The DOOR CHIMES STARTLED SUE PARKER SO BADLY that she almost dropped the tray of glasses she was carrying into the playroom. She set the tray down, brushed a wisp of dark blonde hair back off her forehead and walked through the hall with long strides. She glanced at herself in the mirror in the vestibule before she opened the door.
"I'm a mess," she said irritably.
It was not true. Sue Parker was one of the most comely housewives in the development, not beautiful, but pretty in a glowing, healthy way. Her soft, wavy hair was a shade somewhere between brown and blonde. She had good features and even white teeth that she showed frequently in a radiant smile. Her eyes were bright and blue and wide-set. Today there was a smudge on one high cheekbone. She paused to tuck the tails of her blouse into the waistband of her stretch pants, and the thin material pulled tautly across her small, pointed breasts. At thirty-one, Sue had a lithe, girlish figure that showed to best advantage in tight clothing like the stretch pants. The synthetic fabric clung to her like a second skin, molding the contours of her backside and showing the elastic leg bands of the panties beneath.
Sue opened the door a crack, careful to leave the chain on. She saw a man with a black sample case, and her voice was sharp and unfriendly.
"What do you want?"
The caller was young, about twenty-five, quite good-looking and well dressed. He grinned pleasantly. "I represent the Sloan Publishing Company, ma'am, and this month we have a special on -" He never got the chance to complete the pitch.
"No!" she snarled and slammed the door in his face. She leaned back against it for a long time with her eyes closed. The old, familiar nausea spiraled up inside her once again. It had been over a year since the last tune she had allowed a door-to-door salesman to come into the house. But that seemed like yesterday.
That would always seem like yesterday, no matter how much time elapsed.
For the first five years of their marriage, Wes and Sue Parker had enjoyed an idyllic relationship in bed and out of bed. Wes had been a skilled and ardent lover, and Sue, who had been a virgin before she had married him, was an eager learner. Now that she thought about that, she decided that she had always been more eager than her husband in matter of love. She had been the temptress. But, as the years went on and Wes became more and more immersed in his work, their love life gradually began to fall apart. They had come to the point, now, where he rarely made love to her more than once a month. And even then that seemed mechanical, a disagreeable chore he was performing. Lots of times, lately, he had not even been capable.
It was a humiliating thing for an affectionate, passionate woman like Sue, in the prime of life, to be rejected by the man she loved. She did love Wes. sincerely. In fact, she was even sorrier for him than she was for herself. She had rend that impotence was the one malady the male feared more than anything else. Several times in the past two years she had tried to discuss the problem with him. but each time he had flushed and not ten angry.
"I'm not a kid any more. Sue," he had admonished her the last time. "I've got more to think about than rolling around in the hay. I'm head of the English department now. I've got a million responsibilities that I didn't have five years ago. I'm working on my thesis, correcting papers until the middle of the night. For the love of heaven, Sue, grow up!"
She had not said anything further to him, but she had thought plenty. Grow up! That was the trouble. She was grown up, a big girl, a female in every fiber of her body and being. And she needed to be treated like a female. In the warm nights of late spring and early summer, she would he awake in the darkness, rigid and restless, staring at the ceiling and listening to Wes snoring peacefully beside her. Sometimes he would toss in his sleep, and touch her with a knee or a hand unconsciously. The touch of his flesh on her was like a searing brand. Her nipples would swell against the bodice of her nightgown. She would grow heavy with longing, would see phantoms on the ceiling.
Sue and Wes, young, in their early twenties, the first year of marriage. The nights when she would awaken and feel like this had been so different then, glorious. In the darkness she would reach over and feel for him with her shy hand. The miracle of desire delighted her, awed her. She would caress him softly, straining her eyes in the darkness to watch him. He never disappointed her. Under her plying touch, he would tremble in his slumber and make the strange whining sound that always reminded Sue of a stallion. He was her stallion! And he would awaken slowly. Then she would feel his hands on her, on her firm, pointed breasts, with his fingers teasing her nipples until they stood out and fairly glowed in the dark. When his other hand glided over her she would cry out with agonized joy. There was no need for him to touch her, really. She was always ready for him before he was ready for her. And, finally, there would be her sharp cry of ecstasy as he took her. Gone forever!
The shock of the realization was enough to drive her mad. After ten years, that was over, the wonderful thing they had known together. Sue would bury her face in her pillow to muffle the sound of her sobbing and cry herself bitterly to sleep.
Then the awful thing had happened, about a year ago, on a sweltering afternoon in June. Between the heat and the growing estrangement with Wes, she had had one of her bad nights. All night she had felt the pain of her sensitive breasts. The touch of the sheet, of her own hands, was sufficient to send trills of sensation coursing through her. She was tied up in knots of frustration.
She had awakened in the same state. To overcome that, she had thrown herself into a round of heavy and unnecessary housecleaning. That hadn't helped either. After lunch she had filled the tub with hot water and immersed herself for a half-hour. That only made things worse. The gentle caress of the warm water flowing over her was impossibly sensual. She looked at her breasts bobbing like rubber balls on the surface with then pink summit thrust straight into the air. She glistened with beads of moisture. She felt a tantalizing sensation, was mesmerized as her hands slid up her side:-, and covered her breasts. A dreamy lassitude overcame her as she caressed the round mounds of creamy flesh. She closed her eyes and pretended they were Wes's hands. Desire leaped like a mercury arc from breast to breast.
Her eyes snapped open abruptly and the spell was broken. With a shudder of self-revulsion she flung back her head. What was happening to her? What kind of a twisted and depraved monster was she turning into? A wave of bitterness and hatred washed over the unnatural desire that had gripped her. Wes! This was all his fault! If he were a real man, she wouldn't be in this torment. The thought of him filled her with disgust at that moment. She got out of the tub and into her terry cloth robe, belting that loosely about her slim waist. Still seething with resentment, she ran a comb through her short hair and tied it back with a red ribbon. Her face had a freshly scrubbed look that made her seem innocent and virginal.
She didn't hear the door chimes at first. They rang a second and a third time. Her initial impulse was not to answer the summons. She wasn't exactly prepared for company, without make-up. Sue was very vain about her appearance. But her feet look her down the hall anyway She pulled the collar of the robe up modestly about her throat and opened the door. A strange young man stood on the porch, dark-haired, tall, lean with a saturnine face that was quite handsome. He wore a checked sports coat and gray slacks.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker," he said amiably. "I represent the Overholt Publishing Company. Our office received a request from your husband inquiring about the price of a new set of our books."
Sue was annoyed. She recalled Wes had mentioned something about buying some books. So why didn't he tell them to send a salesman at night when he was home?
"I don't know anything about it," she told the young man. "Can you come back when my husband is home?"
"I'd be happy to," he said. "But could I leave some literature with you? Then Mister Parker can look it over and decide before he calls me."
It was a reasonable request, and she could not refuse him. She stepped aside and held the door open. For no good reason, she felt naked and vulnerable in front of this male stranger. The robe covered her from neck to ankles, was far more modest than some of the shorts and tight pants women wore to the supermarket. But she was very aware of her nakedness underneath. She clutched the folds tightly as if she were afraid the belt would untie and she would expose her body to his eyes. Her preoccupation with the robe made the young man quite aware that she wore nothing else. He studied her thoughtfully as he followed her into the parlor.
It was dim and relatively cool in the big room. The blinds and drapes were drawn against the sun. She indicated a chair near the coffee 'table for him and sat opposite him on the couch with her knees held primly together and the robe tucked around her. One hand still held the robe shut at the throat. He repressed a smile.
"I didn't interrupt anything important, did I?" be asked casually as he opened his brief case.
"No, not at all." Her eyes avoided his, and two spots of color suffused her cheeks. "I I was just getting dressed, that's all."
"I see." He was sorting pamphlets and circulars on the table, but at the same time he was watching her furtively. She was quite a dish, he thought. Jumpy as a cat. All wound up. He wondered why. Sam Collier was a student of human nature, especially feminine nature. He had been at his sales job for seven years now, had learned a lot from the people he sold to. One of the things he had learned was that housewives were a restless breed. There was a special series of questions he used to trade them.
"How long have you been married, Mrs. Parker?"
"Ten years."
Positive!
"Any children?"
"No."
Positive!
"The books are for your husband and you then?"
"For my husband. He's an English teacher. He thinks they'll save him spending all those nights at the library."
Positive! A hubby who doesn't come home at night. Sue Parker was a set-up. There was no doubt about that in his mind.
She had tucked the robe so tightly about her legs that the effect was just the opposite of what she had wanted. The round contours of her hips and upper legs were vividly defined beneath the terry cloth. He looked at her more boldly now, noting the rapid rise and fall of her breasts lifting against the material.
Sue was conscious of his admiring gaze, and that panicked her. The rough cloth rubbing over her nipples with every breath made them itch maddeningly, and she could feel them stirring slowly. Suppose he could see them? She glanced down fearfully and hunched her shoulders forward to minimize the bulge of her bosom.
Sam smiled and dropped his gaze to her knees. The folds had parted and he could see her shapely calves and slender ankles. Her feet were shod in angora mules. She was pleasantly tan, not too brown and leathery the way some of the women got from too long in the sun. Just sort of a dusky olive tone. He felt the first stirring of desire.
"Would you please sign this, ma'am?" He slid a card and a pen across the coffee table toward her. "It's just an acknowledgment for the company files that I did visit you today."
Wes was always warning her not to sign things without reading them. Sue leaned forward and picked up the pen, reading the card on the low table in front of her. As she did so, she had to let go of the collar of the robe. The cloth fell away and a plunging vee of white flesh was visible at the neckline. Sam's eyes feasted on the cleavage. Succulent creamy texture swelled up at the lower end of the vee. She bent her head closer to the card to read the fine print, and the robe pulled open even more. On the left side, half of the breast spilled into view, dangling away from her body like a snowy pear. He could make out the pinkish rim of her aureole.
His eyes moved over her body. Bending forward on the low couch, Sue could not keep her knees pressed so tightly together. And the same motion pulled at the skirt of the robe which was tucked so tightly beneath her. Sam had a heady glimpse of sleek, tawny flesh. The salesman sighed.
As Sue put the pen to the card to sign, finally, she felt his eyes appraising her. That was a female instinct. She knew, too, that she should do something about the collar of the robe. That was open too much, showing far too much of her breasts. "Let him look," she told herself, feeling giddy suddenly. Wes never looked at her breasts any more. That was gratifying for her to be admired as a woman. Gratifying to see that look in the eyes of a virile male, and know that her presence had aroused the look. She was very conscious of the young man's good looks and lean, strong body. His hands were brown and large. Without lifting her head, she looked surreptitiously up from lowered lashes, studying his long legs, bulging muscularly in the fashionably tight trousers. More and more of late, Sue had, caught herself watching men's legs. That embarrassed her. That was one thing for men to look at girls' legs; the girls liked them to. But for a girl to ogle them, was positively lecherous. She made a game out of speculating about individual men. Were they all the same? She wondered, never having seen any other man except her husband, and darned little of him, the past few years. And what she had had of him lately wasn't very masculine!
Sue smiled ruefully and signed the card. She felt the robe part, saw the flash of upper leg, sensed the direction of his gaze. A flame seemed to flash the length of her legs, scorching her. The terrible aching need she had experienced in the tub enveloped her again. She was literally drunk with desire. She could not turn her own eyes away from him. She sat mesmerized as he stood up and came around the table to the couch.
"My name is Sam," he said thickly. He stood before her. She knew she should be angry, should send him from the house in righteous indignation, slap his face, possibly even report him to the company. What kind of woman did he think she was? But what her mind and her morality and her good sense dictated were vetoed by the animal part of her.
She slumped back against the cushions of the couch with her flushed face turned up to his in anticipation.
"No," she said woodenly as he sat down beside her. Then his lips were on her lips and a whimper died in her throat. Her mouth, quiescent at first, began to work against his. Her arms crept round his neck and drew him closer.
She felt his hands opening the robe, untying the belt at her waist. And the air struck her nude body. He stopped kissing her so that he could enjoy, the sight of her nudity.
"You're lovely," he said.
If anyone had told Sue that she would have permitted a man she had met less than fifteen minutes before to look upon her nakedness, she would have been mortified. Shocked. Angry. Now that that was happening, she had a feeling of delicious wantonness she had never realized existed in her. She lay back against the cushions, heavy-lidded, with her head thrown back and her bare breasts jutting high into the air and their inflamed nipples reaching out to him. Her breasts and her bottom were white in contrast to the rest of her body, showing the outlines of her two-piece swim suit.
She stared at his hand in fascination as he stroked her quivering legs. He lifted her feet and placed them on the edge of the table. Now the hand had access to the bottom globes of her buttocks, caressed, punched the plump crescents until Sue was acting like a woman in the grip of a fit. At the same time, his kisses traveled over her breasts.
Sue went wild with passion. She thought that her desire was infinitely more powerful than anything she had ever known with Wes in the good days. But there was no way to compare, really. She had been deprived for so long of this vital part of life that she was rather in the state of a man who has been on the desert for a month without a taste of water. When he does get water at last, it tastes like the nectar of the gods. Mumbling incoherently, she tore at his clothes with clawed talons, dizzy at the realization that her allure had turned him into a panting, frothing animal. She felt like one of those little fillies you saw in farm meadows in the spring, whinnying and rubbing against the fence rails to attract the young stallions in the adjoining pasture.
She was woman. Desirable woman. And she felt alive for the first time in years. He knelt on the couch and let her explore and adore him with her hands. She was like a child with a new toy, or, rather like a child with a toy that she has found again after many years. Her eyes were round and wondering. She cooed and she simpered, and her hands caressed him until he had to tell her to stop.
"I'll blow my top right now, honey," he warned.
"Oh no!" The idea of being left in this state that he had brought her to without fulfillment was terrifying. She twisted around and flung herself supine on the couch. Her hands tugged at him.
"Now, now, quickly!" she begged.
He grinned. He had met some eager numbers in his time, but this witch beat them all. She was so wild with desire that she was bouncing around on the couch. He had really tapped a live one this time. He wondered about her old man. Was the guy over the hill? Not likely. Hers would be the same hackneyed old story he had heard a thousand times before.
Guy and girl get married. They're mad for each other for a while. Then the guy gets in a rut. Same old boobs. Same old rear. The bedroom gets to be as prosaic as the favorite easy chair. And there's his job. He starts to get ahead, discovers that there's a heady thrill in recognition, a fulfillment that's closely akin to sensual satisfactions. He works so hard to achieve this kind of satisfaction that he spends himself. There's no charge left in his batteries for the little woman when he gets home at night.
He looked into Sue Parker's swollen, flaming face, the feverish eyes. She had the malady worse than most.
He took her slowly, tantalizing her as she rolled her eyes and pleaded, "Please! Please!"
Sue's entire body was on fire now, the ache of desire no longer localized. .Passion had inundated her whole body, her whole being, as they finally clashed like hated adversaries, tearing a cry of sheer agonized bliss from her lips. The titanic clash gave way to a rhythmic dance. Their steps were smooth and coordinated, fast, faster and then frenzied. Something had to give!
There was a tumultuous explosion. Sue heard that with her ears, felt herself consumed by the flames. And she was gone.
For years, year after year, she had carried a smoldering powder magazine around with her. It was inevitable that sooner or later someone like Sam Collier would happen by and strike a spark that would set off the whole business. She let the sensation wrack her, wrench her, deplete her. When that was over she lay back stunned and absolutely helpless.
Sam grinned at her and there was a note of respect in his voice. "You're quite a woman."
"Thanks." She felt wonderful, proud, alive again. "You're quite a man."
He winked. "You get your old man to buy a set of the books, and I'll throw in a bonus for you."
Pain twisted in her like a knife. "A bonus."
"Sure. I'll be back to see you twice more." He laughed. "Three to a customer, that's our rule."
Shame and humiliation overwhelmed her. She saw the interlude now for what that really was. See you twice more! The knife twisted more cruelly.
She belted the robe about her again and said sharply, "You don't have to come back. My husband will take the books. But you better stay away from here."
He looked puzzled. "But I'd like to. I want to see you "
"Get out!" she screamed at him. "Now!"
He shrugged and left her crying on the sofa. She felt dirty, defiled. And from that day on, she had never let another stranger into the house. She didn't trust them.
She didn't trust herself I
CHAPTER TWO
Wesley Parker had been surrounded by women all of his life, smothered by them. The only boy in a family of six children, his father had died when Wes was five, leaving him at the mercy of a doting mother and five doting older sisters. The girls, ranging from ten to sixteen, treated their baby brother like a big doll. They fed him and bathed him and fussed over him until he hated them all with a vengeance. Most of all, he hated his oldest sister Pat, a pretty brunette with an upturned nose and a figure that was almost womanly ripe. She knew the facts of life, and went out with boys who panted and sighed and were always trying to squeeze her boobs or get their hands under her skirt. For some reason, he was always most awkward and troublesome when it was her turn to take care of him.
College gave him some respite from the domination of the females in his family. By the time he had met Sue, he thought his hatred and fear of smothering females was all behind him. Sue was the first woman he made love to, and they waited until their wedding night. The feel of her lying naked in his arms that night was headier than the feeling he had gotten from the champagne at the reception. Her breasts were small, but full and firm, with their pink nipples sticking up like apple stems. Her breasts reminded him of apples. No, they were more like peaches with their rosy flush and satin skin. He touched his lips to one, and then the other, as if he could savor the nectar of them.
Sue's passion astonished him. He had known her for two years as a quiet, shy girl who kissed gently, an air of reserve about her. But now, in bed for the first time, she responded to his touch like a wild woman. Her hands were positively brazen the way they explored, testing and touching as she murmured words of love and appreciation for his virility.
"She reminds me of someone," he thought.
That hit him with a jar. His sister Pat. Quickly he put the thought out of his mind and made violent love to his new bride, who pulled at him with urgent invitation.
He was able to revel in the pride of his masculinity as she gave way to him with a little sigh of pain and pleasure. He seemed to lose himself entirely, as her arms went around him, clasping so hard that she took his breath away.
Sweat gleamed in beads on their glowing bodies as the pace quickened. Breaths wheezed in their throats. Her breasts battered against his hairy chest, playing the grand symphony.
The music chords swelled in their ears, climbing, climbing, climbing to shattering thunder. The crescendo! Discordant, the long trills down the keyboard. And out of that all, unexpected and blissful harmony. Sweet, drifting repose. The flesh assuaged of all its torments and cravings.
After the honeymoon, the individual can regard the bedroom scene with a certain objectivity that is impossible in the first hungry days and nights. Sometimes in the midst of frenzied pleasure with his bride, Wes would stand off and study the two of them as if they were strangers. With repetition and familiarity, Sue's appetites and skills in the game of love increased. One morning, he awakened to find her crouching by him with her nightgown bunched up about her waist and a lecherous smile on her lips. He was surprised to see that she had already prepared him for her purpose with her gentle, coaxing touch.
"Darn!" she exclaimed. "I was hoping you wouldn't wake up until I had everything fixed."
"Huh?" His sleep-dazed brain could not comprehend what was happening until he felt her moving to him, giving him the unique experience of playing the passive role. Not that that was unpleasant; quite the opposite. He took hold of her shaking breasts and enjoyed the usual frenzy.
After that was over she buried her face against his chest and giggled. "I'm a wanton hussy, aren't I sweetheart?"
"You're my wanton hussy," he said.
"Do you like me the way I am? I mean, you don't think I'm too aggressive?"
"I love you just the way you are," he replied, but he was not altogether sure. It seemed to him that Sue was gradually and subtly taking over the management of their love life as she was taking over the management of their domestic affairs and finances. As the years went by, she became the embodiment of his mother and all of his sisters put together. She was a perfect wife. She handled his small schoolteacher's salary as if it were twice the amount. Her house was spotless.
It was Sue who insisted that he take courses at night after teaching his fifth-grade English class. It was Sue who saw to it that he advanced from grade schuol to high school. And it was Sue who made him get his master's degree. It was Sue who had been instrumental in getting him to apply for the position as English department head at the exclusive Jane Richmond College for Women. That had been two years ago, and Wesley Parker had been the first male member of the faculty since the school's founding.
His hiring by Dean Phylis Moon had caused a near rebellion among the all-female staff, but Wes had finally come to be accepted, even liked, by a majority of his feminine co-workers. However, he was still the only man at Jane Richmond.
One man among 75 women, and 1400 young nubile females between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two.
Yes, Wesley Parker seemed destined to be smothered by women!
He was well aware that almost from the moment he took the job at Richmond, that his bedroom powers began to wane. He attributed that to many different causes: Overwork, tension, added responsibility, the doctor's thesis he was working on at night. Now, even the one time a month he made love to Sue was a distasteful chore, and his interest was at such a low level that he sometimes had real difficulty in forcing himself to sleep with her.
Wes was working on his thesis during a free period when there was a knock at his office door. "Come in," he said, and continued to write. It was Brenda Sloan, one of his literature instructors. Brenda Sloan was thirty-six. two years older than Wes. A small, slim woman with close-cropped brown hair and a cold face, she hated Wesley Parker, and he knew it. Mrs. Sloan had been up for the job of department head before he was brought in from outside. It would have been bad enough ii he had been another woman, but the fact that he was a man made it impossible for Brenda to accept him. She had led the early revolt against him upon his arrival, when the other teachers gave him the "deep freeze" treatment. And, he suspected. Brenda Sloan was still seeking ways to get him out of the department and out of Jane Richmond. It was like walking on eggs.
As the only male instructor, Wes was extremely popular with the girl students. To begin with he was young and quite good-looking with his even features, dark eyes and curly black hair. He was an excellent lecturer and an amusing one. His classes always drew the heaviest enrollments.
"I think it's disgusting," he had overheard Brenda comment to another teacher once, "the way those girls throw themselves at his head. Of course maybe he encourages them. After all, it isn't natural for a man to want to teach in a girls' school, now is it?" '
Considering that he was now making the best salary he had ever made, it was completely natural. However, aside from the pay, he did not care for any aspect of the job.
Women, women everywhere!
He sighed and stood up when Mrs. Sloan entered the office. "What can I do for you, Brenda?"
If she would only let herself smile, he thought, she would be a pretty woman. Her figure wasn't bad either small bosom, which she de-emphasized by loose blouses and suits, shapely buttocks and good legs, hidden by too-long skirts and too-tight girdles.
"It's that Olson girl again," she snapped. "The dorm mother reported she got in after three A.M. again last night. I don't know why I bother with her. She's under your counsellorship, after all."
Wes was amused. Indeed, why did she bother? It was none of her business. But Brenda was a born snoop and reformer. She was firmly convinced that every girl in the school had only one aim on her mind, to lose her virginity. And Brenda was determined to see that none of them accomplished their purpose. He was surprised that she didn't try to institute some inspection program, such as a nightly bed check.
