The theme of corrupted innocence is as old as the Garden of Eden. It appears also in the Babylonian epic of Gilgamesh, and it has come down to contemporary man primarily through the Judeo-Christian tradition.
In the Greek myths concerning the rape of Europa, for example, or the kidnapping/seduction of Persephone, the theme of corrupted innocence is nowhere evident. Both are innocents who lament their loss of virtue by force, but they retain their basic integrity and dignity. On the other hand, the tales surrounding the Roman empress, Messalina, are stories of total corruption with no mention of a one-time innocence. It is as if the ancients believed that the innocent remain innocent; the corrupt were always corrupt. " Medieval man knew otherwise. Dante Alighieri, for example, portrays the seduction and execution of the adulteress Francesca da Rimini with a deep sense of compassion. Later authors have followed his lead. The "fallen woman" played a major role in much of Victorian popular literature. And we may also cite such graphic classical studies as Stephen Crane's Maggie: Girl of the Streets (which Crane wrote under the pseudonym of Johnston Smith), Emile Zola's Nana and Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. There is also the long suppressed chapter from Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Possessed where Nikolay Stavrogin corrupts a teenaged girl and secludes himself to watch her commit suicide in her despair.
However, few writers have investigated the detailed steps by which an innocent girl has been corrupted. Authors have tended to elucidate the psychological or sociological overtones of corrupted innocence solely: few have delved into the somatic and visceral aspects combined with the psychological. But for the interests of a better understanding of the subject, it is incumbent upon those who seek a thorough knowledge of the situation to investigate everything relating to the subject. Each writer tends to emphasize one facet to the neglect of others; nonetheless, there can be no truly complete or realistic picture until every aspect has been considered.
At the present time in the United States, fictional books and magazines dealing with sexual realism are grave political issues. In this magazine we are presenting a combined educational, artistic, and literary treatment of one case history of a corrupted innocent; and by doing so, we hope to illustrate the unseverable blood-line between science, art, and humanistic realism in which characters speak and act as some people are wont to do in moments of stress, joy, and despair. One final word: this magazine has been created for the adult reader. It should not be given to the young or those who are easily offended.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
"Who's coming down to Gino's Joint for a pizza?" a voice called out from the group of teenagers standing outside the darkened arcade of the local cinema. "Todd, Jill - how about you guys?"
"Sounds super," Jill began, smiling and sending an almost imperceptible wink toward Anthea Atkins, her best friend and confidante during the past four years at St. Roch Catholic High School. "I could think about one of those-"
"Count us out, Anthea," her rusty-haired boyfriend interrupted. "I'm still awful tired after hitching halfway across the country from college. Another time, okay?"
Todd Donnely's voice was neither sharp nor brusque, and Jill was certain that none of the crowd - except maybe Anthea - had caught the slight edge of nervous irritation beneath his sociable grin. She, however, was sure that something was on his mind from the way his fingers pressed into her upper arm, and she was fairly certain she knew what the matter was. Mostly, Todd liked going down to Gino's as much as the rest of them did, for even under-age kids could get a beer there so long as there were no other suspicious customers. But tonight Todd wanted to be alone, wanted to talk and to try the same thing he'd tried the night before last. ..
This afternoon she'd confided to Anthea the vague outline of their first date since Todd returned from college. Of course, she hadn't gone into detail, for even with her best girlfriend she didn't like to talk about things like that, but Anthea, who had a steady, too, seemed to understand exactly what she meant. Her invitation to go down to Gino's had been a ploy to prevent Jill from having to be alone with Todd Donnely so soon again, and Jill was very grateful to her pretty schoolmate. Too bad it hadn't worked.
"Okay, see you guys later," Anthea sent her blonde friend another secretive wink. "C'mon, let's get going. I'm dying for something to drink!"
"Bye, Anthea - I'll ring you tomorrow," Jill said. "See you all later, kids. Have fun!"
"Bye, Anthea, Rex! Catch you another time, Denny! 'Bye, Shirley . . . g' night, Craig! Take it easy on the beer, Arnie, we gotta get our shit together tomorrow!" Todd waved goodbye as the gang drifted toward their parked cars.
' 'So long . . . see you later . . . goodbye . . . goodbye . . . goodbye ..."
The enthusiastic young voices faded away into the air of the sultry summer evening, leaving Todd and Jill Gibson standing alone in front of the silent theater listening to the sounds of ignitions turning, tires screeching, radios blaring. Todd's fingers still gripped her cardigan-covered arm, and her oversensitive ears caught the quickened tempo of his breathing.
"Pretty good movie, huh?" she remarked in an effort to lighten the palpable tension between them. In fact, she'd been too concerned with her own worries about her new job and about her boyfriend to pay much attention to the thrilling ordeals endured by the screen heroes. "Did you like it?"
"It was all right," Todd shrugged. His hold on her slender arm tightened. "C'mon, let's get outta here."
Without speaking, the attractive young couple made their way across the mall of the Park Forest Shopping Center. Jill pretended to be looking with great interest at the displays in the windows of the shops they passed, although she knew all too well that none of the bright, brief bikinis, platform sandals, long flower-print skirts, or blue jeans with their faddish embroidery, would be part of her summer wardrobe. Every single penny she made this summer had to be saved toward college expenses. Occasionally the gracefully-built blonde felt resentful because most of her girlfriends could afford to dress so much more fashionably than she could, but tonight she only felt thankful that she'd finally found a summer job, and a little uncertain about her boyfriend's plans for the evening. college man helped her into the front seat of his red '57 Studebaker. I mean, he's still real cute and more polite than any other guy I ever went out with . . . but he never used to try to paw me the way he did the other night. I wonder if all the guys at college are that way.
Todd put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close beside him as they sped out of the parking lot, and Jill leaned her golden head lightly against his shoulder and prayed that everything would be all right. There was nothing wrong with snuggling and kissing and showing affection, of course - she liked that as much as any other girl. And they'd always sat close in the car, held hands in the movies, and touched each other in little, innocent ways that demonstrated their mutual love. But tonight, if he turned left onto the highway leading to that place in the woods he'd taken her night before last, she'd have to stop him!
"Sure is a nice night," Todd murmured self-consciously trying to strike up a romantic mood. "Beautiful moon . . .lots of stars ..."
"Yes ..." Jill gulped.
Oh, Lord! He'd turned left! Why hadn't she had the sense to tell him in no uncertain terms the last time that she wasn't the sort of girl who let guys unbutton her blouse, instead of making up some crazy lie about her dad waiting up for her because the hospital was going to call about her mom? That was the sort of lie that always brought bad luck, and besides, it did nothing but postpone the problem.
"Wh-why'd you turn there, Todd?" she asked, licking her suddenly parched lips and struggling to keep her voice casual.
"Changed your mind about Gino's and decided to go the back way, maybe?"
"Fuck Gino's!"
"Todd! Really!"
"Huh? Oh, sorry, Jill." Todd squeezed her shoulder, pressed down on the accelerator and left the traffic behind as they followed a narrow road leading through the outskirts of the forest preserve. "I forgot you're an old-fashioned gal. Got into the habit of talking like that after I escaped from St. Roch High Prison!"
"I don't know why you think swearing makes you seem more mature," Jill said, resenting his superior tone. Sure, she was just a girl from the wrong side of the proverbial tracks - actually, a freeway in this case - who'd never been anywhere farther from home than Chicago, twenty-nine miles away, but that didn't mean she didn't know a few things about how people ought to behave. "Mr. Adamson in Senior English told us that swearing is a sign of a bad vocabulary, and I-"
"Adamson's an old fart!" Todd broke in. "Who gives a shit what he says!"
"Todd! You never used to talk to me like that!" Jill was so offended that she didn't pay any attention to the car's movements as it slowed to a stop on a rutted lane winding into the dark woods. "Use that filthy language with your fancy friends in Massachusetts, but not around me!"
This was not the time nor the place for a quarrel, so the nineteen year old curbed his sharp retort as he slowed the Studebaker to a standstill. He'd forgotten just how young and naive his hometown honey was, but then he himself had been pretty green a year ago. What he'd also forgotten was how lovely Jill was, and that was the most important thing.
Turning off the ignition, he tugged her a bit closer so that she was leaning against his hard-muscled chest. The resilient softness of one of her enticingly rounded breasts grazed against his T-shirted chest, sending his virile adolescent penis jerking against his jeans, and he eased his arm farther around her shoulders so that the tips of his fingers could graze the side of the ripe-melon mound.
"Hey, honey, don't be mad at me!" he soothed, flashing his most ingratiating smile. "Not when I haven't even been home a week yet! I'll watch my language if it really bugs you, promise!"
"Okay, Todd," Jill felt her resentment melting as though by magic when he turned on his suave charm. She was aware that the car had come to a stop in a thick grove of oaks, but as he bent forward to brush his mouth across first her cheek, and then her lips, she found her planned speech of indignation fading from her mind. His mouth was so warm, so comforting . . . but although there was nothing wrong with a little kiss, she knew she had to say something before things got out of hand like the other night.
"L-look, Todd!" she twisted her head away from him, her voice overly shrill and self-conscious as she gestured out the window on the passenger's side. "Isn't it pretty how the moonlight shines through the trees?"
Todd nodded, but he was staring at Jill rather than the pastoral scene. Her waist-length honey-blonde hair rippled down over her white cardigan-covered shoulders and open-neck blouse, cascading in baby-fine waves to her nervously heaving breasts. One golden ringlet was curling just around the straining button of her right nipple, a sight which sent his eager cock lurching in a pounding, impatient rhythm. Breathing in the same quick tempo as his spasming penis, he ran his hungry eyes over the narrow indentation of her waist, the firm swell of her young thighs beneath the fringed hem of her short denim miniskirt, the slight swell and hollow at the juncture of her thighs making him hotly aware of her virginal young pussy.
"Yeah - real pretty," he agreed, pulling her face back against his own. "But I see something a whole lot prettier - you!"
"Oh, Todd!"
Jill's lips parted before she had a chance to stop herself, and her boyfriend's ready tongue darted in between the double row of her teeth to plumb the cavern beyond. Despite her resolution to do nothing which might encourage more than the most innocent sort of necking, she found herself splurging her own tongue back to meet his, lewdly teasing and entwining it in a symbolic dance of mute desire. Flickering little tremors of schoolgirl passion began to trail up and down her spine as he pulled her toward him to crush her breasts against his athletic chest, and she was almost tempted to ignore the warnings of her conscience. Only when Todd's impatient hands began groping for the straining mounds of her wide-set breasts did she force herself to break the embrace.
"No, Todd . . . please. We've got to stop right now!" she pleaded breathlessly.
"How come, baby? What's the matter with you, anyhow? You never used to get mad when I kissed you. You got another guy now or something?"
"Of course not! You know I've been true! But, Todd - there's kissing and there's kissing, you know. I don't want us to do anything we'll - we'll be sorry about later."
"Why should we be sorry for anything, if we're really in love?" Todd demanded, hoping his act would hold. "No, Jill - I think the truth is that you don't love me anymore."
"But I do, Toddll-"
"You wouldn't have gone and gotten that crazy job if you did!" her boyfriend interrupted, and from the tone of his voice Jill Gibson realized that this was what had been bothering him all evening. Oh, dear! She'd thought he sounded sullen when she phoned him to tell him the good news that she'd landed a job at last, but she'd hoped that he'd be more understanding.
"You know that's not true, Todd!" she protested, resisting his attempt to draw her close again. Her taut-tipped nipples were still tingling with forbidden pleasure from Todd's ardent embrace, but inside her a cold little wind was starting to blow out the embers of her desire. Didn't he care about her at all anymore, except to make out with? "You know how bad I need money! Mom's going to be in the T.B. sanitarium for a long time more, maybe a year, and Dad's worried about losing his job at the plant if this fuel crisis keeps on next winter. If I don't earn money on my own, I don't go to college - it's as simple as that!"
"Yeah, I know, I know, honey."
Todd didn't like it when his girl talked about her financial difficulties. It made him feel uncomfortable and almost guilty, for his own family situation was such that four of the five kids were attending or had attended some of the nation's most distinguished and expensive schools. The fifth was serving a dope-smuggling sentence in a Mexican jail and costing his parents more in futile payoffs and attorneys' fees than all the other children's exclusive educations.
"But why couldn't you work during the day, while I'm at summer school?" All year Todd had devoted his time and interest to his major, engineering, and to the success of the college basketball team. Now, in order to stay off probation next semester, he was required to make up the credits for a literature course he'd failed. "This way, with you working nights till midnight, we'll never get a chance to see each other. Can't you get a job at the country club like Penny and Elena? Or in an office downtown like Anthea and Pam?"
"I tried," Jill sighed wearily. "Believe me, I tried every darn country club and restaurant and job bureau. Everything! Penny and Elena got their jobs 'cause their dads play golf all the time. Anthea and Pam can't type any more than I can - they got jobs 'cause their dads are big shots in the office. That's the way it goes - you have to know somebody. I was really lucky to land this job in the photography darkroom; I don't know how I did it - there were six guys already waiting when I got to the interviewing place at nine sharp, like the ad in the paper said, and some of them were much older than me."
"Probably so they can pay you less," grunted Todd in a sulky voice.
"That can't be true! They pay really good - I earn more for working seven to midnight than Anthea does working nine to five in her Dad's office. And all she does is file dumb old invoices and make coffee. I'm doing something that teaches me something - that's going to be helpful when I major in communications at State next year."
"Yeah, sure thing." His voice was more sullen than ever.
Jill fell silent, her bright flood of talk stilled by his cutting indifference. For a short moment there was no sound in the red Studebaker but the woodland noises of crickets and birds drifting in the open windows, but then Todd cleared his throat and spoke again.
"That's just what's bugging me, baby," he whispered against her small ear as his hands moved down over her back toward her trim, denim-covered buttocks. "You're so much more interested in some damn silly job than in being with me. Jeez, I dig you so much - I can understand that you have to take this cruddy job. But what bugs me is that you'd rather work than spend time with me."
"I - I like you too, Todd!" the pretty blonde insisted contritely, and somehow her slender figure was bending toward him in spite of her intentions to remain physically aloof. "I never felt about another guy like I do about you! All last year I was true to you - ask anyone in the gang! I didn't even go to the prom! So please don't be mad at me 'cause I have to take this dumb job - please!"
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry I'm being mean about it," Todd murmured. How soft her flower-fragrant hair was against his grazing lips! How delicious her firm young buttocks felt as he squeezed and kneaded their pliant flesh! "I just wanna be sure you're really still my girl, that's all! Hell, otherwise I would have spent the summer back east instead of in the cruddy Chicago suburbs where there's never anything happening."
This last statement was not entirely true, parental displeasure at his mediocre academic performance having played a large role in determining his holiday plans, but he chose to believe it and thus his voice rang with conviction. Flattered, her brain dancing with vague, half-unconscious images of diamond rings and wedding gowns, the honey-haired eighteen year old flashed him a tremulous, misty-eyed smile and allowed his strong arms to draw her closer.
"Oh, Todd!" she hid her face in the hollow of his shoulder. "I -was afraid you'd forget me, find some new girl who's prettier and smarter than me at one of those ritzy colleges in New England. I prayed every night it wouldn't happen."
"Forget my hometown honey? Never!" declared the rusty-haired youth.
He saw no good reason to mention the two tempestuous affairs he'd had during the past school year; it was true, after all, that Jill Gibson excited him more than any other girl he'd dated, even the ones who had been willing and eager to "go all the way". Sure, he'd had a lot of fun with them - but his blood hadn't boiled with lust the way it did now when he thought of plunging his potent phallus into this innocent blonde's untouched little pussy. As he mulled over these thoughts, his penis gave a frantic lurch against his jeans and he made a quick decision.
"Here, baby," he reached into his pocket as he spoke. "This'll prove how much I care!"
Scarcely daring to breathe, Jill accepted the proffered object. Todd's lavaliere! With shaking fingers she reverently touched the delicate chain and gold fraternity pendant, and then her brown eyes fluttered shut as he fastened the symbolic necklace around her neck and their eager young bodies melted together in an even more passionate embrace.
Todd really loves me! she rejoiced as he planted warm kisses on her sensitive throat. Being lavaliered is almost the same as being pinned - and that's nearly being engaged! Wow! Wait till I tell Anthea about this!
The ecstatic eighteen year old was too proud of her new status to question the propriety of her good-looking boyfriend's next actions. But in some far corner of her mind she realized that his pressuring fingers were headed in the dangerous direction of the forbidden "vee" between her legs, and her conscience began to murmur warnings.
In just a moment I'll stop, she promised herself. Not right now, though . . . that would spoil everything.
The college basketball player's warm wet lips slid lower, planting moist kisses on the smooth skin between Jill's lavaliere-adorned neck and the swells of her girlish breasts. How had the top three buttons of her white blouse come undone, she wondered dizzily. Then, as she grew uncomfortably aware of a forbidden tingle starting in the nerve-filled "vee" between her legs, all thought fled from her mind but the shameful droplets of desire which were dampening her flimsy nylon panty crotchband.
"Oh!" she gasped softly, clenching her quivering thighs together with all her might to quell the dancing butterflies of lewd sensation flitting through her bloodstream. It was a vain effort whose only result was a fresh resurgence of unwanted liquid passion, and once again Jill sighed aloud in a low, unsteady voice. It was definitely time to bring this embrace to a halt, but she was finding it much more difficult to resist Todd than she ever had before. Now that they were really pledged to each other, the thought of going a little bit further than usual was extremely tempting. She wanted to give him something, to share a truly binding moment.
"No, Todd . . . please, let's be careful," she finally managed to gasp in a voice so low and shaky that he could scarcely hear her. His fingers were dipping up under the elastic legband of her nylon panties . . . that was going too far! "You know I love you . . . but. . . but we mustn't play with fire."
Todd's brown eyes were glinting with a wild excitement which made Jill start uneasily as she gently but firmly pushed his burrowing face away from the cleft between her high-set young breasts. Wriggling her traitorously tingling buttocks out of his hands' reach as she eased to an erect sitting position, she smiled at him uneasily and hoped that he wouldn't be mad and take his lavaliere back already.
"C'mon, Jill - don't be a baby!" Todd said in his most supercilious soon-to-be-a-sophomore voice. "We aren't kids, and I'm not playing with fire. I want to make love to you, and if you're honest with yourself, you'll admit you want it as bad as I do!"
"What?" Jill turned bright red. There was no denying the truth of his accusation, but it was shocking to have to admit it to herself. Her eyes drifted guiltily to where her short skirt had ridden up high on her firm-fleshed thighs. There was no telltale damp spot there between her legs, but she could feel the moisture squishing uncomfortably when she moved. Had Todd sensed her arousal?
"Don't pretend you're a Sunday-school saint! I can tell by the way your body feels that you like it when I touch you."
A wave of self-reproach surged through Jill Gibson's inexperienced body as she allowed Todd to pull her toward him for another soul-searing kiss. A deep-tingling warmth raced across the surface of her skin and then seared a fiery path to the pit of her belly, blocking out her conscience, and once again she found herself leaning in trembling surrender against the boy's strong chest. She could feel his heart beating against her burning breasts and his manly young penis pressing against her outer thigh, but even when he thrust his hand inside her unbuttoned blouse she did not try to protest.
"God, baby, I want you so bad!" groaned Todd, slipping his fingers into the white nylon fabric of his girlfriend's brassiere. The warmth of her silken-skinned breasts nearly drove him mad, emboldening him to the point where he was brave enough to pinch her berry-like nipples so hard that she winced.
Oh, Christ - now I've blown it! She won't let me go any further! he berated himself. But to his surprise, his prudish girlfriend only uttered a low whimper and snuggled closer against him.
"You want me too, don't you?" he whispered in her ear.
Jill didn't deny it - it would have been ludicrous at this point. Instead, she murmured, "But it's wrong! And - and it's not any less wrong, even if we're lavaliered. I want to be a virgin when I stand in front of the altar, Todd. That means a lot to me!"
In the back of her mind, Jill dared to hope that her rich and handsome boyfriend might make some mention of their future together. When he failed to do so, she told herself that he was shy -that men hated weddings - that it was enough that she was wearing his fraternity emblem necklace. Anyway, no matter what happened, she was determined to preserve her purity. Lots of other girls slept around - or claimed that they did - but she believed in the old-fashioned counsel her mother had given her before falling sick a year ago.
"The most important thing a girl can have is her reputation," she'd often told her daughter. "Remember your sister Marian!"
The springs of the front seat of the red Studebaker creaked as Jill remembered Marian and nervously edged toward the passenger side of the car. All during her adolescent years she'd had the example, and the lesson was well and truly ingrained by now. The older Gibson girl, a striking strawberry-blonde with a fuller, more flamboyant figure than Jill's and a far more extroverted manner, had been forced to drop out of high school during her junior year to "visit her aunt in Iowa". In the five years since Marian's visit to the home for unwed mothers, the only news her sorrowful parents had received was a postcard of a cable car postmarked from the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco stating that she was alive, employed, and hoping never to see Glen wood, Illinois again.
