager, had warned her, but Julia Cochran, who had been brought up in a strict Catholic school, felt older than her eighteen years, and was ready to live a little, and the chance to learn the motel business-even though she would have to start as a chambermaid-was a welcome challenge. She was glad she had worn her tight little gold bikini, and the bulge in the manager's trousers was a fine testimony that he was impressed with her figure.
1
Julia was uncomfortably aware that the man behind the dark glasses was giving her body a thorough examination. She fumed inwardly that he would think her too stupid to know, even without seeing his eyes, exactly where he was looking.
The tilt of his head told her that Sherman Wilson was finding her breasts most interesting. A slight dip of his tanned, bald head and this time an even longer study of her hips and tummy ... then, even lower. He was looking directly at her most intimate place. Julia shifted her legs uncomfortably and felt a flush of embarrassment creep to her cheeks. His silence continued.
He had virtually trapped her when he nodded to her to sit at the end of his deck chair. A nod from Mr. Wilson was an order, she reminded herself. He owned The Buccaneer Inn and Resort. He employed her mother, and it was Julia who had come looking for the man. She wanted to work at The Buccaneer-and, for the moment, she knew that fact gave him staring privileges.
She was terribly naive, she accused herself, as she waited for him to speak. Now she was certain the resort manager had been teasing when he said she'd catch Mr. Wilson in a good mood if she went to him during his private cocktail hour at his poolside cabana.
"Wear a swim suit that'll show him you're a big girl now," was the last bit of advice. "You know he's not seen much of you since you were a kid."
The manager should know, Julia had reassured herself earlier when she posed uncertainly in front of her mirror just before going to look for Mr. Wilson. She had chosen the gold bikini, and in the late afternoon shadow of her bedroom she had shivered at the naked look it gave her. At least her body should know she was a far more mature woman than the age on her job application might indicate. For a minute, there in her bedroom, she had shyly studied her figure. It was a drama of flesh in perfect harmony, golden skin superbly contoured to hills and valleys. Proud breasts, firm and rich, pressed urgently against gold lame patches. In spite of her eighteen years, she had never understood the attention her chest attracted. She frowned at the thin halter that did little to conceal the sign of stiffening nipples. There was only a hint of the hardening, but if they were like this out of the water, she knew that would happen if she jumped into the pool. It was the thread in the lame which teased them so.
Her glance drifted to her face and she tossed her head to tumble the long hair across her shoulders. More than once she had wished she were a brunette. For years the blonde hair had caused more problems than the fun it was supposed to bring. Almost without exception, her dates had assumed it meant carte blanche to everything with Julia. Her eyes flashed angrily at her mirror as she remembered the last date she'd had two months before. He'd tried for it like the rest, then spread the word: Sweet Julia Cochran wasn't about to put out. There had not been one call from a boy since then!
She surveyed the rest of her body's effect on the world with a saucy twist to right and to left. There was a feline tautness to her lower body as she contorted before the glass; she took quick inventory of the wide flare of her sleek hips, the flat plateau across her belly and the prominent rise of her pubes against the golden bikini panties. She was sure her mound was much too noticeable. With an impatient sniff, she swung from her inspection and left on her search for Mr. Wilson, a bath towel folded across her arm as she paraded, poised and almost confident, from the employees' quarters.
A curtain had moved quickly as she stepped from the apartment front porch to the grass. That would be the watchful head waiter of the dining room gaping at her from behind his drapes. She drew back her shoulders almost defiantly, cetain of his surreptitious appraisal. Let him see what he wants to see, cajoled the voice inside her. It's you. Why hide it?
Glad she had brought happiness to another of her admirers, Julia marched in quest of the owner of the resort that had been her mother's and father's home for eight years. Just as predicted, Sherman Wilson was in a good mood when she reached his cabana.
Julia saw a violent bulge pulsing against the tight elastic of his rivieras as he gaped lustfully at her. The evening's menu from the main dining room made a partial cover across his groin, but it wasn't sufficient to hide his condition.
It made no difference if she did see it, Wilson told himself. She was Vivien Cochran's daughter, wasn't she? like mother, like daughter; and who knew more about Vivien than Sherman Wilson? Still, there was that child-like look of shocking innocence about her face. Lord, what a beauty!! The soft hair as a frame to those eyes, that nose ... her mother's nose ... and those lips! Even without that cock-maddening body, he'd get a hard-on from the built-in sensuality of her face.
As he sat in silence, frowning and pretending to weigh her request, Wilson was really fighting an almost overwhelming compulsion to stand and stretch and let the sexpot see what she was doing to him. Instead, he reached for the pack of cigarettes at his side, and as he fingered a Parliament into the long, ivory filter, he wondered what she'd do if he followed his impulse. At least she'd see a firm body on a baldheaded sixty-year-old. No flab, no tire at the waist. Just solid muscle. Especially the one about to kill him at the middle! Ten-to-one, she probably thought he couldn't even get it up at his age.
He wondered if she had any idea of his relationship to her mother. It could be that it was Vivien who sent her daughter to him dressed in this next-to-nothing bikini. Who better than Vivien could know his response to a shape like her daughter's? God Almighty! To think that drunken Bart Cochran once had enough active reproductive cells to give the world this gorgeous creature! Wilson's eyes moved again to the slope of her midriff, then followed her body line down and across to the magic of her love mound.
The kid must know the score! Probably she had had a hundred cocks split those shapely legs already. And now she had come to him for a job. Maybe Vivien had told her daughter about the wealth one Sherman Wilson wore at his crotch. Maybe his flame-haired mistress had ideas of her own-like giving her benefactor a little bonus play. She'd probably briefed the girl on his exact dimensions and told her to act the coy one. Time to see how cool she could be, he told himself.
Wilson twisted for the ash tray and at the same time tugged the opened menu several inches upward to expose the lower half of his rivieras. Seconds later he saw the long lashes flutter as she looked, then looked quickly to the side, and an instant later again focused on the erection he was making no effort to hide. He'd forced her double-take with a deliberate urging of his pelvis that almost made his erection flip out of his white trunks.
The kid was a smooth one, he realized. Just the slightest widening of her eyes at the sight of his condition and then she was looking straight into his glasses-as if she could read everything going on behind his shades. Damned if she didn't have the prettiest blush!
"So you're really serious about wanting to learn the motel business?" he demanded.
Julia trembled at the abrupt resumption of their exchange. "I do, Mister Wilson. I really do. From the ground up."
It had been a terrifying interlude of silence, climaxed by that shocking display just before he spoke. She had seen tented pants and disturbed crotches before, and thought she understood them. Her mother had put it all in perspective years ago, and Julia understood the erected penis was something a man couldn't help-and she should ignore it if it ever happened when she was with a boy. It was simply a normal biological response. And there is where it should stop for Julia-right there! She should recognize the hard length for what it was, then forget it.
This time it was different. A weird excitement traveled to every part of her body when the menu on Wilson's lap shifted and showed what was going on. No possible doubt about the fact that he was aroused. Three years without men in that convent-like St. Mary's with its thousands of girl-talk sessions had filled in many gaps about men. From the dormitory reports of wilder girls, she knew what had caught her eye on Mr. Wilson's front was more than a normal biological response. It was a man hot and bothered to get at her with that great muscle she could see ramrodding against his too-small trunks.
Guilt and desire mingled and wrestled inside Julia. Shocked, she had torn her eyes from the sight and then quite helplessly felt compelled to look again. She was sure the man would be mortified if he knew what she could see. The way that white elastic was stretched, it was almost as if he had no cover at all over his sexual parts. In a split-second scrutiny she had seen more of how an aroused man appears than she had witnessed in sum total of the years before. She marveled at the arrogance of a man's parts. Those twin roundnesses nestled soft and full under his barrel hardness were a fascination by themselves. There was where a woman's joy was manufactured, Julia knew from comparative anatomy studies. The teaching sister in biology class would never have tolerated the word "joy" to describe special liquid those testicles made. Spermatozoa and androgens and anything but "cum joy," as one of her friends called it. A flash of shame for even thinking about that word for a male's semen darted across her cheeks. She had come home with more dormitory words than decent classroom terms for excited males and females.
Excited was the only word for this man's cock. She had totally surrendered now to lusty thoughts. She could see the bony ripple of the broad underside of his shaft. He must be two inches across and at least eight inches long. And there, almost at the upper edge of his rivieras, slightly, it would surely pop out into broad daylight. Please, dear Mister Wilson, stretch!
"Julia, tell you what I'd like you to do." His voice was very soft. "Get lost for about ten minutes and let me think about your request. Take a dip and then come back."
"Certainly, Mister Wilson." She stood quickly and walked toward the opening of the cabana shell.
"Tell me, young lady, does your mother know you're applying for this work?" he called after her.
Julia turned and nodded. "She doesn't know I want to work my way right to the top, but she knows I'd like to get a job. That's why Mister
Reichard sent me to see you because of the no-two-from-the-same-family rule, except for the dining room staff."
"Okay, shoo!" Wilson waved an imperious arm. "Go dive off the high board or something. Let me think.';
Her blonde hair danced against her shoulders as she walked the length of the pool toward the deep end. Spellbound by the barely perceptible roll of her seductively cushioned ass, Sherman Wilson's hand cupped the cap of his agonized erection, then fingered under the top edge of his trunks to free it. He blessed the privacy of the owner's cabana, which guaranteed there would be no visitors without an advisory via the house phone at his elbow. That had been the shocker of Julia's coming unannounced in a welcomed violation of his explicit rules.
He saw her pause at the foot of the ladder to the high board and draw her bathing cap over her hair. There was a delightful sensuality even to the way she caught the hair at her neck and tucked it beneath the cap. Wilson could imagine her at the vanity in his bedroom, primping and preparing herself to make ready for his hunger.
Now she was walking to the end of the board, balancing, arms stretching high above her head. What an incredible beauty! Wilson tugged against the elastic and eased more of the turbulent rod out, taking care to rest his forearm across the exposed part of his shaft.
"Stupid!" he muttered aloud, impatiently shifting and for an impetuous moment flagging his hard-on at the distant figure. Across the Olympic-length pool, she was on the fifteen-foot diving board-not a chance of her seeing his little urge.
"Goddamnit, but that is sweet cunt!" he breathed explosively. The late afternoon shadows highlighted the girl's magnificent breasts and prominent mons. "I'm going to fuck you, little Miss Cochran!" he grunted, then shifted his hands to conceal the several inches of bared prick. She had suddenly stopped in mid-bounce as if almost losing balance and now she was looking directly at his cabana opening. He returned her wave and wondered if she had seen.
Julia had-but hadn't believed it. Even from the far end of the pool her sharp eyes had caught sight of white skin gleaming against a darkly tanned body. Her wave had been a shocked reflex when she saw where his hand was. The man was actually jerking at himself. He couldn't know she could see.
She was balancing again, bouncing prettily for the swan-and-jackknife combination. Her thoughts were far away from a dive that was second nature to her. All she could think of was that hot fist yanking on what Mr. Wilson had freed from his trunks.
The whole encounter was an answer to what one of the girls at school had claimed-that men usually keep their sex appetite till late in life. The rest of the girls in her room that night had squealed in disbelief that men of all ages find entertainment playing with their erections.
Here in one barely seen episode, Julia was certain she had discovered a truth about men and especially about Mr. Wilson. His wife had died a year ago, and she wondered, how was a widower to be helped if he didn't do something like masturbate?
The slight shock of the pool water as she knifed below the surface blasted the next thought that insinuated itself into her mind. What a feeling it would be, she thought, to parade right back to the cabana, dive at Sherman Wilson's middle, and snatch that thing out of his hand. Jerk him crazy and make it squirt as high as it could go! She could tell him it was a biological experiment to see if it took the male or female longer to finish doing it that way! Maybe he would do the same for her after she ... A wave of virtuous thoughts slammed the lust from her mind.
Wilson watched the girl toweling herself outside his cabana. He wondered if she had seen his brazen exhibition, and then he wondered as quickly why he cared. She was virtually his property, and unless he grossly misread the signals, those nipples which now blossomed excitedly against their scant cover were offering him full ownership. Lord! To sink himself into the sizzling twat and hear her scream total surrender the way her mother did each time he took her!
"Come on in!" He motioned her back to the end of the chaise. "You're a very accomplished swimmer," he praised.
"Thank you. I was on the team at St. Mary's and I took the Red Cross lifesaving course there, too."
He chuckled and, pushing his glasses to his forehead, looked openly at the bikini panties. Red Cross will have to make a smaller patch.
She smiled tensely and then her expression sobered. "Do you think you can possibly start me, Mister Wilson?"
He nodded. "I like the idea. I'll speak to Reichard-and you, young lady, can speak to your mother. No talk about summer work or anything. Give her the whole bit about wanting a career in the hotel business. Then, if manager and mother agree, we'll start you."
Julia's face was radiant. "Thank you!" She was obviously fighting the desire to squeal her delight. "Mums will understand. She wanted me to try pre-med, but I'm no student."
A scowl crossed Wilson's face. "If you really plan to go any place in this racket, you're going to have to study twice as hard. Even hear of the AMHA?"
"I think so. Isn't that the American Motel and Hotel Association?"
"Right. They put out the course you're going to have to study in your free time, which, I should warn you, won't be too much. You won't have time for dates every night."
Her sniff was audible and expressive. "That's nothing new." Her eyes searched his. "If you have the right principles..."
He coughed uncomfortably and groped the pocket of the terry-cloth robe he had hastily pulled across his shoulders while Julia swam. The lower folds crisscrossed over his lap, totally concealing his unrelenting erection. To relieve the intense pressure, he had pried the whole assembly from its elastic prison. Beneath the wrinkled cloth the cock shaft throbbed happily.
"Principles?" he echoed. "Maybe it's a day for different principles from those in my day."
"Not about some things," Julia replied, spacing each word to dramatize the determination she felt. "My Mums taught me to know what's right, and the sisters at St. Mary's did, too." She took a deep breath, remembering what she had seen Mr. Wilson starting to do when she was on the board.
"Go on," he urged. His hand lay across his lap and he could feel the heat of his hard-on through the robe.
"I think a girl should wait," she continued. "At least till she knows she's in love."
Wilson coughed again and squashed the cigarette into an ash tray. "Good girl," he praised, hoping his lie had sounded as sincere as hers. Or was she lying? He felt a sudden uncertainty. An ass like that had surely been ground into a hundred mattresses, he reasoned. Then he caught the defensive glitter in her eyes. With a shock, he knew Julia was telling it the way it was for her.
Virgin cunt! Reichard must have sensed it when he sent the girl to him. The Prussian went for the innocent type and something had clued him about her naivete. Wilson was sure his manager had made suggestions of where she might start, if the owner gave permission. Probably at front desk, on the late night shift, when he could deflower her innocence and fuck her silly while the lobby was deserted.
"Did Mister Reichard suggest where you might start if I approve the plan?" he asked.
Julia hesitated, then smiled and nodded. "It was nothing definite, but he did say maybe I could begin on the graveyard shift and get used to the register and the reservations system and everything while it's quiet."
There was a moment of silence as he digested this confirmation of his guess. He liked his resident manager, even if more than once Kurt Reichard had scooped some sexpot guest away for his own amusement. A plan was already dawning in his mind-this time a joint project. He knew Julia had more than enough to satisfy a dozen men, and her conquest would be a challenge-especially, in view of his relationship to the girl's mother.
The thought of Vivien Cochran made him glance quickly at his wrist watch, then straighten and shift his legs over the side of the chaise. "Almost forgot," he announced brusquely. "Have a meeting coming up. I'm afraid Mister Reichard's suggestion is ahead of the game. You should start at the very bottom and work up, my dear. I want you to begin as a chambermaid. If everything else is in order on Monday, you start making beds and changing linen."
Her eyes sparkled happily as he spoke. Impetuously she reached for the hand on his lap and squeezed it gratefully. "Oh, thank you, Mister Wilson! You won't be disappointed in me." She darted toward the exit from the cabana. "I'm so excited. I want to hurry and tell Mums."
When she was gone, he slapped his thigh with delight. He wondered if Vivien was still at her apartment, and how she would take the news. Chuckling happily, he left the cabana and headed for his rendezvous.
Minutes later he was standing in the center of his bedroom. He had designed the room especially for Vivien's auburn hair when their relationship began five years before. He remembered her delight with the theme of gold and black and ivory. Drapes and carpeting, furnishings and the spread of the king-size bed were all designed to complement her beauty.
Vivien's was a body Sherman Wilson felt he had to have, in spite of the risk of ultimate confrontation with her husband or accusation from his own wife who was then still living. Their times together had been chosen carefully; always in the early evening when the chance of exposure was the least. Wilson doubted that his affair with Mrs. Bart Cochran was that much of a secret. Thirty years in the resort business had taught him about the employee grapevine. He shrugged. He was sure no one had whispered the word to Bart Cochran and, unless by some unlikely chance, Vivien had herself mentioned it to her daughter, it was not known by Julia either.
"Burgundy-that's it!" he exclaimed as he moved to the foot of the bed and indulged his imagination. Writhing in all her nude beauty, was Julia, arms extended, pleading for him to take her. He could see her silken-blonde hair tumbled across her shoulders onto the dark bedspread.
He stared speculatively at the bed, and in his mind's eye another scene unfolded. Now there were two voluptuaries on his mattress-Vivien and Julia, both reaching imploring hands toward his virile nakedness, pointing excitedly at his soaring hard-on.
"You horny sonofabitch!" he growled at himself. Just the thought of the two sprawled before him caused his penis to spear against the trunks again. He bent quickly and peeled the rivieras, then hurried to the bathroom. His playmate was due at any second.
The thickened phallus stood bone-like and unyielding as he soaped and rinsed in the shower, then stepped to the lamb's wool throw rug to towel himself. From the bedroom came the soft, muted sounds of Al Hirt's trumpet playing one of her favorites. It was Vivien's way of telling him she had arrived. A pause at his medicine cabinet for a light touch of the very dry Brut cologne under his chin, and he was ready. No need for the robe; he was too ready.
She lay in the precise position his dream had placed her, and Wilson stopped halfway across the room to study her rich, seductive beauty. At thirty-seven, Vivien had complete confidence in her effect on the man world and with good reason. Her pride in herself reflected in her care of skin and weight and muscle tone. Lying across the gold-satin spread, she was the eternal seductress, pretending sleep while her body proclaimed it was wide awake, ready for everything. A slight fleshiness showed at the rounding of her hips and he smiled at the way she had positioned herself to conceal the evidence. Her breasts gave the only other clue to her maturity. Vivien had complained bitterly that they were beginning to sag, but to Wilson their rich fullness was as intoxicating as ever.
like mother, like daughter. He stared at the exciting tautness of her nipples and remembered the state of Julia's pointed breasts when she had returned from the pool. There was no more time for looking. He crept across the satin and bent to her forehead to press a kiss to the fringe of her hair. He paused, just as his lips touched her temple and stared at the red, bordering on blonde, along the slight part. Was there a hint of gray at the root? Could she possibly be rinsing the flame loveliness into her hair? He drove the thought from his mind. What difference? Her eyes remained closed when his hand crept to her thigh and stroked the gentle announcement of his hunger, but with a contented sigh, Vivien twisted to her back as he spread her legs to his invasion. A light tremor moved through her body when he crept between her thighs, then leaned across her front, one palm flattened at her side while the other guided his prick against her cleft. For an electrified second he strained, listening to the shortness of her breathing as she waited for his thrust. With her eyes closed and her face turned to the side, the profile was exactly like that of the girl who had come to his cabana. He admired her lovely throat, and the exquisitely carved line from her forehead to her nose and chin.
"Sherm!" Vivien hissed, her eyes opening suddenly. "Hurry! I need you."
He drove violently through her pussy tissue and buried himself fully in a gasping thrust that molded them together, mound to mound. For several seconds he clung tightly while she wormed her legs under his and closed a snug, cunty trap around his cock. He liked to think his phallus was too big for her to accommodate. The leg action and the use of clasping inner muscles always made him feel immense and rapish. Vivien seemed to like it that way herself. After a slow rocking rhythm for another moment, he began to piston slowly against the resisting flesh.
"Oohh, you shouldn't!" The cry spilled from her lips, but even as she protested, her body ground eagerly against his own, begging for the attack.
"Why?" he demanded hotly, pumping longer thrusts deep into the woman.
"It's not right. I'm a married woman ... and ... you ... you're making me..."
"You're right!" Wilson snarled. He liked the little ritual whenever he heard it from her and he often wondered if it was Vivien's way of pretending she had been forced into the extra-marital affair. This time, the reminder that she was married fired a wild fantasy even as he felt his orgasm building. The female beneath him suddenly changed from redhead to blonde, and instead of Vivien, he imagined he was making love to Julia. At that second his climax seized him and his ejaculation charged, the spunking frenzy driving Vivien over her own crest. For mad seconds they were locked in the happy spasm of orgasm, and he knew his demanding need was being fulfilled.
Then it was quiet in the room and the iron in her body began to soften. Gently he separated from her and rolled over to lie on his back. He felt her curl toward him, then her lips pressed against his shoulder.
"That was so good," she murmured. "Thank you."
It was always the same pattern, Wilson thought. Intense hunger ... flash of guilt ... then gratitude. He wondered how it would be with Julia.
As though the thought had kindled some extra-sensory communication, Vivien pushed to her elbow and leaned to look into his face. "I hear you had a visitor at the pool."
"She got home before you left, huh?"
She nodded. "Yes, and I'm not sure I like what I heard."
He cocked a quizzical eyebrow toward the woman and felt an uneasy twinge. He wondered, had the kid mentioned something she might have seen?
"About the hotel career business?" he demanded, turning to stretch to the bed table for a cigarette. "I think it's a great idea, if she's serious. Let her strike a blow for woman's liberation."
There was silence from his playmate and Wilson knew the flippancy was badly timed, and he asked, "So what's wrong with the girl giving it a try?"
"Nothing, I guess. But you know I wanted her at the girls' school to keep her out of this environment and not just to keep her from a drunken father. And, Sherm, you know how grateful I am." Her hand crept out to stroke him. "I won't forget who paid most of the cost of those three years."
"Worth it!" he grunted. He'd been well repaid those years, he reminded himself. The kid had been out from under foot and Vivien had been left with a husband who drank himself to impotency whenever he was off his waiter shift. It was a perfect combination of things to drive her to his arms.
"Times have changed, Viv," he said. "There's a place for her in this business, and after what she's seen, there's not much danger of her winding up with a drunken waiter for a husband."
"I don't worry about that," she replied. "It's this training period that bothers me. She was telling me that if I agree to her taking the job, she will start as a chambermaid."
"Right at the bottom," Wilson nodded. "She may as well learn to make beds with square corners, and to clean sinks."
"And toilet bowls," Vivien added wryly. "She's over talking to Kurt right now."
"She's a fast operator," chuckled Sherm. "You know that kid got to the manager before she said a word to either of us. Then she came and told me Kurt would take her on if I agreed."
"That's one man who worries me. Do you trust him?"
His hand covered her fingers. "Don't worry that pretty little head," he soothed. "She'll be all right." He tugged her fingers across his front to bring them to his ballooning cock and she groaned at the feel of the swelling flesh.
"S'matter?" he demanded.
"Not a thing," she moaned. "Except that you know I can't think when you're like that."
As they locked together in new frenzy, Vivien hurried her lover toward his climax. She wanted to hear his wild cries as the spunk-madness seized him. One fleeting cry had burst from his lips in the midst of his moans of sheer male happiness before. She was certain he had cried the name, Julia.
"Guh ... goin ... baby!" he cried, his humping becoming suddenly brutish.
"Do it, Sherm, do it!" The force of his passion caught and bound her in her own climax and she fought to hear his cries above the thunderous roaring which filled her head.
Abruptly the man was quiet, breathing heavily and disengaging from her body, leaving her with the uncertainty of what she had heard. She wondered as they lay side-by-side if by some freak chance this man who had been solely hers for more than five years was feeling the urge toward another woman. Her own daughter!
2
Kurt Reichard wore a look of managerial austerity as he walked the narrow corridor leading from his office to the front desk and the operations center of The Buccaneer. It was easy to spot the unhappy guest among the others at the long counter. The woman's finger was jabbing angrily at the little map of the resort grounds.
". . . and I won't stand for it, at twenty-eight dollars a day!" she snapped at the desk clerk as Reichard approached.
"We have a problem?" Kurt asked softly.
"Are you the manager?"
He nodded. "Yes, I am. How may I help you?"
"By getting me away from that noisy motor next to three-twenty, that's how!" she snorted. "I didn't come here to listen to that all night and I..."
"Of course you didn't," Kurt interrupted. He looked at the card rack of twenty-eight-dollar rooms.
"Not one left," murmured the clerk.
"Give our friends four-twenty-eight," Kurt said, pointing to the thirty-five-per-day rack. He smiled as he looked across the counter at the woman. "I think you'll be pleased here, madam, and thank you for telling us about the motor. Our central air system is under repairs and that unit next to your room is the faulty one. The Buccaneer is very sorry about your discomfort."
"Hhmmpph! ... Well, I should hope so, at these prices!"
"You'll be very comfortable, I'm sure." Kurt turned quickly to go back to his office. Over the plumpness of the stocky complainant's shoulder he had seen an approaching vision of loveliness: Julia was coming with her report of her meeting with
Sherman Wilson.
He hurried across his office to the picture window, which looked down on the flagstone walk below. She appeared to be totally unaware of her maddening sexuality as she hurried happily toward the side entrance of the administrative offices. The girl might be young and innocent and everything else that his first interview with her had suggested, but she seemed radiantly ready to be led from the prison of her adolescence. Kurt felt the grab at his groin as he stared at her superbly stacked figure. She would come through his door in less than a minute, and it was going to take some super restraint to hold back the hunger. He might just make his pitch right there.
