Violated by a negro giant ... Seduced by a hirsute gambler ... Forced to beg for oral and anal
Taken by a dwarfed old man.
Young sophisticated Betty Aronson pays her grim debt ... and pays it well. The taste of leather, whips participants into a wild passionate frenzy of arousal that must and will find satisfaction.
Sweet is a grief well ended Aeschylus
(from Argamemnon)
CHAPTER ONE
Betty Aronson walked down the hallway from r office to that of her direct supervisor, Bill Manton, her shoulders straight, her face taut with excitement and anticipation. She was finally going to get the word on her proposed campaign for the Seaton Finer Foods account. And if it was favorable, it simply meant that she had finally broken the ice at Benyon, Tavener & James, one of the swanky Madison Avenue advertising agencys who had traditionally vetoed giving women an equal chance at the conference table as well as at the better creative jobs.
As she walked, conscious of her smart new dark brown silk dress with its classical A-line skirt and the trim verve of matching brown pumps and charcoal brown nylon hose, Paul Wilson, a lanky, ruddy-faced mustached senior copywriter in his mid-thirties took his pipe out of his mouth as he stood in the doorway to his own office and watched her with more than mild interest.
Betty Aronson was definitely worth watching. At twenty-five years old, she was still incredibly a virgin, and an embattled one. From the very first day at the agency, which had been three years ago on a rainy March morning, when she had sat waiting in the reception room to be interviewed by old Harvey Tavener for the post of assistant reference librarian who would work under the media director, she had felt the unwritten challenge and the implaccable hostility which were invariably directed against any girl who had the ambition to go beyond a clerical job and compete with "the men on the team" to use Harvey Tavener's favorite cliche.
Indeed, her unexpected but nonetheless wellmerited success had confounded the fiercely critical, white-haired senior partner of the agency, and he had for some little time vetoed her assignment as an executive copywriter who would have the right to meet with the client, determine the client's wishes and then not only interpret them to the rest of the agency but herself be responsible for the major part of the creative copy being prepared for the client.
At most advertising agencies, it was customary practice to divide these jobs into the account executive and the copywriter, and in many instances the latter never got to meet the client but had to concoct sales-getting campaigns on the basis of what facts the account executive would communicate. Happily for Betty Aronson, however, her agency had been going after a large and very lucratice cosmetic account which had just changed agencys for the third time in five years. And Paul Wilson's secretary, Anne Ward, who had been a particularly good friend to Betty, had taken Betty to lunch about six months ago and discussed her boss's ideas for the account. Betty had taken sharp issue, claiming that a man could hardly understand a woman's viewpoint when it came to so intimate a thing as cosmetics. More than that, she had spent her next two lunch hours locked up in her own cubbyhole typing out her own idea of what a campaign for Cristo-Clear should really be. And then she had committed the cardinal sin of the agency by going, not to Paul Wilson, but to Harvey Tavener himself. She had stood there in his office arguing her point, insisting that he give her a chance to conduct a kind of one-woman marketing survey to discover exactly what housewives wanted in a new line of cosmetics (for Cristo-Clear was about to experiment with a medium-priced line of makeup kits which would have Helena Rubinsteun snob appeal at Macy's bargain prices).
Harvey Tavener had been so aghast at her violent break with agency protocol that he had, in spite of his better judgment, looked over her presentation, and grudgingly admitted that possibly she had the kernel of an idea. He had given her a week to try her little experimental survey, warning her that the account belonged to Paul Wilson and that she might well expect a good tongue-lashing from that gentleman for having encroached on his premises, so to speak.
The survey had proved her right beyond doubt, and Harvey Tavener had been sufficiently impressed to call Paul Wilson into his office to confront the lovely auburn-haired young woman. The upshot of it was that Harvey Travener had practically ordered Paul Wilson to adapt Betty's ideas to his own proposal for Cristo-Clear and then, after warning Betty with many a stern "Harumph" and clearing of his throat and an angry glare from his cold blue eyes, had informed her that he would give her two weeks' trial as a junior copywriter.
For the two other members of the firm had heard of the contretemps and had personally sent for Betty Aronson at the end of the two weeks to look over the ideas with which she had come up on her own. And they had voted to override Harvey Tavener's probationary period and make her a fullfl-edged copywriter.
Within the last year, she had been assigned to Cristo-Clear outright, in the specially created job of account liaison-copywriter, unique to the agency, and the cosmetics manufacturer had vindicated the agency's trust in her by doubling its billing under her creative aegis.
And now she had submitted an elaborate presentation on the canned meat account which was threatening to change agencies, since for the past year its sales had not climbed enough, in the firm's sales manager's judgment, to warrant a renewal of the advertising contract.
Paul Wilson took his pipe out of his mouth and shook his head. He thought to himself, "There's a gal with guts and brass, maybe too much of the latter for my tastes. But what I wouldn't give to take her out for a weekend to Atlantic City or maybe Miami Beach, rip her clothes off, backhand her across the face a couple of times, and throw her on a bed and fuck hell out of her!"
Betty Aronson roused that exact feeling in many men, and what was more, she knew it. But thus far, she couldn't care less. Right now, she was quite conscious that Paul Wilson was looking after her as she walked down the hallway well, let him look, she told herself with a cynical grin. He was just envious, that was all. But she'd show him that she was as good as any man in the agency, and maybe better.
She reached out her hand and knocked at the door of Bill Manton's office. A gruff "Come in!" responded. But before she turned the knob of the door and entered, Betty Aronson glanced back just for an instant. Sure enough, Paul Wilson was still standing there looking after her. Her full red mouth, with its superciliously arrogant upper lip, curled in a smile of mocking triumph. And then she went on in.
CHAPTER TWO
Auburn-haired Betty Aronson told herself that she had no chinks in her armor against the lecherous male. Perhaps that was true, but what she did have was a very real Achilles heel, which was going to make her impenetrable armor practically useless.
That Achilles heel was gambling. Betty was born on the East Side of New York City to a warmhearted Jewish delicatessen owner twenty-five years ago. After Betty's birth, her mother was told by the doctor that she could not have any more children, and Elias Aronson had resigned himself. The creative impulses he could have put into breeding the kind of big family he had dreamed about in the old country, he put into his store, to such success that by the time Betty was entering C.C.N.Y. college, he owned three big delicatessens and was able to take life easier.
When she was twenty, Betty's mother died of a heart attack, and Elias, grieving for his beloved Sarah, followed her to the grave from a bronchial infection. Betty of course had no interest in taking over the three delicatessens, and her father's attorney, Max Golbermann, handled the outright sale to the managers. The result was that Betty Aronson found herself a college graduate with a degree in journalism and a certain pseudo-sophistication acquired along the pathway of her education, and with the munificent sum of eight-five thousand dollars in the bank. To her credit, it may be said that this money didn't really change her, for she continued her ambition to be a career girl. Perhaps it was partly because of her faith, which made her realize that she would have difficulties in the business world, and then there was the matter of her being a female, which was another strike against her. She met the challenge admirably and now could look back with satisfaction at the success she had achieved on her own and solely on merit.
However, by the time she was twenty-five, her bank account stood at only forty-three thousand dollars. She had lost a little more than half her inheritance by gambling. About six months after she had come into her father's estate and had his lawyer turn the three stores into solid cash, one of her college girlfriends had invited her to a swanky evening at El Morocco, and after that she had taken Betty to a private key club. She had also brought a blind date along for Betty, a mature man in his late thirties who was a Wall Street broker's assistant and well on his way to making a fortune in the market. Betty found him horribly dull and also somewhat offensively humorous, a trait which she detested. To escape his importunities, she asked Cheryl, the girlfriend, if there was a rear exit from the ladies' room. Cheryl said there wasn't but suggested, "Look, sweetie, I'm awfully sorry. I just thought maybe Dick would hit it off with you, but I can see your objections right now. I'll tell you what. Mr. Cavanaugh, who runs this club, happens to have a private little gambling casino at the back. Why don't you go in there and watch for a while and I'll try to get rid of poor Dick."
It had been a fatal suggestion, though meant in good faith. Betty Aronson made a beeline for the back of the club, the door of which was covered with a thick red velvet drape. She pushed it aside and knocked at the door, and an elegantly tuxedo-clad young man had slid back a panel and politely asked her what she wanted. Betty had blushed and stammered that Cheryl had suggested she watch the gambling. As it happened, Cheryl's father was a frequent patron of the club, and so the young man let Betty in.
It was a brand-new world for her and a fascinating one. There were quite a number of tables and several different games. At one long table there was a roulette wheel and a croupier, shoveling chips back and forth on the green baize numbered cloth according to the spin of the wheel. At another table was a game of baccarat. At still another, chuck-a-luck was featured. At still another, at which some beautifully gowned and magnificently jeweled blonde seemed to be winning, Betty felt a strange excitement as she strolled from table to table, watching how money could be won or lost on the turn of a card or the spin of a wheel or the fall of dice. Finally she succumbed to the temptation. She had always thought herself a good poker player, and when one of the men at the table next to the blonde got up with a groan and announced that he was cleaned out, she timidly asked the dealer if she might take his place. She had only about a hundred dollars in her purse, which didn't buy her very many chips. But, with typical beginner's luck, she won the first hand and a pot of about two hundred dollars. It was like a powerful shot of heroin in the veins of a non-addict; she was hooked.
When she finally went out of the curtained door, Betty Aronson was about three hundred dollars richer, but the important thing was that she had acquired a fever for gambling. She went back the next night and the next, and spent almost every evening the next week playing. At first she won, which was the wrong thing to have happened to so naive a player, for it made her determined to go on and press her luck. Then the cards and the dice and the roulette wheel proved fickle. Within a year, Betty Aronson lost well over twenty-five thousand dollars.
By then, of course, she had started her advertising job, and to compensate for this loss she plunged into her work with a vehemence and determination which carried her to the top and won her the grudging respect of her male colleagues at the agency. She realized how wrong it was for her to go on gambling, and for six months she exercised all the self-control she had to keep from going back to that key club. But one night she did, and she had a spurt of luck and won back about twelve thousand dollars, only to plunge another twenty thousand or more in losses. And now, as she was on her way to her interview with her boss, Joe Manton, she had to take stock of herself and ruefully admit that she had thrown away half of her father's hard-earned money-since the stores were the equivalent of that-on the most ephemeral of amusements and also one of the deadliest. She told herself that if this interview meant another promotion and another raise, she was never going back to a gambling casino again, and she wouldn't set foot inside of that key club no matter what happened.
Betty Aronson couldn't know that the assignment Bill Manton was about to give her would entail her going to Florida, where her mania for gambling would change her life in a way she'd never have dreamed possible!
CHAPTER THREE
"Sit down, Miss Aronson." Bill Manton, supervisor of new accounts at Benyon, Tavener & James, took his pipe out of his mouth and gave the attractive auburn -haired young woman a speculative glance.
Betty Aronson seated herself before her boss's desk, cool and poised, her hands neatly folded in her lap, attentive and respectful. Inwardly, to be sure, her heart was rapidly pounding as she anticipated what he was going to tell her. And if he did, then there would be nobody in the agency who could any longer doubt that a woman could hold her own with the top advertising people in New York, in spite of her sex. Maybe because of her sex, too!
Bill Manton was forty-eight, with iron-gray hair, a rugged face, and cold blue eyes and a jutting Roman nose. She disliked him because he was blunt and direct, but she had to admit that he was scrupulously fair. At the first, when he had been put in charge of her, he had cast some rather disparaging hints as to her ability to follow through on assignments. But when he had discovered that she could do a job and do it well, he had been the first to compliment her and to recommend promotion and a raise.
"I think I know what's on your mind, Miss Aronson," he at last broke the silence. "You're thinking that I'm going to give you the word on the Seaton Finer Foods account, aren't you?"
"Frankly, yes, Mr. Manton," she smiled.
"I'm not. To be honest with you, Jack Seaton has been in Europe and we've expected him back for the past ten days. And until he gives the word, nothing is going to happen. However, I personally think it's a very ingenious and well thought out idea. I hope for your sake he buys it."
"Thank you, Mr. Manton."
"If it goes over, I'm wondering if you can handle an account as large as that will probably prove to be along with your Cristo-Clear assignments. You don't want to neglect those boys, not with the billing they're giving us these days."
"I think I can handle it, Mr. Manton. Of course, I probably would need a full-time secretary who had a little imagination and can double in brass once in a while."
"Well, we won't cross that bridge until we get to it. What I've got in mind for you is this, Miss Aronson. I had dinner last night with Madison Boming,. the vice-president in charge of production at Cristo-Clear."
"Oh, I know him, Mr. Manton,"
"Fine gentleman. Just got his daughter married off to a young lawyer. Anyway, Borning has some ideas about changing the packaging of the Cristo-Clear line. He's not so sure how they might appeal to the jet set, though, and of course cosmetics isn't my forte. But it's yours. Do you think you could take on a two-week assignment in a test city down South and try out some of his new ideas, see how they work on display, get the reaction of the women, and do an in-depth survey for us?"
"I'd love to."
"Fine. Are you pretty well caught up on the regular trade ads schedule?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Manton. But I could write a memo to you on some of the little items that might crop up while I'm gone."
"Do that right away. I'm going to assign Miss Coleridge to be your secretary from now on. She's a hard worker, and she knows a lot about the agency and she's trustworthy. You'll be able to get a lot of detail channeled through her."
"Thanks a lot."
"Could you be in Miami tomorrow afternoon?"
"Of course."
"Tell you what. I'm going to call Borning right now and set up a date between the two of you for lunch. You'll go over there to the company restaurant.-it's as good as anything you'll find in Manhattan, and I ought to know. Stay with him and get some of the samples he's got. What he'll do is to have his production chief ship you out stock in the new bottles and containers. It'll arrive a couple of days after you get to Miami. Meanwhile you'll be doing groundwork there."
"I understand."
"Get yourself some expense money, and make your reservation on Eastern. It's pretty chilly here for April, so you'll probably get some sunshine down there. It won't hurt you to have a little fun while you're at it. You've been working pretty hard, I'll give you that, Miss Aronson. And I'll tell you what I'll do, if Seaton gets back and gives me any clue as to how he's taking your campaign, I'll phone you down in Miami."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Manton."
Bill Manton was emptying his pipe, and then filling it from the canister beside him. He gave her a shrewd look. "I'd like to ask you just one personal question, Miss Aronson. It's none of my business, you can tell me to go to hell and there won't be any offense."
"Ask away, Mr. Manton."
"Are you by any chance engaged?"
"No. Not at all. I don't plan to be."
"You got your mind set on a career then, I take it?"
"Certainly I have. It's a challenge for a girl to try to keep up with men in an ad agency like this one, Mr. Manton, and I've done it. That doesn't give me any time for emotional involvement."
"Perhaps not." He scowled as he lit his pipe, drew on it, then looked up again. "Frankly, a lot of the fellows here hate your guts. Now wait a minute, don't get huffy. I'm sure it's no secret to you, Miss Aronson. There's protocol in an agency, and even geniuses have to conform. Try not to be so sarcastic and to fight the war for womanhood all by yourself. Relax a little. Mellow. And enjoy. Frankly, that's one reason I'm sending you down to Miami. I could have put Sue Latimer on the assignment just as well. But you're too tense and you've got a chip on your shoulder. Try to get over it while you get your suntan. That's all, Miss Aronson."
Betty Aronson flushed indignantly, but thought better of replying. Her personal life was her own, and she knew very well that if she were a man, her boss wouldn't be making such remarks. "I'll handle everything the way you wish, Mr. Manton," she said coldly, and with a peremptory nod, left his office. Bill Manton chuckled drily to himself as he relit his pipe, which had gone out again. "Quite a woman," he said half aloud. "But what she needs is someone to wake her up, and make her realize that she's a woman, no matter what her I.Q. is." His remark was indeed prophetic!
* * *
Four hours later, Betty Aronson was at John F. Kennedy International Airport, about to board a jet to Miami. After lunching with the Cristo-Clear executive, she had taken along a case of his proposed new packages on three items, with about a dozen samples of each: a quality shampoo which was already a best-seller in its previous package, a new lipstick case which was revolutionary and eye-appealing, and a jar of facial make-up. At his request, she was to run consumer surveys in some of Miami's largest cosmetic outlets, such as the hotel drugstores, the beauty shops which offered retail cosmetics to their customers, and the largest-volume drugstores. She was to keep accurate records of customer comments, and there was also in the display case a stack of release sheets which were to be signed by the people she interviewed in her on-the-spot checks. She took a cab from the client's office to her own apartment and thence to the airport, just in time to catch the non-stop plane. Much to her annoyance, she hadn't been able to get a window seat, and found herself sitting next to a suave black-haired man in his middle thirties, whose features suggested that he was of Spanish descent, and he seemed to be interested in her, judging from the way he several times lowered his newspaper and cast her a covered glance.
Betty Aronson was looking forward to this assignment, because she had been driving herself on the job and knew that she was getting edgy. Also, her long-suppressed gambling mania was beginning to manifest itself again. The old and familiar feeling of impatience to visit a casino, to watch people betting to the turn of a card or the roll of a wheel or the cast of dice, was impinging itself upon her mind. Even though she knew she didn't dare run into a big loss, she wanted to try her luck again. She had never been to Miami, and she knew that she would find casinos there, or at least private gaming rooms. She had taken with her about a thousand dollars in cash, and Bill Manton had okayed an immediate voucher for five hundred dollars to cover her initial expenses in Miami; all she had to do was pick up a phone or wire for more when she needed it. Of course all the expenses for these two weeks would be billed to Cristo-Clear.
The pretty brunette stewardess put down her tray and that of her neighbor and began to serve dinner. To distract herself and also to indicate to her male companion that she wanted no part of him, Betty Aronson struck up a conversation with the girl. The stewardess was twenty, with a delicious Southern accent, dimples and gleaming white teeth, as well as a voluptuous if over-ripe figure, and she had often been to Miami. She was able to give Betty quite a few pointers on where women went to buy their cosmetics, for which Betty gratefully thanked her.
As she was finishing her dessert, the man next to her leaned over and with a chuckle said, "You'll forgive me, but you don't look like a cosmetics salesgirl to me."
Betty Aronson turned and gave him a frigid stare. She had to admit in that first glance that he was dashingly good-looking, with a swarthy complexion which might have been due to the sun but also to racial lineage. He had nice white teeth, a pleasant smile, a firm chin, a high forehead, and dark brown eyes. He was slightly under six feet, but sturdy. He also, she noticed at once, wore a flashy diamond ring, which was immediately a black mark against him in her book because Betty had no use for men who wore jewelry of any kind, considering it effeminate.
"For your information, I'm not," she icily replied, then went back to her petits fours and coffee.
"No? I happened to overhear you asking the stewardess about where women by cosmetics in Miami."
"I really don't see that it's any of your concern," she said without looking at him.
"It might be. A great many women come to my establishment, and I assure you they all use cosmetics."
"Oh?" This time she turned to look at him. He was smiling at her and proffering a cigarette. "No thank you. What sort of establishment do you have?"
"As it happens, I run a nightclub. My name's Dave Gaspar. Let me give you my card, if you have a free evening in Miami."
"That won't be necessary, thank you. I'll be busy."
"Night as well as day?"
"See here, Mr. Gaspar. I don't usually speak to strangers, and to satisfy your curiosity, I'll say only that I work in advertising and that I'm going down to Miami to make a survey for my client's products. And that's all you have to know about me."
"We've hardly touched the surface," he chuckled again. "I can think of a lot of things I'd like know about you, such as whether you're single, how old you are, whether this is your first trip to Miami, and-"
"Mr. Gaspar," Betty Aronson angrily interrupted, spots of red flaming in her lovely cheeks, "you don't seem to be able to take a hint. I'm not at all interested in you, your nightclub, or in striking up a friendship. You just happen to be seated next to me, and I can't do anything about that. But if you keep on talking to me, I'm going to ask the stewardess to change my seat."
"Pardon me," he said sarcastically, returning to his newspaper. Betty Aronson sniffed and finished her coffee. Then she beckoned to the stewardess for another cup. The trip, she thought, was starting out rather badly. What she needed was a good night's sleep, and then the first thing in the morning she'd start making the rounds of Miami shops and hotels. Of course she would have to spend some time on the beach because she loved to swim. But she knew one thing for sure: no strange man was going to interpose himself in her well-ordered scheme of things.
CHAPTER FOUR
Betty Aronson enjoyed that good night's sleep indeed, for she had been quartered at one of Miami's finest hotels. The room was soundproof, the bed wide and soft, and the view of the beach absolutely enchanting. It was a sunny, glorious day, and she treated herself to the luxury of ordering breakfast served in her room, tipped lavishly, and then sat down to enjoy a leisurely breakfast and, with a second cup of coffee and a cigarette, to plan her itinerary for the day. The stewardess on the plane to Miami had been very helpful in mentioning some of the best places in Miami for selling cosmetics, and she had made notes in a little black book to which she now referred. Taking a city map, she was able to plan a schedule that wouldn't be too exhausting and yet would cover all the ground quite well the first day.
She thought to herself about the man who had been her seat neighbor on the jet. He represented everything she didn't like in a man: smug, self-assured, wealthy and no doubt pampered, a colossal egotist who probably thought that all he had to do was to pay attention to a woman to have her practically drool at his feet. Well, that wasn't for her and never would be. A man like that would take a girl and use her, cast her aside for another without a moment's hesitation. Any girl who fell for a man like that would be an utter idiot and would deserve everything she got.
The first day went well, and Betty Aronson felt as if she were back in New York, because going to shops, talking to people, making extensive notes, kept her mind keen and alert and let her feel that she was quite competent in her job. She needed that feeling of reassurance after that session with Bill Manton just before she'd left. She had the feeling that he would be delighted if she failed on this assignment because then he could denigrate her just the way he wanted to. He probably hated women and felt that they were chattel and not worthy to compete with a man on equal terms. Well, she'd show him a thing or three. Yes, and that Paul Wilson, too. In fact, this little survey about CristoClear was going to be just another reminder to Mr. Wilson that she knew cosmetics better than he ever did, even if he had had the account before she had come into the agency. She knew very well he wasn't going to forgive her for practically taking it away from him, but she couldn't care less.
After the second day, the data she was gathering seemed to be quite comprehensive. She had shown the new demonstration samples which she had brought along from New York and made extensive notes about the reactions of buyers in the department stores and the chain drug outlets and also the fancy gift and hotel shops. Naturally, she didn't expect to finish the survey in two days, but it was certainly a good start. So good, in fact, that she decided she would have a little pleasure for herself on this particular evening. The demonstration stock of the samples she had brought along had just arrived at her hotel, she learned by phoning the desk clerk. So day after tomorrow, which would be Friday, she'd hire a limousine or a cab, whichever was cheaper, and drop off the merchandise to the various outlets she had contacted. Bill Manton as well as Madison Borning, Cristo-Clear's production director, wanted her to give all the major outlets enough stock for a few days and then make some spot checks to see what had moved the quickest and what the public reaction was. She was supposed to write up an invoice which would only be a memo, and later the outlets would be billed at below cost, by way of giving them a little extra profit for their trouble in acting as guinea pigs.
By Thursday evening, Betty Aronson felt exhilarated over what she had accomplished, so she treated herself to a magnificent dinner in one of Miami's finest restaurants and then, after having inquired from the desk about sightseeing tours, hired a charter boat to take her on a tour of Biscayne Bay. The scenery was magnificent at night, and the air was warm and there was a full moon. Under ordinary circumstances, and if Betty Aronson hadn't been the kind of girl she was, this lovely auburn-haired career girl would have longed to have a handsome man standing beside her with his arm around her waist and his other hand stealing a few quick free feels of her titties and pussy to make her melt in his arms and yearn for bed. But such a prospect never even entered Betty Aronson's mind.
Yet by ESP, it had entered the minds of two virile men in both New York and Miami ... Paul Wilson in New York and the suave, black-haired nightclub owner whom Betty Aronson had met on the plane to Miami. Both of them at this very moment, to be exact, were entertaining erotic fantasies in which she was the featured performer ... in fact, the only one who figured at all in the exciting scenes which each man conjured up and wished might become burning and palpitating reality!
When she finished the boat cruise, it was eleven-thirty at night and she didn't feel at all like going to bed. Friday would be a short day so far as her retail calls would be concerned, and she had already talked on the phone long distance to both the cosmetic firm production manager and Bill Manton, and they had both urged her to stay at least ten days more. She was beginning to relax now, and the balmy weather made her unwind a little. She put her hand in the pocket of her dress, the same one she had worn on the plane, and pulled out a card. It was the one Dave Gaspar had given her. She frowned and crumpled it in her hand, and then a sudden whim took hold of her. She had nothing better to do this evening, so why not wind up the night by taking in this nightclub, seeing what sort of entertainment he had, having a good drink and going right to sleep. Tomorrow afternoon, she'd catch up on her sunbathing and swimming. The water was just ideal.
She hailed a cab as she came out of the boat dock and gave the driver the address of Dave Gaspar's nightclub. "Is it reasonably respectable, driver?" she asked.
The cabdriver was a wizened little man in his sixties, and he glanced back and chuckled: "Just about as respectable as they make them, M'am. You from up North?"
"Yes, New York."
"My my, I used to drive a hack in Queens thirty years ago," the driver said reminiscently. "Well, to set you straight, M'am, it's about as swanky a place as we've got down here in Miami. On the up and up. 'Course they got a little gambling in the back rooms, but that never hurt nobody. Brings in tourist money and keeps Miami green, as the saying goes."