"Please, Todd!" Jill stammered as her boyfriend's dark eyes glowed more fiercely than ever and he scooted across the seat toward her. "PI-please ..."
Disappointment and what he considered to be righteous anger swelled like a tidal wave inside the teenaged boy's aroused body as his swollen manhood pulsated with painful, intemperate impatience against his restraining trousers. How dare she excite him beyond the point of human endurance and then pull away with a coy simper and a look of wide-eyed innocence? And after he'd given up his lavaliere, symbolically relinquishing his independence, his right to sow his wild oats wherever he pleased!
"C'mon, Jill honey, quit stalling!" he grasped her fragile wrist, dragged it across the black-and-white checked fabric, of the car seat until it was touching him just below the bulge in his jeans. Gripping her small-boned hand in a vise-like hold, he tried to place her fingers against the bow-shaped pressure of his jutting cock. "Don't drive me crazy, baby!"
"No, stop it! I don't want to do it! Stop, Todd!"
Through the dizzy waves of his passion, Todd recalled the rumor about his girlfriend's wild older sister. He knew he ought to be understanding, that she had some hang-up perhaps, but the stupendous ache in his over-stimulated penis was so compelling that he couldn't think of anything else for more than a fleeting minute.
"Stroke my prick!" he muttered hoarsely. "If you won't screw me, that's the least you can do!"
One of his hands remained glued to her resisting wrist while the other hastily unzipped his fly, disappeared inside his white undershorts, and reappeared an instant later clutching the rigid shaft of his throbbing thickness. He forced the heated rod of flesh between her reluctant fingers, thwarting her attempts to tug her hand away by keeping his strong fingers glued to her fragile wrist. Finally, with a low mewl of defeat, she began tracing an awkward, fearful path along his lust-thickened length.
Jill could see from the way her panting boyfriend ground his lean hips against the car seat that she was bringing him intense pleasure, and the knowledge that she herself had the power to rocket him into this wild-eyed state of uncontrolled passion fanned the smoldering embers of her own lust. More confidently than before and with a certain salacious curiosity, she gave the warm fleshy pole a quick squeeze and then gingerly pulled up the loose foreskin so that it half-hid the mushroom-shaped, blood-reddened head.
"It feels so strange ... so smooth and warm ..." she whispered. This was the first time she'd touched a man's penis, and somehow she'd had the erroneous impression that it would be cold and slimy beneath her fingers. "I can feel the blood pumping in your veins ..."
An almost intolerable pressure surged through the young college man's lean loins as Jill's cool gentle fingers streaked along the sensitive ridge on the underside of his stiffened member. Deep in his balls he could feel the sperm churning in impatient need, and he realized with a dizzy rush that he couldn't hold back his ejaculation much longer. Much as he longed to really make it with his girl, there simply wasn't enough time to convince her, to undress her, to enter her tantalizing virgin pussy.
"Jerk me off, Jill!" he groaned, groping his hand up under the hem of her miniskirt. "And I'll do you at the same time!"
The undercurrent of bestial passion, plus the obscenity of his vocabulary, jolted the young blonde from her erotic trance. Her slender body immediately grew rigid and arched away from him, and her massaging fingers leapt from his naked penis as though the throbbing thickness had scorched her hand.
"This has to stop right away, Todd!" She refused to look in his direction as she determinedly buttoned her blouse and then her cardigan sweater as well. "It's - it's all so sordid, parked in the woods like this . . . using dirty language. We don't want our love to be nasty and vulgar - and if we don't stop this, something dreadful's bound to happen that'll spoil everything!"
"But I can't stand it, baby!" rasped Todd, lunging toward her as the insatiable fire smoldering inside him roared into full flame and rendered him temporarily insane. "I gotta have some relief! Now!"
"Nooooooo! Don't you dddaaarrrrrrre!"
Jill's shocked wail echoed through the dark forest preserve like the cry of some small tortured animal as the Donnely boy's passion-frenzied hands pulled her tumbling toward him across the front seat. Never before had he treated her so roughly! A note of pain and panic crept into her voice, overriding the initial outraged anger, and then her protests were drowned out entirely as her thrashing arm smashed against the steering wheel and set off the horn.
"Goddamn!" moaned the boy as it jammed. Why the hell hadn't he fixed the thing this afternoon like he'd meant to? "Christ almighty! Why'd you have to go and do that?"
Jill, paralyzed in a sprawled position across Todd's lap, could only whimper weakly. Below her the youth's exposed member jerked and stiffened, and then he groaned in inhuman agitation and she flopped toward the other side of the car seat as something wet and warm and sticky splashed against her bare thighs.
Todd's climatic cries rose in a muffled crescendo, mingling with the wailing horn to form an eerie chorus. His girlfriend watched, hands clutching her cheeks in horror, as the sticky white strands of male seed spewed out onto the car seat and his half-removed blue jeans. What a disgusting ending to what should have been the most romantic evening of their relationship, she thought sadly, and the desire that had been such a glowing ball of flame inside her virginal belly faded to a dull, hollow depression.
Todd was nearly doubled up in the driver's seat, his handsome freckled face twisted into a contorted grimace as wave after wave of white-hot semen shot from his shuddering testicles down the long tube of his distended penis. For all the time he'd been hitching home from college and the few days since arriving in Illinois to find his girlfriend as prudish as ever, the nineteen year old youth had had no sexual outlet. Now, it seemed as though the pent-up sperm would never stop cascading from his violently ejaculating shaft, but except for the first few moments of blind release from physical tension, the engineering student felt very little true pleasure in his solitary orgasm.
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" he chanted between clenched teeth, wrestling with the screeching horn even as droplets of life-giving seed still oozed from the tip of his bloated glans. At last there was quiet in the glade again, a tense silence punctuated by Todd's tortured exclamations and his perturbed girlfriend's labored breathing.
"Let's get out of here," Todd said at last, not looking at Jill, pulling up his pants hastily. "I hope to Christ no cops were prowling around and heard that damn horn!"
The girl made no answer, only nodded her tousled blonde curls and stared at the floor. As he roared out of the clearing and took off down the road at as fast a pace as the old Studebaker was capable of, she first knotted her hands together in her lap, then fingered the new chain draped around her neck.
Is this the end? She shot a mournful sidelong glance at the basketball player's frowning profile. He looks really mad at me now! But what else could I do? It was too close a call as it was - what if he'd shot his sperm inside me instead of just on his jeans?
"Are - are you mad at me, Todd?" she asked timidly, snuggling close to him but avoiding all contact with his semen-stained Levi's. "Pl-please don't be ... "
Tears misted her amber-flecked brown eyes as she contemplated life without Todd, the same lonely existence she'd endured before the popular athlete had started dating her in the spring of her junior year. As his girl, she was really part of the crowd, not just another shy girl whose parents didn't have enough money to buy her pretty clothes or a wood-paneled recreation room where she could throw parties. If they broke up, pretty soon everyone except maybe Anthea would forget to include her in their plans to go to the show, the beach, or whatever. All she'd have left in life would be cooking dinner for her dejected father when he got home from the plant, visiting her mother in the hospital, and going to work.
So who cares about the crowd? a voice in the back of her head asked. You'll be in college soon, anyway. Isn't it better to be lonely than to do things you'll never be able to forgive yourself for?
Jill shoved the advice to the back of her brain. Perhaps it was true, but she simply didn't feel strong enough to give up the emotional security of having a socially acceptable boyfriend and a secure niche in the only society she knew. Also, far in the darkest reaches of her unconscious, there lurked a dream of marrying the attractive engineering student and having the kind of secure upper-middle-class life she had never known.
"No, baby, I'm not mad," Todd said after a long pause during which he stared sideways at the wistful blonde. Christ, she was a lovely chick - even if she was all hung up on these crazy puritanical ideas. Just the sort of gal he'd always envisioned marriage with! Come to think of it, if she'd been like the chicks he knew in college who'd hop into anyone's bed without a qualm, but who were too "liberated" to make a guy a cup of coffee or make him feel that they needed him, he sure as hell wouldn't have hung around with her for this long.
"I'm mad at myself, honey," he apologized, but the frustration which still burned inside him was evident in the way his foot continued to ride the accelerator. "Let's just forget this happened, okay!"
"Okay!" Jill agreed happily. "Next time we'll be more careful, huh?"
"Sure, baby."
The young couple fell silent on the drive out of the forest preserve, along tree-lined suburban streets and down Halsted Avenue with its clutter of gas stations, hamburger stands, and truck stops. Next time, I'll be smarter, go slower so she's too hot to stop, Todd planned.
Next time, I won't be crazy enough to let him take me anywhere near the woods! Jill vowed, leaning her golden head on the boy's broad shoulder. Our love is going to be pure and beautiful!
By the time the red Studebaker came to a halt outside the two-bedroom frame ranch house where the Gibson family had lived for the past ten years, the youngsters had both so satisfactorily rationalized their reactions that Todd was unaware of his double-standard way of thinking. Jill, for her part, had blotted out the wisps of erotic desire which still teased at her healthy young body. Their good-night kiss was just passionate enough, and they made plans to see each other on her next day off.
"Everything's going to be all right, baby," Todd murmured as she got out of the car.
"Sure it is!" Jill agreed. "Why not?"
CHAPTER TWO
It was only six o'clock when Barney Fletcher unlocked the door of the small basement apartment he used as a darkroom, tossed an armful of paper-wrapped parcels onto the sagging cot in the corner, and poured himself a drink from the bottle he kept hidden behind the film developing fluid, spare flashbulbs, and other innocent objects in a bottom cabinet. Normally, he never arrived at his place of employment before seven-thirty or eight in the evening, although his boss, Nick Oliver, paid him to be on the job from seven to midnight. This evening, however, was a special event, momentous enough to call for a change from his usual habit of stopping off for a quick one or three at Wally's Tavern across the street.
Although it had been a dazzlingly sunny June day and the light was still bright outside on the street, the studio was so dark that Barney had to flick on the naked overhead bulb in order to scrutinize his face in the small dimestore mirror which dangled precariously from a nail pounded into the equipment cabinet. A bit pasty-faced, he thought ruefully, but what else could you expect with a shit job like this, working nights? If a guy had to work till midnight six fucking days a week, he sure deserved a few drinks afterward. By the time he got home to his one-room flat miles away in Calumet City, the sun was usually poking up over the horizon, and naturally he wasn't in any shape to get out of bed again in time to hang around at the beach. A shame, that, for he thoroughly enjoyed watching bikini-clad pussy parading up and down the sand. But after tonight, when his new summer assistant showed up for her first night of work, he wouldn't envy anybody the free time to lounge along the lakeside.
A sexy, blonde, eighteen year old assistant! How lucky could a photographer get! Fletcher gloated as he reached for a rusty, hair-clotted razor and swathed a thick layer of rancid-smelling shaving cream over the grayish pallor of his flaccid jowls. When Nick Oliver had originally insisted that he hire a student to help him during the summer season - prime convention time in Chicago - he'd been so angry he'd nearly told the slick nightclub owner to go to hell. How on earth was he supposed to get anything done with some punk kid hanging around, snooping through his things, spying on him whenever he wanted a relaxing little sip of bourbon . . .
The first bunch of job applicants he'd interviewed yesterday had justified his worst expectations: college brats with acne and untarnished ideals, plus a couple of weirdo hippies with beards who spoke in a slang he couldn't understand. And then in had walked this limpid-eyed blonde who didn't look old enough to have stopped playing with dolls, until you looked at the ripe grapefruit bulges inside her snug-fitting blouse and the way her tight little ass twitched beneath her modest skirt when she walked across the room.
"And I'll have her all to myself, five hours a night, six days a week!" Barney muttered to his reflection. The thought was so thrilling that he absent-mindedly nicked his receding chin with the razor, but although he swore viciously as he dabbed the bloody cut with a scrap of wrapping paper from the parcels on the cot, his enthusiasm was in no way dampened.
Shaving completed, he tore open his bundles. A new tie, cut wide the way his boss, Nick Oliver, wore his, and with a jazzy pattern of psychedelic swirls which he hoped would appeal to a high-school girl like Jill Gibson. Next, a sample-size bottle of English Leather after-shave lotion. Last but not least, a bottle of vodka, which he presumed to be the best bet for getting an innocent child-woman well and truly intoxicated.
Chuckling to himself, the forty-two year old photographer stashed away the Smirnoff flask, pouring himself a second stiff bourbon at the same time. Then, his smooth-shaven face still twisted into a lurid grin, he pulled a chair over to the small, dust-grimed window and flopped down into it. Though the sidewalk-level pane was so positioned as to allow only the vaguest suggestion of daylight, it did afford a fine view of something which interested Barney a good deal more - legs! Long legs in tight jeans, bare brown legs in shorts or miniskirts, silk-smooth legs in nylons on high platform heels. And soon, any minute now, a pair of just about the nicest female gams he could remember seeing anywhere would be tripping past his window and down his steps.
"Won't you step into my parlor," he snickered. "Maybe it ain't so fancy as the boss' high-class penthouse up on the roof, but I bet he'd trade places with me in a flash if he could see your cute little ass twitching! More class than any of them callgirl cunts he has laying around upstairs - and a cherry, too, or I miss my guess!"
* * *
"... and this here's the enlarger," Barney Fletcher reached over the teenaged blonde's slender shoulders to gesture at a large black machine. "Sometimes we got clients who like the pictures we give 'em so much they want 'em blown up, y'know. We charge triple and even more for that."
"I see," Jill nodded, managing an alert smile although her lips felt stiff and dry as plaster. "This shouldn't be any problem. It looks just like the same model we used in Photography Club at St. Roch High for blowing up snapshots for advertisements for plays and stuff."
"Probably is the same piece of junk," Barney chortled, placing his hands on the girl's shoulders and leaning over so that his cheek was grazing the flower-scented silkiness of her golden hair. "We got 'em off some outfit that went bankrupt when the IRS caught the owner . . . and I suppose the school did too."
"Oh, no!" Jill protested, a little shocked that her boss seemed to think there was something amusing about breaking the law. "Mr. Andrews, the Photography Club sponsor, told us that one of the parishioners was kind enough to donate us his old equipment."
"Might have been a Catholic, for all I know," Barney seemed to find this funny, too, though Jill couldn't imagine why. "Most of them Italian guys are."
The young Gibson girl was certain that her high-school teacher, a very nice youngish man who'd made a movie of the Christmas pageant in which his own little son played the part of baby Jesus, knew more about what he was talking about than some guy who couldn't even speak proper English. Still, there was no point in arguing with her new boss, who seemed a nice enough man even though he wasn't very well educated.
"Well, whatever," she smiled. "I know how to use the enlarger, and that's the main point!"
The real point was that she wished Mr. Fletcher wouldn't stand quite so close behind her. Of course, he didn't mean anything wrong, but to be entirely honest she had to admit that he didn't smell very nice, and she really didn't like strangers to touch her.
But Barney Fletcher didn't give up that easily. "There's a big difference between Photography Clubs and makin' a livin' off takin' pictures," he swelled up his chest in self-importance and adopted a serious tone. It wasn't so often he had the opportunity to be the one in a position of giving instructions, and he intended to make the best of it. "So I think we better run through just exactly how this here baby operates, Jill. Here, lemme give you a little lesson in the enlarger."
Jill winced as the pot-bellied older man's arms reached all the way over her to grasp the handle of the heavy machine, for his upper legs were pressed directly against her sensitive buttocks. She tried to move forward, but after she'd taken a couple of tiny steps she was smack against the bench and could go no further.
"Yes, yes," she replied to the garbled instructions he was giving her. "Yes, Mr. Fletcher, I understand completely."
Fletcher was too insensitive to catch the note of fearful desperation in the young girl's shrill voice. "Now you try it, Blondie," he smirked, stepping forward after her so that his body was once again glued to her warm female curves. "Here, take this handle and give it a dry run."
I'm crazy to let this bother me so much, Jill attempted to calm herself. Probably he's just worried that I'll mess up the expensive machine. That's only natural! I don't want to act silly and nervous like an immature schoolgirl, or I might lose this job.
Taking a deep breath and biting her lips, the young blonde high school graduate took hold of the heavy handle and made the correct motions for enlarging negatives into various shaped sizes. Luckily, she knew exactly what she was doing, for she was so distraught by the way the older man's loins crushed against her that if she'd been learning a new skill it would have been a disaster. All her attention was focused on the growing bulge pressing against the rounded flesh of her skirt-covered ass-cheeks; she didn't want to believe it, but she knew that it was Mr. Fletcher's thing which was pulsing against her back there. God, it felt big - much bigger than her boyfriend's had felt in her hand last night in the forest preserve!
"Real good, Blondie! You got the knack, all right! I'm sure you're gonna work out fine!"
Much to Jill's relief, Mr. Fletcher moved away and allowed her to scuttle across the room to sit down on a safe chair beside the pans of liquid used for soaking the negatives. It was ridiculous of her, of course, but she just couldn't seem to stop her hands from trembling.
"Well, I gotta get going," Fletcher sent a lewd leer in the direction of Jill's ripening breasts, noting with pleasure the way the tiny nipple buds pricked out the thin jersey top she was wearing over her pleated skirt. Schoolgirl clothes - but those weren't a girl's tits, they were a full-grown woman's!
"Time for the first round at the Pop-Inn. That's a kind of disco, lots of kids and lots of orders. After that I hit the Eden Garden, a ritzy dining and dancing place, and then the Montmartre. An' then I bring back the negatives, and you make the photos. Got that? Sure ya do - you're a smart little gal!"
One more embarrassing squeeze on her upper arm, an accidental graze against her left breast, and then Jill was once again alone. She remained sitting for a long time, regaining her composure, telling herself that at least Mr. Fletcher was a nice, friendly man, not one of the kind of bosses that was always yelling at you for being half a minute late for work or for making some trivial careless error. Then, having talked herself into a better mood chiefly by thinking of how fat her bank account would be by the end of August, she grew rather restless and began to explore the small studio in which she would be spending her nights for the rest of the summer.
Everything was grimy; the shelves had a soft coating of dust, empty bottles of ginger ale and Pepsi lay in odd corners along with candy wrappers and stale crusts of long-forgotten snacks, and even the equipment was arranged in a haphazard and inconvenient way.
"First things first!" she told herself, starting slightly at the odd way her voice echoed in the empty room. "I'll clean this place up a bit while I have some free time."
Having been raised in a tradition that believes that cleanliness is next to godliness, the fair-haired eighteen year old was frankly flabbergasted to discover that the basement darkroom contained no broom, dustpan, scrub brush, mop, or can of Ajax. "They must be here somewhere!" she muttered as she dug through the clutter of a closet full of cobwebs and odd shoes, then explored the tall, old-fashioned cabinet in the corner. But all her efforts unearthed were the bottles of alcohol and a mysterious-looking black box labeled, "Private!"
Normally, Jill Gibson was not the sort of girl who pried into matters which did not concern her - nor would she have done so now, had her fingers not slipped and sent the box crashing onto the floor. Glossy photographs scattered over the scuffed tiles, some large, some small, some black and white, some color. All the pictures, however, had one thing in common - they were of naked models positioned in such prurient poses that the innocent suburban teenager leaped back as though she'd inadvertently stepped into a nest of poisonous snakes.
"Oh, no!" she gasped aloud after blinking several times to ascertain if she were possibly suffering some nightmarish hallucination. "Good God!"
Then, although she couldn't help fearing that even to contaminate her fingertips with such scurrilous filth must be an act of debauchery too vile to be uttered in the confessional, she bent to her knees and began to gather up the photographs. I won't look at them! she vowed to pacify her conscience. But I can't leave them here! Mr. Fletcher would fire me before I had a chance to explain that I really wasn't snooping, that it was all an accident!
Then, even as the heartfelt personal pledge resounded through the moralistic adolescent's bewildered brain, her eye caught on a bright spot of purplish-red and her gaze riveted, as though pulled by a magnet, onto one of the larger color photographs. A man's thing in full erection! Just like Todd's had been the night before, only even longer and as thick as a baseball bat, with huge testicles dangling behind it as it thrust out at a ninety-degree angle from his thick-haired groin! Most shocking of all - so unspeakably vile that her eyes bugged from their sockets and her breath choked from her constricted throat in ragged gasps -was that the male model was not alone. There was a girl in the picture, too, equally naked and grinning in the same vulgar way as she eyed the huge pole of glistening male flesh.
Jill's brown eyes clenched shut as she tried with all her might to erase the lurid image from her mind, but it was no use. The shameful snapshot was firmly implanted upon her brain and, worse, she could not seem to keep her eyelids closed. In a second she was again staring down at the floor, this time at an even more disgusting picture which lay beside the first one she'd noticed.
