Through the grimy, dirt-smudged window the girl stared out at the equally sooty and squalid block of flats which loomed opposite. They had only been erected a few years ago, but already the polluted air of England's capital city had deposited a thick film of dust on their facade. She ran her eyes slowly down the eight-storey building until they alighted on the heavy stream of traffic which flowed constantly down Tottenham Court Road. The cars, lorries and buses seemed wedged between the tall structures of offices and flats-inching their way with difficulty down the already inadequate main street.
Angela turned away from the window, feeling herself to be as hopelessly trapped as the traffic she had been watching. Even here, three storeys up, the air was claustrophobic and dense. She had almost forgotten what it was like to breathe clean, crisp air into her lungs.
Her morning coffee lay untasted on the bedside table. Angela drank it down quickly, shuddering at the lukewarm, tepid Nescafe as it left a dark brown flavour in her mouth.
The bed-sitting-room was scarcely large enough for her to move around with comfort. It measured a scant five feet by twelve feet: and the heavy, ugly Victorian furniture seemed designed to crowd out any human occupants of the space.
She crossed to the water basin and cleaned her teeth thoroughly, getting rid of the after-taste of her coffee. Above the sink, a chipped and tiny mirror reflected her tired eyes and the expression of sheer misery on her face.
Angela wrinkled her nose and dabbed her mouth with Kleenex. The towels were filthy and weren't due to be replaced until Monday. It was only Friday and she knew that Christine wouldn't be able to lend her any-her landlady scarcely owned enough towels and bed linen for her own use, let alone having spares for her lodgers.
Before the familiar depression set in, Angela forced herself to remember that she was really very lucky to live in such a central part of London at all. Never mind that it was so singularly unattractive and dingy; in the beginning, when she had first arrived, that had been part of its charm....
She leaned against the wash basin and surveyed the room again. How romantic and Bohemian it had seemed on that first day! The dilapidated wall-paper, the threadbare carpet, the ugly ornaments!
And, of course, Christine herself. Most of all, there had been Christine....
Angela had met Christine many times before: in novels, in magazine articles, at the cinema. But until a few weeks ago she had never come face to face with a real, live beatnik-a casual, completely free girl who lived only for today. Who smoked marijhuana, slept with anybody she liked, gave her body without guilt, conscience or remorse.
Those first weeks had been so wonderful! Angela half-closed her eyes, a small smile on her lips as she momentarily relived her introduction to Christine's world.
Everything had been exactly as she had imagined it would be. The intense arguments on every subject under the sun-ranging from psychology to sex and art-which went on until the wee small hours. The all-pervading air of freedom: freedom to say whatever you wanted to say, freedom to do whatever you wanted to do....
What a marvellous contrast it all was to her previous life! Back home in the suburb of Ealing, living in a semidetached house with her parents, Angela had been watched every moment. Her father, a reasonably well-to-do office manager, had insisted that she be in bed by midnight-right up to her 21st birthday.
Her mother pried into her life, into every corner of her existence, until Angela felt that there was no part of her which could be private. Smothered, overprotected, guarded like a rare orchid which might be irreparably spoiled if the harsh rays of real life touched it....
She could only be thankful that they hadn't ruined her completely. Fortunately, Angela had kept a small spark of rebellion burning inside her and had refused to allow them to quench it.
And on the day following her 21st birthday she had calmly packed her small possessions and walked out of their house without telling them where she was going or what she intended to do.
She had, of course, made straight for London. Although she had no friends or acquaintances in the capital, Angela felt sure that it wouldn't be too difficult for her to find somewhere to live-and to get a job which paid a much higher salary than the firms in her home town.
When she arrived, Angela had exactly $50 in her purse, a sum she had scrupulously saved during the eighteen months since she'd first planned to leave home. A month's rent in advance to Christine of $20; food, cigarettes and sight-seeing expenses-and she now had less than $10.
For three weeks she had been content merely to drift along in Christine's wake. Christine rarely worked. She might take a job serving or washing-up in a coffee bar for a few nights if her finances were very low; but heir way of life strictly precluded a steady, routine employment. The very idea was alien to her nature.
And Angela had felt the older girl's attitude rubbing off on her. After all, what was the point in working for a living when you could get by? It wasn't necessary to have lots of money to enjoy yourself in London. Christine had proved that to her.
All you needed were friends, somewhere to sleep and the ability to con food, drink and other "necessities of life" out of sensation-hungry tourists or the hundreds of vacant-faced "country boys" (as Christine called them mockingly).
These latter people flooded into London whenever there was a Cup Tie, a Motor Show or some other group activity going on. They came in large motor coaches, arrived drunk, their breath stinking of beer, spent their time at strip clubs and public houses and went home drunker and much poorer than when they had arrived.
Christine and her friends preyed on these day-trippers ruthlessly. They picked up the more prosperous looking among them, inveigled them with hints and promises of a "fabulous time-women, sex movies, special exhibitions, orgies...."
It never failed. The gullible, watery-eyed Northerners-despite the dozens of magazine articles warning them against just such confidence tricks-would jump eagerly to the bait.
Only to find, a few hours and frequently up to $40 later, that the hints never became realities, that the promises were empty and vacuous as their own faces....
In this way, Christine Jones ("that couldn't be her real name," Angela thought when she first heard it) got by. And somehow it seemed so stupid to go looking for a job when the young people around her had so much fun without working for it.
However, the novelty of their way of life was beginning to pall. Angela was an intelligent girl. She knew that she didn't really fit into their group; they had an entirely different up-bringing from her and, besides, they had never known the security of a home life which Angela found she still longed for.
Her rebellion against her parents didn't mean that she rejected their philosophy of life entirely. Not at all.
She knew very well that she was too fond of good food and comfortable surroundings to go without them for too long. What she wanted, what would be ideal, would be to combine the freedom of Christine's life with the financial security of her parents'.
That is, she envisaged herself with a large income which came from doing a job she enjoyed doing-not a dull, routine chore in an office, but something more glamorous, something exciting!
Her break with her parents had come so swiftly that Angela hadn't had time to properly plan this rather vague "career"-or to decide where her true talents lay.
She had a faint idea that she might make rather a good fashion model; but how one broke into that sort of job she didn't know. The top models always seemed to have a background of expensive schools and training colleges: with her dwindling finances such a course Would be impossible.
On the other hand, it was just possible that she would be "spotted" and taken to a big advertising agency. Picked out of a crowd in a coffee bar or on the street and told that she was exactly the girl they wanted for a series of....
Wishful thinking! Daydreaming, Angela warned herself. That's pretty stupid. It won't get you anywhere and you ought to have more sense. Opportunities like that come along once in a lifetime. You could starve to death waiting for a talent scout to snap you up.
Meanwhile, what are you going to do for money when your $10 runs out?
She realized that she was still holding the wadded Kleenex tissue-and tossed it into an overflowing waste bin. The room was stuffy and overheated, the bed was unmade, the floor needed sweeping, the dishes from last night's supper were still unwashed....
Angela felt an overwhelming sense of loathing for the place. A sudden nausea gripped her, a feeling of disgust at her sordid surroundings. This wasn't the way she'd planned it at all! Not this cluttered, untidy, cheap-
She bit her finger, her teeth scoring into the digit harshly-trying to fight back a wave of tears which threatened to shake her body.
For one terrible moment Angela wished that she had never broken away from her parents. Wished that she was still with them in their snug, respectable house in middle-class Ealing: wished with all her heart that she had thought more carefully about her future before launching herself so crazily into London's pitiless depths.
But she knew that it had to be a spur of the moment decision. If she had waited and laid schemes, the chances were very strongly against her taking any action at all. By its very nature, her leaving home had to be a wild jump into the dark.
Right now she might be suffering and having second thoughts, but the important thing-above everything else-was that she had at least gained her freedom.
Angela forced her mind away from its self-doubting and, to occupy herself more than from any real desire to be tidy, started to clean up the room.
For an hour she busied herself doing the dishes and making the bed; sweeping the floor and tidying generally until the fourth-floor bed-sitter was as neat and well-ordered as it was possible to make it.
By the time she had finished and treated herself to a cigarette it was 10.30. Angela sprawled in the room's only armchair-a moth-eaten, loose-springed monstrosity which Christine had bought for a pound at a junk shop-and puffed slowly, making the cigarette last as long as she could. It was time for her to start making economies....
When the butt started to burn her fingers, she stubbed it out reluctantly and wondered if she ought to get washed and dressed. A familiar lethargy was creeping over her; a listless, lazy emotion that said: Why bother? There's nothing to do even if you get yourself ready! What's the point?
Angela sank lower in the armchair, her feet stretched out. Christine's philosophy was certainly contagious, she thought to herself. It was so very easy to let yourself go-to abandon everything and just drift....
She wriggled her toes, looking down her loosely-clad body at her bare legs. An idea occurred to her. It was some time since she'd taken stock of herself and if, by some stroke of luck, she did get the chance to do some modelling, it was important that she held herself erect and moved as nicely as possible.
She got up from the chair and walked slowly to the old mahogany wardrobe. Opening it, she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror set into the inner door.
Though the mirror was cracked in several places, Angela was able to see a not-unpleasing vision of herself. Critically, she let her eyes travel up and down her figure, keeping her hands quietly at her sides, studying the picture she presented as searchingly and objectively as she could.
First, the cascade of untidy brown hair which fell around her face and shoulders. Well, that could soon be combed and washed, she thought-and her hair was certainly one of her best features.
It framed a face which, with a little judicious use of make-up, could be termed strikingly pretty. She was under no illusion that her face was beautiful. Angela knew that certain irregularities: the slight tilt to the tip of her nose; the too-full lower lip; her eyes which were fractionally too large, these precluded her features from that adjective. And yet these minor flaws also gave her a peculiarly distinctive look-as if she was a totally innocent young girl forever on the brink of discovering her innate sexuality.
Those big, baby-blue eyes and the tilt of her nose, when combined with the luscious fullness of her bottom lip, induced in the beholder a quickening of the blood; a powerful though subliminal urge to complete her sexual education....
Angela had experienced this emotion on several occasions, despite the strict supervision of her parents. She was very much aware of the effect her face had upon men and boys, had learned how to torment them with her facial expression until they pleaded with her to give in to their desires.
Twice, she had nearly been raped by a particularly frustrated male. And after these experiences Angela had grown more skilled in using her combination of little-girl-lost and sexy, eager bitch.
It didn't pay to drive men too far! There came a point when it was necessary to give them what you were tantalising them with! And so Angela had surrendered her virginity more than a year ago-just before her 20th birthday.
The reminiscence of that momentous event grew stronger as Angela found herself assuming that child-like pouting expression, her head slightly on one side, in front of the mirror.
Her hands came up to her breasts and, only half aware of what she was doing, the girl began to stroke them, rubbing her fingers gently, persuasively over the firm globes through the thin material of her nightie, as she let her mind drift back those thirteen months....
CHAPTER TWO
The sun was very hot on her back, burning through the flowered print of her summer dress. Beneath it, Angela wore only a pair of panties and a bra. Her legs, already sun-tanned from her holiday in Spain, were bare and she walked along the deserted beach with her sandals dangling from her fingers.
Late June, the time of year when the fierce Spanish sun was at its hottest. Her parents had rented a bungalow not far from Torremolinos-at a relatively quiet resort named Paguera del Mar. It was away from the normal tourist traffic, and Angela suspected that her father had chosen the place not so much for its peace and solitude as for the fact that his daughter wouldn't be pursued by young men to quite the same extent....
It was early afternoon; her parents were taking their siesta and it seemed as if all the other middle-aged couples had followed suit. She had the beach to herself, a long, gently sloping expanse of sand which fell into the softly lapping blue sea for about a mile and a half.
Tiring quickly in the heat, Angela trailed down to the edge of the Mediterranean. The warm water bathed her feet deliciously, cooling them and relaxing them.
How nice it would be to go for a swim, Angela thought. Then recalled that she had left the bungalow without her swimsuit, not intending to go for a bathe-just to wander idly across the beach.
Damn! she cursed. The clear water looked so refreshing, so inviting!
The girl looked up and down the beach. There didn't seem to be anyone else within a mile or so. Only a few black dots right away to the west. They certainly wouldn't be able to see her if she....
Shrugging, Angela lifted her dress before she had second thoughts. Her bra and panties came next, and she stood posed on the shore for a moment or two-a stunning and beautifully naked nymph, her young body a golden brown save where her swimsuit had modestly concealed her breasts and loins from the sun.
These portions of her flesh were accentuated by their pure whiteness, making a delightful contrast with the rest of her body. How stupid bathing costumes are! Angela grimaced, glancing down at her pale-skinned breasts. Why on earth shouldn't we get the whole of our bodies brown?
Then she plunged into the sea, diving beneath the waves and feeling a tremendous release go through her as the salt water lapped and caressed her nude charms, making her nipples tingle and her sex pulse suddenly.
She struck out in a slow crawl, fully aware that she was getting an unmistakable sexual thrill from her nakedness and from the feel of the sea on her unclothed body. When she was 50 yards or so from the shore, Angela turned over onto her back and floated gently; smiling as she watched the waves glide over her breasts, making them wobble and ripple-the nipples breaking the surface and sticking cheekily, redly, upwards.
Further down, she saw the dark patch of her pubic hairs just below the water. The girl thrust her stomach up and made her crotch appear-the secret black beaver of her sex plastered wetly to the hard mound.
Angela spread her legs, stretching out her arms at the same time to form a star-fish shape. She let her head go back, closing her eyes tightly against the glare of the sun, and listened to the faint swish of the sea as it lapped the sand. All was quiet, all was unutterably peaceful....
Until, without warning, Angela sensed rather than actually heard another body in the water, quite near to her.
She opened her eyes at once, but was blinded by the ball of white fire directly overhead. Blinking, the girl looked from left to right of her. No one. And yet she was sure she had noticed movement of some kind. A large fish? She tensed....
And then he broke through the surface of the sea only inches from her floating body, a broad grin on his lips, his white teeth dazzling in the sun.
Angela cried out in alarm, too astonished by the sudden intruder to think of moving away from him. He trod water, nodding his head pleasantly at her.
For a moment she thought he was Spanish: his dark hair and the gleam of his teeth indicated Mediterranean blood. Then he spoke:
"Excuse me! I didn't mean to frighten you!" He peered at her more closely. "You don't recognise me? I'm Peter Williams-we met briefly last night. At the restaurant? I had a table next to yours".
Angela remembered. He had smiled at her a couple of times until her father had given him one of his special "withering" looks. She let herself sink beneath the water up to her neck and used her hands to keep afloast.
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry my father was so rude. Look-", the words were rushing out of her, spilling from her lips in mounting panic. "I don't have anything on
-I left my swimsuit indoors...."
"Me too!" he grinned cheerfully. "Don't let it bother you, though. I'm not embarrassed-why should you be?"
Angela avoided his frank eyes. They were no more than a few inches from each other and the thought of his maleness-his completely naked maleness-in such close proximity to her unprotected sex made the blood rush to her head.
"You're a very pretty girl!" he told her. "What's your name?"
Angela told him. She was about to make an excuse to leave, wondering how she was going to get out of the water without treating him to a full view of her nude body, when a particularly violent wave sent her moving helplessly against him, her head going under the sea.
A big liner on the near horizon had sent its wash to the shore, churning up the normally calm water and making the girl lose her balance.
Peter lifted her quickly, his hands under her armpits. She spluttered, the salt water gagging her throat, and he held her loosely until the spasm passed. She could feel her breasts brushing against his chest, her tummy moving on his belly....
Angela began to move away but Peter tightened his grip-
"Hey, wait a minute!" he protested laughingly. "Don't I get a reward for saving your life? You might have drowned, you know!"
"I'm a very good swimmer-" Angela started to say, but before she quite realized what he intended to do, Peter's mouth was on hers and she felt his lips pressing tightly, his arms encircling her at the same time and drawing her with undeniable strength against his body.
Her breasts were crushed into his chest and-with a thrill of wild, intense pleasure-Angela realized that his prick was already stiff and hard! It thrust urgently against her stomach, beating against the firm whiteness of her flesh.
Perhaps the sun contributed to her feeling of helpnessness. Perhaps the heat of the day, combined with the freedom of a deserted beach and the knowledge that she was abroad, made Angela far less resistant to his advances than she would normally have been.
At any rate, she found herself returning his passionate kiss almost immediately: her sea-moistened lips pressing against his and her body-all at once-no longer resisting its contact with the boy's.
Her fingers dug into his back, just above the line of his buttocks, urging him against her with a fierce and intensely demanding persuasion.
Peter seemed surprised by her ardour. He expected no more than a kiss, but it was evident from Angela's squirming and thrusting body that he had aroused the girl to a pitch where she required far greater intimacies to be taken....
Also, he felt her lips peel open and the tip of her tongue drove firmly between his teeth. She wriggled it all round his mouth, licking carefully at the back of his teeth and at his palette-firing him with a desire to possess her completely.
His hands slipped down her back until he felt his fingers moving on the supple cheeks of her bottom. Peter held them for a moment, lifting the soft orbs gently, then began to massage them; rubbing his hands firmly over the beautifully-rounded globes and marvelling at the sweet sheen.
A little further out to sea-about another 25 yards' distance-was a swimming raft. He took his mouth from Angela's and, keeping one arm around the girl's hips (fingers resting firmly on her buttocks) suggested that they swim out to it. She nodded, her big blue eyes misty and filled with silent need.
Unhurriedly, the couple swam out and clambered onto the raft. It dipped into the sea and was continually awash, the waves rippling over its smooth wood and keeping the surface cool.
Peter got up first and extended his hand to help Angela. As the girl was swung up on to the raft her eyes came into direct line with the boy's penis: the tool was extremely horny, the red veins standing out under the swollen flesh.
She deliberately brushed her hand against it as she settled herself on her back and felt its hardness tingle excitingly down her fingers.
He lay next to her on his side, the crown of his prick pressing hotly into the swell of her thigh, and Angela trembled violently; her mouth dry as she realized that this time she was going to let a man fuck her! For the first time she was going to go all the way!
Their eyes communed, saying all that it was necessary to say. No words were spoken. There was no need for words to pass between them. Implicitly, both Peter and Angela had accepted that their desires were going to be fulfilled....
She felt his breath on her cheek, then Peter's lips again pushed into hers, this time with his tongue extended between them. It slithered like a live thing into her mouth, tasting the wet juices of her saliva, working her already hot lust into a furious, raging urge.
His hand closed on her breast, played with it gently and then wildly; his fingers gripping the fulsome muscle and squeezing tightly, leaving his thumb to work backwards and forwards across the rising teat of her nipple.
The girl panted into his mouth, her tongue desperately seeking his. They merged, licking and writhing together-Peter's body lifting and coming down on Angela's: his cock searching for the tight passageway between her thighs.
The wet wood beneath her body was slippery and every few seconds became freshly drenched with an overlapping wave. Angela could feel Peter's prick being lubricated by the salt water, its length tapping first at one thigh, then the other, as the boy fought to place it at the entrance to her cunt.
He lifted his mouth from hers and buried his teeth in her shoulder, biting quite painfully into the soft flesh where the girl's shoulder moulded into her upper arm.
Angela crooked her nails, bringing them slowly down the boy's back until they reached his spine. Then she worked her fingers round, under his body, squeezing them between his flesh and hers so that they could close around his rigidly straining penis.
Lightly at first, she fondled the pulsing length, at the same time coaxing its crest towards the target of her quim. He seemed content for her to do all the work, and Angela realized that she was getting an enormous thrill out of arranging the loss of her virginity!
When she had positioned the crown of Peter's cock just between the slick lips of her pussy, the girl withdrew her hand. She returned it to his back, stroking the broad, tanned flesh in a series of encouraging, tempting caresses.
Peter was still playing with her breast and nipple-making the pretty pink cherry as taut and stiff as it could possibly grow.
All at once, Angela felt him begin to lunge his hips forward, sending his cock deeper within her cunt. She stiffened, the tightness of her virgin hole reminding her that she was going to suffer before gaining the rewards of sexual pleasure.
The prick slid inwards to perhaps half its length ... then Peter paused.
He looked at her tenderly, their eyes meeting in an intimate exchange of mutual understanding.
"Yes", Angela whispered, her voice so soft that it was the merest whisper, the faintest murmur against the slapping rhythm of the sea. "It's my first time, darling!"
Peter kissed the tip of her nose softly. "Don't worry-I'll be gentle", he told her. "I promise not to hurt you!"
Angela frowned, then shook her head vigorously.
"No!" she urged him, her voice louder and pleading. "You don't understand! I want to be hurt! I want to feel it as much as possible!"
She gripped his shoulders tightly, forcing the boy to meet her eyes.
"You mustn't be kind to me. It's important that I feel it go into me and hurt me! I want to remember this always-always!
"Do it now!" she told him, staring calmly into his face. "Now-I'm ready! Fuck me, Peter!"
The rapist which lives in every man came to the surface of Peter's personality at Angela's provocative words. With a stifled roar of lust, the boy eased his prick slightly out of her cunt-giving himself a greater purchase-then thrust it with all his might, all his strength, inwards!!
Angela's head snapped forward, her open mouth devouring and gorging at Peter's shoulder, burying her scream of intense pain by sinking her teeth cruelly into his flesh.
A hot, gushing pain streaked from her poor, torn-open cunt right through the girl's body. She felt as if a mediaeval torturer had rammed a white-hot iron between the lips of her quim and was now easing the dreadful instrument in and out....
A wound seemed to have been opened somewhere inside the bowels of her sex that could never be healed. Angela was on fire with pain: it coursed like a fluid through her mind, hammering, pounding at her senses, urging her to fall into the peace of unconsciousness....
But then the iron took on the aspect of flesh. It began to please her that she was able to contain so massive a weapon-so huge and muscular a prick!
Angela started, tentatively at first, to test her capabilities by squirming her loins about the intruder. She felt a definite sensation of pleasure welling up in her, an easing of the torment, a replacing of the pain with a growing ecstasy that grew out of her agony and could not have existed without the initial hurt....
She felt, too, the warm trickle of blood on her thighs with a sense of pride, with a sense of accomplishment. As if it marked her initiation into a private and exclusive sect. As indeed, it did! Angela, at the age of 20, had become a woman.
With the slow ebbing away of the pain, she learned to enjoy to a greater and more fuller extent the live, pulsing rod of flesh which was penetrating her and riding in and out of her quim.
Angela adapted herself to Peter's fucking rhythm, moving her hips and crotch in time with his movements and allowing her mind to savour every moment of the intimate act.
Now that he was firmly imbedded in the girl, Peter fumbled his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted them right off the deck of the raft. He settled his fingers snugly around the wet cheeks and drove his prick more securely than ever into Angela's bleeding cunt.
Revolving his hips, the boy made his cock describe a circular motion inside the hot, sticky depths. He could feel the thrill of the first voyager invading new territory and something of the emotions of Christopher Columbus setting foot on virgin soil filled his heart.
Adapting herself to Peter's new wiggling, Angela ground her own hips in imitation, clenching and unclenching her buttocks and feeling the boy's hands pinching roughly into the soft flesh of her bottom, bruising the skin-probably raising ugly weals on her poor little arse-but what did it matter?
This was all that mattered! To feel his young maleness stuck rigidly inside her, grinding gloriously against the fleshy tightness of her quim!
Angela suddenly felt Peter's cock stop its striving. The engine seemed to jerk wildly inside her cunt, even though the rest of the boy's body was still. Oh, no! she thought. He's not going to come! Not yet!
But the violent trembling of his body and the quivering, leaping movement of his prick told her that his orgasm was upon him.
She renewed her own rhythm quickly, determined to reach her climax before he withdrew. And to help her, in the instant before his jets started to flow, Peter wriggled his forefinger into Angela's arsehole and tickled the girl's tight inner-anus with the most erotic touch Angela had ever experienced.
Half-swooning, she felt a great soaring sensation in her loins-a wild, frantically undeniable urge to rock her cunt-lips over the man's prick and annoint the stiff tool with her loving cream.
The tickling welled up and up until Angela could stand it no longer.
Her floodgates opened and she gasped aloud with relief as she felt the spunk running freely out of her tight cunt, mingling with the blood from her despoiled hymen, and bathing Peter's knob with its lascivious juice.
