Laureen wrapped her hands around a hot pink fleshy rubber dildo with a leather strap dangling from it.
Irma tried to keep from choking. She had never used a dildo before. She was one of those lesbians with such a talented tongue and fingers that she hadn't ever needed to. And there had been no complaints up until now.
"I don't know," she said, reluctantly.
"Come on," Laureen urged, "do anything you like with me. But when I want to get fucked ... I want to get fucked!"
Irma knew it was now or never. She would have to show Laureen who was boss and she was going to have to do it right now.
She stood up and calmly strolled across the room. Then she leaned over, brought her hard hand high into the air and brought it down sharply on Laureen's petal pink cheek.
"Oww!" the woman protested, bringing one hand up and rubbing the place that hurt. "What did you do that for? We ain't even fucked yet."
"I don't like dildoes," Irma said, "they're shaped like cocks. And I don't like cocks. Men have cocks. I don't want no men coming between you and me." Laureen stood there staring at her rubbing her red, throbbing cheek. "Is that clear?"
Laureen stared at her and rubbed harder.
"I asked you if that was clear, cunt?" Irma shouted, savagely yanking Laureen's hair back until the woman let out a blood curdling scream.
"Okay, baby," she said, in pained outbursts of vowels and syllables. She was starting to like Irma a lot. She was even meaner than her husband.
* * *
House Of Wax
CHAPTER ONE
"Damn!" Dina let out as she dropped the hot curler on the floor. The thing struck the hard linoleum with a telltale clank and rolled under the swivel chair.
"Sorry," she said politely, trying to cover her up her goof. She wasn't supposed to swear in front of the customers. That was a rule of the house.
Miss Dagmar, the salon owner and head watch dog would not approve. She looked around quickly to see if anyone else had heard her. Nobody looked up from what they were doing.
Renaldo, the salon's premiere stylist, was busy combing out one of the larger dowager types that so often came to the shop. She was a spooky-looking silver-haired lady who always brought her poodle. Sometimes, she had insisted that he have a manicure.
And, of course, Dina was enlisted to do it. She was low man on the totem pole at Miss Dagmar's and all the shit work fell to her. Like what she was doing right now. Taking boiling hot curlers out of Miss Weisskopf's mop. The woman had had her hair dyed about sixty shades of red, never seeming to be satisfied with any one of them.
"Oh, dear," the woman said, looking in the mirror, "I'm afraid that's never going to go with my gold lame evening bag. The color is just a shade off. Better do me again, Dina, don't you think?"
Dina faked a smile and bent over to retrieve the curler under the woman's chair. She would have liked to stuff it down her mouth. Re-dying this dame's hair would set her back another half hour and she was already forty minutes behind schedule.
Miss Dagmar didn't like her to lapse in her work. And, considering what she paid her, that was asking a lot.
Not that Dina minded the work. In fact, she was lucky to get a job. She hadn't exactly graduated with honors from her high school. She hadn't exactly graduated at all.
Being an apprentice and all around hand in a beauty salon may not have been 'her idea of a dream job, but it paid her bills. Some of them, anyway. .
Dina steered the battleship of a woman into the shampoo area and sat her down in a chair.
"Would you mind getting me a glass of something cool, dear?" the woman said, tilting her fire engine red head of hair and blinking at her through enormous hooded eyelids.
"Ice tea?" the girl said, sitting her in the chair and pulling a towel Up around her neck.
"With a little sherry in it, if you please," the woman said, closing her eyes and wiggling herself comfortably into the chair.
The place was posh all right. That was one of the things that had attracted Dina to it in the first place. Overly, overly decorated in purple plush and pink velvet. The place looked like a gaudy bathroom. Everything was purple and pink. Even the toilet tissue.
And of course, there was a bar for the customers. Dina made her way to it and passed by Renaldo's work area.
He was a fine hunk of male stuff all right. Barrel-chested, but tall enough to hold it well. And his arms were extremely thick and well-muscled. Dina figured he must do a lot of working out in the gym between permanents.
She was well aware that a lot of men in the beauty salon were gay. But not Renaldo, not from the stories she heard. He had plowed about every operator there and they loved to tell about it. Dina had already gotten an ear full of gossip about him before she even met him.
"That's some Romeo over there," the manicurist told her as the two of them stood over the sink together washing their hands. "I was only out with him a couple of times. But he certainly left his mark on me."
Dina licked her lips a little and let the woman continue.
"He wasted no time getting me into the sack, I can tell you," she said, reaching for the liquid soap. I'm telling you that cause you're new here, Dina."
"Thanks," Dina said, smiling and grabbing for the hand towel.
"Just watch yourself," she said, pulling the other end of the same hand towel and drying her hands with it. "The man is solid TNT."
It sounded good to Dina. Anything that had anything to do with good-looking men and sex sounded good to her. And Renaldo qualified.
What was it about Latin types anyway? The guy had the waviest hair, the darkest most flashing eyes. And those hands! Muscles and hairy. And he moved them around so artistically.
It was hard to take her eyes off him. She would walk past his stand, carrying a load of fresh towels to the linen closet and make a special point of wiggling her hips as she sauntered by.
Or sticking her tits out whenever she went up to him to tell him his customer had arrived for her afternoon wash and set.
Growing bolder, she even tried winking at him whenever she met him at the sink or the wastebasket or in front of the water cooler.
Nothing. Absolutely no response at all.
What was wrong with this hunk?
Dina was reasonably sure it wasn't on account of her face or figure. She may not have attracted the brainy set in her high school, but the guys on all the teams ogled her plenty. She felt their eyes burn through her pleated plaid skirts whenever she walked down the hall between classes.
And locker rooms, after school and at lunch time, were downright embarrassing. Guys practically tripped over each other to squeeze past her. The locker aisles were so damned narrow, and there was always much pushing and shoving. It was during recess after lunch on her second day of high school that she got felt up for the first time.
She had a pretty good idea of who it was, too.
Gary Kline, center on the high school basketball team, kept a really neat locker just next to hers. Her locker was as untidy as a charity thrift shop on sale day. She was trying to figure out her locker combination, twisting the stupid thing around every which way, feeling the pressure of a jillion bodies slithering behind her, when her locker suddenly snapped open. She was so shocked she banged the door all the way open and hit old Gary Kline square in the bean.
He let out a short oath and looked up to see her standing there with her mouth open. His enraged expression melted into a nice smile as he nodded to her.
"Oh, hi," he said, above the din of students milling around them. "I'm Gary."
"I'm sorry," Dina said back. He laughed a little and stood nonchalantly staring at her.
Probably he's staring at my tits, she thought to herself as she trained her eyes on his Adam's apple. It was the most gorgeous bobbing ball she had ever seen in a man's throat. She knew who Gary Kline was all right.
Every girl in the school knew who he was. Big, tall, auburn-haired and humpy. A muscle-bound knockout on all counts.
Well, she thought, fumbling with the stack of books on the top shelf of her locker, I'll just have to give him something to stare at.
She knew she could do it, too. Those freshman knockers of hers were the envy of most seniors. And some seniors from the nearby college. They were a hot pair of splendidly well-rounded scoops of tit flesh. Adorned by upturned rosy red nipples that grew rough and pointed whenever she got the least bit aroused.
Like now. She could feel those nipples jutting up into the tight confines of her bra. The bra her mother made her wear, though she often took it off after lunch. Well, she had to have something to amuse herself with in study hall.
She would sit real close to the front and watch the response from the guys walking in and out of the room. They usually didn't fail to notice how she sat there, arching her back hard and pressing those gigantic mounds of hers onto the top of the desk. Without a bra on, their shape was well in evidence.
That sort of thing got her attention. Attention her grades never got her. Well, she figured, some people had it in the head, and some people had it elsewhere. She was one of the latter.
Little displays like the one in study hall always made her cunt tingle. She found it difficult to resist not reaching down and yanking her pussy lips out just to give the hot little slit between them a good airing.
Gary Kline hadn't failed to notice her either. He had a thing for natural blondes. And if her hair color was any indication, she was a natural blonde all right. He wanted to find out, and had resolved from that first encounter, when she slammed her locker door against his head, to make her conquest one of his top priorities.
That was very much on his mind that day as he was thrown toward her trying to get to Geography. He wasn't exactly thrown toward her. He was shoved, but with a little nifty foot work, the kind he had learned on the basketball court, he managed to plow right into her chest as she turned to go.
"Ooooffff," she said as he thudded on top of her.
"Sorry!" he said, turning around and rubbing her a little with his his elbow. God, copping a feel in the hall was so demeaning. But where else was he gonna do it? The girl didn't play on his basketball team.
But that little feel intrigued him. Heightened his desire to get to know her better. Her warm, ample bosom felt so soft and receptive under his arm pit on that moment of impact.
He had never been much for girls with brains anyway. And tins one really more than compensated by the size of those tits. Those hard, uplifting knockers. Christ, the girl could spear fish with those things.
He shook his head as he backed away from her grinning from ear to ear. Fortunately, he could blush on command, and he managed to do so, to cover the fact that he was hot for the young lady. Hot enough to fake that little accident.
Not long after that, he called her to go out with him. It was definitely a clandestine date. He told her in no uncertain terms that no one, but no one was supposed to know about the two of them going out.
Dina wasn't much taken with the idea of hiding and sneaking around with him. But, she was so eager to go out with the gorgeous hunk, she consented.
"Well go someplace quiet," he said, figuring to drive her straight to the cemetery on the outskirts of town.
"Like to a movie?" she said. The girl wasn't bright, so it took her a while to catch on.
She caught on soon enough though, when his car headed straight for the old two lane black top highway and the city limits. He turned his parking lights on and aimed his fathers car off the road and onto a narrow hard-packed cow trail.
"Where are we?" Dina said, screwing up her pert little nose and gazing out into the blackness.
"In the country," he said, parking the car near a mausoleum.
"I like the country," she said, wondering what the hell he had in mind taking her to the country in the middle of the night. There really wasn't much to see out the windows.
"I thought you might," the lanky boy said, leaning back into the seat and throwing one arm up behind her. "It was nice of you to bring me here," she said, feeling a little uncertain of what was to come next.
"I don't know," the guy said, staring at the dash board and trying to work up a little courage. "That sort of depends."
"On what?" Dina replied, forgetting how this whole conversation had gotten started.
"On you," he said, moving over a little closer and feeling the wool of her pleated plaid skirt brush against his denim pants.
"See, I can be nice," he said, modulating his voice to sound nice, "or I can be kind of a mean bugger."
He lowered his voice to sound mean.
"Nooooooo...." the blonde doll said back up to him, her cornflower blue eyes widening.
"Yes I can," he said, "and you're about to find out what I mean."
Gary turned a little and stared at the front of her sweater. Stared at the place where her twin peaks were rising and falling with each hot, rushing breath.
"Ohhhh," she said, the word seeping slowly out of her mouth. She was beginning to catch on. The guy wanted her to put out. To come across with the goods. That's why his eyes were drilling borer holes into her tits. That's why he had brought her way, way out here, about a mile from Mars. So that they could be alone. Alone and together and....
Her thoughts were interrupted by a hand placed on her knee, real high up.
She felt it press against her woolen skirt, then worm its way underneath.
"Ohhhhh," she said, as it spidered up, up to the very brink of her panty line.
"Oh, Dina," the heavy-breathing guy next to her blurted out, "I am so hot for you. You wouldn't believe how much I've wanted to be here ... with you ... alone."
"Well, you got your wish," Dina said, wondering if the outline of her nipples could be seen under her blouse. They were so hard, she was afraid they might slice through any minute. And she'd be sitting there with two lengthwise gashes in her blouse.
Gary got right down to the business of stroking those nipples. He unbuttoned her blouse real slow as he felt his impetuous cock hurl against his underwear. Christ, that thing was misbehaving. Or maybe it was just working the way it should.
Either way, Dina couldn't help but notice how large the front of his pants had gotten in the last few minutes.
She knew she should have resisted, should have fought off his advances with all her strength, and threatened to tell everyone he had taken her out if he so much as hinted ... but what the hell. What purpose would she serve by resisting?
She would probably miss out on a big thrill. He was the center on the school basketball team. College-bound. And so damned cute! Dina knew for sure she wasn't college material. She would stay right here in this one-limo town till she rotted. Or maybe, till she married someone like Gary Kline.
The prospect loomed large in her frontal lobes. She eyed Gary's rock hard pecker which was looming large in the front of his pants. It was at that very moment, she made up her mind to lie back and enjoy it. And she did.
The guy was all hands and hot as a bar-b-cue in July. He cupped one hand around her high, upturned tit and pressed his mouth against it. She could feel his hot, tantalizing breath steam through the cotton of her bra.
Somehow, he found her bra hook. She had made it a little easy on him, by wearing a bra that unhooked in front. He yanked the twin cups of that bra apart greedily and dove down into the crevice between her monstrous tits and buried his head like an ostrich.
"Jeeeeezus!" he said, twisting himself every which way. He was afraid he was going to shoot his load right then and there. Cream in his fucking jeans.
He couldn't decide if he wanted to hump her tits or stick his cock down her throat or just fuck the shit out of her without even taking the rest of her clothes off.
A bargain was struck somewhere in his head and he resolved to find her pussy and stick his meat into it. He burrowed his hand up under those flimsy nylon panties and found a hot, moist slit hidden under a downy patch of moss. He parted the lips curtain and snuggled his long basketball player fingers up inside.
He screwed his fingers around a little, exploring the terrain. The walls of the girl's cunt felt unbelievably satiny and wet.
"Oh, God," Dina cried, as he wiggled his fingers inside her. She had never felt so hot in her whole life. She hoped it would lead to something big. Like an early engagement.
But the something big that Gary had in mind was still banging against his zipper. He reached his hand down and sprang the metal thing down with one stroke. Then, he took her hand in a fatherly manner and brought it down to where his bobbing dick stood up at attention.
Just feeling the cock head made Dina wince with delight. The thing was so plump and springy under her hand. The bullet-shaped tip was a real revelation. She hadn't the slightest idea how those things looked when they got hard.
"You want it in you?" the boy said, slobbering out of the side of his mouth.
Dina figured that if it felt anything like his fingers did, she did. She most certainly did.
She shook her head a quick, intense affirmative.
"Would you...." Gary gulped on his words. He was so eager to speak them, and he couldn't actually believe he was finally getting a chance. "Would you play with it?"
She certainly would. She. found the cock slit an inviting recess to dab her fingertips into. The tacky semen that stayed on her fingers added to the slipperiness of his round, firm shaft. She slid her hands up and down a few times lightly.
"Harder, harder," the boy said, swallowing hard and clutching the girls nipples like a life preserver. He knew he was going to go down any minute if he didn't.
Dina gripped the boy's steely hard schlong with both hands as he dug his fingers up her slithering, wet pussy. She pumped his meat as hard as she could, leaving no pore, no nerve ending, no hair follicle unattended.
"God that feels good," Gary called out to the roof of the car. He had a pretty good idea at that point that he wouldn't make it into her cunt with his cock. Whatever she was doing just now felt too good.
Dina had exactly the same impression. She hugged his pecker with her two hands and pumped him furiously. Her cunt twinged and throbbed with the delightful wringing and agitating his fingers were giving it.
"Oh, golly," she said, as her lips enfolded around his fingers, enveloping them and then ... her insides heaved up a huge white hot sigh and spat it down into her guts. Her guts tripped a lever high up in her cunt that sent a wall of watery juice down her cunt slit.
"Oh, noooo," Gary cried as he felt his hips leave the car seat and his cock go off like a shot gun. His balls had been gurgling with anticipation for the last few seconds of her hot jerking movements, and now, inevitably, they had surged a load of white come down and out Ms pecker chute.
"God, what's that?" Dina said, as the boy's jism spewed out in a neat arc and aimed for her lap.
"Oh, fuck," he said, feeling his balls still banging against his rock hard shaft. "I just came."
"Me, too," Dina said, feeling a little sad the whole thing had been over so quickly. She hadn't even gotten him to say he loved her.
The two of them sat there a moment and Gary reached for the glove compartment. He pulled out a handful of tissues and began wiping her skirt.
"Don't," she said holding his wrist. "I want it for a souvenir'. '
"What are you talking about?" the boy said, looking at her as though she were an alien mushroom that grown up overnight inside his shoe, "huh?"
"I don't know how I'm ever gonna get anybody to ever believe that Gary Kline had a date with Dina Kaye if you don't leave that on," she said in a gulp.
"Uh, Dina," the boy said, keeping his voice low and stern as he possibly could. "I don't think you understand. You see, this isn't exactly a date...."
"Okay, call it a ride, then."
"Well, it's not like I took you out at all, see...."
"What are you trying to tell me?" Dina said, feeling slightly betrayed all of a sudden. As though she were sitting next to Benedict Arnold.
"I'm going steady with Laurie Schultz, and you know it."
The boy crossed his arms over his chest and sat as rigid as a statue.
"Oh," Dina said, trying to tidy her skirt a little. It had gotten pretty wrinkled in the melee. "I see."
"I like you, you know that," he said, trying to be nice, "but I can't let the other kids at school find out."
"Find out you took a dim bulb like Dina Kaye out into the woods to see what you get off her?" Dina felt herself fuming like a camp fire.
"That's a little rough," the boy said, taking offense. He didn't mind having sex with this girl, but he couldn't take her bad-mouthing him.
"Take me home," she said, feeling near tears.
He pulled the car out of the cemetery and drove straight to her house without speaking another word.
That's pretty much how her whole high school career had gone. With boys.
Nobody asked her out on an actual, honest to goodness date. They treated her like she was dog's lunch. Always trying to sneak around with her, behind their girlfriend's backs. Into the country. Out behind the barn. Back of the gym. Under the bleachers.
Of course, Gary Kline had gone off to college. And she went off to beauty school. Gary graduated with a four year basketball scholarship under his belt.
She flunked out of beauty school the first year with a bad taste in her mouth. But what else could she do but work in a salon? Thank God Miss Dagmar had come along when she did.
And Miss Dagmar was coming along right now. Walking straight at her with her plucked eyebrows raised straight up and a scowl under them.
"Dina!" she shouted in her harshest king of the mountain tone, "what the hell did you do to Mrs. Pinkston's hair? It's green!"
CHAPTER TWO
Dina froze in her tracks and almost dropped the spray nozzle she was holding. Had her mind wandered so far she forgot what she was putting on Mrs. Pinkston's hair?
Christ, the bitch complained if there were bobby pins on the floor, she'd bring a fucking lawsuit down on her if her hair was tampered with!
And that Dagmar! What an evil bitch she was. Always on her back. And about the silliest things. Like what time she got into work. Where she sat. How long she sat. And now, what she had put on Mrs. Pinkston's dumb ass head.
Turkey shit, she wanted to shout, but the look on Dagmar's face inhibited from saying anything but, "yes, Miss Dagmar?"
"That woman is about to blow a gasket," she screeched loud enough for everyone in the salon to hear, "she's acting like a loony bird."
Dina turned off the hot water and dried her hands on her uniform.
"What the hell did you do to her?"
"I ... I ... don't know," Dina said, wishing to hell her eyes didn't always moist up under stressful situations, "I can't remember. I think, just some shampoo and ... she looked over to the ledge of the sink where about a hundred bottles of various sizes and shapes were lined up. A large aquarium sat next to the bottles on the sill of the only window in the entire place.
"Oh, God," she said, going to the front of the aquarium and picking up a small orange and brown box. "Could I have put this on her?" she said, blinking back the disbelief.
"You idiot!" the woman crowed like a wild rooster, "You put turtle food on Mrs. Pinkston's hair!!!!"
"I didn't know ... I. " Dina's voice trailed off in a mix of scrambled words and tears.
"Young lady," Dagmar said, standing over her and glaring down at her with the look of a Nazi drill sergeant on her face, "I've had about all I can take of your fumblin, bumbling, stupid, idiotic, jackass ... '
"All right, all right," Dina said, turning away so the tears wouldn't be seen. "I get the picture," she managed before erupting in a wet rush of tears.
"And stop crying in front of the customers," the woman snarled.
That Dagmar! She was such a rough lady. So big and with that bleached out platinum hair of hers and those dark, sinister eyebrows, so arched and cruel looking. She sure could put a scare into Dina. Like nobody else she knew. The woman could be an evil witch if she wanted to, that was for sure.
"I think it's time I taught you a little lesson in how to conduct yourself," the woman said, stepping up to her and grabbing her hard by the shaking shoulder. "Go into the linen closet and wait for me while I undo this tangle of shit you got us into with Mrs. Pinkston. And stay there until I come in. Now, take off your apron and get moving."
The bitch had meant every word of it. She was the last word at the shop, the lady with the gravy. The final say belonged to her. There was no bucking it.