Betty Aronson started, and her eyes widened. A gambling room. A casino. She dug her nails into her palms and closed her eyes. No, she was not going to gamble. She just wouldn't. She'd had her lesson, and it ought to have done her good for all time to come. And yet she heard herself telling the driver, "Take me there, then, right now."
CHAPTER FIVE
Betty Aronson paid the cabdriver and walked under the canopied entrance of The Blue Star. A liveried doorman solicitously inclined his head and opened the door for the beautiful auburn-haired New York advertising career girl. She glanced around, and she had to admit to herself that Dave Gaspar had certainly spared no expense to make his night club attractive. The red and blue velvet carpeting, the superb ornamental bar which was crowded and which employed the services of three bartenders who seemed to be working with feverish energy, handsomely arranged and private booths for diners at one side, and rows of widely spaced tables on the other side. At the far back, and to the right, there was a little bandstand on which a trio of musicians played popular tunes of the day. At the far left was a door covered by a green baize curtain. A man in a tuxedo was standing beside it, and Betty saw a young couple get up from one of the tables and make their way towards him. He nodded, drew aside the curtain, then opened a narrow little door for them to enter.
She knew that here in Miami a night club like this would be open till four in the morning. She thought she would have a drink at the bar, possibly a daiquiri, and then take a look at the casino. The casino must be behind that door covered by the green baize curtain, she told herself. Since all the stools were occupied at the bar, she seated herself at one of the tables, and a pretty young brunette waitress in a miniskirt and calf-length white calf boots promptly approached her with an encouraging smile. "Yes, Miss? What's your pleasure?" she asked.
"A daiquiri, and make it nice and cold," Betty Aronson ordered.
The service was extremely prompt. The daiquiri was before Betty inside of four minutes, and it was just right as to taste, and it couldn't have been colder. She sipped it appreciatively, then sat back and listened to the music which wafted to her ears. It was really a very pleasant place. Of course, she wasn't going to gamble. Not really. She only had about a hundred dollars in traveler's checks with her right now anyway, and that was hardly enough for a stake. But by the time she'd finished her drink and a cigarette, the old fever began to gnaw at her. She beckoned to the pretty waitress again.
"May I help you? Another one, perhaps?"
"No, thanks. Not right now, anyhow. I wanted to ask-that's the casino over behind that green curtain, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. But you have to be a member of the club, Miss."
"Oh, I see." Betty Aronson frowned. In her exhilarated mood, she didn't feel like calling it night yet. Then she thought of the card which Dave Gaspar had given her, and produced it from her purse. "I met Mr. Gaspar on the plane coming down here to Miami," she explained. "Perhaps he'll vouch for me."
"I'll go see. What's your name?"
"It's Betty Aronson.
"I'll be right back, Miss Aronson."
Betty smiled to herself. Just as in New York, it all depended on knowing somebody in the right places. Probably Dave Gaspar would be flattered that she'd come out here to see his night club, especially after the cold way she had treated him on the plane. Well, she was just coming for the casino, that was all. And just a look or two and then back to hotel and bed. And if he thought that her being here meant anything, he had another think coming.
"Miss Aronson. this is really an unexpected pleasure." Dave Gaspar stood beside her table, with the pretty brunette waitress behind him. "Of course I'll vouch for you. Would you like me to show you around there?"
"If you like. I didn't have anything better to do this evening after my boat cruise, and I found your card in my purse, so I wanted to see what nightlife in Miami was like," she insolently retorted as she rose, then reached for her purse.
But Dave Gaspar shook his head. "Put the tab in my office, Connie."
"Yes, Mr. Gaspar," the pretty brunette waitress nodded. She gave him a quick little smile over her shoulder as she walked back to the bar to pick up another order.
"My pleasure," Dave Gaspar said as he led the way through the rows of tables. "I think you'll find it as neat a setup as they have even in Vegas. We handle quite a volume of business here, I might say."
Betty Aronson merely arched her eyebrows and didn't deign to reply. She knew just how to handle men like Dave Gaspar. He was a fresh face, and God knows she had put down plenty of his kind back in New York. She didn't even give him a second look as he went ahead of her, drew the curtains back, turned to the narrow door and swung it open. She walked across the threshold with an assured confidence as if it were her due to be shown condescending attention wherever she went. What she didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that Dave Gaspar wasn't exactly like the other "freshfaces" she had known. And when she found it out, it was going to be very much too late.
CHAPTER SIX
Dave Gaspar attentively watched the beautiful auburn-haired career girl as she glanced around the handsomely decorated casino. There was a table with a roulette wheel and a croupier, crowded with a dozen gamblers of both sexes who followed eagerly the rolling of the little white ball, glancing at where their chips lay on the green marker cloth with a prayer that the ball would stop on their number. Still another table offered chuck-a-luck, while a third featured twenty-one. A fourth table was for the poker enthusiasts. To one side there was a miniature bar presided over by a dignified gray-haired bartender and two pretty, miniskirted barmaids who wore off-the-shoulder light nylon blouses and whose short skirts revealed dazzling expanses of smoke-hued nylon-sheathed thighs.
"This is an off night, Miss Aronson," Dave Gaspar explained, "or we'd have seven or eight tables operating at. full speed. But by next week we ought to pick up. Now, what's your preference?"
Betty Aronson trembled. The buzz of voices, the clatter of the ball spinning around its merry and capricious course on the roulette wheel, the clicldng of the dice, and most of all the atmosphere of intense concentration had caught her up in that fatal spell. Most of the time, when she did gamble, it was poker. The trouble was, and she knew it herself, that she was inclined to plunge after a couple of losses by doubling her bets. The steady professional gambler took them as they came and didn't try to recoup unless a really dazzling hand presented itself. Then she had switched to dice and then to the roulette wheel. Yet she was well aware that she had lost at least thirty-five thousand dollars since that unlucky night when Cheryl had taken her to the private key club. Even if she did have a little over forty thousand dollars in the bank today, the smart thing to do would be to stroll around and watch, have another drink and thank Dave Gaspar for his hospitality, then go back to her hotel and forget there was such a thing as a gambling casino, not only in Miami Beach but anywhere in the civilized world.
But Dave Gaspar's knowing smile nettled her. She frowned, considering. Well, she had the hundred dollars in traveller's checks which was all she had brought along this evening. It wouldn't do any harm just to see how far that stake would go. She just wanted to show this fresh face that she had come here for relaxation and just the experience, and certainly not to see him.
"I didn't exactly come prepared, Mr. Gaspar. I've just got a hundred dollars in express checks in my purse."
"That's no handicap. If you care to tell me your New York Bank account and where you work and what you do, I'll be very happy to extend credit. You look like a very reliable person to me, Miss Aronson."
"Thank you. My account happens to be at the New York Chemical Bank, and my last balance was over forty thousand dollars," the auburn-haired beauty diffidently remarked.
"In that case, I certainly will honor your requirements to a fair sum, Miss Aronson, in the event you need it. As the owner, I probably should wish you bad luck but a lovely girl like you is probably a winner every time. At least you are with me."
She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. The suave smile on his face irritated her, just as his presence beside her on the plane had done.
"Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Gaspar," she said softly. "I'm bored, I wanted to do something interesting before I go to bed, and I happened to have your card here. It looked like a good idea at the time. But I'd just like to straighten it out for the record; I'm not here because of you, I'm here because of the casino. Now is that understood?"
"It couldn't be clearer, Miss Aronson," he gave her a mock-courteous little bow, and though the smile remained on his lips, his eyes were cold and appraising.
"I shan't bother you with my presence then. However, if you should have bad luck with the stake you have in your purse, all you have to do is tell the dealer that Dave Gaspar okayed you up to two thousand dollars. Anything beyond that, he'll have to call me."
"Don't worry, Mr. Gaspar. I'm not likely to lose that much here or anywhere else. Thank you so much," she said sarcastically as she turned her back on him and headed for the poker table.
A woman in her late fifties, garishly made up to hide her age but wearing a cocktail frock against which her best friend should have advised her, had just risen from the poker table with a sulky look, and was heading for the miniature bar. Betty Aronson promptly seated herself, opened her purse and took out the little black book of checks and began to endorse them. The dealer, a squat, nearly bald man with horn-rimmed spectacles, glanced up and saw Dave Gaspar nod, and nodded back.
"I'd like chips for these," Betty Aronson said as she shoved the book over to him. He gave her five blue chips worth ten dollars each and ten red chips worth five dollars each. She put them into two neat little stacks at her right, and the dealer shuffled the cards and passed them around for cut for deal, since a new person had come to the table. This was one of the casino's rules that Dave Gaspar established, and it was highly applauded because it seemed to change the luck of the patrons. As luck would have it, Betty Aronson won the deal. The opener was for five dollars, so she tossed in a red chip.
When she considered her hand, she discovered that she had a pair of jacks and three meaningless number cards of various suits. The pot went up to fifty dollars before she had a call for cards, and she dealt herself three. One of them was another jack.
By the time the pot reached ninety dollars and Betty was down to a solitary blue chip, her heart was beating as wildly as it had that night in the New York key club. It took her very last chip to meet the raise of an elderly Ohio bookkeeper who was in Miami for his annual vacation, but her hand luckily won the pot of about $280.
Dave Gaspar moved past the tables to the lovely career girl and, leaning over her shoulder, murmured, "Didn't I tell you a pretty girl like you always has luck?"
Betty scowled at him, rearranged her chips and concentrated on the cards. She didn't see Dave Gaspar give her a long, hard look, appraising the elegance of her neck and back, the beautiful modeling of her shoulders. If she could have read his thoughts, she would have turned as red as the fivedollar poker chips.
He was thinking he would give just about anything to take her down into a little soundproofed room there in the basement, strip her methodically down to just her stockings and maybe a garterbelt, whip hell out of her ass and make Her Ladyship grovel at his feet and beg to do anything instead of more fantailing. And he knew just what he would have her do when she got to that point: give him a good blow job. The thought of this proud and haughty young woman down on her stockinged knees on the cold stone floor, with every charm she had to offer absolutely bare and proffered to his eyes and having to open that snooty red mouth of hers and clamp it around the head of his prick gave Dave Gaspar a momentary hard-on. It was just too bad you couldn't kidnap a bitch like this and put her through her paces and make a new and useful woman out of her, he thought.
Betty Aronson lost all thought of time. She dropped out of the next hand, lost the third, won the fourth, and by now her earnings totaled $675. She lit a cigarette and found her fingers were trembling as the deal came back to her. The Ohio bookkeeper had caught up a little now, and was about $200 ahead. Now the duel was between the two of them. Betty drew a pair of kings and a ten on her own deal, and backed them to the tune of about $300. But the bookkeeper wound up with a straight flush and Betty had just one pair, because the two she drew were meaningless.
Angered at this momentary setback, she plunged, which was always her fatal error as an amateur gambler. And she lost the next hand, too, bringing her down to $75 worth of chips.
However, she won the next two hands, and her chips increased to a $450 pile. Then the gambling fever, which she had tried so valiantly to quell, flared up in her. She bluffed and lost on the next two hands when she thought she held good cards. And when she hesitated before the next deal, the dealer looked at her quizzically, then nodded: "I'll give you two thousand dollars worth of chips, Miss Aronson. Boss's orders."
"I-" Betty Aronson stared to say she didn't want that many. But when she saw the bookkeeper from Ohio give a little toss to his head and whisper to somebody next to him, a brassy blonde who was man-hunting in Miami and had noticed his recent winnings as an omen of a possible liaison for herself, she grimly set her lips and nodded back to the dealer.
Then it became a nightmare. She won the next hand, lost the next two, won again, but bluffed impulsively on the next two hands and lost every penny of that two thousand dollars.
She found herself trembling as she lit another cigarette, and now one of the pretty barmaids brought her a daiquiri. Dave Gaspar was nothing if not attentive, and he knew what she had had from the bar outside his private little casino. She drank it down, and then beckoned to the dealer who leaned towards her.
"I wonder if you could get Mr. Gaspar to approve perhaps another thousand or so for me?"
"Certainly, Miss Aronson." He rose and went to the other end of the room, where Dave Gaspar was talking to a studious-looking gray-haired customer, a co-owner of a Miami race track. There was a whispered consultation, and Dave Gaspar nodded, glancing back to where Betty Aronson sat. She intercepted that look and turned away angrily.
The next two thousand dollars was lost almost more quickly. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Betty Aronson rose.
"I guess that breaks me," she said ruefully. The book-keeeper had won it all, except what the house had taken, and the brassy blonde was cooing sweet endearments into his ear.
She gave the couple a spiteful look, then glanced around the room in search of Dave Gaspar. The poker dealer called out, "He's out in the club, Miss Aronson. Too bad tonight. You started like a house afire. Maybe tomorrow night you'll do it."
"There won't be any tomorrow night. Thank you," she said curtly and left the Casino. She saw Dave Gaspar at the bar, chatting with the pretty brunette who had brought her her drink. Nervously she waited until the girl had left for one of her tables, then approached the nightclub owner.
"I guess I owe you some money, Mr. Gaspar."
"That's right, Miss Aronson. Four thousand dollars, to be exact. Max told me. Tough luck. And now, how are you going to arrange to pay me?"
"Why, I can wire my bank for the money and have it for you by tomorrow."
"I see." He scratched his chin reflectively. "The only trouble, Miss Aronson, is how do I know you've actually got a bank account in New York?"
"Because I told you I have," she flashed back angrily.
"Oh, come now! You can't expect me to be as naive as that. Do you imagine you could walk into a private club in New York and tell the owner you had thus and so in New York and you'd pay him later. Fat chance, Miss Aronson. Not that I don't believe you. You don't look like a liar to me. But I'm a business man, first and foremost. You lost four thousand dollars and I expect you to pay up."
"Damn it!" Betty Aronson was choking with indignation. "I'm going to be here a few more days at the hotel. All you have to do, if you insist on it, is phone my bank and verify my account. Or I can do that myself and you can listen. You'll get your money."
"I'm afraid that won't do."
"Then why did you extend credit to me?"
"Let's say I had a hunch you might win. It would be interesting to see what your attitude would have been if you had won. I think you're a poor loser."
"Why you-" she spluttered.
"I think you'd better come upstairs to my office. You don't want to make a scene here. People are beginning to look at us already," he silkily imposed. He took her by the elbow and gently but firmly led her to the back of the nightclub, then up a narrow flight of stairs to the right which led down to a corridor to a single large private office. He un locked the door, pushed it open for her and let her precede him. Then he entered, closed the door and slyly adjusted the spring-lock so that the two of them would be assured complete privacy. He felt his prick harden at the very thought of being alone with this uppity, delectable auburn-haired piece of cunt.
"Now then, Mr. Gaspar," she whirled to face him, her eyes flaming with anger. "I happen to have a pretty good job with a New York advertising agency. I earn about fourteen thousand dollars a year. You can check that too by making a phone call."
"I might call your bluff on that, Miss Aronson. I don't think your boss would like to know you've come down here to Miami and lost about four thousand dollars gambling. He might take a dim view, even though you did it after hours. It might cost you your cushy job, you know."
Betty Aronson bit her lip. What he had just said was all too unfortunately accurate. Both her immediate supervisor, Bill Manton, and old Harvey Tavener (who had always had a secret feeling that it had been a mistake to hire a woman in the first place) were sticklers on agency protocol and particularly as it concerned the after-hours lives of their employees. And if the news of her gambling loss tonight should reach the ears of either of these, her agency days would be numbered. She would lose all her accounts and even the hope of that big bonus and promotion on her presentation for the Seaton Finer Foods account. And that would be tragedy itself.
So, squaring her shoulders defiantly, she stared at Dave Gaspar. "All right, I agree that I don't care to have my employers know that I gamble. So now what do I do to satisfy you?"
"You work it off, Miss Aronson."
"Work it off?" she echoed, her eyes widening.
He nodded. The smile on his lips had no mirth to it or warmth, and his eyes were colder than ever, boring through her like gimlets.
"Now let's see. That's four thousand dollars. I think about a week of your services would just about wipe out that tab, Miss Aronson."
"I didn't know you could use an advertising copywriter here."
"I can't, and I don't need one. Nor do I need a bookkeeper nor a cocktail waitress, though you'd look terrific in a mini-skirt, but somehow I don't think you'd fill the bill. You have a habit of staring through people as if they were dirt, and I don't think our customers would appreciate that."
"Are you deliberately trying to insult me, Mr. Gaspar? I wish you would keep personalities out of this. I admit I owe you four thousand dollars, and you refuse to let me pay it."
"You said that, Miss Aronson. I simply refuse to take your word that you can in time to satisfy me. What I was about to say was that the work I have in mind for you has nothing to do with your advertising ability."
"Then what do you want me to do that's worth four thousand dollars for a week."
There was a long silence as he stared hungrily at her. The muscles of her jaw tightened as she compressed her lips and forced herself to meet his gaze.
And then he said in a low, husky voice, "I'll pay you that much to have you in bed for a week, Miss Aronson."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dave Gaspar had locked the door to his private office without being detected in this act by the fuming Betty Aronson, The twenty-five-year-old auburn-haired career girl still couldn't believe her ears. "Now look here, Mr. Gaspar," she indignantly exclaimed, "this little farce has gone far enough! And just keep your filthy remarks to yourself! I can prove who and what I am, and if you'll let me call the bank tomorrow night. After all, I'm registered at the hotel and I'm not about to run away, so why can't you be patient?"
"If you want to know something, Miss Aronson, because I think you're just a little bit too cocky. You like to ride roughshod over people all the time. Don't you? It sticks out a mile, believe me. Only this time you're dealing with the wrong guy. I sized you up on the plane and my judgment is usually pretty good. No, I won't trust you till tomorrow. You're going to work it off. You're going to work it off by going to bed with me."
If a thunder bolt had suddenly struck the nightclub building and razed it to the ground, Betty Aronson could have been no more aghast than she was on hearing this mocking declaration. The faint smile which hovered on Dave Gaspar's lips added fuel to the flames of her already burning anger. With a stifled imprecation, she drew back her right hand and slapped him with all her might across the cheek. "You-you filthy swine!" she panted. "How dare you talk that way to a decent girl? So you sized me up, did you? Well, Mr. Gaspar, I did the same for you on that plane. You know what we call guys like you back in New York? Fresh faces, that's what. Now I have nothing more to say to you. And I'm going back to my hotel. I'll arrange to get your stinking money tomorrow, and that's an end of it."
Dave Gaspar hadn't budged, though an angry reddening blotch appeared on his cheek. He didn't even bother to rub it, though his eyes had narrowed and his lips tightened when her palm had crashed against his cheek. But the smile deepened now, and it was one of gloating anticipation. Betty Aronson had just sealed her virginal doom. "That just about does it, Miss Aronson. I was going to be nice to you, because you've got a snazzy figure and I think a sort of fiery nature. I was going to wine and dine you and show you the sights and make it very pleasant for you. But now you're going to get the treatment. No bitch slaps Dave Gaspar, especially not one that's in hock to him for four grand. You've had a lesson coming just about all your life, Miss Aronson, and I'm going to start it off right now."
Before she could suspect his intentions, he suddenly seized her by the wrists, and dragged her over to the wide divan.
"What are you doing-let me go-how dare you-I'm going to sue you, I'm going to have you thrown in jail-stop it-no-oh my God, I told you to stop it-how dare you do a thing like that to me-stop-HELP, HELP, HELP!!"
For Dave Gaspar had thrown her across his lap so that she was stretched out all along the couch, and swiftly seizing her wrists in his left hand and pinning them at the small of her back, he had put his right hand to the hem of her attractive brown cotton skirt and lofted it and the chaste lace-trimmed white petticoat beneath up to her waist, exposing her delectable virgin bottom snugged in a brief pair of white nylon panties. A narrow satin-elastic garterbelt circled her waist, and its taut tabs clutched the tops of smoke-colored nylon hose, which fitted over her voluptuous young calves and thighs like a second skin and accentuated all the provocative beauty of their contours.
Betty Aronson uttered a shriek when she found herself thus disrobed and placed in so ignominious a position. Her lovely legs began to kick frenziedly and her face was contorted with anger and red with rage as she tuned back to denounce him: "You dirty brute, let me go this instant, do you hear me? I'll have you thrown in jail for this, Mr. Gaspar! Even if I do owe you money, it doesn't give you leave to treat me this way! Do you hear me? You're hurting my wrists!"
"I hear, Princess," he chuckled his eyes feasting on the delicious mobility of her firm jouncy bottom, so tightly snugged by the thin nylon briefs. "But this is just between the two of us, Princess. And never mind about your wrists. I'm going to hurt you somewheres else, somewheres where you've never been hurt before."
With this, to her utter consternation, Dave Gaspar raised his right hand and brought it down with a solid whack on the right cheek of her behind.
"Oww! What are you doing-oh, you're going to pay for this!" she stormed. Frantically she kicked her legs, then tried to throw herself off his lap, but adroitly, Dave Gaspar shifted her legs so that angled down toward the floor, and instantly clamped his right leg over her struggling nylon-sheathed calves, thus completely immobilizing the furious auburn-haired beauty.
Dave Gaspar considered his victim with gleeful anticipation. Betty Aronson, with her skirt and petticoat rucked up and her voluptuous firm bottom shaped out by the clinging nylon panties briefs, was now infinitely more desirable and fuckable than she had been beside him on the plane. A confirmed bachelor, the Miami nightclub owner was an inveterate cocksmith; experience had taught him that most girls were most easily conquered by a domineering, almost caveman approach. Of all the girls he had ever fucked, Dave Gaspar looked forward to compelling haughty Betty to surrender herself; no girl had ever slapped him before nor treated him so shabbily at first meeting.
Betty Aronson was five feet six inches in height, and her face was just as stunning as her figure. Her auburn hair was coiled in an oval bun at the back of her head, leaving her nape and dainty little ears bare. Her face was sensitive and haughty, with high-set cheekbones, a delicate aquiline nose with widely flaring, thin wings. Her mouth was ripe, but rather small, with an insolent flare to her upper lip. Her skin was a warm tawny tint, and this together with her cheekbones and slightly almond-shaped eyes (which were a dark intense brown) gave her an exotic look, almost that of a beautiful Eurasian.
That haughty face of hers was enough to inspire furious lust. But the body thus far revealed in the ignominious preparation for this spanking was even more calculated to whet a man's carnal rut. Betty had deliriously long legs, with sinuously high-set, nervously muscled calves, and elegantly long, gradually rounding thighs which reached their fulsome enticement as they merged with her provocative backside. The cheeks of her bottom were broad ovals, very tightly set together, but the sinuous furrow which set them apart was salaciously delineated by the tight adherence of her nylon panties.
Her waist was slim and supple, and she didn't need a pantie-girdle, something many girls her age would have envied her. Her titties were widely spaced, high-perched bold pears, capped with dark coral, crinkly tips and broad aurolae of a brownish-coral hue. Dave Gaspar, holding her over his lap in this awkward and cramping position which made her torso, head and shoulder lie upon the couch and her legs angle down to the floor, had ample time to study her magnificent forms. The bright pink mark of that first hard spank could faintly be seen through the thin tight panties, and it excited him. He felt his prick throb and ache with lust as he now applied the second swat to the lower right cheek of her bottom.
"GODDAMN YOU, YOU DIRTY BASTARD!!!" Betty Aronson hysterically shouted, furiously trying to tug her wrists away from the steely grip of his left hand. "You let me go this minute, do you hear me? You're going to be the sorriest man alive if you don't stop this minute! Do you hear me?"
"That's a couple more I owe you, Princess, he chuckled drily, as he ran his right hand lingeringly over both huddling cheeks of her firm, resilient bottom, to her infuriated shame and humiliation. "You treat me as if I were dirt on the plane, you take my credit without so much as a thank you, then you try to welsh on your debts when you're a loser, and then you haul off and slap me and now you call me a bastard. If you were a man, honey, you'd have a broken jaw by now. Since you're not, the least you're going to get is a sore ass."
With this, he raised his hand again and brought it down with all his might on the summit of her right bottom cheek. It stung atrociously, and Betty Aronson, who had never until this moment known the ignominy of this juvenile discipline, uttered a wail of pain and tried to wriggle herself off the edge of the couch. While she was struggling, the fourth spank fell on the left summit of her enticingly upturned and tautly proffered bottom.
"I SAID STOP IT, YOU GODDAM BASTARD YOU!" Her voice was strident as she made another savage jerk at her gripped wrists, trying to break his hold.
Dave Gaspar calmly inserted his fingers under the waistband of the nylon briefs. Betty Aronson stiffened, her face turned back to stare at him, her eyes supremely widened, her face congealed in disbelief: "What are you doing? You let me go-no, don't you dare take my panties down-DO YOU HEAR ME, MR. GASPAR? TAKE YOUR HAND AWAY FROM MY PANTIES-OHHH NOOOO!!!! OH MY GOD, YOU FILTHY DIRTY BASTARD TO DO A THING LIKE THAT!!!"
For without heading her frantic threats and please, the Miami nightclub owner had calmly proceeded to tug the filmy garment down from the estuary of her backside, till the white nylon sheath was rumpled and wadded over her upper thighs and acted as a further restraining fetter.
Her naked flesh was maddeningly exciting. Already the bright splotches which his palm had made on her naked seat lifted out against that tawny-satiny skin in the most sensual contrast. Agonizedly mortified, the young woman tightened her gluteal muscles so as to huddle her bare buttocks and thus try to diminish them under his searching gaze. But as his hand appreciatively and lingeringly caressed those firm smooth hillocks, Betty uttered another shriek of wordless fury and with desperation tried to tear her wrists free of his grip while at the same time arching up her hips to try to pull her legs out from under his clamping right leg. In doing this, she unwittingly exposed to him the tempting dark-auburn-tinted thick curly mane of her virgin cunthole as well as the shadowy ambery groove connecting that temple of carnal delight with the other orifice so dear to each and every sodomite.