The same two models were featured in this color shot, but now the woman was crouching over the naked male and her raspberry-pink tongue was licking away the glistening pearl-like droplet which danced on the tip of his unnaturally long cock. Her blue-green eyes, rimmed in a sticky circle of matching eye shadow, stared in hungry desire at the blood-swollen penis.
"No!" Jill whispered. Of course she'd heard rumors of such lewd acts, but she'd never dreamed she'd actually see a live photograph of such a bestial thing! In fact, she'd not really believed people did actually engage in vulgarities of this sort, especially nice-looking young men and women like the ones in the photo. That girl didn't really look so very different from herself - just a bit older, and with a more sophisticated hair-style and mode of makeup.
If these had been ordinary pictures cut from girlie magazines, Jill Gibson would still have been shocked but not instilled with the vivid feeling of horror which now raced through her veins and turned her blood to ice water. These were shots which had been developed in this very darkroom - by the man who was her new boss, no doubt! She could tell by the sort of paper, the way the pictures were made . . .
Her fingers shook as she gingerly replaced the rest of the pornographic pictures in the black box, making a valiant though not very successful effort to ignore the shameful acts which were portrayed. In one black and white shot she caught sight of two girls fondling each other's naked breasts. In another, a man with his mammoth member stuffed inside a brunette woman's impossibly tiny pussy orifice. In still another, a poor girl lying with two males, one on top of her, one below.
Finally, when all the offensive photographs were neatly replaced in their hiding place and sequestered on the bottom shelf of the big cabinet, Jill perched nervously on the chair beside the window to stare out into the evening darkness and try to collect her thoughts. An insistent voice inside the back of her head was drumming out an ominous warning, a portent of danger which her every instinct knew to be realistic. There was an aura of evil and degeneracy about this room with its nasty secrets and especially about her pot-bellied, vulgar-tongued boss, Mr. Barney Fletcher. To stay here meant perhaps involving herself in a sordid side of the world of which she was entirely innocent and did not wish to discover.
On the other hand, she needed the money so badly! Where in the entire Chicago area could she find another job now, when school was already out for the year, when there was a recession which put strong-bodied men out of work, not to mention college kids? Her only bet would be a hamburger stand or something where the work was so dreadful and the wages so low that turnover was high. And if she didn't save enough money to go to school next year - she needed at least a thousand dollars if she didn't get the scholarship she'd applied for - what would happen to her life? She'd end up spending the rest of her years as a file clerk in some dreary office, or cashiering in the five-and-dime, that's what! Living in a dingy little bungalow like her parents' home, with a threadbare rug and a broken-back plastic-upholstered sofa and an aged television set that showed nothing but wavy gray static on the screen whenever it rained.
"No ... no ... "
Jill didn't realize that she'd spoken aloud until her intense outcry vibrated through the silent room, nor did she realize that she was clutching the fragile chain of her boyfriend's lavaliere until the metal ornament broke and the fraternity pendant fell on the floor at her feet. For a girl who harbored a strong instinctual belief in omens and signs, this was a major catastrophe, and tears misted over her amber-flecked eyes as she snatched up the thin chain and tried to contrive a way to repair it.
If he'd asked me to marry him, instead of giving me this, she thought without really acknowledging her half-conscious introspection, then I'd quit this job in a minute. But... but...
Cutting off her reverie in mid-concept, Jill blanked everything from her mind save the immediate task of repairing her broken chain. By the time she heard footsteps on the landing and then saw Mr. Fletcher grinning at her, his alcohol-ruddied face twisted into a caricature of a dirty-old-man's leer, she'd managed to fasten the pendant around her slender neck again. It wasn't fixed properly, but it should hold for the time being, until she got her first paycheck and could have the jewelry shop repair it properly.
CHAPTER THREE
Three days after beginning her summer job, Jill awakened in the morning to the sound of water dripping through the hole in the ceiling of her bedroom. She stumbled sleepily from her bed, once again marveling at how weary this late-night work was making her, and placed a plastic bowl underneath the drip. A glance at her rhinestone-studded clock - a hideous monstrosity, but a graduation gift from her father which she valued for the thought if not the effect - told her that it was eight o'clock, and a second glance out her window at the neighbor's rain-flooded crabgrass plot told her that there was a doleful sort of downfall certain to continue all day long. Wrapping her thin cotton nightie more tightly around her body, she crept back into her narrow bed and tried to fall back into slumber.
Fatigued as she was, sleep eluded her. Her mind felt overstuffed, bursting at the seams with new and disturbing images and reflections which whirled around and around in insomniac circles. In only three days, her world had come to revolve around the darkroom; high-school days and even her boyfriend seemed far away and long ago. This vaguely disturbed the young teenager, made her feel that the foundations of her life were a good deal less secure than she'd hoped them to be.
The reason I'm tired, she was thinking as she lay tossing and turning in her bed listening to the monotonous drip-drip-drip of water falling into the plastic container, is that Mr. Fletcher doesn't do his share. I think he drinks ... I think that's why he acts so weird. The sisters at school always said that one should feel compassion for people like that, but it sure is hard when I end up doing all the work. Like yesterday - he was too out of it to deliver the prints, so I had to do that too, on top of developing the negatives. Well, it's not fair! Really, it isn't! And when he's drunk he keeps putting his nasty hands all over me. I can't stand it! And those dreadful pictures in the cabinet.. .
Finally, lulled by the steady sound of falling rain, the unhappy girl drifted off to sleep. When she awakened, hours later, the window pane was still streaked with falling water and the clock read four in the afternoon. Another entire day lost!
Jill felt a familiar rush of disappointment at finding nothing from the scholarship people in the mail slot until she recalled that today was Sunday. But then where's Daddy? she wondered, wandering into the small kitchen to fix herself a double-strength cup of instant coffee and stick two slices of stale Wonder bread into the toaster.
A parade of scurrying ants snaked across the daisy-print oilcloth, making a bee-line for her father's sandwich crusts and an amber splotch of spilled beer. Her appetite vanished at the sight. Tossing her toast into the overflowing garbage pail, she sipped her strong coffee and wished that the phone would ring. Finally she rose and dialed Anthea's number.
"But aren't you at the Bailey twins' indoor picnic, too?" her girlfriend's mother sounded surprised. "Anthea said everyone was going ..."
Of course, they all know I have to work - that's the only reason they didn't ask me, the blonde told herself. Instead of dialing Todd's number, as she'd half planned to do, she headed for the shower. Of course her boyfriend was at the party too . . . and anyway, she hated the way Mrs. Donnely made her feel like a cheap hussy whenever she telephoned there.
The dull, empty feeling in the flaxen-haired adolescent's belly grew worse as she looked around the cluttered bathroom cubicle. Her stockings were draped over the shower rack, her father's shaving tools were scattered over the smudged, hair-clogged washbowl; the towels and bathmat were badly in need of a trip to the laundromat. Ever since her mom had caught TB and had to go to the sanitarium last autumn, Jill had made a valiant effort to keep the small ranch house as spic and span as usual, but what with all the graduation activities and now her job, she was always too busy or too tired for housework. Anyway, her dad had never seemed to notice; he just wandered in and out of the house with that haunted little frown between his hollow-socketed eyes.
As warm, soothing water gushed over her naked figure, Jill began to lose her gloomy mood. So what if her boyfriend was at the Bailey twins' party without her, perhaps with some other girl trying to flirt with him. She wore his lavaliere around her neck, so he wouldn't dare try any hanky-panky! And so what if old man Fletcher had wandering hands - she wasn't a little kid, and she'd gather up her courage to tell him in no uncertain terms to keep his dirty paws to himself. As for her parents . . . well, sure she loved them, but she had a life of her own to lead without carrying their burdens on her shoulders, too.
Something was wrong with the plumbing in the Gibson's bathroom, but in the several years during which it had been malfunctioning, Jill had grown so accustomed to it that she automatically leaped from the stall just before the water turned ice-cold. Standing in front of the steamed-over mirror doors of the medicine cabinet above the sink, she pensively surveyed her lithe young body while massaging foamy shampoo into her waist-length locks. The reflection which stared back at her from the glass, foggy and indistinct though it was, reinforced her self-confidence.
The twin mounds of her youthfully high-set breasts jutted forward proudly, perfectly proportioned to complement the soft swells of her slender yet decisively feminine hips and taut-fleshed buttocks. Then came the soft triangle of her golden pussy curls and her long, model-type legs, whose skin was naturally so smooth that she never had to bother with hair-removal ointments or razors like the majority of her girlfriends. Although Jill had been brought up to regard vanity as one of the more reprehensible sins, she couldn't help feeling a tingle of satisfaction in her curvaceous young figure. She was built like the girls in fashion magazines, and there weren't many of her classmates who could say as much!
Until rather recently, Jill had been secretly convinced that she was so skinny and ugly that no man could possibly desire her. Even after she started dating the popular Donnely boy, she'd never quite lost the inferiority complex which had arisen from having a vivacious, very beautiful older sister. Now, however, as she remembered how badly Todd had wanted her . . . about the way men honked and whistled at her wherever she went . . . about Mr. Fletcher's hungry eyes and stolen touches, even . . . she began to accept the fact of her appealing femininity in the deepest part of her unconscious mind.
A cuckoo clock rang in the house across the way, jolting Jill from her strange thoughts and sending her back into the now-warm shower to rinse out her hair. If she didn't hurry now, she'd be late for work; there weren't so many buses and trains on Sundays, and the few that there were stopped at every half-abandoned depot. It would have been awfully nice if Todd had called and offered her a ride . . . but of course she didn't want to be a bitch and begrudge him his summer vacation fun.
But there was no time for feeling hurt or angry because Todd hadn't called her today. She was a working girl now, and her main responsibility was to do the very best job she could. Maybe, if she were especially alert and eager and always on time, Mr. Fletcher would recommend to the main boss, Mr. Oliver, that she get a raise, or at least a bonus. She'd seen Mr. Oliver when she took pictures around to the Pop-Inn discotheque the other night, and he'd seemed very nice. Young . . . handsome . . . understanding . . . and he'd seemed to like her, too . . .
She stared out the window and then breathed a deep sigh. It was raining even harder . . .
* * *
"Well, look what the cat dragged in!" guffawed Barney Fletcher as his young assistant burst through the darkroom door with her long blonde hair hanging in sodden strings down her back and little rivulets of water streaming from her shiny green plastic raincoat onto the floor. "A drowned rat!"
Although Jill was soaked to the skin and in no mood to act pleasant, she reminded herself that Mr. Fletcher was above all her boss. Anyway, she could tell that he thought he was being humorous; she knew a lot of older men like that, who were always making silly jokes and were hurt if you didn't respond. Many of her high school teachers had acted this way, and so had her dad, back in the old days before her sister Marian got pregnant and vanished into some California hippie hell and Mom got tuberculosis.
"Gee, Mr. Fletcher!" she forced a giggle. "Do I really look so awful as all that?!"
"No, Jillie girl!" Barney assured her, flourishing his cigar so that ashes sprayed over the carpet like meteorites' bursting from the tail of an exploding comet. "You never look awful - you're always cute as a bug! But you sure got wet! Better get out of them clothes and dry off before you catch a goddamn cold!"
"Well, I'd love to ... but I haven't anything dry to put on, Mr. Fletcher."
Jill shivered as she took off her plastic raincoat and stepped out of her sodden summer sandals. Really, she did feel chilled - how good a hot bath and a warm bed would feel right now! It was astonishing how fast the weather could change during a Chicago summer, going from sweltering hot to fifty degrees within twenty-four hours.
"You can put on one of them lab smocks hanging in the closet," offered the middle-aged photographer. When the girl hesitated he added, "Goddamn it, don't be shy! I won't look, if that's what's bothering ya! Hell, I'll even go in the darkroom if that'll make you feel easier!"
Jill was gratified that her boss was displaying such an unprecedented consideration for her more tender sensibilities, and to protest anymore seemed to be making far too much of something which was basically inconsequential. Smiling at the pot-bellied man, she moved toward the cabinet and extracted the smallest of several white robes hanging on the inside of the door. The moment he disappeared behind the curtain separating the small outer foyer from the negative developing chamber, she began to pull off her sopping-wet jeans and blouse in blissful ignorance of Barney's burning eyes peering through a peephole mere feet away from her.
The spy-slit had been cut in the cabinets above the enlarger machine over a year before by Barney himself when he was making a little extra money taking erotic photographs. He'd had a pretty good racket going in those days: he'd rented the tiny room to youngsters, mostly college freshmen who were obliged to live in dormitories, for fifty bucks a month, and when they'd come in the evenings to make love with their girls, he'd secretly photographed the proceedings. This lucrative arrangement had endured some three months before Nick Oliver got wind of it. It couldn't have lasted much longer in any case, for the nearby college had decided that freshmen could reside off-campus, but the incident had nevertheless whetted his already razor-sharp hatred for his employer.
Greasy Sicilian slob! he fumed inwardly. But at least he didn't find out about my peephole! Now I'm seeing something he'd give a hell of a lot to see - but never will, not if I can help it!
Then, as the pretty teenager unbuttoned her cotton blouse and dropped it onto the chair, all Fletcher's attention snapped from his abhorred-boss to the succulent female form before him. Christ almighty! She was absolutely perfect, from the tip of her pert, cold-crinkled nipples to her ten tiny white toes. He recalled his ex-wife's bovine buttocks and varicose veins with a shudder, and shoved away the mental image of his on-and-off mistress, an aging tavern owner with gaunt shoulder blades and a pluckered-chicken neck.
Come hell or high water, he vowed silently as Jill wriggled out of her damp jeans to reveal a pair of cream-white thighs, I gotta have me a taste of this baby! I wouldn't be a man if I didn't give it the old fighting try!
The young girl's hands hesitated at the elastic waistband of her flower-sprigged cotton panties, obviously wishing she could remove the moist garment but debating about the propriety of such an action. To Barney's disappointment, she left the panties and her brassiere on, turning to pick up the white smock and affording him a titillating view of the firm fleshed mounds of her ass-cheeks as she bent over to fasten the bottom buttons. Then, extracting her hairbrush from her purse, she regarded herself in the mirror hanging on the cabinet.
Stuck-up little bitch! Barney seethed. His stiffening penis gave a strong lurch, rubbing painfully against his trousers, and for a second he suffered such a shuddering wave of lust that he couldn't even see the delectable female. She knows just how sexy she looks in that little white piece of cotton that's too tight across the front and the behind. Cock-teasing baby cunt - she's driving me crazy!
Jill was indeed pleased with the way she looked in the simply-cut work smock - it made her feel like a professional photographer rather than a humble summer helper. Perhaps she would change her career plans from journalist to lady photographer and go around the world taking pictures of exciting events for important magazines. Not a grubby nightclub souvenir snapshot photographer like Mr. Fletcher, but a glamorous reporter like Jacqueline Kennedy had been before she got married .. .
If I married Todd, would he want me to mix a career and marriage? she wondered, then reprimanded herself for counting her chickens before they were hatched. It was a question which had never occurred to her before, however, and not one which she could easily erase from her mind. Naturally, if she were to marry the good-looking engineering student whose lavaliere she wore around her neck, she would do whatever made him happy . . . yet the vision of herself boarding an international jet liner with her camera slung over her shoulder in a snappy lipstick-red Samsonite carrying case, or developing prize-winning photographs in a more fashionable version of the flattering smock she now wore, was also very appealing . . .
"Ready, Blondie?" a coarse male voice jolted Jill from her daydream. "Or do I gotta sit here in the dark all night without even something to wetten the old slicker?"
"Oh, ex-excuse me, Mr. Fletcher!" Jill whirled around, her cheeks flushing a becoming shade of rose. "It's all right - I'm decent now!"
Barney strode out of the darkroom, wondering if the timid teenager would notice the prominent bulge between his legs, and what sort of thoughts would be going on inside her head if she did. Would she feel hot and excited, or just frightened? Her soft brown eyes were so girlishly innocent that they reminded him of Walt Disney's Bambi, but he knew that those same innocent eyes had already sneaked a look at his collection of private photos. Also, despite her modest manners and naive incomprehension of his more smutty innuendos, he found it difficult to believe that any gal with such saucy hips and out-thrusting buttocks could possibly be as inexperienced as Jill Gibson pretended to be.
"Sh-shouldn't we be getting started on our work?" Jill inquired uneasily as the older man handed her a jelly glass full of vodka and orange soda. "Isn't it time for you to take the shots at the Pop-Inn, Mr. Fletcher?"
"Don't worry your pretty little head about that," the photographer grinned, giving Jill's firm buttocks a playful pat which made her flinch. "Boss said to take it easy tonight," he lied. "Never many customers on a shit night like this - they'd rather sit home and watch TV. C'mon -have a drink and relax for once. You've been working your butt off all week!"
"Well, anyway," the blonde teenager laughed nervously, "I really don't like to drink so much."
Much as she'd complained to herself about how tired she was after the long hours of being on her feet rushing to have pictures ready in exactly one hour for the customers, Jill now recognized that the constant flurry of orders had the definite advantage of keeping Barney Fletcher too occupied to pay her much attention. The last thing she felt like doing was drinking mind-distorting alcohol with a vulgar-spoken man - expressions like "working your butt off" really offended her.
"You ever try vodka?" Barney was not to be put off so easily. "No taste at all - and no smell to give anything away to Mama and Papa, if that's what you're scared of."
"I'm not scared of anything!" the eighteen-year-old retorted. Did he think she was thirteen years old instead of a mature high-school graduate - only one infinitesimal step away from being a college coed!? "I just don't happen to like the taste much - it's nothing to do with my parents!"
"So try this - betcha can't taste nothin' but the orange stuff. Betcha a buck!"
There seemed to be no choice but to accept the glass which he persisted on pressing into her hands. He was obviously trying to be nice, and Jill had been raised to treat all grown-ups with respect. More importantly, she didn't want to have him thinking of her as a dumb little kid, or a spoilsport. . . there had been so many other applicants for this job that he would have no problem finding a replacement for her if he decided she was too young or too unsociable.
I'll just sip it real slow, she rationalized, pushing away the memories of the crazy, mindless way she'd seen kids act at parties after drinking too much. One little drink never hurt anyone, anyway it looked like it was mostly orange soda.
The liquid tasted like orange soda as well, and in her relief Jill took several deep swallows. Her boss had seated himself beside her on the narrow couch, his beefy thighs only inches away from her smock-covered legs, making her suddenly and uncomfortably aware that she was nearly naked beneath the light cotton garment. The faster she could finish her drink and start doing something else, the better.
"Thank you for the drink, Mr. Fletcher," she said, prim and proper as a schoolgirl. "You were absolutely right - vodka's much nicer than beer or Seagrams. I guess I owe you a dollar!"
"Call me Barney, huh?" the photographer leaned closer to his fair-haired teenaged assistant. "No need for formalities, 'least not when the boss ain't around. And forget the buck, baby! You can pay me much better than that by giving me a nice kiss!"
Suddenly, before Jill knew what was happening, her employer's fingers were inching up the sensitive flesh of her grown-protected thigh, tracing a teasing path that came to a stop just before the elastic legband of her flower-sprigged panties. For a brief second all she could do was stare at his hairy-knuckled hand, and as the thick fingers appeared to transform into a horrible black tarantula, she realized that she wasn't seeing or thinking as clearly as normal. Could she possibly be drunk on half a glass of vodka? It seemed absurd -but then she'd had nothing to eat today.
"Please!" she edged away from the calloused fingers.
"What's the matter, honey?" Fletcher feigned surprise. "Whatcha so jumpy for? I don't bite!"
"I ... I guess I'm just a little nervous tonight," Jill tried to speak naturally, to erase the disturbing sexual fantasies from her mind. "This bad weather and all . . . "
"What's a pretty little gal like you got to be nervous about? Hell, if I was still eighteen I'd be having myself a good time, not worrying 'bout nothing!"
Jill laughed uncertainly, taking a nervous gulp of the vodka drink she'd intended not to finish. It was idiotic of her to keep thinking about the scare-stories her girl friends told at slumber parties and which she'd read in the sort of scandalous newspapers you could only find on the newsstands in downtown Chicago, not suburban Glenwood. Stories about crazy men who did unspeakable things to young girls in lonely rooms or deserted forests, stories which made her masturbate guiltily when she was alone in her bed, though she would never have admitted this to another living soul, not even Anthea. This was the real world where things like that simply didn't happen. She was reading ulterior meanings into her employer's actions and words, that was all. . .
"And how about that kiss you promised me?"
Although the young blonde was certain she'd made no such promise, her boss was suddenly leaning so close to her that she could feel his hot breath grazing against her neck and smell the bourbon on his lips. This wasn't funny anymore; it was definitely getting out of hand! She tried to twist her head away, but before she could do so his thick lips were crushed against her mouth.
"Uuunnnnngggggg! Don't please don't!"
The instant she opened her mouth to protest this infamous violation of decency, the older man's wet tongue splurged between her parted teeth to probe rudely at her own tongue. Jill had French-kissed before, but only with Todd Donnely and never in such a rough, lewd manner. Shocked and perturbed, she struggled to rise to her feet as a stinging spray of tears half-blinded her alcohol-clouded vision.