Her micro-mini bounced lightly as she moved, and Kurt saw two male guests pass her, then do a U-turn to watch her retreating figure. Reichard was sure they never had seen a sleeker body. Her legs held his own attention at the moment. He gaped at the smooth rise of her thighs, the sleek taper of the calves. Again the tiny skirt bounced and the place where her thighs met was almost visible.
"Someday, very soon!" he promised himself as he turned to his desk to await her knock at his door.
Julia promised to be a needed challenge in a life that had grown dismal for Reichard. Every day he reminded himself that at thirty he should be one of the proudest of innkeepers in America. Emigrated from Germany six years before, he possessed the credentials of a thorough training on the continent. There, in any situation similar to The Buccaneer Inn and Resort, the manager was a true professional. Yet here in Myrtle Beach he was nothing but professional lackey.
The respect had been shot to hell with fake credit cards and non-appreciative tourists who stole silly things like ash trays from their rooms, and menial jobs that other staff members buck-passed to the manager. like the complaining guest the desk clerk should have handled without calling for his decision.
Five years ago The Buccaneer with its 500 rooms, with its three dining rooms, its convention center and pools and physical-therapy rooms, had seemed a challenge worthy of his training. Now Reichard was bored and trapped and wanted his freedom. It was on the day he was preparing his letter of resignation for Sherman Wilson that Julia Cochran came to his office to ask his help in her special project. The girl actually wanted a career as a lady innkeeper! Reichard fought an urge to laugh hysterically. And then, as he listened to her fierce earnestness and felt the total naivete of this incredibly lovely girl, the compulsion gripped him.
She could be the answer to his own imprisonment. He realized Julia herself was caught in the trap of hoked-up principles that a frustrated world had shoved on her as right and wrong. What a chance! Break her out of that prison and show her what living is all about!
"Come in!" he called as she knocked at the door.
"He said YES!" squealed Julia, dancing excitedly across the room to stand in front of Kurt's desk. "I can start Monday and I'll be in housekeeping at first."
Kurt's face fell. "A chambermaid? Did you tell Mister Wilson I suggested the front desk?"
Julia giggled. "I think he thought I was too big for my britches. Anyway, I'm excited and he said you'll be a fine one to teach me the business."
The lecherous old son-of-a-bitch! thought Reichard. He knew of Wilson's playmate and it had occurred to Kurt that Vivien might stand in the way of her employment. Now he felt a new suspicion that Sherman Wilson might already have hot nuts for his mistress' daughter.
"Well, that's fine," he said aloud. "At least you're starting. Did you find Mister Wilson at the pool?"
Her blonde hair bounced as she nodded. "I think I shocked him, walking right into his cabana without an appointment-and wearing that gold bikipi."
"It was exactly right, I'm sure," Kurt reassured her, rising and circling the desk. "Julia, I'm pleased-and I'm displeased for you at the same time."
"Why could you be displeased?" She turned to face him and his hands clasped her waist paternally.
"You're getting into an earthy, rough business. You're going to meet some strange sorts of people and you're going to be on your own. You may even find me very strange sometimes."
"But you're very busy, and you have a right to be strange sometimes. Anyway, I owe you so much already for helping me." Julia stepped close and impulsively threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug of gratitude. The contact of their bodies caught the man completely off guard. In the few minutes she had been in his presence, his penis had stretched and stiffened in a throbbing bar of steel tenting against his pants. Now she was against him and the concealment of his jacket did no good. Her lush form was momentarily cemented and there was no concealing the evidence as he felt the pressure flatten his outspoken hard-on in a painful diagonal across his gut.
Some fantastic urge ripped his self-control as he felt the electricity of her contact. Without saying a word, he tightened his hands at her hips and dragged her even more tightly against the fiercely swollen barrel of his stony prick. He felt her eyes suddenly wide and frightened, stare into his, but for the moment he was beyond caring. She was the first female he had wanted to touch in months. The transient-brand broads who flipped for his muscled body when he appeared around the pool or in the massage rooms bored him hopelessly. None of the staff of more than two hundred ... none of the guests ... no one till this almost unbelievably beautiful child-woman.
"Please!" Her plea was very low and tremulous and she squirmed against the monumental hardness which ground across the front of her skirt.
"One minute!" he barked. "Do you know what you're feeling?"
The moisture at the corner of her eye became a tear moving slowly down her cheek. She nodded. "I do," she whispered, wishing he would squeeze her even tighter and scolding herself for the wish.
"I want you to tell me the truth, Julia Cochran. Have you ever felt a man like this before?"
"No." She leaned toward him, easing her body tension as she shook her head.
"Trust me?"
She nodded.
"I said this is an earthy business. If you start as a chambermaid, you're going to meet types you wouldn't dream existed. And some of them are going to try to misbehave with this."
She shuddered against him.
"Does it frighten you?" he asked.
Julia's thoughts tumbled helter-skelter. Stern, moralistic teachings of the sisters and blunt warnings of her mother flooded her mind and were immediately overridden by the blunter demands of her love-starved body. An incredible need whipped her as she struggled for the right answer to his question about fear.
She was terrified! That gigantic length grinding against her belly was like nothing she had imagined. One of the wilder set at St. Mary's had told her a big man might be eight inches when he was aroused. Kurt Reichard must have something wildly abnormal in his male equipment!
Something whispered inside Julia that it would-likely be the only time she would be near the man like this, busy and self-controlled as he normally was, and she could hurt his feelings if she ran like a terrified doe.
"I don't want to be frightened," she whispered. "I guess I am, though."
"No need to be." She felt one of his hands slip from her hip and creep between their bodies. His fingers were working at the zipper of his pants! Her heart raced furiously. Burrowing her face under his chin, she squeezed her eyes shut. She was certain he was doing what he thought best for her, but it was terribly wrong of him.
"D ... don't!" she protested, hearing the whisper of the zipper and feeling his fingers move down as he opened his pants.
"Hold very tight and don't be afraid of me," he commanded in a firm but gentle voice. "I'm not going to do what you're thinking, but I want you to know something about men."
She felt the heat and the massive hardness at the same instant as Reichard dragged the hungry cock from the confines of his pants. Deftly he flipped the lower edge of her mini-skirt and let the turbulent shaft soar and thump against the scant cover of her panties. It felt so huge and alive and ... and so very hot against her tummy. In spite of herself, Julia opened her eyes to try to see what was happening. He backed slightly from their contact and she felt his hand drive between them again, seize the organ and pull it from under her skirt.
"See!" he hissed. "Look at it!"
Her head tilted as she obeyed, and then gasped.
She stared at the thick, glistening crown of the cock as Reichard gripped himself and aimed the weapon at her face. She gawked at the monstrous, dark-chestnut rod and a droplet crept into sight through what appeared a winking eye at the very center.
"Hold it!" he commanded again, seizing her hand and guiding it to the barrel. "Ohhh ... please, Mister Reichard."
"DO IT!" he thundered.
The instant her fingers closed around the shaft and she felt the frantic hardness of the bone inside and the baby-like softness of the outer layer of skin, Julia was sure she was going to faint. It's so totally grotesque, yet beautiful. He stepped back as she held him and the action made the phallus shift straight out from his front and she had full view of the total hard-on. The man had a monster attached to his body! Gorgeous, luscious, edible monster!
She had the overwhelming urge to drop on her knees before this miracle and take it into her mouth. Suck and chew and eat the man alive. Lust and guilt flailed her simultaneously and she felt her head go light and her vision blurred.
"Julia, you all right? Julia!" cried a distant voice. Slowly, focus returned and she looked up into Kurt Reichard's agonized face. "Thank heavens!" he cried.
"Wh ... what happened?" she asked, her fingers finding the edge of a couch.
"You passed out-and I'm damned sorry. I'm completely responsible, and I'm a jackass."
She lay quietly for a few minutes then sat up quickly as she remembered the seconds before she fainted. "I'm all right now," she said. Then she looked directly into his eyes. "But I'm such a baby!"
"You're no baby. Don't you remember a thing?
I thought I saw you start to come to once."
Julia shivered and stood up. "All I remember is holding your ... your ... and then my head was spinning ... and then nothing. Please, may I go now?"
He grabbed her elbow to steady her. "Tell me the truth. Are you angry?"
There was a pause and she turned away from him toward the door as she spoke. "I'm not angry, Mister Reichard. You were showing me something you thought I should know about. I ... I. . . ohhh!" She dashed for the door and hurried from the room.
"Reichard, you dumb shit head!" he muttered as he stood near the window drape watching her walk down the flagstone. Her step was much less confident than that of the Julia he had watched approach his office. He grimaced and slammed his fist into his palm at the way the unplanned caper had come off. It had been close and he had acted like a damned sex maniac. The gal had really got to him.
He wondered if Julia had been truly unconscious those fifteen minutes? Or had she lied to put him at ease with his afterthoughts? She couldn't have been really out that long! Now his behavior bugged him. He had really gone bananas at the sight of her stretched out before him like that. He'd flipped out of his skull from the minute he felt her body press against his cock. Right then and there he was committed to a conquest that till now he hadn't been sure was for him. Now he knew. She had driven him to the point of tossing all reason to the winds and taking it any way he could. Lord, it had been close!
Kurt stared at his desk, then bent to pick up the application form which had Julia's picture in the upper left corner. He studied her face absent-mindedly for a moment, then, shaking his head, opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
"Sweet Julia," he sighed as he dropped the photo and employment form into his private file. I want you wide awake when we make it, little girl! You don't even know what you almost got. Or do you?
Julia did. Her heart pounded furiously all the way back to her parents' apartment, and without acknowledging her father's drunken "halloo" from the kitchen, she ran directly to her bedroom. There, sprawled on her side on top of the bed, arms hugged across her middle, she relived that wonderful/awful trauma on the floor of Reichard's office. She hadn't been out for more than a few seconds, but as her consciousness returned, just as the room came back into focus, her eyes barely opened, she had seen IT.
IT was attached to Kurt Reichard, but that made no difference. The great quivering, iron flesh he'd made her hold was soaring directly above her and its owner was standing spread-legged directly across her hips, gaping at the place where her thighs met. He spoke and his words told her Reichard had completely lost control of himself.
"Spread 'em, baby!" she could still hear his choking rasp. "You've gotta start living!"
What followed was something Julia never would have believed possible in such a soft-spoken, well-organized man as the manager of The Buccaneer. Not in Reichard, or in any man. So indecent! So immoral! Such a disgusting-but gorgeous-thing to do to an unconscious woman! She shuddered involuntarily. She hadn't been entirely unconscious. She could have opened her pretty brown eyes and screamed her head off if she had wanted to.
But the state he had been in! He'd been unaccountable for himself. Panting, gagging, dropping to his knees and straddling her ankles. Kissing along her calves and across her knees, then straight up along the line where her thighs pressed together. . . straight to the hem of her skirt and ... oh, the boldness of the animal! She could still feel his mountainous shaft banging her legs as he crawled forward. Her skirt had been lifted from her legs and thrown upward. Such a terribly helpless position he had put her in. Then he was kissing again and his lips were at the very edge of her panties. She heard him moan and all at once she felt a stiff prong stabbing against the panties, low on her mound-as far as he could reach with her legs pressed together that way. It had-been a bestial, but beautiful, shock to realize suddenly that the prong was his tongue. Reichard was trying to kiss her cleft!
Oh, the awful dorm words that flooded back! But what else to describe it? The man was trying to reach her most secret place. Whatever the millions of "no-no's!" ever said about other sex things, they would certainly condemn a man trying to put his lips to a girl's cunt. But now as she lay on her bed, Julia knew she would always remember the sweet hunger of that man's tongue.
It was what he did next that was too much. She should have stopped him. He was straddling her thighs in frustration and she could feel the smoothness of his pants against her skin.
"Look at that!" He barked the words at the second he shoved his penis hard against the valley of her thighs. He trapped himself there, then leaned back till she felt that hot muscle snap loose. "Crazy!" he snarled, doing it again and again. It was an unbelievable feeling to lie there and have that flesh tower pressed in and out of her legs. She wondered if it would satisfy him.
Her next sensation was almost the last her self-control could stand. His hands were at the upper edge of her panties and he dragged downward quickly, and very sure of himself. It was all she could do to keep her eyes squeezed shut. She knew she should scream. Years of honor and lady-like purity were at the edge of the cliff. But she simply
"Sweet Julia!" he panted. "I. . . oh God, I want it!" He was kneeling his way forward and she felt the tickle of her panties at her knees. She was absolutely sure he was going to spread her legs and do that awful thing and she was too completely paralyzed to fight him. Surely she would have tried to fight the monster if she could! But a hot, spreading knob was jabbing right at the very base of her mound. He WAS going to ... tooo...! NO! Thank God, he missed the opening. Then he was thrusting, driving, humping and his cock was rubbing wild friction against her cunt lips and the inner muscles of her thighs as he ramrodded himself downward. He was pretending-making believe he was having intercourse. But the make-believe was sending crazy lightning bolts through her body, filling her empty love tunnel with sensations she never had imagined came with being female. Her head was light, and even with her eyes closed, everything seemed to be swimming.
His gasping turned quickly to short, ragged breathing then abruptly to wild little cries of happiness. Simultaneously his body seemed to go totally rigid and then that wonder of wonder! Warm, explosive bolts of frenzied cum shot out of control against her clasping thigh muscles and she knew at once what had happened. Kurt Reichard had reached orgasm and was ejaculating everything he had wanted to put up her body, but outside where it couldn't harm. Such a man! He could have raped her! Julia knew she never would have had the strength to resist such a powerful man.
And now on her bed and alone, the truth began to needle her conscience. She had the strength-if she had wanted to, she could have clamped her thighs and locked her ankles and he never would have been able to pretend.
You're a hypocrite, Julia! she accused the emptiness of her bedroom. You liked it, but it was wrong!
Even as she lectured herself, her fingers drifted to the tender tissue at her cunt gates. The friction of that horny shaft grinding back and forth had sensitized every nerve in her lower body. She toyed with the soft flesh and then her fingers drifted further. The clitty muscle was as turgid as Reichard's own penis and she strummed it as she murmured over and over the name he'd cried when he exposed her love center..."Julia! ... Julia!"
Her teasing strokes intensified as she remembered that other man. Sherman Wilson, too, had nearly lost all his control when she was with him at the pool. He had been masturbating himself when she looked down from the high board.
Two males like that in one day! More near-disasters in a few short hours than in all the eighteen years she had lived before. What awful power a man has! All the teachings, even from her mother, warned it was sin-power. There must be special strength for her somewhere.
"Help me!" she begged the silent room as her finger-play quickened. A carefree feeling swept through her body as the orgasm warnings tingled. Her wrist pressed hard against her thighs and it felt something the way Kurt's phallus had felt grinding on her outside. Then rapture flooded her body and a helpless little cry of ecstasy spilled from her lips.
She lay unmoving for long moments after her climax had faded. So much felt right about the glorious emotion that had grabbed and possessed her for heavenly seconds.
I mustn't! She moaned into her pillow. Mustn't!
3
Julia was in her third week as chambermaid for the honeymoon lodges when it happened. The choice of her work area had been partly Kurt Reichard's and partly her mother's. Kurt, because he knew the secluded cottages where newlyweds were assigned were vibrantly sexual places in an already sexy resort. Good cultivation for his next assault on Julia.
Vivien Cochran was quick to agree that the honeymoon corner was the place for her daughter to start work, but her reasons were at the opposite pole. In the cottages, there was little danger for the innocent Julia. Horny males were all around, but every one of them was in a sweet daze for his bride. If they even saw Julia, their interest would have to be academic.
Neither Vivien nor Kurt counted on the strange couple in Elm Lodge who had been watching the first-of-the-morning routine of a most unusual chambermaid.
"She's the perfect one to ask," exulted Ron Alexander to his bride, Beverly. He inventoried the torrid blonde in the green uniform who was pushing the housekeeping cart past their porch, then whistled under his breath.
"Perfect for what?" asked Bev from the bed as she watched the stretching phallus give away the man's thoughts.
"Aw ... you know, Bev! It would be fun, and I think she'd love to do it for us. A guy can tell by lookin' at a girl."
Bev shifted to an elbow and stared at Ron, who had pressed back against the drape as Julia passed the window. Her bridegroom had crammed his hyperactive organ straight to the firewall of her cunt less than five minutes before, and already it was crawling to attention again. She was willing to bet it was the torrid build of the chambermaid that had turned him on.
"So tell me, Ron," she taunted. "What can a guy tell?"
"Whether a girl is gettin' any. like that one." He peered at Julia's posterior as she moved along the path outside the cottage, pushing the squeaking cart. Bev dashed to the side of her husband of six days and looked at the retreating figure of the blonde.
"See that fanny-wiggle?" he demanded. "That's your clue. She's getting laid plenty every day. Probably climbs in with any guest she finds in bed."
Bev saw his open-mouthed staring and fought to control the sarcasm she felt. "Come on, dreamer," she cooed, reaching around his hip for the now totally erected stem. "You've watched her three mornings in a row. Recess time is over!"
"Naw ... now wait, Bev!" Ron's voice sharpened. "Go along with me, will you? You know I want some pictures."
She shrugged, sank to a chair by the window, and began picking bobby pins from her hair. A suddenly self-conscious bridegroom strode to the bathroom, grabbed a towel and moved back toward Beverly, knotting the towel as he approached. She watched him as she loosened long lengths of her brunette hair and giggled at his modesty.
"You still stick out a mile!" she teased, swatting at the dark-purplish crown which poked out from under the white folds.
"I'm going to hang the sign," he blurted, moving to the paneled living room and going straight to the front door. He lifted the plastic card from the inside door knob. MAID, PLEASE HAVE THIS
LODGE MADE UP AT ONCE, it read. He opened the door cautiously and slipped the card onto the outside knob.
"She'll be back in fifteen," he chortled as he prowled into the closet for the Polaroid. "You watch; she always does the bird watchers next door, then backtracks."
"I don't have to watch," sniffed Beverly irritatedly. "You've been doing enough for both of us. Did your 'ex' like action pictures?"
"Aw, c'mon, Bev! That's enough. You already said I was a nut, so relax and enjoy it."
Running a comb through her hair, thrice-married Beverly strolled lazily across the living room to the kitchenette. "Coffee, Lover-Boy?" she called. The idea was beginning to appeal to her.
"Hey, there isn't time!" Ron yelped from his position at the bedroom window. "She'll be here in minutes."
"I have to have my coffee if I'm to perform for the public," Bev said as she measured a teaspoonful of the instant.
In Spruce Lodge, next door, Julia was pulling the sheets from the massive bed which was a honeymooner special at The Buccaneer. As she lifted the bottom sheet away from the mattress, she saw the circle at the center. There was no way she had found to fight the compulsion and for a moment she stood stroking the dampness, imagining the action that had taken place directly over that sperm spotting. She had seen the two who lived in Spruce. A tall, thin man and an almost equally tall bride. Not a very attractive pair, but what they did in this bed must be frantically attractive to both of them. The cum stains were there every morning.
Just then she saw the little marking of red at the side of the sheet, and thought, how awful for them! The girl must have begun her monthly. Julia folded the sheets into a bundle, collected the towels from the bathroom and stepped to the porch to throw the linen into her cart basket. She was still pondering the possibility of love during the menstrual phase when she saw the card fluttering on the door knob of Elm Lodge.
"Funny," she mused, "It wasn't there five minutes ago." She wondered which side was out, the DO NOT DISTURB, or the call for maid service. It was a fun game to guess what the door signs would say as she made her way along the path each morning. The two in Elm would want her to stay away, she was sure. They were almost always in bed till noon and doing very little sleeping. Twice in the past four days she had heard the violent bouncing of the bedsprings just as she passed the partially opened window. It was the only cottage she ever passed where sex sounds were unmistakable.
Julia had almost gone back to Kurt Reichard to plead for another part of the resort for her chambermaid duties when she first began working the honeymooner corner. The place was distracting, with its couples strolling and openly caressing. The smell in the rooms was still alive with the passions of the occupants. At least once each day the total impact of the sexuality all around her forced Julia to find an empty bedroom and finger herself to hurried orgasm.
"Unsatisfactory" was the only word for how her self-play made her feel in such an environment. All around her were twosomes going wild with each other's bodies and she was so completely ignored she might just as well be invisible. She would be that way herself when her honeymoon time came, she realized, but it helped very little. The knowledge of how she had excited Reichard and even old Mr. Wilson kept recurring. What a blast it would be to line up every male in the twenty newlywed cottages and see what she could do with them.
A vivid fantasy flared before her eyes and she saw twenty naked males standing in a line in the green that formed the center court of the half-moon-shaped colony of white, frame cottages. An angry group of deserted brides huddled together and screeched at their grooms, who were all transfixed by the chambermaid. Julia was pushing her cleaning cart before her as she moved along in front of the men. A maid's cap of Kelly green was perched at the top of her upswept blonde hair and except for the spiked heels, she was totally nude.
Her imagination ran from one madness to another as she entertained the men. Some days as she made her cleaning rounds she would mentally masturbate each man. Other days she would invite them all to do whatever they wanted to with her ... and always, when the wish dream was over, Julia was ashamed.
"Better go read the sign," she murmured to herself as she pulled the Sprude Lodge door behind her. It really would be stupid to ask Reichard to shift her station, she reasoned as she paused at the turn-off to Elm. He'd just get all upset that what he'd done to her there in his office was giving her a bad backlash, and that wasn't the kind of thought she wanted Kurt Reichard to have-if he ever thought of her after that day.
She stepped into the semi-darkened living room, wondering what had happened to get the usually late risers out this morning. For several minutes she collected ash trays and emptied them into the kitchenette basket, then walked from window to window in the room, pulling open the drapes.
The crumpled pile of pillows in the center of the room puzzled her for a minute. It must have something to do with the sex act, she was certain. But who would be on top and who on the bottom?
"Fun!" she giggled aloud as she scooped the pillows from the floor to return them to the davenport.
"Come and have some coffee," called the soft voice from the bedroom doorway. Horror-stricken, Julia turned to stare at Ronald Alexander.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she burst out as she stumbled to her feet. "The sign ... it said maid service ... I thought ... "
"You thought we wanted maid service-and we do," laughed Ron, stepping into the living room and cinching the bathrobe belt at his waist as he moved to the kitchenette.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Julia asked, suddenly relieved. The man looked altogether domestic in his plaid robe.
"You can come meet my wife, first," he said, stepping from behind the little breakfast bar and catching her arm to steer her toward the bedroom.
Till she was ushered into the darkened room, Julia was too startled to reply. She couldn't imagine what possible reason this man-whose manner announced him older than most bridegrooms-would have for introducing her to his wife.
"Meet Beverly!" Ron proclaimed, flicking the light switch at the door, and peering at the name tag on her uniform.
Soft, rose-tinted light shone across the body of the succulent nude stretched and waiting on the sheets. Beverly was staring at the ceiling, apparently unwilling to look at the new arrival.
"We need your help," Ron said quickly, stepped to block the doorway when he saw her turn to leave.
"I ... I must go," Julia replied in a stunned half-whisper. It was a situation that made absolutely no sense to her. Why would a man parade a maid into the presence of his naked wife?
"I'm afraid you can't go for a few minutes," she heard him saying. "See, we want you to take a few pictures for us that we can't for ourselves."
He grabbed the Polaroid from the dresser top and approached her, and for the first time Julia was aware that his robe was jutting and twitching at his middle. All at once the kind of pictures he wanted penetrated her numbed thoughts.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, pushing past the man in a panicky urge to get away. "It's against the rules for an employee to be in a room with guests like this."
"Hold it, little Miss-Uppity!" called the woman in the bed just as Julia reached the living room. "Isn't it also against the rules for an employee to remove a guest's property?"
Julia froze in mid-stride and spun to march back to the bedroom. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
"Call the manager, Ronald," Beverly ordered. "My purse is missing and there has been no one in this room but this chambermaid."
Ron moved toward the phone and Julia glared angrily. "Go ahead and call him. You know it's a lie."
"I hope he'll know it when we show him my compact that we found in your cleaning wagon," Beverly replied.
Julia looked from husband to wife and then stared down at the floor. "What do you want me to take?" she asked quietly, her emotions suddenly calmed.
Why not? the tiny voice inside her head said. It's nothing. They're married, and that makes it different. Do what they want and get it over with.
Ron hurried to lock the front door when he saw her surrender. Now, still clad in his robe, he stepped behind her and, while Beverly watched, he fingered under Julia's hair for the zipper to her uniform. "First thing we want you to do is to take off your clothes and be as bare as we are. It'll help us get in the mood."
"No!" Julia almost shrieked the protest as she spun away from the prosling fingers. "I..."
"Go call the manager, Ron," snapped Beverly. "She's impossible."
Not until she heard the man ask the switchboard for the manager's office did Julia relent. "Wait!" she begged. "I'll do it!"
There was no escape, she told herself as she shrugged the uniform from her shoulders. Even a hint that she had been suspected as a thief would stain the perfect record she needed to advance her career.
"Everything!" Ron demanded, when, still clad in bra and panties, she turned to the dresser for the camera.
"All right!" She spat the words as she popped the snaps and let the bra tumble to her feet. "Does that help you get in the mood?" She bent to peel her panties, and when she straightened, her unwanted host had removed his bathrobe and was waiting with the camera.
Julia's fingers flew involuntarily to her mouth at the sight of his booming erection. She saw he was so excited at showing himself that his shaft appeared to be leaping from its attachment to his groin. She felt the initial outrage begin to melt inside her, and in its place a terrible curiosity was building. It was all against her will, she rationalized. She had been trapped, so why shouldn't she make the best of the bad situation?