The young woman's frantic twistings and jerkings only set into relief all the more the elegant and tempting charms of her loins and bottom and legs. But at this point Betty Aronson was hardly concerned with the involuntary peepshow she was giving her assailant. For the thought that a man would dare to put his hand on her bare flesh-and particularly in such a place!-was absolutely anathema to her.
"STOP IT!! GODDAM YOU ANYHOW! TAKE YOUR HAND AWAY FROM ME! HOW DARE YOU TREAT A DECENT WOMAN LIKE THIS! OH, YOU JUST WAIT TILL I GET OUT OF HERE, MR. DAVE GASPAR, YOU JUST WAIT!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs.
"You've got a real temper, Princess," he chuckled thickly. "It goes with that red hair of yours, Looks to me as if you're a natural redhead too, from what I can see between your legs."
"OOO!!! YOU-YOU PERVERT!! LET ME GO, LET ME GO!!" she screamed.
'Well, since you don't want your ass caressed and stroked nicely, Princess, I'll be glad to take my hand away, but I'll put it back-like this!" Suiting the action to the word, Dave Gaspar raised his right hand and brought it down with a furious sonority right over the huddling bare bottom cheeks, bridging the narrow crease which separated them, smiting the pouting inner edges of those luscious, fleshy, firm, satiny ovals. And this time Betty Aronson's scream was as much from pain as from wild, humiliated rage: "EEYARHHH EOWWW!!! YOU DIRTY BRUTE, YOU BEAST!!"
He paused now, flexing the fingers of his right hand which had begun to stiffen. For though he had given her comparatively few spanks, her sensitively grained naked flesh was already a vivid crimson, the blotches standing out against the as yet untouched tawny satin of her behind and thighs with a violent contrast that made his prick stiffen all the more. By now, indeed, it was prodding the fly of his trousers, and although Betty Aronson was momentarily unaware of this phenomenon, her further agitated squirmings over his lap as the spanking progressed would make her well aware of what emotions she was rousing beside vindictive vengeance in her executioner.
During this respite, Betty Aronson tried once again to jerk free her wrists, and he uttered an imprecation as she nearly got loose. Angrily, he raised his right hand and dealt her four solid spanks, two to each lower bottom cheek, which made her bound forward along the couch in a frantic effort to free herself from the implacable and uncomfortable heat which he was generating in her naked behind, accompanying her frantic efforts with strident wails of pain: "Oww! Ouch-Goddamn you-Ooooohhhouuuuo!!!"
In her desperation, she twisted her face round and tried to move her head back towards him so that she could bite him. Dave Gaspar laughed at this as he simply twisted her wrists and made her wince and cry out, then applied two more harsh spanks over the top of her right bottom cheek.
"OWWW!! STOP IT, STOP IT, YOU'RE HURTING ME!"
"Am I now, Princess?" he chuckled, as again he ran his hand lightly and slowly over her flaming posterior. "Why, I've hardly started. You've got a hard solid ass on you, Princess. It hasn't been softened up because apparently nobody has taken the trouble to give you what you needed all these years. But you've come to the right place tonight. Before I finish with you, you're going to be very sorry you called me all those names and then slapped me, and you're going to think very seriously over my little proposition of how you're going to pay back that four grand you owe me, understand?" Before she could answer, his hand had risen again, then descended like a plummet, crisply smacking down on the base of her left buttock.
"Ahhhhrrr!! Ohhh, you're killing me!"
"I'm hardly likely to do that, considering that I've other uses for that fancy body of yours, Princess. From what I've seen of it already, I'm sure you could earn back that four grand in a week. And if you're a good sweet girl, I may even give you a little bonus when the debt is wiped out. How does that sound to you?"
"I'd sooner die! You filthy pervert, you dirty bastard scum, I'd die before I'd let you touch me!" she cried illogically, once again straining with all her might to break loose her wrists and to twist out from under his clamping leg. In so doing, her flaming hips arched and twisted and weaved this way and that, presenting him once again with the prick-hardening vision of her pink-lipped cunt framed by the thick silky dark red curls of her mount of Venus.
Again he paused, to get his second wind, and to flex his fingers and to glance ruefully at his reddening palm. Betty Aronson was stifling her sobs, but they were still more of rage and hatred than entirely of pain. Yet defenses were weakening; never before in all her life had she been confronted with such a situation, where she was totally on the defensive. She promised herself to bring this man to justice, to humiliate him just as he was doing to her, by jailing him, by preferring charges of assault and battery and by blackening his name. But this accumulated heat in her naked bottom had begun to grow, and besides the awkward angling position of her body was beginning to irk her. Once again she twisted and jerked, and again she turned her face and tried to dart her head towards him to bite at his left arm to free her wrists.
"I think we'll try it this way for a change," he suddenly announced. Before she could anticipate his next move, Dave Gaspar took hold of her by the sides, rose, forced her down and then suddenly sat upon the small of her back so that he faced her naked bottom. His crushing weight drew a shrieking protest from the anguished auburn-haired career girl: "Owww! You're hurting me! Stop it, let me up, stop it, do you hear?"
"There's nothing wrong with my hearing, Princess. Now I'm really going to give you the spanking you've been asking for. I don't think you'll be able to bite from that position. Let's see if you can or not." Once again, lifting up his right hand, he brought it down with a crashing smack on the top of her left hip, and then visited the other hip with an equally stinging blow. Betty Aronson's feet kicked up and down, dislodging her highheeled sandals; since her hands were free, she reached back and tried to dig at him with her fingernails.
He groped back with his left hand too, caught one of her wrists and held it in a relentless vise. Then, with a chuckle, he lifted his right hand again and began to spank her furiously and rapidly.
Her bottom lunged and twisted and bounded under this fusillade of noisily smacking spanks which visited her crimson hindquarters from top to base, alternating on each cheek in methodical cadence, gradually descending from the tops of her hips to the base of her voluptuous, jouncy naked bottom and then ascending once again. Tears blind ed her dilated eyes, as she thrust her mouth and nose against the upholstery of the couch to try to hold back her cries for mercy; she told herself she would rather die than surrender to him, even though the smarting pain in her bare bottom was by now almost intolerable.
Her left hand was free and she managed to gouge him with her fingernails, but in retaliation he simply twisted her other wrist and a shriek of pain attested to the efficacy of that counterattack; moreover, to punish her further for this attempt at revolt, Dave Gaspar's right hand rose high, hovered in the air a moment, then descended violently to collide with the upturned, satiny summit of her left buttock, flattening the flesh and making her lunge forward under his crushing weight.
"EEEYEEOOWWW!!! OH STOP IT! YOU'RE KILLING ME, YOU FILTHY DIRTY BASTARD, YOU'RE KILLING ME!" she shrieked.
Once again he paused, flexed his fingers, blew on his swollen, reddened palm, and then resumed the spanking. Now he concentrated on her right buttock, applying half a dozen slow but energetic spanks from top to base, observing with mounting lust the frantic gyrations of her naked hips. In her struggles, with her knees on the floor, her panties had slipped down to her lower thighs. He paused a moment to unhook the tabs of her garterbelt, and then, realizing that she was momentarily powerless to react, slightly arched up so that he could unhook the garterbelt itself and whisk it off to the floor. Now there was nothing to protect her bottom from her chinkbone down to the tops of her sheer nylon hose, which had already begun to sag because of lack of support. Reseating himself with all his weight and drawing a sobbing gasp from the dazed and suffering victim, Dave Gaspar experimentally lodged a stinging slap of his right hand against her upper left thigh, drawing a tearful squeal of pain from the beautiful auburn-haired sufferer.
Then again he resumed the spanking of her now flaming, burning bottom. Without heeding her cries and tearful shrieks and now anguished pleas that she was suffering and couldn't bear it any longer, Dave Gasper altered the pattern of this juvenile chastisement: three or four stinging slaps would fall upon the girl's right buttock, then a pair to the other cheek, then four or five more to the other globe again, followed by six or seven on the opposite bottom-globe. By now the pain was unbearable and Betty Aronson had forgotten all her pride and modesty and shame. Her feet kicked up frantically, her knees shifting all they could in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort of her crushed-down posture. Her futile attempts to jerk at her wrist proved to be only a source of new agony for her, for he gave her expert little twists which punished her for even that revolt. It seemed to her that the smashing, burning, bruising shock of his hard heavy hand against her tender squirming, huddling bare bottom cheeks would never end.
Her cries were hoarse now, agonized and supplicating: "AAAHHHRRR!!! OH MY GOD, STOP IT, STOP IT, WON'T YOU? I CAN'T STAND IT, OH GOD, YOU'RE KILLING ME, YOU DIRTY BEAST! PLEASE STOP! YOU'RE BREAKING MY BACK SITTING ON ME LIKE THIS. OH GOD, YOU CRUEL HEARTLESS BASTARD YOU! OH STOP IT, OWWWH EE AAAIIIEEEOWW!!! PLEEEAAASSSEEE!!! OH NO MORE, YOU'RE KILLING ME, YOU'RE KILLING ME!!"
By the time Dave Gaspar finally stopped, he had given her at least seventy-five spanks, and her once tawny-sheened bare bottom was ablaze, darkening at the summits where the spanks had been the hardest and most often repeated. The uncontrollable twitching of her flesh, the spasming and rippling of her muscles at calves and thighs, provided a visual feast for his eyes. And his prick was almost bursting with pent-up gismic rut which must soon be appeased one way or another.
Betty Aronson had begun to cry, shuddering, uncontrollable sobs shaking her shoulders, her eyes were red and swollen with tears. Restlessly she rubbed her stockinged calves and feet together, piteously twisting and squirming in a vain attempt to dissipate the ferocious heat which was consuming her naked bottom raw. Forgotten now completely was all thought of the shamelessness of her posture or of what she exposed to him. And her arrogance, that arrogance of a career woman who had lorded it over men, was also destroyed. All she could think of was having him end this inhuman ordeal, no matter what it cost.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"There!" Dave Gaspar said hoarsely, as he contemplated Betty Aronson's wriggling, swollen naked bottom. "That should do for a starter, Princess. And that's just for being snotty."
Still crushed beneath his weight, her fingers clawing at the upholstery of the couch, her face bathed in tears and contorted in agony, the auburn-haired career girl groaned, "Ohh-Oh, My God, let me up-you've lulled me-you brute, you cruel, heartless brute!"
"Careful now, Princes," he threatened, "you're in position for an extra dose, you know. I wouldn't go around tossing insults so freely if I were you. Like I said, that was just for being snotty. Now we come to the matter of your slapping me and your calling me a bastard all those times."
Betty Aronson uttered a cry of incredulous alarm: "Oh, my God, you're not going to spank me any more, are you? I'd die! I know I'm bleeding, it hurts me dreadfully! Oh please get off me, you're crushing me terribly!"
Seated as he was on the small of her naked back, forcing her to kneel and remain with her naked bottom lasciviously upturned, the posture had already become an ordeal in itself for the auburn-haired beauty. He glanced ruefully at his swollen hand and added, "But this time, Princess, I'm not gonna wear out my hand on that big hard butt of yours. I think I'll use my belt. Let's see now. I think about twenty-five cracks for slapping my face, and another twenty-five for suggesting that I was born illegitimately just about ought to do it. I'll give you a couple of minutes to cool off, Princess, and then I'm gonna whack ass on you again."
"Oh no, oh my God! Please, please, don't do that, Mr. Gaspar! Oh, how can you brutalize me this awful way! Haven't you had revenge enough after what you've just done?" she tearfully implored.
"I don't propose to let any bitch go around insulting and slapping me, honey," was his coarse answer, and his voice was thick with lust, because the sight of Betty's flaming hips twisting and jerking about as they had done under the impact of his spanking hand had made his prick threaten to burst through his trousers' fly.
"I-I apologize-I'm ready to beg your pardon, Mr. G-Gaspar," she quavered, in a tremulous voice. "Oh please let me up, please!"
"And then of course we come to the little matter of that four grand, Princess. You still haven't satisfied me as to payment, you know. What do you propose to do about it?"
"Oh my God, didn't I tell you, you could call the bank for me tomorrow? You'll have it by tomorrow night, I know you will! Oh please, have mercy on me, please! I hurt everywhere, oh, my poor spine, my bottom, oh please let me up, Mr. Gaspar!"
"I'm afraid not, Princess. I told you how you could pay off that four grand. Think that over while I get my belt out, because the time is just about up, and you've got fifty swats coming on the bare ass," he announced. Shifting his weight over her, for she groaned with pain, he unbuckled his black leather belt and drew it out, then doubled it in his right hand and swished it through the air several times.
Betty Aronson was frantic at the prospect of more whipping, and the thought of feeling a belt on her already burning and swollen naked behind was absolutely unthinkable. Hysterically, she cried out, "Oh, wait, wait, for God's sake, don't whip me any more! What must I do to satisfy you? Please, please, I'm begging you humbly, Mr. Gaspar! I-I take back slapping you and calling you what I did-won't you please have pity on me?"
"I might be inclined to, Princess, if you'll reconsider how you're going to pay me off."
"What do you mean?" she groaned.
"You seem to need a little quickening of memory, Princess," he told her. And then without warning, lifting the belt high, he brought it down diagonally with a loud crack over the tops of her naked hips. Betty Aronson shrieked aloud: "EEEEOWWW!!! YOU'RE KILLING ME!!" Her clenched fists pounded the couch as she lifted her agonized, pain-twisted face, her eyes bulging and glassy with tears, and her legs kicked up to and fro in the air. The belt had cut a bright red swathe against the darkened background left by the hand spanking.
"Is your memory any better now, Princess?" he ironically demanded as he let the doubled belt dangle menacingly against her naked and cringing hindquarters.
"Ohhh-ahhh-no more-oh my God-no more!" Betty Aronson sobbingly panted. "I'll do anything you want, but for God's sake don't whip me with that dreadful belt, not after this, oh please!"
"Well, Princess I'm going to give you just one chance, to keep your mind alert, because your bottom's sure ready," he salaciously remarked. "You remember that I told you that I'd pay you four grand to spend a week in bed with me. Now what do you think about it?"
And before she could answer, he slyly lifted the doubled belt and brought it down right along the crease between her naked bottom cheeks, biting into the tender ambery-rosy furrow that led to her other virgin cleft, that secretive temple of sodom.
"AAARRRHHHHH!!! OOOOEEEEOWWW!! NOT THERE!! OH! PLEASE GOD, NOT THERE!! I'LL DO ANYTHING, ANYTHING!" she screamed. In her frenzied lunging, she almost managed to unseat her executioner, while her fingers clawed the upholstery of the couch and her stockinged feet flailed the air in maddened kickings.
"You still haven't answered the question, Betty. Are you ready to pay off your debt the way I suggested, or shall we give you the other forty-eight swats on the bare tail?" he persisted.
And once again he let the belt dangle against her huddling, inflamed and trembling naked bottom, grazing the angrily reddened flesh to intimate to her the risk she ran in holding out against his will.
"Ohh, you'll kill me, you'd kill me! Wait-just a little minute-oh, I hurt so awfully-I-I've never had a man in my life, never-why must you ask that of me?" she sobbingly wailed.
Whack! Dave Gaspar lifted the doubled belt, paused it in the air a moment, then brought it down diagonally from the base of Betty Aronson's left bottomcheek over the crease and along the inner curve of the upper left summit of her flaming behind.
"OOOUUUH EEEYARRRR!!! STOP IT! FOR GOD'S SAKE, PLEASE STOP IT! WON'T YOU BE SATISFIED WITH ANYTHING ELSE?" she shrieked. Again she drummed her stockinged feet on the floor, and her fists pummeled the couch as she turned her contorted face this way and that, her eyes blinded by tears, her mouth agape in her frenzied, hoarse shout of pain.
"Those were just samples, Princess," he now remarked. "If you don't decide in a hell of a hurry, I'm going, to start your fifty swats officially, and you're going to have to count them out one by one, you understand me?" And again he let the belt graze her flinching hindquarters.
"Oh-oh God-I can't stand this any longer, I'd rather die-oh won't you have mercy, Mr. Gaspar? Aren't you satisfied now with what you've done to me?"
"Quit feeling sorry for yourself, Princess. A real gambler takes his losses like a man and he doesn't snivel. You have this thrashing coming for the way you treated me, and you damned well know it. Now let's get down to business. I'm offering you four grand for a week as my piece of quif, you understand? At the end of that time I'll tear up your I.O.U., and as I said, I might even throw in a little bonus if you please me. Now what's it going to be the swats and then maybe I'll have some of my boys work you over till we can find some money or jewelry against the debt, or will you agree to my proposition? I'm going to count three, and if you haven't decided yet, I'm going to start giving you your fifty."
He raised the belt slowly and announced, "One!"
Betty Aronson began to cry hysterically, covering her face with her hands, her bottom making frantic efforts to huddle to diminish itself, but posed as she was with his weight heavily down on her, she could hardly move except to kick her feet uselessly.
"Two!" His voice rose in menacing tone.
"Wait-oh God-I can't help myself-I just can't stand this any more-all right-I'll do what you want-oh my God, what's happened to me, what's happened to me?" Betty Aronson moaned hysterically. And then she covered her face with her hands and gave vent to a crisis of tears, for the first time in her haughty young life she had been conquered by the kind of man, worst of all, who had neither compassion nor admiration for her insolent virginity.
CHAPTER NINE
"Let me understand you, Princess," Dave Gaspar hoarsely demanded. "You say you'll do anything I want. All right. Are you quite sure you know what I'm driving at, Princess? If I don't belt your bare ass, you're going to do everything I tell you to do and without any arguments or putting up a fight. Is that properly understood?"
"I'm begging you ... oh please ... I'm begging you to have pity on me and ... and not to hurt me anymore."
"That's not what I asked you!" He lifted his right hand, and down came the double leather belt squarely across the tops of both her inflamed, burning bottomcheeks.
"OWWWH! OH STOP IT, STOP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!" she shrieked, wildly kicking her feet up and down and making desperate attempts to unseat him.
"For a girl who's supposed to be a brilliant advertising brain Princess, you're really dense. So I'll draw you a diagram. Either you get fifty more swats like the one you just felt over your bare tail, or you tell me that you're going to work out the four grand you owe me on your back-or in any other position I see fit to put you in-by catering to my little wants. Now make no mistake about it, Princess, the answer has got to be either yes or no. And if it's no, then you can start counting out fifty loud and clear. Get me?"
"Y-y-yes ... oh, I'm in such pain ... oh let me up, you're breaking my back, I'm suffering so," she moaned.
"Is it yes or no?" he relentlessly pursued, tap' ping her right bottomcheeks with the double belt just to let her know what awaited her if the answer wasn't satisfactory.
Betty Aronson realized that she was completely defeated. And the maddening pain in her well thrashed naked bottom made her realize that to hold out any further would only lead to a still more violent martyrdom. For this horrible man was much stronger than she was, and he was a cowardly brute against whom she had no way to defend herself if he forced her. And she knew he would now, she knew it with misery in her heart and soul enraged at herself for having yielded to the impulse of visiting his nightclub.
"All right," she panted, squirming about on her knees, restlessly trying to ease the furious heat in her bottom and the aching stress on all her muscles.
"Does that mean you're going to be my bed-bitch whenever I want for the week, Princess? Do you understand that it means I'm going to fuck you?"
"Yes, you contemptible, mean, vicious brute, yes, I understand that, but I can't stand any more whipping. I suppose you use these same caveman tactics on all your girls. You're a fine specimen of manhood, you are'" she retorted indignantly in a voice that was choked with tears.
"Well, we've accomplished something so far, anyhow," he chuckled, "we've at last got you to give in. Now this puts you in a different position altogether, Princess. Up to now you were a customer, to be treated with courtesy, to be given the works as far as red-carpet treatment goes. But now that you're just one of my debtors who owes me four grand and who has agreed to come to work for me-for that's what it amounts to-you mustn't expect to act as if you were Miss Rich Bucks slumming by visiting poor old Dave Gaspar's place."
CHAPTER TEN
Dave Gaspar at last got off his conquered red-haired prisoner's back and stepped to one side to admire his handiwork. Betty Aronson remained on her knees, her torso pressed down against the couch, her naked bottom upreared and furiously enflamed. From where he stood, he could see the twitching lips of her pussy framed by the dark red curls of her pubis, and it was a sight that fully whetted his lust for her. The fact that he had humbled this arrogant career girl into begging him for mercy and at last agreeing to pay off her gambling debt of four thousand dollars by being his bed slave exhilarated his enormously. So enormously, in fact, that his prick was virtually bursting through the fly of his trousers as he feasted his eyes on the squirming, agitated hemispheres of her naked, voluptuous behind.
"I take it that you are in full agreement with my little statement of policy, Princess," he now ironically resumed. "Counting tonight, you're going to work for me for seven more days and six more nights, is that understood? And by work, I mean just that, Princess. I happen to get horny at the oddest times of day or night, so if I happen to wake you up at two in the morning and tell you to roll over and spread those gorgeous legs of yours, you're going to do it, do you understand?"
"OHHHH!!!" Betty Aronson slowly turned her head back towards him, her palms pressing down on the couch, trying to hoist herself to a standing position. But her knees ached furiously from the long-enforced genuflection under him, and her back felt as if all the muscles had been stretched and had never returned to place. Not only that, the fiery burning of her backside now proved a real torture when she tried to move, and she groaned loud at this discovery. Tears ran down her cheeks, and they were of shame as well as pain, because no man ever before had witnessed her in such a demeaning situation.
He chuckled and lit a cigarette. Then he calmly opened his fly and let his prick thrust out in all its bold, swollen vitality. "Your cunt is in debt to me and don't forget it, Princes," he went on, pointing to his stiff aching cock. "Whenever Big Boy here wants action, you give it to him, savvy? And at the end of the time, if you do a job, and if I don't have to whack your ass too much for thinking you're too good for this sort of thing, I'll tear up your I.O.U. and write you an extra thousand dollars. Now I think that's fair enough. It's a pretty good price for a hooker, if you'll do some checking around the neighborhood, Princess. Five thousand dollars for a week of fucking, sucking, blowing, and buggering, too, if I feel up to it. And after a look at that gorgeous ass of yours, I might just want to do that first."
"What-what do you mean?" she panted, for Betty Aronson was not only a virgin but also one who didn't understand all of the coarser terms of venery. "Fucking" she did understand because she had heard the word used often enough, and she ab hored it. In fact, she was shuddering now with loathing at the thought of having herself thought of as simply an instrument for his fucking pleasure. But the sight of his superbly erect and throbbing penis stunned her. The meatus was broad, like the cap of a mushroom, and it was attached, after a wide, rather granulated circumcisional groove, to an equally broad and dark-veined shaft. His testicles were hairy and swollen, attesting to the pent-up load of gism which they contained and which the sight and the infliction of her spanking had filled to bursting point.
Her nylon hose had sagged down just past her calves, as had her panties. They made her look even more provocative than if she had been all naked.
"Well, I'm waiting for you to say something, Princess," he went on. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, arching out his loins so that she could see the full vigor of his erect prong.
"All right," she gasped hoarsely, her face red with shame.
"You said that once before, but then you went on to insult me. You called me a fine specimen of manhood, among other things. As it happens, you're right." He chuckled and pointed to his cock. "This is the proof of it, and your tight little cunt is soon going to find it out. But I want a kind of truce between us, understand? It's lots of fun to whack ass on a girl like you, a haughty uppity piece of tail that thinks herself too good for any man. However, it does get a little tiring after a time. That's why you've got to agree to take your medicine like a good girl, whether you like it or not, but at least don't fight it. Otherwise you're going to be marked up pretty badly. I can lose my temper, though what you've just had isn't exactly a fair sample."
"My God," she gasped, "if you call that just your usual way of treating girls who won't give into you right off, I'm afraid to think what you do to them when they fight you off!"
"Well, Princess, you can find out the answer for yourself if you start reneging on our little deal. Now the first order I'm going to give you is this: stand up, and take off all the rest of your duds. I want you bare-ass naked, all over from head to foot, savvy?"
Betty Aronson forced herself to rise, pattering from the effort. She groaned and winced as the action sent waves of hot agonizing torture through her enflamed behind and aggravated the painful muscular constriction of her back, on which he had seated himself with all his weight while he had been thrashing her. Her petticoat had fallen down, meanwhile, so that she was now humiliatingly obliged to stoop-this too with a loud groan of pain and a grimace that made him chuckle-take hold of her garments and begin to furl them up to her waist. He stopped her: "I said take them off, not pull them up, stupid," he growled.
"You don't have to talk to me like that! You-you're rotten to treat me like this! You've overpowered me and you've hurt me and now you're going to do whatever you want to me, just because you won't take my word about a stupid gambling debt, when I've got the money back in New York. All right, I said I'd agree to your filthy bargain and I will because I can't stand any more pain. But you can still treat me with a little respect."
"Not till you earn it, Princess. In my book, a dame is either a good lover and a nice companion, or else she's a snotty bitch who tries to take everything and give nothing. Up to now, you've impressed me as being of the latter species. I bet that was the first spanking you've ever had in all your life on the bare ass, wasn't it, Princess?"
"Damn you!" she gritted through her clenched teeth, her eyes again welling with mortifying tears.
"Careful, or Daddy spank again," he shook a warning finger at her with a lewd grin. "Everything off, fast!"
Grinding her teeth with frustrated rage, Betty Aronson unhooked her skirt, unfastened the petticoat and let them fall about her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking off the tangled panties. Now she was wearing only a blouse and a white nylon bra under it, and the sagging, smoke-colored nylon stockings. Her highheeled sandals lay off to one side, where she had kicked them in her frantic throes under the spanking.