She screwed her nose up and wiped it off. Then, shoulders set firmly, she marched toward the linen closet. She hoped to hell that whatever kind of reading out she was going to get wouldn't last too long. She didn't like lectures. She had never understood them very well.
She walked down the row of operators like she had seen a movie star do once in a film about death row and capital punishment. She stood as tall as she could, even imagining she had square shoulder pads in her uniform, but she couldn't hide the redness in her eyes. Or the fact that she was scared shitless.
Past ladies getting comb outs, past young women screaming at their operators for some botched job of cutting, past operators shifting their weight from one tired foot to another as they stuck curlers and oils and sprays and hot wax and all kinds of painful, disgusting beauty preparations all over them.
And finally, past Renaldo.
He was the only one to look up. And when he saw the redness in her eyes, he spoke to her for the first time. Even walked away from his client to do it.
"Dina?" he said, holding his rat tail comb against his tree trunk leg. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she faked, trying to give him a little smile and a hip swing or two as she passed. She had been trying that for so long and it hadn't worked. So how come today, with her eyes looking like road maps that had been left in the rain, and her face running streaked with mascara and eye liner, how come today right now, he turned to talk to her. Actually seemed interested. Life was such a crummy deal.
He wouldn't let her go. He touched her shoulders with his hands. Those big, smooth, capable hands. The ones she was dying to have on her any time, any time at all. Except today. Today she was poison.
"You're crying," the man said, looking at the wet limp dishrag of a face. The upturned petal face of the girl with the most stacked little body on the block. Maybe the neighborhood.
"Oh," Dina said, feeling as though she would like to fall down a hole with this guy. Preferably the one between her legs. "I guess I am."
"What's wrong?" the man, the first kind thing he had ever said to her.
"I'm afraid I've done something real dumb," the girl said, whimpering softly and trying not to look at his crotch. She kept her eyes peeled on his open-throated white uniform shirt. The one with the jet black clusters of hair cascading out of it everywhere. Even down on his hands.
"What?" the humpy Latin said back to her, "what was it?"
"I think I'm gonna be punished for it, too," she said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her uniform. She felt grubby. Like a char maid in a poor house.
"You are?" the man said, his interest piqued by her plight.
"By the boss," she said, "You better let me go. I would like to stay and chat, I mean that, but I've got a date with Dagmar. In the linen closet."
"Ohhhhhh," the man said, with a slight rise in inflection at the end.
Renaldo knew what that meant. It had happened before. Young girls who disobeyed or angered Miss Dagmar were often treated quite roughly by her. Not a pretty thought.
Dina knew it, too. Two weeks ago, a young pedicurist was summarily upbraided right on the floor at the peak of the busy hour and slapped six ways to Sunday in front of her own customer. That had been Dagmar. Unfortunately, for the girl in question, she had been an illegal immigrant and had little recourse. She had taken her punishment. But it had torn Dina's guts out to watch it. She feared the same thing would happen to her.
"Get a grip on yourself," the lanky Latin said as he held her by her shoulders and shook her a bit.
"But I'm so scaaaarrrred," she said, looking up at him with those heart-rendering eyes of hers. "She's so big and ... I ... I don't want to lose my...."
Renaldo's customer interrupted her by clearing her throat and staring daggers at him from her swivel chair.
"Don't worry," the beefy guy said to her in a reassuring voice, "I'll protect you from her. I won't let any harm come to you."
He hurried back to his customer who was sitting there with a wet head, half cut and a clear look of annoyance on her face.
The words rung like clear chimes in her head. He said he would protect me, she thought squaring her shoulders and heading for the linen closet. What have I got to fear from that old battle axe if he's going to come to my aid? And why hadn't he ever said anything to me before now?
She did feel a little glow on. The guy was such a cunt rush! So adorable and cuddly. She felt like a million bucks, just having run into him like that! And that he said he wouldn't let any harm come to her!
Now the only thing she had to fear was Miss Dagmar. That powerhouse of bleached blonde buxomness! When people said she was the biggest thing in the beauty salon business, they weren't talking about her styling ability. She was a horse.
Six foot three inches and built like a giant coke bottle. Her breasts were as big across as Dina's forearm, and so huge she couldn't see how the woman could see her feet.
"Ouch!" she heard as she passed the massage room. One of the women was getting a pressure point massage by one of the big Swedish masseuses. Or a hot waxing.
Dina didn't know what all the beauty treatments were like in this place. There were so many different ones. But hot waxing was definitely one of the weirder ones. She passed by the rooms where they were offered for a large fee to the more well-heeled clients that frequented Miss Dagmar's. She could hear the wax bubbling on a little pot on the electric hot plate. Soon, whoever was lying under the pile of the sheets on the massage table would get a ladle full of that wax on her legs.
Or her arms, or her upper lip. Then, after a few moments, the trained operator would peel the hardening wax off, and a whole bunch of hair with it, including the hair follicle.
Not a nice thing to think about. But, then, people paid to have it done. And it was a beauty treatment. Miss Dagmar had promised her last fall, when she started there, that she would be trained in how to administer it. And, if she showed promise, she could make extra money doing it.
Dina grimaced and hurried past the rooms. She doubted very much if she would ever get a chance to do that, now. Especially considering what she had gone and done to poor Mrs. Pinkston's hair.
At least someone was on her side. Renaldo. Thank God for big, strapping Latins with hearts of gold!
Dina's resolve was firm. She would walk right into that linen closet, close the door behind her and wait. Exactly as Miss Dagmar had instructed her. Maybe she'd even calm down a little before the big blonde bitch got there.
She opened the door to the linen room and flicked on the light.-She had been in this room lots of times. High piles of soft, terry cloth towels laid out on the huge laundry bench. A wall full of bottles, ointments, goo, and various size curlers. A couple of massage machines. Back and foot vibrators they were, mostly. And other supplies. Cabinets full of supplies. Nothing special. But a great place to run and sneak a smoke once in a while.
Dina was glad she had a new package of cigarettes in her uniform. She pulled put one and smoked it down. Nineteen cigarettes later, she began pacing the floor. She wondered what time it was getting to be and why Miss Dagmar was making her wait so long.
"Bitch!" she said aloud as the door flew open.
Dagmar was framed against the outer salon. A salon that was now empty. Evidently it was after closing time. But that's not what struck her at the moment. It was Dagmar's hand. The back of it.
It wiped a swatch of hot searing pain across her cheek. And again across the other one. Even harder the second time.
"OWWWWW!!!!" Dina screeched as the blonde witch struck her.
She brought her hand up to her cheek and stared at the woman in terror.
"What was that for?" she asked, hoping the woman would take pity on her. She couldn't imagine that she deserved all this just for making someone's hair green.
"You fucking slut!" the woman said, seething with anger. She had planted her two huge matronly hands on her hips and she was leering down at the girl with a slick, evil snarl above her top row of teeth.
"You know exactly what that was for," she continued hotly.
"I do?" Dina said, trying to placate her with a little softness. She tried to keep her voice down, but it was shaking badly.
"Who do you think you are, coming on to my top operator right in front of the customers?"
"I did?" Dina said, really confused now. Maybe she meant something she had done with Renaldo. He was her top operator. But she had done nothing with Renaldo. Nothing that she could remember, except that little chat they had just before she came in here. But Miss Dagmar couldn't possibly mean that. ... or could she?
"First you go louse up that fucking Pinkston dame's head with turtle food, causing me God couldn't count the amount of trouble ... then you make cutesy eyes at Renaldo. My top man! And you ... nothing but a salon steward. A little fucking assistant. Not even an operator with a license! A little snit!!!"
"I am sorry, Miss Dagmar," Dina said, trying to appease the old bat. "I didn't realize...."
"You don't realize very much, do you?" the blonde vixen said, spitting her words at Dina like angry bullets.
"Oh, dear," the addle-brained girl said. She felt so lost and stupid right now.
"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to teach you!"
With that, the big ornery woman slammed the door behind her and lunged at the frightened girl, who was almost peeing her pants with terror. She flew across the linen bench, knocking over stacks of towels in her wake.
Dina ran around the room, trying to elude her grasp. But it was no good. The woman was just too crafty for her. And too damned big!
Christ, she was strong. Her grip constricted Dina's small wrists like a vise.
"Get down here and take what's coming to you, Bitch!" the woman commanded her.
As Dina's knees crashed to the floor, she looked up and saw the most awesome sight. From the angle where she kneeled, she could look up at the white and blonde tower of the woman who held her so Fiercely. Her enormous tits practically hid her face. But what Dina could see of is, it was a twisted, sinister mask. A mask of horror and conflict. Surely, the woman meant to kill her! What next?
"You've spoiled one of my oldest and best customers and you've violated a sacred law of Miss Dagmar's salon. You spoke to one of the operators during working hours!!!! And who did you pick? My top operator!!!!! Now eat my duty shoes, Cunt!"
Dina felt her whole body flung down onto the linoleum. Her face ended up flush on Miss Dagmar's enormous white polished slip-ons. She drooled and slobbered on them in an attempt to get away.
"Come here," the woman called, ripping the uniform off of Dina's back as she lurched away from her toward the door. "Don't think you can get away now!"
The blonde Amazon threw her prey down onto the linen bench. She grabbed some of the full-sized massage sheets and knotted them together expertly. Then, twisting and winding the sheets this way and that, she made a harness for the frightened girl and thrust her into it.
Dina felt the clothes ripped off her back by the huge woman's free hand. Then, she was aware of being slapped down onto the bench, face up. She was forced to spread her legs out as far as she could and knew from the way she was being bound up, that site was getting lashed into place. Just like a martyr at a stake. "No, pleeeeeeeease," she called out to no one.
Then, she felt the garter belt under her torn uniform skirt snap open, then off. Off and away. And her white nylons with it. She caught a little draft drifting past her cunt and she knew that it was bared now. Bared and open to the prying eyes of the white witch.
Another enormous hand came down and clutched her bra in the middle. It too was ripped off. Ripped off and tossed aside. Her tits heaved up and down nervously under the light of the overhead bulb.
This woman had her all right. Had her right where she wanted her. She gritted her teeth and wondered where the hell Renaldo was. Would he come? Would he save her? Was he to be trusted at all?
These things played around inside her head as the evil Miss Dagmar stood to one side and tightened the sheet noose around her wrists, which were being held together against the bench and stretched up over her head.
"Now, little Dina," the woman said, regaining a normal breathing pattern after all that running around. "Now I will show you what a real woman looks like. And what a real woman does. To another woman who isn't really a woman at all. But a slut!!!! Do I make myself clear?"
Dina shook her head a confused negative.
But what followed was quite clear. Miss Dagmar began to undress herself. It was absolutely shocking. She unzipped the front of her uniform to reveal a deep, wrinkled cleavage. Her tits were monstrously gigantic. Cartoon-like in their size and upsweep. Her rib cage took a turn inward, revealing a trim waist caught in a black cinch belt. And, below that, hips. Huge, rounding out-swinging hips that churned and swayed as she peeled the rest of her uniform down off her body.
A flimsy sec-through pair of white nylon panties rode roughshod over a tight, insanely lacey garter belt with long thick elastic garters. They were buttoned onto a pair of white nylons that fit over her long, tapering legs like a second skin. And under the panties, a large bush patch flashed in the light and revealed beyond a shadow of doubt what Dina had guessed all along. Miss Dagmar was not a natural blonde.
"Now little Miss Hot Stuff," the woman said, leering down at her and planting one white leather-covered shoe into the frightened girl's stomach, "I'm going to show you just how hot we can make it here at Miss Dagmar's."
With that, the woman hauled off and whacked her again. This time, across the tits. Her nipples snapped to rigid attention under the smarting blow the woman's hand landed them.
Dina's whole body shook like thunder as the big dame with the broad hand pelted her again, from the other side. Christ, that hurt!
She could crane her neck down a little and see where two giant red welts were springing up on her high, heaving tit mounds. But as she looked back at the woman to see what lay in store for her next, the lady had vanished.
Moments later, the door opened and the woman entered carrying a steaming pot that Dina hoped to hell wasn't what she thought it was.
But that vague, eucalyptus smell, the sound of the stiff stuff sloshing around in the pan. It was. It really was. It was a pan of hot wax.
Miss Dagmar couldn't be going to give her a beauty treatment! It had to be. It absolutely had to be!!! She was going to wax her. Wax her right where she lay. Wax her to death!
"Aaaiiiieeeeee!" screamed the terrified, trussed up girl. She tossed her thick natural blonde mane around and around as her head swung from side to side in the only kind of protest she could lodge at the moment.
The bad broad with the bleached hair stirred the pot around gamely as she planted her big fat foot down on Dina's trembling neck.
She stirred the steaming waxy mess around with a thick wooden ladle until an especially big dollop of it clung to the rounded end. Then, she scooped the piping hot porridge up, scraped the bottom on the edge of the pot and dished it out. Dished it out right on top of Dina's gorgeous white breast peaks.
"AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHH!' Dina let go in a hail of hot hollers and tears upon tears. She felt as though hot coals had been planted on her tits. But the worst, the very worst was the effect the sticky stuff had on them. It pulled and tugged at her skin, wrinkling it, deforming it, shrinking and rippling it in hideous twisted folds and crinkles.
"Oh, God!" she cried as yet another scoop of the hot amber gummy junk was flung onto her stomach. The same shriveling effect and pain. More pain than she knew was humanly possible.
"You'll like this treatment," Miss Dagmar said back to her in an insidiously lilting voice. The woman was clearly berserk. "It's one many of our customers ask for. Those who are strippers like it the best."
WOP! The brassy bitch flung a ladle load of hot wax right down on her naturally blonde pussy patch. She spread it around and around, working the hot spoon tip up and into the tortured girl's cunt.
"Oh, golly!" Dina screeched as she writhed and strained under the taut sheet works. "That is unforgivable, just unforgivable."
"So were your actions today," the woman said, sounding quite calm now. Perhaps she was feeling better now that Dina was getting what she thought was coming to her. She sure hoped so.
That hot wax stung like a hive of bees. And still, she stuck that prober right up inside her lips. Making them run hot and wet with sweat and juice. But the juice wasn't all pain juice.
Dina noted, much to her chagrin, that the woman was expert with a ladle. She had managed to find her clit and was diddling it to a stiff, lathery summit.
"Like that, don't you slut'.'" the mad mistress crowed. "Turns your little honey cunt on, doesn't it?"
Dina tried to signal with all her being that it most certainly did not. But clits didn't lie. And from the feel of hers, plopping back and forth under the heavy hand of Miss Dagmar's wax ladle, she was excited to a peak.
Down, down her legs the stuff poured as Miss Dagmar turned the pot over and let the stuff trickle as it may. The whole time, her other hand was jerking the girl's huge clit with her hot handle.
Without announcing her intentions. Miss Dagmar stuck the rude end of that hard wood spoon through the girl's cunt lips and up into her pussy slit.
"Yikes!" Dina let out as the hot poker sizzled up to her womb. "That thing is wicked!"
"Wicked and wanton, Toots," the big awful queen muttered to her subject, "just like you."
She plugged the girl's cunt up with that stiff stick. Skewered her around with it and stuffed it in so far, she felt it knock against her uterine wall. Then, she yanked it unceremoniously back out. She dipped it once more into the pot and repeated the procedure.
But as she did, Dina came. Just as she began the second round of punishing probes and thrusts, Dina shot her load.
"Zowie," she shrieked, feeling the bite of the smoldering hot wax ignite her cunt button. The heat rose in waves up, up inside her and began shrivelling up inside her. She felt like a wax dummy. Someone who was being embalmed on the inside, right in the seat of her sex.
"Filthy slut!" the blonde merciless captor shouted as she twisted the savage paddle round and round inside her. "You like it. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life."
"Sorry," Dina said, wishing she could show a little more restraint in the face of her cruel taunting mistress. She was sure this meant she wouldn't have a job at Miss Dagmar's anymore. She had behaved badly, after all.
But she couldn't figure out what she had done to deserve this! Even in beauty school when she poured depilatory on an instructor's head instead of conditioner and all his hair fell out, she hadn't been punished this severely.
"You will be," Miss Dagmar said regally glaring at her with her sturdy stare, "you will be and damned soon, too."
With those words, she heaved the pot of hot wax into the corner with a loud clank. Then, she stepped toward the door.
"Renaldo!" she cried out as she unlocked the thing and threw it open.
Dina gripped her palms together hard and sucked so much air in her chest rose up a foot. What the hell was she calling Renaldo for? It would be so damned embarrassing to see him in this condition. With her legs spread out on the bench, her arms thrust up and trussed together over her head, and practically no make-up.
Let alone the fact that wax was dribbling down her cunt and beginning to harden all over her front side.
A moment later, the fantastically romantic Latin type moved through the door. He swept up to her and bowed briefly. A look of evil comfort appeared on his face.
Dina fought-back the tears that she felt building up inside her. The hot, waxy stuff was making her skin crawl with radiant flames of heat. The pressure on the surface of her skin was overwhelming.
But, she didn't miss the opportunity to give the handsome hunk of man standing before her a dainty little smile. Even if it had an edge of pain to it.
"Hello, Renaldo," she said, faking a little grin and trying to sound comfortable.
"Dina," the man said, as though he and she had been introduced at a dating service center. "How delightful."
"I'm afraid I'm not feeling too well at the moment," she said, as a trickle of hot wax meandered over her clit button and dribbled down it. Her cunt felt like a candle glowing against the night wind.
"You're looking lovely, my dear," he said, bending over to kiss an upraised knee.
"This woman, Miss Dagmar, she has insisted on punishing me for some infractions of the house rules," she said, docilely.
"You understand that this sort of thing is necessary," he said, backing off a little and taking in her whole body from head to toe, "the girls here have to be kept in line."
"Yes," Dina replied, feeling a little like Joan of Arc in her last few moments of smoldering fury, "if only her punishment didn't HURT SO MUCH!!!!!"
She hadn't meant to scream the last few words, but the wax was hardening fast and the pressure on the surface of her skin was unbearable.
"Renaldo is here to give us a hand," Miss Dagmar said, strutting over and surveying the damage. "He is, after all, my number one operator."
"Oh, God," Dina winced, "I'm so ashamed for him to see me like this."
"I do?" Dina replied, straining to sit up and see if the look on the man's face was as sincere as his words sounded.
"Yes," he said, running a light, flitting hand over her breasts and down, down over the wall of pain that was her stomach, and finally, hovering it over her cunt, "but you'll look even more adorable without this unpleasant covering of bodily hair."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she shouted, twisting her head to avoid the onrushing waves of pain that hit her again and again.
So this is why Renaldo was here. Not to inspect the damage, not to admire his boss's handiwork. But to complete the grisly task. The task that would make her bald from head to toe. The task that would snatch her of all her bodily hair!
She got an image of herself after the job was complete. She would look like a mannequin in a store window before it was dressed up and wigged.
She wouldn't even look human. Again those shameful waves of pain and anger. Her cunt was impacted with wax. The blob in there felt like a hardening dildo. The nerve endings of her entire pussy were being pressed, massaged, messed around with ... violated!
She twisted uncomfortably and let out a long, low howl.
"Like that stuff up ya, don't you?" Miss Dagmar gloated.
'it hurts!" she cried back.
'it'll be over soon," Renaldo said, comfortingly, "and you'll look so much the better for it. So clean, pure, and simple. Like you, Dina. Simple."
She wasn't sure if she liked that or not. She would have to think about it. But later, later when she wasn't writhing on this rack of Spanish Inquisition torture.
Renaldo stepped up to her and tested the wax layer by planting his forefinger down firmly on one of her nipples.
"It's time," he said with the conviction of a surgeon, "time to operate."
"Bye, bye to unsightly bodily hair, Dina," Miss Dagmar said, sticking her monstrous tits down into Dina's face and wiggling her hips suggestively.
Dina big her lower lip so hard the blood spewed out. Renaldo dug his fingernails under the thick layer of wax on one side of her body. Miss Dagmar stood at the other side and pried one end of the wax coating loose with her teeth.
Then, working in tandem, the two of them ripped the hardening layer of hot wax off the body of the terrified girl, taking her entire covering of bodily hair with it.
"AAIIEEEE," Dina shouted and shouted again.
And then, miraculously, the procedure was finished. Her entire body smarted with a sting so severe it felt as if a hive of bees had held a square dance on her stomach.
She lifted her head up a little and saw Renaldo and Miss Dagmar holding a coat of wax in the reverse shape of her very own body. Bodily hairs clung to it and stuck out obscenely. A particularly thick chunk of hair clung to the inverted shape of her pussy mound. There was also blood and chunks of skin hanging it off it as well.
"See, Dina," Miss Dagmar said, pompously, "we've cleaned you up. Right smartly, I might add."
"Take a look," Renaldo said, haughtily. The luscious Latin had always been proud of his work.
The two of them helped Dina sit up and stare down at her barren tit mounds, her hairless stomach, her vacant pubes.