"Out with a boy, I imagine?" he asked.
"Two boys!"
Wes grinned. "Well, there's safety in numbers."
She gave him a withering look. "I have suggested to Dean Moon that, for the remainder of this year, Lorraine Olson be placed in the custody of one of the senior girls. Some one with authority that she'll look up to."
"A big sister?" '
"Yes, we could put them in the same room together. That way the influence would be incessant."
"It's irregular to room a freshman with a senior, isn't it? What does the dean think?"
"She says she'll accept your judgment."
Wes didn't give a darn, really. If it satisfied the dean, and it got rid of Brenda, he was for it. "All right. I'll send for Lorraine and talk to her."
"Good. By the way, the dean says she is to be confined to quarters for the next two week ends."
As she was leaving, Brenda Sloan dropped her pencil. She stooped to pick it up, and, for a moment, her upper legs and buttocks were molded by the thin summer dress. Wes felt a faint twinge of male appreciation, but that left him quickly. Brenda Sloan reminded him a little of his prim sister, Gert.
His mind drifted to Sue. He wondered what she was doing this warm, lazy afternoon. Not much. Too bad they hadn't any children, he lamented. That would have given her more to occupy herself with. As it was she couldn't seem to think of anything else lately except love. Or the lack of love.
He knew she was a passionate woman, and he wondered how long she could stand the repressions that were building up for her because of his growing neglect.
Would she ever be unfaithful to him?
He shuddered and put the idea out of his mind.
Sometimes he was sorry that he hadn't married a cold tomato like Brenda Sloan. You could bet she didn't complain about lack of loving in her marriage.
Or did she? You never could tell about a woman. She might be one of the most passionate wenches in town once she released her inhibitions behind a bedroom door. Frankly, though, he just couldn't visualize that. Brenda Sloan, in his book, was the type that put love-making in the category of one of those marital duties guys performed whenever it seemed absolutely necessary.
CHAPTER THREE
Lorraine Olson didn't care one bit for her relocation in the senior dormitory. Her roommate, Connie Reach, seemed positively ancient to her. All of twenty-two years old! Not that she wasn't nice to Lorraine; she was swell, even helped her with her assignments: The two girls were contrasts in femininity. Lorraine was a fuzzy blonde, with wide blue eyes and a dimple in each plump cheek. She looked like a big doll.
And what a doll! At eighteen, she was built like an Italian movie queen, with melon breasts and buttocks that quivered with every step she took. She had long calendar-girl legs with plump calves. Everything about her was plump and round and warm looking.
Connie was a slender, dark, tense female. Her breasts were hard, pointed cones. Her hips were slim but well padded. And she had a dancer's lithe, strong legs. She chain-smoked cigarettes, and she had a habit of crossing and recrossing her legs nervously. She was a brilliant student.
Lorraine missed all of her old friends in the frosh dorm. But most of all she bridled under the two-week restriction. On Saturday evening, she paced back and forth in the small room, clad only in her bra and panties. "Saturday night, and I'm cooped up in this box like an animal in the zoo. It's inhuman."
Connie lay back on the bed and put her book down on her stomach. She studied Lorraine through a haze of cigarette smoke. "You'll live, honey." The blonde had her back to the bed now, and her sweet, heart-shaped buttocks fairly burst out of the skintight panties. The backs of her knees were dimpled too.
"It wouldn't be so bad, but I've been charged up for this date with a boy from Harvard for weeks now. Boy, what he does to me! After a session on the back seat with Bobbie, I'm wrung out for a week."
Connie smiled superciliously. The frosh girls were always bragging about their necking sessions. Most of them would keel over in a dead faint if a boy ever got his hand on their panties, she believed.
"I'll go crazy if I have to go two whole weeks without being with a boy." Lorraine moaned.
"Just how far do you go with boys, honey?" Connie asked.
Larraine came back and sat down on the edge of the bed and giggled. She got a kick out of talking about boys. Her breasts loomed up like two double-vanilla frappes topped with cherries in the flimsy net brassiere. Connie stamped out the cigarette in a tray and regarded her.
Lorraine shivered deliciously. and her tawny hair tumbled over her face. "Well, I've never gone all the way with a boy, but I've done about everything else."
"Like what?"
Connie was wearing shorts and a halter. Lorraine put a hand on one of her sleek tanned upper legs and shoved her playfully. "Oh, you know! Don't tell me you haven't played around with boys! I expect to lose my virginity by the time I get to be a senior."
"I lost mine in my junior year," Connie said matter-of-factly.
"Then you know how that goes. You start out by letting a fellow touch your boobs through your dress when you're about fifteen. Then, finally, you break down and let him touch your bare boobs. Maybe even take off your bra and let him kiss them." She rolled her eyes and moaned. "Old Bobbie, I was telling you about, he can work over a girl's boobs and drive her wild. After your sixteenth birthday, you feel grown up, and you let a date put his hand under your skirt and touch you through your panties. Before long, you're not wearing the panties and you get the nerve to unbutton his clothes. Now, you're really swinging. You can have just as good times that way as with the real thing. That depends on how good you get."
Connie was staring at the white hand on her tanned leg with bright eyes. "Are you real good, honey?"
Lorraine giggled. "So the boys tell me." She held up one graceful hand, so soft looking with its dimpled knuckles. "I just tease them a little while and they can't hold back for long."
"What else do you do?"
"What Bobbie likes me to do is sit on his lap." She tittered. "You know what I mean? He's done the real thing a lot of times, but he says that when I sit on his lap that's every bit as good as anything he's ever done."
Connie could feel a nerve quivering. Her conical breasts jutted against the thin fabric of the halter, the nipples swelling and distending the cloth.
"Do you ever kiss him?"
"Why sure I kiss him."
"No, I don't mean on the lips."
That took the blonde girl down a peg. "No, heck, that's going too far. I'll bet you never did either."
"I have, lots of times," Connie said casually.
Lorraine's eyes widened in true respect. "Wow! No kidding! That's a gas."
"Didn't a boy ever kiss you that way?"
Lorraine twisted around on the bed. "Gee, no! Gosh, the very thought makes me weak though." She giggled. "All over. I shouldn't be listening to all of this stuff. I'm ready to climb the walls."
Connie goaded her on. "You never did anything until you've been kissed that way, sweetie. That's seventh heaven." She began to move sensuously on the bed. "He starts on your boobs, naturally, and works his way along.. . Shut your eyes and imagine Bobbie is kissing you . . .
Lorraine emitted a genuine cry of anguish, "Stop that, Connie!" Her soft hand convulsed on the dark girl's leg, and flames spread as Connie talked on feverishly, with her gaze fixed on Lorraine's inflamed face. In explicit detail she described the imagined behavior of Bobbie, and when she was finished, Lorraine was trembling with desire so intense that she was almost in tears.
"Connie," she pleaded, "I'm going out of my mind. What can I do?"
The dark girl sat up. "We can pretend."
"Pretend?"
"Sure, just close your eyes and pretend that I'm Bobbie. I'll pretend you're my boy friend."
The younger girl recoiled in alarm " Connie! You don't mean . . . ? " She could not find the words.
"What's the difference?" Connie urged softly. "Sometimes that's even better with a girl. They're more gentle."
Lorraine could not believe her ears. "You mean . . .you did that with another girl?"
"Sure. So have half the other kids in this school. That's convenient. That's friendly. And fun." She put an arm behind Lorraine and unsnapped her brassiere.
The quivering mounds of white flesh spilled loose. She covered them with her arms. "No, Connie. Please. I don't want to."
"Yes, you do." She reached out and pinched one of the fire-red turgid nipples with her fingers. "You're as eager as I am."
Lorraine whimpered as her roommate pushed her arms away and cupped her sensitive boobs, kneading the resilient flesh with strong fingers. Connie bent her back firmly on the bed and touched her lips to the tender knobs, erasing all further doubt from the blonde's mind.
"Don't stop, that's so wonderful. I can't help myself."
Connie giggled. "You help me, and I'll help you." They disengaged briefly to fling off their clothing. Lorraine tore her panties slipping them over her ankles, but she didn't care. With eager eyes, she watched Connie undress. The halter whipped away, exposing the glistening cones of flesh. Connie's boobs were nowhere as large as Lorraine's, but they were aggressive, and the red-orange tips turned up almost vertically. Connie kicked off her lace panties.
For an instant they examined each other as they crouched naked on the bed. Then Connie pushed Lorraine down flat on her back across the bed.
"How do we do this?" Lorraine asked anxiously.
"You'll see. This will all seem natural." Connie kissed her lips and Lorraine was amazed to find that was almost as thrilling as kissing a boy.
Now, Connie's mouth moved along the curve of her throat to the cleavage of the buxom mountains of flesh. She worked around one mountain, traversing the base and then moving slowly up the slopes, around and around, until, at last, her kiss reached the tortured summit. Lorraine tensed and sighed, and her shaky hands reached for Connie's breasts. Sweet, firm pears. She worked at them fiercely.
That was a dreamy voyage to ecstasy, slow and easy. The dark girl murmured with pleasure as her own lips sought every contour of the blonde. She was beside herself with desire now, and wanted to get to the glorious conclusion as soon as possible.
Each touch of hands and pressure of lips sent the girls to new heights of pleasure. Then they could go no higher, and they tumbled like feathers, floating gently down to earth again.
When that was over, Connie raised her head and looked at Lorraine's dazed face. "Well, honey, how was that?"
The buxom blonde shivered and sighed. "Who the heck needs a Harvard man!" she simpered. "I wonder what Miss Sloan would say if she knew how good your influence has been on me?"
Connie laughed. "Well, she told me to take good care of you. I'd say we got off to a pretty good start!"
Phylis Moon finished her second martini and walked to the little bar in her living room to pour a third. She lit a cigarette and inhaled vehemently, hating the smoke, hating the gin and vermouth and hating herself more than any of them. She examined her image in the mirror over the bar and saw a genteel looking blonde widow, age forty-two, who might have been years younger, except that her twenty-two-year-old daughter, Janet, was a senior at Jane Richmond College.
Phylis didn't feel old enough to be the dean of a college, didn't feel old enough to have a grown daughter, didn't feel old enough to resign herself to the shriveling-process of becoming an old maid. Harry had been dead for four years now, and she had remained celihate all that time, for four years of nagging, hopeless frustration, for she had always been a passionate woman. But there had been no opportunity for anything different. The dean of one of
America's most fashionable women's colleges could not go bar-hopping the way the kids did and pick up strange men. Barring that method, there was no other way to meet an eligible, unattached male in Woodfield. Outside of the husbands of the faculty members, practically all of the men in the region worked in the local mills or factories. She and they had nothing in common.
It had occurred to her to have an affair with one of the faculty husbands, on occasion, but good sense always stopped her. Their wives worked in her employ. They were suspicious of her for being an attractive single female. She knew perfectly well that whenever she attended any college social function, dozens of pairs of "cats'" eyes were turned on her sullenly every time she danced or even talked with a married man.
Originally, this had accounted partially, at least, for her decision to hire a male educator at Richmond two years earlier. She felt it was time to break down segregation. Wesley Parker would blaze the trail for some other prospective male faculty members. Single men. Eligible men. But it had worked according to plan. The resentment against Parker had been so extreme that it had disrupted the proper functioning of the school for eighteen months, not to mention the strain that he had undergone. The experience had wearied her. She had decided not to risk hiring another man, at least for another three years.
Lately, she had been watching Parker with interest above and beyond her concern with him as head of the English department. When she saw Parker and his wife together, there was evidence of coolness and strain between them. Was it mere coincidence that he was spending more and more of his evenings at the library or working on his thesis in his office? Or did the two things go together? If things weren't going right for the Parkers, what was he doing for a love life? He was a strapping, virile looking young man, and she knew that the younger girls found him attractive. She smiled in the mirror. So did the older "girls."
Phylis wondered what he thought of her as a woman. If he thought of her as a woman! Her hair was swept back straight and tight across her head and curled in a large chignon at the nape of her neck, severe, but well suited to her aristocratic, cool features. Her pale eyes were wide-set and vaguely almond-shaped. She had a youthful throat, no sag or dewlap, like so many women developed after the age of forty. She wore a white satin, sleeveless blouse that showed off to good advantage her high, firm breasts. For the occasion, she had borrowed one of Janet's scandalous half bras, the kind that made the breasts appear as if they were being served up on small dishes. A slim, short velvet skirt completed the ensemble and matched her black suede ballet slippers. She looked quite girlish, she thought, quite a contrast to the way she appeared in her college office, deliberately gotten up to fit the image of a women's dean in mannish suits, no lipstick or eye make-up, sensible clumsy shoes, horn-rimmed glasses.
She touched a hand to a stray hair near her temple and practiced a sultry smile. Wesley Parker was in for quite a surprise this afternoon. The verdant odors of spring wafted in through the open windows, honeysuckle, roses, grass. It was an unseasonably warm spring, with the temperature hovering near seventy degrees almost every day the past week.
Spring had always done things to Phyllis's glands, as far back as she could remember. Even after ten years of marriage, she had behaved as ardently as a bride, come April, her husband Harry had liked to joke. And inactivity had not diminished the strength of her ardor one whit. These warm sweet nights were nightmares for her as she tossed and turned, constantly aware of her woman's breasts and her woman's body.
Even during the day, walking about the campus, reminders were everywhere. Love! The Richmond girls and their dates, strolling hand in hand, looking at one another with that bright, hungry look. Their hips touching lightly, but so meaningfully. Sometimes they would be lying on the grass half concealed by shrubbery, locked in passionate embrace, straining against each other with the strength of youth. She could tell by the way the girls' legs twitched exactly what they were feeling. She felt the same way on those long, maddening warm spring nights. But, in the case of the young ladies, the awful desire would not be long denied fulfillment. The boys would give them relief before the night was past, on the back seat of a car, or on the sweet grass or on some front porch glider.
But for the dean of women, there was no relief in sight. Well, maybe!
Phylis had invited Wesley Parker to Saturday afternoon tea on the pretext of discussing daughter Janet with him. "It's as much personal as it is academic, and I think we'd both be more comfortable in my parlor," she had told him.
Wes was perfectly agreeable, and arrived on schedule at three thirty P.M. He wore a tweed jacket over a checked sports shirt, open at the throat, and he was smoking his pipe. He looked exactly as a young instructor at a fashionable college should look.
"Not instructor for long," he told himself. "Next year, I'll have my doctorate and the title of 'professor.'" It was a fine feeling.
His first glimpse of Phylis when she opened the door startled him, and he showed it. "Why I thought -" He stopped in embarrassment.
She smiled. "You thought what?"
"I didn't recognize you for a moment."
"I hope that's a compliment. Do tome in, Wesley."
He followed her into the parlor "It is. Somehow, you don't look like the dean of Jane Richmond today."
"What do I look like?"
He flushed, but said it. "You look like a woman."
Their eyes locked silently for an instant, then she turned away to the bar and said softly. "Why thank you, Wesley. Will you have a martini?"
He had expected tea, but was more than happy to have the martini. "That will be fine. Shall I mix them?"
"Thanks, but they're already mixed."
At last they were settled before the fireplace, cold now but retaining the cozy atmosphere of all fireplaces with the memories of blazing hearths on cold winter nights. He sat on a chair across the table from Dean Moon who was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed. It was rather disconcerting. It was the first time he had ever been aware of the woman's legs in two years. And they were good legs, long and sleek in the sheer nylon stockings, displayed to a modest inch or two above the knees under the short velvet skirt.
He coughed importantly and frowned. "Well, what's our problem, Dr. Moon?"
Her pale eyes surveyed him solemnly. "Wesley Wes, do you mind if I call you Wes?"
"Please do."
"All right, Wes.. . I think I'd feel more at ease if you would call me Phylis." She saw his eyebrows flare. "I mean, this is not exactly a professional matter I want to discuss with you, and I can do it better if we keep the meeting as informal as possible." She lowered her eyes demurely. "I want your advice not just as Janet's English instructor, but as a man. A friend."
"Of course," he said, with a small swell of mate pride. "I'll do what I can Phylis."
She smiled at him gratefully. "I know you will, Wes." She looked at his hard, brown hands and his strong jaw and the tuft of dark, curly hair at the neckline of his shirt, and she felt the longing curl through her and invade her breasts.
She commenced. "I'm frankly worried about Janet's marks. There's less than one month to go, and I'm afraid she won't graduate without a miracle."
He nodded. Janet Moon had never been a good student, but she had managed to squeak through for three years with a C-plus average. But this last term, she had fallen apart completely, failing in four subjects, including English. She was spoiled, impudent, boy crazy and indifferent to her teachers, her mother, her marks and her reputation. Twice, there had been nasty rumors about Janet being seen at infamous road houses and motels with various men. She was a hellcat, a tawny-blonde Venus with a wisdom in her green eyes and a figure that made her seem ten years older than her twenty-two years.
He tapped the pipe stem against his teeth. "I'm afraid you're right Doc I mean Phylis. As you may know, I've spoken to her about her English grades on at least three occasions this semester."
She put her stemmed glass on the table and sagged back against the cushions. "I'm at my wit's end, Wes. I have no control of her at all. If only dear Harry were alive, I think things might have been different A girl child, as well as a boy, needs a strong masculine influence in those vital teen-age years. I've tried to be mother and father to her, but it just won't work. I'm all female basically, you know. Not firm enough." She smiled at him wanly. "That's a terrible admission for the dean to be making, isn't it, Wes?"
"Not at all," he said defensively. "It proves you're human, not a machine. You shouldn't reproach yourself, Phylis. With the ponderous responsibilities' you have at the college, it's a wonder you can find the time or the energy to be a homemaker at all."
"I've done the best I can," she said. "But it isn't enough. At least not with Janet it isn't."
He was hypnotized by the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the clinging satin. The way the nipples protruded, she appeared to be wearing no brassiere. But he chided himself for the speculation.
"Is there anything I can do to help, Phylis?"
"I I don't know. I hope so. Possibly you can talk to her."
"I have tried to, you know."
"I don't mean in school, as an instructor. Here, at our home, as a friend. Not as a man who is employed by her mother. Do you understand?"
"I think so. Only won't it seem like a put-up job? I've never been a social visitor here, except for faculty functions."
Her eyes were wet. "I'm sorry about that. You know, I've never had any real close friends among the faculty. The kind one cares to talk to and confide in."
He was sympathetic. "It's always lonely at the top I guess."
"You don't know how lonely, Wes." She was slack against the cushions with her eyes turned up at the ceiling. The short, velvet skirt had skidded back higher on her legs, almost to the tops of her stockings. And her knees were carelessly arranged so that he could see the white rounds of her legs above the nylons. He felt his face flame and his heart accelerate, and guiltily pulled his gaze up to her face. There was a spark of desire bothering him, something he had not experienced involuntarily for some weeks.
To his horror, she suddenly bent her face forward into her hands and began to sob. Wes bounded to his feet in great agitation. What to do now?
"Please, Phylis, don't cry. I'm sure we can work something out. I'll do everything in my power to help."
"Oh, Wes, you're so wonderful," she blubbered.
Not knowing what else to do, he sat down beside her on the couch and clumsily attempted to make some display of comforting her. The role was alien to him. The whole situation was embarrassing and bizarre. He put a clumsy arm around her shoulders and patted her.
"There, there, it's going to be all right."
The vigor of her response took his breath away. She practically hurled herself into his arms, snuggling her face against the hollow of his shoulder. Their position was exceedingly unsettling.
First of all, he could look down the loose neck of the satin blouse and see the whole upper hemispheres of her large, puffy breasts. At first he was sure he had been correct in surmising that she wore no brassiere. He could see her nipples, reddish brown and poking against the satin. But then he realized she had on one of those bras he had seen on manikins in lingerie shops, the type whose sole purpose is to supply some modest support beneath the breasts and nothing more. That scarcely conformed to his picture of the severe, functional underwear one would expect a college dean to be wearing.
The second unsettling thing was that, in turning toward him on the couch, she had pushed her skirt practically clear back to her hips. The entire length of her tapered legs was exposed, the gartered stocking tops, the bare white flesh above them.
Thirdly, one of her hands was clutching at his leg. The very thought of what could happen sent his interest climbing.
He was shocked at himself, shocked at Phylis. And he knew that the whole thing was unthinkable! But there was a sensual excitement fermenting now which was altogether different from the conventional excitement he had enjoyed with Sue in their first year of marriage
What happened next was dictated by a stranger who inhabited the body and mind of Wesley Parker, by a stranger whose existence he had been ignorant of until this precise moment.
He slipped his hand under the satin blouse and gently eased one of her breasts out of its half cup. The nipple thrust against his palm fiercely, and a shudder wracked her body.
"Darling, Wes," she murmured. She lifted her lips to him and he kissed them. At the same time, she was unbuttoning her blouse. Before he realized what she was doing, she was nude from the waist up. Her breasts were rich and heavy, matronly without sagging. They were great spongy fruits in his hands
She took one of his hands and guided that to her, moving her body against him. She was panting and trembling unceasingly now. a kind of animal behavior that frightened him a little.
She kept muttering vague, disjointed gibberish. "Oh, my love. So long . . . you don't know. A thousand nights . . . no love . . . the torture . . . "
Her eager hands fumbled at his clothing. He was startled by his vitality which had been in hibernation for the past two years. The cry of delight rising in her throat as she gazed upon him was music in his ears. He felt like a man. A real man, not the child-man with five sisters and a motherly wife. Phylis, literally, pounced noon him, capturing him with her hands and her lips.
And then they heard the footsteps on the porch and the laughing voices. They bolted upright. "My God, who is that?" Wes whispered.
She choked. "It must be Janet. They must have only stayed to see half of the double feature."
"They're going to see a much better show here," he said wildly. He leaped to his feet and arranged his clothing.
She was up too, clutching at his arm. "Quick, there's no time. We have to get out of sight." She dragged him to a door at the far end of the room, near a baby grand piano. "Storage closet," she said breathlessly. "We never open it." They ducked inside and closed the door, not a split second too soon. Janet and her date came into the parlor.
"Hello!" she bellowed. "Anybody home?" She repeated it again in the hall at the foot of the stairs, then returned to her date. "We're alone. I guess mother went out. She mentioned having a date this, afternoon."
The boy laughed. "A date? With a man?"
She giggled. "Strictly business. I don't think mama would know what to do with a man. It's been so long, she's probably forgotten what life's all about."
CHAPTER FOUR
THAT LITTLE WITCH ! " PHYLIS MUTTERED UNDER her breath. The utility closet was large enough, but it was piled high with crates and boxes along both walls, so that only a narrow aisle remained for her and Wes to squeeze themselves into. When she bent over to peer through the keyhole, the rotund globes of her soft buttocks pressed against him. The sensation was quite pleasurable even more so because of the bizarre circumstances.