"What's wrong, Blondie? My kisses aren't high-class enough for ya?" the photographer taunted. "Or maybe you think you don't like kissing, the way you claimed you didn't dig booze. Man, you're one weird kid! Cute, but weird!"
Repressing an urge to wipe the lingering specks of the man's whiskey-flavored saliva from her bruised lips, Jill stared down at the dirty tile floor and took deep breaths in an effort to regain her composure.
"I - I think it's best if I go on home now," she managed to mumble at last. "Since there's no work to do ... "
"Hey, hold your horses!" Barney jumped up and laid a clammy palm on the cringing adolescent's bare lower arm. "Boss wouldn't like it if he knew you were skipping out like that, y'know. Might be a big party coming in later or something, who knows? So stop being so jumpy - sit down and relax - have another drink!"
The half-intoxicated cameraman patted the seat beside him on the hunchbacked couch, letting his eyes feast on the tantalizing swellings inside the white gown which hid her ripening female form. Goddamn! She was the sexiest thing he'd seen in months, with a body built for loving just like an Italian sports car was designed for speeding. Her incongruous childishness did not detract from her magnetic sensuality - rather, it added spice to his prurient middle-aged passion.
"Sit down, I said," he repeated when she did not respond. "Hey, doll, how come you're uptight? Maybe we ought to have a talk about that, whattya think? A little kiss ain't nothing for a pretty gal like you to get all bothered about!"
"I'm not all bothered," Jill lowered herself gingerly onto the outer edge of the dirty sofa. Maybe it was true that she was a little too reserved, uptight about touching other people and things like that, but it was certainly none of Mr. Fletcher's business. "I just happen to think that kissing is something special that I do only with my fiance."
The moment the lie passed her lips, Jill regretted it. She was superstitious enough to think that only bad luck could follow a lie, and suddenly the words of a childhood ditty rattled inside her brain, distracting her so badly that she didn't notice the crafty photographer stealthily freshening her drink with straight Smirnoff. Oh, what a tangled web we weave When first we practice to deceive.
"More orange stuff?" beamed Barney.
"Yes, thank you."
Perhaps the innocuous soft drink would help to clear her head, allow her to comprehend exactly what was going on here. It was inconceivable that this man was old enough to be her father was making a pass at her . . . but if he wasn't why didn't he stop looking at her in that suggestive way and touching her, kissing her? Was it all just her imagination? No! There were those nasty photographs in the bottom shelf of the cupboard!
"But you like kissing, dontcha? Don't try and put nothing over on me!" The man's flaccid face twisted into a prurient portrait of passion as he shifted his legs to find a more comfortable position for his aching thickness. "Just like you got a kick outta looking at my private photo collection the other day!"
Jill choked on her drink at this sudden revelation. Oh, God! Had he read her mind? No wonder he kept making crude remarks, if he thought she was that sort of girl! How did he know she'd looked?
"Wh-what do you mean?" she stammered.
"You know damn well what I mean! Don't give me any more of that goodie-goodie act, 'cause I ain't buying it! You looked at my pictures, and they made you feel all warm and funny inside. Right?"
"Wrong!" Jill forgot that the man was her boss, and that alienating him could mean the end of her college dreams. "How do you think you know what I feel? How dare you!"
"Listen, you crazy girl!" chortled Barney. "It's as clear as a bell what you're thinking, even if you won't admit it. You're a female, ain't you? And all women think with their cunts. I'm a lot older than you are, chickadee, and I know what I'm talking about!"
Jill was silent; there was nothing to say. Deep in her heart of hearts she knew that there was a modicum of truth in the man's words. Hadn't her sleep been haunted by memories of those atrocious snapshots? What about that night when she'd awakened to find her hand slipping up under her nightgown? It was true - she was every bit as perverted as this vulgar man beside her!
"How about another look? You'd like that, I bet!"
Before the white-faced teenager could contradict him, Barney had lurched toward the cupboard and tugged the ominous black box from its hiding place. A slack grin of salacious anticipation spread over his sweat-swarthy features as he plopped back down beside the tense adolescent and opened the box. Although the photo on top of the pile was only of the less lascivious shots - only a man fondling an oversized pair of naked breasts - Jill winced and clamped her eyelids tight shut.
"Real nice tits! And lookit the shadows - this here's what I call a real art shot!" the photographer admired his own handiwork. Then he noticed the girl's grim expression and closed eyes. "C'mon, Jillie! Take a look at these, like you did before. Unless you wanna make it necessary for me to tell the boss that I better find me a more trustworthy assistant - one who don't snoop in the private papers."
"But - I wasn't snooping, really I wasn't!" Jill's eyes opened to stare pleadingly at her employer's grinning face. "I was only l-looking for s-some Ajax when ..."
"I don't know nothing about no Ajax, and I don't give a damn, either! Now take a look at this one," Barney interrupted, waving a glossy picture in front of the tearful teen's nose.
Jill told herself that she would pretend to look, but not allow herself to see anything. Nevertheless, when the shot of a man's angry-red erection jumped out at her, she gasped aloud and could not drag her eyes away again. Her fingers tingled with the unwanted memory of how her boyfriend's desire-hardened penis had felt inside her caressing hand, and in the pit of her virginal belly a flock of butterflies began churning.
Barney poured them both another drink, taking advantage of handing Jill her glass to inch closer to her on the couch. In a reflexive gesture, his eager hand abruptly brushed against the outside of her smock-covered thigh.
With one sip of the fresh vodka, the eighteen year old's vision blurred, misfocused. The Kodacolor phallus became two thick red rods, then three, then one again before she grew aware of the pressuring touch on her upper leg.
"Noooo!" she moaned, in a voice that sounded as feeble and impotent as her body felt. How incredibly stupid she'd been to allow herself to drink any hard liquor! "Please don't, Mr. Fletcher!"
"I s'pose you think these are dirty pictures, huh, Jillie? Well, they ain't! Not on your life! These are just two nice college kids, kids like you. But they know that sex isn't something to be scared of. They don't tell themselves lies!"
Lies? Jill's confused mind whirled. Am I telling myself lies? Maybe... oh, I don't understand . . . but I better get off this sofa before he tries to touch me again . . .
The young blonde made a concentrated effort to rise, but her bones seemed to have turned to foam rubber, and they refused to obey the commands of her brain. When she felt an arm curling around her from behind, an arm with bulging biceps which pulled her against a well-fleshed chest, she was so unnerved that she collapsed back against the cushions with a low gasp.
Get out of here! Get out, you fool! a voice cried inside her brain. You can't trust Mr. Fletcher -especially when he's drunk, and you are too!
But even though fear pulsed through her veins, Jill could not move. Her gaze was riveted first to the lewd photograph of the swollen cock-shaft with its bulbous foreskin and swaying, sparsely-haired testicles, then to the menacing bulge in her employer's pants.
Fletcher caught her glance toward his groin and gave a hoarse chuckle of bawdy glee. His cock was pounding ferociously against his fly like a chained monster aching to be freed, blotting out all doubts about the wisdom of actually assaulting his innocent employee. Grabbing Jill's delicate wrist in a vise-like grasp, he guided her fingers toward his ramrod-stiff length.
"You like that, baby? Better than a picture, huh?" he leered, forcing her hand to remain over his pulsating virility. "Go on - touch my pecker! Ain't nothing wrong with that. It feels good - just like this feels good!"
In a sudden burst of inspiration, the half-intoxicated photographer shot out his free hand to slip up under the cotton smock which covered Jill's delectable young body. The little bitch'll come around quick enough once I get my hand inside her panties, he gloated. Maybe she'll try to fight at first - but I'm stronger than her, and pretty soon she'll be so turned on that she 'll be begging for it.
"Ooohhhhhhh!"
The girl certainly hadn't intended to cry out, but the unexpected contact with the sensitive female flesh between her legs sent a current of white-hot sensation flowing out to every nerve-ending in her love-starved loins. An unwanted warmth was making her weaker than ever, as though her limbs were now pliant putty which the man could mold in whatever devious design he desired, and when she made a second attempt at rising to her feet her knees crumpled beneath her.
"Don't run away, sweetheart," she heard Fletcher muttering. "I ain't gonna hurt ya - I'm just gonna show you how to enjoy this lovely little body you've been wasting for too long now. Teach ya to stop being a damn cock-tease and start being a woman!"
Jill tried to resist as her boss shoved her back so that she was leaning against the far arm of the threadbare couch with her naked legs spread out over its length, but somehow she couldn't seem to summon any strength or even will to fight. A numb sort of resignation, plus a wanton curiosity which she refused to acknowledge to herself, prevented her from doing anything to stop him except whimper over and over again, "Nooooo . . . nooooo... nooooooo ..."
Eyes glinting with hunger, ears deaf to the girl's piteous moans, Barney groped for the buttons which fastened the white lab smock from neckline to hem. His drink-clumsied fingers couldn't cope with the fastenings quickly enough to suit him, however, so with a snort of bestial passion he simply tore the thin fabric away from her body. Jill's moans rose louder, and as soon as he'd managed to unclasp her white stretch-nylon brassiere and was massaging the taut-nippled mounds of her adolescent breasts, her cries took on an even more frenzied tone.
"Stop! You can't do this. No!" she wailed, her voice shrill with hysteria. "You can't do this, you -you rapist!"
"It ain't rape when you want it. baby!" guffawed the intoxicated employer. "And you're ready for it, if I ever saw a gal who was. Lookit them nipples," he pinched the raspberry pink buttons so hard that she gasped aloud, "and I bet you're wetting your panties, too!"
"No . . . not there . . . don't touch me there!" Jill sobbed, suddenly realizing that her panty crotch-band was indeed very wet with sinful droplets of desire.
Oh God! Is he right? her tortured brain shuddered. Do I really want this man I scarcely know, who's as old as my Dad, touching me where I never let even my boyfriend put his hands? Of course not - I'd be crazy if I did! But then why . . . why . . .
Although the young virgin didn't consciously answer her own question, the truth was imprinted on her subconscious. All the wicked things she'd fantasized about she knew could never be experienced voluntarily, never be enjoyed with anyone in her crowd, for then she would have a Bad Reputation. Sure, a lot of guys would call for dates - the sort of dates that were for the drive-in or ended up in the forest preserve. If they got what they wanted, they'd call her back when they felt horny. If she resisted their overtures, they'd never call back. Girls with Bad Reputations didn't become Prom Queen or wear lavaliere's around their necks - everyone knew that - and particularly not when they came from the wrong section of town.
But with Mr. Fletcher, who would know - and she couldn't help it anyway, it wasn't her fault.. .
As these dizzy thoughts filtered through the alcoholic clouds obliterating her brain, Barney's impatient hands were tugging her flower-print cotton panties down over her naked legs. They fell to the floor beside the sofa, a limp flag of defeat, and then one of his hands invaded the sanctuary of her vaginal crevice while the other continued to tweak at her puckering nipple buds. All the while, bestial growling sounds spewed from his slackly parted lips, and she observed a dark stain spreading across the crotch of his black trousers.
I have to fight him off! she commanded herself. Kick him, scratch him - anything! This is unthinkable! How will I ever forgive myself if I just let him do these disgusting things to me? How will I ever face Todd again?
Just as Jill had nearly talked herself into giving the man a kick and putting an end to the sinfully delicious but forbidden bliss gliding through her frustrated teenaged body, Fletcher rose to his knees between her legs and placed his hands down on her naked hips with all the strength in his thick arms. His cloth-covered cock-shaft nudged insistently against her thigh as he forced one of her legs to drape over the edge of the couch. Now, to her paralyzed horror, the entire plane of her brazenly displayed cuntal slit was exposed to his hungry gaze.
By now it was nearly dark in the small basement studio, for no one had thought to turn on the overhead electric bulb. The light from the outside streetlamp which filtered in through the small dusty window was sufficient, however, for Barney to make out the enticing details of the weakly squirming adolescent's smooth white abdomen and the curling blonde tendrils of her cuntal hair nestled below. With a choking cry, he knelt farther down between her girlishly firm thighs and buried his balding head in the soft golden "vee" of her pubic hair.
For an instant Jill was completely flabbergasted and didn't know what to think, but then one of the licentious photographs she'd seen the other day floated across her mind's eye and she realized what the man intended. Her blood turned to ice-water in her veins at the idea of a man's tongue touching her most private feminine flesh, but simultaneously the shuddering sparks inside her churning belly burst into unquenchable flame.
"Good girl!" Barney's muffled voice echoed up from between her legs, and his breath was warm on her tender inner thigh flesh. "Now keep them legs spread, 'cause I wanna see this pretty pink pussy of yours real good."
The middle-aged man's crude words grated in Jill's ears, but although she shuddered violently she didn't seem able to move her body from its lewd, splayed out position on the sagging couch. Straining her eyes to see through the darkness, she shuddered again. His face, seen through the tangle of her sparse blonde pubic curls, was a mask of animal lust, like the dirty pictures, only much, much worse!
"Nooooooo . . . don't touch me there!" Jill knew by now that the man paid absolutely no attention to her beseeching cries, but the protests continued to spill from her lips. Perhaps they salved her guilty conscience . . .
"Just lay still and do like I say, girlie, and I promise you the wildest time you ever had in all your life!" Barney chuckled, and then he began stroking her inner thighs and laughing louder as they involuntarily tensed and spasmed in response.
"No, noooo!" Jill whispered, wriggling her buttocks against the cushions to escape the stroking fingers which were intensifying her unwanted tremors of arousal.
The abrasive friction of the upholstery fabric against her susceptive ass-cheeks only made the situation worse for the vodka-befuddled blonde. Never, not even with the boy whose necklace she wore around her neck, had she felt such an uncontrollable impulse to throw all inhibiting restrictions to the wind and let herself wallow in the depths of depraved sensuality.
"Nooooooooo!" she howled again, more to herself than to the man. "It's not right! Nooooooo!"
"How come it ain't right? What in Christ's name could be wrong with me making this sweet, sweet pussy feel real good?"
The teasing fingers on her squirming thighs were abruptly replaced by moistly nibbling lips, then by a thrusting wet stiffness which the bewildered virgin feared must be her boss's tongue. As his eager oral member snaked in a tantalizing path of heated staccato swipes toward her vulnerable vagina, its petal-like lips automatically swelled and blossomed open like a rose turning toward the warm morning sunshine. Jill was horrified by her body's response to the sinful stimulation, but though she tried her best she could not suppress the dewdrops of feminine secretion which began to seep out from her cuntal channel onto the wispy tendrils of her pale gold pubic fringe.
A spasm of self-revulsion wracked the slender high-school graduate's naked figure as the full impact of what she was allowing to happen hit her with the force of a thunderbolt. Every time the luridly fascinating subject of oral sexuality had come up at slumber parties, she'd always asserted that no matter what, she would rather die an old maid than let any man do such an animalistic thing to her. And now? Now here she was, sprawled out on a mildewed, saggy-springed couch in a grubby southside Chicago basement flat, with a whiskey-stinking man crouching between her legs and performing the awesomely revolting act upon her unprotesting body.
And it feels good! the dizzy realization reverberated through her shocked mind. It feels so good I can't really fight him off. . . But I have to - I can't let myself do this!
The middle-aged photographer suddenly crushed down directly on top of her small-boned figure, jolting her from her troubled reflections. Against her toes she could feel the fabric-covered bulge of his throbbing member, but when she made a real effort to kick her foot away, he grabbed her ankle and forced it back against the lewdly pulsing shaft.
"Christ Almighty - act nice, now, baby!" he ordered in a hoarse, drunkenly slurred voice which made Jill afraid to kick her foot out again.
Then, as his hot breath sprayed against the super-sensitive tissues of her cuntal flesh and his spearing tongue teased at the tumescent little lips, Jill forgot her feeling of revulsion at the penis pressing against her naked foot. A flash of liquid lightning exploded inside her aroused body, making her traitorous hips lift up toward his open mouth, and her legs began to shiver with uncontrolled excitement. An ominous voice from the base of her brain warned her that if she didn't put an end to this at once, it would be too late. If it weren't too late already . ..
"Please, stop! I don't w-w-want to do this, M-Mr. Fletcher! I don't wwwaaannntttt it!"
"Christ! What a pussy!" Barney totally ignored the girl's unconvincing whimpers as he pulled his mouth away from her fresh-tasting vaginal slit for a second. His thumbs darted down between her satin-fleshed thighs, parting the hair-lined lips so that he could find the small pink button of her clitoris. Once he got his lips around that sensitive pleasure center, he'd be home free. "So tight and sweet! Tell me, Jillie, do you let your boyfriend put his pecker in this cute little honey pot? Or kiss you like this?"
"Noooooo! Never! That's why you mustn't do that! Please stop it, please!"
"Well, then you're in for a real nice surprise, sweetheart! Barney's gonna make you feel so gooooodddd that you'll just go crazy!"
"Aaaggggg, pleeeeezzzeeee, NO! Nooooononononono ..." Jill's cries trailed off into an incoherent whimper as the older man's voracious mouth fastened on her nerve-filled clitoral bud. Suddenly, uncontrollably, her stimulated pussy mound was arching up to meet the hungrily engulfing warmth of his mouth. "Ahhh! Oohhhhh!"
Barney let out a muffled snort of triumph. Shit! At last, after these days of watching the sexy student assistant swish her cute little ass around the darkroom while she turned her nose up at him, he had her exactly where he'd wanted her since the first minute he'd set eyes on her lush teenaged figure. Jill Gibson was begging for it, even if she didn't realize it yet. Her flat white belly was squirming like the bellydancer's at the Eden Garden Club, and her round buttocks were bouncing up and down on the cushions in tempo to the thrusts of his teasing tongue. Best of all, she was wet and ready for him, oozing a steady stream of feminine moisture which tingled on his tongue like nectar and ambrosia.
"Jesus, baby, that's it! Move that ass! You taste so dee-licious I can't believe it, honey!"
Flames of unwanted arousal sizzled through Jill's blood unchecked as her boss's stiffened tongue delved directly into the never-before-entered channel of her quivering cunt. Helpless cries erupted from her constricted throat, echoing louder and louder through the small room and out into the rainswept street as his obscenely lathing tongue slithered from her clitoris down to her spasming anal ring and then rammed into her fire-filled vagina again. The second thrust shot all the way to the restraining membrane of her maidenhead, proving to the delighted photographer that the child-woman he was performing cunnilingus on was indeed a virgin.
Too fucking much! he gloated, sending his long tongue skewering between the honey-smooth walls of his assistant's tight pussy passage with such frenzy that the teenager's mouth fell open in slack desire and her long mane of tangled blonde curls thrashed around her tossing head like a Satanic halo. Christ Almighty, I sure wish Nick Oliver could see me now! He'll treat me with some respect when he hears about how I went down on little Jillie Gibson!
By now, Jill had abandoned all attempt to hide her passionate arousal. It was no use - she couldn't exert any control over her flaming loins. Worst, she no longer even cared that she was writhing like a wanton whore beneath Mr. Fletcher's obscene mouth, for nothing had ever felt so ecstatically beautiful.
The adolescent's pelvis was raising and lowering so wildly now that Fletcher was forced to thrust his palms beneath her bucking ass-cheeks to keep his mouth from slipping off her desire-drenched pussy. At first he contented himself with kneading her resilient buttock flesh as though it were bread dough, but then he succumbed to a lurid impulse and dipped his outstretched middle finger into the cleft between the pliant moons to jab at the puckering ring of her anus.
"AAAGGGHHH!"
Don't push it too fast! the photographer warned himself. Time enough for games like that when she's really used to me, when she's my little love slave! The thing I gotta do right now is drive her out of her mind with my tongue, and then my cock. After that, she'll never say no to nothing I want from her!
Even when the man's rough-nailed finger teased at the forbidden entrance to her sensitive nether passage and his cloth-covered cock ground lewdly down against her naked foot, Jill did not begin to regain her senses. In fact, the slight edge of pain between her buttocks and the obscene heat of his pulsing hard-on only served to increase the violence of the rapturous waves rippling from her tongue-ravished cunt to every centimeter of her lust-flaming flesh. Nothing mattered anymore save the shuddering sensations of turbulent ecstasy, not even the sluttish sounds which were spilling unbidden from her parched lips.
"Yeeesssssss,oh,ggggoooodddddd!" she dimly heard herself howl. It didn't sound one bit like her own voice, but she knew that it must be. Or maybe some demonic magic had changed her into a new and different person from the demure schoolgirl she'd been only hours before. "Suck my pussy! Lick it! It's so good! So crazy gggooodddddd!"
Above the teenager's thrashing figure, Fletcher, too, was losing control of his body. His thickened member was beating a frantic tattoo against the restraining fabric of his trousers, and any moment now he feared it would explode with pent-up semen. Yet he wanted to make her climax before he rammed it into her enticingly tight pussy, for otherwise he feared she'd come out of her passionate trance and start screaming and wailing so frantically that it would attract the attention of his nosy neighbors.