"Oh, God," was all she could say in response.
"And now, Dina," Miss Dagmar said, holding up an evil-looking wire hair brush, "we have a special treat for you. Mr. Renaldo, our premiere stylist, is going to fuck your hairless hot little twat."
"Geeee," was all the apoplectic girl could utter.
That was before she saw the size of Renaldo's reefer. The man stood right down at the foot of her lashed up body and unzipped the fly on his white uniform.
He was decidedly hard even before he let his cock out in plain sight. Miss Dagmar heaved a sigh as he brought the giant ramrod into view.
"Now, you know why he's my number one operator," the blonde bitch cried, flinging her arms around him and rubbing her hips against the head of his monstrous wang.
The thing stared at Dina with its dark third eye slit and bobbed eagerly up and down. Renaldo brought his balls out to join the party and as he did, she was overtaken by how gorgeous they were. Plump, heavy and darkly hairy. More hair, in fact, than she had ever seen on a pair of balls in her life.
Miss Dagmar ripped the top of his uniform open and began playing with the hair on his chest. Again, a thicket of masses of black swirling hair pie. Thick, dreamy, dark and mysterious.
Its lusciousness was in sharp contrast to the hairless, pink innocent and vulnerable flesh of the girl lying stretched out in front of him.
"Go on and fuck her," Dagmar said, standing back and gripping her hair brush, "get on top of her and fuck the stuffing out of her."
Renaldo was more than happy to oblige. "Sweet, pink, hairless little thing," he said, stroking his long cock with one hair-covered big, muscular hand.
"Owwwwwww!" Dina let out as the man's hard, solid log thudded down onto her sensitive cunt.
The cunt that now looked like a pink clam. It twitched, it opened to receive the large head of his massive man cock. And how it stung! It pained her back to the brain! It felt as though someone were fucking her with a lighted rocket.
The thing penetrated her with great force and made a bee-line for her highest, sorest parts.
She ached with the stings of a million tiny arrows as the man drove his cock up her and filled her cunt with its throbbing, hard circumference.
"I don't believe how much this is hurting," she wailed, tossing her head around, only to have her cheek slapped with the wrong end of Miss Dagmar's hair brush.
"Smarts a little, does it?" the wicked blonde bitch said back to her calmly.
"Feels awfully nice to me," Renaldo said, pumping his hairy prick up and down inside her hot, moist tunnel. The thing gripped his cock with its delicate and sensitive nerves and muscles. It wrapped around his giant piercing weapon, engulfing it in pink, velvety flesh pockets.
He banged her as hard as he could, ever increasing the load inside her willowy, warm cunt. And, once more, she felt a hot, steamy gush inside her. Not wax, exactly, but a lot like wax.
Thick, scummy, hot and sudden his juice squirted her all over her insides. Miss Dagmar's brush slapped hard against her stinging cheek as she cried out.
"Oh, shit I'm coming."
Then, she watched as Miss Dagmar stuck the handle of the hair brush up her own twat and, using it like a dildo, fucked herself. Fucked herself with the end of her hair brush.
Still, Renaldo was banging his painful piece inside her withering cunt hole. Slamming and shouting with all his might.
"You filthy cunt," he said, reaching up and grabbing the ends of her hairless cunt lips and twisting them every which way. "You made me spill my load."
"I'm sorry," Dina replied, gripping the man's stomach with her knees and pulling him up a little higher, "but don't go way, oh please. ... don't go way."
As Dina pumped her own tied-down hips as best she could, she felt the thick cock pole writhing around inside her. It felt good and wholesome inside her, even though she was in mortal pain, on fire, bombed out inside.
"You disgusting bitch!" the bitchy beauty operator owner yelled as she realized Dina was having yet another orgasm, "she likes it, Renaldo, can you believe that ... she's actually getting off."
As Dina spewed another bit of come cream down into herself and over the head of Renaldo's cock dome, she realized that what her boss said was true. She did like it. In fact, she liked it more than anything she had ever done in her life. And, she had a persistent, sneaking feeling that she was good at it. Perhaps the first thing she had ever been good at in her life.
* * *
BRANDED BABYSITTER
CHAPTER ONE
"Will you get a load of that?" Irma Stover said, leaning back on the sofa chair of her girlfriend's living room and staring at the bullet-shaped dildo she held in front of her face.
"Hot number, huh?" the tall, stacked redhead lady replied, waving it through the air as though it were a toy airplane. "How'd you like to go flying down to Rio on this little thing?"
"Is now too soon?" the seated woman said back, cocking her head to one side and curling her top lip up suggestively.
Irma loved it when her girlfriend showed her new little sex toys. And it happened often, since Laureen was a home demonstrator for Fuckerwear, a company that made a complete line of sexual aids, playthings, and oddities. And this dildo was a dilly. Shiny, metallic, glinting in the afternoon sun coming through the windows of her tiny three-bedroom housing tract home.
The girls, Irma and Laureen, had been lovers for a couple of years. It had been a particularly difficult courtship. Mostly owing to the fact that Laureen had three children.
There had been a marriage, to a construction worker, that spawned the three kids who lived in that house with their mother. All of them, like Laureen Capok herself, were redheads.
Irma liked them well enough, though she hadn't known Laureen was a mother when they met. It had been the furthest thing from her mind. They had met in a very tough leather bar on the waterfront in Duluth, so she hadn't expected it.
Irma Capok had been a very dominant dyke most of her life. She was used to the role. Men weren't. They were surprised at her, in fact.
She was long, shapely, with shaggy blonde hair and a friendly smile. She had a dynamite set of tits, though she seldom wore anything to show them up to their best advantage.
But they could be glimpsed under her tight lumberjack shirts. Her round, hot tight little ass could be glimpsed under her jeans, too. And she had had plenty of trouble with men. Most of them, however, she could whip in a fair fight.
Growing up in the working class section of town gave her a distinct advantage. She had learned to tight with the boys in her neighborhood and give them a good lesson in how to behave from a very early age.
She wasn't thinking about this now, though. She wasn't thinking about the crazy, motherless home she came from. The men she had her share of bar room fights with, even the women she had dominated throughout her long and stormy career as a lesbian. She was thinking about Laureen.
Laureen was one hot dish. Nobody who ever looked at her denied it. She was a natural redhead. The copper kind, with clusters of freckles gathered around her shoulders and a little over her nose.
Her skin had a slight bronze hue, even in the wintertime. And her eyes were that smoldering kind of grey-green. The figure could rival a Greek statue. A whole museum full of Greek statues, in fact.
Her tits were wide, long, and well-muscled, even after giving birth to three children. The nipples matched her red hair. They were dark, hot cinnamon stick color. And to Irma, they tasted like cinnamon.
She had a pair of svelte, tapered legs that had retained their musculature, even though Laureen was well into her thirties. She never told Irma her exact age. Irma figured she was about ten years older than she was.
But, they seemed compatible from the start, so a lot of history was never filled in between them. Irma couldn't take her eyes off her the night she walked into Bush Haven.
It was a dyke bar that women from all around the world came by to see. And some spot it was. Leather-lined with hardwood seats and lace curtains in the window. A crazy combination of hardcore and soft femininity. Lesbians packed the place on the weekends. Locals took over during the week.
And it was on a weeknight that Laureen Capok walked in. Irma spotted her right away. She walked right up to her, in her usual straight on way and introduced herself.
"Wanna drink?" she said, not even bothering to ask or offer names.
"Sure," the redhead beauty said, whirling her head around to see whoever it was that was talking to her. It was a diminutive blonde. Cute, sassy, rugged and very hot looking.
For Laureen, she was perfect. A lucky find.
Laureen and Irma had chatted over a beer. The talk was easy enough, though the attraction was so strongly chemical, they didn't need to say much at all. Laureen told her she was new to the lesbian scene. Irma told her she had been in it for quite a while.
Actually, since she could remember, but she never told her that. She had never had a man in her life. She was a confirmed butch.
Not that anyone could tell. Men liked her a lot. And she was not a man hater. She was just a woman lover. She never knew why. A whole houseful of brothers, no mother in the home, a drunken sot for a father.
Life hadn't been easy for Irma as a kid. Not one bit. There was no money, she had to do the cooking and cleaning for the brood of boys. They were good to her. There was no rape or incest in the home that she was aware of. But next door, the situation was different.
Faith Brewer lived next door. She was a willowy auburn-haired girl. One year younger than Irma. The cutest, bounciest little girl in the neighborhood. Her physical development was the hot topic of the block. Especially among the boys. She was little, but she was getting a shape on her like a film star. A film star who could pose for a centerfold picture with nothing on but her hair brush.
Unaware that she was being followed one night, Faith left her house alone and headed for the grocery store. She often ran errands for her mother. A tired, burnt-out woman who never get over the loss of her husband.
There had been a series of boyfriends. Some of them had already given Faith trouble when the mother's back was turned.
But the girl was naive. Too much so for her own good. And she left the house that night not knowing that she would be the victim of a vicious attack. A near-rape that would involve some of the boys in the neighborhood that she knew well. And one of them would be a boy who lived next door. A boy named Ben Stover. Irma's oldest brother.
Irma had been riding her bike around, racing other boys down the hill and winning. She had always been very competitive. A tomboy. She saw Faith turn the comer in her too-tight little angora sweater and white shorts. She had a strange urge, she had had many strange urges actually, to follow her. Talk to her. Sometimes, at night, she even dreamed about kissing that girl.
But she figured it was just a dream. Nothing to do with real life. Girls don't kiss girls. At least, they didn't in her neighborhood.
F:aith turned up the hill toward the grocery store. The hill that Inna was sailing down on her bike, beating the shit out of her brother and some of his loud, pushy friends. They grouped together at the foot of the hill and made a point to exclude Irma from their huddle.
When she tried to break in, they scattered, leaving their bikes parked against a nearby umbrella tree. Irma tried not to let it bother her. She figured they would come back. She didn't know they had gone off to molest little Faith.
She pushed her bike up the hill slowly, feeling the sun against her back just as it was going down. Then, she heard whimpering sounds. Threats, oaths, curses and pushing and shoving.
"Leave me alone!" she heard Faith's voice say at one point.
"Get your pecker out, Harry," a young boy's voice said. "I'll hold her down."
"Let Ben fuck her first," somebody else said, "he's got the biggest dickie."
Curious, Irma kicked her bike kickstand down and ran to find where the noises and talk was coming from. It came from the alley behind the grocery. An alley stacked high with boxes and rubbish.
Quietly, she sneaked into the place and hid behind one of the huge crates to watch whatever was going on.
"Look at the size of that thing," a kid's voice rose up from the group, "it's as long as a salami."
Now, Irma could see what was going on. But just barely. She saw her oldest brother, a kid of fifteen, holding a menacing, hard piece of flesh in his hand. She had seen cocks before, living in a house loaded with them, but never one hard.
The thing was vicious. Evil-looking. It stuck out of the boy's jeans at an obscene angle. It bobbed and protruded as though it had a life of its own. The cock dome was slightly rounded with a rim of wrinkled flesh around it.
The boy, and one of his friends were stroking it, making the skin lie down with each stroke. And making the thing harder, more menacing, suffer, more angular.
Somebody else pulled out his balls. They lifted them out the base of the V in his zipper and set them down so they framed his cock like a bun around a hot dog.
Then, someone else began playing with his cock. They diddled his cock rim with their fingertips to get it harder as Ben held it with his two hands toward Faith's face.
Two of the stronger tougher boys were holding her down. One of them was pulling her little sweater up over midriff, exposing her lean, flat rib cage. Then, whoever it was raised that sweater over the precious white mounds of her pert, pink-tipped knockers.
Irma clutched her crotch. The sensation of seeing those tits rising up out of that sweater got her right in her cunt. Made her ache with longing there. Longing that would not be stilled.
She knew she shouldn't have been watching that scene. Prying, spying, getting hot just thinking about that girl those toughs were so rudely manhandling.
"Look at her tits!" Harry, the blonde kid said, putting his dirty brown hands on her nipples and pulling them hard. "They're bigger than my Mom's. '
"Let's have a look," another of them said, shoving the smaller boy out of the way to get in and peer at the twin bundles of pink-peaked beauty.
"Let's see that cunt," Ben said, yanking his prick harder and harder, trying not to show the other boys how fucking proud he was of that giant cock of his.
Two of the other boys grabbed her legs and rudely tore at the button on her shorts. They peeled them down in a hurry and stood in a tight circle staring down at her cunt.
"She ain't got no underwear," one of the boys said, bending down on his knees to get a closer look at the girl's precious little pubes.
Irma felt a new sensation around the edges of her cunt hole. Her pussy lips were twitching. Tingling, curling up, quivering and running a wet, tacky stream of juice. She had never felt such sensations so strongly. And here she was now, feeling them for another girl. She didn't understand it.
Faith opened her mouth to scream.
She, too, felt a twinge in her lower regions. Her cunt grew juicier by the moment as she eyed the big thick cock of Ben, the mean bully next door. She was frightened, scared half out of her wits, yet she could not deny she was excited.
Somebody pushed Ben over closer to her and in the scuffle, he landed with his cock head against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
"You touched her with it," one of the eager beaver onlookers shouted, "your cock touched her skin."
"Go on, Ben," another fan shouted, "stick it up that cunt of hers. We want to watch."
Another boy twisted her nipples as though he held a pair of pliers in his hands. Faith tried to wrest her head free from the grip someone had on it. She tried to shout out for them to stop, but it was useless.
"Look at her cunt," one of the ruffians said, spreading her little lips apart and peering
"Ha, ha," somebody laughed crudely, "get it?' Irma could hardly keep from drooling at the succulent sight of the girl's delicate pink pussy. The little fringe of light brown hair that clung to her outer lips was a sight completely thrilling to her.
She stuck her palm up hard against her own pubic bone and pushed in to herself. That might make the throbbing fire go away, she thought, rubbing and massaging her hand around.
Ben's cock was disgustingly huge now. He popped it up on Faith's stomach for everyone to get a good look at before he stuck it inside her.
"Oooooh," one of the boys said, "put it in, quick."
One boy held one of her cunt lips and the other held the other. Like twin curtain pullers. She squirmed as hard as she could. Writhed and choked on the hard pressure the boys hand brought to her mouth and nose. She felt half-suffocated, stifled.
Ben pulled his huge dick down and stuck it somewhere into the space between the girl's cunt lips, but did not penetrate her cunt.
"It won't go in," he said, "it's too small."
"Your cock?" one of the kids shouted, "it's the biggest in the neighborhood."
The other boys laughed as Ben shook his head and braced himself against the girl's outstretched legs as he tried to stuff his monster schlong inside her.
He grunted and groaned and huffed and puffed.
But Faith held her muscles firm down there. Hot as she was from all this action, she wasn't about to let someone penetrate her for the first time in a back alley.But how the hell was she going to get out of it?
She didn't have to wonder much longer.
Like a super hero, Irma bounded out of the pile of crates and caught the boys unaware. Site picked up one of the hard wood orange crates and swung it wide, cracking one of the boys on the back of the head. e fell to his knees, shouting and screaming and holding his neck. The next boy got a kick in the chin before he knew what was happening.
The tough, tomboy girl swung her fists and kicked as hard as she could. She was definitely outnumbered, but she broke the crowd up enough for the captive girl to run off.
She stood angrily facing her brother, who still had a hold of a hard dick, though it was fast going down at this point.
'Run Faith!!!," she shouted as she stepped up to her brother. She brought her leg back and let go of it out front. She kicked the boy right in the groin. She kicked him hard like a mule. And she kicked him in his hard cock.
CHAPTER TWO
That had been Irma's first experience with women. She had rescued one. Rescued her from nearly getting raped by her own brother.
Nothing around the house had been easy after that. Her brother taunted and teased her. Gave her a bad time about everything. Including Faith. Called her a "lezzie" for coming to the girl's aid.
Irma wouldn't have thought too much about his taunts. She could take him in a fair fight still. But Faith started hanging around her a lot. Following her and calling her on the phone. She told her a lot about her life at home. How she had been molested, diddled with by her mother's various boyfriends. How she was excited by it, but afraid, too.
She confessed that she especially liked to have her tits pulled and her pussy treated kind of roughly. The way the boys had done. Only she didn't want to get raped. The idea of one of those big, awful cocks inside her made her want to vomit.
She begged Irma to take her as a lover and fuck like they were man and woman. Rough house wasn't Irma's fantasy of a good time, but she was a natural tomboy, knew a lot about fighting, and then, too, Faith was her first lover. She more or less weaned her into it.
They had made it together the first time in Faith's basement after her mother had gone out for the afternoon. The girl wanted to be tied up to the concrete wash basin and slapped around before they got it on.
"Tighter," the girl said, once Irma had her lashed down to the basement wall. "I can still move my hand a little."
Irma felt herself growing hotter as she tied the knots the way the girl instructed.
"Now, rip my shirt off," the girl told her.
"Then, my shorts."
Irma did these things and practically fell to her knees when she saw the girl's beautiful tight little body under her clothes. This was her first glimpse close up and it was breathtaking.
"Kiss me real hard like a man," she begged, " and stick your tongue down my throat."
Still feeling a little shy about it, Irma pressed her body to the girl and wrapped her arms around her. She pounded her hips hard into the girl who was braced against the cement wall and stuck her tongue down far into her mouth.
The blending of their flesh was so exciting to her it made her cunt water. She felt her pussy lips bang together and a trickle of juice flow out of her. Her panties felt steamy inside.
"Now, put those on my nipples," Faith ordered, " those over there."
From the pile of laundry things, Irma found some clothes pins. She stuck them on Faith's big, rubbery nipples and watched in awe as they grew rigid.
"Ow!" the girl cried, "that feels so gooooood."
"Can I kiss you again?" Irma asked, looking at the girl with awe. She was so excited just having this creature next to her, she could hardly think of doing anything more to her other than just holding her in her arms.
"Put some of the clothes pins on my pussy lips, too," the girl said, growing visibly more aroused, "as many as you can. Then, I want you to eat my pussy."
Irma felt her heart leap into her throat. Eating this girl's pussy was all she craved, all she wanted to do.
She snapped some colored clothes pins onto the girl's pussy lips, gathering up a handful of cunt flesh, pinching it together and snapping the plastic into place.
Each time she did so, the girl moaned and rolled her head back in a show of ecstatic pain.
She fell to her knees and spread the girl's lips apart by pulling on the clothes pins handles. That seemed to make her come almost immediately. She stuck her tongue down on the high-rising little love button that was the girl's clitoris. It felt hard and silken smooth and slippery under her tongue.
She tongued her as hard as she could, always pulling the clothes pins out further and further. After a while, Faith didn't have to tell her how to combine the delicious sensations of pain and pleasure. She instinctively knew.
It seemed to have been something she was born to undertake. And she now only needed the right person to encourage her.
"I want more," Faith said impatiently. "I want you to stick your tongue up inside me."
Irma stood up, fuming red with anger, and slapped the girl's face ... hard.
"Owww!" the girl said, screaming out in shock and pain, "what the hell did you hit me for?"
"Because you're a loud-mouthed cunt!" Irma said back in disgust. "Now do as I say or you'll get a lot more of that."
The balance in their relationship seemed to have shifted with just that one step. Now Faith deferred to her mistress-the beauteous Irma. The girl with the copper freckles and the blonde hair. The toughest girl on the block! The one who had rescued her from the clutches of the rough boys who were nearly ready to rape her.
She tongue fucked her that afternoon. Stuck her hot, charged-up tongue up to her pussy and licked her until she herself came just from the rotating action of her tongue and the quivering action of her own untouched pussy, lying beating and throbbing with excitement beneath her jeans.
She pressed her rolled up tongue high into the girl's cunt and skewered it around and around, drinking the girl's juices as she did so. She added some fingers to her tongue. She diddled her cunt lips, tongued her, and opened and closed the clothes pins all at the same time, drawing the girl into a vortex of screaming, halting climaxes.
"Oh, Gooooodddddd," the girl shouted as she went off for her tenth time, 'I'm gonna pop again."
She had to slap her around a lot after that. The girl followed her around and made a public display of their affection. She didn't care who knew it. She wanted everyone to know, in fact, that Irma was her lover. Boys in the high school gave her a hard time, but she could still take them.
The real problem proved to be Faith. She kept demanding more and more punishment. Hotter and heavier action. It got to be too much for Irma by the time they were seniors in high school.
Sadly, she had to leave. Life in her house was becoming intolerable. Her father had begun to beat the kids, her brothers even more than her. And Faith was still two grades behind her. Nothing seemed to be going right.
She got a job in an office working for one of the large iron ore transportation companies. Later, she moved out of her house and finally, broke off with Faith.
But she never lost her love of women. And, she had gotten very adept herself at playing the dominant role. She hung out in a lot of bar rooms, went out with a lot of different women.