With one eye to the keyhole, Phylis watched her daughter and the boy, a rugged youth about Jan's age, over six feet tall and with the physique of a football player. Jan stood on tiptoes to ruffle his blond hair and to kiss him lightly on the lips.
"Drink, honey?"
He shook his head. "You know I'm in training."
The girl tittered. "In training for what?"
He reached for her like a bear, but she evaded him. "You know what I'm in training for. C'mere to papa."
The girl laughed and shook her long blonde hair out. It shimmered like spun gold. She had an ethereal golden beauty that was not of this earth, yet, at the same time, there was an earthiness about her that could stir desire in the male animal at the mere sight of her. She was wearing a sweater several sizes too small that seemed unable to contain her breasts. They possessed the muscle tone and contours rarely seen. Her pleated skirt was one of the daring Italian "shorties," that barely covered her buttocks. She kicked off her loafers and did a pirouette in the middle of the room in her bare feet. The skirt whipped up in a swirl high on her slender, bare legs, still higher, until the edge of her panties came into view.
The boy snorted and went toward her. "Hey, I like that." She stopped spinning and backed away from him, holding the skirt coyly with both hands.
"You can't see more, so there!"
"Pig!" the mother breathed in the dark closet and wriggled against Wes Parker. She was dimly aware of him, but, as yet, the sensation was dulled by her indignation toward her daughter.
Janet retreated to the couch, seating herself in a provocative position.
As the boy moved toward her. his eyes feasted. He hurled himself down on the couch and enveloped her in a bear hug. She giggled and met his mouth with hers. The boy's hand plunged beneath the skirt and began to caress her legs, the fleshy mounds of her buttocks.
"Disgusting!" Phylis said. She had all she could do to restrain herself from bursting out of the closet and stopping the scene on the couch before they Tent any further. But to do so now would be to humiliate herself far more than she would humiliate her daughter. The dean of Jane Richmond College in a dark closet with a man! And both of them in a state of obvious dishabille! Like wildfire the story would spread through Richmond, through Harvard, through Vassar, through Yale. She would have to go into permanent exile. So she watched helplessly as the crude youth pulled down Janet's panties, slipping them past her knees and over her bare feet. That was a shock to gaze upon her own child's lovely charms brazenly exposed to the lustful eyes and hands of this young bull, shocking to see how eagerly she responded to his caresses, how ready she was to accept his attentions. It nauseated Phylis to watch her daughter's slim hands tear greedily at the boy's clothing, to see how expert the slim fingers were in undressing this male.
Phylis gasped at the sight of him, the raw, brutal sight, terrifying and fascinating, and beautiful in a perverse way She saw everything with stark clarity through the keyhole. He knelt on the couch, completely obscuring the girl's body from view.
Phylis felt dizzy. Despite her enjoyment of her husband throughout her married life, despite her years and wisdom and experience, making love had always been a personal thing to her. She had never been a spectator, nor had she ever wanted to be. But here she was peering through a keyhole, a loathsome Peeping Tom, spying. Worse yet, she was her own daughter! She wanted to tear her eye away from the keyhole, to blot the awful vision out, but she was powerless. She shuddered as the boy moved toward Janet. She whimpered as one of Janet's hands darted out to guide him. She almost collapsed as the brute took her and Janet's exultant cry exploded in the room.
Passion hit her like a deluge. Wave after wave of blinding need rippled over her. Phylis gathered her skirt around her waist with one hand, and with the other hand she slid down her panties, over her upper legs and past her knees. The silk fluttered to her feet.
"Now, Wes! Now!" she whispered over her shoulder. Her hand fumbled behind her for him. He was as ready as he would ever be. It took him only seconds to fix his clothes.
Wes had never known such frenzied lust in his thirty-four years. That was drunken, abandoned, unprincipled lechery, pristine pure lust. No silly conventions. No preliminaries. No formal ritual such as the mundane affections between man and wife. He was glad for the darkness, for the cramped uncomfortable quarters.
She knew a tingling vibration of nerves and muscles, screaming out their excitement and anticipation. The moment was exquisite for her after the five long years since she had experienced that joy, the joy of being a woman who was wanted by a man, the joy of knowing the full strength of the man's wanting. There was much more for her than the mere easing of a tension. Loving was, for a woman, the very justification of her existence. She had all she could do to suppress the bubbling of her exhilaration, to keep from shouting out aloud, to keep from flinging the closet door open and shouting to her daughter.
"See! Is this the old maid who doesn't know what life is all about?"
Like mid animals! he thought, as he worked away. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like the aggressor. He had never loved a female in this manner, so wildly, enjoying the very limits of this power. Her muffled cry of pain and pleasure drove him to greater frenzies. He knew they were battering the crates and boxes on each side of them, creating a commotion that surely must be heard by the boy and the girl outside, but he didn't care.
Of course, he had no way of knowing that the couple on the couch were oblivious of everything outside their own seething passions.
They reached the peak together, the. two on the couch and their counterparts inside the dark closet. There could have been some telepathic empathy, some alchemy of chemistry that set up a sympathetic field of force among the four naked bodies gripped in the most powerful emotion known to mankind.
Colored balls of fire zigzagged before Parker's eyes like Roman candles. They rocked and swayed.
The younger couple on the couch raged at each other more like wild animal than lovers. Growling and yowling, the girl sank her teeth into his shoulder and clenched her arms around him. He pushed her back against the couch so hard that the old relic tottered on its legs and pitched over backward. They rolled off and somersaulted on the rug like playful kittens. But never did they lose the rhythm.
Soon after, the boy dressed and left the house. When Janet went upstairs to wash up, Phylis and Wes came out of the closet. As she took him to the door, she whispered to him with shame, "I don't know what hit me, Wesley."
He laughed. "I know."
She giggled girlishly "You must think I'm terrible."
"I think you're pretty wonderful," he said sincerely.
"So are you." She squeezed his hand. "I'll see you again, won't I?"
"Certainly. Monday morning at school."
She blushed. "I didn't mean that. Like today. We will be together again?"
He avoided her eyes. "I'm sure we will. Let's see what happens. That's often the best way, like today."
She kissed him lightly on the lips and he went out of the house. Dusk was casting a purple twilight over the landscape as he approached his own home on the edge of the campus. He puffed nervously on the pipe and walked past the front walk. He didn't want to go inside just yet and face his wife. His thoughts were too tumultuous.
Wes had always had a blind spot where his impotence was concerned. Actually, he never had thought about that as impotence. There were always countless excuses with which to rationalize. Overwork. Worry. Lack of sleep. Sue had heard them all a dozen times. He liked to believe that she accepted them, but he knew better. Now, the explosive encounter with Phylis had stripped away all pretense. His libido had not waned over the years. If anything, his virility this afternoon had been at a peak never surpassed at any time in his Hie. And, paradoxically, that pointed up the impotence that plagued him with his wife. That was impotence, he admitted that. For that was the cogent meaning of the word. It mattered little if a man derived some perverse thrill from taking a woman in a dark closet while her daughter was making love with another male in the next room. What did matter was how he performed at home with his wife. If he couldn't bring her pleasure, then he was impotent.
That night at supper, he startled Sue. "I think we ought to adopt a child," he said.
She laid down her fork weakly. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I'm serious."
Two spots of color rouged her cheeks. "You know, I've been doing a lot of reading lately. Sometimes people go for years without having a child, then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, they do. What I mean is, maybe we could try for one of our own again. Really try." She dropped her eyes.
Realty try.
Wes knew perfectly well what she was driving at. If we had more love, maybe something would happen. He thought about the interlude with Phylis, and that spurred his confidence. Hope leaped for him. Maybe the episode would disrupt the pattern of his inadequacy with Sue. He even was aware of the beginning of desire for her.
She looked very pretty and desirable with her blonde hair freshly washed and brushed, shining in the candlelight and her eyes soft and demure. She was wearing a white angora sweater that made her breasts appear as big round powder puffs. Her nylon skirt, charged with static electricity, clung to her like fly paper. He had forgotten what a cute derriere she had.
"All right," he said in answer to her question. "Let's give that a try."
Excitement made her voice shake. "Right now?"
He laughed. "Oh, I guess we can wait until the dishes are done."
Sue was already up and carrying her plate to the sink. "No! I mean why wait if you feel like that now, honey."
Wes lit a cigarette. Her eagerness amused him. He could see her trembling beneath the clinging skirt. The sight sent a pang of revulsion through him.
She rushed him through his coffee and dessert, rushed him into the bedroom. Her sweater and skirt were off before he could untie his shoes. Her naked breasts fairly exploded out of the bra. She threw herself down on the bed, kicked her legs and wriggled out of her panties. She was panting for him, he could see, the way Phylis had been paining for him. But something was different, something elusive and irritating to him.
He was outraged when Sue tugged at his shorts, to help him slide them over his feet. He lay back beside her and went through the motions of arousing her. He kissed her breasts and stroked her. His hands drove her to a peak of frenzied passion. And all the while her hands were working feverishly to prepare him. But for all her ministrations, the flesh remained cold, dead.
Sue was almost in tears. "What's wrong? You wanted to before. You said so."
"I did," he snapped. "Before."
"You will. I'll make you." To his astonishment, she buried her face against him, kissing him, adoring him.
He arched with a snap, simulating passion, but he knew no sensual excitement, only the curse of unwilling flesh. He was now so bowed that his weight rested on his heels and the top of his head, so contorted by mock sensuality that his eyes stared at the wall behind him. He reacted this way partially to encourage Sue and partially to hide his face from her. She mustn't see his eyes squeezed shut, his lips pulled back not from nervous, ecstatic command, but with the extreme bitterness of a person who knows that fulfillment will, for him. remain always out of reach.
But Sue was not so easily discouraged. She was a woman totally intent on achieving the gift of motherhood, despite the price. She became like an irresistible animal, her Adrenalin spreading, giving her the strength of a man. She leaped to his lips, biting savagely, pulling sideways, drawing blood. He groaned, but again from pain, without any accompanying primordial lust. His basic male senses were quietly in repose.
Sue tried to become the aggressor, with force enough for both of them. She lunged upward, flipping him easily, reversing his position. His breath gushed from him as his stomach hit with impact at the bedclothes. He lifted his head to speak, but Sue had already applied herself, moving along him swiftly, using a newly learned knowledge of nerve centers. At once, his eyes bulged and his whole body, catapulted forward with nervous reaction, his head crashing at the wall, but no signal of pain was sent his brain, so over-keyed was his nervous system.
Sue stopped abruptly, seeing that his body was reacting nervously but that he was not even close to achieving the excitement she so desperately needed.
After a while he got up and dressed and went down to get a drink. As he descended the stairs her hysterical sobbing assaulted his eardrums.
CHAPTER FIVE
SUE HAD MADE UP HER MIND BEFORE THE SUN ROSE on Monday morning. She couldn't handle this problem by herself. She needed help, professional help. Actually, it was Wes who needed the help, but he would never agree to see a doctor about so intimate a problem. But maybe if she could talk to a doctor, both of them might persuade Wes to give it a try at least. The kind of doctor she had in mind was a psychiatrist. She had read enough about impotence to know that a great deal of that was psychological rather than physical.
The only psychiatrist in the small college town was Dr. Ruth Marx, who, in addition to her practice, taught psychology at Jane Richmond. Her home office was only two blocks away from the Parker house, on the edge of the campus.
A slim, pretty brunette, wearing the distinctive sweater of one of the school's sororities, greeted Sue in the reception room.
"I'm Dr. Marx's part-time steno," she introduced herself. "Do you have an appointment?"
Sue fumbled nervously with her gloves. "No, but I'm sure she'll see me. I'm Wesley Parker's wife. We're good friends."
The girl's eyebrows went up interestedly. Wes Parker was one of her favorite profs. She examined Sue from head to toe. Face nice looking. Breasts a trifle too small, but it was bard to tell the way they were hidden under the jacket of her tailored suit. Hips and rear slim and trim like her own. Good legs, long and shapely. She wondered what kind of problems Wes Parker's wife was having that had brought her to Dr. Marx. She flicked on the intercom and announced Mrs. Parker to the doctor.
Ruth Marx was surprised. "Send her right in," she said, and put aside the mike of the tape-recorder she had been using.
Connie Beach escorted Mrs. Parker into the inner office, then went out and closed the door behind her. Eyes glittering, she opened the top drawer of her desk and took out an electronic gadget with a rubber suction cup on one end and a pair of earphones on the other. She turned to the wall behind her and fixed the cup to the wall, then adjusted the phones to her ears. During the past year, Connie had picked up a treasure of confidential information about numerous patients who came to see Dr. Marx. Some of it was so confidential that the persons who had divulged it would do anything for Connie if she would only promise to keep it to herself. As a matter-of-fact, she had garnered a sizable amount of cash from fellow students, faculty members and a few of the local natives as the price of her silence. She licked her lips in anticipation as Mrs. Parker began to talk to Dr. Marx, and it came over loud and clear on the marvelous "bug."
Ruth Marx seemed too young and feminine to own degrees in medicine and psychiatry. Born in Vienna, the birthplace of her chosen profession, she had been brought by her parents to the United States shortly after World War Two. A child prodigy, she had graduated from college at the age of eighteen, and gone on to medical school, and finally specialized in psychiatry. She could have enjoyed a $100,000-a-year practice on Fifth Avenue in New York, but at a party one night, just before her graduation, she had met a young bank teller from Boston by the name of Donald Marx. They fell in love, moved to New England, and, ultimately, the job as head of the psychology department had come along.
Ruth Marx was a woman of ordinary good looks. Her face was round and dimpled. Her hair was mousy and she always wore it in braids tied over the top of her head like a peasant girl. Her figure was plump.
The two women exchanged amenities, then Sue got right to the point. She spoke nervously and rapidly for perhaps fifteen minutes, summing up her marriage to Wes from wedding night to last night. That was all it took, fifteen minutes. Ten years in fifteen minutes. Tears beaded her long lashes.
Dr. Marx questioned her in meticulous detail about the most intimate aspects of her love life. Or lack of love life.
"Have you ever suspected him of having other women? He is an attractive man, you know. And the opportunities here are excessive, we must admit."
"I've considered that," Sue admitted. "But I honestly never had any reason to. Not the slightest. I almost wish that were true."
"Yes, I understand."
"Is there anything you can do for him, Ruth?" Sue pleaded.
"That depends. First of all he has to want to come and consult with me. It would be unethical for me to ask him to see me. In any case, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Let's start with you, Sue."
Sue sat up rigidly. "Start with me? There's nothing wrong with me."
Dr. Marx smiled a superior professional smile. "I'm sure there isn't, my dear. But we've sot to make sure. When a marriage goes off the track for any reason, the' fault seldom lies exclusively with one of the partners. Impotent husband. Frigid wife. Two sides of the same coin. But we are not out to fix blame. What we want is to find the cause or causes and cure them."
"But how could I possibly be responsible for Wes's condition?" Sue colored again. "I I don't mind admitting that I'm very warm-blooded. I liked love from the first."
"That may be. But more often than not maladjustments between married partners are the result of causes far removed from the bedroom. I know of a case where a woman was frigid for the first five years of her married life. It turned out that they had lived with her parents for the first six months of marriage, and the girl always had an exaggerated fear that her father would walk into their bedroom by mistake some night, and catch them making love. This fear carried over for years, even after the couple had their own apartment. I finally was able to deduce this after nine months of analysis. Once I knew the cause, the cure was instantaneous. The magic words I spoke to her were these: 'Lock your bedroom door!' From that night on she became an ardent wife."
Sue was impressed. "A small thing like that?"
"It's the small things that cause the most trouble. Because they are so difficult to discover."
Dr. Marx asked Sue to talk about her earliest recollections of love. Sue began in a faltering, hesitant fashion, but as she continued, she was amazed at how vivid her recollections of childhood really were. She had been an overprotected child of parents who had had her late in life. As a result, she had been eleven years old before she had any inkling of the "facts of life."
Her teacher was a thirteen-year-old lad who lived on the street behind her house, Jimmy Walters, big for his age and a handsome boy. Sue had begun to sprout little acorns on her chest by age eleven, and her upper legs" and buttocks were filling out even faster. But in her heart she was still her daddy's little girl. Because she didn't know that there were differences between male and female, Sue had the impression that girls were a kind of inferior breed of boys. To offset this erroneous belief, she strove fanatically hard at school and at play to do everything as well as any boy could. It was only natural that her spirit did win the admiration of many boys.
Jimmy Walters was one of the boys who thought she was "okay for a girl." He even let her be on his team in games of stickball and touch tackle. One Sunday he called for her and they went for a walk in the nearby park. They came to a gnarled oak tree with branches close to the ground.
"Let's climb up," he said.
Sue hesitated, looking down at her new Sunday frock. But it was her principle never to turn down a challenge from a boy, especially when the excuse was something as "sissyish" as a dress. Dress or not, Sue went up the tree like a monkey. Soon she was above Jimmy's head. She didn't know that the boy let her get ahead of him for a very good reason.
Puberty had overtaken Jimmy that year. His new-found masculinity was asserting itself in all directions. Strange things happened to him whenever he looked at a girl's boobs or bare legs. Even the pictures of the women in underwear in the mail order catalogue excited him. Of late he had begun to notice Sue as something more than a good shortstop or a linebacker. She was a female. Her ! ;"le boobs were nothing. But she had a bouncy little rear and her legs were getting shapely. Climbing the tree he had a good view of her rear and her legs. Boy, he thought, she sure looked different with those pink silk panties than she did in dungarees or slacks. He kept his eyes focused on her. To make matters worse, Sue straddled a limb so that her skirt was hiked about her hips. She frowned at him. "What's the matter with you? You look funny."
Jimmy swallowed hard, and his heart was fluttering in his chest. As modesty and embarrassment left him in the face of his burning need. "It's your fault for wearing that dress. I was looking at you. I saw your panties."
She blinked. "My panties! So what if you did?" She was completely bewildered.
"You big dope!" he said. "You're a girl. When a guy sees a naked girl that does things to him."
"I'm not naked."
"You almost are. Those panties don't hide much."
Sue's parents had taught her certain bits and pieces of modesty. She pulled her skirt down to cover her bare legs. "What things does that do to you?" she asked curiously.
He giggled. "You mean you don't know?"
She shook her head mutely.
"You're dumb," he snorted.
The humiliation scalded her. That terrible de-grading tone that boys always used when they addressed girls! He was mocking her as-she had never been mocked before.
His hands were trembling as he reached out for hers. "Will you do something for me, Sue?" he implored her. "I'm awful miserable."
She tried to pull away. She was angry and humiliated. He only wanted to make her feel worse. But, in spite of herself, she was attracted. She put her hand on him. He moved, making strange noises and breathing hard--
"What are you doing?" she demanded, a little scared of the way he was acting.
He hadn't answered her, but the whole episode had left her with a feeling of astonished awe and, somehow, disappointment.
Sue had never told a living soul about that, not even Wes, until this day. It astounded her that she had been able to tell Ruth so casually, not only about that childhood scene, but also other things, including her unfortunate session with the salesman.
The psychiatrist's face was bland, but there was a fertile seed planted in her mind. It was enough for one day, more than she had expected so soon. "I think that's enough for the first session, Sue," she said. "Can you see me again next Thursday?"
"If you think it's necessary?"
"Oh I do. I surely do!"
"Maybe I can persuade Wes to come with me."
Dr. Marx frowned. "No, let's you and I have a few more sessions alone first. Then we'll see about Wesley."
Sue was vaguely annoyed with Ruth Marx for some reason she couldn't pin down.
It had been an annoying day for Wes Parker too, not, however, because his failure with Sue the other night bothered him. What bothered him was that he had wanted so badly to succeed! The torrid session with Phylis had awakened him to the voluptuous joys of love once more. Now that was on his mind constantly when he was trying to work, even in class. He would be in the midst of a lecture and he would gaze across the sea of ripe, young boobs bobbing in their sweaters and sheer blouses, and at the ranks of sleek bare legs, crossed, with the short skirts pulled above the knee, and he would feel desire begin. If those young things only knew what was on his mind while he was discoursing in scholarly fashion on the merits, of talent in writing.
He thought of trapping them in the coat room as he had the dean in her dark closet. The whisk of a skirt. Roll down sheer panties over soft, rotund buttocks. The pink flesh warm and waiting. And the quick move. He was crazy with lust. But he knew instinctively that, by the time he went home to Sue, he would be incapable. Why?
His wife had breasts as fruity as these young girls. Her buttocks were just as bouncy, her body as nubile. But the thought of her left him cold. Then a terrible realization hit him, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
It was the idea of taking a female unawares in the coat room that intrigued him above all else. He focused his attention on an exotic girl with a figure like Sophia Loren. Her melon breasts almost popped over the top of her plunging neckline. When she crossed one silken leg over the other, she lifted the knee high, giving him a glimpse of sculptured leg above her stocking tops and beribboned panties. He would have liked fiercely to rip her clothing off her cringing body, piece by piece, and then hurl himself at her like a wild animal, biting, worrying her sweet flesh with hands and teeth. And then destroy her virginity in one cruel moment.
But -
The idea of being married to this wench, and lying alongside her night after night, listening to her purring at him, having her insinuating portions of her body beneath his hands, and putting her warm hands on him, was repugnant. He didn't want her to want him! He only wanted to want her! The idea sent delightful tremors through him. Now that would be even better than having Phylis in the dark closet. Thinking of her now the way she had pleaded with him to come back, he was a little disgusted.
The bell rang, and he gratefully dismissed the class, his last of the day. Rather than go home and face his wife, he decided to work on his thesis in his office. Time passed quickly. He was on his tenth page when he heard hollow footsteps coming down the hall. He put down his pen and leaned back in the chair, puzzled. It was dark outside the window, and the school should have been deserted. Then Celia Brown appeared in his open doorway.
"Hi!" she greeted him. "Burning the midnight oil, I see."
He laughed. "You too?"
"Late basketball practice."
Celia was Richmond's basketball coach, and assistant to the athletic director. She was a tall, willowy girl, twenty-four years old, with hazel eyes, soft brown hair and a lovely smile. She had exquisite breasts, a wasp waist and flaring hips that tapered into the long, symmetrical stems of her legs, 'all alluringly displayed in her black gym leotards. Looking at her, Wes was aware of desire.
"I just came up to my office to get my purse. I don't like to leave it in the locker room. We've had some thefts, you know."
"I didn't know. Any suspects?"
Celia bit her under lip. "Well, I have some ideas, but I wouldn't want to talk about them unless I was certain."
"Of course.? '
"How is Sue?" she asked.
"Fine, thanks. And how is your husband?"