Anyway, his triumph would not be complete unless she were actually begging for his rock-hard penis, and if he had to force her, it might have repercussions which would cause him to lose his job. After all, the kid was a cherry . . .
The only solution was to drive her into an orgasm as fast as possible - she was such a hot little number that that shouldn't be difficult! Barney got to the task with relish, making bestial slavering sounds as he dug his extended tongue all the way up to the protective tissue of her maiden head. At the same time, his middle finger furiously massaged the bright pink button of her clitoris until it rose up like a miniature penis and she shrieked aloud in delight.
A vibrating chord of maddening sex music strummed from Jill Gibson's bullet-hard nipples to the churning pit of her virginal belly, and the demonic harmony sent her to the precipice of an erotic rapture more volcanic than she'd ever dreamed possible. For a few suspenseful seconds she hovered on the brink, straining with all her energy to dive over the cliff into total passionate surrender, but held back by tenacious tendrils of fear. Then Fletcher began nibbling harder on her clitoris, digging his teeth in gently but firmly, and she was there!
Her cry echoed through the small studio like that of a raving lunatic leaping from the windows of an asylum. Indeed, Jill felt as though she were tearing free from bonds of propriety which had held her with invisible chains all her life, as though for the first time in her eighteen sheltered years she really knew what living was all about. The unbearable pressure inside her straining belly exploded in a shower of blissful fireworks, and then came a rush of ecstasy so profound that she nearly fainted from the intensity of it.
"Ooooohhhh, yeeesssss, yeeessss, don't stop! Make me cum more! Forever and ever and ever ..." she babbled in incoherent abandon. "Soooooogggoooooddddd!"
Again and again, as Fletcher's tongue continued to lash into her wildly convulsing vagina, Jill's spasming young body was smashed by tidal waves of unworldly pleasure. Red and gold stars spun in the blackness that clouded her vision, and then she lost all sense of bodily weight as the rocketing blasts of climactic release grew softer and she floated away on a gentle cloud of post-orgasmic peace. Although her small hands clutched the man's neck and her legs wound tightly around his thick limbs, she had forgotten his existence in the midst of her own pleasure.
Barney continued his agile oral fucking until the teenager collapsed beneath him in total satiation, but he did not at once remove his mouth. First, he wanted to lick up every last droplet of her fresh-tasting cum - how long it had been since he'd had a chick this innocent! - and have a last look at the exquisite petal-like folds of her rose-pink cuntal flesh. In another minute, he'd be ramming his lust-aching member straight down into that glistening passage, and those still-twitching coral pussy walls would be clasping his cock as they had his tongue!
Unable to wait a second longer, the over-aroused photographer lurched off the limp figure of his young assistant and began grappling with the zipper on his black trousers. At first Jill was totally oblivious. She lay on the sagging cot with her amber eyes clenched shut, sighing out the last satisfied seconds of her soul-shattering climax, blissfully unaware of anything except the delicious release which had sapped her young body of all its built-up sexual tension.
"Now for the real fun, Jillie girl!" Barney exclaimed. "If you liked sucking, you're gonna like fucking even better! That hot little box of yours is gonna go off like a ton of dynamite when you feel how good my pecker feels inside of it!"
Jill's half-conscious form stirred reluctantly as the cold facts of reality pierced her orgasmic euphoria and alerted her alcohol-dazed brain. For a dizzy second she kept her eyes clamped tight, praying that this was all some sordid nightmare whose memory she could eradicate by simply drifting off to sleep again. But the coarse fabric scratching against her bare buttocks was different from the percale sheets on her bed or the smooth nylon of her nightie, and the warm glowing sensation between her thighs was too scintillating to have been induced by her own half-slumbering manipulations. And that voice . . . and the smell of whiskey . . . and the wheezing whisper of someone else breathing above her . . .
"Yeah, sweetheart, you and me are gonna have us one hell of a good time. Wake up and see what Big Daddy's got for ya!"
The voice was real! And the sweat-sticky hands which were grasping at her naked breasts were no illusion, either! With a little gasp, the inexperienced eighteen-year-old opened her eyes to meet the horror-inspiring spectacle of Barney Fletcher's thick male member rearing directly up at her from the matted thatch of his black pubic hair. Even though the room was nearly dark, she could see that his penis .was in full blood-swollen erection, and that it was considerably thicker than her boyfriend's cock had been when aroused by her stroking fingers.
Suddenly the events of the past half-hour flashed before the girl's mind, like a triple-speed blue movie. Hot tears brimmed in her big brown eyes, blurring her vision of the pot-bellied man who stood a mere foot away from her with a lascivious grin on his stubbled-shadowed face and his purple-veined cock bulging from one pudgy hand. The memory of her stunningly satisfying climax disappeared beneath a wave of guilty self-contempt as she leapt from the couch.
"Hey! What the fucking hell - "
"Don't touch me! Don't you dare put your filthy hands on me again!"
"Come here, you little cock-teasing bitch! You had your kicks - now it's my goddamn turn!"
Fletcher lunged toward the sobbing blonde, but his lust and the half bottle of bourbon he'd consumed made him slow and clumsy. She was already struggling into her damp jeans and shirt by the time he staggered across the room, and even as he attempted to grab her and throw her back down on the cot, she was dashing for the door.
"Get back here, you stupid slut!" Barney raged as the young blonde fumbled frantically with the door latch and attempted at the same time to fasten her blouse buttons. "What the hell's got into you all of a sudden?"
The front door fell open with an abrupt lurch, sending Jill half-sprawling on the puddle-strewn doorstep with her shirt still hanging wide open. Cold rain cascaded over her naked torso, but she was too distraught to notice that she'd forgotten her raincoat, brassiere, and panties until she'd run several yards and collided with an umbrella-wielding matron purposefully promenading her pet poodle.
"Oh, ex-excuse me!" Jill gasped as she hastily lifted her foot from the yelping animal's paw. She gaped down at the yapping beast, blinking stupidly at its red-plaid raincoat and matching booties, then raised her eyes to the elderly woman. "I'm so sorry!"
"Humph! Come, Fifi, come!" the well-dressed woman jerked on the rhinestone-studded handle of her pet's leash and jabbing her umbrella in the direction of Jill's revealing breasts with a horrified grimace.
"What is this neighborhood coming to these days?"
A half-hysterical giggle burst from the agitated adolescent's throat as she stared off at a stumbling half-run in the direction of the bus stop. As she splashed through the puddles, she clumsily fastened the blouse over her nakedly dancing breasts and her laughter faded into a fresh rush of tears as she realized that her nipples were still taut and tingling with arousal.
"Never again!" she whispered, coming to a sudden standstill in the middle of the sidewalk and tilting up her face so that cool raindrops splashed against her burning cheeks. "I'll never, never set foot in that awful studio again, no matter what! I'll never give that vile old drunk another chance to molest me! And I'll forget everything that happened tonight - start out with a clean slate tomorrow morning!"
Jill started walking again, taking small, slow steps now, holding her shoulders slumped in an unintentional gesture of despair. Deep in her heart, the intelligent eighteen-year-old knew perfectly well that trying to erase the erotic incident from her mind was a lost cause. Strange impulses had been triggered inside her by Barney Fletcher, and much as she might despise him, her life was irrevocably changed by the way he turned the key and unlocked her hitherto hidden sensuality.
"What am I going to do?" she muttered helplessly.
Just then the bus arrived, and the blonde twisted her face into a normally neutral expression as she stepped inside. All the way home she was uncomfortably aware that the males on the bus were staring at her rain-washed breasts, the damp material of her thin cotton blouse making it shamefully obvious that she was not wearing a brassiere. If there was a peculiar tingling sensation in her breasts and an odd churning feeling in the pit of her belly as their eyes burned into her over-exposed body, it was certainly because she was getting a chill from going out without a raincoat. . .
CHAPTER FOUR
Twenty-four hours later, dull gray rain was still falling over the Chicago area. Basements flooded, the Illinois Central Railroad tunnels blocked up and created traffic jams, and Jill Gibson spent the morning of her day off cleaning house instead of going to the beach. In between scrubbing, mopping, and scouring the two-bedroom ranch house, she drank endless cups of strong black coffee and re-read the letter which had come in the Monday morning mail from the scholarship foundation.
"Something wrong, dear?" her father queried when he arrived home at twelve-thirty.
He'd taken the afternoon off from the plant so that he and Jill could drive the fifty-eight miles to the sanitarium and pay Mom a visit, and his perceptive daughter sensed from the taut tension lines etched on his weary face that there had been some problem getting permission for time off. Instead of telling him that her scholarship application had been turned down due to lack of funds, she tried to paste a cheerful smile on her face as she handed him a cold Schlitz and a sizzling hot cheese omelet.
"Who, me?" she quipped cheerfully. "I'm fit as a fiddle! Just a little tired, maybe . . . been giving this house an overdue spring cleaning."
Mr. Gibson picked up his fork, looked at his eggs, then set down the fork with a clatter which made the nervous teenager jump and almost drop her coffee cup. For a long minute he stared at his lovely blonde daughter, wondering as he often had before in the past two years how she had suddenly metamorphosized from a skinny little girl into a magnificent woman. Why, it was just yesterday that his wife Thelma had been nursing her, taking her for rides in the stroller, washing and drying her diapers in the tiny, dank-smelling Chicago flat they'd rented before moving out to the suburbs . . .
Today, though he would have been hard-pressed to define exactly why, his attractive teenager struck him as looking more mature than ever. It wasn't only the fact that her shrunken "St. Roch High Swim Team" T-shirt and patched cut-offs clung to her lushly ripened young body like a second skin - he was more or less accustomed to the disturbing sensation his daughter's voluptuous figure gave him - but more something about the expression in her almond-shaped brown eyes. Without taking his eyes away from the determinedly smiling girl, he reached for his beer and took a long swallow of the cool liquid.
"And everything's going okay at the job, too?" he probed.
There was a moment's pregnant silence during which father and daughter avoided each other's eyes to toy with their respective drinks. Jill knew that sooner or later she had to tell her dad that she was quitting her well-paying job, but somehow she just couldn't manage to explain now, even though she'd been musing over plausible excuses all morning long.
"Sure, Dad - everything's A-okay!" she heard her own voice say at last. "Just fine! Now you eat your omelet before it gets cold! You haven't been getting enough hot, home-cooked meals lately!"
She sounds like her mother! thought Ralph as he obediently speared a forkful of eggs and raised the morsel halfway to his mouth. And that worried little wrinkle between her eyes - that's the way Thelma always looks when we can't meet the mortgage payment on time . .. the way she looked when there was that trouble with Marian . ..
"And how 'bout your school plans?" he was certain that something was bothering Jill now, and felt it was his duty to discover just what the problem might be. "You hear about that scholarship yet, honey?"
"Oh, well-" Jill tried to laugh lightly, but the sound caught in her throat and came out sounding like a strangled croak. "Nothing doing there, I'm afraid. But it's all right - I'll earn enough to make ends meet if I stick to a strict budget."
The fragment of omelet slipped from the prongs of Ralph Gibson's fork, bounced off the edge of his plate, and fell with a dull plop onto the newly-polished kitchen floor. Jill dropped to her knees immediately, glad for an excuse to avoid her father's eyes, innocently unconscious of the way her shorts strained over the firm mounds of her buttocks and pressed against her cuntal "vee" to reveal the petal-like lips of her pussy. She took more time than strictly necessary to wipe up the spilled food with a paper towel, but even so, when she raised her eyes, her father was still staring at her in that sorrowfully searching way.
"I'm sorry about that," he said quietly. A long gulp of beer, a weary sigh, a devitalized flourish of his fork, another swallow of Schlitz. "I - I sure wish I could help you out, Jill. You're a good girl - not like your sister Marian. But - well, I might as well tell you straight - I'm liable to become redundant at the end of the year. No more government contracts . . . this damn recession . . . and at my age there's not so many chances ..."
The father's voice trailed off, leaving a cold vacuum of silence in the well-scrubbed kitchen. I'm a total failure, Mr. Gibson agonized, running a nervous hand through his thinning brown hair. Can't even take care of my kid. . . never made the grade . . . even the guys at work don't respect me. . . can't pay for nothing but the state hospital for the wife. . . fucking useless, that's what I am . . .
"Don't worry, Daddy - everything's okay!" Jill soothed. Her firm, girlish buttocks wriggled in unconscious provocation as she extracted another cold beer from the fridge, but she was too preoccupied in her own worries to notice the way he tightened his fists as his long-neglected manhood rose into weak erection. "Eat your eggs, huh? It's time we got going, if we're going to make it before visiting hours are over."
"Sure, sure," Gibson intoned apathetically. The omelet tasted like sawdust, but he choked it down between swallows of nerve-soothing beer. "Sure, Jill, time to hit the road."
* * *
"How about something to eat before we try driving home through this damn - uh, darn - rain?" Todd asked his girlfriend, politely tilting his big black umbrella over her honey-gold head and putting an arm around her shoulder to draw her closer to him. "Something nice, something besides Gino's pizza and MacDonalds."
Jill turned her face up toward the attractive college athlete, hoping she looked more enthusiastic than she felt. It was obvious that he was making a special effort to please her tonight, for instead of just hanging out at someone's place or going to the local show, he'd suggested a movie in downtown Chicago. Normally, she would have been thrilled by his considerate gesture, his attentive politeness, the way he'd changed out of his usual jeans and T-shirt to a sports jacket; but tonight she just couldn't get in the mood for a big night on the town. All during the wide-screen performance of The Great Gatsby she could only think of her own difficult dilemma, although Robert Red ford was her favorite movie star and she was also a fan of F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Yesterday, after fleeing from Barney Fletcher's photographic studio, she'd vowed never to return even if it meant shelving her college plans for another year.
Now, after a long day of soul-searching, she wasn't so sure any more, and having lied to her dad about the job being great made the decision more difficult than ever. Then there had been that depressing talk with the doctor at the sanitarium who'd informed them that Mom wouldn't be healthy enough to come home for at least six more months. Could she stand living alone with Dad next year, taking some sort of poorly-paying job and going to night classes in some dreary local junior college while all her girlfriends were away at school having a great time rushing sororities and meeting exciting guys?
No! A thousand times, no! She'd go stark raving mad!
After all, she rationalized as little trickles of rain dripped from the ribs of Todd's umbrella down the back of her low-cut sundress, Mr. Fletcher probably wouldn't dare try anything again. We were both drunk yesterday - it was just as much my fault as his. Now I know enough about what he's like to watch out for him and to never drink any booze. I bet he feels bad about last- "Hey, Jill - penny for your thoughts!" Todd jolted the pensive blonde from her reverie by pulling her rain-damp face closer and kissing her pink lips very gently. "I asked if you wanted to go out for a steak or something."
"Sounds great!" Jill returned his kiss with more ardor than she normally displayed in public, for she felt guilty at having mentally compared Barney's lurid French kiss with Todd's polite peck. "Where'll we go?"
"Let's do something crazy -blow some bread. My Dad paid me my allowance today, so I'm loaded. Let's go eat on the top of the Prudential building - how does that sound?"
It seems unlikely that she could force herself to swallow a bite with her stomach churning so crazily, but Jill smiled and nodded anyway. If only she could discuss her problem with Todd, but of course it was out of the question. Why, for the first time she could remember she'd not even felt able to confide in Anthea when her best girlfriend dropped in for a chat after her day at the office.
I'm all alone, Jill mused sadly as she pretended to admire the panoramic view afforded by the elegant glass-walled restaurant atop one of Chicago's highest buildings. I can't talk to Dad, or my best friend, or the guy whose lavaliere I'm wearing. No one can help me - I got myself into this mess and now I have to get myself out of it, if I can.
The waiter served their whiskey sours without asking for their ID's, Todd's steak was succulent and red, just the way he preferred it, and Jill's shrimp had been flown in frozen from Maine that morning. The college boy beamed in satisfaction at how well he handled this sophisticated man-of-the-world role and never noticed that his girl was paying little attention to his stories about college escapades and his success in convincing his father to raise his allowance. So long as she smiled and nodded attentively now and again, he was not worried about what her opinions might be; she was the prettiest girl in the big dining room in her short pink sundress with her honey-gold mane tied back with a matching ribbon - that was what mattered.
He was in the middle of a hilarious explanation of his fraternity initiation rites when he realized that her doe-like brown eyes were focused on an older couple seated at a nearby table. When he fell silent just before a punch line and she took no notice, he frowned and turned to study the man and woman who'd captured her attention.
Cheap Italian type with a bottle-blonde bitch, was the Amherst youth's first reaction. His freckled nose wrinkled in upper-middle-class snobbism at the handsome male in his flashy tie, trendy wide-lapel suit, and high platform-heel alligator shoes, and he wondered if he were perhaps one of those Mafia characters you were always reading about in the papers As for the woman, she had a superb pair of tits spilling out of the low neckline of her silver-lame gown and a pouting, sloe-eyed sultriness which made him suspect she was a tigress in bed - but she had no class. Too much make-up, too many rings and bracelets, and a voice that echoed across to their table in vulgar shrillness.
"You know those people?" he demanded, stabbing viciously into his steak.
Jill started, hastily swinging her gaze from Nick Oliver and his beautiful date back toward her glowering boyfriend. A strange spasm of an emotion which resembled guilt, but of course couldn't be, rippled through her loins, and she wondered if Todd was angry because he was instinctively aware of her peculiar reaction. She'd never thought he was that perceptive.
Todd's sulky expression softened as he, too, turned away from the seductive silver-blonde who'd sent his potent young penis surging into semi-erection. Jill was a hundred times prettier and nicer than that woman and he couldn't understand why his traitorous cock had lurched awake like that in the middle of the restaurant, but he decided to forget it. It was the same strange feeling of arousal he got around girls with Bad Reputations ... maybe it was nature's way of protecting his own sweet, innocent girl against his male appetites.
"Yes - it's the man I work for the big boss, they call him," Jill whispered. "I think he's very rich - he owns three nightclubs! And that girl's called Joy Janson - she's a singer at the Eden Garden Club on weekends."
"Oh, yeah," Todd wasn't especially interested anymore now that there was a logical explanation for Jill's inattentiveness. "But what I was saying before, about this party where ..."
The story continued through their dessert of fresh strawberries with cream, but although Jill laughed automatically in the appropriate places, she didn't really hear a word Todd was saying. All the while she kept her eyes decorously lowered to her fruit bowl or upon her beau's freckled countenance, yet out of the corner of her eye she was watching her boss and trying to ascertain whether or not he'd seen her sitting across the room.
"What a blast college is going to be!" Jill stifled a yawn by changing it into a gurgling sort of giggle. "But now I think we better get going, huh, Todd? Tomorrow's another working day and all."
Suddenly she realized that some subconscious segment of her brain had made her decision for her, that she would be at Barney Fletcher's Photography Studio tomorrow at seven sharp, quite as though nothing abnormal had happened between them. As she followed Todd out of the dining room, she felt certain that Nick Oliver's eyes were burning into her back and the fleeting thought that seeing him had somehow solved her dilemma wafted through her mind like a soft breeze. But that was ridiculous, of course! She was only taking the practical, rational and mature course of action, that was all!
On the ride home down the expressway from the Loop to suburban Glenwood, Jill sat very close to Todd and rested her left hand on his right thigh. She wondered whether he would try to make out with her tonight, and whether or not she would allow him to do so if he made the attempt. Normally, she felt a definite emotion of tension toward the end of their dates - a yearning for his affectionate embraces, coupled with a severe guilt and the strain of controlling her body's sinful wishes.
Tonight, oddly enough, she felt none of the usual sensations high-strung excitement. She felt nothing, nothing at all . . . it was as though she were frozen inside. Even when he took her straight home and kissed her gently, tenderly on the lips, she still felt as though she were made of ice instead of flesh and blood.
The very weirdest thing of all, the action which Jill could simply not begin to comprehend, happened later when she was in her narrow bed listening to the rain drum on her roof. First she tossed and turned for long minutes, and then her hand slipped up beneath her nylon nightie before she could stop herself. She fell into a half-wakeful trance as she stroked the quivering bud of her clitoris and pressed her firm-fleshed thighs together so fiercely that they trembled with sensation. Images of Todd, Barney Fletcher, and especially Nick Oliver floated before her tight-shut eyes, then blended together into one male specimen with a huge member as she reached an eventual release and drifted off into a restless sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
"The little bitch!" muttered Barney Fletcher in a bitter, drink-slurred voice.
He stared resentfully at the closed darkroom door, dropped his camera onto the couch - the same damn couch where she'd lain squirming and whimpering beneath his lewdly laving tongue exactly one week before - and then dug his trusty bottle of bourbon from the closet. Before going into the back room to give his fresh film from the Pop-Inn Discotheque to his student helper to be developed, he needed a little moral fortification.