She seemed to have adopted a love of a certain kind of woman. Fair, delicate, feminine and stacked. Like Faith. And she liked it whenever she got a chance to fight over them.
Made her very hot and in the mood, getting into a fight just before going to bed.
Then, one day, there was Laureen.
The woman she watched now as she ran a shower in her bathroom. She had never asked the woman any questions about her private life before she met her in the Bush Haven bar that night. But she gathered it had not been easy. The man had beaten her savagely.
She was pretty turned off to men, so she said, and being saddled with three kids had made life tough. That was all she ever spoke. But to Irma, her long reddish flaming hair and stunning figure were explanation enough.
She was hot for the woman. Hot from the first moment she walked into the bar. And Laureen loved it rough. The rougher their sex, the hotter and more passionate she got.
Irma could work her to a fever pitch, just by slapping her around and talking very dirty to her.
And, she had proved it that first night.
"My kids are asleep," she said, as they tiptoed into the house, "but the babysitter is here."
As it turned out, the baby sitter was asleep, too. They jostled her awake and turned off the TV, which by now was blaring a noisy test pattern into the dimly lit living room.
The girl shook herself awake and stared up at them. She was a young girl, about sixteen, and she wore glasses. She was a cute girl. Quiet, well-mannered. They helped her into the kitchen, poured her a cup of coffee and sent her on her way.
"Betty Sue lives next door," Laureen said, handing the girl a few bills and opening the back screen door for her to leave through, "she doesn't have far to go."
Irma sat and looked at the place. It was smallish, a white frame place, built like all the others in the tract. Ordinary, in every respect, except for the lady of the house.
She was by no means ordinary. She got to Irma right in the guts. And a little lower down.
"Come over here where I can see you," Irma said, sitting down at the kitchen table, "and touch you." e found out Laureen liked to be treated.
She'd found out Laureen liked to be treated around to face her. "What makes you think I wanna come over and show myself off to some smelly dyke?" she said, flouncing her red hair out and turning toward the living room.
Irma stood up and grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down to her lap.
"Because I said I wanted you to," she seethed through clenched teeth, "and when I say I want you to do something, I mean it."
Laureen felt the rock hard grip of the woman around her wrist. So far, it tested out. The little gal was every bit as tough as she looked. In a fight, she would lose. And that's just the way she wanted it.
She sat on Irma's lap the way Irma forced her to, straddled across her and staring down into her luminous blue eyes.
Irma reached up and yanked her hair down so that the girl brought her face down to hers.
She pressed her hard, hot lips against the lustrous, moist lips of the redheaded woman. They tasted hot and tangy and inviting. She stuck her tongue out and burrowed it into the woman's mouth.
Then, she felt hrr pull back.
"I wanna have it good between us," Laureen said, "and you know I like it rough, but there's just one thing."
'Spit it," Irma said, never taking her hands off the woman's head.
"I can't let our neighbors know about us," she said, "there's the kids. I know most of my women friends, who are gay, you know, don't have kids. But I do. They have to go to school in this neighborhood, and nobody around here better know their mother is a dyke."
"Okay," Irma agreed. It seemed reasonable enough.
"Come on down to the basement," the lady said, jumping up and flashing that tawny mane of hers around as she headed toward the steps, "and watch your step."
They descended into the gloom with just one bare bulb overhead to guide them.
Nothing much in the basement other than the usual laundry stuff. Some children's toys. A broken TV set.
Then, Laureen pulled out a set of keys and opened a little door near the furnace. She stepped into a quiet, musty smelling room and waited for Laureen to turn on the light.
When the light snapped on, Irma blinked in confusion. The room was lined with sexual objects of ever size, shape, color, description. Dildoes of many colors and proportions hung over shelves like abstract art sculpture in a museum. Rows and rows of metal rings, hoops, leather straps, boots, chains, handcuffs, whips, magazines, manuals. And there was more. Butt plugs, double-headed dildoes, plastic cunts, bizarre stuff.
"Wow," Irma said, aloud, and as she did so, thought to herself that this woman must really be into it all. It just wasn't the usual thing to find in someone's basement.
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea," she said, with an engaging little smile on her sexy face. "I am into sex, but not to this extent. I sell sex gadgets."
'Oh," Irma said, a little thankfully.
"This is my warehouse," the woman said, reaching for a plastic black dildo. She also reached for a cigarette and lit it with the dildo.
"It's a lighter!" Irma said, a little astounded. Her sex gadget education, especially those sex gadgets of the heterosexual world, was a little limited.
"Yeah," Laureen said, sitting back on her desk and exhaling the white, slightly perfumed smoke. "It's a good income. I go around to other people's homes and demonstrate this stuff. They don't know I'm gay. I always mention my kids. Most of my clients are straight. This is another reason I don't want the neighbors to know. Some of them buy this from me, and it would spoil my image if they knew I was a dyke."
"Uh, huh," Irma said, feeling a little trapped for a second. It might get sticky if her and Laureen got involved. Laureen was feminine-looking, sultry and a mother. She was more obviously a dyke. Adorable, but tough and rugged-looking. And she always wore men's clothes. Tight-fitting ones.
"See anything you like?" the woman said, oozing confidence.
She should ooze confidence, Irma thought. She is a gorgeous lady. That red hair is a show stopper. I'd like to spread it out on my tits and play with it for about a month.
Again, that twitching, tugging feeling. Her cunt lips were playing havoc with her again. It always happened around sensual, desirable women like this one. "
"Let's use this," Laureen said, pulling out a length of nylon cord. "And maybe ... this."
She grabbed a hot pink fleshy rubber dildo with a little strap on it.
Irma tried to keep from choking. She had never used a dildo before. She was one of those lesbians with such a talented tongue and fingers she didn't need one. No one had ever complained either.
"I don't know...." she tried.
But the woman seemed adamant. "Come on," she urged, "you can do anything you like with me. Only when I want fucked ... I want fucked." Irma knew it was now or never. She would have to determine how and when her women got fucked. And she was going to have to show this Laureen right here and now who was the boss in this outfit.
She stood up calmly, leaned over and slapped her face sharply.
"Ow!" Laureen cried out, bringing one hand up to her face to touch the spot where she had gotten stung. It was almost as if she didn't really believe she had gotten hit and was checking to make sure.
"What did you do that for?" Laureen wailed, "We ain't even started fucking yet."
"I don't like dildoes," Irma said, "they're shaped like cocks. And I don't want no cocks coming between you and me. Is that clear?"
Laureen stood staring at her, rubbing her reddened cheek.
"I asked you if that was clear?" the woman said, savagely yanking her hair till the woman screamed again.
"Okay, okay," she said, "but you can't blame me. Christ, I sell the fucking things."
"That's okay," Irma said, letting her grip ease up on the woman's red tresses a moment. "I don't mind who you sell them to or what else you do with them. I'm interested, okay? But not to use. I won't strap one of those things around me. No way."
"Okay, Baby," Laureen said, sheepishly. She was starting to like Irma a lot. She was even more aggressive than her husband.
"Now, get over here and let's see how good you eat," she said, yanking the woman toward her by the belt.
"No," Laureen said, pulling her belt into her and trying to break free of Irma's hold on her.
"I want you to eat me!"
"You little Bitch," she whispered in heated anger, "I'll show you whose boss."
She grabbed the nylon cord and began winding it around the helpless girl's body. Laureen fought and kicked, but it was useless. She'd been overpowered and taken quite quickly.
She stood there after a few moments, like a mummy. Nylon cord was wound around her from head to foot. Wound around her in uneven loops. There was a wide hole where her tits crammed up and out. And a hole around her cunt and ass cheeks.
Irma reached down and tied the ends off neatly.Then, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. It was a hurried job. But those holes were right where she wanted them.
She unbuttoned her plaid shirt quickly and yanked it off her agile, hot little body. She stuck her tits out into Laureen's face a moment.
"You're gonna suck these, too," she said, "when and how I tell you."
Then, quick as a wink, she yanked her zipper down and ripped her jeans down, down her delectable rounded hips and over her knees. They dropped to the floor in a heap around her feet.
She stepped out of them and stood back so that her captive could admire her body. A body anybody would proud of, straight or gay. She liked the way her blonde bush looked under the desk light. And the way it cast a little shadow along the slippery, smooth inside of her tight, hot thigh. "Down on your knees," she ordered, waiting a moment for her prey to comply.
Nothing happened. Irma reached up and grabbed one of the little whips off the shelf, as though she were a stock girl, fetching something for a customer.
It was a hard leather riding crop with an especially stout leather handle. The pungent, wild smell of aroma greeted her nostrils.
Hmmmmm, she though to herself, using one of these might be fun.
She held the crop tantalizing in her hand, beating the palm of her other hand with it softly and rhythmically.
She watched as Laureen's eyes widened.
"You wouldn't use that thing on me?" she whispered in disbelief.
"Wouldn't I?" Irma shot back. Without waiting a second for her response, she held the thing up and brought it down across Laureen's ass.
Her ass cheeks were covered with the wool of her pants, but the girl felt the pain all too clear just the same.
"God, that hurts, you bitch!" she said, surprised that this little blonde had gotten so much control over her so quickly.
"Stings like a son of a bitch," Irma smiled wantonly, "doesn't it?"
Laureen wouldn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. She stood there, trussed up to the teeth, glowering.
"In fact, I think maybe I didn't hit you hard enough," she said, fumbling in heap of jeans for a pocket. She reached in and pulled out her pen knife. "I think I should hit you a little harder, enough to make you answer when I ask you a question. And, I think I should hit you on your bare skin."
With that, the woman flicked the knife open and reached around behind her captive. She delicately cut a square out of the wool material, as though she were cutting along a dotted line marked on Laureen's pants.
At the completion of the square, the material dropped away, revealing the woman's splendidly round ass cheeks.
"I think you'll like this better," she said, exchanging the knife for the whip.
Laureen felt her face flush purple. This woman was humiliating her as no other before her ever had. She loved being manhandled by a woman! Her cunt was blazing with pulsating and dancing nerve endings that threatened to slip and give her away by whipping up a delicious orgasm even before she was penetrated.
Again, the woman brought the riding crop handle up sharp and down with a thud. Only this time it was against bare, quivering buttocks.
Laureen felt the bite for sure this time. The dull resounding pain split into little pieces of pain and flooded her body. She felt a welt rising on her ass. As though the thing were still planted there, still eating into her skin.
"That's for not obeying me," the cruel mistress scowled. "I think you ought to re-consider, don't you?"
Laureen shut her eyes tight and waited for the next blow. It found her. The cruel crop handle dug a tiny crimson trench along her white ass cheek, leaving her pussy quivering for more.
Again and again the woman rained her crop handle down on Laureen's ass. It stung, it burned, it seethed and gripped her flesh. And finally, it buckled her knees.
She bent down and found herself staring up into the outstretched cunt lips of the gorgeous blonde elf.
"Now, suck," the woman intoned harshly as she reached back and forced the woman's head down onto her cunt. "Suck until I give you permission to stop."
Laureen let her head come flush with the girl's cunt. She smelled the warm, live animal musk smell exuding from her pussy slit. It tantalized her. It played with her senses. It made her head swim.
And she lapped. She drank the girl's cunt juices with her thirsty tongue. She reamed her lips in tiny tongue swirls that widened into huge circles. Then, she flicked at Irma's clit with her eager, hot tongue. She rolled it round and popped it inside. She lunged forward to get a little more of her tongue up the mistress' honey twat.
"Good," she called down to her in even tones. "That's quite good."
Laureen smiled to herself. She was pleasing this woman. And she wanted to. She was such a hot lady. And such a superb dominatrix. The best she had ever known.
She smacked her lips together and began eating her in earnest. She whipped and circled her tongue around in the woman's hot twat. She succeeded in turning her on to a lather.
Her cunt was running and seeping at every pore with the clear delicious juices of arousal.
"Oh, God," Irma intoned as she rolled her eyes back in her head and shot a wild free load of come cream. "Oh, God, don't stop that," she said, tossing her head from side to side in the peak of arousal.
Laureen felt herself freak off, too, even as the words came out of Irma's mouth. She felt that giant breaking free fall of ecstasy course through her body and plant her squarely in the stratosphere.
It had been good that night. Good for both of them.
CHAPTER THREE
Their nights after that one were equally as hot and passionate. They would meet at a bar, do some heavy drinking, and stumble home together.
The babysitter would be woken up, given some money and put out of the house still half asleep.
Betty Sue never seemed to know what was going on there, though she must have gotten used to their routine after a year.
Laureen stepped out of the shower and stood naked in front of her lover. "Don't just stand there," she said, "hand me the towel."
Irma grabbed a towel and, drawing it out full-length between her outstretched hands, let one end go and slapped her redheaded lover square on the ass.
"Ouch!" she said, laughing, "you gotta do that all the time?"
"It's you," Irma said, rubbing her girlfriend's wet body and pressing her close into her own. "You drive me to it." Then they walked laughingly out into the kitchen. It was good to have this time to themselves. It happened so rarely. The kids were all away for a change.
Not that Irma didn't like them. But Laureen was sensitive. She didn't want them around Irma too much. The neighbors might talk.
"You gonna fist fuck me, Sugar?" her lascivious lover said, "or do I have to bring in that metal dildo and do it myself?"
Irma replied with a light tap on the side of her lover's face.
"And you'll get more if you keep talking like that."
They headed for the basement door, both feeling tremendously excited, as Laureen stopped a moment.
"We don't have to go down there this afternoon." she said, "the kids aren't here. Let's just stay in the kitchen today."
"Great," Irma said. She was beginning to feel like a basement guest anyway. It was making her a little uneasy to always have to have sex down there.
The two of them leaned against the kitchen counter and tongued each other for ten minutes.
Irma loved getting her tongue up into all of Laureen's holes. Her nose hole, her ear holes, her arm pits, her toe and finger separations. Laureen returned the compliment by sticking her tongue down her lover's throat and holding it there an incredibly long time.
"Lick my cunt," Irma said, "or I'll lash you to the table with a wet dish towel."
"No you won't," Laureen said, "because I want my cunt licked first."
"You'll lick mine, you'll finger fuck mine, and I might even make you nose fuck it," she said, roughly boxing her ears as she spoke, "and you'll like it, too. Every fucking second of it. Now get going."
"No!" Laureen said, playing her difficult game again.
"Bitch!" Irma said, her voice rising to a rude crescendo.
"Cunt!" Laureen snapped back, just before she had her face slapped.
"Now you're gonna get it," the blonde bomber said to her girlfriend, "and I don't mean with kid gloves."
She dragged her over to the kitchen table and stuck her knee up in her ass so that she was flung out over it, face down.
Irma grabbed an electric cord that was wrapped around the blender on a nearby shelf. She tied her lover's left hand down to the table leg with it.
She tied her right down with an electric cord she had to pull out of a nearby socket. But it was worth it. Her adorable Laureen was now stretched out in an X position, her legs spread and tied down with dish towels to the remaining legs.
It was splendid seeing her lover flanked out like that. She could see up under her spread ass cheeks to the tawny reddish flame of hair covering her pussy lips.
Those hot, willing lips that now eagerly curled apart to receive anything she wanted to shove into them.
She picked her first three fingers.
She diddled the girl's cunt lips with one hand as she opened a few kitchen drawers with the other. At last, she found it. The ice tongs!
She grabbed them and went to work immediately on Laureen's cunt lips. She placed the toothed metal gripper onto her lover's thick, throbbing lips and pulled it first wide one way, then the other.
Laureen screamed under her ministrations. The teeth of the tongs bit into her sensitive cunt flesh rendering a helpless mass of protoplasm.
"Aiieeeee," she shouted again and again as the tough things bit into her flesh. They surely must be leaving little blood-filled pin pricks, she thought as she hollered for help.
Again, Irma yanked her girlfriend's cunt lip. Up, down, around, back and forth. First one, then the other. Then, clamping both of them into the silvery claws of the tongs, she vibrated them like an agitator on spin dry.
"Nooooooooooo," Laureen wailed, drooling with arousal and pain. "Stooooopppp!"
"Guess you'll need something to cool you off after this, huh?" she said, feeling particularly evil at having done these nasty things to her lover.
"Okay, okay," she cried, "what if I do?"
"You're gonna get it!" Irma cried, dropping the tongs and heading for the refrigerator. "Nice and cool and ready."
She opened the refrigerator door, then the freezer. She hauled out a tray ofice and banged it into the sink till the cubes fell out.
She gathered up as many as she could hold in her hand and ran to her lover's outstretched body.
She stuffed one up inside the girl's pulsating hot cunt as hard as she could. Then, another followed that one, then another. Finally, her own fingers drilled the woman till she was half-senseless.
She felt the icy trickle melt inside her boiling hot cunt. A continuous trickle of warm water flowed out of it and down her legs. Her lover caught it with her eager, lapping tongue. Caught every droplet of it.
"Ooooooooh," Laureen called out sweetly, "I'm coming. You fucking cunt, I'm coming."
She raised her head up banged it down on the table in her excitement. Then, raising it up again, and going for another orgasm, she stopped short and stared straight in front of her.
There, dead ahead of her, staring back at her through the gauzy curtain, was Betty Sue. The girl next door. Her baby sitter. Baby sitter and chief blabber mouth of the entire neighborhood.
And, from the look on her face, Betty Sue had seen it all. Seen it all through the window. Seen the entire episode.
"Get her," Laureen shouted to her lover, gesticulating madly out the window. "Get her or shell tell the whole neighborhood. Shit, go after her. Get her. Get her...."
Immediately, Irma seized the situation and raced toward the back door. She threw it open wildly and tore ass down the driveway to where the petrified girl was standing. She grabbed her by the collar and stared into her eyes.
"Leave me alone!" the bug-eyed girl cried. "Leave me alone or I'll tell Ma I saw what you two were doing in there. Now let me go."
"You little snit!" Irma said, her eyes blazing, "you lousy little spying creep."
She shook her violently by the shoulders so hard the girl's teeth rattled.
"Take your hands off me," she cried louder than before, "I know what you two are up to. I learned about dykes in school."
"You what?" Irma shouted, not believing her ears. She hadn't heard about dykes till after she graduated.
"Not in the classroom, but I found out on the playground," the baby sitter shrieked.
"Keep your fucking voice down," Irma kept on," do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?"
"I don't care if they do," the girl went on, "what you're doing is a terrible shameful horrible sin and I'm gonna tell everybody about it. Everybody who will listen."
"I don't think you are," Irma said, her voice growing strangely calm all of a sudden.
The girl stared back at her and blinked hard. She let her hands edge closer, closer in toward the frightened child's neck. She pressed her around the collar bone and wormed her hands one way and then the other, thinking. Thinking what the hell she was going to do to keep this girl quiet.
"I can't let you tell the neighbors," Irma said to her in a halting, sinister whisper. "It's a matter of life and death."
For a moment, she even believed it herself. Laureen had made so much of the neighbors not finding out she was gay. It would be too big a scandal for her innocent children to cope with.
She knew she would have to teach this interloper a lesson. Show her that she couldn't peek in people's windows and walk away to blab to the whole town about it. She would just have to scare her to silence. Shock her within an inch of her young virginal life to get her to be still.
There was no other way out.
"Let's go," she said, giving the girl a knee to her ass crack.
She held her from the back by the scruff of her neck and kicked her toward the house. The girl began protesting almost immediately. Irma stilled her by clapping her hand against her mouth.
Irma kicked the back door open and shoved the shaking and weepy girl inside.
"Look what I brought us to play with," Irma said, heaving the girl across the linoleum floor. She landed with a thud and slid right up to one of the kitchen table legs. The one that had Laureen's left foot firmly strapped to it.
"I can't see too well in this position," Laureen said, turning around as best she could to catch the action She stared down at her feet and caught a glimpse of a pleated plaid skirt and a white blouse. The other details she filled in quickly enough.
"It's the babysitter," Irma said, thrusting her hips out and bracing her hands against them.
"Oh, baby," Laureen said, clunking her chin down on the table top.
She hated the thought that there would be trouble, but what else could there be? She had been playing with her gay girlfriend. Playing in the kitchen in broad daylight. And this tattle tale had seen it all. There would be trouble all right. Unless, somehow, it could be averted.
Irma was beginning to formulate a plan as to just how. the trouble could be stemmed. She would have to show Laureen that there was nothing to worry about, but how?
"I've invited Betty Sue in to play with us," Irma said, walking over and grabbing a hunk of the baby sitter's long brown hair. She yanked it to one side and the girl automatically jerked her head in that direction.
"Owwwwwww!" she said, feeling one side of her head burn back to her eyelids.
"Are you crazy?" Laureen said, muffling the noise of her voice by the table top. "This little blabber mouth will really have the goods on us then."
"I don't think so," Irma said, feeling a little more confident with each moment that passed. "I think well give her such a good time, she won't have any complaints at all to make about lezzie love. The rough kind of lezzie love that is."