She lowered her eyes when she saw the naked, unabashed look of rutting desire on his face. He was avidly staring at her, and she knew that for the first time in her life she was naked from the waist down and standing in front of a man who was going to have carnal intercourse with her before very much longer. She loathed him. She would have killed him if she could, but the way he had overpowered her and brutalized her had so taken her by surprise and so left her with an indelible mark of fear and grudging respect (something she could not have admitted openly because of her haughty psyche) that she found no other recourse but to submit herself.
Slowly she unbuttoned the blouse and drew it over her head and let it drop to the floor. He sucked in his breath and his prick began to throb up with an angrier urge, the lips puckering as he strove to control the urge to ejaculate. The very sight of her practically naked body was dazzling, and it was all he could do to hold himself back from falling on her and raping her then and there. But Dave Gaspar was a shrewd voluptuary, though he was much more forthright and perhaps coarser than many of his colleagues who had attained renown in the field of fornication. He understood well enough what Betty Aronson was going through as she quiveringly stood before him getting ready for her first carnal knowledge of a man. He wasn't going to rape her, he was going to make her beg for it before he was finished with her tonight! Because that would be the most humiliating and crushing defeat of all, and once he had done that, he could do anything in the world he pleased with her.
"Now the bra, Princess. I want to see those titties in real life." He made a gesture with his cigarette.
"Can't you at least have a little decency, seeing that you've got me at your mercy?" she muttered in a resentful, hoarse tone as she reached behind her to unfasten the bra. The gesture was wonderfully feminine and inimitable; it arched out those glorious globes, set into relief the mouthwatering firmness of their contours, made the pert nipples probe against the taut clinging transparent nylon which let him see the lasciviously bold aureolae of those magnificent mammaries.
The bra fell now, and Betty Aronson was naked except for her rumpled stockings. He gestured towards her legs: "Those too. I said all naked, Princess. Do you want me to use my belt on you again?"
It was in his other hand, and it was dangling and serpentine and long and glistening, and she shuddered because now she knew what it could do to her, to bring her so far in shamelessness as to undress herself before yielding to him. She wanted to battle against him, she wanted to fight for her virginity, because he represented everything that she detested and loathed in a man. His smug self-conceit, his glib assurance that because he wanted something, it had to be given to him, and worst of all, the offensive and obscene way he had of announcing his desires. All the same, she could not take her eyes off his erect and swollen and throbbing prick. Instinctively, the flesh within her thighs cringed, as if already she felt his hairy, hard weight upon her, felt his cock prodding at the door of her temple, demanding entry where none had ever been permitted to enter before.
She stooped, lifted up one leg and dragged off the rumpled nylon. Then she did the same with the other. Then straightening, facing him, she put a hand over her pussy and the other arm over her panting titties, and faced him, naked ... yes, and afraid!
"Are you ready to be fucked, Betty?" he drawled out the words because he relished them. Her face flamed and her head tilted back, and her shoulders stiffened: "Please! What sort of man are you, that you have to turn the knife in the wound? You've got me. I'm going to pay you off because that's the only kind of pay you know, a disgusting sensual beast like you. But do what you have to do and don't force me to have any part of it."
"Oh no, Princess! That's not the bargain. A man pays for value received. I'm paying you four thousand bucks to be a good whore. And you'd better be one, or I'll have to stop and teach you, and that'll make me mad, and that'll make me take it out on your ass and elsewhere. You just had a little sample, but there's lot more where that came from, you just remember that. I could always have Dan, my bouncer, work you over a little and teach you manners. He's a big black boy from Mobile, and he almost got lynched because he said good morning to a snooty white bitch who must have been a little like you, and she went ahead and yelled rape. He was just one step ahead of the posse. He did me a good turn once, almost saved my life, so he's aces with me, Princess. And if I tell him that you look down on people like him the way you look down on me, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, that's all, Princess. Now let's go back to our original question. Are you ready to be fucked?"
"WHY YES!!! DO IT AND GET IT OVER WITH!!! OH HOW I HATE YOU, HOW I DESPISE YOU!!!" she screamed, stamping her bare foot.
You know, Princess, you're really gorgeous when you get mad and worked up like that. The way you stamped your foot just now, you've no idea how those sweet titties danced and jiggled, just like bowls of jello which finished setting. Come here!"
He put his hand into his trousers pocket, pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, lit one again and watched her.
Betty Aronson pressed her palm fiercely over her maiden cunt, and shrank back from him. No, he was going to have to take it from her. He was going to have to overpower her by force. Then it wouldn't be her sin at all. Because she'd never give herself to him. Now she realized that she couldn't go through with this. She realized that she'd only demeaned herself and pretended to agree to those horrible terms of his simply to have that belt stop crashing down on her burning swollen bottom which his hand had martyrized so terribly.
"You're forgetting what I've been telling you, Princess, and I don't like that. I figure an intelligent girl like you ought to have just one lesson and go on from there. Maybe you'd like another." He swung the belt in the air, brought it down with a wicked whistle. "This time, it'll be on the titties. I'll call Dan in and have him hold your hand behind your back and clamp one of his big strong black legs over yours, and stand you up with your titties sticking up nicely, and then I'll take careful aim and I'll swack them-like this!" He drew back his arm, then stepped forward and sent the belt whistling through the air in an imaginary lash. Betty Aronson's teeth began to chatter, and she shrank back another step, til she was almost against the edge of the couch where she had had her first spanking: "N-no, please don't do that," she whispered brokenly. Her eyes were wide with horror and fright. A nigger-to touch her, to see her, to put his black hands on her naked body and touch her the way a man would if he was going to make love to her-she'd rather die!
"Over on my desk, Princess, you see an intercom panel with a lot of pushbuttons," he said thickly. He walked slowly back to the desk and put his right forefinger over the panel. "Now if I pressed this first button, Hennie comes in. He's my bookkeeper. He wouldn't like to find out that you owe me four grand and I'm going to pay off. He may even want a piece himself of the action. And I do mean a piece. Hennie's got a cock on him as big as a horse," he chuckled lewdly.
Betty Aronson, while keeping one hand palmed over her virgin cunt, clamped the other over her mouth while her eyes stared like wide saucers, aghast at this man's incredible audacity and depravity. Desperately she wished she were back in New York at the agency. What she wouldn't give for a date with one of those nice fellows, out at The, Four Seasons, hearing him talk elegantly and in a cultured voice to her, appreciating all her charms. Not like this, in the private office of a nightclub owner in Miami, the door locked, stark naked, her bottom hurting terribly from that terrible spanking, and then the smacking with the belt. And now to be told that she was going to have to cooperate with him, try to share his dirty passions-no, it was just unthinkable! She would close her eyes and give herself up and let him have her because she had to, but she wuldn't lift a finger to give him pleasure. It would be like taking a course. If that's what he wanted, that's what he would get!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dave Gaspar lit still another cigarette and contemplated the furiously indignant but momentarily quelled auburn-haired career girl. Though he was an utter realist, the suave black-haired Miami nightclub owner felt momentarily and with a sardonic enjoyment about the tricks of fate must have played to reduce this stunning beauty to such a situation, one which was at furious variance with her nature and her egoism and her own prudish code. In his book he had already put Betty Aronson down as a prick teaser. But also, since she was also reasonably well-educated and quite sophisticated, despite his usage of coarse and vulgar diction (which he had used purposely to shock the haughty beauty), he should also reflect that what he saw of her now was more than enough to tease his prick; it was enough to make it explode.
"Well, I think we understand each other better after this little chat, Princess," he resumed. He stood in the center of the room and deliberately took his cigarette out of his mouth, examined it, flicked the ash onto the floor then puffed at it two or three times, all the while considering her in the most deliberate and infuriating way. She is standing before him now, and her nails were dug into her palms. Once again, however, she had pressed both clutched fists over the thicket of dark auburn curls that shielded her virgin orifice. "I'm glad to see that you're becoming a little more sensible. Because you've got a long way to go. Don't forget, for the four grand that I'm paying you for this week, I could probably rent out a dozen chippies."
"Why don't you, then!" she flung back at him, again stamping her foot till her titties jiggled and danced in their delicious resilience. "Get it over with, for God's sake! I've had just about enough of this. You've brutalized me into doing what you want, at least be decent enough to go ahead and not gloat over it. I hate you and I abominate you, and if I could kill you, I would. So now you know what I feel about you. If you still are going to enjoy having me, it's all in your own mind, because it's certainly not in mine."
"I didn't think it was, Princess."
"And stop calling me that! I'm sick of it!" she flared.
"Before I'm finished with you, Princess," he purposely lingered over that mocking that title, "you'll crawl on your knees and beg me to fuck you. Not only that, you'll beg to service any of my friends or business acquaintances or even a stranger."
"You must be absolutely insane and depraved to say a filthy thing like that!" she flashed. "I've changed my mind. I don't want any part of this at all. You can throw me in jail, but I don't think you're coward enough to try to kidnap me. That's it!" As her sangfroid momentarily returned, she went on: "Do you realize that you've practically kidnapped and abducted and you're holding me against my will? That's a death penalty, I'm pretty sure. So you'd better just let me walk out of here peacefully, and I'll see that you get your filthy money."
He shrugged. "All right. You've called my bluff. Now I'm going to call yours. You remember that cute little black -haired waitress who served you your daiquiri downstairs?"
"Well, what about her?"
Betty Aronson's cheeks were scarlet. The situation of her standing absolutely naked carrying on an animated dialogue with this outrageous and despicable man who had humiliated and shamed and beaten her was so outrageously incredible that it might even have had comic possibilities if she were not now by now so thoroughly embattled.
"Well, just this, Princess." He took another puff of his cigarette, turned back to his desk and crushed it out on an ashtray on the edge. "You were telling me you were a big wheel in advertising back in New York. I've got a few friends in Miami who keep tabs on what's going on, like any strangers coming around with any demonstrations and displays of products and that sort of stuff. Every so often, somebody tries to muscle in on the territory of a couple of us fellows who've got an investment here. No, it's not the syndicate, but it's just as strong, because it's just as tight and pretty well hidden, and the people involved in it are big shots and very reputable here in Miami."
"What has that got to do with me, or with that girl? And now, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to put my clothes back on."
"You can wait till I've finished, Princess. Like I say, this little group of businessmen has a lot of connections. Like for instance, if someone comes along with a real hot deal and calls a lot of attention to himself, there are people who are watching and signing out and making notes and tipping off our little group. So when you were in there gambling and losing your four grand and losing your cool, Princess, I had Connie-that's the sweet little piece who served you on the main floor-make a phone call. And she told me that you've been around spreading good cheer and a new line in cosmetics in some of the biggest outlets in town. Also, you work for an advertising agency in New York known as Benyon, Tavener, & James. Also, that you're pushing Cristo-Clear products. Now I don't think that your boss at that agency or the big wheel at Cristo-Clear would think very highly of you if they found out that you came in and gambled away four grand, Princess. They might think you're the sort of girl that ought not to be entrusted with such important work and responsibility. For all they know, if you lose that much in a single night, you might dip your hand into the company till-"
"You shut your Goddamned mouth! It's my own money! I suppose your spies didn't tell you that I inherited a good deal when I came of age."
"Who said you came of age yet, Princess? The way you're acting, I think a fourteen-year-old piece of quim in a miniskirt could have better sense. She wouldn't come into a strange place and throw her weight around and talk about how much money she had when she's only carrying about a hundred bucks, and run herself up a tab of four grand gambling. She'd quit when she lost the hundred bucks."
"You-you sadist!" Again, Betty Aronson stamped her foot and once again her gorgeous breasts bounced and jiggled in the most fascinating way. "I was money ahead when I started. And if I could have gone on, I'll bet I could have won that money back."
"Every gambler since the beginning of time has used that line, Princess," he said disgustedly. "Take your loss like a man, the way you'd take your winnings. If you'd taken me for four grand, I'd have paid up, and if I couldn't have paid up, I'd have scouted around and raised some."
"If you knew all that about me, then you just went ahead and trapped me. You're a filthy criminal, blackmailer, and a dirty kidnapper and a brute besides!" She cried out at him, and tears began to run down her cheeks at the frustration and the humiliation standing here like this naked, her bottom still burning from that atrocious spanking, while he continued to smirk at her. If she had had a weapon in her hands, Dave Gaspar's days would have been terminated on the spot.
But it amused him to keep her in conversation like this and precisely to humiliate her because of her arrogance. Also because of her tremendous desirability: his cock was nearly bursting now, and it stood out boldly, pointing at her as a kind of augury of doom for her virgin cunt.
"I'll let you in on a kind of secret, Princess," he told her as he took a few steps towards her, his prick bobbing every step of the way. She glanced at him, and her blushes deepened, if that were possible. She bit her lips and continued to press both fists against her furry crotch. "Maybe, if you'd been civil to me on that plane, I would have even writ ten off this four grand. I could lose that much in a couple of hours and make it back the next couple. I've got a payroll that's practically that much every week, anyway. Besides, it gave me a kick to see you try to take the house on the bluff of just having a hundred bucks in your purse and a big account back home, because you were just a stranger down here taken on tolerance. Suppose I went up to New York and walked into one of your key clubs and said who I was and told everybody I had a big night club here that was grossing about forty grand a week? I suppose you think the key club owner would have let me go on losing that much just on the strength of my say-so."
"But you deliberately tricked me!"
"Not deliberately. And you could have won. Like you say, you were ahead at one time. There's one thing I can tell you for certain, Princess, I've got an honest casino. A couple of years ago one of my smart dealers thought he'd make himself a little extra and split it with a shill-I suppose you know what that means. I caught up with him, and my bouncer Dan beat holy hell out of him before I sent him down to the police station to prefer charges of theft. He's doing five to ten right now in the State Penitentiary. No, you may hate my guts, but when it comes to my business, I run a straight deck. I've got to to be able to operate."
"You mean-you-you'd actually call my boss and that company?"
"I sure would, Princess."
She bit her lower lip almost to the blood. Her bluff had been called now, and she found herself in a mental whirl, all her cunning and selfish arrogance proving to be useless weapons against this inscrutable man.
He pursued: "So that's the ticket, Princess. Yes, the real idea behind all this is to teach you a much-needed lesson. Just being courteous on that plane made all the difference. You can tell yourself that if you hadn't flared up and insulted me-because there are ways of saying no to a guy which leave him with little pride left, and when you get right down to it, a pretty girl isn't really being insulted because a guy happens to like her-you'd be walking out of here right now with your clothes on and I might even tear up the tab and write it off to experience. I'll tell you something else, just to make sure you learn that lesson. When you were starting to go ahead there, a lot of my regulars backed you and they plunged. Probably because you've got such a gorgeous face and figure, and we don't see stuff like you very often in the casino. So even if I had torn up the tab, I'd have got it back from my other customers. And that's it, Princess."
"Oh God!" she cried out in a choking voice, not knowing what to do. She had played her last trump card, and now it was time to pay up.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He chuckled over her predicament. "It would be worth the money, just to call your boss at the head of that cosmetic company whose stuff you're pushing and tell him that you behaved in such an unlady-like way after losing four grand that I had to paddle your ass like I would a child that loses its temper."
"OHHH!!"
"Well, now you've got the whole picture. Do you still want to put your clothes back on and walk out of here? Or are you going to show guts for the first time in your life and take your medicine and learn your lesson? What's it going to be, Princess?"
Her senses were reeling. She groped through the fog of her mind, trying to find some answer. Every fibre of her being abominated him. Her flesh crawled at being on display like this and lectured in a most sarcastic and viciously sadistic way, and of the utter contempt he had for her as an individual by standing there showing himself off like a pervert.
Finally, in a trembling, scared little voice, she faltered, "I-I'm a virgin."
"Hell, didn't you think I could guess that from the way you acted towards me? I told you, Princess, you act just like a born prick-teaser, and prickteasers are always virgins. So far and no farther. Why, hell, even if you were dating a nice decent guy, you'd probably work him up to a frazzle until his cock stuck out like mine right now, and then you'd shake your pretty head and say, 'What kind of a girl do yo take me for, anyhow?' and send him to go home and beat meat. I'll bet you're real proud of the fact that here you are a gorgeous dish and never been laid, and you wiggled your saucy ass down the hall in that advertising agency of yours in New York and give half the guys there a perpetual hard-on, and you know it all the time and you glory in it, don't you?"
A wave of scarlet humiliation flooded her temples and throat, even her earlobes. Because his accusation was unerringly true, and she knew he knew it. "It-it's none of your business. Does every girl have to go to bed with you, just because you want her to? That's the selfishness of the male animal every time. Is it any wonder that I don't care for the species, or you particularly?"
"No, but every girl has the right to decide when she wants to screw or not. Or at least, if she doesn't want to at all, it's sort of fair play to let a guy know he's never going to get to first base. But you will let him get to third base, and then you'll cut home plate off and call a foul. That's what I can't stand in any woman. You flaunt your sex appeal till a guy's bursting with gism, and you do it just as deliberately as I'm making you stand here and square off with me. Now I'll tell you something about little Connie, the girl who brought you your drink."
"I don't want to listen to you anymore! For God's sake, I said all right. Get it over with."
"Now wait a minute, Princess," he laughed. "You're forgetting that the deal was for a week in lieu of four grand. One good fuck isn't going to wipe it out. No bitch on earth is worth that much for a single piece, and that's giving you full credit for what you've got to offer, which I will admit is plenty. You can see from my cock that I'm not exactly disinterested in what you're trying to cover up with your hands."
"OHHHHH!!! FOR GOD'S SAKE, DO YOU HAVE TO TALK SO FILTHY TO ME?" she screamed at him.
"I sure do, Princess, because it's like a cold shower to wake you up out of that nice warm snug little selfish world you've been living in all your life. Now to get back to Connie. She's twenty-three. She's been working for me for three years. When she came here, I naturally made a friendly pass at her, but that's par for the course everywhere. She just laughed and told me that I was a smooth operator, but she came here to work because she needed the dough. Now you think she's just a cheap little tramp, don't you? Well, she's been supporting herself since she was sixteen, slinging hash, working at the five and dime, because her old man ran out on her mother and her mother took to drink and died. She's an only child, too. But she won't take a penny of help from anybody. She walked in here and asked for a job as a cocktail waitress. So I put her on and she turned out to be the best moneymaker I've got, apart from my little gambling room. So once she told me what the score was, I laid off. Then about six months ago, she asked to see me after hours, and she came in and said that she was a virgin too, just the way you tell me you are, but that I'd been awfully decent to her and she wanted to find out what it was all about."
"Big deal!" Betty Aronson tearfully sneered. "She fell for your manly charm. Well I never will, even if I were on a desert island with you for all eternity. Just because you're a man you've got that ugly thing sticking out at me and I suppose you think you're irresistible."
"You said that, not me, and I told Connie that I wasn't going to bang her just so she could go around thinking she'd paid her debt of gratitude. You see, I've got a few principles too, but you might not believe it, Princess. So then Connie said, well, forget the gratitude then, and just look at it that she wanted to get banged as an experiment and I was the only guy she could trust to do the job and not take advantage of her."
"How very touching!" Betty sneered.
"Well, we hit it off from the start. So we've been sweethearts ever since then, except that tonight Connie came to tell me that she's going to get herself engaged next month and there'll be no pussy after she quits her job here in two weeks. We've both got quite a yen for each other and it's a good thing going, but the minute she gets married, she's Mrs. Fred Rhymers and she's out of my league. I just thought I'd tell you that little case history, Princess, to convince you that I don't go around leching for everything in sight. Don't you think that if I were really a blackmailer I could make Connie visit me on the sly after she gets married by threatening to tip off her boyfriend, who hasn't the slightest idea that she's anything but a good girl?"
"You're disgusting. Now you're even bragging.
You're the sort of man who'd make love to his wife and tell her about the secretary he'd gone to bed with on his lunch hour."
"You're quite a dish, Princess, and you've got a nice alert mind as well as a gorgeous body. But I'm getting rather tired of talking, as I suppose you are. And you still haven't answered the question, are you ready to be fucked and are you ready to ask me to do it to you and are you also aware of the fact that we've got a time limit on this thing?"
"I think I'd rather get this over with than listen to your disgusting conversation, Mr. Gaspar."
"I feel the same way, as you can tell by looking at my cock. All right, Betty honey, ask me to take your cherry."
"Take it and stop talking like that, you pig!"
He laughed as he took a few steps forward and grasped her by the shoulders. She shuddered and caught her breath, her eyes suddenly enormous with terror. This momentary bravado had fled now, and Betty Aronson was scared. Her bottom throbbed and ached frightfully, and she actually had had the secret hope that by facing him bravely and arguing with him, she might have overcome his loathesome desire of her. Now she knew it hadn't worked at all. And she also knew that he was quite capable of telephoning not only her boss but also Mr. Boming of Cristo-Clear.
She closed her eyes and compressed her lips, trying to be impervious to what was going to happen. She felt his hands go round her, caress her back, then move down to her enflamed bare bottom. "Ohh!" she faintly gasped.
"I'll say just one last thing. You don't have to worry about getting a baby, Princess. I'm that considerate anyhow. Not that I wouldn't like to make one and find out what our combination would turn out to be like, but so far I haven't sired any little bastards that I know of and I'm not going to start with you."
"Thank you so much," she groaned in her warning effort to keep from breaking down entirely. Now she knew what it was, now after these years at the agency when she had felt the eyes of all those men on her, looking at her, mentally undressing her, fondling her and caressing her, and she had shivered with a kind of fearful delight, now she knew. His fingers were on her bottom, stroking the cringing and twitching flesh which was still warm from the spanking.
"The first time, Princess," he muttered into her ear as he pressed his cock against her lower belly, making her shudder and groan and try to squirm away, "I'll try to make a quick one. It usually isn't too thrilling for a girl, especially one like you who hates my guts and all men anyway. But it's got to be done. So just don't fight me too much this time because it isn't going to be any fun for me either."
"You're so considerate-ohhhh!" she started convulsively as she felt his prick rub against the furry curls of her snatch. His fingers now grasped her by the upper hips, pressing her against him, and she kept her eyes desperately closed to hide his smirking face. "Ask me to do it to you, Princess," he whispered. "Go ahead, come down a couple of pegs from that pedestal of yours and show me you've got some guts left."
"Do you have to humiliate me like this? You know perfectly well I can't do anything about it, thanks to your little spy system. I'm naked and I'm helpless and I-I'm asking you to get it over with. PI-please."
"Well, I'll accept that, from you, it's a real royal concession. All right, Betty Aronson. Here we go, the first lesson in how to pay back four grand in a week on your back. Though later," he chuckled, "it won't always be in that position."
So saying, he stopped and lifted her face and ground her teeth together. The muscles of her belly and thighs were twitching and spasming, in repugnance and in fear ... and yet inside of her, unbeknownst to her, a tiny wave of titillating curiosity had begun to exacerbate her nerves.
She felt herself being laid down on the couch. He stooped to take off his shoes, but that was all he removed. This first time, he wanted to emphasize the difference between them; she, the naked and conquered slave-bitch, he the master who took her at his pleasure and his whim.
"Open your legs a little," he instructed. Betty slowly removed her trembling hands from her mount of Venus, and opened her thighs. Her teeth had begun to chatter, and she twisted her face towards the back of the couch, her fingertips pressed down hard into the upholstery at her sides. Then she felt his fingers stroke her pussy, probing through the thick dark auburn fleece to find the palpitating pink lips of her vulva. "Ahhh-oh G-G-God," she breathed, voicing a desperate prayer in this extremity as she came face to face with the awful moment of her maiden loss. It was a token of her fall from grace, her fall from that pedestal which she had built so carefully all these years. Here was this stranger, this disgusting and detestable man, she was about to permit the intimacies she would have had to surrender to a husband and which she had denied so contemptuously to all men until this irrevocable moment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Betty Aronson closed her eyes desperately tight, clenched her fists, and tried to imagine that she was floating in an astral world billions of miles removed from here in Miami on this upholstered couch in the office of the suave, black-haired Dave Gaspar, owner of the nightclub and gambling den which she had so impulsively visited this evening. It would be a costly price to pay for that impulse; four thousand dollars in cash-which he wouldn't allow her to raise-or a week of whoring. And because there had been the terrible risk of being blackballed on her job and with one of the best accounts in New York, she had submitted to this agreement which would forfeit all her privacy and modesty and chastity.
His prick was swollen and red and the lips were twitching, because Dave Gaspar had just about reached the end of his self-control. Staring down at Betty Aronson as she lay stark naked and abandoned on that couch, he could have gone off right then and there just looking at her. Her auburn hair was drawn back into the oval bun at the back of her head, giving her a queenly allure, and he thought to himself that before he had finished with her during this week of cleaning her slate of that four grand, she was going to have to let her hair down literally as well as figuratively. The haughty face, the high-set cheekbones and the twitchingly flaring and shrinking thin wings of her insolent nose as well as the uncontrollable quivering of her small ripe mouth, made him fell all the more that he was a peasant about to ravage a real princess ... maybe that was why he had called her "Princess" so sarcastically, to show the difference between their worlds.
Those magnificent long legs were spread apart, grudgingly, for he could see the muscles flex and ripple and tighten as she lay there. The thick crisp dark auburn curls hid the pink lips of her vulva, that orifice destined now to know the burgeoning emprise of his aching prick. Those lovely thighs were long and yet elegantly rounded, exactly the way he liked a woman's thighs to be, and he could envisage them wrapped tightly around him as he fucked her. There was a dainty wide shallow nook in the middle of her belly, the sweet oasis of her bellybutton, and he put out a forefinger and touched it. Betty Aronson convulsively started, turned her face to the other side, and her magnificent titties rose and fell violently in her apprehension as she gasped out, "Oh get it over with, for God's sake, get it over with!"