A fraction of a second later, her womb was being sprayed with his spunk!
Angela clutched him desperately to her, their naked bodies writhing and rocking on the swimming raft until they almost toppled off it into the sea. More and more of his sperm was pumped into her-until Angela thought that she would drown under its relentless outpouring.
All pain was forgotten, all realisation of their surroundings and their identities was merged into this one fantastic orgasm!
And even when Peter's prick began to lose its potency and waned a little, he valiantly kept it inside her: thrusting her crotch down on his by pulling at her buttocks. Until, dreamily, they uncoupled and lay side by side, eyes closed, the gentle water cooling their overheated bodies....
CHAPTER THREE
Angela, the lips of her quim slimy and sticky with oily love-juice, brought herself reluctantly back to the present.
She had slipped one hand beneath her nightie and her fingers had fondled pleasurably at her quim during her remembrance of the affair with Peter Williams. He had made love to her-oh, probably 20 times during the rest of their holiday. And then, for no real reason-except possibly that they knew they were returning to England and it was doubtful if their romance could continue-they had quarreled and parted without exchanging addresses.
At this time, Angela had not finally made up her mind to leave home. Since Peter came from the North of England (Newcastle, she believed) it wasn't very likely that their paths could cross in any case.
And perhaps, Angela had reflected, perhaps it was just as well. Holiday affairs rarely turned out to have any lasting significance. They were fun so long as you remembered they were essentially only brief flirtations-not to be taken too seriously.
All the same ... She turned away from the mirror and began to unfasten her nightie. It would be nice to meet Peter again. She let the flimsy gown drop to the floor, then stooped and folded it neatly.
He had been quite an interesting young man-apart from his sexual prowess. They had talked far into the night on one occasion and his views on life more or less coincided with her own.
Their discussion had cost her another nasty row with her father. How he'd ranted at her for staying out so late! "And in a strange country, too!" His words and his tone of voice came back vividly to the girl, strengthening her resolve to have nothing more to do with her parents.
They still treated her as if she were a child! That was the crux of the problem. They refused to admit that she was an adult, with as much right to decide her own life as they had to follow their own out-dated philosophy.
Angela sighed. Life could be very difficult, she mused. And, perhaps without her fully realising it, her parents' had influenced her when she broke off with Peter two days before she returned to England.
They had certainly put her into a bad temper, anyway. And maybe her mood had helped to create the quarrel....
Ah, well, that was all water under the bridge! If she didn't want to trail back home to Ealing and ask her mother and father to take her back into the family fold she would have to think very seriously about getting some kind of job to tide her over until an inspiration came to her for something better.
But what sort of work? She was damned if she'd take an office job-and though Christine had offered to get her a job in one of the near-beer clubs, Angela didn't feel that she could sit around in a smoky, sordid little basement half the night waiting to fleece a few stupid men.
However, it might come to that, Angela realized. At least it would be better than typing invoices all day!
A sharp rat-tat-tat at the door broke abruptly into her day-dreaming. "Who is it?" Angela called. She snatched up her dressing gown and flung it hastily around her shoulders.
"Only me, darling!" It was Christine. Without waiting for an answer, the girl pushed the door open and came into the room. "Oh, you're not dressed! Well, never mind me, Angie! I'm not prudish, you know!"
This last remark was directed at Angela's habit of either leaving the room or turning her head away whenever she walked into Christine's room and found the girl in the nude. Which happened very frequently, since Christine seemed to spend most of her time either naked or in a scantily-dressed condition. The girl never missed an opportunity to tease Angela about this-and though Angela tried to cure herself of her innate shyness when confronted by the nudity of her own sex, her parents had done their work of training her only too well.
Christine Jones was a tall, dark haired girl of 28. She deliberately dressed in the sloppiest fashion possible, although her income from the Soho clubs and her role of landlady (she rented four bed-sitters in the old house at $20 per month) meant that she could afford to buy better clothes.
At the moment she wore a polo-necked sweater in light grey and a pair of tight, faded hipster jeans. They had shrunk through countless immersions in the launderette until they now stretched only as far as the girl's calves. And around her crotch they clung so tightly that the outline of her sex was plainly visible.
Christine, as always, was barefoot. Her hair fell down over her shoulders in uncombed black tresses, almost hiding one side of her face. Apart from lipstick, Christine used no make-up; the perpetual circles of dark around her eyes, mementos of a thousand sleepless nights high on Benzedrine or other pep pills, served to give her a striking, gaunt appearance which was by means completely unattractive.
She was slimly built but possessed a very reasonable figure: particularly well-developed and curvy around her buttocks. The cheeks jutted out in twin hemispheres of firmly-rounded fleshiness-and since Christine usually wore slacks or jeans about the house, they rolled sexily under the tight material without ever appearing too grotesque or fat-
Walking up to Angela, who had now fastened her dressing gown securely about her waist, Christine pecked the girl affectionately on her cheek and said:
"Got some good news for you, darling. Two pieces of good news, actually! First of all, I'm giving a marvellous party tomorrow night-to which you're invited, of course! And I've just taken delivery of a super new supply of hashish-truly expensive! This time I'm going to insist that you have a few puffs!"
Angela smiled. She had not yet tried the "wonder drug" which Christine kept urging on her, but it seemed as if she would have to experiment with it sooner or later: Christine would give her no peace until she did!
"What's the other bit of news?" she asked.
"Wait till you hear this!" Christine flopped down in the armchair and lit a king-size cigarette. "A couple I know down in Brighton are looking for models. They run a photographic business, a sort of mail-order pin-up kind of thing-and Alan phoned me this morning asking if I knew any girls willing to pose!"
"Oh?" Angela shifted her feet, frowning a little. "It sounds a bit odd, doesn't it? I mean-". Her voice trailed off, unwilling to express her fears that the business seemed rather fishy.
Christine crossed her legs and regarded her through a stream of blue-gray smoke.
"You are a suspicious little bitch, aren't you!" she smiled. "I can see in your eyes that you immediately jumped to the conclusion that they're running a white slave racket or something!
"Listen-believe it or not, I do happen to know people who have perfectly respectable businesses! Alan and Jill-they're brother and sister, incidentally-operate this legal, absolutely proper pin-up concern. You must have seen the magazines of Harrison Marks down in Soho?"
Angela nodded, still rather dubious.
"Well, that's all they are! Artistic, glamor pictures-some in the nude, some in lingerie! And they pay $10 an hour, even for models without experience. It's a wonderful chance for you, darling! You've got a great figure and that butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth look youVe got makes you a cinch for this kind of work!"
Christine shrugged her shoulders and made an expressive gesture with her hands.
"Of course, if you think it's wrong to pose in your underwear or in the nude ... Forget it! I'm only trying to do you a favour. I've got plenty of other friends who'll jump at the chance!"
Angela, after her initial doubts, was beginning to feel rather excited at the prospect of becoming a model without having to go through years of training and without relying on the one-in-a-million chance of being "spotted" by a talent scout.
True, it wasn't exactly the kind of modelling she'd had in mind ... but hundreds of famous actresses had started their careers by posing for such photos. Her mind began to spiral off into fantasy. Supposing "Playboy" ran one of her pictures? Supposing they even made her one of their "gatefold" girls? Ran a special feature on her...?
During her adolescence in the narrow-minded community where her parents had made their home, Angela-fed on a regular diet of Hollywood movies and glossy magazines-had secretly nursed dreams of one day breaking into the big-time of that glamorous world: of seeing her own name in print ("that new sensation, Angela Birkett, seen last night at the world premiere of her latest film ... ").
Such reveries had helped to sustain the girl through the long years of dull, routine, boring home-life which was expressly designed to turn her into a "normal, respectable, everyday suburban housewife".
She had confided these dreams to Peter Williams during their night-long exchange of views and ambitions. And he had shared them to some extent, admitting to her that he saw himself as a kind of 1967 D. H. Lawrence, writing novels which depicted the struggles of the British working-class in today's Welfare State-where, in fact, they were no better off than in Lawrence's time, at least spiritually.
He wanted, too, to play his part in the sexual revolution which was gaining momentum: helping to destroy the final shreds of Puritanism and neurotic guilt which still prevented complete freedom in the arts....
He had fired Angela, that night, with his vision of a new world-a world where sex and nudity were accepted everywhere without fear and shame. Now, standing in front of Christine, faced with making up her mind about the girl's offer, Angela recalled vividly the excitement and passion in Peter's voice.
She might be playing only a tiny role in the emancipation of sex by posing for such photographs, but at least she would be taking part in it!
Christine was waiting. "I'm sorry I hesitated", Angela said. "You must have thought I was rather prudish and squeamish to look so shocked at the idea!
"I'd love to have the job", she went on quickly-before Christine was able to speak. "What do I have to do? Ring them for an appointment?"
Christine raised her eyebrows. "Well!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were going to turn it down-you've really surprised me, darling! Are you sure you don't want to think about it some more before you make up your mind?"
Angela shook her head vigorously. "I'm certain about it", she told Christine firmly. "And I'm very grateful to you for giving me the opportunity...."
"O.K. then. It's bit late to do anything today. Alan said he wants to start as soon as possible with a new girl but he doesn't work at the weekend. Otherwise, seeing that you're so eager, you could pop down to Brighton tomorrow.
"Tell you what: supposing I phone him for you and arrange an appointment on Monday morning? Does that suit you O.K.?"
Angela nodded. "That'll be fine", she said brightly. "The sooner the better!" Christine stood up and stubbed out her cigarette. A thought struck Angela. "Incidentally, how long have you known them-Alan and Jill, I mean?"
Christine looked at her curiously. "A couple of years", she replied. "On and off, that is. I don't see them all that often now. As a matter-of-fact, I used to do some posing for them-that's how I know you'll be perfectly all right in their hands..
"Didn't it lead to anything else?" Angela persisted.
Christine gave her another strange look. "What do you mean-anything else?"
"Oh, jobs with other photographers; magazine work, talent scouts ... You know!"
Christine smiled. "No, I'm afraid it didn't", she said. "For one thing, I don't have your innocent, baby-blue eyes! I was already too experienced and cynical when I met Alan and Jill. And what people want in their sort of business is girls who show their bodies off but still retain a quality of innocence-as if they don't really know what sex is all about...."
She had a certain set to her lips now, a grimly amused expression which seemed to conceal scars inflicted when she was very small. Angela felt a sudden rush of sympathy and compassion for the girl. Christine had grown up too quickly, her maturity had been forced upon her too soon. She appeared much older than her 28 years now: as if she had seen and experienced everything there was to see and experience, and there was now nothing left in the world to surprise or delight her.
"I didn't have that quality", Christine went on after a short silence. "I don't think I ever had it". There was bitterness in her voice and in her words. She made that gesture again-a raising and opening of her hands, palms upwards, as if to say that it didn't matter, that there was no need to feel pity for her, it was all over and nothing could be done about it....
"Anyway, that's quite enough about me!" she said briskly. "I may not look as sweet and tender as you, darling, but I get my kicks! Don't worry-I get my kicks!"
The girls were standing only a few feet apart, Angela's hands half-outstretched towards Christine in an expression of silent concern. Despite the older girl's outward display of cynicism and flippancy, Angela could see that her eyes were moist with unshed tears.
Before Christine could fully regain her composure and revert to her usual persona of casual, uninvolved superficiality, Angela moved a step nearer to her and said softly:
"Why are you so cold and so detached, Christine? What made you like that? You've always seemed to me, ever since we met, like a girl who's suffered a great deal. Wouldn't you like to tell me about it?"
"There's nothing much to tell". Christine obviously didn't want to discuss herself with Angela, but the girl felt impelled to pursue the matter.
"Forgive me for speaking to you in this way, but-but aren't you wasting your life? Don't you ever think that the way you spend your time is wrong? You stay up all night, either on pep pills or marijhuana; you usually sleep most of the day; you go to all those dives in Soho-.
"Honest, Christine, I'm not trying to pry, I'm not really criticising what you do. God knows, I've got no right to do that! But-". And here Angela put her hand tentatively on Christine's arm, felt immediately the slight trembling of the girl's flesh beneath the thick wool of her sweater.
"But sometimes, in your eyes, like now, I can see that you're not really happy. It's there now, darling-a sort of wistful look, a sadness...."
Christine looked up suddenly and Angela could see the hopeless misery which the girl normally kept hidden now reflected openly in her face. Her eyes met Angela's and she put her hands on the younger girl's shoulders.
"I could tell you so many things, Angela", she whispered.
"So many things...."
"Why don't you, then?" Angela urged her softly. "It might make a tremendous difference to confide in someone
-someone who's really sympathetic and only wants to help you".
"All right". Christine turned Angela around and pushed the girl gently into the armchair. She curled up on the floor beside her, one hand resting on Angela's thigh, her face turned away, her eyes staring fixedly across the room.
"It's not a terribly unusual story", she began. "It's about love-unrequited love, of course! Only there is one slight difference: the person I loved and who rejected me happened to be another woman!"
Angela felt her body go tense. A strange, sinking feeling
-like the first downward dip on a roller coaster-churned her stomach. And, like the plunge of the fairground ride, it was a combination of both fear and excitement.
She listened as Christine related, in spare, unemotional sentences, the brief facts of her first love affair: a growing curiousity awakening in her as she looked down at the older girl and realized that she had known the intimate caresses of a member of her own sex.
Angela herself had never, so far as she was aware, even met a lesbian before. Certainly, she had never been approached by another girl or even felt the slightest desire to experiment with bodies identical to her own.
But as Christine's voice calmly narrated her early experiences, Angela felt a mounting, quickening interest in such pleasures. It was as if she were a small child again, becoming aware that there existed certain mysterious areas of behaviour which, up to the present, had been completely forbidden to her.
She experienced again that rather breathless, furtive desire for knowledge-a half-guilty, half-pleasurable longing to participate in secret, enigmatical rites....
It appeared that Christine had been seduced by a much older girl when she was fifteen. This girl had merely used Christine as an instrument of pleasure; she meant nothing more to her than a soft, exciting body which she could use and instruct in the delights of Sapphic love.
But Christine had fallen helplessly and totally for her lesbian instructress. It was more than just a girlish infatuation: Christine had never been able to shake off the memory of that first, gloriously fulfilling love affair.
And when the girl had left her for another, equally inexperienced novice (this being her particular "bent" to seduce and then abandon innocent and guileless young teenagers) Christine let herself go completely.
She drifted into the world of Soho, quickly made friends among the beats and the other people who live on the fringes of society, and no longer cared one way or the other how her life developed....
"Don't think I'm completely homosexual", Christine finished. "I like men more than girls, if you want to know. But if there's one particular person that 'made me the way I am'-to coin a cliche!-I suppose it was that lousy bitch who left me just when I needed her so much!"
Angela found her hand moving almost instinctively to Christine's head. She stroked the girl's hair gently, not saying anything, just trying to show her that she sympathised and understood.
"Affairs don't really mean very much", Christine said suddenly. "You go to bed, you have sex with someone-a man or a woman-and in the morning you still know nothing at all about them! There's never any real warmth or love. You're just a couple of strangers corning together in the night for a few hours, then moving on: you don't give each other anything, not anything really valuable!"
Angela cradled the girl's head tenderly, not knowing how to express her feelings of poignancy and regret at Christine's empty and disillusioned philosophy.
'Since that time I've never loved anyone-and no one has ever loved me, except in a purely physical way. God, I must be getting morbid in my old age!" Christine seemed to pull herself together, to shrug off the mood of confiding recollections.
"I sound like a lonely hearts column, don't I? And that's not really me at all! I don't know what made me start telling you all this, anyway".
She twisted round and looked up, meeting Angela's eyes.
"Forget what I've said, will you?" she asked-and Angela could see that Christine was quickly putting her mask back into position: the mask which covered the girl's emotional hurt and allowed her to behave as if nothing ever touched her.
Angela shook her head slowly. "No", she said. "I can't forget it, Christine. And I don't want to. It's made me feel very close to you ... very close".
She whispered the last words, hearing her voice tremble and murmur them like a caress. Her hand was still resting on Christine's head, her fingers entwined in the girl's hair. She felt as if she was on the brink of a staggering discovery about herself. As if Christine had unwittingly stirred desires which Angela had never before acknowledged....
Her thoughts rushed through the complexity of her mind like a series of electrical impulses racing through a computer. And Angela knew what their sum total was going to be long before she actually formulated the answer.
It might be a purely open-hearted and unselfish gesture to offer her body to Christine-in an attempt to make up for the hurt which the girl had suffered. Angela felt convinced that she could give Christine far more than the "one-night-stand" bed partners which the girl had so regularly. It would be an emotional as well as a physical relationship.
On the other hand, it was impossible to pretend that she wasn't terribly intrigued by Christine's frank account of her homosexual nature. The story had aroused her to a point where Angela felt an undeniable urge to find out for herself what the caresses and kisses of another girl were like....
Scarcely moving her lips, she sighed: "Would you like to make love to me, Christine?"
The older girl narrowed her eyes, ran them wonderingly over Angela's blushing, downcast face. "Are you serious?" she whispered. "Do you really want me to?"
"Yes. Yes I do!" Angela's heart was thudding painfully, her pulse racing madly.
There was a pregnant silence which seemed to stretch almost to infinity. Then Christine raised her up from the chair and slid her arms gently about Angela's waist.
"You haven't taken a bath this morning yet, have you?" she said softly.
"No". Afraid to meet Christine's eyes, knowing that she was now past the point of no return, Angela could only wait for Christine to take the initiative. She felt strangely passive, as if she had given up her freedom of choice when she made the initial approach to Christine, and was now unable to do anything but follow where the other girl led.
"Let me help you wash yourself, darling. If you don't like my touching your body there'll be plenty of time for you to change your mind then. If you want, we can pretend that I'm going to take your measurements for the pin-up photos. If you want to back out ... I'll understand!"
But Angela knew that she had embarked on a course of action which she would have to see through to the end. It was kind of Christine to give her the chance of withdrawing-first of all by soaping her in the bath, and then by using the pretence of measuring her.
Yet it would be cowardly and cruel of her to renounce the girl now, after creating the situation herself. Besides, her body was filled with desire; a curiosity had been lit within her which demanded to be quenched.
Angela was unable to pinpoint the precise moment when she had decided to give herself to Christine, but no matter what her real motivations were-whether they were a simple desire to experiment, an affectionate wish to show Christine that not everyone regarded sex as purely a self-gratifying pastime, or merely her own repressed perversions coming to the surface-she had to go through with it now....
Almost trance-like, yet with full conscious knowledge of what she was doing, Angela allowed Christine to take her hand and lead her slowly out of the room. The dull Friday morning seemed to be magically altered; changed by fate or hazard into a day of vital psychological meaning for her.
They moved quietly into the subdued light of the hall and walked down the flight of stairs leading to the third floor landing where the bathroom was situated.
CHAPTER FOUR
The old house was practically ready to be condemned. Its structure was suspect and its floorboards creaked and groaned in every room and hallway.
Sandwiched between a modern office block and a newly erected hotel, the four-storey building looked like an anachronism-an eyesore in this fast-developing section of London's West End.
Christine had been able to buy up the lease very cheaply because it had only another 18 months to run. She didn't concern herself with what would happen when it expired: that eventuality lay too far in the future to concern her at present....
The bathroom was in a particularly ancient and decrepit state of repair. It was a large, nondescript place-cheap colognes, deodorant sticks and empty perfume bottles overflowed the twin cabinets and littered the floor-and the bath itself was huge and stained with rust in several places.
Christine secured the catch on the door, then stepped up closely behind Angela and lightly placed her hands on the soft rounded shoulders, beginning to knead Angela's skin gently through the dressing gown.
Angela was tense and her body trembled at Christine's touch. She swallowed audibly, tried to fight back the fear which pulsed like adrenalin through her limbs.
Christine was softly disengaging her robe, drawing it away from her shoulders and slowly baring her neck and breasts. Angela let her arms drop to her side, forcing herself to relax and submit to the love-making which she herself had invited.
The older girl, having unfastened the cord which kept Angela's dressing gown in place, now slipped the girl's arms out of the sleeves. She drew the garment away from Angela's body-ran her eyes appreciatively over the white nudity which her hands had revealed-then turned to hang the robe on a hook behind the door.
Angela, to busy herself and occupy her hands-which were beginning to shake quite noticeably-leaned forward over the bath, inserted the plug and turned the hot and cold water taps on.
While she was in this position, her buttocks splayed slightly-opening the cheeks and revealing the divine crease which sheltered her well-hidden back orifice.
Turning round once more, Christine was treated to the delightful spectacle of Angela's revealing posture; the girl's sweet anus clearly visible between the parting of her white arse-globes.
Angela strained further over the bath to adjust the flow of cold water-and as she bent even more forward, Christine could plainly detect her pink and partially opened cunt-lips which protruded faintly from between Angela's thighs.
She gazed avidly upon the taut-muscled legs as the girl stretched herself: Angela was seemingly unaware that she was presenting this intimate area of herself to Christine's inspection and this added to the lesbian's enjoyment of the situation.
Christine felt her breath quickening and the bite of her jeans where they rode up into her crotch grew more intense-as if she had suddenly grown more sensitive around her sex through witnessing Angela's vulnerable and peeping-apart honeypot.
At last Angela straightened up. She turned slowly to face Christine, her eyes hot and excited. And Christine suddenly realized that-of course!-Angela had known perfectly well that she had been "showing herself off. Of course she had!
Christine moved through the steam which was beginning to fill the room and laid her fingers on Angela's waist. The girl's skin was so incredibly soft, so sleek and white!
She fondled the flesh around Angela's waist, then eased her hands down until they cupped the fleshy hip-bones.
"I'd better strip off, too", she whispered. "Otherwise you'll make my sweater and jeans all wet!"
Christine was about to remove her hands from Angela and unzip her jeans when she felt the girl's fingers moving skillfully on her belt-unbuckling it and drawing the zipper slowly downwards.
Keeping her hands where they were, Christine waited until Angela had begun to pull her jeans down over her hips, then slipped her feet together and wriggled her legs until the tight-fitting jeans were in a bundle around her ankles.
She stepped out of them and felt Angela's hands go around her waist and press into the base of her spine-just above the close nip of her panties. Christine raised her arms and struggled out of her woolly sweater, proving to Angela that she didn't bother to wear a bra.
Her breasts seemed much larger than Angela's, and the girl studied them with a trace of envy: the voluptuous curve of the upright, red-nippled beauties was exciting to watch-and when Christine lowered her hands again, they jiggled sexily, wobbling jelly-like as if urging her to touch and fondle them....
Angela realized at this point that she didn't feel even the slightest embarrassment at gazing upon another girl's nude body. All at once, without warning, it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to appreciate naked feminine beauty!
She could feel her own nipples hardening with desire and starting to itch. Angela glanced down quickly at her breasts. The points were stiff and her normally quiet and soft-textured nipples had grown thick-bursting intc flower like over-ripe buds.
Impulsively, Angela swayed her breasts towards Christine's. The girls were of different height, but by straining up on tip-toe Angela was able to bring her nipples into delicious contact with the equally hard bubs which belonged to Christine.
Moving rhythmically from side to side, she made her teats brush again and again into Christine's-feeling a glorious thrill each time the pointy buds met one another....
The steady splash of the water behind her forcibly reminded Angela that the bath must be almost overflowing. She stepped backwards and reached out her hand for the taps-reluctant to tear her eyes away from Christine's marvellous breasts.
Sitting on the edge of the bath, she ran her fingers through the water-testing the temperature. It seemed just right: not too hot, not too cold.
Angela lifted one leg up and lowered her foot over the side; deliberately remaining in this position for several moments so that Christine could feast her eyes upon the now completely opened slit of her cunt.
The long gash had peeled apart and the inner lips were succulently revealed to Christine's steady gaze. A slight trickle of hot moisture began to stain the front vee of Christine's panties as the girl stared into Angela's blatantly exposed sex.
She made no attempt to conceal her premature emission, though it was obvious from Angela's eyes that the girl had not failed to notice the dark patch which had suddenly appeared on her white briefs.
Christine fitted her fingers into the waistband and drew them sensually down, pausing when her panties were halfway over the black patch of her pubic hair to present Angela with a highly erotic picture of a semi-nude girl....