"Please don't hurt me," Betty Sue stammered, trying to wrench free of the hard hand that gripped her straight brown tresses.
"I wouldn't think of hurting you," Irma said, in a mock sweet voice that dripped of honey and acid, "but Laureen here, well, I can't control anything she does. She's a wild woman. Especially when she's hot. Like right now."
Laureen wracked her brain, trying to think of what in the world Irma had on her mind. Before she could imagine, she felt one of her restraints being loosened, and was able to wiggle her wrist free.
Then, the other wrist. She looked up to see Irma untying one of her feet. She was holding the wily baby sitter around her waist, lugging her along as she went about her untying chores.
Finally, both her legs were free and she stood up. Betty Sue could not help but notice how gorgeous and well-stacked her next door neighbor was. She had never seen her in the nude before. She looked like a girl she had seen on a calendar once in her father's tool room. Only prettier. She blinked hard when she noticed the creases in her wrists and the red marks on her ankles.
"Your turn," Irma said, without bothering to explain.
She hauled the kicking and screaming teenager to the table top and nailed her down on it with her knee. She held her wrists down hard in her muscular hands, pushing them into the shiny surface of the kitchen table.
Laureen was beginning to catch on.
"Tie her feet up," Irma said to her girlfriend.
Laureen grabbed the electric cord and lashed the girl's right foot to one of the table legs.
"I'll tell," Betty Sue cried, feeling the electric cord dig into her ankle. It burned and smarted as it got twisted tighter.
"I don't think you will, Betty Sue," Irma said, pressing her palm across her mouth.
"because by the time we finish with you, you won't have much stomach for spilling your guts!!"
"Lash that other ankle down," Irma commanded her girlfriend. It was nice to have somebody else do the hard work for a change.
Laureen rather enjoyed the switch herself. She tied the girl's leg down as best she could, considering she was no knotsman. She bound the girl's hand as hard as she could to another leg and looked up at Irma for approval.
"Okay, Kid," Irma smiled. "Now run and get that metal dildo from your new collection."
"What?" Laureen said, not believing she heard a word of it.
Irma stepped up to her and smacked her hard across the face. "When I give you an order, you damned well better obey it."
Betty Sue felt her heart sink to her loafers. If this dyke would slap her girlfriend around like that just for questioning her, what would she do to her?
Laureen stumbled into the bedroom and groped around for the dildo. She had no idea what her girlfriend had in mind. But she never had seen her use a dildo yet. It might be interesting.
She laid her hand on the long, smooth shiny metal phallus and patted it a moment. She considered sticking it into her already warming and oozing pussy, but she thought better of it. After all, Irma was waiting. Irma and Betty Sue.
She made a mad dash back out to the kitchen. Betty Sue was hollering her head off. Irma was slapping her with the back of her hand.
"You like that, huh?" Laureen said, at both of them.
"Make her stop, please, Laureen," Betty Sue wailed, "I didn't mean to see the two of you. I was just happening by and...."
"Then why did you stay for the whole thing, you lousy little peeping Tom?" Irma shrieked, slapping her harder.
"Unbutton that insipid little blouse of hers," Irma said, standing back and crossing her hands over her tremendous tits. "I wanna see if she has anything on under that. And hand me that dildo."
Laureen stepped up to the girl tore ferociously at her buttons till they popped open one by one. She lifted the twin lapels of the girl's blouse back to reveal a pert pair of titties, like two cupcakes with juicy little raisins sticking out of them.
"Now the skirt," Irma said, feeling herself grow hotter by the moment. It felt so good to give commands. And then, to see this helpless creature writhing beneath her thumb. This little snot-nosed voyeur whom she would gladly slap six ways to Sunday and kick down a clothes chute.
Laureen lifted the girl's plaid skirt up over her knee socks and over her white, narrow thighs. Then, up over the panties. A crystalline white nylon pair of tiny little panties. The perfect compliment to the girl's insipid, intellectual paltry personality.
"Now for the good stuff," Irma said, ripping the girl's panties apart with one swift downstroke of her hard hand.
They both stood there lasciviously and stared at the girl's exposed pubes. An adorable pair of perky, plump cunt lips. A light fringe of soft spongy brown hair. And a huge clit jutting out from between the delicate lips. A huge clit that at this moment was throbbing like a telltale heart.
Betty Sue wondered if the two of them could tell how aroused she was. She hoped not. She had been watching the two of them, for nearly a year now through all the windows of the house. Feigning sleepiness, she would stumble home whenever the two of them arrived late together. Then, she would slip around behind the house and peer in.
The show was always exciting. Especially the warm-up act. She never failed to get hot and jerk herself off to a smooth, oozing come whenever Irma beat the shit out of her girlfriend.
"Will you look at that?" Irma said, roughly grabbing the girl's clit button and holding it up. "This little shit is hard."
"I do believe she is," Laureen uttered, inspecting the girl's cunt lips from a close angle. "Hard as a rock."
Betty Sue's heart sunk again. Now she was going to get it. Get it with a vengeance. They knew she was hot and they were going to torture her. Torture her to a writhing, wringing climax. Well, she wouldn't let them. She would resist with all her might. She would hold back and not show them how fucking hot she was, even at this moment. She would even deny that she was aroused.
"It's always like that," she said, shyly.
"Don't give me that shit," Irma said, pulling her clit so hard the girl felt her insides rumble. "You're hot and you know it. Now why?"
"I get excited looking at your wallpaper," she said, knowing somehow that that wouldn't do at all.
"Lousy liar!" Laureen snapped. She hauled off and hit the girl hard across the perky little tits.
She surprised herself. She usually didn't hit. She usually let Irma do the hitting. But slapping this obnoxious kid around made her feel really good.
"I think it's time we stuck it to her," Irma said, fingering the metal dildo and holding it up like a torch.
"Nooooooooooooo," wailed the captive baby sitter, "pleeeeeeeeze."
"No use," Irma shot back. "You better make up your mind to like it."
"Never!" the gutsy girl sobbed. "And you can't make me."
Irma held the savage bullet in her right hand and began stroking the girl's thick cunt lips with her left hand. She whipped and circled the girl's pussy slit with a firm, punishing hand. She felt the moisture build up down there and knew instinctively as well as from her vast experience, that she was turning the girl on. Turning her on like crazy.
"Hold it a minute," Laureen said, placing a tentative hand on her girlfriend's wrist. "I've got an idea."
Irma wasn't sure she heard her right. Laureen seldom came up with any good ideas. Irma had usually done that.
Laureen walked over to the gas stove and flipped on a burner. She turned it all the way up and walked back to the kitchen table. She picked up the pair of discarded ice tongs and stood casually waving them in Irma's face.
"Give me that dildo," she said, like the reigning queen of the house. "I've got something I want to do with it."
"Sure," Irma said, surprised that her girlfriend could sound so demanding and mean it for a change.
She tossed her the hard metal thing as she continued to diddle the girl's throbbing pink pussy lips. She was enjoying herself. And she was enjoying playing with the trussed up girl's pink clit. It bobbed up so big and blood-engorged between her lips. It presented her with a thick, delightful pink moist handful.
She kept her eye on Laureen who sauntered back toward the stove and clamped the dildo between the tongs as she did so. She stood in front of the burner and waved the thing over the flame, heating it to a blistering hot shine.
"I think that will do," she said, after a few minutes. ;
Minutes during which she felt her heat rise. Not the heat from the stove so much as the heat from her pussy. She hadn't felt this hot or this predatory in a long time.
She raced back to where the frightened girl was sobbing, choking, spitting and gagging from shock, confusion and arousal.
"Here," she said, to Irma, "allow me."
"By all means," Irma said, backing up and giving her girlfriend plenty of leg room.
Laureen wasted no time sticking the hot iron dildo close to the girl's outstretched cunt lips.
"Hold them apart," she instructed Irma. Irma did so. She gripped the two pink plump lips between her hands and tore them open to reveal a sweet frothy pink gash.
Irma felt her temperature rise and her britches steam as she stared down into the luscious wet hole of the girl child.
She couldn't help but twitch uncontrollably and pull her own cunt lips under her jeans as her girlfriend presented the hot, smoldering dildo up, up into the outstretched thighs of the captive girl.
Betty Sue felt the searing hot object heat up between her legs. She stiffened and let out a shriek which was quickly muffled by Irma. It was muffled by Irma's pussy.
The terrified girl was getting a whole batch of dyke pussy thrust square into her face.
Irma hadn't even known she was going to do it, but she felt so aroused watching the girl's cunt twitch and turn, she had stripped off her jeans and mounted the table.
Now she sat, legs spread out in a splits formation, sticking her hairy, hot cunt into the helpless girl's face.
Betty Sue believed she would be smothered by it. Smothered by a cunt and burnt to death by a huge iron rod. An iron rod that even now was making its way up to her cunt lips.
The girl felt the white heat touch of the solid scorching dildo. It blazed hot and merciless against her outstretched lips. She let out a cry of pain that was drowned in the pussy juice flowing from Irma's cunt.
"God, that's good," Irma said, feeling an incredible head to toe rush from the outstretched mouth of the tortured girl beneath her cunt.
Laureen shoved the hot weapon inside the girl's cunt and worked it around a bit. The smell of searing flesh gripped her brain and her cunt lips at the same time. It was an intoxicating scent. It went to her head and made her giddy with desire. Flushed with lust, lust and more lust.
She had to have it. She walked up in between the girl's legs as far as she could and stuck her cunt very near Betty Sue's. She felt the smoldering fire of the intermediary dildo blaze back toward her. Then, she dropped the ice tongs and spreading her own cunt lips with her eager fingers, pressed the other end of the hot savage branding iron in, far in, to her pussy slit.
The sizzling odor of both the women's cunts greeted Irma's nose. She shot a load of come out and down the captive girl's throat. And just as Betty Sue swallowed the entire jet of clear, honey come, she came, too. She came and she sizzled at the same time. She spent and burnt simultaneously. And Laureen, her pussy blazing for real this time, charged forth with the most powerful, spunk-propelled orgasm of her life.
* * *
HOT TWATS OF HALFWAY HOUSE
CHAPTER ONE
"Okay, ladies," the thundering voice rolled out and down the attic dormitory Dora Stucker, chief matron, cook, bottle washer and dominatrix par excellence, strolled haughtily into the room. The twenty girls sleeping ten to each side in their flat iron frame beds stretched and tried to snap themselves alive.
They knew Dora Stucker's voice and they knew she wouldn't wait till they had a couple of cups of coffee and a cigarette before they came to. She wanted them up and smiling and standing in single file stark naked for her to inspect.
"Any of you chicks been bumping pussy in here last night?" the hardedged voice roared out at the assembled girls. "Cause if you have, you better come clean and admit it. I can smell pussy trails like a bloodhound sniffs corpses."
Every girl there knew she wasn't lying. They also knew the rules of the house. The rules of the house were Dora Stucker. And her assistants, a couple of sadistic twins who loved to tie girls up and shave their heads for the slightest infraction of the rules.
The rules at Brenner Halfway House were simple enough. Just follow all of the mad Amazon's dictates and keep your nose clean. The mad Amazon that now stood framed against the tiny door frame glaring into the overheated room where the girls slept.
She especially didn't like the girls fucking each other when her back was turned. She didn't want the new ones to get laid by any of the regulars. Especially before she had a chance at them.
Virgin pussy was just about her favorite food. Along with all the other junk she spent her spare time cramming down her mouth.
And it showed. Dora Stucker weighed nearly three hundred pounds. Her height was a mere five feet and four inches.
And everyone of them had a mean streak in it. She was as surly as a wounded tigress every day of her life. But she protected those who were loyal to her. And every girl at the halfway house knew who had been there longer than two weeks.
Forty boobies of various sizes and shapes stuck out from under the white bed clothes. They bobbed up randomly and stuck out into the center of the room in two long, straight single files.
"All right!" Dora said, marching like a drill sergeant into the room. Her two accomplices were close behind her. "Now I wanna see those cheeks. And I wanna see those ass holes. Can't have any of you girls starting out the day with dirty asses, can we?"
Twenty girls pivoted around and bent over, bracing their arms against the metal foot stand of their tiny hard beds. They spread their legs out wide and stuck their asses high into the air.
Far down at the end, one little girl with a black eye and a bruised lower lip stuck her ass out extra high and wide. She hadn't done it properly the day before and had gotten a good beating for it, while the others looked on.
Today, she was going to make up for it. But, even as she did, she whispered a little curse under her breath. She loathed Dora Stucker. Loathed her and the entire operation at Brenner. She had been sent there by her father. To escape his senseless beatings of her.
And what had she escaped to? More senseless beatings. And this time, by a sex-crazed dyke of a circus freak. Dora Stucker.
"Hope I fart on the bitch," the black-eyed girl said to the girl next to her bed.
"Who's talking?" Stucker snarled, holding up a long, evil-pointed riding crop. She took the thing everywhere except the stables. There were no stables at Brenner. Just a laundry and an apple orchard.
If you were good and kowtowed to Stucker, you got to work in the apple orchard. If you were a trouble-maker, a straight, a reluctant dyke, or an ugly girl, you got stuck in the laundry.
The black-eyed girl had been ironing shirts since the day she got there. Not that Penny Haver was ugly. Not by a long shot. She had a hot shape and everybody who saw her, in the ugly starched Brenner regulation work clothes, or in the nude, could see that she was fabulously proportioned. Her tits were models of perfection with high rising mounds of silken smooth flesh topped by generous rosy-hued nipple But she hated Stucker. Couldn't stand the sight of her fat, heaving smelly frame. Or the stony evil look in her glazed-over rheumy eyes.
That woman she hated was standing in the middle of the double row of naked girls right now, staring at her.
"I thought I heard one of you little chickadees say something cute," she said, drawing her fat, ruddy hands up to her wide, thrusting hips. "Now you know that if there's one thing around here I don't like, it's a smart-ass."
No response. The girls at Brenner had learned to keep their mouths shut whenever Stucker talked. It was another house rule. An unwritten one, but a rule, nevertheless.
"Anybody here want to tell me who it was mouthing off?" she said, turning slowly and eyeing each of her girls one, by one, by one. "Or do I have to go and make a little example out of one of you to get somebody to talk?"
She paused dramatically. She was well-aware what those pauses meant. She was giving the population of Brenner a chance to think it over. Perhaps recall some of the past punishment sessions. There had been some brutal ones.
Like the day little Lois Jakowski got the shit beaten out of her for stealing an apple.
Penny knew Lois pretty well. They had slept right next to each other when Lois first had been brought there from a prison farm upstate.
Penny knew what her crime was right away. She told her that first night. The first night they had spent together. They stayed up all night talking about it. And that was what led to the trouble.
Lois was a cute kid. Young, alert, stacked like a tiny coke bottle and very bright. She had been a teenage hooker. A runaway. The typical story emerged as the two of them lay there, looking up at the ceiling and whispering to each other.
"Dad beat me," she said, fluffing up her pillow and trying to get comfortable on the starched, stiff sheets, "I never seemed to be able to do anything right, so he beat me."
"Yeah," Penny said, sympathetically, "I know."
Her own father had beaten her, too. It was because she could never keep her mouth shut. She was always getting into trouble with that mouth of hers.He whacked her with his hands, with a yard stick across her bare buttocks, with a razor strap, and one day, a washing machine roller.
Lois's father wasn't nearly so considerate.
He used his big bullwhip on her. He had been a horse trainer at one time, before he got into the bottle, and he believed in treating little Lois like a mean mustang.
"Git over here girl," he would say, cracking his whip in the air as he sat with his feet up on the dining room table, a beer in one hand, a whip in the other.
"I wanna see how you're cooking them potatoes, so bring the pot over with ya."
Lois would bring the heavy, hot stew pot over for him to get a whiff, and check her cooking technique. It wasn't easy for an eleven year old girl to manage the house alone, but her father made it damned near impossible. Perhaps he was secretly punishing her for the fact that her mother died giving her birth.
Or maybe he was just mean-spirited. Either way, he made her suffer a lot. He picked and found fault all day long. She looked forward to going to school just to get away from him.
"Feisty little bitch!" he snarled, letting the slithery end of his whip flail at the floor as the girl would walk shyly toward him.
She never knew when he would strike out. And on the night she ran away, he struck out so viciously, catching her completely off guard, that she burned herself with a hot pot of boiled potatoes.
"Can't you cook nothing right?" he said, after inspecting the pot. "Take that back over there and empty the water."
"What's wrong with it, Pa?" the little chestnut-haired girl said back to him. She balanced the heavy pot against her hip and stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Don't you cross me, girl," her father brayed like a jackass as he sat back harder into the wooden back of his chair and glowered at her.
The girl took in her breath and heard it whistle past her esophagus. She mentally ticked off the seconds. Either her father would strike her or he wouldn't, depending on whether she could count to three before he did.
One ... she shifted the weight from one foot to another ... two ... she edged away from him just a hair....
WHACK!!!! the black bullwhip bit the ceiling and snapped down onto her lightly-clothed backside.
The thing stung her mercilessly. The man knew how to handle that whip and he never let one crack miss its mark. She felt the blistering heat of the heavy leather thong slice her behind. The pain made its way throughout her body in waves of heat and horror. She knew what would happen next.
She knew it and she wished with all her heart that she wouldn't have to stay there and take it. But it had happened so many times before.
"Stay put!" the man shouted to her as she tried to walk away. And, carrying the heavy stew pot made her retreat all the more difficult.
"Ya gotta take what's coming to ya," he said, feeling mean as a snake.
"Okay," the girl said, steering the pot around slowly from one hip to the other. He caught her moving a little and snapped his whip again, and, thinking she was trying to move away, brandished the whip up once more and smacked it down right in her ass crack.
The frightened girl never had a chance to hear the thing until it seized her. She lunged forward spilling the stew pot and its contents of hot potatoes and water all over the floor. Enough of it splashed up into her face and down over her thin dress to scorch her severely.
"Owwwwwwwww!" the old man roared. Some of the hot stuff had hit him on his jeans. Directly in the crotch. He swore, stammered a blue streak and stood up shaken and violently angry.
"You little shit!" he said, feeling the pain himself for a change. He definitely didn't like to get it. "I'll make you pay for this. Now pick those taters up and dump 'em out. Then, git back here. You got work to do. And I don't mean cookin'."
Lois scooped up the potato mess using the hem of her skirt as a pot holder. She turned to the sink and saw her father standing there. His zipper was down, his cock and balls were thrust out and dangled grotesquely to his thighs.
"You're gonna have to do a little work to make up for that accident," he said, gripping the base of his pecker and waving it out at her.
"No, Dad," she said, dropping the stuff in the garbage and turning away from him.
"Git over here," he said, grabbing her by the collar and hauling her to where his massive hairy cock and balls hung ready for her to attend them.
"Ya been drinkin, Pa!" she said, in her highest, tiniest voice. The man had such a harsh grip on her she could hardly find the voice to speak. Let alone speak loud.
"So what if I have?" he said, playing with the front of her dress.
Lois had a good close-up view of his hands. Ruddy, hairy, muscled hands. Hands worked to the same texture as the leather whip he held. Hands that had trained fine horses in the past and had now, through years of drink and sloth, become the hands of an idler, a no-count, a brute.
"Nobody can blame you for wanting a drink, Pa," she said, squirming in his grasp and eyeing him carefully. She was trying to dig up some sympathy for him. but it was difficult. The man didn't exactly curry it.
"Nobody better dare," he moaned, pressing her body down to his chest, and tightening his grip. "Else I'll knock 'em from here to China."
It was a tense moment. Lois knew she should try to talk him out of whatever he intended. She didn't want to get down on her knees and give her smelly old dad a blow job. But if she fought too much, he would whip her to unconsciousness.
That hurt! So did his evil grip on her neck at the moment. She would have to be careful what she said to him.
"It's just that right now, you don't know what you're doin'," she said, tenseness rising in her throat. "Ya don't wanna do something you'll be sorry for tomorrow, do ya, Pa?"
The man's cloudy mind boggled. He couldn't see too well. He felt angry, sore as hell, and hot. Hot under the collar and hot between his thighs.
He shoved the girl in closer to him. Lois felt herself pressed against him. She felt the heavy mass of his cock and full set of balls pressing against her light cotton dress. It was awful. Unbearably stifling. She thought he might choke her. Maybe it would be better than having to suck his cock. Dying might be better than having to go down on her own dad.
"I ain't as drunk as you think I am," the man snarled, shoving her down to his waist. "And I'll prove it. Just git down there and I'll show ya."
"No, Pa, no!" the girl wailed as she felt herself being pushed down toward the floor.
The man's hands dug into her shoulders and slid down her backside. Down, down over the rough, red welts that he had created by bullwhipping her only minutes ago.