"All right, I guess. He's away for a few days, at a bank conference in Boston." She turned to leave. "Sorry I bothered you, Wes."
"Not at all. It's always a pleasure to see our lovely basketball coach."
She laughed self-consciously. "I bet you tell that to all the coaches."
He grimaced.
She waved and went down the hall. He sat there listening to her footsteps recede, thinking. Now she would be going down to the deserted locker room to shower and dress in her street clothes. Dangerous for a young woman to be alone in this manse at night, he mused. No telling who might be lurking in the shadows of those rows of lockers. His heart flipped in his chest.
Who indeed!
Minute? later, Wes sauntered through the main' gate where the watchman was sitting in his shack. "Evening, Sam," he said. "Nice night."
"Yes, sir. Are you the last of 'em?"" He jerked his thumb at the administration building which was directly above the gym.
"Mrs. Brown is still inside. She should be along in a half hour or so. She's showering after a practice session."
"Yeah." Sam chewed on his cigar butt. "The team came out a little while back. Well, I can't make my rounds until the place is empty. Gotta lock this gate first."
It was perfect! Wes said good night and hurried down the street to the corner. Turning it, he tucked his brief case under a bush and vaulted the chest-high steel picket fence. Keeping in the shadow of a hedge, he made his way back to the side entrance of the gymnasium. Only a small red bulb glowed above the door. He slipped inside furtively. The corridor was dark, but there were night lights burning in the rooms on either side of it. The air was steamy and sweltering hot. He passed the pool room, the calisthenics room, the steam room The showers and dressing room were at the end of the corridor. He flattened himself against the wall and peered inside. Empty. Off to one side was the door leading to the shower stalls. He heard the hiss of a single shower, and tendrils of steam billowed out into the dressing room.
The dressing mom consisted of a center aisle flanked by rows of lockers, each row containing a long bench. The only illumination in the dressing room at this hour came from the third tier of lockers, where, evidently, Celia Brown had her things. The Board of Trustee? of Jane Richmond were very frugal, and notices posted all over the college reminded students and faculty to "turn off all unnecessary lights." Celia was real gung-ho about details like that. He smiled gratefully. From a first aid box affixed to the wall at the entrance, he took a roll of wide adhesive tape. On tiptoes he moved down the aisle to the darkened tier of lockers next to the tier where Celia's leotard and dirty lingerie lay in a heap on the bench in front of an open locker. From his hiding place he could peer through a crack between two lockers into the lighted row. He settled down to wait with a pounding heart. The sight of Celia in a leotard was enough to make him giddy. The thought of gazing upon her in the nude really sent him spinning.
Soon the sound of the shower ceased and he braced himself. Hurriedly he tore off his clothing until he was stark naked. Then he ripped three long strips of tape off the roll of adhesive and stuck them lightly to the tops of his shoulders by the ends, flipping the strips back like tails. He waited.
The first sight of her was breath-taking. She came out toweling herself briskly about the face and head, arms upraised. -Her quivering breasts looked as if they had been carved out of alabaster, perfect globes with tips like ripe strawberries. He suppressed a groan. Her waist was tiny and edged the smooth gentle round of her middle, with the navel pouting like a cupid's mouth. Her hips were so curved and smooth-fleshed that not a bone was evident beneath her sleek, rippling skin. She was as svelte and sleek as a panther, a veritable goddess. She was standing on the opposite side of the bank of lockers, not more than three feet away from his avid eye.
She turned her back and bent over gracefully to dry her legs, revealing the most magnificent buttocks he had ever seen.
He had an insatiable urge to reach out and pinch the adorable little form. As she bent over to towel her dainty feet, he moved to the end of his dark row of lockers. On the front of the tier, facing the aisle, were two switches. One controlled the lights on his side. The farthest one, the lights on her side. He reached out and flipped the silent switches. Darkness enveloped the entire room now.
Celia gasped in surprise, but she was not frightened. "Darn!" she muttered. "The bulb must have burned out." She padded on bare feet in his direction, with the intention of turning on the lights in the adjoining row. He felt the air as she brushed close to him and faced the switches. His hand went to one of the strips of adhesive tacked to his shoulder and he laid that lengthwise on his palm.
In one motion, his left arm snaked around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, while his right hand clamped the adhesive tape over her startled mouth. His blading flesh fairly sizzled as he made contact with her. still cool and damp from her shower.
Celia's eyes bulged in the darkness like the eyes of a frightened mare. Shock, terror, panic rippled over her in successive waves. How many times had her husband Walt warned her about the dangers of an attractive woman walking lonely country roads and the pathways of the campus alone at night? A hundred times. And Celia had always scoffed and made fun of him.
He said seriously, "Did you ever see how some of the hayseed types drool when they drive by the athletic field and see the girls in their skimpy gym suits?"
"Let 'em drool," she said gaily.
"Then there're the college boys who come over to neck and stage panty raids. Half of them get stuck with teasers and hobble home still aching. But one of these days there'll be a guy who won't take that lying down." --
She had pinched him playfully.
He never needed much persuasion. She reveled in the knowledge of his desire for her, knew that well.
And she knew immediately what was happening now. The thing she had never believed could happen to her was about to happen in this dark room. Rape!
She tried to scream, but the tape silenced her completely. Celia was a strong, athletic girl, and she struggled fiercely in the vise of his arm locked over her body just beneath her breasts. He held onto her grimly, hi? breath panting at her ear, and dragged her slowly to the back of the room where exercise mats were spread about on the floor. Her lungs were soon bursting for air, and her brain was dizzy. The tape across her mouth curtailed her breathing, and she quickly became exhausted. By the time he got her to the mats, she was limp in his arms. He ripped another strip of tape from his shoulder and hurled her face down on a mat.
She struggled feebly as he bent her arms behind her and taped her wrists together. Then he rolled her over again so that her bound hands were resting snugly in the hollow curve of her back. Now, he took the last piece of tape and spread that across her eyes. He left her lying there trembling and got up to switch on a light. He was safe now. She couldn't identify him. Besides, he couldn't waste a beautiful body like hers in the darkness.
The sight of her lying at his feet all pate and helpless lashed his lust even higher. Her nostrils were flared wide in terror. Her body trembled throughout its long, tawny length. Her large breasts thrust boldly into the air.
He smiled and got down on the mat beside her.
Celia had lapsed into a state of shock. She was no more able to fight him now than a rabbit menaced by the hypnotic eye of a snake can run away. Sightless, soundless, arms bound, she was at his mercy. Body and mind were limp and defenseless. Her flesh crawled as she felt his hand on her. That was a big, firm hand, bigger than Walt's. What an awful comparison to make! her mind screamed at her. The hand covered one quivering breast. That was eerie, having an unseen disembodied hand caressing her breast.
. In her mind's eye she saw the scene, saw her attacker kneading the timid nipple with thumb and forefinger. She was outside, now. There was no sensation for Celia Brown, just for the girl in the picture. She saw the girl's nipple become inflamed, the pink turning to deep crimson as he continued.
His kiss descended to the other breast. Celia saw the nameless girl tremble as the banked fires commenced to glow. She was only human. No real woman could detach herself from the blatant reality of a man's hands skillfully caressing her naked body.
The hand left her breast and moved, sending little electric shocks across the sensitive surface of her skin. Celia was shamed. That helpless creature sprawled out on the mat was moving around restively. That was obvious why she was trembling now. Her nipples were bright with the warmth of her breasts. Her body was undulating slowly, straining against the hand of the aggressor.
Wes stared greedily. Who ever would have believed this? Wholesome, demure Celia. Shy, reserved Wes. Here together on the floor of the locker room, on the brink of perverted lust. Reveling in this orgy of rape. Both of them lashed by a foul thing that lurks in the subterranean depths of their minds, a thing that prowls in darkness and preys on the weak human flesh.
She was ready for him, moving almost uncontrollably. He could actually observe her impatience, in spite of her bound and helpless condition. He moved to her and satisfied her craving.
Celia was scandalized by the picture in her mind's eye as the depravity of what that girl was doing became clear. The pace quickened. The flames raged over the girl, consuming her.
And .then the spell was broken! The illusion dissolved. Celia knew the truth. She was the girl in the picture, the frenzied, lust-crazed animal who was with this rapist. But this was rape no longer. She went into a dizzy twisting finish like a rocket spearing into the night sky. And there was nothing else but the sensation.
She took him with her to the rarified heights, as if she had completely accepted him, and his flesh was at peace at last.
CHAPTER SIX
WES DRESSED HURRIEDLY AFTERWARD. When he was ready to go, he flipped her over and untaped her wrists. Then he ducked out of the building. Celia sat up dully and pulled the tape from her mouth. Then he ducked out of the building. Celia sat up dully and pulled the tape from her mouth. She got to her feet and almost collapsed. There were no bones in her body. She was all liquid. In a daze she walked back to her locker and put on her clothes.
When she left through the main gate, the watchman called to her. "Night, Misses Brown. You're real late tonight. I was starting to worry about you."
She hesitated with her mouth half open. Then she closed it again and walked on. "Good night, Sam."
What could she tell Sam? What, could she tell anybody? The truth? That she had just experienced the most ecstatic sensation of her entire life?
Unlike Eve, Celia was going to keep her big mouth shut!
Wes was thinking similar thoughts as he climbed the steps of his house. The best of his life. No doubt about that. This was the way love was meant to be enjoyed. The male, the aggressor, the complete master. The female, soft, frightened, helpless. He expanded his chest and stepped high and bold onto the porch. He felt like a man.
Sue heard him in the bathroom, whistling as he showered. She had a glimmering of hope that his work had gone well, and that he might. . .just might . . . but no! He climbed onto the bed, and, without even bothering to find out if she was awake or asleep, he began to snore at once. The tears of frustration burned her cheeks. And frustration seared her, burning, keeping her awake almost all night.
When she awoke shortly after nine, Wes had already gone to the college. Heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted, she put on panties, bra, blouse and shorts. She was in the kitchen preparing coffee and toast when the door chimes sounded. She opened the front door and was mildly surprised to see two college girls on her porch. One was Connie Beach, the girl whom she had met in Dr. Marx's office yesterday. The other was a voluptuous blonde girl who reminded her of Marilyn Monroe.
"Hello, Mrs. Parker," the slim, dark girl said gaily. "I'd like you to meet my roommate Lorraine Olson."
Puzzled, Sue invited the girls in for coffee, and they accepted with alacrity. Connie was a confident and fluent spokesman. As she talked, Sue's eyes were drawn to the opulent breasts of the blonde girl. The edge of the table was pushing up on their bottoms, and at any moment Sue expected them to spill out into full view from the top of her daring off-the-shoulder blouse.
"We took the liberty of coming here today, because I did meet you in Dr. Marx's office," Connie said. "I meet a lot of interesting people in my job." The inflection in her voice made Sue unaccountably uneasy. "It's no secret that people who come to the doctor's office are seeking help. Help of a very intimate nature."
Sue licked dry lips. "I don't imagine that Dr. Marx confides the problems of her patients to you, Miss Beach." She tried to put this snippy girl in her place with an authoritative air. but it fell flat.
Connie smiled superciliously. "Certainly not. Nevertheless, it is no secret to me that the men, women, boys and girls who take analysis with the doctor are predominantly concerned with problems of a certain nature. I'd say a good seventy per cent of them."
Sue could not control her blush. At the same time, she became uncomfortably aware of the pressure of Lorraine's bare knees against her bare legs under the table. She pulled back self-consciously, and the blonde girl smiled at her, a queer, secretive little smile.
"I'm a psychology major, you know," Connie said. "That's how I came to work in Dr. Marx's office. I expect to be practicing professionally myself after I graduate. You might say working with the doctor gives me the advantage of on-the-job training." She turned her chair to face Sue and crossed her legs, slim and shapely, under her full short skirt. Sue's eyebrows went up as the skirt hiked up high on her bare legs. That was an immodest way to sit, even in front of another woman, she thought.
"The fact is, Mrs. Parker, that I've been working with some of Dr. Marx's patients outside the office. They get the benefit of additional therapy, at a fraction of what they would pay for that in the office."
Sue was getting angry. The girl was absurd. "Does Dr. Marx know about this?" she demanded.
Connie smiled. "No, I'm afraid she wouldn't approve. But I can tell you that none of the patients have objected so far."
"Well I'm objecting right now," Sue said coldly. "You know nothing about my reasons for seeing Dr. Marx, and I have no intention of confiding them to you, young woman. Now, if you don't mind, I have a very busy day ahead of me." She made a move to stand up.
"Sit down, Mrs. Parker," the girl snapped. "I'm not finished with you yet. I know all about your reasons for seeing Dr. Marx. Your husband can't take care of you any more, and that's left you high strung and frustrated." I
Sue collapsed on the chair, her whole body on fire with humiliation. "You--you terrible creature I" she gasped. "How did youI mean where ? " She couldn't finish.
"It doesn't matter how I know. I do. Now, I think the group therapy sessions that I conduct weekly would be of immeasurable help to you Mrs. Parker. To ease your own personal problem, that is." She smirked. "If you want to bring the professor along, that's all right too. We might just be able to help him, you know. We have special rates for couples. Fifteen dollars a session. Ten for singles."
Sue was outraged. "Group therapy! What kind of nonsense are you telling me?"
"No nonsense about it." She smiled slyly at Lorraine. "Just hanky-panky. The reason I brought along my friend here is that she's one of my satisfied customers. Tell her honey."
Lorraine giggled and shoved her leg against Sue's leg quite deliberately this time. "I was all tied up in knots before I met Connie," she vouched. "Now I'm as loose as goose grease, without a nerve in my body."
Sue withdrew her leg for the second time. "What kind of therapy is this you practice Miss Beach?"
"Very simple. When a patient comes to the office who I believe would profit from special group therapy, I contact him or her. Our group is about twenty now, wouldn't you say, Lorraine? We have college kids, impatient virgins, dissatisfied hubbies. And--" she smiled at Sue, " dissatisfied wives."
"It's not true!" Sue protested weakly. "My husband and I are extremely happy. Well adjusted " She stopped, defeated by the girls' grinning faces.
"You'll particularly enjoy the big event of the evening. We call it 'love buffet.' It's a kind of smorgasbord, you know, you help yourself. An infinite variety of exciting kicks. Boys and girls together. Girls and girls together. And if you can't find what you want, just ask."
Sue raged at her. "You little depraved witch. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to report you to Dr. Marx and then to the police!"
Connie shook her dark head. "No, you're not. You're going to pay me the ten dollars for your first session. It's next Monday night."
Sue choked. "You're insane I"
The girl's dress had slipped further now, and Sue was shocked to see that she wasn't wearing any panties. She leaned forward and placed a cool hand on Sue's bare leg.
"Mrs. Parker. Among other things, you told the good doctor that about a year ago a certain salesman visited this "house. And that you and he -"
"Stop!" Sue's face was ashen white. "You're vile. This is nothing more than blackmail."
"It's considerably more, Mrs. Parker. May I call you Sue? You see, you're going to get value for every penny you pay me. As a matter-of-fact, you're about to receive a bonus for signing up right now." She nodded at Lorraine. The buxom blonde got up and came around the table to stand in back of Sue's chair.
The gleam in Connie's eyes alerted some sixth sense in the older woman. That was the look of the beast of prey. She bolted out of the chair, intending to run out the back door. But Lorraine wrapped her arms around her waist and held her.
"Let me go!" Sue struggled to break the big blonde's grip. Connie stooped down and grabbed her legs, lifting her feet off the floor. She fought violently and tried to kick the dark girl, but Connie was grasping her under both knees.
"Let's get her into the living room where we'll be more comfortable," Connie said. They carried her, still protesting, through the hall and into the front room. "Right here on the rug. We want plenty of room."
Lorraine giggled.
"What are you going to do?" Sue asked in a fearful voice.
Connie smiled. "I told you. We're going to give you a bonus. A preview, you might say." The two girls laughed hilariously.
Sue gaped as Connie stripped off her blouse and kicked off her skirt. She was completely naked under the outer clothing. Her body was lithe and brown, with hard high breasts and firm, round buttocks. She stood with her hands on her hips, brazenly. Then Lorraine followed suit. Sue was repelled yet fascinated at the blonde girl's overpowering sensuality. Her creamy breasts were caricatures of the female bosom. The nipples resembled crimson plums. The rest of her was the symbol of all womanhood. Sue was embarrassed by this lavish show of naked flesh. Always modest, she even disliked public pools where others of her sex paraded around in the near-nude with nonchalance.
"All right. Sue," Connie said. "Take off your shorts and blouse."
"No!" She tried to scramble to her feet, but Connie pushed her down with a bare foot. She stumbled to her knees and pushed against the dark girl's legs, shoving her back. And she began to scream.
"Shut up, you fool!" Connie slapped her hard across the face. When she continued to scream, she hit her hard across the temple and then again across the mouth. Sue stopped screaming, tasting the blood oozing out of her split lip. She sank down on the floor again, stunned.
The two of them pounced at her. While Lorraine held her hands behind her, Connie opened her blouse and unsnapped her brassiere. Connie eyed her pointed breasts admiringly. "She's got a good pair, Lorraine. I think they're bigger than mine. Let's compare."
She knelt down and held her apple-sized globes against the pear-shaped boobs of her victim. Their nipples mashed. Sue gasped at the touch and tried to pull away, but Lorraine was holding her fast.
"What's "the matter, honey?" Connie laughed. "Are you surprised because that's so good?"
"No! Stop this instant. What kind of filthy girl are you?"
"Let's find out what kind of girl you are, Sue." She unbuttoned Sue's shorts and yanked them off her hips and over her knees.. Sue had put on a pair of sheer, ruffled bikini panties that she had purchased as a weapon in her fight to stir up her husband's libido. They hadn't affected him, but Connie liked them.
"Aren't they the cutest things? I'd like a pair like that myself."
She tried to remove them carefully, but Sue put up such a fight that, by the time Connie worked them to her knees, they were torn to shreds. Shame swept over Sue in great waves as she lay helpless and naked under their leering gazes. Her breasts were heaving with exertion. Her leg trembled violently against the bare flesh of the dark girl kneeling by her. She was filled with revulsion at the proximity of all this female flesh. This was indecent. She looked up at Lorraine and shuddered.
"Please, don't!" she gasped as Lorraine's gentle hands began to caress her breasts, but she was powerless to resist. Her arms were still pinned by Lorraine's knees. The soft, woman's fingers teased her nipples, and, to her horror, she saw them respond. What was worse was the prickling sensation that permeated her entire breasts, and the warm, pleasant shudders that wracked her body.
Connie's eyes shone with satisfaction. "Not so bad, is this Sue?"
"Bet it's been a long time since anyone played with your boobs," Lorraine said slyly.
"Or did this," Connie said. Her hand was softly caressing, moving slowly and tantalizingly. Sue's body convulsed as if she had been touched with a high-voltage wire. Electricity charged through her.
Her mind screamed at her. Why? Why was this happening to her? She of all people, who despised abnormality in love, who had no sympathy for Lesbians. She couldn't help what was happening to her. But why did that have to be so good?
Connie could read her reaction in her flushed face, in her puffy lips and glazed eyes. "That's the girl, Sue. Beginning to sneak up on you now, isn't it?" Her hand became more insistent.
"No!" Sue cried, but the sweet lassitude contaminated her like a miasma. She let herself be rearranged on the rug without protest, let them move her puppet arms and legs for her. Lorraine bent over her from behind, so that her big creamy breasts mashed Sue's face. Nose and mouth traversed the fragrant valley until she was lost. And then she felt the girl's kiss at her own aching breasts, indescribably delicious. Without conscious thought, her own mouth began to move to the mountains of flesh on each side.
Connie was kissing her now too, teasing her. Her lips were amazing, what they could do, the infinite variety of themes they could play on sensitized flesh. And, after her long deprivation, Sue was super-sensitized. Her whole body was in a state of excitation.
She let out a small cry of delight as, together, the three of them scaled dizzy heights. When Sue looked down at the world below, it was an insignificant little sphere, dwarfed alongside one of Lorraine's magnificent boobs.
The finish began as a pinhead of light, a twitch of an eyelid. The light glimmered, her eyes closed, she was wracked with tornado force. Her breasts felt as if they were exploding. Her heart stopped. Her lungs were frozen. There was. nuclear fission taking place.
That happened in a flash of blinding light, and Sue felt the impact of the mushroom cloud.
Lorraine shook against Sue, and, finally, the detonation whip-lashed across Connie's slim, tense form.
For a long time after that was over. Sue lay there on the floor like one drugged.
"Do you think she's all right?" Lorraine asked in some concern, as they dressed.
"She's fine." Connie winked. "She's out of condition, that's all. A few more workouts and she'll be right up there with the rest of us." She addressed Sue. "Bet you're glad now we were so persistent, Sue. You needed to have us much more than you realized. That isn't healthy for a red-blooded gal like you to keep herself in mothballs. Well, that's all over now."
She walked to a table and picked up Sue's pocketbook. Opening it she found the wallet and removed a ten dollar bill from it. "This is for your first session. Don't forget, next Monday night." She placed a slip of paper on the table with an address scribbled on it. "Here's the place where we meet."
When they had gone, Sue got up and put on her brassiere. Her panties were torn and useless, so she threw them In the garbage. She carried her shorts upstairs and put them on over new panties. Her mind was a merry-go-round. Guilt and shame festering sores within her. She marched downstairs and picked up the paper Connie had left, crumpling it in her hand. She flung it into the garbage pail on top of the torn panties.
She sat down on a chair and lit a cigarette, trying to order her thoughts. The reality of what she had done, what she had felt with the two girls, horrified her. That was. incredible. Sue Parker, doing the Lesbian bit! She shut her eyes and shuddered. She had enjoyed every sordid moment of the performance, once the passion gripped her. In her mind, images of how the three of them must have appeared materialized in vivid detail. To her further horror, Sue felt the lust boiling again.
What would Wes think if he knew what she had done? What would he say and do? Probably he would faint. A terrible hatred of her husband flushed over Sue. It was his fault that all of that had happened, to begin with. If he had been a normal husband, instead of an impotent slob, she never would have had occasion to visit Dr. Marx, never would have met Connie Beach, never would have been so frustrated that another woman could arouse her passion.
That was his fault!
She got up and rummaged in the garbage can until she found that slip of paper with the address. A sly smile crept over her face. That bit with the girls had only been a stopgap measure. But that had been delightful. She was raring to go now with some eligible male.
There would be plenty of them at the group therapy lesson Monday night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WES PAPKER WAS SOMEWHAT NERVOUS as he drove to classes after the eventful evening he had spent in the girls' locker room with Celia Brown. He half expected to find a squad of policemen awaiting his arrival at the college. But that was silly! Celia could not possibly have recognized him. Or could she? Possibly some small thoughtless thing had betrayed him, a lost handkerchief, or a pen, any personal item that could be traced to him. That was how they always trapped the criminal on television crime shows.