Ron beckoned her to his side and angled the camera to show her how to take the pictures. "Now, come over here," he instructed, handing her the camera and taking her hand to lead her.
"Anything goes, sweetie," whispered the female, impatiently writhing in the middle of the bed. "Anything except my man putting himself in the wrong body while we're doing this."
Julia noticed that the dark-haired woman, whom she guessed to be about her mother's age, hadn't taken her eyes from her, once the uniform came off. Now her arms were extended as she arched against the mattress and to Julia's astonishment, Beverly's hands were reaching toward her.
"Come on!" she urged, "Let's us two get Ronnie ready."
"Oh ... I ... I don't know..." Her protest was broken in the middle by a sudden shove from behind that spilled her face down on the bed. The camera disappeared from her hand as if by magic and she felt a fist clamp across her wrist and drag her arm behind her back.
"You two can wrestle!" shrieked Ron. "That'll get the troops hot and bothered."
His wife needed no encouragement. With a happy squeal, she sprang across Julia's back. It was no-contest. Julia's shock and Beverly's karate knowledge made it a short contest till the brunette hovered victoriously above her, helplessly spread on her back. There was a moment of trembling silence in which only the labored breathing of the girls and the sound of a clicking shutter could be heard. Julia stared wide-eyed into the face that looked down into hers and wondered what could possibly happen to her after this.
Ever so slowly the exquisitely supple figure of her conqueror was lowered and Julia felt the shock of breasts brushing her breasts. The victor's hardened nipples teased her flesh. Then, cooing softly as she moved, Beverly rotated her shoulders and hips to brush closer and closer till her boobs were molded snugly against Julia's.
"Yeah!" breathed the obviously delighted male.
There was another snap of the camera shutter.
A storm raged inside her. They were using her for everything they wanted. But the thing this female was doing-why couldn't she fight it? Very deliberately, Beverly lowered herself, writhing in rhythmic torture of Julia's body till their torsos were cemented in restless glue, breasts and hips and love mounds grinding eagerly.
"Puh ... please!" gasped Julia as she felt the terrifying tug to let herself go in a totally new exploration. "Duh ... don't!"
"Let yourself go, sweet child," whispered the voice in her ear. "I won't hurt you."
An entranced husband watched as Bev shifted her body, and, inch by fraction of an inch, began kissing a path toward Julia's animated breasts. It was the most compelling tenderness she ever had known, and in spite of the way they had tricked her, she was almost glad now that it had come to this.
"You give yourself away," cooed Beverly as she hovered above a taut and pointing nipple. "You want it, and you can't help yourself!"
"Nooo!" Julia moaned as sucking lips closed around her agonized nipple. Her head was swimming again the way it did when she first felt Kurt Reichard. As though she sensed too great a passion in her prisoner, Bev moved briefly to the other breast, nibbled and tongued it a moment, then began to trace with her lips toward Julia's navel.
There was an almost inhuman boldness to the next exploration. Fingers slipped quickly along the line from Julia's hip to her groin and brazenly slid across the mound to prowl along the slit.
"Get this, Ronnie dearest," hissed Bev as she twisted in a contorting turn that brought her lips to the exposed blonde triangle. As the woman's mouth pressed hungrily to her quim crack, Julia's tumbling, frightened thoughts flew to the last time she had known lips at her most secret place. The vivid memory of Kurt Reichard's desperate need stabbed at her as she looked down the front of her body and saw dark, shimmering hair burrowing deep between her thighs.
Briefly a fevered face appeared above the rise of her mound.
"Ummm! She's all honey and butter," murmured the seductress. "Eat your heart out, Ronnie Baby!"
It was the mocking manner of the woman that shattered the near-hypnotic trance which had gripped Julia's whole being. For minutes she had felt herself drawn irresistibly to the love of another female. Now it had to be stopped-had to be, or it might never stop. With an unexpected wildness, Julia twisted and wrenched her legs free of the clasping arms. Before Bev could grab again, Julia was on her knees and rolling in a frenzied somersault that took her over the side of the bed.
Almost before the other two could move, she was on her feet and advancing on the astonished male. "Give me that camera and tell me when you're ready!" she stormed, grabbing for the Polaroid and staying out of range of Beverly.
Moments later she was caught up in an enchanted new spell. There before her on the bed, she was watching a man invest a woman with his cock. She was obviously entranced with the action, and as though to bedevil his audience, he nudged tiny, teasing thrusts against Beverly's quim lips.
"Take me, bastard!" hissed the frustrated female, urging her buttocks to force him to plunge.
Ron drove his cock to the hilt and then, with a sadistic smile playing at his lips, he withdrew himself almost completely. Julia watched the sopping, glistening shaft come fully into view and when the great, gleaming cap popped from its love prison, she couldn't suppress an audible gasp.
"Pictures!" hissed the man.
For half-an-hour the play went on, and the more possessed the tangled bundle of coital crazed exhibitionists became, the more Julia felt herself losing control. It was far more than her wildest dreams had dared hope. Wrong and animalistic and everything else it might be to think it, she found herself wishing the bludgeon prick that was stuffing another female might suddenly whip from Beverly's body and charge into hers.
"Ahhh ... oh, baby, I gotta.. '. ! " Ron straightened and stiff-arming his palms on either side of his bride, he humped the opening barrage of his orgasm into the convulsing cunt.
"Looky there! Looky there!" he screamed suddenly at Julia, ejecting abruptly and arching far back to give her a full view of his spurting cock.
"Feel a man, kid!" he rasped, lunging for her hand, which covered the astonished ovaling of her lips. Before she could snatch her fingers away, he had dragged them toward his discharging penis to force her to clasp him.
"Frig it, sweetheart!" he shrilled at Julia, pumping himself with the other hand.
"No, no!" Julia was nearly overwhelmed by the magnetism of the first ejaculation she had ever seen. Even as she screamed the protest, the sight of the spraying cannonade of a man's cum made her want to dive at the exploding tower of beauty. Just as she tore her fingers from his grip, the hand holding the Polaroid tightened on the camera. In the midst of a roaring crescendo in her head, she heard the incongruous sound of a shutter clicking.
"Picture!" yelped the man, folding across his bride's body and snuggling quickly.
"She took our picture," he murmured, suddenly chastened at the exclamation of disgust from Beverly. Then he was silent and molded tightly to her body, grinding to refresh his softened organ. For the moment, Julia was ignored, and knowing it might be her last chance to escape-knowing, too, that if either of them should call her to stop she would never find the will power to leave-she dashed for her clothing and ran from the room, clutching shoes and uniform and still holding the camera. The two on the bed made no sign they had heard her run to the living room as she hurried into her clothing and, stuffing her maid's cap into her pocket, started for the front door.
The picture! she suddenly remembered. She darted to the breakfast bar and ripped the square from the camera and peeled the dark cover. For a tingling second she gaped at the sight she had caught in the lens. An obviously possessed brunette was arched from the sheet, breasts soaring, body straining in orgasm. Boldly mounted on the woman, gripping a spraying hard-on, was the grinning husband, showing everything he had to the photographer. And there was more. Her own hand was barely an inch away from that dark-acorn cock crown when the picture was taken. She had just pulled away from Ron's hold, but only her hand was visible and the fingers seemed to be reaching to cover the fountain of semen.
"Hey!" came a yelp from the bedroom.
Julia raced to the front door, clutching the picture and hoping she hadn't broken the camera when she slammed it to the counter top in her rush for safety.
It was late that night and she lay in her bedroom, fingering gently along the tender crease of her cunt. She held the picture to the light from her table lamp and again studied the drama she had captured. Both the male and the female disturbed her terribly as she looked at their action. She remembered those lips at her breasts and she felt the kisses moving gently down her front as that woman had tortured her body, coming at last to the place she was fondling now.
She recalled the strange, frantic feeling of helplessness and the surge of wanting she felt when the female had burrowed urgently between her legs. Why hadn't she let her go all the way? What was the harm, since she had been forced into the action?
And that man! What a sight to watch him piston his proud rail back and forth! What horrible, egotistic selfishness he had to rip that love muscle from his wife's body and wave it in front of the camera! The camera? For you, dear Julia, that's who he flagged it for. You ran just in time, little dumbbell!
What had happened with one strange couple could happen with another and another, she knew. Anyone could lure her to the cottage with that sign on the door and then she would be forced to do whatever her captors wanted. That was the frightening part. She flung the picture to the floor and burrowed her face under her pillow.
She shuddered at the way she had almost given in to the Lesbian advances ... how she had hoped for the man to leap from his wife and plow his hungry cock into her body. Hers! There was no telling how far she would let herself go, if she should ever be trapped again in one of those bedrooms. That was the clue-she should get away from the rooms into something public and protected.
Sleep came finally in the wee hours of morning, but not before she had formulated a plan of action. She would visit Sherman Wilson the next day, wherever she could find him, and ask for a transfer to a new phase in the training. Perhaps, since he had assigned her to the chambermaid role, he would decide that a month was long enough a time to be at the bottom of the totem pole.
4
Vivien Cochran woke with an uneasy premonition. It was Monday, and usually she felt a certain light-hearted buoyancy at the first of the week. Her duties as supervisor of linen supplies were nightmarish over weekends. The Buccaneer always was 100 per cent capacity in guests, and the housekeeping staff was always at half strength. Mondays always brought the calm after the storm-catch-up days on everything, especially on her sex life.
She rarely saw Sherman Wilson from their rendezvous Friday afternoons until their Monday meetings and the sixty-year-old was something else on Mondays. He claimed that his sexless weekends built an inner storm that took at least four full and explosive orgasms to calm.
Vivien sighed as she slid from her bed. He was such a virile male it was hard to believe he would have no woman over weekends. In the round of entertaining at his pool-side cabana and his beach-side apartment he had to have unlimited opportunities. Still, the man was so specially potent on Monday he could be telling the truth, she reasoned as she reached for her robe.
As she passed her husband's door, Vivien paused and listened, feeling there was no need normally to do more than just listen. His heavy snore would announce that all was per usual with Bart. She waited-not a sound. For a moment she stood staring at the closed door, wondering if this was what her strange foreboding was about.
Bart's drinking habits were precise: six nights stoned in his own home and the seventh, Sunday, he did his drinking out of their apartment. It was controlled drunkenness to a point. He worked luncheon and dinner shifts as a room waiter, and in the eighteen years of "serious drinking," as he described it, he prided himself in never being under the influence during working hours.
Monday was his day off, and promptly at ten on Sunday evening the man was off for Myrtle Beach gin mills and eight hours with vodka and quinine, a drink that gave him no residual bad breath when serving food.
The man must have had an accident, thought Vivien, knowing as she speculated why it made so little difference to her. Bart had smashed all love from her when he started the drinking during her pregnancy with Julia. Immediately after her return from the hospital with their baby, Bart had vacated Vivien's bed. The infant cries for milk in the middle of the night sent him up a wall, he complained, and by the time inimagine was gone, the separate bedrooms and Bart's vodka program were well established.
She opened the door to a room she rarely entered, paused at the threshold and called softly, "Bart, are you in there?"
An inarticulate grunt answered her, and she was instantly sorry she had turned the door handle. A face-to-face reminder of her special cross in life was more than she needed at eight-thirty on a Monday morning.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, reaching quickly to draw the door closed and make her escape.
"C'mere! Got somethin' you'll be glad to see!"
Vivien looked across the disordered bedroom at the clutter of clothing on the floor and the rocker. There was no sign of an empty bottle. Bart was always tidy with his empties.
"Goddamnit, woman, come in! Meet our little girl's friends."
She stepped into the bedroom and approached the man sitting naked at the side of his bed. She immediately noticed the two improbables in her husband-he was nearly sober, and he was aroused. She hesitated at the sight of his erection. Periodically, Bart would go horny-hot for her and for all her contempt for the man, Vivien rarely resisted his occasional need of her body. Not a wifely duty or the way to avoid a beating from Bart, though she rationalized it that way to Sherman Wilson when he demanded to know. But, inside, Vivien knew it was something altogether different. She simply enjoyed the peculiarity of his organ. Bart boasted an undistinguished length but a magnificence to his barrel. He was three inches across at mid shaft.
"Here!" Bart waved the picture at her. "Come see yer l'il Judy's playmates!"
His sudden thickened tongue told her he was as drunk as ever, but for some reason was shocked to momentary half-sobriety. The bloodshot eyes which watched her face as she took the photo were frightened and leering at the same instant.
"There'sh a man, Viwy!" Bart toppled to his side on his bed. "Found 'im in Juicy's room. Thassher hand right there. See the ring? Jooshy Julie!"
Vivien stared in disbelief at the Polaroid snapshot and immediately recognized the school ring. Even without it, she would have known her daughter's hand. And those wild animals she was with!
The picture of the naked and rapture-torn couple spunking in separate ecstasies in the middle of the bed aroused her. The voluptuous female arched and straining beneath the man was, by her expression and by her body tension, obviously in orgasm. The slim male gripped his discharging prick and mugged shamelessly for the camera as Julia reached for him.
"You found this in Julia's room?"
"Be'cher sweet ass I did!"
A surging horror swept Vivien as she studied the photo and felt the implications. Everything she had pushed and struggled for in her daughter was toppling. A sudden hatred for Bart seethed in her.
"And what were you doing in her bedroom?" she demanded.
"Wrong turn, thash'all. She was gone, but I found that."
"You stay out of her room!" Vivien stormed, turning away from the man, who snickered drunkenly at her anger.
"S'matter, Viwy? 'Fraid she's like you?"
Vivien slammed the door as she left the bedroom and hurried down the hall. Quickly she searched the drawers of Julia's dresser, looked under the pillows on her bed and prowled through the memory album on her desk. She found nothing.
With a feeling of mounting panic, she stepped into the kitchen and plugged in the electric percolator. It seemed a strange thing this morning-Julia always refilled the coffee pot before she left for work and Vivien appreciated the consideration. Now the act seemed somehow different. Maybe the little kindnesses were her daughter's ways of building "Brownie points," Sweet, innocent child, incapable of a carnal thought. Vivien stared at the picture in her hand and felt wrath and at the same instant the contagion of the excitement in the two bodies.
Had Julia really taken that picture? Vivien was sure of it. It was clear from the background, too, that it was one of the cottages in the girl's cleaning area. How far had the whole thing gone? Were the two females taking turns on that violent man, or was there maybe another male near the photographer?
Why would she leave a picture like that to be found so easily in her room? Vivien wondered as she poured the coffee. Guilt should have made her destroy it. Maybe it was exactly why it was there where even a drunken father could find it. She probably wasn't really guilty of anything. But her hand was reaching!
For the first time since she entered Bart's room, Vivien began to breathe normally. She knew there had to be some explanation. Some guests must have taken advantage of Julia's naivete.
Vivien reached for the telephone and dialed The Buccaneer switchboard. "Let me speak to housekeeping," she said to the operator.
After a moment of impatient waiting, she heard, "Yes? Housekeeping."
"This is Vivien, Blanche. Has Julia checked her cart out yet?"
"Why no, dear. I was wondering if she had overslept this morning. You know she's always ahead of the rest of the girls getting started. Do you suppose she's all right?"
"Fine, Blanche. Take care of things in linen for me, will you? I'll be a little late coming in myself."
"Sure, dear. Take your time. It's quiet for a change."
Still holding the phone, Vivien stood staring thoughtfully through the kitchen window. Should she call him, or simply let it go by? Sherman liked Monday surprises and it was much too unlike her to make an appointment. She would slip into his bedroom and waken him her special way. Then, when the time was right, press him to get Julia out of the maid's role. No word about this little episode with the guests and the picture-taking, but get her to front-desk training or dining room waitress or almost anywhere from the guest rooms. The coffee tasted flat and she padded quickly from the kitchen back to her bathroom. She would have to look right for her mission to Sherm.
Five minutes after she stepped into Wilson's dark apartment, Julia knew she had done wrong in coming unannounced to his quarters. When she had almost reached the linen cottage to pick up her housekeeping supplies she had impulsively turned off the path and marched straight to the Pro Shop several hundred yards away. It was easy to borrow the golf cart for the half-mile drive to Wilson's beachfront place.
"I'll only be thirty minutes," she promised. "Have to be on my job by nine."
When he answered her knock at his door, it seemed to her that Wilson might have been expecting her. His colorful silk lounge robe was tightly belted at his waist; his hair was neatly combed and there was a faint odor of a sensual after-bath cologne about him.
In spite of his age and his obvious desire to be a father image to her, Julia never could feel the same way about him. Not since that time at the pool when she had glimpsed his arousal under the menu folder. Now she was reminded of something else by the robe he wore. As he led her across the living room, making no effort to turn on a light, she noticed him tugging at the robe waist belt-just as that man in Elm Cottage had done.
"Let's sit here," Wilson had suggested, steering her to a love seat and nodding to her to sit beside him. The softness had seemed almost like quicksand closing at her hips as she sank into the comfort of the leather.
"I ... I want to be transferred, Mister Wilson," she began abruptly, feeling a welling down deep and not wanting any sign of her emotion to show. "I've been in housekeeping for a whole month, and I was wondering if you didn't think it was enough."
Minutes later she was pouring out the story of her trauma at Elm Lodge. Bit by bit he drew it from her and as she finished the account of the way the two in the bedroom had forced her participation in the picture-taking, he was shaking his head in dismay. She felt a vast relief at what was obviously an understanding attitude in the owner of the resort, and for the first time since her job interview, Julia felt a genuinely paternal manner in the man at her side.
His hand slipped to pat her knee. In an impulsive response, she covered his hand with hers and looked gratefully into his eyes. "You do understand, don't you? I'm so grateful. Wow!"
Wilson's lust seemed to burst into sizzling flame at the feel of her hand against his.
"He made you actually handle his organ?" Wilson asked, twisting his hand under Julia's and cupping her fingers.
"He tried to, but I ... I ... oh ... what?
"Was it an organ as big as this, my dear?"
With a casual flick of his free hand, Sherman flipped the edge of his lounging robe and as Julia gaped, he dragged her hand directly to his groin and ground her palm against the root of his cock.
"Let's go over the whole scene again, shall we, little girl? You like telling about it so much-you'd like even better to show me now, wouldn't you?" He pushed from the love seat and, still grasping her hand, dragged Julia to her feet.
"Please, Mister Wilson, I...! "
"Mister Wilson! Mister Wilson, you call me! What kind of nonsense talk is that? You and I are going to be very good friends-and the name is Sherm to my friends!" He was pulling her toward his bedroom door, tugging brutishly at her arm, and now Julia grabbed with her other hand to try to tug loose.
When they entered the lushly appointed, softly lighted room, a strange feeling came over her. All the incidents of the recent weeks of her life since coming home had compressed together into one driving, relentless hunger which seemed to be evidence toward her. Men especially, but, remembering the behavior of the woman in Elm, it seemed that the whole world was clasping for her body-wanting to possess her, needing her to do something for them.
That same kind of feeling had been hers when she hurried from her bedroom and deliberately left that snapshot behind. She knew her mother might look into her room, and if she did, would certainly find that lewd photo. She knew, too, that the hand wearing the St. Mary's signet on a finger would be instantly identified as her own. Call it insurance, it should bring everything to a head in a hurry, and just in case her appeal to Wilson for a shift from housekeeping should fail, by the time she and Mums talked, there'd be someone else to demand the transfer. In the end Julia knew Mums would be proud of her daughter's close brush with immoral people in Elm Cottage.
Now all that clever planning was a shambles. The man she had always been taught to respect and look up to was actually dragging her toward his bed. His hunger was sticking out from his crotch, jutting high and mighty, and by his happy grin when he saw her eyes on it, she was convinced he loved to advertise! He wasn't as big as Kurt Reichard, but he was a lot more sure of himself. In spite of his near-maniacal lust for her, Julia felt a difference in this man-a power and a self-confidence that he had a right to do whatever he wanted. She wondered fleetingly if Sherman Wilson's age would quiet the terror that stabbed through her when his hand found the zipper to her nylon chambermaid's dress. She realized it was utterly different from the way the creep in Elm had tried to disrobe her.
The feeling of surrender crept through her subtly, but quickly. A man who could be so thoughtful to her family when he knew the drinking habits of her father; a man who she had learned paid her school tuition for those three years away from home, such a one must be a man who wanted only her good.
"That's better," Wilson said soothingly, feeling the rigidity leave her shoulders as Julia's dress opened down the back.
A glow of sensual anticipation moved to every nerve in his body. She was his! He could feel it in her, and now she was even helping as she slipped out of the green uniform and let it tumble to her feet.
He stood behind her and shrugged his silk lounger from his shoulders and almost instantly regretted the act. When she turned and saw his total nudity, she could go into the righteous act again. That was what it was-straight from off-Broadway! She had to make peace with her conscience and give him the virgin routine and for the most cooperation; he knew he'd better act as if he believed it.
"Please," she whispered over her shoulder. "Undo my bra."
His fingers trembled in excitement as he released the snaps. From the rear, her body was a cock-crazing wonder. The contour flow from neck to flaring hip, the impudence of her cute tail, everything announced to him that she was made to be fucked again and again and again: front, rear, top and side-in every direction, through every hole.
"I know the way you are, Mister Wilson," she said tremulously. "Let me feel it from behind so as to help me get used to it."
"like this?" he asked gently, closing against her and circling her waist with his arms as he jammed the cock against the curve of her buttocks. Had she been asking for an anal assault for starters? Wilson wondered. Maybe everything he had guessed about her inexperience was ridiculous. She squirmed against the hot pole and her movement forced the shaft along the valley between her ass cheeks. Only the nylon panties blocked the surging knob as he stepped back and pointed the prick at right angles to her tail cleft. "Ooohhh!" Her response to that tentative nudge at her rear had been an instant tensing. He realized she wasn't ready yet for that campaign. Not for starters. Wilson's hands crept up her midriff and found her sunburst breasts, so like her mother's in the way they telegraphed her want. The nipples were taut, tiny penises of pointing need. He strummed them with a feathery touch and felt her knees go spongy as the desire for him swept her body.
He knew he had gone far enough in preliminaries. If he let this cock-maddening creature remain on her feet another second, he deserved to lose any chance for her. She was begging for it, and timing was critical. More delay with non-essentials could destroy everything.
Frantic, Julia let herself be tumbled to the bed and knew beyond all doubt that the man intended to make her have intercourse with him. He pressed her legs together and dragged her panties from her hips, and in one continuing tug he had stripped them over her ankles and past her toes. Then he was between her legs, forcing her thighs to spread even further than they had been in that cottage.
"Beautiful, gorgeous Julia!" Wilson breathed as he gaped at the magnificent body stretched before him. She was looking calmly at his face and he wondered why she lay so still. "You thought an old man couldn't get it up like this, I'll bet!" he chortled, moving forward and rising on his knees to force her glance to his quivering phallus. The calm was immediately gone and the eyes were panicky again.
"You ... you're going to put that into me, aren't you?" she asked and he chuckled delightedly at the way she put the question.
"Into you, is right, little lady. All the way in till it reached up to your boobies!"
"Hurry! I'm frightened!" she replied.
It was the way she said it that sent a flash of uncertainty through Wilson. All the signs said SEXPOT! Every muscle of her body said, "Make me happy my favorite way!" But something else seemed to layer over her sexuality and proclaim her a "neophyte". What playmate ever had told Wilson that she was frightened just before they made it? He wondered, was she trying to tell him he was the biggest man who had ever taken her?
"Don't be afraid," he soothed, leaning across her body and guiding his truncheon hardness to the peach-pink freshness of her cunty center.
Twenty feet away, concealed by the door from the living room to bedroom, a dumbstruck Vivien gaped at the sight of Sherman Wilson leaning across the nude and writhing body of her daughter, pressing his naked heat against Julia's love cleft, She had come on the scene just in time to hear the man trying to calm the girl with those inane words, "Don't be afraid."
Vivien wanted to shriek wild blasphemies of outrage and race at the two on the bed to claw and scratch this man who dared to destroy her daughter's honor. Almost two decades of planning for the purity of Julia were about to be blown to pieces before her very eyes. But something held her in a tight vise.
"Ummm ... ohhh!" Julia moaned as Vivien watched Sherman expertly guiding his swollen cock through the surrendered flesh and into the entryway of the girl's passion.
"Let yourself go," he said quietly, urging himself against the resisting tightness of her love tunnel.
"I shouldn't," came Julia's response across the room to Vivien's position. "I shouldn't, but. . . but I have to!"
"That's a girl!" encouraged Wilson, beginning a thrusting rhythm.
"There's so milch ... you're so ... so hard!"
"And you're so soft, my little Julia."
Again the feeling of outrage flamed in Vivien and she had to fight to remain at her viewing post, instead of ending this collapse of her daughter's moral standards. It was too late, she told herself, and as she saw the levered response of the yearning muscles in the girl's perfect body, the truth began to make its way into Vivien's thoughts. This was the real Julia! This was the purpose of all her femininity. Julia had been given a body to bring joy, and that joy would no longer be put down .
As she watched Sherman's great cock pressing out of sight through the wide-stretched quim lips, Vivien was certain she was watching her daughter take a man into her body for the very first time. It was a scene of the most intense beauty to the mother. Strangely, Vivien knew absolutely no envy toward the girl cemented to the man who had before been almost exclusively hers.
Vivien could see a change in Julia even before the first inch of the man's turbulent shaft had fully disappeared into her body. Her head twisted violently from right to left on the pillow as if she were trying to escape the impalement, and her eyes, as her face turned toward Vivien's voyeuring point, seemed wild with panic. Wilson apparently saw her panic at the same instant and stopped his pistoning action.
"Muh ... Mister Wilson ... ohhh, wha ... whattt is it?"