Then, gradually, she raised first one leg and then the other-pulling her crotch-soaked briefs right off. The room had grown very hot now and beads of perspiration stood out on Christine's completely naked body.
They ran slowly down from her neck to drop in tiny rivulets between the valley of her breasts. And, further down, Angela could see trickles of condensed air falling over Christine's stomach and becoming lost in the bush of her pubic mound.
In beautiful slow-motion Christine began to move nearer to Angela. The girl felt the naked warmth of her ripe female body close to her, and Christine once more placed her hands on Angela's shoulders-this time sliding her fingers down over the slender upper arms until they were touching the inner swell of Angela's breasts.
With wonderment in her eyes, Angela looked down at herself and watched as Christine's fingers started to manipulate her bosom. They cupped, then raised the melon-shaped orbs-and Angela felt their weight suddenly disappear as Christine held them firmly in both her hands.
Pushing slightly but meaningfully, Christine urged Angela to step right into the bath. And, with the more experienced lesbian still feeling her breasts and getting into the water with her, the girl obeyed: letting herself sink up to her shoulders in the all embracing heat of the bath.
Without releasing Angela's titties for a moment, Christine positioned herself so that she was kneeling in the water between Angela's legs-forcing the girl to draw her knees up and allow Christine's legs to press against her crotch.
Taking up the large sponge with one hand, Christine continued to fondle Angela's right breast with the other: rubbing her fingers around the under-water slipperiness of the girl's teat and pulling gently at the rubbery nipple.
Carefully, methodically, Christine began to soap Angela's shoulders. She worked up a generous lather on the sponge and then used it to coat the girl's skin with foamy suds until the water grew cloudy and frothy with bubbles.
Dreamily, Angela leaned forward slightly and rested her cheek against Christine's thigh. The firm sleek muscle, already wet with splashes from the water, felt intimate and inviting.
The older girl was now soaping Angela's left breast. She delved beneath the water with her sponge and gave the lithe young curvature a long, lingering massage with the soft appliance-until the nipple rose to a magnificently erect stature.
Smoothly, Christine allowed the sponge to slip from between her fingers and lose itself in the bath. She replaced it with her hands, using them to give Angela the sexiest bathing the girl had ever experienced.
When she had finished the top half of Angela's body, Christine urged her to stand up in the bath and allow her to wash the even more exciting lower region.
Angela climbed unsteadily to her feet and stood with her legs well apart-reaching out to the wall to keep her balance.
Christine's hands moved to her legs, her fingers resting just above Angela's knees, on the first fleshy swell of the girl's thighs. She "bathed" the outside of Angela's legs first: caressing her hands slowly up the white, splayed limbs and allowing them to pet as far as Angela's hips.
When the girl's thighs began to shudder involuntarily under this treatment, Christine transferred her fingers to the softer, more voluptuous inside of Angela's legs and-her thumbs stretching as far to the rear of the girl's thighs as possible-began to fondle and arouse the quivering, faintly moaning girl in earnest.
The tips of her thumbs strayed daringly to the very lips of Angela's quim. They brushed cheekily against the entrance to her sex-slit, then moved downwards again-as if ashamed of their own audacity!
Five, perhaps six times, Christine repeated this tormenting caress. Then, relenting, she brought her thumbs right up to Angela's cunt and gently pulled the fat, dripping lips widely open.
From her vantage point, staring right up into the young girl's crotch, Christine was able to see directly into Angela's brazenly exposed hole.
She kept the pouting red slit apart with her thumbs and slowly lifted her mouth nearer and nearer to the inviting, tempting spot.
Angela's eyes were tightly shut, though she could hardly avoid being completely aware of everything that the wily Christine was doing to her body.
The latter girl now brought her lips to within a fraction of an inch from Angela's cunt. From her open mouth, Christine pushed her long, curled tongue out until it dabbed sexily right into her uninitiated partner's slit.
It ran gently and lightly (so as not to startle the possibly unprepared girl) up and down the deep length of Angela's pussy-then darted wetly to the very topmost tip of the girl's quim and found the throbbing red button of Angela's clitty.
"Oh, no!" The cry was wrenched from Angela's lips as she felt the most tender, the sharpest, the most delectable sensation that had ever possessed her, drive like an electric shock through her genitals.
"Oh Chris-I can't stand it!" Her thighs were jerking helplessly, wedged open by Christine's face.
She thrust her hands down on the girl's head and began to beat her palms in frenzy on her tormentor's hair, vainly trying to dislodge Christine's teasing, tantalising tongue.
Grimly, the older girl ignored Angela's blows. She continued to dab her tongue at the juicy, wiggling knob which seemed to provoke Angela to such frantic ecstasy.
And she released the lips of the girl's cunt-letting the folds fall back around her mouth-passing her hands around Angela's hips until they descended upon the darling's rigid, tightly clenched buttocks.
A few professional caresses at the warm, slippery wet cheeks and Angela's muscles slowly began to loosen; making the globes relaxed and flexible.
Christine coaxed her fingers into the crease itself and (her tongue licking over and over the sprout of Angela's clitty without the slightest pause) started to fondle her forefinger into the hot center of the girl's anus.
The rear hole was so wet from its immersion in the water that Christine was able to penetrate it without too much difficulty. Her slim finger sank gorgeously into Angela's bum, wormed its way through the faintly resistant walls of tight arse-flesh, and probed delicately around until it was buried absolutely to its limit.
This bold and rude penetration seemed to relieve Angela's torment to some extent. The girl stopped her desperate pounding at Christine's head. Her hands fell onto the shoulders of her High Priestess of Lust and she was content to grip and knead the rounded curves-her fingernails, however, scoring quite painfully into Christine's soft flesh.
Christine gave the inflamed clitoris one last, loving tickle with her tongue, then withdrew the morsel. She pressed her mouth tightly against Angela's cunt and commenced to suck deeply on the outer lips: pulling the folds of moist, sexy flesh with her teeth and drawing them urgently, ruthlessly into her orifice.
Her head spinning from this wonderful but exhausting treatment, Angela decided that it was time for them to get out of the bath and adopt a more comfortable position. In reality, her main concern was to place herself so that Christine's body could press against hers; she wanted so much to feel the feminine closeness of the girl's breasts, crotch and thighs on her own. This passivity was all very well, but Angela desired to play a more important role in their relationship....
After all, she reminded herself, it was her original intention to show Christine that sex didn't have to be a cold, mechanical pastime.
Gently disengaging Christine's mouth from her cunt, she also slipped her hand behind her and pulled the girl's finger from her arse-drawing Christine's steadily wanking digit out of its entombment by coaxing firmly at her lover's wrist.
Angela stepped from the bath, following closely by Christine. Quickly, the girls rubbed each other down with a pair of fleecy bath towels, then wound them tightly about their bodies and padded softly, hand-in-hand, to Christine's bedroom-which adjoined the bathroom.
The room was a mess. But this time Angela's eyes were only able to take in the wonderful figure of her partner in love-as Christine let the bath towel drop to the carpet and paraded before her, her body pink and tingling from its rubdown.
She ignored the fantastic untidyness of the room; the scattered books, the unmade bed, the tatty furnishings....
They didn't matter at all. They didn't exist for her-not today, not right at this minute. Angela could see nothing but Christine. Her eyes shone with obsessive, single-minded purpose as she undraped her own towel and stepped quickly into Christine's waiting arms.
Bodies pressing, hugging each other tightly, the girls' lips met in a long, shameless kiss-their tongues stealing out and mingling at precisely the same instant.
Flesh on flesh, skin moving subtlely on skin, they writhed their naked charms together in abandoned, guilt-free beauty, their wet mouths clinging as closely as possible.
Angela dropped her hands to Christine's bottom and fondled the fine, large hemispheres to her heart's content. She could feel the wiry bush of the girl's mons veneris straining against her own; the squash of Christine's titties into hers filling Angela with a sweet, intoxicating urge to let her body melt completely and mingle forever with this soft-fleshed creature whose physical appearance was so identical to hers....
Somehow, they got onto the bed. Angela had no recollection, no knowledge at all of moving to the sheets. Her lips glued to Christine's, her mind drifting helplessly possession by the girl, she must have walked or floated to the bed without conscious effort.
But now her body was beneath Christine's, her thighs had opened and she could feel Christine's fingers plucking insistently at the slit of her quim, working patiently into the hole.
Angela retained one hand on Christine's bottom (smoothing and rubbing the buxom swell of one cheek) and wriggled the fingers of her other hand between their bodies-as Christine herself had done-until they closed around the ripe protuberance of the girl's vagina.
Her knuckles pressed against Christine's as she sought the portals of her lover's cunt. Gasping, their tongues licking furiously in each other's mouths, the lesbians groped their fingers into one another's sexes.
There could be no gentle caressing now. Both girls were far too aroused and sexually excited to think of prolonging the love-play. They wanted to explore their respective quims as friggingly-as wildly-as they knew how: and neither girl was prepared to wait so much as a moment longer for that privilege!
Angela thrust her forefinger and middle finger deep into the heart of Christine's slot. Together, they wanked at the slithery wet channel of the girl's cunt-rubbing with a rhythmic, fucking action in and out of that wonderfully tight and secure slit.
Sinking helplessly into delirium, she felt Christine penetrating her own quim; delving frantically into the soft, yearning meat of her sex and bringing her to a pitch of nervous tension.
Tension that demanded release with every cell, every particle of her body!
Angela began to urge her loins up and down in an instinctive, mindless tempo of lust: her excitation focused entirely on what Christine was doing to her cunt and ignoring the pitiless squeezing of Christine's other hand around her breast and nipple.
She started to come almost before she realized that her orgasm was welling up inside her.
The completely unusual occurrence of being fondled and kissed by a member of her own sex had triggered the spasm in Angela much more quickly than normal....
Biting into Christine's lower lip, shaking her head from side to side and forcing the older girl to move with her, Angela trembled out her climax-the plentiful ooze of spunk suddenly spilling over Christine's fast-working fingers.
Groaning aloud, the newcomer to lesbian love shuddered finally to exhaustion; unable to move, scarcely able to open her eyes, Angela, with a stabbing of shame and regret jolting through her, whispered:
"I'm sorry, Chris-truly I'm sorry! It'll be better next time, I promise it will! I didn't ... I couldn't help myself..
Her voice trailed off helplessly. What could she say to the girl after all? What could she really say to her?
Like all the other people Christine had gone to bed with, she too had failed her! Even if she made it up to her later-even now, when she had regained her breath-she would still have shown Christine that all she really cared about was her own satisfaction.
And perhaps that was all there was to sex. Ultimately, you only wanted to be sure of your own release, your own pleasure.
If you could achieve this and at the same time bring your partner some degree of bliss ... fine! But that was only a by-product of sexual union, a something extra which rarely came about.
Looking briefly into Christiane's frustrated eyes, Angela could see that the girl felt she had been betrayed yet again.
It's not really my fault, Angela wanted desperately to tell her. Honestly, I couldn't help myself! I got too excited, that's all!
But it was left unsaid. The words refused to come to her lips. Angela let her head fall back onto the pillow in weary resignation. A moment or two later she felt Christine ease her body out of contact with hers and lay silently by her side on the bed.
What a bastard physical love was, Angela thought. What a lousy, selfish bastard!
She found it impossible to sleep despite her physical repletion. Self-recriminations persisted in tormenting her. They echoed through her brain until Christine started to get up and dress herself.
Her eyes closed, Angela listened to the sounds the girl made as she got into her clothes. Christine would be friendly enough to her, Angela knew. She was far too sophisticated and cynical to take such a disappointment seriously for more than a few minutes.
But that wasn't the point. It wasn't the point at all. Instead of getting through to the girl, Angela had merely widened the gulf-not only between her and Christine, but between Christine and anyone else who might try to get close to her and help her.
That was the tragedy of it: that was the awful, irreparable harm she had caused by her over-excited lust. It was stupid to pretend to herself that what she had done could be cancelled out by a selfless seduction of Christine. The girl would see through such a cold-blooded, patronising "amends-making" immediately-and would hate her all the more for it.
Angela closed her legs surreptitiously and clenched her fists until the knuckles stood out white and tense.
Over and over, as if it were a litany, she repeated to herself: It's a mess-love is a godawful mess! It's a mess-love is a godawful mess ...!
CHAPTER FIVE
Alan Saunders replaced the receiver and lifted the telephone back onto the coffee table. He re-read the name which he'd jotted down on a note-pad and smiled quietly to himself.
"Angela Birkett". He tore the sheet off and folded it, tucking the slip of paper into his top pocket. Christine really was a very good agent, he thought once again. He and Jill had reason to be extremely grateful to the girl. Without her a large proportion of their amatory adventures could never have happened: she seemed to have a special talent for picking out the most exciting, the ripest girls....
He patted his pocket lovingly. Another name to add to their growing list of conquests I From what Christine had just told him on the telephone, Angela Birkett promised to be something extra-special. A relatively innocent young ex-suburbian who wanted to prove to herself that she was "free".
Alan had met the type on several previous occasions. They were invariably the most scintillating, the most adaptive of lovers. But lately the supply of such girls appeared to be dwindling. Perhaps London was losing its appeal for them; the myth that England's capital city was a fairyland of golden opportunities was possibly in the process of being shattered.
How clever of Christine to find one of this fast-dying species! She certainly earned every penny of her not inconsiderable commission.
"Jill darling!" he called. "Come and see what Dame Fortune has sent us!"
A moment later the door to the lounge was pushed open and a magnificently proportioned girl entered the room. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a daring, mildly obscene photographic magazine:
Her natural blonde hair was swept up on top of her head, its freshly-shampooed tresses reflecting light as if she possessed some inner form of illumination. Her lightly-tanned body was covered only by a defiantly flimsy bra which did nothing to conceal the overflow of her Junoesque breasts; a pair of nylon panties that were stretched as tightly as possible over her loins-and, perhaps most striking of all-a bright red suspender belt which held her black-net stockings tautly and sexily to her rippling, full-fleshed thighs.
This was Jill: a girl of 29 years, without an ounce of shame in her jaded, sophisticated body. She carried herself with an air of complete self-assurance, her head high and her lips perpetually pursed in a promise of moist-mouthed sensuality.
The most accurate description of her would be to say that she embodied sexuality in every fibre; her mind was attuned almost exclusively to thoughts of fleshly pleasure-her raison d'etre was the gratification of the senses.
She took exceptional care of her body: exercised regularly, attended a Turkish bath twice a week, had a practically fanatical obsession with physical health. Jill was a strict vegetarian-she counted calories and vitamins religiously.
And now, in her 29th year, she was at the peak of her animal magnetism. She walked into a room and dominated it utterly. At parties, the sole focus of attention (of the women as well as the men) was Jill Saunders. Her lovers, of both sexes, had been so numerous that she would have lost count of their number had it not been for the fact that she kept a carefully-detailed record of their particular methods of love-making....
This dossier, to which her brother Alan contributed as well, took the form of a neatly-indexed, cross-referenced file of papers; with a separate sheet for each person either Jill or Alan had slept with. Details of their physical appearance, their age, sex, colouring, and-most important of all-their individual preferences and idiosyncrasies in regard to sex.
This was merely one of their hobbies, though. Neither Jill nor Alan had any intention of using their dossier for blackmail purposes. It was compiled for their private amusement only-a catalogue of their conquests, a permanent reminder of their most pleasant hours.
Naturally enough, their preoccupation with sexual matters had led them to choose careers which afforded them every opportunity of practising their desires.
Jill and Alan's parents had died when the brother and sister were 21 and 24 respectively, leaving them with a sufficiently handsome legacy for the pair to set up a photographic business-dealing exclusively with pin-up and "artistic" pictures.
They sold their material (sets of photos, three regular monthly magazines) entirely through the mails. Slowly, with the minimum of advertising, they had built up a faithful and monied clientele both in England and overseas.
A printing firm had been set up locally with a small staff to handle the day-to-day orders-and all Alan and Jill had to do was find a regular succession of attractive and compliant models and photograph them as sexily as possible.
They operated from a large house on the outskirts of Brighton in Sussex. It was a detached, expensive establishment which lay in its own small grounds in a private road not far from the open spaces of the rolling Sussex Downs.
The siblings were comfortably off, their activities well-screened from neighbours and their few acquaintances in the town, who were led to believe that the pair existed on a private income.
Although the majority of their photographs were straightforward pin-up or nude studies, Alan and Jill also published a regular series of undeniably pornographic magazines-sold only to trusted and selected clients.
And it was from these latter activities that both Jill and Alan derived their greatest pleasure and satisfaction.
The high salaries paid to the men who published their material ensured that they were safe from official interference. And Alan himself (with occasional help from Jill) took all the photographs and edited the magazines. Their only major problem was in keeping up the supply of fresh faces and figures: and to this end they had arranged for several girls (former models whose bodies and features were too familiar to be used in front of the camera) to procure likely-seeming innocents for their work.
Of these, Christine was the most consistently successful. She seemed to come into contact with girls who were exactly what Alan and Jill needed: unprofessional and moderately inexperienced females who longed to break into fashion or photographic modelling.
They were rarely disappointed with the introductions which Christine arranged for them. And once confronted by the elaborate and professional set-up which Alan took such pride in, the girls almost never objected to posing for the more outlandish pictures which made up the unholy pair's "private catalogue".
Needless to add that these models also provided Jill and Alan with 90 per cent of their sexual adventures, in addition to lining their pockets....
Alan's eyes openly gloated over the strutting figure of his sister as Jill walked across the room. She adored appearing in her underwear for him; about the house she rarely bothered to put a dress on and the constant sight of her under-dressed body in its highly-charged and sexy underwear provided Alan with a great deal of inspiration for his photographs.
He was, at the age of 33, a rather boyish and unassuming figure of a man. His pale face, slim body and frank blue eyes, effectively concealed the hard businessman and completely unscrupulous roue which one found beneath the veneer of charm and disarming politeness.
Like Jill, Alan was perpetually obsessed with thoughts of sex. His life, like his sister's, revolved almost exclusively around the subject-and he felt not the slightest hint of dismay that this was the dominant aspect of his personality.
Their parents had been permissive to an extraordinary degree during their childhood and adolescence. They had permitted everything-and had concealed nothing from their curious children.
In fact, as soon as they reached puberty, the extremely liberal-minded man and woman had deliberately encouraged and fostered in their son and daughter a deep interest in every manifestation of sexual gratification.
Far from exhausting Alan and Jill's prurience in the subject, their parents' attitude had served to leave a permanent and indelible preoccupation in all matters connected with the flesh on the boy and girl.
And since no one had ever suggested to them that this might be somewhat unhealthy, the brother and sister had never had occasion to question their fanaticism.
Jill stepped right up to the chair in which Alan was seated and leaned her splendid, black-meshed thighs against the arm, her body squeezing half into the chair beside her brother. Alan put his hand around her and rested his palm affectionately on Jill's buttocks-feeling the warm, semi-nude flesh of his sister's bottom under his fingers. At the contact, his penis gave an involuntary twitch inside his tight-fitting slacks: stirring uneasily and uncurling slightly as the softness of Jill's arse moved against the light pressure of his hand.
Jill nuzzled her face against Alan's, her lips brushing his cheek.
"What good news has my big brother got for me, then?" she asked silkily. Jill rarely raised her voice above a murmur, knowing full well that her throaty, liquid whisper was one of her greatest assets.
And, hearing the girl's arousing mouth so close to his (even though it was for the umpteenth time), Alan felt a tremor of desire rise up in him. His prick gave a further stiffening of interest and lifted a little more urgently under his troussers.
"Another model", he told Jill. "One of Christine's-and she sounds just right for that special edition of 'LINGERIE-SHOP'. You know, the under-the-counter version of the pin-up mag".
Alan was referring to a project which Jill and himself had planned for several months. It was to be a definitely pornographic translation of their monthly glamour magazine 'LINGERIE-SHOP' in which girls were posed "trying-on" various items of sexy underwear.
For this version, a "sales-lady" was to be included in the photos, assisting the girl to get into (and out of) the bras and panties. Jill was going to take this part, but so far they had been unsuccessful in finding a suitable girl to play the role of "buyer".
They wanted someone who could appear to be a quite ordinary girl, genuinely "surprised" at the indecent fondlings of the extremely forward "sales lady". It had proved quite difficult to get a girl with precisely the right expression-and Alan wanted this particular magazine to be one of his best: he wasn't prepared to shoot it unless the model came right up to his preconceived ideas.
From Christine's detailed description of Angela over the telephone (the procuress had been given an exact specification of the type of girl they required), it seemed as if the new model-or rather, prospective model-was ideal....
"She sounds wonderful!" Jill commented, after listening to Alan's repetition of Christine's remarks. "I only hope she lives up to her propaganda!"
Jill slipped right down into the chair, squashing her near-naked body more tightly against her brother. He transferred his hand to the girl's shoulder and she let her fingers caress the inside of his thigh idly-observing the hard bulge of his cock as it strained upwards; now almost completely erect.
"Of course, even if she's just what we want, we'll have to bring her along very carefully before we suggest that she poses in that way", Alan warned her.
"I think we rushed that last girl too much: remember? I told you she was getting nervous about what we were asking her to do! We should have played her more carefully, more slowly...."
"Oh, don't be such an old sourpuss", Jill teased him, letting her fingers stray right over the thickness of his knob and bringing Alan's prick quickly to its full ripeness.
"I've told you hundreds of times: most girls love posing for sexy pictures! And once they've done a few 'ordinary' ones it doesn't take very much to persuade them go a bit further!"
"I know that, darling", Alan told her patiently. "But when it comes to the extra special photos you've simply got to be subtle about it. It's not a bit of good plunging in at the deep end as it were! And, quite frankly, I feel we've been too careless with the last couple of girls.
"Remember how Janice took off like a startled fawn when you started to fondle her?" Alan traced his fingers along Jill's shoulder, watching as his nails raised momentary red marks on his sister's flawless skin. They faded rapidly and returned her flesh to its normal white beauty. He stared, fascinated, as the weals appeared then vanished under the pressure of his fingernails.
"You really do have the most exquisite shoulders", Alan interpolated, caressing Jill's marvellous skin and realising that their discussion was in danger of being interrupted for more exciting pastimes.
He tried to focus his attention back to the matter in hand. It was very difficult now that Jill's fingers were brushing so insistently over his prick. The bitch knew exactly how to touch him there! She was deliberately arousing him to cut short his admonition!
"All I'm saying is that we should be extra careful with this new girl", Alan finished weakly. Jill had lifted her legs over the far side of the chair so that she was sitting in his lap.
The voluptuous weight and heat of her thighs burned through the thin material of his slacks and Alan could feel his sister's suspender studs digging into his leg, well above the knee.
His prick had started to beat wildly, and he knew that soon it would be impossible for him to continue the discussion.
"Let's play safe with Angela, shall we? Let's be slow and easy with her. O.K.? That's all I'm asking. I've waited a long time to find a girl to do this magazine with us: why spoil things by scaring her off? Especially since she sounds so perfect for the part!"
Jill wound her arms lovingly about Alan's neck. "You're the boss, big brother!" she whispered sexily. And Alan, feeling the pressure of his sister's breasts against his chest, feeling the sweet fragrance of her breath and her skin so intimately close to him, gave up the struggle.
Willingly surrendered himself to her implicit importuning.
He slid his hands round her body until they held Jill possessively around her bare midriff. She leaned more closely to him, taunting him with her almost bare femininity.
"Here?" he whispered, a catch of desire in his voice.
She nodded-a small, scarcely noticeable inclination of her head-and put her lips within a fraction of her brother's.
"Here!" she breathed into his mouth. "Here, my darling...."
CHAPTER SIX
Alan lowered his sister gently onto the carpet, moving down with her so that his body lay stretched alongside the beautiful girl. Against the white pile, soft and luxurious, Jill's luscious, tanned limbs appeared more desirable than ever.
Alan's hands were around the girl's back, half-supporting her, raising her so that her body lifted slightly towards his. He extended his tongue and brought it to her lips-and Jill slithered her own tongue out so that it met her brother's.