His entrance into the faculty lounge scarcely elicited any attention at all. He strolled over to Dean Moon and Brenda Sloan, who were talking together.
"Morning, ladies," he said genially. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
In her horn-rimmed glasses and shapeless, mannish suit, it was difficult to conceive of Phylis Moon as the panting female he had made love to in a dark closet. Brenda's trim figure was flattered by a new spring dress and a new girdle that did not bind her naturally rounded hips so severely. He spoke with the ladies about mundane subjects connected with the curriculum. As the first bell rang, Dean Moon said to him, "Stop by my office when you get a chance. I want to talk to you privately."
He said he would, and went on to his first class. On the way, he walked with Ann Wayne, a pretty twenty-seven-year-old economics instructor. She was a healthy, bright-eyed, vibrant girl, with an excess of energy and exuberance. It was always a wonder to Wes that such a girl was unmarried. She was a sloe-eyed, raven-haired doll, and her figure was gorgeous. Big-busted and big-hipped, she had the long legs of a dancer and a derriere with a seventeen-jewel movement. Her assets were on display blatantly today, in her form-fitting wool knit dress.
The reason that Ann had never married was that she was secretly afraid of men, not in social company, but at the prospect of being naked with a man, and having him do that to her! From the time she had learned about love, Ann had been horrified by the whole concept. How humiliating for a girl! On the surface, though, Ann seemed perfectly adjusted. She even enjoyed the casual attention of men, as long as that could lead nowhere. In fact, she dressed to emphasize her charms, which were considerable. She preferred married men because they posed less of a threat to her inviolate virginity. At least that's what she believed. She liked Wes Parker better than any other married man she knew.
"Celia Brown is out today," she informed him. "Got a touch of the virus."
Wes repressed a smile. A touch of the virus, that was rich! He was pretty certain now that she had not, and would not, tell the law about her attack in the locker room. He left Ann at her classroom and went on to his own. The morning went swiftly, and before lunch he stopped in to see Phylis Moon.
"I've made a momentous decision, Wes," she told him over coffee. "I'm going to take a leave of absence at the end of the term. A year, maybe more, I don't know yet."
"Why? Are you ill?"
She smiled, pushing wisps of hair away from her smooth forehead. Her eyes were bright and clear. "Not in the way you're thinking. But, yes, I am ill. At forty-two, I'm over the hill. Not as a professional woman, but as a woman, a female." She dropped her eyes shyly. "I learned that on Saturday afternoon from you, Wes. I found out that I wasn't ready for that kind of retirement from life. I've been starving my natural female impulses for five years. Spending my energy on the job. Keeping the woman in me bottled up like a genie. Well, you set the genie free, and I'm grateful."
Wes colored. "I'm grateful to you. You're quite a woman, Phyllis."
"Thank you. But, I've been thinking. I can't go on any longer without male companionship, male comfort. Without the glorious bliss that only a man can give me. At the same time, I can't snatch that bliss in quick little scenes like the one we had. Sooner or later there'd be scandal. Trouble. Anyway, it's against my moral principles to seduce other women's husbands. The point is, I want to get away and think about my future. Take a good long look at myself. I want to spend more time with Janet, too. I've been a neglectful mother as well as a self-deprived female. Before she gets into serious trouble. I'm going to straighten her out. I think well go to Europe for starters and see what happens from there."
"What about the college?" Wes asked.
"That's what I want to talk to you about. When I notify the Board of Directors that I'm leaving, I want to submit your name with the recommendation that you be appointed acting dean in my absence." She smiled. "If I decide not to return, you'll have the job on a permanent basis."
Wes was truly flabbergasted. "That that's wonderful. Phylis. I-I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything until you get the job. There's a string attached. I happen to know that when this decision becomes public, Brenda Sloan is going to submit her own application for the job. Now, don't underestimate hex. She's got a lot of backing among the faculty and some powerful friends on the Board. And there's your big handicap, of course."
"What's that?" he asked.
She came around the desk and sat down unexpectedly on his lap. "You're a man. And tradition has always held that the dean of Jane Richmond College must be a woman. Now, traditions are toppling every day, and I have even' confidence that the Board will see reason, and appoint the best qualified candidate to the position. That's you, Wesley."
He felt no desire for her, but, in simple gratitude he unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and slipped his hand beneath her brassiere. The warm, silken globe quivered on his palm, and the rising nipple pricked his flesh.
"You're a remarkable woman, Phylis."
She laughed and sighed. "Thanks, Wes. That's delicious, what you're doing. And, if I wasn't the dean of this school, and if I didn't have a one o'clock appointment with an irate parent, I'd like to have mad passionate love with you right on this chair. Once this job is through, Paris here I cornel"
When she got up, he got up too. "Can I do anything to better my chances?" he asked.
"Possibly Of course, you will have your doctorate at the end of the semester. That will be essential. Brenda will have hers, also. What we really have to think of is some way to focus public attention on you, Wes. If you could accomplish some noteworthy achievement in the next few months, something that would reflect credit on the school as weD as on you, I think you'd be a shoo-in for the job."
His laugh was brittle. "Oh sure. I'D brew myself up a batch of 'instant hero.' Really, Phylis, do you have any ideas?"
"As a matter-of-fact, I do. This appointment I have today is with Asher Freed, the millionaire."
"His daughter is in one of my classes," he said. "Nice girl.""
The dean grinned. "Not so nice, actually. Her father claims she belongs to an orgy club here."
Wes was shocked. "Here? At Jane Richmond? That's incredible!"
"I think so, too. But I suspect his facts are right. I've been hearing rumors of this for quite a while, now. Anonymous phone calls, that kind of thing. Also, when Kitty Wells withdrew in her junior year last fall, there was a great deal of mystery about it. I've since learned she's in a mental institution. And I'm sure her trouble stemmed from this orgy club."
"That's as much as you know about it, though?"
"Yes. The members are intelligent and discreet. And bound to silence. Bound by a certain amount of fear, no doubt. Reprisals, you know. But more than that, this organization offers them an outlet for all their repressions, no matter how abnormal and depraved."
Wes shook his head gravely. "It's got to be broken up, before the news leaks out and ruins the reputation of the school."
"That's what I had in mind, Wes. You have got to play detective and break up this orgy ring, or whatever you'd call it. If you can do it, your appointment as dean will be assured. I can promise you."
That was all well and good, Wes thought, but how? "I'll think about it," he promised. "And thanks for your support."
"You deserve it, Wes."
All through lunch, he kept thinking about it. Where to begin? With the students, he guessed. He mentally tabulated likely members of the orgy club from among the girls at the college. Daisy Kelly? No! Wanda Holmes? No! Pat Carr? No! Janet Moon? Janet was definitely the type. Connie Beach? Most definitely not! He thought of Connie as a bright, no-nonsense kind of a girl. When he got back to his office, he made a list of the girls who might bear some investigating. Janet Moon was at the top of the list.
After classes, he stopped her in the hall. "Could you spare me a few minutes this afternoon, Miss Moon?"
Janet gave him her come-hither smile. "I'll give you as much time as you want, professor."
He coughed. "I keep telling you, I am not to be I addressed as professor until I have my degree."
She winked. "Okay, prof. When and where, and I what'll we do? I could suggest something."
To his irritation he felt himself flushing. "At my office, any time after four o'clock."
"I have field hockey practice today. How about I five?" She stretched and arched her back so that her I sharp breasts thrust against the rayon blouse. He could see the distinct outline of her nipple, and he was sure she must be naked beneath the thin material.
"Five will be fine," he said.
The time passed quickly, and he had just finished clearing up some belated correspondence when Janet arrived. She walked in and closed the door behind her, giggling.
"Isn't this cozy, prof?"
His voice was severe. "It is not proper for a male teacher to be in a closed office with a female student. What did you do that for?"
She put her books down on his desk and sat down in a chair alongside the desk. "Because I don't like snoops listening outside the door when I am speaking privately with my guidance counselor."
He decided to leave the door closed, at that. It wouldn't do to have anyone eavesdrop on this conversation. Looking at Janet Moon, he was reminded of the Saturday afternoon when he and her mother had been in the closet, and Janet and her boy friend had been on the couch. He would have given a good deal to have had a peek through the keyhole that day. He had heard plenty, of course, but everybody knows that one picture is worth a thousand words. He liked to picture Janet in that kind of pose.
She was a very alluring female, with her cat's eyes and the unruly blonde hair that was always falling over one eye. Her mouth was pouting and sensual. The clinging nylon blouse fit the contours of her unfettered boobs like a second skin. She knew where his eyes were fixed, and smiled, poking the upturned nipples out brazenly.
"What are you going to chew me out about today, prof?" she asked lightly.
Wes frowned. "Your English usage, for one thing. 'Chewed out,' that's revolting, Janet."
She winked. "Depends on who's chewing, and what he's chewing."
He ignored the innuendo. He was certain he was on the right track. If there was an orgy club on the campus, Janet Moon would be one of the first people to find out about it. But he had to play it cool, as the saying went. He began the interview with a severe admonishing about the low state of her grades.
"Not just in English, either." he told her. "You're failing in psych, economics and French."
She refused to be concerned. "I'll cram the last week before exams. Tt never fails."
"Don't be too sure. Anyway, this is your last year. Don't you want something better than C-minuses on your transcript this term?"
She yawned and slumped on the chair, with her legs flung out in front of her. She was wearing loafers with bobby socks and her smooth round legs were bare from ankle to midway above the knee. For the tenth time that day, Wes observed that these new shortie skirts the girls were wearing were indecent. No wonder the rape rate was going up in leaps and bounds! The girls were asking for trouble. They walked down the street wiggling their rears, with the skirts so tight that you could see the outline of their panties underneath. If they were wearing panties, that is' He wondered whether or not Janet was wearing any. Maybe not. She had no bra on, that was for sure.
"Lecture over, prof?" She lit a cigarette and blew smoke in his face. "Do you know you're kind of cute?"
"Please, Miss Moon!"
"Miss Moon, again!" she scoffed.
"Janet, be serious a moment. Aside from your grades, I want to talk to you about something else. Not to do with school."
She blew back the strand of hair that hung across her face and feigned shock. "Are you propositioning me, sir?"
"Janet "
"I accept." She laughed gaily at his discomfort. The skirt slipped an inch higher. Her fleshy legs had the consistency of velvet cocoa butter. She was athletic, and her legs were firm and tan from exposure to the outdoors. His tension was beginning to assert itself.
"Janet, your mother requested me to speak with you about this or I wouldn't be interfering, believe me. She's worried about the hours and the company you've been keeping lately."
She yawned, stirring his passion higher. She was a strange, exotic girl, and he found her intriguing-She studied him slyly. "They're my hours and my company. I'm twenty-two now. prof. I'm a woman, in case you haven't noticed. A grown woman." She thrust out her breasts to emphasize the point. "I don't ask Phylis to account to me for what she does. And, incidentally, I wonder what she does do when I'm not around? She was done up awfully imagine that day you were supposed to call." The idea delighted her. "Professor Parker, don't tell me that you and mother are playing around together?"
Wes carefully held his temper. "You're not very funny, Janet. However, as you say, you are of age, and I have no right to tell you what to do "
She shifted on the chair, facing him more directly, and his heart leaped. All he had to dp was slouch down a little on his chair . . .
Janet had baited the trap quite purposefully. After her shower in the locker room after practice, she had slipped her panties into her handbag. She saw him slide down on the chair, felt his eyes on her.
She moved her knees a fraction to tease him, saw the beads of perspiration form on his forehead.
She was bared to him shockingly for a brief, dizzy moment, and then she shrieked in delight. "You dirty old man! Just look at you! I'll bet you were looking under my dress, weren't you. And me with-out any panties!" She covered her face with her hands in mock shame.
He sat up straight, fire red, humiliated and angry.
"You deserve a good spanking," he said.
"Be my guest." Janet stood up, put her back to him and poked out her buttocks.
That was enough! The anger exploded through him, and. with the pounding lust, caused a novel fusing of emotions that would seem incompatible, but which, in reality, were a perfect blend.
"You brat!" He reached out and grabbed her suddenly by the hips and pulled her, face down, across his knees.
"Hey, cut that out!" she said in genuine alarm "I was only joking."
"Well, I'm not! You've had this due you for a long time!" He flipped up her skirt over her hips, exposing her bare buttocks, pert, round, swelling temptingly. His palm itched.
She was wriggling furiously and kicking out with her legs, but he held her firmly with his left hand, while his right went way up, then came whistling down with all of his might, dead center on target.
The impact stung his hand, and sent fire licking through her.
She roared in pain. "You lousy fink! Wait till I tell mother about this! Shell fire you so fast -"
His second whack cut her off. The sound of his hard palm meeting her soft rear echoed off the walls of the small room. The imprint of his hand and fingers was branded in red on the aching flesh. Her eyes bulged, and the breath was stuck in her lungs from the shock. She couldn't speak.
The fourth blow was the catalyst! Her buttocks were fire red and smarting so excruciatingly that they were almost numb. Not quite, though. Instead of intensifying the pain, his blow generated a new sensation. Her flesh quivered as the abused nerve endings commenced to tingle with an altogether different feeling, a very pleasurable feeling. Quickly, the new pleasure submerged the pain. She was rolling and groaning and rearing to meet his blows. The impact of his palm pounded the delicious sensation through her body. Unable to stand the exquisite torture a moment longer, she slipped her cool hands beneath her blouse and gently massaged her boobs.
Her body held so much pleasure that she could endure no more. She lifted high, then went stiff for one second, as a queer sound vibrated deep in her throat. Then the vibration spread, and her whole body began to quake. He was afraid for a bad moment that she would shake the two of them over in the chair. Then the storm swept away very quickly, like the most violent phenomenons of nature usually do.
He held her on his lap, a whimpering, grateful child who was awed and still a little frightened by the experience she had just savored. "I never knew anything so wonderful in my life," she whispered She sat up and curled on his lap with her arms around his neck. "You are great, professor."
"I'm out of my mind," he told her. He got up and put her down on the edge of his desk. She sat there, with her skirt bunched up about her waist, waiting for him to take off his trousers. He let them fall about his ankles, not bothering to take them off. There wasn't time. He was dying with passion. Her eyes widened.
"Wow! You are in a bad way, prof!"
He had to smile at that irony. He didn't waste time on preliminaries, but moved to her quickly. But the instant that he touched her, she let out a sharp cry of pain and recoiled.
"What's wrong?" he demanded.
"I can't. I'm too sore from that spanking you gave me. Not that I'm complaining, prof honey. But you won't be able to touch me. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry!" He glared at her in frantic frustration. "What am I going to do?" he asked forlornly
The young girl smiled. "No problem, prof. You rate the best after what you did for me " She made him sit down on his chair again, and his muscles rippled in torture as she ran her smooth hands along his legs, caressed, pressed, teased. Gently she bent to him, and the tension left him. He fell back with his eyes closed as her hands and kisses worshipped him, smiling happily.
"I'll have to be careful sitting down for a week," Janet complained later as she washed up at the small sink in a corner of the room. "But I don't mind. That was good practice for the next meeting of the " She caught herself abruptly.
"Next meeting of what?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing." Her voice was sullen. "You must have misunderstood me."
He took a shot in the dark. "Next meeting of the orgy club, isn't that right? That's what you almost said."
She smiled sheepishly. "How did you know?"
He played it lightly. "There's one at every college. What about this club? Tell me about it."
She shook her head. "Nothing doing, prof. I'd get my boobs cut off if I broke the First Commandment."
"First Commandment?"
"'See no evil. Speak no evil. Hear no evil.' I feel sorry for anyone who breaks them. Rats on another member, or betrays the secrets of the club."
He smiled tolerantly. "What would happen ? You'd be blackballed?"
Her lattgh was dry. "I told you. The rest of the members would lay for me, and they'd cut off my boobs. Not really, I guess, but they'd cut them up so bad that I'd never dare let anybody ever see me naked again."
A chill ran down his spine. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"Could I join?" he asked guardedly.
She frowned. "You are kidding . . . aren't you?"
"Not in the least. After what happened here today, I wouldn't kid you. I've lost my taste for normal love. That's gone stale. The club might be just what I need to pep me up."
She regarded him thoughtfully for a long time. "Well.. . could be. But I'd have to discuss it first with the president of the club." She grinned. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if she just might buy it at that."
He didn't push her further. After she had left, he sat smoking his pipe and wondering if the club would buv the pitch he had given to Janet about his reason for wanting to join.
Pitch? What he had told her was the truth. Maybe the club was what he needed!
For some moments he continued to sit there, wreathed in the smoke from his pipe, musing at the prospect of becoming a member of this secretive group of nefarious revelers.
Again, he wondered which of the students of his acquaintance, besides Janet, of course, comprised the membership of the orgy club. How large was the organization? Who was behind it, who supervised its operations, how long had it been in existence? And, above all, what went on at those meetings?
Wes smiled to himself as a thrill of anticipation coursed through his body.
He was sure that soon, very soon, he would find those answers for himself. He had to!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sue Parker was very nervous as she showered and dressed the following Monday evening. She kept dropping things, and her hands were slippery with perspiration. She didn't know how one was expected to dress for a "group therapy session." She kept thinking about it as that, although she knew that the type of "therapy" practiced by Connie Beach and her "clients" had never been sanctioned by any psychiatrist.
She settled on a simple ruffled blouse with buttons down the front, and a pleated skirt. They would be easy to take off and put on, as the occasion arose. She ruled out a garter belt and stockings. But she did wear panties and a brassiere. How obvious could one get? Especially a newcomer, like herself.
To her consternation, Wes picked this night to come home early. "Where are you off to?" he inquired with some surprise.
"To a bridge game," she lied.
"Good, have fun."
"I'll do my best," she said almost fiercely. "Your supper is in the oven."
She hurried out of the house as if she were extremely anxious to get away. Wes thought she acted as if she were guilty about something. A wild thought flitted across his mind. Had the thing he refused to let himself think about finally happened? Had Sue taken a lover? Nonsense! With finality, he put it out of his mind. Sue loved bridge, that was all there was to it I
She found the place without any trouble, a small, white bungalow, set well back off the road in a grove of trees, with no other houses on either side of it for several blocks. She parked the car in a clearing behind the house and went to the side door, as she had been instructed to do.
Connie Beach, dressed in sweater and pirate pants, greeted her in the vestibule. "You're one of the first to arrive, Sue." Her smile was satanic. "I knewlyou'd he here."
Sue flushed. "I didn't."
"Come into the make-up room." She indicated a door off one side of the vestibule.
"Make-up room?"
Connie laughed. "You'll see."
The first thing that hit Sue's eyes when they entered was a table whose entire surface was covered with rubber Halloween masks, the thin kind that fit over the whole head and have an eerily realistic appearance about them. These particular masks had been stamped with the likenesses of popular Hollywood actors and actresses.
"We wear these?" Sue asked.
"Yes, they serve a double purpose. Not only do they conceal the true identity of the wearer, but they add a special flavor to our therapy sessions." She picked up one mask that was a caricature of Gina Lollobrigida. "How many fellows dream of sleeping with Gina? Well, here they can make the dream come true."
Sue was intrigued, as well as relieved that no one could recognize her. Her big concern had been that, by chance, another of Connie's clients, or "patients," as the dark girl preferred to call them, would be some remote acquaintance of hers or of Wes's. It didn't matter now.
She giggled, getting into the spirit of the thing. "I don't think I'm the Gina type, do you, Connie?"
Connie pursed her lips and studied the table.
"We don't care about facial resemblances. What we like is to pick a mask that will go along with the figure. Let's see, I think you'll pass very nicely as Ava Gardner."
Sue was flattered as she slipped the mask over her head. "I don't have her figure, of course."
"You have a lovely figure," Connie smirked. "And I should know."
Sue was thankful that the mask hid her blush. "I'm ready," she said in a small voice. As they left the room, she asked Connie, "Why don't you wear a mask?"
"Because I'm the ringmaster. Only the clowns and the performers are made-up. Lorraine is wearing a mask, though. See if you can pick her out."
The mask was surprisingly light and comfortable, and it moved with the facial muscles so that it did not impede breathing, seeing, nor opening the mouth. Sue glimpsed her reflection in a mirror and started. She could almost believe that she was the famous, glamorous star. A sense of power and exhilaration charged her body, and she walked with a springy, confident step.
There were a dozen men and women milling about in the large living room. They all wore the rubber masks. Sue made a game out of identifying the celebrities they represented. There were Robert Taylor, Clark Gable, Rock Hudson. Sophia Loren, Betty Grable. Jayne Mansfield she knew who the girl playing Jayne was! It had to be Lorraine Olson.
She could spot those luscious boobs and buttocks immediately. There were other familiar faces stamped on the masks. Sue felt as if she were at a Hollywood-opening party. Connie led her over to a table against the wall that served as a bar.
"Help yourself, honey. I have to get back to the door."
Tingling with anticipation, she poured herself a stiff belt of Scotch and downed it in one gulp. She was refilling the glass when she felt the hand on her buttocks. Sue gasped and leaped a foot in the air. She whirled around angrily to confront the John Wayne mask. It wore the silly grin that all of the masks wore, the same grin her own mask wore. The tirade she had intended to loose on her annoyer died in her throat. It would have been the same as shouting at a department store dummy. No one in this room tonight was real.
The man spoke to her as he put an arm about her shoulders. "Come on, bring your drink out into the sun parlor. There's a good show going on out there."
She followed him through a doorway into a smaller room where a group of spectators were clustered around a chaise lounge, laughing and applauding from time to time. They went around behind the lounge where there was a gap in the circle. Sue's eyes bulged at her first glimpse of the tableau.
Three naked bodies, two women and one man. The smaller of the females had plump white breasts with purplish nipples that pointed out to the sides. The second woman, tall with a sleek-muscled body, was deeply tanned, with the exception of stark white bands around her breasts and buttocks where her bikini had left its brand. Her boobs were hard and very pointed. As she moved against the first woman, her sharp nipples actually stabbed at the other's soft breasts.
"But why is the big one wearing a man's mask?" Sue asked her new-found partner.
He laughed. "Why not? She wants to be a great male lover. Tonight she has that wish."
The third member of the "acrobatic team" on the lounge was a brawny beach boy with huge biceps, knotted calves and small buttocks that were solid muscle. "Wow!" Sue exclaimed under her breath. Fittingly, he wore the mask of a former Hollywood Tarzan.
To the applause of the crowd, he joined the wild activity on the lounge. The bizarre trio commenced to bounce and gyrate and canter at a pace that brought loud cheers and whistles of admiration from the spectators.
"They're splendid, aren't they?" her escort asked.