"Struts around like nothin' ever happened between us," he flopped down on the sofa with a lugubrious sigh. "Stuck-up bitch, that's what she is. A goddamn cock-teasing bitch! And she's driving me clear out of my ever-loving mind, that's what!"
Sure, maybe he oughta to have forced her to pay him some attention, but it was tough to crack through the ice-cold shell of respect in which she'd locked herself all week long. "Yes, sir, Mr. Fletcher", "Thank you for the new batch of film, Mr. Fletcher", "Good evening, Mr. Fletcher" . . . shit, she was always so polite that butter wouldn't melt in her sweet little mouth. But why couldn't she call him Barney .. . why couldn't they be having some fun back in the darkroom instead of this business-like reserve . . . why didn't he have the nerve to throw her down on the couch again and fuck her good and proper until she was put in her rightful place?
A low humming sound echoed from the darkroom as Jill sang the melody of a popular song, and Fletcher clenched his fists into iron-hard balls before he poured another drink to calm his jangling nerves. The sassy-assed brat didn't give a damn that his aching prick was in a constant state of painful semi-erection, or that he couldn't stop himself from drinking so much that he was in a frustration-dulling stupor by mid-evening and had a hard time joking and charming the club guests into having their pictures taken? Fuck it all, Oliver had even warned him that he'd lose his job if he didn't shape up and get business rolling again.
"Motherfucking son of a Sicilian whore!" he swore softly. "I hate his guts!"
But whether or not he hated his boss, he despaired at the thought of losing his very satisfactory job. The pay was nothing to write home about - if Barney Fletcher had had a home to write to - but the hours were good and he had a degree of freedom. In the old days he'd done other things, more exciting and well-paying work as a newspaper reporter first, then owning a shop which sold camera equipment and shot photographs of squalling babies, pimple-faced school graduates, and simpering brides and grooms. When Fletcher was enveloped in one of his increasingly rare moods of optimism, he told himself that he'd go back to these alternatives. Mostly, though, he knew that it was no use. He'd been blacklisted from all major news agencies and big midwestern papers because of his erratic drinking problems, and his partner had cheated him on the shop venture. The same thing was bound to happen again, and he simply felt himself too old and tired to dive into another failure. There wasn't even any chance for a free-lance erotic photographer in these modern days, for that industry was all controlled by crooks like Oliver who took every penny for their own already overflowing pockets.
"My worst mistake was to say anything to Nick about Jillie-girl," he sighed, running his hand through his thinning, dun-colored hair. "But shit, I never thought she'd turn cold as a goddamn iceberg not even after she got all upset and ran away. And then when we ran into him at the Eden Gardens last night, she made a fucking fool outta me by treating me so lukewarm in front of him. The whole damn world's fucked up royal now!"
There seemed no solution, save perhaps another stiff drink. Barney was in the midst of finishing off the bottle of economy-price bourbon sans mix when the darkroom door suddenly swung open and the lush-bodied little Lolita who was the cause of his untimely intoxication appeared. His drink-glazed eyes perceived that she was irritated about something, but he paid more attention to the ripe curves of her figure. Jesus Christ! That sweet little slip of a minidress revealed every inch of her succulent charms, from the gentle swells of her proud young breasts to the satin-smoothness of her shapely thighs. The way she was standing now, arms akimbo and hands on her tiny waist, pelvis thrust out so that he could just see the dainty mound of her pussy triangle, made his blood pulse through his veins like liquefied flames.
"Oh! There you are, Mr. Fletcher! I was getting worried, 'cause it's way past time for you to take this batch of pictures over to Eden Gardens, and I want to get started on the Pop-Inn stuff so it'll be done in an hour like Mr. Oliver said it had to be yesterday."
"Fuck Oliver," Barney slurred.
Jill realized at once that her employer was drunk - far more inebriated than usual. A shiver of fear slid down her spine as she thought of what had happened just one week ago when he'd been in a similar condition, and she told herself that she had best remove herself from the imminent danger as quickly as possible.
"Wh-why don't you stay here and do the negs for a change?" she stuttered. "I'll run these finished things over to the Pop-Inn. Dad let me take the car tonight, so it's no trouble."
Barney Fletcher's eyes glowed with fevered lust as he feasted his gaze on the fair-haired teenager. He was certain he could make out the taut little buttons of her nipples through the flimsy red nylon fabric of her summer frock. Was she really running around braless, exposing her succulent feminine flesh to one and all - or was it one of those transparent miracle-fiber bras he'd seen in magazine advertisements? No matter! He wanted to grab hold of those melon-round tits and suck their sensitive tips until she screamed aloud for mercy!
"Okay, Mr. Fletcher?" Jill backed into the darkroom and reappeared an instant later carrying a stack of glossy snapshots. "So you'll put these Eden Garden negs in the washtray and all . . . ?" Before he could protest, or lunge to his feet and tug her toward the couch, Jill was disappearing through the front door with her delectable ripe-peach buttocks undulating so provocatively that Barney actually roused his alcohol-laden loins from the couch to stumble after her. Too late! Already the door was slamming shut, and through the gritty basement window he could see her cover-girl legs easing into her father's dilapidated dirty-white Chevy.
There was a fresh bottle of bourbon hidden in a paper sack beneath the stacks of extra flashbulbs and film, so life was still endurable - just barely.
* * *
Hey, babe, take a walk on the wild side! I said, hey, sugar, take a walk on the wild side! And them colored girls go doodoooododo doodoododo ...
Three dark-skinned females clad only in the briefest of white sequined G-strings sashayed across the low dais in the center of the Pop-Inn Discotheque's spacious dance floor, their ebony breasts and bellies and well-developed posteriors writhing in tempo to the blaring music broadcast from the multi-speaker stereo system. Nick Oliver, seated at a choice table near the stage which afforded a view up between the Negro dancer's long legs, studied the gyrating performers with cold professional objectivity. Perhaps a touch of body oil to make their, skin glisten beneath the bright spotlights . . . and it might not be a bad idea to raise the platform into a higher stage so that the whole crowd could see the enticing glimpses of coral-pink pussy flesh fringed by crisp black curls.
"Not bad, eh, boss?" smirked Salvatore Anrigo, rubbing his beefy paws together in appreciation.
Unlike the man for whom he worked as "secretary" bodyguard, Sal did not regard the young topless dancers with cool dispassion. Nick could amuse himself with the girls whenever the whim struck him, but he did not share his seignorial privileges with Sal except as a reward for special services. It so happened that the burly guard was particularly excited at the thought of making it with a black chick, and although his beady eyes never stopped their vigilant surveillance of the crowded discotheque, he was simultaneously trying to formulate some plan for easing the big boss into a benevolent mood.
"Looks like real good eating pussy,'" he remarked, licking his puffy lips in greedy longing as he shot a glance toward Oliver to see if he'd caught the hint. "Chocolate-covered cherries, ya might say!"
"They lost their cherries a long time ago, Sal," broke in the platinum blonde seated beside Nick. "Those people start doing it before they're out of grade school -
everyone knows that!"
"You're a fine one to talk," snorted Nick. "The way we learned was that soon as a Polish chick's old enough to make her first communion and confession, she's spreading her legs."
Sal snickered, but Joy Janson, nee Wanda Jankowski, tossed her bottle-blonde, Marilyn Monroe-style curls in annoyance.
"You guys make me sick! If you knew what we used to say in my neighborhood about the Italians, you'd - "
"Hey, boss!" the bodyguard broke in, not caring that he was being rude to Joy. After working for Nick Oliver for five years, he knew the man well enough to tell that he was growing bored with his latest girl friend. A good thing, too -
she was nothing but a money-hungry, cold-blooded bitch as far as he could tell. Give him one of those sweet Black girls over her any day of the week!
"Yeah?" Nick, too, ignored Joy as he turned to his faithful "secretary" with a quizzical frown.
"Lookit over there - by the bar. Ain't that Fletcher's darkroom dolly handing over the photos? The one he claims is crazy about him after he went down on her?"
"So Fletcher the Lecher's robbing cradles now," sniffed Joy, her voice over-shrill as she tried to rejoin the conversation. "The dirty old drunk!"
"Ain't it about time you got your ass over to the Eden Garden Club and did your damn singing act?"
"Well, I never!" Joy brizzled. "Don't even give a girl a chance to finish her drink - you're a fine gentleman!"
Yet even as she snarled sarcastically at her current lover, the blonde was gathering up her bag and shawl and then flouncing through the crowd in obedience to ins command. There was something in Oliver's tone, and a cold glint in his dark eyes, which told her it would be disastrous to disobey him, "Tell that little girl I wanna talk to her," Nick turned to his bodyguard as soon as Joy was out of hearing. "In my apartment - right now!"
"Sure, boss!" winked Sal.
"And after closing here, if you make sure the little chick's coming to me like I said, then you can have your pick of them black pussies."
"Wow, boss! Shit, thanks a lot!"
* * *
"I didn't - didn't like to' tell stories on anyone ..." Jill twisted her fingers around the glass goblet she held with such force that her knuckles turned white as the wall-to-wall carpeting beneath her feet. "Not even Mr. Fletcher "I like all the people who're on my payroll to be honest with me." Oliver turned from the bar where he was refilling his glass and walked with the grace of a panther across the room. When he reached the wide black leather couch where the blonde girl sat nervously toying with her glass of Pernod and staring in slump-shouldered misery at the thick-pile carpet, he sat down beside her and pasted a solemn expression on his face. "That's the only way to run a business, you understand."
"I - I do understand, Mr. Oliver. But really, I d-didn't mean to lie when I said Mr. Fletcher was sick. I mean - "
"I am well aware that Barney has a drinking problem," Nick continued in a serious tone. He quite enjoyed playing the role of tyrannical overlord, and knew that he was so cunning that no one could have guessed how his hardened cock was throbbing as he placed a paternal hand on Jill Gibson's bare shoulder. "That's why you might as well have told me the truth straight off, my dear. What I want to know now is just exactly why you thought you had to cover up for him?"
"Well - uh - " Jill stammered. How could she admit that she'd been afraid that if she told on Barney, he might reveal the terrible secret about how she'd looked at his erotic snapshots and then allowed him to touch her between her legs with his mouth? "I - I - "
"I didn't want to have to bring this up," Oliver's fingers pressed harder into Jill's smooth upper arm, and when she glanced up at him, she realized with an icy rush of despair that he knew. "But I've been hearing some rumors about what's going on down in that darkroom. Not that I believe that all I hear is the gospel or nothing, but I heard this straight from the horse's mouth, as the saying goes."
Mr. Fletcher had told! How could he have done such a despicable thing! Oh God, what was going to happen to her now? Of course she'd be fired . . . what would she say to explain that to Daddy and her friends?
"I - I couldn't help it!" she blurted out without pausing to think. "He made me do it!"
"Are you lying again, Jill?" The man's voice was so low that she had to strain to hear him, and he sounded more kindly now, as though he really cared about her. "I'd rather believe a nice girl like you than Fletcher, of course, but your eyes have question marks in them."
Suddenly, as the handsome man placed a gentle hand under her chin to raise her face toward his, Jill felt hot tears brimming up behind her eyelids. The pressure of living with her guilty secret all week long, of having no one to confide in or turn to for advice, suddenly boiled over inside her and before she knew what she was saying the entire shameful story had erupted from her lips.
"... and the worst of it is, I just can't stop thinking about it! I feel all dirty inside whenever I remember, but I can't get rid of that f-f-feeling."
"There, there! Just try to relax now! Drink this - it'll make you feel better, Jill!"
The shrewd thirty year-old nightclub operator held the untasted glass of Pernod to her trembling pink lips and smiled to himself as she sipped the potent aphrodisiac like an obedient child. Then, as if the powerful licorice-flavored substance had brought her to her senses at last, she pulled away from his stroking arms and gave him an abashed gaze. Undaunted, he pulled her back into the circle of his arms and smoothed her tousled golden curls away from her flushed face.
"Feel better now?" he asked. "Nothing like a good cry to clear things up, I always say. And you don't have to worry about Fletcher again, honey. He's fired as of this minute!"
Jill, who'd expected that Nick Oliver would be irritated by her maudlin adolescent outburst and fire her, was so gratified that she didn't feel suspicious of the way her handsome boss was holding her half on his lap. At last I have a real friend! she thought, unconsciously pressing her warm young body closer against the strong male's comforting loins and resting her aching forehead on his broad shoulder. Someone who really cares about me . . . who wants to help me.
"And since I figure you've been handling most of the work yourself, what with Fletcher half drunk all the time," Oliver continued, inching his hand toward the soft swell of her breast as an urgent shudder of obscene excitement shot from his thickening penis to every nerve-ending in his body, "I think you deserve a bonus - and a raise beginning with next week. - "Oh! Oh, Mr. Oliver! I - I don't know what to say! I don't deserve it!"
"Nonsense! What you need, my dear child, is more confidence in yourself. And to stop feeling guilty because your body reacted in a perfectly natural way to Fletcher. Of course he never should have put his hands on you, but that's no reason to think sex is nasty. What you need is a real man to teach you about being a woman not a drunken slob like him."
Jill was so busy musing over these observations that it was a moment before she realized that his soothing hands were grazing the sensitive mounds of her suddenly quivering breasts. It felt as though a powerful bowstring had been pulled deep inside her belly and was shooting white-hot arrows of sensual pleasure to every inch of her body, and the bewildered photographer's assistant blushed beet-red as she tried to repress the embarrassing sensation.
When have I felt this way before? she asked herself. Something - her violent crying jag, or perhaps the candy-flavored drink - was making her feel confused and giddy. Oh, God yes . . . when Todd's getting fresh and trying to get me to go too far, or when we're dancing real close . . . and that night with Barney, too. I don't want that to be true, but Mr. Oliver's right - it's no good lying, even to myself. But it's really crazy that I feel this way now. when he's being so nice and kind and not lewd at all. It's just accidental that his hand happens to be there, and only someone with a dirty mind would think anything about it.
The fingers pressed gently against the pliancy other left breast, and it grew more difficult with each passing moment to discount the flickering heat generated from his insistent hands or to pass it off as being an innocent and meaningless gesture. Jill's cheeks felt as though they were on fire as she stared in an agony of embarrassment at the successful businessman's strong hands. They were uncalloused and sun-bronzed, with neatly manicured nails so different from her father's oil-creased, work-knotted fingers - but it seemed to her that they were strumming against her private flesh in as casual a way as Daddy's toyed with his silverware while he watched her preparing him a meal.
Of course everything's all right -how silly of me to get so nervous! She ignored the small, nagging voice of her conscience.
"Feeling fine, Jill? Everything's okay now - you're calm and happy again?"
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Oliver." But oddly enough, she didn't dare raise her eyes to his. Instead, she swept her eyes around the room where she'd been sitting for nearly an hour without taking any notice of her surroundings.
Mr. Oliver must be even richer than she'd guessed, for this luxurious penthouse with its three walls of solid glass windows seemed to her inexperienced eyes to be far grander than any other dwelling she'd had the opportunity to enter. Most of her school friends lived in nicer homes than her own, with fireplaces and patios and separate dining rooms instead of just a table in the corner of the kitchen, but this apartment was like a Hollywood movie set! Everything was jet black, save for the walls and thick-pile carpeting, which were white, and a scattering shade of scarlet. It had always been Jill's impression that money was to be equated with trust-worthiness and professionalism. Surely a man with as much wealth as Oliver wouldn't be manhandling her in the way vulgar Barney Fletcher had!
"What a nice house you have!" she exclaimed politely, smiling up toward his handsome face. "I never saw anything so posh! And this super ..."
The young blonde virgin's breath caught in her throat and her voice faded away in a low gasp as she got a good look at the expression in her boss's eyes. There was no mistaking that animal intensity - she'd seen it in Todd's eyes, and in Fletcher's, and in the eyes of strange men who ogled her at the lake or on the bus. And if that inhuman glint were not sufficient to send fear rippling along her spine, then his quickened breathing and the increased pressure of his fingers on her breasts would have told her the story.
"It's the sort of place where a girl like you belongs - modern, all the comforts a beautiful body like yours deserves ..."
"Pl-please, Mr. Oliver!" Jill didn't like to make a fuss for fear that the handsome and sophisticated man would consider her a silly suburban schoolgirl, but as he actually pinched her tender nipple, she felt she had to protest before things went too far. It would be worse if he thought of her as an easy make due to the dreadful episode with Barney Fletcher!
"What's the matter, Jill?"
By now the nightclub tycoon was so aroused by the proximity of the cute eighteen year old's satin-skinned, flower-scented flesh that he was unable to delay the launching of his seductive advances. Maybe he was rushing things a bit too fast she was astonishingly naive, despite her corrupting caper with his middle-aged photographer but Oliver's penis was pounding impatiently against his tailor-made trousers and he didn't feel like murmuring sweet nothings all night long. Besides, he'd made the mistake of giving Joy Janson his extra door key and he felt certain that the suspicious bitch would be storming in here the minute her act was over. Not that he gave a damn what she thought, of course, but he detested violent scenes and also didn't want any destruction of his half-formulated plans for lovely little Miss Gibson.
"You have a magnificent body, do you know that, Jill?" he swept his lips in a feather-soft caress over the teenager's swan-like throat, then nibbled the shell of her dainty ear. "A body that was made to be admired, fondled, loved. What's wrong with being a lovely, sensual female ... a woman who gives pleasure? Tell me what's wrong with that if you can!"
What's wrong with touching? Jill's mind whirled in dizzy confusion. It was a question she'd never really seriously considered before, for she's simply taken it for granted that she was duty-bound to resist all male advances with every ounce of willpower she possessed. Now, however, as the dynamic eyes of her dark-haired boss burned over her trembling loins and her brain started whirling in carousels of crazily careening confusion, she no longer knew what to believe. All the neatly categorized conceptions of right and wrong which had formed the basis for her moral code all her life seemed to have scattered, as though a tornado had exploded inside her skull, leaving in its wake only unidentifiable fragments of half-remembered rules.
"See! Nothing's wrong with it!" gloated Nick. "You can't argue with something that feels so good, can you?"
Oliver prided himself upon being a good con-artist, upon being able to play any number of diversified roles in order to achieve his ambitions. Normally, however, it took a bit more effort to pull the wool over his culprit's eyes than was required with this amber-eyed adolescent. As the compliments slipped from his mouth with practiced alacrity, her lush young figure relaxed against him, and even through her lightweight red nylon-fiber sundress and brassiere he could feel her nipples jumping into miniature erection beneath his tweaking fingers. This teenaged beauty sensuality flowing through her curvaceous body!
I mustn't let him do that! she told herself. And I mustn't pay attention to the confusing things he's telling me!
She stared directly into her youthful boss's black eyes, resolving to tell him that she wasn't the sort of girl who tolerated this indecent intimacy, and that in any case she was as good as engaged to an Amherst engineering student. Oddly enough, however, the words refused to leave her lips. All she could think, as she compared Nick Oliver's movie-star magnetism with Todd's boy-next-door wholesomeness, was what it would be like if she were Nick's girl friend instead of Todd's. Every evening would be spent in nightclubs and luxurious restaurants, and she'd be wearing a daring, expensive dress like that woman she'd seen him with the other night. Their conversation wouldn't be about dull collegiate capers or grades, but about the real world of exciting events and fascinating personalities . . .
"I want to see your beautiful body, Jill," whispered the cunning manipulator. "Every lovely curve . . . every soft sweet inch of you . . . "
The man's maddening manipulation of her supersensitive nipples was sending such electrifying hot-flashes through her healthy young body that for a dizzy instant the adolescent was almost tempted to lie back and let him do whatever he wanted to her. There was a compelling charisma about Nick Oliver which made her feel as though he had hypnotized her into a state where she had no mind of her own, and the sybaritic luxury of her surroundings added to this surreal sensation.
What's happening to me? Why can't I tell him to stop before something bad happens, one surveillant segment of her brain demanded. Because you don't want him to stop, of course! she answered her own question.
Because you love the way he makes your body feel . . . you want him to see how you look without your clothes . . . maybe you're a little in love with him!
"Let me see your breasts, Jill, honey," crooned the wily young tycoon, instinctively adopting the tone and manner of an ardently romantic movie idol. "Let me teach you about being a real grown-up woman. I'll show you how beautiful sex can be between two people who're mature and truly care about making each other happy, and then you'll forget the ugliness with Fletcher the Lecher."
"I
shouldn't . . . you - mustn't ..."
Jill's voice echoed faintly through the enormous penthouse living room, ringing in her own ears with a hollow resonance, as though the apartment were a vacuous glass bell jar. Not only did it sound hopelessly unconvincing to her, but it had no effect at all on Oliver's insistent caresses. Before she knew what was happening, he'd flicked down the zipper running the length of her red dress and was deftly unhooking the snaps of her light nylon brassiere.
Will he think I'm pretty? she wondered dizzily. My breasts aren't as big as Anthea's, but they're rounder, and real nice and soft . . .