They French-kissed each other slowly, deliberately holding their passion in check. Their mouths barely touched, lips hovering centimetres apart, as their tongues licked together-exchanging the most intimate of caresses and allowing moist saliva to dribble from each other's mouths into their partner's.
Jill felt between Alan's thighs and again found her brother's cock. It stuck out of his trousers in a fierce, bulging length: the arrow-shaped crown beating steadily.
She ran her cool, slender fingers up and down the underside, teasing it until the long, thick rod jumped and pulsed. Then, relenting, the girl quickly unzipped Alan's fly and fumbled his prick out of his underpants with a well-practiced manipulation.
Hot and hard, the violently red penis was stroked tenderly by her soothing, skilful fingers. Jill knew every inch of her brother's sex-meat, but each time she touched Alan's cock she felt the same terrific thrill; it was as if she could never quite believe that she was being so daring-so outrageous as to enjoy her brother in this incestuous and taboo fashion....
As she played with him, Alan dug his fingers beneath the tight elastic cup of her brassiere and began to pet Jill's breast. He provoked her nipple until it grew large and stiff beneath his touch, the jellied flesh of her well-filled titty exciting him tremendously.
With his other hand, Alan fumbled at the hasp of her brassiere. He unhooked it and immediately felt the constriction of the garment disappear. His breast-fondling hand was suddenly free to move all over the surface of her bosom without restraint-and he lost no time in taking advantage of the fact.
Jill liked nothing better than to have her breast manhandled as roughly as possible. The fiercer, the more violent the caress-the greater her pleasure.
Alan, glancing down at the sensual swell of his sister's titty, began to massage it as forcibly as he was able. The globe had now popped out of its shielding cup, its freedom aided by Alan's hand.
He squeezed his fingers around the snowy orb, digging them ruthlessly into Jill's female plumpness, and shook it as a terrier shakes a rat.
Her tongue flicked right into his mouth at this treatment and her lips finally pressed tightly against Alan's. She kissed him urgently, rubbing her mouth sideways on his, at the same time gripping his cock with fierce energy
-squeezing it so tightly that Alan feared his blood would cease flowing through it.
Then her darling thumb strayed over the tip of his prick. It stroked delicately across the vulnerable pisshole and provoked the man to a veritable frenzy of passion.
He felt it moving persistently, without pause, over and over the soft, ticklish point; until, the rest of Jill's fingers wanking with blurring speed up and down the remainder of his tool, he realized that she had coaxed a premature dewdrop of spunk from his cock.
Lubricated by this droplet of sperm, Jill's thumb moved to his prepuce and fidgetted more tenderly around the glans: giving Alan a delirious feeling of sheer, heavenly delight.
Jill's other hand was playing at the nape of her brother's neck-caressing the sensitive bone there which she knew only too well brought Alan to an almost unbearable pitch of nervous excitement.
They continued with this mode of petting for some minutes; until both Jill and Alan were aroused to near-orgasmic ecstasy. However, they had tested their responses on so many previous occasions that they knew precisely when to move on to more intimate positions.
This is one of the many advantages which incestuous love has over the more mundane sexual relationships. Somehow, a brother and sister are able to grow even more closely attuned to one another than so-called "normal" lovers.
A certain instinctive intuition warned Alan and Jill when to progress to a different, advanced form of love-making. It didn't require words, looks or even a subtle mime; mysteriously, their minds and bodies linked by virtue of having shared the same womb, they understood each other's wishes and desires as though they were in telepathic communion.
Straightening, Alan stripped off his slacks and shirt. His underpants were drawn down by Jill's gentle fingers-which lifted the silk briefs carefully over her brother's raging penis.
As if at a pre-arranged signal, Jill then turned over on her stomach and lay with her thighs slightly parted, her arms crossed in front of her face to provide a pillow.
Alan knelt at her side, his prick fully erect and pulsating stiffly against his stomach. Jill looked so pretty ... so utterly temping ... lying helplessly there on the carpet, the cheeks of her lovely bottom bulging over the transparent nylon of her panties....
And her tautly-gripped stockings! How sexy and adorable they were! The black mesh, the holes large and revealing the softly-tanned flesh of her thighs, was pulled up as tightly as Jill could get them: the pressure causing her suspender clips to bite hurtfully into her skin.
After surveying his passive, posing sister for a few moments. Alan took hold of the waistband of her panties and began to lower them gradually over the cheeks of her fine, upstanding bottom.
Inch by inch, they were peeled away from Jill's buttocks, bringing the splendid spheres into Alan's full vision. He studied them proudly, lowering his face until his eyes and lips were extremely close to his sister's now-naked arse.
Watching his movements intently, Alan arranged Jill's panties in a folded-up swathe around the girl's thighs-making them form a band of bunched-up nylon just above the tops of her stockings.
He placed both hands on her thighs, then rubbed firmly upwards ... letting his fingers mold and shape the plasticine texture of his sister's buttocks.
The cheeks tilted whichever way he chose, moving in docile obedience to the pressure of his hands.
Alan fitted his thumbs into the deep crease which curved beneath each cheek. He kept his remaining fingers splayed over the glossy surface of Jill's bum and pressured his thumbs upwards....
Generously, the placid globes opened under his fondling
-revealing Jill's tiny brown arsehole and the pink slit of her cunt which protruded from between the girl's softly-parted thighs.
Holding the cheeks so that the cleavage between them was as clearly revealed as possible, Alan put his mouth to the divide and began to kiss into the warm, slightly moist crease.
The odour of his sister's genitals and arse was very faint (Jill, as mentioned before, was scrupulously clean) but Alan could smell, however subtlely, the unmistakable pungency of those dissimilar holes which he loved and knew so well.
With the tip of his tongue, the man licked tentatively into Jill's anus. The tiny, tight orifice seemed to quiver and screw itself up against the wet intruder-but Alan persisted, holding the girl's anus well-open, and eventually succeeded in worming an inch or so of his tongue into Jill's back passage.
While he explored orally the exciting, rather bitter zone of his sister's shithole, Alan's thumbs were at work on the lips of her quim.
They felt for the center slit and began to work it open-one thumb on either side of the girl's pouting labia. Unhurriedly, Alan plucked the fleshy portals apart-driving his thumbs into Jill's oily slot and pushing with them until they had gained a certain amount of purchase. He was positioned rather awkwardly at the moment; his back aching slightly from bending over his sister and applying his mouth to her arse and his fingers to her sex. Without altering the essential intimacy of his connection-and without losing contact for one precious moment-Alan managed to wriggle his body down so that he supported himself by his elbows, using them also to force Jill's legs further apart.
Thus, he lay on his stomach between his sister's thighs, his face thrust right up to the girl's open crotch; his prick burying itself in the soft, giving wool of the carpet....
Now that he had Jill's cunt opened up, Alan slid his tongue out of her bottom and licked downwards until he tasted the familiar scent of her crack.
The hot damp of the girl's sex was so delightfully soft and tender that Alan almost lost control over his prick and spilt his spunk prematurely into the fluffy warmth of the carpet. Holding himself still (Alan had been riding his cock gently up and down on the inviting thickness), he managed to fight back the spasm which had so nearly brought about an ejaculation.
He closed his eyes tightly until the urge had passed, then concentrated his full attention on Jill's quim: thinking how strange it was that his sister, after countless-practically daily-intimacies of this nature, should still be able to arouse him more rapidly and more violently than any other girl he had known....
His hands were fondling the flaccid cheeks of her bottom, occasionally roaming upwards to stroke at the tight band of her suspender belt; the sexy elastic which excited him so much.
Round and round his tongue worked, tickling and licking inside Jill's cunt until he felt a sudden rush of hot liquid escape from the orifice and run into his mouth.
This meant nothing, Alan knew from experience. Jill frequently expelled a little love-juice during their preliminary love-play, and she had scarcely so much as stiffened and clenched her buttocks. When her real orgasm came it would be as much as he could do to keep his prick inside her....
So he continued to tongue her quim, deriving almost as much pleasure from the exercise as Jill herself was obviously getting. She had started to revolve her bottom in a steady, grinding rhythm-trapping Alan's nose between the cheeks and rubbing them tightly together.
Her tattered panties, now stretched almost to tearing point across her widely open thighs, were pressing into her brother's neck. Alan could feel their silky warmth against his Adam's Apple, the feel of the intimate garment rousing the man to an ever higher peak of stimulation.
When he had cunt-sucked Jill for several timeless minutes, and her quim tasted as fruity and spunky as he could make it, Alan returned his tongue to the girl's anus and briefly licked up the divide-as if to bid the darling place a temporary farewell.
Then he raised himself from the floor and rolled over onto his back-his cock sticking rudely into the air, a flagrant missile of red-veined lust.
Easily, gracefully, Jill positioned herself over him. She went down on her back with her face in line with her brother's loins, turning inwards to him. Her knees came up, affording Alan a complete sight of her bushy cunt as he raised his head slightly from the floor.
Seductively, the girl twisted her head towards his prick-keeping herself in such a position that Alan was able to enjoy a full view of her sex whilst she brought pleasure to his with her full-lipped mouth.
This was important, because-while Jill was sucking her brother's cock-she intended, at the same time, to finger her slit: knowing that this excited Alan wildly.
He felt the tips of her breasts brush against his crotch as Jill bent her face nearer and nearer to his inflamed penis.
Her hot breath reached his crown. Her mouth sighed open. The sharp, even whiteness of her teeth hovered dangerously close to his red and rigid engine. Her lips chafed sweetly on his shaft....
And Alan felt that glorious sensation of sheer, unutterable, ineffable pleasure as his sister's mouth sank lusciously over his cock and closed tightly about it, working the length gradually between her beautiful lips.
She sucked it with exquisite slowness-as if she were savouring the meat of his sex like a connoisseur of wine. The vibrant, steel-hard tool pulsed in her mouth, cramming it completely....
Jill made her tongue quiver as quickly as she could, causing it to lap constantly against Alan's ticklish glans. Her lips revolved, too, keeping a permanent motion of wet, sensuous movement vibrating around her brother's cock.
It required a great deal of effort for Alan to keep his eyes open and not let his head fall back blissfully onto the carpet. But if he gave in to this impulse he would miss the ostentatious self-frigging which his sister was about to perform on her quim....
Jill fingered the hairs away from her sex-slit and fondled two of her fingers into the dank hole of her cunt. Her pubic bush had been well and truly moistened by Alan's lips and tongue, and she could also feel the orifice itself wettened by his spittle as well as by her own love juice.
Teasingly, the girl frigged her inserted fingers with the slowest possible of movements. They scarcely moved at all, so deliberately languidly did Jill make them fondle in and out of her darling pudding-bowl.
And as Alan watched, afraid to blink for fear that he would miss a sexy moment of the performance which his sister was putting on exclusively for his enjoyment, he felt his eyes glazing over.
It wasn't only the thrill of seeing Jill's fingers petting and caressing her quim. He was becoming sexually agitated by the way in which her lips were drawing so succulently upon his prick.
They worked so lovingly around the tense flesh, so maddeningly sucking and kissing his swollen knob, that Alan was hard put to restrain his climax.
And now Jill was placing her other hand on his testicles, caressing the hard nuts inside their fleshy casings and playing with them as tormentingly as she knew how.
Her fingers weighed, then rolled her brother's balls-touched his tender scrotum-ran her sharp nails along the ridge of flesh which separated his rectum and genitals
-trickled up to the base of his prick-fondled at the tiny portion of cock which wasn't embedded in her mouth
-returned to his testicles and jiggled them remorselessly. Until Alan felt as if the entire region of his genitalia had been manipulated without pause for an eternity....
He forced his eyes to remain upon the area of his sister's cunt: where her fingers digit-fucked her well-lubricated slit and he could see the extra-large marble of her clitoris being firmly petted....
The girl had cleverly worked her clitty out from its snug resting-place inside her slick lips and had brought it within reach of her busy little thumb.
Now, Jill was pampering it sexily with the flat of her thumb, bringing the hard red button to an amazing state of erectness. She was, however, performing this caress on herself almost automatically. Her real interest was centred upon her brother's stiff dick; which her lips hungered for so constantly and which she felt convinced would never lose its allure.
She drew her face back a little, allowing the rod to escape her lips. Then-just as the crest was about to slip right out of her mouth-Jill snapped her lips shut again, this time closing them tightly around Alan's prepuce.
The circumcised foreskin was drawn right back to reveal the inflamed rawness beneath, and Jill's mouth perused this ultra-sensitive portion of the man's prick with salivatating pleasure.
It attracted and excited her more than any other part of her brother's cock-and Jill always saved this particular caress till last; until they were almost ready to abandon their fellatio and proceed to the more serious business of actually fucking.
It required only a few moments' of mouthing and tonguing at Alan's crest for Jill to feel her fingers swiftly annointed by a flow of come.
The second (minor) orgasm was more prolonged than the first-and Jill knew that the time was ripe for them to become one: to join their bodies together in the most intimate and forbidden way possible, by incestuous sexual connection....
No matter how frequently she was fucked by her brother, Jill could never avoid that brief but electrifying moment when she visualised herself defying the Gods and the Entire Universe. The most primitive societies in the world condemned this behaviour. It was viewed with horror and fear by every civilisation on Earth.
And she and Alan defied them all! It was a terrifying, yet a uniquely and profoundly exciting, concept. Each time they coupled they were challenging the world! Jill thrilled to the idea, deriving an intensely powerful sense of importance from their "wicked" and incredibly sinful perversion.
And then she was raising her face from her brother's penis and meeting Alan's eyes in a look which said all that needed to be said.
They were about to fuck-and they were both at precisely the right physical and psychological moment for the act of copulation.
Jill crouched over Alan's body, her hands supporting herself by resting on the man's chest. She felt Alan reach between her thighs and position his prick so that it was levered between the lips of her sex.
The girl's stockinged thighs-outstretched to make her quim as vulnerable as possible-were pressing into the bare flesh of Alan's legs: their especially fleshy inner sides thrusting firmly against his thighs as Jill squatted over him.
The much-tormented prick slid easily into the sticky, giving slit of Jill's cunt. She sank down onto it, feeling the muscular rod slipping tightly up her throbbing pussy.
A surge of immense gratification pulsed through Alan's body as he penetrated his sister. They fitted each other so perfectly, he thought! In every possible way, they were a wonderful match!
She rode herself on him, her hands caressing his chest and stroking his nipples, her eyes staring down into his: hot, flushed and bright with desire.
In and out slid Alan's cock, gripped tightly by the muscles of Jill's cleverly contracting cunt.
Jill twisted her hips sharply, wanting to feel the penetration in every inch of her sex.
Alan's hands had groped round to her buttocks again-he was half-sitting up and holding firmly to the large cheeks, feeling them wobble this way, then that, as Jill ground her arse around and around to make his prick leap like a live thing within her quim.
They fucked in a steadily faster rhythm ... until eventually Jill's body was bouncing up and down on Alan's in a veritable frenzy of lust. Her tits jumped and shook with her passion, her stiff red nipples as hard as bullets.
Three times Alan reached the brink of orgasm. And three times he manfully suppressed the urge (Jill sensing his need and holding still for the few moments it took him to stifle the rising sperm).
But as his climax welled up in his testicles yet again, his sister's eyes gleamed with her own boiling desire-and Jill wiggled her loins deliberately to force Alan's spunk into her womb....
His thick juice bubbled up with undeniable power: this time there could be no stopping the jets!
He launched the rich fluid-lumpy and hot-feeling it merging with Jill's as his sister began her, equally intense, orgasm.
Furiously, the siblings sustained their climaxes. Thrusting his buttocks up off the carpet. Alan half lifted Jill off her feet as he pumped more and more of his male froth into the girl's cunt.
She scrabbled at his chest, her long fingernails leaving a series of jagged red trails on his skin, as Jill fought to prolong the zenith of her excitement.
And even after the last drop of spunk had been wrung from their cunt and prick, the brother and sister remained in position; staring through red-rimmed eyes into each other face's: unashamed and without the faintest trace of guilt at their unholy alliance.
Remorse had no place in their relationship. No place at all. They regarded themselves, perhaps at a deeper level of consciousness than they completely realized, as one person.
Only when they were joined sexually, Alan's prick thoroughly wedged in Jill's cunt, did they feel whole. For them, it was the most natural thing in the world to have such intimate relations.
Hard though it might be for an outsider to appreciate their point of view, neither Alan nor Jill was able to see the slightest harm in what they did to each other.
They knew, of course, that incest was regarded as perhaps the most awful of all crimes by the world, but apart from gaining an additional, perverse delight from the knowledge that they were deliberately breaking an ancient taboo, this gave them not the faintest stab of remorse.
And although both Alan and Jill had other lovers, particularly among the girls who modelled for them, (since Jill was by no means impartial to a taste of lesbianism), it was always with each other that they found their most satisfying sexual experiences....
Jill gently disengaged Alan's prick from her quim and cuddled closely to her brother, her hot body pressing tightly to his-her cheek resting on his cheek.
"Don't rest for too long, darling", she whispered in his ear. "I want you to give me a repeat performance! And I want it very soon, Alan darling: very soon!"
He kissed her mouth. "You're getting greedy!" he yawned. "What about your boy friends? Don't they satisfy you any more?"
She knew he was only teasing her.
"Not the way that you do-big brother!" Jill dropped her arm across Alan's chest and stroked his perspiring skin with romantic affection.
"I love you so much", she told him seriously. "So very much, my darling!"
Alan squeezed her. "I know you do, Jill. And you're the only girl I'll ever feel really close to. You know that, don't you?"
She nodded, feeling so wonderfully secure in his love. "The others are like shadows, aren't they?" she said. "Not just the other people we have sex with, I mean everyone else. They don't really exist at all, do they? There's only you and me in the whole world, Alan. Did you ever think of it that way? That we're the only real ones and the others are-ghosts?"
He kissed her mouth again, sucking gently on her lower lip.
"I think you're right-you really are! That's exactly what I've felt so often, but I've never put it into words. You and me, Jill ... It's bit terrifying really, isn't it? To think that no one else has any substance?"
They closed their eyes, contemplating this strange and bizarre notion. Yet, after all, was it really so odd that they should feel themselves to be the only flesh and blood people in a world populated by phantoms?
Their forbidden love placed them completely outside the realm of ordinary human relationships. It set them apart from normality as finally as if they were shipwrecked on a desert island.
Perhaps it wasn't altogether surprising that they should seek consolation in the conceit that they were the only "real" human beings....
Dreamlessly, Jill and Alan drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Saturday evening. The rain had began to fall during the early afternoon and dark clouds still loomed over the city. Outside Christine's house the night revellers were beginning to pour into the West End of London; coming in their hundreds from the densely-populated northern suburbs to spend a glittering few hours in the neon-lit pleasure centre.
Cars, buses and taxis streamed continually down Tottenham Court Road-their engines and exhaust fumes wafting up to fill the house with muffled noise and dry, acrid smoke.
Christine had opened nearly all of the windows. This was partly to clear the air for the party, partly to disguise the pungent smell of the marijhuana she'd already begun to inhale....
Sitting in her front room, stretched out comfortably on the sofa, she was halfway through her second cigarette. Most of her preparation for the party had consisted of shredding the hashish and rolling it into home-made reefers for her guests.
She had laid out an assortment of ashtrays and had popped next door to the off-license for a few cartons of beer-but that was as far as Christiue's hostess duties had gone.
People who came to her parties were expected to take her as they found her: and that meant going without the usual niceties and courtesies-such as comfortable chairs in which to sit, plenty to drink (they were always instructed to bring their own booze), and snacks.
In place of these-and this was really the big attraction of Christine's frequent parties-they were given a generous supply of marihujhuana and an atmosphere of easy-going, intelligent camaraderie.
Christine kept her gatherings small. They rarely consisted of more than ten people at one time; though her friends and acquaintances numbered more than five times that total.
And she only invited people she knew very well: people she could rely on, people she trusted.
You had to be one-hundred-percent against the rules of society-particularly where they applied to drug-taking-before you could count yourself as one of the in-crowd at Christine's pad.
She reached the final draw on her reefer and crushed the tiny butt into an ashtray. Both the cigarettes Christine had smoked during the evening had been mild. The marihujhuana crumbs had been well diluted by ordinary tobacco, because she didn't want to get too high before her guests started to arrive.
All the same, Christine felt that familiar lifting sensation in her head; a sensual heightening of her mind as her thoughts spiralled beautifully around her brain-the colours she saw and the things she touched taking on a new and intensive perspective.
Angela would be down in a few minutes. The girl was deliberately delaying her entrance until a few other people had arrived-and Christine smiled to herself as she thought about Angela's reluctance to be alone in the same room with her....
Ever since yesterday morning, when she had so skillfully conned the girl into going down to Brighton and offering her "services" to Jill and Alan, they had scarcely exchanged more than a few words.
Obviously, Christine knew, Angela felt shy and embarrassed at what she thought of as her "faux pas". She was hardly likely to suspect that Christine had engineered the episode in the bath-and the even more intimate love-play which had followed.
It was, of course, a sort of softening-up of the girl for Alan and Jill. They wanted to be sure that the models she supplied to them didn't possess to many inhibitions; and what better way could there be of ensuring that the girls stripped and posed for them as sexily as possible?
It saved a great deal of time for the brother and sister. And Christine got a 15 percent increase on her commission if she succeeded in seducing the girls before they kept their first appointment....
All the same, Christine did feel a slight pang of regret for the way in which she'd deceived Angela.
Not that this girl was any different from the others. But Christine kept seeing her big blue eyes, so sad and compassionate, and so filled with unvoiced dismay because she thought she'd hurt Christine by her sexual performance.
Everything Christine had told her about the older girl seducing and then abandoning her was completely true. The episode had really happened in exactly the way she had related it to Angela.
But Christine had narrated the story so many times, and to so many different girls, that it had long ago stopped seeming real to her. It was as if she had rehearsed the lines of a play so intensively that they no longer had the power to move her: no matter how poignant they had been at first....
Then, without warning, the mechanical chant of her voice had ceased. Christine felt again the full force of her words-and they reopened the old wound inside her.
That was the reason why she had experienced a deeper interest in Angela. Under the influence of the mild psychedelic, Christine saw with clarity to the roots of her emotions.
Sooner or later it would have happened, she knew. Some day the glib mask she wore was bound to suffer a displacement-revealing to her the still-vulnerable pain of her first unhappy love affair.
Christine sighed regretfully. The marijhuana was increasing her self-pity until waves of misery began to steal through her mind.
With a determined effort, the girl swung her legs to the floor and forced herself to stand. Movement of any kind seemed to disperse the effects of the drug-and Christine walked to the old oak dresser and poured herself a foaming glass of beer.
Gulping the frothy liquid down, she felt better almost at once. There was no sense in letting feelings like this persist. Nothing could be done about them. They were best ignored or suppressed.
Thinking of Angela again, Christine giggled as she remembered that she had a further surprise in store for the girl. Quite apart from the well-cushioned surprise she'd receive at Brighton....
The door bell rang and Christine set her glass down. As she had expected, Peter Williams was waiting on the porch!
She had met him only a few months ago-at one of her literary friend's parties. And directly he had mentioned that one of his novels had been seized by the police and, after a mildly notorious court case, had been banned, Christine had seen to it that they became intimates.
Peter was exactly her kind of person. He loathed authority of any kind; he was well-informed about the London scene without being pretentious about it.
And although he still retained a trace of his Newcastle accent, he wasn't to be confused with the dreary trippers whom she and her friends fleeced so regularly.
He was an easy-going, undemanding boy: his books dealt frankly (sometimes too frankly, from the censor's point of view) with sexual matters, and-above all-he was as casual and flippant about his sex relationships as Christine herself.
They carried on a haphazard affair with no strings attached. And that was the way Christine wanted life to be: a superficial, relaxed series of random encounters-without the complications and heartaches of passionate, intense feelings....
She opened the door and he kissed her on the lips, lifting her up in his arms and half-carrying her down the hall.
"Hey, put me down!" Christine wriggled against him, laughing and pretending to punch his shoulders.
He buried his face in her neck and growled, biting her skin playfully. "Little piggies shouldn't open the door to the big bad wolf!" he gruffed in her ear. "Pooh, Christ!" They were at the entrance to the front room. "You haven't wasted any time with the hashish, have you? It smells like a brothel in here!"