The pain seared her to her heart. Bit against the bones in her back. But the worst pain was yet to come. The pain of humiliation. The humiliation that comes with having to perform fellatio on a drunken sot of a father.
"You're gonna see how drunk I am, now, Sweetie," he said, wrestling the girl down to her knees, "you're gonna see that your old man can still get it up. And if you're good, you might even get a chance to help."
"Don't do this, Pa," the girl said, her voice muffled as her father pressed her head into his pants above his cock.
She tasted the salty perspiration of his pubic bone. The soft brown hair swirling and silken in the kitchen light. And she looked down to see the long, dangling serpent throbbing against his leg. It wouldn't be long now before he got hard. No matter what she did there, he would get hard. She had seen it before. He could get hard even when he was drunk. But it was ugly. An ugly vicious scene.
And she thought it would probably be that way tonight. He didn't seem about to alter any of his old patterns. Her begging and entreating him would do no good.
Maybe best just to take her medicine and get it over with. It would be bitter, but it would go down. And she would survive. If she just put her mind to it.
"Take that thing and stick it in your mouth," he ordered her, gripping his cock in his hand and thrusting it up at her. It was not yet hard, but it showed definite signs of growing in that direction.
"Please," the girl cried one last time, "please don't...."
Her words were cut off by the thick cock head that was so crudely stuck in her mouth. It left her no room to speak. And it left her no room to think.
"You better suck that thing good," the man said, "or I'll have to use a little extra instruction on you. And you know what I mean by that."
Lois knew very well what he meant. If she let his cock slide unhindered down her throat. If she didn't lick it and roll her tongue around it like he wanted, if she just let him passively fuck her mouth, he would beat her as she sucked him.
Not only was she to give the man head against her will, she was asked to perform like a pro on him.
She wiggled a little. It was uncomfortable crouched on the hard floor like that. Crouched down and twisted up like a pretzel. The man's massive cock head was stuck inside her mouth now and it was up to her.
Would she just let him drill her and get a rain of stiff blows down on her backside, or would she suck him in earnest and spare herself a whipping? It was a question she hated to face. One she could never seem to win once it was answered. And once it was answered, there was no turning back.
The thing rammed down her throat. She felt it grow in width and length against the fleshy pink of her inner lips. Against her teeth and tongue. The man pulled her hands up to his balls and forced her to press and massage them.
The taste in her mouth grew acrid. The man's cock was musty, foul, and smelly. She felt the sensation of gagging, choking, vomiting.
His hard hand never let up its grip on her tiny ones. He made her knead his balls hard against his body. Forcing them in little circles, first one way, then the other.
"You gonna suck me good, girl?" he cried out, giving her her final option in the matter. The only choice she was to have. "Or are you gonna have to git whipped instead?"
A moment passed. Lois hated this decision. It was a matter of getting into it, of really putting her heart and soul into the job of sucking him off, or withdrawing from the act itself. Absenting herself and letting him whip her as he did the work and she knelt there quietly.
A grueling choice. She gulped a little of the saliva down her throat and prepared to take the man's cock full in the face. She never did like to get whipped. And as much as she hated sucking this big, evil weapon he had hanging between his legs, she despised the sting of his whip even more.
So it was really a matter of which whip to pick. The one in his hand or the one that stuck so rudely between her lips.
She began the rhythmical in and out movements of sucking, tasting the man's hard dick as it sloshed back and forth inside her mouth. She could feel each hair follicle, each vein, each wrinkle as he pushed it ever further back into her mouth.
She knew she was a good cocksucker. After all, her father had taught her to the tune of a hickory stick and she had been a good pupil. It was either suck like a pro or get your ass smashed. She had learned fast and she had learned good.
"Suck me, you little bitch!" the man growled down to her, "suck that dick in your sweet little mouth. I don't take it out till I want. Is that understood?"
Lois nodded her head a little to show that she heard him. He could be very mean if she ignored anything he said now. And he still had the power. He had the whip. The whip that was now lying on the floor at his feet.
She swallowed the heap of spit and juice that was building up in her mouth and began rolling her tongue around in arching, pitching curves. She tickled the tip of his cock, then ran rings around the rim of his head. She could feel the foreskin still pulling back as she did so.
And she could taste even more of the build-up of unwashed, uncared for flesh. The taste was nauseating. But she didn't have a choice whether to like it or not. Her choice was simply between sucking or whipping. The stench rose to greet her nostrils in waves that made her gut wrench. The thick log still rolled down, down her mouth, heaving, throbbing, and pulsating huge and hard.
"You like to suck your old dad, don't you?" the man said, his voice a constant groan of growing pleasure, "you like to suck on yer old Dad's joint."
The man's thick rod filled up her mouth so completely now it was stretched out to a painful point. Her mouth ached, her jaw ached, her throat and tonsils ached. And still she sucked. Still, she rolled her tongue around his hot, heavy dick and plastered him with tongue kisses.
"Keep that up and Daddy might git you a new pair of shoes," the man said teasingly. He felt his balls bounce up hard under his cock base. The girl was giving it her all. All that he demanded.
Lois tasted the hot little pool of semen filling his huge dick slit. It was bitter. Bitter and disgraceful. How could she go on like this? How could she continue to suck on such a disgusting object as this filthy, bulging cock pole?
But her personal preferences had taken a flying leap out the window. It only mattered now that she keep sucking. The man kept insisting his dick into her tiny wet, receptive mouth. She coiled her tongue up like a snake and flicked at his huge under shaft vein.
She felt him moan and sway against her. He loved this. He loved it when she tickled that huge vein of his. He stuck his cock deeper into her throat and grabbed the back of her head, forcing himself as high up as he could.
He was now all the way to the hilt and his balls were bouncing hard against her lips. His cock was bathed in her mouth juice. Her mouth juice mixed with his runny semen and created a mingling that sent his eyes rolling back in his head. The slippery sucking went on. He wanted it to go on forever.
But he knew he couldn't hold it much longer. He knew she would get him in the end. Get him and make him shoot his load to kingdom come. She always did that. Little feisty mouth fucker. That's what she was. His own hand-trained horse. Good girl, too. Good girl.
"Whoa, Horsie," he said, feeling her enthusiasm grow as he pumped her mouth with his huge flesh column. "Slow down and let Dad breath. I don't want to come yet."
Lois couldn't stop. She knew he would come if she rushed, maybe he would beat her if he came too soon. But she had to have this thing over with. Done with and behind her. Until the next time he got drunk.
Until the next evening when he would sit in that chair and piss and moan about his lot. Get drunk, get drunker. Drink to a mean, black mood and pick up his whip. Then, if she were around, he would beat her till she sucked his cock again. Sucked it like she was doing now.
These thoughts welled up in her mind like a tide of hatred. She sucked as hard as she could on his dick, forcing him closer and closer to the edge of his climax.
She gripped the slippery rod between her moist, hot lips and plunged it in and out as hard as she could between them. She felt it slide past her teeth, past her tongue, down to her tonsils. And she held it there. She held it there as long as she dared. She held it deep and fast in her tiny, talented throat.
And all the while, she reached closer and closer with her one free hand toward the whip on the floor. Toward her dad's mammoth bullwhip. She didn't even think about what she would do once she had the thing in hand. She just knew she had to do something.
Do something or die. That was her choice.
"Suck me, suck my cock,. ... ooooooh, suck that dick, now, Sweetie, suck it good. I'm close. Oh, I'm gonna shoot...."
Lois's hand found the handle of the bullwhip. She gripped it as hard around as she could and as she did she felt the man's balls knock hard against the base of his throbbing hard cock shaft.
Then, he shot. He took the girl's head in his hands and he locked her to him. Locked her to him so close there was no room to breathe. He wanted to smother her with his huge, hairy cock rod. His entire being. He felt the come load surge down, down his shaft and out, out the wide open tip of his pecker. It spilled out in a hot, power jet of thick, pissing jism.
He wracked his body up and down on the little girl's face. He banged his hips hard against the sink counter as he thrust them back before he shoved them forward.
He was shooting his load. Firing off his man rocket. Relieving himself of his spunk cream.
Lois held her breath. There would be no gasping for air now. Not until he was done. And as he shot, she held the bullwhip. Held it so tightly, so firmly, she bruised her hand. She brought it back, back over her head and snapped it down onto the man's face. Into the face she despised and loathed. Hated with a piercing feeling of black menace and rage.
She lashed him square in the face as his cock spilled its juice. She hit him again and again. She had caught him unaware and caught him quick.
"What the hell...." he said, grabbing at her wrist. He tried to yank his still rock hard cock out of her mouth, but she wouldn't let it go. She clamped down on it with her teeth and lips. She ensnared it in the prison of her tiny, wet powerfully muscular mouth.
The mouth that he had trained and whipped to perfection. The grip that he had developed in her. She was now using that same grip to trap him inside. He wiggled his hips, tossing and turning his head around in pain and horror.
Again the whip stung his face and neck. And again the white jagged row of teeth bit into his cock rod.
"I'll kill you," he screamed at the top of his lungs, "I'll kill you!!!!"
Lois gave a final big bite onto the man's dick shaft. She felt the teeth in her mouth dig into it deeply. Then, she twisted her head a little for a final application of pain and she spat the thing out of her mouth.
She spat it out and she stood up and she ran. Ran carrying the whip with her right out of the house. She knew that if she hadn't taken that whip, that man would stop her cold in her tracks.
So skilled was he in the use of it, he would have tackled her and felled her to her knees. Then, he might have killed. Like he threatened to.
She sobbed hysterically as she ran down the street. She sobbed from humiliation and pain. Sobbed for the loss of her home and family, for she knew she could never go back there.
She didn't. She hitched a ride to the city, ended up on the streets, and was befriended by a tall, skinny pimp with a big car and a smooth way of talking.
He knew she was underage. He kept her for his special clients for a while, trained her in how to get money from men for sex, though he didn't have to train her to give head. He found that she had already had quite a lot of instruction in that.
Of course, she was arrested. A plainclothesman had spotted her and found out she was under age. She had been released to the custody of her father, and she ran away again. This continued until she was eighteen. That's when they took her to the prison farm upstate. After six months there, she was released to Brenner Halfway House for Women. And that's where she met Penny Haver.
The same Penny Haver that stood over the metal bed rail now. Stark naked and with her ass cheeks spread wide. Stucker was coming. Stucker was making her way down the aisle of outstretched ass cheeks, looking up into the butt holes of every girl there. Deciding which would be punished and which would be favored. And which one she would take to bed.
CHAPTER TWO
Dora Stucker marched down the aisle like a pompous peacock. After all, this was her turf. She had been head of Brenner House since she was a young woman. And that was some years ago.
Nellie and Vera Bagley marched on either side of her. She knew she could count on them when the going got rough. They were her aides. Her special assistants on all counts. A couple of tough cookies. Sisters. Lesbians. Sadists.
But they weren't as tough as Dora Stucker. Few women were. She had been a professional wrestler as a girl. Before she came here.
She often thought back to the good old days. The days when her now braided red and gray-streaked hair hung down her back in flaming copper strands. The admiration and envy of many men and women. Her father had been a wrestling coach and there were no boys in the family. So, for want of a trainee, he picked her.
She was a strapping chunk of a girl. Short, well-built, and extremely well-muscled. Her thick, round tits stuck out far in front of her, accentuating her small waist. And her legs strong and svelte. Unusually long for a short girl. Another source of admiration.
She had trouble keeping the men away in those days. And, she was something of an oddity, a bit of celebrity, really. She travelled to the city and competed in many wrestling exhibitions. Often with older and more experienced women.
Her father taught her a lot about the game. There were many tricks to exhibition wrestling. It was less a sport than a form of entertainment, but it still had to be learned.
She got very adept at it in a short amount of time. Her father billed her as Dora the Red Devil. There was a lot of publicity, on account of the fact that she was only eighteen when she turned pro. There had never been time for boys. Only for her father. He made her follow a terrifically demanding work schedule and left little time for play.
There were adoring letters from her male fans. She met a few of them. But somehow, guys who brought her flowers just didn't interest her. Once she had gone out after a wrestling exhibition to a fancy restaurant.
The guy fawned over her all night long. He was tall, good looking, wealthy, a bit of playboy who seemed to collect unusual women. And she certainly qualified.
She had shocked the whole place by wearing a leopard skin dress and the highest, blackest stiletto heel shoes she could find in town.
The guy in the white tuxedo was named Clyde. Clyde Yervant. He drove a fast sports car and insisted on ordering champagne. She never drank. There was her job to think about.
"But tonight, please make an exception," the blonde young man said to her.
She didn't like anyone telling her what to do. She could take this guy in a fair fight. Or in an unfair fight. The kind that was rigged for her every night she strutted into the wrestling ring.
Christ, she didn't even like the way he smelled. Fruity. Like ju ju beans. And that smile. So adorable. Like a magazine cover. Or a greeting card painting.
"Well, I can't," she said, sitting back and sticking her tits in his face. "I'm in training."
"Ha!" the man said, snapping his fingers for the waiter to begin opening the vintage bottle sitting in the ice bucket. "Don't tell me you actually train for those garish events."
"I don't know what the hell you think I am, Mister," she said, feeling like she would like to reach over and get a bear hug on him till the referee called 'Foul', but then, this was a restaurant, not a ring.
"I know you're a fake," the man said, grinning and leaning toward her intimately. "I know those matches are rigged and phony. You're not a sportswoman, you're a vaudevillian. You put on a show, there's absolutely no skill involved."
Dora felt herself grow steamy under her leopard skins. This man was giving her a pain in the butt. How dare he not think that her years of legitimate wrestling training meant any thing. Sure the matches were fixed. It was entertainment, but she had to be in peak condition to undergo those matches, and she resented the fact that he didn't believe it.
"Maybe you'd like to change your mind," she said, putting one elbow on the white linen tablecloth and cocking her head to the side.
"I don't think so," the man said, spreading his linen napkin out in his lap and winking at her, "I know enough the subject to know that you're just an actress, nothing more. Those games require no skill whatsoever. Oh, you're luscious, all right. I hope you'll allow me a chance to eat you up later on tonight, but if you're under the impression that I think you're an athlete, you are sadly mistaken."
Dora tapped her long glossed fingernails on the table. It was too bad, in a way, she thought. The guy was cute. And she needed to get laid. She was nearly nineteen and nothing had turned up in that area so far. But this little creep would just have to be put in his place. And she couldn't sit by and let it go on too much longer. There was her reputation to think of.
"Now, tell me," he said, buttering his bread with the proper knife, "what's going on in that pretty empty little head of yours?"
Dora counted to ten. The way the referees did when she had some gigantic Amazon pinned to the mat. She was an athlete and she knew it. And no smartass little snot-nosed kid who looked like a glass of milk in a white tuxedo was going to tell her different.
She stood up and gripped the edge of the table with her fingers. She let out a wild whoop, just the way she did in the middle of a wrestling match. And she upended the table in one powerful swoop.
Dishes, glassware, silver and linen flew up and came crashing down to the floor. Heads from every corner of the room turned and mouths fell open.
Two waiters dropped whatever they were holding and stared in the direction of the commotion.
"What the hell is she doing?" one of them said to the other.
"I don't know," the head waiter said, " but if that guy in the white tuxedo doesn't know how to defend himself, he's in serious trouble. That's Dora the Red Devil, Lady Wrestler. Let's watch this."
Dora stood up and regarded the man across from her. He had nearly been knocked out of his seat by the table that glanced off his knees as it overturned. He sat holding a champagne bottle with absolutely nothing to pour champagne into.
The redheaded bomber took a wrestler stance and rolled up her leopard skin sleeves. She looked at the upended table in front of her. Its four legs stood there, pointing toward the rafters.
"It's smaller than a regulation wrestling ring," she said, glaring at the man who had at this moment become her opponent, "but I think the tight quarters might make things a bit hotter, don't you?"
Clyde stood up, still holding the champagne bottle. This woman was making him look very bad in front of people he knew. This was his favorite restaurant. He had brought countless glamorous women here and always been treated with the utmost respect. He was a handsome, wealthy, desirable playboy. And he wasn't about to let this little upstart make him look bad.
"I need a referee!!!" Dora shouted in a voice that made the whole place sit up and take notice. It even made some of them hold their hands over their ears.
"You've got one," said the waiter. He grabbed a silver spoon and long-stemmed glass and came over to where the two of them were standing, their eyes locked on each other.
"Care to enter the ring, Clyde?" Dora said, flexing her muscles under her tight leopard skin dress. "I always like to have my opponents walk in first. Then I can size them up, find their weaknesses."
"This is preposterous," the tuxedoed man said, shaking his messed up blonde hair back into place.
"Come on," the bold redhead said, tossing her head back and yanking the clip out of it, "you said it was just a show. And from the way you've been acting tonight, you're a hell of a showman. Now get in here and we'll entertain each other."
Clyde felt piqued, red and angry. This bitch wasn't making him look too good now. He had recognized a newspaper gossip columnist sitting at a corner table wnen they came in. She would undoubtedly blab the whole thing to her paper and he would come out looking like a chicken shit in the tabloid the next day.
He looked around and sank into the inevitability of his fate. He would have to take this redheaded monster on if he was going to be able to look himself in the face again. Or be able to pick up the morning paper.
He took off his tuxedo and threw it over some potted palms. Then, calmly and with as much dignity as he could muster, he stepped out of his pants.
The usually hum drum crowd dropped whatever they had on the tip of their forks and fixed their eyes on the upturned table. Some moved in closer to see if what they thought was happening was really going to.
"Good," Dora called to him, "take them off. That will give me a chance to throw you down on the mat and not rip 'em."
She gave a little battle snort and stepped into the confines of the upside down table. She was joined a moment later by Clyde, now in his shirtsleeves and cotton briefs.
"You little vixen," the man sneered, "you're trying to make me look bad, but it won't work. I'm not the weakling you seem to think I am. You better stop this before you get hurt."
Dora Stucker never stopped something she had already started.
She shook her head and came at him. She wasted no time pulling him to her by his neck and heaving his whole body down on the floor.
He was stronger than she thought. And faster. He scrambled back up before she had a chance to nail him there.
He grabbed her by the waist and whirled her around. She felt the familiar pressures of a crude hammer lock grip coming at her from behind.
The man knew something about wrestling after all. This was going to be interesting.
"Will you look at that, Ma?" one of the diners said, nudging his wife, "a real exhibition game. And we got a ringside seat!"
Dora crouched down hard, lifting the man up off his feet as she curled into a quick squat position. She also heard her skirt rip. That was too bad, but nothing she could worry about now.
He flew unawares off over her head and came down on the table board again, his feet flailing at the air.
"Kill 'em, Dora," the head waiter shouted, unable to contain himself any longer.
Other diners were shouting and egging them on.
"Go get her, Clyde," someone who knew him shouted, "you're gonna let a woman beat you?"
By this time, Dora was dragging Clyde across the floor by his heels. The two of them ended in a heap on the floor amidst much hair pulling and eye punching.
"Fucking bitch!" Clyde shouted, breathlessly, "take your hand out of my eye."
"That's just an act, Clyde," the redheaded siren shouted, "you told me so yourself."
Clyde felt himself growing hotter and more exhausted. Also angrier. He didn't like being made a spectacle of. And this little cock-eyed bitch was getting the best of him. But he had a few tricks up his sleeve still.
Dora brought her knees up and landed them with a thud into Clyde's chest. She had never wrestled with another man before, except her father. But no one had tried to knock her teeth down her throat.
In fact, he was turning her on. Sure enough. She recognized the symptoms. It was like the time she went to the movies and saw Errol Flynn for the first time. She had gotten very turned on.
And now, this guy was making her feel a little the same way. The way he was manhandling her. The way their bodies made contact, pressed against each other and wiggled into a harmonious symphony of squirms.
"You fucking cunt!" Clyde hollered, drop kicking at her face. He hit the floor, but not before he left his mark on her neck.
Dora didn't like having her neck marked. Especially when she was wearing jewelry. She would have to show this guy a thing or two. About not messing with her when she meant business.
She walked over and picked him by the twin lapels of his shirt and by hooking one hand around his crotch. It had been a popular hold with women wrestlers, and she hadn't thought about the fact that she might be coming into contact with the guy's cock.
But sure enough, when she dug her hand down there, she touched his dick through the thin cotton brief material. She had never touched a man's thing before. This felt very good. Very good indeed. A plump, round and thick clump of flesh. A round rolling log slightly limpish, and two heaps of movable flesh on either side.
The combination under her hand made her want to put him down and kiss him right there on the spot. But this was business. She would have to show him that she was indeed an athlete, not an actress.
But right now, she had to act a little even while she was proving she wasn't an actress. She had to act like she wasn't turned on. In fact, her clit was throbbing as fast as her heart. Her cunt lips were oozing with the juices flowing out of her cunt. She hoped none would seep out of her panties and come rolling down her leg for the whole crowd to see.