Sue did not answer right away. Her first sight of the revelers on the couch had made her slightly nauseous. She had been repelled. But then a gradual metamorphosis had taken place. Curiosity had replaced disgust. Interest had replaced curiosity. Fascination had replaced interest. And, finally, intense excitement had pervaded her whole body. Her breasts tingled, and her bra felt much too tight. She did not object as her partner began to caress her buttocks through her skirt. She wished they were naked.
"Shall we move on to another act?" he asked.
"Yes. And another drink, please."
The alcohol was inflaming the thoughts and uneasy passions stirred up by the performance on the chaise lounge. "Don't they mind being watched?" she asked him.
"Why should they?" He laughed. "The crowd is watching actors, not the real people inside the masks. The fact is, that when you wear one of these for a while, you really do lose your own identity. It's just as though those people on the couch were standing with the other spectators, watching the anonymous bodies on the chaise perform their lecherous orgies. The best part is that they can enjoy the orgy at the same time. Haven't you ever had the repressed desire to do some shockingly lecherous or socially unacceptable act? We all have, at times, so don't bother to deny it. What we really would like is, by some magic, to be transformed into another identity, under whose guise we could perform and thoroughly enjoy our reprehensible behavior. Then, when all was done, we would revert to our own dear, righteous selves, and there would be no qualms of conscience,"
Sue was enlightened, suddenly. "In a sense, that's what Dr. Jekyll did, isn't it?"
"Ah, yes. So, you see, these masks are comparable to the potion which turned dear, sweet Jekyll into evil, lecherous Hyde."
She giggled, feeling his hand gradually lifting her skirt in back until he could dip beneath the hem. Goose flesh dotted her bare legs as his hand worked.
"You shouldn't," she said weakly. "People will look at us.".
"Good," he laughed.
Back in the parlor, another girl was on top of a table doing a strip tease. She was down to her stockings, garter belt, panties and brassiere. She had a trim figure with firm, conical breasts that spilled over the top of her undersized bikini bra. Her heart-shaped buttocks in the bright red chiffon panties looked like a big valentine. She had long, lovely, pinup legs that flashed and gleamed with her gyrations in the light of the overhead lamp.
"Take 'em off!" the crowd shouted.
She obliged by flinging off the bra, and her boobs exploded out of their confinement with a gusto that drew a long "ah" from the onlookers. Directly in front of Sue, a man pulled down the shoulder straps of the girl beside him and popped one of her breasts into view, as he would pop a grape out of its skin. He began to caress her avidly while he watched the strip tease on the table.
Sue had the sensation that a small furnace had been lit. Her escort was still busily stoking the fire.
The girl on he table wriggled her red panties down to her ankles and then kicked them high into the air.
One couple in the crowd retreated to a couch in one corner of the room. The woman ripped at her companion's clothes in a frenzy, and then cooed at the resplendent sight of him. Hoisting her dress around her hips, she lunged at him.
"Champagne!" the stripper shouted hoarsely as she undulated in sensual rhythm on the table top, naked except for her garter belt and stockings. With every motion her buttocks rose like balloons. Somebody handed her a bottle of pink champagne, and she tipped the bottle to her lips. She giggled when she had finished drinking.
"I'm thirsty all over." With that, she began to pour the sparkling wine down the cleft between her breasts. Liquid trickled in a silvery stream down her body. Two of the men in the crowd rushed to the table and grabbed her. Each lifted her with one hand under a knee and one supporting her buttocks. They paraded her about the room like a conquering heroine.
A short man went panting over to her. "Give me a drink." He placed his lips against her and drank thirstily and lustily. That was no less a pleasure for her. Her body shook, and her legs twitched, and her back arched so that her breasts pointed almost straight into the air. with their rosy summits blooming from the ecstasy that wracked her frame.
The blood was flowing fiercely through Sue's body now, primed by the touch of the man who was with her. Unashamedly, she turned to him.
"Can we go somewhere private?"
He took her hand. "What's wrong with the couch over there?" He pointed to the couple who were in the corner. The woman was galloping down the home stretch, while several onlookers applauded
"They'll be done in a while."
"I don't want to be in front of all these people. At least not this first time."
He scratched his head. "I don't know . . . Wait a minute, I'll ask our lovely therapist." He signaled Connie, who was conversing with a couple who resembled a famous husband and wife dancing team.
She came over, smiling. "Anything wrong? Are you enjoying yourselves?"
"This is an education," Sue admitted, ashamed to admit, however, just how exciting she did find the evening.
"My girl here is a little reluctant to perform in public tonight," the man explained. "Any suggestions?"
"Why, of course." Connie's laugh was sly. "Take her into the bedroom That's just the place for her initiation."
He led her through a doorway down a small hall and into a small bedroom. He shut the door. "This suit you, dear?"
"I guess so." In spite of her wish not to appear too eager, she fairly flung off her blouse and skirt.
Her fingers trembled so badly, she could not unfasten her brassiere.
He laughed and did that for her. "Exciting, isn't this, going to bed with a stranger?"
She giggled and began to roll her panties down. He watched her, intrigued by the way the elastic bit at the glowing flesh of her plump globes. As she stooped to untangle the panties from her ankles, he moved behind her and pushed. She yelped in surprise and fell forward across the bed. He pounced at her like a hungry wolf and rolled her over onto her back. Her stinging nipples reached up to him. He kissed one greedily, the unbearable ache seeming to make her breast swell to twice its normal size. One hand worked urgently, stoking, ever stoking, the blast furnace. She had a perverse wish that Wes could see her now, see what she was doing with this man. Without the mask, too! She would laugh in his face! His spineless, emasculated face! She was a woman, and she was with a man, at last. What a man!
She pulled away from him and they wrestled around on the big double bed, bodies glistening with sweat, in sinuous contortions. His mouth was still nibbling, sending insane messages of delight radiating in all directions through her flesh. Her hands clutched at him and drew him to her lips. Her hands coddled and caressed him, too. Everywhere.
Sue Parker had taken thirty-one years to realize what real passion was!
The wild gavotte increased in intensity until the bed springs were singing in discordant accompaniment. The final chords rattled her bones like the clash of cymbals. When that was over, she lay sprawled on the quilt, an empty shell.
When they staggered out of the room afterward, Connie was waiting for them. "How did that go?"
Sue's voice was weak. "Quite well, thank you."
Connie laughed. "You must be exhausted."
Sue tensed. "Exhausted? Why should I be?"
"Well, that was a pretty strenuous session, I thought."
Sue's knees trembled, and panic tightened her throat. "You thought! How do you --? No. you couldn't -" The words died dully.
The dark girl launched again. "Yes, I looked We all did. Come here." She led Sue over to the wall that adjoined the bedroom. A large picture hung in the center of the wall, She took it down To Sue's horror and embarrassment there was a small window set in the wall, through which she could see clearly into the bedroom and monitor all that went on on the rumpled bed
"I don't understand," she choked.
"Simple," Connie explained. "One-way mirror. On the other side, it's an ordinary mirror From this side it's a clear window. A lot of the new patients are shy, like you, so we put them at ease this way.'
A male eavesdropper commented "You were just great, honey. I, personally, get a bigger kick out of watching the kids when they think they're alone.
There's a spontaneity about them that the old hands lack, somehow."
As Connie and the man discussed, spiritedly, the merits of private love versus public love, Sue shut her eyes and let the last shred of her morality and self-respect slip away. There was a certain peace in knowing you were depraved and wanton.
CHAPTER NINE
AFTER A FROZEN TV SUPPER, WES READ A while in the study, but about nine, he laid the book aside. The night was warm, and he was restless in the silent house. He lit a cigarette and mixed himself a drink, but that only made it worse. Dormant lust kept uncoiling every time the image of bare breasts drifted across his mind. Or round buttocks encased in tight panties. Or long, slender legs. The trouble with him was, he finally realized, he was hungry.
Well, a few days had passed since the exhilarating encounter with Celia Brown. The vivid images of Celia, which he still carried with him were maddening.
Unable to cope with his fantasies any longer, he put on a sweater and went out for a walk. It was a clear night with myriads of stars twinkling in the navy-blue sky, perfect for walking. And for other things more stimulating.
On the campus, he passed a girl and boy locked in embrace behind some bushes. He could make out the outline of the girl's bare legs with her skirt rumpled. Wes walked on in a warm sweat. Quite inadvertently, his feet took him past the campus lovers' lane. It was jammed with cars this lovely, earthy spring night. The sap was flowing freely through young, eager bodies, just as through the limbs of the trees and the stems of the flowers.
He glanced down wryly at himself, and thought, "Yes, and flowing free in the older bodies, too."
They were oblivious of his presence, the kids in the cars. He saw a bare breast in the flare of a match, the nipple glistening.
One girl was sitting demurely on her date's lap, with her skirt spread like a tent over their legs. They might have been admiring the panorama of the campus spread out in the valley below. Except that Wes saw the girl's panties and the boy's shorts on the seat beside them I
He believed he was walking aimlessly, though later he suspected some subconscious will had directed his footsteps. In any case, he abruptly found himself at the edge of the campus, where a new development of three-room bungalows had been erected for students who preferred private quarters rather than the enforced intimacy of dorm living. Several of the unmarried teachers had moved into this inexpensive housing developments, as well.
One of them was Ann Wayne, the busty economics instructor. Shortly after she had moved in, she had given a small cocktail party for a few intimate friends nn the faculty Wes and Sue Parker had been two of those invited. And now Wes was pretty certain that he was standing in the back yard of her bungalow. It was a small yellow structure at the very end of the development, with its back to the woods that ran uphill to the lovers' lane.
His initial intention was to go around to the front and ring Ann's doorbell, maybe chat a while with her and have a drink. But then he noticed that the only light in the house was burning in the back room of the little place. He thought it might be the bedroom, and, naturally, he didn't want to disturb her if she were preparing for bed. Not without some titillation, he walked across the small, pitch-black yard and stopped by the back window. The sill came up to his chest. She had pulled her blinds, but one of the slats was out of line and there was a wedge at one corner of the lower edge through which he could peer and see the interior of the room. It was the bedroom, all right.
And there was Ann Wayne standing before her vanity, brushing out her long, gleaming black hair, which hung almost to her waist in back. She was breath-taking in a diaphanous, gauzy nightgown whose frilly hem scarcely reached her knees. Her shapely body was dimly hut provocatively silhouetted beneath the translucent fabric. And when any part of her body came in contact with the gown as she brushed her hair, the effect was even more provocative.
Her buttocks molded the gauze as she bent forward to pick up a bobby pin. A breast was outlined so vividly that the pink nipple might as well have been bare. She turned toward the windows to examine her profile in the mirror, and the light streaming out of the bathroom door behind her defined her tapering legs. Wes's desire climbed to the peak, taut and tormenting. Through the half-open window, he heard her humming to herself.
She turned and went into the bathroom, wagging her saucy derriere at him. As soon as she shut the door, he reached through the window and pulled the blind cord. Noiselessly opening the window a few more inches, he crawled over the sill, snakelike, and dropped inside the room. He readjusted the blind and walked softly to the chair where her discarded lingerie lay crumpled up. Picking up a nylon stocking, he slipped that over his head, as he had seen thieves disguise themselves, in the movies, before a big robbery. He examined himself in the mirror and was astonished at the transformation the makeshift mask had accomplished. His features were all mashed and distorted by the snugly fitting nylon. Then he went into the hall outside her room and began to undress, following the same pattern he had employed in planning the rape of Celia Brown. Only this time, he did not require any adhesive tape. Before he had closed the blind he had locked the window. In this remote spot; Ann could scream her lungs out and nobody would be likely to hear her.
Her door had been ajar, and he arranged it that way again. There was a half-inch gap on the hinge side, between door and jamb, through which he could see her bed, with the sheet and blanket neatly folded back. Some time later, Ann came out of the bathroom, and, still humming, lay down on top of the covers. It was a warm night, and her body was sticky and uncomfortable in spite of the cold shower she had taken.
Ann Wayne's mind might rebel at the idea of love, but she possessed a young, vibrant, healthy female body whose natural impulses were constantly at war with the thinking part of her. At twenty-seven, these impulses had been denied far too long, and each spring they became more insistent. The sight of young love, so rife on the campus during this season, was repugnantly fascinating to her.
Just the day before, she had spent the hot afternoon in the college library stacks, planning her class schedule for the week ahead. It was Sunday, and Ann had assumed that she was the only one in the vacant, tomblike building, humming with silence. At one point she decided she needed a certain volume which was located in a small vault on the top story of the library, a room seldom visited. Not bothering to put on her shoes, she got up from the work table and padded up the stairs noiselessly to the room. As she reached the doorway, she was brought up short by the sound of muted voices at one end of the room. Strange-sounding voices; guttural, heavy-breathing, gasping, tittering voices. Ann frowned. The stacks were off limits to students on Sunday. She hurried down the aisle, frowning, with the clear purpose of reprimanding the trespassers. Instinctively, she decided to reconnoiter before announcing her presence, to see exactly what they were doing. She slipped into the stack next to the one from whence the voices were emanating and bent to look through an open space in the shelves. She saw what they were doing, all right, and the sight almost sent her into a swoon.
A girl and a boy were sitting on the boy's coat in the corner of the stack. The girl was a cute brunette with dark lustrous eyes and dimples in her cheeks, whom she recognized as Wanda Holmes, a nineteen-year-old junior. The boy was a stranger, probably from the nearby boys' school. One of his arms was around Wanda's waist and the hand was beneath her sweater, quite obviously playing with one of her small breasts. She could see the hand's gyrations straining the taut material.
His other hand was doing something even worse! The girl had her legs drawn up and her skirt was bunched around her hips. Her peach panties had been rolled halfway to her knees' and his hand was plying her trembling naked flesh lasciviously. Ann stared in horror as Wanda sighed with pleasure and rolled against the hand.
Then, worst of all, the shameless hussy opened his clothes! That was all Ann could take. She lurched back to the stairs and made her way to the closest lavatory, where she threw up.
All yesterday, all last night, and all day today, she had been unable to put the experience out of her thoughts. That kept intruding in class, at the faculty meeting, at lunch; the image of the boy's hand caressing Wanda, the girl's hungry hands on him.
And, now, as she lay on the bed in her filmy nightgown, the image came to her once more. She was horrified at the awareness that gave her of her own body. Try as she might, she was thinking at this moment of her full melon breasts which men could never keep their eyes from, her plump buttocks which disgusting males were always rubbing against in elevators and on crowded buses, her long, shapely legs which always drew brazen ogling when she crossed them. A shudder wracked her frame. Vile! To distract herself, she picked up a novel from her night table and began to read.
Unfortunately, the book was one of those modern, unabashed hack novels written with brutal realism. After a page or two. she was right in the middle of a torrid scene between the hero and the heroine in her boudoir.
She read with widening eyes and growing dismay.
" . . She felt Claude's cool hand slip over her knee and glide along her silken upper leg. She wanted to stop him, but as his fingertips passed the top of her nylon and touched her bare flesh, a gasp was torn from her lips.
"'Oh, my darling!'
"A great weakness overcame her resistance. When he touched her, nothing else in the world mattered. Not even her husband . . . "
Ann flung the book down, feeling the blood crimson in her cheeks. The race was becoming decadent, she decided. You could not escape anywhere. Love. Lust. In books. In movies. On hillboards. Everywhere, corrupting the young and the old alike. Even Dr. Peabody, the college physician! At her mid-term physical, he had squeezed her buttocks on the examining table and winked.
"Isn't it about time you made some man happy?" he had joked with her.
She had been too mortified to answer him. Dr. Peabody was seventy-six years old!
Every muscle in her body was as taut as a bowstring tonight. Her breasts felt heavy. She felt an annoying pulse pounding in her armpit, and a nerve would twitch in her smooth cheek from time to time. Lifting the hem of her nightgown, she pulled the skirt up and began to fan herself with the gauzy material. She felt wanton, lying there like this, with the bottom half of her body exposed. Even if she was all alone. When she fanned, the flow of air tickled her.
Just suppose, she thought, some man should walk into the room unexpectedly now. Say. someone who entered the wrong bungalow in error. Those things happen in these developments, where all the bungalows were identical. That was a daring thought for a girl like Ann to be thinking. Not the kind of thought a proper girl should indulge in at all. But she couldn't help herself. She shifted her buttocks and was acutely conscious of the caress of the cool sheet tickling her. She shivered.
And she remembered, vividly, how Wanda had shivered the day before in the library stacks when that awful boy had put his hand under her skirt and touched her. That was ridiculous, childish, she knew; the product of an unclean mind, for a female to carry on so when a male touched her naked flesh. She could not help but wonder what that would be like, though. Idly she dropped a hand to her bare waist, stroked the smooth skin with her fingertips. The flesh prickled in the manner of a hand or foot that has gone to sleep. The sheet tickled her buttocks uncomfortably. Ann sighed and closed her eyes. There was nothing so special about that. She lowered the hand, placed the palm against her upper leg. The flesh was very warm, and she wondered if she had a fever. Involuntarily, her hand moved, and with an electric shock, she realized what she was doing. She willed her hand to stop, hut her body, gripped in its first tremor of voluptuous pleasure, countermanded the order. She stared at the moving hand in horrified fascination, shuddered, sighed and closed her eyes.
In the hall, Wes was astonished and indignant. Now why, he asked himself, did a broad like Ann Wayne act like that? That was outrageous! And here he was, ready, willing and able to take care of. her. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room and moved swiftly to the bed.
In her eyes, he was unreal, a phantom, a fantasy conjured up by the trance she had drifted into. The nylon stocking over his head gave him a faceless appearance that heightened the illusion. Her body was heavy with the slow surge of passion.
Silently, he knelt on the bed alongside her. And, now, her unbelieving eyes fastened on him as he shamelessly strained toward her. She remembered the scene in the stacks. She remembered what Wanda had done to the boy. With a smile of abandon, she reached out both of her hands. This was all right, she told herself. This was only a dream.
Wes was taken aback by this encouragement. He had expected her to scream, struggle, try to get away. But she just lay there with that dreamy smile on her face, her eyes glazed and unseeing.
A thought hit him then. Self-hypnosis! That was a common thing that happened to adolescent girls, he recalled reading in a psychology manual. Their vivid imaginations, their intense concentration on the newly discovered thrills, the excitement of experimentation, all contributed to a condition that put mind and body into a state of hypnosis. In such a state, that was not uncommon for a girl to fix upon some desirable male of her acquaintance as the object of her fantasy. In certain cases, the experience was so real that the girl actually convinced herself that the dream was reality. The courts were full of cases where impressionable young women accused young men of rapes that were purely figments of their own imaginations.
There was no other explanation of Ann Wayne's sensual behavior, even if she was a mature woman. But was she really mature, he asked himself? He thought of her single state, her seeming disinterest in men and dates. That could be the answer. Ann was physically and mentally a mature woman. But emotionally, she was an adolescent girl.
He eased himself down beside her and pulled her shoulder straps down, exposing the quivering breasts. He bent his lips to one tense summit, and the nipple leaped like a thing alive. Her hands clutched at him so urgently that he winced in pain. Gently, he stroked her. The skin was soft as velvet.
Her eyes were rolled back in her head so that only the whites were visible. Tiny bubbles of foam formed on her parted lips. The muscles of her face were twitching as if she were in the grip of a fit.
While his hand continued to work, she cried out softly and moved her body for his convenience. He smiled wryly. Ann might well be a greenhorn at the art of love, but she knew what she liked and what her bed partner liked. She was a born hussy, even if she didn't realize that!
"Yes, yes!" she breathed warmly.
The instant he tested her, he knew she was a virgin. An inflexible virgin at that. Years of inhibition had, in fact, so reinforced the normal barriers against males that she had become a veritable fortress of chastity. As he grunted and sweated to gain some small advantage, she kept begging him, imploring him.
"Go ahead! You've got to! I'll go crazy if you don't!"
And so, finally, oblivious of her scream of pain, and of his own pain, he achieved victory at last.
Her culmination was instantaneous, and endless. The torrent of repressed desire became a tidal wave, each successive wave lifting him higher and higher on its crest. He had the sensation of a leaf caught up by a hurricane.
And then her own activity set him free, tore him from the hurricane fury, shot him out into the wild skies.
When the excitement and furor were all over he moved away from her, She was in a deep sleep.
He got his clothing and dressed, then slipped back through the window, the same way he had entered.
"Sweet dreams," he murmured as he ducked into the woods and made his way home. He felt alive as he had not felt in years. Ever! He felt powerful. Invulnerable. Nothing and no one could touch him.
He was king, and the whole world was his kingdom!
CHAPTER TEN
THE FINAL WEEK IN APRIL WAS A FAST AND FURIOUS time at Richmond College. Teachers were preparing final exams. Students were boning up with their books, though there were some girls who spent altogether too much time boning up on "anatomy" with their boy friends when they should have been studying English or math!
Wes Parker had encountered both Celia Brown and Ann Wayne since he had raped them, and neither gave indication thai she suspected that the head of the English department was her attacker Celia Brown had no idea who he had been, and cared less. That was a delicious memory she would carry fondly for the rest of her life. Ann Wayne still dwelt in her dream world, and would not admit to herself that anything had happened at all. That had been all a wondrous dream.
Still, her dream phantom had shattered the rigid mold of her inhibitions. Since that night, she had tried to coax the phantom lover back, without success. She had even begun to consider accepting the next invitation an eligible young man offered her to come up and see his "etchings."
On Wednesday, Janet had come up to Wes's office to see him. Her blonde hair was tied back in a jaunty pony tail that bounced up and down with the same rhythm as her boobs and her buttocks beneath her thin frock.
"You're a walking ad," Wes kidded her. "Don't you have anything on under that dress?"
She flipped up her skirt in front and showed him. The sight of her nubile naked young body did not stir him today. He only smiled. "I thought so. Lucky this isn't a coed school. You'd be raped in the hall "
Janet giggled. "I don't mind an audience. .As a matter-of-fact, that's why I came to see you." She glanced cautiously at the closed door, "That club I was telling you about. Well, I spoke to the president, and she says it's okay for you to come to the next meeting."
He hid his elation and excitement. "Swell. I'll give anything a try."
She moved closer to him. "Care to try this?"
"I'd like to, but I have an appointment with your mother in five minutes."
She pouted. "Darn, and I wanted to, too."
"Next time," he promised, and stood up to escort her out. He stood at the doorway and watched her walk down the hall, with the hip-swiveling gait that accentuated the contours of her buttocks. He noted, with amusement, that more than one girl in the crowded corridor glanced at her derriere with hungry eyes, and he wondered just how many of the prim, proper young debutantes who attended Jane Richmond were switch-hitters.
He had carefully planned his interview with Phylis Moon. "I'm on the track," he informed her cautiously, when they were closeted in her office. "I've got an inside line to this orgy club on campus."