Then Peter stopped clowning, his eyes going to the stairway. His hands left Christine's body, lowering the girl gently back to the floor.
"Well, I'll be damned!" He gave a long, dry whistle; his face registering complete amazement.
Angela was standing halfway down the stairs-her hand on the bannister, looking at him as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
"Angie!" He moved quickly towards her, caught both her hands in his and gave the girl a broad, genuinely pleased smile.
"Ifs incredible! What on earth are you doing here?"
She looked over Peter's shoulder and met Christine's eyes. The girl was staring at them with a puzzled, rather angry look on her face-as if she deeply resented their knowing each other. Angela turned her eyes back to Peter.
"I was going to ask you the same question!" she said. "I thought you were up in Newcastle or somewhere!" Angela felt very excited at meeting Peter again. Now that her initial jolt of surprise had past, she squeezed his hands firmly and looked down into his eyes with affection.
He hadn't changed very much. He had lost his sun-tan and his eyes seemed tired and red-rimmed. But they were as warm and masculine as ever-and Peter's body (Angela ran her glance quickly over his slim frame) attracted her as strongly as before.
"Friends?" he asked her quietly. And Angela remembered that their last parting had been angry and miserable; a final farewell of recriminations and mutual dislike at a pavement cafe in Paguera.
She nodded, then smiled. "I want us to be friends again, Peter. I'm sorry about-"
He cut short her apologies. "There's no need to say anything", he told her. "We were both very much on edge then. But I can see quite a lot must have happened to you since Spain! For one thing, I take it you've left home?"
Angela jerked her head firmly. "Right!" she told him. "And it's for keeps!"
Christine, who had been watching this exchange with mounting impatience, now interrupted the couple's reunion.
"Suppose you two love-birds come downstairs and help me open a few beer bottles!" she called. "You'll have plenty of time for tete-a-tetes later on! Let's get the party going first, shall we?"
Angela turned her head quizzically. Christine was standing with her arms folded, unable to disguise the anger in her voice and in her stance.
What was the matter with her, Angela wondered. Surely she wasn't jealous ... Peter wasn't her lover, was he? No, that wouldn't account for Christine's bad temper. She knew the girl well enough to realise that Christine was cool enough in her relationships not to be put out by an unfaithful lover. She never got that serious over her bed-partners....
But something was clearly bothering her. And it obviously had a connection with Peter and herself.
Angela shrugged her shoulders. Whatever it was, it couldn't be helped. Peter meant a great deal to her. She hadn't realized just how fond she was of the boy until he had appeared right out of the blue, but the pounding of her heart and the weak feeling at the pit of her stomach told the girl that he represented more to her than merely another one-night-stand.
And although she cared an awful lot for Christine, she was selfish enough to realise that her own emotions held sway over the girl's. Her needs came first: it hadn't taken her long to learn that particular lesson from Christine and her friends.
Angela pressed Peter's fingers. "We'd better do as we're told", she said. "Christine is my landlady, you know!"
Taking care to keep the boy's hand tightly in hers, she led him back down the stairs to where Christine was waiting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Angela had noticed during the early stages of the party that Christine seemed to be smoking rather more than usual. Not, of course, ordinary cigarettes. She was using marijhuana all the time-and at a rough count Angela guessed that the girl had got through at least eight of the home-made sticks.
No one paid very much attention to her withdrawal. Most of the other guests were perfectly content to curl up on the floor and drink beer, talk and smoke an occasional reefer themselves.
And despite the undeniably interesting topics which weaved patterns all around her, Angela was feeling rather bored and restless.
She hadn't really had much opportunity to talk to Peter, because the boy had been led into conversation soon after his arrival by a man with mirror-fronted glasses who kept up a continual monologue in Peter's ear.
From his well-dressed appearance-and from the way Peter listened to him-Angela supposed that he was pretty influential. This was confirmed to her when the man left the room and Peter came over to the fireplace where Angela sat with her back propped against the wall.
"He's a reader for one of the big publisher's", Peter told her apologetically. "They might possibly take a chance on my next book: it's been difficult to find a publisher since the court case".
Briefly, he told her about the ban on what he considered to be his best novel-and Angela realized that Peter had come a long way since they'd first met in Spain, only a year ago.
He was already halfway towards being a well known name in literary circles. Although his books were regarded as a risky proposition (because of their bold sexual content), Peter commanded respect among the coterie of hipsters, radicals and left-wingers which formed his-and Christine's-environment.
The room was thick with the fumes of hashish. Angela, who had still not experimented with the drug, felt a little nauseous and uncomfortable.
She explained to Peter how she had left home and taken a bed-sitter in Christine's house, then:
"Couldn't we slip up to my room and talk, Peter? I can feel a bad headache coming on-it's all this smoke and noise".
A never-ending L. P. of Indian music was turned up to high volume on Christine's record-player. The plaintive, wailing sound of sitar and tabla filled the room, its purpose mainly to enhance the setting of the drug-takers.
Peter fitted his hand in Angela's. "Come on, then", he whispered. "We can sneak out while Christine is still in her trance-and before Martin gets back...."
He pulled the girl to her feet, stealing a quick glance at Christine who seemed oblivious to everything. She lay with her head on somebody's lap, eyes closed, her fingers tapping against her thigh in rhythm with the music.
Angela pushed open the door of her room and drew Peter inside. The small bed-sitter was tidier than usual;
Angela had made it look as neat and well-ordered as possible-though it was impossible to hide the essentially run-down appearance of the walls and furniture.
As soon as he was through the door, Peter took Angela in his arms and kissed her. His mouth felt both familiar and strangely exciting to the girl; as if she were tasting once more a fount which she had not yet exhausted....
She relaxed in his strong arms, nudging her body tightly against him, making sure that her breasts pushed firmly into his chest.
Angela was wearing a dark green mini-skirt that ended some six inches above her knee. A pair of skin-coloured tights served as both stockings and panties-and she wore a strapless brassiere beneath her cool, crisp blouse.
The skirt was raised a little higher over her thighs as Peter's hands made contact with the wide belt of Angela's skirt. They were standing by the door still, the room lit only by a table lamp burning on a chest of drawers.
Peter kissed her soft lips soundly, feeling them become slowly agitated under the pressure of his mouth. They parted breathlessly, and he pushed his tongue gently between the girl's teeth-touching her own and finding it as delicious as he'd remembered.
Moving his hands further down her body, Peter drew her brief skirt up over her buttocks and began to massage the ripe cheeks through the sexy-feeling material of the girl's tights.
They were so soft and supple, so easy to pull first this way and then that....
He pressed them tightly, straining her body even more tensely against his own, his fingers curling so that they fitted into the twin curves beneath her arse.
Angela's skirt rose at the front, too, and Peter could feel the hard pressure of the girl's mons veneris thrusting urgently into his rising prick.
Their kissing grew steadily more abandoned. Angela's hands were stealing down to the boy's bottom now-and she imitated his fondling of her arse cheeks, rubbing his buttocks sensuously and caressing the backs of his thighs.
Her tongue worked violently inside his mouth; taunting Peter with its liquid, incessant movements. She made funny little muffled cries, moans which were wrung from her lips by the pleasure his hands were giving to her bottom.
Peter, his cock rapidly reaching full erection as Angela's crotch writhed shamelessly against it, slid two of his fingers right into the divide between the girl's arse. He pushed the material of her tights well into the crease, the silky, flesh-coloured material no thicker than a contraceptive ... and rubbed greedily up and down the warm hollow until his fingers felt the giving hole of Angela's anus.
She had opened her legs, raising herself on tiptoe to make her cunt-mound press more accurately into his lumpy prick. Angela squirmed her pubic curve against the boy, feeling his penis slide to the left and right as she worked her crotch as seductively as possible on his maleness.
Breathing heavily, Peter ended their kiss and started to walk the girl backwards to her bed. They moved dream-like for a half-dozen paces until Angela's knees bumped softly against the mattress.
Then he lowered her, his hands never leaving the hot cheeks of her bottom, until she was lying back on the bed-her feet still resting on the threadbare carpet.
Kneeling beside her, his fingers trapped securely beneath Angela's backside, Peter brought his mouth to her open thighs and kissed his lips along the silky inside of her leg.
His mouth sank firmly into the heavy swell, his hands still caressing the plump, squashed cheeks of the girl's buttocks. She parted her thighs even wider-enabling the boy to see her cunt-lips: completely visible through the transparent silk of her tights.
The bulge of her sex, the deep indenture between the prominent lips ... Peter could glimpse the entire structure of Angela's quim as he kissed upwards-higher and higher, until his lips were only a few brief inches from the girl's scantily-protected pussy.
She lay quite still for him, though she was unable to keep her legs from twitching with nervous tension as Peter's mouth petted nearer and nearer to her waiting cunt.
And when the boy worked his thumbs from beneath her bottom and fitted them gently into the soft flesh on either side of her sex; pressing inwards so that they framed her cunt-lips tightly; Angela quickly unbuttoned her blouse and, arching her body, desperately unclasped her bra.
Drawing the blouse over her breasts, she hastily discarded the strapless brassiere and thankfully lowered her greedy fingers onto-the bare thrust of her breasts.
The nipples had started to perk already, and it required only a brief manipulation with the tips of her fingers for Angela to feel them as stiff and itchy as they could grow.
She closed her eyes blissfully, rolling the hard buds with her thumbs, feeling Peter's lips finally work around and begin to apply themselves sexily to her ripe cunt-lips.
Through the tautly-stretched material of the girl's tights, he tasted the spicy richness of her genitalia; the gauzy hose totally inadequate to hold Angela's tangy juice in check.
His tongue pushed as hard as possible into the tense stretch of the tights (which had not been reinforced around the crotch) and licked strongly at the precious snatch which his thumbs were causing to bulge out more prominently than was their custom.
Angela had to make a tremendous effort of will-power to keep her hips untensed and her arse muscles slack. The sensation of ticklish, wonderfully arousing voluptuousness which Peter was causing at her quim, made the girl scratch furiously at her nipples. They seemed so huge now, so marvellously big and titivated, that Angela was getting almost as great a thrill from handling them (and from knowing that Peter was aware that she was handling them) as she was from the boy's rude cunt-licking and smelling.
For Peter had rested his nose on her pubic slope and was inhaling deeply through it-making it perfectly plain to the girl that he was sniffing dog-like at her sex and enjoying every intake of her rare and mysterious bouquet.
He rubbed his nostrils from side to side, the area of see-through material becoming moist with the flow of Angela's cream. She gave up her spunk helplessly under the probing of his nose and mouth-even though she knew their petting had scarcely started....
And as he felt the uneven, jerking flow of the girl's juice, Peter brought his other fingers from beneath her bottom and quickly pinched up two folds of the pantie-hose between forefingers and thumbs.
He ripped as hard as he could-and derived a savage pleasure from the way in which the material suddenly tore in his hands.
Angela's cunt-lips burst into full view: like a strange hot-house plant, the slightly-pouting labia sought freedom and rejoiced in their unconstricted release. And the dank, highly pungent odour which emanated from their centre-from the dark, peeping slit which ran like a red wound down the middle of the girl's quim-dune-also resembled closely the too-long cooped-up smell of a greenhouse flower....
Peter fastened his lips to Angela's cunt as quickly as possible. His mouth kissed her other mouth: and the curl of the girl's clitoris was like her tongue; delicately, intimately moving against his own tongue as he Frenched her with all the expertise at his command.
He was in good time to catch the final out-throbbing of her orgasm. Angela's legs came up around him, her knees bent, her ankles locking; keeping the boy's face tightly to her cunt.
Her fat pulsed down his throat, provoked both by his sudden wrenching away of her tights (which aroused the utterly defenceless female in Angela: that part of a woman which secretly revels in rape and derives an intense thrill from fantasising scenes of sexual assault) and spurred, too, by her nipple-teasing.
As soon as the spasm was over and Angela lay quiet once more, Peter levered himself on top of the girl and quickly unzipped his trousers.
The mighty red length of his prick was swiftly guided through the fly of his underpants-and the boy steered it to Angela's crack, one hand guiding his weapon, the other brushing the girl's fingers from her nipple and taking their place.
The feel of Peter's hot cock being worked up and down the meat of her slit, and the realisation that his fingers were now playing with her nipple, gave Angela a renewed interest in what was going on.
She slid her fingers through his hair and forced his mouth down onto her breast, at the same time arching her body so that her titty thrust itself blatantly against the boy's face.
He sucked it gratefully between his lips, taking a portion of her white breast into his mouth as well and fastened his teeth securely around his prize.
Keeping the fingers of both hands tangled in his hair, Angela began murmuring to him in a sexy, throaty whisper:
"Do you like it, darling? Do you like my little nipple? How does it taste, then? Very nice? Oh, that's good-that's so good!"
She coaxed him like a mother to her baby, giving Peter a wild, glorious thrill as she pulled one hand suddenly from his head and cupped the base of her breast: holding the teat for him and caressing sensitively around its supple fleshiness.
He jabbed his prick into the slit of her cunt, missed the vulva and stabbed the crown angrily into the valley where her clitoris nestled.
Angela winced as her clitty was buffetted by the boy's fierce prick; then relaxed again as he slid the throbbing cock further down her slot and this time found the soaking cloister of her cunt.
He released it when the crest was halfway in, allowing his poll to find its own way into the familiar passageway.
Easily, without meeting the least opposition, the weapon penetrated her. Peter's mind leaped into ecstasy as he felt the greasy tightness of her pussy all about his prick.
It rode sweetly into the depths of her to its long limit, and then Peter began to fuck her: entering and withdrawing; pulling out, lunging tightly inwards again....
His hands fumbled again to the warm mounds of Angela's bum and Peter's excitement increased tenfold as he felt the girl's arse tensing and contracting beneath his fingers; her passion rising fiercely, her lust renewed by the powerful penetration of the boy's cock.
Under the filmy skin of her tights, he could feel her bottom wiggling urgently-its mellow, rhythmic convolutions fully communicating Angela's uninhibited excitement.
Peter felt a sudden urge to hold these wriggling cheeks still. How dare they jiggle so much? How dare they bobble and contract with such outrageous twists of the girl's hips?
He rammed them savagely together, squashing the cushions of flesh until they were pressed tightly against one another. This caused Angela's cunt-lips to tighten also; and Peter felt his prick wedged more firmly, held more securely, than ever before.
It was all that he could do to keep up the rhythm of his strokes-but he was determined not to release Angela's bottom from the clamping, vice-like grip of his hands.
And as they fucked, he lifted her haunches from the bed-bearing down on her with his cock and lunging the taut rod deeper and deeper into the girl's wet, only too eager little quim.
Angela could feel Peter's trousers against her through the thin material of her tights. The boy's prick stuck from the small opening in his underpants and caused the corduroy of his slacks to surge into her crotch. It was like a wonderful dream she'd once had where, fully clothed and with her lover's trousers completely fastened, he had nonetheless been able to penetrate her with his cock.
Magically, they had fucked without undressing at all; and Angela-her mind swimming in a sea of beautiful sexiness-felt that she was living the dream in reality now....
With mystic power, Peter's prick had entered her cunt whilst it was still locked away inside his pants. And her scanties were still clinging with moist protectiveness to her sex, yet permitting the upright rod the most complete entrance of all....
Peter, sucking strongly on Angela's fiery teat, stroked down the girl's body, found the elastic top of her tights-and caressed his hand down the crackling silk until his fingers touched once more the sybaritic swell of her under-thigh.
Fondling upwards to the fat, sleek balloons of her arse and down again, he felt the tear in her tights and pushed a finger through it-touching the bare skin of Angela's cunt-lip: squashed aside by the vigorous fuck of his cock.
He petted the twisted, nearly flattened fold of flesh, rubbing the whorl of his finger over and over it.
Angela grew so stimulated by this delightful caress (accentuating as it did the substance of her dream) that she thrust herself forward until her feet once more touched the carpet; now splayed out as fully as possible, Peter's body lying over her, the boy's toes just on the floor-his thighs locked together between hers.
The slipping down of Angela's feet forced Peter's cock to penetrate the girl from a new and exciting angle. It was driven almost vertically into her cunt, the thick stem twisted upwards and digging exquisitely against her clitoris with every forward spring.
Angela was obliged to grip the sides of the bed for support, her hands holding desperately to the fold of the blanket as she levered herself downwards on Peter's weapon.
But the intensely irritating feel of the girl's hard clitty continually rubbing on the underside of his shaft made it impossible for the boy to continue this mode of fucking for long.
The sperm rose in his testicles-and with a roar of maddened fury, Peter surged forward; sending Angela backwards and almost raising the girl off the bed, skewered on his prick.
His chest squashed down on her breasts, his total weight bearing heavily down on her, as Peter's cock spouted a great gout of spunk into her sucking, tightly grasping quim.
Angela reached her orgasm only moments later. The girl's scalding hole, alive with the billions of microscopic sperm with which Peter had drenched her, became inundated with spunky liquid.
Her cunt seemed to tighten round the bulbous staff of the boy's penis and she used her vaginal muscles expertly to grip the swollen flesh while the current of runny dew was washing and streaming over it.
Peter pulled his relaxing prick out, its red length gleaming with wet droplets of both his own and Angela's cream.
He felt it brush itchingly over the sheer silk of her sexy tights, then droop a little as his body lost contact with the girl. Flopping alongside her, lying across the width of the bed, Peter drew her head onto his shoulder and closed his eyes.
One thing was certain: he wasn't going to let this alluring and utterly satisfying girl out of his sight for another twelvemonth!
Peter had never found a sex-partner so incredibly attuned to his particular tastes. They both seemed to come at almost the same time-and, even more important, they had a kind of intuitive understanding of what pleased the other, especially during the foreplay.
He had written his last book (the one which had caused so much fuss) after the inspiration she'd given him in Spain. And now that she had broken free of her parents and was mixing with people like Christine, Peter could see that Angela had become an even more exciting girl!
Already, he felt a strong emotional attachment to her
-quite apart from his physical desire. She might turn out to be someone very important in his life, he thought. Someone very important indeed....
"What kind of modelling job?"
They were sitting up on the bed now, smoking and talking. Peter repeated the question, since Angela hadn't replied and a small but uncomfortable pause had settled between them.
"It's-it's for pin-up photos, actually", she said at last. "You know: nude, lingerie, swim-suits, I suppose". Angela turned a suspicious eye on him. Peter seemed to have received the information with a kind of apprehension
-similar to her first reaction to the modelling job, Angela recalled.
"Why? Surely you don't think there's anything wrong in that sort of thing?" She put a finger under his chin and tilted his face towards her. "Or do you?"
Peter smiled, bent his mouth and kissed the palm of her hand.
"Of course I don't", he replied "As long as that's all it is". He took Angela's hand and stared down at it, caressing her fingers lightly. "You say Christine put you on to it?" he asked casually.
Angela nodded. "That's right. Why-do you think she's got some dark, ulterior motive?"
She was teasing him again. Peter started to say something, then changed his mind. "I don't think she's altogether reliable as a friend", he said finally; carefully. "Christine might not be completely what she appears-."
Angela felt irritated by his manner. Also, the girl resented his implied criticism of the woman she had treated so shabbily. Christine was a wonderful person! He had no right to hint that she wasn't!
"I think you're being a bit prudish, that's all", she told him. There was a distinct coldness in her voice. "What's the matter? Don't you like the idea of your girl-friends posing in the nude? Is that it?"
Peter let go of her hand. "It's obviously not that", he said. "You can walk downstairs and show your body off to everyone in the room if you want to! I won't be shocked!
"But I don't think you know what you might be letting yourself in for: Christine's told me a few things about her friends in Brighton-".
"Oh, really Peter!" Angela stood up and started to adjust her clothing. "For God's sake let me live my own life! I want to find out about things by myself for a change! I'm sick to death of having people tell me what's best for me-pointing out all the pitfalls!
"I put up with it for 21 years from my parents. For Christ's sake stop molly-coddling me!"
Her voice and her words were much angrier than Peter's mild, tentative advice called for. And Angela knew this. But she hated the idea of people treating her as if she were still a child. Whatever Jill and Alan were like, she felt confident that she could handle them. Why did Peter have to try and spoil things for her?
He got up from the bed and lit a cigarette. "I'd better go downstairs in a minute", he said. "That chap will probably be looking for me...."
He turned to look at her but Angela deliberately kept her back to him.
"Let's have a chat about it when you've cooled off", Peter suggested. "I can understand your thinking that I'm trying to run your life for you, but there's a bit more to it than that. I'd hate you to get involved with something you'd regret...."
There was real concern in his voice now and Angela was tempted to apologise and listen to him. But some devil in her insisted that she ran things her own way. Anyhow, she was rather intrigued by the possibility that dirty deeds were being performed down in Brighton!
The idea amused her, as if the suggestion was so improbable that it could only be a joke. In any case, she intended to follow up the appointment on Monday. For once she was determined to assert her independence.
She waited for a few minutes after Peter had left her room, gave him time to join the others, then followed the boy downstairs; feeling a new lift to her spirits, a buoyancy which came from her vow to exercise her new-found freedom.
She entered into the spirit of the party with enjoyment, talking animatedly to the few people who weren't completely stoned on marijhuana-but pointedly ignored Peter, despite his several attempts to carry on their discussion of the modelling job.
Later, around three in the morning when everyone had finally left, Christine said:
"Did Peter mention anything about Jill and Alan to you, darling? I saw him trying to talk to you and it looked as if he wanted to play the role of paternal advisor! I hope he didn't say anything to put you off, Angela".
She felt very tired, and the single reefer which she had been persuaded to smoke was still making her head buzz. Her mind was strangely muddled, yet certain areas of it seemed lucid and absolutely, unquestionably settled: above all, Angela knew that she had behaved appallingly to poor Christine.
How could she have gone to bed with Peter after her terrible, "Bnti-climactic affair with Christine? And under the girl's eyes, too! It was unforgiveable!
Angela sat back on the sofa, remorse and self-loathing again overpowering her. Still, (and this decision came to her through the strong after-effects of the marijhuana) she was certain about one thing:
She wasn't going to cross-examine Christine about the job she'd introduced her to. That, at least, would be one way of making up to the girl for her betrayal ... she would take it completely on trust, showing Christine that she had utter confidence in her.
And Christine herself, studying Angela's face carefully, and seeing these emotions and decisions passing like easily-read road signs through the girl's eyes, wondered again at the sensitivity and child-like faith in others which marijhuana frequently induced. Especially in newcomers to its beautiful distortions....
Christine's question seemed to have been asked a long, long time ago. Angela struggled to remember it. Oh, yes! Something about Peter putting her off the interview.
"Of course he didn't!" she said suddenly. "I'm not a child, you know! I don't listen to people who try to make up my mind for me! Of course he didn't put me off!"
Again, she repeated the phrase: "I'm not a bloody child you know!"
And Christine, smiling gently, thought to herself: "But you are, you know! Oh yes you are!"
CHAPTER NINE
The 10 a.m. nonstop train from Victoria to Brighton was practically empty. Angela had the second-class compartment completely to herself, and during the short one hour's journey had stared out of the window, watching as the scenery outside changed slowly from the built-up, semi-industrial towns of Surrey to the more rural, open spaces of Sussex.
The train was slowing now as they approached the terminus and Angela saw the chalk walls of the approach into Brighton station come into view. She had deliberately spent the time in a state of blank-minded apathy, refusing to speculate on the experience which was in store for her.
It was best to go into it with a completely open mind, she had decided. The important thing to remember was that she was conducting her own life now; moving of her own free will into a possibly exciting-and certainly financially rewarding-job.
The platform appeared, the train drew gently to a halt, and Angela gave herself a last, quick glance in the dusty mirror and patted her hair. She picked up her handbag from the seat and wished now that she had waited for the Pullman at eleven o'clock. At least that wouldn't have been so dirty and grimy....
However, she had purposely saved the food supplement which the Pullman cost to go towards her cab fare. It was by no means certain that she'd actually get the job-and Angela had remembered her promise to economise on her dwindling capital.
Coming out of the station forecourt she crossed the road to the taxi-rank and told the driver to take her to 5, Montgomery Mews, off Seaton Drive.