"What's what?" he panted.
"You ... your cu ... cock is doing some ... something crazy to me ... ohhh ... I..."
"Hurting?" His voice was soothing soft.
"Ohhh ... it's driving me out of my skull!"
Wilson began an urgent humping action. "That's your clitoris, little Julia. Your love-trigger. You know what it is!" His voice was accusing.
"Ohh ... I don't ... I ju ... just know words ... an ... and I want ... to scream them!"
"Scream, sweet Julia!" He drove in savage cock jabs against the form beneath him.
"You ... you man, you!" Julia gasped.
"What am I doing to you?" growled Sherman.
"You're really fucking me, Muh ... Mister Wilson ... oh, do! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!" Her golden hair tumbled wildly as she arched in counterattack against the fleshy spear that pierced her.
"Baby ... you're good!" he grunted as he neared his climax.
"Ohhh ... I ... I'm gone ... oh, Mums! Mums!"
Vivien was transfixed by the last frenzied cry of her daughter. The girl's whole body was racked with repeated spasms that drove her legs around the man's waist and scissored him even more tightly against her front. Wilson seemed to be driven to instant spunking madness, and now as his flood raced into her happy playpen, Julia was a girl on fire. Her convulsions continued, and from her vantage point, Vivien could see the desperate delirium in the man's eyes as he let the girl grind wildly against him to claim every drop. Then it was over, and, momentarily spent, Sherman rolled to the side and curled up to stare at the quivering body.
"You really come apart, don't you?" His voice was awed and low.
Julia turned very slowly to look into his eyes. "You really don't know, do you? I mean, you think I'm coming apart like this lots with other men all the time, don't you?"
"Now, that's not what I said ... it's..." he began in a cajoling tone and something in the glitter of her eye made him stop in mid-sentence.
"I do, you know," she went on as if there had been no interruption. "I can tell you my secret, can't I, Mister Wilson?"
"Call me Sherman," he corrected, "and you can trust me with your secret."
"Good!" Julia cooed. "I'm psyched on sex, Sherman-like other kids are on dope. I'm a kook for cock, see. I like the needle, you know the needle, Sherman? Yours is a huge needle, and I need the needle at least ten times a day."
"You get it that often, Julia?" Wilson's voice had reflected his incredulity.
"Never!" she mourned. "I wear men out. At school we had awful fights over the men around the place. I got them the hottest and the other girls hated me because I wanted everything they had locked up in their big balls."
Hidden in the alcove at the side of the entrance to the bedroom, Vivien fought the impulse to laugh hysterically. Her daughter had been in a convent-like experience for the past three years and if St. Mary's School had accomplished anything, it succeeded in forbidding the presence of any males around its young ladies. Julia, in the wake of her first act of fornication, was having her fun with this man who wanted to believe he was with a child of the sexual revolution.
From where she watched, Vivien could see a movement of the pendulous muscle that lay limp across Sherman's thigh. As the girl talked, the penis stretched and now it was bent like a banana, in response to the resurging lust in the man.
"You really fought over the men out there at school, eh?"
"We were awful," Julia admitted soberly. "Mostly we could only capture boys, and they were never like this." She leaned to finger the stretching cock. "Boys are so gauche!"
"How?"
"All they can do is get all excited and shoot right off-lots of times even before they get it inside a girl." She gave a pretentious shudder. "It's fun, though. We called the boy-squirt 'gism' out at school." Her fingers ran suggestively across her tummy and up over her breasts. "I love gism on me!"
"Have you had it squirted on you lots, Julia?" Sherman's prick was now at full erection and he shifted to his knees to stare at her nude loveliness.
"Mmmmmm," she murmured softly, as though she were reliving the moments. "Be truthful to me, Mister Wilson," she said.
"Sherm," he corrected.
The girl looked at him without a sign of mirth. "I'm afraid of that," she said. "It reminds me of sperm, and every time I say it, I'll want you in me again."
"What's so bad about that?" he demanded. "So what do you want to know the truth about?"
"About the day I came to ask you for a job: when I went up on that high diving board to give you time to think, did you pull this out of your swimming trunks?" She touched the erection lightly.
A second of uncomfortable silence followed, then Wilson coughed. "I was disturbed. What's wrong? Your eyesight was too good!"
"Not a single thing." There was a happy glitter in her eyes. "I hoped you had, and do you know what I wished when I came back to the cabana?"
"Tell me."
"I wished you would drag it out from that robe you hid it under and jerk it off for me."
It was plain to Vivien that Sherman Wilson wished he had done that and more. Now his patience for listening was gone and Vivien watched him throw a leg across Julia's tightly clamped thighs.
"Open just a little bit this time and I'll teach you something new," he said in a strained voice, prying at her legs.
"Huh-uhhh." She shook her head in vigorous refusal.
"What's wrong?"
This time the shudder that ran through her body seemed to be involuntary, and Vivien could sense a sudden change.
"I ... I'm afraid."
Wilson guffawed and, grabbing himself, whacked his cock column across her pubic mound. Julia made no effort to stop him and even thrust herself upward in response to the mons whipping.
"You're afraid!" he chided, "and you're almost coming-just from getting played with."
"That's why I'm scared," she replied, her voice a low whisper. "I can come, just by thinking about it."
"Think about this, girl!" snorted the obviously frustrated Wilson, urging himself across the flat of her stomach and straddling her ribs. "I'm not going to rape you, but I have to have you again."
Julia grabbed the prick trembling in a soaring diagonal over her breasts. Intrigued, Vivien watched her daughter drag the hard-on into the deep valley between the lovely mounds. Frigging as she pressed the column of horny male against herself, Julia squealed excitedly, "You like my breasts, don't you, Mister Wilson?"
For the moment Wilson appeared too trapped in the delight of her masturbating action to try to answer.
"I saw through your dark glasses that day at the pool," she teased. "You were trying to see right through my bikini halter and it gave me nipples as hard as these." Turning his cock into a playful pendulum, she swept it back and forth across her turgid nipples. For all the shock she felt in witnessing the struggle of a child to become a woman, Vivien felt a tremendous erotic tug at the sight of Julia's bold breast play.
"Baby, you asked for it!" Wilson almost snarled. "Now you get it!" He dragged himself forward in sudden disregard for the animated action of her breasts and slapped her hand from his erection.
"Suck me, girl!" he cried. "Suck honey through the straw!"
For one brief moment it looked as though she would. The broad cap of vermilion satin went between her lips. Spellbound, Vivien stared at the expansion and contraction of Julia's cheek muscles as she fell into the siphoning rhythm of fellatio.
"Sweet Jesus! You do know how!" groaned Wilson, urging more of his penis into her mouth. "Take it, baby, take it!"
It happened abruptly. With an inarticulate cry of mixed rage and hysteria, she spewed the sopping prick from her lips and writhed wildly against the man, forcing him to topple to the side. Astonished, Wilson sprawled as his playmate sprang from the bed and dashed in a naked frenzy for her clothes.
"No!" she screamed when he pushed to an elbow and started for the edge of the bed. "Don't you dare come near me! It was wrong of me! I'm not what I said I was!"
Sherman tried to placate her. "Look, Julia, I knew that. We were having games together." She was zipping her uniform up the back and simultaneously jamming a foot into a shoe when she turned, eyes blazing with indignation, on the man. "No more games! Thank you very much, Mister Wilson. I have to go to work!" Wheeling away before he could answer, the girl rushed to the door.
"I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!" exploded an obviously uncomprehending Wilson as the front door slammed.
"Yes," said a voice, low but distinct, just beyond his bedroom door. "That is exactly what you are."
"Oh my God!" He felt a numbing shock as Vivien stepped into view.
"Do you know who that was?" she asked with ominous softness as she reached the low vanity table and bent to open a drawer.
"Of course ... but ... " A torridly stacked redhead, now completely nude, straightened and turned toward the bed. In her hand was a slender riding crop.
"You keep asking me to use this, Sherman!"
Wilson felt helplessly fascinated at the purposeful way she tapped the leather against the palm of her hand.
"Tell me who that was with you!" Her eyes were angry bright and she stared at his groin.
"No! Look ... not when you're like that!" he cried, suddenly twisting to his side to protect a cock that now dangled rubbery-soft across his thigh.
"That was my Julia, Sherman!" She spat the accusation and timed the snap of the whip across his rump at the instant she cried her daughter's name.
"Baby ... I can..."
"You can go to hell, that's what you can do!" shrieked Vivien, flailing again and again at his buttocks.
From the first snap of the whip, pinpricks of pleasure-pain seered through his body and drove a heavenly torture to his crotch. What Vivien intended as punishment was precisely the reverse. Wilson recalled finding the love whip on a visit to Morocco, but Vivien never had been willing to use it. Now in a vengeful fury, her assault was having a strange effect. He was face down against the sheet, legs pressed tightly together, arms clutched beneath him across his waist.
"You stole her innocence, Sherm!" Vivien screamed, laying the leather thong over the back of his thighs and across his wiggling ass cheeks.
"No, Vivien! No!" he pleaded. He was not really suffering, and Vivien seemed to be inflamed at the sight of the involuntary grinding of his tail.
"Why, Sherman? Why?" The thong laced across his flesh and now a familiar warning was beginning to churn inside him.
"Because I had to, damn you!" he barked, suddenly not really feeling any pain and twisting violently onto his back before the whip. "Go ahead! Slice it off!" A rampaging hard-on was forming at a pulsing perpendicular as Vivien stopped and stared at the response to her assault. Her anger seemed to wash away.
"You had to?"
"Yes, I had to! Julia's ready. Ready! I wanted to be first." His hand shot to grip his phallus and he began an urgent frigging. "Oh God, Vivien ... she's not you, but she's a natural!"
"Don't! I don't want to hear." She was empty-handed when she dropped to crouch at his hip and reached for his tortured cock. There appeared to be an irresistible need in her to take him at exactly the point her daughter had left him and for several frantic minutes the only sounds between the two were the groans of his mounting passion and the slurping sweet madness of Vivien's lips.
At first Vivien wasn't certain what gave the man's hot flesh a different taste. Time after time, she'd taken him in fellatio, but there was a fragrant lightness to the tarty maleness of his cock this time. Julia! It had to be! Some of her sweet spunk bath still coated the shaft. Sherman's phallus suddenly became a very special erection. This was the male spear that had overwhelmed her daughter and driven her from childhood to womanhood, whatever later thoughts she might have for the man, for the present she felt an odd gratitude. How rare, she thought: a mother present for the greatest moment in her daughter's life.
Wilson stared across the front of his body and his prick stabbed into her face. Vivien knew exactly what he needed to see. There was something overwhelmingly erotic about the man. She tongued under the broad ledge of the crown and he moaned in agony. Impudently she forced the glistening crimson cock almost totally out of her mouth and then lip-nibbled voraciously across the broad, dark surface.
The outside play was short-lived. Vivien loved the special madness that flooded through her when the spray charged against the roof of her mouth. The pulsing began low at the root of his shaft, then raced seconds ahead of his ejaculation to tell her it was coming. , "Oooohh , . . Viv ... I'm...! " Wilson writhed happily as his crisis took him and his vision seemed blurred in a climax cloud. Then he sagged limply to his back and drew deep breaths as he looked gratefully at her.
When Julia fled the bedroom of the owner of The Buccaneer, her one thought had been to put distance between herself and a situation that had gone far beyond her capacity to control. A tidal wave of guilt had flooded through her as she dashed from, the apartment. In a few short minutes she had betrayed everything that had been trained into her by her elders, her mother, her teachers-every one.
She floor-boarded the pedal of the golf cart and a hysterical wave of self-recrimination washed past and a needling new thought prodded her.
Betrayed? Betrayed what elders? Sherman Wilson is as elder as you can get.
The golf cart ground to a halt. Perplexed, Julia sat staring at her fists, gripped so tightly to the steering wheel that her knuckles showed white.
Relax! She scolded herself, dropping her hands to her lap and taking a deep breath. For several minutes she forced herself to think of what had happened, step-by-step, in the relationship with Wilson that had made him do what he did. It hadn't been a one-way street, she decided. From the very beginning, she had been trying to make him aware of her grown-up femaleness and she had succeeded. Really succeeded!
A tremor moved along her spine as she remembered his cock deep within her body. She could still feel the muscles where her cunt walls were stretched by that wonderful pole. And the man's orgasm had been like the eruption of Vesuvius-hot, cascading love lava. Then the impetuous way he drove himself between her lips! The taste of a man! like wild tiger meat must taste! Such a ninny she had been! If she hadn't panicked, his cum would have shooting against the roof of her mouth in about one more second!
She stepped from the cart and turned back to the apartment door, pausing just as her finger was. about to press the bell. She had slammed the door hard when she ran from the place, and the lock hadn't caught. All the better. If she was going to make her apology real, it would be twice as hard with him coming to the door. What she wanted him to know was a kind of gratitude that would be hard enough to express in the privacy inside. Standing on his doorstep would make it impossible.
At the precise instant that Julia crossed the little foyer into the living room, what sounded like the slap of leather ricocheted from the bedroom beyond.
"No, Vivien! No!" came an unbelievable cry. For long, unmoving minutes, Julia stood petrified in the foyer, unable to force herself across the living room to see what she knew must be happening in that bedroom.
Crazy words interspersed with the slap of angry leather burst from her mother's lips..."You can go to hell! ... You stole her innocence, Sherm!"
There were crazier responses from Mr. Wilson. "I had to! ... Go ahead ... slice it off..."
She visualized her mother with a knife in her hand about to mutilate the man's upright love organ and she started across the living room.
like a bolt came the next cry from the tortured male. "Julia's ready! Ready! I wanted to be first!" she heard him scream. "Oh God, Vivien ... she's not you, but she's a natural!"
Dumbfounded, Julia pressed against the wall beside the door to the bedroom, terrified but feeling a compulsion to look. That her mother should even be in the room was incredible-but what that man had just said..."She's not you, Vivien!" The whole world Julia had known as firm and fixed was spinning madly into outer space.
The sounds drew her. There was no way to avoid looking, and the slow, juicy, sucking sounds pulled her like a magnet. From the moans of the man and the sound of her mother's preoccupation, Julia was certain that the two were too wrapped in desire to be aware of anyone but themselves.
When she peeked around the edge of the door, Wilson was lying at right angles to her and her Mums was completely involved with a cock that jammed its way into her mouth. Julia never had seen an expression like that on her mother's face-a kind of bewitching radiance as she bent to a task she obviously loved.
Julia gaped at the straining front of Sherman Wilson. His back was arched deeply and she watched him force his hands under his buttocks and press himself upward to shove more of his phallus into her mother's eager lips.
A wild catalogue of the "no-no's" her mother had spelled out over the years stormed into her mind. Was it possible this was the same woman who had given her lectures about being careful around boys-about how a man would do a woman if she forgot about virtue?
"Ohhh ... Viv ... Viv ... I'm...! " The frantic pelvic heaving as Wilson discharged his cum load deep between her mother's lips sent Julia running back to the door.
It was three hours later when the final cottage in her housekeeping station had been cleaned. In late morning, as she moved numbly through the list of the routine, dusting, changing linen, emptying the waste baskets, The Buccaneer switchboard operator called her.
"Your mother wants you to ring her, Julia," she said.
"All right. Thank you." Julia hoped the shock she still felt didn't show in her voice. "No way," she murmured to herself as she turned back to her work.
The idea of talking to her mother, of even having to look at her later in the day, was too much for the moment. A crazy-quilt pattern filled her mind. Maybe it all did make sense. Mr. Wilson. Her mother. Her father's drinking. Could he know? she asked herself. Or did his drink drive Vivien to another man? Then another thought: where did Kurt Reichard come in? Had his brazenness, forcing her to hold his proud stud cock, been an accident? Or were they all in on it together?
Wearily, Julia pushed her cleaning cart to the storage cabin and walked quickly away before her mother could spot her from the window of the linen house. For the rest of the day she was determined to disappear from the world, burrow deep under the pillows on her bed and make believe the insanity of the morning had really never happened.
5
The apartment was silent when Julia reached home. She kicked off her maid's flats and tiptoed barefoot to her bedroom. She was certain her father must still be out cold from his Sunday night fling and she passed his partly opened door with barely a glance at the darkness in the room beyond. There was no place in her mind for thoughts about her father's diverting from his usual habits in sleeping it off and leaving the door ajar.
Just beyond the fringe of light from the hallway, Bart Cochran watched the girl pass en route to her room. He had slept fitfully after Vivien left. As she passed his doorway he saw her fingering under her golden hair for the zipper to her uniform.
"Wonder how many men have done that for her this morning," he muttered, listening to her door close down the hall. He stepped to the corridor and, unconcerned that he was naked, moved to a window to study the snapshot for the hundredth time. It was the hand in the picture, more than the full-bodied view of the man and woman in climax, that roused him. He knew that hand belonged to the girl in the next room. A girl he never had really thought of as his daughter from the time of Vivien's pregnancy.
It had been some other male who fathered the bewitching blonde, Cochran was sure. Only a month before Vivien announced she was pregnant, the two had had a fertility test at his wife's request. She'd been desperate for a child and after four years of childlessness, he had yielded and gone to the clinic for a check of his sperm vitality.
"It's a motility problem, Mister Cochran," the clinician had said, summing it up in separate meetings-with Vivien first, and Bart a day later.
"You aren't infertile, but the chance of your procreating are slim."
He never had forgotten the way that conference went. The female doctor couldn't have given him more welcome news, and he barely listened as she went on with the reassurance that even if his sperm count indicates sub-fertility, he needn't think it made him one bit less a man.
He had had no such thought from the moment he had come to the clinic and caught sight of its petite, curvaceous director. She was woman ... a pretty and an eager woman. He was man-all man. From the first glance, she was a potential conquest and even more a challenge than many of the hot cunts he served as room waiter at the resort. This one was a professional, a doctor. He himself was only a tradesman.
When an over-attentive male lab assistant had taken him to the sterile, white-tiled cubicle of a room and told him to masturbate a sperm sampling for the test, Cochran had refused and demanded to see the clinic director.
The doctor wasn't the least bit shocked at his indignation with her gay assistant. "You'd be surprised how many of our customers he can help," she had laughed when he finished his tirade. "But he offended you and that doesn't get us our sample, does it?"
"Sure as hell doesn't!" he had agreed, "and I'm not much at this kind of frigging."
The little sexpot was a very accommodating medic. "Well now, Mister Cochran, we're both on a spot then, aren't we? I have to get your semen specimen, and you have to have motivation. So let's get on with both."
Bart recalled his astonishment as the small, but beautifully proportioned woman, who seemed far too young to be a doctor, calmly stepped between his knees and felt for his wrist as he sat on the edge of the high, clinic type, treatment table.
"Pulse," she ordered matter-of-factly, watching his crotch as she took the count.
"Better pulse here," she said unemotionally when his uncontrollable penis suddenly lunged along the inseam of his trousers. Without raising her eyes to ask his permission, the woman opened his fly and extracted the hard-on. "That's a very unusual phallus," she said, bending close to inspect its truncheon thickness.
Cochran remembered wondering how she could be so totally female while wearing a shapeless white cloak and a mannish hair style.
"An unusual phallus, like you say, doc!" he had told her, feeling his self-control fading at the sight of her fixed stare at his organ. "So what can we do about what we both want?"
Her hand slipped across his thigh to clasp his throbbing cock and she closed her eyes as she tugged it. For several silent seconds she massaged the horny tissue and seemed to be speculating on her next move. He had hoped that at the very least she would personally frig him for the test sampling.
"You hold this in this hand," she had said suddenly, forcing a glass vial into his hand. "And this in the other!" She grabbed his free hand and wrapped his fingers around the hot cock.
"Now!" She had spun away from the table, unbuttoning as she moved. "Think of what you might like to do if you could fit that much man into little me," she had said softly, dropping the clinic coat and displaying a tawny, tantalizingly nude body. He had stared in disbelief that she had dared to go naked beneath her lab cloak. Her pert breasts had stuck out tempestuously, tantalizingly. The rest of the woman was a lithe, torrid tease as she strolled, completely at ease, around the treatment table and then turned to face the wall. Then it hit him. It was a deliberate technique to get what she wanted in the little bottle-a regular routine for reluctant males.
She had read his thoughts. "You'd be surprised," she said. "At least ten per cent of the men claim not to masturbate. I have to encourage them to."
He had begun to pump himself as he gaped at the inflaming figure, but soon he had the feeling that for all her cool disinterest when she posed for him as she did for other clinic visitors, she had something special going for him. She turned to give him full side profile of her eager body, and when he caught her look, her glance taunted him.
"It would help some if you'd kind of move around a little ... like ... you know..." he had told her.
She responded immediately and with a perceptible roll of her hips, moved from her wall position to stroll around the cot.
"Beautiful!" he had told her, twisting to watch her movement and seeing her eyes seem to glaze as she looked again at his prick.
"Tell me what you see," she urged. "Maybe that'll help you come."
"Wouldn't dare," he panted.
"Try anyway."
"Baby, you wanna really know? I'll tell you all right! I see a sexpot doctor, nutty for my cock, walkin' around beggin' for it!"
"And why aren't I getting it?" cooed the voice.
"Only because it would split your cute little chassis right down the middle." His hand was pumping furiously.
"Want to know what I see?" the sultry voice of the teaser asked. "I see a crazy, thick muscle that looks as wide as it is long. And you know what else? I see a man jerking it off right in my face because it's what he's always wanted to do-to come right in a girl's face while she's watching."
"Yes!" he screamed. "I have! I have!"
Just as the ejaculation flew and the first wild drops splattered on her delighted face, the doctor seized the hand holding the vial and forced him to cover his discharging penis and capture the spraying come. The instant the orgasm passed, she took the vial from his hand and turned very professionally away.
"Thank you," she said coolly. "That will be all."
But if she had meant him to accept that as her dismissal, she had underrated him, he recalled. He remembered staring at the saucy tail that was turned toward him as the still-naked female busied herself putting the plastic stopped on top of the glass containing his contribution to the fertility research.
He could see the scene again. He slid from the edge of the firm black mattress that lay on top of the treatment table. It was the sound of his ripping the sanitized paper sheeting from the mattress that had made her swing to look at him.
"Mister Cochran!" The professionalism had left her voice and she barely had time to put the vial at the sink edge before he dragged her against his front.
"Tell you what, doc," he had taunted her, spinning her against the cot table, "let's just see if you can take this much man!"
"No!" Her protest was shrill, but low-voiced enough not to be heard outside. It had told him that the woman wanted exactly what he wanted.
There was no waiting left in him. With a low-throated growl, he twisted the suddenly incoherent sizzler across the edge of the Naugahyde mattress. Her arms reached high over her head and for a moment he was sure she was about to start a clawing counterattack. Instead, her hands clawed for the metal rim under the mattress at the opposite side.
He gaped at the sight of the medic gone out of control. Her deeply arched position made her perky boobs poke animatedly in open invitation. Her nipples were jutting cones of sex fever run wild.
"Do it!" she gasped. "You have to-so do it!"
He had driven his muscle far into the snug vagina, savagely inflamed as tight muscles gripped the sidewalls of his pulsing tube. The friction of her smallness made him even more demanding.
"Yes!" she hissed. "All of you! All!"
The woman was in coital frenzy, head and shoulders, breasts and hips and especially the sweet cunt, all involved in her writhing surrender. He felt her thighs, which had spread to admit him, pressing tightly to trap his shaft far inside her love tunnel. At that second her passion-cry spilled from her lips and her whole body trembled, then stiffened as the orgasm seized her.
"I ... I'm coming ... I ... ohhh!"
His ejaculation spurted from his body in a hot barrage and a moment later he sagged across her body, holding her pinned against the thin mattress, afraid of her verbal tirade attack once her spasms slowed.
There had been none. She remained motionless in his arms and seemed totally oblivious to the awkward positioning of her body. "Do you want to know something?" she had asked finally. "You are the first patient ever to do that to me." Her arms circled his neck and she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Thank you."
He had never really believed her, but her gratitude was like music. Better yet, Vivien herself had put him in a spot, wanting to have the baby, and when later that day he heard the sexy little doctor tell his wife she'd need more tests on her husband, he got the message.
They had met in the tiny cubicle of an examination room and he had stretched her tight pussy several times a week for the next two months. Nothing for Vivien-just the clinic's report at the end of eight weeks that one Bart Cochran was almost azoospermic.
"What does it mean, Bart?" Vivien had asked him tearfully.
Vivien was broken-hearted and for a week Bart had interrupted the trips to the clinic doctor to build his wife's morale. Some weeks later, Vivien's announcement of her pregnancy had come as sheer disaster. "You can't be!" he exploded at the redhead. "The clinic says I haven't got it in the semen to give you a child."
"Oh, Bart!" Vivien had chided. "I checked with the lab a week ago. You aren't azoo-whatever you called it! At least, not all the time. The doctor was so cute-she told me to tell my husband to stay at home and practice lots. It'd improve."
"The lab said that? You mean the director?" he demanded.
She nodded happily and Bart abruptly got the message from his little doctor. The call from Vivien had given the woman an out. He was sure she had found another horny male whose shape pleased her more than his. He'd seen some bastard in the waiting room on his last three trips. But it didn't explain how his wife had gotten herself with child. There had to be another guy.
That same night he had begun his affair with the vodka and from then on it was downhill between them. He never had made an open accusation, but he always had felt certain that while she talked excitedly about "his" child, the baby in Vivien's belly had been put there by another man.
And now that baby was quite the girl! He was back in the darkness of his room, hearing sounds in her bedroom as Julia followed her usual routine after a housekeeping morning. Bart knew that, first of all, she'd strip to the buff and pull one of her nearly transparent shortie negligees over her shoulders for the trip to the kitchen. When he'd complained about her nakedness to Vivien, his wife had shushed him.