"That's wonderful, Wes. You're a fast worker." This description made her smile secretively, as she recalled that stimulating escapade that had taken place in her closet. Pulling down her panties and pushing against him like an eager mare! Nothing slow about either of them!
"I have a 'contact,' shall we say, whom I expect will lead me to one of the club's meetings very shortly, now."
Her eyebrows lilted. "And who is this contact?
One of your students?"
He smiled smugly. He was not about to tell her it was her own daughter. Not yet, anyway! "I'm afraid I can't say at the moment. I can't afford to do anything that would upset the apple cart. You do understand, Phylis?"
She frowned. "I suppose so. Still, Wes, how can you be so sure that this girl will take you there? I mean, what does she think? How did you gain her trust?"
He affected his best martyred expression. "I don't want to go into it now. All I can say is that I'm playing an extremely dangerous game."
She sensed his meaning, and it worried her. "Wes, you're not setting yourself up as a decoy?"
He nodded gravely. "There was no other way, I'm afraid. I had to gain her confidence. I gave her to believe that I am a bit of a lecher and voyeur."
"Oh, Wes!" The dean was stricken. "You should never have involved yourself to this extent. It could backfire on you in all sorts of ways. Ruin your career."
"I had to take the chance," he said nobly. "Better to risk my own neck, than to risk the exposure of Jane Richmond in the newspapers. Unless this cancer can be cut out at once, it's going to explode into the greatest national college scandal since they broke the cheating ring."
She stood up and came around the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know what you're doing, and you don't fool me. You're afraid that if there is a scandal, it will blacken my name."
He dropped his eyes modestly, and his voice was soft. "It would be tragic, Phylis, for something like that to happen after so many years of brilliant, dedicated service. And just when you're looking forward to that European sabbatical."
Her voice choked with emotion, and, impulsively she hugged his head to her body. Tenderly, he turned his lips and kissed her.
"You make me feel like a woman, darling," she whispered. "If you weren't already married, I could learn to love you, I think."
"And I you," he lied.
"Wes, no matter what happens, both I and the Board of Trustees will be eternally in your debt. You can be sure I will inform them of your noble, selfless effort to save the reputation of Jane Richmond College, even if you fail."
"I won't fail," he said with a movie-hero lopsided grin.
He walked out of the interview on winged feet. When Dean Moon nominated him as the college "savior" it would clinch his appointment as acting dean during her absence.
Acting dean? Oh, no! Permanent dean!
When he broke the bombshell that her own daughter was a charter member of this college orgy club, Phylis Moon would not dare to show her face on the campus again.
And then there were the side benefits! One glorious night of bacchanalia, lechery unlimited, all with complete immunity. He would give his honor, all for dear old Jane Richmond. It would be quite a sacrifice.
Greater love hath no man!
Sue Parker kept her second appointment with Dr. Ruth Marx, but declared that she would not return again. "But I don't understand, Sue," Dr. Marx said in puzzlement. "You seemed so anxious to get your problems worked out last time you were here."
Sue smiled enigmatically and crossed her slender nyloned legs. She was wearing a dress with a plunging neckline that showed off the top half of her bunched breasts. It gave her a cheap look that the psychiatrist knew was quite untypical of her.
"Wes and I worked things out by ourselves," she said, lighting a cigarette.
Ruth Marx's eyebrows lifted. "Just like that? After five years?"
Sue's blue eyes never wavered. "That's right."
The doctor was troubled but helpless to argue. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know."
When Sue walked through the outer office, Connie winked at her. "Atta girl, who needs her when you have the kind of group therapy we have?"
Sue laughed. "See you next Monday." She opened her pocketbook and took out ten dollars. "Here's my dues for next time."
Connie smiled. "You sound anxious."
"I am," Sue admitted boldly. Her whole personality had changed since the night in the bungalow. It was as if invisible chains had bound her all of her life, but now they were, broken. Life was wonderful. Love was wonderful. Love was free. You took it when and where you wanted it. With anyone you wanted.
It was almost like a summer day. The sun was blazing hot, and the soft air was full of the smell of apple blossoms from the orchard alongside one boundary of the campus. Sue walked with light, springy footsteps, heading for the river. She walked along the bicycle path that ran beside the grassy banks which sloped down to the water's edge. On a day such as this, the girls from Jane Richmond were out in force, sun-bathing on the grass. There was always a sprinkling of boy's from the nearby men's college. In many cases the boys and girls were together. Most of them, boys and girls, wore their bathing suits. Sue admired their young, firm, bronzed bodies, all but naked in skimpy trunks and bikinis. She speculated as to how many of those trunks and bikinis would come off before this day was past. How many of those vibrant young bodies would be close in the ultimate embrace, rousing and wracking and spending each other on the damp grass? The idea kindled a ball of furry warmth. She walked on, breathing deeply and examining the young men with lust in her eyes. They were so young, not one of them over twenty-one or so, she decided. But they had men's arms, men's chests and shoulders, men's strong legs. And the lust of men ran strong in them.
She had read somewhere that the male attains his height of potency at the age of sixteen, and that, from then on, he is going steadily downhill. Her breasts began to tingle. She wondered what love would be like with one of those young stallions.
As she got further away from the college, the number of boys and girls on the grass became fewer For a stretch, there were none at all. But about a quarter of a mile further on, she saw a lone figure in bathing trunks lying prone, braced on his elbows as he read a book. When she drew closer she saw it was a lithe young man, about nineteen, with a crew haircut and a smoothly muscled body that was cinnamon tan. Her heart beat faster. He was absolutely perfect! When she came abreast of where he was lying, halfway down the bank, she stopped and called to him.
"Could you please tell me what time it is?"
"Yes, ma'am." He glanced at his wrist watch. "It's ten minutes to two."
"Thank you." She walked a few steps down the bank and sat down gingerly on the grass. "I only have until two thirty, and I've forgotten my own watch. Could I trouble you to tell me when it's near that time?"
He smiled pleasantly. "Sure thing." He pretended to go back to his book, but Sue could perceive that he was covertly studying her from under lowered lashes.
She enjoyed his scrutiny, quite proud that this young blood should find a thirty-one-year-old woman worth looking at. Why not? she asked herself. She was a darned nice looking female, age notwithstanding.
The boy was thinking exactly the same thing. She was a real cute doll, he told himself, just the way he'd want his wife to look when she got to be middle-aged. Man, she had some pair of boobs! And there wasn't much keeping them under that dress. Her gams were good too, and with that short skirt, she showed a lot of them, round and sleek in her sheer nylons. He blushed as she spoke to him again.
"You have the right idea. I should have brought my bathing suit along. It's a shame to waste all this wonderful sun."
"Yeah," he mumbled and bent his head self-consciously to the book again. "Oh boy!" he groaned to himself as she reached under her skirt and began to unbuckle her garters. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and he began to tremble as she rolled one nylon down her tapered upper leg, over the petite knee and her shapely calves. But his eyes really bulged when she lifted her leg to get the stocking off her foot. In that position he could see her panties.
They had attracted Sue's eyes immediately when she saw them on TV manikin in the lingerie shop. They revealed without actually letting you see, and the observer's imagination did the rest.
His imagination did plenty for the goggle-eyed young man as he devoured her with his eyes. This was the first time that Rudy Tyler had ever seen a girl or a woman so nearly naked. He'd had quick glimpses under skirts, when a girl was sitting carelessly on a train or a bus, but this was different!
He got treated a second time as she removed her other stocking. If he could have gotten up without embarrassment, he would have done so and left. That didn't do a fellow any good, to get himself all worked up.
Sue was watching him closely as she removed her nylons. She felt positively naked in those scandalous panties, and his rapt gaze made her feel deliciously lecherous. Her taut nipples strained against the confining brassiere. The boy was red in the face.
She smoothed out her skirt over her knees, giving him a temporary respite from the provocative show, and wiggled her toes in the damp grass. "What are you reading?" she asked casually.
He gulped and met her steady gaze. "My solid geometry book, ma'am."
"Oh, I majored in math," she enthused. "Could I take a look at your book and see how the basics have changed since I went to college?"
His voice croaked. "Ma'am?"
"I'd like to see your book, if you don't mind." She fought the urge to laugh.
He began to stutter and splutter. "Well I.. . er that is, I don't mind. Only . . . " A thought came to him inspirationally "I've got a bad cramp in my leg, and I can't get up." He began to massage his leg vigorously.
Smiling thinly, Sue got to her feet and walked down the slope to where he was lying. "So you've got a cramp? Right there where you're rubbing?"
"Yes, ma'am." He pointed to a spot at the back of his muscular upper leg.
"Well, you can't massage in that position. Here, let me help you. I've got a nursing certificate."
Before he could object, she had begun to massage his leg. The touch of her soft, slim fingers on his bare flesh sent electricity flashing through him.
"You're trembling," Sue observed. "Am I hurting you?"
"No, ma'am."
The muscles of his leg were taut beneath her kneading fingers. The perspiration was pouring out of his pores as he strove to control himself. He felt those wonderful fingers on his bare flesh, caressing him just below the edge of his trunks now. He couldn't take much more of that.
"Please, ma'am," he gasped. "Stop now, I'm all right."
"You don't sound all right," she said archly. "I can tell something is wrong. Tell me, maybe I can help."
"You can't help."
"Are you sure?"
"Please, go away "
Quite quickly she slipped her hands underneath the legs of his trunks and ran them over his bare buttocks. The shock made him yelp and rear up violently, so that he pushed Sue and she rolled over on the grass. Her skirt was twisted about her hips, exposing her slender, golden legs all the way to her panties.
In alarm. Rudy sat up. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Did I hurt you?"
Sue lay on her side with one arm bracing her head and her eyes glued on him She giggled. "You're a naughty boy"
His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth as he gaped at her bare legs and panties.
"Never mind. Well fix you up in a jiffy." She stood up and began to peel off her panties. To titillate him further, she turned her back coquettishly as she slipped them off her ankles. Rudy was drunk from the view. This was the first time he had ever seen a female naked. By now that was apparent to him that this lovely dish was going to let him have her right here on the grass! Rudy was scared to death. He didn't really know what to do.
She knelt beside him. "Well, take off your trunks."
His fingers fumbled at the belt, but he was too nervous. Laughing, she did that for him. Sue was properly impressed. She congratulated herself on striking gold!
She inhaled so deeply that her boobs popped right out of her dress and bra. He reached for them. His big rough hands engulfed them, and her popping nipples struck at his palms like thorns. Without further ado, she moved closer to him.
"Ma'am," he gasped, "I never did this before."
The candid admission doubled her pleasure. A virgin! That was a delightful idea. The thought occurred to Sue that men were always talking about claiming a virgin. That was a mark of distinction, for the vain male to convince a young girl. But she had never heard any women brag that way. Now she knew, however, that female vanity was every bit as strong as male vanity. She would get a distinct kick from having this kid.
"You just relax and let mama do the work," she told him.
"Yes, ma'am," he gasped and his eyes were big and wondrous.
And what a delightful trip that was, with her hair blowing in the breeze, the sun warm on her bare breasts and bare buttocks, and the dewy coolness of the grass blades tickling her. She looked along the bicycle path in both directions to see if anyone was approaching. Not that she cared any longer. In her state of excitation, she wouldn't have interrupted what she was doing if a whole army came marching past. The thought tickled her. Right now, the two of them were enough to break up any parade!
The boy had let go of her breasts and had wrapped his arms about her body. The expression on his face was positively beautiful. Beatific was the word. He was having the once-in-a-lifetime ecstasy, at the precise moment when youthful innocence is lost in age-old ritual. And she knew, then, why the taking of another's virginity was such a landmark knowing the wonder and awe in the partner's face.
His pleasure rocked her. She waited on the threshold of her own pleasure, waited in order to better savor the vicarious thrill of the boy's. Not until he fell back lifeless on the grass did she let herself go.
After a time, she got up and put on her panties. He was still lying on his back, staring at her with mute, adoring eyes. "That was fine," she said. "Thanks for a pleasant afternoon."
"Will I see you again?" he asked her timidly.
Sue laughed. "I doubt it. Maybe, though. I'll look for you next time I pass this way."
He watched her walk up the slope with her saucy rear molding the tight seat of her dress. And he felt a pang of loss quite unlike any he had ever known before.
In a daze, he continued to stare after her vanishing figure. He wondered who she was, where she had come from, where she was now going.
What a woman! he thought. Then more appropriately, perhaps, what kind of a woman?
What sort of person was she, that she could appear out of nowhere on a sunny afternoon and, in broad daylight, approach an unknown boy and casually make love to him, and then just as unconcernedly walk away, probably out of his life forever?
This was really something to tell his buddies back at the dorm! Then, on second thought, he decided against revealing any shred of this episode to the guys he knew. They'd never believe him.
Suddenly, Rudy realized he was still naked. He hastily grabbed his trunks and put them on.
Then he lay quietly for a long time, soaking up the sunshine, his geometry book open but untouched on the grass beside him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cue had just finished her bath when Wes came home. She was sitting nude at her vanity, powdering her breasts with a huge plush puff. The puff tickled her nipples and made them stand erect. Sue was pleased with herself. That had only been a few hours before that she and the strange boy had made passionate love on the grassy slope. But, already, she had the urge again. When Wes came into the room and saw her nakedness, he stopped and apologized.
"I'm sorry. I should have knocked."
She laughed at him in the mirror. "What for? We're married, aren't we?"
What she wanted to say, but didn't, was, "What difference does that make to you if I'm dressed or undressed? You aren't interested in my body."
He took off his shirt and tie. "Put on your finest duds tonight. We're celebrating."
Sue was truly shocked. He hadn't taken her out in months, except to faculty teas. "Celebrating what?"
It was the first time he had mentioned the new job he was up for. "Dean of Jane Richmond College. How does it sound to you?"
Sue liked it fine. It would mean a lot more money in the pay envelope each month. New clothes, maybe even a new and bigger house. "I'm very happy for you, darling," she said.
He kissed her cheek lightly. "I'll grab a quick shower, then we'll be off. I've already made a reservation at the Limbo Club."
Sue blinked. The Limbo Club! He was in a good mood! It was the most expensive place for miles around. She stood in front of the mirror and surveyed her breasts. They were nice, the boy had told her. She stood sideways and pulled back her shoulders. Obediently, they stood up and out, with the crimson summits tilting upward like twin upturned nose". Too bad, she thought, that Wes didn't teach at Harvard.
All those young boys just bursting with incipient manhood! What a shame!
The Limbo Club was dark and subterranean, with recessed red lighting along the walls that gave a bizarre effect of flickering flames. The waitresses were all young, with large busts and rears. They wore skin-tight devils' costumes, neckr-to-foot leotards of red nylon that fit their curvaceous bodies like stockings. Their close-cropped heads were adorned with skull caps sprouting little horns.
Wes tipped the headwaiter lavishly to secure a ringside table just off the small circular stage in the middle of the dining room. It was hot in the low room, and cigarette smoke was blue and heavy, enhancing the Inferno atmosphere of the place. As their waitress stood at his side, waiting for their drink order, Wes turned his eyes brazenly on her. He was almost certain she was not wearing anything under the red nylon costume. Every detail of her body stood out vividly beneath the clinging material. He had an irresistible urge to run his hand over her.
Instead, he ordered two "Volcanoes," the special drink of the house.
"It sounds potent," Sue said.
"The more potent, the better," he said.
She smiled smugly. "I'll drink to that any day in the week."
He realized she was mocking his inability to perform in bed with her, but he didn't care a fig any more. When that really counted, Wes Parker could perform and outperform any man alive! Just ogling the beautiful derrieres of the waitresses, as they bent over tables to serve, bad him vibrating.
The drinks arrived in large brandy snifters that had the look of miniature volcanoes. Powdered sugar, laced with brandy, had been sprinkled over the tops of the glasses and lit with a match. They blazed brightly. Wes was no expert on alcoholic beverages, but he detected the flavor of rum and Cointreau, in addition to the brandy. It was, indeed, a potent drink. The more he drank, the more unbearable it became to gaze on the bottoms and bosoms of the pretty waitresses. He dropped his napkin and bent down to pick it up. In doing so, he was able to look underneath the cloth of the table adjoining his. The table was occupied by a couple. The girl was tall and Nordic looking, with silver hair swirled up in a beehive on her head, and pale blue eyes. She had good breasts in a low-cut evening gown, but she had looked cold and remote, topside. Under the table, that was another matter. Her long legs were arranged so that Wes could see the tops of her stockings. Her escort's hand was lovingly caressing her. But when Wes sat up and looked into her face, she seemed detached and bored with the whole affair.
He gazed around, and there were other men and women behaving with an abandon quite unlike their normal behavior. There was a kind of magic about the place. Limbo. Land of lost souls. No future for any of them. Just the eternal, unchanging present.
You could read in their wild eyes, and flaring nostrils.
The bedlam of talk and laughter faded as the orchestra began to play a strange reedy tune, with the sound of the Far East in its labyrinthine rhythms. It came to Wes, finally. It was a tune like that piped by snake charmers.
He was right. Two stage hands carried a large wicker basket onto the raised dais and set it down carefully. It was a larger replica of the familiar basket in which fakirs house their cobras. All eyes in the audience were riveted on the basket as a tall man with a saturnine face beneath a swirled turban advanced on stage and bowed. He wore sandals and the traditional loose trousers and loose blouse of a snake charmer.
From his pocket he removed a small flute and picked up the background melody which the orchestra was playing. The other instruments were muted now, barely audible. He sat cross-legged in front of the basket and continued to play. After a few minutes, the lid of the basket began to quiver. A gasp went up from the crowd as it toppled off and a head emerged, a serpentine head, but human. It was a young girl clad in a skin-tight costume of mottled hues and glittering rhinestones, arranged in patterns to simulate the markings of a cobra. It covered her from head to foot, with only the small oval of her face bared. She was a small, exquisite creature, no more than five feet tall. Wes decided she was Malayan. Her skin was saffron-colored, and her eyes were blacky as onyx and slanted. Her breasts were no bigger than lemons, but in perfect proportion to the rest of her perfect body. Patently, she was naked under the costume, for as she rose, undulating, from the basket, with her arms above her head, her taut nipples stood out starkly in the spotlight. She was a magnificent dancer, and she literally crawled out of the basket, curling sinuously around the sides of the wicker before flopping heavily to the boards. Her arms and legs and torso writhed and twisted like the coils of a lethargic snake.
The audience was rapt in its attention. Not a sound disturbed the act. She crawled toward the man, who played his pipe, glassy-eyed. Her head reared, her red tongue flicked out at him like a serpent's. She humped her back, and her buttocks arched high into the air. Fire licked at Wes. He was so inflamed at this point, he would have loved anyone. Even his own wife!
The spectators gasped, caught up in the illusion, as the snake-girl began to curl around the back of the man. That was a startling performance. She actually entwined herself about him as a snake would enfold a victim within its coils. The girl was a professional contortionist, Wes decided. No ordinary dancer could have twisted her body into such intricate convolutions. At the end of the act, she was hanging around his neck so that the costume strained across her, vividly defining her every contour. Wes was drooling at the mouth.
The conclusion was greeted hy an enthusiastic burst of applause from the spectators. The girl crawled back into her basket, and the stage hands carried it off. Anticlimactically, the man proceeded with the second half of his act, magical tricks done in the context of an oriental ballet, in which he was joined by two other girls, not nearly as exciting as the first little wench. t
On impulse. Wes excused himself and left the table. Sue hardly noticed. She was enraptured by the male dancer.
When he left the table, Wes only had a vague idea of what he was going to do. Of late, he had been functioning very efficiently on impulse. It was as if he operated in two separate gears, one gear for school and everyday activities, a high gear for his nocturnal activities. He shifted into high gear now, and let instinct guide him. His feet took him backstage, dim and deserted at the height of the show. Quickly, he moved past several empty dressing rooms until he came to one with sounds of activity. He opened the door a crack and peered inside. It was lighted but vacant. His eyes found a door on the opposite wall which was ajar. From beyond the door came the hiss of a shower. He went inside and closed the door behind him, carefully shooting the bolt. He sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette and waited.
She came out of the shower naked, her saffron body glistening with droplets of water. She was even lovelier than he had imagined. Her jet-black hair hung straight down her back to her tiny waist. The muscle tone of her small breasts was so amazing that the perfect globes seemed to float out of her chest like balloons. The nipples were like tiny raspberries. Her legs were short, in the fashion of oriental females, but they were shapelier than any he had ever seen. Her muscles were as sleek and powerful as a leopard's, and the woman was as imposing as any woman twice her size.
An expression of surprise, rather than alarm, crossed her sensual face when she saw the strange man sitting in her dressing room. Unhurriedly, she took a robe from her dressing table and held that in front of her.
"Get out of here," she said coldly, in a voice thick with accent.
Wes smiled. "That's hardly the way to speak to an ardent admirer."
"What you want?"
He lied glibly. "I'm a professor of Oriental culture at Harvard University, and I was intrigued with your performance. I've never seen anything quite equal to it. I'd like a private encore. Here, now."
There was amusement in her flat eyes. "Antonio no permit me to give private shows."
He nodded. "Your husband?"
She laughed harshly. "No, my boss."
"Do you sleep with him?"
She shrugged. "He sleep with all the girls in the troupe,"
"I see." This was going to be even easier than he had anticipated. "What does he pay you, my dear?"
"One hundred fifty dollars a week."
Wes sighed. "He's got a steal. Look, I'll pay you one hundred dollars for just one performance tonight."
Her eyes flickered with new interest. "Now?" He nodded. "Now."
She threw aside the robe. "Okay, we hurry." He started to undress. She smirked. "Why you do that?"
"I think we should both be naked, don't you?"
When he dropped his trousers, her eyes glittered. "You in a bad way, mister."
"All your fault, sweetie." He stood naked before her. "All set. We can skip the music this time."
She fell to the floor, moving with the heavy, serpentine grace that he so marveled at. This girl really lived a part. She was a snake! Obsidian eyes glittering, she crawled across the floor to his feet. And she commenced to crawl up him, the way ivy twists about a pole. Her breasts brushed the backs of his legs, and the sharp nipples sent electricity dancing along his nerve endings. One soft arm slid over his buttocks, the hand slithering around to his front. She pressed against his hip as she went around and around his body. She was as light as a feather, but he swayed a little, dizzy from the drunken pleasure that coursed through him. He had never experienced anything like that in his life, and he knew he never would again.
In ordinary, and even extraordinary, love, he was always possessed with an unattainable goal. A man and a woman just had so many hands. There was a limit to what these hand-s could hold and caress at one time. But Wes always yearned for total possession. If possible, he would have liked to touch breasts, legs, waist, buttocks, the whole woman simultaneously. He would have liked, by some miracle, during the moments of pleasure, to be reduced in size so that the woman could possess his whole body. That was impossible, of course, but this girl brought him as near to the reality as any woman who had ever loved him. She was all over him, like a snake. She seemed to be touching him everywhere at once, exquisitely, mashing every square inch of him.