He raised his eyebrows as she climbed into the back of the cab and settled herself. "Wealthy relations here, eh Miss?" he called over his shoulder. "That's the poshest part of Brighton, you know!"
His tone indicated that he thought, from her clothes and general appearance, that Angela didn't really belong in such an exclusive neighbourhood.
She ignored him, crossed her legs and stared contemptuously out of the window. The black and white saloon cars which serve as taxis in Sussex turned right and climbed the steep hill leading to the Downs. Angela, now that her destination was so close, felt a shiver of excitement run through her body as they left the ugly, sprawling station behind and drove steadily towards the green and inviting countryside.
Jill checked her watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. Any second now, she told herself gleefully. It was ten minutes past eleven; and their prospective new model girl should be turning in at the gate very, very shortly.
Alan had been forced, at the last minute, to go down to the printing works and sort out a few technical problems, leaving Jill to vet and appraise the much-anticipated Angela. He had left her to do this with great reluctance-warning his sister repeatedly that she was on no account to "rush things".
Jill almost purred with self-satisfaction. How kind fate was to bring about this stroke of good fortune! She had been looking forward to Angela's arrival with mounting expectation-and not only because she wanted the LINGERIE-SHOP magazine to be a success.
Periodically, her sex-life required the extra stimulus of an innocent young girl. One who could be seduced without too much difficulty, but who nonetheless required a certain amount of gentle persuasion to play her part.
She felt sure that she wouldn't "spoil everything" (as silly, cautious Alan insisted she would) by indulging in a few harmless fun-and-games with the new girl.
Besides, Jill had a certain little "something" which would practically ensure Angela's full cooperation. A tiny pill which was guaranteed to shed the girl of any remaining inhibitions she might possess....
And now she heard the crunch of shoes on the gravel driveway. Jill hurried out to the hall, reaching the front door just as the chimes sounded.
"So nice of you to come down", she beamed at the attractive young girl who stood in the porch. "I'm Jill Saunders ... unfortunately, my brother Alan has been called away on business. He won't be back for an hour or so".
She ushered Angela into the house, running her eyes professionally up and down the girl's figure as Angela preceded her into the hall.
"However, I can give you most of the preliminary information you'll want-in here, my dear", Jill took Angela's arm lightly and steered her into the sunlit lounge. It was a spacious, superbly furnished and decorated room. Angela felt quite over-awed by the setting-realising that the couple must be extremely wealthy to afford such a splendid home.
"Sit down-Angela, isn't it?" Jill smiled. "I've got some coffee ready...." She walked to a silver percolater which bubbled gently on a low table in front of the sofa. "I'm sure you'd like a cup after your journey".
Jill poured two cups, slipping the red capsule discreetly into Angela's, and joined the girl on the settee. Angela stole a look at her hostess as she sipped the coffee; admiring Jill's very full figure and poised, completely self-assured manner.
Jill confirmed to her that they usually paid their models $10 an hour, then questioned Angela as to whether the girl had any previous experience of this kind of work.
"I'm afraid not", Angela replied. "But I'm very quick to learn and I'm sure you'd find me suitable, Miss Saunders".
Jill patted her hand. "No formalities!" she insisted. "You must call me Jill-and I'll call you Angela: O.K.? After all, if we're going to see you in the nude and in your undies, we can hardly use those polite, distant forms of address, now can we?"
Angela smiled. She already felt totally at ease with this beautiful young girl, even if she did belong to a different class from herself. She finished her coffee; the train journey had made her rather thirsty....
"Supposing I take you down to what we call the 'workshop' now and show you the studio", Jill suggested. Her face seemed to be very close to Angela's and the girl could smell an intoxicating perfume emanating from Jill's skin. It made her feel very warm and sensually aroused: as though the scent's aphrodisiac qualities had penetrated quickly to her bloodstream and stirred up a deep and very sweet sexual urge....
As she stood up, Angela swayed slightly-the room seeming to dissolve momentarily in a shimmering rush of bright colours.
Jill took her arm, apparently not noticing her not unpleasant faintness, and took Angela downstairs; down a winding spiral staircase and into a large basement which had been converted into a staggeringly well-equipped photographic studio.
Spotlights, floodlights, an impressive array of still and cine' cameras, a variety of tripods, beautifully painted backdrops; armchairs and couches; various "props" (such as a selection of giant teddy bears and an imitation shower)-all these were neatly in place, leaving plenty of room to walk about between them.
Jill turned the main overhead light on and pointed to a door which was set into the far wall.
"That's the changing-room", she said. "Where we keep our costumes and certain other-ah, props". (She underlined the word meaningfully, and Angela was to remember the subtle hint and to realise what Jill meant a little later in the day).
Jill took Angela around the studio, showing her how everything worked, an obvious pride in the girl's voice as she pointed out the various paraphenalia of their "workshop".
Angela was growing increasingly aware that her body felt the unmistakable yearnings of sexual desire. She tried to fight back the tense, prickly longings, but the thought of all the naked and semi-naked girls who had posed here in this studio, in alluring and abandoned positions, only served to heighten her itchy, hot-blooded feelings.
Jill, well familiar with the symptoms which Angela could not help displaying-a moist, faintly quivering lower lip; a secret pressing of her thighs tightly together whenever they stood still-decided that the time was ripe for her to commence the seduction....
"You know, of course, that we specialise in nude and 'speciality' photographs", she said, deliberately standing very close to Angela and looking deeply into the girl's eyes. "I hope you don't have any scruples about showing your body-and wearing very scanty pieces of clothing?"
"Oh, no", Angela replied quickly-Jill's carefully-chosen words arousing her to an even fiercer degree of stimulation. "I don't mind at all..
"It's important that we get these things straightened out at the beginning", Jill told her. "Some girls are rather shy about revealing their titties and quims, you know!"
Angela swallowed, a becoming blush reddening her cheeks. "Are they?" she whispered softly, her voice a low, throaty whisper.
Jill nodded, almost conspiratorially. "If you don't mind, Angela, I'd like to examine you before Alan gets here. It'll save a bit of time-and it's necessary that I get myself familiar with your curves and your body generally: we must be sure that the lighting is set up properly for your test shots, you see".
As she was speaking, Jill drew Angela towards the low-slung couch. "Would you mind undressing and laying down here-on your tummy first of all? Thanks".
Half-entranced, Angela slowly stripped down to her bra and panties; licked her lips, and removed these items also. "And my stockings?" she murmured. "Do you want those off, too?"
Jill nodded, her own eyes hot and misty as she wandered them over the girl's white-fleshed body. The black, triangular curl of hair at Angela's crotch was just visible, though she was pressing her thighs as tightly together as possible.
Angela removed her suspender belt, then sat on the edge of the couch to peel her stockings down; thus giving the watching Jill a fine, if all-too-brief view of her pinky quim-lips as she raised first one leg, then the other.
As she lowered herself head down onto the cushions, stretching her body at full-length on the couch, Jill said softly:
"You know, Angela, you've got the most voluptuous figure I've seen in years. The way you move, it's really sexy, really exciting to watch!" She moved closer to the trembling, outstretched girl, whispering: "Now I must start the examination, my dear. Please don't be offended by what I do, will you? It's in both our interests, I assure you-and strictly professional! Think of me as your doctor...."
Angela rested her cheek on her folded arms, closing her eyes languidly; presenting the slowly stooping Jill with a magnificent view of her buttocks-firmly rounded, their texture white and smooth-and with a side view of her right breast, dipping into the cushion and half-squashed on the small, soft bolster.
Jill sat on the edge of the couch and placed her hands on Angela's shoulders. They caressed them expertly, her fingers rolling firmly into the rounded flesh, then moved down the girl's back, massaging slowly and with a thrillingly sensuous touch the wonderful silky-smoothness of Angela's bare body.
Jill's hands pressed at the girl's spine, then stole gradually over the raised buttocks, bending the cheeks first downwards, then apart-her face now so close to Angela's arse that Jill's breath breathed sweetly on the girlish hemispheres.
Jill rolled the yielding mounds from side to side, taking large handfuls of flesh between her fingers and releasing them, then gathering up another portion of the wonderful bum-cheeks. Angela's bottom began to glow an attractive pink under the exciting pressure-and Jill's heart beat faster and her eyes grew bright with desire as her fingers parted the sexy cheeks and she glimpsed the tiny, tight anus which kept appearing between the cuddly globes.
Her hands moved down a little so that she could lift Angela's bum upwards and peek discreetly at the girl's slightly inflamed cunt. The slit winked slyly at her as Jill twisted the succulent arse-orbs back and forth.
Imperceptibly at first, then with growing carelessness, Angela began to move her bottom up and down in an effort to relieve the stimulus she was receiving. And when Jill judged that the girl was ready for the next stage of her "inspection", she patted Angela's buttocks and ordered her to turn over on her back.
Angela obeyed, wriggling herself into position and afraid to open her eyes lest the magical, sexy spell be broken. Sighing, she raised her arms above her head, making her breasts swell yearningly upwards, and lay in an attitude of complete abandon: her legs gently parted, her bare, flat tummy emphasising the black-haired bulge of her luscious, already dribbling little cunt.
Jill knelt by the couch, surveying the unadorned beauty which lay so helplessly before her. "Now, my dear", she whispered. "It's necessary that I take considerable liberties with your most private parts ... Please don't be offended: I must do this to discover exactly the size and shape of your body!"
And the libertine commenced to fondle and tweak at Angela's hot naked breasts, her clever fingers pulling and twisting at the girl's nipples until they sprouted to full erection.
Retaining one hand on the nearer breast, Jill caressed the other down to Angela's crotch and slid three of her fingers down the opening flap of the girl's quim, forcing the slit to peel juicily apart.
Feeling the dripping wetness of Angela's cunt, Jill decided to waste no more time with "preliminaries". She brought her lips to the nipple which her index finger and thumb were pulling away from the girl's breast and kissed its tip.
Angela squirmed with delight. "Could-could you do that again?" she asked tentatively. "It felt so nice!"
"Of course, my pet-if you really want me to!" And Jill slipped the red morsel into her mouth and sucked it deeply between her teeth, her tongue flicking over the inflamed protuberance and making Angela's quim discharge a copious flow of come over her fingers.
The aphrodisiac she had dropped into the girl's coffee was working fantastically well! Jill thought. Or perhaps Angela didn't really need very much persuasion or coercion. Perhaps she had hot pants anyway! The words of her protegee quickly confirmed this:
"Wouldn't you like to slip your dress off, Jill?" Angela queried softly. "It's so warm in here-you must feel very hot!"
Jill released the huge and reddened nipple, which sank back onto Angela's breast, wet and bruised, and looked into the girl's eyes tenderly.
"What a thoughtful girl you are, my darling!" she whispered. Then stood and quickly unzipped her dress. Jill stepped out of its brightly patterned folds and stood for a moment in front of Angela, clad in tight bikini briefs, a red-half-bra and black suspender belt.
Angela's eyes roamed deliriously over the sexy vision, stopping at Jill's swollen vee and lingering on the sight of the girl's outstanding mound: the lips conspicuous beneath the clinging crotch of her panties.
Jill started to unhook her bra. "I may as well go the whole hog, if you've no objection. It is hot in here, as you said-and, after all, we're both girls, aren't we? There aren't any secrets between us!"
While she was speaking, Jill released her breasts from their snug bondage. "Whoppers, aren't they?" she giggled, weighing them in her hands and lifting them challengingly towards her new friend. "It looks as if I could do with a little bit of examination myself!"
Angela held out her hands willingly. In a voice tremulous with desire, she gasped: "Darling Jill, my precious darling! Come and lay those beauties on top of mine and let's examine each other-completely!"
Jill stopped giggling. Her eyes narrowed into an expression as passionate as Angela's, and she covered the girl's body quickly with her own; lowering herself firmly down onto Angela so that the girls' breasts, tummies and thighs pressed tightly together.
Almost immediately, Angela felt Jill's lips on hers and their mouths moved tenderly together in a gorgeously wet-lipped kiss. Their red, full women's lips crushed hungrily, their wet, trembling tongues mingling hotly in their eager mouths.
Angela moaned, speaking into the closeness of Jill's mouth: "Now it's my turn to feel you, my darling!"
They broke for air and Angela caressed Jill's face with her cheek, adding: "But my examination is going to go much further than yours!" And she brazenly reached down between Jill's thighs to fondle the girl's silken-haired cunt.
Her fingers probed into the hot, narrow slit, feeling at the corners of the fleshy hole. Finally, two of them slid easily inwards, making Jill squirm delightfully in her embrace. Angela made her fingers thrust deeper and deeper into the pulsating cunt while, at the same time, her eager little tongue poked itself into Jill's ear and darted wetly around the tiny orifice.
Jill herself, not to be outdone in this display of girlish affection, swiftly lowered both her hands under Angela's buttocks and began to finger both the wrinkled, tightly pursed arsehole and the girl's burningly creamy cunt which lay a little further beneath Angela's body.
In her excitement, she dug furiously into both the narrow channels: causing Angela to yelp with uncontrollable pleasure. And also to frig her own fingers more frantically at Jill's quim until they worked in and out at a terrific pace....
After a steady period of mutual frigging, Jill withdrew her fingers and took hold of Angela's right cunt-lip. She started to squeeze the thick, moist flesh from top to bottom, pinching the quim-fold and giving it the most thorough nipping that Angela had ever experienced.
With her last conscious action, Angela kissed Jill again, much more violently than before, and sucked on the girl's tongue with her full lips, making near hysterical moaning sounds at the back of her throat.
Suddenly, both girls gripped each other aggressively, rocking frantically together, Jill and Angela realising that they were about to reach their orgasm at the same time.
Jill's huge titties bounced and wobbled on Angela's; her three fingers thrust harder than ever into the girl's cunt and darted in-and-out with a maddening rhythm, until they both shudderingly released their come-spurting recklessly onto each other's fingers and onto the soft cushions of the couch.
Angela's fingers tore at Jill's obligingly round and willing arse, raising deep scratches on the flesh as she shook with the violence of her climax. Wanting to prolong it, wanting to go on and do even more to Jill before they finally sank into exhausted sleep.
But through the subsiding of her passion came the sound of a door opening-and from between heavy-lidded eyes Angela realized with dismay that a slim, pale-faced man was walking determinedly towards them, an angry twist to his lips, an expression of acute irritation clouding his features....
CHAPTER TEN
When he saw that Angela was watching him, however, Alan seemed to relax his forbidding countenance. He saw, too, that the girl didn't appear to be very much taken aback at his sudden appearance; in fact, she showed remarkably little loss of composure.
Jill climbed to the floor and gave her brother a challenging stare, making no attempt to hide her nudity. Angela rose from the couch and placed one arm across her breasts and the other over her sex. She did this more as a gesture of lip-service to modesty, however, rather than through any real sense of shame.
Somehow, Angela suspected that Jill and Alan were much more than just brother and sister. Jill's completely uninhibited posture in front of her brother hinted at that....
And if that was the reason for Peter's tentative warning-that he thought it wrong for her to get mixed-up with an incestuous couple-Angela smiled to herself. Perhaps he wasn't quite as free from prudery as he made out ... Or perhaps it was simply that she herself lacked, at bottom, any moral strength. She had felt rather funny ever since that cup of coffee she'd shared with Jill....
"Well, I see you two have got to know each other quite quickly", Alan commented wrily. He exchanged a certain look with his sister, then appeared to relax even more.
"What do you think?" he asked Jill. "Is she suitable for our work?"
"Oh, yes!" Jill responded eagerly. "There's no doubt about it". She placed her arm possessively around Angela's shoulder, carelessly letting her hand rest on the upper swell of the girl's right breast.
Watching the scene, Alan felt his prick rising uncomfortably within the tight confines of his pants. Angela moved nearer to Jill, feeling the girl's hand slip further down her chest and actually encompass the ripe globe of her titty.
Alan coughed discreetly. "Hmm! Well, if you two lovebirds don't mind, maybe we could shoot a few test photos?"
Angela spoke to him for the first time, her eyes looking openly at the swell in his trousers where Alan's cock was still stiffening.
"I'm quite ready to begin if you are", she told him demurely. "What would you like me to do?"
"Jill will take you into the dressing room while I set up the equipment". Alan turned away, busying himself by checking the cameras and lighting stands. Jill took Angela's hand and walked with her to the small room at the back. It contained nothing but a huge double wardrobe and a separate, full-length mirror.
Jill pulled the wardrobe open and revealed to Angela an immense selection of brassieres, panties, suspender belts and silk stockings; all hanging neatly, in a variety of sizes and colours. She rummaged quickly through the stack of underclothes.
"Let me pick you something special for your debut", she said, finally bringing out a black bra which was strapless with a cute pair of almost transparent cups; a white suspender belt, trimmed with lace, and the tiniest pair of pale blue bikini panties that Angela had ever seen. They consisted of nothing more than a wispy vee of material at the crotch and black strings which fitted below the hips to hold the flimsy garment in place.
"I'm going to look as naked wearing that as I do now!" Angela laughed, turning to face the mirror.
"Let me help you on with your things, madam!" said Jill mock-gravely. She placed the bra around Angela's breasts and fitted the girl's titties into the soft cups with much fumbling and stroking at her nipples.
Angela watched herself in the mirror as Jill tugged the brassiere tightly around her back, pulling her breasts tautly against the black silk.
"There you are, madam. Now for the stockings. Will you kindly raise your leg...?" Angela, moving into the spirit of Jill's sexy game (which was a kind of prelude to the pornographic magazine pictures: she wanted to judge Angela's ability to act both innocent and daringly sexy at the same time) lifted her foot and rested it on Jill's knee. The girl was crouched on the floor in front of her, enjoying a clear vision of Angela's quim as she raised her leg. A dribble of runny come trickled from the pink lips as Jill drew the silk stocking up the girl's thigh and smoothed it down.
With the other stocking now in place, Jill reached next for the suspender belt. It was fastened around Angela's slim waist, just above her navel, the metal clips dangling provocatively over her buttocks and thighs before Jill fastened them to her stocking-tops.
"Now for your panties-the most important and essential part of a lady's costume!" Jill's eyes twinkled mischeviously.
Angela shuddered ecstatically as she watched in the mirror while Jill drew the minute briefs up her stockinged legs and adjusted them carefully around her cunt.
"Mmm", Jill sighed critically. "I'm afraid they only just hide your quim, my precious, but they'll have to do!" Angela leaned backwards and opened her thighs, Jill supporting her as she studied her reflection in the mirror. The clear outline of her pussy could be seen straining against the transparent silk of her new and incredibly scanty briefs.
Sensing that Angela was about to become-carried away with desire again-and not wanting to incur her brother's wrath by keeping him waiting-Jill whispered: "We'd better go back now, darling, and let Alan see what a very pretty picture you make in your new undies!"
She led the girl back into the studio. Alan looked up from his camera and gave an appreciative whistle. He studied every line of Angela's body, every curve and crevice of her form-which was set off to perfection by Jill's choice of underwear. And his eye was partly that of a lecherous male, partly that of a dispassionate photographer. However, there was no doubting that Alan's cock belonged in the former category: it twitched and reared up again to a stiff erection as he watched the girls walk up to him.
"O.K. Angela", he said. "If you'll just stand there against the backdrop with your legs slightly apart and your hands on your hips I'll take a rear view of you". He looked through the viewfinder of his Polaroid camera and adjusted the focus.
Then, walking over to Angela, the man lifted her head around so that she was looking pertly over her shoulder. Still not completely satisfied, he bent and lifted the sheath-like edge of her panties a little higher over her bum-cheeks. Angela's bottom spilled even more generously out of the briefs, her white flesh contrasting beautifully with the black stretch of her pants.
Alan moved back to the camera and pressed the button. A minute later he pulled the finished print out of the back and scanned it briefly.
"Very nice", he commented. "Come and see, Jill". His sister looked over his shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "You've really got quite a talent for posing, Angela", Alan told her. He whispered in Jill's ear for a few moments-but Angela was unable to catch the gist of his remarks. When he'd finished, she saw Jill nod-and then Alan went on:
"I just suggested (and Jill agrees with me) that we might as well shoot a series of picture for a new magazine we're going to bring out: "LINGERIE-SHOP". It involves your pretending to be a customer in an underwear salon, with Jill as your sales-lady...."
As she listened to Alan outlining the "plot" of his magazine pictures, Angela's heart started to thud almost painfully. Her pulse quickened-and the girl could scarcely breathe normally.
When he'd finished, she realized that her cunt had grown sopping wet. The crotch of her tight panties was ruined!
After a little preparation, consisting mainly of the speedy erection of a counter and the pulling down of a backcloth upon which was painted the interior of a shop, Alan exchanged his Polaroid camera for an expensive looking, tripod-mounted Minolta and they were ready to go.
A few introductory shots to establish the storyline ... then Jill helped Angela to take off the dress she'd donned and removed first the girl's bra, and then her panties.
For the next fifteen minutes or so the girls posed in the most wonderfully thrilling stances Alan could devise for them. The pictures grew steadily bolder:
Until, finally, the pretence of "sales-girl and customer" was dropped completely and Angela and Jill were photographed performing a series of breathtakingly obscene couplings.
The transition from sexy pin-up poses to this blatantly pornographic lesbianism was so gradual that Angela scarcely realized where one ended and the other began.
Alan intended using the first dozen photographs for his more or less open-sale magazine; the remainder for his "special" clients. And taking the photos as fast as he could, Alan felt his cock harden wildly, the crown already pushing over the top of his tight Scants beneath his trousers....
The girls posed for his camera in this way: Jill placed her hand down the front of Angela's stomach and played tantalisingly with her clitoris; whilst Angela, her head twisted against Jill's body, sucked avidly at the girl's nipples.
Angela placed her finger deep inside Jill's cunt as they kissed each other-Jill using her hands to fondle at Angela's breasts.
Angela stood behind Jill and twisted her breasts, forming them into every shape and squeezing them at every angle she could devise; Jill's head thrown back in an expression of utter bliss.
Jill bent Angela over her knee, seated once more on the couch, pretending to spank the girl's bum most severely. While, with her free hand, she "milked" Angela's breasts
-pulling the dangling titties between her fingers and stretching the nippled points down sharply.
Then, practically forgetting that their every movement was being photographed, Jill knelt in front of the panting Angela and pushed her face tightly against the girl's crotch. Angela stood with legs splayed, bracing herself with her hands on the counter behind her as Jill's tongue was poked upwards into her sweet-tasting little slit.
As it entered her body, Angela-so worked up by the long introduction to this final, so-intimate caress-was unable to hold back her spunk. She shot a delightful amount of the hot liquid into Jill's mouth, feeling the girl's lips sucking and slurping on her cunt to draw out the last drop.
Far from exhausting her, however, this fired Angela's lust even more and she was seized with the urge to give Jill the equisite sensation she had just received at the girl's mouth.
She forced Jill's lips from her quim and sank down on the floor with her, aiming her head between the other girl's soft thighs. Her hands lifted Jill's legs up so that they bent at the knee and afforded her a perfect target: the girl's peeping, red-slitted wound!
Feeling Angela's mouth kissing and sucking at her cunt, Jill raised her head until her lips were once more able to reach the girl's quim and-fingers pressing into Angela's buttocks-she recommenced her energetic petting of the darling gash.
It had been so long since Alan had watched his sister performing in this way with another girl. And although he wanted to record the scene with his camera, his wild lust was growing too urgent to be denied! He could remain a passive spectator no longer....
Stripping off his shirt and trousers, the man bent over Angela-clad only in his tight French pants-and lifted her buttocks until he could see his sister's face beneath; her eyes closed in rapture, her pink tongue sticking out of her mouth and moving like a Cupid's Bow along the length of Angela's cunt.
His prick was actually hurting him now, so great was its swelling, and Alan fumbled his pants off quickly with one hand-keeping the other firmly in position on Angela's bottom.
Now free of any restrictions, Alan bent over the girl once more and pointed the shaft of his gleaming tool towards Angela's cunt, pushing it past his sister's mouth so that she was forced to lick at his cock as it slid into their model's quim. He was humping Angela like a dog, his legs wide and his belly thrusting into the girl's buttocks: an uncomfortable but stimulating position.