"Let her alone, Bart!" she'd insisted. "She's just come home from a girl's school and we're her family. Let her be natural here, at least."
Until his discovery of that photo earlier in the morning, he had made an uncomfortable surrender to her informality. More than once he had had far from fatherly feelings about the eighteen-year-old, but he'd been able to force them from his mind by intensifying his attack on the Smirnoff.
Now, still holding the Polaroid print, he stood in the darkness of his room, waiting for her door to open. A vast, bubbling flood churned deep inside as he imagined the way she must have looked when the picture was taken ... the way he'd see her in a minute or two when she made her usual parade to the kitchen.
Five minutes passed. Ten ... twenty, and still no sound of an opening door. Something had altered the pattern, and now he was at the end of his patience. He moved to the hall and hesitated a moment, looking down his frame at the unrelenting bar of trembling cock ramrodding from his groin. There was no trace of the usual Monday hangover left. Anticipation of what he was going to do had him completely sobered.
"Get good and clean, Julia, dear," he murmured to himself when the sound of running water in the bathroom reached him.
Alone in her room, Julia had felt the sweep of mixed emotions over the catastrophic events of the morning. Her own actions, which had once seemed horrible and betraying beyond all forgiveness, now seemed mild in contrast to what she had seen in her mother. She wondered how long Sherman Wilson had had her mother for his kept woman. She wondered if the unexplained drinking of her father had its explanation in something he knew about his wife. A wave of compassion went through her for the man down the hall.
She thought of her parents' separate bedrooms and wondered what came first-Daddy's bottle or Mummy's outside love life.
Briefly she considered the emptiness in her tummy and thought about a trip to the kitchen for a sandwich. The bath sounded like a better idea in consideration of what she had been through. In spite of the rage she felt when she thought of those two she'd left playing in Wilson's apartment, she envied them. There was something so abandoned, so sexually good in their responses to each other. It occurred to her as she began to run water into the tub that maybe she'd been judging everyone too harshly. Perhaps her mother had only been trying to protect her till the right moment. Julia wondered. Sherman Wilson had convinced her mother that the moment was at hand ... that her daughter was ready.
Ready for what? she wondered. Ready for the grow-up cocks that seemed to spring from the most unlikely bods around the Buccaneer? Ready for a new standard of behavior now that she was fully female? Maybe the whole world turned around when a girl became a woman...
She smiled at her reflection in the door-length mirror outside her bathroom. "Not bad, Julia baby!" she whispered, stretching her arms high above her head, watching her breasts surge in happy freedom from the bra.
Down the hall, minutes had become hours for an impatient Bart. He had decided there was no time for delay. He knew his own courage had a low ceiling and there was always the chance that what he had to do could be interrupted by an early return by Vivien.
Barefooted, he moved quietly down the corridor rug, then hesitated at the closed door to her room. Once he turned that handle and entered the room, he knew he was committed. He looked down at the picture in his hand, and the sight of her fingers reaching for the man in that photo ended his hesitancy. He wanted those fingers doing the same for him.
He opened her door just as Julia closed the bathroom door behind her and knelt to shut off the water running into the tub. In one second she would be into her bath and it could be too late. He had to move-now! Hurrying across the room, he tore open the door and stood, bold and spread-legged, at the threshold, staring at the intoxicating, cock-crazing creature bent across the tub as she tightened a faucet.
At the sound of the door opening, Julia twisted and looked in stunned surprise. For a disbelieving second her eyes went wide at the boldness of her father's naked body and at the leaping hardness of his cock. It seemed to be aimed straight at her, and when he saw her glance dart down his front, her father seized the shaft and waved it like a pendulum.
There was sheer lust in his face when she looked up and he leered happily at her. "Got something for you," he announced. "Got the idea from this." He waved the Polaroid print at her-and instantly Julia knew. It had been the first thing she'd looked for on her return from work, and it was gone. Till now she had thought her mother had found it.
"Give me that," she said, rising and advancing. A seething anger stormed inside her, but as she saw his expression of animal wanting, something was shattered in her. This was the man who was supposed to be her father, and for all his drinking, for all his previous disinterest in his daughter, he had been different from other men. Till now!
The sum total of all her sexual shocks seemed wrapped in his jutting prick. This mystery man who had wanted nothing to do with her since she could remember, now obviously wanted to do everything.
A weirdly uncontrollable erotic feeling swept her as she moved, stepping so close that his grotesquely swollen crown nudged against her tense tummy muscles. Making no effort to avoid the contact, she took the snapshot and held it to the light over the sink. The hot cock shaft slid across her front and now the dark knob rubbed against the curve of her hip. Pretending to ignore the tantalizing touch, she looked down from her study of the picture into her father's eyes. "What do you think was happening, Daddy?"
"You know what was happening!" he rasped, apparently hoping she would make some overt move-clasp his hard-on or give him open invitation.
"Tell me," she insisted. "I want to know what you think my hand was doing in the picture."
"Plain as day!" he snorted, and she could see he was tortured by her calm. "You were having yourself a little orgy with some of the guests."
She handed the picture back and with a disdainful shrug, turned her back on him and leaned across the edge of the tub to turn the faucet again. "It's nice for a girl to know what her daddy thinks of her," she said.
She saw him gaping open-mouthed at her golden body with the little expanse of white where the bikini had shaded her saucy ass from the sun, and she knew he read it as an invitation.
"No daughter o' mine, baby!" he spit explosively. A quick step and his hands were on her hips, his penis thundering against the cushion of her ass cheeks.
Julia's body froze the instant she felt his sweaty palms and simultaneously the hot shaft crowding along the cleft of her tail. He wouldn't! That was crazy story-book pretense. A man couldn't take a woman that way! She writhed against his grasp and the clamp of his fingers on the curve of her hips tightened. Then the man she had ceased to think of as her father backed a few inches away from her, and briefly Julia was hopeful he had come to his senses. Then it was back, this time pressing head-on and nudging insistently against her crease.
"Daddy, no! Not like that!"
"like that, baby-take it!" He reamed against the resistance just inside her anal cleft. As she felt the immediate clutch of her sphincter muscles, she screamed in helpless protest at the rutting attack and tumbled to her knees on the bathroom rug. The man was with her all the way, clawing, shoving himself, refusing to be dislodged and panting wildly as he rode her to the floor.
"Don't!" Julia screeched. "You'll kill me!"
"The hell you say! You love it!" His next thrust drove her to her belly and now he was straddled on her buttocks, ramming frenziedly to bury more of his unyielding prick. Sobbing, Julia flailed angry fists against the rug as she felt his penetration deepen.
"Let me ride...! " he yelped, driving his hands under her body and grabbing for her breasts.
"You do want it, you little bitch!" he snarled, humping at her backside as he strummed her sensitive and now frantically aroused buds.
Suddenly the pain that seemed about to split her spine, the hurt that seered from her back to her brain, turned to rapture. She was locked in orgasmic frenzy almost immediately, writhing, and she could not help heaving her rear against the spearing cock, forcing for the climax.
His ejaculation stormed into the anal passage that had admitted only half his shaft and as she felt the volcanic flood sizzle into her she was engulfed by her own orgasm.
"Yes, Daddy, do me harder!" It felt to her as if her finger-tortured breasts would spring from her front as lust-laden lightning bolts streaked to every nerve of her body. Whether from the absence of any father love from this man or from her own hyper-sexuality, what he had started in her in those seconds refused to slow.
He dragged himself away, and, stumbling to his feet, stared down at her as she fell to the floor.
"I want, big daddy..." Julia mumbled, as though clutching and unclutching an imaginary prick.
His own orgasm had been a brief burst and the sight of the girl caught in a sex frenzy fired him for full action. Turning to the sink, he washed himself hastily while Julia continued to grind her front against the soft throw-rug. She seemed almost incoherent.
He bent and seized under her armpits, half-dragging, half-carrying the nearly delirious girl to her bed.
"I ... cuh ... can't. . . Daddy ... make me come good!"
He rolled her to her back and sprawled between her legs. If her need was out of control, Bart's was more demanding. With bullish impatience, he pulled at the fingers she had driven through her cunty cleft to torture her clitty. Inflamed by her still spasming frame, he stuffed his swollen prick through her moist quim lips.
It was every bit the heaven he had dreamed through the hours of plotting for her body. Tight vaginal muscles wrapped and tortured his pistoning spike with almost the same resistance he had felt at her rear. But the resistance was her size, not her will, and it was obvious in the frenzied response of her pelvic thrusting that Julia wanted everything he could give. Even before he was fully thrusting, Cochran felt himself about to come.
"Goddamnit, girl, slow down!"
It was like screeching at the tide.
"I. . . I. . . Ohhh, stuff me!"
He slowed his own inner frenzy, stopping the erratic humping and now inching gradually through the sweet tunnel till his mound was flush against hers. Then he stopped all motion.
"You're a bug on a pin!" he whispered hoarsely, enjoying her agony at his holding the finale. "You're caught at last, Julia-caught on my prick. Squirm, baby doll!"
She wriggled helplessly against the torture and pleaded for the mercy. Deeper and more penetrating her running spunk spasms raced till the wild heat of her burned through and claimed his self-control. With a helpless cry, he let his climax fly.
It was over. Realizing he had just dared to do what could never be forgiven, Cochran waited for her, lying at his side, to say something that would clue him to her mood. For long minutes there was no sound as she lay motionless, eyes closed, breasts rising and falling gently. He stared at her face and saw a radiant, sensual quality there that told him whatever the aftermath might be, she had loved their swinging. Still silent, she rolled to her side, then stood from the bed and looked pensively at him.
"Didn't you get enough?" she asked, turning to mm go to the bathroom.
"Did you?" he demanded.
"They call it incest," she observed quietly.
"Bullshit!" Bart snorted. "It's not!"
So there it was at last, thought Julia. The man didn't even consider himself her father. It made absolutely no sense, even if his behavior since she could first remember indicated he didn't want to be her father. But that was ridiculous. She closed the bathroom door and glanced in the mirror as she stood before the sink, seeing clear marks of resemblance. He had to be her natural father. Maybe denying it was his way of clearing his own conscience for what he had done to her-with her.
The door opened quietly and the man, whoever he was, stepped behind her and let his cock crown nudge at the cleft of her ass cheeks.
"I liked it there," she murmured, shoving suggestively against the spike. "And I think it's very wrong of me to like it."
"Call it education," Bart smirked. "I think it's time to learn more."
She shivered and shook her head in a determined negative. "Please, Daddy. I want to take a bath and ... and you don't know what you're starting."
"Bath? Let's both take a bath!"
For a frightened, uncertain second, Julia gripped the sides of the sink and debated whether she should run. But where was there to run? The whole world was waiting outside-a whole world of hard men just waiting for her to come out in the open where they could get to her. As she turned toward her father and took his hand, it almost seemed that this was the safest place to be. At least, this man would not deliberately harm her.
Together they slid into the tub and she let him entwine her legs and her arms with his, then slip that demanding third leg deep into her palpitating twat. Water splashed at the sides as he drove at her and she reflexed with mounting frenzy. Then the surge was on, and Julia felt the delicious sweep of her orgasm.
"You are quite the girl, young lady!" he exclaimed.
"You didn't come, did you?" she accused, feeling his flesh pole still hard and deep in her body.
"How did you know?" he replied, running a fingertip across the glistening smoothness of her shoulders, then tracing the outline of her breasts.
"You didn't let it fly inside me," she answered, resting against the slope of the back of the tub and letting her head loll against the tile edge.
Bart stared at the breathtaking beauty of the girl. She appeared to be sleeping, her long eyelashes closed, her lips parted slightly. For tortured minutes he studied the voluptuous wonder of the form cemented to him at the meeting of their legs. It was plain that Julia loved the sex act. . . and ... more was plain as well. For the first time in years, he was looking directly into her face at close range. There was no denying it. The eyebrows and the nose ... even the chin line. Julia bore an unmistakable resemblance to him. He now knew he was what she called him-her father!
Her eyes sprang open and he looked into wide saucers that seemed now more black than brown. "I wish I knew how," she said.
"How what?"
"How to make my mystery muscles work."
"Whaddaya mean, mystery muscles?" he demanded gruffly, hoping the fear that shot through him at the certainty that she was his daughter didn't show.
She was mounted across his thighs, her legs snuggled close to his sides in the narrow tub and for all the shock he felt, his phallus had remained iron-hard in the tight tunnel.
"I mean, if I knew anything, I could use some tricks inside me to make you shoot your cum." She squirmed against his legs. "Then you wouldn't have to heave up from the bottom to make us do it."
A new fear knifed him at her admission of sexual innocence. "Level with me, little girl," he chuckled with pretended casualness. He urged his buried prick to a fresh attack to encourage her to say what he wanted to hear. "You've been getting cock in this sweet cunt for years now."
Her head moved from side to side as she felt the slow, seductive thrusts stuffing the man deeper and deeper. "I really haven't, Daddy, honest." She writhed in what appeared to be happy abandon. "Those two made me take that picture in one of the honeymoon lodges and ... and I had my very first man this morning. Now I've had you this afternoon ... and ... oohhh, Daddy!. . . I ... I can't talk..."
Delirious with the certainty that she was telling the truth, he felt new guilt as the awareness of his action sank home. Sealed snugly to his body, her pussy frenzied by his shaft, he fought to stop the onset of his orgasm. He realized that no lewd picture-taking, no other man, no other anything, could accomplish in Julia what the wild rush of his lustful sperm bolts would.
"Naw ... . no! NO!" he screamed as he felt himself going.
"Yes, Daddy ... YES!" she squealed in happy frenzy. Her whole frame vibrated as the full climax claimed her and held her helpless while its shock waves swept her. Again her head lolled back against the edge of the porcelain and this time her eyes were open and staring at an unseen world as she crested.
"Ohhh, baby ... I ... I'm...! " His ejaculation ran wild as he ramrodded his uncontrollable cock deep against the flesh which held it and let the guilty geyser soar.
The instant he had finished, his prick began to soften and he urged himself against the girl's body. She seemed to catch his meaning and gave a little whimper of disappointment as the organ slipped from her pit.
"Thank you," she murmured when Bart stepped from the tub. For an uncomfortable second he stood undecided as to his next action. Every impulse whipped him to run for his bedroom and let the vodka anesthetize the chaos of his feelings.
"Let me dry you." She reached for a bath towel and he whirled to the door.
"Got to beat it," he said apologetically when he saw her hurt expression. "I'll do it myself." He snatched the towel from her hands and raced across her bedroom to the hall, leaving her staring at the trail of his wet footprints.
Her mind was playing tricks on her again, Julia told herself. Or was it? There was that initial assault when he stormed into the bathroom, then there was his violent denial when she had made the stupid crack about incest. That violence had torn the last restraint from her and she had let her want run wild. It was the natural her. But then, there at the last, something had happened to her father and he had wanted out.
Julia walked to her bedroom door and looked at the prints that ran from her room down the light carpeting of the corridor. What a very confusing man he was! The sound of a key turning in a lock at the front of the apartment jolted her thoughts and she closed her bedroom door quickly. As she crawled under the sheet, she heard her mother's voice call softly, "Julia."
Footsteps sounded in the hall and she braced for her door to open, hoping she could fake sleep. The steps stopped several feet away and she heard a puzzled exclamation. A few moments later the steps retreated and there was silence. The newest mystery was too much for her, and with a restless sigh, she surrendered to the happy escape of sleep.
In the kitchen, Vivien frowned at an empty coffee cup and crushed a half-smoked cigarette into the saucer. It couldn't happen, her intelligence insisted. But the footprints were there! Damp and vivid against the beige rug, Bart Cochran had left the clear sign of his visit to his daughter's room. A call that had been hastily terminated, judging by the close-spaced marks of his feet. He had been running. Running from Julia's outrage, or running because he heard the key in the front door?
"He wouldn't!" she breathed as alarm swept her. Vivien thought of the state the man was in that morning when she stepped into his bedroom and she knew that he would take the girl if he could.
6
The silence in the Cochran apartment was painful and unrelenting for two awkward weeks.
Julia knew Vivien was studying her husband and her daughter whenever they were together in the same room. This rarely occurred, but when it did, there was no sign of anything except high tension between the two-no evidence of guilt or of intimacy.
Each time she looked at her mother, all Julia could see was the way she and Sherman Wilson had made love. It was impossible to look at her mother's lips and not visualize them clamped in a suck-vise around the man's horny cock flesh, frenzied for his cum flood to go racing down her throat.
Whenever she looked at her father she remembered how passionate he had been with her in her bedroom and bath that day-and then how totally he had severed all communications since. Her guilt piled on top of more guilt inside her at the first of his shunning. Then the guilt turned to a barely controlled rage.
"Flake out, Daddy," she muttered to herself whenever she saw him. What they had done together was against all she had been taught, but he had forced it, hadn't he? And anyway, it was between them, and who had been hurt? No one. Even if they never touched each other again, it could have been a fun memory, very personal and private-even a little beautiful. But Bart Cochran apparently had turned it into a dirty thing and somehow wanted it to be the trigger for a new separation from his daughter.
In spite of her determination to forget the whole crazy caper, Julia found herself remembering almost constantly as she made her rounds through the honeymooners' cottages. As she removed wildly tumbled sheets from king-size beds and saw the signs of sex play in one lodge after another, she began to feel a new mood toward the resort's newly wed guests.
What happened in these honeymoon bedrooms would probably decide whether the marriage was a beginning of two lives together, or a bust before it ever got started-like the bust of the marriage of her own father and mother. Julia was certain now that their separation had come because of some sexual rift between them, probably very early in their married life. Possibly even on their honeymoon.
She was mulling these thoughts as she stopped her housekeeping cart at the porch of Maple Lodge and hurried up the steps to the door. The couple in Maple for this week were always out when she arrived for cleaning, but Julia knocked anyway. There was no answer, and she hurriedly inserted, her key into the lock to get on with the last stop of her morning rounds.
"Oh, excuse me!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of the female crumpled on the fuck rug in front of the fireplace.
"It's all right. You can come in," the voice called out as Julia turned to leave. "Everyone can come in!"
The sound of borderline hysteria in the tone stopped Julia's retreat and she turned to face the woman on the floor. "I can come back after lunch," she suggested.
Dark hair shook violently and a red-eyed bride stood from the rug and stared at Julia. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Julia." She was conscious of an intense scanning of her figure as the woman the cottage cleaning assignment card indicated was a Mrs. George Fields stepped close and stared into her face.
"I'm Camille. You don't look the chambermaid type." Her voice was tremulous again. Julia thought privately that the speaker looked very much the bride type. She was extremely pretty with cameo-ivory skin and a sleekly proportioned figure, most of which was visible through a light-blue negligee. Julia guessed their ages were the same.
"Thank you," Julia replied. "I don't plan to be for very long. I go on a new job next week as lifeguard at the pool. I'm going into motel management for a career," she added, turning from Camille's scrutiny and walking into the bedroom. She began removing the bed sheets.
"Can you imagine two beds on a honeymoon?" queried the tense woman at the bedroom door.
Julia paused a moment, then rolled the sheets into a bundle and tossed them toward the door. "I'm sorry you're not happy," she said as she stepped into the johnny to collect towels and bath mat for replacing.
As she went to and fro to her cart for fresh linen and clean wastebasket liners, a replacement ash tray for one that was broken, Julia felt the eyes following her. All the time she worked, she felt Camille on the verge of speaking, but not until she was almost finished with the clean-up was the silence broken.
"I need help, Julia," Camille said, moving to stand directly before the blonde. "George and me ... we're married five days now and ... and..." fresh tears showed. "We can't get our love life even started."
Her hands reached to grip Julia's. "Please! You can help us."
Julia's eyes widened in surprise at the girl's directness. "But I'm not married," she protested. "What do I know?"
"A lot more than either one of us! I'm sure..." Camille's lower lip was trembling with uncertainty now. "George and I ... we're both so innocent. We're from very strict families who never ever let us be alone till we were married."
"Not even when you were engaged?" Julia showed the disbelief she felt. Her thoughts spun back to the madness in another honeymooner's lodge three weeks before. That time it was a man who trapped her for his little show, but it was his wife who forced Julia with the blackmail of accusing her of stealing. She wondered if this Camille could be setting her up for a repeat with a new twist.
"You don't believe me." Camille's tone was flat and resigned. "I don't blame you. I'm sorry I brought up my personal problems." She turned from blocking Julia's exit and it was the sight of the slump-shouldered defeat in the girl that decided it.
"Tell me about it," Julia suggested, suddenly feeling years older than the obviously bewildered Camille. She followed the girl toward the great stone fireplace and they sat facing each other, Camille on the redwood lounge chair and Julia on the love seat.
"We're from the Midwest, and our parents are both dropouts from a terribly strict sect, the Mennish. Have you heard of them?"
Julia shook her head. "I don't believe so."
"They leave it to the Lord to do almost everything, including teach their kids anything about sex. Sex is taboo till marriage. No kind of sex education. We're never allowed out with the opposite sex alone."
"How awful!" breathed Julia.
"Worse!" Camille burst out. "We're here, supposedly man and wife and able to do anything now." The teardrop slithered across the delicate curve of her cheek. "Neither of us has the courage to make the first move. We need someone to show us the way. like you!"
Julia sat quietly for a minute before she replied. She was sure by the total innocence in the girl's expression that this was no cute stunt invented by a bored bride. Camille was obviously desperate. So,-likely, was her George.
"Doesn't he even get bothered around you?" Julia asked incredulously. The figure across from her was a cuddly, desirable female and even Julia felt the sexuality of her body.
"Ummm. He gets bothered, all right. His ... his thing sticks up a mile most of the time when we're near each other. Shoving against his pants, pushing against his pajamas. But the one thing my mother told me is that the wife never makes moves for affection. It's the husband's right only."
"And you believe that?"
"No, but I'm afraid George might, and if I make the first move, it could spoil our whole lives."
"George sounds sick!" exploded Julia.
For a moment sparks of anger danced in Camille's eyes and her lips flew open as she started to speak. Then she caught herself and a tiny smile appeared at the corners of her mouth. "He is ... but only a little. I know he's sick out of his mind for wanting and he's like me ... afraid he might spoil everything by doing it wrong."
"So where do I come in?"
"Maybe you can be the trigger to make him explode," Camille replied and by the matter-of-fact way she said it, Julia knew a plan had been on the girl's mind even before she walked into Maple Lodge on her cleaning rounds.
"Trigger?"
"Yes." Camille's face showed more confidence now. "You know, your cart squeaks."
Julia struggled to make sense of that comment. "So?"
"That's how I decided to take a chance on speaking to you. You see, George has just had to have some way to relieve himself." She sighed. "At least I know about boys masturbating. So he'd go into the bathroom a couple of times a night when he thought I was asleep and I'd listen at the door. Do all men groan like that when it happens to them?"
It was hard for Julia to keep from laughing outright at the naivete of the girl, knowing that her own sex know-how was what three kooky males had done to her. She found herself nodding knowledgeably in answer to Camille's question about male orgasm sounds, and even as she did, she felt herself drawn further and further into George and Camille's love dilemma-and another dilemma of her own. Somehow it seemed to her that a marriage's life-or-death drama hung on her getting involved. She wondered if, years ago, her own mother and father might have been caught up in this kind of a sexual stand-off.
"The third morning we were here," she heard Camille saying, "things changed. I was pretending to be asleep when George slipped out of bed-only this time he went to the living room instead of the bathroom. Just then I heard your squeaky cart coming down the path."
Julia flushed. "I keep asking the custodian to oil the wheels, but he said it's not a bad idea to wake the guests up by nine anyway."
"Well, you sure woke George up!" The words spurted from Camille's lips. "I tiptoed to the living room entry-and about died. My husband was standing right at the window, behind the drape, pulling like a madman at his swollen penis while he stared at you."
This time Julia's flush became a crimson blush. "I ... I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be." Camille was strangely earnest.
"Would you believe that's the first time I ever have seen my man, or any man, all aroused and ready? I wanted to scream and rush in and beg him to put it in me, but I didn't dare. Not with my training."
"Did he ... I mean did George...? " Julia was instantly sorry her curiosity had started the question and Camille's smile seemed somehow challenging as she nodded.
"Yes, he did. He shot this gorgeous waterfall all over the place. Come here." She led Julia to the window drape and pointed to the signs of streaking. "All the time it was shooting out of him, he kept gasping, 'Camille! Camille!' "
Impulsively, Julia reached to clasp the hand of the girl at her side. "What can I do to help?"
Camille waited a long moment before she spoke, then, taking a deep breath, she looked Julia directly in the eye. "Do you mind risking your reputation with my George?"
Julia shook her head. "We probably won't see each other again anyway."
"Then come over for a drink tonight and help me. I mean," and this time her look seemed to go straight through Julia, "I mean, on purpose, get George like he was, and then seduce him right in front of me."
Julia gasped. It was out in the open, and what Camille meant by "trigger" was plain. Julia's thoughts spilled crazily-what mad world had she walked into when she came home from St. Mary's? All her standards for personal morality had been challenged, but every other time she had been forced-with Kurt, with Mr. Wilson, and even with her father. But this! This would be a decision she herself would have to make. This luscious girl, who should be able to handle herself with any man, was begging her for help-help that might save her marriage.
"You don't really mean seduce," she protested.
"Do you know what that means?"
Camille nodded eagerly. "All the way." Both her hands gripped Julia's now, and her eyes were dark circles of need. "I want you to take George out of control and when he starts getting to ... you know, where he can't help himself ... I'll take over."
"But why?" Julia asked. This girl just wasn't for real!