"Let's see if you've been putting on an act or not, Princess," he told her. "I've just about diagnosed you as a virgin, but you might just be a good actress. And if you are, and I find that your cherry's missing, Betty girl, you've got a little extra spanking coming for having wasted all this time when I'm ready to burst."
So saying, he traced his finger down her abdomen towards the crisp thicket of pussyhair. She sucked in her breath audibly, tilted back her head, till the cords of her throat stood out in bold relief in her tension. For the first time, a man was about to touch her virgin cunt, to assume over her rights which she had never dreamed that any man would ever have.
He probed through the thick curls, and brushed at last the delicate pink prisms of her cleft. She gnawed at her underlip, her nostrils flaring and shrinking more rapidly now, and his eyes devoured the pear-like globes of those wonderful titties with their dark tips and their broad brownish-coral aurolae, two amorous circles which called attention to the splendid resilience and succulence of Betty Aronson's virgin bubbies.
He could see her toes curl in her agonized suspense, and he deliberately prolonged this ritual, exactly because she had affronted him, slapped him, insulted him, tried to pose as far above his reach, intimated that he belonged in the gutter and might never even dare to raise his eyes to her pedestal.
Now it was between them, man and woman, in a hostile duel n which he intended to win.
His finger moved from the petals of her vulva into the orifice itself and pressed delicately and slowly.
"Ohh-ahh-ohh my G-God!" she moaned feverishly, tears edging under her fluttering eyelids as she fought the urge to run away at any cost. The moment was at hand for Betty Aronson. The moment of infinite degradation, of destruction of self-esteem and of freedom. Now she was the bed-bitch of this Miami nightclub owner, compelled to service him as and how he wished and whenever he wished as well.
What was most embarrassing was that laying on her bottom this way, all the throbbing, burning, aggravated torment of that awful spanking seemed to be restored. She had to squirm uneasily, trying to arch herself a little to ease the torment. And in so doing, she realized only too well what a spectacular and lascivious display she was making of her loins.
"Getting squirmy for it, Princess?" he joked as he pressed a little more. "Maybe I've got you all wrong. Maybe you're just scared of losing your cherry-that is, if you've really got one-and yet at the same time you're just dying to be fucked. Isn't that right, Princess?"
"Do it, do it for the love of God, and finish with me," she moaned.
His finger had now reached a barrier. Betty winced and cried out tearfully, "you-you're hurting me-take your finger out, oh please, you're hurting me!"
"This time, Princess, I'll give you a small apology. I can feel that cherry plain as day. So you weren't just putting me on. And it's a good thing for that tender ass of yours, I might add. Well, since you're a virgin, I'm not going to rush at you like a bull. After all, we're going to have to get along for a whole week of fucking, and I want you to be reasonably comfortable, because I'll enjoy it more that way, speaking selfishly."
"Do you ever speak any other way, you-you hateful man!" Betty sobbed. She was about ready to break down again. She was like a girl in the dentist's chair told or the first time that she was going to have a tooth pulled, and imagining all sorts of hideous agonies in store for her. But now it was not only the physical pain she dreaded, it was the m shameful abandon of her privacy, her person, her very ethos, because she felt that if Dave Gaspar fucked her and took her maidenhead, she would never be the same again.
She was, of course, indubitably right about that. This week in Miami was going to transform Betty Aronson from a haughty, selfish, overbearing career girl into a humbled and much more appreciative and considerate female who at last realized that her charms weren't made to be kept on ice or just to tease men into a prick-hardening state.
"Don't make me get mad at you again, Princess. As I started to say, I'm afraid it's going to hurt just a little bit because I'll have to break through that cherry of yours. And I'll also have to be rather considerate so that you don't suffer too much. So just let me operate my own way, because you don't know anything about this. And as I told you before, you're not going to get a baby from it. Don't fight it, relax. Maybe you'll even get to enjoy it!"
"I'd rather be dead!" Betty Aronson groaned as she twisted her face to the back of the couch and once again clenched her fists and steeled herself for the ordeal.
"That went out about the time of Queen Victoria, that business of a fate worse than death," he chuckled. He had to clap his other hand over his cock now to keep the lips from jetting out their load of gism, because the sight of Betty laying there tightly stiffened and stark naked, with that beautiful haughty face of her congealed and stained with tears and flushed, and those magnificent bubbies of hers rising up and down in rapid and erratic cadence, had almost unmanned him.
He reached to the other end of the cushion now and with his right hand took up a cushion, and told her gruffly, "Raise your ass up a little, Princess, I'm going to slip a cushion under that sore backside of yours. It'll take away some of the pain."
Mutely she raised her loins, and it seemed as if she was wantonly offering him her cunt and all its secret treasures and hot enclaspment. His prick throbbed in his hand like a bird trying to escape. He could feel his bubbling spunk smoldering in the cauldron of carnal rut, and it was at the brink and threatening to flood the promises. He closed his eyes and groaned and clenched his teeth, and managed to avert the disaster. All he would have to do was prove impotent the first time he fucked Betty Aronson and she, not he, would have the last laugh. And that wasn't going to happen.
She sank down against the pillow, with a gasp, but had to admit to herself that it was slightly better this way. The heat in her bottom was just killing her, it was making her terribly uncomfortable, and the worst of it all was that it was making her squirm and twitch about as if she really wanted him to give it to her. And she was dying of shame, and her face was scarlet with humiliation to think that he might think just that.
Now she felt him fingering the lips of her pussy, tickling the rims of her vulva gently, and the slow and subtle sensation began to take hold in her feminine nucleus. Her nostrils dilated and shrank even more quickly now, and the tips of her nipples had hardened, because, though she didn't know it, she was undergoing her first sexual arousal!
Then suddenly she felt an electric shock pervade her system, and her belly jerked upwards, and her thighs clenched tightly, and she half-raised her head as her eyes opened with incredulous questioning, and she gasped, "What are you doing to me-oooh, oh what are you doing to me-"
"Lay back and take it easy, Princess. I'm frigging your little button, that's all. That's the key to your whole nervous system, in case you didn't know it. My God, twenty-five years old and you don't know what your clitoris is. I can see I'm going to have to be the teacher as well as the taker in this little arrangement of ours," he joked. He put his left hand against one of her titties and forced her back down, while his right forefinger resumed the titillation of her love-button. Her face began to turn this way and that, the muscles tightening, her nostrils flaring and shrinking wildly, and her lips were twisted as she tried to suppress the gasps and moans and whimpers that exuded from her throat. Her left knee bent in the air, and then her leg stretched out again, and then her thighs clenched tightly, and then nervously yawned apart. Dave Gaspar felt himself boiling over with furious lust as he witnessed all this taking place in her tawny-sheened naked body.
He saw her toes wriggling and twisting and curling, and he knew that by now she was being excited despite all her revulsion and her hatred of him. The time had come. He felt the sweet sticky-creamy-viscous seepage of her love juices come to lubricate her virgin quim, a further indication that Mother Nature had taken over just where Betty Aronson's squeamishness and prudery left off.
"Get ready now Princess, I'm going to fuck you.
It may hurt a little at first, but just grit your teeth and bear it, and it'll be over as fast as I can do it," he advised her.
Still fully clad except for his shoes, his prick gigantically emerging out of the fly of his trousers, Dave Gaspar knelt down on the couch between Betty Aronson's shaking tawny-satiny thighs. He reached out to cup and fondle her titties, and she gasped, and her eye opened for a moment and she faced him, and then a wave of furious and violent crimson stained her cheeks and temples and throat as she swiftly turned her face towards the back of the couch and closed her eyes as tightly as she could. Her fingers had dug into the upholstery of the couch like talons, to give herself leverage and support against the oncoming disaster and the pain which he had foretold.
Then suddenly she felt the hot throbbing head of his prick rub against the tangled silky curls of her cunthole, and she whimpered incoherently. The muscles in her thighs raced and rippled under the smooth bare skin. Her bottom arched nervously a little from the pillow under it, then sank back again, and she groaned as she felt his meatus seeking out the aperture of her cleft.
"Don't-don't h-hurt me too much, please don't," she whispered abjectly. He grinned. It was a good sign. She was coming down off her pedestal. She was coming down to face elemental facts, and discover that the world was round and that prick plus cunt added up to a basic and elemental sum.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
His hands were still on her titties, massaging them and squeezing them, as he bent his face down to stare at her to see how she was taking it. His prick was just engaged inside the twitching lips of her vulva, and it was all he could do to hold himself back from bursting all his see into that tantalizingly warm, moist, narrow confinement which was her tender virgin cunthole.
He had to find out just how resilient and thick her hymen was, and it might hurt a little, he knew. Not that he felt any more tender towards her, but at least the uppity bitch was resigning herself and that was going to be a great help in getting over the worst of the bargain. Oh, she'd earn that four thousand all right before she was done. But if the unexpected happen, the miracle of conversion, then maybe she would even get some pleasure out of it all and that in turn would make her a much more passionate piece for screwing ... and the other little variations which he had in mind for her in making her debut as a whore.
"Get set now," he warned her.
"Y-yes, oh, make it quick, get it over with in a hurry, please, please!" she panted.
He felt the entire head of his prick inserted just inside the inner labia of her cunthole. He set his teeth, and shoved vigorously. Betty Aronson's knees went up in the air, and then her legs flat tened and then clenched, as her head rose up and her eyes stared into his face, dilated and glassy with pain and shame and fear: "Owwww! That does hurt!" she wailed reproachfully.
"I told you it might hurt a little. You've got to get it, and there's no use putting it off. The sooner you get over your hymen, the sooner we can really fuck," he said brutally, because he wanted her to be so distracted with anger and indignation that she wouldn't have time for the customary sentimental tears over her virgin loss.
Now he thrust himself again, but the hymen was tighter than he had believed at first, and again she wailed and wriggled. Her nails clawed at his shoulders, and again her head rose from the couch: "Ohh, it hurts too much, I can't stand it, oh please don't!"
"You've got to! We'd only have to try again later, and you don't gain anything by putting it off. Just grit your teeth and try not to think about it," he urged.
Even as she slightly relaxed and prepared herself again for the onslaught, Dave Gaspar drew himself back and with a savage lunge, penetrated through the barrier to bliss. He felt the hymen shatter and give way, felt his bulging prick pry through its tight membraneous obstinacy, and then he was lodged up to the balls inside her narrow, quaking cunt.
Her shriek was deafening, and it was a good thing that his office was soundproofed. She had flung her arms around him, but now with her palms she was trying to repel him, to push him off her. Her knees had risen up wildly, yawned far to each side, then clenched against his body which was now laying mounted over hers. He felt himself imbedded to the hilt, and he felt the walls of her womb clash and nip and kiss and clutch at him, and it was so thrilling that it was almost as if she was beginning to like it.
"It's over now, Betty," he told her thickly, his hands under her shoulder blades, while she struggled and squirmed, tears running down her cheeks. "The pain will wear off pretty soon. Now you're a woman at last. And then we'll find out just how good a woman you are. Maybe five thousand dollars' worth, eh?"
"Oh, take it out of me, it hurts, you've torn me, I know I'm bleeding , oh my God, please, please!" she wailed.
He didn't care about his suit or the couch. In fact, if the stains lasted on that upholstery, they would remind him of his triumph over the New York career girl, his bringing her down from that pedestal to this finite destiny of hers.
But the feeling of her cuntwalls clamping and clutching against his in spasmodic contractions, as if this secret channel of hers was lusting for his frictional possession of all its secret recesses, almost made him lose his gism. Grinding his teeth, he suddenly pulled out, just in the nick of time.
His prick was bloodied, and he could see the red stain on her dark pussy curls, as well as on the tawny smooth flesh of her inner thighs. There was a stain on the couch, all right, but it would be a symbol of an austere and rebellious prick-teaser brought at last to the moment of truth.
He got off the couch and hurried to the bathroom adjoining his private office, and came back with two towels dipped into cold water. He put one under her bottom and loins, and with the other he began to sponge her delicately. She moaned and sobbed, and covered her face with her hands, her legs still sprawled, her body shaking convulsively. She opened her eyes once during the operation, saw his bloodied cock which was still stiff and frenzied, and she uttered a long groan and twisted her face away and again covered it with her hands. Her naked titties rose and fell violently now, and their turbulence spoke of her emotional distress. Now she knew that it was irrevocable, she knew that the damage had been done. And psychologically, there grew in her, without her yet knowing it, the realization that since it was thus, all she could hope for was to propitiate him and surrender and thus salvage some little honor by wiping out her debt.
Now he sponged himself, and then told her to sit up and keep her bottom on the towel which was over the pillow. He went to his private liquor cabinet, uncorked a bottle of twelve-year-old scotch, poured a generous jigger, and brought it to her. "Drink this down right away. Then you can go into the John and freshen up, and then we'll fool around a little."
"Oh,-please-please, Mr. G-Gaspar, not anymore tonight ... I-I don't want to-please be kind to me-after this, how can you-how can you want me anymore?"
"For a sophisticated advertising woman, you've got the emotional and intellectual outlook of a twelve-year-old when it comes to fucking, Prin cess," he told her laughingly. "Here, I'll help you up." He reached down for one of her wrists, and helped her to her feet. Betty Aronson stumbled against him, and uttered a sobbing cry, then buried her face against his chest and began to weep. Awkwardly, his hands gripped her by the side, as he supported her. The feeling of her warm palpitating nakedness excited him all the more, because after all he hadn't come. And his prick was sticking out worthy of Tantalus himself, of feeling his stiff and bulging meatus prod against her quivering naked belly.
He put his left arm around her waist, and his right hand gently soothed her still inflamed and smarting bottom cheeks. He shuddered, because even though he had nothing but contempt for a prick teaser, she wasn't that anymore. She had gone through with it, after all her rebellion, her furious revulsion, her insults and even her slap. She'd paid a dearer price for her hostility to him than any other woman he'd ever known, and he found himself wavering just a bit on the side of compassion. But he realized that to show that weakness now would be to destroy all the clever plan he had suddenly improvised when Betty Aronson had turned up short of four thousand dollars and no way of getting it to him before the nightclub closed. He hadn't even been sure, at the last moment, that he could have bluffed her into yielding as she did. After all, what he was doing was criminal and immoral, and he was practically abducting and kidnapping and coercing her into committing immoral acts. And yet in her terror, because the fear of having her gambling mania reported back to New York was even more of a Damoclean sword than the shocking knowledge that she must give her body to a stranger for the first time, he had been able to be the first man who had ever known the sweet tightness of Betty Aronson's cuntwalls.
No, since he had achieved this much by acting out the part of a gangster who wouldn't take no for an answer, he might as well be hanged for a wolf as for a lamb. What he wanted was to make Betty Aronson wriggle and gasp and give up all her love juice under the driving thrust of his digging prick. He wanted her to claw at him, not in revulsion, but in the throes of rhapsodic ecstasy, and he wanted to see those eyes of hers grow big and huge and glazed with passionate response. He wanted to feel those nipples of hers cuddling against his palms and scraping his flesh with their thrilling promise of lustful acquiescence. He wanted to feel her gorgeous ass squeezed by his hands as he rode her and steered her and guided her to a fucking fare-thee-well. He wanted to be her master and her tyrant, but he also wanted to be her lover. He knew that she was at the crisis now, at the very crossroads of her entire life. And he wanted to be the one who would profit from this.
"Okay," he said roughly, "that's enough. Get into the bathroom and fix yourself up and then get back out here. If your bottom still hurts, you can put a cold towel on it and rub just a little cold-cream, but be sure it's dry. You've already ruined my best couch."
She suddenly drew away from him, shocked by his coarseness, and she stared at him with her mouth agape, and then she turned and practically ran into the bathroom with a sob, slamming the door behind her. He grinned crookedly, and lit a cigarette. Glancing down at his trousers, he saw that the fly was splotched with her virgin blood, as if he were the high priest upon an Inca alter, with his prick the terrible sword that took her virgin blood as sacrifice. Impulsively, he took off his trousers, and then his shirt, and stood in his undershirt and shorts and socks. He was hairy and sinewy, and tanned from the sun, with sleek black hair, and a sensual mouth. Now he looked like a satyr, with his shorts unbuttoned and his sill stiff cock boldly and rampantly pointed in her direction. There might be a bathroom door between her cunt and his prick, but it wouldn't be there for long. God, how tight her pussy was! It had been all he could do to keep the spunk from flooding her when he had got himself up to the balls inside that clamping channel way.
Again on impulse, he tore off his undershirt, and his sturdy, hairy chest appeared. There was no doubt that Dave Gaspar was completely masculine in every detail. And he relied on this as shock treatment for Betty Aronson's expected aftermath of tears and revulsion, when she really discovered that she was no longer cherry.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He went over to his miniature bar and poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon. He found he had to open the special liquor cabinet next to the bar to refill the decanter of Scotch. Connie had been slipping the last day or two in taking care of his private stock. He was going to call her to accounting. What Betty Aronson didn't know was that while it was true that Connie was going to get engaged and married and leave Dave Gaspar's employ, she was as passionately eager to be loved and even occasionally to be spanked before loving as any masochistic slavegirl. In fact, there were times when Dave Gaspar had been interested in other girls outside his nightclub, and had found himself a little embarrassed because Connie was randy as hell and had come up to his office to beg him to give her a quick bang and maybe spank her for the privilege. Well, Connie was going to get her two-in-one entertainment. It would furnish an excellent pretext for helping Betty Aronson along with her training.
The bathroom door at last opened and Betty emerged, her eyes red and swollen from a fit of crying. Just as he had supposed, the realization that she was no longer unattainable cherry had devastated her ego. Well, that was good for her. And she had a towel wrapped around her middle. That would have to be dispensed with.
Later on, when she had finally resigned herself to what she was going to have to do to pay off the four grand, he would show Betty that you can get a man wildly excited in a bra and pants outfit or a tight sheer slip and highheeled shoes. But for now, since he was taking everything she had to offer, he didn't mind the least bit her being stark naked.
When she saw him only in his shorts and with his stiff prick sticking out his fly, she drew back with a startled cry, glancing first at it and then at his face. "Ohh-you-you-" she spluttered.
"I was just getting myself nice and comfortable, that's all. Did you actually think that your first night as my whore, as my four-thousand-dollar fucking companion, was over so soon?" he jeered at her. He had resolved to take a hard and unrelenting line with her all the way through. Until, of course, she showed hitherto unknown depths of not only told her bluntly. "I'm not the least bit sorry I whacked your bare ass, because you had it coming, accepting her lot but actually showing some interest in it.
"I-I don't feel too well-all that's happened so far-and you-you punished me so hard."
"Don't start feeling sorry for yourself now," he told her bluntly. "I'm not the least bit sorry I whacked your bare ass, because you had it coming. If you'd been a man, I'd have broken your jaw, for the names you called me and the nice slap in the face you gave me. Get me? You're lucky to get off the way you did. But now that your cherry is gone, you'll be able to fuck properly. Come over here to the couch and let's get better acquainted."
"Please-please don't."
"I'm not going to make you, Princess. I've done with shoving you around just to get over the first points of the program. You ought to have absorbed them by now. You're a smart advertising girl, I'm told. Well, start showing it. Or would you rather have me call your agency? I could even tell them you offered yourself to me so I'd cancel the debt ... which would be the truth."
"You-you despicable, low, filthy bastard!"
"Careful, or Daddy spank again and real hard this time," he warned, shaking his forefinger at her. Then he sat down on the couch and patted his lap.
"You-you're just vile, that's all."
"I'm just healthy, that's all," he corrected her. "Get your ass over here on my lap, otherwise you'll wind up turning it up for a belting."
She slowly approached the couch. Her eyes were downcast, her lips twisted and compressed, and her titties were rising and falling very rapidly now.
"You can drop the towel. You're not going to use it, you know. I have a big stiff cock, but it's not able to pierce a Turkish towel. I'm not exactly Superman, you know. And you aren't Superwoman, either. Drop it, I tell you!" His voice cracked like a whip at this command.
Startled, Betty Aronson uttered a gasp and did as he had told her. The towel fell in a white swath at her bare feet, and she looked for a moment like Venus Aphrodite rising out of the waves. But instantly she clapped her palm over her pussy and crossed her other arm over her titties in the classical picture of "September Morn."
"You're just a little late for that sort of modesty, Princess. Don't forget I've just put my cock into your cunt and I've broken your cherry," he said coarsely. "I know everything you've got and now I'm going to show you what to do with it. Come over here and sit down on my lap."
"Please-please be decent to me."
"I'll be as decent as you are, Princess. Now let's show some action. Did you finish your drink? No, you left at least half. Go back to the bar, get it and finish it, then come sit down. That's an order!"
"That's all you ever give your women, isn't it, Mr. Gaspar? Filthy, disgusting, humiliating orders. I don't know why one of them hasn't shot you yet, because you certainly deserve it.'"
"Maybe I've got something they want," he quipped. "You heard me. Move."
Rebelliously she strolled slowly to the bar, took up her half-empty jigger of Scotch and gulped it down. Then she spluttered and coughed. She was a wine drinker, but hard liquor usually affected her this way. He laughed uproariously and slapped his thigh: "So you're twenty-five, are you? Can't even drink liquor right, and you certainly don't know how to act when you're alone with a man. What did you learn at school, Miss Aronson?"
"A lot of things you've never heard the meaning of," she flashed at him.
"I'll bet you're right. But that's beside the point. We're talking about you and me now. Finish that drink-that's better. Now hustle your sweet ass over here and sit down and put your arms around my neck and let's cuddle."
Betty Aronson ground her teeth and for a moment looked as if she might revolt. But she looked in the direction of the discarded belt for a moment, and when she saw in what direction his eyes were fixing, she gulped and hurried to him. She seated herself very gingerly, favoring her tender, inflamed bottom, and listlessly she encircled her bare arms around his neck, averting her face from him.
He circled her waist with his left hand, put his right hand out to clutch one of her panting titties and to fondle it. He took her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and began to roll it about and to tweak it until he felt it stiffen violently to his touch. Then he bent his head and took the tender lovebud between his lips and began to nuzzle and suck. Betty uttered a little sobbing groan, arched herself on his lap, then tried to push him away with her palm.
His right hand descended to her thigh and began to caress it from knee to thigh, back and forth. It was soothing and titillating, and Betty's eyes fixed on his hand, but she didn't struggle though her body was tense with expectancy of a new assault, for under her bottom she could feel the thrust-back stiff prick demanding satisfaction, yet being frustrated.
"Now give me a nice kiss on the mouth," he directed.
"I don't have to do that. I'll let you do whatever you want, but I don't have to give you anything. You understand, Mr. Gaspar?" she flared.
"That would be a shame, Princess. It's less trying on the nerves when a girl tries to make friends with the guy who's just taken her maidenhead. You'd better try to coax me along into being nice to you, or I'm afraid that ass of yours is going to suffer again and you won't be able to sleep all night long, at least not on your back. Get with it, Betty!"
He could feel her shudder with loathing as she sat uneasily on his lap, and his left arm tightened around her naked waist. His left hand closed over her tender side, just above the hip. His other hand was now stroking the other side from knee to crotch, reveling in the warm satiny twitching and palpitating skin. You could always tell something by a girl's skin when you were giving it to her, Dave Gaspar thought. She showed you, sometimes without wanting to, exactly what was going on inside of her and what made her tick. He had the feeling that he was beginning to reach Betty Aronson and she was going back to her old insulting ways as a matter of form, a defense mechanism, because she was actually beginning to feel something after all this. Well, he wouldn't think much of himself if she remained absolutely impervious to all this.
And the psychology that a girl is somehow always beholden in someway to the first man who ever screwed her was a principle which he knew to be true and basic; even when a man rapes a girl, she never forgets the one who took her cherry. Of course thus far Betty hadn't had any pleasure from it, and deep down inside she hated him for making her do it, but he knew that before she was done she would hate him still more, because out of hate can come love.
"Kiss me on the cheek if you don't want to kiss me on the mouth," he urged, "but do it."
His right hand rose now to one of her titties and began to cup and press and knead it.
Betty Aronson closed her eyes, limply held her arms around his neck and brushed his cheek with her lips. His right thumb and forefinger tightened on her nipple.
"I didn't even feel it. Do it over. You're going to keep on doing something until you've got it right," he told her.
"You-you filthy bully," she groaned. This time she angrily set her mouth against his cheek, but he felt it.
"Spread your legs a little so I can get a look at your pussy," he ordered.
Again he was delighted to see the wave of furious crimson sweep up her cheeks and throat and temples, even to her earlobes. Betty Aronson was one of these prudish little bitches who got a hot wet cunt from naughty words, he was beginning to think. Whenever you saw a girl blush too much or act scandalized or act as if she was wounded to her tender quick when you had used a dirty word, the chances were about eight to five in your favor that she was secretly getting a kick out of it and pretending that she was actually getting what you were talking about without having to go through the ordeal and thus become obtainable.
He put his right forefinger to her bush, and she at once clenched her thighs and glared at him indignantly.
"Oh, for Christ's sake," he said disgustedly, "I told you it's too late now for all this modesty. I know what you're made of. I've been there, remember? Now, before I do anything to you, I've got to see what you look like, and that's in your own best interests, so don't be stupid."
She twisted her face away, closed her eyes, and passively let her legs open. He touched the vulva. It was still slightly inflamed, but the bleeding had stopped. She gasped when she felt his finger on her pussy. He began to tickle it, very lightly, round and round in a circle, from right to left, continuing that sweet circle until he began to feel the pussylips twitch and palpitate to his touch.