With a speed that astonished the innocent adolescent, her suave seducer slipped her sundress down over her hips, somehow managing to push her into a reclining position against the soft leather cushions as he did so. She sighed in impotent anguish as her dress fell to the carpet with a finalistic swishing sound, but her faint whimper was drowned out by a sudden burst of music as Oliver pressed the conveniently located button which activated the tape he normally employed for first-time seduction sessions.
But this time's special! he jubilated. She's got her cherry intact, thanks to Fletcher's bumbling, booze-rotted stupidity. This ripe little virgin's mine for the plucking ... and I have some sensational plans for her if all goes right tonight!
There was no sound in the elegant chamber for several seconds save the music and the sounds of labored breathing. Nick Oliver indulged in a moment of admiration for the succulent feast of lush child-woman flesh spread out beneath him on his black leather couch. She was really special, this honey-haired schoolgirl with the figure of a Playboy pinup, so extraordinary that he felt an impulse he'd not felt in some years: he wanted to kiss her.
Long ago, before he'd gotten involved with the Company and earned his first million, Nick Oliver had been engaged to a girl named Monica from his neighborhood. Most of the females in the Italian area of Chicago had been dark-haired, with the olive skin, almond-shaped eyes, and voluptuous figures characteristic of Mediterranean women. Monica, however, had been slender and fair-complected, quite like the tremulous young virgin who lay tense but unprotesting on his sofa now. What high hopes they'd had for their future together! She'd taken a vocational course in high school and was planning to work as a typist to support them while he studied at the Art Institute Drama School. Of course they'd find a cozy little attic room somewhere on Chicago's hip north side, a private little niche where they could practice his lines together at night after they'd fortified themselves with one of the many spaghetti dishes she could whip up. Everyone knew that two could live as cheaply as one . . .
They'd spent their last evening together making these idealistic plans, Nick remembered with a sharp pang of pain. Christ, that had been more than ten years ago - wouldn't he ever stop thinking about it? And then he'd been dumb enough to let Frank and Tony drive her home from the Dunes, and they'd fucked the hell out of her right there on the sand hills. He'd even heard her shrieks, but had never dreamed that it was his own girl getting gang-banged by the guys he'd thought of as his best buddies. Only when he heard rumors some days later and confronted her with his suspicions had he learned the whole horrifying story, and of course he'd blown his cool. She'd split for parts unknown, and he'd abandoned his school ambitions to fall in with the crowd he'd avoided all during high school.
What had become of that dream? Now he was a wealthy pimp, and Monica, wherever she might be, was . . . what? Married? Ruined? A whore? Dead?
Fuck those memories! he told himself firmly. Right now I'm in a fabulous penthouse together with an almost-naked virgin who's even prettier than Monica was. Look at those breasts - like two scoops of vanilla ice cream with candied cherries on top! And for the first time in years of being with hard-hearted pros like Joy Janson, I want to kiss a girl!
"Aaahhh!" yelped Jill. Her fawn-like brown eyes popped open at the unexpected sensation of something warm and wet pressuring her left nipple, and when she saw the shocking thing her boss was doing, she cried out still more loudly.
"Nooo! You mustn't do that! NOOOOO!"
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Nick's voice was muffled as he sucked the rubbery little berry between his nibbling teeth. "You got some of the finest tits I ever saw - you should be proud of 'em!"
As he spoke, the determined nightclub owner continued to cradle the girl's full-blown mounds in his palms, relishing the warmth of her velvety flesh. He could see humiliation and desire mingling on her flushed face, and the diamond droplets of desire forming a glittering tiara around her high forehead. Even if she didn't know it yet, she craved his hard cock pulsing inside her unawakened pussy!
"But ... but ... "
"But what? Don't be idiotic! You like how my mouth feels on your tits, don't you?"
"Oh . . . yes, yes!" That wasn't what she'd intended to say, but the words just seemed to spring unbidden from between her nervously-parched lips. "I mean -oh, it's just not right to do this! I never even let Todd see me naked -or touch my br-breasts with his mouth!"
"But you let my man Fletcher kiss your pussy," Nick Oliver accused. His penis was beating an urgent tattoo against his trousers and he was getting a little weary of all this delay. "And who's this Todd character? What's he got that I don't?"
A vision of her boyfriend's cheerful freckled face, his lanky body, his clumsily groping attempts at lovemaking, flashed before the blonde's mind's eye.
"Nothing," she replied truthfully. "You're - you're much more handsome. Todd's . . . well . . . just some kid I liked back in high school."
She tried to sound as though St. Roch High was something she'd experienced years ago, instead of weeks, for a sudden spasm of shame for her sheltered upbringing swept through her half-naked figure. I'm going to be a new girl from now on, she vowed silently, allowing her body to relax somewhat as the man pulled off her small white nylon panties. It's high time I grew up -he's absolutely right. I want to become the sort of woman who's attractive to a real man like Mr. Oliver!
This resolution kept her from panicking as she felt warm hands pushing her down so that she was lying flat on her back on the couch, then caressing every inch of her nakedly exposed figure from her mane of honey-golden curls down over her tingling breasts and churning belly. She kept her eyes tight shut, not quite ready to accept the reality of what she was allowing this virtual stranger to do to her innocent body. But she moaned low in her chest as the skillful fingers drifted through the sparse curls on her erotically tingling pubic "vee", then slithered lower to part her thighs.
"What a magnificent body - just designed for loving!" There was a new, more recklessly hungry note in the man's low voice which warned Jill she had gone too far, that he might want to bring this much further than she'd intended it to go, but she ignored her instincts as deliciously wanton sensations danced over her naked flesh. "I'm going to make this beautiful body come alive, sweetheart! Set it on fire!"
"Ohhhhh!" Jill let out her breath in a hoarse gasp as Nick Oliver's experienced finger suddenly darted toward her hair-fringed vagina and started grazing along her sensitive pussy lips. She wondered if he were going to kiss her down there the way the middle-aged photographer had, and sinful though she knew she was, she felt certain that she'd enjoy it even more than she had the first time with low-bred, whiskey-stinking Barney.
Artificially cooled air from the air conditioner rippled up between her quaking upper legs as the heavily panting male pushed her thighs several inches farther apart. Then, with a dexterity born of wide erotic experience, he deftly wormed his middle finger directly toward her nerve-filled clitoral button. At the excruciating contact, the tiny head started throbbing and swelling into a miniature erection, and the pleasure-dazed blonde felt the first trickle of desire seeping from her hot vaginal slit. I want him to suck me! I want it so bad I could scream! her tortured mind whirled. And then, before she could stop herself, she was speaking the shameful words aloud in a shrill, strained squeal of desire.
"K-kiss me, Mr. Oliver. Kiss me down there . . . please, I want it so bad!"
Oliver saw that he'd worked the reluctant adolescent into just the state of uncontrolled arousal he wanted, and with schizophrenic speed he switched roles from romantic seducer to satiric ravisher. Keeping the middle finger of his left hand embedded inside her warmly secreting cuntal channel, he ripped down the zipper of his trousers and kicked them away. Then, still dressed in his cashmere turtleneck, socks, and alligator platform shoes, he removed his finger from her clasping vaginal depths and lurched onto the black leather couch.
"One of these days I'll sample a taste of this sweet little cunt," he growled as he positioned himself in an ominous crouching position between Jill's splayed-out thighs. "Not tonight, though! Nick Oliver ain't the guy who wants Fletcher the Lecher's sloppy seconds. No way, man! Anyhow, I got something better in store for you, baby! My nice big prick slipping into your tight cherry-cunt - how does that grab you?"
Until this second, Jill had been naive enough to take it for granted that the man she considered her friend would make no move against her treasured virginity. For a second she was so shocked that she could not react as his muscular legs forced her knees even farther apart and the throbbing pole of his manhood grazed like a red-hot poker against her tender-fleshed inner thigh. It felt huge and hard as iron, but she couldn't even bring herself to open her eyes.
This is all insane! her passion-muddled mind cried. It's a crazy nightmare! What would Todd think if he could see me lying here on a black leather couch in a ritzy penthouse letting a man I just met go all the way? After I put him off for all the months we've been going together. . .
Oddly enough, the remembrance of her boyfriend made Jill feel a rush of perverse excitement rather than the guilt she knew she ought to be feeling. There was something wildly wicked about Nick Oliver and about this whole situation, which roused a hitherto undisclosed streak of sensuality in her inexperienced young body. It was something of the same madness which had come over her last week with the photographer, but now the feeling was far stronger, too powerful to fight.
"But - you can't . . . " Her brown eyes popped open to see Nick tugging off his pullover, then taking his massive hardness in his hand and guiding it toward her cringing pussy. "I'm I'm a v-virgin!"
It was a ridiculous thing to say. Of course he knew that she was pure and untouched. Yet although she knew deep inside that she was incapable of fighting him off, that she actually wanted him to change her from a naive schoolgirl by making love to her, she felt she must make some token protest.
"Not for long, you won't be!"
The last threads of the girl's will to resist melted away at the brutal insistence in the older man's voice. Strange masochistic impulses flooded through her prone figure like molten lava erupting from her churning belly as his frenzied hands parted the shamefully moist lips of her vagina and pressed his pulsating cock-head against the super-sensitive slit.
"Aaahhhhhh!" she moaned. "Oh, God! I mustn't ... I shouldn't . . . ooohhhh . . . oohhh, yes . . . yeeessss ..."
"Relax, baby... just relax," Oliver crooned. For a long second he continued to nuzzle his blood-heavy cock-head against the flowering petals of her desire-dampened pussy, for he knew she was going to be very tight and wanted to facilitate his entry by making sure her passage was well-lubricated. "Spread out your legs real wide and relax!"
"It's - it's so big!" Jill tried to relax, but as she stared at the enormous cudgel of lust-thickened male flesh with its heavy tracery of purple veins and bloated bulbous head, she felt her whole body tense in automatic physical panic. "Pl-please be careful! D-don't hurt me, please!"
"Don't worry, baby! It'll hurt a little at first, sure, but then you'll be in seventh heaven. I promise!"
Jill believed him because she wanted to so badly. It really didn't seem possible that the huge instrument could enter her tiny vaginal orifice at all. Why, Fletcher's stiffened tongue had seemed to fill her entirely! But the flames of perverse desire lapping from her cock-teased cuntal lips and burning breasts were intoxicating enough to deaden her fear of injury.
I want him to do it, even if it hurts! she buoyed up her courage. Oh, God, I want it so bad! And then I'll be a real woman!
Suddenly Oliver's turgid trunk of penile flesh gave a painful jerk of impatience, and he decided that whether or not she was wet enough, he could not contain his own raging need one moment longer. With the growl of a conquering caveman he thrust his groin forward, driving his lust-inflated member a scant inch inside the butter-soft confines of her cringing vagina. Christ, she was tight - his well-traveled penis had never felt so deliciously squeezed, as though it were encased in a clasping kid glove.
"Aahhh . . . ooowwwhhhhh . . . aaahhhhhhh!"
Jill's moans echoed through the elegant apartment in a rising crescendo as the man's pummeling penis pushed deeper between her open legs, ending in a shriek of pain as a flashing stab of agony cut inside her pussy. The deed was done! Her precious maidenhead was irrevocably shattered, and she would never again be an innocent girl. Now she was a woman!
The awesome significance of her sundered hymen was so soul-shattering to the sensitive young blonde that she forgot the pain of Oliver's steadily advancing penis for several minutes. She was alive at last! Alive and engaging in the age-old act of lovemaking, making the movements which had kept the human race continuing from the beginning of time! How had she ever regarded sex as dirty and sinful this was the most wonderful thing a person could do in his life!
In another few seconds, as the grunting and groaning playboy rammed all the way to the hilt inside the deflowered virgin's velvet-walled vagina and let his impaling member throb several times, Jill forgot her high-minded intellectual excitement. Floods of maddeningly blissful pleasure surged up inside her cock-filled little belly, washing away the memory of her initial anguish, and she began half-sobbing in passionate excitation as her pelvic muscles adjusted to his huge hardness.
"Yeah, baby, that's it!" gasped Oliver as the no-longer-innocent teenager's well-rounded buttocks began an instinctive undulation up and around his impaling instrument. "You love it, dontcha?! I knew you would - you've got one of those asses built for loving!
C'mon, honey, fuck back! Move those sweet little hips! That's the way!"
He likes me - likes the way I make love! A thrill of pride jolted through the young blonde, galvanizing her pleasure-tortured body into more furious erotic-movement. Her slender hips bucked up tight against the muscular man's sparse-haired groin until she could feel the tantalizing tickle of his sperm-engorged testicles dancing against her sensitive rectal ring, and his hard groin was pressuring the erect little nerve-center of her clitoris.
"Oh, Nick! Nick!" she called out his first name in an attempt to feel close to him. "It's so goooddddddd! I never thought it would be so goooooddddddd!"
A frenzy of sensual madness took control of Jill's passion-dazed brain, blotting out all the dreary reality of her everyday life. There was nothing else in the world now! No summer jobs, savings accounts, scholarship applications, sad-eyed parents. Nothing except this magical universe of lust and flesh, of belly smacking against belly as male and female writhed on the sumptuous leather couch, of this magnificent man's iron-hard cock slamming again and again into her love-starved cunt!
"Go, baby, go!" chanted the man above her. He'd abandoned his earlier attempts to treat her gently, for it was obvious by now that she was transformed into a wild animal who wanted to be fucked with savage ferocity. "Shake that ass! Go, go, go!"
It was difficult to believe that this wildly responsive girl had been an innocent and fearful virgin only ten minutes before. She'd totally abandoned herself to lust beneath his furiously pistoning penis, flailing out her long legs and wrapping them around his back to spur him on like a horse. Through the tangled strands of her honey-gold hair he caught momentary glimpses of her flushed features contorting into a mask of wanton abandon, and incoherent moans and mewls spewed from her slackly parted lips with each of his hammering strokes.
She's gonna cum in a minute, he told himself. And a damn good thing, too, because her pussy's so fucking tight that I can't hold out much longer, either!
Jill, through the cascading craziness of her passion, dimly realized that she was approaching orgasm already. Her body was racing away from her, like an out-of-control sports car careening around the curves of a dangerous mountain road, but she was no longer afraid of anything. She wanted the violent explosion of ultimate release, craved the never-before-experienced sensation of seething hot sperm shooting up into her hungrily yearning belly.
"Oh, baby, your cunt's too sweet!" groaned out Oliver above her, grinding his fingers into the pliancy of her dancing breasts for support as his balls began churning with impatient semen. "Gotta cum! Gotta shoot my jism into your hot little pussy!"
Nick's obscene words resounded in the adolescent's rapture-delirious mind, fanning the already blistering fires of her carnal arousal. Relentless demons of lust danced deep in her ready-to-explode belly, probing the madly spasming walls of her cock-stuffed cuntal passage with their three-pronged forks until she thought she would go completely insane with the agony of her ecstasy. As she balanced on the precipice of climax, perspiration ran in glistening rivulets down between the cleft of her frantically jouncing breasts and made her lust-contorted face glow like an exaggerated caricature of abandoned sensuality.
" A a a r rrggghhh hhhh!" Oliver's voice rang out suddenly, harsh and inhuman, and his panther-like figure stiffened and jerked above the turbulently twisting girl. "Now - now gonna. . . cummmmm! CCCUUUMMM MM MM!"
As though her new boss's love-cry had triggered some magic switch deep inside her lust-wracked loins, Jill felt her own onrush of ecstasy. Fireworks of every color of the rainbow fulminated in the blackness which swam before her glazed eyes, and then she was flying out of her body into another universe where there was nothing save pure sensual bliss.
"Aaahhhhh!" she echoed Nick's cry without having any conscious awareness that she was screaming at the top of her lungs. "Give me your cum! So gooooooddddddd! Oh. sssoooooo gggoooodddddd! Fuck me! Fuck me forever!"
Seething floods of sticky hot semen splashed against the convulsing walls of her no-longer-virginal vagina, and now she was drowning in a tidal wave of life-giving seed. The heated jets of male fluid mingled with her own copious feminine secretions to form a warm pool of liquid sensuality deep inside her orgasming belly. It was too much! She was dying, floating out of this world into a mindless morass of depraved carnal sensuality! And she never wanted to return to the real world - never!
By the time her lover's potent penis had spewed out its load of cum, the delirious ex-virgin had climaxed three times and was in a near-unconscious state of ecstatic collapse. As Nick Oliver's heavy member shrank to a shadow of its erect self and slipped from her sperm-drenched cuntal crevice, she lay in a limp state of satiated passion with her arms clasped around his perspiration-slicked back and her flushed face with its closed eyes and strange half-smile crushed against his strong-muscled shoulder.
For what seemed a very long time, Nick Oliver lay entwined in the young girl's embrace, panting hoarsely as he sought to regain his breath after the wondrous orgasm which had seared through him like a skyrocket. At last, remembering that his current mistress, Joy Janson, would be flouncing in at any moment now, he rolled off the curvaceous teenager's lifeless form and groped for his clothing.
Fully dressed a moment later, he stood over the thousand-dollar, sperm-stained sofa watching the adolescent sleep. She looked like a little girl now, with her pink lips slightly parted and her long blonde lashes spread out over her flushed cheeks, and she was clasping the cushion as a child does its favorite blanket. Yet inside that graceful, nymph-like body was a powerfully sensual woman, an absolute natural for his "stable". Already, she'd taken a giant step on the path toward amoral corruption, and he knew there would be little problem urging her further into the depths of depravity.
"I'm the one who took her cherry," he murmured in satisfaction before bending down to awaken the slumbering child-woman. "And a woman'll always be a slave to the first guy who wakes her up sexually! She's mine now, all mine - in spite of Fletcher the Lecher! And I have some super plans for her sexy little body!"
Jill awakened and dressed as though in a hypnotic daze, kissing Nick passionately as he herded her out of the apartment and into the elevator. Only when she found herself seated in the driver's seat of her father's old-model Chevrolet did the impact of what had happened really hit her, and even then she was so busy forcing herself to maneuver the car through the traffic that she didn't dare allow herself to think.
Once in the sanctuary of her bedroom - how small and shabby it looked compared with Nick's deluxe modern penthouse! - she dropped her aching figure into bed at once and played over the events of this most important evening of her young life, trying to comprehend the earthshaking experience.
"I'll never be the same again!" she mumbled into her pillow. And then, although she'd thought she was far too emotionally agitated to sleep a wink, she felt her lids growing heavy and her thoughts drifting dizzily into a dream. Sighing with the warm contentment of a well-fucked female, she turned over and pulled her sheet up over her still faintly tingling breasts, then winced in pain as something cold and sharp jabbed her in the nape of the neck.
Jill sat up and fumbled in the tangled mop of her long blonde hair. Todd's lavaliere! The chain must have broken while she was making love with Nick Oliver and gotten caught in her curls while she writhed and thrashed in a frenzy of salacious excitement.
She'd promised Todd to go to the Dunes with him tomorrow, her day off. What in God's name was she going to say to him? Would he guess that she'd given away the gift of her virginity to another man?
But - oh, God - she'd also promised that she'd meet him in his rooftop apartment at three.
The conflict was too difficult to resolve right now - she was too tired to think straight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to sort out the tangled threads of her life . . .
CHAPTER SIX
"Hey, you guys ever heard this one?" smirked Todd Donnely, flipping the pop-top from his can of malt liquor in such a way that it bounced off the resilient roundness of his girlfriend's bikini-protected breast. "Whaddya think the guy who wrote a book called "Stamping out Virginity" was called?"
"I dunno - but it sounds like a great book!" Bob Bailey snickered.
"Outtasight book!" echoed his twin, Ben.
"Well listen, you jokers - he was named Buster Hymen! Get it?!"
Jill averted her head and pretended not to hear the crude joke, just as she'd ignored Todd's pop-tops and almost all the rest of the gang's conversation today. Not only did she have more important considerations on her mind, but she also found them boring and - well, childish. Imagine Nick Oliver, for instance, spending an afternoon playing frisbee and guffawing over stupid jokes out of Playboy. Once it had been fun; now, it simply made her tired and irritable.
Sighing drearily, the lush-bodied eighteen year old reached for a can of Coke from the half-filled portable fridge, sloshed a good portion of Bacardi into a paper cup, and added the cola. Maybe a drink would clear her head so that she'd be able to decide whether or not to go to Nick's at three o'clock, as she'd promised. Todd would probably get mad at her if she wanted to leave before the rest of the gang and before he'd had a chance to get her alone in the deserted sand hills behind the crowded beach, like he always tried to do, but maybe she could get a ride back to town with Anthea, who had her own car.
"Hey, lookit who's drinking!" Todd leaned over so that his freckled forearm brushed against her breast. "I didn't know you'd started boozing, Jill!"
Suddenly the tension that had been building all day long inside the pretty blonde exploded, and she snapped, "Maybe there's a lot of things you don't know about me, Todd Donnely!"