There was a cat-like quality in Camille's eyes. "I know what I'm doing. See, he's going to go nuts when he's all aroused by you and right when he's where he can't stop, well ... you know ... can't you invent some way to force him to go wild for me?"
All Julia could do was to stare open-mouthed. "Please!" begged Camille. "I know it will be hard, but it will really make things start for us."
At nine that night Julia tapped uncertainly at the front door of Maple Lodge and for a panicky second she half-turned on her heel to dash for safety. Just then the door swung open and a handsome, sober-faced man looked out at
"You must be Julia Cochran," he said. "Come in. Camille told me you might come by." He was very serious and his eyes never wandered below her neck as he spoke. When they did, Mr. George Fields was in for a sight, Julia told herself as she walked with him toward the nearly darkened fireplace sitting area. Only a low glow of the embers of burnt logs gave any light.
"You look so nice, Julia," enthused Camille, rising from her chair and coming to greet her.
Apparently puzzled, George tried to maneuver Julia to the chair his wife had been using, but Julia dropped to the intimate love seat and Camille returned to her own former seat, leaving George forced to be next to Julia on the small couch.
"What will you have, Julia?" George asked, standing nervously at her side and trying manfully to play the debonair man-for-all-seasons. It was when she turned to look up at her host that Julia saw the first sign of restless eyes moving to her flesh-snug bodice. She had chosen the costume carefully-a micro-mini, hot-pants ensemble of skin-tight gold lame. In the half-light she knew she appeared nearly nude. The cutouts of her peek-a-boo bra permitted her animated nipples to poke visibly against the cloth. For one last brief, fearful second, as she saw the glitter in George's eyes, Julia wondered if she was there to give help or because she wanted to help herself. Had she really slipped so far?
"I'd like whatever you're having," she answered, looking over at Camille's glass and catching the rl's quick wink. "You look good enough to eat," he said to George's wife.
"I found it in the dress shop at the main lodge," Camille replied, standing to model the hostess gown. She twirled to display the fullness of the skirt and the gown spun open at the side from ankle to hip, leaving no doubt that she was nude beneath the crimson satin.
When George returned from the kitchen alcove, the manner in which he slid awkwardly to the love seat next to Julia told her the campaign was successfully under way. Even in the poor light, the tenting against his trousers was impossible for George to conceal.
An hour later the host was making little or no effort to conceal the arousal. It was plain that he was accustomed to one drink maximum, and that the nearness of Julia and the difference in his bride had driven him beyond his level of personal control. Just enough beyond to ready him for Julia's move to inject a new note in a conversation that had till then been entirely small talk.
"Do you like the new styles, George?" she asked. "like Camille has on, and like this?" She stood quickly and turned slowly to force him to look at every angle.
"Sure do!" His syllables were only slightly slurred together, but it clued Julia that it was time to attack.
"I do, too," added Camille. "I'd love to see hot-pants everywhere, evening wear as well as day wear. Any place."
"A little informal for restaurant or nightclubbing," George interjected.
Camille giggled. "Whoever goes to night clubs back in Williston?" She looked mischievously at Julia. "Drinking and dancing, among other things, are no-no's back home, so we've got lots to learn at The Buccaneer. Please, George, let me see how you look trying to dance with Julia." She reached to the dial at the side of her table and soft music came gently from the concealed FM speakers.
"That's old-fashioned stuff," groaned George when Julia, grabbing Camille's cue, pushed to her feet and turned to wait for her reluctant host to stand.
"It's what most of the guests like in their bedrooms," Julia answered, grabbing his hand. "Come on, show Camille how you look with me."
George seemed to be in agony as he rose to his feet and moved hesitantly to take Julia in his arms. He had fiddled his hard-on out of his jockeys to give the shaft less painful pressure along the inseam of his pants, and now, as he stood, Julia could see the thick bone shoving eagerly against the fabric leg. When she stepped into his arms, Julia deliberately pressed her front close to his and heard the barely concealed gasp as her breasts mashed his chest.
Evidently desperate to conceal the trembling which seized his whole frame, George drew her close and moved one step, then another, to the muted music. Julia couldn't suppress an inner quiver as she felt the pressure of his throbbing cock against her middle thigh. No wonder Camille was desperate, if she had seen this monster bared even once and yet never had it.
The situation called for direct shock and pure shamelessness for a wild few minutes, and then, Julia knew, she must run-run madly. She failed to conceal an open shudder.
"See," mocked the brittle-voiced bridegroom, "she's even cold in that outfit."
"But you're not," Julia whispered in his ear. "You're hot!"
"You're both beautiful," said Camille. As George turned Julia, she caught sight of crossed fingers as Camille sat watching. It was the turning point. Whatever George thought of her didn't matter, if she could really set him on fire for his bride.
"I like the old way of dancing," she murmured, molding herself even more tightly to George and now slipping her leg between his thighs as he tried to lead her.
"It makes you feel like you're really one person ... like one body, you know," she went on. She could hear a deep, strangled sound in George's throat as she boldly ground his protruding length between their thighs at each step. Unseen to him, Julia's hand slipped to her side zipper and found the safety. She forced her other hand quickly between their bodies and before he could react, she grasped his fly zipper and was pulling it downward. Her zipper and his.
"Ohmigosh!" he exclaimed. It was obvious that George Fields of Williston, Iowa, felt that this couldn't happen to him. Right before his wife's eyes a total stranger had exposed his animal nature. She was naked except for the wild brassiere. Naked and moving straight back to his arms again.
"Nun ... no!" he croaked when suddenly he found a shred of voice. He tried to push against Julia, and her strength was incredible as she held him.
Now she rubbed her naked tummy against his manhood, grinding a hot rhythm and doing it right in front of Camille. She knew violent needs were surging through the man and for all the later explaining it was going to take, the evidence of his lust was standing out all over him.
Her hand shot quickly into the momentary gapping at their bodies and she shoved the firebrand cock viciously past her pubic mound and trapped it between her thighs. For a second she remembered the wildness in Kurt that day when he did this very thing to her as she lay on the floor of his office.
"Got to! I've got to!" she cried, and her pretended need for the man became sudden savage reality as she twisted to look for some sign from the watching bride. An entranced smile was on Camille's lips and when she caught Julia's panicked look, she nodded an excited, "GO AHEAD!"
"Please, no!" choked a now obviously helpless George, as Julia ground her thighs together against his trapped cock.
"Let me taste!" she panted, dropping abruptly to her knees before him and grabbing the jutting erection with both hands. Fleetingly her thoughts were back at Sherman Wilson's apartment, and she was watching her mother take Wilson's organ this way.
"So big, Camille! He must make you happy ten times a day!" She looked tauntingly up George's front and directly into his hypnotized eyes. "How often, George?"
George was past answering. He gawked as she leaned forward and planted a moist, full-mouthed kiss directly at the tip of his prick. "Ummm, Camille, hurry!" Julia called.
The obviously dazed and cock-crazed bride slipped to Julia's side.
"Have you tasted this lollypop?" panted Julia, grabbing one of Camille's hands and guiding it to join hers in gripping the pulsing shaft. She didn't need an answer. She leaned again to demonstrate. "like nothing you'll ever find anywhere else," she panted. "Let's make it a two-way trip! Follow the leader and get him ready first."
Both girls concentrated their assault on opposite sides of George's flesh. While Julia licked juicily along the lower half of the shaft, nuzzling boldly into loaded testicles, Camille brushed light kisses across the dark, thick cone of the cock crown.
"Now!" cried Julia as the effect of then-two-way attack drove George helplessly to his knees on the thick fuck rug. He was staring in a near-hypnotic trance when Julia glanced at his face. Then she saw the line of his stare was over her shoulder and she twisted to look. In shifting positions, Camille had rid herself of her full-length hostess satin and now she was an inflaming nude voluptuary.
"Show me!" Camille demanded of Julia. Her own appearance was only slightly less trance-like than her husband's and Julia knew she should at this moment leave the two and let the inevitable happen. Her job was done. She had brought them together.
It was the appeal in Camille's eyes and the magnificent magnet scant inches from her lips that made leaving impossible. "like this!" Julia panted, leaning forward. "We each suck two times and go round and round till he shoots one of us with his honey!" She waggled the perpendicular bone devilishly. "Whoever gets his cum in her mouth, the other gets him between her legs."
An inarticulate groan sounded from their prisoner, who obviously now had no interest in escaping. The two took turns at the double siphoning and each time it was Julia's turn, she used her tongue in fierce attack along the broad underside of the prick cap. She had to win his ejaculation in fellatio, or her whole scheme would collapse!
"Ohhh ... noooo!" George groaned when his climax nearly took him on Camille's second sucking.
Too close! Julia snatched the horny muscle from the enchanted girl's fingers and paused just before her third assault. It needed one last push-a touch of sin to make the man fire his load into her.
"See what I'm doing to your husband, Camille. Come close this time and watch!" Julia circled the girl's naked waist and dragged her forcibly against her body. Then, pressing her cheek against the side of the startled bride's face, she cried happily. "See this beautiful prick? It's going to cram its way into your pretty love nest in just a few minutes and make you both crazy-happy!"
Pausing dramatically, she brushed the tip of the frenzied male organ across Camille's lips and over to the curve of her own chin. "I'm going to take your man's honey right down my throat, and don't you dare try to stop me!"
Her ruby lips ovaled to their widest, and Julia took the inflamed cap and several inches of the rigid shaft. An instant later George moaned as he wilted back against the rug and let his ejaculation charge freely into her mouth.
For long, totally silent seconds after the volcano of his love-lava charged, George lay completely motionless. Only his unrelenting erection quivered in undiminished readiness. "My God! My God, what have I done?" he groaned suddenly, turning to look into his bride's face. Camille bent across his chest and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "You did what you had to do, George," she murmured.
"But, baby, it's you! I need you!" he moaned, writhing in shame.
"Show me," she whispered, curling at his side and reaching for the pole still jutting fiercely at the air.
It was a seethingly beautiful symphony of delectable female flesh blended with the hard urgency of male muscle power. As Julia watched, intrigued, George's hardest muscle drove deeply into Camille's love cleft. The instant he pierced her, the two were locked in totally unhinged orgasm. There seemed no stopping the mutual climax. The pulsations slowed and in two pistoning thrusts from her man, Camille was screaming in new joy. To remain would be an intrusion, and Julia groped in the half-light for her gold lame.
Alone in her bed half-an-hour later, she relived what she had done. A guilty needling came and went from her thoughts. She had helped a girl and a boy in deep trouble in the first days of their marriage, and the things she had done, Camille had begged her to do.
Julia knew only a threat had kept her from claiming all of that man's meat for herself. With only the barest imagination she could have turned George's lust to fix on her.
Her guilt feelings intensified. She was converting from a girl who knew right from wrong to a man-hungry nympho! She knew something had to give. There must be some way to know peace and fulfillment without the extremes this last month had thrust at her.
She took some consolation in the fact that within the week she was to be transferred from chambermaid status and moved to lifeguard-a far safer place for anyone in her state of mind, she was sure.
Down the hall, Julia's mother stirred restlessly on her bed. She had been wakeful, wondering where her daughter was, when she heard the apartment door open, then close softly, announcing Julia's return. She listened intently to the distant sounds of her getting ready for bed, and then it was quiet. For a month Vivien had quietly bided her time for the inevitable confrontation with her daughter. If Julia showed contempt for her father, it was also the clear feeling Vivien had whenever her daughter's eyes met hers. It was a total puzzle. Ever since she had seen Julia dash from Sherman's apartment, overwhelmed with the surrender of her honor, the mother had expected to see some sign of remorse or shame in her. But there had been none. On the contrary, as the days had moved along there had been a growing arrogance in Julia, a snappishness whenever she was spoken to.
"She's covering up," Vivien told herself, remembering the way it was the first time she went to bed with a man who wasn't her husband. But it wasn't the answer, and she knew it. There should have been a backlash in one so sensitive as Julia ... unless she was changing radically. Bewildered, Vivien drifted slowly to a restless sleep.
7
A noisy thunderstorm that burst over Myrtle Beach late at night two weeks later gave Vivien the excuse she had been waiting for to go to Julia's bedroom. From early childhood, her daughter had been terrified of lightning flashes and the ensuing years hadn't changed the fear. It was the opportunity Vivien had wanted.
"Julia?" she called from the doorway to the girl's room. A tear-marked face lifted from under a pillow and looked toward the light from the hall.
"Can I come in and snuggle out the storm?" Vivien asked in a voice tremulous with uncertainty.
Julia's head was burrowed back under the pillow, but her body shifted to one side on the bed, giving Vivien her answer. Clutching the filmy peignoir tightly to her body, she crept under the sheet and slipped an arm across Julia's trembling shoulders.
"Nothing to be afraid of," Vivien comforted, stroking across the shapeliness of her daughter's back, then along the rise of the buttocks out to the sleek curve of her hip. "Such a big girl you've become," she murmured, remembering other nights and other storms.
A shudder traveled involuntarily across Julia's upper body in response to the gentle touch, and Vivien, feeling the tremble and sensing rejection, snatched her hand away.
"I'm sorry," she apologized in a whisper. "I didn't mean to annoy you."
"No!" Julia twisted to curl toward her mother and groped for the hand. "I want you to. It reminds me of when I was little."
"Good!" breathed Vivien, letting the girl guide her hand and feeling a little shock wave of surprise when Julia led her fingers along the curve of a breast, then released them.
From the first touch, Julia's resentment of Vivien had begun to change to a new emotion. She wondered if it was the darkness that made it all so different from other snuggling sessions. It had to be more than that, she knew. In sporadic lightning flashes she could see her mother's face and she could clearly visualize the body under the sheet-a form Julia had always thought of as the perfect female figure. And that was what was new-new since she had seen her mother behaving like a wanton female there in Mr. Wilson's apartment.
Always before, Vivien had been "Mums". From the moment her daughter saw her performing with a phallus in her mouth, "Mums" had turned into a sex symbol-a flame-haired voluptuary whose man-pleasing skills had taken over when Julia had fled Sherman Wilson's advances.
A strange demand began to gnaw her as she felt Vivien's fingers resting quietly on the fullness of her breast. There was something far beyond a mother-daughter relationship between them now. They had shared the same men sexually, and even though it would be a disaster for her mother to know it, the two of them were competitors.
Sex competitors? Impossible! The brazen thought started a little quiver in Julia's shoulders and she struggled to suppress it. Again Vivien trembled, but this time her response was a tender tracing across the breasts, pausing as she came to a turgid nipple, then moving quickly to Julia's shoulder as though she had touched the forbidden.
Julia remembered the woman in Elm Lodge and the delicious intimacy of the feeling of another female. At St. Mary's there had been frequent thunderings against "unnatural lusts" and Julia knew that what she was feeling would qualify for violent disapproval by the teaching sisters. But the woman beside her must be feeling the same need if that too-quick withdrawal meant anything.
"I like that," murmured Julia, reaching to draw the hand from her shoulder and placing the fingers directly across the center of her breast.
Vivien felt the shooting pinpricks of a long suppressed hunger rifling through her middle. Years before, she had let her older sister play with her for several terrifying, adolescent hours. They frolicked only once and the power of the emotion had frightened both of them too much to risk losing self-control in more experimenting. Men had come into both their lives and removed the temptation-but now it was back. Perhaps this was the answer to win the confidence of her daughter again. Just a gentle toying and nothing more...
"The lightning does it," Vivien giggled, tweaking the taut nipple between her thumb and forefinger, then moving in search of the other nub.
"I'm such a ninny to be frightened of storms," Julia replied, squirming slightly to urge her upper body toward the fingers.
A moment of quiet and then, impetuously, Julia reached to grope for her mother's breast, and when she found the center, she teased a tittie that was stiffened and pointing as eagerly as her own.
"Yours are so much nicer," she whispered, scrooching her body to permit both her hands to fondle breasts that now were moving in a soft swelling, involuntary rhythm. Julia knew her touch was wanted.
"You've matured so beautifully," praised Vivien, imitating Julia's action and cupping both her daughter's globes. She massaged lightly.
"Ooohh!" Julia moaned. "That's nice. Why do some people say it's wrong?"
"Maybe because they see wrong in everything." Vivien hardly heard her own reply. She felt the tantalizing deviltry across her breasts and the huge dividing wall between herself and the girl seemed to be coming down.
"But what can be wrong with anything if there's love in it?" Julia persisted.
"Nothing, my darling."
A flash of light illuminated the bedroom and the burst of thunder was almost simultaneous. In the momentary brilliance, Vivien saw the sudden terror showing in Julia's face and with a little cry of compassion, she flung an arm around her daughter's shoulder and drew her tightly to her front.
"Ummm," murmured the girl, molding herself to the other's front. Her hand drifted across Vivien's hip and traced the contour of her tail. Then as it crossed the lower curve of the cheek, the hand tightened its grip and forced their two bodies even more tightly together.
"Know what I'd like?" whispered Julia. "I'd like to stay like this forever, and never have to put up with the way men are."
Vivien was silent, waiting for the girl to go on, suspecting she wanted to talk about Sherman Wilson. It was what she had been waiting for weeks to hear, she reminded herself, and now she couldn't care less. The feel of those breasts! Those eager nipples! And that prominent Venus mound on so young a girl!
"I love you," said the girl.
"And I love you, Julia."
"Let's pretend."
"What?"
"Let's pretend that we're the only two people on the whole earth and we want to show each other how we feel."
Vivien felt the sudden change in the girl. "How would you show me?" she asked.
"I'd begin here," replied Julia, pressing gently to separate their bodies and leaning to a breast. Vivien felt a growing need as Julia surrounded the tumid center with her lips and for several torturous seconds kept a mere breath away from actually touching the cone.
Frantic desire seethed through Vivien and she urged herself upward to force the contact. It was no longer the child she had borne eighteen years before and often held close to this same breast. This was a maddeningly erotic creature who had power to set another-male or female-afire with need for her body.
Mercifully the ovaled lips closed on the sensitive cone and Julia began a gentle sucking. With each thirsty contraction of her daughter's lips, Vivien felt herself drawn further into a whirlpool of need. A spearing tongue darted to stab at the hard nub and then remained to strum the nipple to near hysteria.
Abruptly, Julia broke from the love play and moved to the other breast, again sending shock waves of sensuality racing wildly through Vivien's body. The sensitizing of her globes had every part of her body inflamed and with a moan of sheer delight, she felt the lips press a loving, moist path from her boobs down across her midriff till at last Julia's cheek rested on her tummy.
A violent electric charge crashed to the ground outside, but it was mild in comparison to the electricity between the two females on the bed. Julia's hand drifted to rest on the curve at the top of Vivien's thigh and one fingertip barely touched the lower curve of her mons, less than an inch from the start of her sex cleft. The finger probed forward and dipped into the little valley where the thighs met, and with a shock Vivien felt the light pressure against the edge of her pussy tissue. It stayed there unmoving and a voice inside her screamed, pleading for the exploration to go on, hoping Julia would dare more, and even as she hoped it, she fought it.
"I love this place on a woman," whispered Julia. "It's so much prettier than a man's body."
Vivien hid the shock she felt. "Have you seen a man's body ... I mean ... you know, that way?"
"Of course. I think most girls have by my age, don't you?"
"I don't know." The opening was there and Vivien knew that if she asked, Julia was ready to spill her feelings about Sherman and about what had happened in this room the day those wet footprints showed in the hall. But now Vivien didn't want to hear-only to feel.
"Do you touch yourself there often, Julia?" Vivien spread her thighs slightly as she felt the finger press more urgently through the cunty slit.
"You mean masturbate? I do when I can't stand it any longer ... I ... you know, waiting." She fell silent and Vivien felt the soft pressure of the finger against her clitoris. She waited to feel the quickening of the tease that would surely send her over a spunking crest.
The girl suddenly shifted, and, leaning across Vivien's hip, bent and placed a long, lingering kiss at the lower curve of her mons. Then, in one graceful, sliding motion, she crept into the valley that opened spontaneously between her legs. A flash of lightning illuminated a blonde head burrowing toward its target.
"Ohhh ... Julia ... what are...! " The words stopped coming as Vivien felt the boldness of a tongue spearing through the molten fissure of her love center. The flesh probe was boldly licking at her labia, then piercing the threshold of her vagina to toy with the taut clitty muscle.
"My God, you'll ... oh yesss!" Vivien's orgasm raced from out of nowhere and held her paralyzed and helpless as her spunk bath washed across the invading tongue. Little sounds of eagerness came from below and now nibbling lips were pressing the attack and heightening the ecstasy of her coming.
Almost as quickly as the rapture had seized her, it slipped away and she felt the stilling of the thirsty lips and the deviling tongue.
"It was wrong of me, wasn't it?" came the small voice of her daughter.
"Wrong?" whispered Vivien. "It was beautiful of you to do that to me. I needed, and you filled my need. You were real and natural. Now it's my turn."
Julia uncoiled from her position and wilted to her back. "Think of it the way you said it before," cooed Vivien. "We're the only two in the world. Where would you want me to start?"
"I'd want you cuddled at my breast the way I used to be with you."
"like this?" Vivien leaned across the girl's body and felt an arm circling to draw her close. Thirstily, she puckered rich lips around a turgid nipple and began to milk and siphon the nub.
"Ohhhh ... it's so good. Is it right to feel so good?"
"It is! It is! Let yourself go!" Vivien's lips were sucking with a frenzy and now a flitting tongue was maddening the nipple. "I ... I ... oh, you're making me...! " A violent convulsion claimed Julia, and as Vivien felt the climax the breast-love had produced, an uncontrollable need swept over her. She had watched the wildness in Julia from a distant voyeuring point in Sherman's apartment and the passion that claimed her daughter had been a thing of beauty in the way it possessed every muscle and nerve. Vivien felt compelled to stir that same total rapture again.
Now the crazed spasms of the first orgasm were quieted and Vivien saw her daughter's blonde hair tumbled across the pillow as Julia rested and waited. Casually Vivien stroked the silken smoothness of the plateau between the girl's hips, then began to brush feather-light kisses across her midriff, hearing quickening breathing as she neared the breast she had just loved.
Impatient with the same pattern, she nuzzled slowly across Julia's shoulder into the hollow of her neck and across the finely chiseled curve of her chin. For a tense second she hovered above the parted lips, then bent quickly and pressed her mouth against her daughter's, her tongue spearing deep in to the startled oval and taking the immediate response of Julia's tongue as the sign of her want. For long, sensuous minutes they fought a happy duel of tongues and lips, nibbling and sucking, moistening the other's lips, then kissing the satin richness till it was nearly dry.
With a sudden wrench away from the hands that held her hips, Vivien contorted across the straining body and burrowed into the waiting lips below. It was as if the session of love play had animated every love nerve. Julia began to show a new wildness. At the first taste of a woman in climax that she had ever known, Vivien was a wild woman. Drawn by an unrelenting thirst, she nuzzled through the gates, and finding the clitoris with her lips, she milked avidly at the taut little tube.
"Yesss!" gasped Julia. "It's like a man! like a man!"
Slowly the passion ebbed and Vivien forced herself to abort the assault on Julia's body. As they rolled apart, both felt the furious sensual flame between them.
"That was scary!" breathed Julia.
Vivien nodded and reached for her daughter's hand. "Do we get to be honest with each other again?"
"I want to be," came the answering whisper. "Do you like this kind of love, woman to woman?"
"Ummmm! I do!"
"You said something a minute ago." Vivien reached carefully for her next words. "It's like a man! It sounded as if you know that way, too."
There was a long silence, then what sounded like a sob. "I don't. Not really. I'm so all mixed up from things you used to say and from what the teachers at school used to scream about. And now ... well, this way at least two people are helping each other and it's not really hurting anybody, is it?"
Vivien leaned to kiss her daughter on the cheek, then began to edge toward the side of the bed. The instant tension in the girl when she mentioned men was warning enough. What had been a tender sweetness that brought them close together could be soured by forcing Julia to talk when they were back in the spell of their love play with each other.
"No, my darling, it's not hurting anyone. And a lot of things people say, even mommies, never should be said. Sometimes we say what we think is right for a child's ears." She groped for the silk peignoir which had slipped from her body as they had romped together.
"Don't go yet," she begged. "I have to talk."
"Maybe tomorrow would be better."
"Now! I want to talk about men and why I can't stand them any more."
Vivien lay back against the pillow and braced herself for what could be a bad moment for both of them.
"What can't you stand, Julia? You'll have to tell me; I'm not going to pry anymore, ever."
"It's Daddy, first of all," she began, stretching to the bed table and turning on the light. "I want us to see each other when we talk. About all I know about men has to begin with my father, and that's pretty silly. I mean, what good is he? He's always getting stoned out of his mind and he doesn't do anything for you in that state, or any state."
"He has a problem..." Vivien began, then stopped, wondering if the revelation about some footprints was to come.
"He surely has!" Julia's response was explosive. "But he's not all that different from most men, once they hook their woman. They ignore her and go on to have their fun wherever they can find it. It makes me so mad!"
"There are ways for a woman when her man treats her that way, Julia," Vivien propped to an elbow to study her daughter's face as she went on. "Maybe when a woman is driven far enough, she has a right to find those ways."
The girl was silent as she looked deeply into her mother's eyes. "I guess so, but how does she knew when she has a right?"
Vivien tried to be as gentle as the touch of her hand on Julia's when she replied. "A woman knows she's right when she can do what she wants, what her body wants her to do, without any guilty hang-ups about it. If her conscience says no, she'd better forget it."
"Does it really work like that for you?" demanded Julia.
Vivien nodded and took a deep breath. "It worked that way for me just now when we did things together-things that lots of people would condemn. You gave me something very special. But we were talking about men. I'm going to tell you a secret, and I know you won't breathe it. What would you say if I told you the lover who makes up in my life for your father is Sherman Wilson?"