That crowd was certainly getting off on the action. Many of the men had taken their ties off and were sitting much more intimately than they had before in that stiff little environment.
"Get her Dora," an eager onlooker shouted, heaving his glass of champagne over toward the ring.
Clyde gripped his gut muscles as the mighty little lady picked him up by his balls and heaved him against the table leg. He felt his nose bloody as he landed hard and barely had time to turn around before she was pressing her knee into him.
He could look down her dress pretty well from this vantage point. And if hadn't been in so much pain, he would have appreciated the sight of her two mammoth melons pressed together like cantaloupes in a crate. As it was, he had to be content just to look and enjoy.
"You had enough?" Dora whispered to him as she grabbed his head for a hammer lock pose.
"Never, you little bitch!" the man growled low down in his throat, "and I think I'm getting an erection."
"What?" Dora said, loosening her hold in shock.
It was just the edge Clyde needed. He hurled himself at her hard and she was thrown back against the floor.
He jumped to his feet and bolted his whole body on top of her, pinning her down with the length of his entire frame.
"How about you?" he said, grinning into her face, "you had enough yourself?"
"You're not enough of a man to give me enough," she said back to him, spitting into his face for final emphasis.
"Foul play!" the man said, and he leaned over and bit her square in the neck.
"Owwwwwwwwww!!!!!" Dora shouted at the top of her lungs. "This man is cheating!!!"
Even as she said it, she felt the huge cock that she had just touched in its flaccid state grow harder. Harder and stronger. It jutted up into her body. It felt like an enormous arm coming from somewhere with a thick, clenched fist on the end of it.
She wondered if men's cocks were built like their fists. This one felt like it was.
"Let me go!" she said, staring up at him and realizing that he, indeed., wasn't playing fair. He was cheating, not in his wrestling technique, which he knew something about after all, but in the fact that he was sticking her in the groin with a hard on.
Her cunt twitched and tugged at itself as he ground his hips hard down into her.
"What the hell kind of a hold is this?" she seethed up at him.
"A lover's knot," he said back, proud of himself to have thought it up, but giving her the satisfaction of knowing that.
Dora tried every trick she knew of to wrest free of him. She tried kneeing him in the small of the back, kicking both feet down on the floor at the same time and raising her hips up off the ground, butting him with her head, her tits, anything she could think of.
But he was determined. He held her fast. He held her fast and brought his face down over hers. He planted a big square mouthy wet kiss on her lips. And ne stuck his tongue down her throat as soon as she gave him an edge.
"Arrrrrghgghhhh!!" she cried as his body sunk even harder into hers. She knew her mourn was being violated. She also knew, that under all the anger and shock, she liked it.
And her cunt was wet. If he were sensitive at all to that, he would feel it. That worried her even more than the fact that her opponent had her dead to rights at the moment.
"Fuck her," somebody from ringside roared.
"Stick it to her, Clyde," another waiter said, elbowing the chef and pointing eagerly to the action in the center ring.
"No!" Dora said as she felt a hand come up and grab her neckline. She was weakening fast and she knew it. This guy didn't play fair at all. He was using a cock hold on her.
And she didn't like it one bit. But her cunt had other ideas. And right now, pinned down to the floor like a spent butterfly, her cunt was in the driver's seat.
She heard the rip in her dress before she felt the breeze waft over her tits, hardening her nipples to erasers. She could glance down a bit and see them heaving and jiggling around. It was so degrading.
And this big, tall man on top of her. Someone she knew for sure she could take in a fair fight. He was making her look like a forty pound weakling.
She kneed him hard in the spine, but her usual force had withered. The blow went wide of its mark and she felt the cock in her groin jab down at her, making her knees turn to jelly and her muscles ache with longing.
"Why don't you just finish me off?" she said, fighting back the urge to cry. She was so humiliated.
"I think I'll do that," Clyde said, finishing the rip job in her dress.
He tore it down, down past her navel, past her panty line. Then, he gripped her panties with his teeth while he pinned her down with his knees and his hands. Pinned her down flat as a pancake, except for the high white peaks of her tits.
Clyde's hard cock was slowly but surely making its way out the slit in his cotton briefs. He worked at it helping it out as best he could by rubbing the thing against the girl's lean, muscular flanks. It obeyed by peeking its thick dome head out to the hearty applause of all the people in the restaurant.
"Give it to her, Clyde," somebody shouted drunkenly. "I've got a bet on you."
Dora was used to people betting on her. This was an indignation. She remembered a ploy she had used once in a tag team match in Chicago. She let her feet muscles go slack long enough for Clyde to sense that she was giving in. Then, once his grasp lightened a little bit, she threw her legs up high into the air and snapped them around his neck.
A destructive wrestling hold. But, unfortunately for her, a dynamite fucking hold.
She had given Clyde just the edge he needed to penetrate her. He brought his hips up high enough for his cock to get a good slant angle and aimed it straight toward the hole in her panties he had created with his teeth while half pulling them down.
The crowd cheered as his cock came into view.
"I'd like to get him in a hold," one of the more brazen women shouted, "a hold in the bedroom."
"Go to it, Clyde," some other eager beaver yelled.
"That's a great cock he's got there, Dora," another woman urged, "you'd better get some while you can."
Before Dora knew what was happening the man had sliced his thick knife right up inside her cunt slit.
"Gaaaawwwwdddd!" she screamed, piercing the air with her voice, "take that out."
" 'Fraid I can't do that," Clyde said, grinning down to her from under a curtain of sweat.
"Why not?" she said, still trying to grasp at logic straws.
"Because I don't want to," the man said, winking at her and stuffing his dick tip even higher into her tiny, writhing cunt hole.
Dora knew it wasn't gonna be over soon. She felt the head of his dick butt into her and tried like hell not to shout. The pain was overbearing. Worse than any wrestler hold she knew of. He really wasn't playing fair at all.
And, she realized, men did have the distinct advantage. Here he was with all four appendages-two arms and two legs. Like her, except for one difference. He had a cock. A fifth appendage. And he was using that cock right now to pin her to the mat.
The waiter referee began clinking his glass in rapid succession.
"Don't look now, folks," he said, trying to sound like the referee in a real wrestling match, "but I think it's all over now."
"No, it isn't," Dora said, through clenched teeth.
But even as the words left her lips, she doubted their veracity. She couldn't keep her cool much longer. The heavy hard head of the man's cock was throbbing hot and deadly between her inner cunt lips. The cunt lips that now ran heavy with the juices of arousal.
"You feel delightful, Dora," Clyde said, opening his eyes wide and sticking his dick down into her further. It was a tight fit.
The idea had not occurred to him until now that she might be a virgin. He simply hadn't considered it. She was such a hot little piece of ass. And the way she showed it off. Those deep-cut dresses made out of animal skin. That unsubtle way she had of sauntering everywhere, swinging one hip and then the other.
She was public property. A showgirl! He had been out with showgirls. They weren't virgins. He doubted that they had ever been. And this was just another showgirl. Wasn't she?
Then, he bumped his dick head against her thin membrane. He felt it thud as it struck. Then he gripped her hard as she vibrated to a shattering climax.
Pay dirt! She had been a virgin, after all. An untouched showgirl. That rarity of all rarities. A pure piece of woman ass. Would wonders never cease?
"I'm sorry," he said, feeling a light trickle run out of the girl's cunt.
"Shut your mouth and fight," the woman said, glaring back at him with hate in her eyes.
She felt pretty mean herself right about now. She also felt as hot as the fringes of Hades. Her was so engorged with blood it absolutely clanged against the man's pubic bone.
"Shit you're a good lay," Clyde said brightly, trying to hide his discomfort.
"I'm a good wrestler, too, damn it," the woman said, tossing her head and trying to break free of his hold once more.
But her glands overtook her. She wanted that dick of his now that her hymen had been dispensed with and she wanted it hard.
She bounced her hips up high off the floor and felt it ram down into her cunt. That was more like it. She bounced again and again and got his surging cock pole wringing wet and rock hard from the juices of her gripping, flaming cunt.
"Getting into it, are you?" one of the sideliners shouted at Dora.
Dora was indeed getting into it. She felt her old strength returning. She brought one of her reliable knees up sharp and hit Clyde's back dead center.
He groaned in pain and kept his cock pressed into her as she momentarily gained the upper hand. She locked her hips hard down onto his fuck stick and rolled him over in a series of sharp, thrusting body jerks.
Now, she was on top. She jerked her hips up hard, all the way to the end of his dick. Then, she slammed her whole body down onto his pressing her full weight into his frame.
She was determined to break every bone in his body, including the one in his cock.
"You piece of shit," she said, pumping her hips harder and harder, screwing them around and whipping them down and up and over his thick, pulsating dick, "you lousy piece of shit."
Clyde took it in stride. He knew he had won. Because even if he didn't come out on top, he still got to come.
The woman on top of him was turning into a wildcat. She tossed her head back and threw her red mane from side to side. She jumped up and down on his cock and screwed her body around and around in an attempt to fuck him to death. It felt just fine to him. A little more excited than usual, he was, and this woman was a splendid showpiece and a first rate fuck. But nothing he couldn't handle, "Fuck me," he shouted as loud as he could. He wasn't shy about letting the crowd know they were both aroused.
"Fuck that dick, that's right, Baby," he said, gritting his teeth and spitting the words out like nails.
He was near the peak of his own arousal and he wanted to hold onto it a moment, but he knew it wouldn't be for long. This woman was just too charged up to be held back and calmed down.
Dora felt like a mustang in heat. She pulled her body up to full throttle and slammed it down on the gigantic dick. Then, once more, she brought her whole body up hard and high so that the crowd got a breathtaking glimpse of the whole wet and glistening man shaft beneath her cunt.
And then, finally and completely, she gobbled it up with her wringing wet cunt. She rode the man to a stunning climax as the crowd jeered, shouted, stomped their feet and roared their approval.
"Oh, shit!" she shouted as she brought herself to an earth-shattering climax. "How did this happen?"
Clyde braced his whole backside against the floor as his come load surged out and down the tip of his dick. He tried to slam on the brakes to stop it, to hold it just one or two more seconds, to cheat the inevitable, but the rush engulfed him just the same.
"Oh, Wow!!!!" he said, heaving a heavy sigh and feeling that for the first time, he had really gotten his money's worth at this particular restaurant.
That had all happened a long, long time ago. When she was young and alluring. A freak, maybe. But hot stuff nonetheless. And to that millionaire playboy, she was just about the most exciting thing on record.
There were other men after that. Lots of them, but inevitably, she grew tired of them. There was just so much any man could give her. After all, she had a career, a lot of money, her health.
But the lifespan of a lady wrestler isn't particularly long. And by the time she was forty, things had begun to grind to a halt. The jobs were fewer, the exhibition halls were dirtier. And she had begun taking drugs. They got her off in the beginning, charged her up for a match. Gave her the necessary pick-me-up that was needed for long series of dull bouts.
But the drugs got to be a terrible grind, too. She found she could barely get out of bed without them. And travelling from city to city, she needed the lulling sense of home and comfort they provided. She spent more than she made on her drugs.
And it was getting harder and harder to get a young man to buy them for her. Her beauty had begun to fade. Her red hair, once her pride and glory, was now interspersed with strands of grey. And her figure, that once-muscular paragon of health, had begun to sag.
It was the year she turned forty that she had started to take in a little extra money on the side. A little extra money by opening a small salon over the gym in which she only occasionally worked out. And into this private salon, she brought the devotees of the art of dominance. She became an expert dominatrix.
Another taste she had developed over the years was a taste for women. Perhaps it was inevitable. Wrestling with them, feeling their bodies up and down the whole hour or so of a match. And getting into fights with them, even after the exhibitions were over.
Men were okay, when she was young and desirable. But now that they no longer desired her, she would show them. She took up with one young impressionable woman after another.
Soon, her taste drifted to much younger women. And ultimately, the ones she could most easily trap were runaways. Having sold her body on several occasions, she was familiar enough with the art of selling it on the street to be able to go up to any one of the young girls who worked the strip near her salon and get them to come up for a visit.
Those devotees of dominance played beautifully into her hands. She could amuse herself all afternoon with one, if they happened to be particularly willing or in need of some restraint.
Others, less willing to be tied up, bound, spanked, fucked by another woman, she let off with a good lecture on the evils of prostitution.
She also ran a small ad in a local sex paper. That attracted a few wild and repressed school teachers, a regular, though small group of housewives, and even a nun.
It had also attracted the governor's daughter. Governor Frank J. Haver's only daughter. A slight, stacked blonde named Penny.
Her collection of subjects pleased her. There were more people into being dominated than even she had thought. One never knew in what in the governor's mansion!
CHAPTER THREE
Penny Haver had been a little troublemaker since day one. She grew up rich and spoiled and unattended by either of her wealthy, politically-active parents.
She saw little of them. Her father was a liberal-minded lawyer with aspirations of sitting in the state capital and possibly beyond. He had even come from a long line of politicians, all of them having begun as lawyers.
Penny was supposed to have been a boy. But the family quickly adjusted when they found out there were to be no other children. After all, there were such things as lady lawyers, lady politicians, too.
And so, Penny was groomed for service in a political family. But nobody told her. She was left in the care of a black maid and her caretaker husband while the Havers, Frank and Darla, ran around the globe trying international law cases.
Since Penny was only a child, and not yet ready for a suitable girls' school-the necessary pre-requisite for getting into an exclusive Eastern girls' college-she could be dumped on the poor but reliable black couple.
It was an arrangement that sufficed, black couple.
That left Penny's mom and dad a lot of room to further their careers. But it didn't leave Penny much room to grow up with any sense of family. She was a spirited, bright little girl, and she knew a lot at a young age. She also knew her parents were shirking their responsibility as parents and she grew to resent it bitterly.
But, she found other things to occupy her while they were away. She especially liked spying on the Farleys, the black caretaker couple, while they were having sex.
She was little enough to sneak into their closet at night by opening their bedroom door very quietly and crawling along the carpet till she got to the closet. Then, opening the door inch by inch ever so slowly, she would crawl in and hide there until they would wake up and get it on.
"Lola, baby," the big, low-voiced man would whisper as he nudged his sleeping wife, "wake up. I wanna make it with you, doll."
The woman would inevitably yawn and stretch and throw the covers down to reveal a well-proportioned chocolaty colored body with nubile tits and even darker chocolate nipples.
The man was constantly hard. In fact, before she had a chance to see another man besides Mr. Farley, Penny thought all men had hard dicks on them all the time.
She just figured it was standard equipment. Mr. Farley had an exceptionally long and thick and ready black schlong. And as Penny watched and rubbed at the tiny tight little cunt spot between her own legs, he was shoving that hard long rod into his wife's back.
"Gimme a minute to wake up," she said, sounding a little angry.
But Penny knew it was just a trick to get him hotter. The woman was crazy about getting it in the morning with her husband. They had sex nearly every day at the same time, and Penny watched whenever she could.
One of their rituals that Penny loved was to see the man tie his wife up. That got her so hot a couple of times she nearly gave herself away by squealing out loud in the heat of passion.
The man was a burly-chested strongly-built hunk of male pride. He had arms like tree trunks. He usually didn't stop to wait for his wife to wake up, instead he lifted her up and threw her down onto the bed face up.
Then, as she protested loudly, he would draw a length of rope from under the bed out and use it to tie her up.
There was a heavy light fixture in the ceiling and the man used that as a hoist. He bound the woman up securely, tying tiny slip knots in several places all over her body. Then, he threw the rope up and over the ceiling fixture.
The whole time, the woman protested.
"That hurts, baby," she would say.
"Not so rough, you mean old coot," was another of her complaints.
"Take it easy on me, I'm telling you," she warbled in her luscious honey-thick voice.
Sometimes she would try to cuff him or kick him in his hard dick or immensely round dark balls.
But he always overpowered her.
He would bend her body up into a pretzel and bind her finally in that position. He always allowed a little room for her ass to stick out between the ropes.
Penny loved the way that ass looked. So rosy, surprisingly pink and moist in the midst of that delicious creamy black flesh.
The man would sometimes hoist the rope up so that his wife's ass was level with his flailing hard on and just dick away at her for several minutes before he shot.
The woman protested the whole time, but never very loudly or strongly.
That's what made Penny think she must have liked it.
Today, however, the man hoisted his wife high into the air and crawled up onto the bed directly under her.
He secured the rope by tying the free end of it to the bed frame and twirled the woman around to make her giddy.
"Stop that, you creep," she said, "I'm getting dizzy."
"That's cuz you're one dizzy dame," he said, standing there on the white sheets, his black hard on providing the perfect eye contrast.
Penny watched as he stood very close to his wife's ass hole and tongued her pink, petal parts. The sight of his tongue going out and in her ass hole got her plenty hot.
She lifted her nightgown and began diddling herself in earnest. Her thick rubbery cunt lips bounced up and down between her squeezing fingers as she moved closer and closer to her slick, engorged clit.
Her pussy juices flowed onto her fingers as she continued to rub herself and grow warm all over from the friction she created between those outstretched pussy lips.
She watched the man play with his own big dick as he sucked the trussed up woman's cunt and ass holes.
It was a routine she knew pretty well by now. He would run one thick finger around the ridge of his cock head, working the foreskin back a little and creating the most chilling squeaky effect against his skin. Then, he'd spit into his hands and grip his log with one of them while he tugged rhythmically at his balls with the other. "Ooooooh," the woman cried in mock agony as he tongued her hole, "now put me down or I'll scream."
"You ain't goin' nowhere," he would say to her, "so shut up."
Then, he'd grip onto his big dick with both his hands and slide them way up to the top and letting them rest there a moment, work his tongue in and out of his wife's cunt and ass until she squealed with delight.
"I got you right where I want you," he'd say.
Then, when he had worked his cock to a stiff board, he lowered the rope just far enough to dangle his captive wife up over the tip of his giant black dick dome.
Working the rope up and down quickly he fucked her while standing still.
She shouted and cursed at him as he did so, swearing she would beat him up as soon as he let her out of that trap.
The man would laugh and continue to fuck her in this fashion.
The sight of the black man's enormous fuck pole sliding in and out of the helpless woman's cunt gave Penny such a rush she had to grip her clit to keep it from throbbing so loudly it might give her away.
She held her breath and felt her whole body light up as the black man hoisted his wife up, up and off his cunt tip.
She saw the big fire hose squirt a jet of white thick jism cream. It squirted all over the woman's writhing, quivering cunt lips and pink puckered ass hole.
She shot, too, screaming and cursing her man as she did.
And at the same time, Penny let go her load. She gripped her clit in her little hot hand and bounced her hips up and down hard on the closet floor as she let her body go in a free fall of ecstatic climax.
There had been many mornings spent like that. Bundled up in her nightie, sitting spread-eagle on the floor of the Farleys' bedroom closet and jerking herself off to a climax as she watched the couple engaging in mild bondage activities.
She saw nothing wrong with it. In fact, it was the only healthy sign of love she got in her life. Her parents were seldom home, and each pursued his and her own career with such single-mindedness, she rarely got a chance to see them together.
She took it as a given that couples imbibed in such bondage practices. Occasionally, Mr. Farley would beat his wife with his belt before fucking her. That, too, seemed fine to little Penny.
So it was not surprising, that as she developed into a wild, rowdy and uncontrollable little hellcat juvenile delinquent, she took her acceptance of discipline and bondage along with her. Wherever she went.
And as often as not, those were pretty strange places. Her father and mother split up, each to pursue his or her own career. For her mother, it meant a thriving law practice. For her father, it meant hot pursuit of the governorship of the state.
He re-married a kind, decent stable woman who wanted nothing more than to sit down at a banquet table in the governor's mansion. She and Penny didn't see eye to eye on any subject.
That was when the girl took to running away. She took to it regularly. And that was also along about the time she discovered she liked women better than men.
She was fifteen the summer she ran away for the thirteenth time. Her father was lieutenant governor that year. He had desperately tried to keep his daughter's private troubles out of the paper.
It hadn't been easy. He had to pay off as many people as he had on staff. But somehow, nobody big enough to cause him many problems got wind of it.
Penny had taken a new name and was found by a private detective her father had hired. She was found walking the streets of the capital city in a long black wig turning tricks for cash.
And she was hauled home and reprimanded severely. Her father threatened to have her imprisoned right there in his house. She spit in his face.
"You're a tramp, Penny," the man said, sitting in his huge leather chair behind his office desk where she was brought to him. "A tramp and a disgrace to the family. How could you allow yourself to behave like this?"
"What right do you have asking me any dumb questions like that?" the girl said, facing him in her finest hooker gear. The makeup was slapped on her face with a trowel and she had on a tight satin skirt with a slit in it up to her navel.
Her blouse was cut so low you could see her nipples through the material. She had a fine set of ample tits for a girl her age and she didn't mind who saw them.