Everyone turned to stare at them, shocked that the always amiable couple were bickering. Jill suddenly couldn't bear their gaping mouths and curious eyes. Grabbing up her bathing cap, she jumped to her feet and almost ran down the sand toward the lake.
Just as she reached the water's edge, a hand caught hold of her elbow and she swung around to stare into her boyfriend's angry and bewildered face. How much like a spoiled little boy he looked when he didn't have everything exactly his way - odd that she'd not noticed that before now.
"What's the big idea, Jill?" he demanded. "All day long you've been acting like you don't know I exist. What the hell are you pissed off about, anyhow?"
"Nothing," lied the blonde. "I'm just kind of tired, you know. I really don't feel much like making stupid conversation today."
"Stupid, huh?" Todd looked really furious now. "So that's the way you feel about it! And how come you're not wearing my lavaliere today? What the hell do you suppose the crowd's going to be saying about us?"
"I really couldn't care less, if you want to know the truth!"
Jill wrenched away her arm and splashed into the water. She swam out until her arms were aching from her furious crawl stroke and the lifeguard was blowing his whistle at her for not heeding the white buoy marking the safe-swimming area. When she returned to the beach again, she felt tired but more calm.
Her decision was made at last.
"Can you give me a lift into the city when you go for your dentist appointment?" she walked directly over to her best girlfriend without so much as glancing in Todd's direction. "I've got some errands to do ... "
* * *
It was not much past three when Anthea's white Mustang drew up in front of the Eden Garden Club's flower-draped brick facade. Jill could see that her girlfriend was extremely interested in knowing just what sort of errand she might have inside a place like this, with it's mysteriously shuttered windows and terrace pavilion in back of a high, ivy-hung wall, but Jill was so weary of responding to her girlfriend's cross examination about her relationship with Todd that she didn't bother to enlighten her.
"Thanks for the lift, Anthea," she escaped from the passenger's seat as quickly as possible without being blatantly rude. "I'll call you and let you know about the party next week."
"Okay, Jill. Gee, I sure hope you and Todd make up by then. I hate to see you guys having a hard time. I mean, you're such a perfect couple!"
Jill shrugged and turned the comers of her mouth up into what she hoped resembled a smile.
"Oh, I don't know about that..."
"Honest, Jill! I think he's really serious about you, y'know. Serious enough to think of marriage - and he's a guy any girl would want to snag!"
"Not this girl!"
Jill hadn't intended to say anything, but the moment the words left her mouth she felt sure they were the truth which she'd never before acknowledged. "I wasted my whole senior year being his faithful hometown honey, and now I'm not going to waste the rest of my life waiting for him to propose and then sitting around waiting for him to come home from work after we're married. Now I'm young and pretty, and I want to live!"
Anthea's eyes burned a hole in Jill's back as she turned with a flounce and made her way down the rose-bordered sidewalk to the back courtyard. Actually, she had no idea where Nick Oliver's office was. but she walked firmly, quickly, as though she were entirely confident of where she was headed.
* * *
"I'm - I'm sorry if I interrupted something," Jill stared down at the toes of her scuffed beach sandals, miserably aware that they looked grotesquely incongruous against the moss-green carpet of Mr. Oliver's private office. "I - I guess I misunderstood you. I thought you said I should come here at three today ..."
Nick, amused by the timid teenager's apologetic tone, felt his black mood fading. The Gibson girl had walked into the courtyard outside his office just as he'd finished firing Joy Janson and the enraged singer was having a temper tantrum. Since his office was built of the sort of glass which enabled him to see out into the outdoor club, but prevented the guests from seeing inside his private sanctuary, he spied Jill and ordered Joy to leave. The two girls had collided in the garden path, a spectacle which he'd found most amusing.
"No you didn't interrupt anything that wasn't finished already," he smiled, sitting down beside her on the low green cushions which were the only seating arrangement save his walnut desk, which sat on an ivy-draped podium beside an artificial waterfall. "I'm glad you're here - real glad. Have a drink and relax!"
Jill, somewhat mollified, accepted the tall fruit juice and alcohol concoction and sipped at it gratefully. It was funny, she thought, how quickly she'd learned to enjoy the inhibition-dulling quality of alcohol. Just a few weeks ago she'd never touched the stuff, but now she found that it made things so much smoother.
"I bet you're wondering just exactly why I asked you to come here today."
"Well, uh - yes." In fact, she was so infatuated with the handsome, panther-graceful man that she'd been hoping he simply wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. "I guess I have been wondering."
"Of course, the main reason was just to spend some time with you," Nick added when he noted the fleeting shadow of disappointment rippling over her heart-shaped face. "I hope you feel the same - after our magic evening together yesterday!"
Jill felt her cheeks turning pink and took a long gulp of her tropical-flavored drink to cover her immature reaction. Could this suave and successful older man really be interested in dating her? It seemed too impossible to be true, like those stories she'd read in movie magazines about world-famous stars having been discovered sitting in a drugstore sipping a Coca-Cola which they'd bought with their last fifty cents. Yet his eyes were burning with that glowing flame of desire she'd only lately learned to identify . . . maybe a miracle really had happened to her!
"You like this drink, Jill?" Nick moved closer to her, draping an intimate arm around her shoulder and giving her breast a squeeze that sent shivers of lust skimming out to every nerve-ending in her newly awakened body. "It's a special invention of mine, with mango juice and vodka, plus a bit of tequila to give a real punch."
"It's delicious ..." Jill smiled, but her eyes were sober. She felt hopelessly young and stupid because she had no idea what a mango or tequila might be, and when she looked down at her faded cut-offs and silly St. Roch High T-shirt and compared them to the shocking pink, low-cut robe the blonde singer had been wearing, she knew that she was hopelessly out-classed. No doubt Nick was just being nice to her because he felt sorry that Fletcher had treated her so badly . . .
Oliver saw the girl's eyes sadden as they traveled over her shabby casual clothes, and he immediately ascertained what was troubling her. His hands drifted down from her proud young breasts over the flat plane of her belly and denim-encased hips, releasing the zipper as he caressed her lush adolescent loins. Already, he was pleased to note, she was completely in his power; she made no move at all to escape his soothing hands, only gave a soft sigh and sank to a reclining position on the velvet cushions.
"You mustn't feel ashamed because you haven't got as nice clothes as Joy," he whispered into her ear. "Your beautiful body deserves beautiful clothes, of course, and we'll buy some things that make you look even lovelier. But first, you and I have a few more lessons to enjoy in learning to be a real woman."
"Yes . . . yes ..." When her handsome boss touched her like that, Jill would have agreed to anything he was saying. "Oh, yes, Nick ..."
"First, darling, you have to learn how to make a man really happy . . . you have to learn to suck cock!"
As he spoke, the lustful nightclub owner was easing Jill's patched cut-off jeans down over her long legs with one hand, while with the other he ripped open his own fly to free his already semi-erect penis. Jill made a little whimpering sound, but did not try to get up from the couch even when her boss stood up and kicked off his trousers. Her brown eyes were huge, half-fearful and half-glowing with wanton curiosity. Everything was going smoothly as clockwork with this hot-blooded Lolita-type blonde!
"I want you to make me feel good ... to touch my prick with your little hands and kiss it with your soft mouth." He guided her limp palm toward his lengthening member, and then an electrifying jolt shot through him as she obediently took hold of his swelling shaft. "That's it - feels good, huh? Now do it with your mouth!"
Before Jill had time to comprehend exactly what she was letting herself in for, he'd moved around so that the throbbing rod was angled directly up against her slightly parted lips. As she gasped in shock, its burgeoning head slipped between her lips, smooth as heated rubber and with a strange, bittersweet taste emanating from the pearlescent drop glistening on its glans tip.
Why, it's nice! she thought in surprise. Not the least like I thought it would be!
Strong currents of erotic sensation shivered through her body as she was caught up in the salacious magic of wanton sexuality and tightened her ovalling mouth just below the pulsing hardness of his mushroom-shaped cock-head to trap the throbbing knob inside her curious mouth. He groaned and shuddered in appreciative response, his hard-muscled stomach tensing and rippling, the sinews of his pelvis contracting in spasmodic pleasure. Thrilled by the power she had to arouse him, the no-longer-innocent high school graduate sank her saliva-wet pink lips all the way down to the hilt so that Nick's mammoth rod of flesh was embedded halfway down her throat.
"Uuugghhhh . . . uuummm . . . uuuuunngggg ..."
Although the inexperienced adolescent could scarcely breathe as the older man's oversized shaft swelled to full erection inside her avidly sucking mouth and his velvet-textured testicles jounced against her chin, the discomfort brought her a sort of strange masochistic delight.
"Oooooohhhh, sssuuuccckkk!" moaned Nick. "Yeah, you're one good little cock-sucker, you sweet bitch! You use your mouth just as good as your cunt!"
A bitch? Yes, of course I am! But I don't care! I love fucking and I love sucking his cock and I want more and more and more . . .
Neither Oliver nor the slavishly laboring teen heard the bodyguard's brisk rapping on the door of the inner office. The dark-haired club owner was hovering on the brink of a stupendous orgasm, and his young blonde friend was wallowing in an agony of wanton arousal. She loved sucking her boss's fleshy cudgel as it plunged deeper and deeper into her crazily clasping throat, but she also craved the satisfaction of a hard cock pumping into her fire-filled vagina. I'll do it real good, maybe he'll fuck me afterward, she thought as she slavered over the huge throbbing thickness. I feel like I'm going to explode if he doesn't! I need it- The girl's frenzied thoughts were cut short as a shadow loomed above her and her eyes lifted to see Salvatore Anrigo standing a mere foot from where she was obscenely performing fellatio. Her little mouth slipped from Oliver's pulsating cock-shaft as she uttered a blood-curdling scream and then buried her face in the cushion in an agony of shame.
"What the hell!" Nick felt his penis deflate to semi-erection at the unexpected interruption. Despite his violent lust, however, he was well-trained from a hard youth on the streets of Chicago to jolt almost at once into alertness. "What's up?"
"I caught 'em! Caught 'em outside peeping in on you with his goddamn camera!"
"Caught who, damn it, Sal! Say what you mean!"
Nick's voice snapped through the air like a whiplash as visions of potential enemies flashed through his brain. The cops ...the IRS ... a rival syndicate mobster . . . Yet even as these ominous reflections raced before his mind's eye, he was aware of his bodyguard's throbbing groin and his own virile cock jerked back into tree trunk proportions and pulsed impatiently against the blonde's tangled curls.
"Spit it out, Sal!" he demanded again. "I'm busy - if ya hadn't noticed."
"Fletcher the Lecher - and that Janson bitch!" the tongue-tied bodyguard managed to mutter. Anrigo's eyes were glued to the lush curves of the naked teenager who lay cringing on the cushions with her face hidden from view. He was hornier than he could remember being for months, despite the fact that he'd been with the black girl last night. Sure, she'd balled him like the pro she was, but there was no comparison between her inelastic cunt and blase indifference and this sweet young chick's round little buttocks which were quivering with eager desire.
"Awwhhhh, sheeeet, man -that's all?"
Oliver was angry, yet at the same time he recognized that if Sal hadn't stopped the vindictive pair they could have made one hell of a lot of trouble for him. In any event, he was grateful that there was no urgent problem which would take him away from lusty little Jill Gibson before he'd satisfied his aching cock's urgent needs and turned her into his unconditional slave. Thanks to Sal, he didn't have to worry any more about the hysterical revenge which Joy might come up with, or Fletcher's drunken babblings. The fun could continue - and why not let the faithful bodyguard in on the action as a reward for his watchfulness. Nothing like a wild orgy to really blow the blonde eighteen year old's mind and drive away the last vestiges of moralistic Catholic inhibitions.
"Okay, okay, Sal - I ain't mad, that was good work. You got 'em tied up and all? Good! Then get out of your pants and help me satisfy this horny little bitch."
The burly guard grinned from ear to ear and immediately yanked down his black leather pants to free his painfully pulsating penis. Jill, who'd been shivering in disbelieving dread all during this mysterious conversation, jerked her head up from the pillows with a low shriek when she heard the metallic sound of the zipper.
"Ohhhh! Oh, Nic, wh-what's happening?" she whispered in horrified stupification. "Don't let that monster touch me!"
Naked, Salvatore Anrigo did rather resemble a character in a horror movie. His muscles were so over-developed that they bulged from his swarthy-skinned body like a Japanese fighter's, and the erect penis rising steadily between his beefy thighs was of inhuman proportions. Once, while driving in the country on the way to the Indiana Dunes with Todd, Jill had seen two horses mating in a field beside the highway: the male's thing has seemed no bigger than this insanely grinning Italian's!
Nick's only reply to his teenaged adulator's pathetic plea was to yank her head toward him by cruelly tugging two handfuls of her honey-gold hair and ram his own impatient thickness back against her saliva-wet lips. She tried to fight him, scarcely able to believe that the man she'd been falling in love with could force her to resume sucking his penis when someone else was there, praying that the heavy-set bodyguard was merely intending to jerk himself off, as she'd seen in some of Fletcher's personal photographs. That would be shameful enough, sinfully perverted, but if he actually tried to attack her with that huge dark-veined weapon, she would surely be killed!
"Start sucking again, you crazy bitch! I warn you, you'll be sorry if you don't do like I tell you." As he spoke, Oliver was pinching the girl's nostrils together so that she was forced to open her mouth to draw breath. Then, growling in triumph, he sank his blood-heavy flesh pole back inside the melted-butter warmth of her cringing mouth. "Don't worry, kid, you're gonna like what we do to you now, just wait and see. You wanted to be a real grown-up sex star - well, now you're learning what that means! You gotta give men pleasure how and when they want it, understand?"
Was this ravenous beast whose voice rang with sadistic triumph and whose hands yanked her long fair hair so roughly that it felt as though he were pulling it from her scalp really the same debonair man who'd told her how beautiful she was and given her the most thrilling experience in her life? Everything seemed terrifyingly unreal, like the most frightening nightmare any human being had ever endured . . . but the brutal pole skewering into her throat was real enough, and even in the midst of her agony Jill was conscious of a little flickering flame of rekindled lust as she tasted the pungent droplets of pre-cum seeping from his swollen glans and flickered her fear-propelled tongue along the pulsing vein on the underside of the plunging instrument.
"Bring those asshole peeping toms in here, Sal," growled Nick. "Make 'em watch this show before we decide how to punish 'em. And make it quick - this cunt needs a cock in her fast!"
"Nnggghhhh!" Jill croaked in incoherent despair. "NNNOOOOOOHHHHHH!"
A door opened, and then there was the sound of shuffling footsteps. Through the flying cloud of her flailing golden hair, Jill could make out the slump-shouldered man who'd started her on the downhill road leading to the hellish scene she now found herself trapped in. Beside him, scowling defiantly, stood the blonde of whom she'd recently felt so jealous. They were both going to witness her humiliating abuse at the hands of two lust-maddened men!
Suddenly, as something hot and hard pressed up against her vagina, all thoughts but a blind cloud of panic faded from the ravished teenager's brain. It was Salvatore! He couldn't insert that huge pole inside her tiny pussy - it would rip her to pieces! Then, as the heated smoothness nudged up against her clitoris and sensitive cuntal lips, self-revulsion destroyed her physical fears. Something inside her shameless, sinful body wanted this stranger's huge cock to satisfy the burning need inside her traitorous pussy!
"How about doing it to her in the ass?" Oliver was in a frenzy of brutal perversion by now, for there was nothing that excited him more than a chance to give his sadistic and exhibitionist urges free rein. "Hear that, Jill? You'll do that if I tell you to, won't you?"
Jill tried to wrench her head away from the burgeoning penis to make one last attempt at protest, but Oliver kept his strong hands locked to her hair and she had no choice but to continue suctioning his ramming rod of hardened flesh. Then, before her brain had really comprehended what new ravishment was now in store for her, her body was being flipped over and stars swam before her eyes. Somehow, the panther-like nightclub owner had pulled her into a kneeling position without removing his cock from her wide-stretched lips, and now Sal's rubbery cock-head was scraping along the deep cleft between her fearfully quivering buttocks.
In her innocence, the blonde teenager still thought the thickset bodyguard was intending to fuck into her shamefully hungry cunt from behind, and a lewd flicker of curiosity coursed through her veins in addition to her panic. Even when she felt the rough pressuring of his thick rod on her virginal anal ring, therefore, she was unprepared for what would happen next. The searing pain of his blood-heavy instrument barreling into her tight-walled rectum nearly made her faint, and incoherent screams spewed from her cock-impaled lips as Sal thrust down all the way to the hilt without a thought of the pain or injury he might be inflicting.
I'm dying - he's killing me! her tortured mind wailed. And maybe that's the best thing that could happen to me . . . exactly what I deserve!
"Finger-fuck her while you give it to her in the ass!" groaned out Oliver as he thrust with intensified vigor into the girl's gagging throat. "Show her that she's really nothing but a hot, hungry cunt!"
Sal didn't really understand what the big boss was trying to prove, but he was always eager to have the opportunity to dig his extended middle finger into a warm wet pussy and make its owner jump and squirm in uncontrolled arousal. This lush-bodied young blonde was no exception to the rule. Within seconds, even though her cringing rectum was still so tight that he wondered how she could stand him throbbing inside her, her magnificent white buttocks were jiggling in unwanted pleasure in response to his cunt-teasing finger.
Jill Gibson was finding out just how thin an edge there is between pleasure and pain. As she lay there in the Chicago gangster's private office, helplessly skewered by the two rigid male shafts, a lewd feeling of perverse submission surged through her youthful body. With a new kind of peace, she felt the swelling bliss in the depths of her belly gradually drown out the pain of the red-hot poker obscenely sodomizing her virginal rectum.
This was the ultimate degradation - there could be nothing more defiling than this moment. And she loved it!
"Yesssss!" she sobbed out incoherently around the hammering hardness between her bruised and battered lips. "Do it to me! Fuck meeeee! My mouth! My ass! Ffuucckkkk!"
Within minutes, her lust-crazed brain realized, she would be drowning in floods of sticky male sperm. It would splash into her belly from her throat, seer a bestial path up inside her fire-filled rectum, fill every inch of her body with pungent, life-giving seed. It would be sheer heaven! And she'd be floating into the wonderful paradise of her own orgasm where there were no worries, no guilt, no tomorrow.
This is the way I want to feel forever and ever and ever. . . was the eighteen year old blonde's last conscious thought before she exploded into her climax and became a mere mass of mindlessly spasming female flesh.
CHAPTER SEVEN
One afternoon in early September, when the elm leaves were just starting to turn yellow and fall into the parkways along suburban Glenwood's narrow streets and there was a faint smell of autumn's first bonfires in the warm air, three cars pulled up in front of the Gibson family's two-bedroom frame ranch house. A tall, freckle-faced boy jumped out of the red Studebaker, a pretty brunette from the white Mustang, and two male twins followed them from a station wagon. All four adolescents were suntanned and laughing - the picture of all-American health and happiness, perfect Pepsi Generation specimens.
From the dusty picture window, Mr. Ralph Gibson watched the four young people dance up his sidewalk. He was noticeably thinner than he'd been two months before, and there was a broken slump in his bent shoulders as he moved to answer the doorbell. For the first time in quite a while he realized what a mess the house was, with ashtrays spilling over onto the unvacuumed carpet and dirty dishes piled around the end table beside his TV chair.
"So what the hell ..." he muttered dully as he pulled open the door. "It doesn't matter . . . "
"Hi, Mr. Gibson," chirped the brunette, whom he vaguely recognized as having visited his daughter often in the past. "We came to see if Jill's home, cause we're having a big going-away-to-college picnic at the Dunes this afternoon."
Ralph Gibson's pale grey eyes flitted from one smiling face to the other, but he didn't answer the girl's question. The silence lasted so long that young Anthea became embarrassed. After all, she'd not had anything to do with Jill for almost a month, not since she started dating her ex-best-friend's boyfriend. Maybe Mr. Gibson was mad at them for leaving his daughter out of their summer games, but after all, Jill had said no to every invitation they'd given her in the past months. Now, for this big farewell party, Anthea had overcome her shyness to convince the others to ask Jill, too . . . and she really hoped that the sad-eyed father wasn't going to yell at her or something after she'd done her good deed for the week.
"Jill's not here ..." Gibson intoned at last, looking down at the front steps. "She got a new job downtown . . . and she moved out last week. Said it would make things less of a bother for both of us ... "
"Oh . . . uh, that's nice," Anthea glanced uncertainly at Todd, "What kind of a job? Isn't she going to college after all?"
"A job in some club . . . she really didn't say . . . but it pays good ..."
"Well, that's great!"
Suddenly all four of the teenagers only wanted to get away from this oddly frightening man. Smiling and waving, they hurried to their cars. Whatever had happened to Jill Gibson wasn't any more of their concern, and they were on their way to the beach to have a good time.