It looked like shock on Julia's face and it was precisely what Vivien wanted. Something to shake loose the torment on the girl's mind and encourage her to talk openly about her seduction by the very man she called "louse", about the picture, about her father.
"I ... think ... that's ... that's how it should be!" The words spilled over each other and sudden moisture studded the corners of Julia's eyes. "Daddy has it coming to him!"
Her fingers gripped tightly at Julia's hand. "Baby! That's no reason to make love! Not to get even-not ever! You're beginning to sound like a man-hater."
Julia shrugged. "Maybe I am. I don't understand the way men are with women. Sneaky. Trying to get what they want, regardless of what she wants."
"There's more to men than that," Vivien murmured, disappointed that her daughter hadn't taken the opening to talk about Sherman or Bart.
Julia leaned on an elbow and looked pensively at Vivien. "Look at you," she went on. "You look maybe a year or two older than I am, and no one would believe thirty-seven. And besides Mister Wilson, I'll bet a hundred men a day get hot and bothered, wishing they could put themselves into you."
"So? Isn't that a compliment? The female in me would love to get a hundred men in a state like that."
"But that's where I get mixed up," mourned Julia. "All of them are the same: ashamed if you notice you've got them excited, then making it seem dirty. Men are like that right from the first time they notice girls."
"Give me a for-instance." Vivien was certain this would be the moment of confession about Sherman.
"like what happened two nights ago down at the pool, for instance. Just before we closed. There was only one person there, except for me-a real cute boy about my age. He was here with his parents."
"What happened?"
"Well, Jamie-that's his name-had been coming out for about a week when he knew the pool was almost deserted. He swam around and watched me all the time. Even a cute boy can upset a girl staring that way."
"But you did like it."
Julia shrugged. "I guess so-till what happened night before last. He came and said it was his last swim, and he'd miss me. I told him I'd miss him, too, and that was silly because I'd already turned him down twice when he asked for a date."
"I don't understand why," interjected Vivien.
"You will. Anyway, he loafed around, treading water, and when it was only a few minutes from closing, he called to me that he bet he could beat me in a race. I wanted to be nice, because it was his last swim, so I jumped in the water and swam to where he was. Well! You know the pool has new underwater lights, and when I came alongside, I saw what he'd done."
"What?"
"Pulled his penis out of his trunks and had it flapping outside as plain as day."
"Flapping? You mean it wasn't..."
"Oh yes, it was! As hard and big as he could make it with his fist. And the very second he realized I had seen it, he swarmed all over me, like I was some kind of ladder! I grabbed for the side of the pool and he locked his legs around my middle. He was crazy! Squealing and beating himself, and saying awful things..."
"like what?"
"like he knew what I wanted, dressing in teeny bikinis the way I did and how I really wanted something to remember him by."
"Did you want something?" Vivien's hand caressed Julia's shoulder and she felt the high tension in the girl.
"Of course! like your hundred men! A man is so pretty when he's that way! He's pretty and he's dangerous and he's kind of helpless to control himself, I guess."
"So, how did Jamie seem when he was climbing all over you?"
"Pretty, but mostly helpless. I wasn't afraid of him a bit and I knew something had to give, so I reached right down and grabbed his cock out of his hand and began to do it for him." Julia giggled suddenly. "That penis was so hot I was sure the water was going to turn to steam!"
"Go on," urged Vivien.
"That's just what I wanted to do-go on." She sighed. "It felt natural to make him come with my hands, but lots more fun between my legs. That's right; I wanted him to fuck me! He was sort of jerky but my insides told me our bodies wanted each other, and why not? Then the bomb dropped."
"What bomb?"
"His father showed up. Almost like he'd been watching-and maybe he had been, too. They had one of the rooms next to the pool and he might have seen our heads close together in the water and got suspicious. Anyway, I saw him before Jamie did and I ... well, I was stupid again, I guess."
"What did you do?"
"Jamie was already making little sounds that told me what was going to happen, so I yanked him real fast and hard and he shot at the very second his father called."
"That must have been lovely!"
"It was awful. Dumb Jamie could have faked it, but his face said he was guilty. He was scrabbling around, trying to put himself back in his trunks when his father reached the edge of the pool and looked down."
"Do you think he saw?"
"I know he saw ... and the look he gave me! He'd tossed me a million lecherous looks before when his wife wasn't looking, but now he cased me like I was a special kind of dirt!" Julia flung an arm around her mother's shoulders and buried her head against her breasts. "That's what it's all about with men. like it's not clean or something. . . and ... and that's what I love about our making each other happy like this. It feels so right."
Bewildered, Vivien drew her daughter close to her body and hugged. "It is right, my darling, and it's a thing not many people even know. But what have we done to my baby about the best way?"
"You haven't done anything." Julia leaned back and looked saucily from under lowered lashes. "Men have."
"Have you known any who weren't like that boy or his father?" Vivien still hoped to bring the discussion around to Sherman's seduction, or to the picture-taking session, or most of all, to her father.
"Not many." Julia's voice drifted off and she closed her eyes and lay back against her pillow. "Maybe Mister Reichard. Let's not talk any more, Mums." She stretched luxuriously against the sheet and Vivien felt the surge of a new desire spreading through their bodies.
Within, she felt the selfish need to possess the vivacious golden-bodied girl before her and claim her entirely as her own. After all, the girl was hers; she had even carried her in her womb and given her life. It was her right to share the joy of so devastatingly sexual a person. And her sharing seemed to be wanted!
Julia seemed to read her thoughts. Her hand drifted over to Vivien's tummy and rested tentatively across the down of the pubic mound. Then her daughter's gloriously tapered thighs opened slightly, enough to reveal the sense-maddening magnetism of Julia's cleft. Blonde locks tossed impatiently as she turned to give Vivien freedom to stare wherever she wished without being watched.
"Kiss me goodnight," Julia murmured sleepily.
Vivien felt the pounding in her head as the inner conflict intensified. It would take very little to carry her and her daughter fully into the Lesbian life, and as she looked at the gorgeous body before her, she knew that she was as attracted as Julia by the newness of what they had found together. But it could go in only one direction. Sooner or later there would be exposure, and what was now precious between them would be mocked.
And there was more. The girl was blessed with high sexuality-a need to express her love of life in the fullest, most uninhibited way. For all her heartbreak in Bart Cochran and in spite of the half-love Vivien knew she had from Sherman Wilson, it was a man's body that belonged to her daughter.
"Mummy," came the whisper. "Kiss me our way." Julia's hand had moved back to her own thirsty center and her fingers were stroking slowly along the dark line that hid sweet passion. Vivien leaned hesitatingly toward the golden triangle. To deny the girl would simply confuse what was good and right and make what had just gone before a suspect thing like everything else had been in this girl's sexual development. To take her in Lesbian embrace again was a risk ... but who could refuse such a need?
"Ohhh, yesss!" moaned Julia in response to the warm kiss pressed against the softness of her moist labia.
As Vivien tongued through to the taut clitoris and heard the mounting cries of joy, she knew what she would do-had to do-before the two of them were swept into a trap too deep to escape...
8
Kurt Reichard stood at the picture window in his office looking down the long walk which led from The Buccaneer main lodge to the employees' apartments. It was the first time in his five years as manager that Vivien Cochran had asked for a private conference.
He had no doubt that their meeting had to do with Julia. Whether her wanting to talk with him was ominous or promising was what worried him. Ever since that day over two months before when he'd gone bananas over the blonde, he had been expecting someone to zap him as a sex maniac.
The flaming loveliness of her hair caught his eye far down the walkway. Vivien was coming. In a few minutes she would be in this room. He stood motionless, watching the distant blur become a distinguishable person and as she neared, he was struck by the close resemblance of mother to daughter. "Good taste, Sherman," he muttered, reminding himself that his caller was more than Julia's family. She was the resort owner's favorite.
Reichard felt the rich sensuality of the woman and he seized the chance his drapes provided to study her. So like each other in build, those two. Vivien's body had the same springy confidence as she walked as did Julia's. Except there was a difference between the two. This one knew exactly what she did to a man and what to do about it.
An involuntary response pressed against his jockey shorts and Kurt swore softly under his breath. Ever since the misfire with Julia, he had resolved to be celibate, at least until he got things under control. The restless stretching of his penis, even under such sorry conditions, let him know he barely had that control.
He stared at Vivien for a last bold moment before she reached the turn into the administration building and he remembered Julia the way she had appeared that day. After all the weeks, he still could feel the shapeliness of her body as she squeezed against him in delighted gratitude that she was to work at The Buccaneer. He could still see her eyes go wonder-wide when he forced her fingers around his boldly jutting erection. He could remember the way she looked when she fainted and lay vulnerable before him. He shook his head angrily as he turned from the window and dropped to his seat to await his caller. What if Little Miss Know-Nothing hadn't really been unconscious and had told Mummy after all this time what the big, bad manager had done? With what Julia knew, she might have thought she'd been violated.
The intercom buzzer sounded. "Mrs. Cochran is here to see you, sir," said his secretary.
"Send her right in," Kurt boomed, feeling his heart race at the uncertainty of what was to come.
"Hi, Vivien! Grab a chair while I finish signing these," he called when she stepped into his office. He went on with the pretense of initialing purchase orders for a full minute after she settled into the couch directly across from his desk. His mind spun at the possible meaning of her choosing that seat. It was the place where Julia had revived after her faint. Was she about to make it a battleground?
"So how's Linen Central?" he asked, tossing his pen across the order sheets and smiling as he walked toward the woman on the davenport and dropped into a chair.
"It's the same as ever," she answered. "Being robbed silly by the help and the guests."
"That bad?"
"Not as bad as last year. We've had a girl visit the rooms of the checkouts to take a fast inventory before the guests reach the cashier's window."
"Catching some, eh?"
"Some," she nodded. "But you know how people are when they want to take something that doesn't belong to them. They bluster and they lie..." Her voice drifted off, but what she had said slammed with sledge-hammer force into Kurt's mind. He was right! Julia must have broken down and told her mother-after all this time. Vivien was out for his hide! If she hadn't already briefed Wilson, she was here to tell him she was about to. With sudden dizzying awareness, Kurt could see his whole professional status in the resort world toppling. He felt he'd better grab the initiative, or it could be the last chance.
"Look, Vivien, I can explain what happened," he said in a hot rush of words.
"Expl...? " She had been looking down, groping in her purse for the cigarettes, when the comment came. What possible thing could Kurt Reichard have to explain to her? A flash of feminine intuition came to her, and she pressed a cigarette to her lips.
"I don't know what Julia told you," Kurt said hesitantly.
Vivien leaned to the lighter Kurt held in a trembling hand. It was too good to have hoped for. This man she had come to with what was as bizarre a request as a mother could make, already had something going for her daughter.
"Maybe you'd better tell me what happened the way you saw it," she suggested, keeping her face expressionless as she settled against the couch.
Reichard groped painfully for the words. Flushed and sweating, he described the way Julia had pressed against him, exuberant over getting the start toward an innkeeper career. "You know how it is," he said, his voice showing his tension. "I guess I'd been thinking what I shouldn't, and all at once I was excited."
Vivien raised a quizzical eyebrow as she studied the man standing before her. She felt neither anger nor amusement as Kurt hurried on. "I shouldn't have. I know that now, but I exposed myself to
She pressed the last of her cigarette into the ash tray and eased from her seat, hoping the delight she felt didn't show. Very deliberately and slowly she moved to Kurt and stood directly before him. Suddenly, she felt compelled to brush her fingers over his crotch.
"Show me too," she said simply. "I want to see exactly what you did."
"Aw ... look ... I ... "
"Do you have a better idea?" Vivien demanded.
Kurt cringed at the start of an angry glitter in her eyes. The options were all hers and he knew it. All she needed to do was color it a bit with Wilson, and one manager's job would be up for grabs. He reached to clasp her at the waist and felt her fingers running with intensifying curiosity across the bulge of his stretching penis. She knew exactly how to turn him on in spite of his fear.
"You say she noticed your problem before you decided to advertise? Let's see." Her hands clasped his hips and she moved forward till she was pressed against his now completely erected cock. The pain of the hardness trapped in the elastic jockeys was intense, as Vivien wriggled in what seemed to be a deliberate grind against his agonized muscle.
"She noticed." Vivien's tone was subdued and her movement against his front stopped. "What did you do next?"
Kurt made a strangled sound and groped between their bodies for his zipper. "This!" he exclaimed, plunging his hand through the fly and dragging the tower of white and rigid flesh into view.
Something snapped inside him at the instant he freed his cock from captivity. He saw Vivien's eyes when she looked down at what he had exposed and he recognized the look. Instant lust! He'd seen it any number of times on other faces, and knew it was the heroic size of his phallus that compelled the response.
"Couldn't help myself," he mumbled, pretending shame but feeling sudden confidence. There was still a chance. "I made her hold it, like this!" He jammed the shaft across Vivien's palm and watched her fingers curl around it.
"What happened next?" she asked, not daring to move her hand. Inside her body a wild flutter had begun. It was the most outsized organ she ever had seen. Outsized, arrogant, cocked and loaded!
"She fainted," Kurt said, almost whispering. "She pulled on it a few times and then went down."
"And you put it up her while she was that way," she accused.
"No!" croaked Reichard. "So help me God, I didn't!"
"I don't believe you. What exactly do you want me to believe you did?"
Kurt's sigh was like the sound of the trapped male animal. "You're going to think I was out of my tree, and I was!"
"Show me!" demanded Vivien, looking over her shoulder at the carpeting. "Where did she fall? Did you catch her?"
"She kind of collapsed right through my arms and ... and I lowered her to the floor."
"How?" She pretended to' tumble across his tortured front, clasping his arms as she wilted and went down.
She got her answer in the gentle firmness of those hands as he lowered her to the dark green rug. He must have sensed the put-on, but he was frantically anxious that she know he meant Julia no harm. In that instant Vivien knew she had come to the right male for the final liberation of her daughter.
And such a man! As she had folded in the charade of fainting, she felt the marvelous size of his hard-on grind against her dress, and as her knees reached the carpet, she knew she was in large trouble. She clung to his hips and then to his legs as she went down and his flame-heated organ brushed nakedly across her throat and chin and lips as she passed.
It was an almost irresistible temptation. All her thoughts had been on Julia's welfare since the night before, when they had lain together. She had come to deliberately encourage a relationship with her daughter from someone Julia said she respected. From occasional sarcasms of Sherman Wilson she had gathered Kurt was something of a Prussian stud, but she could see the organ that ground proudly across her face had to belong to a young stallion. Only very fleetingly had it touched her mouth, but that whisper of a touch had nearly destroyed all her self-control. She had wanted to clamp her arms around the back of his legs and spread her lips wide to take his phenomenal crimson mushroom deep into her mouth. There was a wonderful male fragrance and a heat that ought to be loved-and loved by a total woman. She made a last-ditch grab for control as she continued the slide to the floor, then twisted to her back.
"What happened next?" she asked, trying to sound snappish. She wondered if her voice were even audible to the man as he stood there above her, so aroused, apparently barely in control himself. He's still not sure I won't blow the whistle, she thought.
"I want to know exactly," she said, looking toward his face, but seeing only the horny, rippling underside of a massive cock shaft.
"You won't believe this..." he croaked as he dropped to his knees. "You already said you didn't."
"Try me."
Reichard bent forward frenziedly and tugged the snug dress upward toward her navel. There was a second's hesitation as he gaped at her tight, pale-yellow panties and the prominent rise of the love mound beneath.
"I had to! Honest to God, I had to!" he snarled.
He brush-kissed a path from Vivien's trim ankles to her tapered thighs, moving gently up her legs, letting his pendulous monster of a cock press its own path behind the trail of kisses.
"I had to!" he repeated as he straddled Vivien's thighs, then jammed his hardness into the crease where her legs met.
She felt the delicious heat of the rod trapped momentarily against the inner muscles of her thighs, then it sprang free, ramrodding gaily at the air and then ground again into her little valley. She caught sight of his eyes as he stretched back to force the cock to leap and there was a glazed stare. Kurt was at the very edge of coming! Was that truly how it went? she wondered.
A low groan spilled from his lips and he dragged himself forward to lean across Vivien's body, staring glassy-eyed into her face as he gripped his phallus and pressed it against the lower curve of her Venus mound.
"Gu ... God, Vivien, honest. . . this is what I did!"
Totally cock-maddened, she hoped against hope that she would feel rapish fingers claw her legs apart and a brutalizing prick spread her love lips. Instead, a blunt crown drove straight downward, forging a tunnel through her thigh flesh to begin a crazed pistoning. She felt the friction of hot, erectile tissue against the outside of her now hysterical pussy lips and she could stand it no more.
"You did that to my Julia?" she demanded, pressing her legs in a snug lock at the knees to immobilize the action.
Kurt was able only to nod as he tried to find air for suddenly choked lungs. The heady sweep of the pre-orgasm warning was already blurring his vision and he fought to focus on the face beneath him. Was it Julia or Vivien? Was he on trial, and who was this woman to act as his judge and jury? And why had he ever surrendered all rights to this flame-haired goddess to Sherman?
"To hell with reenactment, Viv!" he heard himself rasp at the pretty face inches away from his own. "This is what I should have done!"
He felt the resisting muscles and saw what he wanted to see in her expression. He knew she had to have it. She was a fuck-driven witch hypnotized by her need of him. A salty, red mist stung his eyes as he forced the cock crown toward the dark flesh cleft which seemed to tremble as he stared.
"Take it!" he growled, in command again. He thrust brutishly through the yielding gates and felt the instant clutch on his thick crown.
"Kuh ... Kurt!" Her hands found his neck and he wondered if she might try to strangle him. Let her! He could handle that, too! Then the hands were drawing his face to hers and their mouths were meeting. Lord, the educated tongue she had!
"Manager man!" she gasped when their lips separated. "I want to know what I can expect for my little Julia when you're training her."
Sensual clouds of sheer coital delight surrounded him as he drove his prick's hardness against the surrendering cunt.
"Training for what?" he panted, wondering if his hearing was in a fantasy frenzy, too. This couldn't really be happening! But it was!
"You really want to know?" He felt a compulsion to laugh insanely as he pistoned faster and faster. "I'm gonna train that girl to be a very ... a very ... " The room was spinning now...
"Very what?"
"Now ... Viv, now!"
Their climaxes were simultaneous and explosive as their seething bodies throbbed in the grip of the orgasm. For long seconds after the last of his cum barrage had stormed deep into her overjoyed vagina, they rocked together in silent reluctance to see the moment end.
When Vivien opened her eyes, Kurt was studying her face intently. "It wasn't really a test, was it?" he asked.
"What?" There was a twinkle of mischief as she looked unblinkingly at the man still hovered across her.
He grunted in what sounded like ultimate frustration, and disengaging from her clasp, turned to sit beside her. Vivien waited quietly as he drew the soft knit dress across her tummy and over her mound.
"It sounded like some crazy kind of test you were giving me." He cocked a perplexed eyebrow at her and she pushed to a sitting position.
She nodded and reached for the yellow panties just beyond her toes. "It was a kind of a test," she admitted, "but not for what you thought."
"I don't get it," Kurt said. "Vivien Cochran never does anything without damned well thinking it through. But I don't understand this."
"Then I'll tell you," she replied, taking a deep breath and reaching for words ... You admitted to me that you made a mistake the day Julia came to you and ... and you did ... well, those things. Now, I'm admitting to you that I made a bigger mistake and I want to set it straight."
He waited quietly as she reached to the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, then held his lighter to the Silva Thin. This time his hand was steady.
"Anyway," she went on, tossing the pack back to the table top, "I did a double-barreled warping of my daughter a few years ago without really ever intending it to come out this way."
"She doesn't act very warped," he observed soberly.
"Underneath, she isn't. It's only what's in her conscious mind. Bart was giving me a bad time when she was asking those adolescent questions about sex." Vivien studied the tip of her cigarette. "I'd begun to find male companionship elsewhere and I was feeling guilty as hell. Maybe you knew?"
"Sherm?"
Vivien nodded as she snugged the cigarette into the ash tray.
"So let me guess," Kurt interrupted. "Mistake number two ... you sent her to convent school."
"Almost. It was a very narrow training. Anyway, she's had some real shocks with the male world since she came home. With the female world, too."
His hand found hers and squeezed. "So lay it on the line. How did I come in?"
"She's determined she's going to make a career of this business, and the way the ball has bounced so far, she may get hurt in her love life. She wears her heart right out in plain view." Vivien looked steadily into Reichard's eyes. "Kurt, I want you to teach her a real man-woman passion so she'll know the best."
He sucked in his breath at the bluntness and for seconds said nothing. Finally he asked, "No strings?"
Her hand sought his. "None. I want her to know a real man's love, and you can pick the ways to teach her."
"Have to get her back here to administration and off that damned pool assignment. I don't think Sherman is as gung-ho for his manager to train Julia as you are."
"He will be," she promised. "I'm going to see him when I leave. But we've got some other things you should know about Julia ... that. . . now, Kurt, don't!"
She knew she should fight the arm that swept around her waist and forced her to her back. But when he found her lips with his and when his tongue speared in eager thrusts symbolic of that huge spear pistoning from his groin, Vivien knew if he didn't take her, she'd die.
"Ohhh, Kurt, do!" She opened her legs wide to welcome him.
9
"I'd like the bill for 801, please." The man looked past the vertical grille of the cage directly at the provocative contouring of Julia's cashmere sweater.
When she returned with the Kardex tab of his room charges, he clucked softly at the long list on the invoice. "That's all mine?" he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
Julia smiled at his pained expression. "I think so, sir. Just a minute." She glanced quickly down the columns that spelled out the story of a man who had enjoyed all the services of The Buccaneer during his stay. All but one that his brazen appraisal said he thought he might have had. Again his stare was on her breasts as she bent to check the invoice. She made a private wager with herself that the man would blush when she looked up.
"It seems to be all yours, Mister Anderson," she announced, smiling as she pushed the bill under the grating. "I'll check your phone account," she said, turning to the wall panel with its mass of tiny recording boxes.
"Only one call this morning," he grumbled after her.
A moment later she was back at the counter. "We register five calls this morning, sir. Washington, D.C., and four local calls." Julia looked trustingly at the flushed face. "Could we be wrong?"
"Mmmmm ... no!" He scowled down at the bill. "Forgot, I guess."
While Anderson checked each entry, Julia pressed button 801 to alert Housekeeping to a room check. The attempted dodge with the telephone bill was one of the things her tutor had stressed as a warning of a cheap guest or a possible thief.
"Don't understand this fifteen-dollar item at all," he complained looking up from his scrutiny of the sheet. "It says 'Restaurant' and I ate in the Coffee Shop night before last."
Julia looked at the date before the entry. "It was three nights ago, Mister Anderson. I'll be glad to get your dinner check for you for that meal."
"Hell, no! Sure, you're right."
The switchboard operator slipped a note onto the clipboard at Julia's elbow: "Scream! Eight-o-one has a missing TV!"
"Would you excuse me a minute, Mister Anderson?" Without waiting permission, she hurried down the short corridor to the manager's office, knocked, then stood tapping her toe impatiently.
"Come in!" called the booming voice inside.
"Mister Reichard, the maid reports a TV gone from eight-o-one, and the guest is checking out!"
"So? What are you going to do about it?" His smile was bemused as he watched her worried bubbling. It was the way he had handled every question she had asked him since coming three months before to front desk operations.
"I'd better call our patrol car," she answered. "That's the worst I ever heard of."
Kurt leaned back in his chair and waved her to silence. "You're going to have the man arrested, is that it?"
"Don't you think he should be?"
"What's your book say? You know, about guest relations and all that?"
She could almost recite page and paragraph of the Motel/Hotel Management Manual. "The word is 'finesse' when the guest is in violation," she said with a grimace, turning toward the door.
"Use it!" he called after her, grinning. "I want a report on what you do as soon as it's over," he added.
"Yes, sir." She closed the door quietly behind her and headed back toward the cashier's cubicle, considering the alternatives as she walked. It was the way Mr. Anderson had visually X-rayed her sweater that decided the strategy: save a color TV for The Buccaneer, and maybe even have the skinny little thief go away wanting to come back next vacation.
"Harry, will you cover Checkout for me while I go out?" she asked the middle-aged desk clerk.
He turned a beatific smile on her. "Sure, hon, anything at all for you."
Julia grated her teeth as she turned back to her cage and to the challenge at hand. One type she couldn't stand were the eternal Joe College Harrys with their red desk-clerk jackets, their pot bellies and their roving tails whenever she passed behind them on an errand along Front operations.
"Guess it's all right," grumbled the waiting Mr. Anderson. "Goes on my Master Charge."
"Very good, sir," Julia replied, taking the white plastic rectangle. She turned to the credit slips and flipped the pages of the Masters' Bad Card catalogue to see if the man was something else besides a TV thief. There was no record of his number.
"That's three hundred twenty dollars we are reporting," she said, slipping the gray, translucent sheet across the formica top for his signature. "Would you wait just a minute, Mister Anderson?"
She stepped to the switchboard and left the copy of the bill with the charge card number on the operator's desk-another of the necessities Kurt had refined. The check with the central control of all credit card users was done unobtrusively at the resort. But it was done for all charges over fifty dollars.
"What'za matter?" He eyed Julia suspiciously as she stepped from the cubicle and circled to the front of Checkout.
"I have a very nice surprise for you, Mister Anderson," she enthused, slipping her arm into the crook of his bony elbow and steering him toward the lobby door. "You're our one-hundred-thousandth guest and there's something we want you to have," she whispered confidentially, winking at a bellhop who watched her bend to whisper in the little man's ear as she passed.