Jill sucked hard at his entering weapon, the points of her teeth biting wantonly into its crest and her mouth closing on the outer swell of Angela's cunt. She could feel her brother's dick forcing its way past her lips and sliding well into Angela's slippery, well-greased quim-causing the girl to suck even more frantically at the open hole of her pussy.
Then, as Alan began to fuck her-his cock driving in and out of her wound with ever-increasing passion-Angela lifted Jill's thighs a little higher, giving her access to the stretched-open hole of the girl's anus.
Her lips and teeth worked fruitily on the small but equally succulent hole, sucking long and deep at it. Jill shuddered with joy at this sudden and unexpected treat, then renewed her onslaught on Angela's quim. She got her tongue into the slit, choosing a moment when Alan's prick was drawing out-and managed to keep it there when her brother again thrust his meaty, horny weapon into the girl's naked wound.
The man's cock was growing ticklish and thicker: his arse cheeks contracted in ever-faster spasms-and with a final wriggle of his lips, Alan rammed Angela hard and long; shooting his spunk deep into her cunt in a torrent of thick white juice.
Angela and Jill had frothed their own love-cream, but were by no means completely sated. And as Alan drew his prick out of Angela's quim and slid to the floor, they watched his cock sink slowly back to its normal size, determined to fathom some way of restoring its waning vigour.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jill disengaged her thighs from Angela's face and stooped low over the girl, her lips at Angela's ear:
"There's one infallible way of getting him horny again, darling." A slight pause. "If you don't think we're being too outrageous, that is! After all, you scarcely know us and already-"
Angela kissed her quickly on Jill's parted mouth. "Tell me!" she insisted." Whatever it is-tell me, darling! I feel as if I don't care what happens to me if only this morning could last forever! Something seems to have happened inside me-something I can't explain...."
Jill suppressed a smile. She knew only too well what that "something" really was!
"Well then, it's this: Alan has always wanted to play a part in a very special sort of movie ... You know-the kind some people call 'blue'." Her lips tickled against the lobe of Angela's ear. "If we suggested to him that we make such a film...."
Angela's eyes gleamed. "With you operating the camera and me starring opposite him!" she breathed. "What a marvellous idea! Is it really possible, Jill? Have you got everything ready?"
Jill nodded. "The camera's already set up, the film is loaded-all it needs is for the actors to get into position!"
(This wasn't exactly a new scheme; Jill and Alan had quite a collection of blue movies-mostly made by themselves-and the equipment was usually kept ready to operate at a moment's notice. However, neither of them had suspected that Angela would agree to take part in such a performance: at least, not quite so soon!)
"Let me tell you what 'plot' we had in mind," Jill continued. "It's rather similar to the series of magazine photos we posed for a little while ago. But...."
And she went on to detail the synopsis of their projected movie, Angela's clitoris feeling taut and itchy as she listened to the girl's sexy voice....
When she had finished, Jill roused her brother (Alan had fallen into a light doze) and quickly explained to him what she and Angela wanted to do.
Within five minutes, they had arranged the dazzling spotlights over the "area of action" and Jill was installed behind a 16 mm Rolex, trying out the zoom lens so that she could be certain not to miss any detail of the pair's intimate movements.
This time, Alan was to be the ladies-underwear salesman-with Angela once more as the innocent young customer. The camera started to whirr, and Angela began to mime her role perfectly, adopting just the right mixture of pretty, demure artlessness which excited Alan and Jill's jaded lust so strongly.
She had, of course, changed into yet another costume: looking sweetly pert in a schoolgirl's uniform of black and white; her short skirt nearly revealing the tops of her jet-black stockings.
Alan showed her a brassiere and she put her head on one side, regarding it as if she couldn't quite make up her mind.
He spread his hands, indicating that she really ought to be measured before buying so important a garment-and Angela nodded her head, turning round so that he could help her to unfasten her blouse.
Delicately, Alan unhooked her own bra and placed it on the counter. He slipped both his hands under her arms and closed his fingers around the bare breasts which the girl offered to him for "measurement."
Jill zoomed in for a close-up of her brother's hands as they massaged Angela's round, full bosom, then zoomed out again to include in the picture the two of them-Angela's eyes closing in pleasure as she received a prolonged and determined breast-fondling.
When he had finished with her tits, Alan picked up a pair of tiny, frilly knickers which lay on the counter and offered them for the girl's inspection.
She put one finger pensively in her mouth then looked from the man to the panties-and back again. Pointing to the briefs, she made it clear by a skilful piece of miming that she wanted Alan to try them on himself-in order that she could judge the effect!
And as Alan looked aghast at this weird and indecent suggestion, Angela indicated plainly that unless he did as she requested she would leave the shop without buying anything!
With a helpless shrug, he unzipped his trousers and lowered them to the floor. He stepped out of them, slid down the pants which he had replaced before they started to shoot the movie, and allowed the inquisitive girl a long view of his stiffening male organ.
The horny prick stuck proudly in the air and Angela, with girlish glee, urged the man to draw on the tiny knickers which he had offered to her. Obediently, he started to pull them up his legs and managed to get them as far as his thighs.
Here, the tight, silky panties stoutly refused to be drawn over Alan's bulging penis. Try as he might, the man was unable to stretch them so that they covered his fleshy manhood.
Angela helpfully joined in the struggle, seizing Alan's cock and squashing it first this way and then the other, trying to jam it into the V-shaped base of the panties. She managed it at last, thrusting the horny weapon within the confines of the girl's knickers by holding his prick with one hand and pulling the waistband of the panties wide with the other.
It surged violently outwards under its strange bondage, straining the silk to breaking-point. This task accomplished, Angela forced her "salesman" to sit down while she delicately peeled off her own panties tantalisingly down almost to her thighs; pausing when the elasticated top clung just below her bared cunt.
She covered the hairy treasure with her hand, massaging the mound and the outer lips while Alan watched with lust-crazed eyes. A few moments of this torture, then the girl relented. She quickly tugged her pants right off and posed prettily for him: dressed in nothing but her suspender belt and black stockings.
Drawing Alan once more to his feet, Angela hugged him firmly against her, squashing her bare tummy tightly against his silk-encased penis; rubbing herself to and fro to get his cock as hot as possible-caressing her hard crotch into Alan's tightly-constrained cock.
Then, taking his hands in hers, she moved them around her waist and laid them firmly on the plump cheeks of her arse.
Jill crouched down and filmed in intimate close-up the sight of her brother's hands rubbing wildly over the globes which she herself had massaged so recently. He pinched and pulled at the willing girl's bum, passing his fingers into the crack between the twin mounds of luscious flesh and dipping their tips against the brown, damp arsehole which was now exposed so shamelessly for the camera's steady stare.
Angela slid slowly to the floor in front of the palpitating man-and Jill panned the camera round to get a side view of the passionate love-making.
Kneeling in front of Alan, Angela bit steadily into the elastic thread running around the tops of the panties which Alan wore so becomingly. She held his hips to steady herself and began to tug the knickers down with her sharp teeth: forcing them once more over his gigantic tool until it sprang free-quivering ecstatically along the whole of its length.
It stuck out just above Angela's ready lips and, quickly pulling the panties down Alan's legs, she gobbled the crown and three inches of his penis into her mouth; sucking long and hard at its juicy red thickness.
The two now began a fierce battle over Alan's climax. He wanted to delay his orgasm until he had fucked the girl again-and she, for her part, wanted nothing more than to taste the thick spunk of this sensual, perverted man. She wanted to have his sperm wash like a hot, bubbling spring in her mouth and to feel between her teeth that final leap that she knew his cock would give before it shuddered helplessly and flooded her lips with come.
By superb self-control Alan won the contest, forcing himself not to shoot and tiring Angela down with the rocking pulse of his beat.
Angela smiled a little grimly as Alan's penis withdrew from her mouth and he sank to the floor, pulling her wildly with him. "I'll make him pay for that," she thought. "See if I don't...!"
Angela was still wearing her suspender belt and black stockings-and as Alan rolled over on top of her, their practically naked bodies heaving together, Jill's hands nearly shook with her excitement. The sight of the girl's intimate garments roused her steadily and it was all Jill could do to hold the cine-camera steady while it recorded the scene.
Angela's pink, wet tongue pushed between Alan's teeth and licked quickly all round the inside of his mouth before joining his own tongue in a mingling, breathless French kiss.
His hands had found her bottom again (those dear, cuddling cheeks he adored so much!) and while he renewed his massaging of her bum, Angela gradually slipped both her hands between their bodies and ran her fingertips up and down the man's throbbing tool; delighting as the round, hard skin jumped and twitched at her coaxing touch.
They opened their eyes, staring at each other with unspeakable hunger. Then Angela smiled sweetly into Alan's tense face and with deliberate slowness started to rub his prick firmly in her hands-rolling it round and at the same time levering it nearer and nearer to her eager pussy: which gaped prettily between her parted thighs-waiting to be filled with this marvellous length of rigid flesh.
Jill saw what she was doing, and moved around behind the lovers to lay on the floor and film between their legs as Angela started to introduce the object of her desire into its rightful domain.
The tip of Alan's cock at last slid between the lips of Angela's wide and willing quim, guided safely to its destination by the girl's fondling fingers. They paused for a wonderfully suspenseful kiss at the very moment of insertion....
Then Angela cried out, her voice throaty with longing and desire, her lips wet against Alan's neck:
"Give it to me again, darling! Give it to me now! Get it right up inside me, as high as you can! Please-please, Alan! Don't make me wait-ah, yes! Oh, yes, my baby! YES!!"
He had gripped her shoulders, wriggled to make sure that his prick was in exactly the right spot, then lunged long and deep into Angela's cunt. The girl raised her buttocks off the floor to receive as fully as possible the tight-fitting and relendessly pushing weapon which surged up and up into her-until her poor quim felt completely blocked by its thickness.
When he was inside her to his limit and could feel his pubic hairs and her mound of crinkly black curls mingling together, Alan twisted his cock round in rhythmical jerks, making her moan with pleasure as his rubbery tool jiggled along the fleshy wet walls of her cunt.
By this time it almost impossible for Jill to obtain any more movie-shots of them. Their bodies were too tightly squashed together. Instead, she left her position at the camera and lay on the floor, very close to the fucking couple, her fingers exploring the interesting recesses of her own quim.
Alan's hard-on was truly tremendous now. He heaved his penis in and out of Angela's giving pussy-flesh, at first slowly-then with an ever-increasing speed; until his cock was fucking the girl at such a furious rate that Angela's head spun and her senses reeled.
Several times during this second fucking of Angela's cunt Alan was forced to pause, fearful that he would reach his climax too quickly. But as soon as he had controlled the flow of his too-eager spunk, he returned to the attack with renewed vigour.
Jill, whose jealousy had been aroused by the inactive part she was playing, suddenly had an idea. With a cry of glee, she stood up and seized Angela's twitching legs by the ankles; pulling firmly at them, yanking the stockinged limbs to and fro and rubbing the sole of Angela's left foot against her exposed cunt.
Alan quickly understood what his sister was doing. He stopped fucking, raised himself as best he could from the floor by propping the weight of his body with his hands, and lay quite still with his cock stuck to its fullest extent inside Angela's fanny.
Jill then started to pull the girl's legs backwards and forwards, in and out of Alan's passive penis. Angela was a little frightened at first by this new development, but she quickly learned to relax and the two girls were soon engaged in a furious tug-of-war-with Angela holding tightly to Alan's neck while Jill pretended to try and pull her off. Needless to say, this exercise meant that the hard prick was being pulled in and out of Angela's dribbling cunt: much to the girl's delight!
Angela found herself spunking in surprisingly large quantities (considering her earlier orgasms of the day) and her hot mucus jetted thickly down her stockinged thighs and thoroughly oiled Alan's already wet cock.
Under the stimulus of the girl's climax, Alan got his hands to her breasts again and rubbed his fingers intently across the red nipples. When he grew tired of this, the man gripped each teat between thumb and forefinger and pulled them slowly but surely from Angela's breasts until they stood out-thick and unresisting.
Not to be outdone, and wishing Alan to share in the sharp mixture of pain and pleasure she was receiving from this treatment of her nipples, Angela brought her hands down from his neck and began to fondle at Alan's nipples herself.
She manipulated them in exactly the same way as he was fondling hers: tweaking them mercilessly up to the limit they would stretch, then twisting the tiny naked balls round and round between her fingers....
At this horny caressing Alan's come rose heavily in his testicles and with a final, angry screwing of Angela's blood-red nipples, he allowed his penis to stiffen and contract prior to yielding up its volume of spunk.
With a long, loud groan of fulfilment, he let the long-delayed orgasm throb unrestrainedly through his shaking body-and with a piercing cry he emptied into Angela's waiting cunt every ounce of sperm that he could force out ... thrusting his prick forward in frantic spasms co rid himself, of the hot, wet, masculine spunk.
Angela clenched her eyelids shut as she received his bountiful tribute, emitting a long "Ahhhh" as the final shake of Alan's penis inside her completely soaked quim indicated to her that his passion was now fully spent.
His sadly flabby cock emerged from her raw gash, dripping hot droplets of come from the burning little hole at its crown. With a deep sigh, Alan sank to the floor and stretched his body wearily.
"You're a fantastic little bitch!" he told Angela. "I've never known such a passionate girl! You just about knock me out-believe me!"
As her brother rested, Jill unsatisfied and longing for Angela again-put her arms about the girl and whispered:
"Will you let me do something, darling?"
"Mmmm?" Angela was beginning to feel rather drowsy herself. She hoped that Jill wasn't about to suggest anything too strenuous for her to do!
She needn't have worried. All Jill wanted was to lay on top of her and-she murmured into the girl's ear: "Suck your little quim dry of all that come!"
This was the first time Angela had even heard of such a thing, let alone participated in it, but her cunt still seemed to crave further excitement and she merely drew the older girl down and kissed her; silently signaling her agreement.
Jill, after their kiss, transferred her mouth to Angela's crotch and allowed her lips to press closely to the divine, gently dribbling slit. She positioned herself so that her hands supported the girl's thighs-resting on the inner flesh just above Angela's stocking tops-and began to suck.
To Jill's hungry mouth, the tasty morsel of Angela's quim was like manna from heaven. She gobbled and gobbled at the bruised red slit, extracting the combined mixture of her brother's sperm and Angela's girlish juice.
Swallowing again and again, the lustful Jill poked her tongue deeply into the pearly cavern to lick and ream out every drop of the sexy cocktail.
Her own crotch wriggled on the carpet, spilling Jill's spunk into the tufted material, pursing her lips tighter and tighter to Angela's quim and writhing them in turbulent animation.
Having drained the girl as dry as possible and stained the carpet with her love-juice, Jill found herself in the same exhausted state as her brother and Angela. She rested her cheek against the inside of Angela's thigh and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Angela, baby," she gasped. "Where on earth did you get such a beautifully fruity little hole? That was so wonderful, my darling-you tasted so good!"
Angela was scarcely able to keep her eyes open. All at once, the exertions of the morning seemed to pile up and overcome her. At the moment, all she wanted was somewhere nice and soft to lie her head and her aching body and drift pleasantly off to sleep.
"Poor darling!" Jill sighed. "You look so very tired. Come on, let me take you upstairs-there's a comfortable bed where you can rest and relax. Up we come!"
And she half-lifted the drowsy Angela and helped her up the spiral stairway to the promised bedroom. Angela, feeling drugged and utterly satiated, was scarcely aware of the trip: she sank gratefully between the crisp sheets and was sound asleep almost before her pretty head touched the pillow....
CHAPTER TWELVE
Peter Williams was worried and angry. He was anxious about Angela and annoyed with himself because he hadn't taken a firmer stand with the girl over her visit to Brighton.
True, it wasn't really any of his business as to how the girl conducted her life. But that didn't stop him from worrying over her. He was, Peter had realized shortly after the party, deeply in love with her-and that meant he felt responsible for her welfare.
He had known that it was impossible to talk to Angela at the party. She was in an unapproachable mood for one thing: and he had also wondered if he wasn't, perhaps, making too much of the situation.
Maybe Christine's friends were perfectly all right. Maybe the stories he'd heard about Jill and Alan were just malicious gossip.
But during the whole of Sunday, the day following the party, Peter had been in a state of perpetual uneasiness about the girl. He had a strong premonition that Angela was getting herself into a corrupting and self-destructive predicament without being fully aware of what she was letting herself in for.
Finally, the nagging suspicion that she was in some kind of moral danger pricked his conscience to such an extent that Peter felt obliged to interfere-if only to settle his own mind.
It should be noted that Peter Williams, although a firm believer in free will and free love, loathed the idea of older people corrupting the young. He could recognise, intellectually, that this feeling was logically inconsistent with the complete sexual freedom propounded in his books, but-for emotional reasons which he was unable to fathom at present-he found the cold-blooded seduction and manipulation of the relatively innocent a totally repellent idea.
And he had been led to believe, by veiled hints thrown out by Christine when she was particularly drunk or high on drugs, that this was precisely what Jill and Alan specialised in: they seemed to derive their greatest satisfaction and pleasure from the corruption of young girls. Girls who applied to them for jobs as photographic models.
If this had been a purely straightforward sexual seduction, Peter didn't think he would feel quite so worried about Angela. But a certain sado-masochistic element appeared to enter into their relationships with the girls....
He hadn't been able to discover in detail what form this perversion took, but Peter hated with all his heart the vague excitation, mingled with morbid fascination, which this distortion of the true sexual impulse aroused in him.
And on Monday morning, after a day of brooding, he became so obsessed with the fate of the girl he loved that Peter visited Christine, determined to make Angela listen to him....
He found, of course, that the girl had already left for Brighton-and was at this very moment being interviewed for the modelling job, "I think you'd better give me the address," Peter told Christine. His face was set in an angry, resolute expression. He had found Christine Jones in her dressing gown and bare feet; the girl rarely got up before noon-especially on Mondays.
She was about to invite him in-they were standing on the doorstep and Peter had launched immediately into his request that she gave him Angela's whereabouts-but there was something about his manner which warned her to be very careful. He looked as if he might be trying to cause trouble....
"I'm sorry," she said firmly. "You ought to know that I can't do that, Peter. I promised Alan that I wouldn't-".
He pushed roughly past her into the hall and slammed the door shut.
"Listen to me, Christine. Angela means a hell of a lot to me: I don't want her to be mixed up with those people-understand? Now," he leaned towards her threateningly. "Either you give me their address and let me go down to talk to her or-"
Christine shrugged her shoulders. "Or what?" she asked. "What will you do if I refuse? Go to the police?" She laughed. "No, somehow I don't think you'll do that, Peter! You despise them as much as I do-"
He grabbed her arms suddenly, gripping the flesh so tightly that Christine winced and her eyes filled slowly with pain. Peter stood close to her, his face expressing the anger which was rising steadily in him.
"I want that address, Christine!" he said quietly. "Angela hasn't got any idea of what she's getting involved in! She's not like the other girls you've sent to that pair of perverted-"
Despite the way he was hurting her arms, Christine laughed again. "Not like the others?" she jeered. "What the hell makes you think that? She's just what they want-innocent, eager, and very, very exploitable! Exactly like the others!"
He could see that Christine was bitter and resentful of Angela's relatively unspoiled youth. But this wasn't the time for understanding and compassion. It was becoming more and more urgent that he got Angela out of their clutches. Like a cancer, the obsession grew and flourished with every resistance it met....
"But she's not going to be depraved like the others!" he told her angrily. "For the last time, Christine: the address!"
She shook her head. Peter hit her quickly across the face-and as her body spun backwards under the blow, he smacked her again; and again, until her head rang with pain.
She tossed her hair back defiantly. "That won't get you anywhere!" she cried. "I've been beaten up by tougher men than you!"
"We'll see," Peter told her grimly. "Somehow I'm going to get that address out of you-if I have to break every bone in your body and search every fucking room in the house!"
Christine paled. "You wouldn't do that-you've got no right to go through my private possessions! I won't let you-!"
She ran quickly to the front door, jerked it open and started to scream for help. Peter leapt behind her, thrust his hand over her open mouth and dragged her back into the hall.
He managed to stifle her cries and kicked the door shut again, holding Christine's wrist with his free hand, jerking it up roughly behind the girl's back.
"Upstairs!" Peter forced her to move forward, propelling her up the flight of uncarpeted stairs, his hand crammed over her mouth.
When they turned into Christine's bedroom he released her and pushed the girl violently away from him. She stood there, biting her lip, her eyes blazing.
When Peter moved to the bureau bookcase in which he knew she kept her address books and private papers, she said sullenly: "Wait-I'll tell you where they live! I don't want you to poke around in there: I've got things in that bureau I don't want anyone to see!"
Peter hesitated, then nodded his head towards the ugly cabinet. "Show me," he ordered. "Let me see it in black and white."
Christine gave him a contemptuous glare, crossed to the bookcase and rummaged silently in one of the drawers. She extracted a grubby, tattered notebook and thumbed through it, finally walking over to where Peter stood waiting and thrusting the opened pages in his face.
He memorised the address quickly. Christine snapped the notebook shut and returned it to the bureau.
"Satisfied?" she asked him sarcastically. "Got what you wanted? I hope it makes you happy, playing God and directing other people's lives for them!"
Peter didn't bother to reply. He turned and raced down the stairs, a warning voice telling him that he didn't have too much time to lose....
As soon as she heard the front door slam, Christine picked up the telephone. She dialled through to Brighton, heard the metallic ticking of the automatic system, then listened puzzled as the unobtainable signal burred out of the receiver.
She dialled the number again, more carefully. And, again, that uninterrupted buzz informed her that the connection couldn't be made.
Christine cursed; wondering what the hell she'd do when Jill and Alan demanded to know why she had given their address to an unwelcome visitor. There wasn't much doubt that their business relationship would be severed-but that was probably the least she could expect....
Damn Peter! And damn Angela! She felt hot tears of anger and frustration in her eyes. What else could she have done, though? She couldn't have let Peter snoop through her bureau-there were far too many painful and deeply personal things there.
And it wasn't her fault that they'd disconnected their phone ... Christine sat on the edge of her bed, realising-not for the first time-that her life was in a hell of a rotten mess....
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Angela moaned and stirred in her sleep. She had been having the most wonderful dream! A pair of gentle hands were caressing at her genitals, smoothing her sex-lips apart and....
She opened her eyes suddenly. It wasn't a dream-or if it was, the hands had become real, flesh-and-blood fondlers that probed with intimate familiarity between her naked thighs.
Sitting up a little in the bed, Angela looked about her. The sheets had been drawn back from her nude body and Jill was sitting next to her, wearing the strangest, most bizarre costume the girl had even seen:
She was clad from neck to toe in black, shining leather; the glistening, skin-tight material adhering so cohesively to her flesh that Angela's eyes-filling steadily with wide wonderment-could make out the buttons of Jill's nipples and the hard rectangle of pubic mound thrusting under the taut covering.
It was absolutely clear to her that Jill wore nothing at all beneath her outlandish garment. Not even the briefest pair of panties could have been drawn on and still left room for the girl's hose-like encasement.
The leather appeared to have been polished and rubbed until it shimmered with reflected light. It fitted every inch of Jill's body below the neck like a pair of far-too-small tights that had been stretched over the whole of her flesh.
Yet the material was of heavy, seamless leather! Angela realized, with an involuntary shiver of excitement, that Jill must feel terribly hot inside the curious, kinky "dress". How could her skin breathe? And how did she get it on and off? There seemed to be no sign of buttons ... it was as if Jill had been sewn tightly into it and was doomed never to release herself from the suffocating constriction of the leather....
Then, with a strange tremor of disappointment, Angela glimpsed a zip-fastener at the back of Jill's neck. What a pity! she thought-and was surprised to find that the idea didn't horrify her: How nice it would have been if Jill could never escape from it ...!!
The girl was sitting quite still during Angela's appraisal; her fingers motionless between Angela's thighs. Over Jill's shoulder, Angela could see Alan standing about six feet away; one hand behind his back, dressed in only a pair of black underpants.
And, looking closer, Angela saw that their substance was exactly the same as Jill's costume: black, gleaming leather!
His prick seemed to be at a hard erection under the abbreviated pants: swelling and bulging upwards, fighting against the cruel pressure of its rawhide sheath.