She was tense on his lap, for he could feel the muscles of her thighs contracting. She was expecting pain, but there wasn't any. Or if there was, it was just a dull twinge deep down inside of her, but the worst was over.
It had wakened her, and he knew it. He could tell by the way her cuntlips were palpitating and twitching, almost gaping and opening like a flower under the sun to his knowing touch. Connie had been about the same way her first time, although she had been eager for the experiment, as she had put it, in spite of the momentary pain. She had had an even thicker cherry than Betty, for that matter.
"Try to slip to the edge of my lap and open your legs a little more," he directed.
"Oh my God, do I have to give you a show besides all of this? Aren't you satisfied with what you've done to me?" she sobbed. Her nervous reaction proved that she was high-strung, which he knew to start with, but also that she was inwardly undergoing a tremendous reversal of mood and nature and outlook. Because twenty-four hours ago, if Betty Aronson had been told she would let a stranger finger her cunt after giving him her maidenhead, she would have believed him ready for the insane asylum. And yet here she was now, stark naked, on the lap of a man wearing only unbuttoned shorts from which his rigorously swollen prick protruded, kissing him and letting him play with her body.
She closed her eyes again. He chuckled and kept on stroking her cunt. He kept tracing that circle over her vulva lips until she started to shiver and to squirm a little uneasily, because she was afraid she would lose her balance, perched as she was on the edge of his lap. His left arm tightened around her a little, to give her a feeling of security. He took away his right hand to cup one of her titties, then put his mouth on hers unexpectedly and kissed her slowly. She drew her mouth away and gasped: "Don't! Please don't-you-you've got me and I know it, but you don't have to cheapen me and make me think I'm your whore!"
"But you are, Betty. For a whole week. Seven more days and six more nights, remember? We might as well be friends instead of enemies, because it will make it much easier on both of us."
"I wish I could kill you!"
"I know. I wish I could kill you with fucking, but that's too much to hope for the first time. I said to keep those legs open, didn't I?" he suddenly and angrily interposed, because she had abruptly clenched her thighs just as his finger had returned to try to penetrate into her cleft and find that sensitive button of her again.
He cupped her chin and stared angrily into her face: "Now let's have this understood, Betty. I'm getting awfully tired of your whining and your protests, because you're a big girl now. So you've been fucked. So you've lost your cherry. Lots of girls have had that happen to them, and they didn't put up half the fuss you have. Now stop acting like a schoolgirl and get with it, or else I'll call Dan and you'll really have to defend yourself against a dynamo. Dan would like nothing better than to fuck a piece like you, especially seeing you're white. You see, he's a Negro. He came from somewhere down in the swamp where all those Seminoles used to live hundreds of years ago. He's a big brute of a guy, and black as coal. I'd like to see the two of you together."
"You-you monster, you pervert, you-" she drew back one of her hands to slap him, but he intercepted the gesture, grabbed her hand and drew it back until she squealed with pain, tears running down her cheeks.
"You try the just once more, honey, calling me a name like that, and so help me, I will turn you over to him," he said fervently. "Now put those arms around my neck again, keep your legs open and kiss me on the cheek, while I find out how your pussy is right now."
Groaning, defeated again, subtly learning that a man can be the master of the smartest and most sophisticated of woman, Betty Aronson grudgingly obeyed. But her lips did only token homage to his cheek; he could hardly feel the pressure. However, he didn't mind. He was engaged in fingering her pussy, and now he had found her stiffened button, and that was proof that she was really getting more excited than she realized. Her cunt was wet, and it wasn't blood. Her pussy button had stiffened, and it seemed to be larger and harder than ever before to his touch.
"Go into the bathroom and get a tube of vaseline, Princess," he commanded. She rose at once, only too glad to get away from this demeaning nearness to him. He watched the cheeks of her voluptuous bottom jiggle and undulate, and the interesting dark-reddened hue of that luscious posterior against the tawny smoothness of her back and thighs made his prick remind him that he still hadn't given down his load of gism.
When she returned with the tube of vaseline, he told her to kneel down on the floor with her legs spread wide apart and her hands on her lips. Tears sprang to Betty Aronson's eyes at this: "Why are you always trying to shame me so?"
"Because you call for it, the way you still keep trying to play the Little Princess. Get this through your head, Betty, I'm the master for this week. Your boss, your debtor, the guy who's going to try to teach you how to be a woman. You don't play holier than thou with me any more."
Defeated by his unerring strength and candor, Betty Aronson found herself spreading her naked thighs to abandon herself to the will of the man who had first possessed her and given her also her first bare-bottom spanking.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He took the tube of vaseline, opened it, smeared a generous portion on his right forefinger, and then began to rub it on his thick, bulging prick. Betty watched him openmouthed, her face burning with shame at this indecent act. When he stopped he beckoned to her with his greasy forefinger.
"Now crawl over up close, because I'm going to put some of this in your pussy and take away the pain. Also, it'll make it much nicer when we fuck."
"You-you don't mean-oh, you can't-please let me off, just for tonight-oh, please!"
He chuckled. Her answer pleased him infinitely, more than she could guess. Before now, she would have angrily, arrogantly refused. But now she was begging, she was actually implying that she would agree to do it tomorrow if only he would spare her any more tonight. That was a wonderful sign. She could be converted by the right kind of handling.
"Don't let's start that all over again," he said wearily. "I told you I haven't come yet, and I haven't really fucked you. All I did was make it possible for you to be fucked. You don't call it a fuck when a girl's got a cherry so a man can't get deep down inside her cunt, do you?"
She bowed her head and clapped her hands over her face as she burst into heartrending sobs. She had never felt so crushed and defeated in all her life.
"Start moving," he angrily ordered. She began to crawl towards him, jerkily, her titties bouncing with every move. When she was just beyond him, he stopped her. He put his left hand on her neck, stroked it gently, then applied his vaseline-smeared forefinger to the twitching lips of her slightly inflamed cunthole. He worked the viscous substance in thoroughly, and the tickling reiteration of that greasy substance by his finger helped to rouse the deeply hidden waves of desire within her system. A cataclysmic turmoil was now taking place in Betty Aronson's mind. Having gone so far as to surrender her naked person to a strange man, to be brutalized into yielding her virginity, she seemed to sense that her alter-ego was taking over, and that it was actually two people in the room with the nightclub owner: one, agonized and shamed by having to kneel like this, absolutely naked, with her private parts vulnerable to his probing finger. The other, far off in some celestial plane and apart from all this, yet receiving the emanations of physical titillation.
She bit her lips almost to the blood, because his finger was delicately frigging her clitoris now, rubbing it with the vaseline, and she couldn't help suddenly jerking to one side as a fiery twinge ran through her loins.
"Ohhh!" she gasped. She had mistaken the first twinge of lascivious desire that she had ever known for the pain of her lost virginity. But as he studied her face, leaning forward and contemplating her, he understood that, and his prick seemed to vibrate with a newly empowered vitality which must soon have relief. He still had not had his climax.
He began very carefully now, applying more vaseline to his finger, to probe more deeply into her. He entered the vagina, soothing the chafed tissues, with the lubricant. Betty moaned and squirmed incessantly under this persistent friction, but what she found unpleasant was the thought of what he was doing, not the act itself, because long, quivering waves of voluptuous awareness had begun to permeate her cunt.
He could tell that also by the stiffening of her nipples and their darkening, by the way her nostrils flared and shrank to a quicker tempo than ever, by the way her knees bent and stiffened, her hips weaved and jerked, and by the whimpering little sighs that began to escape her instead of the angry, indignant gasps and interrupted words and phrases she had used until now.
"There, now, I think that'll do it, Betty." He got up from the couch, put the cap back on the tube of vaseline and laid it back on the table. Then he took off his shorts and was naked except for socks. Trembling, still on her knees with her legs spread, her fingers twisting and curling, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Again she was struck by the mammoth structure of his prick, the thick forest of pubic hair at the abdomen and the balls, making her wince as she became conscious of the animalism of him, the magnetic and primitive physique of him. She began to find herself thinking more of him as a man than as a hostile tyrant; in a word, she had begun to discover the lesson of the flesh as against that of the spirit and the mind.
"Now you can he down on the couch and get ready, Betty. I'm going to put it into you this time with a rubber on. It won't give me as much pleasure, but that's not important. It'll be easier on you, but I've got to have relief. I suppose you know something of how a man feels when he's fucking a gorgeous girl like you," he said sarcastically.
"No, I wouldn't," she panted as she rose, her bubbies dangling deliciously, and moved to the couch. She flung herself down almost defiantly on her back, forgetting her spanked bottom, but almost immediately was reminded of it by the flaming pains.
"Ouch! Oh, I-I hate you, I hate you, Dave Gaspar!" she groaned.
"You aren't helpless, Princess. Shift that pillow under your ass and get with it," he commanded. He had tuned back to the little table, opened the drawer and took out a packet of prophylactics. He opened it out while Betty Aronson watched with fascinated gaze. Whatever she had learned out of books about fucking ended at about this point, for she had never seen a safe. He turned to one side, adjusting the rubber, drawing it up snugly until it encompassed his rigidity. Then he tuned back to her. At the sight of the snugly coated lance which thrust out at her, she gasped again.
"That's to keep you from getting pregnant, Princess. I told you I was taking specially considerate pains with you. Now get ready. Maybe you won't have any pleasure this time, but you won't have any pain either, or I'll miss my guess. Open those legs a little more!"
He knelt between her thighs as Betty once again turned her face toward the back of the couch, clenched her fists and readied herself for the ordeal.
He wasted no time in preliminaries, but pressed his prickhead against the soft, twitching, pink, moist lips of her cunthole and with a single massive shove inserted himself to the balls.
"AA AAHHHHOWWUUUU!!!"
Her cry was rising, strident; and as he lay over her, mounted upon her and embedded inside of her, he felt her arch and writhe and buck and twist protestingly, pushing at his chest with her palms, digging her base heels into the couch to try to arch herself and unhorse her rider.
"Don't tell me it still hurts, Princess."
"Oh, yes, it's so tender, oh, you're stretching me terribly-oh my God, you've split me open-please take it out-AAAHHH! I can't stand it-oh my God, Mr. Gaspar, let me go, let me go, I'll try to get even more money for you-I don't want you to-let me go-I don't want you to do all this to me-please get off-Ouch-oh, please, please-" She began to fight him now, because it seemed to her that she was being stretched past her capacity to endure it. And the twinging tension of that tender cuntchannel being distended pitilessly by the throbbing breadth and length of his lance offered her whole being a new experience.
He mastered her easily. He was too well planted to be withdrawn, save at his own time. His hands reached under her bottom and squeezed the still-warm cheeks till she moaned with pain.
"Just put your arms and legs around me and hold on tight while we go for a short ride, Princess," He panted. He couldn't hold it back much longer. He had already acted like a superman. Betty's face turned from side to side, her body restlessly quivering and squirming. But she obeyed him. She kept her eyes desperately tightshut, and her lips were compressed to prevent his kissing her. She felt him lunge again, and she was shaken by the vigor of taking her.
"AAAAHHH-oh my G-God-oh, stop, do please stop it now, I don't want you to do it to me, I don't-I don't!" she whimpered.
But Dave Gaspar had thrown compassion to the winds now. All he could feel was the agonizing torture of his over-laden prick and he did not even care that his fingers were digging into the tender flesh of her spanked bottom, making her start and wriggle and writhe. Inexorably and furiously he fucked her. His prick drew back to the very brink of her cunt, lingered a moment, then plunged in again, only to withdraw anew.
She began to gasp and to moan softly, because a seething sensation had crept into her cunt. The distension was still there, and she felt that at any moment her vaginal tissues would be rent asunder. She felt unspeakably stretched and blocked and stuffed up, and her buttocks jerked and undulated as his fingers kept digging into them to hold her to her fate.
He quickened his thrusts. Now Betty became wild with apprehension, for the repeated friction of his ramrod inside her lovehole was becoming devastating. She was beset on all sides by sensations she could not understand: the pain of the laceration of her hymen, the stretching of her cunt by that huge and pitiless object, and now the quivering awareness of him as a man bringing her to the pitch of womanhood.
"Hold on tight now," he ordered. He was ramming and cramming into her now, his hairy bottom tightening and spasming as he jerked back and forth with piston-like thrusts to the balls, the back to the brink of her cunt again. Betty Aronson's eyes were glazed and hugely widened. It was as if she were feeling something she had thought it impossible ever to know. It was as if she were in that astrosphere and suddenly captured by the earthling who had dominated her so masterfully.
Through her chattering teeth, she gasped out, 'O-O-O-stop! You're hurting-please-Mr. Gaspar-I can't stand any more-I'm being torn open what are you doing to me-O-AAHHHHHEOWWW!!!"
At that moment he had suddenly uttered a bellow of lust and suddenly crammmed into her with all his strength, and felt himself explode within her and within the thin rubber sheath which covered his prick. The convulsive jet had its own vibrations which communicated to Betty's cuntflesh. She was terrified by the fearful abandon of his climax. She covered her face with her hands and burst into fitful tears, while he lanquidly pulled out, limp and depleted.
"That wasn't bad at all, Princess. I thought for a minute there you were going to go off yourself, but better luck next time. I'll take the John first, if you don't mind, and then you can take yourself a shower and put on some lipstick and perfume. You'll find a special cabinet just to the left as you go in."
"I-I-I suppose all your girlfriends know about it," she whispered hoarsely.
"Of course they do. You'll know all about these things too, very shortly. After all, you're making considerable progress your first night. So far I'd be willing to knock off about two hundred fifty dollars of your debt."
"Ohh-you-you filthy dog!" she sobbingly, hesitantly cried. She watched him leave her, walking to the bathroom. She buried her face in her hands again and gave vent to all her frustrations. But her body jerked and squirmed all the same, as if his masterful prick were still gouging deep inside her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dave Gaspar didn't tell Betty Aronson, but although he had tasted the exquisite delight of having his cock buried inside her tight and just-unvirgined cunt for only a relatively short time, he had experienced one of the powerful orgasms of his entire career as a cocksmith. Perhaps it was because it was more psychological than physical, because of the divergent contrast in their temperments. Perhaps it was because Betty had flouted herself so tauntingly like a "Can't-Catch-Me, So-There" love-goddess who knows that she is unattainable by any mere mortal. But whatever the reason, as his hands had gripped the inflamed, quivering and undulating cheeks of the auburn-haired career girl's bottom and he had shudderingly given up all his long-restrained seed, he felt a drowsy lassitude of complete satisfaction such as he had never known, except perhaps with Connie, the brunette waitress from the downstairs bar.
Of course he didn't let Betty know the way he felt about her. Strategical maneuvering was always important in every line of endeavor-and especially in fucking. A beautiful woman knew that she was beautiful, and she made herself aloof and untouchable exactly because of that beauty. She dared strange men to look at her, and she glared them down as if rebuking them for their shameless impropriety. It delighted her to see their pricks stiffen in their flies and to know that she had been the cause of it and that they would have absolutely no satisfaction from her ... except, of course, the fantasy of onanism in their lonely beds at night, summoning up her image and pretending that she was there while their hands tremblingly caressed their agonized cocks. In a word, Betty Aronson was the epitome of the contemporary bitch-goddess, the cold and egoistic prototype of prick-teasing. Back in the agency in New York, she had always told herself that she could put a fresh-face down if he even dared look at her or talk to her. But here, within twenty-four short hours, since the morning that she had not even dreamed that she would even visit Dave Gaspar's nightclub, until now, she had discovered that her cold haughtiness and her insolent bravado hadn't put him off at all. She had been absolutely overwhelmed by the directness of his savage attack against her sophisticated mind first, then against her flesh.
That was why he was going to continue to play rough with Betty. He knew it was the only way to break down that glacial snobbery of hers.
And that was why when, after reluctantly cutting short the memorable moments of lying over her after the peak of climax and feeling his bare flesh merge with hers and feeling the twitching and the palpitating, moist, satiny lovely nakedness of her merging to him, he briskly pulled himself out of her and gruffly announced: "I'm done with you tonight, Princess, I'm going to let you off easy the first time. After all, there's lots of times. Seven days and six more nights. Now we've got the problem of finding where you're going to sleep. You can't sleep in my private office, because Henry, the bookkeeper, often comes in here to check the accounts when I'm not around. I'll have to put you up in my own little private apartment, at the back of the second floor. And I'm going to have to lock you in, I'm sorry to say, because there's a little stairway in one of the back rooms that leads to the roof garden. In nice weather, I often go out there and stretch on a deck chair and have myself a long tall cool drink and watch a cute pair of girls play ping pong. Maybe, if you behave yourself, I'll let you do some sunbathing up there. Trouble is, there's a fire escape, and I'm not going to take your word right now that you'd stay here till your time was up."
"You'd better not." Her voice was hoarse and shaky as she slowly sat up with a gasp, shaking her head slowly and dazedly, and then putting her hand quickly over her pussy. "When I get the chance, I'm going to try to get out of here, you can bet on that, Mr. Gaspar!"
"That doesn't disturb me at all, Princess. If you didn't have any spirit at all, I don't think I would have gambled the deal we made. Because, for four grand, a guy can buy about four hundred quick screws if that's all he wants. Chippies, who just do it mechanically, chew gum and look at the ceiling while you're giving it to them. With you, it's different. There's a kind of challenge. Anyway, I think I'll quit philosophizing for the night and find you a room. But I'm warning you, I'm going to lock you into it. That way, too," he gave her a crooked grin, "I'll have you right where and when I want you."
Casually, Dave Gaspar pulled on his trousers and coat, collecting the other garments, slipping into his shoes, and watching his naked love-captive sit up dazedly, shake her head and pass her hand over her forehead, and then utter a deep sigh. The way her titties dangled temptingly, almost made him want to continue in his own bed from where they had just left off. But he wisely realized that he would get much more mileage out of Betty Aronson if he let her have a night of repose during which she and to reflect on what might happen in view of her arrangement to be a whore for a week.
Wanly, she rose and started to retrieve her clothes. She put back on her skirt and blouse, but made no attempt to restore her lingerie. Nor did she put back on her stockings, contenting herself with thrusting her feet into her high-heeled sandals.
"Come along. You better wait a minute till I see if the coast is clear," he said as he warily opened the door to his private office. Fortunately, no one was around, for which Betty Aronson was secretly grateful. At that, her face was scarlet as she emerged from Dave Gaspar's private office and, glancing back at the couch, realized that that was where her virginity had been sacrificed, and that now, after crossing the threshold, she was a fullfl-edged woman, whereas before, she had been totally innocent of the male.
He led her down the hall and then, at its end, she saw a narrow doorway with a lock. He thrust his hand into his coat pocket, produced a set of keys, fitted one into the lock and turned the knob. There was a small stairway which wound up to the third floor, and she followed him. He closed the door, which automatically locked it from the inside, and let her go ahead of him. He had always had a yen for looking up stairways and seeing girls ascend. And this time, since Betty wore neither stockings nor panties, he could see the bare bottom and the red marks of his belt and his hand still quite vividly imprinted on that lucsious posterior.
He could see also the curly fleece between her naked thighs and his prick throbbed with a happy reminiscence as he recalled the thrilling constriction of her virgin cunt as it succumbed to his vigorous siege.
His suite consisted of a living room, a large master bedroom with a huge double bed, a modern electric kitchen, a little dining room which could also serve as a conference room or study, two bathrooms and guest room. The stairway to the roof which he had mentioned was in the guest room. It was at the far back of the suite. On the other side of this top floor were storage rooms where the nightclub's supplies like glasses, linen service, silverware, kitchen utensils and the like were kept.
"I think I'll have to let you sleep in the dining room, Betty," he finally decided. "There's a couch in here, and it's pretty comfortable, though its pretty narrow. The weather's nice and warm and I've got air-conditioning here which I can set with a thermostat. There aren't any windows, and I can lock both doors, so that you can't get out. I'll say good night to you, and I'll look forward to having breakfast with you in the morning. No hard feelings?" He put out his hand, but Betty Aronson only shuddered, looked away and her face turned a fiery red.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. At least you're frank about it. By the way, I think you're a pretty attractive girl, and you'd be more attractive if you didn't have that sulky frown and that defensive act of yours all the time. Just a hint, Princess, to make you more beautiful."
"Look, Mr. Gaspar, I've agreed to go through with this blackmailing scheme of yours. I think the less we say to each other the better. I just don't want to be reminded that I have to give in to you. I'll do what you want, because I can't fight you off, and I don't dare let you blackmail me in New York, but as I'm concerned I'm going to keep my eyes shut and pretend it isn't happening. The only thing I'm sorry about is that you'll remember me when I'm gone and that you can tell all your low-life friends that you had me. That I can't stop. But I can certainly stop your getting any satisfaction out of me."
"That's a very pretty speech, Princess. Why don't you sleep on it. Just to give you a hint, I might come knocking at your door rather early in the morning."
"What-what do you mean?" She stepped back, her eyes widening in alarm.
"Just what I said, Betty. You are here to earn that four grand, and during the time we bargained for, you'll be at my beck and call, whenever I feel horny. I very often wake up with a hard-on, and I'll expect you to satisfy me. Now good night. Get some sleep. There's a little bathroom behind that small door. Use it if you need to. And don't get any ideas about trying to escape, because it doesn't have any windows either. See you in the morning."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Before she could answer him, he had closed the door in her face and she heard the turn of the key in the lock. She ran to the other side of the room, but found that door locked also. Now she realized that at least until the next morning, she was going to be kept shut up like a prisoner ... like a whore whose only obligations would be to service her clients. Then for the first time, perhaps, the full awareness of her situation burst upon her consciousness. She crumpled down on the couch, leaned forward, her face in her hands, and gave vent to a fit of hysterical sobbing. Dave Gaspar paid no heed to this. He had expected it. He went back to the big bedroom, calmly undressed, took a shower, towelled himself energetically, put on some shaving lotion and some body talc, and flung himself on the huge, wide double bed without either pajamas on or a care in the world, and fell promptly asleep.
At about six-thirty in the morning he wakened, looked around, stretched and yawned. He saw his key ring on the little night-table beside the bed, and then he grinned. Why not? After all, he had bought and paid for Betty Aronson, and she was his pussy for all of a week, no matter what time the mood seized him. And right now, glancing down at his hairy, sinewy thighs, he observed that he had had a tremendous erection.
He couldn't recall Betty running through his dreams, however, but the thought of her right now when he looked at his prick was enough to remind him that all he had to do was open her door and go in there and fuck her.
He went to the bathroom and showered quickly, but didn't shave. The stubble from the day before was bristley and scratchy, and he grinned again. He was going to rub his cheek and chin over Betty's titties, and even if she were asleep, that was sure to wake her up.
He put on a rubber, smoothing it all over his bulging, throbbing prick, took the key ring and approached the door, unlocked it noiselessly, and slipped in quietly, turning the key in the lock behind him and hiding the key ring under an open magazine which lay on the table which was used when he and his associates were in session for a business meeting.
Then he stood spellbound as he stared down at the couch on which Betty Aronson lay. She had taken off her blouse, because evidently the air conditioning hadn't been working too well in this particular room. He swore under his breath when he went over to the thermostat and noticed that something was defective. The room was rather stifling. The poor kid, he thought. Then his face hardened as he remembered all the insults and the slap. She was going to have to learn that a person couldn't go around insulting others and get away scot free, not in this life anyway. But the sight of her half-nakedness excited him tremendously. Those magnificent bubbies of hers, those hard, firm thrusting pears, with their bright coral nipples and brownish-coral circles round them, framing those sweet love-tid bits, and then the skirt which was rumpled and whose hems pulled up just above her dimpled knees, exposing those wonderfully sinuous, tawny-sheened calves of hers. And he could see how the skirt shaped out over her cunt. It was more prominently placed than he had realized. It was practically offering itself. She lay on her back, one arm over her head, the other flung over the back of the couch. She seemed to be restless, for her thighs rubbed together unconsciousless, and her bare toes twisted and curled repeatedly.
He was naked as the day he was born, and his prick was taut and rigid and throbbing in the prophylactic shield which was like a second tight and compressing skin. He went forward gently to the couch, bent forward and put his mouth to one of her nipples and began to suck it gently. Betty moaned and stirred in her sleep. Her arm, which was upraised and dangling over the edge of the back of the couch, now dropped to the couch beside her. Then restlessly she jerked her hand towards him, hitting him in the jaw. He straightened up and glared at her, but realized that she was still asleep. He grinned crookedly. Maybe she was having a nightmare and re-living her first fucking. Stealthily, he drew up a footstool, seated himself, and slipped his right hand under her skirt and began to creep along her naked thigh until he felt the warm, silkycurly thatch of her cunt. Delicately his forefinger tickled the lips of her vulva, and once again Betty Aronson moaned, turned her head from side to side, and then raised up her right knee and flung it away towards the edge of the couch. His finger quested a little more, till it touched the pink, twitching, moist lips of her cunt hole.
He was dying to have a piece right now, and there wasn't any reason why he shouldn't, either. He had bought and paid for her. Slowly and holding his breath as he did so, he took hold of her skirt and gradually raised it, till at last he had it rolled up just under her behind, just enough to show the plump mound of her cunt with all the dark auburn tangles of pussy fur. Then he bent his head and his tongue flicked those soft, moist curls, as his nostrils inhaled the pungent aroma of her woman-core.
Betty moaned again, turned her head back and forth, and now her free arm suddenly pressed down along her body, her fingers trailing towards her thighs. Bending closer, he inspected the lips of her vulva. There seemed to be only a very tiny inflammation, so that in the main, Betty Aronson was ready to begin her first day in broad daylight as a love-slave and concubine to the Miami gambler-nightclub owner.