"I'll be damned!" muttered the nonplused guest. "Where is it?"
"It was supposed to be delivered to your room before you left, and it must have come right after. Is your car out in front."
"Yeah ... but ... "
"Let's run down together, shall we?" She angled his room key. "You can just scoop up our gift and be on your way."
"Sayyy ... how about that!" The man whistled nervously as he steered Julia to his Fleetwood.
When they pulled up to the diagonal curb guard, she slipped her hand across the seat to his knee to keep him from leaving the car. A quick glance told er that the south wing parking area was empty for the moment.
"I don't know how to tell you this without getting you mad." She looked directly at him. "There isn't any hundred-thousandth-guest prize, I got you down here so we could talk alone." Oh?" The man's eyes were beady-bright with curiosity.
"See, no one in this whole place has to know this, and they won't, if you help me." Whazzat?"
I know what's in the trunk behind me and I know what's missing in this room in front of me." He looked pleadingly into Anderson's shocked face. "Please?"
For several stunned seconds the man sat motionless, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that Julia could see his knuckles whiten. Then, very slowly, he slumped against the wheel, his forehead pressed against the back of his hand, his shoulders convulsing as he fought the sobs which tore him.
It was more than Julia had bargained for. She had guessed Ray Anderson was a hardened thief who would have a slick and immediate answer for the stolen TV. Instead, for the first time in her life, Julia was seeing a man cry.
"Please, Mister Anderson ... don't ... " she tried and then abruptly broke off the attempt, knowing nothing to say except "don't".
An agonized moment later the man groped his pants pocket for a handkerchief, and, looking at her with the most hopeless expression Julia ever had seen, he dabbed jerkily at his reddened eyes. For some inexplicable reason, Julia felt an intense pity for the man. She was certain now he was something more than a common crook, and in spite of the ugliness of his face, she felt an intense desire to put her arm around his shoulder, to draw him to her and to comfort him.
It suddenly occurred to her that the man might be far less a thief and more an emotionally ill person. Just the week before, in the management study course, she had been reading of the weird kleptomania that some motel guests have. A drive to steal whatever they can, without really needing what they take. A man with a Caddy could hardly need a TV, she reasoned. Raymond Anderson was a perfect case study of kleptomania-run-wild.
"Come," she said, pushing open her door and sliding across the sleek black leather of the Fleetwood seat. "Let's take it back."
Before she reached the rear of the car, Anderson had pressed the trunk release and the first thing Julia saw as she peered into the dark cavity of the trunk was the canvas-wrapped rectangle which obviously was the missing TV set.
"I'll do it alone, thank you," Anderson said snappishly when she bent to help him lift it. Without a word, Julia trailed him into the room, then dropped to the edge of the bed and watched as he carefully unwrapped the canvas. Without looking at her, he lifted the heavy set to its place on the elevated wall rack. When he had restored the antenna connection and replaced the plug in the socket, he turned dispiritedly to face her.
"Can I go now, or is The Buccaneer going to press charges? "
"I told you I'm the only one who knows yet, except for the one in Housekeeping who called. You could run, and I couldn't do a thing." She looked steadily into his face and his cheek muscle twitched nervously.
"Why?" he demanded. "Why did you do this? You could have just called the cops."
Julia nodded and looked down at her hands. "I could have, but I didn't, because ... well, because you don't act like a thief."
When she looked up, Anderson's eyes were moist and he turned abruptly to keep her from seeing the signs of new emotion. Impulsively she reached for his hand and drew him to sit beside her at the edge of the bed.
"So tell me," she asked. "Why did you try to take the TV?"
He sat silent and thinking for several seconds, then took a deep breath. "You're probably not going to believe this, but you asked. It all began because of a girl." His head turned quickly and his eyes, which had been reddened seconds ago, now seemed surprisingly clear. "She was a girl who looked a lot like you and I loved her very much."
"Did she love you?" Julia asked, feeling strangely disturbed by the pain she read in his expression.
"I thought so." His laugh was cynical. "But she really suckered me. Hell, I've told myself a million times I should've known." He stared at Julia and grunted. "You've looked me over. You can see I'm ugly as sin. I've always been scared around females, but this one made me feel special-like I really rated the attention I'd never had."
"What happened?"
"Well, it was beautiful for almost a year before she put the bite on me. Just a short-term twenty thousand for her brother's business. She walked out of the bank and out of my life. like that! That's all it was from the start, a money grab. She didn't give a damn about me. Nobody ever has!" Anderson snorted disgustedly and looked toward the window and out to the sleek Cadillac.
"You're right. I don't act like a thief and I've got lots of money, but there's a hundred motels that would tell you I do steal."
Julia stared in astonishment at his admission. "I ... I don't understand."
"Of course you don't," he agreed. "But you're young and beautiful and the world's your oyster. Me, I'm just a skinny little wart the world wishes would get out of the way. You don't know what real hurt is till you discover that not one soul cares whether you're alive or dead."
"And this is why you steal things from motels?"
He grunted and nodded. "Call me nuts, I don't care. But you see what happened when you caught me. You paid some attention to me. I'm alive for you. I'm your most important person for a few minutes. Oh, you'll forget me in the next five, but right now I'm a real, live somebody to you."
She looked closely at his face and there was only sadness in the expression. "So these other places r have caught you, too?"
He shook his head. "Not with a TV, and not red-handed like you did. But they've trailed me through my bank and through the mail and made me pay for what was missing. And it's worth it, when you're that kind of alone. At least, I'm someone worth paying attention to while they're on my tail."
"And this is all because of one girl?" asked Julia.
Anderson shrugged. "I suppose so. Can you i imagine me ever having more than one female give ! a damn about me, anyway?"
That was it! Suddenly Julia was sure she understood Raymond Anderson and his compulsion to steal. Attention was what he wanted, and even attention from the victimized motel people was better than, nothing. But, way-down deep, this lonely little man hungered for love-woman love-a female to let him know that for all his plainness and smallness, he was really important to her.
The certainty that she was right burst around i Julia like a spraying rocket. And with the certainty came the inspiration of a way to help a man in big trouble with himself and his masculine pride. '
"I may be wrong, as you say." She slipped from I the edge of the bed and stood facing him. "But I think it isn't only young people who are foolish.", He raised his head and looked resignedly at the irritation in her face. "Go ahead," Anderson said. "Give it to me. I'm stupid, and sooner or later I may wind up in jail for petty larceny."
She turned her back on Anderson and marched to the room door, kicking it shut with a resounding smash. She stood facing the window, staring at the base of a palm tree near the parked Caddy.
Inside her head, hesitant thoughts were being brushed aside. It's for him, she told herself. No one else might understand, but she could-and right now she was the only one in the world who could help Raymond Anderson. Help him in a special way that could send him back on the trail for the right kind of attention. She felt driven to aid this human-this special way.
"I ... hate ... selfish ... men!" Julia said deliberately, stiil staring through the window at the palm. "You say you're ugly, but no one ever told you that. It's just what you've told yourself, after some girl hurt you. Have you ever tried to meet another girl?" She snapped the drape closed, turned and walked slowly toward the man still perched at the edge of the bed.
Anderson's eyes were staring as she neared him and he gulped as he shook his head.
"I know something about you, Mister Anderson, and if I know it, other girls must know it too."
"What?"
"I know that you stared at my breasts very rudely when you came to pay your bill this morning."
"I'm sorry."
"You know, girls are people, too, and they like attention. Maybe especially to their breasts ... and ... and other places." She felt breathless at her directness. "But they don't like to be stared at like ... things!"
"I ... I am sorry." Anderson's glance dropped to her cashmere sweater. "Maybe I was bold because it was my only chance to look and ... and I felt I had to. It's no excuse, I know."
A shiver traveled down Julia's spine. "You know that kind of look bothers a girl and you'd be surprised how many girls would like it at the right time."
"Would you?" Anderson pushed from the bed and as he stood, Julia saw a fierce tenting at his crotch. She felt a momentary uncertainty, knowing what she planned to do would be considered utterly shameless, even wanton-closing the last door on the standards and virtues of St. Mary's. But the look on this man's face! The need he had for love-of someone willing to give him sympathetic attention. It could start him on a whole new way!
Her fingers found the edge of her sweater. "Would you like to really see what you were looking at before?" She pulled upward and for a brief moment Anderson's look of total incredulity was hidden as Julia tugged the cashmere over her head. When she turned her back, he caught her meaning and groped with trembling fingers for the bra snaps.
Bare-breasted, she swung to face him. "Feel!" she commanded. She drew her shoulders back and the stiffened centers of her outspoken globes invited his touch. "Feel!" she repeated. "I want you to, and so would lots of other girls."
His hands closed over her twin hillocks and he gasped at the touch.
"You're too beautiful," he choked.
She shook her head. "Not too beautiful, Raymond Anderson. Just beautiful enough to make you-like this!" Her hand shot to the bulging of his pants and a moment later she held his aroused naked penis in a tightly clenched fist.
She moved close to Anderson's front and whispered in his ear, "I want to do something-but only if you promise me..."
"Promise what?" he gasped. "Anything!"
"I want you to promise never to steal another thing-ever!"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise," he gagged.
"And something else."
"What? What?"
"I want you to promise me to believe that what we are doing is beautiful for lots of girls-girls who won't be like that other one."
"You?" His voice sounded strangled. "Is it beautiful to you?"
Julia nodded and let him ease her to the edge of the bed with an arm at her back while his other hand teased across the dramatic thrust of a breast.
She caught his hand as the tease moved to a determined massage of a taut nipple and drew the fingers to her lap. "I can't," she whispered. "I had to show you that girls would like you, if you tried. But I can't go all the way. I'm promised."
There was a desperate look in Anderson's face, as though he understood, yet he didn't fully understand. "You're one in a million," he moaned, looking down at the very feminine fingers which still circled his cock shaft.
"No, I'm not," she replied in a halting whisper as she fought the surge of hunger for the man's hardness in her body. "There are lots like me who aren't taken yet."
"How far then?" Anderson demanded hoarsely.
"Let's help each other this way." She began a gentle frigging motion and an instant later watched his fingers creep to the hem of her skirt, then prowl beneath the edge of her panties and find her moist cleft.
Kurt Reichard, watching from his picture window, saw Julia wave to the driver as she stepped away from the Cadillac. "Come back and see us," she called.
"Damned if I might not!" he heard the man at the wheel call back. "And thanks!"
He turned away from the window as Julia bounded up the steps toward his office. It was going well for a very talented management prospect, Kurt decided. And for the hundredth time in ninety days, he wondered if he could take the self-imposed torture another hour.
"Sadist!" he hissed under his breath as he buttoned the white linen blazer and dropped into the chair behind his desk. A closed jacket and, as much as possible, the separation of his desk, were necessities when Julia was around. The fever for her was worse every day.
He remembered how ideal the strategy had seemed to be when she began formal training under his supervision three months before: carte blanche from Vivien to give this luscious blonde voluptuary a liberal education in all the ways of hetero sex. Every time Julia walked into his office he remembered her mother's urging the last time they were together: ". . . teach her real man-woman passion!" she'd said. It had been a wide-open invitation, and as far as Vivien knew, her daughter's chosen tutor was pounding Julia's sweet ass into every empty mattress he could find around The Buccaneer.
The most casual contacts with the girl aroused Kurt all the more because the designs he had on her were expected by her mother, and there were open signs that Julia herself was ready and wanting. If he had only controlled himself on that very first meeting when he'd played the maniac over her fantastic body!
Now the bid had to come from Julia. Bit by bit, as they met in private evening sessions to discuss her latest study in the training manuals, Kurt could feel the heat building in the girl. The way she dressed for their meetings was a clue. More and more thigh showing at the edge of her skirt, snugger-than-ever material hugging her breasts and hips. Then there was the way she studied his face when he was discussing some point in the AMHA manuals. At first it was eyeball-to-eyeball conversation. Lately her eyes had begun to drift to his lips when he spoke. The girl was really turned on, but his strategy dictated that she would have to beg for it.
"Goddamn the strategy!" he muttered, hearing her steps on the linoleum-covered service stairs that functioned as a back entry to the resort's executive offices.
Julia's heart began to race as she neared the top step and saw the oak door which opened into Kurt's office. "I'm taken," she had told Anderson, and how she wished Kurt would really take her! Even when she was making a brief drop-in report the thought of being near him alone for a minute started the pounding in her chest. He had been a mystery since she began the serious phase of her apprenticeship in management. Whenever she saw Kurt, her first thought was the way he had acted with her that time when he had lost control of himself. So many months had passed since that episode, and she knew that under the surface he was as wild for her now as then. He tried to hide it in their meetings, but the jacket didn't conceal the bulge when he'd have to walk away from his desk. His penis was always hard.
She smiled to herself at the thought of the pressure his excitement over her must put on his pants. If only he'd flip again the way he did the first time. There would be no fainting for little Julia this time! After the freaky hours she'd known since, the thought of Kurt Reichard making a bid for sex was absolutely delicious.
But he'd pushed some kind of button in himself around her. like the HOLD button on his desk telephone, he was delaying real contact. And her body needed real contact! Everywhere around The Buccaneer she saw and sensed other people having sex and more sex and now that she was ripe for it, the one man she had to have wasn't taking.
Kurt had to be respected for his standards, Julia decided after months had gone by and she had been forced to accept the almost impersonal relationship around him. During the work hours, she called him Mister Reichard. After work and in their study-discussion sessions he asked her to call him Kurt, and that helped her to know they were at least friends. Then she'd see his lips and remember how they'd once pressed against her pussy flesh-and she'd see the bulge in his slacks and remember how it looked standing proud and pole-like from his body.
As she knocked on his door, Julia knew that very shortly something had to give.
"Congratulations," he said when she entered his office. "It sounded as if you handled our thief very well. Tell me about it."
Julia took the chair at the side of his desk and perched at the edge as she made her report. But Raymond Anderson was already a million miles away from her real thoughts.
"Fine," he praised when she finished. He glanced at his watch. "Your shift out front is done and I'm cleaned up here. Why don't we have a sandwich and get our review of bookkeeping procedures over earlier today?" He scraped the papers on top of his desk into a pile as he waited for her answer.
"I'd like that," she replied and he glanced quickly at her face. She knew there was something lacking in her usual enthusiasm for their seminar.
"Bet you're sick of National Cash Registers and IBMs and the whole lot, aren't you?"
She shook her head violently and the long, shimmering hair bounced lightly. "Never-I love it!"
Kurt smiled as he reached for the phone to order the food. "You're a glutton for punishment," he grunted, punching the digits for Room Service.
Two hours later, he yawned and pushed tiredly away from his desk. Her eyes darted involuntarily to his crotch as he stood and stretched his powerful frame. No sign of any action-and small wonder: they had been shop-talking about the corner of hotel administration that Kurt obviously liked the least.
"I don't see how a CP.A. stays sane," he said, tossing Julia the manual from which he'd been quizzing her. "Had enough? It's eight o'clock."
She fought the impulse to beg him to go on, and, instead, looked at him questioningly. "Whatever you feel like, Kurt. I'm really not tired yet."
"Okay. So let's talk about something besides accounting. I could use a drink and some lighter chatter. How about it? I'm buying."
The Pirates' Chest Lounge was a subdued hush of a hundred low-keyed conversations when they arrived and slipped into a corner booth. Candles in ruby-glass hurricane lamps gave the only light, and after the hours of talking business and office procedures, the decor of the room was intensely intimate.
"Seagrams and Seven and a Coke, Arlene," he said to the cocktail waitress who hurried to their table when she saw Kurt.
"Yes, Mister Reichard. Will you want anything else?"
He winked at the torrid-bodied female and Julia noticed his eyes never drifted from her face. "Not a thing, but you've got a few others who do."
A noisy quartet several tables away had begun to yell for service and the girl threw a disdainful look in their direction. "I'll quiet them down, Mister Reichard."
Julia watched the waitress move with a kind of regal coolness toward the four men and she "oohed" openly at the statuesque bearing of the female he called Arlene.
"She's good, isn't she?" Kurt said, following the direction of her glance. "Those are four peddlers from Baltimore ... been stopping here for years."
Julia gasped at the bold hand of one of the men openly patting the burgundy satin covering the girl's very shapely derriere.
Kurt chuckled, "That's right, I forgot. You haven't been in The Chest very often."
"Doesn't Arlene mind being handled that way?"
He shook his head and slumped back against the soft, black leather of their seat. "She can take care of herself. I imagine she'll be sleeping with that one tonight. He's the one she really-likes."
A moment later the waitress was swaying sensuously back toward their corner with the Seagrams and the Coke and Julia stared at the extremely scanty costume of mini panties that failed to cover the buttocks cheeks and a tiny halter that only concealed the centers of her breasts. When she deposited the drinks and turned from their table, Julia visibly shivered.
"Something the matter?" Kurt asked, noticing the tremor.
She nodded. "I guess it's me. I mean, so much around The Buccaneer just seems to say, 'Sex, Sex, Sex!' And that's what it's all about, I guess ... a resort and everything."
Kurt had been rock-hard aroused from the moment they stepped into the lounge, and when he had the safety of the concealing table he had flipped his erection from the elastic trap of his jockeys. Something signaled inside him when he heard her turn the topic to sex. It was the first mention in their three months of working together.
"So is there something wrong with sex?" he asked, steering a fingertip aimlessly around the top of his glass.
"Oh, no!" Her response was immediate, then she sat silent for a minute and he waited. "It's the kinds of sex I don't understand," she went on. "I can really admire a girl like Arlene. She works around men with practically nothing on; they paw her and she still keeps her dignity as a female. Maybe it's because you just feel she's honest and open about it, and there's nothing dirty."
"There shouldn't ever be anything dirty about it," Kurt replied. "Why? Do you see some that's dirty around the resort?"
Julia nodded. "Sometimes. Out at the registration desk. I get so mad with sneaky couples. I can even understand swapping, if someone has a husband like Mums does, but some of the couples act so guilty when they sign in. What difference does it make?"
Kurt felt a seething excitement at her words. This was a totally different Julia from the girl who had been a frightened doe in his office several months before. His campaign for property rights was in its final phase, and a last little nudge should have her wholly liberated-totally a woman.
"It can go too far," he said, feeling her eyes on his face and aware suddenly that she was expecting a comment.
"How?" She stirred the cubes in her coke nervously as she watched him.
"When it doesn't make any difference who the sex is with, as long as it's sex-then it can get to be a really bad compulsion." He thought for a few seconds. "I can show you, better than tell you, what I mean," he said, making his tone a shade resigned.
Her gaze was steady. "I'd like to see that ... I really would!"
Moments later they were walking on the gravel path toward the health spa building. When they had stepped from the lounge, Kurt was sweating, aware of the impossible-to-hide bulge of his trousers. As he unbuttoned the blazer jacket to carry it as concealment, something grabbed inside him and he changed his mind. He reached for Julia's hand as they walked the dark path. "Do you happen to know Virna, the spa masseuse?" he asked.
"I see her once in a while around the employees' dining room," Julia replied. "She's beautiful."
Kurt pulled the key purse from his pocket and fingered through half-a-dozen master keys. "Good!" he exclaimed when he found the one he wanted. "You are about to learn the best-kept secret of The Buccaneer."
"It looks closed," she said when they walked past the spa's main entrance and rounded the corner to the one-story gymnasium and the rambling maze of therapy rooms.
"It does close, like the schedule says, at six. But to Virna's select customers, her after-hours massage is available."
Excitement tingled through her as she watched Kurt fiddle with the lock to the side entrance of the building. All the way from the lounge to the spa, Julia had seen in the light of the moon filtering through the trees what she had only occasionally seen in the past three months. The man was enormously aroused, but for a change he wasn't trying to conceal it. Maybe, just maybe, he was done with penance for that one day he had dropped his cool. Please, Kurt, she prayed silently, try me again!
It was the first open admission she had made to herself of how completely she had changed. Bit by bit she had dissected the things that had happened to her since that day in his office and now she knew herself and knew what she wanted-had desperately wanted for three months.
"In here!" he whispered, grabbing her arm to guide her down a darkened corridor. She wished the hand that held her elbow would wander in the darkness the same way that salesman's hand had fondled the waitress in the lounge.
They walked for what seemed miles, and then they made a last turn and she saw the square of light shining from a distant room.
"Massage room," his voice was lowered and she felt his hand shift from her arm to her waist. He leaned close to her ear as they neared the light. "Get ready. Here's a girl who can't say 'no!' "
He eased to a viewing point out of the shaft of light from the little window in the center of the door. "This is the best we can do," he whispered. "You may have to stand tiptoe to see."
"Brace me," she whispered back, taking his hand from her waist and guiding it to the curve where her hip joined her tail cheek. As she strained toward the window, his other hand found the opposite hip. Then, while she pressed as close as she dared to the glass, her escort's support shifted to a firm pressure directly over her tightly cupped buttock cheeks.
"Ohhhh, Kurt!" Her hand stifled the exclamation before it broke from her lips and she gaped at the mad sight in the massage room.
The curvaceous, flaxen-haired young Amazon they labeled "Virna of Sweden" in the spa promotional material was something else! The dramatically stacked masseuse, who Julia was sure couldn't be more than twenty, was brazenly nude as she treated three male guests. Kurt and Julia had arrived just after she had asked her clients to shift three massage tables side-to-side in the center of the room.
Still affecting the professional demeanor of the masseuse, she had straddled the crotch of the towel-clad male lying in sexual agony on the central table. She pretended to ignore the jutting penis thrusting through the folds of the towel, thumping hungrily against her thighs as she stretched to position the men at her side.
Very precisely Virna placed the outer two so they would face opposite direction from the one in the middle.
Behind her, Julia felt one of the hands that had supported her tiptoe position leave her buttock. An instant later she heard the soft sound of a zipper. A tidal wave of need swept through her. Before her was a swinging sexuality of a type she never had dreamed, and behind her the man of her dreams was doing what her prayers for months had begged him to do.
The action of Virna with the man beneath trapped Julia's attention again. As if it were accidental, Virna lowered her saucy ass toward the ramrodding prick while she massaged the man's chest. Both men on the adjacent cots had a clear view as she pressed her cleft directly against the broad crown, then settled slowly onto the impaling spear. It was clear from the sudden wildness in her expression that Virna's professional veneer was cracking.
Her two-man audience gawked as Virna's cute cleft stretched wide to take the swollen shaft of her third client's hungry prick. Lips parted and eyes glittering with sex fever, the nearly overwhelmed Scandinavian beauty leaned across a wriggling male torso and twisted one of the two still-unpampered penises toward her lips. The man whose organ she had picked for her newest play slipped his hand under her animated front and found a ripe, burgeoning nipple as she bent across him in fellatio.
Shocked but delighted, Julia gaped at the animal beauty of the figures locked in mounting frenzies, and, knowing that Kurt had for the first time in months released his own captive phallus, she felt a wild urge to drop to her knees and seize the monumental hardness just behind her.
"You have to see this!" Julia hissed, pivoting to grab his arm before he had a chance to hide himself. He grabbed for his arrogant exposure, but her hand was there first.
"No, please, Kurt. I'm different now." He let her hold his hard-on while they both strained to watch the foursome on the massage tables.
Virna was so fully impaled on the cock of the middle man that her buttocks were flush against his thighs and she held him motionless while she turned her attention to the fellatio. Licking the sopping shaft to the total frenzy of its owner, she began an enthusiastic frigging.
Julia let her hand tighten its grip and began to jerk lightly at Reichard's stem and it was evident that the moment of truth was at hand.
Both watched Virna ease the trap around the cock plunged to the hilt in her vagina, and now in three-way assault she was humping at the man beneath her, masturbating the prick on one side as its possessed bearer arched to thrust more into her hand. At the same moment her suck-off victim began screeching the warning of his climax.
Inflamed, Julia suddenly wrestled free of Kurt's arms and dropped to her knees. She clasped his legs and dragged herself against him and she could feel his whole body trembling. Then her fingers were on his soaring flesh pole, propelling it to her lips and she was tongue-teasing the wild sensitivity of the broad ledge. Groaning, Kurt sank slowly to his knees as she forced his thick cock crown into her mouth.
It was only a matter of seconds. His psyched and super-sensitized penis, was unable to hold its brimming load and with a helpless groan of surrender, Kurt let the ejaculation fly. At the first taste of his cannonading semen, Julia clutched the pulsing barrel with both fists and rocked slightly backward to look up at the man's face as he climaxed. She lifted her face in the soft, half-light and siphoned for every exploding drop of his cum.
As the last of his orgasm raced, Kurt wilted to his side and took Julia's convulsing body into his arms. For long moments they lay cuddled close
Kurt pulled her face to his and kissed her lightly. "Thank you," he whispered. "Let me take you out of here."
It was almost daybreak and a thin line of light edged along the horizon. The two lay with their arms entwined and their bodies tightly pressed, watching the night dissipate.
"Why did you take me to see Virna?" Julia asked softly.
He shrugged a naked shoulder against hers and said nothing.
"Tell me," she persisted. "Were you trying to shock me? You didn't have to, you know."
Kurt chuckled. "Sure, I was trying to shock you. Call it part of your training. Every big resort has its Virna. I was showing you the other extreme from the sneaked sex you were talking about in the lounge."
"I still don't understand," she murmured, nibbling gently at an earlobe.
"You'll be an innkeeper one day," he said. "A damned good one, too. You'll see plenty of guilty sex and plenty of nympho sex. Take either extreme you want."
She felt the sudden thickening of his penis reawakening deep within her vagina and her body began a slow, seductive grind. "I think I'd rather be assistant innkeeper and have this."
"That will require a lot of after-hours training."
"I know," she answered huskily, feeling the ballooning shaft stiffen to love steel. "I'm ready."