Jill allowed the girl a few more minutes in which to accustom herself to their mode of dress. Then she whispered:
"Would you like to be spanked, Angela? Would you like to feel my hand on your bottom, giving you a friendly, sexy punishment?"
(Jill knew full well that the girl was ready for this second stage of her initiation. She had conferred with Alan during Angela's sleep-and they had agreed that it would be silly not to take advantage of their protege's obvious willingness to do whatever they required of her....)
Still sleepy, still not quite certain that this really was happening to her-and wasn't part of a particularly vivid dream-Angela heard herself replying:
"On my bare bottom, Jill? On my naked bum?"
Jill nodded.
"Go on, then." Angela's voice sounded distant to her, as if it came from a part of herself which she had not previously been in contact with. She turned over in the bed and lay on her back-her buttocks thrust impertinently in the air.
"Go on-do what you like with me!" Her words were muffled by the pillow. "Teach me a good lesson! I won't be a good girl-no matter how hard you hit me!!"
Jill exchanged a brief, triumphant look with her brother. Then she knelt on the bed beside Angela, her heels digging deeply into her leather-clad crotch, and began to apply the palm of her hand to the girl's plump arse-cheeks.
Pat-a-pata! Pat-a-pata! The sound of her hand meeting Angela's bottom started to break the pregnant silence in the room.
The girl's buttocks shuddered and twisted in rhythm with the smacks-and Angela moaned pitifully into the pillow, pretending to suffer although the blows (as yet) were very mild.
She thrust her bum upwards and the valley between the cheeks widened. Jill's hand swung down into them, hitting Angela's globes, her thigh tops-and occasionally landing a slap on the girl's arched spine.
Faster and faster, harder and harder came the spanks, until Jill's hand ached from the exercise. She paddled the girl's pouting orbs ceaselessly; smacking first one and then the other, slapping them from below so that they wobbled upwards to reveal the pink slit showing perkily through Angela's forest of black hairs.
With one hand, Jill held the nearer cheek open whilst she beat her hand down on the girl's bumhole, making the round, crinkly hole contract delightfully.
When her fingers were stinging quite painfully, Jill motioned with her head to Alan. He quickly came forward and put the object he had been concealing into his sister's hand. It was a large, hard-bristled hair brush!
At the cessation of the spanking, Angela wriggled a bit and pouted: "I still haven't learned my lesson, you know! I won't behave myself unless you give me-OWWW!!"
All at once she felt the first stroke of the hairbrush on her buttocks. The spines were like sharp needles-and Angela could feel them sticking into her soft flesh long after Jill had raised the weapon from her bottom.
"Is this what you mean, you naughty girl!" Jill hissed, bending so that her mouth was close to Angela's ear. "You won't be good unless you're given a few strokes with this?" She lightly tapped the girl's glowing bum with the stiff brush.
"That's right!" retorted Angela bravely. "But you must be careful not to poke it into my you-know-where!" she added.
"Of course not!" Jill told her cynically. "I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing...!" She lifted the hairbrush until it was poised a foot or so above Angela's bottom. Gripping the handle tightly, she brought it viciously down-beating it as hard as she could into the girl's tense and vulnerable arse.
But Jill, her other hand pressing relentlessly into the small of Angela's back, making it difficult for her to wriggle free, thrashed the cruel scourge again and again into Angela: making sure that the sharp bristles dug violently into the girl's tender and already blotchy flesh.
Angela grew a little fearful. In earnest now, she screamed: "That's enough, Jill! ouch! Leave me alone! Please-I've had enough! Oh, no! That's too much!!"
Her contortions grew so wild that Jill was unable to hold her down single-handed. Giving Angela's arse a final thwack, she called to Alan:
"Would you like to take over now, darling? She's getting too fidgety for me to handle!"
"I'd love to," Alan replied, crossing to the bedside. "But it looks as if this side is pretty well done by now! Suppose we turn the creature over and then I can tan her front!"
"What a wonderful idea!" Jill exclaimed. "But just in case she struggles too much hadn't we better tie her to the 'horse'?"
Angela's fear mounted. This wasn't at all what she had expected from Jill's suggestion earlier that she be spanked. They really were going too far ... Unless they only intended to throw a playful scare into her. They wouldn't really hurt her, Angela thought. Although the evidence of her sore and red-hot bottom seemed to belie her faith....
Nevertheless, she only put up a token resistance when Jill and Alan took her arms and led her to a contraption she hadn't noticed before. It resembled a giant ironing board: large enough to contain a human body, with a soft mattress-type material and a pillow on its frame. It was supported by thick wooden legs and seemed very firm and stable. Four steel loops, one at each corner, were evidently designed for her arms and legs.
Alan lifted her bodily onto the structure and opened the hoops. They were worked on the principle of a keyring, except that their diameter could be altered to fit the size of limb which was being inserted. The man tightened them until they held Angela's wrists and ankles securely, then he took the hair-brush from Jill's hand.
"Relax, darling," Jill smiled reassuringly. "I'm going to be your anaesthetist: whisper sexy things in your ear while Alan operates on your body!"
Helpless, Angela felt her body to be more vulnerable than at any previous time in her life. She was completely at the mercy of these weird, leather-clad perverts! And it both shocked and excited her to realise that she had voluntarily allowed herself to be inveigled into her present position.
Jill put her lips once more to Angela's ear and began: "What I love to do most of all is to push my titties next to yours, my darling. Then, while we're kissing each other and sucking each other's tongues, I like to fondle your pretty, very tight little quim. I can push as many as three fingers inside it and-".
Angela suddenly screamed. She had been lulled into false security by the sexiness of Jill's voice and had even closed her eyes and pushed her ear more closely to Jill's mouth.
Then-Whack, Whack, Whack!! In three quick, successive blows she felt a terrible agony surge through her body. Alan had brought down the hairbrush with much greater strength than Jill-and had landed a trio of punishing strokes on Angela's breasts (one on each) and on her cunt-mound.
Angela screamed again, shrilly, as she glimpsed Alan raising the brush for yet another sadistic attack. "Oh no!" she yelled. "I can't bear that kind of pain! Please, Alan-don't!!"
She squirmed frantically to escape, but the hoops of steel held her remorselessly, tightly in position.
The hairbrush struck again, this time landing with sickening force on Angela's thigh. Once more the evil, pleasure-contorted features of Jill's brother loomed over the girl-and once more he brought the hairbrush down; now connecting its bristles with the open lips of her quim.
Having inflicted these hard blows, Alan eased the vigour of his thwacking. And the succession of lighter blows against her cunt were so pleasant by contrast with the man's initial strokes that Angela found herself actually enjoying them!
She stopped screaming, hoping that Alan wasn't going to resort to his previous attacks. And now Jill was fondling her breasts again, letting the black leather sleeves of her arms rub into the orbs--then drawing them back to give her hands access to the bloated titties.
"I like to feel leather next to my flesh," she murmured to Angela. "You must try it yourself some time, my darling. It's so sexy-so tight and hot on my skin!"
"I think your hair needs combing!" Alan said suddenly. He placed the hairbrush on her pubic mound and licked his lips. "Let's get rid of this nasty tangle, shall we?"
He drew the brush firmly and briskly through her cunt-forest. It dragged through the black, musky jungle and became caught in Angela's intimate curls. She yelped with new pain.
"Sorry, my dear!" Alan smiled mockingly. He carefully disengaged the bristles. Then: "I think it's about time we dispensed with our leather garments-attractive though they are. I'd rather like to watch Jill fucking you, Angela-if you've no objection, of course!" He grinned sardonically into the girl's face.
Angela's mind whirled. How on earth was Jill going to ... fuck her? It was a contradiction in terms! How could one woman fuck another?
She had realized the way in which this could be accomplished before Jill turned back from the dressing table drawer, her hand clutching a strong-looking rubber phallus. How naive of her! Of course! She should have remembered that things like dildos had existed for cent ... ries....
Alan dropped the hairbrush and unzipped Jill's clinging costume. With great difficulty, the girl got out of the garment-her body wet with perspiration as if she had just emerged from a Turkish bath.
Then her brother helped her to don the artificial cock: slipping its thick straps between her crotch and knotting it tightly around her hips. The monstrous length bob bled in the air as Jill came back to where Angela was nakedly spreadeagled and gripped her new "growth" proudly.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked the girl. "Doesn't it give you a thrill to see me wearing such a thing? And in just a few moments I'm going to push it right up into your tight little quim!"
Angela trembled. "It's too big," she said in a small, frightened voice. "It'll tear me, Jill-it won't go in-!"
Jill smiled at her. "It may surprise you to know that I've actually pushed it into Alan's arse!" she told the amazed girl. "We've spent many happy hours reversing our sexes: Alan playing the woman while I fuck him with this!" She touched the tip of the weapon and ran her fingers majestically along its thick, wicked-looking span.
Then Alan helped to hoist her onto the contraption which held Angela so inescapably and Jill lowered her body over the girl's-fitting her dildo carefully between Angela's thighs.
Her hands slipped beneath the girl's bum and, fondling her fingers into the divide, Jill felt for Angela's cunt-lips. They were already pulled apart by the attitude of her legs, and Jill, fitting her thumbs firmly into the gash, easily stretched the flesh-folds to their widest extent.
She wriggled her hips until the phallus' pointed crest moved into Angela's outer lips, then skillfully transferred her fingers to it and commenced to push the hardened rubber deeper and deeper into the girl's slick quim.
Jill surged forward, making the dildo penetrate to its hilt: ignoring the frantic cries with which Angela tried to dissuade her.
The pain which Angela had suffered when the shaft was sunk the first two inches was almost unbearable; she writhed in exquisite agony, but was unable to prevent a sudden discharge of soft, runny spunk from oozing out of her cunt and lubricating Jill's "cock".
Once more, the girl experienced an uncanny mixture of pain and pleasure: it was practically impossible to know where the one sensation ended and the other began .,.
Though she needed no encouragement, Jill seemed to be spurred on by the milky fluid which Angela had expelled. Some of it trickled onto her fingers (still in place around the circumference of Angela's slit) and she redoubled her efforts-fucking harder and harder at the enraged hole.
The cord which attached her dildo to her loins was digging thrillingly into her own sex; and Jill felt her cunt discharging as she let her mind take on the fantasy that she was a man-that she did possess this vibrant penis-that it was made of flesh and blood!
And now that it was bulging deeply within Angela's vagina, Jill's passion mounted to the point where she could no longer distinguish between her body and the girl's....
Alan, meanwhile, had lifted himself up onto the board behind Angela's head and was lowering his body down so that his leather-clad cock rubbed against Angela's mouth. Jill made room for her brother, twisting herself sideways on top of the girl; her head and shoulders hanging over the side of the structure.
Alan, his hands moving onto Angela's breasts and fondling angrily, roughly at the melons, crouched with his knees on either side of the girl's face. He rested his head on Jill's contracting buttocks, his arms tucked beneath his body.
Almost beside herself with horror and ecstasy at this bizarre method of coupling, Angela-the crushing weight of Alan's loins almost suffocating her-opened her mouth to gasp air ... and was obliged to work her lips against the slick leather of Alan's underpants in order to breathe.
She could feel the man's prick straining beneath its kinky garment-the tight leather briefs squeezing his horny meat so that it could scarcely pulse (let alone move freely within its confines).
And Angela realized that her lips were actually deriving pleasure from moving against them!
Perhaps it was the knowledge that she had been so humiliated by the couple, and had travelled so close to the insane limits of sexual pleasure under their tuition, that nothing mattered any more. She could, with her new-found (though involuntary) freedom, obtain a certain sensual satisfaction from the most un-likely sources of stimulation....
Angela began to lick tentatively over the black leather, her lips slithering wetly along the swelling which indicated Alan's cock.
And although he could-surely-only sense the pressure of her mouth through the thick rawhide, Alan rode his loins much faster on her mouth: masturbating his prick on the helplessly bound girl until it started to throb out its climax.
Into the leather pants he creamed his seed ... the hard, glossy material receiving his spunk and seeming to tighten around his cock more bindingly than ever; as Alan, his lips sucking into the flesh of Jill's bottom, shot out the fat globules of sperm....
Jill's dildo was coursing in and out of Angela's cunt, her soaking crotch bumping again and again into the girl's-her fingers scratching wildly into the tense dumplings of Angela's arse.
And Angela was babbling, scarcely aware that she was crying aloud:
"I don't want to be untied! Don't untie me, please don't untie me!! Keep me chained up forever! I don't want to be free! Do whatever you want with me, but don't untie me!"
Her mind splitting off into two distinct sections: one yearning for complete domination, the other observing from a relatively calm distance and suffering her masochism: Angela plunged to her climax. A longer, more abandoned spunking than she'd ever experienced....
She was still arching her cunt up into Jill's dildo when the door crashed open and Peter Williams hurtled into the room-a cry of disgust and anger wrenched from his lips as his eyes met the perverted and obscenely degrading tableau.
* * *
Angela's arms and legs had been freed from their fastenings and the girl had been led, walking trance-like between Jill and Alan, to the bed. She stretched out, eyes closed as if they were too heavy for her to keep open, and immediately reassumed the starfish shape of her hands and feet: supplicating her naked body in an attitude of utter abandonment.
Peter, now stripped to his underpants, felt his prick growing hot and stiff as he gazed upon her. There was no longer any room in his heart for compassion. At the moment Angela represented to him nothing more than an object on which to vent his rising lust.
"I can see you're ready to begin," Jill commented tartly. Her eyes lifted slowly from Peter's obvious bulge and stared into his face.
What must it be like to have her kind of mind? Peter wondered fleetingly. And then remembered that he wasn't, at the present moment, so very far removed from her in his desires and in his disregard for human dignity. He brushed the thought away quickly.
Jill was still wearing her dildo, and Peter was struck by the intense ambiguity in the girl's sexual make-up. How did it happen that some people developed in such a perverted way? She caressed the weapon, noting the boy's interest.
"Don't pretend you're disgusted!" she said softly. "Not any more ... You're rather intrigued, aren't you? You're wondering what it's like to be a real Aphrodite...." She moved her body until the tip of the rubber shaft brushed against Peter's thigh. "Maybe I'll give you a nice surprise later on...."
She left the hint unresolved, but Peter's cock leapt inside his pants, his brain afire with sudden heat. Before Jill could say any more, he pulled the briefs off-dragging them savagely down his legs.
"Very powerful!" Jill whispered approvingly. She rubbed her dildo meaningfully to and fro until it touched Peter's horny pick. He tensed, un-nameable desires pulsing through his body.
While they were engaged in this sexy flirtation, Alan had wriggled himself beneath Angela's passive frame and was now practically covered by the girl's body. He was busying his hands at her buttocks, stretching the soft cheeks apart and then sliding slightly downwards to maneouvre his cock between the hot, deeply creased valley.
He strongly resented Peter's presence but was obliged to admit that there was little he and Jill could do to get rid of the boy. And after his initial rage, Alan consoled himself with the thought that he might possibly make an interesting addition to their menage. For some time he had been considering the extension of his activities to include male models: and although Alan loathed the idea that he was being blackmailed, he promised himself that he would make the best of a bad situation....
At least he would show Peter that he knew a great deal more about using a girl's body than he did!
Alan gripped his weapon with one hand and used the other to keep Angela's arse prised open. Her rear hole was already well-lubricated by the come which had trickled down from Angela's cunt-and it required .only a little patience and effort for Alan to work his prick well into the beautifully tight orifice.
His hands came round to the girl's hips and he began to thrust them downwards, at the same time urging his own loins up-until he felt the entire length of his rigid tool slip sweetly into Angela's forbidden entrance.
She came to life as the shaft penetrated her arsehole, opening her eyes but keeping her arms and legs splayed out so that her body formed a tempting X-shape.
"Come and fuck me, Peter!" Angela cried suddenly. "Look-I'm so helpless, I can't move an inch! See how my hands and feet are tied? You could do anything you wanted with me-I couldn't stop you!"
Peter frowned, his eyes running over Angela's unfettered limbs, realising that the girl truly believed she was still in bondage!
His throat dry, the saliva refusing to flow, he moved to the bed, seeing from between Angela's wide-open thighs Alan's prick as it pulsed stiffly in and out of the girl's arse.
The sensation of moving in slow-motion through a dream suddenly left him. Peter flung himself down on top of Angela's body, his mouth hungrily seeking hers, his hands reaching for her breasts.
"I'm helpless!" she whispered against his lips. "So terribly helpless! Fuck me, darling-fuck me while I'm unable to stop you!"
He ran his hands from her tits to her shoulders; felt the flesh in rough and urgent fondlings; thrust them back to her breasts again, then roamed his fingers lasciviously all over the front of her body: pressing them finally into the inside of her thighs.
His prick was already rubbing against Angela's clitoris-sticking into her fully-distended cunt-slit-and Peter fumbled it down a little until he could feel it sinking wonderfully into the girl's wringing-wet pussy.
To its limit the shaft disappeared inside her red-holed slit, Peter's cock touching-through the flimsy membrane separating Angela's quim from her arsehole-the equally hard penis which Alan was fucking into the girl's bottom.
Together, the men screwed their respective ways into Angela's yielding body. They raged their pricks furiously in and out of her cunt and arse: sandwiching the girl between their bodies and fondling insatiably at her flesh-Peter attending to Angela's thighs (caressing the sleek skin over and over again) and Alan rubbing her buttocks.
The thought which had been growing steadily in Angela's mind for some minutes now burst into full flower: she was purely an instrument of pleasure for the male sex! She had no purpose in life other than to act as a captive slave for their lust!
And this fate seemed to Angela a truly satisfying one. It meant that she relinquished her free will, abandoned her moral and physical freedom completely.
The excitement which this strange yet profound emotion generated within the girl was intense. Angela gave herself up to it with the melting sensation of surrender coursing through her veins. She kept her cunt and arse muscles totally relaxed; letting Peter and Alan fuck her most private orifices and do with her whatever their intincts suggested....
Seeing-the three of them in such a thrilling and uninhibited coupling, Jill felt her cunt juices beginning to flow again.
She fingered her dildo, wondering how she was going to prise her way between them and have a portion of the girl for herself. Then she had a brilliant idea. Of course! There was no need for her to separate them at all-even if such a thing were possible!
Jill remembered her vague promise to Peter ... straightway reached out for the large jar of Vaseline which lay on the dressing table (ready for emergencies such as this) and smeared the greasy ointment liberally over the length of her phallus.
Then, moving as carefully and quietly as possible, the girl knelt between Peter's out-flung thighs. He was lying with his legs on top of Angela's-his muscles twitching as he rammed his prick in and out of her cunt.
Jill caressed the cheeks of his arse until she had opened the boy's backside fully. With one hand gripping her dildo and the other stretching Peter's left cheek apart, the girl adjusted her position so that the rubber head of her shaft was directed unerringly at his anus.
She felt his arse-cheeks trying to clench shut, but by raking her fingernails firmly into the hollow, Jill was able to keep them prised apart.
Steadily, she began to insert the crown of her imitation cock into him....
Peter started to protest most vigorously as the girl tenaciously eased die hard, thick rubber into his arse-hole. He realized, however, that the only way he could be sure of thrusting her away entailed removing his prick from Angela's cunt.
And the delicious drag of her wet-walled pussy was far too exquisite for him to seriously contemplating doing that!
Perhaps-and here Peter's senses became terribly confused-perhaps, since he'd already shown them that he secretly hungered for their kind of sex, it wouldn't be too awful or make him lose too much self-respect if he permitted Jill to-
At that precise moment he felt the full thrust of the dildo into his arse!
Peter yelped involuntarily-a staggering pain shooting through his intestines as the unfamiliar, much too thick intruder penetrated him to its rubber hilt.
His eyes misted and blurred, the hot tears filling them as he suffered the fearful experience of having his anus almost ripped open by the frightful phallus.
Fortunately, the agony lasted only for a few moments. Once Jill had eased it halfway out of his hole and pushed it back into place a couple of times, Peter realized that he could, after all, contain the mammoth dildo and even derive a certain pleasure from its fucking action.
The ultimate indignity of being fucked by a beautiful, naked young girl gradually ceased to possess any true meaning for him. The actual experience itself was so novel and beyond all the rules of "normal" sex patterns that Peter slowly relaxed and learnt to regard it as an experience: something to be borne and treated as nothing more than a bizarre but not altogether unpleasant experiment....
Certainly, the heavy weight of Jill's breasts as they pushed into his back, just below the shoulders, was exciting enough. He could feel the girl's nipples-ripe and stiff-on his bare flesh; their round hardness rubbing as Jill gripped him around the waist and writhed her body up and down.
Her hands slipped lower ... until Peter could feel her fingers toying insistently with his prick as it fucked in and out of Angela's cunt.
She fondled the rigid stem beautifully, tapping and caressing it until Peter was stimulated beyond all endurance.
The combination of Angela's tight quim, Jill's cramming, omnipotent dildo up his arse-and, of course, the itchy sensation of Alan's cock as it rubbed against his through the paper-thin sheath of Angela's vagina, was suddenly too much for the boy.
He jerked his prick fiercely in a spasm of pure anguish into Angela's cunt-and sent a great stream of burning spunk gushing through to her womb.
The white, milky lava spurted steadily: a long rushing flow which caused his cock to jerk maniacally and throb like a thing possessed.
And since the frantic orgasm of his prick could be felt by Alan through Angela's filmy dividing walls, and since the man was, in any case, being driven to the point of climax by the liquid tightness of the girl's shithole, Angela felt herself suddenly engulfed at both intimate orifices!
Her arse and cunt were almost simultaneously flooded with rich male juice: the eruption of Alan's sperm up the passage of her backside convincing the girl that she had just received a particularly violent enema!
She released her own, thinner, cream-and it felt as if she was coming from both her cunt and her cruelly-stretched arsehole!
Her clitoris tickled against Peter's shaft-its itchy, erotic pulsing on the boy's still-spunking prick sending Angela into a delirious, swooning frenzy. Every atom of her body was seized by the experience; shaken up and jolted into a state of excrutiating ecstasy.
And now that she felt the trio beneath her coursing through the final stages of their orgasms, I ill needed only to grip her dildo with one hand and draw its straps more tightly into her quim for her, too, to spunk out her climax.
Frigging Peter's agitated cock between the clenched fingers of her other hand, the girl started to soak the leather cord she loved so well: her open-lipped cunt spewing forth its rich harvest of runny dew....
Afterwards, when his breath (but not his mind) had returned to normal, Peter lay on the bed in a naked tangle of twined limbs and flesh and began to wonder just what he was going to do about his relationship with Angela.
He felt too steeped in this den of debauchery to look at the problem objectively-for the moment, at any rate. If Angela had been driven to the very brink of insanity by Jill and Alan's ministrations, then he, too, was not so very far from the borderline.
They had stirred impulses which he now wished with all his heart had remained dormant within his mind: locked safely away where they could do relatively little harm in the depths of his unconscious.
But now that they had been dragged to the surface there was nothing he could do to suppress them. Peter knew that his fond image of himself as a "normal, healthy, extroverted sexual animal"-his mission in life, via his writing, to preach the cause of frank and rewarding sexual relationships-had been irrevocably shattered.
How could he go on pretending, least of all to himself, that he believed in straightforward and completely heterosexual experiences when he had just been totally captivated by the most bizarre and perfidious orgy imaginable?
Peter saw that it was impossible. That his vision of himself as an unneurotic, well-adjusted male was lost to him forever.
He felt that he could never again, not honestly, at least, enjoy a normal sexual experience. He would always desire the added fillip of a third or fourth party to his love-making. And he would never be able to erase from his mind that picture of Angela: bound hand and foot, helpless, a sacrificial victim....
He had succeeded only too well in proving to Angela that Jill and Alan were a terrible, corrupting influence. Upon his shoulders, as much as upon the evil brother and sister, lay the responsibility for the girl's twisted and perverted outlook....
Peter closed his eyes. And before his red-rimmed retina there danced a succession of pornographic images: enticing, seductive, stimulating.
Perhaps it was all a dream, a brief lapse into madness. When he reopened them the room would change into his own bedroom; Angela, Jill and Alan would be gone....
The hope grew. Peter held his breath, afraid to move, fearful of the least sound that would indicate the of his fellow-orgiasts.