And, at last, she was hanging limply from his neck, as she had at the finish of her act before. Unmistakably, she too was aroused by the bizarre performance she was putting on. She cried out and arched her back as he sent lightning zigzagging through her small, vibrant form. And then the two of them vaporized in a gush of steam that spent itself in the sky.
Later, when he was dressed, she held out her hand. "The money," she said.
Wes grinned and adjusted his tie. "The deal is off. I didn't know that you were going to enjoy that yourself. Don't deny you did, kiddo,"
She pouted sullenly. "You stinker!"
He chucked her under the chin. "Now, now, why not look at this objectively? We both had fun. More fun than you've had in a long time, am I right?"
She sighed and shrugged philosophically.
Although Wes had been gone from the table for more than twenty minutes, Sue had not missed him. She had become aware, as had Wes earlier, that the couple next to them were playing with each other under the table. She saw the girl' reach for a napkin. The man leaned back his head with his eyes closed and his face twitching. Enviously Sue watched them, and, after a few minutes, they looked serene and happy again. Not poor Sue.
It was at that point that a stag came in from the bar and stopped at her table. "Are you alone?"
"No, I'm waiting for someone."
He smiled. "Would you care to dance while you're waiting?"
She hesitated. Two weeks ago, she would have called the headwaiter and had him thrown out for his boldness. But this was a new Sue Parker. She looked him up and down. He was quite handsome, in a blond way and reminded her of the boy she had seduced on the river bank.
She smiled. "All right, I'll be glad to dance with you."
The dance floor was dime-sized, and served as an excuse for males and females to indulge in physical contact rather than to enjoy dancing. It was impossible for anyone to maintain an attitude of modesty once a couple got into the seething mass of flesh crushed together on the floor. Sue's breasts, naked under her velvet gown, flattened out against her partner's chest. In back of her, another girl's soft buttocks were rubbing against Sue's, pressing her even closer to her partner.
Their eyes met in a smoky look of mutual understanding. "I like this," he murmured. "You do, too, I can tell. Are you naked under that dress?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"I thought so. You're burning up. Where can we go?"
Her voice quivered. "Your car? The parking lot?"
He sighed grimly. "Too many darned attendants." His eyes lit up. "I know! A phone booth!" Sue laughed. "Phone booth? Are you crazy."
"No, the phone booths in this place are roomy. And they don't have glass doors. C'mon." He took her hand and dragged her through the crowd into the lobby. In a sheltered, dark alcove, there were three phone booths. They looked around to see if they were being observed, then ducked inside one of the booths. He closed the door. Sue gathered up the long skirt of her gown.
He made a move toward her breasts, but she stopped him impatiently. "For gosh sakes! Don't beat around the bush! I'm burning up!"
He laughed, and pushed her back against the wall. "Now, just lean back."
She tipped herself back so that her shoulder blades were propped against the wall of the booth. "Can we manage this way?" she asked anxiously.
"My dear," he said sagely, "Man and woman were constructed by the master architect of them all. Infallible design. Mo matter what the circumstances, no matter how many obstacles are present, no matter what the weather or the terrain is like, the biological urge cannot be denied."
She giggled, watching in fascination as he moved to her.
Wes and Sue got back to their table at the same time. "Where were you?" she asked him.
He smiled and held her chair. "Out for some air. How about you?"
She smiled. "The same thing."
They both thought it was a very good joke!
CHAPTER TWELVE
ON Monday morning, Wes, Dean Moon and the local police chief sat down to plot their strategy Wes listened as the chief revealed his plans.
"Mr. Parker, we won't move into position around the bungalow until all of them have arrived. Then we wait for your signal."
"Right," Wes agreed. "And remember, don't come in until I do signal. We want to get them dead to rights. The timing has to be perfect, or they could pass it off as just another cocktail party."
"You don't figure they'll suspect anything, do you?" the chief asked 'You could be in a bad spot if they do."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed." He lit a cigarette and watched the chief's eyes rove back to Phylis Moon's crossed legs. Wes had heard that the chief was a fat old lecher himself, and that he gave women prisoners certain privileges for their favors. He didn't doubt that.
"I wish this was over," Phylis said.
Not half as much as I do, he thought. When it was, his appointment as dean of Jane Richmond would be assured.
By the time he arrived home that afternoon, Sue had left the house. There was a note on the table that said she was shopping for a new dress and might be late. She would grab a sandwich in the tea shop in town, and his dinner was m the ice box. That was all right with Wes. He mixed a stiff drink and took it into his den. He wasn't hungry at all. The sense of anticipation had killed his appetite. He looked at his wrist watch. Still two long hours to wait. It made him feel exactly as he had felt on the invasion barges at Inchon, during the Korean War, waiting for H-Hour.
But at last the witching hour arrived. Wes donned a new tweed sport coat and went out to his car. Sue had the other car, a beat-up Chevy. He whistled as he drove leisurely out to the bungalow. Janet had instructed him how to find the place, but had refused his offer to drive with him.
"Nobody arrives together, or it would spoil all the fun. You'd know who I was, then," she had said.
The business of the masks intrigued Wes. He wondered who had thought it up. A genius of sorts, a depraved genius. He found the place easily and turned into the drive. There was a wooded clearing out in back, where more than a dozen autos were parked. He glanced at a Jaguar parked beside him and saw a pair of lace panties and a brassiere rumpled on the seat. He smiled. Now there was an eager wench!
He was surprised, but not unduly so, when Connie Beach greeted him at the door. She was, after all, the cleverest girl in the college, just the type of keen intellect that would conceive of the mask gimmick to spice things up.
She smiled. "Welcome to our group therapy sessions, professor."
Wes had a bad turn. Maybe Janet had hoodwinked him. "Group therapy?" he asked uncertainly. "I thought "
"That this was an orgy club?" she asked him. "There are some of the girls, immature of course, who prefer to think of this as an orgy club. I prefer not to. It's so unsophisticated."
Wes was relieved. "I agree. 'Group therapy' is just the term." He entered the vestibule. "I assume that you, then, are the president, Miss Beach?"
She looked pained. "I am the chief therapist."
"And a very lovely one." He peered at the vee of her black dress, admiring the plump, firm mounds that filled the filmy bodice. "Do you join in the festivities, dear?"
"Oh, I do, now and then, but you won't know me when I do. I'll have on a different dress and my mask."
"Ah, yes, the masks." With interest, he followed her into the make-up room. "Quite an array," he said, fingering one of the rubber masks that littered the table.
"Who do you feel like being tonight, professor? Rock Hudson? Burt Lancaster? Paul Newman? No, he's been taken, I see."
Wes saw it immediately, the one he wanted. It was stamped with the rakish countenance of the late Errol Flynn. "That's for me," he said.
As he adjusted it, she studied him curiously. "I must say, I was a little startled when Janet brought up your name, professor. I don't make a habit of encouraging faculty members to participate in our sessions. You never know when they might have ulterior motives."
He felt a twinge of anxiety, but his voice was great and casual. "What kind of ulterior motives?"
"They could be finks. Spies."
Nothing to do now but beard the lion, he decided. "That's very true," he admitted. "Tell me, Connie, why did you make an exception for me? I could be a fink."
Her smile was enigmatic. "You could. But I don't think you'll blow the whistle on us, professor."
"Why not?"
She laughed. "You have an honest face."
When his mask was in place, he followed her into the main room, where the party was in full swing. Men and women, all wearing the bizarre masks, were mingling animatedly, talking and laughing. It was just like any other party, he thought with some disappointment. She read his thoughts.
"Don't worry, things haven't warmed up yet. A few more drinks and we'll all be in the mood." She pointed to the table with the liquor. "Help yourself to anything you want."
"Anything?" He ran his hand over the circumference of her delectable buttocks. She, was warm and pliant.
She did not object. "That's the spirit, professor. You do whatever you feel like doing. No holds barred. The rules are that no one can deny or be denied. That works out quite well."
Wes rubbed his hands together and looked around. "I like your kind of therapy, Connie. I must recommend this to my friends."
Her eyebrows arched. "Maybe some of your friends are right here in this room."
"That's true!" The idea startled him. Who knew? They were in for a big surprise this night. Male and female, they had cast off all inhibitions, and could revel in the vilest debaucheries under the cloak of anonymity provided by the masks. But they wouldn't be anonymous very much longer. He could hardly wait until the unmasking, after the police raid.
"Patience, Wes," he told himself. The evening was young, and he was not going to 'blow the whistle' as Connie had phrased it, until he had thoroughly enjoyed himself.
Connie excused herself, and he wandered over to the refreshment table to pour himself a Scotch and water. From this location, he inspected the females in the room. All of them were well stacked. No dogs. He spotted a Marilyn Monroe mask. The girl who wore it was uncannily like the departed actress in appearance, big melon breasts straining at her sweater, hips and buttocks that were skirt-splitting, curvaceous legs.
His gaze went to the woman in the Liz Taylor mask, busty and voluptuous. She bent over to brush lint from her skirt, and he could see clear down her cleavage. She was naked under the loose blouse, and her boobs were like two honeydew melons on the vine.
There were Tuesday Weld, Gina Lollobrigida, Sue Lyon, Ava Gardner, Sophia Loren, many more than he recognized. Wes was not a movie fan. The girl who had on the Sue Lyon mask was standing tense in a corner. She seemed very young and very frightened. Wes walked over to her.
"Hi, what's the matter?"
Her voice trembled. "I that is, this is my first time here."
"Mine too," he said gaily. "Relax. Nobody is going to bite you," He laughed and put a hand on her tanned, bare arm. "Or maybe they will, at that.
The sky's the limit, so I understand."
The girl gulped. "I think maybe I shouldn't be here at all."
Wes was curious. "Did you know what this was all about?"
"Yes."
"But you still came?"
"Connie convinced me this would be good for me. I met her in Dr. Marx's office."
"Dr. Ruth Marx?" Wes was interested.
"Yes, I was a patient of hers."
"I see. What is your problem?"
He couldn't see her face, but even her arms grew red with embarrassment. "I I prefer not to say."
At that moment, Connie came over to them. "Good, I see you've met. Well, Sue, are you ready for your first treatment?"
The girl's voice was thin. "I don't think I can go through with this, Connie."
"Yes you can." Connie smiled, but her voice was firm.
"Not in front of all these people."
"But why not? They don't know who you are. They couldn't care less. We're all here for a good time and an effective catharsis. You know that's what you need, dear." She looked to Wes. "This child has a common problem, a bad case of adolescent hunger."
"Oh, Connie," the girl said miserably. "You shouldn't have told him."
"Don't be childish. As soon as you get a real lover, your troubles will be over."
"No!" The girl headed for the door. "I'm going home."
"Oh, no, you're not!" Connie grabbed her arm and swung her around roughly. She lifted her voice to the crowd. "Attention, everyone, gather around!" They formed a circle around Connie and her victim.
Wes felt a twinge of pity for the girl. She sounded and looked about sixteen, and she was badly scared. She was a small, fragile girl, but not skinny. Her breasts filled her sweater nicely, but they were not, as yet, fully developed. She had a good body, but still retained a measure of baby fat. That added to her appeal, Wes decided, as did her juvenile bobby-socks.
She began to whimper as lecherous eyes leered at her from the eyeholes of the grinning masks around her.
"This is one of the big events of the evening," Connie announced. "Our little virgin, our nymphet. All right, take off your clothes, honey, so the boys can get a good look at you."
"No!" The girl pulled away from her.
Connie nodded to two men who were standing behind the girl, and they grabbed her arms. While they held her, other eager hands began to pluck at her clothing. She howled as they removed her sweater and her skirt. She was wearing a short slip, and that went next. She cringed from the eyes that ogled her in her bra and panties.
Wes joined the fun by unsnapping the catch on her brassiere. Appreciative laughter went up as her little boobs sprang loose. They were the size of tennis balls and just as bouncy. Another man reached out and tweaked one of the pale pink nipples, which stiffened and reddened.
"Atta girl I" Connie cheered her on. "You like that, don't you?"
Another man tugged her snug panties down over her legs. The girl pulled one hand loose and covered herself shyly.
She had an adorable rear. Wes could not resist the temptation to run a hand over her. She was soft as down, and his desire leaped. She was young, but every bit a woman, ripe for the experience that was about to overtake her against her will.
She was still blubbering as the two men holding her pulled her over to a studio couch and forced her down. She was naked, except for her bobby socks. Wes hoped they would not take them off. Somehow, they added spice to the occasion, her little-girl's socks.
"Who wants the honors?" Connie asked, looking from one man to another.
"I do," came back a thunderous chorus. Only Wes remained mute. He would have dearly loved to take this little virgin, but he held back. That would not look good in later testimony.
They finally agreed who would get first crack at the girl. She was resigned to her fate now, lying with her feet locked tightly together, to hide herself as well as possible. Her saucy breasts pointed into the air, and, from the erect state of her nipples, Wes judged that the fever was beginning to infect her. Once she got over her stage fright, she would be just fine.
There was a round of applause as the chosen man cast off his clothing. The girl's eyes widened as he approached the couch. She gasped as he touched her, and her heart was about ready to leap out of her mouth. He was a skilled artisan, and did not immediately forge to his goal. Instead, he bent and kissed her breasts.
Gradually, her fright subsided and she began to respond. After that, everything went surprisingly easily. There was a sharp moment of pain, and then he released her arms and she clutched her lover fiercely around the neck, drawing him closer, mashing her hard little breasts against his hairy chest.
A cry began deep in her throat and rose steadily, as the pace increased. Wes took a deep breath and turned away.
A woman joined him as he mixed another drink. She was quite a dish, in a strapless cocktail dress that showed off her satin-smooth, sun-tanned shoulders and the upper hemispheres of her breasts. She wore an Ava Gardner mask, and Wes admitted that she had the equipment to go with that. Her sheath skirt was so tight that she telegraphed every twitch and quiver of the flesh beneath. Brazenly, she reached out with her hand and inspected him in a most delicious way. Well, what have we here?"
He grinned at her. "If you don't know, you're at the wrong party."
She giggled and withdrew her hand. "I know what you mean. Look, I'll be glad to take care of any problems for you."
"I'd like that fine," Wes said. "But this is my first time, and I'm a little bashful."
"Of course. We can use the bedroom if you prefer. Just this first time, though. Connie says private therapy is too inhibiting."
"Let's not stand here, then. Where's the bedroom?"
She took him into the room with the one-way mirror, knowing that, before long, all the people in the other room would be clustered around the flip side of the mirror, witnessing their performance. It was truly exciting to have an audience, she decided.
Wes pulled her to him and kissed her. Sparks of electricity leaped between them. Her breasts were so swollen that they finally spilled over the neckline of the dress. They appeared to him as enormous creamy globes of foam. The nipples were blood red and stiff as thorns, stinging his hands as he caressed them like a miser trickling gold coins through his fingers. He parted from her, momentarily, as he flung off his jacket and shirt, and she took off her sheath dress. He watched her avidly, standing there in her half slip and panties, with her boobs dangling invitingly as she bent to loosen her garters.
He pushed her down and she lay on the bed with her long, graceful legs high in the air, so he could remove the nylons for her. The flesh of her legs was firm and round and warm to his nervous fingers. He rolled one stocking over her knee and down her leg, all the while feasting his eyes on her black lace panties. Hurriedly he rolled down the other stocking and flung back her slip to get at the waistband of the panties.
"Don't rip them," she warned him. "I wouldn't want my husband to wonder how that happened."
Wes snorted. "The devil with your husband!"
She lifted her bottom so that he could roll the taut material away. He teased himself, rolling the panties down ever so slowly. Then he could not contain himself any longer, and dragged the panties down over knees and legs so urgently that he almost pulled her off the bed. She laughed wildly and snatched at his clothes. He let her strip him as he had stripped her.
There was some kind of alchemy between them that super-charged their passions, as they had never been charged before. He sensed that. She sensed that. They were ravenous for each other's flesh. When he was naked, she contemplated him with depraved reverence. He was gorgeous, she thought, sturdy as a gnarled oak. She threw her arms around him and embraced him, raining kisses.
"Oh, baby!" Wes rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "What you do to me!"
"You don't know half the things I'm going to do to you, lover," she purred.
He lay down beside her and took her in his arms. "Tell me about them."
Wes thought he had heard everything there was to hear about the varied styles of making love. But this unique creature described pleasures they would share that made his hair stand up. She was the most delightfully dissolute woman he had ever met. He could scarcely wait until the time arrived when he would rip off that silly mask she was wearing. What did she really look like? Was she, perhaps, ugly as sin? Tt would make no difference to him what she looked like. Her charm was all from the neck down, anyway. After this party was all over, he would cultivate a relationship with her. He was determined.
"Where did you learn all these depraved things?" he joked, when she had finished her thesis.
She laughed. "I lie awake at night and invent them."
Then, literally, they attacked each other with hands and mouths. He bit her until she had to roll over on her stomach to prolong the pleasure. Snarling, he fell upon her exposed buttocks, gorging his hands greedily with the abundant, sweet flesh. The imprints of his nails covered the pink globes like a rash. He thought she was the most volatile female he had ever gazed upon.
At the same time, she was delighting his tormented flesh with her avaricious kisses until he was one big ache from head to foot. She did things to him that no woman had ever done before. Her hands teased him in ways no woman had ever thought of teasing him. He responded to the challenge, and carried her along with him on the towering crest of an inhuman desire that they both sensed would never be matched again by either of them.
This was the moment that every man and woman who ever lived and knew the pleasures of the flesh always dreamed of someday achieving. Utopia. Always beyond reach, until this night I
In the end. it was she who could no longer dally. That was as if she were in the cockpit of an airplane in a high-speed vertical dive, with the force of gravity building up, and building up, until the force made the body collapse underneath its own exorbitant weight.
She lifted her body from his grasp. "Take me! Now! Before I explode!"
He crowed with laughter, and moved to take her.
But she reached out and directed him with her hands. "I like this" she tittered.
Wes was shaken. There was no limit to her depravity, he thought. Rut the gauntlet had been flung down, and he would not shy away.
That was more difficult than he would have thought, especially since she kept on squealing like a pig. "Well, I've tried everything now!" he thought.
When her culmination happened, she carried on like a madwoman, pushing him all over the bed with her in frantic leaps and hounds. His own finish was uniquely tumultuous.
"You were magnificent," she complimented him as they dressed.
"I had a magnificent teacher," he returned the favor.
Her voice was wistful. "I'd like to see your face. I keep wondering what you're really like."
He smiled. "Maybe that could be arranged." He walked to the window, pulled up the shade and took out his cigarettes. "Smoke?"
"No," she frowned. "You shouldn't do that in front of the window. Somebody might see you."
He shrugged and flicked his lighter. "That's the point, my dear."
She gasped. "What did you say?"
He turned and removed his mask with a swift motion. "There. Your wish is fulfilled. Are you disappointed?"
She backed off, with one hand clenched in fear to her contorted mouth. "Oh no! You shouldn't have!"
"It makes no difference, my dear. You see, this place is surrounded by policemen. Now, let's have a look at you!" He started toward her.
"No!" Her voice was so full of terror that it hit him like a physical blow.
At the same instant, there were screams and shouts from the main room. A police whistle blew. There were sounds of furniture being knocked over, glasses breaking. Momentarily diverted from his purpose, Wes went to the bedroom door and opened it. He saw a swarm of uniformed cops rounding up the bewildered revelers. Many of the men and women were naked or partially undressed. The fat police obief was enjoying himself thoroughly. Under the pretext that he was preventing a naked, buxom blonde from escaping, he had his arms wrapped around her, his thumbs wiggling against the balloon breasts. Wes grinned ruefully.
"Everything under control, Chief?" he asked, after the police officer regained his composure.
"You bet." The chief tittered. "You should have seen some of the things these characters were doing when we broke in. I'd give a year's salary to have a movie record of them. I've seen salty pictures in my time, but this bunch makes all of 'em seem like they was out of Sunday school texts." He ogled a slim brunette who was trying desperately to step into her panties.
When the miserable men and women were lined up, the cops began to rip off their masks. Connie Beach hissed at Wes. "You think you're pretty smart professor, but wait! The last laugh is going to be mine!" She actually began to laugh.
Wes regarded her with bored indifference. Suddenly, he remembered the woman in the bedroom. "I have another one in here in the bedroom, Chief." He turned to the half open door.
The chief's eyebrows lifted. "In the bedroom, heh? You're a sly dog, professor."
Wes smiled. "All for the cause, my dear chap." He poked his head into the bedroom. "Hey, Ava, you can come out now!"
His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes flared. The room was empty! It was then that he saw the open window, with the shade blowing. "What the ! " He raced to the window and peered out. About a hundred yards away, he saw a running figure trying to reach the woods in back of the house. At the same time, he heard the shot ring out, loud and terrifying in the night.
The figure twisted and threw its hands over its head. It collapsed in an inert heap. Wes leaped through the window and joined the policemen who were converging on the fallen victim.
It was her, all right. When they rolled her over, he saw she was still wearing the Ava Gardner mask. He was disappointed. If the darned fool hadn't panicked, the two of them could have had a good thing going for them once the fuss died down.
"Is she badly hurt?" he asked a cop.
The officer pointed to the spreading crimson stain on the front of the dress. "Don't look good."
"Let's find out who she is," Wes said. He stooped and removed the mask.
The shock of recognition almost caused him to faint. It was his own wife. It was Sue.
"Oh, God! No! It can't be." His voice cracked.
She was still alive. Her eyes flickered open and fixed on his face. A weak, wry smile curled up her mouth. "Surprise, darling," she said.
He shook his head. "This isn't real. No! His fingers touched her face. "It's some kind of trick. You're wearing another mask." He tried to take off the non-existent mask. Two cops came up and pinned his arms.
His eyes were mad, wild. "But it can't be! You and I, before, in that room" What we felt, what we did. that was never like that with my wife! No! You're lying. You're not Sue!" He struggled in the grasp of the policemen. "Lemme go!" He began to howl at the sky "like a wild dog.
Sue was fading fast and she knew it. She felt no animosity against Wes, only pity. Pity for both of them. And sorrow for what might have been. The joy they had given each other on this last night was a cruel joke of the fates.
One of her breasts had slipped out of the dress, and glistened like a jade globe in the soft moonlight. It was the last thing she saw as life departed from her body.
She didn't see them bundle her husband up in a strait jacket and carry him to the ambulance, still howling at the moon.
Wes Parker's words to her, earlier, had been prophetic. "The devil with your husband!" he had said, when he removed her panties.