He waited a moment, and again she moved. This time her left knee rose up, and the skirt fell back, exposing the luscious, verdure-framed oasis of her cunt. He could see also the lovely flow of thigh which merged into her buttocks, and the shadowy, mysterious blue separating those two jouncy oval cheeks. He set his teeth to forget about the torturing and rhythmic throbbing that had started in his prick. His finger now pressed between the lips of her cunt and sought out her clitoris.
Betty Aronson uttered a stifled cry, blinked her eyes, saw him and then uttered a shriek and promptly sat up. "What-what are you doing here? Oh my god, what did you do to me?"
"You seem to have had a couple of dreams last night, Princess," he taunted her. "I can feel that you're a little wet between your legs. You've been a naughty girl, Princess. What did you dream about?"
"You-you ought to have had the decency to knock!" she panted. She sat up now, hugging her thighs together, and pulled down her skirt. Then she gasped aloud as she saw that she was naked to the waist and her titties were rising and falling rapidly. She put one arm around them to conceal them from his glittering eyes.
"I guess you must have dreamt that you still had your cherry, baby. But you don't. Take it from me, you don't. So, as I've already said before, there's no use carrying on this little farce of pretending that you're a pure, innocent lamb. You're a whore, Betty; you're my whore. That's why I'm here. I always like to knock off a piece before breakfast. It gives me a terrific appetite. Since you're up now, take off your skirt and get naked again. I'm going to give it to you right now."
"You-you contemptible, filthy degenerate!" She groaned. Nonetheless, she awkwardly unhooked her skirt, and then stood up and let it slither down to her feet. She was naked, as she had been the day before. At the sight of her, stooping as she let the skirt fall to her feet, her head bowed, her magnificent titties dangling and shuddering in her agitation, the sight of her naked bottom standing out against the tawny glory of her satiny back and thighs, made him ruthless. Besides, he told himself, it was still in keeping with the policy he had already set for the conquest of Betty Aronson.
"Aren't you listening when I talk to you, Princess?" he growled. He seized her by the elbow and forced her back down on the couch, and then swiftly climbed over her.
"Wait-don't-oh for god's sake-Mr. Gaspar-that's not fair-I-have to go to the bathroom-my god, what sort of animal are you?" she panted, and she tried to fight him. She clutched her thighs together, crossing one over the other, and then she twisted on to her side towards the back of the couch.
He laughed aloud, relishing this fray. He grabbed her by one of her shoulders and forced her down on her back, and this time planted himself so that she couldn't move under him. His prickhead drove against the lower abdomen, then rubbed around till it found her pussy.
"NOOO!! I DON'T WANT YOU TO! STOP IT, STOP IT, YOU FILTHY BEAST!"
She pushed at him, tried to slap him, but he grabbed her wrists and held them as in a vise. Calmly, deliberately, he groped forward with his cockhead until it had at last slipped into the moist and twitching lips of her love-core. Betty Aronson raised her head, her eyes goggling and glazed. With renewed energy she tried to push him off, but in vain.
"No-stop it-I don't want you to, don't you understand that? Yes, I agreed to the bargain if you can call it that-but don't I have any rights as a human being? Even an animal is allowed to go to the toilet. Ouch, you're hurting me-stop it-ohhh-please-oh my god-arrrhhh!!!"
He had overcome her fighting struggle to get out from under him. His prick, while her bottom was squirming and twisting this way and that, had luckily managed to slip just inside the twitching, moist, pink petals of her cunt, and with a single thrust, he felt himself lodge within her to his balls.
One knee arched up above him, swinging to the back of the couch, and he crept forward until he knew himself packed so tightly into her that he knew there was no way for her to eject him.
Still holding her wrists in both hands, he grinned at her: "That's right, Princess, fight me! It really gives me an appetite, and not just for food. Do you feel how deep I am inside that tight little cunt of yours, Princess? It's all mine now, for the rest of the week. Bought and paid for, and don't you forget it. And the more you wriggle, the more I'm going to feel you through my cock. You can go to the bathroom when I'm finished. Right now, get yourself ready to be royally fucked, Princess!"
"NOOOOO!!!! STOP IT, YOU SEX FIEND, YOU!!" she screamed, her head flung back till the cords stood out under the satiny, tawny skin. She seized his shoulders and tried to force him off her, but in vain. He had momentarily let go of her wrists in order to let his hands slide down to her bottom and to feel the degree of warmth which still permeated those luscious bottom ovals. He quickly took his hands out from under her, again grasped her wrists and forced them beyond her head, till her titties arched up, as if offering their lasciviously stiffened and darkened points to his libidinous mouth and tongue caresses.
Then, without more ado, he began to fuck her violently. Drawing himself only halfway out, he plunged back to the hilt, making her jerk and gasp with the fury of his savage passion. Her face twisted to the back of the couch. She closed her eyes as if determined not to see her own degradation. His mouth came down on her throat, then raised to hers and crushed her lips, while she spluttered and tried to twist her face away.
He quickened his pace of fucking, without ever bringing his cocktip back to the brink of her "cunt. The repeated friction, the hot, straining and savagely quick assault, drew new demands upon her flesh-account. Her body began to shudder, and her titties heaved wildly. As his lip closed over the other nipple now, he felt the tingling, galvanic ardor of the woman who even against her will was finally being brought to sensual cognizance and acceptance.
Now he let go of her wrists and grabbed hold of her bottom again and began to ride her violently. His deep, eviscerating thrusts which made her wince and gasp aloud in discomfort soon imposed a commandingly imperious friction on the tender walls of her womb.
She began to whimper, to turn her head helplessly from side to side, to strike at him in awkward, desultory fashion. He disregarded this entirely. Again, the aching torment in his swollen prick was driving him wild, and the tight clutching caress of her cunthole walls against his impaling organ was intoxicating.
Then suddenly he felt himself rush out all his spunk into the thin, rubber receptacle, and he sagged over her, mashing down her panting bubbles, his mouth burrowing in her throat.
Betty Aronson caught her breath and whimperingly turned her face to the other side, her eyes still tightly shut. She was trying to adopt the only defense possible: an ostrich-like attitude which would give him no satisfaction and perhaps even disgust him with so that he would let her go back home.
"Lord," he gasped, slowly drawing himself out. "I'll call down and get our Japanese houseboy, Ito, to fix some breakfast. What would you like? There's plenty of fruit in season, like berries, melon, bananas, and even papya. We've got some terrific guava jelly to go with some nice, crisp dark-brown-bread toast, too. If you'd like, I can whip you up some bacon and eggs."
"No-just coffee and-and-oh, I've just got to go!" This last was uttered in a rising wail of discomfort, and with tears in her eyes Betty Aronson jumped up from the couch and hurried to the bathroom. He stared at her for a moment, then burst into baudy laughter. "You don't have to douche, baby," he called after her just as she slammed the door, "there's not a drop inside that tight little cunt of yours. Except, of course, your own love-cream."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Horribly self-conscious about, having a man know that she was in the toilet, Betty Aronson leaned over to the water basin and turned on the tap to drown out the sounds of her natural relief. Then she took a quick shower, toweled herself and felt a little better. Again she kept the towel wrapped around her middle as she timidly emerged.
Dave Gaspar was on the phone, ordering his Japanese houseboy, who had a little room at the other end of the short third floor, to prepare some breakfast for the two of them. Ito wasn't at all surprised. His master had had plenty of girls before this one, and would have plenty more. Once in a while, though, his boss would let him screw one of these cute white chicks who came to the club to look Dave Gaspar up just to say that they had met him. They usually did more than meet him if they were at all reasonably attractive. There was something about him, a certain mocking and sadistic look of "try all your tricks, baby, I'm going to get you where the hairs are short before you've finished playing them." And invariably, they let themselves be fucked and later told themselves it was worth every risk, because he was such a magnificent lover.
"Breakfast will be along in about fifteen minutes, Princess. I have coffee and Danish for you, and I have bacon, eggs, wheat cakes, coffee and a melon.
She stared at him with her upper lip curling in disdain and disgust: "You-you're just a pig," she said in a shaking, low voice.
"Well, even pigs have to eat. So will you after a while. Now let that towel drop. You seem to have a thing about towels. Before you go back to New York, I'm going to have to go through your suitcases and see if you swiped any of mine."
"How dare you!" Her face was flaming. "Are you finished with me now?" she asked dully, keeping her eyes averted.
"Until you eat your breakfast, sure." He smilingly watched her face and chuckled when he saw the congealed look of apprehension which these of his occasioned.
"Oh no-it's not possible-you must be-you must be oversexed! My god, aren't you satisfied with what you just did to me?"
"I was just working off a little steam from last night, Princess, so it doesn't really count. But after I've had a good breakfast under my belt, you're going to get a good workout, so get that pussy of yours ready. And you can keep the towel on, I just remembered, Ito will be bringing in the breakfast and setting it up on one of those collapsible, mobile tables. Want a cigarette?"
She shook her head, her throat too choked to speak.
"In a couple of hours, I'll send Connie in to take your measurements."
"Why?"
"Because I want to buy you some nice new clothes so you can look real prick-hardening when I come in and want to play around," was his direct and humiliating answer. Again she felt her cheeks turn a fiery red.
"I-I have my things over at my hotel-."'
"I know you do. I'll make a call about that and have the stuff transferred over here. I'll check you out."
"But-but my job-they'll be expecting me back early next week. And I haven't got all the facts about those cosmetics I was sent down to get-"
"Tough luck, Princess, but I'm afraid that for right now I can't let you go out by yourself in downtown Miami. I might never see you again."
"If-if I give you my word of honor?"
He shook his head: "I never take a woman's word of honor, especially one who started off on the wrong foot with me the way you did, Princess. Connie can run your errands if you have any. The weather prediction is for pretty warm today, and I'm going to have the thermostat fixed here so you can be nice and cool while you're screwing."
"Oh my god, can't you ever forget you heard those filthy words? You know I've never done it like this with anyone before."
"I know. You aren't bad for a beginner. But you've got to learn a lot to be able to please me and my buddies if you hope to earn your salt, Princess," was his admonition.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the living room door and when Dave Gaspar quickly put on a bathrobe and went to open the door, it was the little black-haired, bespectacled Japanese manservant, Ito, with a large tray. He grinned and bobbed his head at his boss. His beady little eyes covertly noticed Betty Aronson, who uttered a gasp, shrank back, and hugged the towel around her middle. She glanced down and saw that her titties were bare, and again another fiery blush overtook her.
Ito used the conference table to serve breakfast, and Dave Gaspar thanked him, whispered something into his ear, and the little Japanese manservant cackled in glee and then hurriedly left the room.
"Sit down and eat, Princess. Here's your coffee and your sweet roll. I got you an apricot one. Okay?"
"Yes." Without another word, she began to drink her coffee and to nibble at the roll. He pretended not to notice her, eating with gusto. From time to time, stealthily, he caught her glancing up at him, a grimace of distaste and fear contorting her lovely face. She was worrying about what he was going to do to her all the rest of the time. Already he knew the thought of seven more days and six more nights seemed like an eternity to Betty Aronson.
CHAPTER TWENTY
He took his time over breakfast, had three cups of coffee from the large silver pot which Ito had brought in, and then lit a cigar.
"Oh please don't smoke that in here!" she groaned. "You said there was air-conditioning in this room."
"It seems to have broken down, Princess. I already told Ito. I also told him that you were such a hot little piece you needed to cool off in a hurry."
"You-you filthy boor-I might have known you'd do a thing like that, discussing what-what's happened with a servant!"
"Be careful, baby. Ito likes girls like you, too. If you're not a nice girl, I might just turn you over to him. You know, the Orientals have some ingenious ways of punishing a naughty bitch like you. There's a death of a thousand cuts, there's designing cute patterns on your bottom or your titties with color headed pins, and a lot of other cute notions they dreamed up for the people they don't like. A word to the wise, Princess. Have you finished your breakfast?"
She nodded without a word.
"In that case, get up, drop the towel, and go back to the couch. I'm going to fuck you again."
"Oh no! No, you shan't-I don't want you to-I won't let you-oh my god, won't anybody let me escape this horrible beast?" Betty shouted in a voice that was breaking with sobs.
He shook his head and shrugged. "Okay, Princess, you've got your choice now. Ito or me. Hurry up and decide. Ito's going to come back when I push this buzzer in the wall by the door and pick up the breakfast dishes. Shall I tell him that you've always wanted to know what it would be like to be screwed by a vigorous little Japanese? Ito happens to have a couple of illegitimate kids on the other side of Miami. He's quite a cocksmith. Of course, he's much smaller, but he makes up for it in energy. When he humps a girl, she knows she's being put through the wringer."
"Oh-you-you're just disgusting-you always have to say something filthy every time you open your mouth. Please-I'm not going to resist-I give you my word. All I ask is that you keep your filthy mouth shut when-when-when you have to have me."
"We'll see, Princess. Well, shall we have at it?" He stood up, dropped the bathrobe and stood naked. Betty Aronson's mouth fell open with consternation. His prick was just as hard and swollen as it had been when he had wakened her from a nightmarish sleep. Yes, she had been dreaming. She was dreaming that she was on a desert island and that a hairy, black-haired cruel man wearing the headdress of a native chief and nothing else was chasing her through a jungle, and that she was stumbling and losing her way and that she was hearing him call out behind her that he was going to get her and fuck her. And then he caught her and his hard prick looked like a monstrous club, and she screamed and tried to get away, and then a couple of other natives rushed in and held her down while he got on her and thrust it into her.
She rose slowly from the conference table and listlessly moved over to the couch. She had seen his eyes narrow and glitter dangerously, and she remembered how he had spanked her yesterday evening. She just hoped that it would be over quickly. He had a strong body odor, and it made her ill. It made her think of being a whore, and it was sweat and maleness and everything else, and it just disgusted her.
"Not on your back this time, Princess," he corrected, as she was about to stretch herself out. "This time, I want you to get on all fours on the couch and bend your head down to it, savvy?"
"Oh god, what next?" she cried out.
"I'll think of something, never worry,'" he laughed. "Do it!" he snapped at her now, his face hardening.
With a groan, her face absolutely scarlet, Betty Aronson took the all-fours pose on the couch. She bent her head down till her forehead touched the upholstery, and she was terribly aware of the indecency of her position. She felt the lips of her slit twitch and shrink, and she groaned aloud.
"This time," he told Betty Aronson, "I'm going to poke you without a rubber on. I want the feel of that soft tight cunt of yours around my cock. But don't worry, I'm not going to shoot off inside of you so you won't get pregnant. Just keep your ass well up and those legs spread as far as you can. I realize the couch isn't as wide as I'd like, but do the best you can."
"Just please-just please get it over with," she groaned.
Dave Gaspar shuddered as he saw the magnificent upturned bottom. It was still faintly marked from the energetic hand spanking and the marks left by the belt had left tiny black and blue splotches on the summits of both cheeks. He could see how Betty was tightening her bottom-muscles desperately trying to shield the obscene display she was making of her private parts. He grinned salaciously. Taking his place behind her, reached around and under to cup her titties, weighing them in his hands, and nuzzled his cocktip against the crease of her behind.
Instinctively Betty squirmed away, frightened at the thought that he might try to put it in her bottom hole. "Stop squirming until I get inside of you. Then if you want to cooperate by wriggling around, that'll be just fine," he told her.
Betty groaned again and proffered herself submissively. She ground her teeth and closed her eyes tightly. She wanted to be no part of this atrocious and shameful self-martyrdom; he might use her body, but she refused to let her spirit and mind be drawn into it.
He readjusted his grip of her titties, and then he centered his prick, arching himself so the tip was at the wide-open pink fig of her cunt. She gasped as she felt the hot surging contact, and she moved a little on her knees, but he had inserted himself and slowly pressed onward to gain his advantage to the very end.
"Ahhhhh!" she gasped, partly lifting her head, her eyes widening as she felt the thick, long organ intrude deep into her innermost channel way.
For Dave Gaspar, this was paradise. To take a girl in the all-fours position, or as it is often known, dog-fashion, rouses the most primitive passions of; even the most sophisticated male. But for Dave Gaspar, an ardent and experienced cocksmith over the years, the knowledge that he was forcing this haughty and beautiful young New York advertising woman to give her naked body to his lust in this obscene and possessive way added spice to the erotic feast. Moreover, in this position, the angle of penetration accords much more friction to the male prick, and so he had all he could do to keep himself immobile inside of her, while the walls of her womb contracted and spasmed convulsively. He could feel her titties stirring in his hands like frightened doves, and his fingertips pressed against the nipples, rubbing them until they grew stiff and hard. Betty moaned and whimpered,-and tried to shift herself uneasily, for this position was a strain on her back.
'"Don't lift your head up yet, and try to keep your bottom tilted up just this way," he instructed hoarsely.
Then slowly he drew himself back almost to the edge of her cunt, not wanting to experience the disappointing sensation of pulling out of that tight, clamping channel. Holding himself immobile a moment, he then thrust to the balls, and this time Betty groaned aloud: "Agghhh-ougghhh!!"
"So you're starting to feel something in that iceberg of yours are you, Princess?" he chuckled.
Then, because the sudden urge to fuck took precedence over everything else, Dave Gaspar was silent. His fingers tightened over those juicy love pairs which were her titties, and he began to thrust himself back and forth inside her.
For Betty Aronson too, the sensation was incredibly new. Before, with the rubber, there had been distention and friction, yes, but now with the naked prick, with the skin tight over the rigid organ, she felt the scraping of the friction which fucking really implies. It began to exacerbate her, and unconsciously she began to squirm her hips this way and that, as if she were actually participating in her own fucking. And this, for a male, is naturally the most delicious part of the experience, when he discovers that his partner is as ardently affected as he is himself.
There is a danger here, because the warm tight sheathing into which his prick was now restlessly moving back and forth was so very enervating to him that he felt the urge to spurt his bubbling gism deep into her womb was paramount. So, grinding his teeth with frustration, he at last pulled himself out of her with a sticky "Plop!" which drew a sobbing "Ahhh!" from the naked auburn-haired captive.
Then he seated himself on the end of the couch, and called to her, "Betty, turn around now and look at me. No, stay on your hands and knees as before."
She obeyed slowly and awkwardly for the couch was narrow, but at last she maneuvered. She saw his thick long hard prick sticking up from between his hairy thighs, glistening with the admixture of her own inner juices, and she turned scarlet with mortification. That sign alone was the evidence that she was his thing, his bed-bitch and creature. And into her mind there flashed the sudden horrifying question: what would the people in the agency think of her if they could be projected here in fancy and see exactly what she was doing and what was being done to her? How would she ever hold her head high again when she walked down the corridor on her way to see her supervisor?
"Do you see my prick, Betty?" he thickly asked.
She nodded, biting her lips, her face again flooding with scarlet.
"Well, I promised you I wouldn't go off inside of you, and I didn't. But I'm full of it, and I've got to have relief. I want you to satisfy me."
"I-I don't know what you mean."
"I want you to give me a blow job, Betty."
"What-What is that?" she panted, her eyes widening with expectant horror.
He grinned. "Yes, you sure were a virgin all right until last night. A blow job, Princess, is when a girl uses her mouth on a man's prick to suck him off and get his load off. Now do you understand what I want you to do?"
She uttered a piercing cry. "Aaaggghh-oh noFaugh-I wouldn't ever do that, I'd rather die!"
"I don't think you would, Princess. You want me to make a phone call to New York?"
"Oh please-oh dear God, haven't you done enough to me already? I couldn't do that, I couldn't do it to anybody, I swear I couldn't! I-I'd vomit, I'd faint-it's filthy-it's unsanitary-it's-"
"It's fun," he finished with a salacious chuckle.
"Either you do it or I'll get Hennie in here to hold you down and spank your ass a little and make you. Now, what's it going to be?'"
"Oh, you awful coward, you horrible beast, you degenerate, to make a de-decent girl do a filthy thing like that," she gasped. Then her revulsion overcoming her she scrambled off the couch and tried to run to the door. But instantly he was after her, and with a football tackle caught her around the waist and flung her down on the rug. Then he rolled her over onto her belly, doubled her wrists behind her back and held them with his left hand, and then, lifting his right, began to spank her bottom.
"Are you going to do what I want?" Smack-Smack-Smack.
Betty Aronson's legs kicked up and down wildly, as she tried to wriggle and to twist and to roll onto her side. But now he again swiftly seated himself on the small of her back, as he had done the evening before when he had given her that awful spanking, and crushing her down with his weight, he began to lay into her behind with the full weight of his arm. First right, and then left, then right, then left, his hand smacked down on the bouncing, flattening, darkly reddening bottom cheeks, and Betty screamed and pounded the floor with her fists, as her legs kept kicking wildly. The way her bottom wriggled and twisted and dashed about trying to escape the ferociously stinging and noisy smacks made his prick stiff again in such a way that he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer till he got relief.
He applied a vicious pinch to the crease between her bottom-cheeks. "Do you want me to call my bookkeeper in? He likes to put it inside a girl's bottom, Betty. And I'll turn you over to him if you don't say yes pretty soon." Smack-Smack-Smack!
YEEOOWWW!!! OOHHH PLEASE STOP. PLEASE, YOU'RE HURTING ME HORRIBLY-OWWW-OUUUUEEEOWWWEEE!!! ONLY STOP, I CAN'T STAND IT ANY MORE, OH MY POOR BOTTOM, PLEASE STOP!!"
She was screaming at the top of her voice because his hand was really smacking her bottom, and making the cheeks jump and jiggle, and the fiery stain of the heat he was generating in her backside was too much to endure.
"You'll suck me off, then, Betty?" he demanded harshly. And he brought his hand down right over both bottom cheeks, bridging the crease between them.
"AIIIEEOWWW!!!! YES, YES, I SAID I WOULD. OH FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP SPANKING MY POOR BOTTOM!!!!"
He got off her and stood up straddling his legs, hands on hips, "Then kneel up, Betty," he advised." And put your arms around my legs and put your mouth on my cock and start sucking the way I tell you to."
And Betty Aronson, weeping hysterically, her bosom rising and falling madly, her bottom so ferociously burning she couldn't help twisting her hips from side to side even as she knelt, capitulated.
He felt her trembling warm moist lips grasp the tip of his organ, then he heard her retch and gag, but he plunged the fingers of his left hand into the thick bun of auburn hair at the back of her head and gave it a jerk and said coldly, "Keep on with it, or I'll really make you cry!"
Oh the miracle of ecstasy as his captive's trembling lips once more returned to the sweet task of fellatio! Now in sobbing, noisy, slurping sounds, Betty Aronson performed her first act of Frenching.
However, he made her keep it up until he felt almost ready to explode and he suddenly jerked her mouth away by dint of jerking at her hair, and suddenly uttered a cry and spattered her titties with his creamy jet. "Now go wash yourself off, and come back here. I'm going to send Connie in to take your measurements."
He watched her stumble into the bathroom, head bowed in her hands, her shoulders shaking with her agonized sobbing. He knew that he had conquered her now, and that anything else would be very easy compared with this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Half an hour later Connie entered the room in which Betty Aronson was kept a captive. The lovely young brunette was wearing just a green satin negligee and pumps, and she had a delicious body. Her titties were full and round, widely spaced, and her belly was slim and flat and sleek, and her bottom cheeks were tightly compact and almost boyish by contrast. It gave her a very piquant and tantalizing effect on a man, and one which Dave Gaspar was all ready to prove to her at a moments notice. Connie had lovely white skin, suntanned in spots, but when she was stark naked, the contrast between the tan of her arms and thighs and the pure sleek satiny white of her bottom and titties was just electrifying.
She had combed out her hair till it reached just below her shoulders, and it was raven-black, glossy and very lustrous.
Betty was sitting on the couch, her shoulders bowed forward, and her face in her hands. Connie' cooed, "Don't take on so, honey. Dave's an all right guy, you'll see. Now stand up, I'm going to take your measurements."
She had a tape measure in one hand, and a steno pad in the other with a pencil thrust behind her ear.
"Oh, C-Connie, I'll do anything, I'll pay you anything if you'll only help me get out of here," Betty Aronson breathed.
"I don't know if I can, sweetie. This place is pretty well guarded. There's always Dan the bouncer, you've heard about him?"
"Oh God, yes," Betty Aronson remembered the big Negro about whom Dave Gaspar had told her. "But isn't there something you could do like sending a letter back to New York or something?"
"I'm sorry, honey, but I can't. I work for Dave, and no matter what you think of him, he has his reasons for doing what he is doing and I don't want to jeopardize by job, especially now that I'm getting married and I can use all the money I earn. And believe me, honey, I earn it. If you could have a dollar for every time I've been propositioned while I'm serving drinks, or have some creep run his hand up under my skirt and try to play field mouse with my pussy, you'd be rich. Now stand up, I want to take your measurements."
Betty Aronson obeyed. She was sobbing softly. Connie licked her lips. This auburn-haired girl was really a dish. Connie had a few leanings toward the sweet practice of the sisters of Bilitis, and had once or twice experimented with girl-fucking. She had a yen to do it now, seeing this gorgeous naked shape before her.
After she had written down all the measurements, she sat down on the couch, and drew Betty beside. "Don't take on, honey. I know it's hard now, because you've never done this before. It'll be over soon, and then you can go back to New York, and you've got to take my word that Dave Gaspar won't ever blab about this."
"I-I wouldn't put it past him, that awful brute!" Betty Aronson groaned.
"Now hush, honey. I won't have you talking about my boss that way. He's perfectly wonderful to me and oh, what a lover he is!!" Connie rolled her eyes suggestively. "When he puts that great big dong into my pussy, I tell you, I lose all my cream just thinking about it!"