"I'm your father," the man said fighting back the urge to slap her across the face.
"You call yourself a father?" she said, laughing at him rudely, "where do you get off? When were you around when I needed you? I'll tell you. You weren't."
"What's past is past, Penny. Let's forget about that. The question is...."
She cut in and stood her ground. "The question is how can Daddy Haver hide his darling daughter from the press long enough for him to get the governorship in three years. I'm not stupid, Dad."
"Well, you had me fooled, behaving like that."
He pointed to her outfit and clucked his tongue in disapproval.
"I do what I like," she snarled back, " same as you."
"I don't believe you like what you are doing to yourself," he said, wiggling uncomfortably in his chair.
"I like it," Penny snapped, " and I'll tell you something else. Something you don't want to hear. But I'm gonna make you hear it anyway. On account of you're such a grand fellow."
"What?" he said, feeling very low at tat moment. His daughter was driving him to distraction.
"I'm a lesbian," she said, standing with her hands on her hips and her tits sticking out at him. "I turn tricks all night and I like to fuck women all day. Usually, I like it when they tie me up first. I like it even better when they tie me up and beat me with a...."
"Stop, stop!!!!" her father shouted, throwing his hands up against his ears, "I can't take this any more. You're ruining me. Ruining the family name. You're ruining your own life. Don't you know that?"
"It's my life," Penny said, shuffling her feet in a lively little dance, "and I'll do what I want with it."
"Get out," he said to her, "take your slutty body and your filthy, degenerate mind and get out of here."
He ordered a guard to tie her to the bed that night. And the next night. He had a hard time getting people to stay with her. She was crude and obscene and filthy. She wouldn't hesitate to spit in someone's eye, or worse.
Nurses were hired to sit with her and they left after a few frustrating hours alone with her. There seemed to be nothing at all he could do. He had to keep her at home. To incarcerate her, even in a private institution, would create a scandal. He had many, many enemies, just waiting to get something on him to keep him from getting the governorship.
There seemed to be no way out. He would just have to keep her there. His wife would have nothing to do with her, considering the child completely beyond her control.
One afternoon, when she was taken out to the park with three guards and a nurse, she managed to wangle her way out of their grasp and escape.
She thumbed her way into town and took up immediately with a crew of girls who hooked for a living. She stayed at one of their places over night and assumed a false name. A thing she didn't normally do, but this time, she couldn't afford to take any chances. Her dad's detectives had probably already hit the streets looking for her.
The first week was rough. She was constantly looking behind her, watching every shadow for a sign that it might be someone tailing her. She even made her tricks jumpy.
The second week, she calmed down a little. Even ventured out in the afternoon. And, after reading an ad in a local sex paper asking for submissive slaves for a dominatrix to train, she found herself knocking at Dora Stucker's studio door.
The now plump, but still attractive woman answered the door and saw immediately that she had a live wire on her hands. The girl looked haunted, frightened, and sick. Just the sort of girl she had come to love dominating.
"How long have you been a mistress?" Penny asked, "I mean, I like to know what I'm getting into before I get into anything."
Dora knew it was a lie. She knew that a lot of things Penny said were lies. Even her name. She had called herself Veronica, an obvious phony moniker.
"Since long before you were born, Toots," the woman said, placing her hands on her high, heaving tits and rubbing them around a bit. She was still awfully proud of her mammoth set of knockers. The set of knockers that her wrestling fans had admired so long ago.
"I like heavy bondage, myself," Penny said, smiling wanly, "I'm not into kid stuff."
Dora smiled to herself. Like hell she wasn't.
"Are these you?" Penny said, staring up at the ceiling. She was amazed at the abundant display of various old black and white photos of the beauteous girl wrestler. There were also posters, flyers, programs, ribbons, cups and certificates. A lot of stuff, but now faded and dusty-looking.
"They used to be," Dora said, eyeing the body of the fifteen year old runaway.
She had a hunch she was a runaway. She had that look. A look Dora seldom failed to spot. She had had too many years of experience with young girls to miss it.
"You gonna tie me up?" Penny said, feeling a little crazy, a little anxious, a little drugged-out.
She had already snorted a lot of cocaine that afternoon. That stuff always made her crazy to get tied up and horse whipped.
"Maybe," Dora said, still sizing her up. "but I can't do much until you get undressed."
"Maybe we could wrestle," Penny said, feeling very smart.
Dora responded by slapping her face so hard, Penny felt her teeth rattle.
"What the fuck was that for?" Penny cried, holding her hand against the burning half of her face and staring at the woman in pain and awe.
"That's for having a smart mouth," she said, thrusting her powerful little hands onto her hips and staring at back at the girl coldly. "And to remind you that I don't like nobody making fun of my former career. I was the best of the lot. Check your history books."
Penny felt a little hotter having been slapped around. She always did. It felt so good and right to get a little punishment now and then. To make believe even that somebody cared. It felt good when they showed it.
"Take off your coat and put your purse over there," the woman said, "then come with me."
Penny sensed that she better do like the woman said. She took off her sweater and threw her beaded hooker bag in a heap on the sofa.
Then, she entered a little dressing room.
"Take off everything but your bra and panties," the woman said, "I like to see my slaves in their underwear when they serve me."
"Yes, Ma'am," the girl said, docilely as she entered the little cubicle.
Dora Stucker shut the curtain of the dressing room and raced back to the sofa. She opened the girl's bag and took out a thin wallet that contained the I.D. she was looking for. She had a little trouble recognizing the name, so she made a phone call.
The man at the other end of the line had no difficulty recognizing the name. He was a fence with a lot of connections. He told her who she had in the house with her and a few minutes later, Dora hung up the phone.
Dora Stucker couldn't help rubbing her hands together. She couldn't help wondering how she had at last gotten so luck, either.
That girl she had in there, the one with the thick make up and the stacked heels ... she was somebody. Somebody very big.
Funny to think about that. Such a tiny, scared-looking little rabbit of a girl, all made up and turned out in the typical garb of the girls of the night. She was a name. A big name in this state. The governor's.
Dora wondered what her upbringing might have been like. How it must have been to go all those fancy schools, have your own chauffeur or pet horse. Maybe even your own stables.
All she ever had was a good right wrestling arm and the motivation to the biggest, best and toughest broad in the ring.
But this girl had money, power, fame. It was going to be one hell of a pleasure to whip the shit out of her.
"Like this?" Penny said, popping her head back into the room. She wasn't sure what to expect. This woman was clearly the real thing. A former lady wrestler, a huge mountain of a woman. But getting undressed in that dressing room in there, she wasn't sure.
Most of the girls she had gotten it on with were around her age, some of them even younger. She wasn't sure what a big, thick broad like this Dora character was capable of doing.
Quite a lot judging from the faded photos that lined the walls of the place. There were even some shots there of her arm wrestling men. Sitting on men's faces. Drop kicking them, for Christ sake.
"Come out of there and let me see you," Dora said in her take-command voice. She was used to dominating young girls. They were her favorite. And this one, governor's daughter or not, filled the bill splendidly.
She looked very hot and very vulnerable in her tight red panties and her black see-through bra. Dora had a good look at her tits.
They were smallish, but upturned and perky-looking with adorable big thick rosecolored nipples, the kind she loved to bind up and whip till they turned blue.
Her legs were long and tapered, ending in tiny sculpted ankles. Just the kind she liked to tie down to the slant board in her little gym and flail with the wrong end of a tether whip.
And those lips. Bee-stung and pouty. The kind she liked to wring with her bare hands until they blubbered and frowned and finally cried out in pain.
Her cunt was an adorable sight, even through the under panties. It was a wispy blonde bush, barely covering her still-adolescent looking cunt.
That turned her on to a frenzy. She could hardly wait to stick something crude up inside it, diddle it around until it created a whirlpool of juice, the kind of whirlpool she loved to drown her tongue in.
Penny Haver marched out shyly and stood there. She was such an aggressive bitch when she picked up a trick. Always talked real snotty to him, making him do crazy things.
Like the one she had picked up this afternoon, walking around one of the better neighborhoods of the city. A posh block, a tree-lined street. And a car with an out of state license.
She walked along and swung her bag. God, she loved getting men hot. She swung her hips in tantalizing counterpoint. The man in the white sedan slowed down and crawled his car along after her.
She was a looker, she knew it. She was also a fifteen year old runaway. Jail bait. Any trick worth his money could see that. That's why she was hoping for one of the dumb ones.
One of the dumb ones who had a penchant for young girls. Girls with devilishly swinging asses.
This trick looked dumb enough. He was from out of state, meaning he was in the big city looking for some action. And he was cruising along beside her, looking her up and down.
She stuck her tits straight out in front of her by arching her back as hard as it would arch and still be able to carry her upright.
She looked down at her cleavage seductively. That ought to get him where he lived. Her tits were shoved together very tightly inside her filmy white low-cut blouse. Not the sort of a blouse a nice girl would wear in the day time. But, then, she wasn't a nice girl. If she was, what would she be doing walking like this on the pickup strip?
"Hey, baby," the man had called in what must have sounded old even to him. "Whatcha doin?"
"Looking for trouble," Penny said, idly swinging her bag over her shoulder and turning to face him. "How bout yourself?"
"I'm looking for a good time," he shot back, steering the car away from the row of parked ones near the curb.
"You just found it," Penny snapped, wiggling her ass over to the curb and stepping off it.
She moved close to the car and leaned her elbows along the open window jamb.
"How much?" the man said, eyeing her carefully.
She didn't mind being looked over, but what if this guy had been a cop? She couldn't afford that. Or if he had been one of the dozens of private dicks her father had hired to tail her, find her, subdue her, bring her back, lock her up....
"You a cop?' ' she said, knowing full well that he might lie to her, but it was worth the asking. All the other girls on the strip had told her to ask.
"Get in the car," the man said, feeling his collar steam up. This little nymphet was just the sort of thing he was looking for. Most of the broads on this street were too old for him. She looked more his age, which was about twenty.
"Fast worker," Penny said, opening the car door and slamming it again. She scooted over very far and pointed to a well-shaded area a little ways down the block. "That's what I like."
The man steered the car down the block, watching her all the time. He had heard the stories of how these chicks can grab wallets when you least expect them to, like when you're getting a whopping big hard on. The kind he was acquainting himself with about now.
"Take off your pants and get down on the floor," Penny said, giving him the sharpest part of her elbow. She loved telling these tricks when to piss. Gave her a big thrill.
The guy looked at her queerly. What the hell was this little pip squeak with the high stacked heels doing giving him orders? But, like a schmuck, he did it anyway. She seemed to know what she was doing. And just sitting next to her was turning him on to beat the band.
Penny unbuttoned her blouse and started playing with her nipples just to give the guy the proper inspiration. Then, he did like she bade and crawled onto the floor. He kept his pants next to his hand, though.
"Twenty dollars for the best suck you ever had," Penny warbled in her high, thin hooker voice.
"Sold American," the guy replied, wanting to get on with it in the worst way.His dick was aching, kicking up a fuss as it throbbed against the slit of his under shorts.
Penny slid her hand in there and dug his dick out. She took in a little sigh when she saw how wide it was. Her mouth was narrow and it would be hard to wrap it all the way around this dude, but she'd manage. She'd managed before.
She sucked him royally. Ramming his hot dick into her mouth and whirling her lips around like an agitator.
There was nothing gentle or compliant about the way she sucked dick when she was operating as a hooker. She left several teeth marks along his shaft and heard him cry out a couple of times.
The guy was discovering the joys of cock bondage, just by hooking his hook into this girl's punishing mouth. It was so fucking active, that hot little tunnel of hers. He wanted to fuck her, but he doubted she would go along with it, and he didn't have much more money.
So it went. Penny squeezed the life of the guy's dick with her hot, eager vise of a mouth. And the guy, bracing his hands behind his back and digging his nails into the rubber floor mat, took it.
He felt as if a huge typhoon was sweeping it up into its vortex, and then, wiping him off the map. His cock bucked and thudded against the roof of the girl's mouth.
She was completely in control. Completely in control, until she eased up a little and began her long, quick stroking tongue motions, guaranteed to make him shoot his spunk, just when she wanted him to.
"Shit!" the guy said, holding his balls back, trying to keep them from letting go a mighty load. Little good that did.
His cock spat out a bucket of juice into the girl's waiting and ready receptacle.
"Good," she said, licking her lips and swallowing his creamy nectar. "That ought to hold me for at least a half hour."
She snapped her fingers and motioned toward his wallet. He opened it up and slapped the bills into her hand. He felt cheated, though, he didn't know why. He had gotten off, after all. He had shot and he had shot a hard, heavy load of thick come goo. And it had felt good.
But this little girl, the one sitting there now, pocketing the money down her cleavage. She had rushed him, pushed him, manipulated him to her design. And he resented it. He loathed her for it.
He made a mental note to get a girlfriend as soon as he possibly could. Somebody who would show him the proper respect.
Penny considered none of this as she opened the car door and skipped off. The man had been her seventh trick that day. She was looking forward to going to see this new woman. The one who had advertised herself as a serious dominatrix.
And from the way the woman stared at her now, she thought it might not be a joke.
"I think we should start right off by your getting me a drink," the woman said, sitting back in her chair and spreading her legs wide apart.
Penny could see up her dress. The woman was wearing black leather underwear. And she wanted to see more of it.
"What have you got on under there?" she asked, leaning over to see a little more.
Dora Stucker picked up the riding crop she , kept next to her chair in the ash tray, where most people keep their cigarettes, and lunged toward the startled girl's face.
She brought it down so rapidly, so abruptly and so sharply, that all Penny could do was stand there and stare with her eyes wide open and her mouth agape.
WOP! The thing struck her on the cheek.
Penny didn't hear the noise until after the hurt. It came at her in one huge tidal wave of pain. It oppressed her, made her squirm, made her want to reach up and stroke her little cheek where the smarting was raging.
But she thought to do so might infuriate this woman even more.
"I will show you what I am wearing when I am ready," the woman called coolly. "Now go into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, and bring me a glass of that stuff in the pitcher there. You can follow a simple order like that, can't you Cunt Brain?"
Penny felt herself fume. How dare this woman call her that? She would never let a man do that to her. But she had a respect for this woman already. She was definitely the physically stronger of the two of them. The more masculine, though she still wore beauty as a kind of aura around her. The body hadn't gone yet. Those breasts of hers were like twin mountain peaks. Penny could hardly wait to see what they looked like.
But she knew she would have to play it cagey, if she wanted to. She walked briskly into the kitchen and fished around for that pitcher of whatever it was. She hugged it to her chest and fumbled for a glass in the cupboard.
She found one and poured some stuff into it. It looked a little like lemonade, but that didn't seem right. She stuck her finger into it and licked some of it off. A harsh, alcoholic under taste ... Hmmmm.
She tipped the glass up to her lips just as Dora Stucker appeared in the doorway.
"I didn't give you permission to do that," she said.
Penny turned in surprise and was even more surprised at what she found.
The woman, the woman battleship, that is, was now decked out in her dominatrix gear. Black leather indeed!
Black leather camisole with the biggest bra cups Penny had ever seen. Chains were hooked onto it at several intervals. And where there were no chains, hoops appeared magically in the black leather bodice and around the waist.
The thing was cut very high around the thighs, allowing the woman's still-muscular legs to appear in their full splendor.
She wore ankle bands and arm bands of leather and steel. Black mesh opera hose adorned her legs and travelled down into her boots. They, too, were of black leather, with a stiletto silverish heel on both of them. The woman looked very imposing standing there like that. Penny had a sense that she didn't want to argue with her, not at all.
"Sorry," she said, blinking innocently.
It did no good. The woman snatched the glass from her and threw it on the floor. It crashed against the linoleum and broke into shards, spilling its contents all over.
"Wipe it up," the woman sneered, crossing her arms over her mammoth chest. "Wipe it up with that hair of yours."
Penny shuddered, this woman was an awesome sight, one to make her weak-kneed. She loathed the idea of crawling down there on that floor, wiping that stuff up with her copper mane, but she did it.
She gritted her teeth the whole time in fear and resentment, but she did it.
The sticky stuff clung to her tresses and nauseated her, but she got the job done. And she got hot doing it, the way she always did when someone like this, someone this powerful and mighty lorded it over her.
"Now get down on your knees and kiss my foot," the woman shrieked. "I can't stand your impudence another moment."
Penny felt her conscious will leaving her body and somebody else's will take over. It was the will of Dora Stucker, her mistress. The one she now writhed over to and planted a sloppy kiss on.
"That's more like it," Dora said, feeling hot with authority over this girl. The girl whose family was so big in this state. The hot shot governor's fucking daughter!
She eyed the girl with her eagle glance to make sure she did nothing out of line. She had to keep close attention to her. Any false move, any oversight, would be cause for her to whip the stuffing out of her.
"Over here," she said, snapping her fingers and motioning her toward her slant board. It had been an old ironing board at one time, but was now sitting in her little gymnasium, ready for other uses.
Like tying down young girls to. She grabbed a long length of nylon cord and whip lashed the girl onto the board.
Penny let out a cry of pain as the line dug into her waist, all the way around her middle.
"Owwwww!" she said, as the stuff bit her flesh and pinned her in place.
Dora wasted no time going to work on her then.
"You're a runaway, aren't you?" she said, feeling herself grow moist between her huge, muscular thighs.
"Noooooooo," Penny protested, "Noooooo."
"Yes, you are," Dora shot back, " and runaways have to be punished. They must be made to pay for their crimes."
"Oh, God!" Penny said, as she felt the woman rip her bra off her body. Dora grabbed two long, steely clothes pins and clamped them down hard on the girl's rosy pink upturned nipples. They went rigid as soon as they were snapped up.
Penny felt the pain send a direct line of electricity right to her cunt. She was ashamed at how wet her pussy must be getting now, feeling that overwhelming pain, so locally and diabolically applied to her tit tips.
"Relax," Dora called to her, "that's only the beginning. You've left a real trail of tragedy in your wake. You've hurt a lot of people, haven't you?"
"Noooo," Penny said, jerking her head around and feeling her eyes fill with tangy tears.
"Yes, you have. But the tables are turned now. You're the one who is about to get hurt. See how you like it for a change."
Dora leered down at her and gripped the handle of her riding crop. With one powerful upper cut, she thrust it hard into the little girl's anus.
"Owwwwwww!!!!" Penny said, feeling the thick leathery thing, with its characteristic leather aroma and texture dive bomb her butt hole.
Dora wiggled it around cruelly inside her sphincter. She felt it hit walls, touch base, chafe and mangle the girl's poop chute. It aroused her to a peak.
"That ought to hold you a few minutes," Dora chimed happily.
"Oh, please," Penny moaned in agony, "please hurry."
"Not on your life, dear," Dora intoned in one of her lusher, hornier voices. "Not at least until you've eaten my pussy. And eaten it good."
The woman unsnapped one of the panels on her black leather bikini bottoms. She revealed an enormous cunt mound with swirling tufts of reddish brown hair and monstrous lips, both of them pierced with gold hoops and a leather thong binding them shut.
Penny could barely believe her eyes. So, this woman was the real thing. A dominatrix, in the flesh. Just the kind she had always hoped to run into, but until now, hadn't had the good fortune.
Dora unleashed the leather binder and Penny watched as her cunt lips flared open to her sight. They were huge, thick, and pendulous. Her clit stuck out between them like the penis of a small child. It was pink and slick and shiny and altogether mesmerizing. The girl was shocked, horrified, to see such a thing.
It looked like nothing she had ever seen before in real life, more like something from a magazine of freaks.
That was just the beginning. The woman unpeeled her bra cups, by unsnapping the panels binding in her huge breasts and revealed again, two mammoth monster tits, each the size of a grown man's head. Again, gold hoops hung from each of them. Gold hoops that had been pierced in there.
"Can you tell I'm serious about my occupation?" Dora cooed down at her teasingly.
Penny had never seen such a freak show. She wanted to vomit. But her curiosity matched her arousal. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman. It was gross, but try to look away!
The huge battleship climbed on top of Penny and spread her cunt lips out wide by pulling on either end of the tethers laced through the hoops stuck in them.
Penny felt the sensation of drowning. The woman's cunt was a dark, pink layered hole. A place to dive into. She feared she would be crushed or smothered by that huge hole.
The moist, satiny flaps banged against her cheeks, her lips, her nose, her eyelids.
And the woman whirled around suddenly, screwing Penny's face around with her, and she began beating her cunt. Whipping her cunt with the leather straps from her own pussy hoops.
Those cunt lips soon grew juicy with arousal, wet and wild with approaching orgasm. The thrill overwhelmed her. She spat her come cream out in wild torrents of wet heaves.
"God," the Amazon cried, letting go of her own load of spunk as the girl's hard log of a tongue found her most tender, passionate parts. "Fuck that cunt, you little bitch."