"Don't-don't talk like that!" Betty Aronson groaned and turned her face away.
"Oh, you poor darling. Did he spank you? I see the way you're squirming. Wait, let me give you a rubdown. It'll be good for you. Come on in the bathroom, there's a low bench that you can lie on while I massage you."
Betty Aronson thought she might as well have some solace. Her body was beginning to ache from all the unusual postures Dave Gaspar put her into, and her cunt felt twitchy. What she didn't know was that his fucking just now in the all-fours position had wakened the intense and long-denied lust potential in her system.
Inside the blue-tiled bathroom she stretched out complacently on the bench and pillowed her head in her arms. Connie surreptitiously slipped off her negligee and was naked. She opened the medicine cabinet, drew out a bottle of Jergens lotion, poured a good deal into her hands, and then got astride the bench and leaned over towards the lovely naked auburn-haired girl and began to rub it in, starting with Betty's shoulders.
"Ohhh, that feels so nice and restful," Betty moaned. She closed her eyes and sighed. If only she could escape, if only she could get back to New York or get some message through. Oh, this is just terrible. This man was an absolute sex fiend. He al ways wanted to-to-do it to a girl. She never met a man like him before in all her life. Oh, but Connie's fingers felt so nice and gentle down her back. Right where he had hurt her by sitting on her back, the awful brute!
Now as Connie moved down, backing up with her legs astride the bench, the luscious bottom came into view. The additional spanking which Dave Gaspar had just inflicted on Betty to make her French him had left her bottom in a brilliant crimson state, contrasting against the smooth tawniness of her back and thighs. Connie gently worked in the cream, and very, very lingeringly rubbed the warm flesh with her fingertips. Presently Betty began to moan and sigh and squirm a little. She didn't know it, but she was rubbing her pussy against the soft towel on which she was lying, and the stimulation with the good fucking she'd just had and the spanking, was enervating her and making her easy prey for Connie's advances.
For, as might be guessed, Dave Gaspar had instructed his beautiful brunette waitress-sweetheart to initiate the luscious redhead into the mysteries of pussy rubbing.
"There, that side's done," Connie gaily announced. "Now you turn right over. Doesn't it feel nice and restful?"
"Oh yes, it's so good, I'm so relaxed. Oh please, Connie, you're so sweet would you take pity on me and help me get away from here? I-I've got an awfully important job to do in New York. They'll be worried about me."
"Oh that's easy," Connie airily said. "Dave said you can write a letter to them and ask to have a couple of extra days, you can tell them you're off your feed and need a couple of days in the sun on Miami Beach."
"Oh dear," Betty groaned. They had thought of everything. She was going to have to stay the entire horrible week. Oh God, how could she live through it?
Obediently, she turned over. But she put her hand over her pussy, and she blushed. She hadn't been naked in front of a girl before, either. Connie giggled: "What's the matter, sweetheart, don't tell me you get squeemish because you're naked in front of me? Open your eyes and look at me too."
Betty did so and then she gasped. Her eyes were big as saucers when she saw that Connie was naked too. Connie was extremely hairy and fleecy over her cunt, and the thick crisp dark curls stood out against the pale white skin of her loins and belly and upper thighs. "You-you're lovely!" Betty heard herself murmuring.
"Thank you, sweetheart. Now you just lie still and take it easy. I'll get some more lotion on my hands. Isn't it cool and refreshing, though?"
Betty could only nod. More sensations were crowding in on her in the last twelve hours than she had for all the rest of her cloistered and pampered twenty-five years of selfish existence.
When Connie returned, she again got astride the bench standing over the naked redhead and looking down at her blushing face. Betty had closed her eyes again. Connie now applied the soothing and cool liquid to those gorgeous pear titties. She massaged them lingeringly, so that the nipples began to stiffen and darken. Then she worked down toward Betty's belly, and finally, slyly, she put a forefinger into the curls of that lovely mount and began to tickle pussy.
"Oooohhh-oh don't Connie, you mustn't!"
"Why not? it's the sweetest little pink pussy I ever saw. I'm going to give it a big nice kiss, that's what I'm going to do!"
"Oh don't, you mustn't, oh don't Connie-AHHH!" Betty tried to wriggle away and to cover up, but Connie had her just where she wanted her. Putting her left palm on Betty's belly and pinning her down on the bench, the lovely brunette suddenly bent her head and then the next thing Betty knew her pussy was being frigged by a nimble pink moist tongue which sent a thousand different sensations all through her loins.
"Now-was that so awful?" Connie impishly grinned as she straightened.
Betty turned her face to one side, closed her eyes, and her cheeks were scarlet with blushes. "N-no," she finally confessed in a faint voice.
"Now you just relax there and let me make love to you, sweetie," Connie urged.
Suddenly, her eyes glistening, she flung herself down on the bench and mounted over Betty's body. She put her hands under Betty's bottom and began to squeeze the hot squirming cheeks, as she rubbed her thick pussyfur over Betty's.
"Oh don't-I don't want you to-oh please, this is indecent-please don't, Connie-Ohh-ohh-oh my God-Ohhhh!!!!" For Connie had begun to girl fuck, grinding her pussy surreptiously back and forth over Betty's love curls. And the rubbing of those sweet pussylips of the brunette's began to ply Betty's very tender and sensitive and only just unvirgined cunt with the most devious and stimulating of caresses.
She began to whimper and to moan, her titties rose and fell violently, and then suddenly she felt Connie apply her mouth over hers, and felt Connie's tongue slip in between her lips.
She tried to push Connie away, but it was too late. Weakened and titillated by all this preparation, she was easy prey. Connie industriously worked her cunt back and forth, grinding and rubbing this way and that. And suddenly Betty Aronson felt her body exploding with a strange new cataclysmic violence. Her eyes bulged almost exorbitant to the whites, and her nostrils flared, and now her mouth yielded to Connie's tongue. She felt Connie's tongue rub against her, and she moaned and shivered, and then suddenly without knowing what she was doing, she was hugging Connie, wrapping her legs around Connie's thighs, and responding violently. Her cunt rubbed back and forth, and she kissed and kissed back as she whimpered and sobbed. She was being carried along the pathway to the seventh heaven of delight.
Dave Gaspar was watching all this. In a room just outside, all he had to do was to push back a panel, and through a section of one-way glass he could watch what these two delicious naked girls were doing.
Suddenly he strode in, just at the point where Betty was lying sprawled and dazed with the force of her first real fucking orgasm.
"So this is the way you play around when I'm not watching you, Connie," he growled, pretending to be angry.
Connie slipped down off the couch and gasped and backed up, trying to cover her pussy and titties. Her eyes were big with alarm. She was a lovely little actress, for she knew precisely what Dave Gaspar was going to do. This was for Betty's benefit, and Betty was going to think that it was the real McCoy.
"I-I-didn't know-I didn't mean-I think-" she spluttered.
"I'll teach you a little lesson, Connie, not to be quite such a dyke when I've got another girl with me," Dave Gaspar growled. He seized her by the wrist, took her over to one of the chairs in front of the conference table, seated himself and pulled her down over his lap. Then clamping his right leg over her calves, grabbing her wrists and holding them tightly in his left hand, he began to spank her hard and fast. The slaps bounced off Connie's naked bottom cheeks with a rapidity and sonority that made Betty sit up and gasp with wonder and curiousity. And also, though she didn't know it a little excitement. Her pussy was tingling frantically, and that orgasm had seemed to waken her after all these years. She found herself sensually excited, just watching Connie's lovely legs wriggle and squirm, and try to break free of the yoke of Dave Gaspar's leg, while her bottom lunged and plunged and wriggled in every possible direction, the fine creamy white skin angrily reddening till it was a blazing scarlet. Connie was crying and begging off long before Dave Gaspar added a final spank over both cheeks to bridge the crease, and then set her onto her feet. "There, that's for doing what you just did and now I want you to lie down on your back on the floor and get a fucking from me. I don't care if your bottom does hurt, you've got to learn your lesson."
To her shamed consternation and yet also to her secret fascination, Betty Aronson saw Connie slowly slip down onto her back, groaning and grimacing as the contact with the floor made all the fiery anguish in her behind rekindle. To her utter amazement, she saw that Dave Gaspar's prick was hard again. He must be a satyr, she thought to herself.
He crammed the tip of his prick into Connie's cunt, shoved it to the balls, and then began to fuck her violently. Connie groaned and sobbed, and finally when she neared her climax, shouted out, "Oh darling! Oh boss, give it to me good, don't spare me, fuck me hard, oh deeper, deeper, please!!!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When it was over, Dave Gaspar rose to his feet and left Connie shuddering and groaning with her delight there on the floor. Then he left the room. Betty hurried to the prone naked brunette and helped her up gasping. "Oh, Connie, that was awful! He was awfully cruel!"
"No, he wasn't," Connie smiled through her tears, as she began to rub her burning bottom." It was just what I needed. I-I was a naughty girl with you, I admit that. But you were so sexy, Betty darling, I couldn't keep my hands off you. Or my pussy either," she finished with an impish grin. "I got just what I deserved. I was awfully randy-I get that way sometimes. And Dave took good care of me. Oh, that was a wonderful fuck!"
"Connie!" was all that Betty could gasp in her mortification and embarrassment. But more and more inwardly, she was beginning to become fascinated by this complex drama in which was involved so keenly.
Connie then went out to bathe and dress, promising to bring back some new clothes. She came back about noon, while Ito brought Betty a luncheon tray. Betty had hurriedly put on the clothes she had with her, but she couldn't help blushing when the little Japanese manservant's eyes lecherously appraised her.
Connie returned with a stack of boxes and pack ages and insisted that they try on the things. There was a flesh-colored frock, boldly cut at the titties and down at the back almost to the spine, there were black nylon panties and bra sets, and slips and nighties, and there was a ridiculously short miniskirt made of green silk and a body stocking to go with it.
Connie exclaimed with pleasure every time Betty tried on these things, and complimented her so that Betty was blushing. Then she was left to take a nap, and by now the airconditioning unit had been put back into order so that she fell fast asleep and slept almost until dinner time.
Dave Gaspar gave orders that she was to dress in the mini-skirt and the body stocking and the highheeled pumps, and come downstairs and have supper with him in a booth at the back of the club on the main floor. Betty was frightfully embarrassed at showing off almost like a schoolgirl, woman that she was, in such an abbreviated and provocative costume, but Connie, who conveyed the message, wagged her finger and said, "If you don't come down that way, he'll spank good and hard, you can bet your life on that."
Very self-conscious, Betty finally joined the man to whom she was indebted at his booth, and he ordered for her. She was very shy when it came to conversation, but at least she wasn't rude or insulting. He noticed this and he believed that at last she was beginning to get converted to normalcy.
"Tonight, Betty," he told her as they finished desert and coffee, "You're going to sleep with Hennie."
"Oh no-I won't! My bargain was with you, nobody else!"
"Correction. You agreed to become a whore for a week. That's just what you're going to do. Hennie has done me a lot of favors, saved me a lot of income tax the way he's handled the books. He told me this noon that he was hot for a piece of your cunt. So I'm going to let him have it. If you refuse, Betty, we'll tie you up to a rope let down from the ceiling, and Connie will take a strap and make your bottom really dance."
Tears filled her eyes at this prospect. "I feel so ashamed, so dirty, to have to do a thing like that," she complained tearfully.
"That's another thing you're going to get over. A whore doesn't have any shame. Just put out of your head that you're Betty Aronson of New York with a big job and a lot of importance. Just tell yourself until our time is over, you're here to please me. And if it pleases me to rent you out to somebody, that's what you're going to do, get rented out. Now you won't have to change your costume or anything. Fact is Hennie gets a kick out of fucking a girl who is dressed like a young kid. And that miniskirt and that body-stocking do show off your gorgeous ass and titties wonderfully."
"Dave," she gasped, glancing around frantically. "Don't talk like that:-people might hear you!"
"What did you say, Princess?"
"I said-don't talk like that-"
"No, I didn't mean that, I mean you called my by my first name, didn't you, just then?"
Her face flamed as she lowered her eyes. He chuckled: "Well, well, well! Who'd have thought it?
You're doing fine, Betty. You look like a human being for the first time when you blush like that. And I like the tone of your voice. It's nice and exciting and girlish, not that snotty who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are routine that you gave me on the plane. I tell you what you do, you go into my bedroom this evening and I'm going to sleep in your room. Hennie's already there waiting. Take care of him."
"Yes-if you want me to-and there isn't any other way-"
"There isn't. Unless you want to be forced and have your bottom tanned until you can't sit down for the rest of the week you're here with me."
"Oh dear! Then I guess I better-I better do what you want."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Betty Aronson was aghast at herself as Dave Gaspar took her in his arms standing in the little room which he used for his conferences and where she had slept the night before, and kissed her on the mouth, then turned her around, gave her bottom a spank and good naturedly told her, "Go right into the bedroom, Hennie's waiting."
She couldn't understand herself. Before she had come to Miami, she had had nothing but contempt for people who-well, did things like this. She thought them degenerates, weaklings. She thought that sex this way, so promiscuous and without morality, was absolutely disgusting. And yet here she was, on her way to the bedroom to let a strange man-f-fuck her. And all because Dave Gaspar wanted her to and had told her so.
In her charmingly short miniskirt, she was absolutely adorable. And with her oval coiffure at the back of her head, looking as sophisticated as she did, the contrast between that and the juvenile attire she wore made her all the more sexually stimulating.
"Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes!" a hoarse voice greeted her as she reluctantly crossed the threshold into the master bedroom. Dave Gaspar was behind her, and now he closed and locked the door. She was all alone with Hennie. Hennie Gustafson was a short squat little man, nearly bald, about forty-eight, with a hairy chest and the hint of a double chin. But to her utter incredulity, she saw that he was very much a man, and even more so than Dave Gaspar. If anything his cock was half an inch longer and it seemed just as much thicker. He reclined against a lot of pillows which he had propped up behind him, his legs sprawled, his hands clasped at the back of his head, grinning at her lewdly but she couldn't take her eyes off his prick.
"Dave tell you what I wanted?" he panted, his eyes sparkling with lust.
Betty's face flooded with scarlet as she bowed her head and nodded.
"You ain't exactly the talkative kind, but that's all right with me. As long as you shag good. All right, take off that minidress you got on, and pull off that body-stocking. Then you can put the minidress back on and get into bed with me," he instructed.
He reached over to the night table, took a fresh cigar out of the small humidor he had brought along, spit out the end, lit it and had it going while Betty Aronson, scarlet-faced and trembling, pulled off the minidress, dragged down the body-stocking and was naked, then put back on the minidress.
"Okay, sister, come to bed," Hennie wasted no time on preliminaries.
Betty groaned aloud as she moved towards the bed. She was instructed to clamber upon it, and to sit astride him facing him. Then she was told to take his prick with her hand and rub it against her pussy. When she pleaded timidly and embarrassedly that she didn't want to, Hennie just said, "Okay, sister, I never raped a bitch yet. I'll just tell Dave that you aren't very accommodating. I think he'll whack ass on you if I know Dave."
And the fear of this, combined with her desperate shame now, and being like this before and wanting to get the affair over as quietly as possible, made her stammer, apologetically, "Please-I-I don't know just what to do-you-you'll have to tell me."
"Well, that's right, Dave said you was cherry. Okay, just hold onto my prick, slide up a little bit, keeping your legs spread. That's it. Now rub my cock against your pussy."
It was a disgracefully obscene ritual, and she knew that Hennie was staring greedily at her furry cunt, for she had had to pull up her miniskirt a little to expose her naked self. But the friction which she administered with her own hand against her slit began to make her squirm a little, and glance nervously at him, a sign which he rightly interpreted.
"Getting itchy now, aren't you? Okay, just get on your knees and crawl over me, and then let yourself down onto my prick. You can fuck yourself, while I relax here and enjoy the view," he chuckled.
Awkwardly, her face flaming, Betty slowly adopted the pose commanded. Once again he had her take hold of his cock, rub it against her slit and finally insert it. Then she had to sink down, balancing herself by leaning forward on her palms on either side of her. He instructed her how to arch up and then sink down, impaling herself. And suddenly, the miracle happened which Dave Gaspar had known would after ah these long years of denial.
Betty Aronson began to shiver and to groan, and her up and down movements became more and more agitated and more and more rapid too. She was getting to feel deep in her cunt the building-up of an explosive force which would unleash her completely and free her from the mundane bonds of socalled "decent" living.
"Faster, faster now, baby," he panted. "Tell you what, hold your miniskirt up real good so I can see everything you've got when you're coming down on me. I love to see a nice hairy little cunt take hold of a guy's dong and suck it all up. Go to it, baby!"
Closing her eyes, but obeying, Betty Aronson arched up and sank down, feeling his thick long heavy cock grind and dig into her, stretching even more deeply than even Dave Gaspar had. Her erotic excitement grew in spite of her revulsion and her embarrassment. Before she knew it, she was beginning to moan and sob, and to squirm and twist her hips as she sank down to impale herself.
Then suddenly she felt a hot warm jet spurt into her cunt and she cried out: "Oh God, now I'll have a baby!"
He had destroyed the mood, because she had been building up towards orgasm. "Forget it, honey," Hennie Gustafson laughed. "I had me a little operation a few years back, so I can't give you any live juice. It's dead, even though it feels real hot and full of babies. Ha ha! Now go wash yourself good, and then come back. I want to go to sleep with you right next to me."
And that was how Betty Aronson spent her second night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
On the third night, Dave Gaspar took her sightseeing around Miami, to some of the magnificent hotels and nightclubs. He ordered a gourmet dinner and vintage champagne, and Betty Aronson was able to forget the atrocious terms of their bargain for this evening at least, and to participate wholeheartedly in the fun. She even found herself dancing with Dave Gaspar, cheek to cheek, and trembling at the feel of his magnetic, wiry body against hers. This man who had so degraded her and even turned her over to his waitress-mistress and to his bookkeeper, had influenced so tremendous and unexpected a power over Betty Aronson, that she was no longer aware that what she was doing was absolutely contrary to all she had believed until she had come to Miami.
"Have you ever considered, Princess, settling down in a strange town and starting a new life?" he unexpectedly asked her as they prepared to take a cab to the last stop on the circuit.
"No, I guess not. New York has always been nice enough for me."
"Well, you could go to New York whenever you wanted to. But you could still live here and I think you'd make more money in the long run. You'd have more buying power, that's for sure. And there isn't the rat race there is in New York."
"I suppose that's true," Betty said, "but the trouble is, I could never get a job down here like the one I've got back in New York, with all that responsibility."
"All right, I just asked. Now let's go."
It was a wonderful night, she reluctantly admitted to herself. And this time when he called her into the master bedroom and told her to take off all her clothes, except her black nylon slip, under which she was naked, and stand and then move 'around and turn and bend before him, her blushes were not those of indignation but rather a strange and inexplicable desire to please him.
He stripped naked, and she saw his vigorous cock in full erection again, ready for her.
"Now suppose you come and give it a nice big kiss and maybe a little tickle with your tongue, Princess, and then start stroking it with your fingers until I'm ready to fuck you," he proposed, and Betty Aronson obeyed. Whatever it might have cost her pride, was more than compensated for in the thrilling fucking he gave her after she had performed that ritual.
He lay on his back and she lay on top, and he made her take her hand and insert him into her cunt and then he put his hands on her bottom and began to squeeze them to guide her as to his movements in and out of her quivering quim.
Betty Aronson began to groan and squirm and sob and wriggle, and suddenly she put her mouth to his and felt his tongue glide between her lips and his arms lock around her shoulders, and her bust flattened down, and she squirmed and moaned, for his hot digging prick was causing a holocaust inside of her.
Then suddenly she felt his gism spurt deeply into her womb.
And strangely, she made no protest of the danger. She lay there panting, in the throes of aftermath after climax.
On the next night Dave had Connie take Betty out along with Dan, the huge Negro bouncer. This time they went to some of the gambling joints including the cockfighting, where Betty saw for the first time two roosters duel to the death with money being wagered on the outcome. She found it strangely exciting, and again she didn't know that this was part of her sexual conversion into what Dave Gaspar teasingly called her normalcy.
In fact she even bet ten dollars of her own which Connie lent her and won, on odds of ten to one. And she found she was just as delighted as a child who had found a new toy-and yet it wasn't the mania of the gambling fever that she had had when she had come into that casino at the back of Dave Gaspar's night club. It was something different, something inexplicable. But nice.
However, when she got back to the club, Connie took her into Dave's office, and then left. Dan the bouncer stood there beside her.
"You two have a nice time?" Dave asked.
"Mighty fine," the big Negro drawled.
"It-it was lovely, Dave," Betty stammered.
"That's fine. I'm glad you two got along so well because you're going to bed together. Would you like to roger her, Dan?"
"Are you kidding, Boss?" the big Negro bouncer laughed.
"Then you'll do it with my blessing," Dave Gaspar smiled.
"Oh Dave-he's so big and huge-he-he'll hurt me-" Betty faltered.
"Not this time. I've told him to go easy with you. Sure, he's got a much bigger prick than I have, but it'll drive you crazy climbing up the wall. You watch."
Dan chuckled hoarsely. "Come on, little white pussycat," he leered at her as he took her by the wrist.
"Right here and nowhere else. The big boss, he wants to see you get it from me," Dan explained.
And then Betty had to undress down to her bra and panties, of sheer black nylon, and her matching garterbelt holding up charcoal-brown nylons and high heeled sandals. And a new quivering agitation took hold of her as she saw the Negro strip his mighty body down to jockey shorts. The monstrous bulge in those shorts made her shiver and her teeth chatter.
But it was too late for that. At Dave's order now, where he sat on a chair facing the back and leaning over it, absorbed and excited. She took off her bra and panties, and went up to the huge negro and put her arms around him and kissed him.
He grabbed hold of her behind, lifted it up in the air and then put her down right on his prick. He impaled her dextrously, holding her aloft until he had arched his loins till the tip of his huge prick made contact with the soft twitching coils of her agitated cunt.
"Let's do it this time standing up," he whispered. He seized her bottom and squeezed it and kneaded it rhythmically as he pushed back and forth inside her. And before she knew what was happening to her, beautiful Betty Aronson, proud and haughty and a girl who would have told you that you were headed for the madhouse if you had ever intimated that she would one day let a Negro fuck her, responded and groaned and sank her nails into Dan's sturdy back, and finally glued herself against him and felt his hot gush spatter her womb as her own answering love cream poured down to meet his tribute.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The week had passed. Betty Aronson had written a letter back to the agency in New York and also to Mr. Borning of Christo-Clear, explaining that she wouldn't be back for about two weeks. She was going back to New York and rest up a few days before going to the office. Her mind was in a whirl and she didn't know what she was going to do. She didn't know exactly how she felt either, as Dave Gaspar calmly wrote out a check for a thousand dollars and tucked it in her bra, gave her an affectionate swat on the behind which made her giggle and gasp and then rub the place, and then had Ito pick up her suitcases where there was a cab waiting.
"I kept my word, Princess," he told her. "I tore up the gambling tab, and there's a thousand bucks for yourself."
"I-I-I don't know what to say, D-Dave. I guess I had all this coming. I was a pretty bitchy girl, wasn't I?"
"I don't mind bitchy girls in bed. But I don't like them telling me what and what not to do when they haven't any hold on me. Now you have. Well, Princess, your plane takes off in ten minutes, and you'll be winging on your way back to New York. You can be the big career girl again. I'll certainly not let anybody know what we had going for us down here."
"That-that's decent of you, D-Dave."
"You know, it was worth everything just to hear you call me that, to see you look me in the eyes and speak out what was on your mind-sure I loved fucking you."
"Shhh, they'll hear us!" Betty gasped and blushed divinely, as she glanced frantically round to see if anybody was within hearing range.
"Relax, baby. There's no one around but us. They're all getting on the plane or up at the counter to get their tickets. And I've paid for yours, by the way. You got your job down here and in New York, too. You see, I had Connie's sister Alice make all those calls and keep the records just the way you did. That's why Connie asked you all those questions the day before you went out with Dan. So you didn't hurt yourself on your job while you were down here, you got a lot of liberal education, and you're a thousand bucks ahead. Are you still mad at me?"
"No. I-I'm not mad. I don't know how to explain it, Dave, but in some ways-anyway, I'm not mad at all."
Through the public address system, there could be heard the announcement the plane was waiting to take off and that boarding was being completed on the flight to Kennedy International Airport.
"That-that's my plane, Dave."
"I know. I'll miss you. Maybe you'll write?"
She nodded, looking at him wonderingly.
"Good-maybe I'll get up to New York sometime, who knows? Might even open a night club up there where we could do some gambling."
"Oh no. I'm never going to gamble again. I mean it!!" she said resolutely.
"Never?" he insisted, an intent look in his eyes.
"I should say not! Look what it cost me!"
"Would you be prepared to make one final gamble, Princess?"
"What-what do you mean?"
He winked at her. "How would you like the job of being Mrs. Dave Gaspar for life and making sure that I don't cheat too much? I'm a pretty horny guy, you know. But I think you've learned enough to keep me on the straight and narrow and going to your bed instead of a lot of other girls'."
"You mean-you're proposing marriage to me?"
"Sounded like it, didn't it? Well?"
"Oh darling! Oh Dave! I-I wanted you to say something like that. I-I wouldn't care if you didn't marry me."
"Don't say that, or I might change my mind. Hey-your baggage is on that plane."
"Let it go. It can always be sent back from New York. I've got to make a phone call now to my boss and tell him I've just resigned. Yes, Dave, I'll take that gamble and it's going to be my last."
